Corsair (35 page)

He went to the window, looked out at the tropic night. The pair of guards below, outside the building he’d commandeered, paced their rounds in a somewhat military manner, almost as if they were soldiers instead of discipline-be-damned pirates.

Gareth’s first fret was that the Linyati ships were at least two weeks late, by his reckoning from the previous year.

Beyond the city, gentle, phosphorescent waves touched the beach. The pirates’ ships were anchored around the bay, most with no more than a skeleton crew aboard.

In the distance, atop the promontories, the lights of the forts winked. Those were fully manned and would give the signal when the Slavers hove into view, more than enough time for the pirates to be roused and man their ships.

One of the forts blinked a signal, echoed a moment later by the second. Purely routine.

Fret two was that Labala had come to him three days ago and said he’d begun dreaming of sharks once more.

He’d set Dafflemere and Labala trying to discover if enemies were close, or if someone was casting a spell against the expedition, but they found nothing.

Dafflemere had returned to his favorite pastime — sitting with a glass of watered Axkiller, staring at the high-piled riches of the Linyati, and drawing, endlessly, on a map of Saros’s north, just what estates he planned to purchase when they returned.

Labala’s self-chosen post was at the infirmary.

That was fret number three.

Labala and Cosyra, who’d become his tutor in reading, had discovered why Noorat was so thinly populated. Just beyond the city were row after row of graves, first uncovered by the burial squads dragging dead Linyati and Runners to a common grave. The Slavers gave no more ceremony to their dead than the pirates, their graves being no more than long ditches.

Gareth had been about to disinter some of them, trying to decide what poor sinners would be put on that detail, but Dafflemere said magic would do a better, less smelly job of finding the cause of the deaths.

By the time his incantations worked, Gareth already knew what had killed the Slavers, for it was sweeping his own ranks:

Fever. Half a dozen men reported swimmy heads, vomiting, and bloody discharges. Three of them died, and a dozen more were down.

The sickness swept through the pirates’ ranks, killing thirty. Dafflemere said the flux was the same that had killed the evidently more susceptible Linyati.

Then it was gone. For the moment. Gareth dreaded the thought that it might return just as the treasure ships arrived.

Gareth growled at himself. Brooding, even though this always seemed to come to him before action, was no way to make himself sleepy.

He lay back down and thought in another direction, of the vast wealth that was — he hoped — pushing through the green waters toward Noorat.

That led him to plan, once more, his tactics. Should he have his ships waiting, cloaked by magic, in a bight of the bay? Or should he be more subtle and, if there was sufficient warning, have his fleet slip out to sea, and, after the treasure ships sailed into the bay, have them sail back to put the cork in the bottle?

Or was that too complicated, too likely to be spotted?

Better the ships should enter, or at least close to within range of the forts’ great guns. Then, once a few of them had been hit, or, better, once they’d all entered the bay and were trapped, then he could …

Gareth forced his mind away, but sleep was still distant.

He tried thinking of distant things, of Ticao, of Newgrange, of the manor house with Cosyra and the downs sweeping to the sea, the village below. But that didn’t bring sleep either.

Very well, he decided. I’ll put my thoughts far away, across the isthmus, into the unknown seas. Labala had worked a language spell with the white slaves, discovered they came from lands far east, beyond Kashi/Linyati, where there was a vast sea with islands great and small. One of the ex-slaves said he’d seen slaves brought to his land by the Linyati, who spoke a strange language like Gareth’s. Those women and children were highly thought of by his people for their handsome features, intelligence, and sophistication often beyond their masters.

Gareth thought of exploring these distant seas, looking for Sarosians to free. His mind chuckled, and asked if he wasn’t also thinking about the possibilities of loot and gold. He tried to curse himself for having become too much the pirate, then, considering these distant lands were in league with the Linyati, smiled, refusing to accept the sin. But, once again, sleep had eluded him.

He got up for a glass of chilled, limed water from the pitcher on the window table, was pouring, staring idly out to sea, and saw a new phosphorescence in the waters dancing toward the city.

Gareth smiled, remembering a Festival of Lights in Ticao, just after he’d come to the city, and how the watermen had paraded the river, boats alight with torches. Children had launched paper boats, with candles and wishes scribbled on bits of paper, into the torrent in imitation.

