by Alan Black
Tuller and Seenger worked furiously to reset the sheets to their new course. Each used their knowledge of sails and the wind to eke out the last bit of speed. However, the tack they were on would only delay their inevitable capture at the hands of the Surr slavers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Both crewmen worked their way astern toward Tanden. The fisherman and his son had not kept their ship any better than they had kept their hut. Lines, sheets, and nets lay tangled about the deck, sliding every which way, forcing his crewmen to move carefully to avoid becoming entangled. Noticing that Seenger was slowing down, Tanden saw the blood seeping down his leg.
“Tuller,” Tanden called, pointing at Seenger, “sit him down and bind that wound. We have enough garbage on this pigsty without having to slip around on his blood.”
Without a word, both sat down and Seenger leaned back allowing Tuller full access to his leg. Tanden knew they would respond without comment, shipboard discipline required no less.
Tanden began scooping up and shoving loose nets, ropes, and floats into jumbled piles on either side of the deck. He quickly secured loose running lines or sheets, tying them up out of the way. They did not have the time to be tripping around the deck. While placing the long boarding pike in beckets near the port rail, he spotted another and set it in the starboard rail beckets.
As was his sailor’s nature, he was loath to throw anything overboard he might be able to find a use for later. Anything else he found, he tossed into an open fish hatch. He could hear it clattering around in the narrow area below decks.
Tanden worked his way back to I-Sheera at the helm. He said, “You must do exactly as I say and do it exactly when I say. No questions. No hesitation. I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask you to do something that you couldn’t do. Trust me in this.”
She looked back at him, pale, but smiling, “Yes. I can. If you tell me I can do it, then I can.”
As Tanden explained his plan, she looked ahead and nodded, grimly determined to stay the course and follow his commands, come what may. He leaned down and kissed her quickly on the forehead startling her. She smiled up at him and then re-set herself to her course.
“Captain,” Tuller called, waving him over to his position. Tuller’s hands were bloody, but he had managed to bind Seenger’s wound. Seenger stamped his bad leg on the deck, testing the bandage.
Seenger said, “It looks like it’ll hold.”
Tuller agreed, “It’ll hold for a while, but it’s a deep gash. It probably hurts like a scalded pig, but this stubborn fool will never admit it. He should stay off his leg until we can get a needle and thread.”
Seenger snorted, “It doesn’t look like it’ll matter whether it gets sewn up or not.” He gestured in the direction of the slaver boats. For each boat length the fishing boat gained, the Surr boats gained two. They would catch up to them shortly.
Tanden could clearly hear the slavers shouting in their native tongue. He outlined his plan quickly and sent Tuller to the starboard rail on the upside of the deck, positioning Seenger downside on the port rail. Each man stood near the lines and sheets for the main sail. Tanden carried a pike to the bow. Balancing upright against the slanted deck, near the cleats for the lines to the jib, he placed the pike on the deck near his feet.
Watching the Surr draw closer, it suddenly occurred to him there might be some of his kin among them. He had never before considered himself of Surr blood, but it was not a secret his mother had been raped by a Surr invader. He thought about the Surr he had fought and killed already.
He asked himself, “Have I killed a cousin, a brother, and do I now stand ready to kill my own father? Ha! Kill a man who brutally raped my mother? Kill a man who left her with half a mind to die an early death? So be it, I’ll gladly do it.”
Tanden shouted in Holdenish, “Come on you sons-of-bitches.”
Tanden saw Orrick standing in the bow of one of the boats. He bellowed in Geldonite, “Come to me you red-haired, foul-smelling dog. There are no children here for you to lie with. Come face a man if you have the courage, or run home to your goats, they miss your bleating. I’ll wager there are herds of sheep in the north with red wool.”
