“There is less to learn when you’re a dragon,” Cruix said. “Our instincts serve well in most situations. We like shiny things, but we don’t need civilization. A dragon is perfectly happy with a cave, a hoard, and a hunting ground.”
The way he described it, dragons were a lot like cats. They certainly slept a lot.
“But if you were the only one of your generation...”
“Loneliness was my singular companion. For years I lived no better than a wyvern.”
He scowled.
“Dragons live much longer than any of the humanoid races,” Cruix said. “We live ten times longer than elves, who live ten times longer than halflings. But we are less fertile than elves, who are less fertile than halflings. It seems a race becomes less fruitful as its members become longer-lived. The mechanism escapes me.”
I shrugged. It escaped me too.
“The effect, of course, is that elf and dragon populations either remain stable or decline,” he said.
“Losses are not easily replaced, and it is painful to consider increasing one’s numbers. Do you have the same problem in the Northlands?”
“I had noticed that more and more men had taken mistresses from the halfling slaves.”
“If only dragons had that option.”
He had finished his ginger beer. I gripped him firmly in the arm. “You’re not alone, my friend.”
He looked at my hand, then at me. “I’m glad,” he said.
Suddenly, flute music.
One of the crewmen had started playing the flute. Another stood nearby, doing loopy things with his hands and elbows.
“What.” Cruix said.
The flautist looked up. “We are merely providing accompaniment to your touching scene.”
“And what are you doing?” I asked the other sailor.
“Interpretative dance, fool!”
“Don’t you have some bailing to do?” Cruix asked.
“Hah!” the flautist said. “Borghild, this elf is trying to tell us how to do our job.”
“How rude of him. Stane, tell him how we were only admiring their beautiful friendship.”
“I will do that, Borghild,” Stane said. “My friend and I wish to make the outside world match the world inside your hearts.”
“Not going to lie, plenty of people have fallen in love on this boat,” Borghild said. “We call it the Love Knarr, hey-ah!”
They ran to the bow of the ship, which butted through the waves. Gulls flew past and dolphins leaped as they gripped the rail and shouted into the wind.
“I can see the Heimdallr Colossus!” Borghild said. “Very small, of course.”
“Whoo!” Stane said, pointing down. “Look at ‘em jump! Whoo hoo!”
The dolphins sped ahead, sometimes bursting through the surface and hanging for long moments before slipping back into the water.
“Do you trust me, Stane?” asked the squat and swarthy Northlander.
“I trust you,” Stane said.
“Close your eyes,” Borghild said. “Step up onto the gunwale. Hold on.”
The taller Northlander climbed up the prow. Borghild held his ankles while Stane spread his arms and became a human figurehead.
“All right,” Borghild said. “Open your eyes.”
The blonde sailor gasped. The sea stretched out before him, and with the entire ship behind him it was like he was gliding over the waves. “I’m flying, Borghild!”
“And I’m the king of tha world!”
I expected their crewmates to hoot them down, but they just rolled their eyes and continued working.
“Is this normal behaviour for your people?” Cruix asked.
“We are more relaxed at sea,” I said. “Especially after ninety days.”
“What happens after ninety days?”
“A sail!” Stane said. “I can see a sail!”
The skipper stepped forward. “Is it of human make?”
“Nuh-uh,” Stane said. “Tall triangular sail.”
Northlander sails were square, usually white with red stripes.
“It’s tacking our way.”
Everyone rushed to the side. Humans all, they squinted into the distance, trying to catch a glimpse with their keen eyesight.
“Anything?” Cruix asked.
“I can see something,” I said.
“Can you point it out?” he asked. I did so and his eyes flashed.
“It’s a racing yacht. There,” he said, pointing.
I followed his hand to a ship sailing against the wind. It was small and fast. It was painted a pattern of greens and blues that flattened its shape and broke up its outline. It was almost part of the sea.
The hair rose on the back of my neck. It had to be a pirate vessel. The crew realized that as well and started drawing weapons. My hand fell to my longsword.
Now the ship changed colours. Greys, blues, and whites that made it hard to tell which way it was going, or how fast. Definitely elven make.
“Stand by to repel boarders, me bully boys!” the captain said.
