Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (24 page)

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 titanic 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, crashing 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.

Fassur 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 Fassur’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 shins. 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 ship 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 Fassur 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 ship 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 Ships.” The blood drained from Cobiah’s face. “They found us.”

A
   lthough the sailors on the
Salma’s Grace
did not recognize the ship 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 assist, 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 ship?”

“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 ship 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 Ship, 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 ship’d found yours alone at sea, I assure you,
they’d
make no promise to spare your crew.”

“Dead Ship?” Moran squinted. Suddenly sober, he stiffened in fear. “By the Six Gods. 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 sturdy paw. Blood matted the fur at Fassur’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 Ship.

“Damn 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 ship!”

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 ship 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 gods.” He made the sign of Dwayna in the air. “But that ship’s anathema to all things sacred. It can’t be defeated, and it can’t be destroyed. Nobody’s ever beaten one! There’s only one sane thing we can do—turn the
Grace
while that ship’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 damn 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 astonishingly powerful elementalist, a mesmer with a brain the size of Mount Maelstrom, and the finest pilot on this whole shade-spawned 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.

“Fassur! 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. Fassur 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 Fassur and the others.”

“Yes, sir!” A sharp grin creased old Grist’s muzzle. “Get us close enough, and we’ll tear that blood-covered ship 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 assure 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 ship firing on us, my sailors can sure as Grenth’s frozen underworld overcome you lot. If I give the command to turn this ship, 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 glass. “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 ship for another assault. Turn her broadside to that red-sailed scum.” Under his breath, Moran grumbled, “If that Orrian ship 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. Fassur, 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.”