Darnahsian Pirates... an excerpt
Here is something from Darnahsian Pirates, the third (and still in progress) Stone Island Sea Story. Edward Pierce and Island Expedition are in London, awaiting amongst other things, to participate in Lord Nelson's funeral. It's Christmas Day 1805, and Pierce has just dined with an acquaintance at his club.
Having said his good-byes, Pierce began the short walk back to the landing. With the winter solstice recently passed, darkness was already well in place as he trudged through the dampness. He shivered, pulled his cloak more tightly around him, and reassuringly fingered the coins in his pocket. Certainly they were enough to hire a shore boat for transit to Island Expedition’s anchorage. As part of his considerate nature regarding the hands, he had not insisted that his gig’s crew wait for him at the hard, dismissing them upon arrival and stating he would find his own way back to the schooner. With his mind considering the recent conversation and contemplating future events, Pierce was only mildly aware of his surroundings, unconsciously following the familiar route. He saw but did not take note of the few others that were out and about on that damp and foggy evening.
When a shoe scraped on cobblestone only a few yards behind him, Pierce started and turned. Two figures approached, swords drawn. Pierce glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of his original intended route. A shadowy figure emerged from a doorway’s darkness, armed as well. Another stalked from around the corner of the nearest building. Instinctively Pierce threw off his cloak and drew his sword.
At a nod from the last one to appear, the four rapidly closed in. Pierce side stepped and retreated, seeking to place the nearest building at his back. He did not want to be concerned with an attack from whence he could not see, and the solidity of the structure would allow him that minor comfort. Oddly, there was no demand for money or other valuables from his assailants. Rather they moved in, swords or cutlasses raised, poised and ready to strike.
The first slashed viciously at Pierce, who instinctively parried the blow and sought to deliver one in return. That effort was halted in mid-swing as the second assailant’s cutlass blocked his blade with a ringing clang. His sword hand tingled from the force of the unexpected blow. The third individual waded into the fray and swiped at Pierce’s feet. He jumped over the sharpened edge, but slipped on the wet cobblestones upon landing. Confused for the briefest time, Pierce saw both the first and final figure aim blows directly at his head. Unable to effectively counter these deadly assaults, he let the momentum of his fall carry him out of the path of the sharpened blades.
With his back pressed against the rough wall of an ancient nondescript building, Pierce was on one knee as the four closed in. He fought with greater desperation, striving to parry and counter their wild and vicious attack. No words were spoken, either by the assailants or their intended victim. The only sounds were grunts of effort, the rasp of steel upon steel, or the scrape of boot soles across the roughened wet street. As valiantly as he fought, Pierce felt his strength fading and his defenses growing more futile by the moment. His arm ached with the efforts made to block any of four blades that might be descending upon him, and by now the blows came so rapidly that parrying them was about all he could do. The idea of returning the attack was a long lost dream. He blocked one blade, and then another. The next made its way past his guard and struck a glancing blow upon his left shoulder. The epaulette there prevented the edge from slicing into his shoulder, but the force of the blow drove the wind from his lungs. He grunted.
One of the attackers hammered at Pierce’s head with his sword’s hilt. Pain exploded and shot brilliant colors across his rapidly narrowing vision. What little strength he possessed ebbed away, and Pierce sensed his being collapsing into darkness. Expecting the next instant to be his last, he was surprised to hear a strangely familiar voice. “Gentlemen, four on one is not at all fair play. Allow me to even the odds a petit bit.” A Frenchman realized Pierce, wondering why a presumed enemy would be about in London on Christmas Day.
For a moment the blows stopped, and Pierce was able to draw two or three deep ragged breaths. His vision cleared, and he saw his benefactor beset by three of those recently attacking him. The fourth lay motionless, pouring from his abdomen and glistening on the cold stone street. Brilliant sword work kept the three brigands at bay, and the Frenchman pressed home his attacks with vigor. An expert swordsman, thought Pierce. Yet three to one didn’t seem any more even than had the previous four to one. He rose from the damp cobblestones, his head throbbing with each he movement made, ready to offer what assistance he could to his rescuer.
