The blonde boy only laughed. “You? Come to stop me? I could take you with my eyes closed.”
Lorcan bristled, tightening his grip on the bottom of the rope. He’d never climbed anything before, and he’d certainly never fought another person in anything but a practice battle. And he had always lost. But this was a chance to finally make a name for himself. Valdemar would surely be proud.
As the boy turned away without so much as a backward glance, Lorcan made his move. With one hand in front of the other, he slowly began climbing the rope. Like all the other boats moored at the docks, this specimen was an example of the best marine welding Melbourne had ever seen. Simultaneously delicate and sturdy, the boat possessed the perfect pointed angle for cutting through the waves at breakneck speeds. He could see why the vikings took such great pride in their fleet.
With the churning waves pumping adrenaline through his veins, Lorcan finally stepped onto the boat. He glanced at his hands, which were rubbed red and raw, but he barely felt the sting of the pain. He knelt down, and in one fluid motion, flicked the boat latch to lock it into place. Then he turned his attention to the boy in front of him. It was a testament to how little others thought of Lorcan that he was able to advance on the boy so quickly and easily. The boy didn’t so much as turn around before Lorcan had him in a headlock, looping one arm tightly around his neck and the other wound around his torso to stop his arms from getting out. Lorcan may have been a weak strategist, but you couldn’t grow up in a town of foot soldiers without learning a thing or two from street fights.
The boy struggled against Lorcan’s grip, but just as they were about to fling each other to the ground and roll around on the hull, a furious shout sounded from the shoreline.