** Author's Note: Hello again all, and welcome to chapter two.
Unfortunately, this chapter isn't really funny either. At ALL. So, after
some consideration, I'm taking the "humor" part off of this story's genre
list until I feel that it's actually deserving of it. That said, have fun
with this next chapter, which I was sorely tempted to entitle "A Really Big
Fight." **
~EC
In the terrible smoke and fury and noise of battle, Weylyn and Rellan fought back to back across the bloody deck. The cries of men rose heavy in the air all around them, and the stench of sweat and fear stung at their eyes. Rellan laughed as he knocked away the sharp blows from his opponent's saber.
"My dear sir, you do throw the most wonderful parties, remind me to attend more of them." Weylyn laughed back at him, running his tongue over a tooth that had become loosened in an earlier skirmish.
"Rellan, if I continue throwing 'parties' like this one, it is going to cost me dear in dead crewmembers." He danced out of the reach of his own attacker and took him neatly through the stomach with the point of his rapier. If Rellan had a reply to this, it was cut off, as another wave of sailors pressed their attack and slowly but unstoppably forced the two apart.
The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and sweat. With the helmsmen of the vessels both locked in their own struggles, the two ships drifted dangerously close to each other, rocking softly on the calm sea. The scene above the water, however, was anything but calm as the two warring parties clashed together in a bloody dance across the decks of the two ships.
Weylyn fought wildly, with his rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other and all the frightening grace and speed of his elven heritage. He dropped low on his heels to duck beneath the bright blade of a saber arcing towards his head. With one clean movement, he lunged up and forward, driving the point of his dagger deep beneath the sailor's ribcage. Suddenly spinning on the ball of his foot, he roughly removed the blade while he blocked the sudden attack coming from behind with a quick flip of his rapier.
The sailor he crossed swords with spat vehemently at him, and cursed softly as he pressed against Weylyn's blade. This one was no young and inexperienced stripling but a tough and scarred veteran. His bright uniform fit badly on a large and grizzled frame. Weylyn winced. And he apparently had no love for pirates.
Springing suddenly backwards, the sailor freed his blade and sharply backhanded Weylyn with the basket of his hilt. Knocked momentarily off balance, Weylyn stumbled slightly, and the old sailor was quick to press his advantage, roughly hitting him with the hilt again before sweeping his legs out from under him. Weylyn was forced to drop his rapier and hit the deck hard. He caught himself with his hands and hissed sharply as pain shot up both his wrists. Over the din of battle around him, he heard the old sailor coming up slowly behind him.
"Not nearly as mighty now, are you pirate?" He kicked out viciously, rewarded with a soft grunt as his boot connected solidly with Weylyn's ribs. "I'm going to gut you like the dog you are, Blackwolf. As should be done to all your cowardly black-hearted kind."
As the sailor lifted his blade for his killing strike, Weylyn rolled onto his back as lithe as a weasel and lashed out with both feet. His kick landed solidly on the sailor's midriff, and he heard the air leave his lungs with a satisfying whoosh. The man sprawled backwards onto the deck, giving Weylyn enough time to wrap his hand around the hilt of his rapier once again. In a moment, he flipped nimbly to his feet, and pinned the sailor to the deck with his knees. He leaned forward to look into the man's eyes, meeting the weathered grey with his own startling green, his breathing ragged and strained.
"Not today old man," he whispered softly. "Not by your blade." With an expert flick of his wrist he deposed of the sailor, and rose to survey the battle around him.
In the brief respite he was afforded, Weylyn took in the chaos around him. The deck beneath him had grown slick with saltwater and blood. He raised a hand to wipe away the thin stream of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth, and gazed dispassionately at the life and death struggles careening wildly across the decks of the two ships, grinning slightly. The naval officers were fighting bravely. He gave them that. But all the bravery in the world could not continue to stand for long against the skilled and merciless talents of his crew. Weylyn's crew was no mere ragtag bunch of dirty river bandits, but a highly selective group of talented and bloodthirsty corsairs. They fought well. And, more importantly, they fought dirty. With luck, the day would easily be theirs with little loss.
