“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Malus replied sourly. “I’m going below. Wake me when we get to Bretonnia.”
Slate-coloured waves crashed against the Manticore’s sleek hull, spraying icy water along the deck. Near the forward citadel deck a group of corsairs huddled together in their sealskin cloaks and crouched low next to the wooden bulkhead.
The three dice clattered across the damp planks and rebounded from the bulkhead, showing a trio of sharpened bones: the horns, a losing toss. “Damnation!” Malus hissed angrily, and the sailors covering him from the elements chuckled and hissed their amusement. Grimy hands reached down and plucked coins out of the highborn’s winnings. “Another go,” Malus grumbled. “All this damned pitching and heaving is souring the dice.”
Some of the corsairs shifted about on their heels and grumbled. One of the men, a one-eyed druchii with half a nose, ducked his head fearfully. “Most of us have to stand watch, dread lord…”
“Not if I say otherwise!” Malus snapped. “We’ll go until I say we stop, and that’s an order!”
The corsairs looked to one another and shrugged. Coins were pressed to the deck, and Malus picked up the dice. There were definite advantages to being the captain, he thought.
The Manticore was riding rough seas up the neck of the Slavers’ Strait, and according to the navigator they would slip into the wide ocean in less than a day. Then—as Master Gul constantly reminded Malus—his proving cruise would well and truly begin.
Once free of the harbour at Clar Karond the raiding ship had made excellent time, racing across the inland seas a day or more ahead of their rivals. Malus had spent the first few days in utter misery, too sick to eat or drink anything stronger than water. When he’d finally got his sea legs and felt hungry again, Silar had tried to serve Malus in his cabin, but the highborn refused, fearful of the possibility of poison. Instead, Malus went to the ship’s cooks directly for his meals. Not long after, he fell into gambling with them.
Eventually he hit upon the notion of hiring one or two of the crewmen to murder Silar. The young knight often walked the decks after dark once the highborn had dismissed him from his duties. Surely it would be simple enough to knock him in the head and toss him over the side? And the sooner the better, Malus reckoned; the farther they got from Naggaroth, the greater the odds that Lurhan’s paid man would try to make his move. So far though, the highborn hadn’t managed to find any useful candidates for the job. To a man, the crew preferred to keep its distance from him, despite all the games of dice he played with them. Perhaps I shouldn’t keep taking so much of their coin, he mused, rolling the dice in his palm.
The knot of crouching sailors around Malus shifted suddenly, letting in a gust of freezing air and sea spray. Malus glanced up, a snarl curling his lip, and caught sight of Silar. The young knight surveyed the gamblers with a disapproving frown. “Master Gul wishes to speak to you in his cabin, my lord,” he said coldly.
Malus growled under his breath. He was tempted to tell the unctuous ship’s master to wait while he won back his silver. The highborn eyed the sad handful of coins at his side and decided to try and build a bit of goodwill with the men. He shrugged, gathering up his paltry winnings. “You’ve plucked me to the bone this time, you sea birds,” he said to the corsairs. “We’ll see who the gods favour next time.”
The corsairs gathered up their coins and got back to work, grinning to themselves. Malus sighed and waved his hand at Silar. “All right. Take me to him,” he said.
Silar led him through a narrow door in the fortress deck aft, then down to the master’s cabin. A corsair stood watch outside Gul’s cabin door. At the sight of Silar and Malus, the scarred druchii pushed the door open and stepped aside.
Tall, narrow windows dominated the aft bulkhead of Gul’s cabin, throwing bars of weak, grey light across the broad expanse of the master’s oaken table. A huge map was spread across its surface, showing Naggaroth, Ulthuan and the domain of the humans etched in fine, black lines. Gul sat on the far side of the table, sipping wine and smiling to himself as he traced the sinuous lines of prevailing currents across the map. The navigator Shebyl sat nearby, consulting a thick set of scrolls marked with astronomical charts. Lhunara stood off to one side, arms folded tightly across her chest. She studied Malus and Silar thoughtfully as they entered the cabin.
