Davian threw himself against the door to help the chair, its frame already creaking. Luckily the shipwright had granted boat thick doors, but it wouldn't last forever. Davian was not a weak man, but he was leaner of frame than the burly sailors, and the only thing saving the chair and he was the fact only so many of them could pummel the door at once. 

"These light blinded fools are going to try and kill us, I think." Davian remarked, more to himself than to the Aes Sedai. Zoya took another swill of her drink, and placed the skin back in her knapsack. She seemed deep in thought, and the dull sound of waves crashing against the ship was like a mirror to the men thrusting against the door. 

"The wheel weaves as the wheel wills," She said imperiously, trying to remain calm. Davian was about to ask if she had gone crazy, but it dawned on him she was doing her best to remain calm as well. He was not ready for her second remark, though she muttered it under her breath. "I just wish the wheel had granted me a more diplomatic companion." Her tone grated on him, feeling underappreciated as the wood of the door bounced against his head from every shove and punch. 

"Why are the pretty women always the most stuck-up!?" He remarked, and later he would marvel that he dare say that about an Aes Sedai of all people, and even Zoya seemed shocked. But at the moment he was out of patience and options. "Get your things, we're getting off this ship." 

"Getting off?" She echoed incredulously, but when she saw his face, she knew he was about to pull something. She hastily grabbed her bag and tossed it over her shoulder, using one hand to tie her hair behind her to keep it out of her eyes. Davian saw her give a nod, as if she were a queen acquiescing to a request, and he let go of the door, hastily grabbing his things and strapping on his sword belt, before unsheathing his blade. The next two blows from outside snapped the chair, and after another strike, and a call for their blood, Davian suddenly opened the door for them. 

Three sailors toppled in, their rage overcome by confusion for a moment. Davian kicked them in the head like he was striking a rabid dog, breaking noses and cheek bones, and like a whirl his sword was out, poking the handful of men that had just then decided to rush in. His sidesword drew blood with every cut and thrust, but he did his best not to kill anyone, or cause serious injury. Davian's swordwork was like watching a dancer and a surgeon all at once, precise and graceful. Before a handful of heartbeats were up, the men fell back, bloody and wounded, and Davian pulled Zoya forward by the hand, stepping over the fallen bodies into the corridor. Men scrambled away, and others lay moaning. 

His blood up, the thief-taker hurried them to the stairs, where another sailor was coming down, likely to check on the noise. He was bigger than the rest, but before he could speak, he was blown out of the doorway by an unseen force. Davian only spared a glance at Zoya, before stepping out into the sun. The deck was relatively deserted, save three men maintaining the rigging, and Gil's burnt corpse. Where the captain was, Davian did not know. Likely below decks deciding what to do with them, not yet realizing they had already broken out. 

"The longboats!" Davian told her, rushing to the aft and finding two of them, oars inside and held up by a myriad of ropes, causing them to swing lazily as the waves bucked beneath them. Davian cut two lines with three passes of his sword, and one of the longboats toppled into the sea, the ubiquitously placed ropes loudly zipping past and slapping into one another until they fell into the ocean with a small slap. 

"Can you do what you did when we leaped out of the keep into the stables?" He asked her, and when she nodded he picked her up in his arms and leaped. It was clear she was entirely surprised at him doing so, but he found them slowing after a dozen feet, landing roughly into the longboat, his rump sore from the fall, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He glanced up, and found no immediate pursuit, but they would come to the side soon and likely throw or shoot whatever they had at them. He grabbed the oars and slunk them into the water, shoving against the aft of the ship so they drifted, before he began paddling.