A sudden cry brought Weylyn out of his pleasant thoughts. His head snapped up. He knew that voice. His eyes raced quickly across the deck, trying to find the source of the call, and finally they fell upon Rellan. He stood about fifty paces from Weylyn, trying to fight off the flashing blade of young Captain Zyphire with one arm hanging useless at his side. Rellan was one of the best Weylyn had ever seen with a short sword, but his labored movements betrayed the fact that he had taken some grievous injury and was quickly weakening. Bright blood from a gash in his forehead was running down his face and mingling in the dark auburn of his hair.
Weylyn clenched his jaw against the heat that was beginning to rise behind his eyes. Not only was Rellan his first mate, he was also a close friend. Nearer than brothers the two had been from when they were children, and sometimes Weylyn felt it was only Rellan among his crew who knew the same feeling of restlessness within his soul: the curse of the half-blood who would never belong anywhere. Seeing him die at the hands of a pretty faced sailor babe was not something he would stand for. Not on *his* ship. He tightened his hand on the black leather grip of his rapier, and began bodily forcing his way across the jumble of fighting and dieing and screaming men.
Rellan was a fierce fighter, but the loss of blood was slowly beginning to wear him into exhaustion. A harsh blow earlier had left him with a useless left arm. Rellan winced slightly as he tried to roll his shoulder back without much result. The damned thing was probably dislocated, making both unfocused and off balance. He swung his short sword up sharply to meet the coming blow from the young captain's saber, but the shock of the impact rocked through his arm and into his injured shoulder, causing him to loosen his grip just enough for the captain to suddenly disarm him. Grinning triumphantly through his ragged breathing, Captain Zyphire swung his saber in a flashing arc intended to relieve Rellan of his head.
The blade never found its mark, however. Zyphire started at the shock as his blade came into abrupt contact with the thin black steel of a rapier, and he found himself staring into the angry green eyes of Weylyn. The young captain swallowed nervously, but still pressed his attack, this time against the pirate captain himself. The two blades flashed like minute stars in the dying light of the sun. Black and silver, they clashed together with a harsh high pitched ringing, again and again until they struck sparks that died as they were kindled on the damp wood of the deck.
The shouting and clash of steel around them faded to a dull roar in their ears as the two captains danced across the deck, locked in combat. Weylyn pressed the young man ferociously, driving him backwards with blow after lightening blow. The sweat was dripping down Zyphire's face, plastering his hair to his forehead and stinging his eyes. He shook the hair out of his vision perplexedly. That the corsair would seek him out was to be expected, but that he would attack with this kind of angry viciousness? The pirate was known for his cold and calculating cruelty. He didn't understand.
Zyphire was brought back to the present by Weylyn's next attack. The pirate captain had forced him to retreat across much of the ship, and Zyphire now stood atop the wooden barred hatch over the hold. As he stepped back further he felt the wood crack and groan ever so slightly beneath him. He risked a small glance behind him, and noticed with dismay that the hatch had been damaged by canon fire and was split raggedly across the middle.
He had made a fatal mistake in allowing himself to become distracted, however, and in the split second he looked away, Weylyn smashed him across the face with the hilt of his rapier, splitting his lip, and then landed a spinning kick to the young man's stomach that sent him crashing backwards onto the damaged hatchway. With a muffled crack, the damaged wood gave way beneath him, and Weylyn cursed as he saw his quarry disappear into the dark hold.
With a soft hiss of irritation, Weylyn jumped down after him, landing lightly on his feet on the dusty floorboards. He laughed softly as he scanned the room, his elven eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom. If that rat of a navy babe expected to be able to hide in the oppressive dark of the hold, he had a nasty surprise coming.
"Come out; come out wherever you are my lovely. You can't hide forever, not from *my* eyes." His footsteps were nearly silent as he padded slowly and softly around, scanning the dark corners and the stacked barrels of supplies for any sign of Zyphire. His ears twitched slightly at the soft sound of a masked footstep behind him, and he turned with just enough time to catch the stroke that had been aimed for his head with the flat of his dagger. The battle began again, this time in the stuffy closed dark of the hold with the thunder of footfalls rumbling over their heads and their heavy breathing the only sounds.
