"Jarl, pipe th' officers t' th' poop, helmsmen, too."
Moments later, the bo's'ns and mates and helmsmen gathered 'round the captain. Hearing the signal as well, other members of the crew drifted up to the main deck, where seamen on duty pointed out the dark ship astern, her dusky sails silhouetted against the lavender sky.
After briefing the officers and helmsmen, Borkson said, "Here be my plan, gentlemen: we run on this course until full night falls, then we'll bring th' Solstrale hard astarboard to run a beam reach. In th' dark th' black one astern will nae be able t' see our extreme course change. There being no moon this darktide, we should gi'e her th' slip."
First Mate Sigurson glanced at the darkening sky, then raised his hand and, at a nod from the captain, said, "I judge it now be four candlemarks till full night. How close will she be when we make our turn?"
"I judge a mile, more or less," replied Borkson.
"Let us hope it be more than less," said Jarl, sotto voce, which brought chuckles to all lips.
Smiling and confident, Borkson said, "Spread th' word among th' crew, and ha'e them douse all light, then stand by until we're well away frae th' dark ship aft. And tell 'em t' be quiet as hold mice, for I'd nae ha'e rattle nor clack nor blather gi'e us away in th' dark."
Looking aft, Alos, his heart pounding, watched the dusky sails against the ever darkening twilight sky, the helmsman no longer able to see the black ship's hull against the waters of the Boreal Sea as she slowly drew closer. Some three candlemarks passed and stars glimmered ere he lost sight of her altogether, yet he could now hear the pulsing beat of a distant drum measuring out the strokes of her oars. Another candlemark passed and the drum grew louder, like the thud of an ominous heart, and lo! he espied luminous swirls in the water where the oars churned the brine.
"Stand ready," hissed the captain to bo's'n and helmsman, and as Jarl, unthinking, raised his pipe to his lips, Borkson said, "Nay, Jarl, I'll ha'e no pipes gi'e us away. Trim th' sails by word o' mouth, and in whispers at that."
Word was passed and the men stood by, and at last Captain Borkson gave the order "Hard over," and when the crew felt the ship begin to heel to the tiller, they haled the lines and swung the yards on the mizzen, main, and foremasts to bring the ship 'round twelve full points to set the wind direct on the starboard beam and make the most of it.
As the ship came to her new heading, Alos straightened the wheel and breathed a sigh of relief. But then, from aft, mingled with the drumbeat, he heard sinister laughter floating over the waves. Holding the wheel steady, Alos glanced rightward out over the sea toward the position of the dark pursuer, and of a sudden, a greenish glow enveloped the rigging of the black ship. Alos sucked air in through his teeth and gasped, "Adon!"
"Witchfire," sissed Sigurson, the first mate standing at hand. "Cap'n, she be burnin' with witchfire."
"Th' better for us t' see-" began Borkson, but then he broke off.
"Cap'n," hissed Alos, "she's turning on our-"
Suddenly, the Solstrale's own rigging flashed into witchfire flames, the ethereal luminance writhing over masts and yards, halyards, lanyards, ratlines, and the like. A collective wail from the crew of the Solstrale moaned up to the sky, and men covered their eyes to be shut of the sight of the ghastly glow.
Harsh laughter sounded across the water, and the tempo of the drum increased, and the black ship, her oars churning, her rigging burning, haled closer with each stroke.
"Cap'n, what'll we do?" cried Alos, his voice tight with fear.
"Sigurson, break out th' weapons," snapped Captain Borkson, "arm th' men."
"But Captain," protested Sigurson, gesturing at the rigging above and then aft, "the witchfire, the black ship, she's got to have a Wizard aboard. How can we-?"
"I said, arm th' men," snarled Borkson. "She'll no take us wi'out a fight."
As the first mate scrambled down the ladder to obey, the captain turned and scanned the ship aft. "She'll be on us in a candlemark or two, lads. Be prepared t' swing her t' larboard or starboard, Alos. Jarl, ha'e th' men stand ready. We'll gi'e her a run for it."
"Aye, Cap'n," replied Jarl. Then, "Oh, Adon. Look. On th' poop of th' black ship."
Alos turned and looked as well, and his heart leapt into his throat and he groaned in fear, for there on the fantail of the ship stood a form flaming with witchfire, his dark robes burning blue-green. It looked to be a man… yet deep in his shuddering bones, Alos knew it had to be a Mage. And the drum pounded and oars slashed down and through and up and back to its pulsing beat.
"Galley," hissed the captain. "I now remember. I ha'e heard o' these. Old ships, ancient ships, from realms far away-but I ne'er thought t' see one." He turned to Alos and Jarl. "We'll ha'e t' be nimble and stay off her bow, for 'tis told they bear rams."
"Rams?" Alos moaned.
"Aye, lad. Great underwater beaks. They'll hole our hull. Sink us down. We got t' stay clear."
His frightened face illumined by the witchfire in the rigging above, a sailor bearing blades came clattering up the ladder. "Y'r sword, sir." He handed the captain a saber, then falchions to Alos and Jarl.
His breath whistling in and out through clenched teeth, his heart hammering wildly, Alos took the falchion and slipped it through his belt.
Now the black ship, its rigging alight, was only three furlongs astern, drum pounding… then two furlongs, oars stroking… one furlong, laughter echoing across the waters… then directly astern.
"Oh, Adon, Cap'n," moaned Jarl, "they're Rutcha. Th' crew is Rutcha."
"And Drokha," added the captain, grinding his teeth. " 'Tis a Foul Folk craft."
Black-fletched arrows whistled through the air, thunking into ship's wood or slashing through canvas sails, but one took Jarl through the neck, and he fell backward, dead before striking the deck.
Now the black galley pulled to the starboard, edging alongside. "Hard alarboard," shouted Borkson, snatching up Jarl's pipe and signaling the crew.
Gasping in fear, Alos spun the wheel leftward as the crew pulled the halyards 'round, and slowly the helm began to answer, but then the ship lost headway as the broad lateen sails of the galley sliced across the flow of air to the kravel.
"She's got our wind, Cap'n!" cried Alos. "The black ship has stolen our wind!"
"Bring her about!" shouted the captain, raising the bo's'n's pipe to his lips and sounding the signal, yet in that same moment-thnk! chnk!-grappling hooks thudded over the wales, and the black galley, her drum silent and her oars now shipped aboard, began to wrench the kravel to her side.
"Repel boarders!" shouted the captain, drawing his saber. But then, "Oh, Adon, Trolls."
In the light of the witchfire and clambering up to the main deck of the black galley from the rowing deck below came behemoth Trolls. The men of the Solstrale cried out in fear, some leaping overboard in their panic, while others fell to their knees. And on the stern of the dark ship, the Wizard, glowing with ghastly flames, laughed in malevolent glee.
As Trolls clambered across the wales from galley to kravel, Alos, shrieking, abandoned the wheel and sprang down from the poop deck and bolted through the aft cabin door. Howling in panic, he fled along the passageway and scrambled down the aft ladder and forward through the crew's quarters and down a second ladder and into the holds below. Sternward he ran, along the planked aisleway and among the piled barrels and crates and bales, Alos weeping and hissing, whining to himself, "Hide in the bilge. They'll never find you there. Hide in the bilge, the bilge."
Sissing, moaning, he started down through the stern trap to the bilge below, but the falchion in his belt snagged on the rim. As shrieking and bellowing and screams of terror came from above, Alos hurled the weapon away into the darkness, the blade tumbling and clattering along the plank aisle. And then he was down and through, slamming the trap behind.