“I want them a cursed sight more practised before push comes to shove.” Halice looked towards Suthyfer. “And I want to know what goad Muredarch thinks he’s found today”
Temar looked up at the aftdeck where Usara and Allin were deep in conversation with Guinalle. “How much more do you think the demoiselle can stand?” he asked Halice in a low voice.
“Hard to tell,” the mercenary admitted frankly. “She’s a will of iron, that much is certain but one hard blow can shatter iron. It all depends if she’s cast or wrought.”
That was precious little reassurance to Temar but, as he kept covert watch on Guinalle, he was encouraged to see some of the strain lifting from her face as she discussed whatever it was with Usara.
The Dulse sailed on, flags signalling to the circling Maelstrom that this was an unplanned voyage rather than the expected relief. With the bigger ship resigned to a longer wait, they headed for the entrance to the sound between the islands. Some little while later, Muredarch’s toiling sloop came slowly into view.
“My duty, Messire!” The pirate hailed Temar genially.
Temar bowed his head in curt acknowledgement. “What do you want?”
“What I wanted before.” Muredarch stood high in the stern of the boat, dressed in his customary finery. “Rope, sails, nails and bolts.”
“We’ve already had this conversation.” Temar tried to see who it was a couple of Muredarch’s men had subdued on the single-master’s deck.
“This time I’ve got something I know you want.” Muredarch nodded to his subordinates and a heavy-set, thickly bearded man hauled up an unresisting prisoner.
“He should go bareheaded before his Sieur, Greik,” Muredarch said in mock rebuke. The pirate pulled the sacking off the prisoner’s head.
Temar fought to keep his face impassive and his voice level as Naldeth was revealed. “I want all of my people, not one at a time.”
Naldeth was pale with fear beneath bruises and filth, and a scarlet sore festered on one arm. He wore nothing beyond ragged breeches belted with a strip of cloth, bare feet cut and swollen. Temar’s stomach turned as he saw the wizard’s cringe of fear at an unexpected movement by the pirate Greik.
“You want some more than others.” Muredarch nodded to another man who heaved the contents of a bucket over the rail. Blood and entrails floated across the gently rippling sea. “My friends from the north want this lad given over to them,” Muredarch continued conversationally. “Seems he’s one of your mageborn.”
“Is he?” Temar’s attempt at bluff was futile at best. “Any man I can’t brand is touched with some sorcery,” snapped Muredarch before recovering his poise. “My friends from the north are all for turning his head inside out with their enchantments but I thought you might like to trade your boy for a few concessions.”
He nodded to the man with the beard who promptly punched Naldeth in the kidneys. As the mage’s knees buckled, the pirate knotted a rope securely around his chest.
“Let’s see just how much you value your friends.” Mure-darch’s voice was silky with menace and he stepped aside as Greik hauled Naldeth on to the tiny afterdeck. A second sailor flung a noisome bucketful of blood and butchered bones into the sea. Temar saw sharply angled fins cutting the water beneath the sloop’s stern but these were not the dolphins that frolicked on the ship’s carvings.
“Sharks,” growled Halice at Temar’s side. “I’d heard tell this was a game with the worst of pirates.”
Dark ominous shapes were gliding below the surface of the sea, vanishing only to reappear in the shadows of the boats, blue-grey fins broaching the ruffled waves, some tipped with white, some with black.
“All I want is to refit a ship and have your seal agreeing my writ runs in these islands.” Muredarch spoke with the reasonable air of a peaceable man. “I can be of considerable service to you and yours.”
Temar cleared his throat. “Rule over these islands is not mine to grant.”
Muredarch leaned back on the stern rail as Greik tied off the other end of the rope holding Naldeth. “You have the Emperor’s ear, you have highly placed friends in Hadrumal. With your word backing me, they won’t argue the roll of the runes.”
“You have an exaggerated opinion of my consequence,” Temar said coldly. “Neither Emperor Tadriol nor Archmage Planir will accept my decree on this.”
Muredarch shook his head. “But your man here, since he’s so desperate to convince us he’s worth less than the shit on my shoe, says Emperor and Archmage both have left you to your own devices and won’t come running to rescue him or anyone else. Well, they can hardly complain when you make dispositions of land and trade as you see fit. Especially when you’re forced into it.”
