Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

Riverwind glowered at the captain, then turned away and hurried aftward. The man who had gone below to fetch weapons came up through the hatch and began to pass out blades and clubs to his mates; many of the sailors also seized belaying pins and gaff hooks from racks on the masts and gunwales, looping them into their belts and muttering angry oaths.

From the stern Riverwind saw Red Reaver not far off. She was a tall, fast warship with deep crimson sails. Atop her mainmast, he could make out a black flag emblazoned with a white scythe. Though Brinestrider was running hard, moving faster with every heartbeat, the Reaver was gaining on them steadily, cuffing through the water like an arrow. Dark shapes swarmed over her decks and crowded against the rails, waving wicked swords in the air. The pirates’ war cries were faint, but they grew louder every moment.

“She’s gaining on us,” Brightdawn noted, joining her father at the rail. She rubbed her hands, which were red with rope burn. “I doubt we can outrun them.”

“Bloody right we can’t,” snapped the helmsman, glancing nervously at the Reaver. “Brinestrider’s a stout one, but we ain’t meant to move so quick. She’ll be on us right soon-Cap’n only brought us about to buy us time.” He spat vehemently on the deck. “You’d better be good with that sword there, old man.”

With all the cutlasses handed out, the sailor who’d brought them up from the hold ran to the hatch and slid down the ladder again, disappearing from sight. Less than a minute later, he scrambled back up, carrying crossbows and quivers of bolts. He handed the weapons to four sailors, who ran to the stern and began to cock the heavy weapons. As they fitted quarrels in place, Captain Ar-Tam hauled on Swiftraven’s arm, dragging him toward the stern.

“String up your bow, lad,” Kael ordered, shoving the young warrior into line with the crossbowmen. He turned to Riverwind. “You, too, old man. Let’s put a few of the bastards down before they get too dose.”

As Swiftraven and Riverwind bent their bows and nocked arrows onto the strings, Brightdawn continued to peer at their pursuers. “How many of them are there?” she asked.

Kael squinted at the Reaver, then shook his head. “Dunno. Two, maybe three dozen.”

“Three dozen!” Swiftraven exclaimed, shocked.

“Against how many?” Brightdawn asked.

“We got twenty crew, countin’ meself,” the captain answered. “Plus the three o’ ye, an’ the two kender.”

“The kender!” Brightdawn yelped. She cast about, looking up the deck toward the ship’s leaping prow. “Where did Kronn and Catt go?”

“I didn’t see them come up with us,” Swiftraven said, his eyes fast on the onrushing Reaver. He gauged the distance and the wind, waiting for the ship to get into range. “I think they stayed below.”

“Bloody cowards, is what they are!” snapped Kael.

“Mind your tongue,” Riverwind warned. “Kender can be many things, but they’re not cowards. They don’t know fear.”

“Well, if they’re so fearless then why in the Abyss aren’t they up here?” the captain shot back.

Riverwind glanced at the hatch, his brow furrowing, but said nothing.

Just then, one of the crossbowmen, overeager to draw first blood, raised his weapon and fired. His quarrel soared high, its steel head shining in the sunlight, but it fell quickly, splashing down into the water a hundred yards in front of the Reaver. Mocking laughter rang out from the pirate ship.

“Hold your fire, lackwit!” Kael snarled. “If ye put another bolt in the water, ye’re goin’ in after it! Watch the Plainsmen, if you ain’t got the sense to figure out when the Reaver’s in range. They know what they’re doing.”

“Swiftraven’s the best archer in Que-Teh,” Brightdawn declared proudly.

“Hush, Brightdawn,” the young warrior muttered.

“What for?” She turned to Kael. “He can shoot a sparrow out of the air at two hundred paces.”

“The wind’s against us here,” Swiftraven returned, “and sparrows don’t shoot back.” He nodded toward the Reaver. Several crossbowmen stood ready at her bow.

“Get some men back here with shields, Captain,” Riverwind said. “We’ll need the cover, and so will your helmsman.”

Kael hesitated, regarding the Reaver with a worried eye, then stomped up the deck, shouting to his crew. Within a minute, half a dozen sailors crowded the stern, holding up crude, wooden shields.

The Reaver glided closer. “Wait,” Swiftraven muttered, his forehead creased with concentration. “Wait…

“Come on,” Kael grumbled, paling at how close the pirate ship was.

“Be still!” Riverwind snapped, his grip tightening on his bowstring.

“Wait,” Swiftraven repeated. “Wait… now.” He raised his bow, pulled the string back to his cheek, and loosed his arrow. Riverwind fired a heartbeat later.

The two arrows dropped into the midst of the pirates, and a grunt of pain sounded across the water as a man fell. The crew of Brinestrider cheered, and Swiftraven grinned as he fired his second shot. Riverwind followed suit; then the crossbowmen joined in, peppering the Reaver’s deck with quarrels. Three more pirates went down, their bodies feathered.

Then the pirates returned fire.

“Shields!” Riverwind yelled as the snap of crossbow strings sounded from Red Reaver. A volley of bolts soared from the pirate ship, and the sailors raised their shields to block them. Even so, one of Brinestrider’s crossbowmen cried out as a bolt pierced him, punching into his chest below his collarbone. He dropped his crossbow and slumped to his knees, staring dumbly at the shaft that quivered in his body. A moment later, he fell face forward and lay still, blood pooling around him.

A second bolt struck the deck next to Brightdawn, burying itself an inch deep in the wooden planks. She cried out in alarm, and Riverwind’s next shot flew wide of the Reaver as he twisted to look at his daughter. “Move forward!” he shouted. “You’ll only draw their fire back here. You too, Captain!”

“This is my ship!” Kael yelled back, furious. “I’m the one who gives the orders here-”

He gasped suddenly, seeing a glint of metal above him. He jumped aside as a bolt came down; it grazed his shoulder, drawing blood, then struck the deck where he had been standing.

“Move forward,” he muttered, then glanced irritably at Brightdawn, who hadn’t budged from where she stood. “You too!” he snapped, grabbing her arm and hauling her away from the stem.

The pirates scattered on Red Reaver’s deck, shouting curses as Riverwind, Swiftraven, and the crossbowmen continued to rain shafts down on them, but the ship did not veer from its course. She continued to slice through the waves, now a hundred yards off Brinestrider’s stem, now eighty now fifty Swiftraven and Riverwind fired shot after shot, but the pirates had shield men, too. Even so, by the time the Plainsmen were on their last arrows-and the Reaver was only twenty yards away-nine pirates lay dead, and an equal number were wounded. Riverwind loosed his final shaft, but it missed its mark, sticking in the Reaver’s railing. Swiftraven’s last arrow flew true, though, and hit one of the injured pirates in the eye. The man stumbled like a drunk for a moment, then pitched overboard and vanished into the churning sea.

Another one of Brinestrider’s crossbowmen fell, a quarrel lodged in his throat. Elsewhere on the ship, two of the shield men and three other sailors lay dead; another bolt knocked a man out of the rigging. He fell into the water and disappeared.