Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Turning away from the hatch, Nicholas saw that the main hatchway was momentarily clear. ‘Get another!’ he shouted to Harry, while he raced to stand over the next hatchway.

  Two sailors from the Gull seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and Nicholas engaged them both. He had practiced against multiple opponents in the marshalling yard as soon as he had picked up his first sword, but never before had his life been the prize. He remembered what his father and his drill instructor had told him over and over: unless the two men he was facing had practiced together, they were as likely to get in each other’s way as to help each other. Wait, defend, and watch for an opening.

  As if his father had staged an example for his benefit, the man on the left stepped in front of the man on the right. The second man bumped him, pushing him off balance, and he died on Nicholas’s sword before he could recover it. Nicholas then pushed back the second man, and took him in the throat as Ghuda arrived, carrying a large barrel. He dumped it down the hatchway and shouted, ‘That’s all of them!’

  ‘Call for the fire and get off this ship!’ shouted Nicholas.

  Every man on the raiding party had been told that as soon as fire had been passed to the Gull, the only order would be to fight back to the Eagle.

  Tuka’s boatmen stood around a small cooking pot, set over an open brazier, heating pitch. Above, men waited in the yards, while Nicholas’s boarders fought a retreat.

  The crew of the Gull, rather than press the advantage, sought to cut the Eagle loose, and Nicholas saw that his men were clearing the rail.

  ‘Now!’ cried Nicholas.

  Above, Calis and Marcus began shooting fire arrows into the sails of the Gull. The other men in the yards lowered ropes and had bubbling pitch tied to them. They quickly pulled them up, for the hot pitch would cool rapidly, and the hotter the pitch, the easier to light.

  Nicholas watched with trepidation: handling fire aboard any ship was risky – during a battle it was extremely dangerous. No worst disaster than fire at sea existed, for a ship was like a tinderbox. A little flame anywhere in the sail or rigging, and the entire ship could be engulfed in minutes. Most of the material used to keep water out – pitch, tar, and oil – burned furiously, and even wetting canvas during a battle was scant protection against fire arrows or hot coals.

  Nicholas stood by the large brazier amidships, ready to dump the coals on his own deck and pour oil on the fire. If a blaze could not be set aboard the Gull, he would burn both ships, ordering his crew and passengers to abandon ship.

  In the rigging, men of Crydee cautiously struck flint and steel to tinder, and brought flame to life; they shielded the flickering ember, for their own sails were as dry and vulnerable to flame as the Gull’s. Reaching the end of the spars where the others waited, they passed along the burning brands, which were touched to the surface of the buckets of pitch. The pitch sprang into flame, and the men quickly threw the buckets onto the rigging and yards of the neighboring ship.

  Nicholas stood alone on the deck of the Gull, making sure his raiders were safely back, but as he started to climb back, a pair of sailors charged him and he found himself sitting on the rail, unable to move quickly. Someone hurled over the rail beside him, landing atop the two men. They all went to the deck in a heap, and Nicholas saw Ghuda get up. The big mercenary turned and started toward Nicholas, a smile on his face. ‘Let’s –’ he began to say, then looked surprised.

  He took a step toward Nicholas, reaching behind him, as if trying to scratch his back, and said, ‘Damn me!’

  Nicholas, on the deck of the Eagle, saw Ghuda slump facedown across the rails, a knife protruding from his back. Nicholas reached over and pulled at the big mercenary, dragging him to the Eagle with a strength he wouldn’t have thought possible.

  Tuka raced forward, a burning pot of pitch dangling from one hand. He started a swinging arc, casting the pot over the rail to the Gull, when an arrow struck him in the chest. With a gurgling screech, he stumbled forward and over the rail, falling between the two hulls, which slid together with a sick, grinding crunch. The scream was cut off instantly.

  Nicholas felt ill. Anthony hurried to his side, and Nicholas said, ‘See to him,’ pointing at Ghuda.

  Nicholas’s mercenaries hacked at the ropes that tied the ships together, while dodging sporadic arrow fire, as flames rained down on the Gull, perilously close to the Eagle. Margaret and Iasha stood ready with buckets of sand and water for any sign of flames on the deck. The men in the rigging were all carrying knives, to quickly cut loose any sail or fine that might catch fire.

  Nicholas saw the crew of the Gull was now frantically attempting to combat flames in the rigging and sails, and ordered Pickens to pull away from the enemy ship.

