Eight years ago, pirates assailed a small, converted fishing vessel off the coast of Sylira. Evidently the bad weather had driven away most of the pirates’ usual prey and so, forced by the necessity of slim pickings to take whatever they could find, they turned round and relocated the squat, barely functioning cargo ship, The Nuzem. The fight had been short and unremarkable, Hodge had immediately surrendered, well aware that they had little chance of victory, and equally confident that the pirates would let them go after they had taken what meagre offering they had. After all, killing them off would make little sense in respect to repeat business. The only hiccup had come in the form of the first mate Beniton who had attempted take on the enemy force alone, earning him a swift sword through the gullet. They had thrown the gigantic corpse to the swell and set about exploring the ship. Tiffan hid, out of sight. The pirates were looking for goods, and the first place they would search for goods was the cargo hold, where his dying wife and sickly son lay in their deliria. He heard a noise and secreted himself into an ingress as two bulky pirates passed by, heading down into the ship, towards their treasure, towards his. Tiffan looked frantically through the room he had found himself in for something he could use as a weapon. It was the crew quarters and a line of hammocks hung bare from the bulkheads. In his utter desperation he grabbed a little stool that one of the crew had been using as a table, which had long ago been claimed by rot, and hefted it as one would a club. He sneaked after the pirates and made his way down towards the hold. ‘Well, looky here,’ he heard one say and, thinking he was discovered, covered his face with his free hand, but they were looking in, not out, of the room, ‘Hey Sphef, I think I know what I’m tak’n!’ His companion was a stout Eypharian fellow possessing three arms and a nub, who grunted, ‘Eurgh, it stinks in here! Just find out what’s valuable and we can grab the gel later,’ Tiffan yelled and charged at the beast, stool raised, and hit him as hard as he could over the head. Unfortunately, the item of furniture was so old and worn by time and termites that it simply splintered into dust over the man’s broad shoulders. The Eypharian roared and swung round, throwing one of his fists into the horseman’s face, knocking him unconscious. He then kicked the defeated man in the gut, and spat on him. ‘I ought to kill him for that, but he’s just so pathetic,’ Sphefke took his blade and nicked Tiffan across the leg, ‘Eye for an eye, scratch for a scratch, and all that,’ Over in the hold his friend was poking Herenna with a finger, her mouth was wet and sticky and red. The smell in the room was foul and ill and seemed to permeate everything within with its taint. The pirate stood up and looked glum, ‘Ah, petch, bitch’s already dead, Sphef, dead a coupl’a hours I think, le’s just grab what we can,’ Sphefke sighed and sheathed his weapon, ‘As I said before, Pic, as I said before,’ The two sifted through their paltry claim and left with the best, or what passed for the best at the very least. Long after the pirates had gone, as Tiffan lay bleeding and unconscious outside, and Herenna lay dead on the old palliasse, there was a tiny sound. Within the bundle of cloth that the deceased mother held in her arms, the infant Montaine squirmed. Completed |