screamed up to the ramparts above. Just as he had all that time ago as a gun mage, Caine tried to exert his will on the shell as it sped forth. He strained to push it further, further, further, far enough to meet the gun now lining him up for a third shot. It arced toward the great iron gun zeroing in on his position …
… and fell short.
Even for Caine, it was well out of range. In answer, another mortar in the battery erupted, sending more whistling death his way. Then another. In the water, the shells were pelting closer, and the tiny ship was rocking in their wake.
Caine was resolved. He had to try again. He looked up with Ace’s eyes one more time, and raised the Longarm.
Caine was floating weightless in inky blackness.
He tumbled back, head over heels, tossed from Ace’s window on the world. It fell from sight, until he gained control and spun himself back to face it.
Just what was going on here?
Was he losing his bond with the warjack? He surged forward, to regain the window. There was no time for this! The specter that was the very being of Ace appeared swiftly before him. The shadow that had become like Caine’s very own would not let him pass. It blocked him, just as it had done before. This time, however, the shadow was not playing. Caine fought to push through, but it met him, will for will. Something back in reality was happening. He couldn’t keep this fight up, he had to ...
Caine was dumped from the rebellious warjack’s head, and found himself caught in an iron grip. Ace had him by the scruff of his collar, and he wheezed for breath. What was going on? Was Ace so badly damaged from the night before? With the merest flick of its wrist, Ace hurled Caine over the side. Caine had no chance to call out. The screaming artillery finally converged as a direct hit, drowning out his voice.
In a flash of fire, the dory and everything aboard it exploded like matchwood.
Caine rolled beneath the water, his senses overwhelmed. Above, the scene played out in warped dimensions and distorted sounds. The slagged hulk that had been Ace began to sink while shards of the boat no bigger than kindling burned on the water. As bubbles escaped his lips, Caine shook his head in shock.
Ace had not been out of control. It had only meant to save him from his own stubbornness.
Assuming of course, he did survive. The problem with warcaster armor was that it was not intended for water. It weighed upon him as though a bag of rocks had been tied to his ankle, and he sank into the muddy murk below. He struggled in vain to swim, while above the light of the burning ship faded.
But there! A chain in the water!
Caine reached for it, his lungs fit to burst. It was tethered to a buoy right near the spot his boat had been hit. He grabbed it and climbed, hand over hand until he thought he might pass out.
His head peeked out under a shattered timber, and he took a deep, gasping breath. Men were running along the docks, pointing at what remained of his boat.
Scanning the docks just out of reach, he pondered his next move. There was nothing; no cover, no solid ground to flash to, so he was going to have to swim at least a few strokes. Worse, with all eyes looking this way and nothing but open water around him, he’d have to keep underwater to avoid being seen.
There.
Caine spotted a row of sloops, their anchors weighed for the night. If he could just make it that far, he should be able to flash to the sewer grate by the dock. Fearful the bulk of his armor would ruin any chance of making the swim, he hastily shed what he could. Still clinging to the buoy, he loosened shoulder pads and shin guards alike, and watched them disappear into the deep. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself before plunging back beneath the surface.
When at last his head broke the surface again, it was in the shadow of a sloop. Grasping the sloop’s rode, he caught his breath. He lingered a moment, able only to brood as the men along the docks marveled at the mess he’d left behind.
“You should have been ‘ere last night. Would have been much easier.” The man named Kreel shook his