Orrick’s face turned as red as his hair. He shouted back at Tanden in Surr, shaking his sword in the air, cursing the rowers to drive their oars faster. His boats were slicing through the water, racing side by side, an oar's length apart. They were almost a matched pair, with the oars plowing stroke for stroke through the water, each pull causing the boats to lurch forward. They were close enough Tanden could see the Surr had pressed slaves to the oars. Tanden had a moment of regret that what he was about to try would injure and possibly kill innocent men. He dismissed the thought, as his plan would most likely kill him and his crew as well.
The slaver boats were close when Tanden turned to I-Sheera and shouted, “Now!”
I-Sheera leaned against the tiller with all her weight. Tanden, Tuller, and Seenger leaped to reset the lines and sheets as the rudder spun the little boat about to face the on-coming Surr boats. Their speed and momentum from the long run across the wind on a beam reach continued to push them swiftly through the sea. The woman centered the rudder on a heading to slice between the slavers. The Wave Master’s deck leveled as horizontal as the sea itself. Tanden quickly re-set the jib sail and picked up his pike.
He saw the comprehension in Orrick’s eyes at the last moment. The man turned to shout at his crew to pull in their oars. Tanden braced his feet against the deck. Raising the long pike, he caught Orrick in the ribs with the spear point. The opposing speed of the boats sent the Surr slaver flying backward into the sea before he could utter a sound.
Tanden whipped the pike around to the other boat. The man standing on the bow was more prepared than Orrick. However, he misjudged the oncoming boat’s speed in relation to the speed of his own craft. The pike’s hook caught the man in the upper thigh, sending him sprawling backward over the first set of oarsmen. The jolt of contact tore the pike out of Tanden’s hands.
He retrieved his long sword from the deck, bracing himself against the jib mast. The sturdy little fishing boat knifed between the two Surr slaver boats. As Tanden had calculated, the Surr boats were barely far enough apart to allow the Wave Master to slide between them. The fishing boat crashed through the oars extending into the water from both boats.
Oars disintegrated, sending shattered pieces spinning through the air in all directions. Men were thrown to the decks, sprayed with shards of wood, or hammered by displaced oars. The force of impact brought all three boats crashing together, their sides slapped with a jarring crunch taking the feet out from under every unprepared man. Wood screeched and moaned louder than the screams of injured and dying men as the boats grated past each other.
The sturdy little fishing boat ground its way between the slaver vessels, pushed by the wind and her gathered momentum. Tuller and Seenger swept up armfuls of ropes and nets, throwing them onto the struggling men on the other boats. Tuller, standing along the port side, quickly grabbed the pike. He stood ready to spear any man who cleared himself from the melee of ropes, nets, and wounded men.
Tanden and Seenger moved along the starboard rail sliding toward the stern as the boats passed. Each man held his sword tightly, ready to repel boarders. Only one Surr cleared himself from the tangle of nets, ropes, and bleeding men. One of his captives dragged him down from behind before the slaver could regain his bearings.
The little fishing boat broke free and a fresh blast of wind captured them, snapping the sails full. The wind was sudden, as if it came out of nowhere with perfect timing. They shot forward like a giant hand was pushing them. Clear of the slavers, the Wave Master picked up speed. Tanden shouted to his crew, “Turn to starboard. Set the helm for due south. Re-set the sails to beam reach.” He planned to put as much distance between the disabled boats as he possibly could. The course he chose would provide the best speed for their newly acquired boat.
By the time
the Surr regained control of their boats—if they ever did—the Wave Master would be long gone. Once out of the slaver’s sight, he would change direction, setting a course for Stantinstadt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Tanden ducked under the guard’s club on the Stantinstad docks. It whistled past his head. He lashed out with a foot at the man behind him and was gratified to hear a whoof of air. Grabbing the man in front of him with both hands, he threw all of his weight forward, pushing the man off-balance and off his feet. The two men slammed onto the hard, wood plank of the wharf. Driving his weight into the man’s midsection, he rolled and whirled around to face the man with the club. He blocked a blow with his left arm, the jolt sending pain shooting all the way to his shoulder. He stiff-armed a punch to the man’s nose, causing him to drop his club and grab his face.