  Pickens called back, ‘We’re locked up, Captain! We’re into the wind and can’t get loose until we turn!’

  Nicholas called for the boatmen to bring oars from the jolly boats and fend off the Gull. A dozen oars were carried to the rail and men attempted to push away the other ship, but to no avail.

  Lazily the two ships turned in the wind, locked together by circumstance. Then the two hulls began to slide along each other, with a grinding, shrieking sound as wood and metal scraped in a shuddering embrace.

  Then the Eagle heeled around the stern of the Gull, and with a thunderous bump the two ships struck one last time, and the Eagle rolled free.

  Small fires erupted in the rigging and on the deck, but these were quickly put out. Men who had been dumping flaming pitch on the enemies a few minutes before were now growing exhausted from hauling water up on those same ropes and dumping it on the sails, to keep sparks and embers from the Gull from drifting on the wind and firing the Eagle.

  Nicholas hurried to the aftercastle, mounting the quarterdeck, and watched as they slid past the Gull. Marcus swung down from the rigging and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. ‘We did it.’

  Nicholas said, ‘I hope so.’

  Then Nicholas felt Marcus’s hand grip his shoulder hard, and he saw what Marcus was seeing. As flames began to spread through the sails of the Gull, figures were running up on deck. Among those coming up from belowdecks, framed by smoke and a shower of embers, stood Margaret and Abigail, shrieking in terror.

  Close enough to hear them, Nicholas and Marcus stood in mute horror. Nicholas glanced down at the main deck and saw Margaret there, dressed in her short shift, while the Margaret on the Gull wore a Princess’s gown.

  Then the Margaret on the Gull called, ‘Marcus! Help me!’

  The Abigail at her side screamed, ‘Nicholas! Save us!’

  With a low concussion, something belowdecks in the Gull caught fire, and flames shot up from the hatchways. The gown worn by the Margaret on the Gull caught fire, and she shrieked as she beat at the flames with her hands.

  An arrow sped from the rigging and caught her in the chest, knocking her back and out of sight. A second arrow caught Abigail in the chest, and she, too, fell.

  Calis swung down from the rigging above, landing lightly next to Nicholas and Marcus. ‘I saw no sense in prolonging that misery. They might be false, but the image was no less terrible for that.’

  He nodded toward the mid-deck, where Abigail stood in mute horror, eyes wide at having witnessed her own death, while Margaret stood ashen-faced, her hands held tightly by Anthony.

  Nicholas nodded, then turned to look sternward. The droman was bearing down on them, and he shouted, ‘Get ready! We’re not done yet! Hard to starboard, Mr Pickens.’

  Amos shouted, ‘Look!’

  Nakor and Praji came up on deck and over to Nicholas. ‘What?’ asked Praji.

  ‘Who’s that in the bow?’

  Nicholas felt his heart sink as Nakor said, ‘It’s Dahakon.’

  A man in a brown robe, his arms folded in the sleeves, stood regarding the Eagle, and the burning Gull, impassively.

  ‘He must have used his arts to bring that ship here,’ said Praji.

  ‘No,’ said Nakor. ‘No
trick to bring it here. He followed us the entire way. He only hid it from us with his trick.’

  ‘Impossible,’ said Amos. ‘That ship couldn’t hold enough stores to feed the slaves and crew!’

  ‘Look,’ said Nicholas, pointing.

  A figure moved to stand at Dehakon’s side, Valgasha, the Overlord. His skin was pale, bloated and flyblown, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Upon his wrist the eagle spread its wings, a rotting mockery of its former splendor.

  ‘Necromancy,’ said Nakor. ‘He’s an evil bastard.’

  The Dehakon raised his hand, and Nicholas felt his skin pucker with chill bumps again. ‘He’s incanting,’ said Anthony from below.

  Calis notched an arrow and let fly, but the shaft seemed to strike an invisible wall, stopping inches from the magician, falling to the deck.

  Men began to gather on deck, many calling down the favor of their gods as a ship of dead men approached. Across the water, figures gathered on deck, a silent force of corpses.

  Nakor closed his eyes and made a gesture, then he opened them again. ‘This is very bad.’

  Nicholas said, ‘Really?’

  ‘He uses very powerful tricks to keep those men moving, but, worse, they carry the plague.’

