Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  The officer gazed at him skeptically. “Grandsire, get below. No matter what you were, you are too old to be of aid now.”

  Regen stiffened with indignation, and Eregard could see that the old servant was about to refuse. He grabbed his sleeve and urged, “Come, Master. We should do as he says.”

  Regen allowed himself to be led away, though he was muttering something about, “They’ve but to give me a cutlass, and I’ll show these lads how a man fights on heaving decks …”

  Once below, Eregard headed for their cabin. When they reached there, Regen quickly grabbed up their few valuables and gold coins, placing them in his pouch. “And now, my Prince, we head for the cargo hold,” he said.

  Eregard started to ask why, but realized that it was the logical place to attempt to hide. “We’ll hide there?”

  “Until we know what’s happened,” Regen agreed as they hustled down the narrow walkways. “But if the pirates catch us, there will be no place aboard they won’t look for loot. Once we hear them coming, we might as well give ourselves up.”

  When they reached the main hold, they found many of the other passengers. Some were huddled against the barrels and bales of cargo, others, when they recognized Eregard and Regen, popped up out of concealment.

  Eregard left Regen talking to several of the other passengers and began investigating the piles of cargo. He began to see that his hope of concealing themselves so they wouldn’t be discovered was unlikely. But what else could they do?

  If Adranan were here, he’d go up on deck, fight them to the last vile cutthroat, he thought bitterly, wishing he’d paid more attention to his fencing masters. He knew that Regen carried a small pistol concealed beneath the folds of his loose tunic and overjerkin, but what good was one pistol?

  Eregard was slightly better with a gun than he was with a sword, but that wasn’t saying much.

  Finally he located a small cubbyhole beneath a large bale of Pelanese silk, barely large enough to contain both him and his manservant, lying close together.

  He beckoned to Regen, and the man came over, glanced down, and nodded. They went back to the other passengers, who were milling around, talking in tense whispers. The only other sound was the groaning of the timbers and the rudders. The light was dim in the hold—only a wan illumination from a few shafts of sunlight filtering down through the cargo hatches. The hold was below the waterline, so there were no portholes.

  Time seemed to crawl as they waited. Blow, wind! Eregard silently prayed. Goddess, help us, lend thy breath to the wind! Save us!

  They heard the sounds of running feet from above, then muffled shouts, followed by three sharp booms! one after another. The Lass lurched to port, then settled back. “We’ve fired,” Regen reported, looking up. “Fired the three portside carriage guns.”

  “That didn’t sound like any cannon I ever heard,” Eregard said.

  “These aren’t big guns, lad,” Regen said. “Four-to six-pounders, no more. Not like your father’s great guns.” He hesitated. “It’s not good if they’re within firing range.”

  Eregard could smell the rank smoke from the burnt gunpowder now. Goddess, help us!

  “Should we go and fight?” asked one of the passengers, a middle-aged tailor who was traveling with his wife and young daughter.

  “Not unless you know how to handle a sword or a pistol, and have one to hand,” Regen said. “You’ll just get in the way and get some honest sailor killed, most likely.”

  Moments later they heard the distant sounds of the other ship firing on them. Regen listened intently. “Man-killing shot,” he reported calmly. “They don’t want to damage their prize.”

  “Prize?” quavered Dame Alendar.

  “This vessel.”

  Above them they heard more running feet, and someone in the distance was screaming, a shrill, high-pitched sound that did not stop for many minutes.

  The Lass fired again, and again, and again.

  Both pirate ships returned fire. The ship was lurching now, the groaning of the rudders louder than ever as she tried vainly to maneuver out of the way of the pursuing vessels.

  The stench of gunpowder filled the hold, and small leaks had started up where the grapeshot had pierced the hull.

  Eregard listened to the dripping water, smelled the rank smoke, and realized his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

  He gripped the edge of a cargo barrel until his knuckles whitened.

  More firing … more screams from above.

  Loud booms, much closer …

  And then they heard a prolonged crack, and moments later a loud thud. The entire ship shuddered. “Goddess, that’s done it,” Regen muttered. “That was the mainmast, if I’m any judge.”

