Page 51 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

matted locks. A tattoo of a thorny vine encircled each monk’s neck.

“Do they recruit only from the ranks of giants?” Stasia whispered. “The size of them.”

The monks were indeed massive, over a foot taller than any of her crew, with wide shoulders. All of them were gathered around

the largest cannon Alys had ever seen. Runes covered its barrel—which pointed at the Sea Witch . Cannonballs were arranged beside the gun, along with stacks of powder kegs.

A monk loaded a glowing magic-charged cannonball into the artillery. He hefted the heavy projectile as easily as she might

hold a pebble.

With dark sorcery imbuing the weapon, her ship would never survive being hit.

Alys and her crew dipped their hands into pouches hanging from their belts. They threw forged iron nails at the Redthorns.

At the same time, Thérèse flung a spell as they flew through the air, transforming them into angry gleaming hornets made of

magical energy. Buzzing, they surrounded the monks, attacking the men.

The Redthorns didn’t swat at the insects, didn’t curse, even as the hornets drew blood. Instead, the men turned, facing Alys

and her crew.

The monks rushed inside as they attacked. They snapped their fingers and maces flew from the wall into their hands.

Susannah used gusts of wind to swoop overhead, her cutlass slashing as she darted through the air. Yet the ceiling and its

beams hampered her movements and kept her too close to the bald monk’s swinging mace. Tables were scattered throughout the

chamber, and Thérèse cast a spell to pull metal bolts from them. She flung the bolts at an advancing monk, this one with gray

mixed in with the black of his hair. Yet when the bolts pierced him, he simply pried the metal from his body and tossed them

aside. Stasia used her magic to flip two of the tables onto their ends. The tables screeched toward the Redthorns, forming

a protective barrier between them and the crew.

Relentless, the monks pressed forward. But two Redthorns lumbered out onto the balcony to aim the cannon at the Sea Witch .

Alys spotted tables with laboratory equipment, and on them, glass flasks with multicolored liquids and tubes of potions and

powders. She lunged toward the vials. A monk, younger than the others but still massive and menacing, blocked her path.

Susannah swooped down from above. She picked up three vials and threw them at the foot of the cannon.

Dashing out from behind an upright table, Stasia summoned a lightning strike. It hit the compound at the base of the gun and ignited a powder keg.

A deafening explosion shook the room and rocked Alys back on her heels.

The section of balcony shattered into chunks of stone. One of the Redthorns was sprawled on the balcony, missing half his

head.

The other monk still stood. But his right arm was gone. He turned and lumbered toward the remaining powder kegs, tracking

streaks of his blood across the stone.

Head buzzing from the deafening explosion, Alys swayed on her feet. She backed into metal bars. Spinning around, she faced

a cage, a fox inside staring at her with haunted eyes. More cages filled this section of the chamber, each containing different

animals. Hawks and sparrows, monkeys, wolves, rabbits, even deer. They were missing patches of feathers and fur. The animals

all regarded Alys warily, as if anticipating terrible harm. Farther behind the cages were tables the width and length of a

human, with leather straps where a person’s wrists and ankles would rest.

Four Redthorns charged into the chamber, maces at the ready.

Alys needed to distract them. She raced along the rows of cages and Stasia joined her. Together, they quickly undid the locks,

one after the other, and the cages’ doors all swung open. For a moment, the animals within them remained where they were,

too stunned to move.

“Flee,” Alys cried to the creatures. “You’re free now.”

The creatures burst from their confinement. Hawks shrieked and wolves howled as the air was filled with fur and feathers.

But the chaos of the animals’ flight stymied the monks’ efforts to attack. Soon, the cages were empty, the animals all gone,

leaving everyone to face the Redthorns with nothing to curtail the monks’ assault.

Alys sprinted from the laboratory into the last section of the long chamber. Tall shelves filled with books lined the walls, and more books were piled upon tables used for studying.

The four Redthorns charged, brandishing their maces. Stasia used her magic to flip two more tables onto their sides. She maneuvered

them with the wood groaning across the floor, protecting them from the Redthorns’ maces.

