«Look out!» yelled Blade. Too late, he noticed half a dozen shaggy or bald heads appear over the foc'sle railing. A crossbow went spung and the duke went rigid, hands going up to his blood-spouting throat to clutch at the crossbow bolt rammed through it. For a moment he stood there, long enough for his men to turn, gape and groan; then he toppled to the deck with a metallic crash of armor. For another moment he kicked wildly, then was still.
Blade was too busy to worry about what effect the duke's fall might have on the minds of the men. The pirate with the crossbow had his own throat laid open by Blade's back-handed slash in a split second. The man beside him screamed as Blade smashed the sword pommel into his face; he lost his grip on the railing and toppled into the sea. A third man had time for one wild stroke of his own before Blade's riposte chopped through his arm and halfway through his body.
The other three hung back, momentarily too terrified of the blood-spattered giant confronting them. But Blade had no shortage of opponents. The pirates were swarming onto Triumph's deck by the dozens, clambering from their own ships across the decks of the ones already grapneled fast and pouring up the ropes. The ship's crew, unnerved by the duke's fall, were falling back or simply falling, under sword, cutlass, and axe. The pirate archers had ceased fire out of fear of hitting their own men, and the waist of Triumph was now a cauldron of clanging, flailing steel.
Battle madness was on Blade, and he hurled himself into the fighting with no thought beyond taking as many of the pirates with him as possible. He leaped from the foc'sle deck like a panther, landing on two unsuspecting pirates and smashing them to the deck with his massive weight. Before they could recover and try to rise, he had sworded one, daggered the other.
Aft, a man nearly as tall as Blade and even broader stood by the door to the cabins. He wore only ragged black trousers and a grimy once-white rag tied about his unkempt blond head. In his left hand swung a cutlass looking heavy enough to hew through iron bars. Like Brora, he had the air of a rough but deadly leader of even rougher and deadlier men.
Blade charged, his sword weaving a shimmering web in front of him as he tore through the press of struggling men like a mad bull splintering a rail fence. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Brora backed against a railing but keeping three pirates at bay with his whirling cutlass. Then he was on the big pirate, who barely had time to bring his cutlass up to guard against Blade's first stroke.
Heavy as the cutlass was, the big pirate could wield it more than fast enough. The first return stroke whistled past Blade's ear and by a finger's width missed splitting him from shoulder to groin. His return stroke clanged off the cutlass blade with a sound like a dropped anvil. Then they were at it hard and fast, with a steady crash of blades and stamping of feet.
Gradually, Blade became aware that the battle uproar behind them had faded. As the pirate stepped back for a moment, he took a split-second glance to either side. The deck was almost clear of the defenders-at least living ones-and most of the pirates were now standing and gaping at the duel of giants.
It was becoming a duel of weary giants now. Blade felt his joints beginning to creak and his muscles turning to the consistency of oatmeal. But he was utterly determined to hold on as long as the pirate chief and enough longer to drive his sword through the man's heart. Gradually, he began to realize that the pirate, strong as he was, was tiring even faster. The cutlass no longer lashed out to whistle about Blade's head. Instead it darted back and forth, parrying Blade's sword strokes. Blade knew that the combat was approaching its crisis. In a little more time the pirate would realize that the only thing left for him was to take his opponent with him. Blade knew that in that moment he would face a charge that he would have trouble meeting.
Without a pause, he switched in mid-stroke to a thrust, and saw his sword drive through the pirate's defenses and the point leave a red line across the man's shoulder before the descending cutlass smashed down again. Blade backed away for a moment, noting that the pirate was too weary to follow him, but stood gasping, as if rooted to the deck.
Then Blade came in again, whipping his sword into one thrust after another as fast as his fading arm muscles could move, seeing trickles of red emerge in one place after another. He saw a light beginning to glow in the pirate's eyes, too, and his chest heave as he gathered his last strength for the charge. The cutlass swung up into a guard position, then whistled down and rasped in a spray of sparks along Blade's sword. The force of the blow almost numbed Blade's hand. It was entirely a reflex action that raised the sword, then swung the point out at the exact moment the pirate chief lunged forward. Blade's point drove straight into his chest, so fast and so hard that the guard was brought up with a thud against the ribs. Then there was another much louder thud as the pirate toppled.
Blade was very close to joining him on the deck too. Only by staggering forward and pressing his hands against the bulkhead did he keep from falling on his face. When the fogginess had passed, he looked up and out, at the crowd of pirates amidships.
None of them were raising a weapon except the three who had their cutlasses pointed at Brora's chest. The look in their eyes as they watched Blade was something between surprise and respect. Then one of them, a lean and wiry little man, stepped forward and said loudly, so that all could hear:
«By the Law of the Brotherhood, you who have slain in fair and equal combat Oshawal Rida's son, a full Brother and Captain, may ask the right to join the Brotherhood and take Oshawal's place.»
Before Blade could decide how to answer, there was a scream from behind him. The door to his left flew open with a crash and two pirates dragged a half-naked Alixa out onto the deck. The other pirates stared, and Blade saw eyes open and tongues drawn across lips. Before anyone else could move or speak, he stepped forward and placed his sword across Alixa's shoulders.
«Hold!» he roared. «If I am worthy to join your Brotherhood, then I claim protection for this lady, my betrothed, and for that man with the swords at his throat, my sworn comrade. Accept them also, or start guessing how many of you will die before I am slain!»
There were black looks of frustrated lust in Blade's direction. Somebody growled, «They said the daughter too,» before somebody else snarled, «Shut up, you loose-jawed fool!» Blade took a firm grip on his sword, prepared to first give Alixa a quick death, then sell his own life at the expense of as many pirates as possible.
The small man raised a hand, and the mutterings died away. «It is not writ so in the Law of the Brotherhood. But for such a fighting man as you seem, the Law can be-eh, bent, I daresay. Silence!» to the men behind him. «Those words of the Law were to give us good fighting men. Any of you yapping dogs who think this be not a good fighting man, step forward and best him as he bested Oshawal. Then I'll own you true and rightful chief.» The silence finally came. «Then so be it.» He stepped forward and stretched out both hands to take Blade's.
CHAPTER 7
That evening Blade stood at the railing of the late Oshawal's galley, Thunderbolt, and watched the flames roar up from Triumph. To one side of him at a discreet distance stood Alixa and a little beyond her Brora, and to the other side stood Oshawal's first mate, the wiry little pirate who had offered Blade entrance into the Brotherhood. His name was Tuabir.
Blade was contemplating the road by which he had traveled to his new status as a pirate of Neral, or at least a candidate for the status. It was a precarious position, but almost certainly better than waiting around as a high-ranking prisoner until it was discovered that no ransom would ever be forthcoming for him. And he had made it less precarious than it might have been by a stroke of practical leadership.