‘A magnificent ship,’ he said.
Beside him Sieben nodded. ‘The very best. Two hundred and forty oars. See there! At the prow!’
Druss focused on the oncoming ship, and saw a glint of gold at the waterline. ‘I see it.’
‘That is the ram. It is an extension of the keel, and it is covered with reinforced bronze. With three banks of oars at full stretch, that ram could punch through the hull of the strongest vessel!’
‘Will that be their plan?’ Druss asked.
Sieben shook his head. ‘I doubt it. This is a merchant vessel, ripe for plunder. They will come in close, the oars will be withdrawn, and they’ll try to drag us in with grappling-hooks.’
Druss hefted Snaga and glanced back along the deck. The remaining Drenai warriors were armoured now, their faces grim. Bowmen, Eskodas among them, were climbing the rigging to hook themselves into place high above the deck, ready to shoot down into the enemy. Bodasen was standing on the tiller deck with a black breastplate buckled to his torso.
The Thunderchild swung away towards the west, then veered back. In the distance two more sails could be seen and Sieben swore. ‘We can’t fight them all,’ he said. Druss glanced at the billowing sail, and then back at the newly sighted vessel.
‘They don’t look the same,’ he observed. ‘They’re bulkier. No oars. And they’re tacking against the wind. If we can deal with the trireme, they’ll not catch us.’
Sieben chuckled. ‘Aye, aye, captain. I bow to your superior knowledge of the sea.’
‘I’m a swift learner. That’s because I listen.’
‘You never listen to me. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve fallen asleep during our conversations on this voyage.’
The Thunderchild swung again, veering away from the trireme. Druss swore and ran back along the deck, climbing swiftly to where Bodasen stood with Milus Bar at the tiller.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelled at the skipper.
‘Get off my deck!’ roared Milus.
‘If you keep this course, we’ll have three ships to fight,’ Druss snarled.
‘What other choices are there?’ queried Bodasen. ‘We cannot defeat a trireme.’
‘Why?’ asked Druss. ‘They are only men.’
‘They have close to one hundred fighting men – plus the oarsmen. We have twenty-four, and a few sailors. The odds speak for themselves.’
Druss glanced back at the sailing-ships to the west. ‘How many men do they have?’
Bodasen spread his hands and looked to Milus Bar. The captain thought for a moment. ‘More than two hundred on each ship,’ he admitted.
‘Can we outrun them?’
‘If we get a mist, or if we can keep them off until dusk.’
‘What chance of either?’ enquired the axeman.
‘Precious little,’ said Milus.
‘Then let’s at least take the fight to them.’
‘How do you suggest we do that, young man?’ the captain asked.
Druss smiled. ‘I’m no sailor, but it seems to me their biggest advantage lies in the oars. Can we not try to smash them?’
‘We could,’ admitted Milus, ‘but that would bring us in close enough for their grappling-hooks. We’d be finished then; they’d board us.’
‘Or we board them!’ snapped Druss.
Milus laughed aloud. ‘You are insane!’
‘Insane and quite correct,’ said Bodasen. ‘They are hunting us down like wolves around a stag. Let’s do it, Milus!’
For a moment the captain stood and stared at the two warriors, then he swore and leaned in to the tiller. The Thunderchild swung towards the oncoming trireme.
*
His name was Earin Shad, though none of his crew used it. They addressed him to his face as Sea Lord, or Great One, while behind his back they used the Naashanite slang – Bojeeba, The Shark.
Earin Shad was a tall man, slim and round-shouldered, long of neck, with protruding eyes that glimmered pearl-grey and a lipless mouth that never smiled. No one aboard the Darkwind knew from whence he came, only that he had been a pirate leader for more than two decades. One of the Lords of the Corsairs, mighty men who ruled the seas, he was said to own palaces on several of the Thousand Islands, and to be as rich as one of the eastern kings.