Corsair (17 page)

“I think I’m with Sarth on this,” Hamil said softly. “I’m not anxious to pick a fight with fifty enemies for the sake of total strangers. But we might be able to interfere in another way. If the ship were to lose a sail or the rudder were to fail…”

“It will mean a fight if we are caught at it,” Sarth answered.

Geran thought of what Nimessa had told him about the fate of Whitewing’s crew. If they stood aside or went along because the merchant was doomed anyway, they’d still be a party to the worst sort of murder. They might be able to defeat Moonshark’s crew by killing Narsk, Sorsil, and perhaps Skamang or Khefen quickly … but it was probably more likely that any such mad assault would succeed only in getting all three of them killed, and he was not any more eager than Hamil to lose his life for a handful of strangers.

“If we can keep Narsk and the rest of the cutthroats on this ship from murdering the crew and passengers of some hapless ship, I think we have to try,” he said. “Hamil’s suggestion has merit. We’ll just have to make sure no one notices.”

Over the next hour, Moonshark steadily closed on the cog. Geran was surprised to see that the merchant ship didn’t try to flee, but instead kept to her original course. Either she hadn’t noticed the pirate galley on her beam—which seemed more and more unlikely—or the captain blithely assumed that he sailed in friendly waters. He supposed it was possible that the merchant captain had already determined for himself that there was no escape and therefore hoped to bluff his way out of an attack by a simple show of boldness, but that struck him as even more unlikely. As the pirate galley slowly overtook the merchant cog, Geran and his comrades began to plan their act of sabotage.

They were well along in their planning, and the cog was a little less than a mile off, when Sorsil shouted down at the main deck from her position by the helm. “Back to your stations!” the first mate called. “Go on, you dogs! There’s nothing for us here!”

Geran and his companions exchanged looks then turned to the quarterdeck. Narsk gripped the rail, glaring at the cog with his fangs bared. Then he snarled something to Sorsil and stormed off the quarterdeck, disappearing into his cabin once more. Sorsil took one more look at the cog then ordered the helmsman to turn away. Moonshark turned smartly to starboard and cut across the wake of the ship a mile astern of her, now running downwind.

“What in the world?” Geran asked aloud. “What was that about?” He heard a few murmurs from other crew too, likely expressing the same sentiment.

“Narsk gave up the pursuit,” Sarth observed. “Why would he do that?”

“Look!” Hamil said. “The merchant’s raised a pennant.”

Geran turned back to the cog, now falling astern. A pennant floated in the breeze from the ship’s mainmast; he was sure it hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, so the cog’s captain must have just ordered it flown. It was a quartered flag of red and gold, and Geran knew it well. “That’s a House Marstel ship,” he said.

“Marstel? As in the Marstels of Hulburg?” Sarth asked.

“Yes,” Geran replied. “That double-dealing bastard! He’s paid off the Black Moon to leave his ships alone. And he was the one who argued for the harmach to do something about piracy.”

“Badgering the harmach to do something likely kept other merchant companies from making a deal with the pirates,” Hamil said. “Lord Marstel’s a sly old fox if that’s the case. I never would have thought he had it in him.”

“Nor would I,” Geran said. He frowned, trying to figure out what to make of it. Then the pirates crowded along the rail drifted back to their duties and the ship returned to its routine.

The crew’s disappointment at being turned away from a prize in their grasp likely accounted for what happened that evening. Moonshark was too small to have anything like a mess deck; the galley was located in the forecastle, and Tao Zhe, the cook, ladled the evening’s stew into whatever cup or bowl each man brought to him. After receiving warm food and a hunk of coarse bread, the deckhands retreated to whatever corner of the main deck they could find that offered shelrer from the weather and a good place to sit and eat. Geran, Hamil, and Sarth had just settled down to their unappetizing meals when several crewmen belonging to Skamang’s fist sauntered up to them. A round-bellied Chessentan named Pareik, who shaved his head and wore large gold earrings, led the band. “Get up, new fish!” he snarled. “That’s our place you’re in.”

It looks like Skamang’s decided to try us out, Hamil observed. With a sigh, he carefully set his dinner on the deck.

“It suits me well enough,” Geran answered Pareik. It would have been easier to defer and avoid what was coming, but he suspected that he’d be at Skamang’s beck and call for the rest of the voyage if he did. Standing up to Pareik now and showing a quick and violent temper might save him no end of trouble later, as well as furthering rheir ruse. Besides, he

was in a foul temper, and he didn’t like the look of the fellow. “Go find a different place.”

Pareik grinned. “So you’re too good to take your supper somewhere else,” he said. He slapped Geran’s dinner tin out of his hands, spilling the stew. “You can eat it off the deck, then! What do you think about that, new fish?”

Without a moment’s thought, Geran seized his dinner tin from the deck and leaped to his feet. He didn’t have to feign his anget; before he could think better of it, he threw the tin and the remaining stew in Pareik’s face. Pareik recoiled, belatedly raising his arms to defend himself, but Geran planted his boot at the Chessentan’s belt buckle and propelled him back across the deck. The pirate stumbled to the deck and rolled, fetching up against the opposite gunwale. “I think I’ll knock out your damned teeth, that’s what I think!” Geran snarled at him.

He took two steps toward Pareik, intending to administer the beating of a lifetime to the Chessentan, but heavy footsteps to his right caught his attention. The ogre Kronn stood close by, glaring down at him with his piggish little eyes. Behind him, the tattooed Northman Skamang sat watching with a small smile on his face. Kronn spoke in a rumbling voice. “You hidded Pareik,” he said. “Thad mean any Skamang’s fisd can hid you. Kronn belong Skamang’s fisd. Kronn hid you!” The ogre lashed out with one enormous fist, mashing it straight down as if he meant to drive a nail into the deck.

