“Well enough,” Mirya said. “We’ll follow you.”
Hamil led the way as they scaled the tree. It proved to be an easy climb; the heavy vines helped in the few difficult parts. Geran feared at first that it might be too hard for Selsha, but she scampered up the trunk like a nimble little monkey. Of course, she likely spent more time climbing trees than he did. A few feet below the level of the stern windows, another large fork provided a reasonably comfortable perch that was safely out of sight from the deck above. Geran silently motioned for Mirya and Selsha to wait there, and the two Erstenwolds nodded in acknowledgment. Then he continued up after Hamil.
Better let me have a look first, Hamil said silently. He crept up the last few feet and peeked over the rail, studying the decks above. Seven sailors, three armsmen in mail, your cousin Sergen-and another umber hulk. They’re working up at the bow. It’s driven deep into the trees. No one’s on the quarterdeck.
“An umber hulk too?” The odds were long for Geran’s taste, just with Sergen and his Black Moon allies. He was fairly confident that he could best Sergen-they’d crossed swords before, and he’d had the better of the match-but the presence of ten more enemies and a powerful monster made it simply impossible. Frustration and despair settled over him. Perhaps he could kill Sergen and a pirate or two before he was cut down, but what was the point of that? It wouldn’t keep the rest of the corsairs from sailing off with Seadrake and stranding the Hulburgans in Neshuldaar. He thought hard for a moment, and then he heard another large branch crashing to the forest floor from the ship’s forecastle. If he waited too long, he’d lose his chance altogether. But what chance was there?
Hamil read the despair in his face and grimaced sympathetically. We might be able to stow away, the halfling suggested. Hide somewhere belowdecks until we can thin out their numbers one or two at a time.
A desperate strategy, Geran answered him. And we couldn’t put Mirya and Selsha at such risk. Still, he didn’t see any other possibilities.
A sudden chorus of shouts from the deck above interrupted him. “Stand to your arms! The sorcerer approaches!” the armsmen cried. Footsteps hurried across the deck, and the axe strokes ceased.
“Break out crossbows!” Sergen shouted. “Man the arbalests! He’ll stand off and slay us all with his magic if we can’t drive him off!”
“Sarth?” Geran whispered. He risked a quick scramble up to the rail and peeked over. Sergen and his men scurried all over the deck, seizing weapons and taking cover. A pirate on the quarterdeck hurriedly cranked one of the heavy arbalests mounted at the forward rail. Others crouched by the gunwales, their attention fixed on a distant figure. Streaking over the treetops with his flying magic, Sarth arrowed through the air toward the entangled ship, resplendent in his robes of scarlet and gold. The tiefling aimed his scepter and let loose a searing barrage of bright blue-white sparks. Spitting and crackling, the sparks seared great black marks in the deck; one caught a half-orc pirate who ducked a little too late. The half-orc shrieked and fell smoking to the deck, limbs flailing uncontrollably. Crossbows snapped and hissed in reply, but shields of unseen magic kept the quarrels from finding Sarth’s flesh. Still the deadly bolts forced Sarth to dodge aside. Evidently he didn’t trust his magic to halt a well-aimed quarrel fired at a stationary target.
Hamil grinned. “I think our odds just improved!”
Geran nodded. If the sorcerer’s appearance wasn’t the chance he was looking for, he didn’t know what was. “Quick-tell him we’re here, and get him to move toward the bow!” he said.
The halfling fixed his eyes on Sarth and frowned in concentration. He had to be fairly close to speak into someone’s mind, and the tiefling was hovering a good distance from the side of the ship. But Sarth quickly glanced toward them with a surprised look. The tiefling’s teeth flashed in a fearsome smile, and he swooped off to his left, moving toward the front of the ship. Sergen, his armsmen, and the Black Moon corsairs all turned to follow him.
“Get your bow back from Mirya,” Geran told Hamil. The halfling nodded and slipped back down the trunk. Then Geran cleared his mind to conjure up the best defensive spell he knew-the Scales of the Dragon. “Theillalagh na drendir,” he said. A rippling aura made of violet shards of magical force shimmered into existence around him, flowing over his body like a coat of scales. Hamil returned a moment later with the bow and quiver.
“The umber hulk first,” Geran said softly. “If we can slay it quickly, we’ll have a fighting chance against the rest.”
I doubt I’ll be able to drive an arrow through that monster’s hide, Hamil told Geran.
“Give it a try. If nothing else, you might distract it for me.” He surveyed the deck quickly. Sergen’s small band had worked furiously to clear away the branches that snagged the forward shrouds and stays; the Black Moon deckhands and armsmen now crouched amid the cluttered branches and canvas, snapping off quarrels at Sarth whenever the sorcerer showed himself. Then, before Geran could think better of it, he swarmed up the last few feet of the branch and vaulted over the ship’s rail.
No one noticed his appearance at first. He dashed forward and leaped down the steep steps leading to the main deck. Behind him, Hamil raced up to the forward edge of the quarterdeck and halted at the top of the steps, taking aim. His bow thrummed twice; the first arrow took the pirate by the arbalest in the middle of his back, and the second ruined one of the great insectile eyes of the hulk. The creature screeched in agony, its great claws flailing in the air. Geran immediately attacked the creature’s flank. He stabbed it at the meeting of its leg and torso, and his point sank through the soft chitin of the joint. Dark ichor splattered the deck, and the monster’s leg buckled underneath it, but it responded with a furious rake of one great claw that he barely ducked under.
“Geran!” Sergen snarled. He whipped his rapier from the sheath. “You two, keep working on getting us free,” he snapped at his crew. “The rest of you, to arms! I want Geran Hulmaster dead!” Then Sergen threw himself to the deck as one of Hamil’s arrows sped right through the place where he’d been standing.
Geran backpedaled from another of the enraged umber hulk’s blows and saw a big, mailed armsman closing in behind him. The fellow’s head was shaven, and his face was tattooed with arcane sigils. Leaving the umber hulk to flounder to its feet, Geran wheeled and leaped to meet his new foe. This fellow was a swordsman of some skill, and he parried Geran’s high slash competently before returning a similar stroke. For several heartbeats they dueled fiercely, steel ringing shrilly as blade met blade. Geran gave back a step and suddenly turned his blade to throw his opponent’s edge into the mainmast nearby. The weapon caught for an instant, and Geran leaned close to throw his right elbow into the man’s face. It was nothing that his old teacher, Daried Selsherryn, would have approved of, but it worked; the big man reeled away, blinded by the pain of a flattened nose. Geran would have finished him then, but Sergen rushed him from his other side. The exiled lord attacked with a series of lightning-swift jabs and lunges, using his natural speed and light blade to good advantage.
Again Geran had to give ground, until he found an opportunity to snarl the words of a sword spell. With a cry of “Reith arroch!” he conjured a brilliant white gleam to his edge and launched a flurry of counterattacks. He gave Sergen a shallow slash to the left arm, and Sergen leaped back with a curse. But before Geran could press his stepcousin, the umber hulk hurled itself back into the fray with a roar of anger, splintering the deck with a single pulverizing blow of its massive claws. He managed to slash it once across the mandibles and then had to leap for his life.