Temar stared at Muredarch, determined to avoid catching Naldeth’s eye. “We will not be intimidated by scum like you.”
“Then we have a problem. Or rather, your friend here does.” Muredarch considered the quaking wizard, head on one side. “Not enough blood on him, Greik.”
The bearded man forced Naldeth towards Muredarch who drew his dagger with slow, deliberate malice and scored burning lines across Naldeth’s bare chest. The mage writhed in a vain attempt to evade the torment but the bearded pirate held him firm.
“Planir may not involve himself in Kellarin’s affairs but harm one of Hadrumal’s own and by Saedrin’s very keys, he’ll involve himself in yours!” shouted Temar furiously.
At Muredarch’s nod, Greik turned Naldeth to show everyone aboard the Dulse a bold letter M carved into the mage, flourishes at the end of every stroke. “Can’t brand him but can carve him.” Muredarch shook his head. “If only I’d thought of that earlier. But then, we’d never have uncovered your wizard. Some good comes from every mistake, that’s what my father would say.”
“You witless son of a poxed whore,” Halice called out. “If you knew your father it was only thanks to him being some brothel-keeper’s runner.”
Muredarch ignored her. “Now, do we start high on the tally and I come down a notch or so for every mouthful you lose of your man? No. Let’s see if you’ve the stones to play for high stakes, boy. Give me what I want and you have him back whole. Hold out and the price goes up.”
“I’m playing no games with you.” Temar turned from the rail to see the horrified faces of Usara and Allin. Guinalle stood between them, face pale as bone and her eyes like hollows in a skull.
A despairing cry and a splash forced Temar back to the sea. Greik had thrown Naldeth overboard and the wizard was struggling to tread water, looking in all directions, hands searching for any hold on the harsh planks of the boat, new scrapes only adding to the blood in the water. Predatory fins swept towards him in long inquisitive arcs.
Greik laughed as Muredarch jerked the rope tied beneath Naldeth’s arms and then took hold himself. “Steady,” warned Muredarch. The rest of the pirates balanced the trim of the sloop, every face showing they’d seen this game played out before.
A notched fin flew straight as an arrow at the struggling mage. It disappeared beneath the water and Naldeth’s scream was a rising note of pure agony cut short with a gasping gurgle as something wrenched him beneath the roiling water. More fins jostled in an ever-decreasing circle.
“Pull!” Muredarch was intent as any fisherman casting a lazy line over a peaceful pond. He jerked the rope and the two of them hauled Naldeth bodily from the sea. The mage hung limp, white body dripping with seawater, scarlet blood gushing from the ragged stump where one leg had been bitten clean off just below the knee.
A questing snout broached the surface, black eyes like jet in the blunt grey head, gaping mouth lined with teeth more terrible than the most murderous mantrap. The shark dropped back into the water, pale belly uppermost for a moment before it disappeared into the perilous depths. An arrow, shot without sanction from the Dulse, struck the water and floated away, useless.
Naldeth began coughing and retching up salt water. Greik reached down to haul him up and the mage clung on the stern rail,
remaining foot flailing in midair. To Temar’s astonishment, Muredarch briskly tied a tourniquet around Naldeth’s bleeding thigh.
“We can keep this up for some while, boy,” the pirate said confidently. “Well, depending on how lively Greik manages that rope. We’ve had a man live through the loss of both arms and legs, haven’t we, lads?” He patted the wizard’s sodden and matted head as the sloop’s crew dutifully chuckled.
Halice gripped Temar’s forearm. “Give the word and I’ll fill that bastard so full of arrows, they won’t need wood to build a pyre under him!”
“Can we kill them all?” Temar set his jaw. “And who takes that privy rat’s place? Most likely one of Ilkehan’s enchanters. Do we raise the stakes that high?”
“We want him looking this way, don’t we?” Halice was not deterred.
Temar could hear Usara and Allin whispering urgently to Guinalle. Were they as appalled at what he was doing as he was himself?
“Nothing to offer?” Muredarch sighed with false regret. “Time for another dipping.”
Greik pushed the hapless mage off the rail, heedless of his cries of anguish.
“Then do it as fast as you can!” Guinalle hung back, face twisted with concentration as Allin and Usara stepped forward to the Dulse’s rail.