I drew my sword. The pirates would regret attacking a Northlander ship!
The racing yacht dropped its camouflage. Its hull was now shining white. Its sail was black, with a pair of skeletons drawn in red. One skeleton was bent over while the other mounted it. Neither had any flesh, but they looked happy grinding together. It was a pirate flag, clearly, not one I’d seen before.
The crew dropped their weapons and groaned. The captain went around gathering clubs and cutlasses, making sure they were stowed away.
“What the hell?” I asked.
“Is this also normal?” Cruix asked.
“It’s not!” I said. “Skipper! Why do you shrink from these pirates?”
The captain shook his head. “It’s suicide, boy. These aren’t regular pirates.”
“Just because they’re elves? I’ve fought elves. They die easily enough.”
Someone laid a blue hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you tell us all about it, big boy?”
Chapter 10
I’ll admit, I jumped.
“Whoa now, handsome,” said the elven pirate. “Let’s not get too excited.”
He stepped down from the gunwale, where he’d teleported. Ten other pirates had materialized on deck.
I brought my sword up. “Men of the Northlands, defend yourselves!”
The pirates laughed and the crew looked sullen. I noticed the pirates were a mixed bunch, mostly halflings and half-elves. There were even a few humans.
“Will we not fight?” I asked the crew. “Are we not men?”
The pirate captain shook his head. “Sven, where did you find this guy? What kind of sailor hasn’t heard of me?”
“He’s a passenger, Serrato.”
“And I see you have an elf as well.” Serrato leaned toward Cruix. “Tell me, sir, are you here by choice? Or are these bad men holding you against your will?”
“I assure you, I’m here because I want to,” Cruix said. “Were that not the case, none of you here could hold me.”
“A wizard, eh?” Serrato said. “I didn’t know they changed the law. Enjoy your visit to the
Northlands. Stay out of my way while I conduct business.”
He turned to the ship’s captain. “You heard me, Sven. It’s tax time.”
The skipper grumbled and handed him the manifest.
“Narwhal bacon, Sven?” Serrato said. “How were you planning to unload that?”
The pirate handed it to his quartermaster and the man began giving orders. While the knarr’s crew stood to one side, the freebooters began transferring goods to their own vessel like they’d done it a hundred times before.
“And you’re just going to let them?” I asked the skipper.
He shrugged. “Cost of doing business. Better to lose a little wealth than a whole lot of blood.”
Serrato clapped him on the back. “I couldn’t have said it better!”
“You!” I said. “I remembe
r you. Serrato Alva. An elf once said you were a dangerous man. Care to prove it?”
“You are challenging me, boy?” asked Serrato.
“I am. For the honour of my people.”
He laughed. “Well if it’s about honour then.”
He drew a naked blade out of the air. “On guard, then.”
I studied the weapon. It was a light cavalry sabre with serrations along the upper edge. It would cut quickly but messily. It was held in the right hand, but there was something wrong about the guard.
I studied my opponent. I had a double reach advantage with my height and my weapon. Elves were dangerously agile, however. Even the pampered ones had light feet, and this one didn’t look pampered at all. He wore ordinary sailor’s clothes—a vest with no shirt, a sash and wide belt, and baggy striped trousers.
“You gonna stand there all day admiring, or are you gonna fight? That was a serious question. I’d hate to kill such a cutie.”
I shivered. He struck. I parried and he cut, angling for my neck. I dodged and he menaced me with the blade. I didn’t like the sabre in my face so I circled. He turned to face me. I leaped, hewing down, but he spun out of the way and halted my charge with the point of his sword.
We circled. I settled into a front middle guard and his blade flicked out, slashing once and twice. I parried both times, turning away his blade with difficulty. I saw an opening and swipe but he parried to the side and turned the parry into a cut. I blocked low and stepped back.
Serrato twirled his sword. I frowned. His attacks had been flawless, but lazy. Almost like he wasn’t trying trying. He smiled and I knew I was being toyed with. I assumed a front high guard and waited for an opening.
“Ha!” I said. Our swords met and met again, longsword against sabre. Back and forth we went along the deck, blades halving the air. I used every trick I knew but he countered each one effortlessly. He stamped on the deck with one bare foot. I barely had time to duck before his blade passed over my head. I got a hand on the deck and kicked out. He leaped aside.
