The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Returning from starting a fire in the room where Margaret and Abigail were kept, Calis asked, “What did you find in there, Anthony?”

  “Bodies,” said Anthony.

  Marcus said, “Anthony, what is it?”

  Anthony halted a moment, while the mercenaries carried the prisoners into the large house, following Nakor, who was leading them to the tunnel. Whispering as tears of rage ran down his cheeks, Anthony said, “They’re sending a plague to the Kingdom, Marcus. They’re sending a magic sickness to make the worst illness you’ve heard of seem as nothing. We’ve got to stop them!”

  Marcus’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, then, taking Abigail’s hand, he set off toward the main house of the estate, Anthony and Margaret behind him.

  22

  AMBUSH

  Harry pointed.

  “What is it?” asked Brisa.

  “Fire,” answered Praji. “Big one, from the way it’s lighting the sky.”

  They were in the lead boat heading for the burned-out farmhouse, where, if the gods were kind, they would find the prisoners waiting to be picked up. Harry felt cold sweat break out. “It’s going to get busy around here soon.”

  Praji said, “No doubt about it. There will be soldiers coming to see what’s happening up there. If they start looking around down here, we’re going to have a fight.”

  A boatman said something to Tuka, who said to Harry, “Sab, we head in now.”

  Harry nodded and signaled to the boat behind. While he was hard to see in the darkness, each boat had a spotter at the bow and stern specifically to relay orders. The first boat nestled into the bank with a low grinding sound and the others followed suit, until all ten boats were secure.

  Harry jumped from the bow and ran to the farmhouse. The cover of the well had been pushed aside, and a man was emerging with some difficulty. Harry grabbed him by the arm and helped him climb out. “Harry!” came a low shout from the ruins of the farmhouse, and Calis emerged, waving him over. Harry gave the weak man some assistance and, when he reached the house, let him sit on the ground.

  “You just get here?” asked Harry.

  “It’s taking longer than we thought,” said Calis. “Marcus and the others are down below, helping the prisoners climb, but it’s slow. They’re weak, and some will have to be hauled up.”

  Praji came over and Harry said, “Get some rope and rig a sling, then bring four strong men here to haul the weaker prisoners up through the well.”

  Praji hurried off and Harry said, “It’s six of one or a half dozen of the other; we wait either here or out in the bay.”

  Calis nodded. “Nicholas and Amos must be bearing down on that ship about now.”

  “I wish them luck.” Harry glanced at the sky, where the second of Midkemia’s three moons was rising. The third would be up in another hour. “It’s going to be very bright out here soon.” Three full moons were a rare event, and the term “three moons bright” meant almost like day. “We’re not going to have much luck sneaking around tonight. What’s that fire?” asked Harry.

  “Dire news, I fear,” answered the half-elf. “Anthony says some dark plague was born there and only fire would destroy it. If we hadn’t burned Dahakon’s estate, he says everyone in this city would be dead within a month, two at the latest, and anyone leaving the city would carry it with them. He thinks this plague could kill half the people on this continent before it was through.”

  “Gods! That’s vile.” Harry shook his head in disgust. Glancing at the distant fire, he said, “Well, we’re going to have some curious soldiers here before too long.” He regarded the twenty or so sick-looking prisoners, recognizing one, a page who he had played football with. Kneeling, he asked, “Edward, how are you?”

  “Not good, Squire,” he said, trying to smile bravely, “but I’ll bounce back now that we’re free.” His face was drawn, and Harry could see he was sick of spirit as well as body. He had been a captive and witnessed horrors undreamed of in his young life before the raid. Release from chains did not free him from those memories.

  Harry said, “I could use your assistance. Are you up to it?” The page nodded, and Harry said, “Start helping these others to the boats. Start at the one farthest back, that’s a good lad.”

  The boy got to his feet and went to aid another prisoner, a young girl who stared into space with vacant eyes. The page said, “Up, all of you; you heard the Squire. We’ve got to get to the boats. We’re going home.” The last was said as a half-sob, but it did the trick.

