“We’re gaining on them!” the first mate exclaimed.

It was a bright, beautiful day with a brisk tailwind. Straight ahead was a freighter, a three-mast rig, flying the flag of Agron. She was large, slow, and a prime target. She rode low, letting them know that her holds were full to the brim with booty. The waters of the Kholohar Sea were calm, short frothy waves licking at their hulls. The speeds were not what you would expect for the open sea, but this stretch was far from both Kronos and Tychon, and without magic, this was the only way to cross the vast ocean. The ship ahead was heavy, laden with grain, furs, and other foodstuffs that were produced in Hadon. It would sell for a fortune on the black market, and of course, the syndicate would take a healthy cut.

“She’s moving like a slug in the sun,” the captain mused. “We’ll catch her within the hour. Men, drink some water and prepare your weapons. We’ll board her the second we come alongside.” The captain was a Mavit Tomar officer, formerly of their royal Navy. He had years of experience on the decks of both freighters and war vessels. Mavit Tomar were a mixture of man and goat. The captain had dark grey fur, thick curled horns, and a long thin tail. He was the only member of the crew that wore what would be considered a uniform. His dark blue jacket had bright brass buttons; his cutlass hung from his belt in a scabbard that was shined to a glass-like sheen.

This was their first raid and many of the men were clearly nervous. They checked their weapons, their gear, and few took time to utter a silent prayer. The Doreh deckhand known as ‘Red’ stroked his beard and stared in anticipation at the ship as they drew closer. He was not a professional sailor and after the last few weeks on board, he was still having difficulty getting his sea-legs. What he was, was a professional fighter. He was six-foot-two inches of muscle and attitude. He carried two large hand axes and had a foot-long dagger tucked into his leather belt. Many Doreh wore next to nothing in battle, but he opted for a simple white shirt under a leather vest and leather breeches.

Standing next to him was an Uzor, the hereditary enemy of the Doreh. Wanjala was the opposite of Red in every way. Where red was as white as cream, Wanjala was as dark as pitch. He had sailed for much of his adult life, both on fishing and trading vessels. Wanjala was not a trained fighter, though his immense size would give pause to any who might oppose him. He carried a long wooden staff with a heavy metal weight attached to it. Red had shown him how to swing the makeshift, two-handed mace.

There were a few more virgins aboard, the Doreh woman known as Skye, and half a dozen men from Kronos. There were a handful of professional pirates, most notably the brothers Sergi and Pippin. They wore the tricornered hats that many saw as being associated with pirates. Unlike the new recruits, they carried real swords and knew how to use them. The other crewmembers were involved in the sailing of the ship and were jumping from masthead to topgallant, yard to yard. The pilot was steering aggressively into the wind, cutting the distance between the two ships, very soon they would be close enough to strike.

“We can’t outrun them. They have a small ship, but she’s much faster than we are.”

“Haven’t faced any raids in years, I hope we have enough swords to fend them off,” the captain said to the first mate. “Battle stations! Prepare to repel boarders!”

The crew of the Wind Star jumped into action. They had performed many drills on how to fend off pirate attacks, but this was the first actual encounter for most of them. The officers ran to their cabins to retrieve their swords, and the deckhands took up their weapons, whether they were knives, cudgels, or belaying pins. From the stern, the smaller ship came at them like a winter gale, her speed nearly twice theirs. The ship was constructed from a darker wood than was used to make ships at the Gulfinner boat yards. She was two-masted and about half as wide as the Wind Star. She plowed through the waves in her prey’s wake like a bull through a crockery shop.

The boys are trained for this, but no one can prepare you to leap into battle and kill or be killed, the captain thought to himself. As the ships came alongside, he could see the crew. Doreh, Uzor, and plenty of Kronos men. Next to the wheel stood his opposite. The pirates had one of those goat-headed bastards as captain. He had a few more of his kind, obviously making up the command staff. The Mavit Tomar were not welcome among men, their history of attacking Kronos with their owl-riding shock troops had made them persona non grata almost everywhere except in Pyrros from where they originated. Lord Magnus, give us a victory this day, the captain prayed.

