had killed two men and was now fighting a third when Whill noticed an archer taking aim at his friend. Whill quickly dispatched another pirate, grabbed his knife, and threw it at the archer sixty feet overhead. The blade found its mark and hit the bowman in the throat as the arrow intended for Abram hit a pirate descending the ropes. Two men now came at Whill, one with a hatchet, the other a sword. The hatchet-wielding pirate made a two-handed overhead attack as the other jabbed straight at Whill’s chest. Whill blocked the swordsman and spun away from the hatchet blow. Abram chopped the head off the hatchet-wielder and blocked a blow of yet another foe as Whill parried the swordsman’s attack. The pirate was no match for Whill, who cut the man down with ease. Even as more men came onto the deck, Whill and Abram steadily drove them back.
“Come on, you pirate scum!” Whill screamed as he took down three more men. Abram was now fighting a large man with two swords. Whill again faced a man with a hatchet, who came at him with a wild cry. As the pirate swung at Whill’s head, Whill quickly blocked the blow. Swinging his sword down hard, he effectively caused the hatchet to lodge in the deck floor. Before the attacking pirate knew what had happened, Whill stabbed him through. Before the body could fall, Whill had impaled another pirate who had just landed on deck. Whill turned and grabbed the hatchet that had stuck in the deck and simultaneously blocked a sword attack. Abram killed Whill’s attacker and was quickly faced with yet another foe. Whill launched the hatchet towards the top of the rope that held the most men. The hatchet cut the rope clean and sent six men falling towards the deck. As the men fell, there was a shout from the ship above.
“Enough!”
Captain Cirrosa stood with his hands upon the side of the boat, looking down at the battle below. His hair and clothes were black as night. His face was deeply tanned and rough with age and years at sea. He wore a mustache and pointed goatee, which, along with his menacing eyes, gave him the look of a bird of prey, ready to attack.
The attacking pirates stopped where they were, and Whill watched as the rage drained from their faces and was replaced by intense fear. There was a thud as Abram let the last of his attackers fall to the deck, having stabbed him through.
“You useless scum can’t do anything right,” The captain yelled to the men below.
Whill ran a finger down his bloody blade and pointed it at Cirrosa. “If you want more of your men to die, then by all means, send them down the ropes. And if you want my diamonds, sir, then come down yourself and try to take them. But I promise you that you will bleed.”
Cirrosa gave a hearty laugh, as did his men from above. The men below did not.
“You have a fighting spirit, young Whill! Good for you. But in fact you have killed none of my men. Those you have slain are slaves, nothing more.”
Whill looked at the men who cowered as the captain spoke. They stood with their arms at their sides, heads down, shoulders hunched. It seemed to Whill that their failure to kill him and Abram had in some way condemned these men.
Again Cirrosa laughed. “I told them that if they could kill the two of you, I would set them and their women and children free. If not, they would die.” The crew began to cheer and whistle.
Abram stepped forward. “You always were a heartless killer, Cirrosa.”
The captain’s face lit up. “Abram, my old friend. It’s been a long time. I see you also have abandoned the Arden empire. We have something in common after all.”
Abram ignored Whill’s puzzled look. “For one, Cirrosa, we are not friends. And second, if you do not leave now, you and your men will all die today. Twelve men remain on our ship-slaves, you would call them. But I call them free men who will fight alongside us to free the women and children you speak of.”
Cirrosa laughed again, but cut his laughter short, and instead of a smile bared his teeth. “I fear that you and your friend have not counted on one thing.” With one swift movement, he produced a long knife and pulled a child close to himself, putting the knife to the child’s throat. Whill recognized the boy immediately. It was Tarren.
“No!” Whill lurched forward but was halted by Abram. Cirrosa ran the blade teasingly along the terrified boy’s throat.
“You have something I want, and it seems I have something you want. Give me the diamonds and the boy will go unharmed.”
