The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  They were rowed to the beach and saw that those before them had been herded toward a rude building on an otherwise deserted island. Margaret and Abigail were among the last inside, and as the large doors closed behind them, they surveyed their new habitation. There was nothing inside besides miserable dejected people: only a dirt floor to sit on, and what light there was entered through the cracks between the log walls. One quick survey and Margaret saw that many of those inside were sick. Knowing full well the fate of the injured or ill, she said, “Listen!”

  Her voice cut through the low murmuring and sobs, and those nearby looked her way. “I am Margaret, daughter of the Duke.” Glancing around again, she said, “Some of you are ill. Those who are not must help them. Carry them to that wall there.” She pointed to the wall farthest from the door. A few started to move hesitantly. “Do it!”

  Those who were barely able to walk were helped to the far wall, then Margaret moved to the wall. She moved along it, and Abigail said, “What are you doing?”

  “Looking to see if the land slopes.”

  “Why?”

  “We need a privy trench, so we don’t end up sleeping in filth. It will keep more of us alive.” She reached the far wall and began moving along it. Then she said, “Here,” pointing at a depression under the bottom log, where light could be seen. “Dig here.”

  “Milady,” said a man sitting next to the base of the wall, “we have no tools with which to dig.”

  Falling to her knees, Margaret dug into the loose, sandy soil with her bare hands. Watching her a moment, the man turned and started scooping out handfuls of dirt. Soon a dozen more had joined in.

  Seeing the work under way, Margaret returned to the door and started shouting, “Guard!”

  From the other side a rough male voice answered, “What?”

  “We need water.”

  “You’ll get it when the captains order it.”

  “Valuable property is dying. Tell your captains that.”

  “I’m tellin’ them nothing,” came the answer.

  “Then I’m telling the first officer who enters that you tried to rape one of the girls.”

  “Ha!”

  “And a dozen others will bear witness.”

  There was a long silence, then the large latch was opened and the door parted a crack. A waterskin was handed through, and the guard said, “You’ll get more when they bring it. This’ll have to do until then.”

  Without thanks, Margaret took the waterskin and headed over to the sick prisoners.

  —

  FOR THE NEXT ten days they endured the confinement, packed close together, with no care for their comfort provided. Other prisoners joined them, and from their accounts, Margaret learned that Carse and Tulan had also been raided. By all reports, Tulan’s garrison on the island in the mouth of the river had successfully resisted, but Castle Carse had endured much the same fate as Crydee, though the town had fared better. Abigail fell into a deep depression when no one from Carse could tell her if her father lived. Margaret felt returning pain at the memory of her mother’s death, but put it aside as she concentrated on caring for others. All the prisoners were now filthy and wretched. At least a dozen had died and been carried away. The slit trench helped keep illness from spreading, though the stench and flies were difficult to endure. Margaret tore strips from the hem of her simple gown to bind wounds that wouldn’t heal, leaving the garment a ragged mess at her knees.

  On the eleventh day, everything changed.

  The six Durbin slavers entered, accompanied by a dozen guards, men in black whose faces were hidden, and who carried an impressive array of arms. The slavers moved to the center of the large building, ready to begin the daily examination of the slaves.

  Suddenly the twelve black-clad men took their bows and shot the slavers. Many of the captives screamed and pushed themselves against the wall, fearful that the murder would continue, while others sat in wide-eyed horror.

  Another company of men entered the building, and one shouted, “Prisoners outside!”

  Those nearest the door hurried outside, and Margaret helped some of those who were ill but could still walk. Blinking against the bright light, she took in the scene before her. There stood a band of men unlike any Margaret had seen in her life. They wore turbans similar to those worn by the Jal-Pur desert men, but much larger. The turbans were white and all had gems of astonishing size and color set above their foreheads. Silk robes showed these were men of rank and prosperity. They spoke Keshian, but with an accent unlike anything Margaret had heard, and frequently used words she had never read when studying the language. Behind them were armed men, but instead of the ragged pirates who had guarded the prisoners on the first leg of the journey, these were soldiers, dressed alike to a man: black tunic and trousers and a red cloth tied around their heads bandanna-style. Each carried a curved sword and a round shield, black, with a golden serpent painted upon it.

