His words broke the boy from his trance, and he followed as Brashen charged down the deck. It seemed to him that in the same moment the ship suddenly picked up momentum. He felt a moment of relief that Althea had not followed him as he plunged into the battle. Three of his own men were down, rolling and punching with a pirate as if this were a tavern brawl. He sprang past them to engage the blade of a tattooed man with a gleaming bald pate. Brashen let the man parry his blade easily so that he could lunge past him and spear his true target: the pirate who was just flinging a leg over the railing. As the man fell back, clutching his chest, Brashen paid for his audacity. The bald pirate slashed at him, a cut that Brashen almost evaded by flinging himself to one side. He felt the blade tug at his shirt as the fabric parted. An instant later, a line of fire down his ribs seared him with pain. He heard Clef's hoarse cry of horror, and then the boy plunged into the thick of it. He came in low, jabbing at the man's feet and calves. The astonished pirate leaped backward to avoid the boy's cuts. Brashen surged to his feet, thrusting his blade before him two-handed. As he came up, the tip of his blade found the bald man's breast and bit deep. The man hit the railing and tipped backward over it, screaming as he fell.
Brashen and Clef had broken the magic circle of the defending pirates. His crew surged forward, turning the battle into a brawl. This was fighting they understood; they piled atop the remaining pirates, kicking and stamping. Brashen dragged himself clear of the melee and glanced about his deck. Aloft, the men were yelling that the pirate ship was falling behind as Paragon found his speed. A quick dash to the starboard side showed him that Lavoy and his men seemed to have handled their share of the attackers. Two of his crew were down, but still moving. Three of the pirates were still on Paragon's deck, but their comrades below in the boat were shouting at them to jump, to give it up.
Shouts from the bow alerted him to another boarding party. He'd have to trust that Lavoy could finish aft. Brashen raced forward with Clef still at his heels. Six men had gained Paragon's deck. For the first time, Brashen clearly saw the black sigil on their red head scarves. It was a spread-winged bird. A raven? Kennit's sign? They held their swords at the ready, defending the set grapple behind them. Yet from below came calls from their comrades. "Give it up! Cap'n's flagging us back!" The boarding party stood indecisively, obviously reluctant to lose what they had gained.
Althea was menacing them with a sword. Brashen swore under his breath; at least she'd had the good sense not to close with them. Amber was nearby, holding a blade competently if not aggressively. Lop, of all people, was backing Althea with a staff. Lavoy had proclaimed that he'd never trust the man with an edged weapon. The tall man grinned enthusiastically, clacking the end of the staff against the deck, and his wild-eyed battle enthusiasm seemed to make at least one of the pirates nervous.
"We can still take this ship!" roared one pirate on the deck. Sword still at the ready, he shouted down to the boat below. "Get up here! They have set women to fight us off. Ten of us could take the whole ship!" He was a tall man. The old slave tattoo on his face had been overneedled with a spread-winged bird.
"Go now!" Amber's words cut through the wind, her tone oddly compelling. "You can't win here. Your friends have abandoned you. Don't die trying to take a ship you can never hold. Flee now, while you can. Even if you kill us, you can't hold a liveship against his will. He'll kill you."
"You lie! Kennit took a liveship, and he lives still!" one of the men declared.
A wild roar of laughter broke out from the figurehead. The boarders on the deck could not see Paragon, but they could hear him, and feel the deck rock as he thrashed his arms wildly back and forth. "Take me!" he challenged them. "Oh, do. Come aboard, my little fishes. Come and find your deaths in me!"
The ship's madness was like a wave in the air, like a scent that could not be snorted away. It touched them all with clammy hands. Althea blanched and Amber looked sickened. The crazy grin faded from Lop's face like running paint, leaving only madness in his eyes.
"I'm gone," one of the boarders declared. In a breath, he had stepped over the railing and slid away down the rope. Another followed him without a word. "Stand with me!" their leader bellowed, but his men didn't heed him. They fled over the side, like startled cats. "Damn you! Damn you all!" the last man declared. He turned toward the rope, but Althea advanced on him suddenly. Her blade challenged his. Below, his men roared out to him to hurry, that they were leaving. On the deck, Althea suddenly declared, "We keep this one, to ask him what he knows of Kennit! Amber, throw the grappling hook over; Lop, help me hold him."
Lop's idea of holding him was to swing his staff in a mighty arc that brushed mortally near Amber's skull before cracking sharply against the pirate's head. The tattooed man went down and Lop began to dance a wild victory jig. "I got him, hey, I got one!"
STAY SAFE. THE WORDS WERE LIKE BARBS SET IN ALTHEA'S MIND. EVEN AS SHE moved through the routine tasks aimed at restoring order and calm to the deck, the words rankled bitterly in her soul. Despite all, Brashen still considered her a vulnerable female to be kept out of harm's way. Stay safe, he had told her, and then he had taken her task for himself, jerking loose the grapple that had defied her lesser strength. Humiliating her by showing her that she was, despite all her efforts, unreliable. Incompetent. Clef had witnessed it all.
It was not that she longed to fight and kill. Sa knew, her bones were still shaking from that first encounter. From the moment the invaders had begun to swarm up Paragon's side, she had been tight with anxiety. Still, she had kept going. She hadn't frozen up; she hadn't shrieked or fled. She had done her best to fulfill her duties. But that hadn't been enough. She wanted Brashen to respect her as a fully capable sailor and ship's officer. He had made it obvious that he didn't.
She left the deck and climbed the rigging, not only to check for pursuit, but also to have a moment of silence and solitude. The last time she had felt such anger, Kyle had been at the root of it. She could scarcely believe that Brashen had stung her in just the same way. For an instant, she leaned her forehead against a thrumming line and shut her eyes. She had thought that Brashen respected her; more, that he cared for her. Now this. It made it all the more bitter that she had carefully preserved her distance from him, standing apart from him when she desired to be close to him, to prove herself independent and strong. She had assumed that they remained at arm's length to preserve discipline on the ship. Could it be that he simply saw her as a distraction, an amusement to set aside while they were under way? All was denied to her. She could not present herself as a woman who desired him, nor as a shipmate who deserved his respect. What, then, was she to him? Baggage? An unwanted responsibility? When they were attacked, he had not treated her as a comrade who could aid him, but as someone he must protect while attempting to defend his ship.
Slowly she descended the mast, then dropped the last few feet to the deck. Some small part of her felt she was, perhaps, being unfair. But her larger disposition, agitated by the pirates' attack, did not care. Facing men armed with swords who would have gladly killed her had transformed her. Bingtown and all that was safe and noble had been left more than leagues behind her. This was a new life now. If she was going to survive in this world, she needed to feel competent and strong, not protected and vulnerable. The lecturing voice inside her head was suddenly stilled as she came face-to-face with a truth. This was why her anger at Brashen raged so hot. When he had acknowledged her weakness, he had forced her to see it as well. His words had eaten at her self-confidence like serpent-spittle. Her makeshift courage, her stubborn will to fight and act as if she were the physical equal of the men challenging her had been dissolved away. Even at the last, it had been Lop who took down her man for her. Lop, little more than a half-wit, was still more valuable than she was during a fight, simply because of his size and brawn.