The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War)

by Aaron Pogue

  “No. But perhaps he will not want an interruption. He has a guest.”

  “Another sailor?”

  “A woman.”

  “No! Charlie Claire? In Raentz? He knows no women here.”

  “Perhaps—”

  Corin shook his head. “He has no coin to spend. Show me to his rooms.”

  “I fear—”

  “Not as much as I do. There are those in this city who would harm Charlie just because he is my friend. But he’s not always quick to sniff out traps like that.”

  The innkeeper hesitated a moment more, but in the end he bowed his head. “I do not like this indiscretion, but come. This way.” He led Corin up a narrow staircase to the room across the hall from one Corin had used the night before. They were modest accommodations, but clean and safe. The innkeeper went to knock on Charlie’s door, but Corin caught his wrist, stepped past him, and cracked the door just wide enough to glance inside.

  The innkeeper’s discretion was unnecessary. Charlie sat at his table, both hands full, devouring a hearty meal. And his guest waited by the dirty window some way off. She was watching him, perplexed. And Corin knew her.

  “You may suspend your search,” he told the innkeeper. “We have found my druid.”

  The innkeeper pushed into place so he could take a peek. He whispered back, “This? This isn’t her at all!”

  “That is precisely her!”

  “But you said she was petite with flashing eyes and a pointed chin. Dark hair, stiff spine, poised and in control—that is the woman you described.”

  “Yes!” Corin answered, with a gesture toward the room.

  The innkeeper shook his head fiercely. “But this woman…this woman here…she is none of that.”

  Corin frowned. “You know her, then?”

  “No, but I know my own eyes. This woman…” He lowered his voice further still. “She is…sturdy. Strongly built and wilting at the edges. Her hair might have been any color once, but it is golden now and already going gray.”

  Corin stared agape at the old innkeeper, but the man just waved toward the room. “Am I wrong? Do you see something different? Or was perhaps your memory of her distorted by the wine or rum? I have seen that oft enough—”

  “That must be it,” Corin said, if only to silence the old man. There was some mystery before him, but it was not one the innkeeper could solve.

  There was no truth in the innkeeper’s description. Corin rubbed his eyes, but it could hardly make so great a difference. The woman in Charlie’s room was undoubtedly the same Aemilia he’d met in Jezeeli in the distant past. And in an alley just last night. She looked not yet thirty, and her hair was dark as night. But she was a druid too, and they knew things concealed from normal men. Perhaps this was some druid sorcery at play.

  Corin licked his lips and eased the door closed again. He turned back to the innkeeper. “No matter how she looks, this is my druid. She is a friend, and I cannot believe Charlie would object to an interruption. So if you would be so good, please bring my lunch up to this room. And something for the lady too.”

  He hesitated. “You are sure? You’re sure it’s her?”

  “I am. And I suspect we’ll need some time for catching up. You’ll see we’re not disturbed?”

  “Of course.”

  “Unless word comes from Brinole. If your man has found me Ethan Blake—”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “I’m no one’s lord,” Corin said. “Just call me ‘Corin.’ But you are an admirable host.” The man started to stammer some modest objection, but Corin had no time for pleasantries. His eyes fixed on the door to Charlie’s room, and he bounced on his toes. “Thank you. A million times. Now go.”

  He waited until the innkeeper was gone, then eased the door open again and slipped into the room. He nodded to the sailor. “Good morning, Charlie! I’m glad to see you well.” Then to the druid: “And you, Aemilia. I trust you had no trouble finding the tavern?”

  She gasped. “But…how could you?…”

  “Recognize you? I don’t know,” Corin said, stepping close and offering a bow. “I see you have the locals all confused, and I suspect that’s also why you have been stalking me so brazenly. If you are wearing some disguise, I must admit that I can’t see it.” He showed his most disarming grin. “All I see here is your own true, lovely face.”

