The Return of Nightfall (16 page)

Professionals.
Nightfall scampered down the lines to the deck.

Danyal appeared at Nightfall’s side. “Quickly, my lord. You need to go below.”

Dread prickled through Nightfall. He had faced pirates once before, as Marak, had watched them gleefully slaughter every sailor for the pittance of money they carried and the cargo in the hold. Then, the pirate’s captain had appreciated Nightfall’s deadly aim and allowed him to live on as a member of the pirate crew. It seemed unlikely Nightfall would find two brigand captains enthralled by his ability to throw knives, and he had no better plan for survival this time. He could only hope the guards and crew could overpower the pirates and not too many would die.

“Come! Come, my lord!” Danyal hauled on Nightfall’s hand. “Quickly.”

With no plan of his own, Nightfall followed Danyal across the deck, to the ladder, and into the hold. Plunged into sudden darkness, Nightfall did not wait for his eyes to adjust, trusting his memory and the cabin boy to lead him safely to his quarters. He knew they would find only temporary safety there. Once the pirates killed the guards and sailors, they would come first to find any goodies stored below. With blood frenzy at its height, they would search every corner, steal or burn the ship itself, and take a grim and ferocious pleasure in tearing apart any man they thought to be noble.

Danyal came to a sudden halt at the door to Nightfall’s cabin. When the boy made no move to open it, Nightfall whirled to face the first mate, a spare, balding man with a crusted beard and piercing blue eyes who stood against the wall between the two cabins.

“Sudian,” the man said, as if seeing right through the cabin boy, “sir.”

Danyal’s hand slipped from Nightfall’s, and he sidled toward the exit.

Feet rattled on the deck, and the shouts of readying guards and sailors blended into a hum punctuated by shouts.

“That’s me,” Nightfall confirmed. “Were you looking for me?”

“Yes, sir.” The mate continued to train his sharp gaze on Nightfall, though he shuffled his feet with clear uneasiness. “I’m afraid pirates are swiftly approaching the ship.”

Nightfall nodded. “I’m aware of that.”

“Yes.” The first mate fell into an edgy silence that unnerved Nightfall more than the stare.

“How can I help?” he prodded. If someone had a reasonable idea, he felt more than ready to consider it. All of their lives depended on it. When pirates turned their minds to plunder and slaughter, no one survived unless he seemed worth more money sold into slavery. A slight, sinewy thirty-four-year-old man did not fit that category.

“The pirates have proposed what they call a ‘hostage barter.’ ”

Nightfall narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly to indicate the words meant nothing to him. For once, he did not have to feign ignorance. He could not recall his pirate company ever employing such a tactic, but he guessed the second flag announced their intentions, since the other ship had not yet drawn close enough for direct communication.

“If we surrender the highest-ranking man on the ship, they won’t fight us. No one dies.”

Nightfall remained in place, and his expression did not change. It made no sense for pirates to accept some soft-handed, sweet-smelling noble like Ragan instead of whatever treasures the ship might hold. “Then . . . ?”

“The hostage barters for his life, promises a reasonable amount of silver or gems or jewels to equal his worth. If the pirates accept the blood price, the exchange is made. The agreed upon amount goes to the pirates, and the man returns to his rightful ship.”

“If not . . .” Nightfall prompted.

The mate’s face flushed, barely noticeable in the darkness of the hold. Danyal tried to look busy, now behind Nightfall. “. . . the hostage is killed. The pirates board the ship, slaughter every man aboard, and take whatever they wish.”

Nightfall considered the arrangement. Though different than what he had known as a sailor or a pirate, it made a certain amount of sense. So long as the pirates held the highest-ranking passenger, the crew would not attack. The brigands had a nobleman to terrorize without risking their own lives in any way. The pirates might not get all the moneys aboard, but they would not settle for any pittance. The hostage seemed likely to promise anything, if properly “persuaded,” and would likely hold his life worth a significant amount of treasure. In time, one’s worth in barter to pirates might even become a symbol of status among the highborn. The pirates would get their money, the ship might keep at least some of her goods, and no one had to fight or die. Guessing the first mate’s next question, Nightfall said, “You may feel free to use the chest of money, gems, and jewelry I brought aboard as you see fit for barter.”

