The Black Road

by Mel Odom

  “Aye.” Darrick collapsed the spyglass and put it back into his waist pouch, capping both ends. Glass ground as well as the lenses he had in the spyglass was hard to come by out of Kurast.

  “Are ye plannin’, then, Darrick?” Mat asked.

  “As I ever am,” Darrick agreed.

  Looking more sober, Mat asked, “This ain’t after bein’ as much of a bit of a lark as we’d have hoped, is it, then?”

  “No,” Darrick agreed. “But I still think we can get her done.” He rose from the hunkered position. “Me and you first, then, Mat. Quick and quiet as we can. Maldrin, can you still move silent, or have you got too broad abeam from Cook’s pastries?”

  Lonesome Star had a new baker, and the young man’s culinary skills were the stuff of legend within the Westmarch Navy. Captain Tollifer had called in some markers to arrange to have the baker assigned to their ship. Every sailor aboard Lonesome Star had developed a sweet tooth, but Maldrin had been the first to realize the baker actually wanted to learn how to sail and had capitalized on giving him time at the steering wheel in exchange for pastries.

  “I may have put on a pound or three in the last month or two,” Maldrin admitted, “but I’ll never get so old or so fat that I can’t keep up with ye young pups. If’n I do, I’ll tie a rope around me neck and dive off the fo’c’sle.”

  “Then follow along,” Darrick invited. “We’ll see if we can’t take over that stockpile.”

  “Whatever for?” Maldrin grumped.

  Darrick started down the grade, staying along the edge of the river. The block-and-tackles and the guards were nearly two hundred yards away. Brush and small trees grew along the high riverbank. Raithen’s pirates had been lazy about clearing more land than necessary.

  “Unless I misread those barrels,” Darrick said, “they contain whale oil and whiskey.”

  “Be better if they contained some of them wizard’s potions that explode,” Maldrin said.

  “We work with what we get,” Darrick said, “and we’ll be glad about it.” He called for Tomas.

  “Aye,” Tomas said, drawing up out of the dark shadows.

  “Once we give the signal,” Darrick said, “bring the rest of the men in a hurry. We’ll be boarding the middle ship to look for the king’s nephew. When we find him, I’ll be having him off that ship soon as we’re able. Make use of one of those block-and-tackles. Understand?”

  “Aye,” Tomas replied. “We’ll fetch him up.”

  “I’ll be wanting him in one piece, Tomas,” Darrick threatened, “or it’ll be you explaining to the king how his nephew got himself hurt or dead.”

  Tomas nodded. “A babe in arms, Darrick, that’s how we’ll be treatin’ the boy. As safe as his own mother would have him.”

  Darrick clapped Tomas on the shoulder and grinned. “I knew I was asking the right man about the job.”

  “Just ye be careful down there, an’ don’t go gettin’ too brave until we get down there with ye.”

  Darrick nodded, then started down the mountainside toward the riverbank. Mat and Maldrin followed him, as silent as falling snow in the winter.

  Raithen followed the steps cut into the riverbank overlooking the boats. When the steps had first been cut from the stone of the mountains, they’d doubtless been of an even keel. Now, after the damage that had been done to the city, they canted to one side, making the descent a tricky one. Since Raithen’s crew had been holed up at Tauruk’s Port, more than one drunken pirate had ended up in the water below, and two of them had been swept away in the current and likely drowned by the time they reached the Gulf of Westmarch. He carried a lantern to light the way, and the golden glow played over the striations in the mountainside. In the day, the stone shone blue and slate gray, different levels marked by a deepening of color till the rock looked almost charcoal gray before disappearing beneath the river’s edge. The fog maintained a soft presence around him, but he saw the three cogs through it without problem.

  Pirates assigned to guard duty squared their shoulders and looked alert as he passed. They deferred to him with politeness he’d beaten into some of them.

  A sudden shrill of rope through pulleys alerted him to activity above.

  “Look alive, ye great bastards,” a rough voice called down. “I’ve got ye a load of victuals, I have.”

  “Send it on down,” a man called on the cog to Raithen’s right. “Been waitin’ on it a dog’s age. Feel like my stomach’s been wrappin’ itself around me backbone.”