Serrato grinned. “I see you’re using Drystonian footwork. You’ve trained with a royal marine.”
“I thought it fitting, considering the rolling deck.”
“Naturally. A wide, careful stance at sea is advisable for both parties. Unless, of course—”
He ran up the rail and somersaulted over my head. He jabbed me in the kidneys and I parried wildly.
“—they’re just that good!” he said.
I roared. He gave ground in the face of my berserk charge.
“Wonderful!” Serrato said. “You have a rare passion.”
“Then why—huff—are you smiling?”
“I know something you don’t.”
I menaced his face with my sword. “And what is that?”
Pushing my blade aside with a low parry, he completed the movement by switching the sabre to his other hand. His left hand, which the bell guard fit perfectly. It was a left-handed sabre.
“I am not right-handed!” he said, and sprang at me. I couldn’t dodge this time, he sliced across a forearm and nicked a rib. Fighting left-handed, he was better than before and all his cuts came from strange angles. I parried low and gave ground. I was running out of deck but still he pushed me back.
“Ha!” he said, and kicked my legs from under me. I fell to the deck and landed hard. Only a wild swipe kept him from pressing the advantage. I stumbled to my feet, grabbed his wrist, and threw him over my shoulder.
“Whoops!” he said. I dashed forward and our swords crossed. I powered on and crushed him against the gunwale.
“Looks like you made your first mistake,” I said.
“Looks like. But you’ve forgotten something.” And he vanished.
“D’oh!” I said. I slammed into the rail and nearly lost my sword. A wave broke and drenched me.
“You forgot I was a teleporter,” he said from behind me. “There’s something else I should tell you.”
“Tell me,” I said, turning around.
“I’m not left-handed either.”
He produced another sword out of the air, this one a right-handed sabre. I almost smacked myself for forgetting that Serrato Alva was a dual-wielder. Granted, the person who told me about
Serrato turned out to be lying about some important things. Afterward I hadn’t trusted anything that he had said.
Serrato sliced intricate patterns in the air. He spun his swords forward and back, each one moving independently, never getting in the other’s way. His bare feet were sure upon the deck.
He danced and leaped, steel flashing. Elves were known for their dexterity but I had never seen one so agile.
He grinned and stood on one leg. I took it as an opening and lunged. The raised foot kicked out and checked my momentum. Back and forth we went, my opponent fencing as skilfully as when he held a single sabre. It was like fighting three men. Serrato’s swords never went the same way, they wove in and out of each other’s arcs, supporting and reinforcing. For every one I would parry the other would strike from a different angle. I was cut many times, but never in a way that would disable me.
“Don’t toy with me!”
“Would you rather I just kill you?” he asked.
He broke rhythm and lunged. I parried low but he hooked my sword and wrenched it from my grip. I tried to rush him but he put a blade between us. The gunwale was behind me. I had to get out! I turned to run and he pricked me in the buttock.
“Aaah!”
“A virgin, eh?”
I hit the deck rolling and scrambled for my weapon. Got it! I came to my feet with murder on my mind. Serrato smirked and moved in for the kill.
Again we clashed. Steel rang on steel. I attacked him from the left side, shuffled and attacked him from the right. It made no difference. His defence held. I hacked away at him but he ducked, parried, and leaped out of the way. He hit me in the leg and I retreated on my hands and knees.
The half-deck ran out and I tumbled into the hold.
“You won’t escape me!” Serrato said, and leaped after me.
It was cramped belowdecks. The footing was uneven. We fought on the crates and barrels, ducking under the half-deck to stab at each other. I gripped my blade in one hand and thrust it like a short spear. He parried with one sword and thrust out with the other. I tried to dodge but it was cramped.
“Arrgh!” I said, as he carved an X into my ribs.
“Enough of these close quarters!” he said. Tucking one sabre under his arm, he grabbed my wrist and teleported us both.
We reappeared topside and toward the stern. Pirates and crew scattered as we fell to the afterdeck. I landed with a thump.
Dragon Sacrifice (The First Realm Book 3) Page 8
