“With what?” Dhamon quietly shot back.
“Your charm.” A heartbeat later the mariner had climbed up the mast into the fog.
Dhamon crept back to the two bodies and tugged a long sword free from one. From the body of the other, he retrieved Rig’s dagger, wiping the blood off on the dead man’s tabard. He spotted a shadow in the fog; someone else was approaching, he could hear voices.
“I can’t see in this pea soup,” one man said.
“It’ll lift by morning,” a second shadow said.
“The fog’s not your concern.” A third voice. “Just find out why we’re drifting, and stop her. I don’t want to hit one of the other ships.”
“Aye, sir!” replied the first man.
They’d find the bodies, Dhamon thought. He clutched the dagger in his left hand, the long sword in his right. Hurry, Rig, he said to himself. He glanced at the mast. There was still no sign of the mariner, but he heard the canvas drop and heard the breeze catch it.
“Hey!” one of the men barked. “We’re not drifting! We’re under sail. Better get the sub-commander.”
Dhamon rushed toward the shadows, leading with the sword, wanting them to see him. There’ll be no more ambushes, he thought. It’ll be an honorable fight this time. A few steps more and the shadows came into focus: two Knights of Takhisis in black tabards and leather shirts. One had a sword in his hand, while the other started to draw his weapon as soon as he spied Dhamon.
“Sub-commander!” the one with sword already out called. “We’ve got company!”
Dhamon tossed the dagger at the man drawing his sword, and muttered a soft curse when it sank into the fellow’s thigh instead of his chest. Still, the wound was enough to stop him. The man dropped to one knee, hands clawing at the dagger.
At the same moment, his companion lunged. Dhamon ducked below the sweeping blade and thrust his long sword forward, impaling the knight on it. The man’s sword clattered to the deck and he pitched forward, just as footsteps thundered from below. Dhamon turned to face the wounded knight, who was now on his feet.
“Trouble, sub-commander!” someone hidden by the fog called.
“Trouble, all right,” growled the wounded knight. The dagger free from his leg, he tugged his sword from its sheath, quickly parrying Dhamon’s blow. “I don’t know who you are,” he snarled, but it doesn’t matter.” He effortlessly parried another thrust. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”
Dhamon increased the force of his swings, marveling at the man’s defense. The knight was well-trained in the classic strikes and parries taught by the knighthood. Dhamon leapt in close, using a maneuver he’d borrowed from Rig, catching the man off guard. Dhamon brought the long sword out to his side and swung it in hard, slicing through the leather shirt and deep into the man’s midsection.
“Fire!” came another voice. “She’s on fire!”
Rig was responsible, Dhamon knew. The mariner had been busy. Dhamon cut at the man again, killing him quickly. Then he rushed back to the capstan. The mariner was there, holding two jugs, the rags in them burning merrily. The other two had been smashed on the deck and were responsible for the fire the knights were rushing to put out.
“You were supposed to wait for me here,” Rig snapped, as he lobbed the two remaining jugs toward the rear mast. “Let’s move.”
The mariner darted toward the rear of the ship, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Dhamon was following. Then he dropped over the side. Dhamon paused long enough to stick the long sword in his belt, then he too vaulted over the rail.
“Feril’ll find us,” Rig said as he trod water near Dhamon.
“The boat can’t be far.”
Dhamon didn’t say anything. He was watching the burning carrack. The ship was moving quickly its anchor up and sail billowing. Some of the men on deck were concentrating on the fire. But other men and the slaves who had manned the ship were jumping overboard.
The flames grew smaller as the ship drifted. Then Dhamon and Rig heard a heavy thud, as the carrack struck something.
“I remembered where the galley was,” Rig said matter-of-factly. “I knew the way the wind was blowing, so I figured out just where to aim her.”
The air was filled with the cries of “Fire!” Smoke roiled off the carrack’s deck, and flames spilled onto the galley. The scent of burning wood hung heavy in the fog. More men and slaves were jumping over the side.
“Well, you don’t have to congratulate me or anything,” Rig continued. “But I just took out two ships. We take out another carrack or two, and it’s clear sailing.”
Dhamon watched the fire, made hazy now by the still-thick fog.
“They’ll burn right down to the waterline if they can’t put them out,” the mariner continued. “You know, you surprised me up there. You didn’t have any qualms about killing those knights on deck: your comrades-in-arms. I would’ve thought...”
Dhamon thrust the mariner’s words to the back of his mind, listening to the burning timbers. Then he picked out the sound of oars and of Feril’s voice. He quickly climbed aboard the fishing boat.
Gaps were appearing in the fog by the time Feril and Fury guided the boat toward the three remaining carracks, bobbing side by side only a dozen or so yards apart. Feril had dropped her concentration on the fog, and was too tired from treading water to spend her energy on deepening the mist again. Men were gathered on the bows of all three carracks, spyglasses pressed to their faces. The carracks had not made a move to raise their sails and come in closer. No doubt the captains didn’t want to risk the fire spreading.
“Risky,” Rig said. “They’re awfully close together. Where’s the other galley?”
“Farther out,” Feril said. “At the mouth of the harbor. Near the little cog.”
“That’s our target,” the mariner said. “The other galley. We’ll do the same thing, lead the galley into one of the carracks, the one on the right. I want the bigger one, to the far left—the three-master.”
“How are we going to man it?” Feril whispered. It was a question Blister had asked earlier and that the mariner had ignored.
“Legion of Steel maybe,” he replied. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
The fog had thinned considerably by the time the fishing boat reached the far side of the galley. Dhamon and Rig no longer needed Feril to guide them. They could see well enough through the wispy fog. Fortunately the men on deck were all watching the fire and had not seen them approach.
Rig found his balance, threw the rope up, and cursed when it missed its mark and splashed in the water behind him. He rolled it up and tried again.
“There’s nothing to hook it on,” Blister said. “You’ll have to try the other side.”
Rig shook his head and coiled the rope over his arm. He pulled two daggers from his belt and worked them into the ship’s hull, a few feet above the waterline and between the oar ports.
“Hey, that’s pretty clever!” the kender squealed. “He’s making a ladder. Maybe I could...”
A cross look from Dhamon and Jasper silenced her.
Rig took two more daggers and wedged them in higher in the hull. Then he stood on the first two daggers and climbed to the higher pair. Precariously balanced, he wedged in another couple, and continued climbing, using his makeshift footholds. Several minutes later he was out of daggers, but he was at the top. He disappeared over the side.
Blister fidgeted. “I don’t think he should be up there all by himself,” she whispered. “I’d like to have a little of the fun.”
The rope dropped over the side, as did a rope ladder the knights probably used for boarding. Rig hung over the railing, motioning to Groller. The half-ogre pointed to the sack under Blister and Jasper. Dhamon brought it out and carefully tied it to the rope.
Dhamon climbed up the ladder, retrieving two of Rig’s daggers in the process and sticking them in his belt next to his long sword. He guided the sack up the side, careful to avoid scraping the hull and shattering the jugs inside. He helped Rig lift it over the rail and joined the mariner on deck.