Tanden took the opportunity to shoulder past, sending him spinning to the dock. Sprinting to a low wall, he dived over it, blending into the shadows. He crab-walked beside the wall until he came to the side of a shipping warehouse. In the night’s shadows, he climbed the rough rock exterior and rolled onto the flat roof. The night was dark. The pale light of the Potato, the only moon in the sky, barely produced shadows.
His heart was pounding and he fought to control his breathing. He flexed his left hand and fingers to bring feeling back into his arm. It tingled painfully, but nothing felt broken. It had been a long night, climaxing in the dockside brawl with two guards on the wharf, but was all worthwhile. He had found the White Wind in Stantinstadt’s port.
It had only taken a day and a half to sail into port with Tanden and Tuller taking turns at the helm. They barely had to trim their sails against a constantly favorable wind, seeking only to harvest the last measure of speed from the little boat. The trip was uneventful and restful, except when Tuller found a needle and thread used for patching torn sails under the helmsman’s perch. Tanden sat on Seenger’s chest while Tuller sewed the ogre’s thigh wound closed.
Gadon slept the whole voyage. The heavyset sailor still rested, despite his complaints, on the deck of the Wave Master. His fever was subsiding, but he remained terribly weak, his breath coming in short gasps. Throughout the trip, I-Sheera quietly cared for the ill man.
They sailed into Stantinstadt at dusk, slipping into port near the ragged fleet that fished the waters of the straits and the northern reaches of the Almodovar Ocean. Their commandeered ship was almost indistinguishable from similar ships anchored in the poor, rundown side of the harbor.
Seenger was watching I-Sheera, Gadon and the fishing boat while Tuller and Tanden searched separate sections of the port. Each man slipped quietly through the shadows searching the dark silhouettes of each ship looking for the White Wind.
Travelers the world over agreed that Stantinstadt was a wide-open port. Any diversion and any kind of trouble was available for any man who went searching for such things. Travelers would also agree that in the last few years the port took on a more malignant air. Warwall, the Red Wizard of Drohnbad, had seized the port at the end of the last war. When he suddenly withdrew all red troops, the city and port were left void of any capable controlling authority, beyond the contentious merchant council, barely more than a loose pirate confederation. This was why Tanden had decided to sail past the city on their voyage north to Harkelle. Even with a full crew, he deemed the city too unsafe to lay over, especially with a full, tempting cargo.
At any given time, half of the men on the docks were thieves seeking an easy opportunity to steal. The other half were sailors on watch and guards hired to protect ships in port. Both guards and thieves were wont to bash heads at night. Any person with a legitimate reason to be on the wharf conducted their business during the day. Tanden and his crew no longer looked like they were conducting legitimate business. Their blood stained leather garments taken from the Hummdhar warriors caused many to turn their heads, even in this city.
Tanden was also concerned about any assistance Gregin and Heraclius may have secured while in port. Being an open city, Stantinstadt had red order schools, green order meeting rooms, and blue order businesses operating side-by-side. Gregin, as a blue priest could easily seek the aid of the city’s blue wizard with a sizable force of magicians, priests, acolytes, and blue soldiers at his disposal.
Tanden and Tuller spent most of the night slipping from shadow to shadow, following the curve of the harbor, looking for their ship. Finally, Tanden was rewarded for his labor, catching sight of the White Wind in a walled off section of the port reserved for the wealthiest families and largest trading companies. She was tied along a small walkway across from another ship. Both vessels were docked bow forward. Their gangplanks lay open to the landing pier between them. He was trying to get close to her berth when he had bumped head-on into a pair of night watchmen.
Now, he was resting on the roof of a warehouse, waiting to catch his breath. Rolling over, he inched toward the edge of the roof, careful not to show a silhouette against the sky. He re-scanned the area until he fixed the White Wind’s location in his mind.
