“Thanks,” gasped Hirad. “Thank you.”
“We're almost there.” And then he was gone.
They changed direction, flying low over the waves and coming up to the rear of the vessel. There were no lights here as there were along its flanks and, confident that no elf who saw them would betray them, they flew in very close, below the level of the deck.
Here, despite the pitching of the ship, there was blessed relief from the storm and Hirad's pounding heart started to calm. Denser took them slowly upward, Hirad bringing his knees up to his chest to clear the rail. Once down, he lay flat to allow Denser to land and heard the light step of Ilkar come by his head. His hands were too numb to untie the rope. Happily, Ilkar's weren't and, with it off his wrist, he could refasten it around his waist for later and survey the damage to his arm.
“That's going to hurt later,” he said. “Your ankle all right, Denser?”
“It'll last,” whispered Denser. “What's next?”
“We listen,” said Hirad.
They listened to the shrieking of the wind, the odd word that came to them on the gale and the protesting of the ship's timbers. It told them nothing of who was on deck, or how many, but after their silence it was at least obvious that there were no patrols. At least, not to the stern.
“If this is anything like the Sun, we'll have to get in through the aft doors,” said Denser.
“Very risky,” said Ilkar.
“Well, besides blowing a hole in the wood about here, I reckon that's our only choice,” said Denser.
“And we have to exit that way anyhow,” said Hirad. “Or you won't be able to deploy wings unless you can cast underwater.”
“Then let's not waste any more time,” said Ilkar.
Hirad nodded and drew two daggers, one for his right hand, one to be gripped in his teeth, leaving his long sword in its scabbard on his back. With Ilkar and then Denser in his wake, he edged down the port rail toward the main deck, keeping low, the pitching of the ship a constant threat. The wood beneath his feet was slick with water and the hail was turning to rain, mixed in with spray from the sea. His hands were cold, the ache in his left wrist growing as he gripped the rail.
Flattening himself along the wall behind him, he moved on slowly, letting more and more of the deck reveal itself. They were still in deep shadow but under the light of a few swinging lanterns he could see three Black Wing guards near the bow of the ship, their arms clutching the foremast for balance. Another was halfway up the port rail and he had to assume there would be more, probably starboard and on the wheel deck beneath which they were currently crouched.
He turned to Ilkar. “Got enough stamina for CloakedWalk?”
“That, a shield and another set of wings, no more,” whispered Ilkar.
“We've got to know more about the situation in front of the aft doors.”
Ilkar nodded. “Just hope I don't connect with the shield covering Erienne.” He framed the shape for the spell, moved forward and disappeared.
“Denser, you all right?”
The Xeteskian nodded. “Just let's get her away from here before I lose it.”
“Revenge later, all right?”
Denser grunted, his eyes fixed forward.
They waited in the shadows. The Black Wings barely moved though elves did, checking lines, climbing rigging and passing round hot drinks to their captors. Drifting down from above them in a momentary pause in the wind, Hirad could hear elven voices. He wondered what they were thinking and whether, with Erienne gone, their lives would be worth much to Selik. Perhaps he should go with Denser's desire and try to kill all the Black Wings.
The slightest of rustling by Hirad and Ilkar reappeared.
“Right, I've retained the Cloak so this better be fast. There's a Dordovan on the wheel deck, along with two elves, and another one talking to a pair of Black Wings on the opposite side to us. We might be hidden from them, we might not. Our problems are the guards ahead who are looking back toward us and the one on the rail just here. They're bound to see us so we won't have much time.”
“Time for what?” asked Denser.
“Just go with this because it's our only chance. When I Cloak again, follow me at a run after a count of twelve. That gives me time to open the door on my way past. You run in, I follow and bolt it from the inside and we take it from there. We'll be up against swords and magic but they won't be expecting us. All right?”
“That's why The Unknown makes the plans,” said Denser, a wry smile on his face. “Let's get it over with.”
Ilkar nodded and disappeared again. Hirad counted out loud and deliberately, using the numbers to keep calm himself for the fight. This could be no Rage, it would be too tight.
“…eleven, twelve. Go!”
