‘Shict,’ Quillian gasped.
So soon? Kataria resolved not to turn just yet; that would be too easy.
‘Shict!’
She can hold on for a few more moments. . or not.
‘Damn it, you long-eared vagrant! Something’s happening below!’
Kataria’s ears twitched. The Serrant’s concerns were confirmed in a cry of pain from a familiar voice. She whirled about, leaning over the dangling woman to peer at what was occurring below.
What had begun as a melee had degenerated into a matter of swaths: swaths fleeing before Gariath as he tore through the ranks of the pirates, swaths collapsing before Dreadaeleon’s fiery hands as his arcane chant went unchallenged.
‘That hardly counts as a “happening”,’ the shict sneered. ‘I’ve already killed as many as they have.’
‘Not that, you imbecile!’ Quillian pointed a bronze finger across the deck.
Kataria’s eyes widened immediately, ears pricking up in alarm at the sight. The greatest swath of all lay at the Riptide’s helm, the sailors who had been guarding it now cast to the timbers like scythed wheat. The figure of Rashodd was immense amidst the carnage, wading unhurriedly up the steps towards the sole figure, short and wiry, standing in his way.
‘Lenk,’ she whispered.
Her arrow was up and nestled in the bowstring in an instant, aimed squarely for Rashodd’s massive back. The pirate, however, seemed less than interested in standing still and suddenly twisted, drawing up beside Lenk, uncomfortably close. Even as wiry as he was, as skilled as she was, and as massive as the Cragsman was, her fingers quivered.
No, she resolved at that moment. She would not add Lenk to her score. Besides, she reasoned, a shot from such a distance into a man of Rashodd’s girth had no guarantee to kill. To waste arrows on a single Kou’ru, no matter how big, simply wasn’t acceptable.
Her arrow was back in her quiver, bow in hand, leg over the crow’s nest’s railing as she prepared to climb down the rigging. Only a sudden shriek gave her pause.
‘Hey! HEY!’
‘Oh, right.’ She glanced over the quaking bronze digits and stared down at Quillian. ‘I almost forgot.’ She smiled. ‘Now, we’re agreeing that the collision caused at least twelve in my favour, yes?’
‘Yes, sure, whatever!’ The Serrant nodded fervently. ‘Just-’
‘Mind yourself, I have to count.’ The shict made a show of wiggling her digits. ‘Fourteen from arrows alone plus, if we’re frugal, another twelve makes. .’ She smiled morbidly down at Squiggy, tapping her nose with a finger. ‘An even twenty-seven. Lucky number!’
The total dawned on Quillian the moment Kataria leapt from the nest and deftly seized the rigging. Squeals of fury followed her down, but she ignored them. There were more pressing concerns.
A flash of sparks at the helm drew her attention; Lenk was hard pressed against Rashodd’s twin axes, his sword nothing more than a weak stinger in the hands of a tiny wasp. Kataria gritted her teeth, splayed her legs against the ropes of the rigging and slid down, ignoring the burn of the hemp that bit through her gloves. She had no time for pain.
The game was not yet over.
Six
Lenk felt a hammer explode against his belly.
The wind left him, the earth left him as he flew up into the air, sailing blissfully across currents carried by fast-fading screams in the distance. This, he thought, must be what it is to ascend to the heavens.
The Gods proved not so kind.
He struck the timbers with a crash, sliding like a limp, breathless fish. He collided with the base of the ship’s wheel with the meagrest of bumps, giving him the opportunity to lament that the blow hadn’t killed him.
‘Khetashe,’ he gasped breathlessly, ‘that didn’t work.’
‘You thought it would?’ Argaol was quick to kneel beside the young man, helping him to a sitting position. ‘Rashodd’s twice your size if you stand up straight, boy!’
‘I thought,’ he paused to breathe, ‘I could. . strike quickly. Use size to my advantage. . gnats and frogs, right?’
‘What?’
‘Something my grandfather told me.’ Lenk rubbed his stomach, grimacing; the indentations of Rashodd’s knuckles were all too fresh in his skin. ‘The frogs are big, slow and lumbering. . the gnats are small and quick, they can escape.’
‘No gnat ever managed to beat down a frog, runt.’
‘Well, I know that now. When he told it to me, it sounded like good advice.’
Any further conversation went silent against the sound of distant thunder, the sound of heavy boots. The timbers shook beneath them, the ship trembling with Rashodd’s stride. They glanced up as the pirate cleared the last step to the helm.
Rashodd stalked towards them with almost insulting casualness, heedless of the dead beneath his boots, the red flecking his beard, the glistening of his axes. His gaze was unreadable behind his helmet, his voice a metallic ringing.
‘It is with no undue fondness that I recall a time when this was a respectable business. It is with nostalgia that I remember when two captains could do business without bloodshed and drinks were always proffered to guests.’ He sighed. ‘Where is my drink, Argaol? Where is the courtesy extended to a man of my particular prestige? I would give you all the mercy I could spare had you merely displayed a bit of the propriety I am inarguably due.’
Using his sword as a makeshift crutch, Lenk staggered to his feet, steadying himself with the ship’s wheel.
Rashodd inclined his head respectfully. ‘You seem to be the most decent lad amongst this merry band of rabble we’ve had the pleasure to treat with.’ He hefted one of his axes over a broad shoulder. ‘I can’t say I don’t admire your — if you’ll pardon the comparison — cockroach-like tenacity. I’ve scarce known a man to display such resilience in the face of common sense.’ He lofted a great, grey brow. ‘Mercenary?’
‘Adventurer.’
‘That would explain it, wouldn’t it? I’ve no inherent disrespect for the profession, mind you, though it’s always seemed to me that an adventurer is naught more than a pirate who couldn’t bring himself to admit he’s scum.’
‘We’re all entitled to our opinions.’
‘Regardless, I feel compelled to ask you,’ he shifted his glance to Argaol, ‘both of you. . why put up such a fight? While I wouldn’t list it as a fault in polite company, are you blind, good man? Can you not see the merry company we keep?’ He gestured over his shoulder to the pale invaders, sliding up to reinforce their pirate allies. ‘Be frank with me — how many mere pirates do you know that command such beasts?’
‘I’ve met more than a few beasts in my time,’ Lenk grunted, standing as straight as he could. ‘I’m not impressed. ’
‘A pity.’ Rashodd shook his head sadly and turned to Argaol. ‘Then I appeal to your reason, good Captain. Is it too late to call for a cessation that we might converse as proper gents? Must it always come to violence?’
‘It came to violence ages ago,’ Argaol snarled, ‘when you started slaughtering my men.’
‘The merry boys of the Linkmaster are nothing if not famed for their bravado.’
‘What you’re famed for is rape, murder and slavery.’
‘You do me no honour with flattery, kind sir. Nor have I the patience to continue such an argument. Simply give us what we wish and we can spare you any more tidying-up.’
Argaol regarded the man hesitantly. ‘And what, pray, is it you wish?’
‘I had come intent on taking away some cargo, but I think it a bit rude,’ the Cragsman cleared his throat, ‘given that you’ll be requiring most of your merchandise to hire on crew to replace the men you’ve so unfortunately lost.’
‘Your hacking them to pieces was a bit unfortunate.’