Page 9 of Of Steel and Scale

As they obeyed, I hauled myself up and away from the gunwale. More thumps on the deck. More blobs of brown. This time, they weren’t just melting through the deck, but dropping into the bilge. Dark water welled up through the emerging holes.

I swore and ran for one of the hand pumps; it took a few minutes to ease the stiff lever into a constant rhythm, but even as it ejected water swiftly over the side, I knew it was useless. The pumps were too slow, and the hold filling too fast.

We were going to sink.

“Rutgar!” I shouted. “We need to get to the shore!”

“Can’t,” he replied. “We’re in the middle of the Throat—the rocks will smash us to pieces.”

And if we stayed out here, the seas would do the same...

The thought had barely crossed my mind when a massive wave broke across the bow and the boat began to roll.

Rutgar immediately shouted more orders, and the ship began to turn. For an instant, I thought we were safe.

But the incoming wave was too big, and the boat too small.

It swept us up, then smashed us down, breaking the ship into multiple pieces and pushing us deep under the malevolent sea.

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For several seconds,there was nothing but fear, cold, and turbulence. It tossed me, turned me, even as it dragged me down.

I fought not to breathe, not to panic, but both were hard in a world that was so black and violent. When the only thing I could hear was the rapid pounding of my own heart. When the weight at my waist dragged me ever deeper...

The safety rope.

It was still attached to some part of the ship.

I reached down and tried to release the catch, but the heaviness of whatever lay on the other end of the rope made it impossible to undo. I unclipped my knife and, holding it tight in the turbulent water, tried to cut myself free. It took several attempts before I succeeded. Relief surged, but I was far from safe. I kicked toward a surface I couldn’t see, swimming desperately, hoping I was headed in the right direction, that I wasn’t going sideways or, Vahree forbid, even down. In this world of dark madness, anything was possible.

It was a madness that seemed endless.

My lungs burned, and my heart pounded so fiercely it felt ready to tear out of my chest. My limbs were ice and my clothes heavy, hampering progress. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, except reaching the surface.

I kept kicking, kept fighting, desperate to survive, to breathe.

Then, abruptly, I could.

I sucked in air, treading water as I spun around, looking for Rutgar and the others. All I saw was darkness, bits of boat, and mountainous white-capped waves.

I had no idea where I was. No idea how far the shore and safety might be.

A wave hit, pushing me back down again. It ripped at my cloak, dragging it sideways, almost choking me in the process. I quickly released it, then sheathed my knife, making sure it was secure before I released it. Maybe it was stupid to care so much about a weapon when I was on the verge of drowning, but it was a gift from my father and one I wasn’t about to relinquish—not unless there was absolutely no other choice. Not when I was about to lose everything else thanks to the damn marriage.

After tugging off my heavy gauntlets, I let them float away and kicked upward again. Another gasp for air; another useless turn. I shouted for Rutgar, but the words were torn away by the fierce winds. There was no response, no sign of anyone or anything. Nothing but dark violence all around me.

Túxn help me...

Given the goddess wasn’t likely to hear such a plea, let alone answer it, I had no choice but to try a closer source of help—the white-fins. I sucked in another breath then held out a hand, my fingers splayed as I opened the mental gates and reached for the oft-hunted marine mammals that called these waters home. Direct mind-to-mind communication wasn’t possible with all animals, only the larger ones whose intelligence was close to—or at the same level—as we humans.

For several minutes there was no response. The violent sea tossed me around, and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep my head above the water. I scanned the immediate area and pushed more force into my call. The “hearing” distance within water was far greater—and faster—than that of air, thanks to the density of it. If there was a school of white-fins anywhere close in these waters, they would hear me.

I only needed one to answer.

Just as hope began to fade, there was a brief, tantalizing brush of awareness. I pushed more force into my call and, a few seconds later, a large white dorsal fin briefly broke the surface a few yards ahead of me.

What need?

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