Fire exploded in Brelak’s back as they rounded the corner.
He stumbled, his breath leaving his lungs in a guttural roar of shock. He reached back by reflex, snatching his attacker’s wrist, slick with his own blood. The knife had been driven deeply into his back, just below the ribs. Even through the pain, he knew if his attacker twisted or pulled it free, he would bleed to death before he could stumble a block. The wrist jerked in his grasp, sending bolts of pain lancing through him, but he dug his fingers in and squeezed hard, exerting all his strength.
The grip on the knife went slack and Feldrin twisted around. He got one glimpse of the man’s thin, astonished face before his roundhouse left laid the would-be assassin out flat. He staggered into the light of the street lamp, turning to see where Marci had gone.
“Marci, I—”
Steel glittered in the shadow and he dodged just before it plunged hilt deep into his flesh. He grunted, staring down in shock. It had been aimed at his heart, but his movement put the point too high and to the left, piercing the hollow of his shoulder instead. His left arm blazed with fire, but his right gripped the attacker’s wrist and he drove a kick into the man’s stomach. The attacker crumpled, leaving his knife where it stuck.
Then he saw her.
She just stood there, not running, not screaming, just stood there with her hand pressed to her mouth, eyes streaming with tears as another man strode from the shadows. This one was taller and hefted two curved knives ready to slash Feldrin to pieces.
“Run, Marci!” he shouted, jerking the dagger from his shoulder and flinging it at the advancing assassin. The throw would never have struck true, but it did serve to distract the man long enough for Feldrin to draw his own dagger. Unfortunately, the man he’d kicked was regaining his feet and the other did not look daunted by the show of a naked blade.
“Give it up, Morrgrey,” the bigger man said with a chuckle. “You’ll only die harder if you fight us.”
Feldrin took a step back and felt blood squish in his boot—his blood. It ran from his back, down his leg in a warm torrent. He had to end this quickly or he wouldn’t have the strength to fight. He stood straight and grinned at the advancing man.
“Come on, you son of a pig-humping whore. You should know better than to stick a Morrgrey with a knife. You just make him mad.” He sidestepped toward the wall, knowing they would want to flank him. Feldrin tried to draw his spare dagger from his boot, but his left hand hung limp. He could move his arm, but his hand would not grip.
The man laughed and moved in, weaving the two kukri in deadly arcs.
Feldrin saved his breath, parrying one cut with his knife and the other with his useless left arm. The blade cut to the bone, but didn’t reach his throat as intended. His own thrust met only steel, the countering slashes lightning-quick. He turned one blade aside; the other cut a furrow from his collar halfway to his belt, skittering down ribs like a stick on a picket fence.
The pain of the cut sent him to his knees, but his knife turned the next killing slash and lashed out low to score a hit on the man’s thigh.
“He’s still got some fight in ’im, Wopek. Finish it quick.” The second attacker stood aside, interjecting his own brand of encouragement.
“Don’t tell me how to—” the other began, but shouts and the sound of pounding boots cut him off.
Brelak risked a glance and saw three men running toward them, weapons raised. Then he recognized them—the three captains Cynthia had interviewed.
“Kill the bastard!” the other man shouted, moving to the groaning man Feldrin had knocked flat.
The larger man—the one called Wopek—moved in, slashing his kukri at Feldrin’s throat, but Feldrin was not yet ready to die, not with friends so close. He jerked back, twisted and kicked out as he fell to his side, sweeping the other’s feet out from under him. As the big man crashed to the street, Feldrin rolled, thinking only to get out of reach until help arrived. He forgot the dagger still in his back. The hilt hit the unyielding cobbles, the blade tearing through the sinews in his back before it broke off. He screamed in pain, dropping his knife and pressing his good hand to the wound.
As Wopek regained his feet, Ulbattaer, Troilen and Mayers arrived, knives flashing in the street light, curses filling the air.
Brelak’s eyes squeezed closed against the horrific pain. He rolled onto his stomach, gasping and pressing the wound hard with his hand. Blood oozed from beneath his fingers, but he felt no hard spray that would indicate a severed artery. He knew he was in trouble, real trouble, and cursed himself for his own stupid, arrogant confidence.