Trying for better purchase on the uneven boards as he matched Zyphire's blows, Weylyn shifted his feet. Unfortunately, he struck a loose stack of planking with his heel and stumbled backward. Zyphire lunged forward, slashing for Weylyn's heart. Catching himself at the last minute, Weylyn straightened and jumped backwards to avoid the dancing blade. He gasped softly as the cold steel cut deep across his stomach, and staggered back, clutching at the dark stain spreading quickly across his middle. He grit his teeth together harshly against the screaming pain in his gut and forced himself to think clearly. It wasn't fatal. Not yet anyway.
Zyphire was standing a short distance away, breathing heavily and surveying the pirate with half closed eyes. He coughed tiredly.
"Well Blackwolf, I give you one last chance. Throw yourself and your crew at the mercy of myself and you will not die in the dark stinking cargo hold of your own ship." He watched then with wide disbelieving eyes as Weylyn slowly straightened up, clutching his stomach and yet seeming to stare right through him to the darkest corners of his soul. In the dim light, the pirate's eyes were as green and fathomless as the sea at twilight, and they were doing their best to burn holes through Zyphire.
"I grow tired of this, boy," rasped Weylyn. "There will be no bargains, no promises made but this one; you will die, and I will feed your sorry carcass to the sharks." With a final cry he leapt forward and fought Zyphire back with a last strength born of desperation. For a moment more the two went back and forth, evenly matched. But lashing out sharply, Weylyn caught the young captain in the wrist with the heavy elegant hilt of his rapier. With an audible snap, Zyphire's hand bent at an awkward angle and his saber fell with a clang from his nerveless fingers.
Grinning like a man more than half mad, Weylyn lunged suddenly forward with his dagger, plunging the point through the muscle of the young man's right shoulder and through to the wooden beam directly behind him, pinning him there painfully. Zyphire's eyes grew huge with shock, as he scrabbled at the hilt of the dagger, trying to pull it out.
Weylyn leaned close to Zyphire as he prepared to make his killing blow, and softly whispered "Goodbye, boy."
A sudden flare of light stopped Weylyn in his tracks. Zyphire, his eyes still wide with pain and fear was muttering softly to himself, a small glowing ball of fire rapidly expanding within the circle of his hands. The fireball grew quickly, and soon it was the size of a melon, floating softly within the young man's trembling fingertips. Weylyn snarled and jumped backwards. The thrice damned boy was a mage! A *mage* of all people! And obviously an untrained one or he would have used his powers long ago to blast Weylyn's beloved ship to pieces. Weylyn growled through his teeth. "Let's not do anything stupid boy."
Zyphire's hands were trembling to contain the force he was holding at bay within them. He had always kept an iron fist on the power that grew within him. He had had little wish to become a wretched sorcerer, and had done his best to hide his abilities. But the stress and fear and adrenaline had brought them roaring to a head once more, and it was once again too late to turn back.
"Don't make me use this," he whispered. In the silence between them, his soft shaking in his voice betrayed his emotions. "Please don't make me use this."
"You idiot!" Weylyn hissed. "Are you not the captain of your own ship? Do you have any *idea* how much gunpowder is kept down here? You would blow us all into eternity, boy. Do not be stupid." Weylyn's mind was reeling. The young man was obviously more frightened than he was letting on, and might fly off the handle in any moment and blow them all to smithereens. He had to do something, and fast. He was much too handsome to die now.
Weylyn moved like lightening. Quick as snake strike, he leapt forward, intent on finally ending this foolish game. They had been playing it for far too long anyway. Unfortunately, Zyphire's pain and fear made him faster. As Weylyn crouched and struck at him, he released the full force of the energy he had been holding back with a cry, and an enormous spinning ball of fire leapt from his fingers.
Weylyn rolled on his shoulder to avoid the acrid heat of Zyphire's attack, landing in a heap on a pile of loose lumber. Like a man in a dream, he saw the fireball spin slowly and inexorably towards the barrels of supplies, and eventually the neatly stacked kegs of powder. With a horrific crash, the fire and wood and powder came together in a dreadful expanding conflagration. And Weylyn's scream was lost in the terrible roar of smoke, fire, and wind.
