Talis resisted the urge to laugh. Felt a bit of the tension lift like steam evaporating off the deck. Thank you, Sophie.
Deckhands on The Serpent Rose ran for the suppressant tanks, their academy-drilled discipline requiring no order. If enough of those lines burned through, the weight of the ship’s hull would do the rest of the work. Of course, they’d get the fire put out before it got to that. This was just the distraction.
“Oh, I’m looking at your ship, Captain,” Talis said, unable to resist. “Not sure I’m seeing what you want me to, though.”
“Search The Rose,” he barked to his crew as he turned back to glare at Talis. “They’ve got a man aboard!”
Dug moved, taking advantage of the break in their attention. His knives flashed purple and gold, reflecting the morning skies. Talis cursed him for it. She had been holding out hope that Sophie’s distraction would get Hankirk and his crew off her deck long enough for them to escape cleanly, without spilling blood and without ending up on the top of the Imperials’ warrant pile.
That was no longer an option she could consider.
A few steps from the gangway, Dug wiped bloodied knives against his moleskin pant legs. Two officers and their rifles lay in a heap on Wind Sabre’s deck. The two Imperial guards nearest Talis turned to challenge Dug next. That was that, then. Not much reason to be polite anymore. The instant that Hankirk’s men left his side, Talis took a swing.
Chapter 5
Hankirk saw the punch coming and leaned back far enough to dodge it. Talis felt his breath on her knuckles as they swept through the empty air in front of his face. But her elbow was in pursuit, and she slammed it into his jaw. He staggered, momentarily dazed. She brought up the opposite knee and struck him hard in the ribs. He tumbled to the deck, grunting. Off balance, she went down after him, but rolled and came up on the balls of her feet, ready for more.
The four remaining officers circled Tisker, who stood unmoving in the middle of their group. The spring-loaded blade he’d hidden up his sleeve had found its way to his hand. It was gripped casually at his side, ready to come up and answer the first move any of them might make.
Talis wanted to help, but Hankirk wasn’t done with her. His guards were finished, though, at Dug’s feet. So Dug and his knives went to Tisker’s aid.
Hankirk climbed up on one knee, the arch of his cheekbone already bruising. His arm was across his chest, tenderly holding his ribcage. He struggled to catch his breath, but looked as pleased as if he was the one who’d landed the blows.
“You could never take me down in a fight.”
Rot him and his boasting. It was true, though. In their academy days, their matches had always ended in his favor. About the only thing he did better than her. He’d broken her arm once. But she’d broken his wrist, collarbone, and several fingers in the same match. His advantage was that he could always ignore his injuries and keep going. He was tenacious, fighting like a demon to best her, even earlier on, when the sparring was meant to be friendly.
“That was ten years ago. Bet I’ve had more practice than you since then.” Talis twisted her head around to relieve a pressure on her neck. The vertebrae popped as they realigned.
Dug liked to spar with her twice daily to keep his skills honed. And when a Bone warrior insisted on full-contact sparring, you learned fast or wasted precious supplies in the med cabin.
Hankirk pretended to stumble as he stood, then kicked one leg out in an attempt to sweep her feet out from under her. But she knew the trick and was ready. That fake had never worked on Dug when she tried it. She put her knee down on his back to pin him as he kicked, then got her hand under his arm and up. Hankirk twisted loose from her grip as she tried to lock her hand behind his neck. He threw his head back, and just missed her nose. Got her in the mouth, though. She tasted blood as she blinked back the flash in her vision. She rarely went unscathed sparring with Dug, either.
Talis and Hankirk scrabbled clumsily for advantage. He bent her fingers back and twisted around to face her, throwing her off balance. She swung her left arm with that momentum, finally got a good crack in on his nose. But he swept her other arm and wrenched her shoulder. His arms couldn’t reach her throat, but he yanked on her hair and managed to get a boot up under her jaw. She used the side of her forearm to strike his knee so that it twisted out of place. The hit didn’t land hard enough to tear anything, but the pressure removed itself from her throat and Talis coughed away the feel of the boot heel against her windpipe.
She heard a deep laugh as she tried to torque his arms into submission, and then Dug cracked Hankirk across the back of his skull with the pommel of his knife. Dazed, Hankirk fell backward, his head hitting the deck with a thud. Talis shoved him away, untangling her legs from his. She blinked against the blood that had gotten into her eyes.
“You fight like siblings.” Dug held out a hand to help her up, lifting her an inch into the air with the strength of his pull.
Tisker, wearing as much blood as Dug, grabbed Hankirk by the short hair of his crown and held his knife against the reddened flesh of Hankirk’s neck.
“Hold on a second, leave him,” Talis said to Tisker.
It would be hard to keep their heads down and her ship in the