Geran leaped backward out of the way, not with any particular grace. His old mentor Daried would have winced; he’d always said that Geran had the slow-footedness of any big human. The elf bladesinger could have evaded Kronn’s fist with half a step and a twist of his shoulders. Hamil could have too. But Geran’s off-balance jump was enough to get him out from under Kronn’s blow. The ogre bellowed in annoyance and sprang after him; Geran skirted around the mainmast to put it between him and his foe, buying himself a moment to think.

Sarth and Hamil surged to their feet and moved forward to join the fray, while the rest of Pareik’s little gang dropped their own suppers to the deck and stood their ground. But Murkelmor the dwarf moved between them and held up his hand. “None of that now!” he shouted. “Your man laid hands on one o’ Skamang’s fist, and Skamang’s fist chose one o’ their own t’ answer him. It’s the way it’s done. Take another step, and it’s a matter for th’ captain t’ settle!”

“I will not stand aside and watch that ogre bludgeon my friend!” Sarth snarled.

“You will if you know what’s good for him an’ for you,” the dwarf answered. “Two men fight, it’s between them. Any more join in, and th’ captain has to put a stop to it.”

“Stand your ground!” Geran shouted at Sarth. “Keep it between Kronn and me!” Geran had faced ogres before. They were immensely strong, and big enough to shrug off wounds that would have incapacitated a human opponent. But they were slow and lacked skill, relying entirely on their size and strength. With a sword in his hand he wouldn’t have shied from a duel against Kronn. But he had only his bare hands for this fight.

He circled the mainmast again. Kronn went low and lunged forward, and this time the ogre managed to catch hold of Geran’s ankle. He yanked Geran’s foot out from under him and dragged the swordmage across the deck, raising one meaty fist to crush Geran while he had hold of him. Geran tried to wrench his foot out of the ogre’s grasp and failed. In desperation he used the ogre’s grip to anchor his left leg while he scissored up with his right. He caught the ogre on the point of his heavy jaw with a strong kick, spoiling Kronn’s aim. Kronn’s fist mostly missed him as it crashed into his ribs, batting him down to the deck again. Geran’s breath left him in a whooshing exhalation, and he gasped for air, but before Kronn could finish him with a solid punch, he drove his right heel into the meaty paw gripping his ankle and bent the ogre’s thumb in a direction it was not supposed to go. Kronn howled, and Geran scrambled free, still trying to find his breath.

“Keep after him, Kronn!” Pareik cried. “You almost had him there!”

“Don’t let the ogre grab you like that!” Hamil shouted at Geran.

“Never … would’ve … thought of that,” Geran wheezed. Kronn lunged for him again, and this time he threw himself under the ogre’s long arms and drove his head into Kronn’s gut. The ogre lost his brearh this time, and before he recovered Geran threw several wild uppercuts under Kronn’s chin. It was like punching a bull; the ogre’s head barely moved. The blows had little effect other than enraging Kronn, and Geran quickly backed away again as Kronn swung wildly and stumbled to one knee. A reckless idea struck Geran, and he paused just in front of the mainmast as the ogre wound up for another punch. This time the swordmage stayed still until the very last instant before dropping to the deck under the

punch. Instead of pulping Geran’s head like a melon, Kronn drove his fist into the mainmast.

The whole mast shuddered, but not even an ogre could damage it with a punch; he howled and clutched his mashed knuckles. “Kronn kill you for thad!” the ogre roared.

Geran rolled away across the deck and regained his feet. But Kronn seized a heavy block and chain from its place by the mainmast, wielding the wooden pulley like a crude flail. He lashed out furiously at Geran, each whistling blow smashing splinters from the deck or crashing against mast and gunwale. Corsairs gathered around to watch the brawl yelped in alarm and scrambled back out of the way, although one unfortunate fellow caught the heavy block high on his shoulder on Kronn’s backswing and was knocked spinning to the deck. Geran wheeled from side to side, searching for a weapon of his own. He didn’t know what the Black Moon had to say about weapons in a brawl, but he’d have to deal with that later. First he had to avoid getting killed.

Dagger coming! Hamil warned him. Geran looked back over to his friend just in time to catch the heavy poniard Hamil tossed to him. It was not much of a defense against Kronn’s overwhelming strength and reach, but the feel of steel in his hand was reassuring. He realized that, oddly enough, he was now in the exact position Hamil was whenever the two of them sparred. He was facing a bigger, stronger, slower opponent with much greater reach. And that meant he had to get in close without getting killed.

What would Hamil do in this sort of fight? he wondered. The answer came to him quickly; he’d watched Hamil fight enough times to guess how his friend might handle a big, clumsy foe. A smile flickered across his face as he ducked under another swing of the block and circled to his right, moving next to the mainmast again. “Come on, Kronn! Can’t you hit me?” he taunted.

The ogre howled in fury and lashed out again—but Geran ducked to the other side of the mast. The block and chain wrapped around the mainmast, momentarily entangled, and he made his move. He dashed forward up under Kronn’s guard and slashed the ogre several times across the belly and chest, holding back from a mortal thrust simply because he didn’t know what would happen if he actually killed his opponent. When Kronn threw up his left arm to shove Geran away, he laid open the ogre’s

forearm from wrist to elbow. Blood splattered the deck, and the ogre cried out in pain. Then he let go of the block and chain and fell back on his broad bottom, shielding himself with his arms.

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