In the terrible smoke and fury and noise of battle, Weylyn and Rellan fought back to back across the bloody deck. The cries of men rose heavy in the air all around them, and the stench of sweat and fear stung at their eyes. Rellan laughed as he knocked away the sharp blows from his opponent's saber.
"My dear sir, you do throw the most wonderful parties, remind me to attend more of them." Weylyn laughed back at him, running his tongue over a tooth that had become loosened in an earlier skirmish.
"Rellan, if I continue throwing 'parties' like this one, it is going to cost me dear in dead crewmembers." He danced out of the reach of his own attacker and took him neatly through the stomach with the point of his rapier. If Rellan had a reply to this, it was cut off, as another wave of sailors pressed their attack and slowly but unstoppably forced the two apart.
The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and sweat. With the helmsmen of the vessels both locked in their own struggles, the two ships drifted dangerously close to each other, rocking softly on the calm sea. The scene above the water, however, was anything but calm as the two warring parties clashed together in a bloody dance across the decks of the two ships.
Weylyn fought wildly, with his rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other and all the frightening grace and speed of his elven heritage. He dropped low on his heels to duck beneath the bright blade of a saber arcing towards his head. With one clean movement, he lunged up and forward, driving the point of his dagger deep beneath the sailor's ribcage. Suddenly spinning on the ball of his foot, he roughly removed the blade while he blocked the sudden attack coming from behind with a quick flip of his rapier.
The sailor he crossed swords with spat vehemently at him, and cursed softly as he pressed against Weylyn's blade. This one was no young and inexperienced stripling but a tough and scarred veteran. His bright uniform fit badly on a large and grizzled frame. Weylyn winced. And he apparently had no love for pirates.
Springing suddenly backwards, the sailor freed his blade and sharply backhanded Weylyn with the basket of his hilt. Knocked momentarily off balance, Weylyn stumbled slightly, and the old sailor was quick to press his advantage, roughly hitting him with the hilt again before sweeping his legs out from under him. Weylyn was forced to drop his rapier and hit the deck hard. He caught himself with his hands and hissed sharply as pain shot up both his wrists. Over the din of battle around him, he heard the old sailor coming up slowly behind him.
"Not nearly as mighty now, are you pirate?" He kicked out viciously, rewarded with a soft grunt as his boot connected solidly with Weylyn's ribs. "I'm going to gut you like the dog you are, Blackwolf. As should be done to all your cowardly black-hearted kind."
As the sailor lifted his blade for his killing strike, Weylyn rolled onto his back as lithe as a weasel and lashed out with both feet. His kick landed solidly on the sailor's midriff, and he heard the air leave his lungs with a satisfying whoosh. The man sprawled backwards onto the deck, giving Weylyn enough time to wrap his hand around the hilt of his rapier once again. In a moment, he flipped nimbly to his feet, and pinned the sailor to the deck with his knees. He leaned forward to look into the man's eyes, meeting the weathered grey with his own startling green, his breathing ragged and strained.
"Not today old man," he whispered softly. "Not by your blade." With an expert flick of his wrist he deposed of the sailor, and rose to survey the battle around him.
In the brief respite he was afforded, Weylyn took in the chaos around him. The deck beneath him had grown slick with saltwater and blood. He raised a hand to wipe away the thin stream of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth, and gazed dispassionately at the life and death struggles careening wildly across the decks of the two ships, grinning slightly. The naval officers were fighting bravely. He gave them that. But all the bravery in the world could not continue to stand for long against the skilled and merciless talents of his crew. Weylyn's crew was no mere ragtag bunch of dirty river bandits, but a highly selective group of talented and bloodthirsty corsairs. They fought well. And, more importantly, they fought dirty. With luck, the day would easily be theirs with little loss.
