Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [36]
The captain glanced at the hilt in his hand and the jagged fragment of steel that was all that remained of his blade. He hoped it would be enough. Raising the ruined weapon high overhead, he flung himself at the deadly invader, putting his weight and his strength fully behind the blow.
Liriel saw the attack coming and shrieked a waming to Fyodor. Almost casually, the berserker reached up and caught the man's wrist, fully stopping his momentum. Then he twisted the captain's arm down and inward, and with one quick thrust he sheathed the ruined blade in the heart of its owner.
Surprisingly enough, the hunters did not abandon their fight with the death of their captain. They threw themselves at the pirates with astonishing ferocity. Liriel noted one in particular-a tall, red-haired man who fought with the zeal of a paladin as he faced off against Hrolf: The Elfmaid's captain had managed to back the man onto the forecastle, but there both stood, neither taking nor giving ground, their swords ringing in a deadly dialogue.
The other hunters did not fare so well against the pirates and their berserker ally. In minutes, the cog's deck was slippery with blood, and few of the hunters had been spared Fyodor's black sword. Except for Hrolf's opponent, none remained standing.
Seeing that victory was theirs, Liriel let out a whoop and turned to Fyodor. One glance stole her triumph. Although only Ruathen sailors stood on the main deck, the killing frenzy had not yet left the young warrior.
"Throw down your weapons!" she shouted. "All of you!" The berserker whirled toward the sound of her voice, his black sword cutting the air with an audible swish. Liriel had seen her friend in battle many times, but never had she faced him, or seen the fire and ice of his battle rage turned upon her. He towered over the tiny elt; for the magic of the berserker lent him an illusion of preternatural size and a strength to match. Liriel could see through the magic to his true form, but this was of little comfort. There was no recognition in Fyodor's eyes as he advanced on her. Liriel dropped her bloody dagger and fell to her knees, holding her hands out wide, palms up in a gesture of surrender. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Hrolf and his chosen man still held their swords. They'd hesitated at Liriel's impassioned shout, but they eyed each other warily, neither willing to give up the advantage.
"if you value my life, Hrolf," she said quietly, "if either of you idiots value yours, drop your swords now!"
An instant's hesitation, then the clatter of falling steel shattered the tense silence. At last Fyodor's battle rage left him and, as the magic faded, he seemed to slip back into his own body. He stood there for a long moment, looking down with a puzzled expression into the drow's upturned face. Then the tip of his sword fell heavily to the deck. His eyes were haunted, his face ashen as he turned and walked away from the battle. Liriel understood and left him to his solitude.
The Ruathen sailors, however, swarmed gleefully over the captured cog. As Hrolf directed their efforts from the forecastle, they tossed bundles of raw skins onto their ship and carried aboard the stretching frames and barrels oflye needed to begin the process of tanning.
Bjorn struggled down the plank carrying a large oaken cask that proved too heavy for the slender lad. It slipped from his grasp and fell heavily to the Elfma~s deck. The lid cracked and gave way; and the contents spilled out. The boy stood there, gaping, his nearly beardless face pale. "Captain, you'd better see this," he said at last. Something in Bjorn's tone brought Hrolf at a run. The captain's ebullience disappeared as he gazed at the still, small figure on the deck: the body of an elf child, perfectly preserved by the pickling brine that puddled on the deck. The macabre discovery brought the