Feeling faint, Pierce steadied himself momentarily. He leaned over, hands upon his knees and drew a couple more deep breaths. His head pounded and white hot pain shot through his skull. Dimly he saw one of the remaining three turn his attention from the Frenchman and focus on him. Woodenly Pierce raised his sword and deflected the clumsy but violent blow. As he fought down wave after wave of nausea, he pressed home his attack. One on one he was an even if not overpowering match for the brigand. At what seemed an opportune time, he swung his sword viciously and felt it bite into flesh and bone. He wrenched his blade free as another spasm of searing pain flashed behind his eyes. His recent opponent sank slowly to the ground and simply sat there.
After a moment’s rest, Pierce stepped to place himself alongside the Frenchman. His presence drew the attention of one of the two remaining assailants. Once again he forced his pained and aching body to parry a villain’s wild swings and thrusts. Doing so, he managed to say, “I believe the odds are even now.”
“Oui, my friend!” panted his companion, thwarting a vicious cut aimed at his head. A quick glance and a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head allowed the Frenchman to respond to the attack. His blade flashed out, opening his opponent’s coat and allowing a thin ooze of blood to seep out. Wounded, the man redoubled his efforts, now fighting with desperate fury.
Pierce sensed that he was gaining the upper hand as well. His antagonist’s moves became more predictable and less skillful. Angry at having been set upon in such a fashion, Pierce pressed home his attack, taking full advantage of the decline in his adversary’s ability. When that individual lunged viciously but clumsily at him, Pierce stepped to the side and swung his blade. As the edge sliced through clothing, skin, meat and bone, the man screamed and blood spurted. Pierce turned, placed a foot on the man’s backside and pushed, sending the attacker past him to sprawl on the cobblestones.
Drawing a quick ragged breath, Pierce looked to see if his anonymous benefactor needed any aid. He did not, for as Pierce watched, the remaining assailant managed to impale himself on the Frenchman’s sword. After shoving the last villain away from him and pulling his blade free, that individual checked the four sprawled bodies for signs of life. Having detected life in one, he made ready to plunge his blade into the unconscious body.
“I do protest, sir!” said Pierce. “You objected to these four against me, and now you would now lower yourself to this.”
“Believe me it is not in keeping with what I’ve been taught, Capitaine Pierce. But it is a necessity, if even for their sake.”
“You know who I am?” asked Pierce. The man’s voice had seemed familiar, but with the urgency of the recent combat he simply had not had time to place it.
“Oui. We have fought before. And we’ve shared drink and conversation as well.”
Pierce looked directly at his new companion and recognition occurred. “Captain Cartier, I am pleased to make your acquaintance again. But I fear your presence indicates ill fortune has claimed another.”
“It has,” said Cartier, clasping Pierce’s hand. “But my misfortune has turned into luck for you. As I’ve been able to assure your survival, perhaps my circumstances are not so distressing.”
“I take it you have been captured and paroled.”
“Oui. Only two months after the war resumed, and my corvette met with a frigate we could not outrun. It was a gallant but futile fight, and to save lives I surrendered.”
“Quite understandable and commendable. Yet, do you explain your insistence that these four be slain as they lay? Again it is not in keeping with any concept of honor for either of us.”
“You are right, of course, Capitaine Pierce. It is a matter of who these men work for and what will be done to them if they survive having failed in their mission.”
“I thought them robbers, after my purse.”
“Had they succeeded in killing you, they would have had that as well. In addition, their employers would know that no one knows the way to the island and that other world. If they cannot have the information, steps were taken to see that we do not as well.”
“The seekers?”
“Oui.” Cartier’s look became one of concern. “I am forgetting my manners, Capitaine. You are injured and should rest. I have rooms not far from here.”
“But I must return aboard, sir. It is custom and obligation.”
“I will send word as to your condition, and I’m sure you will be forgiven. But first I must…”
“I would beg you do not, Captain Cartier. I will not be a party to the same tactics used by our apparent mutual enemy.”
“It is against my better judgment, M’sieur, but if it will allow me to get you to a place of rest, I will desist. Come this way.”
With movement, Pierce felt the pain returning. His head throbbed, his shoulder ached, and the damp dark buildings around them began to swim in his narrowing field of vision. He felt himself falling. Then Cartier caught him, supported him, and half carried him from the scene. With his sight at a minimum, Pierce finally noticed the pommel of his benefactor’s sword. Emblazoned on the very end of the hilt was a raised four-pointed star.
