No matter how many years passed, the ghost of Keelin’s sister still haunted him, and every time he spotted an Arbiter she cried for vengeance. He could no longer remember Leesa's face or her voice, but he could never forget the smell of her flesh burning, the sound of her guttural screams. The sight of her writhing in flames.
Keelin had almost avenged her just a year ago. He’d given a half-crazed Arbiter safe transport in return for the location of Arbiter Prin, but the bastard had lied, and again his sister’s murderer had escaped his grasp.
The battle was moving on. They’d all but pushed the soldiers from the Fortune, and now the pirates, angered by the events of the past couple of days, were no longer satisfied with the damage already done; they wanted to take the ship. The grappling hooks deployed by the Sarth Man of War were now working against the soldiers, giving the pirates the opportunity to leap and climb onto the bigger ship and take the fight to their tormentors.
A soldier came at Keelin, screaming and brandishing a dagger and little else. Keelin was about to gut the man when something hit the poor bastard in the side of the head and he crumpled to the ground, all sorts of dead. Without even bothering to wonder what had happened, Keelin sprinted towards the nearby railing and leapt the three feet up and across from the Fortune onto the Man of War.
It took him a moment to scramble up over the railing, and when he hit the deck he found himself kneeling in a pool of blood. Keelin stood, gave the situation a quick survey, and charged the nearest soldier he could see, barrelling into him shoulder first and sending him crashing to the deck. Keelin wasted no time finishing the man off with a quick sword thrust through his unprotected neck, and turned to the next.
It had been a long time since Keelin had been to Sarth, but he recognised nobility when he saw it. This man wasn’t dressed like the other soldiers; he was wearing an impeccable uniform labelling him as Sarth navy and an admiral, if the number of pins on his lapel was anything to go by. He was also flanked by two soldiers bearing both sword and shield sword, who looked as if they knew how to fight and were more than willing to prove it.
Keelin paced in front of them, trying to goad them into coming at him. Their training showed and they held their ground, shields up and eyes alert. A quick glance told Keelin he was alone and could expect no help from either his crew or Drake’s. It was almost hard to believe that just a day ago he’d been beaten bloody and nearly killed in a bar, and now he was about to try his luck at three armed opponents.
“Last chance, lads,” Keelin said, still pacing in front of the three men. “You can see how the battle is turning. Ship’s near as ours already. Now I want that bastard alive, or at least clinging to it. If you two just turn him over and lay down your sharp and pointies, I’ll make sure you get to be among those we send back to Sarth alive.”
The admiral, a man of no small stature himself, with great bushy eyebrows and a dark gaze beneath them, drew his sabre and laughed. “Cowards and turncoats,” he said in a very admirable voice. “We will die to a man before we let you take the ship.”
“You won’t, but they will,” Keelin growled, and rushed the three men.
There was a part of Keelin – quite a large part – that realised how foolish he was to attack three men head on, especially when two of them were brandishing shields. But he was angry, and he didn’t make smart decisions when he was angry.
He pulled up short before the first of the soldiers and danced left, sending both his cutlasses clattering against the man’s shield. The soldier took the blow with a grunt and stabbed out from behind his cover. Keelin was already gone, twisting away and launching himself at the second soldier. Again he swung both his swords at the shield. This soldier was a bit more savvy; he pushed back while Keelin was off balance and sent the captain stumbling away. Instead of pushing the attack, both soldiers formed up in front of the admiral and stood their ground.
Regaining his balance, Keelin found himself with a chance to reconsider his foolish decision. Unfortunately his blood was still up, and now he was feeling humiliated as well – and that didn’t lead to rational choices. Again he charged the three men.
This time one of the soldiers charged as well, and Keelin collided with the man’s shield, sending him crashing to the deck. He rolled away just as something sharp bit into the wood where he’d landed, and came to his feet with both swords ready. One soldier was down, quickly regaining his feet, while the other was pulling his sword from the wooden plank of the deck. The admiral strode forwards to join the fight.
Keelin jumped forwards and attacked the soldier retrieving his sword; the man blocked with a wild swing of his shield, turning away one of Keelin’s blades, but he slipped his other one around and scored a shallow cut on the soldier’s thigh. Something hit the soldier in his shield arm and he roared in pain. Keelin wasted no time capitalising, bringing one of his own swords down in a heavy slash that severed the man’s arm just above the elbow.
As the soldier dropped to the decking, rolling and screaming, Keelin found himself beset by heavy blows from the admiral while the second soldier defended with his shield. But now the odds were better, and two to one sounded like they were in Keelin’s favour.
With a cheeky feint to his right, Keelin rushed left and jumped onto a nearby railing. Launching himself back into the fight, he slashed out with his cutlasses and the second soldier, still turning to face his flying opponent, dropped to the deck with a deep gorge carved out of his neck. Keelin completed his showy attack by landing on the deck, slipping in a deep pool of blood, and going down hard.
By the time he’d recovered from his unfortunate slip the admiral was upon him with the tip of his blade hovering above Keelin’s heart.
“Pirates…” the Sarth officer said, just before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed forwards. Keelin managed to shift just before the man fell, and the admiral’s sword merely cut a shallow gash in his chest rather than piercing his heart.
With a grunt, Keelin shoved the admiral aside and pushed to his feet to find Drake Morrass flanked by three other pirates. Keelin’s fellow captain looked pale and bloody, but his eyes were bright and his single gold tooth flashed in his mouth.
“Life for a life, Captain,” Drake said through laboured breath. “Reckon you’ll be owing me that favour after all. That one looks important.”
“Admiral, I reckon,” Keelin agreed as he finished off the soldier with the severed hand. “How’s the rest of the ship?”
“Taken, for the most. Bit of resistance down in the holds. Nothing we can’t handle. Reckon we lost a lot for the victory though, my crew more than yours.”
Keelin grimaced at the pain in his chest and went to lean upon the nearby railing. The sounds of battle had died down, but the sounds of the dying had taken their place. Men screamed, men cried, and some men were even praying. The deck of the Man of War was awash with blood and littered with bodies. The deck of the Fortune looked more than a little similar. They’d have to make a body count to tally the total cost on both sides of the battle, but even if Sarth had come off worse, they had more men to lose.
“If we’re going to fight them, we can’t lose this many men every battle,” Keelin said. He sounded tired even to his ears.
Drake joined Keelin at the railing. The man was cradling his broken arm, and looked ghastly. “That mean you’re in? Joining my side of this instead of Tanner’s?”