GORIAN KNEW IT was his best chance. With most of the camp chasing after those stupid kids, and Kunios and some of his crew on the ship, he could slip away and contact Kanilla Rey. He made sure no one was watching—not even Sullas, who stood, like most of the rest, looking into the distance to observe the pursuit.
Fishing the stone from underneath his shirt, he backed away from camp, into the darkness on the other side of the palms. Once clear of the beach, he walked gingerly through the grass, torn between the desire to move fast and the urgency of not making much noise. Most of the camp was awake now. The few who hadn’t gone after the youngsters were talking, discussing the chase, wagering on the outcome. Even so, he didn’t want to take any chances on one of them hearing him.
On the ship, he saw lanterns moving about. They had heard the fuss, even over there, he guessed, and Kunios was sending someone back to investigate. That made speed all the more necessary to Gorian, who would want to be back at camp before anyone returned from the ship.
A few minutes later, he found, by the moon’s dim glow, a slight depression in the meadow. Lowering himself to the ground, he was out of sight of the camp and the ship. This, he thought, would have to suffice. He cut his flesh, pressed his hand against the rock. As loudly as he dared, he spoke the required phrases while staring into the chunk of stone.
“It has been a long time, Gorian,” Kanilla Rey’s voice answered. “I have been getting worried.” Once again, Gorian thought he sensed the presence of the sorcerer, here in the grassy dip, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary.
“Much has happened,” Gorian said. “A storm blew us toward shore, where we went aground on a reef. We had to abandon the ship. Then we were attacked by Argossean buccaneers, who have taken over. We are all prisoners now, and have been forced—those of us still alive, at any rate—to join their crew. We are still beached, but setting sail on the morn.”
“But no longer bound for Stygia?”
“I think not,” Gorian answered. “More likely for Argos.”
“This is very bad news, Gorian,” Kanilla Rey’s voice said.
“I know,” Gorian replied. “This is the first chance I have had to contact you.”
“Something must be done,” Kanilla Rey said. “Listen closely . . .”
DONIAL FELT LIKE he had been running all his life.
He should have been pacing himself better, he knew. He had sprinted full out, and now his legs were weakening, his strides faltering. He had heard Alanya fall, a while before. Then, a short time after that, Mikelo. He knew that Kral, who had passed him earlier, was still out in front. Donial had almost reached the distant tree line, but when he glanced behind him he saw that there were still four pirates on his tail, and they weren’t giving up.
Kral, he guessed, was already deep in the woods and probably safe. The only pirates still on the hunt were behind Donial, and he doubted if they’d have the strength to keep going after Kral. They were slowing, too, visibly weakening, just as he was.
Determined to go on, he kept his legs moving in spite of the pain. The trees drew ever closer. There, perhaps he could find a hiding place. Out in the grass, even in the faint moonlight, he was too exposed. The flaw in Mikelo’s plan was that it relied too heavily on no one noticing their absence until they were long gone. Better, probably, to have waited for another chance, where there were places to hide from pursuers.
He remembered the things that Mikelo had told him about the other young man who had tried to escape. The attempted keelhauling, the drowning. And he thought about his sister, in the clutches of that pirate captain. Could he abandon her to whatever evil torture the man might dream up next?
The forest, and possible salvation, was tantalizingly close ahead. He risked a backward glance. The pirates were still far enough back. He could make the trees. They were no guarantee of safety, but they were the closest he had to one.
He thought once more of his sister, and he let his legs tangle together, dumping him onto the grass just before the tree line. Spent, he tried to force himself back to his feet. Before he could, the four buccaneers surrounded him and stopped, glaring down at him.
“Let’s show the boy how much we appreciate our late-night run,” one offered.
“Captain Kunios will want to punish the kid himself,” another said.
“Yeah, but he ain’t here.”
The others laughed at that. Donial didn’t like that laughter at all. There was a distinctly sinister edge to it. He had let himself be caught because he wanted to be taken back, wanted to be able to help Alanya if things got bad for her.