  ‘We can’t mount a second offensive against that ship,’ said Amos. ‘We don’t have enough pitch and oil.’

  ‘We’ll ram her,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Not in this lifetime,’ said Amos. He pointed. The sails on the droman lowered, while the oars began to lift and fall. ‘The rowers are rowing, dead or not.’

  ‘Mighty arts,’ said Praji, spitting over the side.

  ‘How do you fight dead men?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘The best way you know how,’ answered Nicholas, drawing his sword. He glanced toward the distant shoreline and said, ‘Where are we, Amos?’

  ‘Less than a half day’s sailing from Land’s End, another three days to Krondor.’

  ‘We’re going to let her close and ram us, we’re going to fire the Eagle, then those who can will swim for shore.’

  ‘It’s more than three miles,’ said Amos softly. ‘Few of us are going to make it.’

  Even more softly, Nicholas said, ‘I know.’

  Harry came racing up from the main deck. ‘We’re going to fight that?’

  Nicholas nodded.

  Nakor said, ‘Anthony!’

  The young magician said, ‘What?’

  ‘It’s time!’ Nakor said with a grin.

  ‘Time for what?’ asked Anthony, blinking in confusion.

  ‘Use the amulet!’

  Anthony’s eyes narrowed, then he reached into his tunic and pulled out the talisman Pug had originally given to Nicholas. He closed his hand around it and shouted, ‘Pug!’ Nothing happened for a minute, then Anthony closed his eyes and shouted Pug’s name again.

  As he spoke the name a third time, a low thud of wind struck the ship, as if a thunderclap had sounded next to them, and the ship heeled over slightly. Men shouted and exclaimed, and pointed. Directly in front of the droman, a creature hung in the air. As large as the ship itself, its wings beat a wind with enough force to back away the bireme.

  ‘A dragon!’ said Amos.

  The dragon was golden, with a silver crest. Ruby eyes the size of shields gleamed in the sunset, while talons black as ebony extended like a cat’s. Dahakon gaped, and for a moment was motionless. The dragon snapped wings, held position before the droman, and opened its giant maw.

  Fire erupted, white-hot and blinding, and washed over the ship. The sails and decks exploded into flames, while the dead crew ignited. The Overlord and his eagle stood like a statue, a mockery of majesty, as flames consumed them. The bird blackened and toppled from its master’s arm, which shriveled moments later as the ruler of the City of the Serpent River died in truth.

  For a terrible moment, the rest of the droman’s crew stood motionless, their skin burning on them while they crouched for the attack. Lifeless warriors, mindless of their own destruction, they awaited the magician’s command to swarm over the side and take the Eagle. Then swords fell from fingers too shriveled to hold them, and they began to topple.

  The Royal Eagle moved listlessly, no effort being made to keep her on course as every living soul aboard was riveted by the sight of the most majestic creature in Midkemia, one told of in story and legend, hanging less than a hundred yards away, destroying the ship of the dead.

  Then Anthony pointed. ‘Look!’

  In the midst of the conflagration, Dahakon stood motionless, surrounded by a ruby nimbus that shielded him from the dragon’s fury. Nicholas said, ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  Calis notched another arrow and fired again, but this bounced off the ruby shield as the first had off the invisible one. Nakor said, ‘I think …’ He grabbed an arrow from Calis’s quiver and broke it across his knee. Holding the broken arrow up, he said, ‘His trick stops steel. Can you shoot this?’

  Calis took the shaft, broken to three-quarter length, and said, ‘I can try.’ He notched the arrow and drew it back to its abbreviated length, then let fly. Unlike the last two, this struck the magician in the chest, and he cried out; the ruby shield instantly vanished and the dragon’s flames seared him.

  With a shriek that could be heard on the Eagle, the magician erupted into flame and spun backward, falling out of sight.

  The dragon watched the burning ship, then with a snap of its wings, it moved away. It soared, gliding above the waves, toward the sunset. In a lazy, soaring circle, it rose and passed above the ship, turned toward the northwest, and sped away.

  Harry whispered, ‘Ryana.’

  Nicholas nodded.

  ‘Look!’ said Harry.

  Nicholas squinted to see what his friend pointed to, and there, upon the back of the dragon, a tiny figure could be seen riding.

  ‘Is that Pug?’ asked Harry.