Then he jolted fully alert.

The lights in the bay weren’t phosphorescent, but something else.

He grabbed the telescope on the table.

Sailing into the bay were a hundred tiny boats, each with torches flaming fore and aft.

One was sailing close to an anchored ship, and Gareth saw the watch aboard trying to fend it off. But the boat touched the ship, and exploded in a blast of flame.

Fireships, sent by Linyati magic!

Another ship roared into ruin, and then a third.

Somehow the Linyati had discovered Gareth’s trap, used magic to keep from being discovered as they closed, and now were sending in these boats to destroy their enemy.

He swore he’d never do anything other than run the next time Labala dreamt of sharks.

Others in the city had seen the fires and improvised alarms; pots and muskets were sounding as Gareth’s men came alert, stumbling out of their quarters, weapons in hand.

“What … whazzat …” a sleepy Cosyra managed, sitting up.

“Get dressed and arm yourself,” Gareth said, pulling his clothes on, grabbing his weapons belt. “The Slavers have stolen a march on us!” He went to the window, called to the watch below: “Get Dafflemere and Labala to me!”

• • •

The soldiers ashore were assembling near Noorat’s sea gate.

The seamen ran for the boats beached along the strand and pulled for their ships. All too often those had already gouted into flames, bringing near daylight to the bay.

Gareth paced with his officers, trying to decide what to do next.

“I can’t say why,” Dafflemere told him, “but we missed them. I thought I had wards out in all directions … plus my ocean creatures, sufficient for at least two or three days’ warning. But …” his voice trailed off helplessly.

Gareth, trying not to show anger, looked to Labala, who shook his head, having no answers, and looked away.

“So we let them trap us again,” he said grimly. “The question now is how do we get out of it. I count no more than half a dozen of our ships still intact.

“I assume the Linyati wizards used sorcery to prepare, conceal, and then guide those fireboats to their targets.”

“Likely,” Dafflemere said, staring out at the bay. “So somehow they scented us, and no doubt, the treasure fleet is now holed up in some Kashi port, or else bypassed Noorat for Batan or a Linyati port.

“My riches, my estate,” he mourned. “All gone.”

“Screw your estate,” Cosyra said. “The question as I see it is what comes next for us?”

“Hopefully the forts will be strong enough to hold the Slavers outside the bay, maybe even destroy some of them if they try to force a passage,” Gareth said. “Then we’ll have to wait them out, until winter storms drive them off, or until they run out of provisions. That’s completely passive, but I don’t see anything better at the moment.”

“And then,” Knoll N’b’ry said, “the only problem we’ll have is fitting all of us into howsomemany ships are left, and then skulking back to Saros with our heads between our legs to face the king.”

“As long as they’re still connected to our necks, we’ll figure a way to take care of him,” Thom Tehidy said. “Right now, all I care about is trying to get a boat to take me to the
Steadfast,
which I pray is still afloat. That damned Nomios put out before I could get to him.”

“Aye,” Gareth said. “We can worry about what happens in Saros when … if we reach it.

“Look,” he said suddenly. “Signal lights from the western fort.”

N’b’ry had his eyes shaded reading the flashes.

“Linyati … attacking. Will fire as they close …
Shitfire!
”

A great flash lit the bay, momentarily blinding Gareth. A huge blastwave swept down from the promontory and across the bay. When the afterflare let him see again, he made out a black, fiery cloud where the western fort had been.

“Godsdammit,” Dafflemere said. “They used some kind of magic to set off the magazine up there … either that, or else they managed to get inside the fort and — ”

Again, all of them ducked reflexively as another explosion rocked them.

“Both forts,” Cosyra said grimly. “Now we’re naked.”

Gareth shouted for the ranking infantry officers.

“We’ll move those little cannon to the waterfront,” he decided. “Bring whatever ships are still afloat back toward the city. The Slavers will have to make a frontal attack on the city, as we had to do, since the land outside won’t permit anything else, and we’ll drive them off then.”

“I’ll start building spells,” Labala said.

