[Nuranar]

They'd tried to hoist more sails, but the North Wind's catapults had done an excellent job of breaking spars and severing rigging. Finally Avershire, seeing the folly of wasting his men's precious engery, had ordered them to stop. Now the damaged ship's groanings were the only sound as the Gondorians waited. The corsair, seeing her quarry's condition, wasn't even using catapults. Her crew lined the decks, and now came faintly up the wind their harsh taunts and battle-cries.

"Hurry up, man!" Calnan snapped at Packs. The sailor jumped and his trembling hands lost their grasp on the bandage he was trying to secure. Calnan closed his eyes, stifling his frustration.

During the fight a stray projectile had smashed into the Regal Dawn's rail; one of the splinters had caught him just below the hairline, leaving a jagged wound. In the heat of battle he'd scarcely noticed it until blood started to run into his eyes. Even now it was refusing to stop bleeding, so he'd asked the sailor to bind it up. Packs, by some miracle, was barely scratched.

"There, lad, it's done," Packs said. Although now the cut was throbbing like anything, the bandage felt secure and the blood had stopped running down his face.

"Thanks, Packs." Calnan hoisted himself to his feet, biting his lip. He'd landed hard on his knee when boarding, and now that he'd stopped moving, it was terribly stiff and painful.

His bow was at the bottom of the sea with the North Wind, but he still had his sword. He picked his way slowly across the debris-strewn deck to the rail. Avershire, grief and rage spent, had woodenly ordered every man able to prepare to board. There was nothing to be gained by a hopeless defense of the crippled ship. Calnan wondered vaguely how much convincing it would take for Sedal to leave his patients.

They didn't have a chance. Everyone knew it. No one said it. Calnan felt only very tired. Tired of all the effort, all the back-breaking work, all the mind-numbing grief, that was all going for nothing. He hardly cared any more.

"It's not for nothing," said a firm, quiet voice behind him. Calnan heard without understanding; then it penetrated. He turned and saw Telson. The Gondorian smiled slightly. "You never really thought we'd defeat Doran. But you came because your friends needed you. Because you couldn't not come. Because it was the right thing to do."

He raised his voice. "If I'm to die, I would die for Gondor. And in my death I will destroy as many of her foes as I can!"

There were no wild cheers, no enthusiastic hurrahs; but a low murmur of assent reached the ear. Calnan took a deep breath and looked around him. Where before he had seen fear, apathy, and despair, there was now a grim resolution and steadfast purpose. Men stood and readied their weapons. A few of the more seriously injured came forward, some fierce in resisting the kind hands that would have them rest.

And none too soon, for the enemy was upon them. With ferocious cries of triumph, the corsairs crowded to the rails, brandishing weapons and whirling grapnels. Yet they waited until the ships began to inch together, when they intended to leap upon the cowering Gondorians.

But just as they were about to attack - "NOW!" rang the cry. Everyone on the Royal Dawn's deck surged across, yelling like furies. Some swinging, some hurdling the gap, they came with a fury and a wrath that daunted the astonished corsairs.

Calnan had feared his bad knee would give way if he tried to swing across, so he had jumped instead, deliberately plowing into a burly pirate. The man staggered heavily into his neighbor while Calnan rolled across the deck. Drawing his sword as he leapt to his feet, he set upon the enemy with deadly will.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Telson, now with but one short sword, dueling fiercely. He thought Callath had swung across just ahead of him, but there was no sign of him. Suddenly a body stumbled into him, throwing him off-balance. His opponent, thrusting even as Calnan staggered away, stabbed the other instead. Calnan, horrified, recognized Packs; the sailor died without a sound. Like lightning, Calnan swung his sword and cut the corsair's throat. But immediately another set upon him.

Soon the deck was slippery with blood and cumbered with bodies. Their initial assault had surprised the corsairs, but their force was small and had no support. Most of the bodies were those of corsairs, but here and there were Gondorians that could not be replaced. Calnan fought until his arm ached. His opponents began to get inside his guard, and he was bleeding in several places. Blood was running down his face again.

Abruptly his foot came down on something semi-solid and he fell heavily to his bad knee. The pain slowed his reactions, and he felt a stinging pain in his leg as he threw himself to the side a split second too late. He staggered to his feet, desperately striking aside his antagonist's weapon. Remotely he recognized the body he had tripped on: The trusty Master Pearlle, his hand still grasping a bloody cutlass.

Calnan was barely eluding each blow when another corsair joined in the assault. Thrust back by the force of the attack, he smashed heavily into the mast, the back of his head striking the wood. Briefly blinded by a starry explosion, he parried instinctively, felt the pirate's blade deflected by his. But as vision cleared, he felt something very hard prick warningly on his breastbone. The second corsair had him.

"Will you yield!" the man demanded, breathing hard.

Numbed by calamity and very near exhaustion, Calnan felt no emotion whatsoever. There was only one thing to do. "I yield."

The man held out his other hand, his sword point unwavering. Something resentful and unyielding flickered for a moment in Calnan's mind; then he gave up his sword.

"You are wise," the corsair said, and with a flourish of his sword indicated for Calnan to join the surrendered remnant of the Gondorians. Calnan gazed emptily into their impassive faces, one by one. He wondered dully why the corsairs had gone to the trouble of capturing them.