Chương 69: 17 The Mongoose Run

"What happened here?" Serevian asked. Glace hugged himself, icy white beard hanging over cool blue skin.

"Ghosts. Lots of them. They came in through the doors and the windows." He glanced around at his fallen comrades and grimaced.

"They wiped out everyone before I could get to the salt." His eyes widened, and he tilted to the side, trying to see past us.

"Did you break the salt line?"

"The line's intact," Serevian assured him. Then his brow climbed.

"I apologize if you mind my asking, but what exactly are you?" I was wondering exactly the same thing, so I scanned him. <<Name: Glace Chillbrease>> <<Race: Þrimling>> <<Class: None>> <<Rank: Armory Clerk>> <<Lvl: None>> <<Total: Not synced to Ourabora>> <<Equivalent Level: 0>> The blue gnome folded his arms across his chest with a huff.

"What, never seen a Thrimeling before?"

"Actually, no," Corin said.

"Which isle do you come from?"

"Cannonballs," I cut in, glancing out the shattered window. There was no telling when the rest of the guards would make it back.

"Cold iron. Do you have them?"

"Of course, I have cold iron cannonballs. You think Fel types could craft cold iron?" he scoffed.

"Takes ice folk to get it right." The gnome stood as tall as any small folk I'd ever seen, complete with a black-and-purple cone hat; only his proportions were somewhere between dwarf and human: wide shoulders, a deep chest, and a smaller head.

"Where's the storeroom?" I asked, stepping forward.

"Not so fast, tall guy," Glace said, stomping over to the shattered desk and plucking a ledger from the ground. The tome lay open, face down. He dusted the pages.

"We have a procedure here in the Black Port armory. I'll need to see your writ of authorization, and we'll need to log the inventory appropriately." All three of us just stared at him for a long moment.

"Are you kidding me?" I said at length.

"What?" Glace demanded.

"You think just because a Ghost Ship is ravaging the city, Grimton's defenses have been overwhelmed, and everyone else in the armory is dead, I'll breach protocol and just give it to you?" He scoffed indignantly.

"That may have been how Kolvad did things when he was in charge, but now that I'm running things, we do it by the book." He thumped the tome. I started forward, face impassive, allowing my shadow to swallow the armorer.

"Listen, Blueberry," I said.

"Respectfully—" I reached down and tore the first five pages from the book. Glace shrieked.

"What have you done?"

"Cannonballs, now!" Corin stepped forward.

"Forgive his manners. We're actually Cousins of Paradise. I'm in direct contact with the queen right this moment. She's the one who sent us to get that ammunition."

"Every moment we wait, more people die," Serevian said.

"So stand aside, or I'll seat you on a stool in the corner." Glace's blue cheeks flushed, his little hands curling at his sides, then he heaved a resigned breath.

"It's in the Underbunker."

"Good," Corin said.

"Take us." Glace led Serevian and Corin into the back room. I took some stairs to the roof, where I recovered the Bane Thesis. Cannons boomed over the city, golden shafts of light projecting from the ship. The Undertide angled my way, masts and sails looming over buildings. I swallowed, hurrying back down to find the others.

"We're running out of time!" I warned.

"The Undertide's about five minutes out, heading right at us." Glace stood before a locked cage. Munitions crates lined wooden shelving within. The Thrimeling produced a key, then sighed.

"If I'm going to open this for you, I want you to promise you'll take me to Gravehold." He smiled sadly.

"The armory has fallen. I've failed."

"We don't exactly have room for passengers," Corin said. Glace's shoulders constricted.

"So, what? Rob me, then leave me to die?" The little guy touched the key to the cage's bars.

"Say you'll take me, or I'll drop it. You'll spend hours trying to fish it out." I sighed. Hook winked into my right hand. The sickle flashed white with the system light. I flicked my wrist, and the lock dropped to the ground, edges where it'd been severed glowing with heat. Glace watched, frozen, now holding a useless key. I grunted, hauling the first crate out. Splintering wood cracked as I pried it open with Hook. Four black, frosted iron balls sat, packed in straw. <<Tony: Team, at the armory. We have it.

>> After a moment, I got a reply. <<Naomi: Excellent work! You might want to lie low for a minute; the Undertide's practically on top of you. >> Corin sighed.

"Best get started." Six crates vanished in a wink. Then contraptions blinked into existence around him. Backpacks, boxes, chests, each thumping or crashing to the ground. Glace cried out, staggering back.

"I hate leaving gear," Corin grumbled. Then another eleven crates vanished from the shelves.

