The wounded pirate lunged forward again, his cutlass hacking at Skyreach's face. She ducked below the blow and twisted away. As the pirate readied himself for another swing, she.brought her long sword up and shoved it through the man's armor, through his breastbone, and into the heart beyond.

The pirate gasped and stiffened in surprise, gazing down at the enchanted rune blade that had run through his leather armor as if it were so much paper. He died and toppled over, sliding from the long sword.

Skyreach glanced out over the darkening waves. The moon retreated behind a bank of clouds as if afraid to see what would happen next. The deck of Chalice of the Crowns was lit only by the lanterns carried by the pirates and the few that hadn't been washed out along the cargo ship itself.

"Gyynyth Skyreach!"

The elven warrior turned at the sound of her name, tracking the voice through the crash and boom of the sea slapping at the cargo ship, and the pirate vessel pounding up against its prey. She spotted the man coming up the stairway from a lower deck, then recognized him by his movements and dress.

"Hagris!" The name ripped from her lips like an oath of the foulest nature.

Markiln Hagris gained the deck with acrobatic ease. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, the man was Tel'Quessir, a Gold elf. He'd held a high station on the Council of Twelve. His armor would have prevented such physical alacrity had it not been mystical in nature and wrought from the best metalsmiths in the City of Songs. His face was lean as a wolfs, his nose as pointed. Long red hair was tied back in braids, trimmed to lend him an aristocracy that his features failed to give him.

He gave her a courfly bow, stooping low, but never taking his eyes from her. "At your service." His long sword gleamed in the lantern light.