Page 159 of The Sea Witch
“The wall of stone again,” Alys bellowed. The spell sprang up, a moment before the marines discharged their weapons. Bullets slammed into the magical barrier. The wall shuddered from the force, glowing cracks forming in the barrier’s surface. Seconds later, the wall collapsed in a hail of sparks.
The cutter landed. Seamen leapt out to drag the boat onto the sand, and marines quickly alit to form ordered lines upon the beach. Their commander shouted orders. More of the armed men aimed their long guns.
Stasia slapped the sand, and it rolled up in a wave. It formed a thick berm five feet high, rising between Alys’s crew and the marines.
The armed men fired. Clouds of smoke billowed from the detonating gunpowder. The bullets whizzed, and then lodged in the ridge of sand.
The infantrymen wasted no time in affixing bayonets to their guns.
“Charge!” their commander shouted.
The marines attacked in regimented lines, coats bright red beneath the blue sky. The first line ran toward the berm, with over two dozen men behind them.
“I’ll heat the guns!” Thérèse yelled.
She aimed her magic toward the rifles’ metal fittings. The iron and brass began to smolder, dully at first, and then they glowed red.
Screaming, the first line of marines dropped their weapons. They fell back and shook out their hands as they tried to cool their singed skin.
A second line of armed men charged with their bayonet-topped rifles.
“Hit them with sand flies,” Alys shouted to her witches.
She and the others called forth black clouds of tiny but countless insects. The bugs swarmed around the marines, hazing their vision and stinging their skin. Crying out, swearing, the infantrymen swatted at the sand flies and shoved their faces into the crooks of their arms to avoid the insects’ assault.
Yet the third line of marines advanced. With them was the naval officer Alys had seen in the cutter. He gritted his teeth and ploughed ahead, leading the final group of marines. The first line of armed men picked up their now cooled weapons, and joined their comrades in a frontal attack.
Inés and Dayanna waited until some of the marines were close enough. Then the women fired their braces of pistols in quick succession. Three men fell. And still, more rushed at them. Dayanna and Inés drew their cutlasses and launched into counterattacks against the infantrymen’s bayonets.
Susannah and Thérèse raised their cutlasses. The metal blades glowed with magical energy. Both witches rushed toward the marines. Teeth bared, they fought against the men.
Facing off against two marines, Alys traded strikes and used a magical shield to block their blows. They pushed her up the beach with their attacks. She kept them at bay, and yet shecouldn’t get in a direct hit, always busy combating one of the men or the other without pause.
She kicked at the sand, and muttered a spell under her breath. The sand transformed into fire ants that landed on the men’s faces and arms. They howled as innumerable red insects mindlessly bit their flesh.
No sooner had they retreated than an officer, a burly man with a cruel smile, took their place.
“The Tanner bitch,” he sneered. He lunged with his cutlass.
“Tannerwitch,” she corrected, blocking his attack. “A bitch as well.”
He was even more trained than the marines, and it was all she could do to defend herself as his attacks rained relentlessly down on her.
“Alys, back!” Stasia shouted.
Alys leapt away as lightning shot from Stasia’s fingers.
The bolt of electricity glanced off the officer. It shot into the fringe trees at the edge of the beach, singeing leaves that sent curls of smoke into the sky.
With a smirk, the officer reached beneath the neck of his shirt. He pulled out a tiny metal octagon, suspended on a leather cord. Markings were stamped onto the metallic piece.
“Warne set me up, nice and proper.” The officer tucked the medallion back under this clothing.
“Hellfire,” Alys growled.
He attacked again. Alys parried his strike, but he kept on coming.
There were just too many of the marines. And no matter how Alys tried, she simply could not get the better of the officer. A venomous gleam shone in his eyes as he fought. Nothing, it seemed, gave him greater pleasure than fighting her.