"Sure beats lugging them." Serevian stroked the top of his bow. I sighed, then expelled my cutlass, saber, Line, Torchmaw pistol, and a backpack from my inventory. Several minutes later, my belt sagged under the weight of entirely too many weapons. Unlike Corin, I had to physically put my hand on the crates to send them to my much smaller inventory. My hand trembled, and I held it up.

"I don't think those stims were very healthy," I said. The edges of my vision darkened in pulses. Corin snorted in agreement.

"Let's hope they keep our hearts beating long enough to get us back to Gravehold." Something rustled, and Glace panted as he rushed over. A new travel pack sagged from his shoulders.

"I'm coming," he squeaked, determined.

"We can't protect you out there," I said. The guy made me think of Dustnose. No, he was too old. More like Mudlock.

"I'll stay low."

"We'll outpace you," Serevian said.

"I'll run." Corin sighed.

"Believe it or not, you're much safer in here. Stay behind the salt. Now that we've got what we came for, they'll probably follow us." Glace folded his arms.

"Or, I let you leave, and while those spirits are chopping you up, I sneak my way into the citadel by myself." I inhaled.

"Do what you want. Just don't say we didn't warn you." <<Naomi: Get out of there! The Undertide is bringing her guns to bear on the armory. >> Corin and I exchanged a glance.

"A message?" Serevian guessed. I swore.

"Lucky day, little guy! You get to run!" Corin grabbed a sack of salt that he'd ejected earlier, throwing it on his shoulder and rushing for the door. Serevian started after him.

"What's going on?"

"They know we're here," I said, pushing ahead.

"They're going to bring this place down on top of us!" Trajectory lights spotlighted the windows, spearing through steel bars. I flinched.

"What is it?" Corin asked, unable to read the trajectory paths. I drew Hook and Line.

"Behind the door—now!" I dove for the threshold, throwing myself flat right behind the salt line. The others piled down beside me. The Undertide fired, and the armory exploded. Splinters sprayed, glass rained, and steel screamed through the room as the building's facade disintegrated. A spectral ball struck the door, blasting inward. Wood slammed my shoulder. But the moment the glowing sphere crossed the thin line of white powder, it collapsed into mist, its trajectory shaft blinking out of existence.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Debris thundered around us. A roof truss gave way with a cracking roar, slamming into the floor behind us. Then silence fell, broken only by the noise of settling dust. I groaned, rubbing my shoulder where the door had clipped me. The room had shifted too much. The blast had scattered the salt line. Our barrier was gone. Like a living leviathan, a pale green glow radiated from the street before us.

Spectral sailors crowded the Undertide's bulwark, jeering and shouting as they brandished cutlasses and muskets. Corin clutched his sack of salt to his chest, then jerked a knife across it. A crate of cold iron cannonballs slammed into the ground beside him. The torn sack vanished in the same instant, taking the crate's place in his inventory. He pointed upward, toward the Undertide's railing. The slashed sack reappeared above the deck. It plummeted, trailing a cloud of fine white powder.

Salt rained across ghost sailors. Five of them shrieked as their forms were torn apart into drifting fog. Even the ship reacted. The spectral hull fizzled where refined salt drifted through, revealing sailors on the gun deck howling and beating at their clothes as though it were raining coals. I coughed, tasting blood.

"We can't take a second shot!" I cried.

"I'll draw fire. Get to the fort!" Before the others could answer, I sprinted out into the road. I checked my mana. It'd ticked up in the waypoint coach and on the road, but it was still well under half full. I reared back with the Hook and hurled the sickle up through the spectral ship.

"Hey, Captain Vale!" I bellowed, drawing the Bane Thesis with my off-hand. My sickle spun across the road, slamming into a building across the way.

"I want that sword!" My gold line winked into existence, piercing through the ship immaterially. Then it yanked me up through the hull. I passed spectral wood as if it were mist. My left arm jerked as I jarred to an abrupt stop, pain lancing through my shoulder. A snarl escaped me, and I glanced back. The Bane Thesis had struck the hull's side and didn't pass through. An Orc and a man flinched from my sudden appearance in the lower hold. They went for weapons.

I released my pull on Hook's golden thread and dropped back to the cobbles, my sword scraping against the outside hull as I fell. Rolling, I spilled out of the ship's side. Sprinting the length of the ship, I hacked at the hull. The Bane Thesis sheared through the planks, not like iron on timber, but a razor on thick hide. Wood split, a pained groan echoing through the ship. My boots slammed the cobbles as I rounded the stern.