Hope you like it!
Dave
Having said his good-byes, Pierce began the short walk back to the landing. With the winter solstice recently passed, darkness was already well in place as he trudged through the dampness. He shivered, pulled his cloak more tightly around him, and reassuringly fingered the coins in his pocket. Certainly they were enough to hire a shore boat for transit to Island Expedition’s anchorage. As part of his considerate nature regarding the hands, he had not insisted that his gig’s crew wait for him at the hard, dismissing them upon arrival and stating he would find his own way back to the schooner. With his mind considering the recent conversation and contemplating future events, Pierce was only mildly aware of his surroundings, unconsciously following the familiar route. He saw but did not take note of the few others that were out and about on that damp and foggy evening.
When a shoe scraped on cobblestone only a few yards behind him, Pierce started and turned. Two figures approached, swords drawn. Pierce glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of his original intended route. A shadowy figure emerged from a doorway’s darkness, armed as well. Another stalked from around the corner of the nearest building. Instinctively Pierce threw off his cloak and drew his sword.
At a nod from the last one to appear, the four rapidly closed in. Pierce side stepped and retreated, seeking to place the nearest building at his back. He did not want to be concerned with an attack from whence he could not see, and the solidity of the structure would allow him that minor comfort. Oddly, there was no demand for money or other valuables from his assailants. Rather they moved in, swords or cutlasses raised, poised and ready to strike.
The first slashed viciously at Pierce, who instinctively parried the blow and sought to deliver one in return. That effort was halted in mid-swing as the second assailant’s cutlass blocked his blade with a ringing clang. His sword hand tingled from the force of the unexpected blow. The third individual waded into the fray and swiped at Pierce’s feet. He jumped over the sharpened edge, but slipped on the wet cobblestones upon landing. Confused for the briefest time, Pierce saw both the first and final figure aim blows directly at his head. Unable to effectively counter these deadly assaults, he let the momentum of his fall carry him out of the path of the sharpened blades.
With his back pressed against the rough wall of an ancient nondescript building, Pierce was on one knee as the four closed in. He fought with greater desperation, striving to parry and counter their wild and vicious attack. No words were spoken, either by the assailants or their intended victim. The only sounds were grunts of effort, the rasp of steel upon steel, or the scrape of boot soles across the roughened wet street. As valiantly as he fought, Pierce felt his strength fading and his defenses growing more futile by the moment. His arm ached with the efforts made to block any of four blades that might be descending upon him, and by now the blows came so rapidly that parrying them was about all he could do. The idea of returning the attack was a long lost dream. He blocked one blade, and then another. The next made its way past his guard and struck a glancing blow upon his left shoulder. The epaulette there prevented the edge from slicing into his shoulder, but the force of the blow drove the wind from his lungs. He grunted.
One of the attackers hammered at Pierce’s head with his sword’s hilt. Pain exploded and shot brilliant colors across his rapidly narrowing vision. What little strength he possessed ebbed away, and Pierce sensed his being collapsing into darkness. Expecting the next instant to be his last, he was surprised to hear a strangely familiar voice. “Gentlemen, four on one is not at all fair play. Allow me to even the odds a petit bit.” A Frenchman realized Pierce, wondering why a presumed enemy would be about in London on Christmas Day.
For a moment the blows stopped, and Pierce was able to draw two or three deep ragged breaths. His vision cleared, and he saw his benefactor beset by three of those recently attacking him. The fourth lay motionless, pouring from his abdomen and glistening on the cold stone street. Brilliant sword work kept the three brigands at bay, and the Frenchman pressed home his attacks with vigor. An expert swordsman, thought Pierce. Yet three to one didn’t seem any more even than had the previous four to one. He rose from the damp cobblestones, his head throbbing with each he movement made, ready to offer what assistance he could to his rescuer.
