It wasn't time for the barbarian to reveal himself yet, however. Timing would be everything, and he realized that he hadn't planned much of anything beyond getting on the ship with the dwarf. That had been solved. What came next would have to wait until he knew where they were going.
For the present, he focused his mind on trying to make out how many men there were. His attempt to tell one from the other from their footsteps above brought no success, and they came regularly to the hold to either inspect their cargo—living and otherwise—or collect personal items. A few even paused beside Brahgen.
"It’s time for you to start praying to your god, little one." One of the men laughed. "We know she won't listen to you, but it should provide us with a good measure of amusement before we return to Verenvan."
That explained where they were planning to take the captive at least, although Skharr doubted that a pirate ship would be so bold as to drop anchor in the port. They would likely follow a roundabout route to avoid detection.
He grasped his sheathed sword a little tighter when he heard one of the men kick the dwarf and laugh before he wandered away. Another bell was rung to indicate that it was time for the evening meal.
"You'd better fuck right off," Brahgen shouted. "Untie me and we'll see how loud you laugh with my dagger making mincemeat of your innards, you maggot-infested pile of boar shit."
The man turned as if to attack him again, but his comrades stopped him. Either they knew their friend was likely to kill the dwarf and leave them with nothing to show for all the effort to take him alive, or they had plans to return later when Samor would not be available to stop them.
At least the youth still had a little spirit in him, which was an encouraging sign. That would cause him to suffer a little more during the trip, but it would take considerable abuse to break him. And not only because his kind were mentally strong but because he was a step above most when it came to mental toughness.
When the rest of the crew were distracted with getting something to eat on the other side of the hold, Skharr managed to squeeze out of his hiding place and moved carefully to the upper deck. He would have to leave his bow behind for the moment, but it wasn't likely to be very effective while fighting on the ship.
For now, it was best to keep his presence unnoticed. Night falling would certainly help with that, as the crew kept their use of lamp oil low, both to conserve it and to avoid detection by other vessels. This was an old pirate tactic that was only effective if they had a sound navigator who had a good mind for where all the reefs were hiding.
The barbarian drew a deep breath of the fresh sea air. It had been a long time since he had simply enjoyed the scent of the open sea. He moved cautiously away from the stairs to the hold. A few of the crew remained at their posts but were more concerned with anything that came toward the ship than what was on it. He counted about twenty, including those who were eating below. With the group he was tracking, that was another eleven. Even with Brahgen with him, he doubted that he would be able to eliminate them all and if he did, how would he sail the ship?
He paused and glanced at the steps he'd used as the mercenary who had kicked Brahgen came topside. The man looked like he'd already eaten his fill and he belched loudly as he wandered to the side of the ship and undid his trousers.
The barbarian immediately recognized this as one way to even the odds. He remained low, drew a dagger from his belt, and inched forward while the man was distracted voiding himself.
Quickly, he covered the mercenary’s mouth before he thrust the dagger into his back hard enough that he felt the spine crack against the blade. In a moment, any attempt to struggle ceased and he inched away and let him fall into the water when the ship met a small wave. As the vessel teetered on the low crest for an instant, Skharr caught sight of the horizon. Not because of a ship that came over it, fully lit as he might have hoped, but because flickers of light in the distance were quickly followed by rumbling, rolling sounds of thunder.
They were trying to circle to avoid a storm but he doubted they would be able to. From the way the lightning sizzled across the clouds, it looked like a summer storm had struck a few months too early.
It wasn’t entirely unheard of in these waters. There was much that drove the weather to madness. He'd heard that the worst part of the Ancient Wars was fought in the region and things had been so terrible that sections of the continent sank into the sea.
Given that—and he did not doubt the veracity of most of what he’d heard—Skharr assumed that possibly hundreds of dungeons were built into those sunken landscapes whose magic influenced the weather and were probably filled to the brim with treasure as no one had the opportunity to delve into them.
The sounds from below told him that the evening meal was finished and the crew were returning to their posts. A lookout must have caught sight of the storm and the helmsman decided they wouldn’t escape it.
The barbarian could already hear the groans from the assembled crew and even the mercenaries were pressed into service to help.
"We will need all hands on deck for this fucker," the captain roared. He was slim of build, although a thick, grizzled beard added to his stature, as did his inordinately deep voice. Rules on pirate vessels were easy to follow. If you didn't like how the captain ran the ship, kill him and take his place. That kind of simplicity came from true barbarism.
The myriad scars told how long he had held his position on the Redress, and it looked like the other pirates held him in high regard.
"We're not sailors!" one of the mercenaries protested.
"The sea will drown you whether you're sailors or not so you might as well try to avoid it," the captain retorted immediately. "All men to the rope decks. We'll stay above the water if it kills every single one of you. Where is Bayon? The dumb fuck had better not be trying to get out of work."
Skharr looked around the group from his hidden vantage point and counted all the men he'd noted before. All except for Samor, of course. He'd never known the man to be involved in any kind of work, even if it was to save his life.
Which meant that only one man was missing—the one who had fallen overboard not a minute before. He smirked and sank lower in his hiding place.
"The lazy bastard might as well fucking drown if he's simply going to be a drain," one of the sailors muttered and shook his head.
"All hands to work now! We'll need to be ready for the storm when it hits us."
They would need considerable help to stop the Redress from capsizing. Skharr wondered if this was the point to show them that they had an extra skilled hand at their disposal.
Then again, he had no intention of fighting the storm while he was in the water himself which he might well be if they knew he was aboard.
As the crew set to work, he moved toward the steps leading into the hold. The lightning flickered again and illuminated the whole vessel in a flare of light a few seconds before the rumbling thunder crashed. Skharr felt it in his chest and the horses below had it even worse. They neighed loudly and tried to break free from their tethers.
He managed to sneak into the hold to where the horses stamped nervously. Even more of the lights flickered above followed by peals of thunder. It would be a storm for the ages and he had managed to slip himself into it.
Irritated, he shook his head. Why couldn't Brahgen have been captured by a group of forest nymphs? At least he knew how to keep them from killing folk.