Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 21

"Hanthalah!" the Nubian cried.

I spun to find his arm outstretched, pointing toward the sea. I followed his finger and found...a docked ship?

I stole one last glance behind me, looking over the dark figures that were still giving chase. They would be here with daggers as cold as their hearts at any moment.

"Aboard!" I bellowed at any who could hear me. "Aboard!"

I waded in the knee-high water, hastening toward the single ship that blessedly remained ashore. I clung to the rail, hauling myself on board, sinking in a heap of splattered clothing and torn chainmail on the wooden planks.

My head darted all around the ship, surprised to see the familiar faces that greeted me, concerned over the state of me.

My boys. A few I had left behind with the ships. The crew of this one.

"Oh, thank the gods!" I exclaimed, sobbing quietly to myself, more of my fleeing troops clambering aboard.

"Careful there," a warm voice rasped. "You're getting my deck wet."

I looked up to find kindly quartermaster Abu Musa. The man who had been a Roman Syrian admiral, the man in charge of my flagship.

"Abu Musa!" I cried out with glee. I found my feet and threw my arms around the massive man's shoulders, sobbing as though a child in his mother's arms. "You stayed. You stayed."

The quartermaster did not return the hug. "Your bastard of a half-brother told me to tag along. I told him we had clear orders to remain at our posts. Absolute madman, I tell ya. You would have done better to leave me in charge of the fellows. But, err, of course you wouldn't. Not with this."

He hefted the heavy silver chain at his neck that ended in a large cross.

"You're right," I sniffled. "It was a mistake to put that bastard in charge of anything at all."

Abu Musa met my eyes for a brief moment before toying with his silver cross. Finally, he nodded toward the retreating ships. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

My eyes shifted from Abu Musa to the stolen fleet and back again.

Finally, I grinned.

***

"Quicker, Abu Musa, quicker," I prodded my quartermaster.

"Come on, lads," he roared at the rowers. "Put some vigor into it. Just a little bit more, boys, just a little more!"

The shores of Crete were distant both in memory and in reality, as the wind lapped at our cheeks and sent my hair billowing behind me. Water foamed white as the rowers' oars sliced through the surface, gaining on the fleeing ships.

My ships.

"How much longer?" I asked my quartermaster. I wanted to get within earshot of the vessels.

"You're lucky the winds are strong," he grunted. "And the current is with us."

Finally, something is with me this miserable day, I thought, cursing the gods again. I touched the stick at my neck and whispered a prayer. I wondered where Amina was. I had not seen her since the assassins struck.

I shivered, remembering tales from my childhood of the djinn that dwelled rivers and seas.

"The marid species," old man Qusayy, who had been as a father to me, once said. "They are the most arrogant of the djinn. And the waters are their abode. These cold and calculating beings can grant you any number of wishes. So long as you use flattery or magic to summon them. But all is at a price, of course."