An elementalist.

Verahd raised his voice to summon a mighty wind spell as cannonb.a.l.l.s burst through the cus.h.i.+on of smoke. As it had at Port Stalwart, the gale rushed forward to answer Verahd's command. The spell served two purposes. First, it raised a wall of air before the armament of the Salma's Grace, shoving her cannonb.a.l.l.s back down her throat. Second, the wind lifted the Pride's warband as they leapt from its bow. The charr arced up through the gunnery smoke like hunting hawks stooping upon their quarry.

The sailors on the Salma's Grace had been trained in combat tactics. Each and every one of them was a member of the military, their captain was a Krytan officer, and his personal guards were battle-hardened Seraph. They'd drawn weapons, manned the guns, and responded to the threat with exacting discipline and obvious training. But they could not possibly have been prepared for six gigantic armored charr leaping from the smaller s.h.i.+p. The king's sailors fell back in shock and horror as Fa.s.sur, Sykox, and the rest of the Pride's warband burst through the smoke, landing with heavy thuds on the deck of the Salma's Grace.

To their credit, only a few of the Krytan sailors broke ranks and outright fled. The rest stood their ground, courage shaken but unbroken. Sykox landed before the others of his warband, the engineer's impressive bulk pulling him to the deck first. A pistol in each hand, he unloaded a double shot of small-arms fire into his foes, blazing a trail for the rest of the charr to follow. When the guns were empty, Sykox cast them aside and bared his claws.

Fa.s.sur alighted immediately after the engineer. His longsword flashed through the ranks of men defending the Salma's Grace, dropping one of them before any could react. The warrior charr rocked on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, haunches bunching, and leapt to knock one of the deck guns aside. As Fa.s.sur's shoulder struck it with ma.s.sive force, the carronade erupted into flame. The gun spun sideways. The shot misfired and blasted through the Salma's Grace's quarterdeck.

The rest of the warband landed at last, claws extended, weapons ready. The youngest of them, golden-maned Aysom Steamhawk, let out a battle cry and raced forward, tearing into the crew of the Krytan s.h.i.+p with abandon. Filled with bloodl.u.s.t and battle fury, the charr laughed and called out to one another with vicious glee as they waded through their enemy. Henst fought among them, for once ignoring the charr. His blades flashed like quicksilver. Two of the Krytan sailors fell to his advance before they could draw their weapons. Even cl.u.s.tered together four-to-one against them, Krytan sailors were no match for the battle-hardened charr. But humans were not the only sailors on board.

"What in the Mists happened to the ceiling?" someone bellowed from the mid-deck as two figures shoved their way up through the ruined boards. Ma.s.sive by human standards, the men stood head and shoulders above even the charr. Salt-gold hair capped broad, identical faces. Although those faces were the same, one wide jaw sported a long, braided beard, and the other had muttonchops and a thick mustache.

"Oh no," Sykox groaned. "They hired norn!"

"Looks like twins, even. Are the s.h.i.+ps close enough for the rest of the boarding party to get over here?" Fa.s.sur looked back over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, the engineer answered, "Not yet." With a sigh, he crouched and readied his claws. This was going to be a much harder fight than anyone on the Pride had antic.i.p.ated.

"What-charr? A battle? Ha! That's a far better use of our time than guarding a rock-boring storeroom door," the bearded figure bellowed enthusiastically. "Bronn, my brother, remind me to thank King Baede for providing entertainment for our voyage."

The second one soberly drew a ma.s.sive two-handed sword from his back, s.h.i.+fting it from one hand to the other as if it were no more than an oversized dagger. "I don't think the Krytan king had anything to do with it, Grymm. These are pirates."

Laughing, his companion replied, "Then remind me to thank the pirates!"

Grymm, the norn with the braided beard, strode forward and grabbed young Aysom in his hands, grappling with the catlike warrior without a trace of fear. Bronn paused to bellow a battle prayer: "May the Spirits of the Wild have mercy on your souls!" He lowered his sword like a horseman's lance and charged Sykox with fire in his eyes.

Sykox dodged the greatsword thrust with a quick sideways leap. As the mustached norn pa.s.sed, Sykox clawed him, landing a fierce blow that raked down Bronn's shoulder and left arm. The norn roared in pain and returned the blow, lifting one hand from the sword and burying the fist in the side of Sykox's muzzle. Meanwhile, the bearded Grymm lifted Aysom entirely off the ground, wrapping his arms around the charr's arms and rib cage to give him a mighty squeeze. Aysom cried out in pain, and Sykox heard a rib crack.