  The other prisoners got to their feet and began to stagger toward the waiting boats. Another figure came out of the well, and Harry ran to direct him toward the boat.

  Calling down the well, Harry shouted, “We’re here with the boats! Can you hurry them?”

  Marcus’s voice echoed back up from the darkness below. “We’ll try, but they’re weak.”

  “We’re rigging a sling and we’ll pull up those that can’t climb.”

  “Good.”

  Time dragged as the weakened prisoners made their way slowly up the ladder. When Praji, Vaja, and two others arrived with the rope sling, it was lowered down the well and the prisoners unable to climb were pulled up.

  Harry went to the boats and told Tuka, “When I give the word, you push off with the boats already full and get into the harbor. Move toward the mouth of the bay and wait for Nicholas.”

  The little man asked, “What about going upriver, Sab?”

  “After, my friend, after.” Almost absently he said, “We have one more stop to make.”

  They both stood there silently for a while, watching the distant estate of Dahakon the magician, the Grand Adviser to the Overlord, burn in a stunning display.

  —

  “WHAT’S THAT?” ASKED Amos.

  Nicholas said, “Looks like a fire on the other side of the bay.”

  Amos said, “I hope that’s not bad news for our friends.”

  Nicholas said, “Let’s not worry about that. Look!”

  Amos saw where Nicholas was pointing and said loudly, “All hands! Make ready to come about!”

  The begala was a pleasure boat, belonging to a merchant who used it for both business and recreation. It could comfortably carry seven or eight passengers in the three small cabins, and there was room for a reasonable cargo below. In close to the wind, it was slow, but in a following wind it raced. And Amos was turning it to move fast enough to come alongside the second ship leaving the harbor.

  The first had come into view a moment earlier, the copy of the Royal Gull. Now the facsimile of the Royal Eagle hove into view, and Amos turned his boat to bring it into line. He had calculated how a knowledgeable captain would bring a ship out of that harbor, keeping tight to the wind to drive along the potentially deadly rocks of the headlands that became a long peninsula providing the eastern boundary of the sheltering harbor. While the bright moons were proving a handicap for Harry’s desire for stealth, they were a boon to Amos.

  The crew leaped to their jobs. They were unfamiliar with this ship, but they were all experienced sailors and had spent every moment since coming aboard familiarizing themselves with the rigging and tackle. The two guards who were taken when Nicholas and his party climbed aboard were tied up below, unhurt, but thoroughly terrified.

  The begala sprang out like a predator. Ghuda stood by the bow with a rope and grappling hook ready, while three other men stood nearby. In total, a dozen of Nicholas’s thirty men were ready to pull the two ships together while the others swarmed aboard. Nicholas prayed that surprise would help them overcome resistance before the crew of the target ship could rally. They had no idea what the complement would be, but Amos judged no fewer than thirty seamen and whatever complement of guards and bogus prisoners they had put aboard.

  A warning shout came from above as one of the lookouts cried out at the unexpected sight of the ship pulling alongside. An archer on the bow silenced him as Ghuda swung his rope and released. Instantly the others with
ropes followed his example, and a half-dozen men in the rigging of the begala leaped across to the higher deck, swords and knives drawn as they looked for opponents. Nicholas climbed a ratline, then jumped across four feet of air above water to grab the rail of the other ship.

  He was over and ready when a sailor came at him with a cutlass. Nicholas killed the black-clad seaman before he could strike. Around him the sound of battle rang through the darkness and faintly he could hear what sounded like an inquiring shout from the first ship.

  Nicholas trusted everyone to do his job, and he rushed to the entrance to the rear cabin. If there were any Pantathians or their more powerful minions aboard, this was where they would be. He kicked in the door of the captain’s cabin and heard the “thunk” of a crossbow bolt embedding itself into the wood of the doorframe. The captain calmly laid down the crossbow and pulled out a sword. “Surrender your ship!” commanded Nicholas, but the captain said nothing as he came around from behind his desk.

