Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) by C.M. Gray Page B

Tarent couldn't see anything as he squinted his eyes against the salt soaked air. But then, as the boat climbed the next wave, he saw the other ship some hundred or so spans away to their port side as it burst through the spray, it was heading directly towards them. The ship was far larger than
The Jenny.
Black sails, slick with rain, billowed from its masts while black featureless pennants streamed from the end of each spar. It did not look friendly; in fact, it reminded Tarent of some demonic sea creature, conjured from some old sailor's tale that had risen from the deep.
    Loras turned to Tarent. He was soaked to the skin and shivering from the cold, all spells forgotten. Cupping his hands he shouted and Tarent leant towards him, to hear properly.
    '
Look at the flag on her topmast,
' he grabbed for the rail as the boat rolled beneath them. Tarent searched the black ship for the flag and then glanced back to Loras and the crewmen. It was then he noticed the fear on the men's faces and realised that the little trader was turning away from the bigger ship attempting to flee.
    '
It's a pirate, isn't it?
' One of the men nodded then turned away, staggering across the deck to help turn the huge ship's wheel. Tarent glanced back to the pirate ship as it rose upon another wave, water streaming across its decks, the skull n' crossbones flag flapping above the huge black sails.
    '
What shall we do?
' shouted Loras.
'I could probably sink it, but…'
    '
But that would be murder,
' came the voice of Magician Falk, straining against the wind. The old Magician had finally joined them at the rail, his robes flapping.
'We need to question these pirates before we do anything. They may have seen The Esmerelda and know where she was bound, we should do nothing.'
They stared across at the black ship as it steadily approached, breaking through the top of each huge wave then crashing back down to meet the next. Every wave bringing the vessel closer to them,
The Jenny
was running, but it was a race they already knew to be lost.
    * * *
    Bartholomew Bask stumbled down the rocky slope. He was breathing hard and running for his life. Behind him, baying like a pack of rabid dogs was a small group from Morgasta's camp. A stone hit him on his shoulder, and several others clattered around him but he stumbled on without looking back, each haggard, drawn breath loud in his ears.
    There had been no gold, no riches and no respect from Morgasta or her army. The skulls had been ripped from his hands and he'd then been humiliated, beaten and finally ignored. When they'd dragged him from Morgasta's tent, he'd made one last plea to the Hawk. But the tall hooded figure had stared down at him with a look of disgust and then turned away while his wretched demon had screeched at him.
    Dazed and confused Bartholomew stumbled on.
    The group currently tormenting him had been with him since his rough eviction from the tent. They'd pounced upon him immediately, pushing and pulling at him, and once someone had even bitten him, accompanied, of course, by howls of laughter from the others. They were herding him out of the camp and into the mountains, but Bartholomew cared little for which direction he was being pressed. He simply needed some respite from this present torment so he could sit and think on his situation. Bartholomew had always prided himself on having a quick mind but in Morgasta's tent events had moved so quickly that he had little opportunity to use it.
    The scrabbling sounds coming from behind him were getting close again. Bracing himself for whatever new ordeal was about to take place, he pushed on, even as his body wanted to drop.
    With breath rasping in his ears and his heart beating so hard it felt as though it would leap from his chest, he still found time to curse Matheus Hawk for getting him into this mess, for abandoning him in the middle of this… this rabble of an army. He would have his revenge against the Hawk, oh yes he would, he would most