If they killed him here, then his sacrifice was for naught.
He wanted to speak up in his own defense, but what could he say? He had, in fact, made them run, likely far longer than seamen were used to, or happy about. He had been trying to escape. Everything they complained of, he had done intentionally.
Instead of defending himself, Donial said the first thing that came to mind. “You might have caught me sooner if you weren’t a scurvied, bowlegged bunch of sea dogs.”
His taunt had the expected effect. Swords slid from scabbards, and one of the men spat into the grass. “Killing you is going to be much more fun than chasing you, pup,” he said.
Donial yanked his own sword free. He had only used it once, in real battle. That had been one against one, and Alanya had helped.
Now it was four to one.
Donial swallowed hard and braced for the worst.
18
FROM HIS VANTAGE point among the trees, Kral listened intently. Believing that Donial was close behind, he had taken cover past the tree line. It was not a dense forest, as he had hoped, just a thin veil of trees along the banks of a shallow creek. There, he had hoped to wait for Donial, so that the two of them could stay together. He doubted that anything in Donial’s life had prepared him for survival on his own, out in the wilderness. With Kral’s help, however, Donial would be fine—and it was entirely possible that Kral could in turn use an ally as he sought out the Teeth.
But from what he heard now, not only had Donial stumbled and been caught, he was about to be killed for his trouble. As much as Kral wanted to get away, he couldn’t just stand and listen to that. Arguing with himself every step of the way, he worked his way quickly back through the trees, to the edge of the grassy plain.
Donial, his back to Kral, held his sword out, his feet widely spaced. He actually looked like he knew what he was doing, Kral thought.
Still, four against one, and that one just a boy, green and untested. If nothing else, Kral could even the odds a bit.
Drawing the sword he had taken from the pirate camp, he loosed a full-throated war cry and hurled himself from the trees, slashing at the nearest of the buccaneers. The man saw him at the last moment and threw up his own sword to block the blow. Kral’s blade was deflected, but the tip snaked down and sliced into the pirate’s arm. The man grunted in pain and dropped back a step.
Shoulder to shoulder with Donial, now, Kral faced the four men.
“It does not have to be this way,” he said.
“Meaning what?” one of the buccaneers asked.
“We will surrender and go back to camp peacefully,” Kral explained. “Or you can try to fight us, and all die right here.”
“I say we fight,” another one replied. But the one Kral had cut was holding his hand over the wound and grimacing with pain. A third pirate turned to peer back toward the camp and the ship.
“Maybe we should accept their surrender,” he said. “Captain Kunios will want to deal with them himself, anyway.”
“Aye,” the fourth one agreed. “No need to wear ourselves out any further with this lot.”
Kral felt Donial’s glare burning into him. He knew the boy would view his surrender as a betrayal. To explain, he turned to Donial and silently mouthed one word. “Alanya.”
Donial nodded, seemingly catching on.
Kral had figured out that Donial had allowed himself
to be caught—he could have made the trees, after all—because he was worried about what might happen to his sister if he didn’t. So he could hardly complain if Kral did the same thing, and for the same reason.
“All right,” the first pirate said. “Have it your way. Throw down your weapons.”
“I said we would surrender,” Kral answered. “But we keep our weapons, at least until we get to camp. If you think I trust you for a second, you are wrong.”
The buccaneers nodded their assent, and the six of them began the long walk back toward camp.
ALANYA WAS ASTONISHED to look up and see Kral and Donial walking back to the pirate camp, still armed, and in the company of four rogues who looked as if they could barely stay upright.
The sky was beginning to lighten in the east. The night had been long, eventful, and wearying. She still had not slept, but after having been escorted back to camp, was lashed with thick, greasy rope to one of the palm tree trunks. After an hour or so, Captain Kunios and a few of the others who had planned to spend the night on the Barachan Spur came ashore. Kunios asked pointed questions of the pirates, particularly the one who had been on guard, and threw some barbed looks her way, but did not address her directly.