  Pressing himself against the mountainside, Raithen watched as a short, squat barrel was let go. The pulleys slowed the barrel’s descent, proving that the load was light. The scent of salted pork passed within inches of Raithen.

  “Got you a bottle of wine in there, too,” the man called.

  “An’ ye damn near hit Cap’n Raithen with it, ye lummox,” the guard only a few feet from the pirate captain yelled out.

  A muttered curse followed. “Excuse me, cap’n,” the man said in a contrite voice. “Didn’t know it was ye.”

  Raithen held the lantern up so the man could plainly see his features. “Hurry up.”

  “Aye, sir. Right away, sir.” The pirate raised his voice. “Ye lads heave off with that barrel. We need another, I’ll fetch it up later.”

  The pirates aboard the first cog threw off the lines, and they were hauled back up the block-and-tackle.

  As soon as the way was clear, Raithen walked to the first of the small temporary docks floating on the black water. He climbed the cargo net tossed over the side of the cog and stepped to the cog’s deck.

  “Evenin’, cap’n,” a scar-faced pirate greeted. A half dozen other pirates did the same but didn’t slow in their efforts to take the food from the barrel.

  Raithen nodded at the man, feeling the pain in his wounded throat. When the ships were in port, he made certain the men stayed out of ships’ stores. All of the cogs stayed fully loaded at all times, in case they had to flee out to deep water. His other ships lay a few days away, anchored off the north coastline in a bay that could be treacherous to an understaffed ship.

  Planks spanned the distance between the ships. The river current was gentle enough that the cogs didn’t fight the tether while they lay at anchorage. On board Barracuda, the ship kept between the other two, he saw Bull sitting in the prow puffing on a pipe.

  “Cap’n,” Bull acknowledged, taking the pipe from between his teeth. He was a big man, seemingly assembled from masts. A scarf tied around his head bound his wounded ear, but bloodstains were visible down the sides of his neck.

  “How’s the boy, Bull?” Raithen asked.

  “Why, he’s fine, cap’n,” Bull replied. “Any reason he shouldn’t be?”

  “I heard about your ear.”

  “This little thing?” Bull touched his wounded ear and grinned. “Why, it ain’t nothing for ye to be worryin’ over, cap’n.”

  “I’m not worrying over it,” Raithen said. “I figure any pirate who gets taken in by a boy isn’t worth the salt I pay him to crew my ship.”

  Bull’s face darkened, but Raithen knew it was out of embarrassment. “It’s just that he’s such an innocent-lookin’ thing, cap’n. Didn’t figure him for no shenanigans like this. An’ that two-by-four? Why, he like to took me plumb by surprise. I’m right tempted to keep him fer myself if’n the king don’t ransom him back. I’m tellin’ ye true, cap’n, we’ve done a lot worse than take on somebody like this boy for crew.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Raithen said.

  “Aye, sir. I weren’t offerin’ outta nothin’ but respect for ye and that mean-spirited little lad down in the hold.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “Cap’n, I swear to ye, I ain’t done nothin’ to him.”

  “I know, Bull,” Raithen said. “My reasons are my own.”

  “Aye, sir.” Bull took a massive key ring from his waist sash, then knocked the contents of his pipe into the river. No fires except the watch’s lante
rns were allowed down in the hold, and those were taken there seldom.

  Bull walked into the small cargo hold. Raithen followed, inhaling the familiar stink. When he’d been with the Westmarch Navy, ships were not allowed to stink so. Sailors had been kept busy cleaning them out, dosing them with salt water and vinegar to kill any fungus or mold that tried to leach into the wood.

  The boy was kept in the small brig in the stern of the cog.

  After unlocking the brig door, Bull shoved his big head in, then pulled it out just as quickly. He reached up and caught a board aimed at his face, then tugged on it.

  The boy flopped onto the ship’s deck, landing hard on his belly and face. Quick as a fish taken out of water, the boy tried to get to his feet. Bull pinned him to the ship’s deck with one massive boot.

  Incredibly, the boy revealed a huge knowledge of vituperative name-calling.