  They inspected the prisoners, dividing them into those who were fit and those who were not. A dozen were too sick to travel, and after the entire company of captives was examined, they were led back into the building. Soon screaming from inside, quickly cut off, showed their fate.

  The remaining prisoners were led to the water and told to strip and bathe. The seawater provided scant comfort, but Margaret was glad to wash away the filth. As she was washing, she saw the ship.

  Abigail squatted in the shallow water, trying to ignore the remarks of the nearby guards. Even dirty, her hair matted with filth, she was clearly a beauty. Margaret spoke low. “Have you seen a ship like that before?”

  Coming out of her dark introspection, Abigail let her eyes focus on the ship. At last she said, “No. Never.”

  Twice the size of any Kingdom ship, it rode easily on the ground swells off the shore. It was a black ship, with high foredeck and afterdeck, and four high masts. “It looks like a Quegan galley, but there are no rowing banks. It’s gigantic.”

  Dozens of boats were rowing toward the beach, and Margaret realized that all the remaining prisoners were to be taken to that ship. A dozen longboats on the beach were already beginning to load the first prisoners coming out of the sea.

  It took almost an entire day, but at sundown the black ship hoisted anchor and the journey began.

  Deep within the hold of the ship, Margaret and the other women were moved to the port side of the ship, on the lowest of three decks. Individual pallets were provided for each prisoner, with room for them to move around. They were placed one at the head of each pallet and told to remove their robes. Glad to be rid of the filthy rag, Margaret quickly obeyed. Abigail hesitated, and when she let her robe fall to the deck, she quickly tried to cover herself.

  “Abby,” said Margaret in a scolding tone, “if you fear for your modesty, that gives these animals another weapon to use against you.”

  Abigail’s eyes were wide with fright as she said, “I’m not strong like you, Margaret. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re stronger than you think. Keep your chin up!”

  Abigail nearly jumped when a man with a writing tablet came up to her. “Your name,” he asked.

  “Abigail,” she answered softly.

  “Who are your people?” said the man, his voice oddly pitched and his accent tantalizingly familiar to Margaret.

  “I’m the daughter of Baron Bellamy of Carse.” The man looked at her, then said, “Go stand over there.”

  Awkwardly, the nude girl moved with her arms clutched around her to a place at the far end of the hold. The man repeated the question to Margaret, and, not seeing any clear benefit of lying, she told them her true name. Like Abigail, she was sent to the far end of the hold. She watched as the interview continued. Each captive was inspected, closely, by a pair of men who made marks on their tablets as they examined each. They poked and prodded like physicians, and the prisoners were forced to endure the inspection in silence. When the men were done, they handed each captive a fresh robe. Crewmen followed and began
locking chains around the prisoners’ ankles, binding them to the foot of their pallets, and long enough so they could move around a little, but in no way escape the hold.

  Then they came to Margaret and Abigail and said, “You come.”

  The girls climbed a ladder to the next deck and walked along a narrow companionway. Even Margaret tried to cover her nudity as they passed more than a dozen leering men. Entering a large cabin, the man who guided them said, “Find something that fits.” An array of fine clothing lay around the room. The girls quickly found clothing that fit and dressed, glad to be covered again. Simple gowns, they were nevertheless a vast improvement over the smocks the girls had been forced to wear since being captured.

  Then the man led them to a large cabin at the stern of the ship. There two men waited. They stood respectfully when the girls entered and motioned for the girls to sit on a divan. “Ladies,” said one in that strange accent, “we are pleased to find those of your rank among your company. May we offer you some wine?”

  Margaret stared at the small table covered with fruits and cheese, bread and meats, with a chilled pewter flagon of wine. Despite her hunger, she said, “What do you want?”

  With a smile that held no friendliness, the man said, “Information, milady. And you will give it to us.”

  —

  THE LOOKOUT SHOUTED, “Land ho!”

  Amos looked up, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. “Where away?” he called.