  Suddenly Nicholas was defending himself as the man executed a furious attack. Nicholas backed away, then counterattacked, and the duel was engaged in earnest. Nicholas was younger and faster, but the older captain was obviously skilled and practiced. Nicholas tried to focus on his opponent, but he couldn’t help but worry about how the rest of the battle was going. He knew that the plan was to cut loose the two guards below in the begala, so they could at least work to keep the ship off the rocks, while Amos and everyone else came aboard this ship. It was an all-or-nothing gamble, for if Nicholas’s raiders were driven back, there was no place to go.

  Nicholas slashed out and caught the captain along the arm, forcing him to drop his sword. Leveling the point of his sword at the captain, he said, “Surrender!”

  The man pulled a knife from his belt and threw himself at Nicholas, who instinctively pushed forward with his sword. The sword entered the man below the breastbone, piercing upward into the heart, and the man collapsed.

  The sensation that traveled up Nicholas’s arm was no different from what he had experienced when he killed Render, and it was no less disturbing, the friction of steel on bone and sinew. Nicholas pulled out his blade and turned. There were two other cabins on this level, the doors across from one another before the captain’s. Nicholas chose the right-hand door. He kicked hard with his right foot, then ducked to his left, having learned his lesson. When no bolt flew through the door, he looked inside.

  The cabin was empty. He repeated the procedure with the other door and a bolt flew through it, barely missing him. If he hadn’t dodged aside, that one most certainly would have skewered him.

  He sprang to the door, only to have a shoulder driven into his stomach as the first mate leaped through it. Nicholas heard cloth rip and felt something brush along his ribs, and he struck hard with the butt of his sword hilt at the base of the man’s skull. A grunt of pain was all the response he got, and he felt another scrape along his ribs as he hammered at the man’s head. Suddenly the first mate went limp and Nicholas pushed him off.

  Nicholas stood up and felt a burning on his left side. He reached down and his hand came away wet. He looked at the floor and saw the knife the first mate had tried to kill him with, blood on the blade. Nicholas examined his shirt and saw the blade had grazed him, slicing the skin, but not cutting very deep. He pulled a lungful of air and fought off a bout of dizziness as his side began to burn and throb.

  Nicholas returned to the main deck, where Ghuda and the soldiers seemed to hold the upper hand. The black-clad defenders were overwhelmed by the suddenness of the attack, and most of them lay on the deck.

  Glancing to his right, he saw Amos backed into a corner by two men coming at him. Nicholas ran to his aid, but as Amos blocked one man’s cut, that man engaged Amos’s blade, holding it aloft, allowing the other to drive his sword into Amos’s stomach.

  “Amos!” Nicholas shouted as he struck out and killed the man who held Amos’s blade. Then he took an attack from the second man and, with a riposte, drove his own sword’s point into him.

  He kicked aside the wounded men and knelt next to Amos. He was unconscious and his breathing was shallow and labored. Nicholas glanced over and saw Ghuda kill the man he was facing. There was no respite in the fighting.

  Nicholas hurried from Amos’s side, and fell as a hand grabbed his ankle. Nicholas rolled over and lashed out with his boot, taking the wounded sailor in the face. There was the sound of bone crunching under his heel, and the man screamed.

  Nicholas leaped up and drove his sword point into the man’s neck. He spun as Ghuda shouted, “They’re fantastic! They won’t surrender!”

  Grimly Nicholas shouted, “No quarter!” He knew it meant killing every man on the ship. A bitter taste of acid filled his mouth and he spit, then ran to attack a black-clad sailor who, despite his wounds, was rising behind one of Nicholas’s own men, to attack him once again.

  The fight seemed to go on indefinitely, and twice Nicholas could swear he was killing men he had faced before. Then it was suddenly silent.

  Ghuda said, “That’s all of them.”

  Nicholas nodded dully. He was drenched in perspiration and blood and his knees shook with fatigue. His left foot ached dully, and his side burned. Then Nicholas remembered: “Amos!”

