Chapter 8 The Pirate Crow
The pirate Crow, a dreaded foe,
He'll eat your heart for supper.
So lock your doors and shore up yours,
For you'll never get another.
— 'Song of the Pirate Dread', a children's tune
Chaos ensues. Solomon's guard has fallen into a deadly trap, fish-bowled on low ground where Rhyland Crow's men can pick them off one by one. It's a brilliant idea, really. If Solomon were a smarter man, he would have thought of it.
They're not just shooting them, though, my brain reminds me before I get too awestruck.
They're picking us off. All of us. A bullet zooms too close to my head for comfort, burying itself into the back of a guard trying to flee.
I bite down hard on Freckles's hand before plunging my elbow into his kidney.
He squeals and releases me and I dive to the ground trying to cover Rowan, who's frozen in fear, gaping at the bloodbath around her.
"D-do something! Shoot him!" Solomon howls, and grabs for Blue Eyes to use as a barrier between himself and Crow. At the last moment the guard goes rigid and then ducks beneath Solomon's clambering arms to unsheathe a blade. Solomon jerks in surprise, finding it pressed against his throat.
"Alright, Captain?" Rhyland Crow shouts loudly toward Blue Eyes, a devilish smirk plastered across his face.
"Never better, Briggs," Blue Eyes answers back over the sound of gunfire and the continuous explosions of the two ships on the water.
Crow, or Briggs? Whoever he is, he unearths a hidden pistol from his side and expertly downs a guard about to drive a sword through Blue Eyes, who’s holding tight to a captive Solomon. “Good! You look terrible in that red, by the way.”
Blue Eyes laughs, and the movement makes a thin cut on Solomon’s throat. “Aye; hides the blood, though.”
I freeze, my brain finally playing catch up.
Captain? Captain! I can't see the man's face from here but I watch him step back, gripping Solomon tight, and a slow terror erupts from the pit of me. Blue Eyes…he isn't a guard at all….
I'm shaking as I struggle in the irons to pull Rowan onto her knees. We can't stay here. Even if it's a risk to rise and run. We have to move.
Rhyland Crow. Land razer. Pirate Dread. A god in a mortal body. He spoke to me. Healed me. He knows my face and suspects I've done something with his crown piece.
A tugging on my ankle draws me back. "Grab her! I'll get the smaller one," Harlow shouts to Freckles, who seems fairly recovered from my assault.
"Where's the real piece, Solomon?" The dark haired, blue-eyed imposter guard's words are half-lost as he shouts.
No, not guard. He's Rhyland Crow. The real Rhyland Crow. Playing tricks. It was all an elaborate ruse.
"She's fighting me—" Freckles starts to yell as he tries to grab hold of me, but then blood is spurting out of his mouth from the hole shot into the side of his head.
It coats my face: crimson, warm, and sticky.
A blonde woman with an eye patch lowers a pistol, smoke wisping off the barrel, and grins as she approaches.
"Damn the gods!" Harlow curses, dropping Rowan and lunging for me before I'm trapped beneath the weight of a dead body. I try to dodge but my eyes are half coated and the heavy chain slows me. He captures it and throws me over his shoulder like a bag of grain.
"No!" I scream as loud as I can, reaching toward Rowan, abandoned behind us.
"Vale!" She starts to get up but a bullet hits the sand beside her and she shrinks away from it.
"Just stay down!" I shout back, writhing and twisting as hard as I can.
Harlow's arms are like steel and he starts making a beeline over the rocky hills, running quickly even with me thrown over his shoulder.
Up ahead are two wagons, one loaded down with the treasure from Rhyland's men, the other full of rifles and ammunition.
Next to it are several saddled horses. I feel the hesitation rippling off of Harlow as he decides what to do before rushing to the lone man posted on the driver's bench of the treasure wagon.
"Head for the city. Solomon's orders. If you stray from the path, I will find you and bathe in your blood.
" The man goes pale and nods before snapping the reins on the horse's hindquarters.
The wagon takes off and Harlow wastes no time throwing me, stomach first, across the saddle of a massive black mare.
He climbs up after me and slams his heels into the horse's flanks.
The powerful creature takes off at a gallop.
Beneath me, I watch the sand grasses blur by, finding that with my hands bound, any sort of movement is precarious and could lead to me slipping off head first.
We start to overtake the wagon. I crane my neck to spot the city-line in the distance when another explosion sounds close behind us.