He stood and ran for the corner of the deck, the ship pitching into a wave as he arrived, sending him sliding forward into the light. There was a shout from ahead and he saw the Black Wings coming. Forgetting them, he turned and headed for the aft door which swung open as he approached it, a slight shimmering in the air telling of Ilkar on the edge of losing concentration.
“Run, Denser!” he pounded to the opening and jumped through it, coming to a crouch, head up, and looking down the corridor.
Two guards flanked a door about ten yards ahead and by them, two mages were seated. The guards looked round as he hit the floor, unsure for a second. Hirad wasn't. He ran forward, a cry ripping from his lips and threw a dagger as he approached, taking one of the guards in the shoulder as he turned. The man fell back, the other dragging his sword from its scabbard and stepping to block the corridor.
“Denser, mages ahead,” warned Hirad.
“Yes,” said a voice behind him.
The guard stabbed forward, the corridor too narrow for a swing, Hirad stepping back smartly. The Black Wing came on, another stab, but this time Hirad flattened himself against a corridor wall, the blade missing him.
“Now, Denser!” he shouted, bringing his fist down on the guard's sword arm and lashing forward with his dagger, ripping through the man's clothing and scoring his chest. He found purchase on the sword arm and dragged the man forward and off balance, reversing the dagger across his face as he came. Into the clear space ran Denser, while behind him, the aft door shut and a bolt slid across.
“Ilkar, help him,” called Hirad. But, as he smashed his fist into the guard's face again, he saw the Xeteskian needed no help, pouncing on the wounded guard and stabbing him through the chest. The barbarian lashed a kick into his victim's stomach and as he fell, stamped down on his neck. They all heard it snap beneath his foot.
The two mages, coming round after deep concentration from the shield they had held over Erienne, were easy prey. Denser and Ilkar took one each, showing no mercy for the Dordovan betrayers. Denser said something to the mage he killed but Hirad couldn't hear it.
Not waiting for them, Hirad kicked open the door and strode in, dagger ready. Erienne was crushed into a corner of her bunk, her mouth dropping open at the sight of him.
“Hirad! How—”
“No time, Erienne. Get prepared with ShadowWings. We have to get off here quick or not at all.”
Denser and Ilkar ran in.
“They're at the hatch,” said the elf as Denser stormed across the floor and picked Erienne up into a feverish hug and a kiss.
“And they'll be through it in a moment. Ideas?” He drew his sword, keeping the dagger in his left hand. “Denser, put her down. Time for that later.”
“Killjoy.”
“Ideas!” he repeated.
A door was wrenched open nearby. Hirad stepped up to the corridor. As the guard's face edged round, he backhanded his dagger straight into it, taking the man through the eye. He jerked the blade clear, the Black Wing falling without a sound.
“Wrong place, wrong time. Ilkar?”
There was a heavy thud on the aft doors.
“They'll be ready with spell so we need a shield. Denser can take that. I'll pr
epare a ForceCone. We have to drive them back to give us space to run aft, assuming that's where we're going.”
“Agreed,” said Hirad. “Everyone ready?”
“I'll HardShield,” said Erienne, feeling a surge of exultation at having back her power to cast. “They've got crossbows.”
After a pause, Hirad nodded. “Good, thanks. But keep the ShadowWings shape in mind. All of you, for that matter.”
They moved back into the corridor, Ilkar ahead with his ForceCone ready, Denser and Erienne with their respective shields cast and Hirad bringing up the rear. Where one guard could have come from, there could easily be others. Ahead of them, the door still held. At the other end of the passage, a door opened. A man stepped out, a crossbow in either hand.
“That's far enough,” he slurred.
“Keep going,” said Hirad to the others over his shoulder. “I can take him.”
“Come on, you're not going anywhere. I've got thirty men and a dozen mages on this ship. Good try, but it's over.”
“Selik, delighted to see what a mess Erienne made of you. Shame you survived.”
“Hirad Coldheart, isn't it? Yes. A lone swordsman. Give her up and I'll let you live.”
They were nearing the doors. Another heavy blow and they creaked, the bolt part giving way. Nails squealing as they were forced clear.