  He ran back to where the fallen Admiral lay, and with relief saw he was still breathing. Ghuda knelt next to Nicholas and said, “He’s in a bad way. We need Anthony and his skill.”

  Nicholas said, “Get him to the captain’s cabin.”

  Two sailors gently picked up Amos and carried him inside. Nicholas looked around and saw that every man was staring at him. Suddenly he realized that, with Amos stricken, he would have to sail this ship. Looking past Ghuda to one of the sailors, he said, “Who’s the oldest man here?”

  The man said, “Pickens, I think, Highness.”

  “Pickens!” called Nicholas, and a voice answered from the foredeck.

  “Here!” A man in his late thirties hurried down from the foredeck and said, “Yes, Captain.”

  “You’re first mate, Pickens. Get these bodies overboard.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said the newly promoted seaman. Turning to the crew, who were exhausted and bloody, he said, “You heard the captain! What are you waiting for? Get those corpses over the side!”

  Ghuda said, “You all right?”

  Nicholas glanced at the bloody shirt he wore and said, “It’s nothing. It’s Amos I’m worried about.”

  “He’s tough,” said Ghuda, but it was clear he was also worried.

  Nicholas said, “I’ve learned a lot from Amos on this voyage, and I’ve sailed some before; I just hope I don’t make too much of a hash of this.”

  Lowering his voice, Ghuda said, “Just tell your Mr. Pickens what you want done, and let him fret about how to do it.”

  Nicholas half smiled, half winced. “Sound thinking.”

  A sailor hurried up on deck and said, “High—er, Captain, there’s prisoners below.”

  Nicholas followed after, shouting, “Mr. Pickens!”

  “Aye, Captain?”

  “When you’re done cleaning up, turn this ship around and head back to the city!”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Grimly Nicholas smiled and said to Ghuda, “This might work.”

  They hurried to the main hatchway, where he looked down. From three decks down, a dozen faces peered up at them. No one spoke.

  Ghuda said, “Are these our people or those copies?”

  Nicholas said, “I don’t know.” Feeling overwhelmed, he said, “Lock them in. We’ll sort this out when we find the others.”

  He stood up and felt the ship roll under him as the crew finished pushing the dead over the side and returned to the task of directing the ship. Ghuda nudged him and pointed, and Nicholas understood. Reluctantly he walked back to the companionway leading up to the quarterdeck, where he was expected to oversee the ship now that he was captain.

  Climbing the ladder, he found Picken
s standing before the wheel, a sailor manning the helm. The mate cried, “Trim sails to come about!” Turning to the helmsman, he said, “Come to starboard.” Then he shouted, “Coming about!”

  Aloft, the sailors hurried to their assigned places. Pickens said, “This ship’s a wicked copy of the first, Captain. I can’t tell them apart, and I sailed the Eagle ten years.”

  “How are we doing?” asked Nicholas.

  “Six wounded, three dead. Another ten minutes and we would have run aground. But we’re in good enough shape.”

  Nicholas softly said, “I hope you’re right.”

  As Nicholas stood motionless, rolling with the deck, a warning shout from above called out there was another ship close by. Nicholas felt his pulse race, but the reassuring voice said, “Not to worry, Captain. I won’t run over the begala on our way back.” Lifting his voice, he said, “Keep a weather eye out!”

  Nicholas smiled and his newly appointed first mate said, “Why don’t you go below and have that wound looked at?”

  Nicholas nodded. “You have the helm, Mr. Pickens.”

  “Aye, sir!” he said, snapping a salute.

  Nicholas left the quarterdeck and went to where soldiers were taking care of the wounded. One saw him and without asking helped him out of his tunic. Nicholas looked away while the man probed the wound, then held his hands up while the man wrapped a clean cloth bandage around his ribs.

  He silently prayed that Harry and the others were getting through their end of the plan without problems.

  —

  HARRY DUCKED BEHIND the low protection of the cabin of the riverboat as arrows sped overhead. Calis rose up calmly and loosed an answering shot, then ducked back behind the cabin as a scream from the shore verified he had hit his target.