It looks like Skamang’s decided to try us out, Hamil observed. With a sigh, he carefully set his dinner on the deck.
“It suits me well enough,” Geran answered Pareik. It would have been easier to defer and avoid what was coming, but he suspected that he’d be at Skamang’s beck and call for the rest of the voyage if he did. Standing up to Pareik now and showing a quick and violent temper might save him no end of trouble later, as well as furthering their ruse. Besides, he was in a foul temper, and he didn’t like the look of the fellow. “Go find a different place.”
Pareik grinned. “So you’re too good to take your supper somewhere else,” he said. He slapped Geran’s dinner tin out of his hands, spilling the stew. “You can eat it off the deck, then! What do you think about that, new fish?”
Without a moment’s thought, Geran seized his dinner tin from the deck and leaped to his feet. He didn’t have to feign his anger; before he could think better of it, he threw the tin and the remaining stew in Pareik’s face. Pareik recoiled, belatedly raising his arms to defend himself, but Geran planted his boot at the Chessentan’s belt buckle and propelled him back across the deck. The pirate stumbled to the deck and rolled, fetching up against the opposite gunwale. “I think I’ll knock out your damned teeth, that’s what I think!” Geran snarled at him.
He took two steps toward Pareik, intending to administer the beating of a lifetime to the Chessentan, but heavy footsteps to his right caught his attention. The ogre Kronn stood close by, glaring down at him with his piggish little eyes. Behind him, the tattooed Northman Skamang sat watching with a small smile on his face. Kronn spoke in a rumbling voice. “You hidded Pareik,” he said. “Thad mean any Skamang’s fisd can hid you. Kronn belong Skamang’s fisd. Kronn hid you!” The ogre lashed out with one enormous fist, mashing it straight down as if he meant to drive a nail into the deck.
Geran leaped backward out of the way, not with any particular grace. His old mentor Daried would have winced; he’d always said that Geran had the slow-footedness of any big human. The elf bladesinger could have evaded Kronn’s fist with half a step and a twist of his shoulders. Hamil could have too. But Geran’s off-balance jump was enough to get him out from under Kronn’s blow. The ogre bellowed in annoyance and sprang after him; Geran skirted around the mainmast to put it between him and his foe, buying himself a moment to think.
Sarth and Hamil surged to their feet and moved forward to join the fray, while the rest of Pareik’s little gang dropped their own suppers to the deck and stood their ground. But Murkelmor the dwarf moved between them and held up his hand. “None of that now!” he shouted. “Your man laid hands on one o’ Skamang’s fist, and Skamang’s fist chose one o’ their own t’ answer him. It’s the way it’s done. Take another step, and it’s a matter for th’ captain t’ settle!”
“I will not stand aside and watch that ogre bludgeon my friend!” Sarth snarled.
“You will if you know what’s good for him an’ for you,” the dwarf answered. “Two men fight, it’s between them. Any more join in, and th’ captain has to put a stop to it.”
“Stand your ground!” Geran shouted at Sarth. “Keep it between Kronn and me!” Geran had faced ogres before. They were immensely strong, and big enough to shrug off wounds that would have incapacitated a human opponent. But they were slow and lacked skill, relying entirely on their size and strength. With a sword in his hand he wouldn’t have shied from a duel against Kronn. But he had only his bare hands for this fight.
He circled the mainmast again. Kronn went low and lunged forward, and this time the ogre managed to catch hold of Geran’s ankle. He yanked Geran’s foot out from under him and dragged the swordmage across the deck, raising one meaty fist to crush Geran while he had hold of him. Geran tried to wrench his foot out of the ogre’s grasp and failed. In desperation he used the ogre’s grip to anchor his left leg while he scissored up with his right. He caught the ogre on the point of his heavy jaw with a strong kick, spoiling Kronn’s aim. Kronn’s fist mostly missed him as it crashed into his ribs, batting him down to the deck again. Geran’s breath left him in a whooshing exhalation, and he gasped for air, but before Kronn could finish him with a solid punch, he drove his right heel into the meaty paw gripping his ankle and bent the ogre’s thumb in a direction it was not supposed to go. Kronn howled, and Geran scrambled free, still trying to find his breath.
“Keep after him, Kronn!” Pareik cried. “You almost had him there!”
“Don’t let the ogre grab you like that!” Hamil shouted at Geran.
“Never … would’ve … thought of that,” Geran wheezed. Kronn lunged for him again, and this time he threw himself under the ogre’s long arms and drove his head into Kronn’s gut. The ogre lost his breath this time, and before he recovered Geran threw several wild uppercuts under Kronn’s chin. It was like punching a bull; the ogre’s head barely moved. The blows had little effect other than enraging Kronn, and Geran quickly backed away again as Kronn swung wildly and stumbled to one knee. A reckless idea struck Geran, and he paused just in front of the mainmast as the ogre wound up for another punch. This time the swordmage stayed still until the very last instant before dropping to the deck under the punch. Instead of pulping Geran’s head like a melon, Kronn drove his fist into the mainmast.
The whole mast shuddered, but not even an ogre could damage it with a punch; he howled and clutched his mashed knuckles. “Kronn kill you for thad!” the ogre roared.
Geran rolled away across the deck and regained his feet. But Kronn seized a heavy block and chain from its place by the mainmast, wielding the wooden pulley like a crude flail. He lashed out furiously at Geran, each whistling blow smashing splinters from the deck or crashing against mast and gunwale. Corsairs gathered around to watch the brawl yelped in alarm and scrambled back out of the way, although one unfortunate fellow caught the heavy block high on his shoulder on Kronn’s backswing and was knocked spinning to the deck. Geran wheeled from side to side, searching for a weapon of his own. He didn’t know what the Black Moon had to say about weapons in a brawl, but he’d have to deal with that later. First he had to avoid getting killed.
Dagger coming! Hamil warned him. Geran looked back over to his friend just in time to catch the heavy poniard Hamil tossed to him. It was not much of a defense against Kronn’s overwhelming strength and reach, but the feel of steel in his hand was reassuring. He realized that, oddly enough, he was now in the exact position Hamil was whenever the two of them sparred. He was facing a bigger, stronger, slower opponent with much greater reach. And that meant he had to get in close without getting killed.
What would Hamil do in this sort of fight? he wondered. The answer came to him quickly; he’d watched Hamil fight enough times to guess how his friend might handle a big, clumsy foe. A smile flickered across his face as he ducked under another swing of the block and circled to his right, moving next to the mainmast again. “Come on, Kronn! Can’t you hit me?” he taunted.
The ogre howled in fury and lashed out again-but Geran ducked to the other side of the mast. The block and chain wrapped around the mainmast, momentarily entangled, and he made his move. He dashed forward up under Kronn’s guard and slashed the ogre several times across the belly and chest, holding back from a mortal thrust simply because he didn’t know what would happen if he actually killed his opponent. When Kronn threw up his left arm to shove Geran away, he laid open the ogre’s forearm from wrist to elbow. Blood splattered the deck, and the ogre cried out in pain. Then he let go of the block and chain and fell back on his broad bottom, shielding himself with his arms.