A crack of thunder from the clear blue sky silenced Muredarch even as a shaft of lightning hissed into the sea by Naldeth’s head. Another and another split the water with blinding light and scattered the sharks. Muredarch raised his bloodied dagger at Temar but his words went unheard among shouts of alarm as the seas beneath the pirates’ hull bucked and heaved. Muredarch clung to the stern rail, face ugly, only to recoil a moment later as a golden shaft of lightning split the wood, cutting the rope holding Naldeth. The polished lamps exploded, shards of glass cutting Muredarch’s hands and face. A pirate tumbled screaming into the water but even with the sharks fled, no one threw him a rope.
“Allin, quick!” gasped Guinalle as Naldeth’s unconscious body was lifted on a swathe of dusky light. Usara was still intent on the pirates, a blazing thunderbolt shattering the sloop’s single mast and exploding into knives of light to shred the tumbling sails.
“Sink the bastards!” Halice raised one hand as archers on the Dulse’s ratlines waited for her signal.
Usara’s face twisted with concentration. Magic-tainted mist like bloodstained gossamer rose from the hostile sea to thicken around the pirates who slapped with rising panic at coils tightening around their arms and heads. The magic dissolved at their touch but the threatening tendrils reappeared a moment later. The pirates’ shouts cracked with fear.
“Stop, all of you!” screamed Guinalle. The noblewoman pressed her hands to her temples, eyes closed and face white. Naldeth thudded senseless on to the Dulse’s deck.
“Help me, somebody.” Allin was on her knees beside him, breaking her nails on the viciously tight tourniquet. His swollen thigh was dark with blood, cruel contrast to his pale, wasted body.
“One shot! Make ’em pay!” Halice swept her hand down. Shafts hissed through the air and pirates cursed and yelled as the arrowheads bit home.
“If we’ve no sails then we cursed well row! Get the sweeps out!” Muredarch was down among his men, tossing a corpse overboard before dragging at a long oar himself. “So, Tormalin Sieur, this is how you dishonour truce.” Muredarch stood up, unafraid. “You’ve a lot to learn, boy, if you’re ever to have men keep faith with you!”
With the long sweeps now deployed, the pirates strained to pull themselves out of bowshot.
“You broke faith first!” Temar’s rage got the better of him before he realised he sounded like a petulant child.
Muredarch laughed scornfully. “I’ve a whole stockade full of slaves and the ocean’s full of sharks. Let’s see who sickens of this game first!” He turned his back on Temar to lend a hand and encouragement as his sweating men fled for the sound between the islands.
“Can’t you sink it?” Halice demanded of Usara.
“Not with Muredarch’s enchanters ready to pounce.” Usara looked to Guinalle who nodded tight-lipped confirmation.
“We have to get him ashore.” Allin looked up at Temar. She had the stump of Naldeth’s leg raised across her lap, swathing the torn and ragged flesh in linen torn from someone’s shirt. Crushed splinters of bone were impeding her, blood running between her fingers and staining her cuffs. Guinalle dropped to her knees to cradle Naldeth’s head.
“I can raise us a wind,” Usara offered.
Guinalle opened her eyes for a moment. “No. They’re seeking us with every art they can summon.”
“Back,” Temar waved to the Dulse’s captain. “Fast as you can.”
Usara glared after the vanished pirates. “I could slaughter that whole nest of vermin with every torment of magic I could think of.”
“Help us lift him,” Allin demanded. “Careful. Keep that leg raised.”
With Guinalle steadying his head, Temar and Usara carried Naldeth into the stern cabin, Allin looking to his wounded leg and remaining foot. For all their care, a lurch of the ship caught them unawares, jolting Naldeth and forcing a moan from beneath his gritted teeth.
“On the bunk.” Usara and Temar laid Naldeth down and Allin began stripping away linen already soaked with blood to study the open wound. She covered it again with a light layer of clean cloth. “We have to stop this bleeding and that means cautery,” she said bluntly. “I daren’t use magic, not with him being mageborn and in such pain. It’ll have to be hot irons.”
The cloying scent of blood was rapidly filling the cramped cabin. Temar realised he was feeling sick and swallowed hard. That left him feeling both empty and nauseous, his mouth dry. The cabin darkened and Halice filled the doorway. “I’ll see to that,” she said grimly.
