Dion couldn’t believe he was actually part of the crew of an Ilean warship. No amount of examining a beached bireme, or even a vessel under construction, could have given him the level of knowledge he was accumulating by sailing on one. The warship’s name was the Anoraxis, and it was a thing of beauty.

Dion and the other marines that formed the complement of soldiers under Captain Roxana generally remained above decks, but he was free to roam wherever he wished, and had already explored the vessel from top to bottom. He had inspected the twin tiers of rowing benches and assessed the length of the oars. After speaking with the master of the drum he had learned about the various tempos, from the slow rate used to bring the warship into safe harbor to the galloping rhythm used only when employing the sharpened bronze ram.

The big main sail that hung from upper and lower crossbeams fastened to the mast supplemented the power provided by over a hundred oarsmen. Halfway along the upper deck, the mast plunged through the two lower levels all the way to the vessel’s hull. But where a sailing boat of this size would have had a deep keel, the bireme’s draught was shallow, enabling it to be easily driven straight up onto a beach to unload soldiers on an unsuspecting enemy.

Soon after leaving Lamara the captain had tested the crew by performing maneuvers. Roxana had them turning one hundred and eighty degrees, all while instructing a slave that he wasn’t allowed to take a breath. When they’d completely turned around the slave was gasping, but he’d held his breath the entire time. The arc they had covered was no wider than three ship lengths. Dion couldn’t believe what he’d seen.

Roxana could sail the Anoraxis directly into the wind if she wanted to. She could alter its speed faster than any galley even close to its size. The captain’s intimate knowledge of the vessel and its construction gave her respect with the crew, despite the fact she was a woman.

Now Dion stood close to the bow, gazing ahead and scanning the horizon. He had his bow in his hand and a full quiver of arrows on his shoulder.

The Anoraxis was hunting wildren.

It was one creature in particular that they hunted. A serpent had been destroying fishing boats and devouring the contents: not just the catch but also the crews. The Anoraxis scouted the Maltherean Sea near the isle of Ibris, two days sailing from the coast of Ilea. It was the last place the wildran had been spotted.

Dion heard heavy footsteps on the wooden deck and Roxana joined him in scouring the sea. He glanced at her, taking note of the sun-blasted skin and short hair. She had an expression he knew well. It was the face of someone only truly happy at sea.

‘Nothing yet,’ he said.