|
Rôg jumped back involuntarily as the barrels erupted with fleeing Corsairs. They looked like so many rats as they scurried to get off the ship. Well-armed rats, that is. And here he stood with only a short crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other – the tools he’d just used to take off a few of the barrel heads.
His first thought was simply to crouch down behind the barrels that had not been knocked over and wait for the wave of Southrons to pass him by. And to be honest his knees, of their own volition, buckled and plunked him down behind two of the still standing barrels. The gap between the two barrels afforded him a limited view of what was happening. Legs and torsos of Corsairs could be seen running and stopping as they encountered the ship’s crew. The shiny blades of both sets of combatants could be seen and heard swishing through the air; glinting metal arcing back and forth; clanging loudly as one met the other.
Rôg dared a peek over the barrel top. There was Annû, near the Captain. He’d thrown down his blade and was swinging at one of the Lossoth who’d come over with the barrels. A murderous rage was in his eyes. Luindal was chasing, now, after one of the other Lossoth, his blade held high.
‘Courage, man,’ Rôg admonished himself with a dry whisper. He stood up completely, his jellied knees firming up at his command. One of the Corsairs ran by his barrels making for the side of the ship the cargo boats were on. Rôg ran out, his tools turned weapons gripped tight in his fists; his arms swinging in mad arcs as he raced after the man. He yelled as his feet propelled him along.
‘Run, you scurvy southron sea dog! Or feel the wrath of one whose clan you’ve oppressed too long!’
The Corsair was mystified as he heard the battle cry and peered behind him. Rôg’s hammer went whizzing past his ear; the little skinchanger had not the eye for hitting a moving target. The Corsair smirked, his mouth twisting into a leering grin.
‘Well, then,’ cried Rôg, his cloak streaming behind him as he ran faster. ‘Feel this!’
A mighty swing of the crowbar connected with the side of the Corsair’s left knee, a satisfying crunch and a howl of pain following it. The Corsair fell, rolling the few feet to the side of the ship and through the gap between the deck and the ship’s railing. He clung to the edge of the ship, trying to save himself from a fall into the icy water. Rôg, by this time, meant to finish him off. He gave a sound thwack! of the heavy crowbar across the man’s knuckles. A splash finished this little skirmish and Rôg turned to see how else he might help.
|