anticipated social of disaster about to be wreaked.’
Lenk blinked. ‘I’m sorry, did you just offer me an escape route or invite me to tea?’ He made a half-hearted thrust at the man, who easily darted away. ‘Either way, you would seem to be in a poor position to guarantee either. You’re not the captain.’
‘Indeed. Our dearest chum and astute tutor Rashodd has excused himself from this particular bloody fete to better assure you of his honour. All we wish to partake of is the women in your charter, as well as a portion of your cargo, us being pirates and all.’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘And a particular priest who has decided to associate himself with your uncouth captain.’
Lenk drew back at the mention, suddenly cocking a brow.
‘Evenhands?’
‘Ah, the delicate ladies of your employ would certainly be unimpressed at the object of your concern, sir.’
‘What do you want with the Lord Emissary?’
The Cragsman offered a smirk coy as he could manage with lips like a shedding centipede. ‘A proper gentleman never tells,’ the pirate said, advancing upon the young man and grinning as his opponent took a step backwards. ‘Unfortunately, in the time it took to deliver that stirring bout of eloquence, my patience, and thusly the offer, did decline. Alas . . .’ He raised his cutlass high. ‘Generosity wasted is generosity insulted, as they—’
He was interrupted suddenly by the sound of an out-of-tune lute being plucked, followed by a whistling shriek that ended in a wet, warm punctuation. The pirate jerked suddenly, he and Lenk sharing the same expression of confusion before they both looked down to see the arrow’s shaft quivering from between two of the Cragsman’s ribs.
‘Ah,’ he slurred, mouth glutted with red, ‘that would do it, wouldn’t it?’
Lenk watched him until he stopped twitching, then turned his stare upwards.
He caught sight of Kataria’s smile first, her canines broad and prominent over the heads of the combatants as she stood upon the railing. She held up a hand, wiggling four slender fingers before scampering up the rigging, a trio of Cragsmen at her heels.
It was a well-believed idea of less-practical men that removing oneself from the reach of their opponent was low. Scampering away from them, however, was simply insulting. Kataria doubtlessly knew that. With dexterity better befitting a murderous squirrel, she turned, drew and loosed a pair of arrows at them, giggling wildly as they fell back, one dead, one wounded and the third apparently ready to find easier prey.
The saying was old and well-worn amongst men, but true enough that the pointy-eared savages had adopted it as their own.
Shicts don’t fight fair.
The Cragsmen, too, seemed equally aware of the phrase and voiced their retort in a whirl of thrown hatchets. She twisted, narrowly avoiding the gnawing blades, but found herself caught in the rigging as they glided over her head and bit through the rope. She shrieked, fell, disappeared into the melee.
Go back , was his first thought. Find her. Save her. But his legs were frozen, his head pulling towards another direction. She’s a shict. Savage. She doesn’t need saving. Keep going, keep going and—
Kill. The thought came again, more urgent this time. It hurt his head to think it, chilled his skull as though it came on icy breath. Fight.
He couldn’t help but agree; there would be time enough to worry about Kataria later, likely when she was dead. For the moment, something else caught his attention.
The sound of wheels turning with such force as to be heard over the din of battle reached his ears. A groaning of wood and metal sounded across the gap of the sea. Lenk could see, over the heads of the pirates who remained aboard the Linkmaster to hold their boarding chains steady, a monstrosity being pushed towards the railing.
‘A siege engine?’ he muttered to himself, not being able to imagine what else the wheeled
Lenk blinked. ‘I’m sorry, did you just offer me an escape route or invite me to tea?’ He made a half-hearted thrust at the man, who easily darted away. ‘Either way, you would seem to be in a poor position to guarantee either. You’re not the captain.’
‘Indeed. Our dearest chum and astute tutor Rashodd has excused himself from this particular bloody fete to better assure you of his honour. All we wish to partake of is the women in your charter, as well as a portion of your cargo, us being pirates and all.’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘And a particular priest who has decided to associate himself with your uncouth captain.’
Lenk drew back at the mention, suddenly cocking a brow.
‘Evenhands?’
‘Ah, the delicate ladies of your employ would certainly be unimpressed at the object of your concern, sir.’
‘What do you want with the Lord Emissary?’
The Cragsman offered a smirk coy as he could manage with lips like a shedding centipede. ‘A proper gentleman never tells,’ the pirate said, advancing upon the young man and grinning as his opponent took a step backwards. ‘Unfortunately, in the time it took to deliver that stirring bout of eloquence, my patience, and thusly the offer, did decline. Alas . . .’ He raised his cutlass high. ‘Generosity wasted is generosity insulted, as they—’
He was interrupted suddenly by the sound of an out-of-tune lute being plucked, followed by a whistling shriek that ended in a wet, warm punctuation. The pirate jerked suddenly, he and Lenk sharing the same expression of confusion before they both looked down to see the arrow’s shaft quivering from between two of the Cragsman’s ribs.
‘Ah,’ he slurred, mouth glutted with red, ‘that would do it, wouldn’t it?’
Lenk watched him until he stopped twitching, then turned his stare upwards.
He caught sight of Kataria’s smile first, her canines broad and prominent over the heads of the combatants as she stood upon the railing. She held up a hand, wiggling four slender fingers before scampering up the rigging, a trio of Cragsmen at her heels.
It was a well-believed idea of less-practical men that removing oneself from the reach of their opponent was low. Scampering away from them, however, was simply insulting. Kataria doubtlessly knew that. With dexterity better befitting a murderous squirrel, she turned, drew and loosed a pair of arrows at them, giggling wildly as they fell back, one dead, one wounded and the third apparently ready to find easier prey.
The saying was old and well-worn amongst men, but true enough that the pointy-eared savages had adopted it as their own.
Shicts don’t fight fair.
The Cragsmen, too, seemed equally aware of the phrase and voiced their retort in a whirl of thrown hatchets. She twisted, narrowly avoiding the gnawing blades, but found herself caught in the rigging as they glided over her head and bit through the rope. She shrieked, fell, disappeared into the melee.
Go back , was his first thought. Find her. Save her. But his legs were frozen, his head pulling towards another direction. She’s a shict. Savage. She doesn’t need saving. Keep going, keep going and—
Kill. The thought came again, more urgent this time. It hurt his head to think it, chilled his skull as though it came on icy breath. Fight.
He couldn’t help but agree; there would be time enough to worry about Kataria later, likely when she was dead. For the moment, something else caught his attention.
The sound of wheels turning with such force as to be heard over the din of battle reached his ears. A groaning of wood and metal sounded across the gap of the sea. Lenk could see, over the heads of the pirates who remained aboard the Linkmaster to hold their boarding chains steady, a monstrosity being pushed towards the railing.
‘A siege engine?’ he muttered to himself, not being able to imagine what else the wheeled
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