The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  “And what would you say if someone told you all the clansmen were found killed?”

  “That’s tricky,” answered Praji. “Depends on who killed them. If it’s the Overlord, they—” He interrupted himself. “If it could be made to look like there was some sort of falling out, it would drive the clans apart.”

  Ghuda said, “How secure is the Overlord?”

  Praji shrugged. “There’s been talk of rebellion for twenty years. He’s still there.”

  Nicholas said, “Well, we’ve walked into a fight that’s not ours, but those on either side won’t care about that, so we’d better get ready to fight.” Glancing around, he said, “If those soldiers are another part of this plot, they’re going to expect sixteen clansmen with those wagons, so I want sixteen men on the wagons. Drive them back over the ridge.” He pointed to Calis. “I want you to head south again, and when you see the riders approach, I want you to shoot a shaft into the courtyard as a warning; can you do it without hitting anyone there?”

  Calis gave him a look that said he needn’t have asked. Nicholas pointed to where he wanted him stationed, and then turned to Ghuda. “I want you to stay here with me, with some men lying in the courtyard. Those soldiers will expect to see corpses spread around, so we won’t disappoint them. When they reach the wagons, we’ll be behind them.” Ghuda nodded. “Amos, you’re in charge of the wagons. Once you’re over the ridge, build some campfires down the ridge so the riders will see the light in the sky, but not the fires. And build them so that the riders will be looking into them as they crest the ridge. I want them outlined against the flames when we come up behind them.” Amos saluted with a smile and motioned for the wagons to be hitched up.

  Nicholas said, “Harry, you take the girls down by the river, in the tall grass, and keep them out of sight and quiet.”

  Brisa said, “What about me?”

  Nicholas said, “Go with Harry. If the Ranjana makes a sound, you can go back to killing her.”

  Brisa grinned. “Thanks.”

  Soldiers and sailors jumped into action and Nicholas said to Praji, “If you’re going to help, better move your friend out of harm’s way. He doesn’t look like he’s ready to fight.”

  Praji said, “He’s not, but I am. I’ll put him in one of the wagons, and ride with your ugly friend there.”

  Amos looked over his shoulder and feigned an injured look. “Ugly?”

  Those stores that had been carried out into the courtyard were quickly hidden out of sight as the wagons were driven off. By the time the sun was lowering beyond the horizon, Nicholas had everyone in place.

  He chose to lead those in the courtyard himself, and lay waiting for the signal. As time passed, he found that his left foot was throbbing a little. He was irritated by it more than pained, and he pushed it from his thinking as he reviewed his plan of attack, looking for any flaws.

  He became so lost in his thinking that he was startled when a single arrow landed in the center of the courtyard with a thunk. Instantly he was alert. The sound of riders could be heard, and he gripped his sword tightly.

  The sound of horses’ hooves upon the ground grew louder, and then the company of soldiers was riding into the clearing south of the inn. A man swore. “Where are those damned wagons?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. They should have been here by now,” said another voice.

  A third said, “Look, Captain, there’s a glow in the sky; there are fires on the other side of that ridge.”

  “Those lazy bastards couldn’t travel the extra quarter-mile!” said the voice that Nicholas knew belonged to the man the second speaker had addressed as “Captain.” “Well, we’ll do what we came for.” He heard weapons being drawn, and then a half-grunt, half-yell as someone drove his horse forward.

  Nicholas waited only a moment for them to leave the inn behind, and he was on his feet. Softly he said, “Now!”

  His men were up and running, and those with bows took up position in the road. As he hoped, when the riders crested the hill, they were clearly visible against the glow of the campfires.

  “Now!” shouted Nicholas, and the bowmen let loose with a flight of arrows. Amos’s men did the same from the other side, and before they knew what happened, half the horsemen were falling from their saddles.

  Those without bows shouted and charged, and the horsemen, who had been confident of finding sixteen probably drunken and inexperienced men at the wagons, were now being attacked by thirty battle-trained soldiers and sailors.

