solution.
“Azkun, get down!” shouted Menish. “Brace yourself against the gunwale. There may be a shock. And keep your head down!”
He obeyed mutely. The waves of passion from the pirates whirled in his brain. Tenari echoed his movement as he crouched against the still solid hull of the ship and waited for the sickening crunch that would sink them.
Although the pirates had appeared to be almost upon them, the waiting went on forever. He looked around. Had they somehow escaped? But a hush had fallen over their ship. Menish crouched against a barrel, he was still waiting. Althak stood in the centre of the deck, his legs looked like iron pillars, in no danger of toppling. The sailors waited tensely, clutching swords and knives. Azkun could feel each man’s jaw clenched as he watched the pirates race towards them. The tenseness crept into his mind, blotting out even the malice of the pirates. He crouched, waiting, waiting…
“Now!” shouted Althak. He spoke Vorthenki but there could be no misunderstanding. Awan hurled himself against the tiller, the sailors sprang at the familiar ropes, the main spar swept across the deck and the ship lurched and leaned. Azkun was thrown against the gunwale, but there was no real shock. Looking up he saw the other ship slipping harmlessly past them.
“Get down!” Althak yelled at him. Even as he ducked his head a hail of stones and spears clattered onto the deck. An arrow thudded into the planks by his feet.
Near his head a grappling iron caught on the gunwale and was pulled tight. Several others, better thrown, wrapped themselves around the top of the main mast. Azkun gasped as he felt a wave of anger from the pirates. Their attempt to ram had failed, but their attempt to board would not.
“Fire! Fire in the sail!” cried Omoth. A flaming arrow had caught in the main sail. Shelim and the others rushed to pull it down.
In the midst of the confusion a blood-curdling yell cut through the air. Two pirates landed on the deck. They had swung across the lines from the grappling hooks on the mast. Azkun shrank back against the gunwale and clutched Tenari. They looked like Althak. Tall, yellow-haired men with bronze armour. One of them wore no helmet and carried an axe rather than a sword.
What followed was a blur in Azkun’s mind. He watched, horrified, as Althak charged the pirates, slashing one across the neck and knocking the other off his feet with his shield. Two more thrusts with his sword finished them.
More pirates leapt onto the decks. The Anthorians flew at them, slicing at them with their curved swords. Azkun felt their injuries as if they were his own. He screamed and thrashed as one caught in a fit. But, most of all, he felt the blackness of death as he had never felt it before. It was a mercy when Menish crashed his shield down on his head, knocking him senseless.
It had been several years since Menish was involved in anything but training fights, but he had been pleased to find he had not yet lost his skill. His sword moved as if it were part of his arm, his feet shifted and turned like a dancer, indeed the Anthorian folk dances usually enacted swordplay. The Vorthenki pirates had the advantage of size, but Menish had fought big Vorthenki brutes many times. They were slow, relying on weight and armour to crush their opponents.
He shifted his weight as a heavy sword crashed down beside him, and slipped his own sword under the guard of the pirate’s shield. The man let out a gurgling moan, but Menish was gone before he fell. He sliced another pirate’s hamstrings from behind before the man could make another lunge at Hrangil. They relied too much on that armour, Menish had made a study of all the possible weak points and there were many.
Another sword flashed towards him but he deflected it with his shield. The Anthorian shields were smaller, but they were also lighter. His own sword flashed up and he opened his attacker’s throat. The Anthorian swords were lighter too, and sharp as razors.
In the midst of the whirl and confusion of the fight there was a corner of Menish’s mind that was quiet and still. This, he had always felt, had preserved his hazardous life for so long. It was this corner that noticed that the deck was becoming slippery with blood. He could not afford to miss his footing, He also noticed that Awan and two of the sailors at the stern were under attack and were trying to fight with their short knives.
He spared some thought for Drinagish. As far as he knew this was his first real fight. He had killed his share of prey while hunting, but killing men is different.
Menish's present opponent, a young man with hardly a beard yet, probably no older than Drinagish, let his guard down and Menish slipped his sword into his chest. He did not have a breastplate and it cost him his life.
Menish pulled himself clear of the fight and, climbing a pile of barrels, leapt down onto the two pirates attacking Awan. It took exactly three sword strokes to lay them on the deck with their lifeblood pumping from their veins. He snatched their swords from them and tossed them to Awan. The man hesitated, it was not lucky to use the swords of the fallen.
“It is not lucky to stand and have your head removed!”
Awan nodded and took the swords, passing one to Omoth beside him. Menish hoped they would not get themselves killed.
As Menish returned to the main fight his path took him past Azkun and Tenari. A grappling hook had lodged in the gunwale beside them and one of the pirates was using it to climb aboard. His hand already grasped the edge of the gunwale. Menish’s sword thudded twice on the hand, a scream sounded followed by a splash.
Azkun had screamed, not the pirate. It took a moment for this to register to Menish, and in that time a Vorthenki was upon him. This one was a more skilful fighter. Menish could find no way past his great bronze shield. Like many Vorthenki shields it had a heavy boss in its centre and an evil spike protruding from the boss. It leered at Menish, pressing him back to the gunwale, the Vorthenki sword lunging at him from the other side. A blow caught him on his metal cap, it glanced off but left his vision blurred. He shook his head trying to clear it. The Vorthenki advanced, stopped and toppled like a tree. Althak pulled his sword from between the man’s shoulder blades.
Azkun screamed again. He was thrashing about the deck like a madman. Why had they not put him and Tenari below deck? He had not thought of it, he was not familiar with ships. So far the pirates had been too busy to notice them, but that would hardly continue with Azkun in that state. Menish knocked him senseless with the edge of his shield and returned to the fight.
It quickly became clear that the pirates had chosen the wrong ship to attack. Against poorly armed sailors they would have done well, but Menish and his men were heavily armed and well trained. With the sailors they both outnumbered and outclassed the pirates. Only one had shown any skill, and Althak had dispatched him before he could kill Menish. They began a poorly organised retreat to their own ship, which quickly became a rout. In such situations their heavy armour was a serious hindrance to them, and it was difficult for them to fight while fleeing. Only a few made it back to the other ship and Althak and Drinagish pursued these. Menish himself was short of breath by this time and Hrangil was immobilised with a leg wound.
Bodies sprawled over the deck and the blood was growing sticky as it cooled. The sailors had already begun to strip the bodies and dump them overboard by the time Althak and Drinagish returned.
They were not without injury. Drinagish had taken a blow on the chest, his jerkin had protected him but he professed himself sore. He was, in fact, delighted to have an injury that showed he had played his part. Althak was covered in blood but little of it was his own. He had a cut on his forearm and another over one eye, which he claimed, was more annoying than painful. Two of the sailors were dead but none of the others were seriously hurt. Shelim had grazed his knuckles throwing the body of a pirate over the side, the other sailors considered this amusing.
Menish felt as he always did after a battle, revolted by the smell of blood and weary of killing. He set about bandaging Hrangil’s leg.
“M’Lord,” said Althak. “There are five slaves who had no part in the fighting. Two of them speak Relanese.”
“Bring them aboard. We can leave them where we next land. We'll sink the pirate ship.” Althak returned to the other ship.
“Do you still think he is Gilish?” he asked Hrangil. His friend shook his head sadly.
“Gilish would have fought.”
Menish noticed three men come aboard. They were ill clothed and wore the dejected, soulless look common to Vorthenki slaves. They stood in line, waiting to be told what to do. Althak followed them.
“There are two others, but they won't come.” He smiled awkwardly. “I believe they think me another pirate.
