Knowing that the first-year students would be of no use in this situation, Aaralon called his strength to him. The use of magic for purely destructive purposes was forbidden in the school, with the exception of the battle mage college. Aaralon was not a battle mage, and although he knew the theory, had never before had the opportunity to use magic for real combat.
He shut his eyes and began chanting, feeling power gathering in his chest, stoking it with anger and arcane symbols drawn in the air. He could also feel the eyes of the crew turn to him, but paid them no mind. The power continued to build, until at last, Aaralon felt he could contain no more. He opened his eyes to direct his fury, and they alighted on a crew member of the opposing ship. He forced the built up pressure out of him and into his victim. The effect was instantaneous.
With a tortured howl, the figure burst into flame. Aaralon could see the man's eyes flowing out of his head like water and his flesh dripping from bones cooked to a clean pearl white. His hair flamed upward like a torch and his clothes smoldered before blasting into bright hues of red and orange that were reflected on the onyx waters of the lake.
The flaming corpse pitched forward off the deck and fell into the wind-whipped water with a muted splash. The catcalls and jeering of the crew of the approaching ship had fallen silent, and it was the turn of the crew of the Lady of the Mist to let out a ragged cheer.
"Not the small fry, lad! Get her!" the captain yelled from the stern, pointing at the foremost silhouette at the bow of the Red demon.
She was naked. Or so he thought at first, but as the ship drew near, he could see that she wore thin strips of thin, skin tight black leather, artfully wrapped around her breasts and womanhood, but otherwise revealing far more than they covered. Her figure was a silhouette to him, standing with no trace of light on her skin to make her features distinct.
Aaralon again began chanting, this time using the most powerful symbols he knew to muster a reserve of power that made his blood pound in his ears and his skin tingle with static charge. In a bold gesture, he pointed at the woman and let the magic free with a surge that rocked his body.
Nothing happened.
Aaralon fell to his knees, exhausted. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and the thrill of the power he had just wielded made his legs unsteady and his head pound. His eyes refocused and returned to the stern in time to see the lookout loose a shaft that whistled in a shallow arc between the ships and bury itself into a waiting crew member's abdomen. With a cry, the impaled man scrambled backwards on the ship deck, clutching at the protruding arrow shaft.
Stanton and Nora helped Aaralon to his feet, assisting him down into the hold to wait out the battle. As he closed the hatch, he saw another of the lookout's arrows narrowly miss the leather-clad woman and bury itself into the wood of the deck behind her.
Olive's eyes were wide and her lips trembled as she held Nora's hand.
"The captain will stop them, won't he?" Olive asked in a hushed voice, "They won't get us, will they?"
From the darkened quarters, the boarding played itself out quickly in a series of muffled sounds. First Aaralon could hear the heavy thuds of grapnel hooks and boarding gear falling across the deck, followed by heavy, frenzied footsteps and battle cries, indistinguishable from cries of agony. Then, after a brief period, all they could hear were the footsteps, and heavy splashes of water as bodies were dumped overboard. |