Mikelo was brought back to camp about the same time. Kunios did speak to him. He backhanded Mikelo across the face, knocking the young man to the ground. Mikelo got up, blood starting to show at the corners of his mouth, and he was pushed down again, made to sit on the ground, surrounded by the people he had just tried to run away from. He wasn’t bound, but Alanya didn’t think he would be running again anytime soon.
But . . . Kral and Donial looked as if they were returning voluntarily. She could not imagine any other reason they would be allowed to keep their own weapons. Why would they have done that?
Apparently she would not get the chance to ask them, at least not right away. They were brought into the camp but kept some distance from her. One of the pirates who had accompanied them held a hushed conversation with Captain Kunios, who glared at them, then indicated they should be held away from her. Neither was bound, but they did surrender their weapons, and armed men surrounded them.
With the dawning of the new day, the camp began to bustle with activity. Lifeboats made trips over to the Barachan Spur—Alanya on the first trip, Mikelo, Kral, and Donial on the second. Some of the pirates who had spent the night on the ship came back to help strike the camp, while several of the mercenaries and sailors from the original Restless Heart were brought with Alanya and the others to the ship, to work on making her ready to sail.
She couldn’t help worrying about when Kunios’s punishment would be dealt out. From Mikelo’s stories she knew that the pirate had a fierce temper and did not brook disobedience. She had seen that for herself, when he disciplined a man who had simply made a mistake. The man seemed blood-crazed and unstable to her. So far, the escape attempt she and her friends had made was the first sign of genuine rebellion she had observed, so she didn’t know precisely how the captain would respond. She didn’t expect to like it.
Even so, she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Once they were on board the ship, she guessed, opportunities for escape would be much more limited. She was glad they had at least tried to get away rather than meekly accepting the situation as it was. And while she thought she understood why Kral and Donial had allowed themselves to be captured, she couldn’t help wishing that they hadn’t. Regardless of what Captain Kunios had in mind for her, she could take care of herself. And as long as he believed she had parents who might pay a ransom for her, he was unlikely to hurt her.
On board, activity was frantic, and while she, Mikelo, Donial, and Kral were excluded from the preparations and still not allowed weapons, they were no longer kept away from each other. She was sitting in the stern, trying to keep out of the way, when the others came to join her.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, when they approached. “You two could have gotten away!”
“You are my sister,” Donial said, as if that explained it all. “I could not just abandon you.”
“There will be other chances,” Kral said. “And we will all go together when we do.”
“What about the—” Alanya had almost said “Teeth,” but caught herself, realizing that Mikelo didn’t know the nature of Kral’s quest. “What about your destination?”
“I did not say we would wait very long for our next chance,” he said, with a smile. “Just that we would wait for the right one.”
“But . . .” She didn’t complete the thought. She knew Donial could be stubborn, and supposed that applied to Kral as well. Maybe to all males.
“You should not be left alone with these pirates,” Mikelo said. Alanya didn’t think he had intentionally allowed himself to be caught, but maybe he had. Or maybe he just preferred to let her think so. She knew, by the way he looked at her and tried to spend time around her, that he was fond of her.
She didn’t think she could ever return that feeling. He was nice enough, but the physical attraction he obviously felt for her was not shared.
“I would have been fine,” she protested.
“You do not know Kunios,” Mikelo said. “You might not have been injured, until he learned that you have no family to pay a ransom. But once he did, anything could happen. You could be flogged to within an inch of your life, sold to slavers, drowned, or marooned.”
All those possibilities had occurred to Alanya. She had also decided that, alone or with her friends, she would escape the buccaneers before any of those things happened. Even if she had to get away by jumping overboard in the middle of the ocean, taking her chances with sharks and drowning. Better to die free than to live in tortured servitude.
