“Don’t let them escape!” Davos’s voice rang across the deck.
The sailors surged after them.
Raiders were knocked into the sea.
Others were run through by swords.
The few archers aboard fired blindly after the retreating enemy.
Some reached the longship.
Others remained hanging from its side, dead, frozen in their final convulsions.
Yet the vessel managed to break free.
Someone aboard had already cut the remaining lines.
A strong gust filled the sail and carried the ship away.
One of the surviving ironborn, a short man in leather armor with a thick mane of hair, stood at the rail shouting something unintelligible.
His words vanished beneath the crash of waves and the crackling of burning wreckage.
They were gone.
“Bastards…” muttered a pale-faced Matthos, still clutching his side.
“Bloody cowards.”
No one pursued them.
A nighttime chase would have been dangerous for the battered crew of the Black Betha, and pointless besides.
The longship vanished quickly into the darkness, becoming little more than another shadow beneath the dim stars.
Silence settled over the ship.
A tense, weary silence.
Davos moved among the survivors, shouting orders.
Barely half the crew remained alive.
Some groaned.
Some writhed in agony.
Others stared silently at the sky with empty eyes.
Sailors rushed about dousing burning rigging with seawater.
Others angrily dispatched wounded krakens until Davos ordered them to stop.
He needed at least one prisoner alive.
Arthur swallowed hard.
Golden symbols and numbers drifted before his eyes once more, and only then did he truly realize how close he had come to becoming another corpse on the deck, his guts spilled open across the planks.
For the first time that night, he felt genuinely afraid.
His stomach lurched.
He vomited onto the deck.
“It’s all right, lad.
First time’s always like that.”
The second mate patted him on the back.
Ray, a seasoned sellsword who had witnessed more deaths than he cared to count, had immediately noticed the boy’s condition.
Surprisingly enough, the youngster had acquitted himself well, personally helping kill two krakens.
Luck had certainly played its part.
Still…
“You did well, Arkt.”
“Bleurgh…” was Arthur’s only reply.
Chuckling, Ray picked up a nearby bucket and filled it with seawater.
“Here.”
Arthur stared at it blankly.
“I’ve already…
finished…”
“That’s good,” the man laughed.
“But the deck won’t clean itself.
Get moving, cabin boy.
Trust me, dried blood is much harder to scrub away.”
*
The following morning dawned gray and overcast.
Dark clouds drifted slowly across the horizon.
The sea remained restless, and the scent of blood and smoke still lingered in the air.
Arthur woke earlier than he wanted.
Every muscle ached.
The deck looked different.
Most of the dead had already been cast overboard.
Only gouges in the planks and black scorch marks remained to testify to the slaughter.
Near the bow, under guard, sat a wounded ironborn.
The sole surviving attacker.
His hands were bound behind his back with rope, and dried blood crusted beneath his left eye.
“Awake, cabin boy?” came Ray’s hoarse voice.
Arthur turned.
The second mate stood nearby, sharpening a naked one-handed sword with a whetstone.
His eyes sparkled with amusement, though they remained alert.
A canvas sack rested beside him.
“Yeah…” Arthur rubbed the back of his head.
“My head’s pounding.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
The man smirked.
“By the way, you’re richer now.”
“What?”
“Aye.
Spoils from the bastards you killed.
Maritime law says they’re yours.”
Arthur blinked.
Then Ray handed him a small pouch that jingled softly.
“I…
I didn’t know that was allowed.”
“This is the sea, lad.
Either you kill them, or they kill you.
If you put them down, their belongings become yours.
Or your belongings become someone else’s if you’re unlucky enough to die.”
The veteran mercenary grinned.
“Main thing is keeping your eyes open during the division of loot.
This time I handled it for you, so show a little gratitude.”
Arthur hesitated before opening the pouch.
Inside were several silver coins, a few coppers, and a ring engraved with the symbol of a kraken.
He turned it over in his fingers.
The ring was far too large, fitting only his thumb.
“It’s yours now,” Ray said.
“Remember that giant with the axe?
He’s feeding fish now, and you’re alive.
See what a valuable inheritance he left you?”
A strange mixture of pride and disgust stirred within Arthur.
Pride because the man had been enormous, powerful, terrifying compared to a boy.
Disgust because there had been nothing honorable about the kill.
The warrior had merely become distracted by an axe lodged in a sailor’s skull and conveniently exposed his back.
Arthur had remembered Mattos’s lessons.
Strike beneath the left rib.
“By the way, this is yours too.”
The second mate handed him a sword and the canvas sack.
“Take it.
You’ve earned it.”
Arthur’s eyes lit up.
The sword gleamed brightly in his hands.
He had already returned Omerek’s weapon.
The belongings and arms of dead crewmen were sent back to their families.
Looking inside the sack, he found pieces of leather armor.
“Thank you, Ray…”
“No need. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
It’s still your share.”
Ray shrugged.
“That axe would’ve been too much for you, same with the armor.
So I traded them for something closer to your size.
Can’t have you running around the deck bare-arsed forever, can we?”
The man laughed, clearly remembering Arthur charging onto the deck wearing nothing but his breeches.
“Yeah…
I suppose.”
Arthur smiled timidly.
His first weapon.
Even the cheapest sword cost a fortune.
A man could buy several cows with one, or live comfortably for years.
Back at the orphanage, he could only have dreamed of owning such a thing.
Now he even had money of his own.
Silver.
“Just visit a leatherworker and have that armor fitted properly,” Ray warned him.
“Don’t even think about wearing it as it is.
That’ll end badly.”
“Ray, when are we finally going to arrive?” Arthur asked.
Life aboard the ship had grown on him, yet he longed to see distant lands and cities with his own eyes.
Things a boy of nine from Flea Bottom had never known.
“Soon enough.”
The man ruffled his black hair.
“A couple more days, maybe less.
Then I’ll treat you to famous Arbor wine in honor of your first battle.”
“Aren’t we sailing to Highgarden?”
Arthur brightened at the promise.
He had never tasted alcohol in his life, but everyone had heard tales of the Arbor’s legendary wines.
“Er…” Ray coughed, realizing he had accidentally revealed information ordinary sailors were not supposed to know.
Then again, their destination was close enough now.
No real harm in it.
“We are.
We are.
But we’ll stop at the Arbor first to replenish supplies.
Still, less thinking and more working, cabin boy.
The deck…”
“Won’t clean itself,” Arthur finished miserably.
“I remember.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Ray grinned.
“And since Matthos won’t be able to train you for a while, perhaps I’ll teach you a few things myself once you’re done.”
“I’ll be back in a flash!”
The boy was already running toward the hold, clutching his new possessions against his chest.
Ah Youth.
The old mercenary smiled.
Then his gaze drifted toward the horizon.
Somewhere out there, the ironborn were licking their wounds.
Davos feared they might attempt another attack, one the bloodied crew might not survive.
Twenty dead.
Seven wounded, two of them likely to die before long.
The long night had cost the Seaworth crew dearly.
Yet the prisoner had revealed something interesting, entirely by accident.
And the Arbor was close now.
The Black Betha sailed on.
A/N:
While everyone else is waiting for updates, com / Captain_Lag (remove the spaces)