  She touched her cheek, almost disbelieving. “You see—”

  “Aemilia. One of King Oberon’s most loyal druids, who was once a moneychanger in Jezeeli and yet who somehow doesn’t look a day past”—he barely hesitated—“twenty-five.”

  “Thirty-three,” she answered, almost challenging him, and Corin barked a laugh.

  “And centuries on top of that. What is your secret, woman?”

  “What is yours?”

  He spread his hands, the perfect picture of openness. “How much time do you have?”

  She considered him in silence for a moment. Then she set her shoulders and met his eyes. “Honestly, I hold nothing higher in priority than discovering your secrets.”

  “You’ll make me blush.”

  She growled at him. “Do not pretend—”

  “I don’t,” he said, serious at last. “But neither do I give from charity. If you would have my secrets, you must share some part of yours.”

  She shrugged. “It seems like you already know them all.”

  “Oh, more than you can guess. But I need details. I need to know the secret workings of your magic, of Oberon’s power, to understand what’s happening.”

  She shook her head. “I will tell you what I can, but there are some restrictions.”

  “Hah! Forgive my indiscretion, but we are far beyond the strictures now.”

  She gaped again. “How can you—” She shook her head, interrupting herself, and cast a pointed look at Charlie Claire.

  He hadn’t moved since Corin first arrived. Seated at his table, both fists full of sopping bread, he was watching them in fascination. Now he swallowed hard. “What’s this, then, Captain?”

  Corin frowned. “She is the woman you brought here. I assume she offered you some reason.”

  “Two pistoles for an hour of my time. She said she had some questions for me.”

  Corin frowned. “Oh? What did you tell her?”

  “Only the simple truth. That we are Ithalian sailors, out of work.”

  “That’s all you said?”

  He thought a moment. “I…may have said we’d been in Khera, but then it rather seemed that she already knew, so where’s the harm?”

  Corin sighed. “You saw no harm in answering a stranger’s questions?”

  “She offered me two pistoles, Captain. For that I would have told her my true name.”

  “Did you?”

  Another thoughtful pause. “She never asked. She seemed more interested in you.”

  “And you told her?”

  “Almost nothing. Although, I think I mentioned your new magic trick. The traveling. She did seem quite impressed.”

  Corin restrained himself against an angry outburst. Instead he went closer and lowered his voice. “And what if she had been a justicar? Would you be glad you’d shared so much with her?”

  Charlie just looked confused. “But she’s a girl!”

  Corin sighed. “Forget it, then. What else did you say?”

  “Nearly nothing. Once my meal arrived, she got pretty quiet.”

  “In shock, I must assume,” Corin said. “Shall we leave you to eat in peace? I suspect I can answer all her questions.”

  “It sounds that way. But…she did promise me the coins.”

  “Of course. They’re yours regardless.”

  “But I would prefer to hear everything you have to say.”

  “And I would prefer for you to say no more,” Corin said. “Gods bless us all, Charlie Claire. You are a good man, but this is not where you excel.”

  The big man gave a heavy sigh. “She’s truly trouble, then? I’ve d
one something stupid again?”

  “Would I let you keep your earnings if you had?” Corin tossed him two pistoles. “No. I had urgent need to speak with her, and you have brought her to me. That’s good work, sailor. But now it’s time for me to take the helm.”

  Charlie brightened and took another sloppy bite of bread. “Aye, aye, Captain! You’re right as ever.”

  Corin nodded back, then offered Aemilia his arm. He led her to his own rooms, secured the door, then leaned his back against a wall. He left her time enough to catch her bearings.

  She never took her eyes off him. He could almost feel her gaze, measuring every inch of him, weighing, calculating. He left her to the task and made his plans.

  He’d met the druids in Jezeeli, but he had learned precious little of them. They were better organized than the Nimble Fingers, better educated than the scholars, better informed than the blasted justicars, and in some ways they were better armed than the gladiators. And yet, despite it all, they were not even a minor power. They skulked around the edges of society. For all their amazing secrets, they had no impact.

