Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
“Set fighting sail!” I yell. “Prayers and rums up!”
The pages run around giving everyone a shot of rum while Drakos, our only religious fella, recites his prayer in a furious blast of Greek.
“Steady gunners! Get the chain shots in there! Bowsprit to boarding!”
The mariners take in the sails enough so that the bow of the ship is now going to collide with the lowest part of their ship and I give the wheel enough of a push to set it on the right course.
“Bosun take the helm,” I say, stepping away from the wheel to give it to Crazy Eyes. “Let me be the first one off.” I run down the stairs and sprint to the bow. “Gunners, fire round shot, then chain it!”
I hear an “aye, aye,” from down below and then one cannon goes off, sending the ball flying into the wooden side of the navy ship. It doesn’t blast clean through, but I know that was enough to maim anyone standing nearby.
I make sure my cutlass is secure before climbing up onto the bowsprit, running carefully to the very end of the mast. I may have good balance, but one wrong slip and I’ll be in the water.
Once at the end, I stand and I watch as the other ship comes closer and closer and I’m locking eyes with one of their crew members, a portly man with a mustache.
“God Almighty,” the man says, his mouth open in fear.
“Not a god,” I tell him. “More like a devil.”
I turn and make a signal with my fingers for another round and the cry goes out, another cannon firing. This time the whole boat heels to one side and I know that hit did some real damage.
Then I leap off the bowsprit and onto the ship. The crew member tries to grab his weapon but I’m at him in a second. I immediately run my sword across his neck, slitting his throat, the blood spilling out and splashing onto my boots. I ignore the sight. We’ve all become desensitized to the sight of blood during battle so that it doesn’t have an effect on us anymore.
No point in wasting any time, though I know Thane is grumbling to himself about my lack of mercy. He may want to keep things simple, but keeping things simple means killing as many as we’re able to. The less people to deal with, the simpler it gets, I say.
One of the crew lets out a cry of vengeance for his fallen mate and starts running for me, a hefty broadsword drawn, and I know it’s a matter of time before someone fires a musket at me. Then I’ll really be peeved.
I block his lances with ease, doing a delicate dance for a moment before I knock his sword away and run my blade right into his stomach. The man spits up blood in a pitiful cry, then collapses to the deck.
“Bones, we’ll need some alive,” Cruz says with amusement as he jumps down from the bowsprit beside me and looks over the man.
“I’m doing my best,” I tell him. “Kill a few more and maybe they’ll all surrender peacefully.”
Thankfully, by the time Drakos and Lothar swing on board, pistols and swords ready, the crew on deck has fallen to their knees and given surrender. Sterling comes aboard next, his massive frame keeping the new prisoners in line, and Thane follows, hunting down the captain with Cruz below deck.
While they rummage for the people below, I take stock of the crew that have surrendered. We always take prisoners, indeed we need to before a big crossing, even with magic up in Nightwind’s sails, but selecting the right prisoners is an art. Whoever is the most fruitful will usually do, but women tend to last the longest.
Alas, I don’t see any women thus far. I decide on six of the strongest men, then order the lads to kill all the rest save the two youngest. The two youngest are instructed to deliver the message and our hostage negotiations before they’re hauled to their feet and thrown overboard.
As the slaughter for the rest of them commences, Thane and Sterling come up with a round-cheeked older lady in one hand and, judging by his wig, the prince in another. Both the lady and the prince look terrified, but the lady has a toughness about her that the prince doesn’t possess, something I appreciate.
“This isn’t the princess,” I say, gesturing to the woman. “She may be pretty, but she’s much too old.” I take a step toward them. “Where is the princess? We had heard she was traveling with you, Prince?”
I don’t even know the names of these royals, but it doesn’t seem to matter.
“I don’t know where she is,” the prince says, a hint of resentment in his voice, as if he wanted and expected us to find her.