Alys put on a brave face and gave him a firm nod. Pallas held onto her for a moment longer, then turned to face the waiting captain.
A wicked smile split the pirate’s dark beard. “Very touchin’ speech there, laddie. Yer right ‘bout one thing, though. This’ll be over real quick-like.”
Pallas declined to answer, his jaw firmly set as he approached his dangerous opponent. He drew within a few feet, then fell into a well-practiced stance.
The duo eyed each other for a few moments, then Pallas felt that same surge of dark spiritual energy. He watched with keen interest as a glow enveloped the captain’s blades. The energy crackled and spit just like black flames.
So, he is a dark ‘blade. Well, two can play at that game. Once again, Pallas reached inward, drawing on his spirit. It was a bit harder this time—each use of spirit energy drained the body and mind. Pallas refocused his will, coaxing the energy forth nonetheless. The warmth traveled from his lower abdomen and up through his arms, encircling his blade with sizzling red and yellow flames.
“Oh ho, laddie,” the captain bellowed. “It seems ye know a trick or two yerself. That should make this all the more fun.”
Without warning, the pirate launched himself at Pallas. He slashed and spun, his blades darker than the surrounding night.
Gods, he’s fast!
Pallas’ brother favored two swords, but it was nothing like this. It was all he could do to keep up with the pirate. He barely managed to parry a slash when another came at him from a different angle.
The swift and merciless flurry continued, black and red flames dancing around each other as they intertwined with each strike. Blow after blow rained down on Pallas. He was put totally on the defensive, slowly but inexorably being pushed back along the dock.
Incredibly, the pirate’s pace picked up. Pallas found it nearly impossible to follow. A split-second off on his parries, the tip of the captain’s blades swiped across his arms. Deep gashes appeared in his leather armor and traces of blood seeped through.
Pallas could feel himself losing. All his years of training, all those promises to protect his loved ones, and none of it was enough. He was going to die here, at the hands of a pirate of the clans.
The thought made Pallas go cold inside. No. Not like this. Not to one of them.
His father’s voice suddenly echoed through his mind. “There will always be someone better than you, but no one is perfect. Everyone has a weakness. The key is to find it and exploit it.”
Those words lit a fire inside Pallas. Energy flooded up from the core of his being. He found himself moving faster—anticipating the pirate’s moves. There. He parried a slash. And there. He countered a thrust.
A strange sense of calm came over him, the rest of the world fading away. All that was left was their fiery blades dancing in the darkness.
At the same time, the pirate’s frustration grew. His attacks became bolder, wilder, in an attempt to break Pallas’ defenses. Finally, the pirate made a mistake, overextending himself on a particularly vicious lunge.
Pallas knocked the man’s blade aside, then twisted his grip and followed through with a quick slice across the torso.
The captain swiftly backpedaled away. He halted a few yards back and glanced down at his chest. His puffy white shirt had a gash in it with a short red line of blood seeping through. The pirate peered up at Pallas with a slight twitch in his eye. “Look at what ye did there now. Ye went and damaged me fine shirt.”
A feeling of elation washed over Pallas, but he swiftly pushed it back down. This was far from over. Another buildup of dark energy proved his restraint to be justified. Pallas concentrated his will, trying to sense what his opponent was planning, when the feeling abruptly faded. At the same moment, the flames on his blade went out.
Numbness spread over Pallas’ body. He could not sense any energy from the captain. He tried to draw on his spirit, but could not feel it. It was as if he was suddenly blind.
The captain jeered at him. “Hah. It looks as if ye lost yer edge there, laddie.”
Pallas sluggishly glanced around ‘til his eyes fell on a familiar figure. The dark-haired woman had reappeared across the dock, her pale hands clasped together to form a strange symbol. Cold fear gripped him as he realized the truth.
That’s witchcraft! The mage wasn’t a mage after all. She was a witch and she had cursed his spirit sight, the same way she had cursed Alys’ voice.
Pallas gulped. Without his gifts, he had no chance against the pirate captain. Still frozen with fear, he nearly jumped when a red-headed blur flew across the dock. That’s Alys!