  “Two points off the port bow!” came the reply.

  Amos hurried down the companionway to the main deck and crossed to the forecastle. He climbed the companionway to come to the bow, where Nicholas and the others watched. They had slowly been gathering there since noon, as Amos had said he expected to see the first of the Sunset Islands before too long.

  “It’s been more than thirty years,” mused Amos. “No wonder I was off.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Two points is off?”

  Amos waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It should lie dead ahead. Now I have to swing wide to the south, to compensate.”

  “Is this a problem?”

  “No, but it offends my sense of elegance.” He called up to the lookout, “Do you see a single peak?”

  “Aye, Captain,” came the reply. “A twisted mountain with a peak like a broken blade.”

  “Good,” said Amos. Calling back to the helm, he shouted, “Five points to port, Mr. Rhodes!”

  “Aye, Captain,” came the reply.

  Harry said, “Captain, exactly who lives here?”

  Amos sighed, as memories came flooding back to him. “Originally, there was a pitiful Keshian garrison, a bunch of dog soldiers with Imperial officers and a couple of small ships. When Kesh pulled out of the province of Bosania—Crydee and the Free Cities of Yabon—they evidently forgot about the little garrison.

  “Years went by, and no one knows if the soldiers revolted and killed their officers or if the officers led them, but about the time Nicholas’s great-grandfather was attempting to conquer Bosania, this happy little band of cutthroats started raiding. They usually hit trading ships out of Keshian Elarial and the Far Coast, heading to or from Queg, the Kingdom, and Kesh.”

  Marcus said, “They’ve raided Tulan from time to time.”

  Harry said, “Why hasn’t the King or the Emperor of Kesh gotten rid of them?”

  “Ha!” laughed Amos. “Do you think they’ve not tried?” He rubbed his chin. “Look at that island ahead.” He pointed to the peak. “Past that are another dozen large islands and a hundred tiny ones. This area is part of a long series of islands that stretches to the far west, ending in a great archipelago.” Harry looked blank. “A vast chain of islands, more than a thousand of them, a month’s sailing from here. Some are huge, perhaps a hundred miles across. No one knows who lives on most of them. Others, like Skashakan, are too well-known. That’s where our friend Render was shipwrecked.

  “There are perhaps five hundred islands spread out between here and the archipelago, some no more than sandbars, and only one harbor deep enough for a ship like this: Freeport.

  “If a single Kingdom warship sails into view, it finds a very hot reception at Freeport. Remember those pinnaces they used to raid Crydee? They draw no more than five feet of water; so if we bring a fleet, by the time we pull into Freeport, everyone’s packed up and left. We can burn the town to the ground—both Kesh and the Kingdom have done so at different times—and they build it all right back up after we leave.

  “No, the Freeport pirates are like cockroaches: you can kill them by the score, but you can’t get rid of them.”

  Turning away, he shouted to the first mate, “Assemble the crew, Mr. Rhodes!”

  As Amos made his way to the quarterdeck, the first mate shouted, “All hands on deck!”

  The order was passed, and quickly the crew gathered on the main deck, Nicholas and his companions listening from the foredeck. Amos surveyed the crew. “Men, you’re all known to me, save for you soldiers from Crydee who agreed to come along, and you were handpicked by the Duke. I trust you all. If I had doubts, you would not be here.

  “From this moment, you are men of the Kingdom no longer. You are pirates, fresh in from Margrave’s Port. If you’ve never been there, ask those who have; it’s a small enough town and not much to see. If you can’t remember the description, keep your mouth shut when we reach Freeport.”

  He glanced from face to face. “Soon you’re going to be facing men who’ve killed your fellow sailors and soldiers, your friends and families. You will want to strangle the bastards, but you can’t. Freeport is governed by laws as strict as those in Krondor, but it’s a far rougher justice. The Sheriff of Freeport is the law in the town, and the only appeal from his rule is to the Council of Captains, and that’s rare. Disputes are settled by the blade, and brawling is not permitted. So if you meet the bastard who killed your brother, smile at him and know that sooner or later his day will come.

