It had been a couple of days since Eujal was thrown into the hellish belly of the Zhardokhan warship, but his body had already begun to scream. His lungs felt like they had weakened considerably, with every breath barely yielding enough oxygen to supply his burning muscles.
He needed sleep, so much so that he would feel himself dozing off mid-row, only to feel the painful crack of the whip against his back. Only after what felt like an eternity would the slave masters allow for them to rest, and they would have to do it while sitting up. After all, there wasn't even any space to lie down and rest. This brief rest period would only last a few minutes before the whips would begin to crack again.
Based on the sunlight pouring in through the small gaps in the oar windows, Eujal could tell that it was day time, perhaps high noon. Unfortunately for him, the combination of the heat from outside mixed in with the sweat driven humidity of the inside turned the lower deck into a stifling oven.
I don't think I can endure this for much longer, Eujal thought to himself as he pressed against the oar as hard as he could.
Each row was becoming much harder and he struggled to even lift his arms. Instead, he was throwing his torso against the oar and grabbing it between his bicep and his rib cage.
Damn it, my arms feel like lead!
A constant tremor had taken root deep in his shoulders. He saw the man next to him falter for a split second, his head drooping to the side before a sharp crack from the walkway behind them made him jerk upright. Fear momentarily overwhelmed his exhaustion.
Just keep pulling, Eujal thought dully. Pull. Dip. Pull.
He hadn't realized it, partly due to his sheer exhaustion and the chaos within the thudding beat of the Horator, but he really missed the smell of fish.
Suddenly, the Horator's voice ripped through the atmosphere.
"FASTER!" He yelled, his voice sounding awfully urgent. "ROW! ROW LIKE YOUR WORTHLESS LIVES DEPEND ON IT!"
Immediately, the thump-thump-thump of the Horator's mallet against the wooden block accelerated, becoming a frantic, demanding blur of sound. The whips began cracking down with a sudden high frequency that caused the slaves to go into a panic. Eujal, eager to not be struck by the whip, began slamming his weight against the oar in order to move it. His arms felt useless. His muscles screamed, lactic acid burning like fire.
The slaves strained against the oars, muscles screaming in protest as the Horator's commands grew more desperate. The drumbeat sped up in a manner that left no room for weakness.
"Fuck, I can't..." gasped the man beside Eujal, his face pale as chalk. Before Eujal could react, the man's eyes rolled back and he slumped forward like a sack of grain. The shift in weight yanked Eujal sideways, making him bite back a howl as his shoulders flared with burning pain.
"Get up, you worthless dog!" A whip cracked across the man's back, cutting fresh lines through old scars. The slave didn't stir. Around the galley, men were dropping like flies, bodies finally giving out after days of hell.
Eujal's vision swam, darkness creeping in from the edges. His tongue felt like sandpaper against cracked lips. Each breath burned his lungs, the rancid smell of urine, human fieces, and sweat making his stomach hurl.
"PULL, DAMN YOU! PULL OR DIE WHERE YOU SIT!" The Horator's face was twisted with rage and something else—real fear.
Then it happened—the ship slammed into something solid with a gut-wrenching crunch. The impact sent Eujal flying face-first into the sweat-soaked back of the rower ahead. His nose exploded in pain, hot blood streaming down his chin and spattering the bench below. Chaos erupted as slaves tumbled from their seats, chains tangling as they crashed into each other. Screams and curses filled the air while the ship groaned and listed hard to one side.
Through the pain and confusion came a new sound—thin whistling followed by dull thuds on the deck above. One, then three, then dozens in quick succession.
"Arrows," muttered a grizzled slave nearby, his eyes wide. "We're under attack."
The Horator's face drained of color. He barked at the slave masters, "Keep these animals in line! Anyone moves, gut them!" He yanked out his sword and took the ladder two rungs at a time.
The noise above intensified—feet pounding across wooden planks, men shouting, and the unmistakable clash of steel on steel. Eujal swiped blood from his throbbing nose and hauled himself toward one of the narrow oar slots.
What he saw made his heart sink. They'd crashed onto a rocky shore, and armed men in chainmail were swarming down from the hills, weapons glinting in the harsh sunlight.
"Shit," Eujal muttered. "We're fucked."
The Horator scrambled back down, bringing warriors who carried crates of crude wooden clubs.
"Unchain them!" he ordered. "Every slave fights today!"
The slave masters rushed through the rows, fumbling with their keys as they unlocked the rusty iron shackles. When Eujal's cuffs fell away, he almost cried at the sensation. His wrists were raw meat, bloody and swollen uncomfortably in an ugly color.
"MOVE YOUR ASSES! UP! NOW!" The Horator kicked and shoved men toward the ladders. He didn't show mercy for their weakened state.
They were practically dragged onto the main deck, where Eujal's stomach churned at the sight of the bloody carnage. Dead bodies seemed to be everywhere, blood pooling between deck planks. Men were locked in combat, their blades flashing in the sun as they parried one another.
Beyond the ship, the beach was hell on earth. Six or seven more Zhardokhan warships had run aground, warriors pouring off them to engage the defenders. The Zhardokhan fighters outnumbered their enemies, but the chainmail-clad soldiers fought back ferociously. They seemed to be the more adept fighters anyway.
Eujal spotted the bearded bastard who'd enslaved him, now a demon on the battlefield. His curved blade opened throats and bellies with sickening ease, his beard flecked with other men's blood.
He's strong, Eujal remarked as he stared blankly ahead. He felt so numb that he didn't even register the adrenaline rushing through his veins.
"Off the ship! Down the ladders!" A club was thrust into Eujal's hands, the rough wood digging into his blistered palms. "Fight or die where you stand!"
His legs barely holding him, Eujal stumbled down a rope ladder to the rocky beach. His feet had just touched ground when an arrow whizzed past, missing his ear by inches.
Looking up, he saw archers lined along the walls of a massive stone fortress. Arrows rained down like deadly hail, cutting down Zhardokhan and slaves without distinction. Some arrows even hit the chainmail warriors.
A soldier charged him, sword raised for a killing blow. Running on nothing but beast instinct, Eujal swung his club. The impact jarred his arms to the shoulders, but he successfully parried the blow by slamming the club into the flat of the sword. Before the soldier could go for another killing blow, he was swiftly beheaded by the bearded bastard, who had jumped down from the ship and right onto his chainmail-covered body.
Eujal watched the soldier's head roll onto the ground, staining the pebbles a deep crimson. An uncomfortable feeling welling in his stomach until finally...he threw up.