Geran stepped closer to strike again, but Narsk suddenly appeared on the main deck, brandishing a mace with a spiked head. “Damn the lot of you! What is going on here?” the gnoll roared. Geran quickly backed away from his foe.
“The new man shoved me to the deck and cut up Kronn when he stood up for me,” Pareik said quickly. “He would’ve killed Kronn, Captain!”
“Skamang’s man started it!” Hamil retorted. “He knocked Aram’s dinner to the deck, looking for a fight. He’s damned lucky Aram didn’t kill him for it.”
“He’s lying! The halfling’s a liar!” several of Skamang’s supporters shouted. Hamil surged forward to answer them, but Sarth restrained him.
The gnoll captain snarled in anger. He might not have had any reason to care what happened to his new crewmen, but at least he seemed to know Skamang, Kronn, and their gang well enough to guess what had happened. He stalked over to where Kronn crouched groaning on the deck, hands clamped around his midsection. “Who drew the first weapon?” the gnoll demanded.
The ogre looked up at Narsk. “Kronn dint do nuttin’, Cap’n. Th’ new fellah jusd wend mad. He cutted Kronn. Thad’s th’ troot!”
Narsk swore and wheeled back on Geran, his mace clenched in his hairy paw. He loomed over Geran, his canine fangs bared. “And I suppose you’ll tell me you were willing to fight the ogre with your empty hands until he armed himself?”
Geran met his gaze without flinching. “None of this was my idea, Captain. The ogre took the block off the mainmast. I had to defend myself.”
Sorsil cleared her thoat and looked over to the dwarf Murkelmor, who sat on a cask, watching the whole scene. “Did you see what happened, dwarf?” she demanded.
Murkelmor shrugged. “Pareik picked a fight with Aram, and when Aram took him up on it, he had Kronn t’ step in for him. I’m guessing that Kronn’s no’ so happy with the whole business now.” He paused and then added, “Kronn was th’ first to arm himself.”
Narsk turned away, still muttering to himself. Geran watched him carefully, poniard still in his hand, steeling himself in case the gnoll turned back and swung at him. He’d kill Narsk if he had to, and damn the consequences. But the gnoll looked down at Kronn instead. “You’re beaten, you fat oaf. Is this done, or do you and Aram go on until one of you is dead? It seems to me that won’t be Aram.”
“It’s over, Captain,” Skamang said. The Northman gave the ogre a stern look. “Kronn won’t trouble him again.”
“Is that so, Kronn?” Narsk asked.
The ogre looked at Skamang then nodded. “Kronn say it done.”
“Then get up and get someone to stitch you back together,” the gnoll snarled. He looked at the assembled deckhands and waved his hand angrily. “Back to work, all of you!”
Kronn slowly got up, still bleeding profusely. He gave Geran one sullen, hate-filled glare then shuffled back toward Skamang and his gang. Geran watched him just in case he had any thought of a sudden rush and only rejoined Sarth and Hamil when he felt safe in turning his back on his adversary. He handed the poniard back to the halfling. “My thanks,” he said.
Hamil glanced toward the ogre on the other side of the deck. “You’d better keep it. I’ve got a couple of spares.”
Sarth looked closely at Geran. “How badly are you hurt? Do you need help?”
Geran felt his ribs with a wince. “I’m well enough,” he managed. He discovered that he ached all over, in fact-his ribs, his left ankle, his right foot from kicking the ogre’s thick jaw, even his back from being thrown (or throwing himself) on the deck. “If you’re so concerned, next time I’ll allow you to fight the ogre. That seems to be the way it’s done.”
The sorcerer surprised him with a sudden laugh. “I will bear that in mind,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll be troubled for a while. You bested Kronn, and that should earn you no small respect from the rest of the crew.”
“Narsk too,” Hamil said in a low voice. He nodded at the quarterdeck, where the gnoll paced. His red eyes, narrowed with thought, were fixed on Geran. Narsk watched them a moment longer, then he descended from the quarterdeck and ducked into his cabin again.
“He suspects something,” said Sarth.
Geran gazed at the cabin door. He still needed to find out what it was that Kamoth had given Narsk. And they were another day closer to whatever event the pirate lord had in mind. “We can’t do much about it,” he answered. He picked up his dinner tin from the deck, trying not to wince as his injured ribs protested. “Come on-I want to see if Tao Zhe has anything left in the galley, since Pareik and Kronn spoiled my supper.”
ELEVEN
4 Marpenoth, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Geran soon learned how much he’d risen in the estimation of the rest of the crew. Early the next morning, as he once again aided Tao Zhe with the scullery work, Murkelmor wandered over and took a seat on a hatch cover, watching him scrub. The dour dwarf studied him for a long time without speaking, busying himself by scraping out the caked soot from a worn old pipe.
“If you’re interested in the pots, you can find yourself a brush and pitch in,” Geran finally said.
Murkelmor made no move to help him, but gave him a humorless smile. “That was a fine brawl yesterday,” he said. “No one’s ever bested Kronn wi’ nought but bare hands. Never thought I’d see it happen, neither.”
“It might’ve gone the other way if Dagger hadn’t thrown me his knife.”
“Aye, but you held your own until th’ ogre gave your friend a reason to help.” Murkelmor leaned forward. “You’re a stout fighter, no doubt of it, and maybe the other two as well, but three’s not enough to watch each other’s backs. You’ll be needin’ more allies, Aram.”
Geran stopped scrubbing and straightened up. There were three more dwarves on board. Murkelmor and fellows formed a tight, close-mouthed gang, watching out for each other. And he’d seen that several of the human crewmen-mostly Teshans, men and women of the Moonsea lands-stayed close to the dwarves. Murkelmor’s gang numbered eight or nine crewmen, then, and the addition of Geran and his companions would strengthen it significantly. “Allies we’re happy to have,” he said after a moment’s thought. “But we’re not looking for a master. I’m my own man.”
“I hear you,” the dwarf allowed. “I speak for me fist more often than not, but I’m no petty king like Skamang. I’ll not try to tell you what to do. An ally’s good enough for me. Keep an eye out for me lads, and we’ll do the same for you.”
“Done,” Geran told him. He’d have to talk it over with Hamil and Sarth, but Murkelmor was exactly the sort of ally the three of them were looking for. The dwarf nodded in approval and ambled off.
On the evening of the fifth, two days after Geran’s duel with Kronn, Moonshark rowed into the walled harbor of Mulmaster a little before sunset. The reek of scores of forges and foundries hung in the steep streets and clung to the rooftops; like most of the other Moonsea settlements, Mulmaster was a city that thrived on ironwork and the mining of precious metals from the mountains nearby. A different collection of merchant ships rocked softly in the swell, but otherwise little had changed in the harbor since Geran’s previous visit aboard Seadrake.
“Mulmaster again,” Hamil noted as they pulled their oar at a quarter-beat. “Well, now we know that at least one Black Moon ship calls here. One of those fellows we talked to a few days ago lied to us.”
“Possibly,” Geran said. “But it might be true that Kraken Queen herself hasn’t been here. Maybe Kamoth sends other ships to run his errands in the larger ports.”
It came as no surprise to Geran that no alarm attended the arrival of Moonshark in the city’s harbor. A harbormaster approached in a rowboat and hailed the ship as the galley glided into the city’s narrow bay. Narsk remained out of sight, but Sorsil spoke with the man and passed him a small bribe. With that business concluded, the harbormaster directed Moonshark to a vacant spot along the city’s stone quay and departed. Sorsil took the helm herself and steered the corsair ship expertly to the quay, where the deckhands made her fast to the pier with four heavy lines.