The first volley of soul-steel crossbow bolts whistled through the violet fog, trailing streaks of sickly green necro-fire.
“Down!” Ren shouted, lunging backward and throwing himself across the hand-cart to shield Mira with his body.
THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.
Three heavy iron bolts slammed into the barge’s oak mast, sinking six inches deep and bursting into plumes of freezing, ectoplasmic frost. The mast shuddered, its wood groaning under the moving impact.
Artificer Ren appeared at Ren’s flank, his hands gripping Ren’s shoulder with clockwork firmness. “Keep your torso lined up! Don’t twist the collar bone! The splints are holding, but another direct impact will displace the healing fracture!”
“I’m fine!” Ren gasped, rolling off the cart and rising into a crouch behind the iron gunwale.
Beside him, Mira was already kneeling calmly on the deck. She hadn’t panicked. Her iron shears were resting on her knee. Her left hand was busy passing a leather strap around the supply hampers to keep their thick parchment stocks from sliding into the river. Her quartz right arm pulsed with a steady, rhythmic glow. It hummed at a clean ringing tone that prevented the freezing necro-frost on the mast from spreading across the deck.
“They’re coming about for a boarding maneuver,” Mira observed, her voice steady and clear beneath the whistling of the bolts. “The port vessel is angling to foul our rudder.”