I got three good hacks on the rudder by the time a half-dozen trajectory cones lit me up from above. Panting, I rolled around the back of the ship and pulled Hook again. The ground zipped away from me as ghostly bullets pecked at the road where I'd been standing. I didn't pull myself all the way to my anchor. Getting airborne, I rose past the lower deck. Ragged breaths escaped me as I kicked off air, taking four long strides on Air Steps and climbing with every step.

Sailors hollered as I bounced toward the central mast. Teeth bared, I attacked the rigging. Halyards, sheets, and braces. The sail dropped abruptly, the yard swinging and jerking as the lines snapped.

"Shoot him!" the helmsman bellowed. I started to drop, but my gaze snapped to the sailor at the wheel. A Drake-kin in a tricorn, a black iron sword hanging from a ghostly belt—Captain Vale. Trajectory paths chased me. I gave him a two-fingered mock salute, then Hook reeled, whisking me through the air. I hit the building where the sickle bit deeply into wood. My chest heaved. Ten mana left. Perched on the wall, I sheathed the Bane Thesis and drew Line.

Crewmen crowded to the port side to follow me with their weapons. I jerked the Hook and hurled Line. I dropped. Line hit a shop sign and deflected off a steel hinge. I cursed as the ground rushed at me. Glowing green bullets whistled through the air, and a cannon blasted a window above me. I landed lightly and sprinted. Line snapped back into my hand. The darkened edges of my vision wavered, stimulants warring with blood loss in a body already too tired to fight.

Heat flashed in my backside, and my pace faltered as blood soaked my trousers. The Undertide shifted, turning far sharper than a vessel in water could have managed. Her bow angled at me, like the jaws of a shark scenting blood. Well, I had their attention. I hurled Hook. The scythe flashed through the air and impacted stone, sinking in. I flew, and a cannonball blasted cobbles free below me. Chest heaving, I threw Line and pulled Hook free with a jerk. I swung, Hook slamming into my palm.

Sickle after sickle, I swung down the street, Aerial Combatant guiding me on when to swing smoothly and how to jerk my anchors free. A wild grin touched my lips. Hook, Line, Hook, Line. Hand over hand, I was flying—kind of. I clipped the corner of a building, the impact shocking my shoulder. The Undertide cut a sharp turn, phasing through buildings and rubble, and suddenly I found myself staring down a dozen lighthouse trajectory shafts. Cannons blasted. Glass and shrapnel kissed me as windows and walls exploded.

A wild scream filled the air. It was mine. My arm tried to jerk the Line free, but it had sunk too deeply into a stable's shingles. I ripped backward as glowing orbs snapped past me and laid waste to a city block. The roof slammed into me hard. My arms shook. I made fists, trying to force some semblance of stability into my hands. Pain welled in my left buttock, hot blood soaking my backside. Blood that I couldn't afford to lose. A noise prickled my ears, and I looked up toward the citadel. Was that cheering?

Rangers, guards, and other members of the Fel Court crowded the wall, and they roared.

"Mongoose, Mongoose, Mongoose!" I pulled myself up, swaying on the roof's slope. The Undertide swung back around, bow angling at me. Motion below drew my eye. Figures crawled out of the wrecked building, whimpering and crying as they scattered for cover. Ice twisted within me. This city was still populated. Despite the cheers from Gravehold, this wasn't a game. Every maneuver, every move—it'd get people killed. I had to get back to the citadel, and I had to do it now. I scanned the streets, sinking to one knee.

A cannon roared, and the roof across the street caved in.

"Heave, ho—We go. Heave high—we die!" Chanting voices echoed through the city, coming from the ghost ship. An opposing call came from the fort." Mongoose, Mongoose, Mongoose!" The line where the citadel's protective wards started was obvious—a semicircle of untouched city cut across rubble more than a mile away. I tried to stand. I sank lower. A fence disintegrated as a cannonball blasted through.

"Heave, ho—We go. Heave high—we die!" My head tilted as I forced my eyes to focus. Half a mile straight down the road, a flagpole jutted from the side of a tower balcony. I glanced at Line, my hand hot with blisters. My gaze locked back to the street, the tower, the flagpole. Only I didn't see a city; I saw distance, fulcrums, angles—potential momentum. A musket ball smashed a tile near me, a chip of ceramic biting into my hand. I didn't flinch. I didn't have the energy. None of it mattered.

The half mile was too far, even swinging with Hook and Line; it wasn't a distance I could cover on my own. <<Naomi: Tony, I see you. I'm on my way, but you need to move NOW! >> A low growl sounded close, and I tensed. My eyes shifted to a horse in the yard. Coat inky black and dripping dark sludge, its lips curled to expose fangs. Diomed mare—the same kind of steed that drew the waypoint carriages. <<Tony: Don't bother. I'm coming to you.

