The gentle rock of the small fishing boat sent an uneasy lurch through Kano's stomach. He crouched low near the bow, peering past the dark silhouette of the reef. Around him, the hushed breathing of two fellow fishers—scar-faced Nallo and a lanky youth named Tima—spoke volumes about their shared nerves.
They'd pushed off the pier under the cover of dusk, lanterns doused, gliding through shallow channels known only to Coral Spit locals. According to Brannis's sketchy intel, a pirate skiff should be anchored just beyond the reef, waiting to ambush late-night fishermen. Tonight, however, the fishers intended to ambush them.
Kano exhaled slowly, recalling Brannis's instructions: Use the reef's winding paths, shield your light, then strike hard before they know how many you are. One boat approached from the lagoon—Marro leading that crew—while Kano's trio would come at a slight angle to box in the pirates. If all went well, the raiders would think they were facing a far bigger force.
Tima shifted beside him, whispering, "You sure about this? The council'll have our hides if they think we started a war."
Kano kept his eyes on the shifting water. "We're doing what they wouldn't. If we chase these pirates off, they'll have to see us differently."
Nallo gave a gruff nod. "One success is all we need. They're bullies. Show 'em real resistance, they'll flee."
The boat drifted into a pocket of calm water just behind a jagged outcrop of coral. Kano risked a peek around it—and sure enough, a lone skiff bobbed in the faint moonlight, barely a stone's throw away. Figures moved along its deck, silhouettes framed by a single lantern. He counted four or five. Not an overwhelming crew, but well-armed if rumors were true.
He signaled with a gentle tap on the hull. In the distance, a corresponding tap sounded back—Marro's group, hidden somewhere to the southeast. They'd flank the pirates once the fight began. Focus, Kano told himself, heart thumping like a drumbeat. If he failed to seize the moment, any hope of freeing Brannis from suspicion—or proving Stormrún's heirs worth respecting—would slip away.
A quiet rustle drew his gaze to the battered net at his feet. The plan was simple: lob the net, entangle at least one pirate or their gear, sow confusion. Then Nallo and Tima would board, brandishing makeshift spears while Kano kept the illusions of a larger force—shouting threats, banging oars against the boat hull.
He shot a final glance at Nallo, who mouthed, "On your count."
Kano's pulse soared. No more second-guessing. He gripped the rope net, inhaled, and prayed the reefs were on their side tonight.
A single, muffled splash was all it took to set everything in motion.
Kano heaved the rope net over his shoulder and flung it with all his might. The makeshift weave of fishing lines and weighted knots arced through the darkness, landing with a muted thud against the pirate skiff. The startled shouts that followed told him they'd landed a hit—either on the skiff's deck or on a pirate caught off guard. Good enough for the distraction they needed.
"Now!" Kano hissed, scrambling to the bow. He snatched an oar and banged it furiously on the gunwale, the clang echoing over the still water. "You face the armed force of Coral Spit!" he bellowed, letting his voice carry. "Stand down or be sunk!"
At his flank, Nallo and Tima hoisted short spears, ready to leap. Their boat rocked as they pushed away from the coral outcrop, gliding into the moonlight. On the pirate skiff, lanternlight flared in confusion. One man snarled curses, fumbling with a blade. Another yowled, "We're under attack!"
Perfect chaos.
From the southeast, a sudden shout broke the night—Marro's crew making their own approach. Torchlight flickered across the water, cleverly spaced to suggest multiple attacking boats. The pirates spun in circles, eyes wild with alarm.
Kano's pulse hammered. Just keep them off-balance. Every nerve in his body demanded caution, but he knew they had to press the advantage before the pirates realized the "force" was hardly more than two dinghies of fishermen.
Nallo jammed a paddle into the water, propelling them alongside the skiff. "Hah!" he roared, shaking his spear at the nearest pirate. "Drop your weapons or face the wrath of House—!" He shot Kano an uncertain glance.
"Stormrún," Kano bit out, trying to summon the presence he'd felt in those dreamlike flashes of Tariq's final stand. "You face House Stormrún's allies!"
