The Alley
The mob surges forward, a ragged tide of pitchforks, kitchen knives, and splintered chair legs. Faces twist with a volatile mix of terror and grim resolve. Dot stands alone over the dead pirate's corpse, the man's neck bent at an impossible angle, dark blood pooling beneath his head on the cold stone.
The child's mother staggers toward the front, clutching her bitten arm. Blood seeps between her trembling fingers. Her voice cracks with raw panic.
**Mother:** "He killed him! His partner took my Girl—grab him! If they find out we let outsiders interfere, they'll slaughter more of us!"
A villager near the front hesitates, his spear quivering in his grip.
**Villager 1:** "He's just a kid…"
**Villager 2:** "A kid who snapped a pirate's neck like a dry twig. Let's tie him up and hand him over. Maybe they'll leave the rest of us alone."
They edge closer. Dot raises both hands slowly, palms open in a gesture of peace. His voice remains low and steady.
**Dot:** "Stay back. I don't want anyone of you to get hurt."
**Villager 3:** "Damn brat thinks he's better than us. Get him!"
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. The mother's gaze darts frantically between Dot and the corpse.
Then a small commotion stirs at the rear. Yiva pushes through the throng, the little girl clinging desperately to her leg like a lifeline. Tears streak the child's dirt-smudged face, but she thrusts a finger toward Dot.
**Girl:** "He saved me! Don't hurt him!"
Yiva kneels slightly, wrapping a protective arm around the child.
**Yiva:** "Listen to her. We're not here to harm anyone. We're trying to help."
The mother's shoulders sag. A few villagers exchange weary, shame-filled glances. Weapons begin to lower.
**Villager 1:** "If they're telling the truth… maybe we don't have to—"
**Villager 3:** "You want to get us all killed, you bastard?"
A sharp, jaunty whistle slices through the tension.
From the edge of the crowd steps a figure: wide-brimmed cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes, long leather duster swaying with each step, a heavy spear gun cradled casually in one arm. He whistles again—cheerful, almost playful.
**Cowboy Pirate:** "Well now. That's a touching little scene."
The mob freezes. Recognition crashes over them like ice water. Several people stumble backward.
**Villager 1** (whispering): "It's him…"
**Dot:** "Who are you?"
The cowboy raises the spear gun in one fluid motion. No warning. No taunt.
A metallic *thunk*. The spear fires—straight into Dot's left shoulder, punching clean through muscle and pinning him to the alley wall with a wet, sickening crunch.
Dot grunts, staggering. Blood blooms dark across his shirt.
The crowd erupts into screams and scatters—people shoving, falling, fleeing down side streets.
Yiva's eyes widen in horror.
**Yiva:** "Dot!"
She bolts toward him. The cowboy pirate lunges, seizing a fistful of her hair and yanking her back hard. She cries out, stumbling.
**Cowboy Pirate:** "Easy, princess'."
Dot's head snaps up. A brief flicker of crimson glints in his pupils. He grips the spear shaft, teeth gritted, and wrenches it free in a spray of blood. The wound is already beginning to knit itself closed.
The cowboy laughs, raising the gun again.
**Cowboy Pirate:** "Feisty. Let's see how many holes you can take."
He fires once more. The second spear buries itself in Dot's other shoulder. Fresh blood pours down his chest.
Yiva struggles fiercely, trying to tear her hair free from the pirate's grip. The cowboy fires a final shot—this one aimed at Dot's head.
Yiva, shocked and desperate, reaches for the dagger hidden at her side—Dot's own dagger. With a savage yank, she tears free the lock of hair the pirate clutches and lunges toward Dot.
**Yiva:** "You bastard—you—"
A shadow looms behind her. The cowboy pirate emerges from the darkness and cracks the butt of his spear gun against the back of her skull. She crumples instantly.
The pirate scoops her limp body over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The little girl tries to flee, but he snatches her up too.
He turns to the mother, still frozen in shock. In one smooth motion, he draws a short blade.
One quick slash. The mother collapses, throat gaping, blood bubbling onto the stones.
Without another word, he melts back into the shadows with his captives.
**The Inn – Same Time**
Dren stands over two twitching bodies—the brother-and-sister bounty hunters. Blood drips steadily from his sword.
Sylric coils his chains back around his forearms, smirking.
**Sylric:** "You're getting slow, old man."
**Dren:** "Shut up. We need to find the kid—"
Something feels wrong.
A child's scream pierces the night, followed by a sharp, metallic *pop*—the unmistakable sound of a spear gun.
Dren's head snaps toward the noise.
**Dren:** "That's Dot's direction."
They leap into motion—Dren bursting through the door, Sylric vaulting straight through the open roof tiles in a shower of shattered clay.
They sprint toward the square.
Four more pirates melt from rooftops and alleys—blades drawn, nets at the ready.
**Pirate 1:** "The Drought! Take him alive—We can trade him for the bounty!"
Dren doesn't break stride. His sword flashes. One pirate loses an arm in a crimson arc. Sylric's chains whip outward—two more drop in sprays of red.
But the brief delay costs precious seconds.
**Pirate Camp – The Cove, Night**
Yiva is hurled to the dirt at the feet of a massive, low table.
The pirate captain lounges on a reinforced chair that groans beneath his enormous bulk. Fat rolls spill over his belt. Grease gleams on his fingers and chin as he tears into a roast leg of mutton. Half a dozen men stand guard around the firelit tent.
**Captain:** (mouth full) "What fresh prize is this?"
The pirate who captured her bows slightly.
**Pirate:** "Greenwood blood, Captain. Daughter of Sweyn Forkbeard himself."
The captain stops chewing. His small eyes widen. Then a slow, greasy smile spreads across his face.
**Captain:** "Forkbeard, you say? The price your father would pay to get you back could buy me a fleet. Maybe two."
Yiva, wrists bound behind her, forces herself to her knees. She spits blood and saliva at his boots.
**Yiva:** "My father will hang you from your own mast."
The captain laughs—a wet, rolling sound.
**Captain:** "Your father can try. But first he'll pay."
A scout bursts in, breathless, clutching a small, glowing glass plate—the verge, a mage-crafted device that captures instant images. The surface shimmers, revealing a frozen moment: Dren mid-swing, Sylric's chains blurring, Dot visible in the background.
**Scout:** "Captain… the Drought is here. Him and his crew. They've already cut down half a dozen of ours."
The captain's smile vanishes. He snatches the verge and squints at the image.
His gaze locks on Sylric.
**Captain:** (voice dropping) "What's he doing here…?"
The cowboy pirate then looks at the image
**Cowboy Pirate quiet as tho he knows him he mutters: Hm
**Captain:** "The rogue."
The tent falls silent.
**Captain:** "Quickest bastard in the realms. If he's riding with the Drought…" He swallows hard. "We're going to have a lot of dead men in our path."
**Cowboy Pirate:** "Let me take care of them."
**Captain:** "Fool. They'll have your head in seconds."
He slams a meaty fist on the table.
**Captain:** "Double the watch. Prep the fastest sloop. And get me the girl's weight in gold ready. We move at dawn."
Yiva lifts her chin, eyes blazing despite the blood trickling from her temple.
**Yiva:** "You won't have till dawn." She laughs, loud and defiant. "I'm someone else prisoner."
**Captain:** "What's she talking about?"
**Yiva:** "Dren's going to kill you."
To be continued.