A horrible gurgling scream snapped his eyes open just as Mayers fell beside him, both hands clutching at his throat to staunch a crimson flood. The captain’s eyes widened, then went slack as the blood flow slowed and stopped. Then the big assassin fell right beside them, his left eye a ruined, bloody socket, his face frozen in shock and death.
A hand pressed at his back and he heard Troilen’s calm voice. “Hold still, you great lummox. You’re bleeding badly. Any other wounds?”
“Shoulder,” he managed between clenched teeth. The half-elf’s hand pushed hard on the wound, trying to staunch the flow. “And my chest. Blade’s still in my back. Broke off when I fell.”
“Probably saved your worthless hide!” Ulbattaer cursed as he knelt beside Mayers. “Don’t pull it out. We need to—Gods! What the hell happened to Mayers?”
“He stepped in too close to that one,” Troilen said. “The man was very good. He cut Mayers open like a fish before I could get a dagger in his eye. Damned shame.”
“We’ve got to get him to a healer. Now.” Ulbattaer stood and started shouting for a constable while Troilen rummaged through a pouch at his belt.
“Here,” he said, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle the size of his thumbnail before Feldrin’s eyes. “Tuck it in your cheek and chew. Swallow your spit. It tastes horrid, but it will help with the pain. I’m going to put something on your back that will help stop the bleeding, but it will sting. Bite down on the pouch, not your teeth. We don’t want you to break them.”
“You a healer?” Ulbattaer asked between shouts.
“Just some herb-skill. Comes with the pointed ears, if you know what I mean.”
Ulbattaer chuckled. “Aye, like playin’ the lute and singin’ like a songbird, I suppose.”
“Right.” He dipped two bloody fingers into a small jar from his pouch and applied a white paste to the wound in Feldrin’s back, smearing it deep into the gory mess of torn meat.
“Mother of—” the Morrgrey said with a gasp as the searing heat of the unguent lanced through him. He bit down hard on the packet in his mouth and swallowed the bitter fluid.
“Aye, that slowed it some. Let’s have a look at your chest.” The half-elf rolled him gently onto his side and parted the sodden tatters of his shirt. “That’s a nasty cut, but it’s not bleeding so badly. You can breathe all right, I see.”
“I—can breathe, but…” Feldrin’s vision narrowed from the edges, darkness closing in. “Dark,” he said, fighting to stay conscious. “Wha’sat noise?”
“Stay awake, you lummox! The constables are coming. That’s their whistles you hear, but you’ve got to stay awake!” Two sharp slaps opened his eyes. “Stay awake!”
“Where’s the girl?” he asked Troilen, blinking and spitting out the wad of cloth-wrapped herbs. “Where’s Marci?”
“She ran away. What did you expect her to do?” Boots clattered, amid more shouts, questions and raised voices.
Brelak managed to remain conscious until they rolled him onto a pallet, then the world exploded into a haze of pain. The darkness at the edge of his vision closed in to overwhelm his senses.
CHAPTER Twenty-One
Homeward
“You awake, Feldrin?”
“No.” His voice came out as barely a croak. He cleared his throat and squinted into the morning sun. The feather pillow beneath his head felt like a brick. Or maybe i
t was his head that felt like a brick. “I’m dead.”
“Good! Now I don’t have to kill you.” Cynthia stepped in front of the window, blocking the sunlight, her arms folded and her face clouded with anger and concern. “You lied to me, Feldrin! I ought to let you rot on the beach.”
“Lied?” He worked his tongue around in his dry mouth and tried to sit up. Clean sheets covered him, and save for bandages they were the only thing covering him. He took a quick inventory: arm, chest, shoulder and back, though his back hurt the least of all, which seemed strange. “How do you figger?”
“You said you’d take Tobi with you. You sent him home and chose to walk around the Dreggar’s Quarter alone.”
“I didn’t lie to you, I just changed me mind is all. And I weren’t alone. Marci was with me.” He tried to clear his throat again, but coughed and grimaced against the pain.