A sudden cry brought Weylyn out of his pleasant thoughts. His head snapped up. He knew that voice. His eyes raced quickly across the deck, trying to find the source of the call, and finally they fell upon Rellan. He stood about fifty paces from Weylyn, trying to fight off the flashing blade of young Captain Zyphire with one arm hanging useless at his side. Rellan was one of the best Weylyn had ever seen with a short sword, but his labored movements betrayed the fact that he had taken some grievous injury and was quickly weakening. Bright blood from a gash in his forehead was running down his face and mingling in the dark auburn of his hair.
Weylyn clenched his jaw against the heat that was beginning to rise behind his eyes. Not only was Rellan his first mate, he was also a close friend. Nearer than brothers the two had been from when they were children, and sometimes Weylyn felt it was only Rellan among his crew who knew the same feeling of restlessness within his soul: the curse of the half-blood who would never belong anywhere. Seeing him die at the hands of a pretty faced sailor babe was not something he would stand for. Not on *his* ship. He tightened his hand on the black leather grip of his rapier, and began bodily forcing his way across the jumble of fighting and dieing and screaming men.
Rellan was a fierce fighter, but the loss of blood was slowly beginning to wear him into exhaustion. A harsh blow earlier had left him with a useless left arm. Rellan winced slightly as he tried to roll his shoulder back without much result. The damned thing was probably dislocated, making both unfocused and off balance. He swung his short sword up sharply to meet the coming blow from the young captain's saber, but the shock of the impact rocked through his arm and into his injured shoulder, causing him to loosen his grip just enough for the captain to suddenly disarm him. Grinning triumphantly through his ragged breathing, Captain Zyphire swung his saber in a flashing arc intended to relieve Rellan of his head.
The blade never found its mark, however. Zyphire started at the shock as his blade came into abrupt contact with the thin black steel of a rapier, and he found himself staring into the angry green eyes of Weylyn. The young captain swallowed nervously, but still pressed his attack, this time against the pirate captain himself. The two blades flashed like minute stars in the dying light of the sun. Black and silver, they clashed together with a harsh high pitched ringing, again and again until they struck sparks that died as they were kindled on the damp wood of the deck.
The shouting and clash of steel around them faded to a dull roar in their ears as the two captains danced across the deck, locked in combat. Weylyn pressed the young man ferociously, driving him backwards with blow after lightening blow. The sweat was dripping down Zyphire's face, plastering his hair to his forehead and stinging his eyes. He shook the hair out of his vision perplexedly. That the corsair would seek him out was to be expected, but that he would attack with this kind of angry viciousness? The pirate was known for his cold and calculating cruelty. He didn't understand.
Zyphire was brought back to the present by Weylyn's next attack. The pirate captain had forced him to retreat across much of the ship, and Zyphire now stood atop the wooden barred hatch over the hold. As he stepped back further he felt the wood crack and groan ever so slightly beneath him. He risked a small glance behind him, and noticed with dismay that the hatch had been damaged by canon fire and was split raggedly across the middle.
He had made a fatal mistake in allowing himself to become distracted, however, and in the split second he looked away, Weylyn smashed him across the face with the hilt of his rapier, splitting his lip, and then landed a spinning kick to the young man's stomach that sent him crashing backwards onto the damaged hatchway. With a muffled crack, the damaged wood gave way beneath him, and Weylyn cursed as he saw his quarry disappear into the dark hold.
With a soft hiss of irritation, Weylyn jumped down after him, landing lightly on his feet on the dusty floorboards. He laughed softly as he scanned the room, his elven eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom. If that rat of a navy babe expected to be able to hide in the oppressive dark of the hold, he had a nasty surprise coming.
"Come out; come out wherever you are my lovely. You can't hide forever, not from *my* eyes." His footsteps were nearly silent as he padded slowly and softly around, scanning the dark corners and the stacked barrels of supplies for any sign of Zyphire. His ears twitched slightly at the soft sound of a masked footstep behind him, and he turned with just enough time to catch the stroke that had been aimed for his head with the flat of his dagger. The battle began again, this time in the stuffy closed dark of the hold with the thunder of footfalls rumbling over their heads and their heavy breathing the only sounds.
