Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Interlude + Chapter 24

"Brace!" Umaymah bint Hanthalah bellowed as she yanked the massive chain toward her. Grappled to the rail of the Roman ship, the chain quivered under the strain of Umaymah and her comrades.

But the Roman ship budged. Hauled toward them like a mount yanked by its reins.

Only with an impact far deadlier.

The Roman ship raced across the waves, and Umaymah flinched, crouching behind the rail as she relinquished chain in favor of sword and shield.

The ship smashed into theirs with a deafening crash that sent splinters flying off into the air and left Umaymah's head pounding as she almost lost her footing.

The chains also connected the once disorganized Muslim ships together, forming a far more cohesive network of floating, almost stationary, vessels. The newly formed makeshift formation lent the troops a much-needed morale boost as the awe-inspiring Roman fleet charged head first into them without any apparent battle strategy or anything resembling a proper battle formation.

The Roman arrogance, Father had called it. Believing themselves bigger and better than everyone else, blind to their own faults and the threats imposed by their enemies.

A fire kindled within Umaymah's heart as she clambered over the rail and onto the enemy ship. A fire spurring her forward to cut down all Romans that barred the path of the righteous faith. To hack any and all; to prove her might.

To make Father proud.

The crew of the Muslim ship descended upon the Romans under a now pitch-black sky, with only the crackling of torchlit masts offering them any sort of illumination.

Umaymah exchanged blows with one helmeted individual, hacking at his shield relentlessly with overwhelming vigor, her sword arm never tiring, her breathing never growing ragged as splinters flew off the wooden board.

"God is great!" she bellowed beneath helm and turban, pounding one last strike that shattered the wood of the shield, the blade snagging in the gaping dent.

With terrified eyes, the Roman shivered in his panic, taking a step backward. Umaymah capitalized on his hesitation, driving her shield forward with all her might, smacking him across the face with it as the iron boss connected with his nose, knocking him over the rail, sending him crashing to the bottom of the sea with a great splash.

Umaymah felt the splattered blood trickled down her face, renewing her vigor and strengthening her faith. She picked up a discarded blade and bellowed a wordless battle cry, daring any who believed in the cross to come forth and sing the sweet sword song with her.

Her bellow coincided with the return of the rumbling sky and heavy gales that hindered her advance, tugging at her cloth, pounding against her shield as diligently as any enemy.

A Roman advanced toward her, lunging. She caught the blow on her shield and gave as good as she had taken. As she parried another strike, she lifted her leg and slammed her foot against the side of her opponent's thigh.

There was a sharp crack followed shortly by a shrill cry as he fell to one useless knee and Umaymah finished him off.

Another fell to her sword on the day of the Masts. And another, and another.

The Romans made for poor sport.

But they came in overwhelming numbers all the same. They were without end. They outnumbered them with more than double their ships.