“Ready,” said Ilkar. “Concentrate.”
“Die then,” said Selik.
He fired the crossbows together, the bolts flashing toward Hirad and bouncing off the HardShield, one burying itself in the wall by his head, the other clattering away across the floor.
“Oh dear,” said Hirad as Selik backed off. “One lone swordsman. Three mages. No Raven is ever alone. Your turn.”
Hirad stepped back along the passage as Selik retreated toward his cabin, dropping the crossbows and reaching for his sword. In the same moment, the aft doors burst inward.
“Hirad, get back under the damn shield,” hissed Erienne, her voice taut with concentration.
The barbarian paced back smartly, seeing Selik's eyes widen. The Black Wing dived left and out of sight, into his cabin and an IceWind roared along the corridor. The air froze all around them, white enveloping the spell shield, the supercooled mana whistling through the gaps between shield and wood. The spell dragged at the timbers, covering them in a thick film of ice and pounded into Selik's cabin, scouring through where his head had been and forging huge deep blue corners of frost on roof and floor. The shield held.
“Good work, Denser,” said Ilkar. “Let's move, they're readying to cast again.”
Hirad sensed the ForceCone deploy, carefully and under total control, and The Raven started on up the corridor.
“Selik,” said Hirad. “I can get Selik.”
“No. We have to go now,” said Ilkar. “Ready Raven?”
“Ready.”
“Heading left at the deck, keep those shields up. Run!”
Selik appeared at the frozen cabin door, sword in hand. Hirad waved, turned and ran, shouting over his shoulder.
“Bye bye, Selik. ‘Til next time. Push that Cone, Ilkar, there's trouble at my back!”
The elf released the Cone, flinging it full spread at the casting mages and Black Wings, punching them from their arc by the door.
“Ilkar sword, guard stern to starboard. Denser, Erienne, hang on to those shields. I've got the rear.”
The Raven burst on to the deck, Ilkar sprinting left, slithering on the greasy, wet timbers. Behind him came Denser, hand-in-hand with Erienne, daggers drawn, and finally Hirad, Selik at his back, the Black Wings dragging themselves to their feet in front of him.
The ship rolled and Hirad fell to his right, tumbling on to his back and around on to his knees, dagger sprung from his grasp and sliding away. Scrambling back to his feet, he raced back toward the port side. Selik's head appeared at the aft doors. Hirad cursed, sword in his wrong hand to strike and instead lashed out with his left fist, catching the Black Wing leader on the side of the face, and hearing Selik's head connect with the door frame as he ran past.
“Yes!”
Steps behind him spurred him on, and ahead a Black Wing ran down the side of the wheel deck after the mages. Hirad slid into the rail to brake himself and charged after the soldier, striking overhead with his blade and slicing deep into the man's exposed neck and back. He pitched forward, sword flying out of his hands and flipping just over Erienne's head and out into the raging ocean, his flailing hands catching her and dragging her over.
Denser slowed.
“Go!” yelled Hirad. “I'll bring her.”
He kicked and hauled the body of the dying Black Wing aside, grabbed the elbow of the scrabbling Erienne and pulled her toward the stern.
“Shield down,” she said. “Shield down.”
To illustrate, a crossbow bolt hissed past and thudded into the rail. Hirad ducked reflexively.
“Gods. Go!” He pushed her ahead of him. “Go!”
Erienne turned the corner, Hirad right behind. As he slid to turn, a crossbow bolt tore into the flesh of his calf, the impact throwing him from his feet and he fell, hammering into the rail which cracked under the impact. He heard a cheer behind him and hauled himself out of immediate sight.
“Fuck it!” he said.
“Hirad,” said Erienne, turning back.
“No time,” he grated, dragging himself to his feet. “Keep away from those windows. Denser, Erienne, get your ShadowWings sorted and go. Ilkar, what have you got?” The pain screamed through Hirad's leg as he applied weight to it, feeling the blood flooding into his boot. The bolt was lodged, which was a blessing, and hadn't struck his bone, which was close to a miracle. He hefted his sword.