Trying for better purchase on the uneven boards as he matched Zyphire's blows, Weylyn shifted his feet. Unfortunately, he struck a loose stack of planking with his heel and stumbled backward. Zyphire lunged forward, slashing for Weylyn's heart. Catching himself at the last minute, Weylyn straightened and jumped backwards to avoid the dancing blade. He gasped softly as the cold steel cut deep across his stomach, and staggered back, clutching at the dark stain spreading quickly across his middle. He grit his teeth together harshly against the screaming pain in his gut and forced himself to think clearly. It wasn't fatal. Not yet anyway.
Zyphire was standing a short distance away, breathing heavily and surveying the pirate with half closed eyes. He coughed tiredly.
"Well Blackwolf, I give you one last chance. Throw yourself and your crew at the mercy of myself and you will not die in the dark stinking cargo hold of your own ship." He watched then with wide disbelieving eyes as Weylyn slowly straightened up, clutching his stomach and yet seeming to stare right through him to the darkest corners of his soul. In the dim light, the pirate's eyes were as green and fathomless as the sea at twilight, and they were doing their best to burn holes through Zyphire.
"I grow tired of this, boy," rasped Weylyn. "There will be no bargains, no promises made but this one; you will die, and I will feed your sorry carcass to the sharks." With a final cry he leapt forward and fought Zyphire back with a last strength born of desperation. For a moment more the two went back and forth, evenly matched. But lashing out sharply, Weylyn caught the young captain in the wrist with the heavy elegant hilt of his rapier. With an audible snap, Zyphire's hand bent at an awkward angle and his saber fell with a clang from his nerveless fingers.
Grinning like a man more than half mad, Weylyn lunged suddenly forward with his dagger, plunging the point through the muscle of the young man's right shoulder and through to the wooden beam directly behind him, pinning him there painfully. Zyphire's eyes grew huge with shock, as he scrabbled at the hilt of the dagger, trying to pull it out.
Weylyn leaned close to Zyphire as he prepared to make his killing blow, and softly whispered "Goodbye, boy."
A sudden flare of light stopped Weylyn in his tracks. Zyphire, his eyes still wide with pain and fear was muttering softly to himself, a small glowing ball of fire rapidly expanding within the circle of his hands. The fireball grew quickly, and soon it was the size of a melon, floating softly within the young man's trembling fingertips. Weylyn snarled and jumped backwards. The thrice damned boy was a mage! A *mage* of all people! And obviously an untrained one or he would have used his powers long ago to blast Weylyn's beloved ship to pieces. Weylyn growled through his teeth. "Let's not do anything stupid boy."
Zyphire's hands were trembling to contain the force he was holding at bay within them. He had always kept an iron fist on the power that grew within him. He had had little wish to become a wretched sorcerer, and had done his best to hide his abilities. But the stress and fear and adrenaline had brought them roaring to a head once more, and it was once again too late to turn back.
"Don't make me use this," he whispered. In the silence between them, his soft shaking in his voice betrayed his emotions. "Please don't make me use this."
"You idiot!" Weylyn hissed. "Are you not the captain of your own ship? Do you have any *idea* how much gunpowder is kept down here? You would blow us all into eternity, boy. Do not be stupid." Weylyn's mind was reeling. The young man was obviously more frightened than he was letting on, and might fly off the handle in any moment and blow them all to smithereens. He had to do something, and fast. He was much too handsome to die now.
Weylyn moved like lightening. Quick as snake strike, he leapt forward, intent on finally ending this foolish game. They had been playing it for far too long anyway. Unfortunately, Zyphire's pain and fear made him faster. As Weylyn crouched and struck at him, he released the full force of the energy he had been holding back with a cry, and an enormous spinning ball of fire leapt from his fingers.
Weylyn rolled on his shoulder to avoid the acrid heat of Zyphire's attack, landing in a heap on a pile of loose lumber. Like a man in a dream, he saw the fireball spin slowly and inexorably towards the barrels of supplies, and eventually the neatly stacked kegs of powder. With a horrific crash, the fire and wood and powder came together in a dreadful expanding conflagration. And Weylyn's scream was lost in the terrible roar of smoke, fire, and wind.