  “We are not here for revenge. We are here to find Duke Martin’s daughter, and the other boys and girls who were stolen from Crydee. We’re here to find your children, or the children of your friends.

  “If any man here thinks he cannot keep his temper, then do not go ashore. For I swear I will hang the man who starts a brawl, and if we fail in rescuing the children, he’ll burn in hell, too.”

  His warning was unnecessary, for these men were determined to rescue every prisoner or die in the attempt. Amos smiled. “Good. Now, the first bastard among you who calls me Admiral will be whipped fore-to-aft, clear?”

  With laughter among the men, one called out, “Aye, Captain!”

  With a broad grin Amos said, “I’m Captain Trenchard! The Dagger of the Sea! I’ve sailed the Straits of Darkness on Midwinter’s Day! My ship’s the Raptor and I’ve taken her into the Seven Lower Hells, drunk ale with Kahooli, and sailed home again!” The men laughed and cheered at the boast. “My mother was a sea dragon, my father was lightning, and I dance a sailor’s jig on my victim’s skulls! I fought with the war god, and kissed death herself. Men tremble at my shadow and women swoon at my name, and no one lives who can call me liar! I’m Trenchard, the Dagger of the Sea!”

  The men laughed and cheered and applauded. Amos said, “Now, break out the Black Ensign, and every man to his place. We’re being watched this very minute.” He pointed to the distant peak.

  “Day watch below!” shouted Rhodes. “Night watch aloft!”

  One of the men went below and returned with a large black banner that had been sewn to Amos’s specifications in Crydee. They ran it up the stern mast, where it flapped in the breeze.

  Nicholas looked at the flag, a skull of white on a black field, and behind the skull a long dagger pointing downward at an angle, with a ruby drop suspended from the tip. Nicholas looked at Harry, Calis, and Marcus and found them staring at the standard. Nakor grinned, while both Anthony and Ghuda remained impassive.

  Harry said, “What’s odd is that…he wasn�
��t acting, was he?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “I think Amos would say he had a rough childhood.”

  Ghuda said, “I thought I knew him back at the palace.”

  Nicholas said, “Yes?”

  Ghuda said, “I was in Li Meth once when he raided. Saw him from the other side of the barricade.” Ghuda shook his head. “Old memories.” He glanced over his shoulder at the approaching island, which the ship would pass to the left. “I saw a glint up there a while back.” He indicated the peak.

  “Lookout,” said Marcus.

  “No doubt,” said Ghuda.

  “I wonder what sort of reception we’ll get in Freeport?”

  “We’ll soon know,” answered Nakor with his usual sunny demeanor.

  —

  THEY REACHED THE harbor mouth as the sun began to set. Amos had reefed all sails save the topgallants, and the Raptor moved majestically into Freeport. The harbor was a wide oval of coral-bound beaches, with a steeply rising mountain close behind, which towered like a giant black-stone hand, cupping the harbor against a sky turned orange and purple, with black, grey, and silver clouds, as it hid the setting sun. Ringing the harbor were buildings, rudely built, with thatch roofs. Lanterns and torches burned at every quarter, as Freeport began its night activities.

  Ghuda said, “I’ve heard of places like this island.”

  Nicholas said, “What do you mean?”

  Ghuda said, “See how that peak rises in an almost perfect circle around the harbor?”

  Nicholas said, “Yes?”

  “This used to be the heart of a volcano.”

  Nakor nodded. “Very big volcano.” He seemed delighted by that fact. “Almost a half-mile across inside!”

  Lights began to spring up on the mountainside, and Nicholas watched with fascination as it became a glittering panorama. A warm breeze greeted them as the ship moved slowly into the center of the harbor. Seven other ships of varying size, from two almost the equal of the Raptor to two very small trading ships, swayed at anchor on the gentle swell of the harbor. Reaching the best position he could, Amos ordered the last sails reefed and called for the anchor to be dropped. A gentle breeze blew across the harbor, carrying the faint scent of spices and perfume to tantalize the senses. Distant voices echoed from farther inland, but the harbor was almost silent.