Bronn tried to bring his sword across Sykox's belly, but the charr kicked the weapon aside. As the norn lunged to retrieve it, the engineer called out to the other norn. "Hey! Fur face! You're picking on a cub?" Sykox snarled mockingly. "And here I thought norn preferred a fair fight."

Grymm paused and looked carefully at the charr wriggling in his grip. "That's a fair argument," he said musingly. Smiling, he loosened his grip on young Aysom. As the young warrior fell to the deck with a gasp, the norn paused to pat the golden-furred charr's shoulder and give him a smile. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. Didn't notice you were a bit overmatched. Been shut up too long-you know how it is." Aysom didn't respond, unable to do anything but desperately draw breath back into his lungs. The norn laughed. "I'll go pick on one of yer larger friends." Spying Grist, the norn nodded in eager antic.i.p.ation and strode away.

"Leave it to Sykox to fight with his mouth instead of his claws," Macha grumbled. She peered through her little spygla.s.s, watching the fight through the smoke of a second cannon volley. Her ears flicked, and she perked up, pausing her sweep of the other s.h.i.+p's deck. "Well, h.e.l.lo, pretty . . . Cobiah?" she called out. "I think I found their captain."

She pointed, and soon Cobiah could see the man as well. He was older, stocky and graying, wearing a sharply pressed frock coat of Krytan gold and green. The officer's coat reminded Cobiah of Captain Whiting-but the cold competency that radiated from him was nothing like the whining steward of the Indomitable's living days. This man showed no fear of battle. He strode into the fray and called on the sailors to rally-and rally they did. Cobiah noted a long scar down the right side of the captain's jaw; this man was no stranger to a fight. As he watched, the sailors on the vessel rallied around their captain, drawing strength from his mere presence. Indeed, there was something about the man, a strangely calm aura that bolstered his crew even against cannon fire, wind magic, and six furry murder machines.

The captain of the Salma's Grace strode down the stairway onto the main deck, pulling loose a heavy spiked mace from its holster. His eyes narrowed as a charr crewman tossed one of the Krytan sailors over the s.h.i.+p's side. Although Cobiah couldn't make out what he was saying, the look of disdain and anger on the Krytan captain's face spoke his thoughts as clearly as words. Fa.s.sur spun to face him, s.h.i.+fting his longsword in a figure eight before him as he prepared for battle. The weapon never finished its maneuver.

The captain of the Krytan s.h.i.+p swung his mace, calling out in a stentorian tone. As he did so, a brilliant orb of lightning crackled from his weapon, flying out from the end of his heavy mace and launching itself toward the charr. The crackling sphere struck Fa.s.sur so hard that the quick-footed charr was flung backward. He slammed into the mast with a painful yelp and slid to the deck, stunned. The Krytan captain raised his weapon and called out to the heavens. He brought it down with a loud rumble of thunder, and as he did, thick manacles of energy coalesced around Fa.s.sur's wrists.

"What's he doing? What kind of magic is that?" Cobiah stared, s.n.a.t.c.hing away Macha's telescope to get a better look. "Is he a mesmer like you? Is that an illusion?"

"Stop that! Hey!" Macha leapt at him, trying to grab back her sighting gla.s.s. "Let me see!"

"That's got to be an illusion! Right? Right, Macha?"

One of the other charr hurdled past the row of sailors trying to fend him off and dove between the captain and Fa.s.sur. It was Aysom, young, wounded, and stubborn, his lionlike features s.h.i.+fting from battle courage to concern as the captain did not waver but stood in the path of his charge. Roaring, Aysom shook out his pale mane and clawed the Krytan with all his strength. "Aysom! No!" yelled Fa.s.sur, but the charr youth was angry from his treatment at the hands of the norn and eager to redeem himself against a smaller, human opponent.

The captain pressed his mace to his chest and murmured softly. As Aysom's claws tore toward him, a glittering golden s.h.i.+eld surrounded the captain of the Salma's Grace in a protective sh.e.l.l. Aysom struck the glowing light with his full weight, but the blow merely ricocheted away. He struck again, claws out, but he could not shatter or penetrate the magical defense. The Krytan captain smiled and continued to chant.

"That's no illusion." Cobiah frowned.

