Corsair (16 page)

Hulburg’s East Hill was a strange mix of old and new. Much of its seaward face had been ruined during the Spellplague of a century ago, replaced by the jumble of soaring green stone known as the Arches. On its western side a poor, working-class neighborhood clustered hard by East Street and the Winterspear; around the point to the east, the homes became little more than shanties housing the hundreds of men who toiled in the smelters and foundries a mile downwind of Hulburg proper. But the higher elevations of the East Hill above the crowded neighborhood overlooking the Winterspear were the places where Hulburg’s wealthy lived in grand old houses and gated manors. Mirya drove her team to a fine old house hidden behind a screen of low, wind-twisted cedars. She set the brake, slid down from the wagon’s seat, then climbed a short flight of stone steps to the house’s front door and knocked firmly before she could change her mind.

Nothing happened for a long moment, and Mirya began to wonder if anyone was home. But then the door opened, and a young woman with long black hair and a plain dress of gray wool looked out. “Yes?” she said.

“I’m here to call on Mistress Sennifyr,” Mirya said. “My name is Mirya Erstenwold. I’m not expected.”

The servant studied her for a moment before answering. “Wait here. I will see if the mistress is available.” She disappeared back into the shadows of the house—the front room was dark, with heavy drapes drawn over the windows—while Mirya waited on the porch. Then the servant returned and offered a slight bow. “She will see you. Follow me, if you please.”

The servant showed Mirya to a sitting room as dark as the foyer, and Mirya took a seat on a plush couch. She did not have long to wait. Just a moment later, a woman in an elegant purple gown glided into the room, her hands folded at her waist. She was perhaps forty-five years of age, but her hair was still a soft brown untouched by gray, and her face was smooth. Only the shadow of frown lines at the corners of her mouth and a cool, commanding sternness to her dark gaze hinted at her age. She looked at Mirya with a small smile then said, “Well, well. Mirya Erstenwold! You haven’t stopped by my home in years and years. I confess I am surprised to see you here.”

Mirya rose and bowed her head. “Mistress Sennifyr. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Not at all. We have missed you, my dear. Tell me, how is young Selsha?”

“Very well. She just passed her ninth birthday.”

“Indeed.” Sennifyr raised an eyebrow. “What have you told her about her father?”

Mirya kept a neutral expression on her face, but flinched inwardly. There were few things in her life that she truly regretted, but what she had done to the man who’d fathered Selsha was one of them. Sennifyr knew that, of course. She was the one who had arranged the whole thing, drawing Mirya deeper and deeper into her snares at a time when Mirya had been younger, more foolish, anxious to find approval in her eyes.

It was a mistake to come here, she told herself. Sennifyr had not forgotten any of her old cruelty. But to flee now would gain Mirya nothing. Instead, she made herself answer the question with iron truthfulness. “I

told her that I knew him only for a short time and that he died soon after she was born. I’ll tell her no more than that for now.”

“Poor Mirya. You were always so strong, so clever, and so much was asked of you.” Sennifyr offered her a small smile. “The Lady chose a difficult path for you. I know it. But you must understand that you will find no easing of your pain as long as you refuse to go as you have been called. Surcease lies in surrender to the Lady’s will. It is never too late to return to the path awaiting you.”

“I’ve not forgotten it, Mistress Sennifyr. For now I choose to go my own way.”

“The day will come when no other comfort avails you, my child. The Lady knows her own, and once you have been in her embrace, you will always be hers. We will await your return.” Sennifyr folded her hands in her lap. “Now, I doubt that you came to my house to seek the Lady’s comfort. You want something of the Sisterhood.”

Mirya grimaced. Sennifyr had never been stupid, either. “Well, aye, though I hope that you’ll see it to be in your own interest too.”

“No justification is necessary, my child. I have not forgotten your devotion to the Lady, even if you have for a time. How may I be of service to your

Mirya smoothed her skirt. She had never been one to fence at words. The worst of it was that some long-buried part of her ached to answer Sennifyr’s words of forgiveness, to return to the Sisterhood she had left and make amends for the faithlessness of the intervening years. She fixed her mind firmly on the task ahead and ignored her old guilt. “I found out a servant of Cyric a few days ago—a pale man in a hood, masquerading as a common laborer. He knows that I know his secret. I need to learn his name and what purpose he has in Hulburg.”

