The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(94)

Elka looked at me and, with a sharp nod, the two of us took a run at the railing as our ship crested another wave and dove high and long through the air. The shock of the cold water hit me like a giant fist, driving the breath from my body, as a gray wave closed over my head. Beneath the surface, it seemed almost calm for a moment. With my eyes open, I could see the dark shape of the barge. And I could see that it was breaking apart. Sinking . . .

Elka was just off to my right, and the two of us swam for all we were worth. I couldn’t see Kallista or Selene. By the time I reached the side of the barge, my arms and legs were like lead from the drag of the water and my skin felt raw from the lashing of the wind-driven rain. The side of the barge had sunk so low that it was easy enough to pull myself up on deck. I hauled myself to my feet on the slick planks and saw Kallista struggling to do the same. Staggering over, I grabbed her hand and pulled her up. Elka and Selene were already working on sawing through two of the tether ropes, ducking and dancing on the sea-slick deck to stay clear of flailing hooves.

“Fallon!” Cai hollered. “What in Hades are you doing here?”

“Helping you rescue my presents from the queen of Aegypt!” I hollered back.

“Your ‘presents’ aren’t making it easy!”

The horse he was trying to cut free kept snapping at him. I glanced around the deck and saw a stack of empty feed bags that somehow hadn’t been washed overboard. I threw him one.

“Put that over his head—cover his eyes—it’ll calm him down . . .”

As much as anything could be calm in that chaos.

I worked my way down the line of picketed horses, thrusting the feed bags into the hands of Quint and Elka, the two barge boys, and Kallista and Selene with similar instructions. Then I got to work on the rope of the horse at the end of the line, just as the waves began to wash over the deck stern to bow, swirling up to my knees. As the last strand of rope parted beneath my blade, I felt my stomach float up toward my chest, and the barge sank completely beneath the surface, a sea monster sinking gracefully back down to its watery bed.

I expected to sink too. Sink and drown. But my momentary surge of panic vanished as the horse I’d freed suddenly began to swim—as if it had been born from the ocean depths and not the sands of the Aegyptian deserts. Strong, graceful legs churning, the creature lifted his head, and I reached over to pull the feed bag away. Then I threw my leg over his back and hung on, riding him all the way to shore. For a brief, giddy moment, I couldn’t help but think back to the very first bath I’d had back in Rome and the elaborate murals painted on the ceiling of the bathhouse. Scenes of frolicking sea nymphs and demigods riding the cresting waves on the backs of fish-tailed horses . . .

I wiped the water from my eyes and looked to see a whole line of us—eight sea-horses all with riders—borne toward the beaches beneath the towering cliffs of home.

As swiftly as it had descended, the storm moved on, lessening dramatically even before we reached land. The thunderheads swept past, racing east to vent their fury on others, leaving behind sweeps of silvery waves and pale streaks of sunlight filtering down through left-behind clouds. In the wake of the diminishing thunder, the sea was still high and the waves curled in rolling breakers that crashed on the beach, like galloping lines of white horses, suddenly made flesh and blood as we reached the beach and the chariot horses cantered up through the surf and onto the sand. They snorted and shook out manes and tails ribboned with seaweed, pawing at the ground as if to reassure themselves that they were on solid footing again.

My fingers were numb with cold, and I had to struggle to unclench them from gripping my horse’s mane so I could slide off his back. Once I did, I found that my legs didn’t really work either, and I collapsed in a heap on the damp, shushing sands. That was the state Cai found me in. He staggered over, deathly cold, lips pale, and limbs shivering, but alive. Gloriously, giddily alive. He sank to his knees in front of me and flopped an arm around my neck.

I reached up and ruffled his short, sopping wet hair, grinning at him. “You’re just lucky you were right about horses from the desert knowing how to swim,” I said.

Then I threw my arms around him and we huddled there in the swirling surf, in the lee of the towering white cliffs, clinging to each other. The sun’s rays poured down through the remnants of clouds, illuminating a world washed and gleaming, made pristine by the wind and the rain. The waves rolled gently to shore beneath the soaring cliffs that shone in the sunlight.

“Will you two stop nuzzling each other and come on?” Elka called finally. “We still have a battle to fight!”

I looked over to see her standing with one arm wrapped around Quint’s waist. Kallista and Selene and the barge lads were gathering the horses together. I turned back to look out to sea and saw the galley heading east, toward the harbor at the mouth of the River Dwr. I could barely make out the tiny figures at the railing waving at us. I waved back, and we started to walk.

We trekked along the beach beneath the cliffs until we made it to the port village at the mouth of the River Dwr—our original intended destination—and met back up with the galley captain so we could return his barge lads to him and pick up the rest of our friends and our gear. Along the beach I only saw two or three long wooden planks, torn from the hull of the sunken barge, that lay washed up on shore, nudged gently by the surf. That was all. It was as if the sea had devoured the thing whole.