“Will you be able to?” Temar took the stained dressings Allin held out to him and then wondered what to do with them. “I mean, if they couldn’t brand him.”
Allin stroked Naldeth’s forehead. “Go and find anything that might dull the pain; tahn, thassin, spirits. Ask all the sailors.”
“Let me do that.” Usara followed Halice out of the cabin. Temar would have gone too but Naldeth suddenly writhed on the bunk. “Hold him,” Allin cried in alarm and Temar forced the mage’s shoulders back on the blankets. Naldeth’s eyes stayed closed, lips drawn back from clenched teeth, panting breaths rasping in his throat. A pulse beat fast and ragged in the hollow of his neck. Temar held him, expecting heat to sear his hands at any moment.
“Apple brandy.” Usara appeared at the door, offering a dark bottle sewn into a leather sleeve.
“Use liquor to clean the wound,” said Guinalle from the corner where she was standing, eyes unseeing as she worked some Artifice. “It won’t help the bleeding to have him drink it.” She looked at Usara. “The enchanters are trying to read Muredarch’s intentions. Now we are retreating, they have no interest in harassing us. You could speed us home with some small magic worked just around the ship. But I cannot keep watch for you,” she warned, eyes huge, “not if I’m helping Naldeth bear the pain of the cautery”
“Usara knows some elemental defences against Artifice,” Allin was still concentrating on Naldeth’s stump, fingers pressing tight to stem the bleeding. Temar moved closer to the door and seized the chance for a breath of fresher air as the mage departed.
Guinalle laid a gentle hand on Naldeth’s forehead. “Concentrate on my touch, on my voice. Let me take you away from the pain.”
The stricken wizard flinched but Guinalle persisted with gentle, inexorable hands bending close to whisper her incantations. Naldeth swallowed a sob, deep in his throat, eyes rolling beneath flickering lids. Gradually his laboured breathing slowed, the rigid tension lessening down his body.
Temar saw tears trickling down Allin’s face. She sniffed irritably, trying to scrub her cheek dry on her shoulder. Temar dug in a pocket for his kerchief and went to dry her face. As she mouthed her gratitude, he thought how rema
rkably sweet her smile could be.
“Mind your backs.” Halice held the cabin door open as the Dulse’s shipwright carried in a small brazier held tight between thickly padded leather gloves. His apprentice followed, lugging a hefty slab of slate. “Set it down there.” The shipwright steadied the brazier as it rested on the tile. “I don’t know what irons you might want, my lady, so I brought a fair selection.” The lad ground pincers, tongs, a small prybar and a plain length of iron into the glowing charcoal.
Allin pulled on a glove the apprentice offered her. As she took the iron bar from the coals, the end glowed with a white heat the brazier could never have imparted. “Hold his leg for me,” she appealed to Temar.
Catching his lip between his teeth, Temar knelt to grip Naldeth’s thigh as steadily as he could. Allin quickly uncovered the butchered flesh, fresh blood flowing from the ruin of torn skin, chewed muscle and sheared bone. Temar had to turn his face away. He’d seen his share of battlefield injuries but this was worse, a man so savaged by a mindless seabeast.
Allin bent closer to wield the thick bar with the delicacy of a fine pen picking through a manuscript. Naldeth whimpered and Temar felt his thigh tense beneath his hands. This close to Guinalle and with all that linked them, he sensed her fighting every impulse that screamed at the mage to rip himself away from this torment. The stink of burning flesh assaulted Temar’s nostrils, stinging his eyes but he could not turn away, lest he hinder Allin, lest he meet Naldeth’s eyes.
“Nearly done,” Allin murmured. The second application of the iron only took a moment but the smell was just as bad. Feeling Naldeth falling slackly unconscious, Temar couldn’t help clapping a hand to his mouth.
“He’s out of his senses.” Guinalle tried to stand but her knees gave way and she would have fallen if Temar hadn’t caught her. She began to retch, catching them both by surprise.
“Outside.” Temar gripped her around the waist. “Come on.”
Allin, moisture beading her forehead, continued determinedly dressing Naldeth’s stump with fresh linen. “Not for the moment.”
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