The young lady had doffed her dress and now dashed across the pier, directly at the witch. The witch tried to weave another curse, but Alys proved faster. Like an acrobat, the fiery redhead caught the witch in the stomach with her heel. The dark-haired woman went flying backward, her concentration completely broken.
The witch righted herself, a knife appearing in her hand. Before she could use it, though, Alys leapt into the air. Her foot whipped around and collided with the witch’s arm, knocking the dagger out of her hand. Alys landed in front of the witch, poised for another leap.
A deep chortle resounded behind Pallas. “Looks like ye got yer own battle there, lassie.”
The witch responded with a hiss. “No thanks to you. Are you just going to stand there all night?”
The captain grimaced back at her. “Stop yer bellyaching. This’ll be over in no time. I’d worry more ’bout that fiery little redhead if I was ye.”
Amazing as Alys had proven to be, Pallas was also worried about her. Still, if she could keep the witch off balance, the witch wouldn’t be able to cast more curses. Not to mention, Pallas had his own fight to deal with.
The pirate captain had gone still. Pallas could no longer sense spiritual energy, but he knew an attack was imminent. A moment later, the pirate disappeared.
Pallas’ training was the only thing that saved him. He spun around as the captain reappeared behind him, a single sword thrust at his torso in a deadly lunge.
Pallas caught it on his own blade, but it still slid past him, slicing across his abdomen. Sharp pain lanced through his body.
Pallas glanced down. His leathers and the skin underneath had been slashed wide open. Red blood poured from the gaping wound. He felt suddenly lightheaded. His knees gave out and he dropped to the deck.
The sword fell from Pallas’ hand, the blade clattering onto the wooden planks. He desperately clamped down on the wound, marginally slowing the bleeding.
A dark laugh caught his attention. The pirate captain stood over him, a wide grin on his grizzled features. “Like I told ye before, laddie, it’s ye who’ll be needin’ the help.”
Pallas watched helplessly as the captain poised his blade for a final strike. Tears welled in his eyes. He had given it his all, but it wasn’t enough. He had failed miserably.
Pallas wanted to scream with frustration, but he’d be damned if he gave this cutthroat the satisfaction. He met the pirate’s gaze, his voice coming out in short ragged breaths. “If you’re expecting… me to beg… you’re sadly mistaken.”
The captain hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “Ye got guts, lad, I’ll give ye that.”
Those words struck a chord deep inside Pallas. A stark image abruptly flashed through his mind.
It was no longer the pirate captain holding a sword over him. Instead it was his father, Kratos Stealle—the most renowned blade in Penwick history. “So Pallas, what are you going to do now?”
Pallas lay on the ground, his own sword just out of reach. “What do you mean? There’s nothing to do. I’ve lost.”
Kratos gave him a stern look. “Where are your guts, lad? If I’d given up so easily, your mother would be dead and Penwick would be a pirate port.”
Kratos lowered his blade and extended a hand to his son. “Remember Pallas, where there’s life, there’s hope.”
At that instant, Pallas felt a strange tingling in the center of his br
ow. Something burst inside him—spiritual energy flooded through his being and filled his entire body.
The world around him had come alive once more. Pallas could sense the dark spirit of the man standing over him. Farther down the dock, he perceived the life-force of the ‘bladesmen and the rest of the pirates. On the other side of the quay, a single spirit burned, the other one winking out.
Alys!
Pallas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Biting back the pain, he leaned over and peered past the captain. He was met with an amazing sight. Alys stood over the body of the witch, a knife hilt sticking out of the dark-haired woman’s chest. Alys had killed her, breaking the curse over both of them.
“Pallas!” Alys cried as their eyes met. Her voice had returned, just like his spirit sight. Unfortunately, her cry had also garnered the captain’s attention.
The tall pirate halted his killing blow, his eyes now fixed on the fiery redhead. “Now what did ye have to go ’n do that for? I’m gonna catch hell from her family for this.”
Alys placed her hands on her hips and glared at the pirate. “You can go to hell with her for all I care.”
