Part I - Corvatto's Ruin

The sun danced below the horizon, casting warm scintillating colours across the still blue. Balthazar stood at his helm with a deathly focus on the prey, eyes of emerald fire piercing like the tip of the finest Zingaran rapier, with an intensity that seemed to spur his ship to cut through the foamy surf faster. He knew the captain of the ship he chased, and resolved one day to bring the blade to his throat. Oh, how he revelled in this moment. Balthazar was not a callous man, not evil, devoid of ethics and morals like his urchin brethren. He fought and bled to retain his values. The man he chased had it coming. He swore when he held his dying friend in his arms that one day revenge would be theirs. Some men deserved to die; gods be damned that such judgement should be denied. He had eyes, he had a heart, and he had a right to judge a man by his actions.

The chase was broken. The prey knew they could not outrun such a fine vessel at such ungodly speed, and held their oars on port to turn on their keel. Balthazar squinted, noticing the archers. He hoped he was not too late as he commanded his men to deck. They loosed, the arrows whistling through the air like hissing vipers. One, two, then three of his crew were feathered, their life force ebbing onto the already slick deck, staining the wood. Balthazar cursed as he shouted for a return volley from his own archers, the oars continuing to be worked as more men hit the deck gurgling from their wounds.

He goaded his oarsmen further to close the distance and avoid those damnable arrows. Before long they were upon the ship. Grapple hooks were thrown to splinter and gouge the deck of their quarry. With a cry of charge, he and his men bounded over. Some were cut down instantly as they landed, blood and guts spilled, and through the chaos and wanton savagery Balthazar spotted the captain. He disembowelled one man then pierced the throat of another as he made directly for his target.

"Corvatto!" Balthazar spat with a venom that would impress Set. "Damn you, dog. This will be your end!"

The captain snarled a grin. He was a burly man, not tall, but with broad shoulders that bore a single sash of crimson. Arms like trunks glistened in the hues of the setting sun as he heaved a bardiche onto his shoulder. It was not a Zingaran weapon, not even native to these parts; a pole bearing a single-edged blade nearly half the length of the shaft, more akin to an axe. Such a weapon was an insult to Balthazar. Swung with brute force, it had no place on a ship, where it would just as likely cut down its wielder's own men as his opponents.

"Come here to join your friend, eh?" Corvatto taunted with a chuckle of spittle. "How much did his life force stain your rags?"

Balthazar's face twisted with rage as he launched himself forward. Corvatto braced his legs wide and swung his huge weapon in a sideways sweep with enough force to fell a tree. There was no hope of ducking, nor leaping over it. With lightning reflex, Balthazar lifted his rapier to deflect, pushing his blade toward the incoming swing while moving his body in the opposite direction to absorb the blow. His whole arm went briefly numb as the clash sparked and reverberated through him. He dropped to a roll and came up inside Corvatto's guard, thrusting his rapier out with deadly precision. He was too slow though, still recovering from the force of the deflection. His opponent jumped back and bellowed a laugh that grated against every sensibility Balthazar possessed. The din of battle around him fell away as he focused. He needed to be sharp. One rend of his opponent's weapon and this would all be over.

Corvatto started forward, hefting the huge blade over his head. Balthazar would have taken the opening had an opportunistic combatant not tried to ambush him from behind. Instead he leapt clear of a dagger aimed for his back, and Corvatto's blade came crashing down subsequently, cleaving the poor sailor from shoulder to loin. The laugh died in Corvatto's throat as he registered what lay split at his feet.

"Saved your life, little fish," he bellowed.

"You saved me the indignity of being stabbed by a man whose name I had not bothered to learn," Balthazar replied, keeping his weight distributed, rapier tracing low as he began to circle. "I extend my condolences to him regardless. He was clearly a man of initiative, if catastrophically poor timing."

Despite the raging battle, neither looked away from the other, both intent on the other's movements. Corvatto rolled his massive shoulders and came forward again, slower this time, more measured. The huge blade came in lower, a diagonal sweep designed to catch a man trying to circle.

Balthazar did not circle wide. He stepped into the angle of the blow, his body turning as the blade passed close enough to part the air against his ribs. Rather than thrust, he raked the rapier's tip across Corvatto's forearm as he swept past. Corvatto bellowed in outrage and spun, faster than a man his size had any right to. The pommel of his great weapon caught Balthazar across the shoulder and sent him sprawling into the filth and blood of the deck. He rolled as he hit.

"You," Corvatto snarled, pressing his forearm briefly to his lips, "are beginning to annoy me."

"Only beginning?" Balthazar rose unhurried, settling back into his stance with a disappointed expression. "I have been reliably informed that I am annoying by the third word out of my mouth. You are either remarkably tolerant or remarkably slow." He tilted his head. "I shall be generous and assume the former."

He needed this fight to end before his shoulder stiffened. The battle around them was thinning; in whose favour he could not yet tell, and he wanted to find out. He let the silence stretch a moment, and then smiled.

"Come then. Let us finish the conversation."

Balthazar relaxed his stance, standing more upright to bait his opponent. Corvatto obliged, heaving his weapon above his head with the confidence of a man who believed he would be faster. No deflection came this time. As Balthazar deftly sidestepped, he slapped his off hand down onto the flat of the bardiche and drove it into the wood of the deck. In those few stunned moments, Balthazar pirouetted on the spot and levelled the tip of his rapier to Corvatto's throat. The might of the man stilled, a frozen statue with a bead of sweat forming on his brow in the deathly quiet. Balthazar glanced quickly around at the dwindling battle, satisfied, then returned his gaze to Corvatto, who dared not move a muscle.

"Looks like I won the day," Balthazar said with a mocking shrug.

Corvatto was about to utter a curse, but his words were caught by the rapier that slid through his throat. Balthazar moved forward with the slow skewer until he was close to the man's face.

"I am not making the same mistake twice," he said, barely above a whisper. "This is for the Los Cuervos."

Corvatto's eyes widened as he coughed. A wretched bubbling seep of blood escaped his lips, running down his chin to drip onto the salt-grey planks below. Balthazar stepped back, retracting his rapier with the force of a cracked whip. The blade sang briefly in the air before crimson flecked the deck in a thin arc. He drew it clean across the sash bristling from his belt, the silk taking no complaint. Then he stood, like a craftsman inspecting his work, no emotion painted on his expression, as Corvatto's knees went and he folded to the deck in a pool of his own making, clutching his neck as though pressing a palm might suture the grievous wound.