‘We get paid slaves’ wages,’ Denaos said. ‘Silf, we get worse. We get adventurers’ wages. Stop trying to turn this into a matter of morality. It’s purely about the practicality of the situation and, really, when has a shict ever been a moral authority?’
When have any of them ever had a good idea? Lenk’s eyes narrowed irately. I’m always the one who has to think here. He’s a coward, but she’s insane. Asper’s a milksop, Dreadaeleon’s worthless. Gariath is as likely to kill me as help. Running is better here. They’ll get me killed if we stay.
‘Well, don’t get the impression that I’m trying to stop you,’ Kataria snarled. ‘The only reason I’d like you to stay is because I’m almost certain you’ll get a sword in your guts and then I won’t even have to deal with the terrible worry that you might somehow survive out at sea. The rest of us can handle things from here.’
‘And if I could handle it all by myself, I would,’ Denaos said. ‘Feeling the humanitarian that I am, though, I would consider it a decent thing to try to get as many humans off as I possibly could.’
‘Decent? You?’ Kataria made a sound as though she had just inhaled one of her own arrows through her nose.
‘I didn’t kill anyone today.’
‘Only because you were busy putting your hands down a dead man’s trousers. In what language is that decent?’
They’re going to die, Lenk’s thoughts grew their wings, flew about his head violently, but I can live. Flee now and live! The rest will . . .
‘And what would you know of language?’ Denaos snarled. ‘You only learned how to speak ours so you could mock the people you kill, savage!’
... waiting, waiting for what? To attack? Why? What else can you do? There’s so many of them, few of us. Save them and they kill each other . . .
‘And you mock your own people by pretending you give a single fart about them, rat.’
... to what end? What else can you do?
‘Barbarian!’
What else can you do?
‘Coward!’
WHAT ELSE?
The thoughts that formed a blizzard in Lenk’s mind suddenly froze over, turning to a pure sheet of ice over his brain. He suddenly felt a chill creep down his spine and into his arm, forcing his fingers shut on his sword’s hilt. From the ice, a single voice, frigid and uncompromising, spoke.
Kill.
‘What?’ he whispered aloud.
Kill.
‘I . . . don’t—’
‘Don’t what?’
He felt a hand on his shoulder, unbearably warm. He whirled about, hand tight on his sword. The shapes before him looked unfamiliar for a moment: shadows of blue lost in the sky. He blinked and something came into view, apparent in a flash of blazing green.
Kataria’s eyes, brimming with disquiet.
With every blink, the sunlight became brighter and more oppressive. He squinted at the two people before him, face twisted in a confused frown.
‘What?’
‘It’s up to you, we agreed,’ Kataria replied hesitantly. ‘You’re the leader.’
‘Though “why” is a good question,’ Denaos muttered.
‘Do we fight or run?’
Lenk looked over his shoulder. His eyelid twitched at the sight of the pirates, visibly tensing, sliding swords from their sheaths. Behind the rows of tattooed flesh, a shadow shifted uneasily. Had it always been there, Lenk wondered, standing so still that he hadn’t noticed it?
‘Fight?’ Kataria repeated. ‘Or run?’
Lenk nodded. He heard her distinctly now, saw the world free of haze and darkness. Everything became clear.
‘I have a plan,’ he said firmly.
‘I’m all ears,’ Denaos said, casting a snide smile to Kataria. ‘Sorry, was that offensive?’
‘Shut up,’ Lenk growled before she could. ‘Grab your weapons. Follow me.’
Don’t look, Dreadaeleon thought to himself, but a seagull just evacuated on your shoulder.
He felt his neck twist slightly.
I SAID, DON’T LOOK! He cringed at his own thoughts. No, if you look, you’ll panic. I mean, why wouldn’t you? It’s sitting there . . . all squishy and crawling with disease. And . . . well, this isn’t helping. Just . . . just brush it off nonchalantly . . . try to be nonchalant about touching bird faeces . . . just try . . .
It occurred to the boy as odd that the warm present on his shoulder wasn’t even the reason he resented the birds overhead at that moment.
Rather, he thought, as he stared up at the winged vermin, they didn’t make nearly enough noise. Neither did the ocean, nor the wind, nor the murmurings of the sailors gathered before him, muttering ignorant prayers to gods that didn’t exist with