The captain sneered at Alys. “Ye know, lassie, yer becoming more trouble than yer worth.”
Alys responded with another high-pitched wail. Pallas braced himself, but somehow she managed to direct it solely at the maddened pirate.
The captain grimaced. Pallas felt another surge of dark energy as the man began a slow, inexorable march against Alys’ sonic assault.
Pallas went cold inside. The captain was an expert swordsman—nearly as good as his father. Alys didn’t stand a chance.
My father? A sudden flash of inspiration struck the young man. Kratos had been badly injured during the pirate invasion twenty years ago. Yet he had used his talents to stave the wound and finally beat Eboneye.
Holding his abdomen with one hand, Pallas picked up his fallen sword. The young ‘blade then steeled his will and sent energy out through his fingertips. Yet this time he directed it into the sword, not around it.
The blade glowed a dull red at first, but quickly grew red hot. Pallas clenched his teeth and placed the flat of the bright glowing sword against his wound. There was a sizzling sound and the acrid smell of burning flesh.
The pain was excruciating. It was all Pallas could do to hold back his screams. Still, he did not falter. He held the blade against his skin until the bleeding stopped.
When it was finally done, Pallas almost passed out. It took all his remaining will to stay conscious. Just… one more thing…
Alys continued to shriek at the captain, but the incensed pirate was nearly on top of her. In another few seconds, she would be dead.
One last time, Pallas reached down into the well of his spirit. Unfortunately, it had run dry. Tears of frustration welled in the young man’s eyes as he strained to find even the tiniest bit of energy.
Across the quay, the pirate captain drew back his sword. In another second, he would run Alys through.
At that moment, something broke inside Pallas. He didn’t care what happened to himself. His life was over—spent. The only thing that mattered now was the feisty little redhead he had vowed to protect. Gods, please grant me this one last boon. Please allow me to save her.
As if in answer to his prayer, a rush of energy burst forth from deeper inside than he’d ever gone before. His will suddenly took hold, and in the blink of an eye, he flashed across the docks.
Pallas reacted by pure instinct. He jabbed forward with all his remaining strength, skewering the dark pirate with his blade. At the same moment, he felt a burning sensation in his chest. Gazing down, he noted almost nonchalantly that the pirate’s sword had pierced him as well.
Both men fell to the ground, their eyes locked upon each other. A wicked grin spread across the pirate’s lips as the life drained from his eyes. “Nicely played… there… laddie…”
A wave of lightheadedness passed over Pallas, causing the world around him to spin. Cool hands touched his head and a familiar face stared down at him. “Pallas! Pallas! Stay with me!”
The voice sounded worried, but Pallas couldn’t fathom why. A whistling noise caught his attention. It was quickly followed by an explosion. Cannon fire…
The voice spoke to him once more. “It’s the Avenger. Just hang on, Pallas… they’re almost here.”
Pallas tried to smile at the voice just as everything went black.
Pallas slowly opened his eyes, but everything around him was foggy. He blinked several times until his vision finally cleared. A familiar visage stared down at him—a heart-shaped face with freckled skin and deep blue eyes, framed in a thick mass of long reddish-brown hair.
“It’s about time you woke up.”
The figure was garbed in the white robes of a temple priestess. Her voice was filled with mirth, but there was a slight undertone of relief in it.
“Thea?” Pallas asked groggily. “What are you doing here?” All at once, his memory came flooding back. “Where’s Alys?”
Pallas shot up, sweeping his eyes wildly about. The docks were gone. Instead he sat in his cabin aboard the Avenger.
A pair of strong hands grasped his shoulders. “Easy, tiger. She’s fine. As for you—you’re all healed, but your body still needs rest.”
Pallas glanced at Thea uncertainly, then examined his arms. His wounds were gone. He threw off his covers and lifted his shirt. The gash in his stomach had completely disappeared—not even a scar remained.
Pallas peered at his sister. “Your handiwork?”
Thea nodded, the side of her mouth upturning slightly. “The ship’s cleric closed the wound, but I cleaned up the rest of it.”