“And you thought we might know something about him?” Sennifyr reached over to the table next to her and poured herself a cup of tea. “My dear, we have nothing to do with the Black Sun’s minions.”

“I know. But there’s not much that happens in Hulburg that the Sisterhood doesn’t see. If the servants of Cyric are preaching to the poor folk of the Tailings or stirring up trouble with the Cinderfists, the Sisterhood would know of it.”

“And if you did learn this man’s name, what would you do?”

“See to it that the harmach knew it too.”

“I see.” Sennifyr sipped at her tea. “It is no secret that Geran Hulmaster is close to you. I imagine that a word whispered in his ear would reach the harmach soon enough. For that matter, I would be surprised if Geran did not act on such information himself. He is not one to hesitate over such matters. But how do you see this as a concern for the Sisterhood?”

“It seems to me that the Cinderfists are exactly the sort of trouble a servant of Cyric would foment among the poor outlanders of the town.” Mirya paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I’d imagine that the hooded priest teaches the folk of the Tailings to rebel against their circumstances, to fight against their sorrows. Where would those folk turn if he were to leave? More than a few might seek comfort in the Lady’s embrace, mightn’t they?”

Sennifyr gazed thoughtfully at Mirya. “It pleases me to hear you speak so, Mirya.”

“I’m weary of the troubles plaguing my home, Mistress Sennifyr. Someone is stoking the fires, and I want an end to it.” Mitya didn’t doubt that there would be trouble of a different sort if the Lady of Sorrows came to hold the hearts of Hulburg’s poorest folk, but at least the Sisterhood wouldn’t incite riots and rebellion in the streets. Besides, she was sure that she was not saying anything that hadn’t occurred to Mistress Sennifyr already.

“The Sisterhood would approve,” Sennifyr said. She took another sip from her cup and set it down in its saucer. “Very well. We have heard something of this. As you guess, a few of our Sisters are newcomers to Hulburg. They hear things from the other outlanders that the native-born do not. I think that one of them might know the man you encountered. I do not know who he is, but she might. Go to the Three Crowns and ask for Ingra.”

“Thank you. Mistress Sennifyr.”

“It is nothing, dear Mirya. But you must go in secret. Ingra will help another Sister, but only if no one sees her to do so.”

“I understand.” Mirya stood and inclined her head to Sennifyr, who returned a gracious nod.

“I hope you will visit again soon, Mirya. I know in my heart that the Lady’s full purpose for you is still to be revealed.” Sennifyr stood and watched as the servant returned to show Mirya to the door.

After the gloom of Sennifyr’s house, the overcast day seemed clean and

whole to Mirya. She drew a deep breath and climbed back up to the seat of her wagon. She thought now that it would have been better if she hadn’t come, but she’d done it, and there was nothing to be gained by second-guessing her decision now. The only question was whether she’d find an answer at the Three Crowns worth the price of reminding Sennifyr and the Sisterhood that she remembered them.

2 Marpenoth, The Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

Narsk set his course eastward from the meeting at the Talons, swinging far out to sea around Hillsfar then closing on the Moonsea’s southern coastline once the well-defended port was a good thirty or forty miles astern. Moonshark ran under a full spread of canvas by day, making good time. By night Narsk ordered Sorsil to take in sail and slow their pace, which was not unusual for ships sailing the Moonsea. For the most part the great lake was deep and uncluttered by islands or reefs, so most captains kept some sail on during all but the darkest of nights.

It proved much harder to find an opportunity to slip into Narsk s cabin than Geran would have imagined. The chief difficulty was that Narsk rarely left his cabin and did not linger for long on the deck when he did. The gnoll took all his meals in his room and issued most of his orders through Sorsil. Geran had several ideas in mind for actually slipping inside without being seen, if Narsk would simply vacate his cabin for a decent amount of time; if nothing else, he knew a spell of teleportation he could use from the usually empty storeroom under the captain’s cabin. He considered trying to surprise and overpower the gnoll by teleporting into the cabin without warning, but he couldn’t be certain that he could do it in absolute silence and slip away again unseen. That meant he and his friends might have to deal with the rest of Moonshark’s crew, and Geran didn’t care for the odds if it came to that.

