[Nuranar]

Calnan’s faded and torn blue shirt had dried in the afternoon sun – the weather of the southern latitudes routinely changed from hurricane to drought, it seemed – but now it provided no protection from the chilly land breeze. Flat on his stomach, bare hands and feet pushing him, he inched down the beach with a mere whisper of sound. He had lost his boots at sea.

Wreckage had strewn the beach where he’d washed up, but the first indication of other life had been a pinpoint of red light that appeared shortly after sunset. That meant a fire: at least one other survivor. Corsair or Gondorian? Until he knew, Calnan was taking no chances. He had moved silently along the edge of the trees for a while, then began to crawl. Whoever was at the fire would be able to see nothing anyway, with his eyes dazzled by the light. Still, Calnan wanted to offer no upright silhouette against the luminescence of the surf. He was more afraid of a sentry than whoever was at the fire, and there was no cover on the beach. No rocks, no dunes, nothing.

By now, carefully avoiding a direct look at the fire, he could discern Devon. Closer – there was Telson. Some of the others he recognized, some he didn’t, but none looked like corsairs. So they probably were not recaptured. And he had neither heard nor seen any hint of a sentry; foolish of his friends, but it had make his approach less dangerous. Calnan rose and hobbled forward, quietly as was his wont, but without taking any extra care to be quiet.

He was within thirty feet when a man, gazing vacantly into the darkness, saw him. “Hold there, you!” He rose and came forward. “Who are you?”

Calnan squinted uncertainly at him, then his eyes widened. “Is that you, Callath?” His friend’s features were haggard and pinched in the flickering light, his gestures slow and tired. It was a terrible caricature of the carefree stable-boy he knew, with his keen, merry expression and his spry, easy movements.

Callath’s face mirrored Calnan’s. “Calnan!” he gasped, then recovered. “Where’ve you been?” he demanded. “Lot of consideration for others you show!”

Calnan stepped into the firelight. “If you must know, Master Harres, I’ve been checking on how good a watch you keep. I can’t say much for it, seeing how close I came,” he teased, trying to hide his relief. Callath looked much the worse for wear and clearly wasn’t feeling too great, but he’d lost none of his spirit. Calnan looked around the circle, felt his heart glow as he recognized Devon, pale but firmly grasping a short blade. Telson stood next to him, tired but carrying himself more confidently than he had since they had left Umbar. Probably because he’s back on dry land! There was a boy – Rilgari, he now remembered – with one arm in a sling. The man next to Callath nodded to him and spoke.

“I am Rakein.” He grinned as Calnan narrowed his eyes trying to remember. “Carpenter’s mate.”

“Oh! Very good.” His glance continued around the fire, saw Sedal lying on the ground, a coat over him, eyes closed. Orda crouched by his side. “Is he hurt bad?” The boy nodded, fear in his eyes. Joy gone, Calnan felt sick. Sick with heartache. Sick with grief. He’d been trying to quell thought of those who weren’t there, just as he’d been quelling thought of those they’d already lost. How many weary days had it been? There was still no time. And if he opened the door even a crack, he’d be completely useless. He forced himself to face the problem.

“We need to find shelter, or make it. Has anyone seen any rocks or –” He broke off. First things first. “Wait, we still need sentries. If we’ve survived, so have corsairs.”

Callath interrupted. “Rakein and I saw some corsairs on the beach down there a ways,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction. “They’ll be coming for us.”

“Aye,” Rakein agreed. “They’ll be blaming us for the loss of their ship, no doubt. We need to be ready,” he said. There was an eager glint in his eye.

Calnan nodded. “All the more reason for a couple lookouts. Telson,” he looked across the fire, “please go down the tree line in that direction” – he gestured toward where the corsairs were – “about twenty yards and stay there. Stay quiet and don’t look at the fire – watch for movement, but more than that listen. These are corsairs, not woodmen.” The Gondorian rose wearily, but nodded and smiled as he turned away. “Rilgari, would you please do the same, but go back the way I came?” The boy was startled but automatically saluted before slipping into the darkness.

“I saw some big rocks in there a little way before the sun set,” Devon said, pointing into the jungle. “Maybe we can make a defensive position there?”

“Anything would be better than this,” Calnan said. “This fire can be seen for miles down the beach, and who knows how far out to sea.” He was vaguely surprised at Devon asking approval of an idea before carrying it out, but he had no time to waste on reflection. “Please show me where. You come too, Rakein. We might need a carpenter. Callath, please stay here; don’t feed the fire more than you have to to keep it alive.”

~ * ~ * ~

When the sun rose the next morning, they were established on the side of a low ridge of rocks, pointing out toward the sea. A little stream of fresh water ran down it from the highlands. The ridge itself was broken enough to afford a little cover for their sentries, especially for the one overlooking the other side of the ridge, but not enough to allow their enemies to approach unseen. Hidden under a minuscule overhang, Sedal was sheltered as much as possible from both scorching sun and chill night wind. The surgeon had a couple broken ribs and was taking it as easy as he could. Under his direction, Orda and Calnan had wrapped his ribs with strips torn from the coat’s lining; it wasn’t much, but provided a little stability.

As far as weapons went, Devon and Telson between them had managed to obtain a dirk and hang onto it through the long hours at sea. Rakein had a knife, taken from a corsair body. And Orda, grinning, had produced a small ship’s ax from his belt. Boylike, he had refused to tell where he’d gotten it, although Calnan suspected he’d swiped it from the deck of the Yonder Bound and had been too stubborn to lose his prize in the sea.