  It was a puzzle, a mystery he would be happy to unravel, but first and foremost, it was an opportunity. Every secret could be made a weapon. If the druids couldn’t see the way, Corin would be happy to do it for them. He had to learn the rules behind Oberon’s dream magic. He had to learn how she had tracked him clear across the world. With any luck, the same technique could lead him straight to Ethan Blake.

  But first, he had to get her on his side. He chose to open with a show of generosity. Reaching beneath his cloak, he produced the stolen dartgun and tossed it to her. “This is yours.”

  She barely glanced down. “It’s spent.”

  “Aye. It is a useful toy.”

  “It’s not a toy! It is a sacred artifact. If one of these fell into the scholars’ hands—”

  “I know, I know, the strictures,” Corin said. “Now say you’re grateful that I chose to give it back.”

  She glared at him. “It’s not enough. Even the dart you fired—”

  Corin cut her off again, tossing her the tiny glass and silver cylinder. He’d hoped to get away with that one, for it would have fetched a pretty price at the University, but such thinking was habit more than anything. Gold was not his problem now.

  “You have your artifact; your strictures are secure. Now bend them a bit for me, and tell me how you found me.”

  She scowled. “‘Bend them a bit?’ It is a strange experience to meet a man who knows the secret words and phrases of my people, but who clearly doesn’t grasp the point at all.”

  Her analysis was perfect, but Corin wouldn’t let that stop him. “I know the point,” he bluffed. “You live in fear of going back to yesterworld.”

  She staggered back as though he’d hit her. “How can you know this? Who are you?”

  Corin took a step toward her and spread his hands. “I am just what Charlie told you, a sailor—”

  “Pirate.”

  “—who went where he never should have gone. I found a scholar’s map and notes that spoke of an ancient, secret knowledge buried in the Endless Desert.”

  Her knees gave out and she sat down hard on the end of Corin’s bed.

  “I found a buried city,” he went on. “Empty except for books.”

  She nodded in sudden understanding. “That’s where Charlie found the tome he meant to sell in Khera. And…that is where you learned these tricks? From something written in the books?” She sounded doubtful, and Corin had to laugh.

  “I never had the chance to read them. I was betrayed by my first mate. He put the city to the torch, burned all but a handful of the books, and left me there to die.”

  She groaned so sharply that it was almost a wail. “The city burned? You found Gesoelig and you let it burn?”

  “I didn’t let it,” Corin snapped. “I was betrayed. They tried to burn me with it. But why do you seem so surprised? You’ve heard this tale before.”

  “I—what?”

  “I didn’t die in the fire. Some magic in the dormant city—in the books themselves—it dragged me back into an ancient memory. It transported me to Jezeeli while Oberon yet reigned, and I arrived outside your door.”

  “My door?”

  “You had a moneychanger’s shop by the city’s gates.”

  She placed a hand to her forehead. “I…I did.”

  “And Ephitel himself came to see you, to ask of you another Writ of Provender, to buy more black powder from the dwarves.”

  “You know everything!”

  Corin threw his hands up. “Of course I do! I was there with you. A thousand years ago, while Ephitel was waiting in your shop, Oberon’s power deposited me on the busy street right outside your window. You came to give me aid. You summoned Jeff, who put a boot on my foot. You lectured us about the strictures and then took me to see Delaen.”

  “Jeff…and Delaen…” She stared at nothing, eyes wide, voice thin and faraway. “You have so many details right—”

  “Of course.”

  But she went right on over him. “And yet you lie. I remember everything about that day and the days that followed. For centuries I have relived the memory of Gesoelig’s fall, and no matter what you say, I know for a fact that you were never there.”

  Corin barked a laugh. “You can’t be serious! I saved you from Ephitel’s prison coach.”

  “No. Jeff and Delaen did, with a little aid from an elf named Avery.”

  “And Maurelle! I know—I led her there.”

  Aemilia shook her head. “Your story falls apart. Maurelle came later. At that time, she was still a pawn of Ephitel.”