“Hell of a lot of good that did you.” Cynthia handed him a glass of water from the nightstand. He winced at the pain in his shoulder, surprised at his lack of strength, but drained the glass greedily. She glared at him, leaning down close. “You also broke your promise; unmarried and unmarred, remember? You go and get yourself mugged, stabbed and nearly killed!”
“Aye, stabbed. Near killed? Well, I dunno about—”
“They pulled this outta yer back, Master Brelak.” He turned to where Koybur held a six-inch knife blade. He handed it over for the Morrgrey to inspect. “Would’a killed any man with much less blood to spill.”
“The healer tended the worst of it.” Cynthia continued, still glaring. “The rest will heal with time. Time we don’t have, Master Brelak. I want to ship anchor tomorrow morning. If you’re not able, what am I supposed to do for a first mate?”
“Healer? You paid a healer to fix me up?”
“You’d be dead if I hadn’t,” she stated flatly. “Your back was the worst. He said you might piss blood for a few days, but that you’re out of danger. He stitched up your chest and arm, and closed the hole in your shoulder with some kind of potion, but said to call him back if you couldn’t move your hand. Can you?”
“I… Yes, I can.” He raised the hand and flexed it, looking from Cynthia to Koybur. The miracle of his survival suddenly hit him; he lived solely due to the generosity of Cynthia Flaxal. “Thank you, Mistress. I’ll be ready to sail in the mornin’ and I’ll pay you back every copper for the healer’s fee. I promise.”
“Damn right you will, but don’t think for a minute that I give a good God’s damn about the money. I care more that you might have gotten yourself killed being foolish than the few crowns it cost to heal your carcass up.” Muscles writhed in her jaw, giving him a hint at just how deeply her anger ran. “What were you thinking, Feldrin, falling prey to a mugger?”
“They wasn’t after money.”
“What?” She stiffened, the anger vanishing. “What do you mean?”
“Three of ’em, and they ne’r took my pouch. If it was money they wanted, they’d’ve taken it and run.”
“Makes sense,” Koybur agreed, chewing on the stem of his pipe. “The girl got away clean, and nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her. Chances are she was workin’ for ’em.”
“Well, if they weren’t after money…”
“They wanted him dead, Cyn. It’s the only explanation.”
“Aye, that seemed clear at the time, but who would want me dead?” Feldrin finally managed to sit up, barely wincing. “I don’t have that many enemies. Least ways, none that would pay to see me dead.”
“Unless someone wanted your billet. Everyone in the city knows I’m hiring officers and crew. The other woman, Kali Drin, never showed up. I wonder if she met with a similar accident. Someone could have thought to kill you and take your spot.”
Koybur chewed his pipe and frowned. “Well, if someone did, he’s one of the ones we didn’t hire. None of ’em seemed the murderin’ type. I’d like ta think we been lookin’ at these fellers closer’n that.”
“So would I.”
“I didn’t recognize any of the three that jumped me. They didn’t look like professional killers, but—”
A knock at the door ushered three people into the room, four if you counted the painfully cheerful seasprite. Vulta carried a tray piled high with bacon, sausage, half a dozen poached eggs, as many freshly baked muffins and a whole pot of blackbrew on top of which Mouse rode as if it were his own private pachyderm. He fluttered into the air and over to the recumbent Morrgrey’s shoulder. Behind Vulta walked two of the men who had saved his life.
“Well, the Morrgrey proves he is indeed harder to kill than he looks!” Troilen smiled and shook the big man’s hand.
“Aye, it’s good to see you breathing, you thick-skinned lout!” Ulbattaer pumped his arm strongly, grinning beneath his long mustaches.
“What can I say but thank you, sirs.” He looked past them hopefully, but without expectation. “Mayers?”
“Dead.” Ulbattaer plucked a muffin from the mounded tray and bit off a corner. “Stepped in too close, and took a bad cut. But the half-elf here evened the score nicely.”
“You’ll be happy to know that Captain Ulbattaer and I managed to dispatch all three of your assailants.” The tall fellow smiled and nodded to Ulbattaer. “The exchange of a few coins even managed to enlist the aid of the constabulary in hauling your heavy carcass down the hill to the nearest healer.”