  One rider attempted to charge back down the hillside, and he was taken from his saddle by a long arrow. Nicholas glanced behind and saw Calis hurrying up, notching another arrow.

  Then the captain on the ridge ordered a charge and the remaining nine horsemen rode for their lives.

  Two more were taken from their mounts by bowfire, but the others rode low over the necks of their animals. “Shoot the horses!” shouted Nicholas. “Don’t let anyone escape.”

  The sound of steel against steel told Nicholas that some of the men who had fallen were not dead, and had come to their feet ready to fight. The first rider bore down upon those in front of Nicholas, and he got ready to take the charge in turn. Practicing against a horseman who knew the intended target was his Prince’s son was one thing. This was quite another, and Nicholas knew it.

  Nervous sweat ran down his back, and he felt the grip on his sword grow clammy. He flexed his knees, and as the charging horseman closed, he held his sword high, in a cavalry pose.

  To stand before a charging horse and rider with only a broadsword was foolish, Nicholas knew. Had he a bastard-sword such as Ghuda carried or even a heavy falchion, he could risk taking the horse’s legs out from under him while avoiding the rider’s attack. But with a broadsword, he had to attempt to get the horse to shy or change course, while protecting himself from both animal and rider.

  As the rider bore down on him, the horse screamed and its front legs collapsed. The rider was thrown forward; like a trained acrobat, he attempted to take the fall on his shoulder and roll. Someone in the gloom had shot the horse or struck it with a blade.

  The rider landed heavily, and let out a painful-sounding grunt, but he scrambled to his feet. Nicholas charged. As the man lurched upward, Nicholas drove his shoulder into him. The man cried out in pain and Nicholas surmised he had broken something in the fall. Lashing out with his sword, Nicholas took the man in the arm and the soldier’s sword fell from limp fingers. He scrambled backward and turned to flee. Two of Nicholas’s men ran up and grabbed the soldier, driving him to the ground, where they quickly had his hands tied. Nicholas had ordered prisoners if possible.

  He glanced around and saw the fight was over.

  —

  NICHOLAS ORDERED A campfire built and then checked on his own men. The surprise was so effective that not one of them suffered worse than a shallow cut on the arm, and that man looked embarrassed at being the only one. The rest suffered only bruises, muscle pulls, or sprains.

  Nakor inspected the wounds of the two prisoners and reported to Nicholas, “The captain may live, though his arm wound is deep, and he has broken ribs, but the other man will certainly not. It’s a wound to the stomach and the man ate before the attack, he told me. He’s an experienced soldier and asked for a quick death.”

  Nicholas shuddered and saw that Ghuda nodded. “Belly wound’s a bad way to die.”

  “Is there anything you can do?” asked Nicholas of Anthony.

  “If I had all my usual herbs and other curatives, perhaps, but even then it would be tricky. A healing priest might save him with prayer and magic, but out here, with what I have, no. There’s nothing I can do.”

  Amos took Nicholas by the elbow and took him out of earshot of the others. Lowering his voice, he said, “Nicky, I’ve not said a word to you since you’ve taken command, because by most standards you’ve chosen to do the right thing, and what mistakes you’ve made were not the sort even an experienced leader could have avoided.
But now you’ve got to understand some of the harder choices of your rank.”

  “You mean I have to let Ghuda kill that prisoner?”

  “No, I mean you’re going to have to kill them both.”

  “Crowe,” said Nicholas with resignation.

  “What?” asked Amos.

  “It’s a story my father told me, of the ride north during the time the Brotherhood of the Dark Path invaded the Kingdom, before he found you and Guy du Bas-Tyra in Armengar. They were being tracked by a party of Black Slayers.” He closed his eyes. “A man named Morgan Crowe, a renegade, spied them out, and Father had to order him killed.” He shook his head. “He said that of all the men whom he had to pronounce punishment on, that was the hardest.” Looking into Amos’s eyes, he said, “I don’t even have the pretense of right by law here, Amos. This isn’t the Kingdom, and this man isn’t trying to kill me because of anything more than an order given him by his master. He’s not a traitor to my King the way Crowe was.”

