The Wizard_s Fate e-2

by Paul B. Thompson

  Halfway across the boarding ramp, Tol lashed out, butting one pirate in the back and kicking another in the stomach. The first man toppled off the ramp and sank beneath the waves. Darpo dropped on his haunches and rolled backward, bowling over three pirates. Frez put his back to Tol’s and used his heavy infantry boots to kick down a foe who tried to draw a sword on him.

  Their revolt was short lived. The pirates soon had the Ergothians under control, and the men were dragged the rest of the way to Thunderer. There, they were thoroughly beaten with sword pommels and pike butts. All three were left lying on the galley’s deck, gasping and bleeding.

  A prodding toe roused Tol from his stupor. Xanka loomed over him. The chief ordered him to stand. When Tol could not, he was hauled to his feet by two buccaneers.

  “You have some skill,” said Xanka. “Who are you?”

  “Soldiers. Warriors,” Tol grunted.

  A pirate handed Xanka Tol’s saber. “This is a good blade,” the chief said, turning Number Six so it caught the orange light of the lowering sun. “Where’d you get it?”

  “From a dwarf metal merchant. We saved his caravan from a band of stinking thieves-”

  Xanka shucked the scabbard and put the blade’s keen edge to Tol’s throat. “How about I remove your head with this fine dwarf blade, eh?”

  “Bold words from a fat coward to an unarmed man in chains!”

  Pirates in earshot gasped at this insolence. Xanka pressed the blade, drawing a thin line of blood on Tol’s neck.

  “You can take all day to die, lubber!” Xanka hissed. His breath stank of fish and garlic.

  Tol looked him straight in the eye. As loudly as he could, he declared, “You can kill me any time, craven. If you were a warrior and not a grubby, loud-mouthed sea bandit, you’d free my hands and fight me, man to man!”

  Xanka laughed, casually hitting Tol in the jaw with the sword hilt. “You’re destined for carrion. String him up, men! Let’s see if he can spew his insults without a tongue!”

  Four pirates seized Tol and started dragging him backward to one of the galley’s pole masts. Enjoying every word, Xanka explained Tol would be hung head down from the mast and his tongue cut out-and that would be only the beginning.

  A noose was thrown around Tol’s feet, but before they hauled him up, he tried another thrust. Not usually given to boasting, he judged this particular audience might be impressed by martial success.

  “Listen to me, savage!” he growled. “I’m no ordinary soldier! I am Lord Tolandruth, Rider of the Great Horde of Ergoth and General of the Army of the North!”

  Darpo and Frez were horrified he had revealed himself. Their shocked expressions only added weight to Tol’s claim, and Xanka lifted a hand to halt the proceedings. His face lost some of its gloating expression and showed curiosity.

  “You’re Tolandruth of Juramona?” he asked. With great dignity, Tol affirmed this. “The one who bested the beast XimXim?”

  “The same. I am the conqueror of Hylo, and I personally defeated both Spannuth Grane and Tylocost of Tarsis in single combat!”

  From the crowd behind Xanka, a pirate demanded, “If you’re this great lord, why’re you traveling with just two men?”

  “The old emperor has died. All warlords of the empire have been summoned to pledge fealty to the new monarch. I left Tarsis with a small band so I could move fast.”

  Xanka regarded him in silence, and Tol held his breath for a frozen moment. With a shrug of his meaty shoulders, the pirate chief finally said, “Lords die same as anybody else. String him up.”

  He turned away, but his men did not move to carry out his command. He repeated his order more loudly and with obscene emphasis. Still the pirates hesitated.

  “What ails you?” the King of the Sea bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. “Do as I say!”

  “We ain’t never disobeyed you, Captain,” said a lean, bald buccaneer, “but if he’s truly Lord Tolandruth-”

  “He bleeds the same as any man, don’t he, Faerlac? His neck will snap if I twist it, won’t it?” Xanka raged. He backhanded the bald pirate, and another man within reach.

  “Your men have more honor than you,” Tol said haughtily. “Give me my sword-or are you afraid to meet me in fair combat?”

  Blood suffused Xanka’s face and he charged, ready to trample Tol into the wooden deck. Darpo and Frez started to move to shield Tol but found it wasn’t necessary. A wall of pirates intervened, keeping the enraged Xanka off the shackled Tol.

