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How long are they going to keep coming? Calnan thought tiredly. He wheeled to face yet another pirate who seemed all too bent on running him through. It didn't occur to him that his weary scholar's face and lean build appeared vulnerable. The growing pile of bodies proved otherwise.
Calnan did his best to remain between the enemy and Devon. The puddle of blood beside his wounded friend was growing, his makeshift bandage ineffective. Devon was bleeding to death, but if Calnan stopped to help they'd both be killed out of hand. The battle on the Pora Diy wasn't dying down, and especially not in his own quarter, Calnan reflected without resentment. But couldn't anyone help him?
As if in reply, first mate Meri Loliway swung unexpectedly onto the deck and into action near him. Surely she would help!
Dodging his opponent's weapon, Calnan closed suddenly and drove him back with a vicious elbow in the gut. "Meri!" he shouted in the brief respite, catching her eye, then adeptly parried his man's retaliating thrust and ran him through. The battle momentarily cleared around them.
He ran to Devon's side, beckoning her. As he tried to tie the bandage - once his shirt - tighter around the wounded shoulder, Meri knelt beside him. His mind was rapidly sorting out the best plan, but she spoke first.
"Wrap it up, Mr. Terendul, and stow him somewhere out of sight. We'll return when the fighting's over and do what more we can then."
Calnan froze. His face was expressionless; only his eyes widened. But when she began to rise, his lips tightened and he caught her arm roughly. "No, we can't do that," he said in a strained voice.
Twisting her wrist suddenly, Meri flung off his hand. Her blue eyes glinted dangerously, but her voice was controlled. "I can. You do whatever you want!" She threw herself into the thickest of the fight, killing with a concentrated ruthlessness both admirable and appalling.
Calnan stood rigid, unconsciously clenching his sword, but fighting only his rage. Something very like hatred flooded through him. . .
. . . And realizing it, he felt it dissolve into grief. This is no time for that! he reproached himself. Devon was what mattered. Was there anyone - there, finishing off a red-shirted corsair. "Marx!"
The tall crewman turned to him. "What ho, m' lad?" he called, then his face changed as he saw Devon at his feet.
"I need to get Devon back to the ship," Calnan said as Marx strode across the deck. "He's bled a lot already. Can you cover me?" He was already examing the wound.
"I've a better idea. Take this" - thrusting his own sword into Calnan's other hand - "and you cover me." He glanced at the fallen foresail spar that bridged the gap between the two ships. "I'll carry him across on that - kid's play." Calnan stepped back, glancing around as the burly crewman rose carefully with Devon across his shoulder. "Don't worry, lad," he grinned, "I've seen you - you're better than them." Softer, turning away, "And he'll be just fine."
Calnan gave a deep breath, then renewed the fight. His energy approached exuberance soon after a quick glance confirmed that Marx had safely reached the North Wind's deck. But then a splintering crash from astern heralded a vicious spray of wood and stone that flew overhead. A second crash, a warning shout, and a long, snapping groan were followed by a tremendous smash as the Pora Diy's mainmast fell.
Calnan was thrown violently to the deck. As he rose, he saw the battle momentarily frozen with the shock of the disaster. In the sudden hush, Avershire's voice reached every ear on both ships' decks.
"Your ship is destroyed, and we are master of it. Surrender and you will receive mercy."
Narrowly watching the amazement, fear, indecision, and then anger on the corsair faces around him, Calnan made sure his back was to an ally. He hoped Avershire knew what he was doing.
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