25th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY

Far side of the Aerie Lake, The Pomarj

Chit-chit-chit…

An odd and yet somehow familiar chittering sound suddenly filled the air around Argo and Scurvy John.

And Harve went berserk.

The longsword, already starting its final descent towards Bigfellow's chest, abruptly swerved upwards- or rather, it forced John's arm carrying it upwards, actually pulling the pirate to his feet. The blade then began making Scurvy's arm twist from side to side while John struggled to bring it back under control.

And Harve screamed. One word, over and over again.

"RUSTER! RUSTER! RUSTER!"

Scurvy John glanced from side to side but saw nothing. His coal-black eyes narrowed as he exerted his strength, trying to hold the sword in place.

"There's no rust monster, you stupid piece of scrap!" John bellowed. "Can't you tell it's some kind of-"

The clenched right fist of Argo Bigfellow Junior slammed right into Scurvy's midsection at that point, cutting the pirate off and doubling him over. The big ranger followed with an uppercut to the pirate's chin, sending John spiraling off in a wild stagger.

Argo spared a second to glance around. About halfway down the main deck by the starboard railing, the wizard Lamonsten was casting a spell. Argo saw five streaks of light erupt from the mage's fingertips and travel downwards, out of the ranger's sight.

There was a cry of pain, and the chittering noise stopped. Lamonsten glanced over and frowned at Bigfellow, but then the ranger heard Scurvy yell, "Don't worry! I've got him!"

John had regained control of Harve and was coming back at Argo now. Bigfellow began to retreat towards the forecastle. Scurvy reached him first however, and Argo was forced to once again start furiously parrying for his life. The big ranger backed halfway up the stairs and stopped there. The height advantage this gave him over Scurvy was slim, but Argo needed every possible advantage he could muster, no matter how slim.

Bigfellow felt like he was going to drop at every moment. His right side burned, and his right cheek was still dripping blood. Mixed sweat and blood was running down his forehead, but it was his stomach that hurt worst of all. With every breath it seemed to constrict into an agony of spasms, and the world seemed to be trembling and wavering before his tired eyes.

"It's over, Pigfellow!" Scurvy John yelled. "You're mortally wounded, and I'm still fresh as a daisy!"

"Take a good whiff and say that again!" Argo snarled back, but deep down he knew the pirate was right. He couldn't hold out. He needed more of an advantage than just height. He needed… he needed…

The ranger backed further up the stairs, then turned and ran down towards the bow of the ship.

When John made the forecastle, he saw Argo on his knees, his back towards him, rummaging once again through the pile containing his belongings and those of his friends. His sword lay on the deck beside him.

With a wordless roar, Scurvy covered the distance between them in only a few steps. He swung down-

-and Argo swung up with Gokasillion to block.

The swords clashed with a resounding clang, their intermingled radiances forming a pinkish light that surrounded both combatants.

"Worthy!"

The one word rang through the air between them as Gokasillion pronounced itself apparently satisfied with Bigfellow as its wielder.

John didn't seem concerned about this new development. "Think a different sword is going to save you, Pigfellow?" he cackled as he continued to attack. "You are desperate!"

Argo said nothing. He knew Scurvy's statement, in and of itself, was true. Gokasillion by itself certainly wasn't going to enable Bigfellow to triumph over his foe.

But he hadn't gone back for Elrohir's blade to use it on John.

Bigfellow again began to back up under Scurvy's fusillade of blows. The big ranger made no attempt to attack, only to defend. He knew his back was against the bow railing now. There was no further room to retreat.

No room horizontally, that is.

Argo Bigfellow Junior was observant by nature. He always had been; it had been a prerequisite when growing up in a swamp constantly surrounded by dangerous terrain and hostile forces beyond. Especially in a combat situation, the ranger always liked to be aware of his options, even if they were as slim as a piece of standing rigging.

Now he attacked.

Argo came forward and inside. He turned Gokasillion sidewise as he did so, parrying John's lunge and rammed his right shoulder with every bit of strength he had left against the pirate's upper chest.

Scurvy John staggered back several feet. By the time he regained his bearings, he saw Argo clambering up onto the railing, sheathing Gokasillion in his scabbard.

"Jumping, Pigfellow?" John screamed. "Who's the coward now?"

Argo faced him. "I'm not going down, John. I'm going up."

And with that Bigfellow grabbed the rigging line that attached the top of the Water Dragon's mast to a spur on the bow and began hauling himself up it.

Scurvy was on him in an instant. Harve slashed down, Argo tried to jerk his left leg out of the way, but his former sword's blade cut a ragged gash through the pitiful protection of the leather greaves. Argo couldn't help but cry out in pain as he felt the flesh of his leg tear open.

Somehow Bigfellow continued to climb, though. Hand-over-hand, one move at a time. Steady does it, he told himself, closing his eyes so as to concentrate on nothing else but the movements of his hands and arms that moved him slowly up the rope.

Bigfellow was a good climber, and he wasn't wearing his plate, but this was still one of the most difficult ascents he had ever attempted. His wounds, especially the fresh one in his leg, made every movement torture. The line had been coated in tar to protect it from the elements, and although the tar had long dried, it still made holding onto the rope even harder. And the final element that made this climb was such an ordeal was that he was climbing upward at a very steep angle; at least thirty degrees, he'd estimated.

