All around them boats were struggling to reach Djokole's ship, with paddles flashing wild into the water, sometimes turning the boat sideways in their zeal to propel it forward. Skandra and Leir were using even strokes, cutting through the water quickly, keeping themselves just ahead of those with more steady nerves. It was not a race they wanted to lose, yet even if they reached the ship, their battle was far from over. Leir seemed keenly aware of that - every ounce of his body was seized with the hot blood of the moment, and Skandra felt little different. A race to what could be their own deaths. What could be more exciting? Skandra stretched out with the paddle, caught the edge of the boat closest to them, and heaved down with all his might. The boat rocked once, more viciously that he could have imagined, before it capsized. The pirates cried out in rage as they disappeared beneath the boat. Lucky. Story of his life, that. Lucky to the extreme.
How much farther could it take him?
Mist and fog swirled around the pirate's ship, anchored not far from the coast, enough that they could have seen the fire as it rained down but probably not who was in which boat, and who was returning quickly. They were sliding down the side of the boat, Skandra and Leir's eyes both searching for the rigging that would haul them back onto the ship. There was crew leaning over the side, jeering at them violently, hurling things over the side. Rocks, for the most part. Stray bits of metal that were no longer anything of value. Other pirates were being pelted in this storm - but now that they'd reached the side of the ship, they could simply climb aboard and have it out with their fellows. Skandra's hand closed on the rope boxes of the rigging a half-second ahead and Leir, and they made their climb in unison, with grim determination. The pirates had moved on from that side of the ship, but still they jeered, whoever approached.
"This," Skandra growled as he climbed. "Is miserable."
When they finally reached the deck it was a mad scene. Sailors - pirates - were running from one side of the ship to the other, jeering at the men who'd fled, hurling whatever they could lay hands on at former comrades to try and keep them from boarding the ship. Skandra crouched in the shadows of a barrel row, tied together tightly with line, holding water or some other nonsense. Leir was right next to him, both of them peering over the barrels, soaking in whatever the environment would give them. Sound. Sight. Taste and smell. There was an abundance of that, he knew, not all of it good. Djokole was nearby - and the smell was amazing, some kind of rotting meat and... well, he did eat that rancid fucking stew, didn't he? Skandra felt as good as he'd felt in a week, but now that his blood was pumping, they couldn't stop for long before they sank down and lost the energy.
In other words, it was now or never, wasn't it?
Djokole felt the first punch in his chin without knowing where it came from. But in that instant the fat, gloating pirate had a blade in either hand. He kicked Skandra savagely with one foot, just below the ribs, and sent the Immortal to the deck with a vicious wheezing gasp. Leir caught a boot to the side of his head - and fell nearly on top of Skandra; the elf's hands were clenched until white-knuckle fists clutched his weapons with more than a little will and less than a little strength. Djokole was watching them from the short stair that led to the wheelman's post. Priates were crowding around them, one filthy jeering circle, all gold teeth and bronze rings and iron daggers. Up on one knee finally. Still had both of his swords. His ribs burned like fire. Djokole was only looking now. Watching but waiting for the right time. There was nothing Skandra wanted more than to put a sword in the bastard's face. That would have to wait.
"Stay back!" Djokole ordered as soon as the pirates moved.
To a man they froze. Skandra looked around with wild eyes, waiting for the next onslaught, but it did not come. Djokole was still only watching them. Maybe thinking over how he was going to handle this situation. Or maybe he just thought he had them right where he wanted them. Skandra could not have said, but didn't care to. All he was really interested in was the curved handle visible behind Djokole's sash, with its appearance similar to porcelain and its fiery power visible even to the uninitiated. This was viciousness at its best, and Skandra wanted more of it. Djokole spread his hands, but he was actually urging the pirates to step back - which they did, with little hesitation, all of them still sneering but acceding to the captain's wishes. When a suitable space had been cleared the pirate captain gave a bow from the waist, his eyes never leaving them, and then stepped forward.
Oh.
Well, this was going to be fun.
"Gentlemen," the captain laughed, his shoulders shaking. "Let us do this properly."