“Welcome to my humble quarters, Captain Malus,” Gul said, opening his arms expansively. “Please, sit. Have some of this fine wine. I stole it in a raid off Ulthuan many years ago, and it only gets better with time.”
Malus picked up a goblet and poured from a crystal flagon set on a tray at the end of the table. It was the first time he’d been invited into Gul’s personal quarters, and he was impressed at its luxurious appointments: a feather bed, expensive chairs of oak and dwarf hide, shelves of books and an impressive collection of trophies, from gilt skulls to jewel-encrusted ceremonial daggers and silver-inlaid armour. Whatever else Gul may be, Malus had to admit the gold-toothed corsair knew a thing or two about his trade.
“Far be it from me to turn down an offer of wine and hospitality,” he said, taking a deep drink. “What is the occasion?”
Gul tapped the map with a calloused finger. “We’re nearly to the open sea, my captain,” he said. “Time for you to approve the course I and the good navigator have laid out.”
Malus sampled some more of the wine. It was, indeed, quite fine. “All right,” he said with a shrug. “Tell me.”
“Since your father approached me last winter I’ve been thinking about a course that would be suitable to your, ah, level of skill,” he said. “There is a great deal riding on this cruise, after all. You are about to enter highborn society. The wealth and fame you win on the Manticore will determine your initial status at court, after all.”
The highborn cast a momentary glance at Silar. “Provided some human doesn’t dash in my skull or I suffer a similar misfortune along the way.”
Gul smiled. “Well, life is about risk, is it not?” He leaned forward over the map. “But have no fear. I have gone to great effort to chart a route that minimizes such risk, but will still yield a handsome profit over time.”
Provided my damned retainer doesn’t find some way to kill me between now and then, Malus thought. “Show me.”
“Well, to start with, with your father’s coin I was able to hire a good crew, and outfit them with proper weapons and armour,” he began. “We’ve not enough men to hazard a large human city or fortress, such as your older brother Bruglir might, but there are any number of towns that would be easy pickings along the Bretonnian coast.” Gul’s finger traced a long arc, dipping south of Ulthuan and then north and east to the shores of the human kingdom. “We will avoid cities like Bordeleaux or l’Anguille and strike at the small fishing towns that stretch between them. Sweep in at midnight, kill any who resist, and cart everything else back to the ship. Nothing left but ashes by morning.” Gul traced a seemingly meandering route up the coastline, past l’Anguille and then east. “We take a bite here and a bite there, always staying a few days ahead of the Bretonnian forces. By late summer we could be at the inlet leading to Marienburg, by which point our holds will be bursting, and it will be time to head for home. After a brief stop at Karond Kar to unload our slaves, you would arrive at Clar Karond a rich and successful young highborn.”
Gul leaned back in his chair and folded his slim hands across his chest, clearly pleased with himself.
Malus scowled down at the map. “I see none of these small towns you speak of on this map.”
Gul chuckled. “Rest assured they are there, young captain. I’ve plied this route many a time myself. Slow, perhaps, but safe and profitable. Just the sort of thing to prove your worth to the nobles back at Hag Graef. So. What do you say? Shall I tell Shebyl to chart the course?”
The highborn thought it over. Near Marienburg by late summer, he thought. Five months at sea, by the Dark Mother! He took a contemplative sip from his cup.
“No,” he said at last.
Gul’s gleaming smile faltered. “What did you say, my lord?”
“I’m here to make my reputation,” he said, “and I won’t go back to the Hag after five long months smelling like a fishmonger. We’ve got a good ship and good men, so let us take a prize that’s worthy of our mettle.” He glanced down at the map and let his finger fall with a portentous thump.
The ship’s master paled. “Ulthuan?” he stammered. “Surely you jest.”
“Did I say something amusing, Master Gul?” the highborn said darkly.
Gul managed an uneasy chuckle. “No doubt the young captain is aware that Ulthuan is very well defended,” he began. “Its shores are constantly patrolled, and our traitorous cousins have ships nearly as swift and deadly as our own. Not even your older brother and his fleet have dared strike there.”