  “Fight him, Captain!” urged Faerlac, the bald sailor. His split lip dribbled blood. “Slay him fairly, and your name will resound beyond the narrow gulf. The great Lord Tolandruth, cut down in single combat by the mighty Xanka, King of the Sea!”

  The vision of future glory he painted slowly soothed his angry commander. The purple veins in Xanka’s bulging neck lost their virulence and his high color lessened. Tol first thought the appeal of fame had caught the pirate chieftain’s attention, but he suddenly realized it was something else.

  Xanka was afraid.

  Of Tol? Perhaps, but as Xanka’s dark eyes flickered left and right, Tol realized he feared something else even more: his own men. Pirate chiefs ruled by intimidation, and their reigns lasted only so long as they were successful. If Xanka faltered in the face of Tol’s challenge, his men might abandon him. Or worse, Xanka’s heavy body might be the one swinging from a rope tied to Thunderer’s mast.

  The pirate chief broke the tense silence with loud laughter and declared he would hang Tol’s head from the bowsprit, next to Torwalder’s and the dozen other moldering specimens already there. The fleet, he said, would sail to the Turbidus Sands, a shoal near the north end of the gulf. There, he and Tol would fight to the death on Thunderer’s deck.

  The pirates raised a loud and lusty cheer. Tol felt like shouting himself. His plan to buy more time had worked.

  When the cheering subsided, the shackles were removed from Tol’s wrists. Darpo and Frez remained bound. Unable to do more for them, Tol asked for Kiya and Miya.

  “They’re my wives,” he told Faerlac. “While I live, I will not see them abused.”

  The bosun saw the simple justice in this and sent for the Dom-shu. A long time passed before they finally arrived, and the four sailors bringing them looked rather battered. The women’s arms were pinioned with cloth straps, their ankles hobbled, and gags covered their mouths.

  One sailor, sporting a darkening bruise under one eye, told Faerlac that Kiya was the fiercer fighter but Miya’s sharp tongue was lethal. She had, he said, all but flayed the skin off their backs with her curses. At Tol’s request, Faerlac agreed to remove Kiya’s gag.

  “Husband!” she said. “I rejoice to see you living!”

  Tol quickly explained the situation. The merest ghost of a smile crossed Kiya’s lips.

  “May Bran protect you, Husband. We’re in the gods’ hands now!”

  The captives were herded to the mast and left under guard. Tol was unfettered, but the pirates freed the others only long enough to bind their hands before them rather than behind their backs; at least they’d be able to balance more easily. Gongs sounded, and the great galley slowly got under way. The pirate fleet sorted itself into serried squadrons, with Thunderer front and center.

  Xanka had one last chore before departing. Drawing away from the rest of the fleet, Thunderer turned ponderously in a half-circle. Below, the tempo of the rowing master’s drum increased. The great elevener plowed ahead, straight for the looted roundship, which rolled in the swell, her sails down, her helm unmanned.

  Foaming green water curled back from the pirate’s saw-toothed ram. Xanka mounted to the forecastle and ordered ramming speed.

  Thirty-two enormous oars rose and fell in perfect rhythm, the last light of day flashing off each blade as it plunged into the sea again. Although the ship was huge, Thunderer’s three hundred fifty-two rowers gave it considerable speed. Wind whipped the captives on deck.

  Blue Gull awa
ited its destruction blindly, like a calf poised for the butcher’s blow. The pirates had no interest in horses, so Shadow, Pitch, and the rest were still in Blue Gull’s hold. There was nothing Tol’s party could do but watch helplessly as the pirate ship drove straight at the smaller vessel.

  Cornets blared, warning of the collision. Darpo grabbed onto Frez, who held onto Miya’s waist. The Dom-shu clutched Tol.

  Xanka laughed uproariously. “See, lubbers, what fate awaits the enemies of the King of the Sea!”

  The bronze-covered ram hit the little roundship at the waterline. With a loud crash, it burst through the heavy planking. On Thunderer’s deck, the shock was surprisingly light. Splinters flew as Blue Gull was thrown up on the galley’s downswept stem, timbers snapping like reeds. A few fragments fell on deck as Thunderer swept through the debris unhindered, turned sharply on its own length, and returned to the waiting pirate fleet.

  His point made, Xanka retired below, a broad grin on his fleshy face.