“No,” Dafflemere said. “I doubt if your plan will work, Gareth. If they’ve powers enough to see us, and determine how we deployed our forces, don’t you think they’ll have had brains enough to bring enough of their damned soldiers to overwhelm us? I doubt we’ll be able to stand against the numbers they’ll land.

“The only chance is to flee. Maybe take that land passage, those paths through the swamp to solid land, then turn east. Maybe you can lose them in the jungles, and find some Linyati town to steal some ships to get home.”

Gareth gnawed at a lip.

“You’re right.” He thought, had an idea.

He saw a couple of the Kashi ex-slaves in the soldiers’ ranks, called them to him, asked hurried questions in their language, thanked and dismissed them, and turned back to the others.

“All right,” he said. “A better idea. Maybe. No one has any idea what lies east of here, in Kashi, and I’d as soon not face any more Slavers for a time. But some of these men of Kashi know the isthmus, and what lies west. They’ll be our guides.

“We’ll leave Noorat and go west into Kashi, looking for ships that we can buy or steal. The damned Slavers won’t follow us there.”

Someone shouted there were boats coming back, and from out of the night, a scatter of ships’ boats came. Some held two or three men, some were packed. All the men were filthy, smoke-blackened, exhausted, defeated.

Gareth saw Nomios being helped out of one boat by men he recognized, and felt his guts clench, knowing the
Steadfast
was no more.

Froln came out of another boat, with the crew of the
Seawrack,
and stumbled to Gareth.

“We tried, godsdammit,” he said, wiping tears away with a torn sleeve. His face was seared raw. “Godsdammit, we tried,” he said again. “But their damn’ fire had magic behind it, and you’d sand it out one place, and it’d spring up in another.”

“Never mind,” Gareth said. “You’re alive, and there’s always other ships.”

Froln managed a twisted grin.

“Aye, sir. Thanks.”

“Put signals out,” Gareth ordered. “Take Nomios with you. I want all men off the ships, with whatever gear they can carry for a long march, and the ships’ magazines set with slow matches.”

“Sir.” Froln started away. “Damn, but I hate being beat by those friggin’ monsters!” Then he was gone.

Gareth turned to N’b’ry.

“I want you … and Cosyra … to take charge of the march. Keep west until you can find a town worth taking that’s got ships or seaworthy boats. Or even a shipyard.”

“And where do you plan on being?” Cosyra demanded.

“Someone will have to hold them here long enough for you to make a clean escape,” Gareth said.

“That will be my job,” Dafflemere said. “Mine and my friends.”

“We … they’ll need all the magic they can on the march,” Gareth said. “No.”

“Sorry,” Dafflemere said. “I failed twice now. At least I can succeed at this. I’m staying.”

“I’ll stand with you,” N’b’ry said firmly.

“That’s my task,” Gareth said. “I’m the one they elected captain.”

“Just damned so,” N’b’ry said. “There’s going to be many a league of trouble before anyone sees Saros. Use common sense, Gareth! Where do you think you’ll be of most use? Any fool can stand behind a line of cannon and die nobly. Not that I have any intention of hanging about for the Linyati to have their fun with.”

“He’s right,” Cosyra said. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and wanting to play martyr.”

Gareth flushed, realized they were telling the truth.

“There,” Tehidy said. “Now we’ve got some sense wrung into you. Now, let’s get ourselves ready to” — and he winced — “hike for a few lifetimes or so, with happy, happy smiles on our faces.”

• • •

It was an hour before dawn. The Linyati ships had made no attempt to enter the bay.

The Slavers’ field pieces had been muscled outside the walls and loaded. Labala had cast a spell on them and given a catchword to N’b’ry so they could be fired all at once on a command with a talisman.

The soldiers and surviving sailors, about three hundred fifty strong, were drawn up and ready to march. Rations and durable clothing had been issued.

Four of the small, wheeled Linyati cannon were in the line of march, their trails with long ropes for men to haul them.

More important for many, the treasure vault had been opened, and the men were told to take anything they wanted that they could carry.

Gareth looked again at that huge golden wheel he’d hoped to give the king for his throne room, found two small, intricately worked statuettes, and stuffed them in the pack he’d made from a pair of breeches.