The name rolled strangely off his tongue, but it served its purpose. A pair of pirates hollered in confusion, stumbling away from the net that now tangled one of their crew by the ankles. Another pirate yanked a cutlass free, swinging wildly to cut the net aside.
With a grunt, Tima hurled a weighted rope that clattered against the side of the skiff. It missed the pirate's blade arm but clung to a railing. "Up we go!" Tima called, hooking the rope around his wrist to climb aboard.
Kano's heart thundered as he watched Tima scramble onto the pirate vessel. So far, so good, he told himself, though the skiff was a cramped, rocking platform of confusion. Any misstep, any slip, and they'd be at the pirates' mercy. He nodded to Nallo. "Cover him."
Another shout from across the water: Marro's boat drew near, brandishing flickering torches to enhance the illusion of a larger force. The pirates shrank back, fear flickering in their eyes. One pointed a pistol toward the second boat, hand shaking. "There's—there's at least ten of them!" he yelled.
In truth, there were maybe six or seven total on both boats combined, but the chaos magnified every threat. Kano seized the moment. He banged the oar on the gunwale again, roaring, "Surrender your vessel or we set it aflame!"
The netted pirate wriggled free, cursing as he stumbled. Tima rushed him, spear-tip angled in a clumsy but determined stance. The pirate, unsteady on his feet, tripped over a coil of rope and went down hard. Another of his crewmates tried to lunge at Tima from behind, but Nallo vaulted across, cracking the haft of his spear against the attacker's ribs. The pirate coughed and reeled, the fight draining from him.
A gunshot rang out—louder than the rest of the scuffle. Kano's blood iced. He whipped around just in time to see a thin wisp of smoke drifting from a trembling pirate's pistol. The bullet had ricocheted off the skiff railing, missing Marro's crew by a hair.
"Drop that weapon!" Kano yelled, arm shaking with adrenaline. If the pirate fired again, someone could die or the boat might be riddled. "This is your last warning!"
The pirate spun wildly, trying to re-aim. Before he could, a rock hurtled from Marro's direction, catching the man's arm. He let out a startled cry and dropped the pistol overboard with a splash.
Thunderous silence fell among the pirates. Wide-eyed, they stared at the ring of spears, torches, and makeshift weapons. Confusion and fear danced in their expressions. One by one, they raised their hands or stepped back in surrender.
A breath Kano hadn't realized he was holding rushed out. They bought it. The plan—although ragtag—had worked. Now came the hard part: securing their victory without letting the pirates see how small their force truly was.
"Tie them," Kano barked, infusing his voice with as much authority as he could muster. Nallo and Tima moved swiftly, wrestling the pirates into rope binds, while Marro's group tossed lines across the skiff to steady it against drifting. The captives either cursed under their breath or huffed in defeat, but none dared resist further.
The scruffy man who'd fired the pistol glowered at Kano. "You lot can't hold us for long. We're part o' a bigger crew. They'll come looking."
Kano's jaw set. "Then you tell them Coral Spit is off-limits. We won't be easy prey anymore. And if they try, House Stormrún will answer." He flung the name again, half disbelieving the surge it brought. Tariq Stormrún's echo stirred faintly within him, fueling his conviction in ways he couldn't fully explain.
The pirate spat, but fear undercut his bravado. He muttered something about "not messing with demon knights."
As the hush of success settled, Nallo turned to Kano, panting with exhilaration. "Is that it? Did we…win?"
Kano eyed the bound pirates. "For tonight," he said, voice still shaking with lingering adrenaline. "We scuttle their weapons, maybe their anchor, and leave them drifting. That should send a message. No bloodshed needed unless they push it."
Marro hopped aboard, relief and pride flickering in his eyes. "We'll strip the skiff of valuable gear. Let them float just far enough to remember we could've sunk them."
A wave of murmured agreement passed through the fishers. It wasn't a permanent solution to Coral Spit's pirate troubles, but it was a bold strike—one sure to echo through the reefs. Maybe, just maybe, it would buy enough goodwill from the council to free Brannis of suspicion and let them all move forward.