They were sitting together, discussing these things in hushed tones, when they heard the first pirate die.
AT KANILLA REY’S suggestion, Gorian had subtly hinted to some of the buccaneers that the former crew, including his mercenaries, of the Restless Heart should do most of the preparation for sailing. They were used to the ship, he mentioned, ignoring the fact that it had been considerably changed. Besides, with them working hard, the Barachan Spur’s pirates could relax a little before setting off. Striking the camp would be a simple matter, not very taxing. By the time they reached the ship, the hard work would have been done.
Not all of the pirates agreed with this reasoning, and there were some he didn’t get the chance to talk to. But enough of them went along with the idea, and some even told their friends. Gorian heard a few snickering that they were making the new men do all the difficult work.
Which was just fine with Gorian. He allowed himself to be taken over on one of the early boats. Most of his mercenaries were on that one or the next. When that boat had arrived and the sailors, mercenaries, and a handful of the Barachan Spur’s pirates were busy rigging and hoisting the sails, he told the nearest mercenary that it was time to act. They had discussed the plan previously, and he had assured them that they’d have Kanilla Rey’s assistance when the time came.
Moresh, a Poitainian with a neck like a bull’s and arms corded with steely muscle, made the first move. He moved close to a pirate, who was busy making fast a rigging line, and drew his poniard, driving it deep into the buccaneer’s gut while the man had his hands full of taut rope. The man let out a pained groan and released the rope, which flew from his hands.
Moresh rammed his elbow into the dying man’s face, knocking him over the side and into the sea. On cue, the rest of the mercenaries, and those few of Captain Ferrin’s sailors whom Gorian had trusted, went into action. Each one struck down the pirate nearest to him. An alarm was sounded, and the remaining pirates drew cutlasses and gave more of a battle than the first lot had. Steel clashed against steel, men shouted oaths and screamed with pain when they were cut. A couple of the sailors went down under pirates’ attacks, and Gorian watched his tiny crew become smaller yet.
Which was when Kanilla Rey’s promised aid came into play. Gorian tore t
he hanging stone from beneath his shirt and held it up in his hand, squeezing it so tightly that it split the raw flesh there. The stone glowed with a grayish internal light for a moment, then the light shifted, taking on a weird greenish cast. The green light erupted from the stone, and Gorian moved it around, beaming the light at one pirate after another. As it struck the pirates, their motions suddenly slowed, as if they fought their way through some viscous semiliquid instead of simply through the air. Their faces revealed confusion and frustration, but try as they might they were unable to break the spell.
In Gorian’s hand, the stone grew painfully hot. It vibrated with a force that he began to fear would break his arm as he tried to hold it still. It only took a minute to affect all the remaining pirates on the ship, however. After that, Gorian, with a sigh of relief, released the burning fragment. Even through his shirt, it was uncomfortably hot on his skin. The agonizing sensation was leavened, though, by the ease with which his allies disposed of the rest of the Barachan Spur’s crew. After less than five minutes, it was done. The decks still ran with their blood but were clear of pirates. Bodies floated in the water around the ship. Gorian wondered casually how long it would take the sharks to be drawn by their open wounds, but then he turned his attention to more urgent matters.
“Now cast off!” Gorian shouted to his men. He pointed toward the beach, where Kunios and some of his pirates were crowding into the one lifeboat remaining there. Kanilla Rey had warned him that magic across such a vast distance was difficult, uncertain, and could not be maintained for long. “Lose that anchor, quick, before they reach us!”
The men, already planning for such an event, finished the final preparations, releasing the anchor chain from the ship rather than taking time to raise it. Until the winds caught the sails, oars would be needed to push the ship away from the reefs and beyond the reach of the fast-rowing pirates in their small boat. All available hands grasped oars and set to rowing, and Gorian looked back toward the increasingly furious Kunios with grim satisfaction.
Winds of the Wild Sea Page 14
