Rôg spied Galhardir attempting to look a great deal braver than he felt. He understood the feeling and recognized the signs. The sword in the Lossoth’s hand was wavering and beneath the grim face he’d put on, the skin was blanched white. And then, of course, there was the added problem of the pain from the arrow. Rôg could see how the Lossoth favored his leg. He was sure to fall soon. The Corsair with the blade had advanced closer to Galhardir, the fellow with the bow had already turned and run for the side of ship, attempting to get off as his captain had ordered.
‘Give it up!’ Rôg heard the Corsair hiss at Galhardir. A leering grin on his face, the Corsair drew closer to the man, knocking the sword easily from the Lossoth’s hands.
‘No . . . you give it up!’ yelled Rôg, running up behind the Corsair, his weapon swinging in an arc. This time the crowbar connected with the side of the intended target’s head, knocking him unconscious to the deck. The clatter of metal against the wooden deck made Rôg look round. Galhardir had collapsed on the deck, his leg bleeding. Rôg crouched down beside him.
‘Can you make it over there?’ he asked, pointing toward the hatchway stairs that led into the interior of the ship. The man nodded, yes, and Rôg motioned for him to make haste. But Galhardir put his hand on Rôg’s sleeve and pointed toward the stairway to the quarterdeck. Annû had just collapsed as had the man he’d apparently been fighting. Another Lossoth . . . Annû’s face was battered and a sickly shade of grey; his hands clutched at his side, blood welling up between his fingers. The Lossoth opposite him laughed, his knife held up to taunt the Elf.
‘Can you manage on that leg at all?’ Rôg asked Galhardir. The Lossoth flexed his leg, grimacing, but indicated he could still use it. ‘I’ll distract that Lossoth fellow – you grab Annû and get him to safety down below.
~*~
The small, blue-grey
merlin circled once above the Lossoth holding the knife. Legs extended, he dove down from behind him, his sharp talons tearing into the man’s skull. He beat at him with his wings and tore at his ear with his strong, curved beak.
The man lurched to his feet, beating at the demon who besieged him, and stumbled toward the ship's railing, blood streaming down his face from the cuts on his head . . .
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Lalwendë's post
As if the pain in his chest were not bad enough, a sudden searing pain gripped Tarn’s head and he couldn’t help but let out a loud groan. He put his hands up to the top of his head, to find his hair matted with fresh blood. Clumps of hair and skin fell away in his fingers. But what was the shrieking noise? He thought he was going mad, or that maybe he had died and was meeting some kind of dark devil. He opened his eyes and looked up, just in time to see the blur of wings and claws swooping down at him for another attack.
Putting his head down just in time, he attempted to cover it with his hands, to protect it from another attack. But this thing was relentless. It wanted to hurt him. Whatever he did to cover his head, it was determined.
He felt a surge of pain at the side of his head and fell sideways. Looking up, he saw a Merlin with a piece of his ear in its beak, and he almost fainted. Covering his eyes with one hand, he lashed out wildly with the other. He hit nothing but air, the bird was too swift for his confused, half-conscious flailing. Staggering to his feet, almost falling back down again, he lurched towards the side of the ship, blinded by madness and fear.
Ripped apart, with a broken nose and ribs, missing part of his ear and bleeding profusely, Tarn collapsed over the railing at the very edge of the deck. His arm caught in the rigging and prevented his half conscious body from falling into the icy waters. As he hung there, the ship tossed about on the waves and a plume of spray splashed his face, waking him from his nightmare. He opened his eyes and heard the voice of Marreth, urging the other men to escape.