While waiting and watching for the chance to move, Geran and his friends settled into the ship’s routine. The weather turned cold and damp on their second night from the Talons, and the ship slipped through intermittent showers as she continued eastward. As the newest hands on

board, they were assigned to the midwatch under the second mate, a portly Mulmasterite named Khefen. That meant they had to stand watch in the middle of the night and catch what little sleep they could before and after. At least Khefen was more or less indifferent to the three of them, so long as they didn’t bungle the few adjustments to the sails he saw fit to make during the night. The second mate drank steadily from a large leather flask he kept hidden under his cloak throughout the watch, without showing any sign of growing drunk, and ignored the deckhands otherwise.

During their second midwatch with Khefen, the rains were especially persistent. After several hours of standing lookout and scrambling aloft when the second mate ordered them to, all three companions were soaked, shivering, and generally miserable.

“I am not enjoying this,” Sarth muttered to Geran as they went back below. “Truly, is this necessary?”

“We’ll give it two or three more days,” Geran replied under his breath. “Something may turn up, and I’d still like to know what Kamoth is planning.”

The tiefling grimaced under his magical guise. “Very well, but I will think twice before I accompany you on your next ill-considered venture.”

Later that morning Geran was hard at work splicing an old, well-worn line—a particularly tedious and exacting job that the tattooed Northman Skamang had foisted off on him—when the cry of “Sail ho! Fine on the port beam!” came from the lookout aloft. He stood and shaded his eyes with his hand, looking for the other ship. This time it was indeed a fair distance off, easily seven or eight miles, and all that could be seen of it was the mast. Sorsil summoned Narsk to the quarterdeck, and the two conferred quickly before the gnoll ordered the helmsman to turn and sent the watch aloft to crowd on more sail. The wind favored Moonshark; by good fortune the pirate galley was well positioned to run down her quarry with the morning sun at her back and a freshening crosswind that let Narsk aim the galley’s bow a little ahead of the other ship.

Geran glanced at the sky. It was overcast, but no storms or squalls seemed likely to appear. And they were at least thirty or forty miles from any sort of harbor. Unless the cog was faster than she looked, he guessed they’d catch her in a couple of hours. Most of the crew was gathered along the rail, gazing greedily at the other ship. Some were already picking out weapons for the anticipated boarding.

Hamil and Sarth climbed up from the galley, where they’d been sent to help Tao Zhe with his scullery work. The halfling looked around at the pirate crew then up at Geran. “What’s going on?”

“Narsk’s sighted prey,” Geran said in a low voice. He pointed. “We’re trying to chase down that cog there.”

“Well, there it is,” Hamil murmured after peering over the rail. What do we do if Narsk catches her? he asked. Do we go along with the rest of the crew and keep to our ruse? Or do we interfere and keep Narsk from taking that ship?

Geran looked down at his friend, brow creased in worry. “I don’t know,” he said. He should have anticipated they might find themselves in this very situation. He didn’t doubt the three of them could find a way to fight ineffectively or hang back from the worst of what was coming, but their shipmates might notice, and that would do very little to advance their standing in the crew. More to the point, it would hardly absolve the three of them of responsibility for not thwarting a pirate attack that they were in position to foil. But it was hard to see how that wouldn’t give away their ploy and bring their effort to infiltrate the Black Moon to an end.

Sarth glanced at Hamil; the ghostwise halfling was evidently repeating his question for the tiefling. Sarth looked around to see if any of the crew were in earshot and leaned on the rail beside Geran. “A difficult decision,” he said. “I am not sure how to counsel you, Geran, but I suppose you could consider the matter in this way: What would have happened if we weren’t aboard? If it seems that Moonshark would catch the merchant and take her without our help, our participation wouldn’t change what fate had already intended for that ship. For that matter, it might not be in our power to prevent an attack. There are only three of us, after all. If we can’t prevent Narsk from taking that ship, then we might as well maintain the ruse. What we learn here may save other lives on some other day.”

“I hear you,” Geran answered. “But, as it turns out—we are aboard and nothing is fated at the moment. Besides, we’d have the advantage of surprise and your magic as well. If we deal with a few key crewmen right at the outset, the rest might lose their nerve.”