However come by, the ax had proved most useful. The trees were a relatively open forest of tropical hardwoods, not the jungle Calnan had feared. Despite the dark, Rakein had mysteriously obtained a number of young trees, and he and Calnan had trimmed off branches to make rough pikes. Calnan knew how to use his as a quarterstaff, and Telson remembered a little from his training. Devon, Callath, and Rilgari, one-armed as they were, had the edged weapons; Orda had been surprisingly possessive about the ax and only surrendered it to Callath when he had promised to defend Sedal.

An hour after sunrise, Calnan was lookout at the top when he heard “Calnan! Come here!” Immediately he slid down to Callath, who had been standing sentry out toward the beach. “They’re coming, the corsairs!”

“How many?”

“Just a few – five, maybe six. I heard them where our fire was, then they seemed to be coming nearer.”

Calnan nodded. “Yes, they’ll be following our tracks. Hard to hide anything in that sand.” Quickly he and Callath roused those who were resting – Callath had already called in the other sentry – and had them hide behind the rocks.

Soon they heard the crash and snap of seamen blundering their way through a forest. Calnan, motionless, waited for them to emerge into the clearing along the ridge. “Now!”

Rakein, Telson, and Calnan charged down from the rocks onto the startled corsairs, shouting for all they were worth. Disappointed at finding the Gondorians gone from their fire, angry at Graring, and disoriented from hacking their way through the wilderness, the corsairs were taken entirely by surprise. Giving one a vicious crack alongside the head, Calnan whirled his staff and stabbed the blunt end into another’s throat.

He stumbled and gasped as something burned along his side. The staff jabbed itself into the ground and sprang from his hand as he fell. Rolling over, he heard the whoosh and stab as a blade gouged the ground where he had lain. The man looming over him was one of the few who had a sword – and Calnan had nothing. He crouched, ready to dodge again; his only hope was to get into the trees.

There was a swift movement on the edge of his vision as a figure leapt forward and attacked the startled corsair. Even as he reached for his staff, Calnan was astonished to recognize Meri Loliway. Getting to his feet, he made to circle around behind the enemy, but the woman’s skill was lightning fast and as deadly as ever. He had taken only a step when she feinted and ran the man through.

Without the clash of swords, the clearing fell silent. Four corsairs lay on the ground, three dead – one from suffocation, Calnan’s work – and the other unconscious. Apparently the others had fled. But no, there was Devon climbing down from the rocks, smiling triumphantly, dirk red with blood. A corsair had fled in the wrong direction.

Rakein had disappeared, probably following whoever had escaped. Telson and Avershire, who apparently had appeared with Loliway, were making their way back to the rocks. Callath was perched up top, taking another sentry shift.

Loliway extended her hand to Calnan. “It’s good to see you, Dontal.” Gone was the aloofness, the hardness of the proud and pitiless warrior. Instead, the genuine warmth and care of comradeship shone in her eyes – along with a hint of apology.

Calnan grasped her hand firmly and smiled. “And it’s good to see you, Loliway.” He meant it with all his heart.

~ * ~ * ~

Rakein reported that a single corsair had fled into the forest, apparently panic-stricken. The corsair prisoner had apparently suffered a serious concussion from Telson’s blow and was quite incoherent when he regained consciousness. No one had been injured except for Calnan, and except for the bloody lip and bruised knuckles Rakein had earned in a glorious brawl with the escaped corsair.

Why didn’t you go after the one with the sword first? Calnan berated himself. You know better than that! His mistake hadn’t been too costly. The wound was shallow but bloody, and he regretted most the loss of his ragged shirt, torn up into a bandage under Sedal’s direction. He didn’t mind – much – under the blazing sun, but he would sorely miss it when the sun went down.

Avershire came stumping back from sentry-go. “We need to get out of here,” he declared. “We need to find a boat, or make one if there’s no one else here.”

Devon frowned, opened his mouth, then stopped. He glanced at Calnan, who understood. Avershire was no longer the ship’s captain over them. Their job was to stop Doran, not to get back to civilization as soon as possible; but Devon was out of ideas.

“We need to stay here,” Calnan said quietly. Avershire stopped, amazed at both the opposition and the deliberate omission of “sir.” “If there are more corsairs we need to be ready for them. Without weapons we’re in no condition to defend ourselves without a position, even if we were all at full strength.” He saw Loliway looking at him, but ignored her. “And Doran’s not going to rest until he knows we’re dead. Corsairs survived the wreck, corsairs will tell him where to find us. If we move, it’ll only be to a better position.”

“Calnan’s right,” Devon said clearly. “We’re sticking this out.”

Avershire was pale with anger. Calnan and Devon stood their ground. Callath, then Telson came to them, silently adding their support. Slowly but deliberately, Rilgari and Rakein joined them; Orda scurried over from Sedal. Avershire’s eyes flicked over to where he sat, carefully propped up against the rocks. The surgeon’s brown eyes were steady and held, Calnan thought, just a hint of a rebuke.

Meri Loliway sat on a rock, unmoving. Avershire looked at her, but she neither supported nor opposed. She merely waited.

The sea captain clenched his fists and set his jaw. After a long five seconds, he purposefully relaxed, took a deep breath, and nodded in decision. “Very well, Mr. Dontal. We will fight this out.” He paused, smiled grudgingly. “Even to the bitter end.”