6
Man Overboard
"Brell's beard, will you look at that sunrise, boy?" Durgin had come up to the sterncastle and found Tomon setting out the fishing lines again. The ship was moving slowly, beating into a morning breeze. "Captain is taking it slow while we check for leaks and get the bilge pumped. It was a rough night for the old girl but she's seeing the morning. I wasn't sure we'd see another one when the storm hit last night."
Tomon smiled and nodded. "It sounded bad below decks, but I had faith in Captain Vagano to get us through it."
They both turned to look as the sound of a loud laugh reached them. "Your faith is misplaced, boy." It was Vagano. He stood, as ever, by the wheel. The Master-at-Arms was not far away. Vagano looked back occasionally as he spoke. "That storm was the better of me. I'm not ashamed to say it. Was the better of this ship as well. Should have been anyway. Wouldn't be a dry soul aboard were it not for our friend, Winsul."
"The chanting?" Tomon asked. Durgin scowled, looking from Tomon to Vagano. The Master-at-Arms stepped closer to the captain's wheel, attentive.
"I do not know, boy," the captain replied. "The gods work in mysterious ways. That storm was a ship-killer. T'was more than luck or good fortune that saw us through. "
The Master-at-Arms cleared his throat. "Beg pardon, Cap'n," he began. "More than a few folks are not happy about our savior. They all heard the chanting to Prexus."
"I suppose the idiots would prefer to be bunking at the bottom of the sea?" Vagano's tone was angry and dismissive.
"I can't speak to that, Cap'n," the Master-at-Arms replied. "Only that some aren't comfortable with mention of the Shaper god. The cook is one of 'em."
As if on cue, a door from below decks burst open up at the forecastle. One of the men of the Master-at-Arms fell backward out the door and landed heavily on the deck. Appearing up out of the doorway behind him was the ogre, Rorshif. Behind him he dragged like a rag doll the unresisting form of Winsul.
"Master-at-Arms!" Vagano yelled, but the kerran was already racing down the steps to the main deck. Upon hitting the deck he leaped forward in a series of cat-like lunges that propelled him forward at tremendous speed. Tomon wondered if he could get to Winsul in time to help him.
Tomon saw the ogre pick Winsul up off his feet and slam him against the wall of the forecastle. The fisherman grunted in exhale and his eyes opened, trying to focus. His hands reached out clumsily trying to break the grip of the ogre.
"I'll not share a ship with a damn heathen of the Shapers!" Rorshif roared at him, his deep voice echoing across the ship. The ogre reared back a meaty fist and hit Winsul in the jaw. The fisherman slumped forward, limbs going limp again. The ogre picked the limp body of Winsul up over his head as he took two steps toward the railing and flung him over the side. "Prexus keep you!" he bellowed, reached to the railing to pull out a belaying pin, and then turn to face the Master-at-Arms and others that approached. With arms raised above his head, he bellowed for all to hear, "Who is with me?!"
The pair of iksar had just emerged from the door into the hold and Tomon wondered if there would be a fight. At that very moment, a shadow dropped down from above the ogre. Suddenly there was the dark elf on the Rorshif's back, reaching over one shoulder and putting a hand to the chest of the ogre, and hissing loudly, "Say hello to the Warlord for me."
The ogre's eyes had gone wide and looked down toward the dark elf's hand. Then the dark elf was pulling his hand away from the ogre's chest, and only then did Tomon see that he was clutching a bloody dagger. Rorshif's knees buckled as he dropped the belaying pin and reached both hands up to cover the bloody hole over his heart.
As the ogre collapsed to the deck, the dark elf was already leaping away and moving down the railing. Looking over the side as he ran, he paused right next to Tomon at the far end of the main deck. In a single motion he tossed off his cloak, revealing the white hair and small horns of a teir'dal from the Umbra, and looked up to the sterncastle where Durgin stood by the railing. "Dwarf! Throw me a line." With those words, he stepped up onto the railing and launched himself out into the air, hands held together above his head, and plunged downward out of sight.
Tomon whirled to look toward the sterncastle. The captain was already pulling the wheel over hard to port to bring the ship around and giving orders for the Master-at-Arms to secure the deck, sailors to reef the mainsail, and others to lower a lifeboat over the side. Durgin was hurling a coil of rope far out over the railing. Tomon stepped to the railing and looked over, desperately hoping to see Winsul. There was nothing but waves and a rope leading from the aft railing and disappearing into the water.
The lifeboat was being lowered as more sailors and guards appeared at the railing. With sail dropped and rudder turned hard, the ship was slowing but it was already past the point in the water where Winsul had entered. The rope was stretching out well behind the ship, stretched taut. Something was pulling on it.
"Any sign?" called the Captain.
"Not yet, Captain!" returned several of the crew. "Lifeboat is away!"
A cry went up as emerging from the water was the form of the dark elf, one hand holding desperately to the lifeline, the other wrapped about the chest of Winsul. The lifeboat was to them and hauling them aboard in less than a minute, but it was clear from a distance that Winsul was not moving.
The dark elf, once pulled aboard, immediately took charge of the effort to attend to the fisherman. The dark elf stepped on the frame of the fisherman and the force of it caused seawater to spout from his mouth. A few stinging slaps to the face brought about a coughing and spluttering from the fisherman and a corresponding cheer from the men in the boat and then from those looking on from the ship.