Feeling faint, Pierce steadied himself momentarily. He leaned over, hands upon his knees and drew a couple more deep breaths. His head pounded and white hot pain shot through his skull. Dimly he saw one of the remaining three turn his attention from the Frenchman and focus on him. Woodenly Pierce raised his sword and deflected the clumsy but violent blow. As he fought down wave after wave of nausea, he pressed home his attack. One on one he was an even if not overpowering match for the brigand. At what seemed an opportune time, he swung his sword viciously and felt it bite into flesh and bone. He wrenched his blade free as another spasm of searing pain flashed behind his eyes. His recent opponent sank slowly to the ground and simply sat there.
After a moment’s rest, Pierce stepped to place himself alongside the Frenchman. His presence drew the attention of one of the two remaining assailants. Once again he forced his pained and aching body to parry a villain’s wild swings and thrusts. Doing so, he managed to say, “I believe the odds are even now.”
“Oui, my friend!” panted his companion, thwarting a vicious cut aimed at his head. A quick glance and a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head allowed the Frenchman to respond to the attack. His blade flashed out, opening his opponent’s coat and allowing a thin ooze of blood to seep out. Wounded, the man redoubled his efforts, now fighting with desperate fury.
Pierce sensed that he was gaining the upper hand as well. His antagonist’s moves became more predictable and less skillful. Angry at having been set upon in such a fashion, Pierce pressed home his attack, taking full advantage of the decline in his adversary’s ability. When that individual lunged viciously but clumsily at him, Pierce stepped to the side and swung his blade. As the edge sliced through clothing, skin, meat and bone, the man screamed and blood spurted. Pierce turned, placed a foot on the man’s backside and pushed, sending the attacker past him to sprawl on the cobblestones.
Drawing a quick ragged breath, Pierce looked to see if his anonymous benefactor needed any aid. He did not, for as Pierce watched, the remaining assailant managed to impale himself on the Frenchman’s sword. After shoving the last villain away from him and pulling his blade free, that individual checked the four sprawled bodies for signs of life. Having detected life in one, he made ready to plunge his blade into the unconscious body.
“I do protest, sir!” said Pierce. “You objected to these four against me, and now you would now lower yourself to this.”
“Believe me it is not in keeping with what I’ve been taught, Capitaine Pierce. But it is a necessity, if even for their sake.”
“You know who I am?” asked Pierce. The man’s voice had seemed familiar, but with the urgency of the recent combat he simply had not had time to place it.
“Oui. We have fought before. And we’ve shared drink and conversation as well.”
Pierce looked directly at his new companion and recognition occurred. “Captain Cartier, I am pleased to make your acquaintance again. But I fear your presence indicates ill fortune has claimed another.”
“It has,” said Cartier, clasping Pierce’s hand. “But my misfortune has turned into luck for you. As I’ve been able to assure your survival, perhaps my circumstances are not so distressing.”
“I take it you have been captured and paroled.”
“Oui. Only two months after the war resumed, and my corvette met with a frigate we could not outrun. It was a gallant but futile fight, and to save lives I surrendered.”
“Quite understandable and commendable. Yet, do you explain your insistence that these four be slain as they lay? Again it is not in keeping with any concept of honor for either of us.”
“You are right, of course, Capitaine Pierce. It is a matter of who these men work for and what will be done to them if they survive having failed in their mission.”
“I thought them robbers, after my purse.”
“Had they succeeded in killing you, they would have had that as well. In addition, their employers would know that no one knows the way to the island and that other world. If they cannot have the information, steps were taken to see that we do not as well.”
“The seekers?”
“Oui.” Cartier’s look became one of concern. “I am forgetting my manners, Capitaine. You are injured and should rest. I have rooms not far from here.”
“But I must return aboard, sir. It is custom and obligation.”
“I will send word as to your condition, and I’m sure you will be forgiven. But first I must…”
“I would beg you do not, Captain Cartier. I will not be a party to the same tactics used by our apparent mutual enemy.”
“It is against my better judgment, M’sieur, but if it will allow me to get you to a place of rest, I will desist. Come this way.”
With movement, Pierce felt the pain returning. His head throbbed, his shoulder ached, and the damp dark buildings around them began to swim in his narrowing field of vision. He felt himself falling. Then Cartier caught him, supported him, and half carried him from the scene. With his sight at a minimum, Pierce finally noticed the pommel of his benefactor’s sword. Emblazoned on the very end of the hilt was a raised four-pointed star.
Hope you like it!
Dave