Argo felt the line vibrate, and not in time to his own movements. He opened his eyes.

Scurvy John was climbing up the rope after him.

There was an expression of such rage on the pirate's face that he looked like a wild animal. Unlike Argo, Scurvy had wrapped his legs around the line and was shimmying up it with one hand, while the other clutched his rapier. He was moving up much faster than Bigfellow and would in fact be on him in a matter of moments.

The big ranger looked around. He was perhaps thirty-five feet above the main deck, and only a few feet away from the Water Dragon's mast. Argo knew he didn't have the strength to try and transfer himself to the mast.

But he had never intended to.

Clever.

Argo smiled at the voice inside his mind. Gokasillion had discerned his thoughts.

You can do it with one swing?

That is why you chose me, Argo of Oerth.

Scurvy thought Bigfellow was smiling at him, and a scream of primal rage erupted from his throat as he prepared to run Argo through with his rapier. Now Bigfellow drew Gokasillion and hung onto the line with one hand. Just as John clambered within striking distance, he spoke.

"You didn't learn, John. Even when I told you, you didn't listen. You could've picked me off from below with your crossbow, but I knew you wouldn't. You had to give in to rage, just like you've always done with me."

"I'M GOING TO SEE YOU DIE!" screamed Scurvy, spittle flying from his lips as he attacked.

"Not from here," Argo said quietly.

And a split-second before John's rapier reached him, Argo swung Gokasillion; not to block, but directly at the rigging line between the two of them, and with one clean sweep, the magical blade cut it neatly in two.

Scurvy John screamed all the way down, but Argo wasn't listening. As his end of the line swung down towards the mast, the ranger let go and grabbed the nearby mainsail with both hands, dropping the longsword. The cloth ripped as Argo held on, but it slowed his fall enough. The impact with the deck in fact wouldn't have hurt him at all if he hadn't landed on his left leg.

Pain blossomed inside Bigfellow's brain like a gigantic flower opening up inside his head, filling his vision with a yellow haze. He couldn't move; he was sure his leg was broken. His hands flailed around, and the right one closed upon the hilt of a sword.

And then, unexpectedly, a powerful feeling flooded into Argo's mind. There were no words with it, but it quenched the worst fires of his injuries. The wounds remained, but the big ranger found it easier to place his concentration elsewhere.

"I can see why Elrohir holds you in such high esteem," Argo mumbled under his breath as he gazed at the sword in his hand. "Thanks, Gok."

The sword trembled slightly, and Bigfellow could have sworn if the blade had possessed a face, it would be cocking an eyebrow at him.

Frivolous, Bigfellow. Worthy, but frivolous, said the voice in his mind.

Gokasillion in hand, Argo began to slowly crawl towards Scurvy John.

The pirate was sprawled about fifteen feet away. He was clearly still alive, as he was writhing about and moaning in pain, but it was just as obvious that he'd broken at least one leg in the fall, if not both. When he saw Bigfellow approaching, he sat up and looked around wildly for his cutlass, but it was lying too far away.

John made to draw Harve, but Argo was on him. With his one good leg, Bigfellow hurled himself upon Scurvy, and the two toppled over prone on the deck again. Only this time, it was Argo who was on top, holding his sword to John's neck.

The big ranger could now see the fear in the pirate's eyes.

"Argo," croaked John, abandoning his futile struggles, "don't slay me. You've got the scruples I don't- I admit that- but I'm no threat to you now. Do you really want it to end like this?"

Bigfellow's mouth was a thin line at he stared at his beaten foe.

"You know what, John?" he asked after a long silence. "You're right. I don't really want to end it like this. A guess a part of me really did enjoy fighting you all those times. You deserve nothing but death, John; not because of me, but because of all those innocents you've slain over the years, and I'd have no qualms about killing you for your atrocities."

Argo took a deep breath, and looked up at the sky, still hidden with grey, violently roiling clouds of dust.

"But I'm not an executioner by nature, and that might stay my hand despite all that. I'd hate the idea that even for that one second, I might become what you are- a ruthless killer of prisoners."

Then his auburn eyes flashed back down at the pirate, and an expression of hatred such as Scurvy John- or anyone else- had almost never seen reside there- swelled the big ranger's features with resolve.

"But I made a promise."

And with that, Argo cut down and across with Gokasillion, slitting Scurvy John's throat all the way through.

It seemed to Argo as if he had sat there silently a long time. He had dropped the sword again, and just sat there, feeling the pirate's blood that had gushed up and into his face slowly slide through his rough stubble and drip into his lap.

He watched the drops fall.

"You had it coming, John," he whispered.

A shadow suddenly entered Argo's vision from the corner of his eye.

The wizard! I forgot about him!

Bigfellow grabbed Gokasillion's hilt and tried to stand, but all his injuries flared up again, and he toppled over Scurvy John's still-warm corpse, gasping for breath. Even Gokasillion's power to calm his mind couldn't help him now.

He was too hurt. He was too tired. And now he was going to be executed alongside the body of the man he had just slain.

But then the shadow came into clearer view. It wasn't Lamonsten. Whatever it was, it was flying; soaring about five feet off the deck. It was arcing in a circle, coming from the stern and now heading towards the starboard side of the ship.

And as the object came flying by, nearly passing directly over Bigfellow, he gave a cry of both amazement and horror as he saw what it really was.