wanted to get it over with.
'Steady… steady,' Captain Nefysto warned. 'Let them go!'
Grappling hooks flew across the gap, landing on the deck and in the rigging. There were too many for the defending soldiers to cut all the ropes. The two great ships' timbers groaned as they were drawn together.
Uttering shrill cries that mimicked the shrieks of attacking wyverns, the sea-hounds swung across the gap, landing on the deck, fighting even as they found their footing.
Bantam pressed the tip of his blade into Fyn's ribs. 'Remember, I'll be at your side, little monk. But I'll be watching my back, so don't think to plant your blade — '
'Merofynians murdered my family,' Fyn ground out. 'I owe them no loyalty.'
'Good.' Bantam turned to the others. 'Attack!'
They shoved the gangplank across the gap, which was less than a body length now and, light-footed as his namesake, Bantam ran across with Fyn at his heels.
When Fyn dropped onto the deck, someone collided with him. He spun to see Jakulos down on one knee. Of its own volition, Fyn's sword swung up to block a blow that would have severed the big man's neck. Fyn turned the Merofynian's blade aside, following through with a strike as he had been trained to do. But he used the flat of the blade at the last minute. Even so, the man fell to the deck, out cold.
Jakulos sprang up. 'Stay by me.'
He charged across the deck, expecting Fyn to protect his left side. Bantam was on Jakulos's right, fighting with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, as he battled to keep up. Fyn ran after them.
Block, strike, hack.
A man dropped with each step Fyn took. Merofynian warriors sprang forwards to attack him and his companions, but no one could stop them. Burning canvas fell. Men tumbled off the rigging screaming. The merchant sailors avoided confrontation where they could, letting the warriors do the fighting.
Jakulos made for the merchant captain on the bridge. A Merofynian warrior tried to prevent them climbing the ladder, but Jakulos hauled him off and charged up. Fyn was one step behind him. He could hear nothing but the roaring of men and flames.
Jakulos charged, driving the three warriors back. Fyn followed, hacking through these last defenders until only a middle-aged Merofynian noble confronted him. From the way the noble held his blade, he seemed a skilled swordsman. The Merofynian noble attacked Jakulos so fiercely the big man was hard-put to defend himself.
Fyn glanced around. They'd left Bantam behind. The upper rear deck was almost empty. Two men stood at the wheel. Fyn recognised the captain by his coat of office. Both men were watching Jakulos and the Merofynian noble.
Fyn darted around the flying swords to confront the merchant captain. As the man lifted his blade, Fyn could see he was not skilled. Fyn used Master Oakstand's first disarming technique, catching the blade, turning his wrist and flicking. The merchant captain's sword was torn from his fingers and Fyn's blade pressed to his throat.
'Surrender the ship.'
'Well done, monk!' Captain Nefysto strode past Jakulos, who was cleaning his blade. The Merofynian noble was on his knees, wounded and disarmed. 'Not a wasted movement. Who was your teacher?'
'The abbey weapons master,' Fyn answered.
'Well, captain,' Nefysto confronted the merchant, 'your life or your ship? Either way, I'll have your ship.'
He grimaced. 'Helmsman, sound the surrender.'
Jakulos took the wheel and the helmsman went to the ship's bell. As it rang out the surrender, fighting ceased. Fyn cleaned his sword and sheathed it, noting it had suffered one or two nicks, confirming his suspicion that it was not a high-quality weapon. He felt strangely detached. He had tried to keep his promise, but in that mad rush across the deck he had struck and struck again, without thought to anything but preserving his own life.
'Wise decision, captain,' Nefysto told the merchant and strode to the rail, calling to Bantam. 'See that the flames are put out. Empty the hold.'
Fyn went to the rail, looking down at the mid-deck where two dozen disarmed Merofynian warriors stood in tattered azure and black, looking miserable.
Bantam cocked his head towards them. 'What of these men, cap'n?'
Nefysto joined Fyn at the rail. 'What a sorry lot!'
Fyn sensed movement behind them and spun. The wounded Merofynian noble had leapt to his feet and lunged, dagger aimed for Nefysto's back. Behind the wheel, Jakulos cried a warning.
Fyn's training took over. He stepped into the attack, avoided the blow, caught the hand with the dagger and twisted the wrist so that the blade flew from numbed fingers.
The noble gasped, then dropped to his knees, clutching his broken wrist.
As the man fell at Fyn's feet Captain Nefysto looked down, then up, meeting Fyn's eyes.
'That was very neatly done, little monk.' Nefysto straightened the ruffle of lace at his cuff. 'From that display, I gather you could have disarmed and killed Bantam at any time.'
'Halcyon's monks value life.'
Captain Nefysto studied Fyn, a slow smile spreading across his face. 'As long as it's my life you value!' Then he turned back to Bantam on the lower deck with a laugh. 'Send the warriors down into the hold. They can unload the Rolencian treasures for us.'
Fyn felt a rush of relief. He had been afraid Captain Nefysto would order the surviving warriors thrown overboard. Then he made sense of the last part of Nefysto's comment. This ship carried booty stolen from Rolencia. In that case, Fyn felt no remorse.
Knees suddenly weak, vision blurring, his stomach revolted and, even though Fyn hadn't eaten since last night, he ran to the side and threw up.
Bending double, he wiped tears from his eyes and tried to catch his breath.
'Come, little monk. A shot of Merofynian rum is what you need.' Jakulos dragged Fyn upright. Fyn tried to pull away, embarrassed, but Jakulos wouldn't let him go.
'It's what you do when it counts that matters,' he told Fyn.
Fyn blinked to clear his vision, surprised to hear such wisdom from a man he had thought a bluff, brainless oaf.
Jakulos led him over to the steps, where they sat to share a bottle of Merofynian rum while they watched the transfer of stolen treasures. Wiry little Bantam perched on the steps and Jakulos handed him the bottle without comment.
Bantam took a long gulp then wiped his mouth, eyeing Fyn with calculation that verged on suspicion. 'Cap'n's mighty pleased with you, little monk. He tells me you disarmed a man with your bare hands.'
Fyn shrugged. 'Abbey training.'
Bantam held his eyes for a moment, letting Fyn see that he was not so easily won over, and then nodded to the bundles of all shapes and sizes that were being carried across the gangplanks. 'And he's pleased with this plump cargo. The spoils of war from Rolencia will make us sea-hounds rich. Better in our pockets than King Merofyn's, eh?'
'As long as we fill the hold of the Wyvern's Whelp by the cusp of spring,' Jakulos muttered. 'I promised a girl on Ostron Isle I'd be back by then.'
'There's always a girl waiting for Jaku.' Bantam winked at Fyn, who felt an unexpected fellowship.
The weapons master would have said this was a normal reaction to escaping death. But by Halcyon, it felt good to be alive!
Jakulos nudged him. 'Don't hog the rum.'
Fyn passed it over. He would never have thought last midwinter — when he prepared for the race to win Halcyon's Fate — that he would end up a landless kingson, serving a sea-hound captain.
Now, why hadn't he seen this vision in the Fate? Isolt Merofyn Kingsdaughter had nothing to do with him.
Jakulos passed Bantam the bottle. He took a gulp.
'If the captain's pleased with me, will he take me back to Port Marchand?' Fyn asked.
Bantam shook his head. 'Our orders are to prevent as much of the spoils of war from reaching King Merofyn as possible.'
Fyn hid his surprise. It appeared either Captain Nefysto, or his mysterious benefactor, or both were