A small book lay open on the floor. On the pages were illustrations of something that looked very familiar.

Ben’s markings. This tome contained diagrams of the markings on Ben’s skin. And this time, the language of the text was one

she recognized. She couldn’t read it, but someone on her ship would be able to.

She snatched the book up.

Alys peered past the monks blocking the tall doors. The Sea Witch continued to sail through the strait. The monk with salt-and-pepper hair joined the mangled Redthorn at the cannon, and they

began to prepare it for firing. The ship was still within range.

“We have to get to the gun,” she shouted to her crew.

The blond monk leapt, but instead of jumping toward Alys and her crew, he sprang up. Susannah dove out of his way as the Redthorn

attached himself to the ceiling. Like an insect, the monk scuttled across the beams. The tables Stasia had used as a defensive

wall were useless.

In a moment, the blond monk would be right over their heads. They had no means of holding him back, and no way of reaching

the cannon.

A bird of prey’s screech sounded, and a falcon soared through the open doors. Still in midair, a glow surrounded it, then

it transformed.

Into Luca Pasquale.

The mage smashed his body into the Redthorn on the ceiling. They dropped to the ground, landing on their feet in the midst of the library as the monk’s mace spun away from his hand.

Pasquale had changed his grimy clothing for an elaborately ornamented black coat, black braid and jet buttons decorating nearly

every available surface. His shirt was spotless, with lace at the cuffs and throat. His dark hair, now clean, brushed his

shoulders, and he’d trimmed his wild facial hair into a neat beard that framed a smiling mouth.

“My thanks for coming to our aid,” Alys said.

“My thanks to you .” The mage stepped toward her. “Been waiting for you to attack these bastardos and distract them.”

“How’d you know we’d be here?”

“Following you is an easy thing from the air. And there was but one way for you to come, after that lovely skirmish with the

navy.” He plucked the book from her hand.

“I need that!” Alys growled.

“I need it more,” Pasquale answered.

The broad monk moved forward to attack.

Pasquale gripped the wide Redthorn by his neck. As he clutched the monk, his hand transformed into massive talons. The mage

snarled as he dug his claws into the monk’s flesh.

The monk scrabbled at the lace encircling Pasquale’s throat, uncovering the mage’s skin. Encircling Pasquale’s neck was a

tattoo of a thorny vine.

Yet the monk’s attempts to grab him did nothing to stop Pasquale from tightening his talons.

Alys had seen her share of bloody, gruesome combat, from beheadings to limbs being hacked off, but even she winced at the

scream and then gurgle as Pasquale’s talons ripped out the Redthorn’s throat.

Pasquale’s eyes blazed, his jaw locked tight. He watched the Redthorn fall to the ground, then kicked the body away with one

gleaming boot. His talons transformed back into a human hand, now covered in blood.

Beyond, the Sea Witch continued its navigation of the strait. The monks manning the gun loaded it with a glowing cannon ball. There was no time

left.

“Bring it down,” she said lowly to her crew, glancing toward the stone that made up the back wall of the chamber.

She and the other witches rushed past the mage.

“Take wing, Pasquale,” Stasia snapped at him.

As they ran, Alys and her crew shot hurling spells at the stone wall. The entire monastery shook violently. Rumbling filled

the air as massive cracks spread through the rocks. Stones and boulders, freed from the interior of the mountain, rolled in

a slide through the chamber. The two Redthorns in the library tried to lunge for Alys and her crew, but were quickly pinned

to the ground by falling rocks. Dust from the walls formed thick clouds to obscure their writhing forms.

The chaos seemed to wake Pasquale. He transformed once again into a falcon and flew out the closest door, the book in his

talons.

“Fuck,” Alys growled. The likelihood of ever seeing that book again, and the answers it contained, was nil.

Alys and her crew dove out the doors to the balcony just as the roof buckled and the rock wall caved in. More stones poured

through the doors onto the balcony, sweeping into the cannon and the two Redthorns beside it. The balcony itself shuddered

as it collapsed.