“Thank you, sir.” No taller than Nightfall, the first mate met his gaze levelly. “But I’m not the one who’ll be doing the bartering.”

Nightfall dismissed the comment with a wave. “Then tell Ragan he can use the Alyndarian treasure.” Though he did not care for the nobleman, he saw no reason to put the guards and crew at risk for an unnecessary battle. Money meant nothing to him, especially when it was not his own. “All of it, if he believes he’s worth it.”

“Yes, sir.” The first mate’s gaze returned to his shoes, and he shuffled his feet in a nervous gesture. “But Alyndar’s lord chancellor and adviser outranks a Schizian knight.”

As the implications suddenly became all too clear, Nightfall felt his chest squeeze tight. “Me?”

“You, sir.” Now, the first mate dodged Nightfall’s gaze. “You are the highest-ranking man aboard
The Sharius
. You are the one the pirates want.”

Chapter 5

—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend

 

T
he Sharius’
canvas snapped and rattled in the winds as she lay at anchor in the Klaimer Ocean. Nightfall stood near the main mast, with one booted foot propped against the rail, studying the other ship. Above him, a sailor in the lookout post flashed a flag indicating agreement to the terms. The Schizian guards, fully armored, stood around him, offering words of advice and encouragement that Nightfall did not bother to heed. He did not need their sympathy; the arrangement suited him. If lives had to hinge on the skills of one man aboard, he preferred it to be himself. He had survived too long by trusting his own instincts; and the idea of waiting in ignorance while Ragan, or one of the sailors, bartered for him might have driven him to madness.

Although the first mate, a man he now knew as Bermann, had told him any monetary exchange would occur after the bargaining, Nightfall had crammed his pockets with gems, jewelry, and silver. He did not want to give the pirates any reason to board
The Sharius
or an opportunity to violate their promise by claiming some man had offended them. Tensions would remain high on both sides, and neither guards nor pirates were known for holding their tempers. He had hidden Edward’s personal ring deep in the change of clothing he left lying casually across his bed. The ring clearly held significance beyond its obvious value, and he could not allow it to catch a pirate’s fancy.

Bermann stood beside Nightfall now, the only man he bothered to listen to. “We’re not usually a sea-crossing ship. We prefer jobs nearer to Brigg, so most of the crew has a family. The captain and I prefer to bring them all safely home.”

Nightfall nodded once, saying nothing. He had no intention of squandering lives, his own included.

“Thank you.” Bermann rested a hand on Nightfall’s shoulder. “The sailors, they love the sea. It’s not a well paying job, but—”

When Bermann did not continue, Nightfall tore his gaze from the pirate ship to look directly at the first mate.

“The men have scrounged together seven silvers they can add to the coffer. The captain says he’ll contribute two of his own as well.”

It was a fortune to workingmen, and Nightfall appreciated their generosity, though he refused it. “Thank you, Bermann; it’s a generous offer. But if it takes more than the treasures of Alyndar to appease these killers, nine more silvers won’t make a difference.”

Now, Bermann nodded, and Nightfall returned his attention to the sea. A detail niggled at his thoughts, and he frowned. The impending ordeal had nearly pushed it from his mind, but he needed to mention his suspicions to the first mate in case his discussions with the pirates failed. He pitched his voice too low for anyone to overhear. “Bermann, you need to look to your men.”

The first mate drew a step toward Nightfall, though it put him nearer than proper social boundaries demanded. “Excuse me, sir?”

“You have a traitor aboard. Or else one on shore who knew your mission.”

Bermann jerked away, clearly shocked by the accusation. Then, curiosity overcame surprise, and he returned to their conversation. “Why . . . ? Why do you say so?”

A small boat slid down the side of the pirates’ ship, and two men scurried down a hatchwork of sisal lines to settle into it. For a few moments, they adjusted their paddles, then started rowing for
The Sharius
.

