Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 164: Parley!

The Salt Pans, Great Inagua
Present Day

Clink! Clink! Argh! The deadly twinkle of singing steel and groaning men, pirates and soldiers, fill the clouded air. Benjamin holds his breath, hacking enemies by relying on sounds and strength of those near him. Stockinged legs, colorful red clothed arms—the Royal soldiers' uniforms had set them up. They groan and stain their silk whites with every blow. However, the salt pans favor neither—they sink all men in a sludge of saltwater and priceless grains of salt. "Ha!" Benjamin pushes through the damning soup underneath him and the blistering smoke that assails his eyes and nose. Only the sparks of their swords illuminate the battle, and the grid of the pans tell them where they are on the cursed land.

Against his back, Benjamin feels the sturdy pressure of the Captain's own as he directs the fight, turning Benjamin toward the opening to the forest. He nods; they have no time to scream orders, so the Captain's elbow and arm movements could only tell him much in the midst of this peppery smoke and blinding steel slashing near their noses.

A strained but large squawk comes. Torkin! Benjamin beams as he gets trapped in a bind between two guards. "Hngnh." Need to get out. If the bird just left, then all the slaves had already ran away as well. He only has a matter of minutes to trap the slavemasters and the rest of the guards—

But these two soldiers are piling on him, and his brute strength is the only thing keeping him on his feet. Benjamin grits his teeth. The smoke smothers them three; only the Captain's leg and feet rest against his as he fends off wild attackers and protects the other men. The muscles of his sword-arm strains. Benjamin takes a deep breath. For what it's worth, he could use some of the oppressor's techniques against another breed of oppressors.

Tu Mundo es un circulo.

Benjamin shoves his sword to the air, and the soldiers scream in terror, lifted a few inches off the ground. "Rah!" With his infamous strength and might, he swung them in a circle and pushed them away, that they tumble on their backs, swords thrown off their hands—a soldier lunges immediately from the right, Benjamin strikes the fine saber and tilts him on his feet again. "Cap—"

"Go!" Captain Del Santo tries to turn, an arm over his mouth still as he fought with the other. "All of you, go! And cover!"

"Come on!" Benjamin heralds the rest of their parties and sprints away from the putrid fog and into the hot, dense jungles; too dire, the Captain shoved the other boys their way, intent to be left alone. He holds his breath and seeks his fellow pirates—some unscathed, some scraped, running alongside him, but alive. "Cover your man!" He draws his own pistol, despite the knot in his throat. But no, he cannot forget and lose sight now, in the middle of the forest. The Captain had trusted him enough with this task.

And for good reason.

Sharp branches and their verdant leaves brush past Benjamin as they race down the path. "Where are they!" A fellow pirate, the Genoese Paulo, rasps not far away. Benjamin doesn't stop running, over painful stones and deceiving dips on the forest floor; he could catch it. That brush of human breath. The crumble of twigs ahead. The cries and whimpers of the slaves running toward their safe house.

"Straight! Weapons at ready!"

"Aaaack!" Torkin flies overhead, with ropes fitted on his tiny self and black sacks strapped on them and on his feet. "Ack! Soldierrrrs starrrboard, more attt porrrt! Ack!"