Beyong the Moons

weapons.” Gomja crisply nodded and set about his task. Teldin, meanwhile, scrambled up the ratlines.

For the next hour, the Silver Spray tacked and veered, struggling to catch every ounce of breeze available. The crew, Teldin included, worked constantly to adjust the running rig and trim sails to match new headings and variations in the wind. Each change of the wind, each slip of a rope, triggered another string of orders and corrections from Cwelanas. Their pursuer was close enough now to be seen by all; a three- master, it was flying before the wind with red sails billowing full.

The pirate vessel dogged the Silver Spray, shifting over and across the sea for every knot of speed. The elves watched to the stern with worried looks, fingering the swords they now carried at their belts. It was clear, even to a lubber such as Teldin, that the Silver Spray was outmatched. The pirates steadily gained.

“Bring her about!” Luciar shouted from the afterdeck. Teldin didn’t understand-such a move would send them directly back toward their pursuers. He collared Galwylin and asked the experienced sailor why.

“The captain figures that since we cannot outrun the foe, we are best to fight with the advantage of the wind. They will have to sail close-hauled, which makes them slow to turn. If the Silver Spray can break past, we might just lose them.” Galwylin’s voice was barely hopeful as he explained Luciar’s intentions. Before Teldin could ask further, Cwelanas called out more orders in her clear voice. Some of the elves scrambled into the shrouds, slender bows in hand. Each carried quivers filled with white-plumed arrows.

Gomja went to the aft stairs and, with a deferential salute, spoke a few words to the elf maiden above him. She gave him a quick nod of approval and turned to give the crew new orders. Soon, all the hands, including Teldin and Gomja, were hauling tables and benches from the mess hail belowdecks. The giff single-handedly carried the heaviest of the ship’s few tables and, under his close supervision, these were now turned on the side and lined along the starboard rail. Cwelanas looked over the crew’s handiwork approvingly as the last barriers were lashed in place. “What now?” Teldin anxiously asked Gomja as they levered an oaken bench onto the wall.

“I don’t know, sir. Boarding nets would be good,” Gomja explained, giving the mismatched furniture a condescending nod. “A proper spelljammer would have nets roofing the deck to discourage boarding. At least with these we’ve got a wall to fight behind.”

Running fast with the wind, the Silver Spray was almost upon its foe. The Blood Sea galleon had closed the gap, trying to work close enough to touch the elven ship’s hull. The feared red sails were almost parallel to the pirate ship’s keel, trying to catch the wind that blew against them. Captain Luciar had obviously chosen his tactics well, for the bulk of the minotaur crew was occupied with trimming the sails. Still, there were many others lining the sides, great bows and spears in hand.

Feeling the need for what little security the cloak might provide-it was, after all, magical-Teldin took a few moments and willed his cloak to its full length. Galwylin’s eyes widened in surprise, but the elven sailor made no comment. Instead the sea dog followed his fellows’ lead and hunched behind the improvised shield wall. Those aloft took shelter behind the masts. Only the captain, Cwelanas, Teldin, and Gomja-the giff positioned foremost in the bow-stood ready to receive the foe.

The first shots of the sea battle were fired well before the ships were within the range of even the strongest elven bowmen. There was a faint twang from the pirate ship, then a smoldering bolt arced across the sky. Before it had a chance to hit anything, another fiery missile took to the air. These two shots ended in hisses of steam as the flaming bolts fell into the ocean, one splashing short and the other soaring well over the Silver Spray’s sails into the water beyond. “Ballistas, sir!” Gomja bellowed from the bow. “They’re ranging us, Captain!”

Two more bolts quickly followed, this time both striking home. One passed so close to Teldin’s head that he could smell the oily, black smoke of burning rags. The bolt hit the deck but did not bite. It instead skittered across the planking until it lodged at the base of the aft cabins, where it splintered the thin wall. Along its path was a trail of fitfully burning oil. The broken wood where it had held blazed furiously, the pine-tar caulking catching fire. The second shot went high, tearing somewhere into the rigging overhead, but Teldin had no time to follow its course. He grabbed the bucket that was thrust into his hands and hurried to douse the blaze on deck. As the crew smothered the last of it, Teldin could heat shouting from above. “I don’t understand, Galwylin,” Teldin yelled to the elf. “If they’te pirates, why ate they trying to burn the ship?” he asked while hastening back to the wall’s shelter.