Macha managed to wrest the spygla.s.s away from him and thrust it to her own eye. With a frown, she considered the spectacle occurring on the far deck. "It's a pile of Elonian protection magic, mixed with a little monk training, wrapped up in some crazy ritualist hoo-ha from Cantha. A real grab bag of 'you can't hurt me.' They're called guardians, and simply put"-Macha lowered the little telescope-"they mean trouble. I don't think the warband can handle that guy. What do you think we should do, Cobiah?"

There was no answer. Macha looked to either side, confused, but she was standing alone on the bow of the Pride. "Cobiah?"

The captain of the Pride was already grabbing his s.h.i.+p's rigging, climbing so fast he seemed nearly a blur against the knotted rope. When he reached the top of the Pride's forward mast, Cobiah drew his knife and cut free one of the long ropes that tied the masts together. Before anyone could stop him, Cobiah leapt out and swung away. He spun over the pinnace, her white sails rippling beneath his feet as the world tilted dizzyingly. The canyon wall careened toward him, and Cobiah slammed into it with both feet, using the leverage to push himself toward the Salma's Grace. Where the charr warriors knew how to use their bulk in battle, Cobiah's training as a child had taught him how to act quickly, with no waste of movement and an impeccable sense of balance. It was a skill that served him well aboard the Pride.

The rope skidded through his hands, chafing the callused skin, and when he reached the end, he shoved his legs against the stone, pushed off, and jumped for all he was worth. Everything spun as the weight of gravity took hold. Knife still in his hand, Cobiah plummeted into the galleon's mainsail. Deftly, he buried the blade into the white silks and rode the ripping sail down toward the Salma's Grace.

Across the deck, he could see Sykox and old Grist fighting tenaciously against the twin norn. They circled like hunting animals, feinting and striking with quick, sharp blows, while the norn bellowed and laughed. Occasionally, Bronn's greatsword lashed out in a circle, keeping them back while Grymm taunted them good-naturedly. Cobiah couldn't help admiring the brothers' sense of strategy. If the charr stayed at sword range, Bronn's great-sword would cut them to pieces. If they came too close, Grymm would grab and hold them, punching them with his t.i.tanic strength. These norn might have been playing around, but they knew how to fight as a team.

Cobiah slid down the sail, both hands desperately clutching the hilt of his knife. He could see scattered fighting all around, blurred by the smoke drifting in gray clouds from the ruined quarterdeck. Overall, the Pride's forces were winning. Several of the Krytan sailors were on the verge of surrender, dropping their weapons before the fury of the charr. The Pride's weaponry had caused damage, cras.h.i.+ng holes through the outer hull and causing panic in the lower decks.

Directly below, Cobiah watched as the Krytan captain swung his mace and knocked Aysom to the ground. Weary and wounded, the young charr still struggled to rise, but with another swipe, the captain's weapon cracked against Aysom's skull. The golden-maned charr fell limply to the deck.

Fa.s.sur roared in fury. The grizzled old captain glanced down at the unconscious stripling and stepped over Aysom, lifting the mace as though to level another blow at Fa.s.sur's snarling muzzle. Cobiah saw Henst charging toward the captain, but the human was not close enough-or, perhaps, wasn't motivated enough-to get there in time to save the charr. There was only one thing he could do. With a yell, Cobiah let go of the knife and dropped the last several feet, landing squarely on the Krytan's shoulders. As they tumbled onto the deck, Cobiah managed to wrest away the man's mace, sending it skittering across the dark boards. Henst kicked the weapon through the open hatch toward the hold.

The two captains grappled, rolling together across the deck. Cobiah's fist cracked against the Krytan's jaw. The man threw Cobiah off and shook his head to clear it, reaching for another weapon. Cobiah attacked furiously, forcing the captain to defend himself rather than prepare for his own attack. Grasping the man's wrists as he struggled to stand, Cobiah brutally kicked the other man in the s.h.i.+ns. The Krytan cursed a blue streak, falling to his face on the deck once more. Cobiah jumped on him, launching a quick one-two series of jabs to the man's face, but the older man wasn't finished yet. A strong right hook thumped into Cobiah's cheekbone with a shock of pain.

Suddenly, the Krytan froze in Cobiah's grasp. A sharp length of steel slid past Cobiah's shoulder, its finely honed point pausing a mere breath above the Krytan captain's throat. With a rabid grin, Henst snarled, "Can I kill him?"

The Krytan captain glared and raised his hands in surrender.

"No." Cobiah let go of his enemy and leaned back. "There's no reason to kill anyone, so long as the captain surrenders his vessel. We aren't here for blood." To the Krytan, he said more soberly, "You have my word on that. None of your crew will be injured."

