advantage of the change and use it, or their sacrifice would have been in vain.
Another blow, well placed while Samir’s own swords were raised to block other attacks, swung in beneath his guard and cut deeply just above his left knee.
Some muscle or cord had been severed, Samir realised as he desperately swung with his curved blade. The strength left his leg instantly and he collapsed like a sack of grain, the blade spinning out of his hand and bouncing along the boards between the legs of the attackers. He watched with dismay as the curved weapon came to a halt perhaps a foot out of reach among the stamping feet.
He stared at it as he crumpled, his head hitting the deck, hard. A foot, perhaps, but it might as well be a league. Out of reach.
He tried pushing himself up, but his head exploded in shards of white light and he realised through the heavy pulsing of his blood as it pounded round his brain, that the deck beneath his head was slick with dark blood that was pouring from his own skull.
He flailed and tried to raise the short sword in his left hand, but there was so little strength there and no coordination in his head. The blade wobbled for a moment before it toppled from his grasp and fell to the floor.
He realised he’d fallen back again only as the board hit the cracked area at the back of his skull and his vision blurred.
He’d always wondered how it happened? When Ha’Rish turned her masked face to you and your soul went with her, did you see the Goddess? He squinted through the shattered fragments of white light and the growing fug deep in his brain, trying to see whether Ha’Rish had come for him personally.
Perhaps not, he sighed, as his vision briefly swam into focus long enough to identify a heavy-set man with a blue whorled pattern tattooed on his face as the pirate raised a straight and wide sword in both hands, point down, to drive it through Samir’s chest and finish him at last.
Given the rather insistent pain, it might be a blessing. Samir let his limbs loosen and fall to the deck as he watched the glinting point of the sword descend.
Somehow, superimposed over the falling blade, he finally saw the masked face of Ha’Rish.
She wasn’t as beautiful, even in her death-masked image, as he’d expected. In fact, she might very well be said to be quite ugly.
Samir sighed as the blackness descended. At least she could have been pretty…
Saja grasped Samir by the shoulders, a sudden panic descending on him as the crew of the Redemption swept around him and began to push the desperate pirate crew back. The Sea Witch and the Retribution were moments away, their own boarding ramps already raised and ready to help. In mere moments, the whole attack had overturned. The two commanders’ attack had begun something that simply could not be stopped, even by sheer weight of numbers, and the news that their sister ship and Saja’s old vessel were bearing down to help them had lent renewed vigour to the attack.
The news had, however, had a somewhat different effect on the pirates. Their earlier resolution lost, panic had set in. There would be no hope for them. If they surrendered, only a gibbet and a very public death awaited but, if they stayed here they would only be carved to pieces by the three victorious crews.
And so they had broken, some diving overboard, others trying to find somewhere to hide from the now overwhelming enemy force.
Saja frowned at Samir’s still form. Only a moment ago as he’d swept aside the last pirate who’d been intent on finishing the job, he’d seen Samir, eyes open and smiling. And then suddenly he’d gone limp and slumped.
With breath held, heart thumping in his throat, he leaned down to Samir’s chest and put his ear to the man’s tunic.
A voice from above spoke in a leaden, hollow tone.
“Well?”
Saja looked up and his ebony face burst into a wide, toothy grin.
“He’ll be alright, captain Ghassan. So long as that head’s bound quickly. He’s a survivor, your brother.”
The tall first officer brushed the ever present curl of black hair from his eyes and sighed with relief.
“Close, Saja. Too close for you two mad bastards!”
In which Retribution is the watchword
The governor’s flagship was a magnificent vessel. Ghassan could hardly take his eyes from the thing as he was greeted at the top of the rope ladder and gestured toward the main deck by a deferential sailor. Waving aside the man, he turned and helped Saja bring his wounded and bandaged brother up the last section, master Culin below adding support as he pushed Samir toward the top.
The governor stood on the command platform with a number of important looking personages and Samir shook his head gently as he reached the deck and planted his wobbly legs as firmly as he could on the timber, accepting Ghassan’s offered arm for support.
Saja and Culin took up positions in surreptitiously supportive places around the young captain who had, against all odds and despite the innumerable immense obstacles, brought a fleet of vicious pirates to battle against one another until the only ones that remained afloat flew the flag of the Empire. The four men waited a moment until the windswept head of captain Faerus appeared over the edge of the deck.
“I see no one feels the need to help me aboard, just because I didn’t have the idiot bad sense to try and personally tackle an entire crew of howling lunatics.”
He grinned as Culin reached down and grasped his hand, hauling him aboard.
The five men, the leaders of the pirate rebellion, stood for a moment, recovering, before following the beckoning form of the second officer aboard the Pride of Calphoris.
The climb up the stairs to the command deck was easier, though still a little delicate, given the condition of three of the five men. Ghassan still winced occasionally as movements pulled the stitches in his back, Saja was criss-crossed with minor cuts and abrasions and Samir… The doctor on board the Redemption had been typically sarcastic, but had begun work on stitching and binding the various wounds before the captain had even been given a sedative; a testament to how bad he considered Samir’s condition.
That had been almost five hours ago and the doctor had been quite vocal in his refusal to let Samir out of his sight, even at the governor’s request until, Ghassan had given him a direct order to his quarters.
While the doctor had worked, the crews of the three ships had swept the site of the battle, noting the locations of the various sunken wrecks mostly from the flotsam and jetsam and the bobbing, bloated bodies that had not yet been pulled down as they lay draped over random spars of wood or shattered pieces of broken deck.
The saddest had been the site of Orin’s ship, the Revenge. No sign had been found of any survivors in the area, but the pieces of charred timber and the various unpleasant things the searchers did locate had told a horrible story.
Still, Orin had fought, like all of them, for what he believed to be right and it was partially through his sacrifice that the five remaining leaders reached the top of the stairs and crossed the command deck of the massive, outsized daram to the waiting officers opposite.
Marshal Tythias and Commodore Jaral, standing to one side of the governor, bore unreadable expressions and Ghassan realised he was having a little difficulty meeting the gaze of his old captain, even in Jaral’s new exalted role as commander of the navy. The presence of a clearly very important Pelasian Satrap, dressed in his elegant black robes, and sporting numerous marks of rank and decorations, was more of a surprise. Ghassan recognised some of the markings that identified the officer as the commander of the Pelasian royal fleet.
“All five of you?” the governor asked in surprise. “I thought I saw one of your ships disappear in a fireball. I was expecting only four.”
Samir nodded wearily, wincing at the pain in his head.
“I beg a slight change in the contract, governor.”
The man frowned suspiciously.
“One does not usually change the conditions of a deal after it is done, captain Samir.”
