Pirate Wars Read Free

wrecks and seeped into the mire. The sounds were hardly distinguishable from the whispering speech of the kobalins.
    Griffin nervously shoved some of his braids out of his face with the crook of his arm. His blond hair was plaited into dozens of them. That was really a hairstyle of the slaves brought over to the New World from Africa. It was only rarely seen on one of the white inhabitants of the Caribbean, so Griffin was especially proud of it.
    He’d just reached the foot of the hill when he heard a snarl. From the right. Out of the darkness.
    He raised the saber high, and then something shot at him as if it had been slung in his direction with a catapult—a spindly, thin body with scaly skin on which the lamplight broke in oily rainbow colors. The kobalin’s hands, with their long claws, were wide open, and his mouth gaped like the jaws of a shark.
    Griffin let himself drop, and as he did, he thrust the blade upward. Steel cut through skin and muscle, a scream sounded, then the body disappeared somewhere in the shadows and moved no more. A long-drawn-out smacking indicated that it had sunk into the mud of the stomach.
    That was easy, Griffin thought as he struggled to his feet. An oily shine gleamed on his blade. The kobalin must have taken him for a confused, starving castaway. But now the others were warned.
    If he only knew how many he had to deal with!
    He held the lamp on an arm stretched over his head. Arustling was audible somewhere in front of him, followed by the lightning-fast splish-splash of rushing feet.
    At least one, thought Griffin. Probably two or three . He hoped not more.
    Something hit him in the back and made him stumble forward. He cried out, stumbled into a depression between the wrecks, and plunged forward. A moment later it was clear to him that the fall had saved his life: A claw swished through the air over his head. The blow would probably have broken his neck.
    But then he rolled onto his back and hit his spine on something hard. The lantern slid out of his hands and sank into the morass a yard beyond him.
    In its last light Griffin made out his opponents. There were two of them. Their furrowed grimaces were like unfinished accessories arranged around their wide-open mouths—as if the creator of the kobalins had concentrated all his powers on the gigantic throats and sharp rows of teeth, like a child who loses interest in a piece of clay and apathetically squashes the rest of his work together.
    Griffin struck blindly over him with his saber in the darkness and at the same time tried to prop up his body with his left hand. But his fingers sank into the dark muck with a sound like a smacking kiss. Again he slashed, but his blow went wild. Instead he felt something grab his right ankle in the dark and pull on it, just outside the range of his reach. A second hand gripped his other leg, and now the creatures began to pull in opposite directions.
    They’re going to tear me apart! The thought flashed through Griffin’s mind in a fraction of a second. Without stopping to think, he sat up and slashed a desperate stroke across his spread legs toward his feet. The pain that seared through his back with the abrupt movement was murderous.
    Then—resistance! A cutting sound, followed by a mad kobalin screech.
    His left ankle came free. But the strength of the creature to his right forcefully pulled him farther, away from the wounded one.
    Kobalins are sly, mean creatures, but they are stupid and a little childish. If they can kill an opponent slowly and painfully, they prefer to, rather than slaughtering him the quickest way—because killing is like a game for them and the longer it lasts, the greater their pleasure.
    This characteristic came to Griffin’s aid now. The kobalin could easily have killed him in the darkness. But the feared attack did not come.
    Griffin tried to kick away the claws that held his leg. In vain. The creature’s long fingers sat as firmly as C-clamps. Now the kobalin was