Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [106]
Left alone, Ebenezer looked about for something to do. At the railing gathered the largest and strongest crew members. They were taking up the coiled ropes and hurling grappling hooks toward the other ship’s rail.
The dwarf shrugged, willing to try. He darted over to the rail. Grabbing one of the lines, he gave it a twirl as he’d seen the others do and let fly.
The grappling hook whistled through the air-and plunged into the side of the ship a foot or two below its intended mark. Though the aim was a mite off, Ebenezer gave himself full points for force. Wood gave way with a splintering crash, and the hook disappeared into the side of the ship.
This feat earned him a brief, incredulous stare from the sailors. Ebenezer just shrugged and picked up another line. This time his aim was better. The hook sailed over the railing and into the chest of a black-bearded mercenary who was busily sawing off one of the other lines. Iron hooks bit deep, curved under and through ribs. The man flew backward, messily and unarguably dead.
Seeing as how the human didn’t need his body any more, Ebenezer thought he might as well try to make use of it. With a fierce tug, he pulled the line back. The dead mercenary’s head crashed through the hole Ebenezer’s last throw had created. The dwarf gave the line an experimental tug.
“That should hold,” he said with satisfaction, and turned to the next rope.
But the task was completed; all the hooks had been thrown, and there were so many connecting lines that the slave ship looked like a netted fish.
Some of the more agile sailors ran up the ropes under a cover of arrow fire from their comrades and took the fight to the slave ship. Ebenezer marveled at the cat-footed humans and then leaned cautiously out over the rail to survey the dark expanse of water below.
Bronwyn came to Ebenezer’s side. The dwarf noticed that she didn’t look any keener about the idea of crossing than he felt. “I don’t suppose you can swim, either,” he ventured.
Her response was a grim smile. “We’ll just have to make sure we don’t fall in.”
She climbed over the rail and took up one of the ropes with both hands. With a deep breath, she dropped to hang over the hungry sea. She began to work her way across, hand over hand, her feet swinging precariously from side to side to aid her momentum.
“Stones,” breathed Ebenezer, both as curse and compliment. “That woman’s got a barrel full of ‘em!”
Determined not to be outdone, he hauled himself up to the rail and tugged at a couple of ropes before he found one he thought might hold his weight. He dropped and began to inch his way across.
Bronwyn made it over in moments. Swinging herself over the side of the slave ship, she darted a quick look back at the still-struggling dwarf. She beckoned impatiently, then pulled her long knife from its sheath and hurled herself into the battle that was raging across the deck.
“Hurry up, she says,” Ebenezer muttered as he gingerly eased his way along, never quite letting go of the rope with either hand. “Easy for her to say. Long arms, nothing to haul but a scrawny little-”
A sudden, sharp downward jerk stopped him in mid insult. He sent a glance over his shoulder, and his eyes widened in pure panic. His rope was fraying, threads of twine flying free, just at the point where it rubbed against Narwhal’s rail.
The dwarf frantically redoubled his pace, his arms pumping, intent upon getting over while the getting was good. He was perhaps ten feet from the ship when the line behind him gave way.
Howling in terror, Ebenezer swung toward the dark water. He hung onto the rope for dear life, and instinctively brought his boots up before him, legs stiff and braced.
He slammed into the ship, just above the waterline, and with a force that rattled his bones and sent white-hot flashes of pain shimmering through every fiber and sinew. Old wood gave way