fell to his knees. But there was one small part of him that wanted something else.
“Nettle,” he said.
“Down!” ordered the Skir Master.
Argoth faltered. Then he mustered all his strength. “Nettle,” he said. His son’s sacrifice would not be wasted. And suddenly the Skir Master’s command seemed less important than it had before.
“For Nettle,” he said more forcefully. This was for him and for Grace, Serentity, and Joy. For Serah. A battle cry rose within him, and he shouted his son’s name. “Nettle! For Nettle and light!”
His mind cleared momentarily and he thrust his burning fingers into the black liquid.
A blue-green fire raced over the surface.
Argoth almost faltered from the pain, but he snatched his hand back and wrapped it in his tunic, wiping off both flame and skin.
The seafire in the barrel spit, flashed, then, with a cracking thunder, flames exploded upward. Thick smoke poured forth and rolled along the ceiling.
The Skir Master took a step back.
Argoth retrieved the hatchet he’d stowed between the barrels earlier. He brought it up and swung it against the rope binding the barrel. It split cleanly.
Leaf had fallen to his knees, violently trying to wipe the seafire from his face with his tunic. The Skir Master leapt over Leaf.
Argoth grabbed the lip of the burning barrel with the head of the hatchet and pulled with all his weight.
The barrel tipped, fell over, and spilled the burning seafire over the deck, over the Master’s boots. It circled the man.
The blue flame raced over the surface of the widening pool.
Argoth backed away.
The Skir Master looked down at the spreading fire. Then the pool of seafire burst into flame and choked the passageway with smoke. And Argoth felt the Skir Master recede from his mind.
Clasping the hatchet, Argoth turned and ran. Men shouted from the stern. The cook stepped out holding a long knife and looked up the passageway. Argoth swung the flat of the hatchet and struck him in the face.
Argoth raced up the stairs to the main deck. Thick brown and yellow smoke billowed out of the hatches, the skir wind carrying it forward over the deck into the sailors who had recently been dancing. An officer shouted for a team to descend with barrels of sand.
Argoth leapt up the stairs to the aftercastle and raced to the stern. A dread-man stood by the helmsman. “The Skir Master!” Argoth shouted. “Help me get the ship’s boat in the water!”
The dreadman hesitated, then joined Argoth. He ran to the rope and pulleys of one of the davits, Argoth to the other. But Argoth had no time for an easy lowering. He hacked through the ropes and his end of the boat swung down and out.
The unexpected weight caught the dreadman off guard. The rope raced through his hands, burning them. He stumbled forward, cursed, and looked at Argoth with anger.
The boat had fallen, but not all the way. It dragged behind the ship, half of it still out of the water.
Argoth raced to the dreadman’s side. He acted as if he were going to hack through the tangle. Instead, he buried his hatchet in the man’s leg.
The dreadman yelled out.
Argoth pulled the hatchet out and kicked him overboard.
Men raced up the stairs to the aftercastle.
Then an explosion rocked the ship and the men racing up the stairs fell from the stairs or sprawled forward.
Argoth brought the hatchet down with all his might, cutting the rope, and the boat fell to rest of the distance to the water.
A man shouted blood-curdling intent behind him.
Argoth turned and saw a dreadman charging him, sword held high. A large eye had been tattooed on his bare chest.
Argoth brought up his hatchet and parried the blow, but the force of it knocked the hatchet out of Argoth’s hand.
The dreadman brought his sword back.
Argoth was no match for him, so he scuttled backward and over the edge of the stern. Then he was falling, watching the Ardent pull away and the dreadman looking on.
Argoth pulled his broken arm to his chest to protect it, bracing himself, thinking he was going to land on the boat.
But he did not land on the boat. He crashed heels over head into a shock of cold water and pain. He gasped in a lungful of water, rolled, then came to the surface choking.
Argoth turned, looking for the boat. A wave lifted him. He spotted it, and began to sidestroke with all his might, holding his useless arm at his chest.