“Master Khefen said he wasn’t feeling well,” Geran stammered. “The night was quiet enough, so I just kept on as he told me.”
Sorsil looked at the lodestone in front of the helm and then glanced up at the sky. The night had cleared a bit, and a few stars were shining through the overcast. “Bloody hell, we’re sailing due north! And who put on the extra sail? How long have we been going like this?”
“Only half an hour or so,” Geran said. “It was the last thing Khefen told us to do before he … fell ill.”
Sorsil was livid. The first mate kicked Khefen’s unresponsive body again, and Geran winced. The last thing he needed now was for the second mate to wake up. But evidently he’d sapped the man harder than he thought, for Khefen still didn’t rouse. The first mate rounded on Geran again. “Half an hour, you say? You didn’t think to send the rover to tell me that he was gods-damned unconscious? How much longer were you going to go on without letting anyone know that you were the only man on the quarterdeck?”
Sorry, Geran, I didn’t see her come up on deck! Hamil’s silent voice cut into Geran’s thoughts. A moment later the halfling hurried up the ladder from the maindeck. “Is all well?” he asked aloud.
“Ask your friend here,” Sorsil snapped. The first mate looked one more time at Khefen and then scowled at both Geran and Hamil. “Bring the ship back to west by northwest, damn you,” she finally said. “And you there, Dagger, you go below and rouse the whole watch. We’re going to take in sail like the captain wanted, and then you’re going to explain what in the Nine Hells is going on here.”
Distract her, Geran, Hamil told him. We can’t afford a scene.
Geran grimaced. He knew he wouldn’t like what came next, but he couldn’t see any way around it, not if he still hoped to spare Hulburg the brunt of the Black Moon raid. He looked at Sorsil and said, quite deliberately, “I’ve had enough from you, Sorsil. I think the sails are fine as they are. Take them in yourself if you don’t like the way they’re set.”
The first mate paled in rage. “You think-?” she snarled. She reached for the truncheon at her waist. And at that moment Hamil glided up behind her, reached up to clap a hand over her mouth, and sank his poniard into the first mate’s back. Sorsil staggered forward two steps; Geran caught her and wrestled her over to the rail. They struggled for a moment, but the first mate’s strength was already failing. With one final effort Geran toppled her over the side with a splash, although Hamil had to catch the swordmage by the belt buckle to keep him from going in after her.
I doubt that Daried Selsherryn would have approved of that, he thought grimly. It was murder, pure and simple, and Geran was none too proud of it. But Sorsil had killed more than a few of Moonshark’s victims with her own steel, or so he’d heard from Tao Zhe and others aboard. And scores, perhaps hundreds, of Hulburgan lives were at risk if he failed to warn the harmach of the pirate plan. He looked over to Hamil and nodded his thanks. “I think we’re out of time.”
“Agreed,” the halfling said. “How far to Hulburg, do you think?”
“It might be fifteen miles, it might be thirty.” That would be a brutal distance if they had to row it, but the longboat had a small mast that could be stepped into place with just a few minutes’ work. Geran hoped to sail to Hulburg, not row.
“They’ll come after us once they find us gone,” Hamil pointed out.
“I know.” Geran thought for a moment, considering how best to sabotage the ship. Unfortunately there was nothing nearby to run her aground on, so he decided to disable the rudder. He kneeled, slashed the ship’s rudder cables with his poniard, and began to haul up the loose cabling. Rigging a new rudder cable ought to occupy Moonshark for a couple of hours at least, and by the time they were ready to pursue Geran and his companions, they’d have long since disappeared. “Go on back and get the longboat ready to launch-quietly!”
Hamil grinned at him. “Maybe this will work after all.” He dashed forward to the main deck, while Geran yanked length after length of the rudder cable up from below. Without her rudder, Moonshark’s bow began to fall off downwind, and she rocked a little as she passed through the swell.
Geran got the last of the rudder cabling that he could reach, picked up the tarry mess, and dropped it over the side. He brushed off his hands, hurried down the ladder to the main deck, and headed forward to help Hamil and Sarth wrestle the longboat over the side. This was by far the trickiest part of the whole business; lowering the longboat was a six-man job, not a three-man job, and it was nearly impossible to do it quietly. With sheer brute force they managed to lift it out of its cradle and stagger over to the rail, but not before the boat’s gunwales thumped the deck a couple of times. Geran winced, but they were getting close to the moment when speed would count more than stealth.
At the aft end of the main deck, the door to the captain’s cabin opened, and Narsk stepped out. The gnoll took in the scene at a glance, catching Geran and his friends with the longboat half in its davit. “What is this?” he snarled. Then he leaped over to the ship’s bell and began to strike it vigorously. “All hands on deck, now!” he shouted. “Trrreachery! All hands on deck!”
Despair paralyzed Geran for five heartbeats. “So close,” he muttered. The first pale glimmers of dawn were beginning to streak the sky to the east. In a matter of moments, the deck would be full of enemies. They wouldn’t live long enough to get the longboat in the water. He could see only one slender chance-to kill Narsk quickly and hope to cow or contain the rest of the crew long enough to make their escape.
Before he could second-guess himself, he dropped his end of the longboat. Moonshark rolled heavily under Geran’s feet, running clumsily before the wind with her helm spinning freely on the quarterdeck. “Guard my back!” he hissed to Sarth and Hamil. Then he drew the cutlass hidden under his cloak and charged across the deck at the pirate ship’s captain.
FOURTEEN
7 Marpenoth, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
You!” Narsk snarled. “It was you in my cabin in Mulmaster! I know your scent now, human!” The gnoll greeted Geran’s attack with a snarl of pure rage. He yanked out the mace he carried at his belt and drew a long, curved knife to meet the swordmage. Leaping aside from Geran’s first thrust, Narsk answered with a furious onslaught of whistling mace swings, using his long knife to protect himself when the mace’s weight left him out of balance and exposed.
Geran didn’t answer. He leaned away from the mace, parried a knife slash at his belly, and ducked low to cut Narsk’s legs out from under him. But the gnoll leaped over his slash with surprising agility. Narsk threw himself closer after Geran’s sword passed, and lunged for the swordmage’s neck with a snap of his powerful jaws. The swordmage fell back again and survived a knife thrust at his right side only because his spellwards deflected the blade. The tip of the blade gouged a bloody gash against his ribs, but it didn’t sink more than an inch or so into his flesh. The stab still knocked the breath out of him and left him with warm blood trickling down his side, the wound throbbing in pain.
I need to end this quickly, he realized. Otherwise there would be no hope of escaping Moonshark.
With the instant, diamond-sharp focus he’d learned in Myth Drannor, Geran invoked a sword spell even as his steel flew to meet Narsk’s attack. “Arvan sannoghan!” he cried, and the pirate cutlass in his hand blazed with blue flames. Narsk swore and recoiled, but not before Geran slashed his knife out of his left hand, leaving the gnoll’s fur smoking.
Narsk snarled in pain. “Foul sorcery!” he shouted. “Kill him! Kill him now!”