Malus grinned mirthlessly. “Then I’ll truly have something to boast about when I reach home,” he said. The highborn waved dismissively at the map. “Chart us a course to take us close around the southern tip of the Blighted Isle, then on to the west coast of Ulthuan,” he said. “That shouldn’t be too demanding, should it? We’ll find a good-sized town and sack it, and make our fortunes in a single stroke.”
“But… you can’t do this!” Gul sputtered. His face was white as alabaster. “It would be suicide! I forbid this!”
“You may be the master of this ship, but for the duration of this voyage, I am the captain,” Malus snarled. “And I know very well what my rights are regarding mutineers.” He looked at the navigator. “Chart the course. Now.”
“I…” Shebyl began, then recoiled at the look in Malus’ eyes. “Very well, sir.”
Malus nodded. “That’s more like it.” He drained the cup. “Good wine,” he said, setting the goblet on the table. “Hopefully there’s more where that came from.”
Silar Thornblood was waiting for Malus when he returned to his cabin after the evening meal. The young knight stood opposite the narrow, wooden door, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
This is it, Malus thought the moment he caught sight of his hired retainer. On reflex, his hand darted to the sword at his belt, then he realized that as far as he could tell Silar hadn’t armed himself. The highborn paused in the doorway, uncertain how to proceed. We’re an hour away from the straits, Malus realized, but if Silar is here to kill me he’s picked a damned strange way to go about it.
Finally the highborn stepped inside the cramped room. “What in the Dark Mother’s name do you want?” he growled. “Shouldn’t you be up pacing the deck or something?”
The young knight gave Malus a hard stare. His jaw worked as he struggled to find the right words to say. Finally, he simply blurted out, “What in the name of all the gods is wrong with you?”
Malus blinked. “What?”
“Were you dropped on your head as a child? Kicked by a horse? Was your mother cursed?” The young knight’s voice rose as a tide of pent-up frustration bubbled forth. “Master Gul handed you a chance at easy wealth, but you’d rather die at Ulthuan instead?”
“Mind your damned tongue!” the highborn snapped. “Another word out of you and I’ll have the first mate strip the skin from your back!”
“You don’t know the first thing about sailing. You waste your time gambling with the common sailors. I haven’t made sense out of a single thing you’ve done since I met you,” Silar replied. “And with all the advantages you’ve been given—”
“Advantages?” Malus spat. “Is the cheese in the trap an advantage for the rat? Mother of Night! Who do you think you are, Silar Thornblood?”
The young knight let out a derisive snort. “Merely a very poor knight from an all but extinct house,” he answered. “My grandfather made the mistake of scheming against your father, long before you and I were born. Lurhan destroyed my grandfather and all but wiped out our house. We’ve no property, no patrons, no allies at the Hag. We’re little better than common folk now.” He glared angrily at Malus. “There will be no hakseer-cruise for me. No one will hand me a fortune in slaves and gold, plucked from the coasts of the human kingdoms. I have to take a paltry wage, like a tradesman, and be glad for it.”
Malus was speechless. His anger was overwhelmed by a wave of sheer incredulity. “And here I thought you might actually be dangerous,” he muttered to himself. “Is that what you think is going on here? Ask yourself this, then: if my future is so damned bright, why do you imagine my father had to hire you to be my one and only retainer?”
Silar paused. “I thought Lurhan was just trying to humiliate me,” he said. “A final slap in the face for the last of my grandfather’s line.”
The highborn sighed. “If he’d hired you to serve anyone but me, you’d probably be right,” Malus said. “But I’m nothing to Lurhan. Nothing. I was the price he had to pay when he brought my mother back from the Black Ark of Naggor. He wanted a sorceress, and she wanted a son. He’s been dreaming of killing me ever since, and now the opportunity has arrived. This isn’t a glory cruise; it’s a death sentence. My father has no doubt gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure that I don’t return to Naggaroth alive.”
Silar’s eyes widened. Before he could reply, there came a knock at the cabin door.
Both druchii frowned in consternation. Malus turned, reaching for his sword, and opened the door with his left hand.
