He had to ward off a blow from one of his own men. He parried the
thrust, then got in and pushed the man off the deck, over into the sea.
That was the only thing to do. You couldn't kill them.
Beudag stared down at the tumbling body.
"Where's Rann?" Starke's yellow eyes narrowed, searching.
"She _was_ here." Beudag trembled.
Rann looked out of her eyes. Out of the tired numbness of Beudag, an
echo of Rann. Rann was nearby, and this was her doing.
Instinctively, Starke raised his eyes.
Rann appeared at the masthead, like a flurry of snow. Her green-tipped
breasts were rising and falling with emotion. Pure hatred lay in her
eyes. Starke licked his lips and readied his sword.
Rann snapped a glance at Beudag. Stooping, as in a dream, Beudag picked
up a dagger and held it to her own breast.
Starke froze.
Rann nodded, with satisfaction. "Well, Starke? How will it be? Will you
come at me and have Beudag die? Or will you let me go free?"
Starke's palms felt sweaty and greasy. "There's no place for you to go.
Falga's taken. I can't guarantee your freedom. If you want to go over
the side, into the sea, that's your chance. You might make shore and
your own men."
"Swimming? With the sea-_beasts_ waiting?" She accented the _beasts_
heavily. She was one of the sea-_people_. They, Linnl and his men, were
sea-_beasts_. "No, Hugh Starke. I'll take a skiff. Put Beudag at the
rail where I can watch her all the way. Guarantee my passage to shore
and my own men there, and Beudag lives."