The apprehension around Nightfall seemed to treble in an instant. He could sense the coil of guardsmen’s hands around hilts, and even sailors’ fingers disappeared into their tight-fitting shirts, where they kept a utility knife or two. As his eyes adjusted to the sea mist, Nightfall carved out details that distance and salt-grained air had kept at bay. Though sleeker and smaller than
The Sharius,
the pirate ship looked weathered, its caulking dull and overdue for repair. The bowsprit held a trinket shimmering with amber highlights that defined it as gold, and it appeared to have the shape of an animal head. Nightfall’s imagination filled in gem-encrusted eyes. He put his mind to its significance. If the pirates could afford to put such a great piece on display, without fighting over its ownership, it meant they had fared well in the past few days or weeks. Heavy with treasure, battle weary, they would understandably choose a ploy such as their so-called “hostage barter.” Likely, they were already short several men and ready to return to whatever city or hidden atoll they called home. Someone with more ship experience than these bloodthirsty bandits-at-sea needed to handle repairs before their slipshod maintenance sent them all to a watery grave.

“I’m assuming from what you told me of
The Sharius’
usual route you don’t carry noblemen regularly.”

“That’s true.” Bermann still clearly had not found the connection that seemed so obvious to Nightfall.

“Yet those pirates knew you had at least one titled man on board to barter and, probably, that you had a boatload of armed and armored guardsmen they would do better not to challenge.”

Bermann stroked his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “That’s . . . true.” He glanced around at the hovering guards and sailors as if to pick out the betrayer at a glance. “You do realize those armed and armored guardsmen will sink faster than boulders if knocked overboard.”

Nightfall lifted and lowered one shoulder. “You and I know that. The pirates know it, too. Even the guards might.” He glanced around, not at all sure of his last statement. More accustomed to the weight of their defenses than to overseas travel, such a thing might not occur to the fighting men. “But it’ll make them look that much more dangerous to the pirates. To drown a man, you have to move him to water first. Dead pirates can’t do that.”

Nightfall turned his attention to the approaching craft. Though small, it could fit three men, four uncomfortably. The two inside it now appeared to outweigh Nightfall’s baseline by at least a quarter again. Both wore rags across their brows, one bald, the other with a mane of stiff, wheaten hair held from his eyes by the hastily tied cloth. Breeks hugged their legs, and their tucked shirts billowed at narrow waists. They wore light linen shoes that were surely stiffer at the soles so they could climb the lines without bruising their arches. Neither had shaved in several days.

Bermann tossed a cleated rope ladder over the side. It plunged downward, flapping against the planks, and the end disappeared beneath the water. “May the gods bless your task.”

Nightfall smiled. The gods had never bothered to assist his narrow escapes, his thefts and killings, and he had no use or need for them now. He considered other necessities as the boat rowed toward them. Aside from two well-secreted throwing blades he could afford to lose, he had disarmed himself. If the pirates chose to search him, they would not find anything suspicious about his carrying a couple of utilitarian knives. Anything more might look like an attempt to sabotage the proceedings. He was almost ready. Raising a hand with a sudden grand gesture that seized the attention of sailors and soldiers, and sent Bermann scurrying to a more appropriate distance, Nightfall addressed every man aboard. “Listen up!”

The group fell utterly silent.

“No matter how tempting, no matter what they say or do, don’t harm those men coming to get me except in defense.” He glared at Dawser, the youngest and most impulsive of the guards. “And don’t try to goad them to attack either. The satisfaction of jabbing a sword through one of their black-hearted guts isn’t worth all of our lives . . .”

Dawser nodded.

. . . yet,
Nightfall added silently. Unaccustomed to others placing their well-being into his charge, he wondered if his usual strategies might fail here.
Damn Dyfrin. Damn Edward.
Nightfall longed for those simpler times when only his survival mattered and no one dared to rely on him for anything. Earlier, the captain had suggested substituting a guard or sailor for the real adviser to Alyndar’s king, but Nightfall had dismissed the suggestion. Not only might one or more of the pirates know his appearance, it would mean trusting a stranger to negotiate for his life.

The pirates rowed toward the rope ladder, their eyes narrowed and never still. Two against a ship left them vulnerable to tricks and traps. But, though the guards and sailors hung over the railings glaring at the pirates below, no one spoke or made any hostile gesture. Apparently, they took Nightfall at his word.