>> The Undertide swelled, marksmen hanging off the bow with muskets and rifles. Bianca came to my mind, feral and bound. Then Ingred, going cold in my arms. I was done failing. And until my soul wandered on Ghost Rock, I would not give up. I set Line on the roof, abandoning the sickle on my perch. I'd need it later. Inhaling, I rose, then jumped. Air rushed up at me before I could give myself a chance to talk myself out of it. I landed squarely on the Diomed mare's back. Pain spiked through my rear.

Oily sludge splattered me like tar. The Diomed mare snarled, then bucked. Suddenly, I was in the air. Only that's where I belonged. My focus clarified. My strength stabilized. The mare whirled on me, fangs flashing. I threw myself low, getting an arm around her neck, my other hand seizing her ear. Teeth snapped inches from my neck, and I gave her ear a hard yank. She snorted and bucked. Then a jade light washed over the stable yard. The Undertide had arrived.

"Run!" I snarled. The Diomed mare shrieked with terror, then bolted. My hands slid on black sludge, but I kept my grip tight. Her hooves sparked, a trajectory lengthening before her as we picked up speed. She shot through the new hole in the gate, speeding straight down the street.

"Good!" I exclaimed. A gold shaft backlit us.

"Sorry, girl!" My arms constricted, and I threw myself to the side. She veered, my weight pulling her. One of the Undertide's bow chasers blasted a crater into the street where we'd been only a breath before. My vision wavered. Our lead stretched. At that rate, I might have been able to ride all the way to safety. I glanced up, every muscle aching. The tower rapidly approached, its sideways flagpole trailing a banner.

"C'mon!" I gasped. A ghost rifle cracked. The mare squealed. Her gait shuddered, then we were both rolling across the cobblestones. My head cracked on the road. The world flashed. Then I slid to a stop. A collective sympathetic groan sounded from Gravehold's walls. So close. Yet so far. I picked up my head. Two arm spans away, the mare breathed heavily, otherwise motionless on her side. The emptiness clawed at me. I blinked rapidly, realizing that one of my yellow goggle lenses had shattered. I closed that eye.

The ghostly green ship barreled at me. Grunting, I pulled myself to my feet. Adrenaline and shock had carried me this far. Now they abandoned me. The tower with the flagpole lay just ahead. I lurched for it but staggered sideways. A retch escaped me, and I vomited on the cobbles. Heave, ho—We go. Heave high—we die. I drew the Hook, then let it drop on its gold tether. Swinging it in slow loops, I angled myself and stumbled toward the flagpole, jutting sideways from the third story. Hook whirled as the loop sped up.

The Undertide swelled as it sailed right at me, half-sunken into the street. I hissed, letting the spectral filament go. Hook looped up and over the flagpole. The sickle dropped past the other side. A crazed laugh racked me, and I carefully tugged the line until the curved blade caught the pole. The line snapped tight, and I rose. My lungs grated as I caught the flagpole with my free hand. With a moan of exertion, I pulled myself onto the pole.

I turned to the approaching ghost ship, and I smiled through a split lip. My left hand curled into a fist. Line's thread winked into existence, over half a mile long. The sickle launched from the stable roof and clattered onto the road. Sparks leaped off the blade as it dragged down the cobblestones. I dropped, my end of the thread looping over the flagpole. Even with Aerial Combatant, I hit the road hard and fell flat. Line picked up speed as my fall ripped it along. I forced myself to one knee.

With the flagpole acting as a pulley, a trajectory shaft shot off it. I watched it stretch away toward the keep. Not far enough. I pulled faster, and the trajectory path lengthened.

"C'mon!" I hissed. The sickle spat through the Undertide. The flagpole's elevated angle ripped it up. A roar escaped from deep in my chest as I jerked the line while reeling it in as hard as I could. I dropped all slack at once. It launched off the flagpole, arching like a cast line. I slumped, watching as the curved blade rose, then dropped toward the citadel's wall. A pit welled within me. The trajectory path told me the truth before the blade could fall. I was short. By feet.

The sickle streaked just shy of the crenellations. It dropped past the stone. My shoulders slumped. The street ignited with jade ghost light around me. Well, at least Corin would probably make it. Success. Even if I didn't live to see it. Line plummeted, and my hope dropped with it. Then the sickle locked in place, freezing in the air. And it started to drift up. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 00: 05: 02: 43: 11>>