But this shit was real. This was the end.
The next few minutes would tell the tale. If something didn’t goddamn happen inside the next thirty seconds to change the luck of the Lion and its crew, then the game was over forever.
He felt a calm take hold. It had to come sometime. It came for all. If that meant he was going out old-school, then so be it. There were worse ways to get wasted, and he’d seen most of them.
Caroline was his only regret. Knowing it was her choice to be here didn’t make it better. Knowing that they’d both been right here in the balance once before in a valley in Nevada didn’t make it hurt less. Knowing that she knew the risks and had no illusions and wanted to be here with him no matter what their fate filled him with pride and regret in equal parts.
“Fuck it,” he growled and drove the point of his blade into the exposed throat of a black-bearded son of a bitch. The man bit the end off, his own tongue as he vomited blood over Dwayne’s sword arm. Dwayne pulled the blade out and swung his arm aside to drive the heavy hilt into a spearman’s skull, caving the man’s temple in. A curved blade skidded off his raised shield striking sparks from the iron boss. The men either side of him gave way another stride. A sailor with an iron club, one of the guys who helped him aboard the Lion that first day, slumped against him lifeless. Dwayne had to let him fall, stepping over his body to retreat one more step.
His bare leg touched a scorching heat. Dwayne looked back to see they were massed about the brick brazier now. The boys tasked with cauterizing wounds stood by the furnace, holding the glowing brands in their hands, and staring like lost sheep as the fight encircled them.
Dwayne plucked the helmet from Xin’s head. The man protested before turning back to the fight. The Ranger brushed the boys away and shoveled the helmet into the open mouth of the furnace to bring up a scoopful of glowing embers. He held the helmet by the chinstrap like a bucket. The heat singed the hair from his hand and arm. He ignored it. Dwayne snatched one of the iron brands from a startled boy.
Swinging the brand in one fist and the smoking helmet in the other, Dwayne broke through his own shield wall to brain a Carthaginian spearman. The man stumbled back lifeless, making a depression in the line as his weight dragged down shields and spears.
Without pause, the Ranger widened the hole he’d made with a backhand to an armored soldier. He could feel the man’s ribs snap; the resonance of the blow climbed the shaft of the iron brand. Shouts rose behind him, but he did not turn. He stabbed out and plunged the searing point of the brand deep into another soldier’s open mouth. A bubbling shriek rose from the man and he tumbled to the boards, rolling into the legs of his brothers and howling madly.
Dwayne pounded a path through the massed boarders with the brand and the helmet serving as red hot flails. The boarders fell back before him, gnashing teeth and moaning in fear. He was in their ranks like a barb, and there was no room for them to bring their spears to bear against him.
A bull of a man, in shining plate armor and a helmet crested with boar’s hair, broke through the press of bodies. He swung a heavy long-bladed sword at Dwayne with both hands. Dwayne swept the blow aside with the smoking helmet spraying embers. The boarders reared away in terror. The Ranger swung the brand low, sweeping the swordsmen’s legs from under him. Continuing forward, Dwayne stepped up on the man’s chest plates and hurled the helmet airborne in a looping overhand throw.
His throw failed to reach the deck of the Carthaginian ship. The helmet clattered against the hull spilling coals. It fell between the lines slung by the boarders to fall to the water with a hiss. The damp wood of the hull smoldered momentarily but would not catch.
The Carthaginians recovered from their initial shock and lunged toward him with feral grins. Armed only with the cooling iron he flailed about him, hammering at helmed and bare heads with a howl of fury. An explosion of sound behind him answered his roar.
Ahinadab was at the head of a mob rushing forward from the mast. Dwayne looked at the desperate faces and recognized some as rowers he’d seen below. The captain brought the full complement from the lower decks in one last counterattack to clear the decks of boarders. Xin was among them as well as Yada and the rowing boss. Yada swung a spar tipped with an iron gaffe. The barrel-chested helmsman shrieked like a madman and threw the spar to Dwayne.
Dwayne caught the spar and spun it wide to bowl over the closest boarders. The captain and his crew were into the fight. The rowers were ferocious. Delirious from exhaustion and shouting berserker cries they smashed onto the crowded prow deck swinging chains, clubs, hammers, and fists.
The swarming deck was lit by a sudden overhead light, and then another. Dwayne looked above to see a crimson glow with tails of flame arcing above, with a second and a third following the same course. They were helmets filled with hot coals. They soared high over the Lion’s prow to land on the tilted deck of the Carthaginian vessel in a shower of light. Another landed in the folds of the sail hovering lank in its spars above them.
A dozen hands had taken up Dwayne’s example. But they had tied lengths of rope to the helmet
