They surged across the deck in a vicious wave, slicing out at the enemy ahead of them. Men cried out as they fought, but to Joe, it felt as if their sounds were lost in the general tummult.
The air was heavy with the smell of smoke, with tendrils of burning sail cloth raining down on the fighters below. The shouts and screams of both sides, combined with the clash of steel on steel; it was so loud, Joe's ears were ringing.
Joe didn't dwell on who he was killing. Despite his earlier worries and guilt, he found it was almost too easy to simply let his instincts take over.
He ducked, feeling the air where his head had been stir with the force of a blow that threatened to take his head off had it landed. Yet the swing had been so wild, the man had left himself wide open. Joe did not hesitate to take the opportunity, slamming his sword deep into the man's gut. His mouth opening wide in wordless shock, the man sank to his knees. Planting his foot onto the man's stomach, Joe gave a heave and tore his blade back out, letting the man's body slump to the deck.
With the elves fighting alongside them, the tide of the battle turned to their favour. With the officers dead, the enemy soldiers surrendered, their weapons dropping to the deck.
"Check the hold." Shankland growled. "Dig the bastards out."
His feet slipping in the blood, Joe followed him, through the door and down the steep wooden steps to the hold. Most of the crew had been on deck for the battle, but they found a few men scattered here and there and they were dispatched without trouble.
Rounding the corner, Joe found himself heading down yet another steep set of steps, ending up deep in the bowels of the ship. As Shankland flung open the sturdy oak door, Joe was hit with a stench so foul, he almost lost his breakfast right then and there.
The oarsmen sat at their benches, staring up at them with hollow, hopeless eyes. They were pitifully thin, shackled hand and foot to their oars. Where the two ships had clashed, the oars had splintered and one man sat slumped, bleeding heavily and Joe realised with a jolt that he was still chained to the oar that had impaled him.
"Sirs, I surrender." The guard raised his hands, dropping his sword. Joe could see the whip tucked into his belt and once more, he felt sick to his stomach. Without hesitation, he cut the man down.
Joe grabbed the keys from the guard's belt and began to unlock their chains, but the ship was taking on water at an alarming rate.
"Come on." He muttered urgently, talking more to himself than anyone else. As he worked on the last row, he had to reach beneath the water level to release them.