Whill began to curse the captain, but Abram spoke over him. “If we give you the diamonds, you will kill us anyway, and the boy, along with these men’s families. We find no comfort in the word of a pirate.”
Cirrosa shook his head and grinned. “So be it. We will kill you all and take the diamonds anyway. Shame, really. I could have gotten good money for this boy.” With that he slit Tarren’s throat and let the boy fall to the deck below. Whill could hear nothing but his own screams as Tarren’s body fell. He ran to the boy’s limp body as real pirates now made their way down the ropes.
Cirrosa spoke again, this time to his men. “Kill them all, and one hundred coins to the man who retrieves the diamonds!”
The pirates descended the ropes. As Whill held the dying boy in his arms, he heard Abram yelling to the slave men, “Fight for me, bleed for me, and I swear your families will not perish!” The slave men answered with a primal scream that could only be produced by the truly oppressed, those who have given up hope for themselves and fight only for the lives of those they love.
As if through a long tunnel, Whill heard faintly the sounds of swords clanging and men fighting. He could not take his eyes off Tarren, who lay in his arms, bleeding from the neck, body broken from the fall. As he watched the boy die, he could distantly hear Abram calling his name, yelling something about getting up. Whill’s head began to churn as if the tides were locked within. His rage alone was enough to make him dizzy. Anger welled within him-anger at Tarren dying, anger that the men he had killed had been slaves fighting for freedom, anger that he might die today without learning his true heritage. The injustice of it all sent him into a trance-like state. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand covered Tarren’s throat.
As his flesh made contact with the young boy’s blood, Whill felt a strange sensation run through him. It was as if his energy and life force were suddenly being sucked from his body. Tarren’s chest heaved as a great wave of energy coursed through Whill and into the boy. Whill became dizzy and disoriented as men fought around him and the boy in his arms. He became aware of nothing but Tarren and himself and the bond they now shared. A strange blue light was all Whill could see as tide after tide of energy pulsed through his body and into Tarren’s. As the blue light faded into blackness, Whill was suddenly jolted out of his trance and slammed to the deck as the sounds of the world came rushing in. He saw blood and bodies and fire and Abram looking down at him as a red dragon flew overhead.
Abram shook Whill but he would not respond. He was unconscious and would remain that way for sometime, if he snapped out of it at all. The fighting had slowed as many slaves and pirates stood dumbfounded by what they had seen. Abram rose. There was nothing he could do for Whill now but win this battle. He turned to the slaves.
“Behold, men, your gods fight with you! Go forward without fear, and may the blessing of the gods lead your strikes!”
The slaves’ cheers grew into a primal scream. The pirates upon the deck did not live more than ten heartbeats after that. The slaves were heading up the ropes when suddenly an explosion hit the pirate ship, deafening all nearby momentarily and shaking many from their feet. From the ship Abram saw the source of the carnage: a massive red dragon. The distraction was enough to ensure that the climbing slaves could make it up the ropes to the deck of the pirate ship, with Abram right behind them. He hit the deck and was engaged by a pirate wearing all black, with only a thin slit revealing his eyes. He brandished two daggers and came in hard, slashing with one and stabbing forward with the other. Abram barely avoided the slash but was ready for the stab. When it came he spun away from the strike and jumped up onto the rail, knowing that the pirate would go for his ankles with those deadly weapons. Abram jumped backwards from his perch and brought his legs up high, tucking his knees and then came down with a powerful slice. The pirate swiped at his legs with both blades but missed. He had a glimpse of his leaping enemy and a shining blade, and then he saw no more.
The slave men were tearing into the pirate force with reckless abandon. The ship was aflame, and the dragon repeatedly swooped down on the battle and scooped up a pirate in his huge claws or maw. Down into the battle the dead and bloodied pirate would drop, usually on top of one of his comrades. This horrible image alone sent many pirates scrambling for the rails and into the ocean. Abram had his suspicions as to why the dragon seemed to fight for him, he did not care. It was enough. The slave men had already begun opening the many iron