My head jerks towards the sound to see the treasure wagon careening into a thousand pieces.
The sound startles our horse who rears and, in Harlow's shock at watching his fortune explode, he doesn't grip the reins quite fast enough.
We're slipping backward, him first, and then I spill on top of him, grateful for a cushion to ease the fall, though the air’s still forced out of my lungs. Harlow lets out a pained groan, and I spring up to my feet, eager to rush back. To get Rowan out of there, if it's the last thing I do.
"Oh, no you don't."
This fucking chain! He's managed the end of it again and I'm crashing back down in such a way that sends pain blossoming through my freshly healed shoulder.
"Let me go!" My scream of rage echoes far off across the cove.
He only tugs me back harder, even as I kick out at him, and forces me down. "Not a chance in Hel. I've just lost everything: my brother, half my men, the reward money. Don't think for a second you'll be among those things today. Where is the crown piece? Tell me and I'll end you quickly."
"You didn't lose them, you left them," I snarl, seeing his promise to end me quickly for the lie it is.
Even if it wasn't, I still wouldn't tell him.
Ever. Gathering a mouthful of spit, I hack it into his face and watch with satisfaction as it trails down the marred flesh of his scar.
His fist connects with the side of my temple, hard enough to make my vision darken, before he lifts me again to toss over his shoulder, this time limping as he goes.
His fingers dig into the side of my thigh."You won't be so cocky back in the Slags. I'll take you right to Igor's workshop."
My stomach twists. I've seen the bodies, strung up on the streets of East Slag, a warning to anyone who crosses the Black Brothers. Igor, The Butcher of Helgate, from the far away shores of Godror, is merciless and precise in his torture methods.
I need to get away. Now.
I’m blinking against my swimming vision when a gunshot sounds.
Harlow lets out a yelp of surprise and staggers forward, dropping me.
I scramble to my feet, woozy and unstable, clawing at the dirt until I'm up and away from him.
Blood seeps from the center of the back of his calf, staining his pants.
I look for the source and my heart squeezes in my chest to see Rhyland Crow—the real Crow—windblown, astride one of the horses, lowering the rifle as he dismounts.
“You bloody fuck!” Harlow groans, trying to crawl away.
A darkness falls over Crow’s face, far more sinister than anything I witnessed in the cave. "These were the orders, were they not, Black? If they run, shoot them in the leg." His steady pace towards us is a slow, toying thing. A predator closing in on injured prey.
Harlow lets out a dark laugh, giving up his escape attempt and dropping to the ground before shifting sideways to lay on his back in the grass. His leg continues to bleed and bleed.
I don't know if I should feel terrified or relieved that Crow’s come by himself, alone. Could he not have sent another crew member? He must be certain I know where the crown piece is. I slowly start to back up, but he follows the movement the second I take the first step, and I freeze.
"What a trick," Harlow sneers, wiping sweat away from his forehead.
"I have to say, I've never met a pirate lord with so much patience.
The restraint it must have taken, months of following Solomon's barking orders, listening to his plans to betray you, firsthand.
I would have strangled the stupid fuck my first night on duty. "
Rhyland lifts his dark eyebrows, a storm of midnight beneath them. "I suppose that's why I'm here and you're there."
"Well, wherever you are you're wasting your time. Solomon doesn't have the piece, he never did. You heard as much in your bloody eavesdropping. Not sure why you wasted your time bringing your ship in. Putting on your little act and blowing it to bits."
The pirate lord looks bored with the conversation, shifting slightly to scan the wreckage of the wagon behind us. "I'm well aware of your brother's lies and shortcomings."
"Did you kill him, then?" His tone is neutral. No grief. No anger. Just morbid curiosity.
Crow's jaw tightens. "No, he's back on the shore with my crew."
“So we’re to be your prisoners?” That barking laughter again.
Crow takes a few careful steps forward. He’s shed his maroon coat and vest so that only the white dress shirt remains, torn and bloodied from the battle, tight against the strong muscle beneath. “I’m not here for you, Black.”
My heart seizes and when he shifts his gaze to me I’m flooded with the urge to run as fast as I can, as far as my feet will carry me.
But Rowan is still there on the beach. Did she survive the fighting?
My last glimpse was her on the ground and the blonde crew member who shot Freckles prowling toward her.
“You really believe this ill bred creature knows where your crown piece is?” Harlow laughs mockingly.
“She must know enough for you to have risked your life grabbing her before you fled.”