they were looking at the fire as well.
“Tymora, favor a fool,” he said aloud. Then he drew his elven blade, locked his eyes on the place he wanted to be, and spoke another spell.
A dozen pirates were sprawled on the ground nearby, too drunk to be roused by the fire. Three more stood within ten or fifteen feet, but they were watching their fellows fight the fire; their backs were to Geran.
“Don’t speak,” Geran whispered into the half-elf’s ear. “I’m going to try to rescue you.” The panic in her eyes faded, and she gave him a single quick nod. He took his hand from her mouth and turned his attention to slicing through the ropes binding her as quickly and quietly as he could. It was harder than he’d thought; the firelight cast dark, dancing shadows, and he didn’t want to cut her by mistake. He finally found the right angle for his sword and sawed through the cords binding her wrists together.
“Behind you!” the half-elf hissed urgently.
Geran looked up and found that one of the pirates who’d had his back turned a moment ago was looking right at him. He was a burly fellow with a mop of straw-colored hair and a scarred jaw. “Who the devil’re you, and what d’you think you’re doing with our pris’ner?” the man demanded. The other crewmen standing nearby turned to look at Geran.
Geran seized the half-elf by her wrist and dashed off into the darkness. They struggled through the loose sand, but so did the men who pursued them. In twenty steps they were out of the firelight, and Geran began to hope that they might be able to simply outrun the corsairs’ pursuit. Then he saw a brawny half-orc moving to intercept them, a heavy hand axe grasped in one thick fist. They must have posted some sentries after all, Geran realized.
The half-orc didn’t waste time on challenges. Baring his fangs in a fierce growl, he flung himself at Geran with a roar of rage, his axe raised high. Geran quickly stepped in front of the captive and met the half-orc’s rush with an arcane word and a lunge. His sword burst into emerald flame and took the half-orc in the notch of his collarbone, grating on bone as it struck deep. The pirate stumbled heavily and fell into the swordmage; Geran shouldered him to the side, then whirled to face the big straw-haired man and the other two pursuing from the fireside.
“Ho, so you’ve some fight in you after all!” the big man said. “I thought you were going to just run off there!” He had a cutlass in his hand, and he started forward with a more cautious advance than his crewmate had tried. The second man came up close behind him with a short boarding pike; the third fellow struggled to catch up.
“More are coming,” the half-elf woman said. And she was right; by the bonfire Geran could see more of the pirates turning aside from the fire aboard the Sokol ship and moving in their direction. He didn’t have time for a defensive fight.
He launched an attack on the big man. The fellow parried his first thrust, and blocked the slash that Geran followed with, but then Geran looped his point over the man’s guard and stabbed him deeply in the meat of his sword arm. The pirate dropped his cutlass with a startled oath; before the man could recover, Geran flung out an arm and snarled another spell, flinging up a shield of ghostly white. The glowing disk caught the man with the boarding pike as he worked around to Geran’s flank and knocked him down in the sand. The fellow started to scramble to his feet, but a fist-sized rock sailed over Geran’s shoulder and caught him in the mouth. He fell back again, spitting broken teeth.
The third pirate looked up at Geran, realizing that neither of his two comrades was still in the fight. He was armed only with a long dagger, but he must have been daunted by Geran’s longer blade or magic, because he hesitated and then backed away. “Over here!” he shouted. “The girl’s getting away! Here!”
Geran snarled in frustration. He’d been within a few feet of escaping without notice! The man with the dagger realized his danger at the last moment and tried to retreat, but he lost his footing in the sand and fell. Geran silenced him with a savage kick to the jaw. Geran wheeled to face the big, yellow-haired man, just in time to duck under a wild, left-handed slash of the man’s cutlass. This man was the one who’d stripped the captive and toyed with her while she was helpless. Eyes blazing with wrath, Geran slapped his cutlass out of the way and rammed the point of his backsword into the man’s belly. The man howled in agony; Geran jerked back his point and finished the pirate with a cut that took off half of his face. He looked around for another foe to sate his anger, but no more were near.
The half-elfwinced when he met her eyes and retreated a step. Geran took a breath, mastered his fury, and lowered his sword. Before any more foes could catch up, he seized the woman’s hand again and hurried her up the beach. “You’re handy with a rock, but it’s time to leave,” he told her. “We’ve worn out our welcome.”
Together they scrambled through the brush at the edge of the beach and ran up the hillside. When Geran risked another look over his shoulder, he could see dozens of men seizing burning brands from their bonfire and starting up the hill after them. The slope was treacherous in the dark; loose soil and rock slipped under their feet, and he had to keep an eye ahead to make sure they didn’t flee into a bluff they couldn’t scale, as well as watching the pirates who followed.
He found their way blocked by a thick patch of brush at the foot of the cliff and realized they were climbing up by a different way than he’d come down. He paused, trying to find his bearings, but the half-elf took one glance and pulled him toward the left. “There’s a better path over here,” she said. Geran decided to trust her judgment and followed after her. With her elf blood, she could probably see in the dark much better than he could. When they got around the thicket, he took the lead again and steered her toward the spot where he’d left his horse.
They reached the boulders where Geran’s horse was tethered. The animal, a big, gray gelding, scented danger and pranced nervously. Geran sheathed his sword-he hated to do that with blood on the blade, but he’d just have to clean it up as best he could later-and unlooped the reins as the half-elf climbed into the saddle. Then he hauled himself up into the saddle behind her and set his heels to the horse’s flanks. They pelted out of cover along the trail as the first of the pirates reached the top behind them. The swordmage risked a glance backward and saw angry corsairs running after them brandishing torches and cutlasses. Then he leaned forward in the saddle, arms around the woman in front of him, and urged the gelding to its best speed.
His horse’s hoofbeats thundering in the night, Geran galloped out of the cove with the pirates’ captive on his saddle and leaping red firelight behind him.
TWO
After a hard run of a mile or so to gain distance on the pirates, Geran slowed his horse to a canter and rode for a time. When he judged that they’d put any immediate pursuit well behind them, he let the horse settle into a trot, its breath steaming in the cool night air. The night was clear and cold, but the moon was up now; its silver light glittered on the Moonsea to their right. The woman shivered in his arms, and he realized that she was clutching only a shred of her torn dress over her torso. For that matter, he was still soaked from his moonlit swim. “I think we’ve outrun them for now,” he said. “We can stop for a moment. I have a spare shirt and cloak in my gear.”
She turned her head to look back at him. “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m freezing.”
He reined in and dropped down out of the saddle. Then he offered a hand to help her down as well, trying-but not entirely succeeding-to keep his eyes fixed on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest with an awkward grimace, and he made himself turn his attention to the satchel behind the saddle. He rummaged through it quickly and found his spare clothing. “Here. You’re welcome to it.”
He turned away and watched the trail behind them, giving her the privacy to dress as well as she could. There was no sign of the pirates behind them. He guessed they’d covered three or four miles pretty quickly; the marauders must be at least a quarter hour behind them, if indeed they were still giving chase. He heard rustling and the sound of tearing cloth. Then the halfelf spoke again. “I’m decently covered now,” she said. Geran looked back to