  When the pirates tired of guard duty, they fettered Tol’s feet and left him with his shackled comrades. The Ergothians sat in a circle, their backs against the galley’s main mast. Their supper was brackish water and biscuits so hard Kiya vowed an ogre’s tusks couldn’t gnaw through them.

  Thunderer was brightly lit by night, lamps glowing every few steps along the rail. As the hold was crowded with slave rowers and whatever booty had been garnered this trip, the pirates spent most of their time on deck. Eating and drinking were pastimes with them, not just necessities, and they gamed constantly, casting dice against the forecastle bulkhead.

  Behind Thunderer, the pirate fleet spread out as far as Tol could see. Yellow lanterns winked from every mast. Kiya said Xanka commanded two hundred nine ships.

  “How did you get such exact information?” Tol wanted to know.

  She shrugged. “I asked.”

  The ships ranged from the mighty Thunderer down to light galleots such as Torwalder had destroyed. Xanka’s was just one of several pirate fleets in the gulf.

  The empire had nothing fit to oppose so many crafty pirates. Egrin, Tol’s former mentor, had been sent south after the defeat of Tylocost in Hylo to organize defenses against pirate raids. A dedicated warrior, Egrin had established flying patrols along the coast, to oppose any landing the pirates made. He tried to set up a squadron of fighting ships, but Ergothians weren’t sailors and their ships were usually swiftly destroyed. A stalemate had existed for ten years. Egrin’s troops foiled the pirates’ attempts to raid the rich coastal districts, but the swarms of pirates completely choked off the Ergothians’ sea trade.

  With only his four companions, Tol couldn’t hope to destroy an entire pirate fleet, but he could try to unman the pirates by defeating Xanka. Although ruthless and powerful and half again Tol’s size, Xanka seemed too far gone in the pleasures of the table and bottle to be much of an opponent. The fleshy pirate reminded Tol of Lord Odovar in his later years, changed from a vigorous, hearty warrior to an overfed martinet because peace bored him.

  The captives dozed, sitting with their backs against the mast, until early in the morning, when a change in the cadence of Thunderer’s oars roused them. The ship was slowing. Men stood at the bow, sounding the depths with lead lines.

  As the galley crawled through the Turbidus Sands, the leadsmen sang, “Six fathoms, an eighth!” then, “Full fathoms five!” The ship’s keel scraped. “Three fathoms, a fourth! “The oarmaster stilled his drums, raising all oars, and Thunderer slowly glided to a stop.

  The sea was flat calm. They were at the extreme north tip of the Gulf of Ergoth, only two leagues from shore. Pulling himself to his feet, Tol peered over the bulwark. A fantastic scene greeted his eyes.

  Many more than just Xanka’s two hundred ships were gathered here. Hundreds of vessels, most much smaller than Thunderer, crawled through narrow channels in the shoals. This was the pirates’ lair, their hideout from the potent Tarsan Navy. Only an experienced pilot, familiar with the shoals, could navigate safely through the maze of sandbars.

  Faerlac appeared. Accompanying him were two sailors bearing a short pole from which hung a steaming iron pot. The pot contained nothing more exotic than white bean porridge, but Tol and his companions fell upon it hungrily.

  Faerlac squatted by Tol. “We’ve come to the Sands,” he said. “Two bells after sunrise, you and Xanka will fight.”

  “May I have my sword, the one taken from me?”

  “When the time comes.” The bosun gestured to the congregation of vessels around them. “Most every free chieftain is here. Word will be sent round to all the flagships. You’ll have a mighty audience for your duel.”

  So it proved. The day waxed hot. In the clear air, the reflection off the water was intense. Pirates smeared black grease below their eyes to cut the painful glare.

  Boats arrived from other ships, bearing pirate captains of every stripe. Many were obviously petty thugs, but a few arrived with more panache. Among the early arrivals were two striking young men in identical outfits-billowing trousers, high boots, and studded leather vests-identical but for one important detail: one’s garb was all black, the other’s pure white. These were the brothers Hagy and Drom, hailed as the Firebrands for their habit of burning looted ships.

  A squat, swarthy figure with a drooping mustache reaching halfway down his chest proved to be Morojin. His left eye was gone, gouged out in a fight long ago. In its place Morojin wore a carved ivory ball. Watching the pirate climb aboard with cat-like grace, Tol was grateful he wasn’t dueling Morojin.