Slowly, the gray-haired Krytan nodded, and the tension eased from his body. "On my word of honor, I and my s.h.i.+p yield to you. But I tell you this, pirate-if you go back on that promise, we'll fight 'til every last one of us has cut his name in your sorry hide."

"I'd expect no less." Cobiah rose victoriously. "Henst, go free Fa.s.sur and make sure Aysom's all right. Then go tell those overeager norn that the battle's over. We've gotten a formal surrender from Cap'n . . .?" He reached down to offer the Krytan a hand up.

"Moran. Captain Osh Moran." A sour look on his face, the older man took Cobiah's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Ten years younger, and I'd have had you."

"Ten years younger, and you'd have been fighting a stripling kid with no sea legs at all." Cobiah smiled, but the image of himself so many years ago brought back a painful memory. As he always did after a victory, Cobiah touched the old rag doll that was now tucked into the pocket of his vest. Biviane, he mused inwardly. Has it really been ten years?

"Cobiah!" Macha called from the Pride, interrupting his reverie. She waved her arms and augmented her voice with magic so that he could hear her clearly. "We have another problem." She flapped her arms, half dancing on the bowsprit. When she saw him looking, the asura began to jab her fist to the north as if trying to shake something horrible off her sleeve. Staring at her curiously, Cobiah turned to look where Macha was pointing.

A third s.h.i.+p was approaching through the tall, jagged rocks of the ruined island chain. It was easy for Cobiah to recognize, despite the weariness of battle and the reflection of sunlight from the waves. He'd seen this vessel only once, but there was no other like it on the open sea.

An ancient pilot clipper with scarlet sails.

"It's one of the Dead s.h.i.+ps." The blood drained from Cobiah's face. "They found us."

Although the sailors on the Salma's Grace did not recognize the s.h.i.+p with scarlet sails, the men and women aboard the Pride certainly did. Isaye spun the tiller, boldly calling out commands to the sailors aboard the pinnace. With their captain and first mate on the deck of the Salma's Grace, the crew of the Pride could have fallen to pandemonium had Isaye not taken a firm hand. Although they had little reason to listen to her, Isaye was used to command. Her orders were sharp with the ring of authority-and with Verahd at her side to a.s.sist, the well-trained sailors of the Pride were quickly responding. Cobiah could see his distant crew shouting and racing along the deck. As he watched, the pinnace adjusted her sails and turned her broadside away from the crippled Krytan vessel, pointing her guns toward the newcomer.

Would that the Salma's Grace could do the same.

"Captain Moran!" When the Krytan captain stared at him in befuddlement, Cobiah jerked the man by the shoulders and spun him toward the west. "Do you see that s.h.i.+p?"

"Aye." Moran looked hopeful. "Bad luck for you, pirate, if that's a Krytan vessel. Once they've freed us, King Baede will hang you on the gallows in Divinity's Reach."

"I've been hanged before," Cobiah said offhandedly. "It didn't take." Pointing at the incoming vessel, Cobiah traced the shape of its odd sails in the air. "Ever seen a Krytan s.h.i.+p with sails like that, Captain Moran?" Knowing the man's answer before he spoke, Cobiah pressed on. "I'll bet all the platinum in your hold that you haven't-not unless you've sailed beyond the Orrian Veil.

"It's a Dead s.h.i.+p, Cap'n, and she's called the Harbinger. I saw her strike Port Stalwart as part of an armada crewed by walking corpses. They left Stalwart in wreckage and now they've come after us. It's your bad luck they caught up to us right now . . . or maybe good luck. If that s.h.i.+p'd found yours alone at sea, I a.s.sure you, they'd make no promise to spare your crew."

"Dead s.h.i.+p?" Moran squinted. Suddenly sober, he stiffened in fear. "By the Six G.o.ds. If that's true, they'll sink us both, pirate-"

"Cobiah."

"-and raise our flesh as rotting husks once we've been drowned!"

"That's no good for me, Moran, and I'm betting it's not your favorite idea, either." Cobiah released the man's jacket, and Moran stumbled backward. He was caught by a st.u.r.dy paw. Blood matted the fur at Fa.s.sur's wrists as the black-furred charr helped the captain to stand. The grizzled captain flinched as he realized he was leaning against a charr, but to his credit, Moran said nothing. He nodded a simple thank-you and turned his attention back to the Dead s.h.i.+p.