There was only one way to get out alive.

Alys and the witches jumped into open air. Immediately, they fell. The cliffside whizzed past and the strait raced toward

them as they plummeted.

Susannah flung out her hands. Wind gathered, swirling around the crew. It gained strength from moment to moment, until they

all spun and rolled upon wild eddies of air, buoying them up just enough to keep from complete freefall.

The Sea Witch grew closer and closer. And then, Alys and her crew landed on the deck, rolling in a dizzy jumble. They had made it through

the strait. Her crew greeted their arrival with cheers.

A pair of sharp resounding bangs reverberated across the wooden planks, splintering the cheering into stunned silence. From

her sprawl on the deck, Alys lifted up to find herself staring up at the two remaining Redthorns. They were covered in dust

and blood.

The sons of bitches had survived the collapse of the monastery’s roof, and had flown down to the ship.

Over a dozen witches massed around one of the monks. Snarling, he swung his mace. The crew remained just out of striking distance,

and began attacking him in waves. Nets of magic held him in place. Some witches thrust with spells of lightning or ice. Others,

led by Inés, slashed with their cutlasses. Each hit struck deeper into the monk.

The remaining Redthorn stood in front of Alys. His black and gold eyes were maddened with fury, his mouth twisted.

Raising his mace, the monk readied himself to smash the weapon down on her. Alys lifted her cutlass and gathered her last

scraps of magic to shield herself.

The metallic sheen of a cutlass’s blade emerged from the center of his chest. Stunned, the Redthorn stared down. Blood welled,

darkening his robes. The blade retreated.

The monk turned to face whoever had possessed the audacity to stab him.

Ben stood with a crimson-streaked cutlass in his hand. His face was tight with determined rage. His shirt was open, revealing

the intricate markings coursing down his chest, up his arms, and covering the backs of his hands.

“You...” the Redthorn gasped in a gravelly voice. Recognition glinted in his eyes. “The first.”

“What?” Ben frowned. “First what ?”

The monk shook his head, and moved back toward Alys, raising his mace once again.

Ben darted in front of Alys, sword outstretched. But the Redthorn ignored him and made a staggering attack at Alys. Before

the blow could come down, Ben thrust his cutlass into the hollow of the Redthorn’s throat. The monk dropped his mace and clawed

at his neck. When Ben withdrew his blade, a river of blood poured forth. The Redthorn gurgled and gasped, looking at Ben with

confusion. Then he fell with a hard thud.

The other monk also lay dead upon the deck.

Ben’s chest heaved with the force of his breath, his legs bracing wide upon the deck. The fury left his face, replaced by

shock.

She took a step toward him.

The ship rocked, jolted from a sudden impact.

“A creature,” Cora cried. She stood at the gunwale and pointed into the waves.

Alys, Ben, and the rest of the company raced to the railings. A massive beast with red scales and two long curving tusks swam

beside the ship. It had the head of a boar, with long pointed spines sticking up along its back. Whatever it was, she’d never

seen its kind before.

It kept ramming against the Sea Witch .

“Is it with the navy?” Polly demanded.

“Don’t see any naval ships nearby,” Susannah answered. “The beast’s acting of its own will.”

“I cannot hold it back,” Stasia said as her hands moved through the air, purple light cascading from her fingers.

Alys turned to her crew. “Feed it the Redthorns.”

The company swarmed around the dead monks. As one, they hefted the bodies up, carried them to the railing, and heaved the

monks’ remains overboard.

The bodies splashed next to where the creature butted its head against the hull. It wheeled in the water and dove for the corpses, leaving the Sea Witch in peace.

Moving away from the railing, Alys strode to Ben. He stood still as she unlocked his manacles. He didn’t react when his bindings

clattered to the deck.

“I’ve never...” His eyes were wide.

“First time you’ve killed anyone.”

He nodded.

“I wish it didn’t get easier,” she said.