She took a step back and looked him over, her head shaking with mild disapproval. “You really did a good job on yourself this time. What were you thinking?”
Pallas let out a short laugh, but immediately regretted it. His body still ached all over. An embarrassed grin crossed his lips, his hand going to the back of his neck. “I guess I kind of rushed in to save the day. I must have been channeling our kid brother.”
Thea laughed gaily at his jest. “Did you just make a joke?” She placed a hand on his forehead. “You must be sicker than I thought.”
The side of his mouth curled upwards. “I’m not perfect, you know—despite the nickname you gave me.”
Thea’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh… you know about that?”
“Uh huh.” Pallas nodded as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed. His strive for perfection had garnered him the nickname of perfectly Pallas from his siblings.
Thea dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Just don’t tell Lloyd when you see him. He’d kill me if he knew you knew.”
Pallas narrowed an eye at his sister. “Our kid brother is here, too? Come to think of it, what are you doing here?” He swept his eyes around the cabin. “And where’s Alys? You said she’s ok.”
Pallas stood up, immediately regretting it. His body felt heavy, as if he were wearing a full suit of armor.
Thea grasped him by the arm, helping to steady him. “Easy, I told you. You have to give yourself a chance to recover.”
Pallas took a deep breath and gave her a wan smile. “Maybe I am turning into Lloyd. So, are you ever going to answer my questions?”
Thea let out an exasperated sigh. “The whole family’s here. When the message reached us about what happened, Mom teleported the lot of us. You and Alys were already on board by the time we got here.”
Pallas eyed her sharply. “So where is she now?”
A soft chuckle escaped Thea’s lips. “Is that more than just a passing concern I sense?”
Pallas felt the blood rise to his cheeks. “Well, I… I mean… she was nearly… we were nearly…”
A wide smile graced Thea’s lips as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Pallas. I was just teasing you… though she has grown into a lovely young woman.”
Pa
llas’ cheeks continued to burn as he shook his head. “It’s not like that, Thea.”
Thea arched an eyebrow at him. “Really? Because she hadn’t left your side in the last twenty-four hours, not until we rendezvoused with her father’s ship, that is.”
Pallas felt a warmth in his chest as he thought about Alys watching over him. His voice cracked as he responded. “She hadn’t?” He cleared his throat. “I mean… Alburg Dunamal is here?”
Thea gave him a knowing smile. “Yes. It appears the crusty old coot really does care about his daughter. When he arrived, she had to go meet him. Still, she wouldn’t leave your side unless I promised to watch over you.”
Pallas tried to mask the swirling feelings inside his chest with a short laugh. “Huh, guess that’s what we Stealles do best—watch over each other.”
Thea laughed in turn, then gently rapped his shoulder with her fist. “Well, I owed you one, anyway.”
“Hey, that’s what overprotective brothers are for.” Pallas exchanged grins with his “not so little” sister. She had grown into a fine woman, just like Alys.
Alys. Warmth swirled in his chest at the thought of the lovely young redhead. Again, Pallas tried to hide his feelings, this time with a smirk. “Anyway, give me a hand. You said Alburg Dunamal is here. This I’ve got to see.”
The smell of salt air invigorated Pallas as he stepped on deck. Thea gently held his arm, steadying him only when absolutely necessary.
Over by the rail, Pallas spied Captain Hightower in deep conversation with an austere-looking gentleman. Between the pair stood a familiar copper-haired young lady. Alys.
Pallas’ heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Still embarrassed, he covered his reaction with a smart remark. “Looks like the captain is getting his ear chewed off.”
Thea responded with a soft laugh. “I daresay Alburg could keep him there for the next day or so.”
Pallas considered joining the trio when a familiar voice rang across the deck. “Hey! Look who finally woke up!”
Pallas turned to see his younger brother, Lloyd, striding toward them. He was accompanied by their parents, Kratos and Lara. As they joined them, Kratos looked him over with a critical eye. “Well, I certainly hope the other guy looks worse.”
Tales From Thac Page 27