Fifty feet behind the vessel and slightly to port, a scaled triangular head shot to the surface. Dion immediately drew the bowstring to his cheek and sighted along the shaft, aiming for the soft skin between its jaw and the frill behind its neck. Releasing the arrow, he grabbed another from his quiver and loosed again.
The first arrow tore into the silver flesh just behind the frill but didn’t sink deep. The second bounced off its skull.
More arrows filled the air a moment later as half a dozen archers fired together. The serpent plunged back into the water, thrashing its huge paddled tail in agitation.
‘Turn us around!’ Roxana roared.
Executing the turn at practice was one thing, but to be traveling so fast and then have half the oarsmen back while the other half continued to push forward made the vessel groan like a wounded beast. The Anoraxis heeled to the side and anything loose rolled across the deck.
The mast creaked alarmingly and Dion ran to the ropes holding the top of the sail to the upper beam. He knew the risk of the ship turning so hard while on sail: if he didn’t act quickly the mast could snap. He unhitched one line after another, careful of his hands as the whistling rope shot away once it was unfastened.
‘Get that sail down!’
Sailors ran to take over and with most of the work done he left them to it, earning a quick grateful nod from the stocky captain. He now ran to the bow as the chase began in earnest.
‘Ramming speed!’ Roxana cried.
With the turn complete, the drum increased to a beat so fast that Dion wondered how any oarsman could keep up with it. He heard a whip crack below and winced: a slave had just lost part of his skin.
‘Where is it? Come on, men. Talk to me!’ Roxana bellowed.
‘Dead ahead, cap’n!’ a sailor shouted.
The oars tossed the sea into white foam, leaving surging swirls in their wake. The marine infantry hefted their spears. Archers waited with arrows nocked.
The serpent shot out of the water ahead, nearly leaping in its haste, flying forward as its head again submerged.
‘Two hundred paces!’ Dion called back.
‘Sail back on!’ Roxana shouted.
He turned in surprise. It was a bold move, for the extra speed the sail gave them would come with a risk if they needed to turn at short notice.
He heard a snap as the sail once more climbed the mast. With the vessel at ramming speed, the bireme flew over the water, her prow carving the waves like a knife.
‘One hundred paces!’ Dion cried as the serpent reared out of the water, sending a cloud of spray into the air behind it as the thick reptilian monster plunged back into the sea.
Roxana ran to the bow and then back to the stern to give orders to the helmsman. The Anoraxis turned slightly to bring them into a direct line with the wide body of their quarry.
The head came up at seventy paces and Dion pulled his bowstring to his ear. He again aimed behind its jaw, and his experience on boats came to the fore as he calmly rode the motion of the vessel beneath him. It was a difficult shot, at the limit of his ability.
He released and watched as the string thrummed. Someone nearby cheered, and he felt a sudden surge of pride as the arrow struck home.
The serpent shivered and its entire body came to the surface and into the path of the warship. The head turned and wild eyes glared back at them.
A heartbeat later the sharp bronze ram of the Anoraxis met the creature’s silver scales behind its head, the sea frothing into blood as it struck. Dion saw the wildran’s body floating on the surface of the water as they passed. The bronze ram had almost completely severed its triangular head from its body.
Roxana came to the bow to join him.
‘Well done,’ she said. She clapped him on the back and grinned.
31
Chloe and Tomarys were once more in the bazaar, but this time she’d asked her bodyguard to take her directly to the hidden section at the rear. They passed droves of beggars, and numerous cloth sellers trying to attract them with rolled lengths of yellow silk. But it was earlier in the day than their last visit, and the crowds were comparatively thin.
The going was made even easier by the imposing man who walked at Chloe’s side. Tomarys still wore his leather vest and brown trousers; she had seen him in nothing else. Despite his towering height he walked with athletic grace. Even though he was unarmed, many people who would have intimidated or pestered Chloe drew back when they saw the man with her, averting their eyes and walking away.
‘Chloe . . .’ Tomarys said. It was the first time she had heard him use her name. ‘Now that we are away from the palace . . . I must thank you. For what you did for my brother.’