  “Like I said, cap’n,” Bull said with a grin, “this ’un here, why, he’d make for a fine pirate, he would.”

  “Captain?” the boy squalled. Even trapped under Bull’s foot, he craned his head around and tried to gaze up. “You’re the captain of this pigsty? Why, if I was you, I’d sew a bag for my head and only leave myself one eyehole out of embarrassment.”

  In the first real amusement he’d felt that night, Raithen glanced down at the boy. “He’s not afraid, Bull?”

  “Afraid?” the boy squealed. “I’m afraid I’m going to die of boredom. You’ve had me for five days now. Three of them spent here in this ship. When I get back to my da and he speaks with his brother, the king, why, I’ll come back here and help wallop you myself.” He clenched his fists and beat the deck. “Let me up, and give me a sword. I’ll fight you. By the Light, I’ll give you the fight of your life.”

  Truly taken aback by the boy’s demeanor, Raithen studied him. The boy was lean and muscular, starting to lose his baby fat. Raithen guessed he was eleven or twelve, possibly even as much as thirteen. A thick shock of dark hair crowned the boy’s head, and the lantern light revealed that he had gray or green eyes.

  “Do you even know where you’re at, boy?” Raithen asked.

  “When the king’s navy pays you off or tracks you down,” the boy said, “I’ll know where you are. Don’t you think that I won’t.”

  Squatting down, holding the lantern close to the boy’s face, Raithen shook the dagger sheathed along his arm free again. He rammed the point into the wooden deck only an inch from the boy’s nose.

  “The last person to threaten me tonight,” Raithen said in a hoarse voice, “died only minutes ago. I won’t mind killing another.”

  The boy’s eyes focused on the knife. He swallowed hard but remained silent.

  “I’ll have your name, boy,” Raithen said.

  “Lhex,” the boy whispered. “My name is Lhex.”

  “And you are the king’s nephew?”

  “Yes.”

  Raithen turned the knife blade, catching the lantern light and splintering it. “How many sons does your father have?”

  “Five. Counting me.”

  “Will he miss one of them?”

  Lhex swallowed again. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Raithen raised the lantern, getting it out of the boy’s eyes and letting him see the smile on his face. “This doesn’t have to go hard for you, boy. But I mean to have the information I came here for tonight.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “We’ll see.” Raithen stood. “Get him up, Bull. I’ll talk to him in the brig.”

  Bending down, keeping his foot in place, Bull caught the boy’s shirt in one massive hand and lifted him. Without apparent effort, he carried the boy back into the small brig. With exaggerated gentleness, Bull placed the boy against the far wall, then stood by him.

  “You can leave, Bull,” Raithen said.

  “Cap’n,” Bull protested, “maybe ye ain’t yet figured out exactly what this little snot is capable of.”

  “I can handle a small boy,” Raithen said, hanging the lantern on a hook on the wall. He took the key from Bull and sent the pirate on his way with a look. Gripping the bars of the door with one hand, Raithen closed the door. The clang of metal on metal sounded loud in the enclosed space.

  Lhex started to get to his feet.

  “Don’t stand,” Raithen warned. “If you insist on standing, I’ll use this dagger and nail you to the wall behind you by one hand.”

  Freezing halfway to his feet, Lhex looked at Raithen. The look was one of childhood innocence and daring, trying to ascertain if the pirate captain had meant what he’d said.

  Raithen maintained his icy stare, knowing he’d carry out the action he’d threatened.

  Evidently, Lhex decided he would, too. Grimacing, the boy sat, but he did so with stubbornness, keeping his knees drawn up and placing his back securely against the wall behind him.

  “You must think you’re something,” Lhex snarled. “Menacing a kid like that. What’d you do for breakfast? Kick a puppy?”

  “Actually,” Raithen said, “I had one beheaded and rendered out to serve you for breakfast chops. They tell me it fried up like chicken for your noonday meal.”

  Horror flirted with Lhex’s eyes. He remained silent, watching Raithen.

  “Where did you get such an attitude, boy?” the pirate captain asked.

  “My parents blame each other,” Lhex said. “I think I get it from them both.”

