head. ‘Kill me, my men will fight harder and, while they weren’t particularly restrained boys to begin with, they’ll have much less restraint if I’m not here to control them.’
‘Every last heathen aboard this blessed vessel will be cleansed by steel, scum.’ Quillian’s approach was heralded by the hiss of a sword leaping from its scabbard. Though she levelled her blade at the pirate, her scowl was for Kataria. ‘Every. Last. One.’
‘She looks mad,’ Lenk noted through a strained gulp.
‘She always looks mad,’ Kataria replied.
‘In the interim,’ the Serrant said, turning her attention back to Rashodd, ‘it is only logical that we begin with the biggest.’
Lenk held his breath as the woman took a menacing step. Rashodd was right, he knew - the Cragsmen wouldn’t even notice that their captain had been killed until well after every last man was dead. Such an occurrence, however, rested on the idea that a sword would be enough to stop him.
An idea, he thought grimly, that seemed more ludicrous with every step the Cragsman took to meet the Serrant.
She growled and Lenk winced, though the sound of steel carving flesh never came. Rather, there was the sound of bronze clattering to the floor as a great, clawed hand reached up, seized Quillian by the head and shoved her aside.
Despite having no breath to chuckle, Lenk felt rather satisfied seeing Rashodd leap backwards at the sight clambering up the stairs. If the Cragsman strode with insulting casualness, Gariath stalked with infuriated ease. The leathery skin of his face was twisted angrily, bared teeth as red as every other part of his body. Cuts and gashes criss-crossed his body like so much decoration, which seemed to be all the credit he gave his wounds.
‘It’s over.’
Gariath seemed to say this with more irritation than satisfaction, though it was difficult for Lenk to distinguish his companion’s irritation from his other emotions; all of them involved some manner of rage.
‘They barely even fought.’
Red pooled at his feet. Red, Lenk noted grimly, not his own.
‘This one didn’t even raise his sword.’
Gariath tossed the limp body at the Cragsman’s feet. The man was barely recognisable as one of the Linkmaster’s crew, so badly broken and crushed was he. Limbs were bent in ways they weren’t meant to bend, extra joints had been added, and haemorrhages bloomed in ugly purple blossoms beneath the man’s skin.
Lenk quietly wished Rashodd hadn’t angled himself to prevent the young man from seeing his face.
The colossal captain gasped at his underling. ‘What in the name of All On High did you do to him?’
‘I killed him. Isn’t that obvious?’ The dragonman took a step forwards and Rashodd backpedalled with uncharacteristic haste, axes raised. ‘The rest of them will follow.’ Gariath levelled a claw at the captain. ‘Unless you kill me.’
A glance at the deck confirmed Gariath’s declaration. The battle, it seemed, had taken a definite turn with the dragonman’s presence. Many of the pirates lay dead, the remaining ones herded by the now superior numbers of the Riptide’s men. Only the pale invaders held strong, pressed into a small mass at one side of the ship, heedless of the Cragsmen’s pleas for help.
Those meagre few who hadn’t already thrown down their arms collapsed as smouldering husks in the shadow of Dreadaeleon, the boy breathing heavily, hurling gouts of fire from his hands as he strode along the deck like an underfed titan.
‘It’s an insult,’ Gariath growled, tearing all eyes back upon himself. ‘I wanted a fight. I wanted warriors and you send me babies.’ He kicked the corpse harshly. ‘Babies.’ The foot came up and down with a crack of wood and a spatter of thick, grey porridge. ‘BABIES.’
Rashodd cringed at that. Lenk thought it would have been a satisfying sight had he not also been forced to look away.
‘So boldly did you utter condemnation of imagined blasphemies, Argaol,’ the Cragsman’s voice betrayed not a hint of fear, ‘yet now you consort with murderous monsters and do not quiver at your own righteous hypocrisy?’
‘Stop talking to them,’ Gariath growled, clenching his hands into fists. ‘I had to fight through a lot of ugly, weak, smelly humans to get to you. Now, stand still and fight so one of us can die and we might be able to get something done today.’
‘I care not what atrocities linger before, throughout or herein, reptile.’ Rashodd’s axes kissed in a challenging clang. ‘Nor do I yearn to know what allegiances they hold to. If you seek to die, I’ll make