She was masked by other ships set at near anchor and was all but hidden from the casual observer. A burning torch lit the dock area near the ship where a man stood watch, but he was too far away for Tanden to recognize.
Two others had run to help the men Tanden had fought. All four milled about, poking at shadows and looking over the wall. Tanden did not expect the small skirmish to result in a broad hue and cry. Brushes with petty thieves were common.
The White Wind sat low in the water indicating her holds were still full of goods from Drohnbad and the East. Merchants in Stantinstadt would give Gregin and Heraclius a considerable price for the cargo, stolen or not, but they could collect twice the price in Tunston. Although, from the rumors Tanden heard, Tunston’s Blue Wizard collected a stiff tax or donation as his magicians and priests called it.
Tanden doubted Gregin would mention any tax to a greedy Heraclius. Still, with Gregin eager to reach Tunston, he might sell the cargo and hire a more competent captain for a faster voyage.
He was positive Gregin would take the White Wind to Tunston, trying to keep the theft and kidnapping secret to protect the Blue Wizard’s reputation. Leaving the ship behind in Stantinstadt was far too dangerous, as too many traders from Harkelle sailed these waters. Any number of Holdenites could identify the White Wind and would conclude she was stolen.
People might consider her lost at sea if the ship and her crew disappeared without a trace. Plus, Gregin would be hard pressed to find a faster ship. Stripped of her cargo, the White Wind could make the trip to Tunston faster than a harlot lies about her age.
Tanden felt sure the White Wind could not have anchored earlier than the same day the Wave Master reached port. He did not believe Gregin could finalize a sale of the cargo quickly. Any respectable merchant needed time to catalog the cargo and would spend an inordinate amount of time haggling over the price. Incompetent merchants did not survive long enough in Stantinstadt to complete their second bargain. If Gregin intended to sell the cargo, Tanden guessed he had another full day before the dockworkers would begin unloading his goods from his ship.
Tanden thought about Lady Yasthera il-Aldigg, Warwall’s neice. She had been given to his keeping. He needed to find her and deliver her to Harkelle, safe and sound. It would ruin his adopted father to do otherwise. She must be his first consideration. If she still lived, he must rescue her, even if it cost him the cargo.
He needed to get off the warehouse roof before sunrise trapped him there, so he scrambled to the rear of the building and climbed down to an alley. It was still dark, but dawn was approaching closer by the minute. He wound his way through the alleys and back streets into the section of town known for inns, taverns, and brothels servicing sailors from the harbor.
Standing in the dark, he watched the street from a passageway between two buildings. Many businesses remained open into the early morning hours. He saw a rowdy group of men leave a small tavern acro
ss the street. They staggered to a well-lit, walled building a few doors down the street. There was a small blue light and a painted blue circle on the gate. The men sang and laughed as one of them rang the small bell, waiting for admittance. No one was singing the same song or able to stand without leaning against another. The building had the look of a blue order school. He doubted they were planning to attend a training session at this time of the night and none was wearing an acolyte robe.
Such scenes played and replayed throughout the known history of men and ships. After weeks or months between ports, too many common sailors drank until they could drink no more, sang until they could sing no more, and whored until they ran out of money. Day or night, it made no difference, these men knew no time constraints aside from getting back to their ships before they sailed. Fishermen, dock workers, guards, and soldiers mixed with sailors in a simmering stew held together by cheap wine and bad women, or bad wine and cheap women. Stantinstadt businesses catering to sailors never seemed to close.
“What next?” He shook his head. “Do something. Do anything!” He commanded himself, but he did not move. He stood still, watching the street.
“Either go back to the Wave Master or go to a tavern looking for news. How cowardly are you to get this close to your goal and simply hide in the dark? You fool, don’t you know what to do? Are you going to stand frozen in your tracks, afraid to go forward or to go back, like a lost, newborn sheep? No. Logic demands I act, but my heart says wait and watch. Am I such a fool to not know my own thoughts?”