"d.a.m.n it, we have to go back!" Henst cursed, every muscle taut as he watched the Pride readying to engage the Harbinger. "Isaye's on that s.h.i.+p!"

Cobiah knew exactly how the Ascalonian felt, but he didn't have the luxury of panic. Instead, he kept the Krytan captain's attention and kept his voice even and firm. "We have to work together, Captain Moran. The Pride can't handle that vessel alone, and in these narrow corridors, we can't outrun her. That's why we attacked your s.h.i.+p among these rocks."

"No matter where we are, son, we can't defeat it." Moran's voice shook despite the gruff old man's militant bearing. "I'm a servant of the church and a captain of the Krytan navy. I have faith in the G.o.ds." He made the sign of Dwayna in the air. "But that s.h.i.+p's anathema to all things sacred. It can't be defeated, and it can't be destroyed. n.o.body's ever beaten one! There's only one sane thing we can do-turn the Grace while that s.h.i.+p's fighting them and leave the Pride to die. I don't like leaving men and women to their deaths, but there's no other choice. Their sacrifice will be remembered in the halls of the Zaishen."

Cobiah's face darkened. "Leave my crew behind? Not today, not tomorrow, and d.a.m.n well not ever. We're going to fight, Captain Moran-and we're going to win. You've got to believe me." Moran met his eye dubiously, and Cobiah lowered his voice. "That pinnace is our home. It's all we've got. The Pride's not defenseless, either-it's got an astonis.h.i.+ngly powerful elementalist, a mesmer with a brain the size of Mount Maelstrom, and the finest pilot on this whole shade-sp.a.w.ned sea. More than that, it's got me." Cobiah let go of the Krytan and turned to point at the four charr.

"Sykox! Check belowdecks and make sure this crate is still seaworthy.

"Fa.s.sur! Ready the cannons and deck guns and give me a full accounting of our firepower."

"We're fighting?" Sykox's four ears shot up in delight and horror. Fa.s.sur looked impressed as well. Behind them, old Grist was holding up the still-woozy Aysom. All four of the charr stared at Cobiah.

"Of course we're fighting." He nodded curtly. "We're charr." As the others broke into wide grins, Cobiah started giving orders. "Grist! Get Aysom belowdecks and find him a berth; then get back up here and help Fa.s.sur and the others."

"Yes, sir!" A sharp grin creased old Grist's muzzle. "Get us close enough, and we'll tear that blood-covered s.h.i.+p apart with our bare claws."

Shaking his head, Cobiah contradicted the gray-maned elder charr. "Don't be so sure. Orrian wights fight better than sailors, I a.s.sure you, and they're far less afraid of guns and swords. We can't fight them one-on-one and hope to survive. We need to get to work and-"

"You can give all the orders you want, pirate," Moran interjected. "There's more of us than you, and without your s.h.i.+p firing on us, my sailors can sure as Grenth's frozen underworld overcome you lot. If I give the command to turn this s.h.i.+p, we're turning."

"You gave your word." Cobiah's tone was sharp. Silence fell between the two, and you could have heard a pin drop on the deck of the Salma's Grace.

Moran looked as if he were being forced to eat gla.s.s. "Balthazar break your bones, you wretched thing." Setting his shoulders stubbornly, the Krytan captain asked, "Do you really think we can do this?"

Cobiah swallowed the lump in his throat and answered boldly, "I know we can."

"Fine. Nicola!" Moran roared, glancing across the deck toward a female sailor whose formal military coat had the epaulets of a first mate. Hesitant to approach the charr, she nevertheless stepped forward and saluted. "Ready the s.h.i.+p for another a.s.sault. Turn her broadside to that red-sailed sc.u.m." Under his breath, Moran grumbled, "If that Orrian s.h.i.+p sinks us, at least we're saved the indignity of explaining to King Baede that we were boarded by pirates."

Cobiah grinned.

"Nicola, help them take that injured beast down to the hold and get him bandaged. Show the dark one where the guns are and bring out as much extra ammunition as we have left aboard. Get ready to shoot the ballast out of the cannon, if we have to, but keep those guns loaded."

"Yes, sir!" she said. Fa.s.sur, Grist, and Aysom followed her down through the open hatch. Henst put away his swords to help Captain Moran call together the human crew-from both the Pride and the Salma's Grace alike-and set them to task.

Sykox clapped him on the shoulder. As the others scattered to their duties, he paused. "Reminds me of the time we rammed the Disenmaedel," the engineer said fondly. "One minute we're two crews fighting, and the next, we're one big dysfunctional family all looking to you to keep us alive."