  Corin sank down on his heels, completely shaken. “What are you telling me?”

  She raised her chin. “I see through your charade as easily as you saw through my disguise. Do not let it hurt your pride. I will admit, I am astonished at how much you have been told.”

  “I have been told nothing; I lived through all of this. Just days ago. But…” he trailed off, grasping at a memory. He groaned. “Oberon tried to warn me. It was a dream within a dream. He tried to explain it to me, but I didn’t understand.”

  Aemilia found her feet and withdrew a pace, a newfound worry clouding her expression. “I don’t think I understand either. What are you saying?”

  “It wasn’t real—not this real—but it felt real. It was another dream, a special dream made just to show me what had happened when Jezeeli fell.”

  She backed another step away, though there was nowhere to escape. “You grow more worrisome with every word you speak. Do you know that?”

  Corin shook his head. “It was always complicated. Summon Delaen. If anyone can understand, it will be her.”

  “I dearly wish I could, but Delaen died in Ephitel’s first strike.”

  “No. She was in the throne room when the city moved.”

  The woman snapped, her calm restraint shattered as she stomped her foot. “That isn’t real! Stop speaking of your fantasies! This is my life. These are my memories!”

  “And they are mine,” Corin answered, quietly calm. “They are not the same, but they are just as real for me. I made new friends in Avery and Maurelle. I watched the coward Kellen become a hero. And I remember Delaen advising Oberon upon his throne before he moved the city. My experience may not have changed the world you know, but Oberon invested much…he sacrificed much to share that glimpse with me. If you still serve his goals, you must respect the things I’ve seen.”

  “And you must understand how this all sounds to me. You suffered an ecstatic dream about a tragic history—and that is only if your story’s true—and you would have me trust your vision more than my own memory?”

  Corin went a step toward her, stretching out his hands. “I would never ask for that. I only ask that you trust me.”

  “A pirate?”

  “A fellow servant of King Oberon. An ally in the war on Ephitel. One other person in the world who can remember the c
ity that once was and the wretched things that happened there.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she dipped her head and came a little closer to him. “You do have a silver tongue.”

  “Some say gold.”

  She barked a startled laugh, and Corin went to meet her. He could not doubt that this was the same woman. So serious, so worried, so anxious to do right. He tilted her face up to his and said softly, “I know how difficult this all must be for you. Imagine how it was for me, an unsuspecting Godlander, to be tossed into a fire and emerge in ancient Jezeeli.”

  “It is a wonder you survived.”

  “More than you know. I picked a fight with Ephitel.”

  She gasped. “You didn’t!”

  “Oh, I did. I think that’s what Oberon most wanted from that dream—to find a champion to avenge his death.”

  Aemilia frowned. “That does not much sound like Oberon.”

  “Perhaps. But it is what I most remember.” He thought about the dwarven pistol tucked safely beneath his cloak and gave a grim smile. “I shot Ephitel. In the dream. I very nearly killed him.”

  A hungry smile touched her lips, but it quickly faded. “It wasn’t real.”

  “No,” he said. “But I wish I’d done it all the same.” He thought a moment and gave a little shrug. “I suppose there is some worthwhile advantage there.”

  “Where?”

  “In that it wasn’t real. You do not remember me, and that’s a shame. I was a dashing hero, and the other you was most impressed.”

  She smirked. “This is an advantage?”

  “No. It is the contrast. It is a shame you don’t remember me, but quite a comfort to discover Ephitel does not remember either.”

  “Oh. I suppose that must be true. You said you shot him.”

  “In the back. On two separate occasions.”

  She laughed. “You would not have survived one day in Ephitel’s Hurope if he remembered that.”

  “But I do,” Corin said. “And that gives me an advantage. I know things he doesn’t know.”

  “And you will use this advantage?”

  “Haven’t I already said as much? I mean to make him pay for everything he’s done—in your memories as well as mine.”