Kano found himself gazing at the distant lights of Coral Spit. We did it, he thought, heart pounding. This is for you, Brannis—for Stormrún. A part of him still trembled at the danger just passed, but another part felt an exhilaration he hadn't known before. Perhaps it was the faint shadow of the demigod Name he carried, or simply the rush of standing up for something that mattered.
Around them, the tide lapped against hulls, the moon's reflection dancing in the waves. Tomorrow, the sun would rise on a Coral Spit that no longer cowered before petty raids. And tomorrow, Brannis would face the council with proof that these "tarnished" villagers could do more than anyone expected.
Dawn found Kano and the ragtag band of fishers guiding the battered skiff—and its chastened crew—toward the outermost currents near Coral Spit. Between them, they'd stripped the pirates of extra weapons and supplies, leaving only a half-filled water barrel and a makeshift sail. A show of mercy, if a stern one, meant to drive home that these waters were no longer easy pickings.
"Don't come back," Marro warned, voice carrying over the early-morning hush. He and Nallo hauled on a rope, nudging the skiff into the open sea. One of the bound pirates, face bruised and sullen, spat threats under his breath, but none made a move. The quiet fury in Kano's eyes—and the memory of that chaotic ambush—was enough to keep them in check.
Kano stood apart, leaning on a spare oar. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, the adrenaline of the night's fight draining away. Still, he managed a firm nod at the departing craft. We're done here, he told himself, a strange mix of relief and trepidation settling in. He caught a glimpse of Tima, collapsed on a seat in their boat, breathing raggedly from the strain and fear. We made it.
A few moments later, the group of fishers maneuvered back to the reef-sheltered channel, letting the rising sun gild their passage with a warm glow. In the fresh light of day, Coral Spit's stilted huts looked almost peaceful—no sign of the tense standoffs and hidden counsel meetings that had dominated the past week. But that peace was earned, Kano thought, by all of us.
He exchanged a glance with Marro, who helped Nallo adjust their boat's rudder. "We'll want to report this to the council," Marro said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Show them we acted for the village's sake—and that we succeeded."
Kano gave a short nod. Brannis, he reminded himself. This was their best chance to prove to Elder Hani and the others that the Sea-Glass family—and the wounded Stormrún knight—were not threats or nuisances, but genuine protectors. With the pirates thoroughly humbled, maybe the council would grant Brannis a freer departure. Maybe they'd finally see Stormrún's legacy in a different light.
A wave of murmurs spread among the fishers, voices subdued yet proud. Some whispered about the night's bravado, others fretted that more pirates might return in vengeance. Regardless, a note of cautious optimism filled the air.
As they glided into the main dock, a handful of early risers spotted them. Aila, the midwife, rushed forward, eyes darting to Tima's bruises. "Are you all right? Did…did you drive them off?"
Nallo puffed out his chest, albeit wearily. "They won't be bothering these reefs anytime soon. Had enough of a scuffle to learn that much."
Aila's gaze flicked from one face to the next, relief washing across her features. "Thank the seas." Then, softly, "I'll tell whoever's awake what happened. The rest of the council will stir soon."
Kano smiled in gratitude, though his limbs ached from head to toe. "We'll let them know ourselves soon enough—Brannis's fate depends on it." He paused, swallowing the tang of salt in the back of his throat. One last push.
Hustling away from the pier, Marro and Nallo rounded up a few fishers willing to testify about the night's ambush, while Kano took Tima and Aila aside. "Rest a bit," he insisted to Tima, who still trembled from the confrontation. "You did well—more than we could've asked."
A hum of quiet satisfaction filled the small, ragged group. The tide of the new morning carried promise. If the council recognized their victory, Brannis might stand a better chance of leaving as an acknowledged ally rather than a suspect. And if, by some chance, the council truly listened, perhaps Coral Spit would open its eyes to Stormrún's cause.
But exhaustion quickly reminded Kano that nothing was assured. Valrakan's threat still loomed. Brannis would depart by moonrise. And the name Stormrún—both burden and beacon—pulled at the back of Kano's mind with renewed urgency.
For now, though, they'd won this small battle. As the golden sunlight stretched across Coral Spit, Kano turned toward the town's central square, steeling himself for what was sure to be a day of questions, arguments, and—he hoped—recognition of their worth.