  Hagbor, the notorious ogre pirate, was not present. His squadron was cruising the Cape of Khar. However, the lone female pirate, Hexylle, did come, with her female crew. Thick-armed and stout, Hexylle had skin brown and leathery as an old boot and deeply wrinkled from years of sun and wind. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, but she was as coarse and brutal as success in her chosen trade demanded.

  The chieftains took up places of honor along the sterncastle rail. Crowded behind them were assorted first and second mates, bosuns, and other officers. The long waist of the galley was kept clear, although the rigging was black with clinging crewmen. Frez, Darpo, and the Dom-shu sisters were held under guard on Thunderer’s forecastle overlooking the scene of the duel.

  In the sweltering heat, Tol had stripped off his cloak, tunic, and shirt. Bare to the waist, he looked pale among the sun-baked pirates. Sailors in the rigging hooted when he appeared, led up from below by Faerlac.

  Thunderer’s bosun gestured fore and aft. “Here is your battlefield. You may not leave it unless your opponent leads you away.” He bade Tol look up. “There are archers in the crow’s nest. If you try to escape, they have orders to shoot you and your friends.”

  “I’ll not run,” Tol said.

  Faerlac cupped a hand to his mouth and called through the open hatch. Two pirates climbed out, arms laden with weapons. They scattered daggers, pikes, swords, axes, and billhooks around. Tol’s sword and dagger were returned to him. He shoved the ornate dagger into the waist of his pants and rested the flat of Number Six’s blade on his shoulder. He was ready.

  Xanka did not appear. A long interval passed. Tol and the spectators sweated under the remorseless sun.

  Just as the crowd began to murmur and stir impatiently, the doors of the sterncastle cabin were flung open. Four dirty, barefoot pirates, got up in fancy stolen livery, strode out and put cornets to their lips.

  Faerlac announced, “His Excellency, Xanka, master of the Thunderer and all squadrons of the Blood Fleet, the King of the Sea!”

  The horns blared. The pirate lord stalked out of the cabin into the bright light, clanking as he walked. He was clad from head to toe in elaborate armor.

  At some point in his career, Xanka had taken a warlord’s parade armor and altered it to fit himself. Every surface was embossed with fantastic details: panthers roared at his shoulder joints, bears and bison snarled along his arms and legs. The helm was a fantastic rampant dr
agon, fanged mouth gaping at the crown. Tol had never seen such bizarre decorative armor, not even on the extravagant nobles of Daltigoth.

  Xanka’s men cheered as he advanced between the rows of heralds. Tol looked beyond his opponent and saw that unlike the mass of sailors, the other pirate captains were not impressed by Xanka’s show. They sat along the rail, watching impassively and drinking from heavy, stemmed goblets.

  Xanka halted a few steps from Tol. He carried four swords, one on each hip and two crosswise on his back. The greaves on his legs had special sockets to hold daggers. The spiked tail of the dragon on his helm was detachable. It was a mace.

  From her place on the forecastle, Miya shouted, “Not fair! He wears armor, and our husband has none!”

  “Tol doesn’t need it,” her sister replied.

  The pirate chief drew the swords on his hips and waved them furiously over his head. His men roared approval, but Tol had to bite back a laugh. To his practiced eye, Xanka’s display was ludicrous. He had to be sweating like a war-horse in that armor, which, for all its glitter, was nearly useless as protection. Embossing stretched metal thin, making such fancy armor less sturdy than ordinary flat plates would have been. There was a lot of brass on Xanka, too, and brass was vulnerable to an iron blade.

  Faerlac held up his hands. Once the cheering quieted somewhat, he intoned, “This is a fight to the death. There are no other rules.”

  Hardly were the words spoken than Xanka came slashing at Tol with both blades. Tol leaped back, dodging awkwardly. Faerlac was not so lucky. The tip of one sword raked over his thigh. The bosun went down, bleeding. The startled heralds grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the way.

  Xanka bulled on. Tol contented himself with parrying the swinging cutlasses. The bulky captain was surprisingly fast, and with two full-length swords, he made quite a threshing machine. Tol circled backward, avoiding an open hatch. He drew his dagger to provide some defense on his left side.