“I’ll leave you all to talk it over, but don’t stay long.” Cynthia nodded to them, her face still set in a stern mask as she headed for the door. “He needs rest if he’s going to be worth more than camel spit tomorrow, and the rest of you need to prepare for departure. Captain Uben has secured cargo and we’re loading today. We haul anchor at first light.”
When the door closed, Feldrin asked, “Captain Ulbattaer? So you two…”
“Aye, she made it official this morning. With Mayers dead, there weren’t any other candidates worth their salt.” Rafen Ulbattaer smiled sardonically.
“And who sent you after me, as if I didn’t know?” Feldrin asked, eying the door through which Cynthia had just departed.
“Aye, she suggested we might all go out and have a drink together,” Ulbattaer admitted, twisting his long mustaches. “She even mentioned a good inn down the wharf district.”
“The Hairy Parrot.” Feldrin scowled at the door.
“Which turned out lucky for all of us, except Mayers, of course.” Troilen shrugged. “If we had arrived half a minute later, you’d be dead and Rafen and I would be looking for work!”
“Oh, bilgewater,” Feldrin grumbled, furrowing his brow in consternation. “But that means…”
“Aye, it means one of them will be your lord and master, and the other mine.” Vulta grinned at the two captains. “Though no decision has been made yet as to who will serve under whom.”
Troilen smiled and patted the Morrgrey’s broad shoulder. “But don’t worry. We’ll make it fair. We were thinking of drawing straws, and the loser gets you.” The room erupted in laughter as Feldrin grumbled and tore into his breakfast.
*
Cynthia left explicit instructions to be roused two hours before first light, which would give them time to get Brelak from the inn to the Winter Gale. When the tap came at her door, she surged out of bed, turned up the lamp and stripped out of her nightgown, reaching for her clothing as Mouse groaned a cricket-chirp of misery and hid under her pillow.
“Fantastic,” Cynthia said to herself, finishing the last of her buttons as Mouse burrowed deep under the covers. She cast about the room, but the rest of her personal effects had long since been returned to her cabin in the Winter Gale, the cabin that would be her prison for the next sixteen days if the winds were favorable. She steeled her nerves, tightened her belt a notch, plucked her seasprite from the bed, strode out of the sleeping chamber and stopped in surprise.
There in the middle of the common room of their small suite stood Feldrin Brelak, fully dressed, his thick arms folded across his barrel
chest. He straightened as she entered and sketched a half bow, showing only slight stiffness.
“Ready to sail, Mistress Flaxal.”
Mouse chirped with surprise and flew a wobbly orbit of the first mate’s head before landing on his shoulder.
“Bloody right he’s bloody ready to bloody sail!” Koybur stumbled into the room and glared at the Morrgrey. “Woke me up a full hour ago with his bangin’ and bumpin’ and mumblin’. I would’a put another dagger in ’im if we didn’t need a decent first mate.”
“Well, I thought we would need extra time for Master Brelak, but since he is obviously right as rain and strong as a summer squall, we’ll head down and you can both get a bite if there’s anything available.”
They found the common room empty, but the smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen doors.
“Blackbrew?” Koybur asked, heading for the kitchen.
“Well, we’ll be aboard in plenty of time, I think. Perhaps one cup won’t kill me.” Cynthia called for Koybur to bring enough for everyone.
Koybur emerged from the kitchen with a blackbrew service for three in one hand and a platter of cold leftovers, a fresh loaf of bread and a crock of butter balanced on his mangled one. Brelak relieved him of the blackbrew and poured for them. Cynthia savored this last bit of luxury as the others ate. While she considered a second cup, a bell from the street announced the arrival of their carriage. All accounts had been settled the previous evening, so they piled aboard without delay and clattered down to the wharves. She did not realize until they stopped at the broad stone avenue along the quay that the carriage and driver were the very same that had conveyed her to the Red Gryphon four days ago.
“Tobi! Thank you for your service and your friendship. If I’m ever able to make the trip back to Tsing, I promise to look you up.” Cynthia shook his hand warmly.
“All part of the service, m’lady.” He shook hands with Koybur, then stepped aside as Brelak draped one huge arm over the driver’s shoulders and ushered him several steps away from the group.
“What’s that about?” she asked Koybur.
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