“Not the ship, Bare Tree, the sails. Look aloft.” The elf nodded upward to the masts. There Teldin discovered the cause of the shouting. The second bolt had struck the mainsail squarely, leaving a gaping tent in the canvas. The missile had torn through to land in the ocean, but not before gobbets of pitch had rained over the elven sail. Already the blaze had spread from the edges of the teat, the flames racing along the sun-bleached fabric.

“Cut the sail!” commanded Cwelanas. “Do it now!”

Ahoy below!” sang a voice from the shrouds, followed by a rapid series of whiplike cracks. The mainsail sagged in the middle, then drooped at one end, and finally crashed through the rigging to tumble, aflame and aflutter, to the deck below. Teldin leaped out of the way, the flaming cloth driving him toward the stern. A bellowing cheer echoed from pirate ship’s deck.

“Night watch, hoist it overboard and hurry! Day watch, to your positions!” dictated Luciar amid a swirl of sparks and ash. His thin, old voice strained to shout above the growing noise. The designated crewmen struggled with the tangled mass of burning sail, beating back the flames and swearing vehemently as the cloth snagged on every projection. Spear in hand, Teldin worked his way back up to the barricade neat the base of the afterdeck ladder. Looking forward, he saw Gomja still in the bow. The giff was coolly loading his pistols, ignoring the havoc astern.

With the mainsail gone, the advantage the Silver Spray had was suddenly trimmed. Teldin could hear the snap of bowstrings from the elves aloft, bowshots the minotaurs paid back in kind. The table barricade in front of Teldin reverberated as the barbed head of a harpoon savagely rammed through. The stowaway jumped back, realizing the crude barricade did not provide immunity. He was just as astonished when the table started to back over the gunwale.

“Cut the rope, human!” Cwelanas shouted from the top of the ladder. The elf maiden was dressed in chain mail, finely woven but oily gray, and she held a brightly painted shield to block any arrows from her unprotected face. With her cutlass she pointed to something on the outside of the hull. “The harpoon!”

Teldin scrambled halfway up the afterdeck ladder and thrust himself over the wall until he could reach over the barricade. A light line ran back from the harpoon that transfixed his table, all the way to the minotaur vessel. Their ship was so close now that Teldin could see the horned monsters hauling on the thin cable that stretched across the open space. The barest glance down the length of the Silver Spray showed other lines, some in the hull, others in the barricade. Suddenly a set of bookcases from Luciar’s cabin toppled over the side, banged against the hull, and splashed, broken, into the ocean. As he hung over the edge, the stowaway glimpsed minotaur archers aiming in his direction. Teldin fumbled a dagger from his belt and quickly sliced through the line. He wasted no time and tumbled back behind the wooden wall. The table shook with a series of thuds as enemy arrows struck moments too late.

“Well done,” said Cwelanas with a faint smile. They were the first kind words she had said to Teldin. “More voyage than you expected?” She stepped away as an arrow struck the deck at her feet.

Teldin nodded. “Do we have any chance? It looks as if we’re badly outnumbered,” he shouted up at her.

The smile vanished and was replaced by a grim look for the minotaurs. “That is true, Teldin Moore, but we still have a few tricks for them-or we all may die. They are almost upon us now. Fight well, human. I will be watching you.” At that Cwelanas hurried toward the stern.

A flurry of spears announced the next phase of the minotaur attack, but the elves were unscathed behind their wall. The spears were immediately followed by the loud clangs of metal hitting wood. Grapples bounced over the barricades or hooked into the railings. A few elves leaped forward to cut the thick cables. One fell, gurgling, to the deck as a spear jutted out the back of his throat.

The minotaurs were then upon them. With a rending crash, large sections of the barricade gave way, clattering into the ocean. Teldin’s table teetered and fell, leaving him uncovered. The breach was immediately followed by a small series of charges along the line of the deck as the fiercest of the bullheaded men leaped across the narrow gap between the two ships. Their faces were bestial- fanged mouths flecked with foam, thick manes fluttering in greasy strands, and dirty yellow eyes filled with hate. Jabbing with his spear at the man-beast’s rage- twisted face, Teldin struck the creature closest to him as it sprang across open space. The minotaur roared with insensate pain and plunged into the ocean as it clutched at a mined eye. The creature’s fall bought the stowaway a