With a shriek, the man toppled into the sea and vanished from sight.
Three yards—two yards—
“Ship oars!” Bowspear shouted.
A cheer went up among his men as they pulled their oars from the water. Half a dozen Grabentod Raiders ran forward to take Bowspear’s grappling line, and others arrived with more hooks, casting them up to the Truda Fey. Heaving, in seconds they had the two ships touching, and then they began lashing them together. Now, Bowspear thought, there could be no escape for the merchant ship.
Drawing his short sword, he grasped it between his teeth and pulled himself up the Truda Fey’s gunwale. He met no resistance when he swung himself over the railing; the poop deck held only the captain’s corpse. He saw no sign of the merchant or any of the ship’s other officers. Probably cowering in the hold with their trade goods, he thought with disgust.
He strode to the forward railing and gazed down at the main deck ten feet below. Twenty or so men, mostly common sailors, gazed sullenly up at him. No profits for them this trip.
“Who is in charge here?” Bowspear called.
A dark-haired man in his late twenties stepped forward. He wore a white shirt, green silken vest, dark pantaloons that puffed out at the knees, and a deep red velvet cap with a long red plume. This had to be the merchant, Bowspear thought with contempt.
“I am Edom, merchant of the House of Krael,” the man announced, smoldering hatred in his eyes. “This is my ship, sir.”
Bowspear bowed slightly to him. “An honor, Merchant,” he said mockingly. “I am Parniel Bowspear, a privateer of no small consequence in this part of the world.”
“Sir,” Edom said stiffly. Bowspear could tell it hurt him to address one whom he considered a common thief and pirate so politely. “What is your price?”
“Price? You dare speak of price like some passing caravan paying a border toll? You are mine, Edom, you and your ship and your crew. Mine. Do not forget that.”
Edom paled. He clearly wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a manner. Müden’s merchants had become much too full of themselves of late. Perhaps lessons such as this would help teach them their place in the world.
Müden had lost most of its true nobility in rebellion against Anuirean rule, and in this vacuum, traders and merchants had risen to great power. They prized nothing above money—neither rank nor title nor bloodline. Anyone with sufficient funds could buy the title of merchant, and all of Müden would bow before him. Having bought a title meant little to Bowspear. Now, an earned title, such as privateer, that was a different matter.
“But surely we can reach some arrangement?” Edom said with a trace of a whine. “I have silks and spices aplenty aboard—more than enough to assuage your greed, great pirate. I ask only that you leave enough to pay for my voyage and my expenses!”
Bowspear glanced over his shoulder at all his men. Most of them had climbed aboard the Truda Fey while he spoke to Merchant Edom.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Shall we leave this fat merchant half his goods?”
They all laughed uproariously at the joke.
Bowspear turned back to Edom and gave a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry, Merchant. My men insist—it’s been a bad season, and we’re trying to raise a ransom for our king, you know.” He gave Edom a wicked grin.
Edom began to tremble with rage, but made no reply.
“I think,” said a high, reedy voice, “that half the cargo will be sufficient for your purposes.”
Bowspear searched the deck. Who had spoken? He’d hang the fellow up by his thumbs and make an example of him—
Then he spotted a man in dark green robes standing off to one side, watching the scene with interest. He had a long black beard that reached nearly to his belly, a large hooked nose, and piercing blue eyes. Something about those eyes disturbed Bowspear—they seemed to see right into his soul.
“Half,” the man in the dark green robes repeated, making a curious motion with one hand, “and no more.”
Bowspear grew dizzy. He had to clutch the rail to keep from falling. “Half,” he heard himself murmur. Suddenly that seemed like all he needed. He began to nod. “Take half,” he said to his men, “and no more. Divide everything in the holds equally.”
“Sir,” Bruchen said, sounding puzzled, “why take half when we can have it all?”
“Obey my orders!” Bowspear roared, turning on him, fist upraised to strike. He would not tolerate arguments from his men. He’d given his orders; they would obey, or he’d slit their throats himself!
Bruchen did not flinch, and Bowspear gave him credit for that. Any other man on the longboat would have. He knew they feared him, and rightfully so.
“Aye, sir,” Bruchen said. He gave the order, and most of Bowspear’s men headed for the cargo holds.
“Get my bags, too,” the man in the green robes said. “I would like to see your pirate kingdom, Parniel Bowspear. You will bring me ashore.”
“Get his bags,” Bowspear heard himself saying. He wondered at the words—it seemed so unlike him, even to himself. “Snap to it!”
Two
Ythril Candabraxis pulled up the hem of his robes and allowed Parniel Bowspear to take his elbow and help him down the gangplank to the longboat.
The spell of charming seemed to be holding remarkably well, considering the inner turmoil the mage now sensed in Bowspear. The pirate captain apparently carried traces of an old and powerful bloodline, and so could fight against the spell on some inner level. Lesser men would merely have surrendered their wills completely.
Candabraxis could barely believe what he’d just done. Was he mad, getting off in Grabentod? A week before, he had booked passage on the Truda Fey in Velenoye, a small holding on the northeastern coast of Cerilia, and his destination had originally been Müden. Following the end of his journeyman’s contract, he had decided to see the world and set about making his name and fortune. He’d thought Müden, with its rich merchants, would be a good place to look for a patron, but as they’d sailed past Grabentod’s rocky shores, he’d found himself staring inland more and more. Some inner sense spoke to him about this place. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he felt some flicker of recognition, a sense of déjà vu, and he had slowly come to realize that his destiny might, in fact, lie here.
The strange calm that left them all but stranded off Grabentod’s coast for the previous day merely added to his convictions. It had happened too conveniently. His old master had taught him that nothing in this world happened by accident, so after a long chase through the fog, when the pirates had finally taken the ship, he had decided to follow his impulses and accompany the pirates back to Grabentod. Perhaps, he thought, he would discover more about this kingdom and how it came to be so … familiar to him.
Bowspear personally carried the mage’s bags to the low cabin in the stern of the longboat. Candabraxis thought he might have overdone things a bit when he noticed how the other pirates stared and muttered among themselves. Still, they seemed to fear their captain, for none of them spoke openly of his odd behavior. Besides, the spell lasted only a day; he’d be back to his old gruff self tomorrow.
“Thank you,” he said as the pirate set his bags by the door. He turned up the wick of the oil lantern. A clear yellow light filled the cabin, revealing a single bunk, a chart table, and a rack of three swords by the door. Austere at best, he decided, much like the quarters of a wizard’s journeyman. He smiled. Yes, he thought, this cabin would do quite well until they made it back to port.