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At the first signal, Tarn made ready his harpoon and quickly issued instructions to the lad who sat quaking beside him. He could see the fear building in his wide eyes.
“You stay here, with the archers, and keep out of the charge. Your job is to help defend the archers, if any of that lot get near them.” He nodded towards the club which Thynne was clutching to his chest. “You use that and you do not hesitate. Or you will die”.
The second signal was given and before Thynne could say anything in response, Tarn was up and charging with the Corsairs, down towards the ice where confusion was reigning. His long legs and sure footing enabled him to be amongst the first to reach the shoreline, where those holding the ropes were now shouting frantically to their comrades on the ice. A young Lossoth man was holding fast to one of the ropes, unable to let go lest the rope slide into the water, and as Tarn ran up to him he yelled out in fear. Tarn grinned and threw himself against the man with his full body weight, bringing him down to the ground in a heap where he then turned him face down into the freezing snow. “See how you like this, fool” he shouted. The man choked and coughed, trying to break free of the strong hold Tarn had him in. He still did not let go of the rope.
Tarn stood up and the man slowly rolled around onto his back, his face stinging with the shock of the cold, suffocating snow. His breath came in gasps at first, but then it barely came at all and it was clear he was not going to go anywhere. Tarn saw how he still held the rope and grimly bent down and quickly cut it.
He turned then, and seeing the mayhem breaking out on the ice sheet, ran across with his harpoon and knife ready. Already there were several injured or dead laying still. An elf wielding a shining blade parried with a Corsair and had the better of him, then seeing Tarn, he came loping towards him, unsteady on the ice. Tarn, sure footed, roared at him and ran even faster, ready for the attack. At the last moment he stuck out his left leg, catching the elf around the ankle and felled him.
The elf did not land as heavily as he had expected, and he was only a little winded. Starting to run on, Tarn noticed that this elf was about to get up again, and with only a moment‘s thought, he hefted the harpoon up onto his shoulder and hurled it. It landed with sickening accuracy in the side of the elf, who fell back down. Tarn’s eyes flashed for a moment, and then he returned.
Putting his foot on the body to steady himself, he yanked the harpoon out. Blood started to seep across the ice, and as Tarn began to feel a rush of nausea, he heard the shouts of the Corsair men he had helped the day before, who were struggling against several opponents. Adrenalin stifling the strange sensation of having killed the elf, he began to fight his way through to the men.
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