  “You mean we can’t run anymore.”

  The older man nodded. “Right, Your Highness.”

  Eregard glanced around quickly, but none of the other passengers had noticed Regen’s slip. The pale, terrified men, women, and children huddled together, clinging close for comfort.

  “Time to hide, lad,” Regen said. “Any time now they’ll be grappling alongside.”

  Eregard nodded, and showed Regen their place of concealment. “It’s possible Captain Farlon will be able t’fend ’em off, even now,” Regen murmured. “Possible …”

  Eregard wriggled into the little cubbyhole, then moved over to give Regen as much room as possible. “Possible …”

  he repeated. “But not likely?”

  Regen grunted as he wriggled into place. “Clever lad.”

  “Wasn’t hard to figure,” Eregard said, trying not to tremble. He didn’t want Regen to feel him shivering. Panic whimpered and gibbered at the edges of his mind, and he bit his lip, forcing himself to remain silent.

  Minutes went by, then came a fusillade of pistol shots and more screaming—followed by a thud. The Lass lurched again. But there had been no sound of cannon fire. Eregard glanced at Regen. By now his eyes were accustomed to the dimness, so he could make out his manservant’s face.

  “They’ve grappled alongside us,” the older man whispered.

  With howls the passengers could hear all the way down in the hold, the pirates boarded the ship. They were shouting something, some battle cry. “What are they saying?”

  Regen hid his face in his hands. “No quarter,” he groaned.

  “Captain Farlon angered them, fighting back. They’ll kill the crew if they resist.”

  And, from the sounds of the firing and screaming, the crew of the Lass were putting up a good fight.

  Eregard lay there, terror gnawing at him, trying to convince himself this wasn’t happening, that it was some nightmare he’d awaken from at any moment. Part of him wanted to run, but he forced himself to lie there silently. Beside him, he could feel Regen, his body stiff with frustration and the eagerness to join the fray. But he won’t leave me, Eregard thought. His duty is to me, and he’ll stay with me.

  Finally, after what seemed hours but was probably only minutes, the sounds from the deck changed yet again— instead of battle cries and the ringing sounds of steel and firing of pistols, there were shouts of triumph. Some of the wounded were still screaming, but one by one those screams ceased.

  Regen’s face was naught but a chalky oval in the dimness.

  “They’ve won,” he whispered bleakly.

  Despite Eregard’s efforts to steel himself for anything, the Prince felt as though someone had driven a mailed fist into his gut. He gasped, and gulped, and, for a minute or so, could not gain enough air to speak. Finally he forced himself to take deep breaths. “What now?”

  Regen put his finger to his lips and pulled himself as far back into their cubby as he could. Eregard, hearing the sounds of bare feet descending the ladders to the lower decks, did likewise.

  For several minutes they could hear the crashing sounds of the pirates looting the several small passenger cabins and the crew quarters, then the cry went up. “Passengers! Where are the passengers?”

  “Don’t h
ide from us, you’re part of the prize!” another attacker shouted.

  Running feet approached the hold. Eregard wished he could disappear, the way the warrior priests of the Redai were said to do.

  “The captain’s manifest lists a cargo of Pelanese sherry!”

  one loud voice said. Even though he could not see them, Eregard could tell they were now in the hold itself, from the way their voices echoed.

  “Good, we’ll have one tonight to celebrate taking this fine prize,” was the gruff reply. “There are rats in this hold, Laston. Rats. Big ones.”

  “Really?” Laston finally caught the joke and guffawed.

  “Oh, of a certainty, rats! Well, we have no cat, so we shall have to turn ratter ourselves!”

  Footsteps, more footsteps, then the sound of a bale being shoved aside. A woman’s terrified cry.

  “Found one, sir!” another voice whooped. “A big fat one!”

  Dame Alendar! Eregard thought, feeling a wave of sick horror. I should do something! But what could he do? From the sound of them, there were at least three or four pirates in the hold.