"I don't know if I can do it this time, Sykox," Cobiah said softly.

"But you said . . ." The charr's smile waned. "Ah. I get it. You're slipperier than a greased grawl, Coby. Must be how you did so well at Ackle-Denth." He nodded, placing one big paw on Cobiah's shoulder. "C'mon, Coby. Who raided the Xunlai warehouses near Lake Bounty? Who bluffed our way out of the Splintered Coast with three broken bottles and a handful of flash powder?" Sykox crossed his arms and flicked his ears back. "Whose idea was it to sail right into the middle of a krait deeps just to rescue a cook?"

"In my defense, his chicken pie was amazing."

"You," the engineer said. "You've turned crazy, reckless courage into a career. You've got a gift, Cobiah. A gift for bringing people together even against their better judgment. If anyone can defeat a Dead s.h.i.+p, it's you. Even if we die, I'm proud to have had you as my captain . . . and as my friend." Sykox shrugged nonchalantly, making the leopard spots ripple in his tawny fur.

"Same here, fuzz face." Touched, Cobiah thumped Sykox's shoulder. "Keep the bilges going," he said. "If we sink before they blow us to the heavens, I'm blaming you."

"Aye, sir." Sykox winked. "Off I go to see what's beneath Salma's skirts!" With that, he ambled toward the hatch, sliding rapidly down the ladder toward the galleon's lower decks.

From a distance, the boom of cannon fire thundered in the air. Cobiah's skin crawled, and he looked instinctively toward the Pride. Smoke rose from the pinnace's guns as she fired on the Orrian vessel with reckless abandon. Isaye and the others were fighting for their lives-and he was stuck here, without any way to help them.

Magical fire swelled from the Orrian vessel like a twisting serpent of flame. As cannonb.a.l.l.s pa.s.sed through it, they melted into liquid, falling harmlessly into the sea. The s.h.i.+mmering inferno flickered and swayed, flowing in protective circles around the Orrian s.h.i.+p. Cobiah thought he heard a chanting aboard the Pride. The wind rose, swirling through white foam and whipping the waves into a frenzy. The rush of air approached the Harbinger, tamping down the flame, pressing the Orrian fire closer and closer to the ocean in an attempt to quench it with the waves.

"Fine work, your elementalist." Moran had recovered his mace from below, holding it tightly in one hand. "You might have noticed, we've no offensive magic aboard the Grace. All we've got here is me."

"It'll be enough," Cobiah a.s.sured him. Moran gave orders to the crew in gruff tones, and slowly, the Salma's Grace began to turn. Cobiah leaned on the s.h.i.+p's gunwale, staring at the combat unfolding on the sea.

"Cap'n Marriner!" Startled, Cobiah looked over the gunwale and saw Fa.s.sur's dark head peering out from a hole between the boards of the s.h.i.+p. "Her hull's compromised, but it's all above water. As long as she doesn't hit roughs, the ribs'll hold. But . . . that's not the problem."

"What, then?"

"Some jacka.s.s got a lucky shot during the Pride's volley. Landed straight in the main hold. The twice-blasted thing set fire to the dry stores and nearly lit up the ammunition. Sykox turned the bilges on the armory so it wouldn't blow us all to the Mists . . . but now the gunpowder's swimming in brine."

Sighing, Cobiah rubbed his temples, trying to think clearly. "Can we fire the guns?"

"Aye . . . some. Whatever's out there already is the last of the powder. Two, maybe three shots each? The rest won't be dry for hours."

"Great," Cobiah groused. "So what can we do?"

Fa.s.sur grinned up at him hopefully. "Board them and fight one-on-one?"

"See?" Grist wheezed enthusiastically somewhere inside the lower hold. "That's what I told him!"

Cobiah slapped his hands to the sides of his head. "Who taught you guys this stuff?"

As one, the charr answered, "You did!"

Cobiah groaned and raised his palms to his forehead.

Another voice rang out across the deck. "You're going aboard that Dead s.h.i.+p?" Raising his head from his hands, Cobiah saw the two norn standing behind him, listening to the argument between him and the charr. Their wide grins were a matched pair. "I like your gumption, pirate," Bronn said, leaning on his broadsword.

Behind his brother, Grymm tugged his hard-leather sap gloves tighter around his knuckles. "Looks like we've got some real fighting to do, eh, brother?" Grymm beamed.

"About time," Bronn agreed. "I was starting to get bored with the warm-up."