“Unknown numbers running toward us this way,” said Ilkar. “I'll keep them busy.”
In front of Hirad, the first Black Wings were coming down the port rail toward them. He hefted his sword, changing to his left hand for a better angle and waited, knowing every bought moment was vital.
“I can cast Orbs,” said Denser.
“No, Xetesk man, get Erienne off this bloody ship!” snapped Hirad. “Go before I pitch you over myself. We'll be right behind you.”
“You'd better be,” said Denser.
“Fly!” The first Black Wing paced around the corner, sword swinging round at shoulder height. Hirad blocked it aside then swept his blade back left to right, the man swaying backward to dodge the blow, bringing his sword back in front of him and stabbing forward. Hirad blocked easily and backhanded the man across the face with his right fist and lunged forward, pain flaring from his calf and spearing up through his back. He took the man in the midriff, skewering through his leather armour. He felt the sword grate against the Black Wing's spine and wrenched it clear, the body collapsing to the deck.
“Ilkar, how are you doing!” Hirad thrust forward, seeing a crossbow edge around the corner. His blade ground along the stock of the weapon and smashed though the sight, burying itself in the eye of the Black Wing who screamed and fell, finger flexing on the trigger, the bolt scoring Hirad's leather as it passed.
“Holding them back,” said Ilkar, out of breath. “Just.”
“Keep going, watch for crossbows.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Erienne and Denser were gone.
“Time to leave, Ilkar.”
“How?”
Hirad crouched, waiting, his wound throbbing badly. The next attacker was more cautious. The barbarian listened closely, hearing a boot slide along a timber. And again. Gripping a stay with his left hand and ignoring the billowing agony from his calf, he leant out and struck low, his sword thrashing into the man's ankle, biting through boot and into bone. The Black Wing howled and fell back. More bolts whistled by, missing comfortably.
Hirad swung back. It had to be now. He limped down the stern rail. Ilkar was struggling.
“Behind you,” he said, approaching. “Duck on my word.”
Ilkar fielded a blow to the stomach and pu
shed the man away but he was strong and snatched his sword back, whipping it round and over his head.
“Now!”
Ilkar ducked. Hirad's sword powered round, blocking the downward strike and sending the guard off balance. Hirad stepped over Ilkar and thumped a fist into the man's face. He staggered back a pace.
“ShadowWings and go, Ilkar!”
“They'll come from behind us, Hirad.”
“I'll hold them. Go.”
“No.”
Hirad slashed again, the Black Wing blocking but only just.
“Trust me, and don't lose sight of me. Now get lost.”
He stepped up and crashed his sword through the enemy's neck. The man teetered and pivoted over the rail.
“Fish food,” growled Hirad. “Who's next?”
Behind him, he heard Ilkar deploy the wings and leave the deck.
“Hirad, they're on you,” he shouted.
Hirad put his back against the wall of the aft cabins. Black Wings were filtering down the rail from his right. He could see crossbowmen behind him.
“Don't you lose me, Ilkar!” he yelled into the night, praying that the elf was watching him.
“Drop your weapon!” ordered a Black Wing.
Hirad smiled. “I don't think so,” he said.
He stepped forward and dived over the rail, sword ahead of him, and splashed into the sea.
The freezing water enveloped him, the waves huge and dark surrounding him. He broke surface briefly, kicking his legs, feeling his injured calf protesting as the salt edged in. He scoured the sky but could see nothing. The Ocean Elm moved gently away from him and he was lifted by another wave. The wind roared in his ears, he could feel more hail lashing down and he felt heavy. Very heavy.
He knew he should let go his sword and try to shed his leather but something inside him refused. He submerged again, water piling over on him, the storm singling him out as its next victim. He kicked again, feeling the air on his face and grabbing in another lungful.
“Ilkar!” he shouted into the gale.
He scrabbled at his back, sinking again, fighting to get his sword into his scabbard, knowing it was stupid, knowing he could afford to lose it, but having to free both his hands. He was going down but he refused to die. And there it was, like the feel of silk on the body of a woman, his sword slipping down into the leather. He swam for the surface, breaking clear and shouting again for his friend.
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