  The dame was sobbing now. Her captors ridiculed her, hooting and making vulgar sounds. Eregard heard smacks and the sound of ripping cloth. They’re toying with her, as though they were indeed cats and she a mouse …

  Another bale moved. He heard a bitten-off scream, then a child’s querulous, pleading voice.

  Eregard clamped his teeth into this lower lip and tried not to hear.

  “Another one, sir!”

  For the next few minutes pirates rousted terrified passengers from their hiding places. Footsteps passed their spot

  several times, but, for a miracle, they were not discovered.

  The hold was now filled with wails and sobs from the unhappy passengers. The captives pleaded, telling of those who would ransom them back on Pela.

  Eregard lay still as the pirates passed his hiding place again. There was the sound of bales moving, then a muffled shriek.

  “Sir, sir! Here we have a pretty one!” The sobbing girl stumbled past their refuge, dragged by two pirates. “Sir, she’s prime! We can have our sport now, afore we take her to the captain!”

  There was the sound of ripping cloth, a shriek of terror, then the sound of a blow. Laston cursed. The pirate officer’s voice was cold. “Leave her be, Laston. She’s young, and likely a maiden. She’ll fetch more on the block intact—and don’t you forget it!”

  A shrill scream, and loud sobbing. “No! No!”

  Ripping cloth, then the officer spoke again. “Here! This one is no maiden, and she’s round enough to make any seaman a comfy couch, Laston. Look at those udders, why, a cow might envy her. You can have this one.”

  Wails and babbled protests from Dame Alendar. “No!

  Please, please no, my husband, he’s in the colonies, he’ll pay, please …”

  The sound of ripping cloth again, then Alendar began shrieking in earnest.

  Beside Eregard, Regen moved. Before the Prince could do more than gasp, the manservant slithered out of hiding in one smooth motion. Eregard crawled after him and caught just a glimpse of Regen’s feet and legs, then the older man strode out of his range of vision.

  The report of the pistol was shockingly loud in the confines of the hold.

  Before Eregard was even sure that he was moving, he found himself halfway out of the hiding place. He staggered to his feet, then stood there, gaping. Dame Alendar, her gown ripped from bodice to crotch, screamed mindlessly as she lay back against a bale of cloth, her lower body pinned by the still-twitching body of a pirate. Regen had shot the man in the back of the head. The manservant stood proudly, head up, not even trying to reload. At a gesture from the officer, two other pirates raced forward.

  “Well, here we have a brave old geezer,” the pirate officer, a short, strong-looking man with a horseman’s bowed legs said. “You just deprived me of a good cooper, sirrah. Unless you can take his place, I’m going to have to punish you in like manner as you punished him.”

  Regen did not move as the two armed pirates grabbed him and marched him over until he stood before the pirate officer. “Are you a cooper, then? Or something equally as useful? You may join us if you’ve a skill we need,” the pirate said, cleaning his nails with the point of his dagger. “ ’Tis a rarity to find a codger so brave, who can shoot straight.”

  “Regen—” Eregard said, trying to reach him. He was grabbed from behind and halted; the grip on his arm felt like an iron manacle.

  Regen did not look over at the Prince. He stared down his prominent nose at the pirate. “I have many skills, but I would rather die than turn pirate,” he said disdainfully.

  The officer shrugged. “Fine.” He nodded at the man on Regen’s right, and, with no more care than Eregard would have given to squashing a flea, the man’s hand rose and whipped across Regen’s throat in a blur of steel and flesh.

  Both pirates stood back as the old man turned, grabbing at his throat, his eyes bulging. Regen gave a strangling, bubbling gasp, then his crimsoned hands fell away and his knees buckled. Hot blood sprayed out, catching Eregard and his captor across the face.

  Regen fell, twitched once, then lay still. The flow of blood across the deck spread, slowed, and finally stopped.

  Eregard stood there in shock, then his stomach revolted and he fell to his knees, retching.

  “Boq’urak’s balls!” his captor swore, dancing out of the way so his boots would remain unsmirched. “Get up, you!”

  Eregard knelt there, his mouth hanging open, a rope of

  vile spittle spinning its way down from his lower lip. He stared at Regen and could not believe that he was dead. This is a nightmare, he thought. It can’t be happening. It can’t be …

  With all the will that was in him, he tried to wake up.