  Amos said, “I understand, but out here there’s no law, save what we make for ourselves. You’re a captain of a company on a sea of grass, and you must act as if these were pirates boarding your ship for plunder. You’ve got to order them dead after you get as much information out of them as you can.”

  Nicholas looked hard into the eyes of the man who would be, gods willing, his step-grandfather. At last he took a deep breath and nodded firmly.

  Returning to the circle around the fire, he nodded once to Ghuda, who slipped away. “Bring the captain here,” he ordered.

  Two men brought the injured captain, who moaned as he was eased to a sitting position at Nicholas’s feet. Nicholas said, “What’s your name?”

  “Dubas Nebu,” he said, “Captain of the Second Company of His Radiance’s Own.”

  Praji had ambled over and said, “Damn, it’s the Overlord’s private guards.”

  Nicholas said, “Meaning?”

  Praji scratched his face and said, “Either the Overlord’s in on all this or he’s got a traitor high up in his own government.”

  Praji reached down and tore open the man’s tunic, which brought forth a scream of pain. “Get this animal away from me!” cried the captain.

  Praji found something about his neck and pulled it free. “Look at this,” he said, handing it to Nicholas. He examined the talisman, as Praji added, “Clan symbol.” Then his tone turned puzzled. “Though I’ve never seen its like before.”

  Nicholas said, “I have.” The token was of two snakes, in a pattern identical to that of his own ring.

  Amos started to say something, but Nicholas cut him off. “Everyone, leave me alone with this man.”

  Amos again started to speak, then stopped himself and nodded. He signaled for the others to follow him, and when Nicholas was alone with the wounded man, he knelt opposite him. “You fool,” he whispered in his best conspiratorial tone, “what were your orders?”

  Captain Dubas’s eyes were bright with his injury, and his face was drenched in perspiration, but he didn’t seem unclear as he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, renegade.”

  Nicholas reached into his belt pouch, pulled out the ring that Calis had brought to them from Elvandar, and showed it to the man. “I don’t wear this save when I need to identify myself!” Nicholas said. “Now, what fool ordered you here? We were to kill the clansmen and bring the Ranjana to the city.”

  Dubas said, “But…Dahakon told me that…there was to be no other company.”

  Nicholas pulled his dagger and put it against the man’s chest. “I should kill you now, but someone higher up has made a mess of this.”

  “Who are you?” asked the captain.

  “What were your orders?”

  Pain made Dubas’s face pale and he said, “I was to take those who came with the wagons. The Red Slayers are already on their way back with the boats…I don’t understand….”

  “What about the prisoners?” asked Nicholas.

  “There were to be no prisoners,” said Dubas. “I was to kill the girls and bring their bodies in with me.”

  “No, the other prisoners. From the ship?”

  Dubas said, “The ship…?” Suddenly understanding registered. “You know of the ship!” Before Nicholas could react, the captain lunged forward, throwing himself atop Nicholas. He cried out in a weak croak as Nicholas’s blade was driven into his chest by the force of his own weight.

  Seeing the struggle from a few yards away, Amos and the others hurried back. “What happened?” asked Amos as he pulled the dead man off Nicholas.

  “He killed himself,” said Nicholas bitterly. “I was being clever and overplayed my hand.”

  “Did you learn anything?” asked Harry, helping his friend to his feet.

  “I did get a name.”

  “What name?” asked Praji.

  “Dahakon.”

  “Oh, that’s just wonderful,” said Praji. “You’ve a grand assortment of enemies, Captain.”

  “Who is Dahakon?” asked Marcus.

  “He’s the Overlord’s Grand Adviser, and the meanest son of a bitch in the Eastlands, the Riverlands, hell, the whole damned world.”

  Nicholas said, “And from what I can see, he’s a traitor.”

  “Can’t be,” said Praji.

  “Why not?” asked Harry.

  “Because he’s the man who’s kept the Overlord in power since he took control of the city, twenty years back. He’s the man that’s truly feared in the city.”

  “Why?” asked Marcus.