  Nakor grinned and said, ‘I think so.’ He laughed. ‘Now we are done.’

  Vaja called from the main deck, ‘Nakor!’

  They all looked and saw he was kneeling over Ghuda. Nicholas and the others followed Nakor and Anthony to Ghuda’s side. The wounded mercenary lay with his head propped on a bag of sand, and blood flowed from his nose.

  Anthony rolled him on his side and examined the wound, and looked at Nicholas with pain in his eyes. He shook his head no.

  Nakor took Ghuda’s hand. ‘What is it, old friend?’

  Ghuda coughed and blood ran from the corner of his mouth. ‘Friend?’ he said, his voice weak and liquid. ‘I’m lying here drowning in my own blood because you want me to go halfway around the world with you, and you call me friend?’ He squeezed Nakor’s hand tightly and tears rolled down his leathery cheeks. ‘Sunsets above other oceans, and mighty sights and great wonders to behold, Nakor.’ He coughed violently and spat blood on Nakor and Anthony. Gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, he said, ‘A dragon of gold!’ With his last breath, he said, ‘My friend.’ With a choking, strangled sound, he convulsed and thrashed a moment, then lay still.

  Nicholas choked back his own pain, looking around the deck. Other wounded men lay nearby, and he said, ‘Anthony.’

  The young magician looked where Nicholas pointed, and hurried to lend aid and comfort to those who needed it.

  Nicholas felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Iasha next to him. He rose and she said, ‘Are we going to your home, now?’

  Nicholas let the tears run down his cheeks as he took her in his arms. He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded, then, letting the sob out, half relief, half sorrow, he said, ‘We’re going home.’

  Nicholas composed himself, and then he gently set Iasha aside. Turning toward the quarterdeck, he said, ‘Mr Pickens, make for Krondor!’

  Amos shouted, ‘Get aloft, you dock rats!’

  The Royal Eagle slowly turned; then, as her sails filled, she moved away in stately fashion from the two burning hulks. With the sun setting behind them, Nicholas watched as
first the counterfeit Royal Gull and then the Overlord’s bireme sank into the water.

  Amos came to stand next to Nicholas and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Have I told you that lately you’ve begun to remind me of your father?’

  Nicholas turned toward Amos, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. ‘No,’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  Squeezing his shoulder, Amos whispered, ‘Well, you do. And I’m as proud of you as if you were my own grandson.’

  Nicholas drew a deep breath and said, ‘Thank you,’ adding, with a forced grin, ‘Grandfather.’

  Amos gripped Nicholas by the back of the neck and shook him slightly as he said, ‘Grandfather! Damn me, you are like him. Trying to take the fun out of life!’

  Nicholas smiled. Putting his hand on Amos’s shoulder, he said, ‘No one has ever managed to rid your life of fun, Amos.’

  Amos threw him a sad smile and said, ‘That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? Though days like this make you understand why the fun is important.’

  Amos unexpectedly threw his arms around Nicholas and hugged his foster grandson. ‘Let’s bury our dead, Nicky, hoist a drink to their memory, and go home.’

  It was a subdued party on the main deck. The mood of the crew was a mixture of profound relief, stunned amazement at sight of the dragon, and sorrow at the injury and death of friends.

  Ghuda and Tuka were not the only casualties. One of Iasha’s maids, her friend, had been badly burned by some spilled pitch that she had smothered before it could catch fire and imperil the ship.

  Five mercenaries had died, as well as three other boatmen. A dozen men of Crydee had given their lives to protect their Kingdom. Nicholas took stock and found that of those, six men who had left Crydee with him to pursue the raiders had died. Out of the sixty-five men and women on the ship, only twenty-seven had left with Amos and himself at the start of the journey.

  Nicholas had ordered the brandy broken out and as they stood before him he said, ‘Some of you know all we’ve been through, while others of you are recently in our company. But without any of you, I don’t know if we could have accomplished what we have. The crown is in your debt. I’ve decided that whatever booty we have left in that chest below will be equally divided among all of you.’ The mercenaries grinned while the sailors and soldiers of the Kingdom exchanged startled glances, but their smiles were equally appreciative. Bonuses in service to the Kingdom were rare. ‘We’ve lost some good friends,’ said Nicholas. ‘Let us never forget.’ He raised a glass and said, ‘To Ghuda, and the others.’