[Nuranar]

Bow in hand, Calnan watched the small corsair ship grow larger as they gained on it. Gaining on battle. How ironic that his first battle would be fought at sea, so far from the glades of Ithilien.

The odds were heavily against his surviving the next month, Calnan reflected. Then he set his jaw stubbornly. If Doran thought he'd knuckle under, someone was in for a surprise.

~ ~ ~

Shooting sails was all very well. The corsair's black sails already presented a peculiar appearance, as if spattered with sky-blue paint. The breeze was brisk and was slowly tearing each hole into a gaping rents that would eventually rob the Pora Diy of much of her speed and most of her manueverability.

Aye, eventually is the key! Calnan thought to himself savagely. He was perched well forward in the bows, straddling the rail with his right leg anchored in the woodwork to keep him steady. Of course, amidships was the stablest platform for an archer, but the deck was a chaos of stones, ropes, chains, and catapults, plus the shorthanded crew frantically manning them. The bow pitched up and down as the North Wind gained on her quarry, but at least he wasn't in imminent danger of being run over.

And his efforts over the previous weeks were paying off somehow. Constantly, as he scurried here and there at the orders of the mates, he had worked on maintaining balance, gauging the rhythm of the waves, anticipating their height, learning which way to lean. Accurately using a sextant certainly required a steady arm. And even when aloft, swinging wildly above the ship, he studied wave patterns in different winds and directions. Now, although he had (he hoped) accurate aim, the question was if he could hit a moving target.

Sails didn't count as a worthwhile target, he decided. Already he had expended too many of his precious long arrows. His bow was far more powerful than the other archers'; what if he tried to sever a backstay? Taut as they were, the strain would exploit even a glancing strike from one arrow.

The North Wind was gaining; already her catapults had brought down the enemy's topgallants. At this range he couldn't - shouldn't - possibly miss, but - if only the sea and wind would be still! He laughed harshly, derisively at this petulant thought even as he sighted carefully on the starboard mainmast backstay.

At just the right moment he released. With a sudden rush of triumph he saw his arrow fly true; then over the shouts and thunder of battle he heard a sudden deep snap. The main topsail shuddered. With the next wave the main topmast lurched, then cracked free of its restraints. The starboard shrouds held fast the mainmast, but the topmast, topsail, and topgallant mast majestically swung to port and crashed down, part on deck and part dragging in the water.

Unfortunately, the Diy's starboard catapults were unaffected by the catastrophe. As the Gondorian ship rapidly closed in on them, the corsairs unleashed a furious barrage on their pursuer. The crashes and screams as huge rocks crushed wood and flesh alike were terrifying. Calnan turned his efforts to picking off the men on the catapults. He staggered as the ship suddenly veered to starboard and began to cross the corsair's bow.

The mate's clear voice rose above the din: "All hands to the grapnels! Prepare to board!" The North Wind was approaching alongside the corsair, whose crew were also readying to swing across. Calnan stowed his bow, praying no idiot would think it a nice cudgel, and dashed aft in time to see Devon whirl into vigorous action on the corsair's deck.

Part of the second boarding party, Calnan swung across and crashed heavily into a fearsome corsair with a bloody cutlass. Calnan let himself roll over on the deck. No time to draw his sword; he grasped the first thing that came to hand: a spear. Leaping to his feet, he barely evaded the corsair's strike. With but one chance to kill or be killed, he lunged at the man in desperation.

Grinning, the corsair leapt out of range, then turned and drew back his weapon for the death-blow. But as Calnan's hand reached for his sword hilt, the man slipped. Losing his balance on the blood-slick deck, the corsair fell overboard, his face showing only surprise.

Heart pounding, sword in hand, Calnan whirled to face the rest of the battle. Where was Devon? There, being backed into the fallen topmast! Almost without thinking he hurled the spear into Devon's antagonist. The man screamed and fell to his knees, but turned on Calnan with a dying fury as he rushed to his friend's aid. Calnan automatically parried his last savage blow and stabbed him.

Devon had fallen to the deck, barely conscious; blood was pouring from a gaping wound in his shoulder. Calnan tore fabric from his shirttail and pressed it to the wound. The material turned bright red instantly. Calnan pulled off the rest of his shirt and frantically tried to stanch the bleeding.

The crash and clatter of rocks, the hard clash of blades, the blows, the shouts of rage and screams of agony - the uproar was deafening. But abruptly Calnan grasped the sword he had laid beside his friend and swung around, blade lifted. Just in time - still half-kneeling with one foot on the deck, he barely blocked the sneak blow that would have split his skull. It must have been the man's heavy, but stealthy, step behind him that warned him. Although how he heard it amidst the din and identified it as a threat was a marvel.

He leapt to his feet in a rage at the would-be backstabber. But as his furious attack beat the man back, Calnan found himself more angry that this distraction was keeping him from Devon. His antagonist soon fell back, seriously wounded, but Calnan found himself embroiled in a two-way duel. Fighting grimly but more carefully, he tried to keep the corsairs away from his friend.