  “Do you think you’re going to get out of here alive?”

  “Either way,” the boy said, “I’m not getting out of here scared. I’ve done that till I’m sick of it. I threw up the first three days.”

  “You’re a most unusual boy,” Raithen said. “I wish I’d gotten to know you sooner.”

  “Looking for a friend?” Lhex asked. “I only ask because I know most of these pirates are afraid of you. They’re not here because they like you.”

  “Fear is a far better tool for command than friendship,” Raithen responded. “Fear is instant, and it is obeyed without question.”

  “I’d rather have people like me.”

  Raithen smiled. “I’d wager to say that Bull doesn’t like you.”

  “Some people I can live without.”

  “Wise lad,” Raithen said. He paused, feeling the cog shift slightly in the river current.

  The boy shifted with the ship automatically, just like a sailor.

  “How long have you been at sea, Lhex?” Raithen asked.

  The boy shrugged. “Since Lut Gholein.”

  “You were there?”

  “The ship came from Lut Gholein,” Lhex said, narrowing his eyes and watching Raithen with a thoughtful expression. “If you didn’t know that, how did you find the ship?”

  Raithen ignored the question. The information had come from Buyard Cholik’s spies within Westmarch. “What were you doing in Lut Gholein?”

  Lhex didn’t answer.

  “Don’t trifle with me,” Raithen warned. “I’m in an ill mood as it is.”

  “Studying,” Lhex answered.

  That, Raithen decided, sounded promising. “Studying what?”

  “My father wanted me to have a good education. As the king’s younger brother, he was sent abroad and learned from sages in Lut Gholein. He wanted the same for me.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Four years,” the boy said. “Since I was eight.”

  “And what did you study?”

  “Everything. Poetry. Literature. Marketing. Forecasting profits, though the whole thing with chicken gizzards was quite disgusting and not any better than just guessing.”

  “What about history?” Raithen asked. “Did you study history?”

  “Of course I did. What kind of education would you get if you didn’t study history?”

  Raithen dug in his blouse for the paper Pettit had given him. “I want you to look at this paper. Tell me what it means.”

  Interest flickered in the boy’s eyes as he regarded the paper. “I
can’t see it from here.”

  Hesitant, Raithen took the lantern from the wall. “If you try anything, boy, I’ll have you crippled. If your father persuades the king to ransom you back, you’ll have to hope the healers can make you whole again, or you’ll drag yourself around like a circus freak.”

  “I won’t try anything,” Lhex said. “Bring the paper here. I’ve stared at walls for days.”

  Until you worked the bed support loose and attacked Bull, Raithen thought. He stepped forward, respecting the boy’s skills and focus. Most boys Lhex’s age would have been sniveling wrecks by now. Instead, the king’s nephew had busied himself with planning escape, conserving energy, and eating to keep himself healthy and strong.

  Lhex took the paper Raithen offered. His quick eyes darted over the paper. Hesitantly, he traced the design with his forefinger.

  “Where did you get this?” Lhex asked in a quiet voice.

  The cog shifted in the river, and water slapped against the hull, echoing throughout the ship. Raithen rode out the change in the ship without much thought. “It doesn’t matter. Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes,” the boy said. “This is some kind of demon script. That symbol belongs to Kabraxis, the demon who supposedly constructed the Black Road.”

  Raithen drew back and scoffed. “There are no such things as demons, boy.”

  “My teachers taught me to have an open mind. Maybe demons aren’t here now, but that doesn’t mean that they were never here.”

  Raithen peered at the paper, trying to make sense of it. “Can you read it?”

  Lhex made a rude noise. “Do you know anyone who can read demon script?”

  “No,” Raithen said. “But I’ve known some who sold parchments they said were treasure maps to demon hoards.” He’d bought and sold a few of those himself as his belief in such creatures had risen and fallen.

  “You don’t believe in demons?” the boy asked.

  “No,” Raithen said. “They’re only good for stories best told in taverns or over a slow campfire when there’s nothing else to do.” Still, the boy’s words had intrigued him. The priest is here hunting a demon? He couldn’t believe it. “What else can you tell me about this design?”