"Come on! FASTER! FASTER!" Blake roared from the prow of his longship, voice like thunder over the crashing of oars. His throat burned with the force of it, but he did not care. He watched with bloodshot eyes as the second of his prized galleons strained against the current, its hulking bulk fighting against the treacherous flow of the Buush.
Ahead of him, bells screamed across Khairo's walls, tolling like mocking laughter. Each brazen note grated against Blake's skull, reminding him of his miscalculation.
He had believed the winds would favor them, that the river's current could be mastered by the strength of oars and the size of his ships. He had been wrong. Dead wrong.
Where is the fucking god's blessing when I need it?
