Daybreak by Shae Ford Page A

better not be a single sick or starving man among his dogs — and if anything had happened to Anchorgloam , Alders had better set sail before their bow crossed the harbor.
    Lysander wouldn’t need much of a wind to catch him.
    “Perceval,” he muttered, scowling at the vessel ahead if them. The lead ship had slipped out of sight, gliding into the shelter of the dark horizon — a curtain that hung down from the edge of the night and hid everything beyond.
    The stars above him were shrouded. Still, Lysander watched for them out of habit. He couldn’t help but try to find some bearing written in the skies, some idea of where this all might be headed. But there was none.
    His hand slid from his belt loop and to the whittled hilt of his sword before falling limply to his side. He’d gone to turn away when a flash of something on the horizon turned him back.
    A flare of light, a golden orb that burst to life before it flickered and died. Lysander turned just as the last of the light faded, but it was enough to bring him back to the railing. He leaned out as far as he could, his gaze locked unblinkingly upon the darkness and his mouth sealed shut.
    Such a long moment passed that he nearly gave up his watch. It’d probably only been the flash of a storm, after all. The Valley and the northern forest still struggled against a long winter, and the storms that rose from this stretch of the seas were quiet and fierce.
    Lysander leaned back, his lips pursed amid his scruff.
    Then, quite suddenly, the light shone again.
    It was closer this time. He watched its fall: from a thin streak in the clouds to a burst upon the seas. Lysander’s hands froze to the railings. When the light came again, it illuminated the faintest shadow on the horizon — so small that it was difficult to distinguish its bow from its sails. But when the light faded, it didn’t matter how clear the ship had been.
    There was no mistaking that it was gone.
    “What in high tide was that, Captain?” Shamus called from the helm.
    Jonathan was already sprinting. He crashed in next to Lysander. White ringed the darks of his eyes as another bolt appeared. “Fire! It’s falling straight out of the clouds.”
    The next streak fell close enough that it illuminated the lines of shock on his face. Ahead of them, the ships had begun to turn. Lanterns flared to life all across their decks. The sailors’ cries were faint, but sharpened by panic. They worked the rigging and moved the sails as their helmsmen tried desperately to steer them towards the open sea.
    “Fire from the clouds? That can’t …” Shamus’s mouth parted into a wide O when a fresh bolt devoured one of the scrambling ships. “No time to wonder, I suppose. I’ll turn us west —”
    “No, east! We have to go east!” Lysander grabbed Jonathan by the back of his tunic and flung him for the stairs. “Wake the men. Shamus, work the lanterns. See if you can’t get the others to follow us.”
    “But Captain, east’ll send us on top of those rocks,” Shamus sputtered as Lysander reached him. “We’ll be wrecked!”
    “Better wrecked with a chance to swim than burned with no chance at all. We can’t hide on the seas. But if we can get close to land —”
    “The lads can make a run for it. Aye, Captain. Sorry, my beauty.” Shamus’s hand fell heavily on the wheel before he jogged for the lantern.
    The pirates woke to the resounding screech of Jonathan’s fiddle. It carried through the hammocked chambers and startled the sleep from their eyes. They poured out across the deck, tugging on bits of clothing as they went.  
    Lysander took the helm, barking a stream of orders as he spun them towards the rocky shores: “Down to your tunics and trousers, dogs — no cloaks, no coats, nothing that’ll drown you. Hang your blades across your shoulders and leave your arms free for swimming.”
    “What about the longboats, Captain?” one of them called.
    “No boats!”
    “But, Captain —”
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