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...So, let us reclaim the honor of the Númenoreans, and show Elendil that not all of his sons have strayed down the path of Tar-Calion!
As Captain Vórimandur ended his speech, Nimir joined the Ráca's crew in a roar of approval. The archers had not yet ascended all the way up to their battle stations, having been ordered by their leader, Sergeant Angaden, to stay low enough in the rigging to hear the captain's speech. Now their leader gave the order and the archers scrambled the rest of the way up the ropes and spars to their positions. Nimir had been told to take a place toward the bow. He was near two veterans, Dimion and Gimil, and had been told to pay attention to them. Thankfully, neither of them seemed to mind overseeing a novice, although they weren't exactly talkative.
Like all the archers, Nimir had a plentiful supply of arrows tipped with heads in a variety of shapes. He had chosen to use his own longbow, and over the sleeve of his padded black jerkin wore his own arm shield. He saw that on either side, his companions each carried a few pieces of their own equipment, too. Sergeant Angaden was an archer himself, and knew that in battle men needed weapons they could trust. Additionally, he ordered the archers to carry a few strips of cloth to bind any cuts with, and each man in the rigging had extra bowstrings wrapped up and stowed under their helmets. Nimir had thought it was silly to wear his extra bowstrings on his head, but had wisely refrained from expressing his opinion and obeyed the order. Just in case, he had slipped a third string into his belt pouch, where he thought it would be easier to get to.
Having checked once more to see that he had everything he was supposed to, Nimir made sure he was securely in position and looked around. If he wasn't about to go into battle for the first, and perhaps only, time in his life, it would be a glorious evening. The sunset was a beautiful explosion of gold, red and orange. The ever-present gulls wheeling in its light looked as if they were exotic gilded birds from the far-off West. Even the breeze was pleasant, neither too warm nor too cold. Below him, sparkles of gold from the setting sun danced across the dark green waves. He was certainly more comfortable swaying in the rigging than he was belowdecks.
"Don't gawp, lad! We're closing fast and there may be precious little time to make our arrows count. The Southern scum will try to cut loose and run as quick as they can." At Gimil's words, Nimir peered ahead toward Pelagrir and felt his first pangs of fear. From here, he could see not only smoke, but some of the fires that still burned in the city. And he got his first sight of Corsair ships. Large, sleek, bristling with oars near the waterlines, with huge blood-colored triangles for sails, they sat arrogantly on the water as if taunting any enemies. He was reminded uncomfortably of a wolf pack laying in wait for prey.
"Are they all that big?" His voice cracked, betraying his fear.
"Nay, these are the biggest Corsair ships I've ever seen," replied Dimion, the younger of the two. Although he answered calmly, Nimir could hear awe and even a trace of fear in the other man's voice.
Gimil, in his mid-thirties and scarred many times in battle, chuckled grimly. "I think we've stumbled on the cream of their fleet, boys. If we can sink those, Umbar'll be sore hurt." He ran his hand tenderly down his own longbow. "And I think we've got the ship to do it."
Nimir took a deep breath. To take his mind off his pounding heart, he once more checked over his equipment. There was nothing else to do until the fighting started.
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