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There was a thunderous thud when the ship's hulls touched, accompanied by the groan and creak of wood. Shouts filled the air from both decks, quickly accompanied by the clash of steel. Men and a few women leaped from the deck of Dren’s Revenge to the deck of the Wind Star. Regular deckhands took time from their sailing of the ship to cast over lines with sharpened grappling hooks. They secured the two ships together as the raiders leaped onto the deck of the target ship. Red led the charge, followed by the brothers and Sky. After many weeks of sailing and feeling unsure about his place in the crew, he was now finally in his element. With a blood-curdling Doreh war cry, he threw his massive body at the wall of defenders. Their faces were masks of fear as the red-haired berserker leaped at them. His hand axes were light enough that he could swing them with great speed and accuracy. He took off a hand on the right and buried his blade in a man’s shoulder on the left. His momentum pushed the wall back; half a dozen men bent to his will. They swung at him with their blunt wooden weapons, but he blocked where he could and was seemingly able to strike and score at will. He took a crushing blow to his left shoulder, while at the same time, was raked by a dull dagger on his right. He kicked the man on his right, then crashed his axe down on the crown of the man’s head. The weight of the weapon, propelled by his strength, was enough to cave in the man’s skull and cleave the grey matter within.

Pippin and Sergi followed the ginger demon. They were both dirty men, eschewing baths and personal grooming. They hacked at the sailors with unclean weapons and assaulted them with their body odor. With drool dripping from their wicked grins, they cut down men as if they weren’t even trying to defend themselves. Pippin went to Red’s right flank and cut down a scared young man who couldn’t have been even twenty years old. He skewered him through and through, his blade entering the boy’s chest just below the rib cage and coming out his back. The young man with light brown hair gasped as life left him, his face flush as he took his last dozen breaths. Sergi faced a man of similar age, both of them in their late thirties. He was more skilled than many of the crew, but he was no swordsman. The sailor was able to block the first dozen attacks by the foul pirate, but he was too slow just one time, and he received a stab to the shoulder. He didn’t drop his weapon, but he held it weakly as he tried not to cry out in pain. After that, Sergi made quick work of him, taking off his sword hand, and then chopping viciously at the side of his neck.

The pirates surged aboard the Wind Star, cutting down all the fighters and when they were done, they cut down the deckhands, not even giving them the courtesy of a formal execution, but carelessly cutting them down and tossing them overboard. When only the captain and first mate remained, they stood down, lowering their weapons. The Mavit Tomar captain crossed casually from ship to ship, trying not to sully the cleanliness of his hooves.

“You’ve defeated my crew and taken my ship as a prize. What is your name sir?” the captain asked his conqueror.

“Telling my name to a dead human is most certainly a waste of time, but I’ll humor you. I am Commander Kloyta, formerly of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, now captain of Dren’s Revenge.

“We fly under the Agron flag, the Wind Star is property of King Trading. If the king of Agron doesn’t come for you, I assure you that Lady King will.”

“Keep your hollow threats to yourself, human. I don’t fear any of your kings or queens,” he waved his furry hands at the men and women around him, “and I have the best crew of any ship in any ocean.” The pirates all cheered at the mention of their greatness, “Any ship that dares to face us will feel our wrath and will be defeated as easily as we defeated you.”

“I’ll thank you for giving me the honor of going down with my ship.” the captain requested, still stoically holding on to his pride.

“I cannot do that, human. You of course must die, but we’ll be taking your ship and all the treasure within.” He nodded to Red who was standing behind the captain and first mate. He pushed them to their knees and without further ado, chopped at the neck of the captain. It took several chops to separate his head from his shoulders.

Sky was the only other Doreh in the crew, she stood behind the first mate, holding her dagger and just staring at the man from behind. She had dirty blond hair that fell to her shoulders, that looked wind-swept and yet somehow still perfect. She was covered from neck to toe in a brown leather jacket and pants and had on a white frilly blouse. Though her garb was modest, its fit accentuated her lithe and athletic figure. Her most striking feature was her face. She was beautiful, much too attractive to work as a brigand on the high seas.

“Do it!” Red barked at her, “Let’s be done with this.” Many of the other crew members also called out to her, urging her to strike.

“You would have me die at the hands of a Doreh whore?” the man yelled from his knees.

Skye gripped him by the shock of black hair on his head and jammed the dagger into the back of his neck. The man went instantly limp.

“That did make it easier,” she said with a sly smile.