Within the Hollow Crown by Daniel Antoniazzi Page A

beside Halmir.
    He deflected the first two projectiles within a heartbeat. But Flopson’s aim was too good to be random. He had fired the three balls at three different angles, using both hands and a quick dance step. Halmir couldn’t bring his arm around fast enough for the third one.
    It impacted against Halmir’s head, sending the towering Turin Warrior staggering to the side. Flopson started laughing, as though he had just seen the most hysterical thing in his life. He grabbed his stomach, as though it hurt. He was rolling on the ground.
    Nine, eight…
    Halmir was holding the side of his head. He was reeling in pain, and his vision was doubled. He just had to get through the Shadow-Gate, and he could fall unconscious all he wanted. All he had to do was keep the Gate...
    Five, four…
    Halmir spun back around to refocus on the Gate. But as he turned, he lost his balance. Somehow, his boots had become tied together. He fell, hard, to the floor, completely off balance. He didn’t even get his hands up in time, so his torso took the brunt of the hit.
    Two, one…
    Vye arrived. She was too tired to lift her sword and swing it, but she could easily fall on top of Halmir. Halmir tried to roll over, but Vye gathered up a final bit of strength and slammed the back of her elbow into Halmir’s cerebellum. Halmir fell promptly asleep.
    Then, out of sheer exhaustion, Vye collapsed into a deep sleep of her own. The wisp of smoke dissipated, carried away in the wind.

Chapter 15: A Pirate in Name Only
     
    Corthos was a pirate.
    At least, that’s what he told people. Usually, pirates tried to pretend they weren’t pirates, to avoid trouble with the local constables. But for Corthos, his case was exactly the opposite. He hoped, dearly, that people would think he was a pirate. He wore an eye patch over his perfectly healthy left eye. He spoke with that particular brand of poor grammar that delineated his profession. For a short time, he even had a stuffed parrot strapped to his shoulder.
    Corthos’ only regret was that he had never lost any limbs, and didn’t have any peg-legs or hook-hands to show off to the ladies at the pub.
    And for most of his life, he was also lacking in one other respect: He didn’t have a boat. He worked as a dockhand, loading and unloading cargo. But he had never sailed anywhere. And he kept scaring the other dockhands with stories about kidnapping, raiding, pillaging, and buried gold, none of which was true.
    Nobody knew where Corthos’ obsession with pirates began. Certainly, his parents didn’t encourage him.
    “Corthos, come here,” his Father would say. “Now, I just spoke to Miller, and he said that you tried to kidnap his daughter for a ransom.”
    “Aye,” Corthos said, mostly because he knew it pissed off his Father.
    “And Smith said you led his kids on a raid of the wood shop, and stole three planks of wood.”
    “Aye, it were a good pillaging.”
    “Now, listen here, son,” his Father said, “You have to learn to play nice with other kids. You can’t keep pretending to be a pirate. And it’s high time we got you an apprenticeship. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
    “A pirate, matey.”
    “Why can’t you be more like your brother and be a stone mason?”
    “Nay, not a stone-cutter’s life for me.”
    “Then, how about a woodsman?”
    “Nay, I dunnot want to be a woodsm’n.”
    “You could be a butcher. A baker. A candlestick maker.”
    “There be only one life for me, and it’s on the high seas!” Corthos declared, as he drew his wooden sword and held it to the air.
    “Fine,” Father said, “You can join the Count’s Navy.”
    “Thems be weaklings with white uniforms and too many rules. Methinks I should be a pirate instead.”
    “Corthos, my boy, you can’t become a pirate. People don’t choose to become pirates. They are born out of economic necessity, bad neighborhoods, that sort of thing. They are seaborne street gangs. You are a healthy young