Something rammed them in a snapping of sweeps and grinding of timbers. Reuth’s head struck the side, leaving his vision blurry. He peered up to see that a smaller galley had struck them a glancing blow. Grapnels flew from the enemy vessel while a crowd of archers continued to rake the Lady.

‘Cut those ropes!’ Tulan roared.

A second blow shuddered through the Lady’s Luck as another vessel scoured alongside.

‘Repel boarders!’ Storval called.

‘Doesn’t look good,’ Gren hissed, looking down. Reuth followed his gaze to see an arrow standing from the man’s thigh.

‘Gren! What should I do?’

‘Be a good lad and tear a piece of cloth for me.’

Reuth tore at his own shirt. The steersman snapped off the standing length of shaft then reached under his leg, clenched his teeth, and yanked on something. He grunted his agony, then lifted a hand holding a bloodied arrowhead and shaft. He tossed it aside then sat heavily, nearly passing out. Reuth tied off his leg.

Another impact threw him from his feet to roll across the stern deck. He clambered up and peeked over the side. They’d been rammed from behind to be knocked clear of the ships that had surrounded them and now they drifted with this new galley – the pirate vessel that had followed them in.

Armoured men and women, all in deep blood-red tabards, leapt from its bows to the Lady’s stern. One of them, a shorter fellow with a strange grey-blue pallor to his skin, peered down at him. Surprisingly, the fellow carried no weapons, only two short sticks. ‘Where is your captain?’ he demanded.

‘I command here!’ Storval answered, climbing the stern deck, sword out.

The newcomer raised his hands, fingers spread. ‘Man your sweeps. We’ll cover your retreat.’

‘And who in the Lady’s name are you?’ Storval sneered.

‘Doesn’t matter. Get your banks in order. They’re closing again.’

Storval peered past the man to the rear, grunted his assent. He sheathed the sword and thumped down to the main walkway. ‘Man the sweeps!’ he called. ‘Everyone! Now!’

Reuth leapt the stern railing. Storval? Why Storval? Where’s … He searched among the benches then found him lying sprawled among some other bodies. His uncle, fallen, motionless. Dead.

The newcomer now stood at his side. ‘Lad? What is it? Are you all right?’

Reuth raised his gaze to the man. Behind, across a gap of water, three of the leading chase vessels suddenly burst into flames for no reason that Reuth could see. Figures dived overboard. But it was all muted and distant. As if everything was a long way away. He heard himself say woodenly: ‘My uncle is dead.’

‘I’m sorry, lad,’ the fellow murmured. ‘You are the pilot? We saw you here, at the stern.’

Reuth nodded. The fellow was looking at him strangely, and nodding to himself. ‘We are in your debt,’ he said. ‘And the Crimson Guard pays its debts.’

Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII