The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Nicholas told of the raid and their retaking of the wagons. When he was finished he said, “We are leaving the lands of the Jeshandi and mean you no disrespect. This caravan was on its way from the Spring Meeting.” He hoped that he was convincing in his claim that whatever peace bond was in effect at the meeting carried force until those at the meeting had quit Jeshandi territory.

  The rider who spoke removed his face covering, and Nicholas saw a young face, dominated by high cheekbones and piercing eyes. Something familiar confronted Nicholas and he suddenly understood.

  Turning to the wagons, he said, “Calis! You’d better come here.”

  As the elfling leaped down from the wagon, Ghuda said, “What?”

  “Look at his face,” said Nicholas.

  The rider said, “Do you take offense at my face?” His manner was tense and he seemed ready to settle the issue at a moment’s notice.

  “No, just that we did not expect to meet one of your kind here, under these circumstances.”

  The rider’s tone grew clearly belligerent as he leaned forward, stared Nicholas in the eyes, and said, “And what do you mean, ‘one of your kind’?”

  Calis reached them in time to hear the last exchange and he spoke. “He meant he did not expect to meet one of the edhel here.”

  The rider looked puzzled and said, “Whatever that word means, I will be addressed by my name and title.”

  Calis hid his surprise poorly. “Your name and title?”

  “I am Mikola, Hetman of the Zakosha Riders of the Jeshandi.”

  Nicholas bowed again, distracting the Hetman from Calis’s confusion. “I am Nicholas, captain of this company and enemy to no man who would be my friend.”

  “Well spoken,” said Mikola with a broad smile. “But I care nothing for the concerns of city men.” He pointed an accusing finger at Nicholas and the smile vanished. “What concerns me is who is going to pay me for my goats!”

  Nicholas said, “Your goats?”

  “Certainly. Did you not see the tattoo in the ears of the mature goats? Did you not recognize my mark? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice as you slaughtered and ate them. And what were you doing so near the edge of the world?” Not waiting for Nicholas to answer, he said, “We shall camp here and discuss many things. But most of all, we shall discuss your payment for our goats.”

  He remounted his horse and rode up the rise, shouting orders to his companions.

  Ghuda said, “What was that all about?”

  Nicholas said, “He is an elf.”

  Ghuda said, “I didn’t notice anything, and his ears were hidden. Besides, I’ve never met one before Calis.”

  Calis nodded. “You may not have met any of my mother’s people, but it is so. He is of the edhel, and more, he doesn’t know what the word means.” Calis stared after the rider, obvious concern on his face.

  —

  AFTER NIGHTFALL THEY were hosted in the tent of Mikola. Calis remained silent through most of the evening. The leader of the Jeshandi might be upset about his goats, but his sense of hospitality was clearly demonstrated by the feast his people provided to the survivors of the wreck of the Raptor.

  Tuka came with Nicholas, Harry, Ghuda, Nakor, Marcus, Amos, and Anthony to the Hetman’s tent, which he called a yurt. It was a large circular creation of felted goat’s hair and sheep’s wool stretched over a wooden lattice, and Mikola’s could comfortably seat two dozen people. The interior was hung with standards and pennants of different colors and fashion, red cloth with gold icons, animal hides with beaded work around the edges. The air was heavy with the smell of spices, for an incense burner provided fragrant relief from the more pungent odor of horses and human sweat. It was clear to Nicholas that these people didn’t often have access to water for bathing.

  Brisa was told, to her irritation, that women were not permitted in the Hetman’s yurt, save for wives, and then only for his pleasure. She did not make a scene, but her muttering gave clear indication of what she thought. Nicholas noticed Marcus’s smile when he overheard the girl’s foul language; Nicholas was certain his cousin was feeling the same way he was about the girl: glad to see her old spirit returning.

  After they had eaten a particularly fine meal, accompanied by some robust wine, Nicholas said, “Mikola, your bounty is without measure.”

  Mikola smiled slightly, and said, “The Laws of Hospitality are inviolate. Now, tell me a thing: I have an ear for accents, and have never heard your like. Where are your people from?”

  Nicholas told them of their journey, and Mikola seemed unfazed by their claim to have come across the great sea. “There are many tales of such journeys in ancient times.” Looking directly into Nicholas’s eyes, he said, “Which god do you worship?”

  Sensing something strained in his tone, Nicholas trod lightly. “We revere many gods among our company—”

  Nakor interrupted, “But above all is Al-maral.”

  The Hetman nodded. “You are outlanders, so your worship is your own concern, and so long as you take hospitality with the Jeshandi your safety is guaranteed. But know that once you depart these lands, should you ever return you will swear to worship the One True God, of whom all others are but a facet, or forfeit your lives.”

  Nicholas nodded and glanced at Nakor. Calis said, “What do you know of those ancient tales, Hetman?”

  “We were once of that land from which you come,” said Mikola. “Or so the Book tells us, and in it only the true words of God are written, so it must be so.” Looking at Calis, he said, “There is something else you wish to know?”

  Calis nodded. “You are kin to my people.”

  The Hetman’s eyes widened slightly as he said, “You are of the long-lived?”

  Calis brushed back his hair, showing his slightly upturned ear. “Al-maral be praised,” said Mikola. In turn, he brushed back his long blond hair and revealed the expected pointed ear. “Yet yours is different. How is this so?”

  Calis spoke slowly. “My mother is of your kind. She is Queen of our people, in Elvandar.”

  If Calis expected a reaction to this, there was none forthcoming. Mikola said, “Tell me more.”

  “My father is human, though gifted of special magic.”

  “In truth, he must be,” said the Hetman, “for in the longest memory of our tribe no union of the long-lived and short has produced offspring.” He clapped once and a servingman brought a bowl of water. He washed his hands as he said, “For this reason, such a union is forbidden among the Jeshandi.”

  “Such unions are not forbidden among my people,” said Calis, “but they are rare and almost always unhappy.”

  Mikola said, “Are you short-lived or long?”

  With a wry smile, Calis answered, “That remains to be seen.”

  “In the Book,” said Mikola, “it is written that the long-lived were wanderers in this land when the faithful came from across the sea. Bitter was the struggle between us until those of the long-lived heard the word of God and embraced the faith; Al-maral is ever merciful. Since then we have lived as one.”

  Calis said, “That explains much.”

  “The Book explains everything,” said the Hetman with certainty.

  Nicholas looked at Calis, who indicated that he was finished. Nicholas said, “Mikola, we can not begin to thank you for your hospitality.”

  “No thanks are required; it is the giver who should be grateful, for it is written that only in giving may one come to learn generosity.” Picking his teeth with a long sliver of wood, he said, “Now, how do you propose to pay for my goats?”

  A round of haggling commenced, and Nicholas knew he was at a disadvantage, because the sale had been made; they were only arguing price. As the night wore on, the quality of the animals continued to rise while Nicholas could do little beyond arguing they were stringy, tough, and lacking flavor. In the end he paid at least three times their worth. If Mikola was curious about the mark of the Kingdom on the gold coins Nicholas gave him, he hid it; he was plea
sed with the quality and weight of the coins, and that was enough.

  Then Nicholas bargained for weapons and stores, and by the time they were done, his entire company was outfitted, he was tired, and it was late. He bid the Hetman good night and returned with his companions to the wagons.

  On the way, Nicholas said, “Calis, what were you saying about the passage from the Book explaining a lot?”

  Calis shrugged. “I have always been taught that the edhel, the elves, were one race, with one Queen, my mother, and one home, Elvandar. Before that we were servants of the Valheru. After the Chaos Wars, we split into three distinct groups: the eledhel, my mother’s people; the moredhel, whom you call the Brotherhood of the Dark Path; and the glamredhel, or mad ones.” Looking over his shoulder a moment, he said, “Now I see that there are those of our kin who never knew of our home in Elvandar. Our lore speaks only of those who live on the same continent as your Kingdom. We know nothing of these people.”

  “And they know nothing of yours,” said Nakor.

  “What was that about Al-maral?” asked Nicholas.

  Nakor shook his head. “Bad things. Religious wars, the worse kind. Centuries ago, there was a great schism in the Church of Ishap, between those who believed that he was the One God Above All, and those who believed he was ‘Al-maral,’ or all gods, each of the lesser gods being but one of his different facets. As such things tend to do, the schism also masked a power struggle within the temples of Ishap, and at last the followers of Al-maral were declared heretics and hunted down. Legend has it that those in Great Kesh fled into the desert and died, but some few departed by ship, sailing into the Endless Sea.”

  Ghuda said, “That would explain why they all speak Keshian.”

  “More like Keshian that was spoken a few hundred years ago,” said Harry.

  Tuka said, “Encosi comes from across the great sea?”

  Nicholas said, “I told you we came from a distant city.”

  Something in Tuka’s eyes betrayed his thinking as he said, “So then it must be a matter of great importance that brings such a company across the great sea, yes?”

  Nicholas said, “A matter for me to discuss with your master.” Seeing the little man’s dreams of wealth dry up, he added, “To your credit, along with the return of the Ranjana to the Overlord.”

  Tuka said, “My master will at his most generous judge my accomplishments barely sufficient to offset my failures in protecting his caravan.”

  “Take us to your master, and we’ll make it worth your while.”

  Once again the man’s expression changed. “Oh, thank you, most generous Encosi.”

  “We have some learning to do about the way things are done here, so in exchange for our generosity, you will tutor us in the customs of this land.”

  “Most assuredly, Encosi.”

  Reaching the wagons, they discovered Brisa being guarded by two of the sailors. “What’s happened?” asked Nicholas.

  One of the sailors said in the King’s Tongue, “She was about to strangle that girl in the wagon when we pulled her off, Highness.”

  Nicholas said, “Don’t call me that anymore. I’m the captain of this company, and speak Keshian or Natalese.”

  The sailor switched to the Natalese dialect and said, “I don’t know what caused it, but I found this one trying to murder the girl with all the jewelry.”

  “Jewelry?” said Nicholas.

  “The one the others call the Ranjana.”

  Kneeling down, Nicholas said, “Brisa, what happened?”

  “No one calls me that name—”

  Putting up his hand to silence her, Nicholas said, “Start at the beginning.”

  “I was minding my own business when that snot-nosed child called me over and asked me to get her this box that was in the first wagon.” Narrowing her eyes, she gazed at the second wagon. “So, I figure why not? I got it, and she opens it and starts putting on all this jewelry. Then she orders me to draw water so she may bathe. I told her to draw it herself, and then she called me—”

  Nicholas stopped her again. “So you tried to kill her?”

  “Only a little. I would have stopped before she was completely dead.”

  Nicholas stood. “I think I’ll go visit our guest.”

  He went to the second wagon and saw that it had been completely covered by having the canvas sides lowered. At the rear, Nicholas paused to knock on the door.

  A voice from within asked who was there, and he answered, “Nicholas…Captain Nicholas.”

  The door opened and a young girl’s face appeared. She said in very imperious tones, “My mistress is distressed over the attack of the whore. She will see you tomorrow. Don’t kill the whore until my mistress is awake to watch.”

  The door closed and Nicholas stood there blinking. He resisted the urge to open the door and enter, judging everyone would benefit from a good night’s sleep. Besides, he really didn’t know what he would say.

  He returned to the campfire where Brisa sat and said, “I’ll straighten this out in the morning.”

  “She called—”

  “I know what she called you,” interrupted Nicholas. “I’ll sort it out in the morning. Now get some sleep.”

  Nicholas had Tuka, Amos, Marcus, Ghuda, and Nakor join him by the fire. Nicholas said, “Tuka, we can make you, if not a wealthy man, at least a prosperous one. If you seek to mislead us, thinking somehow to gain advantage later, my friend here”—he indicated Ghuda—“will be pleased to wring your neck. Now, tell us of this nation.”

  The word seemed lost on Tuka. “Nation, Encosi?”

  “This land. Who rules?”

  “On this side of the river, the Jeshandi claim all these lands as theirs.”

  “On the other side of the river?”

  “No one, Encosi. We are too far from the City of the Serpent River for the Overlord’s soldiers to reach, so he has no claim. And the other cities are on the other side of the mountains. Those who live here are their own masters.”

  They talked on into the night, discovering what to Nicholas and the others were strange and alien things about this land they found themselves in. There were no kingdoms or empires or any large political entities close enough that Tuka even understood the term. This was a land of city-states and independent rulers, each claiming whatever lands they were able to subjugate by force of arms. In the Eastlands, the realm dominated by the City of the Serpent River, power resided with a loose confederation of clans, tribal people related to the Jeshandi. Now they were dominated by this Overlord, a man who had come to power twenty years earlier, and who kept his position by pitting one clan against another.

  As the talks wore on, Nicholas realized that to travel from any point in this land to another required the services of a mercenary army, hence Tuka’s belief that Nicholas was a “mighty captain,” and his thirty-three companions a mercenary band.

  When the little man had told them as much as they could absorb after so many fatiguing days and so large a meal, Nicholas ordered everyone to turn in. Nicholas asked Amos to select a few men to stand guard, though there seemed little need with the Jeshandi camped so close. He still wanted a soldier by the Ranjana’s wagon.

  After sleeping on the ground for more than two weeks, the bedroll he had purchased from Mikola felt like the softest feather bed he had ever known. Nicholas lay down and, for the first time since the wreck, fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.

  —

  NICHOLAS JERKED AWAY as a scream rent the air. Coming to his feet with his sword in hand, he blinked like an owl startled by light as he attempted to get his bearings. A couple of the sailors were also standing with their weapons drawn. Then another scream caused them to turn toward the second wagon. Nicholas put away his weapon, for the scream was clearly one of outrage, not pain or fear.

  Nicholas approached the end of the wagon and found one of the soldiers from Crydee there. He shrugged apologetically and said, “Sorry, Captain, but she wanted to see you and I wouldn�
�t wake you, so she started shrieking.”

  Nicholas nodded and motioned for the man to step aside. Nicholas knocked on the wooden door and waited for a moment; a face appeared. The same girl who had greeted him last night said, “You’re late!”

  Nicholas said, “Tell your mistress I’m here.”

  “She will see you presently.”

  Nicholas was feeling grumpy from having been awakened from a sound sleep and from not having had anything to eat. He said, “She will see me now!” as he pushed past her. He stooped as he entered the low wagon.

  Inside he discovered the wagon had been converted into a bedchamber, with bedrolls at the far end wide enough and long enough so the five women who traveled together could sleep in comfort. In the end where he stood, both sides of the wagon were piled high with small trunks, which he suspected carried their personal belongings. A tent flap on the left side of the wagon, away from the campfire, was opened, letting in the sun so the Ranjana could primp before her mirror.

  Nicholas got his first good look at the young woman in good light. He was impressed. His first impression had been one of a pretty girl; now he realized she was easily as beautiful as Abby, though she was like night to Abby’s day. Where Abby was blond with fair skin, the Ranjana was dark, with black hair and skin the color of lightly creamed coffee. She had enormous brown eyes with impossibly long lashes, and she had a full mouth, which was at the moment set in a particularly unattractive line. She hurriedly closed her red silk blouse, which had revealed a black breast band designed to heighten the curve of her bosom. Nicholas flushed slightly at the exposed skin. Her expression robbed him of that momentary awareness as she turned her wrath on him.

  “You dare enter without my leave!” she demanded.

  “I dare,” he replied. “You may be someone of importance where you hail from, Ranjana, but here I rule. Never forget that.” Bending one knee, so he could look the sitting girl in the eyes, he said, “Now, what is this nonsense about your expecting me to come to you at your whim?”