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"Aye" said Raff, turning to his remaining gun crews that had boarded with James "You heard him boys, toss any surviving wharf rat aboard the Fledgling with ropes around his hands and make ready to sink this tub." Raff leaped over to the Portuguese vessel and nearly slipped in the blood. A good number of his gunners lay dead on the deck. "And lets move our mates to get a proper grave" he call, "Not let them rest with dogs. Help with the bodies Caesar, we can handle the sinking."

The gunner quickly rounded up any breathing Portuguese sailor and bound their hands. They tossed them over to the Fledgling's deck and gently carried their dead mates over, laying them in a straight row. After taking half the powder stores and weapons over to the Fledgling, Raff and his crew turned the Portuguese ship away from the Fledgling and sailed into the middle of the lake. As they removed the powder and weapons, they found Esath and escorted him back too.

Raff pilled all the powder barrels in the belly of the ship and make a thick line of loose powder to the top deck. "Everyone off!" hollered Raff, pulling a lit slow match from behind his ear (the burning end was hanging just above his shoulder). The gun crews climbed down into a boat brought to the ship from the shore. Once everyone but Raff was aboard, the boat pulled away and head for shore. Raff himself touched the burning slow match to the powder and waited. When the flame had reached three quarters of the way by his calculations, Raff leaped overboard. As he hit the water, the powder exploded with the roar of a thousand cannons firing.

The middle Portuguese ship buckled up, as flames and smoke billowed from every port and hatch. The hull then collapsed downward and the Portuguese ship broke in half. The two halves sank quickly as Raff surfaced and started swimming towards the shore.

Sand. It was such an under appreciated thing, tossed about on beaches and islands as though it were worthless. But for the second time in her life, Richelle Oaken realized just how wonderful sand was. It was pressed into her face and clinging to her wet clothes, and she had never been so enamored with pieces of scenery. Last time, it had been the result of a hurricane. This time, it had been a large Portuguese pirate that had caused her to enjoy the feeling of sand smothering her and covering her hair. Her lower half was still hanging in the water, but she managed to crawl up to a point where she didn't have to struggle (except, of course, against the wonderful sand) for air.

It had been a difficult thing. She had felt herself tossed through the air, splash into the water, and she was instantly surrounded by unmoving sailors that had also been sent in. She was trapped in the cold waters, thrashing and splashing as best she could and getting no where. Between the two ships and the blanket of death, it seemed very likely that she was simply going to drown in the bloody water. But she had been filled with urgency, and a general need to see James' face again. So she had kicked and struggled and finally made her way to the surface again. She was far away from the two ships when she resurfaced, and completely out of breath. Somehow, she swam to the shore.

For some time, she simply lay there and gasped and worshiped the sand. Slowly, one of her hands lifted to check for the sack that contained the key to the Fledgling's escape from the Cities of Gold. She nearly sobbed with relief as she found it still safe. And as she Fledgling's crew was burying its dead, she slowly pulled herself from the waves and into a slumped position on the sand. She couldn't hear any fighting, and she couldn't see any sign of her friends. But she did recognize a few of the far off buildings...she was near the city that they had been pillaging. Once she had caught her breath, she pushed herself off of the glorious sand and to her tired feet. She had apparently swum quite a distance, and she was exhausted...but she had to get back to the others.

She started to walk towards the ship (or at least where she thought the ship was), but suddenly stop, turning her bleary eyes towards the temple that James had originally tried to lead her to. The charm needed to be set into place, and until it was they couldn't leave. She had the charm, and the day was dying. So, drawing up every bit of her willpower, she turned and made her way to the temple.

.........

The battle was over, the dead were nearly all buried, and the crew of the Fledgling was far less than it had been when it had left its last port. But as the sun drifted down below the line of golden buildings, a green eyed woman slowly made her way out of the line of trees. She was gasping for breath, clutching at her side and partially covered in sand. Her eyes were half closed and she looked ready to sleep where she staggered. But she approached the grave diggers with great determination, finally dropping to her knees next to one of the as of yet filled holes. "Wh...where is..James?"

Raff swam through the wreckage and floating bodies. When ever he found a face he knew, Raff grabbed a sleeve or a pant leg with his right hand and pulled them behind him. luckily he only found three messmates. He slowly brought them to the beach and pulled what had been men and friends from the surf. As Raff carried the first man to a grave, Richelle emerged from the trees.

"Wh...where is..James?"

"I'll get ye to him" said Raff, looking up. He walked forward and picked up the half dead Richelle. His own legs and arms felt heavy. Seeing so many shipmates dead weighted heavily on Raff's heart. He stumbled towards the gangplank. "James" he hollered, "I found something ye lost!"

Richelle flopped her head against her Irish friend's shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. She could assume that James was alive, else Raff would have told her otherwise. This was all she needed to hear, and if Raff hadn't been holding her up...she likely would have simply collapsed onto the beach. As it was, she felt her muscles and her mind relax into a sort of deep sleep. James was well...or at least well enough for Raff to be calling out to him, and that was more than enough to leave her content.

"James" called Raff again, "Over here James. I found Richelle!" He set off in a staggered pace as James, carrying Richelle in his arms. His bare feet sunk into the white sand, damp and dyed pink from blood. The bodies of the dead sailors tumbled in the surf and appeared to be frolicking with one another in the waves.

"She has no wounds that I can tell" said Raff, letting James hold Richelle and plopping down on the sand, "And was breathing." He sat in silence and stared out over the lake, tired from the fighting and bring his dead shipmate to their graves. The sounds of battle had been replaced by some bird calls and a few brave gulls come to feast on the bodies.

Deep in the recesses of her mind, Richelle felt a tug from her grasping rest. She heard her favorite sound in the entire world, better than the clink of gold coins or the sweetest of music. A deep voice, one that she simply adored, and made all the better by speaking her name. She felt something brushing against her face...and slowly, very slowly, her eyes fluttered open. The world was a blur, but it finally came back into focus. And there, above her, was her favorite face. Her mouth pulled into a tired smile, and she lifted one hand to gently touch James' cheek. She whispered his name, her voice soft and just as tired as her eyes.

"James...praise the Laird...I thought ye might've..." She closed her eyes once more, reopening them after a moment. She smiled and wrapped her weak arms around his shoulders, emitting a soft sigh. "Praise the good Laird..."

But after a moment, she pulled back, tired eyes full of concern. She saw the blood on his front, and her eyes welled up with tears. "James...ye've...ye be bleedin'..."