  Instead of opening his eyes back in the palace in Minoma, however, the Prince was seized again and dragged to his feet.

  “What shall I do with this one, sir?”

  “Take them all up on deck,” the pirate officer decided. “And take the guts up, too, and toss them to the fishes. We’re taking the prize back with us, and we don’t want the hold to stink.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Eregard felt the pirate reach around him and relieve him of the small dagger he wore on his belt, then a hard hand shoved him toward the ladder. He staggered forward, then found himself climbing.

  Moments later he stood blinking in the light of day, staring in shock at the carnage all around him. The Lass’s crew had fought bravely, and the angry pirates had given no quarter indeed. In places, the deck was awash with blood, and when Eregard’s captor pushed him forward, the Prince skidded in one congealing mess and nearly fell. “Move!” his captor barked, shoving him again.

  This time he did lose his balance, and fell jarringly onto his hands and knees. When he stood again, his hands were red and sticky. Eregard gagged and retched again, but his stomach was already empty.

  He glanced up at the position of the Sun and realized that only an hour or so had gone by since they’d seen the pirate signal. Eregard stumbled forward under his captor’s prodding.

  The pirates had gathered all the captives on the foredeck, separated into two groups—the passengers who were to be ransomed, and those who would be sold as slaves. Dame Alendar was sobbing as she clutched the rags of her dress around her. Her face was bruised and blood trickled from a torn lip. Yet she was one of the lucky ones, for she was with the prisoners who would be ransomed by their loved ones.

  The younger, stronger passengers, especially the servants, were in a second group, and it was there that Eregard’s captor took him.

  Pirates paced around the passengers like wolves scenting wounded prey. Every so often one would pounce, then retreat with a bauble torn from a woman’s ear or a ring yanked from a trembling hand.

  Eregard saw one man, not tall, but still imposing, who had a shaven head and wore an expensive silk dressing gown over his bare and musc
led torso. His cutlass was a fine one, with a gold-chased guard and grip. The captain, he guessed.

  The man strutted up to the cringing slave-captives and looked them over. “Cap’n!” the man behind Eregard said.

  “Can’t we have some fun wi’ ’em? We ain’t had no fresh arse in a long time. Them whores in Cape Raldi is all startin’

  t’look alike!”

  The captain regarded the two captive serving girls, who cowered back under his gaze. “Not those two,” he said. “If they’re maids, they’ll fetch a fine price. Have your fun with yon dame,” he said, jerking his head at Alendar.

  Several of the sailors approached the dame with purposeful strides, grinning like fiends from some foul netherworld.

  Eregard turned his head away when the screams began.

  Someone must have gagged the woman at some point, because they stopped after a few minutes. There was only the grunting and gasping from the pirates.

  Eregard swayed on his feet as spots danced before his eyes. He was beyond horror, beyond terror.

  “Aw, Captain,” Eregard’s captor complained, “I don’t want t’stand in line, and I surely don’t want her. She’s too old and fat for sport. Let me have one of the young’uns.”

  “Use the lads if you want,” the pirate officer said. “But no touching the maids, Drenn.”

  Drenn chuckled, and the Prince found himself seized from behind again. “You heard the captain. How about this one, lads? He ain’t pretty, but he’s young, and I’ll bet his butt’s virgin and tight! Let’s ’ave a look at ye, lad!”

  Drenn grabbed the Prince’s jacket, then fingered the material. “Nice! That’ll look just fine on me.” He began dragging the garment off over Eregard’s arm.

  “No!” The threat roused Eregard from his daze. He swung at Drenn with his unencumbered arm, driving his fist into the pirate’s eye. The pirate’s head snapped back with the blow, and he howled with rage and pain.

  Eregard backed away, but he was surrounded by a circle of pirates, laughing with coarse good humor. One grabbed him and shoved him staggering back into Drenn’s reach.

  The pirate was an experienced brawler, and Eregard had never exchanged blows except with the court boxing instructor. The Prince put up his fists and tried to defend himself, but he was lost from the first.