  “He’s a magician.”

  Nicholas said, “That’s special around here?”

  “Ha!” said Praji. “Obviously you’re from one hell of a long way off.” In serious tones he added, “Captain, there’s only one magician in the Eastlands. That’s Dahakon. Used to be a few here and there, but it’s death for any magician to be found in the city. And it’s not a pretty death, from what the rumors say: he eats them.”

  Nicholas glanced at Nakor and Anthony and shook his head slightly. Praji continued. “It’s said that he’s the man who created the Red Slayers, and they do his bidding, not the Overlord’s. He talks to the dead and has a soul drinker for a lover. She’s the one who keeps him alive; he’s supposed to be hundreds of years old.”

  Nakor made a sign. “Very bad. Necromancy is the worst practice there is.”

  Anthony nodded, and Nicholas could tell he was shaken. Pointedly he said, “We’ve no magicians among us, so we needn’t worry.”

  “That’s good,” said Praji. “No, Dahakon can’t be the traitor; he could remove the Overlord any time he wished.”

  Nicholas sighed. “Well, we’ll never figure out who’s behind this plotting standing here. How’s the best way to get down to the city?”

  Praji said, “Boats. But with this place in ruins, you’ll never get a river caravan to put in; they’ll figure we’re the murderers who’ve done the job, and if the Jeshandi wander this way anytime soon, you’ll have some fast talking to do while they roast you upside down over a fire; back when they granted this land to Shingazi’s father, they put this little inn under their protection.”

  He glanced around, as if speaking the nomads’ name might make them appear. “Best we be moving south, down the river road. There’s a village five days from here, and boats put in there from time to time. If we don’t find a boat ride along the way, we can be in the city in a month or two.”

  Nicholas said nothing. A month would be far too late.

  —

  ABIGAIL SCREAMED. “GET away from me!” She kicked out and the thing pulled away.

  Margaret said, “I don’t think it’s going to harm you.”

  “I don’t care,” said Abigail angrily. “They’re disgusting.”

  The creatures she referred to were human-shaped, but rather than having skin, they were covered in green scales. A broad brow ridge dominated the forehead, and large black reptilian eyes stared out of an expressionless face. The teeth were odd,
not as sharp as a reptile’s, yet not as regular as most humans’. If they had gender, there were no external indications of sex; the chest was flat and without nipples and the crotch appeared smooth. Margaret didn’t know what the creatures were, but she knew they were somehow related to the one that had occupied the cabin next to their own on the black ship.

  The girls had been taken from the ship in a large boat, rowed to the docks by a crew of men in black tunics and trousers, wearing red head coverings. Rather than being taken to a slave pen, as Margaret had expected, the girls had been loaded aboard a caravan of wagons and taken out of the city, to a large estate surrounded by high walls. There they had been taken to the rooms they occupied now, and Arjuna Svadjian resumed the questioning. Margaret was now convinced there was a pattern to his seemingly random questions, but she couldn’t quite make it out. She knew much of what he asked was to mask the design of his interrogation, which his manner and choices of topics made it difficult to guess at. They never saw the mysterious woman who had ordered the murder of the girl to demonstrate that their countrymen’s lives depended upon the girls’ cooperation. Once Margaret asked Arjuna about her, but he ignored her and posed another question.

  Asking Abigail to help discover what his purpose was had helped the girl come out of her last round of despair. Now she was angry, and she seemed ready to help Margaret in her next attempt to escape; Margaret had again stated her intention to get away as soon as possible.

  Their routine became predictable. They were allowed their privacy, save when Arjuna came to question them. At breakfast, the noon meal, and supper they were served by attendants who refused to speak. In the afternoon, they were permitted to spend a few hours in a garden under a gauzy awning that cut the harsh glare of the sun.

  Then things had changed. That morning, instead of Arjuna coming to question them, the two creatures had been admitted to the room. Abigail had fled to the farthest corner, while Margaret had stood ready to defend herself with a chair. The two creatures had hunkered down and watched for a while, each studying one of the girls.