Lhunara Ithil stood outside. “I want to talk to you,” she said quietly, glancing surreptitiously up and down the passageway.
For a moment, Malus didn’t know what to say. Finally he shrugged. “Well, come in then,” he replied, and stepped aside. “We’ll have just enough room left over to strangle each other.”
Lhunara gave Silar a passing glance and leaned against the forward bulkhead. Malus took the bulkhead opposite. She waited to speak until the cabin door latched shut. “How did you know about Gul’s trap?” the first mate asked.
Malus scowled. “Trap?”
Her brow furrowed quizzically. “Lurhan paid Gul to get you killed in Bretonnia,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”
Malus gave Silar a sidelong look. “And how did he plan to do that, exactly?”
“Gul has an arrangement with one of the coastal barons,” she said. “Each year the baron empties out his dungeons and hands the prisoners over to us—sometimes he throws in a servant or two if it’s been a lean year. We leave his towns and crops alone in return.” Lhunara shrugged. “Gul was going to stage a raid on one of the baron’s villages, and then let the baron kill you when he and his men arrived.” She shrugged. “It was a good deal for both sides, because the baron could make a big show of killing a druchii corsair captain while Gul sailed home to claim Lurhan’s reward.”
The young knight scowled at the first mate. “That sounds like a great deal of trouble just to kill a single highborn,” he said. “There are dozens of simpler ways to kill someone aboard ship. Accidents happen at sea all the time.”
“Accidents happen,” Malus agreed, “but no one with any sense would believe it—even if it was true. And Lurhan must be very careful, or he risks the wrath of my mother, Eldire.” He tapped his lip thoughtfully. “If she believes he was a party to my death, she would spare no effort to destroy him.” He gave Silar a sidelong glance. “Previously, I suspected that someone had simply been instructed to stick a knife in my ribs once we were so far from Naggaroth that my mother could no longer watch over me with her sorcery. But this… this plan is much cleverer, actually. By arranging to have me killed on the battlefield, Lurhan places himself above suspicion. Gul reaps a fine reward in stolen loot, and no one else is the wiser.”
After a moment, Malus gazed at the first mate thoughtfully. “Why are you here, Lhunara?”
She considered her words carefully before replying. “I thought that if you knew what Gul was up to, he was living on borrowed time, which suits me fine.”
“You don’t care much for Master Gul, then?” the highborn asked.
&
nbsp; “I think he’d look just fine hanging off the end of my sword,” she replied matter-of-factly. “If he hadn’t made me first mate I’d likely have killed him before now.”
Malus smiled. “I’m told there aren’t many female corsairs. How did you wind up on the Manticore?”
She shrugged. “I marched with the Witch King’s army during the last invasion of Ulthuan,” she said. “I got a taste of war and found that I liked it. Since there’s no place for a female in a highborn’s warband, it was the sea or nothing. Now, tell me: how did you know what Gul was planning?”
“I didn’t,” the highborn replied.
Lhunara frowned. “Then why—”
“I looked at the map and saw that Ulthuan was half the distance from Naggaroth than Bretonnia,” he said simply. “That meant a shorter cruise and less time trapped on this damned ship.”
The two druchii gaped at Malus. He studied them in turn, contemplating his sudden change of fortune. The question was, did he dare trust them?
“It would seem that all of us have a vested interest in my continued survival,” he suggested.
Silar stole a glance at Lhunara, then regarded his erstwhile lord. “And how is that, exactly?”
“I represent an opportunity for both of you,” the highborn replied. “Alone, I believed that my chances of surviving this voyage were slim.”
“You’re leading us on a raid to Ulthuan,” Lhunara said. “I’d say your chances are still pretty poor.”
Malus raised his hand. “Let’s leave that aside for the moment. It’s possible that, with help, I could return to Hag Graef a very wealthy druchii.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Silar grumbled.
“No, we haven’t,” Malus replied. “I would return home rich and powerful. And I would have need of retainers. Druchii I could trust.” He gave Lhunara a meaningful look.
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