The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond Feist

  The prisoners from Crydee were recovering their strength enough to spend some time on deck. The dozen women from Crydee and the four maids with Iasha were around to keep the single men from becoming resentful of those with Nicholas and his friends. Twice Nicholas had broken up scuffles between boatmen or mercenaries, but he judged them no worse than similar altercations between apprentices over city girls he had observed back at Krondor.

  The sailors kept the ship in trim, and those boatmen who had elected to join this journey became able deckhands. Soldiers of Crydee found themselves back at tasks learned on the journey out, while Nicholas, Marcus, and Harry learned the shipmaster’s craft.

  Every day Nicholas conferred with Amos, who attempted to help him get some sense of navigation from the charts and his log. They were approaching the place where Amos judged them most likely to find a friendly current as they turned away from Novindus and headed across the sea. Already they had left sight of land behind, and now the water was turning a darker blue, showing a change in current. Nicholas still wasn’t as confident of reading such changes as Amos was, but then, Amos had been doing it forty years longer.

  Life on the ship settled into a routine, if a tense one. But few people can live constantly under a cloud; there were moments of genuine humor and no small amount of playfulness. Harry and Brisa still sparred and hurled mock threats at each other, but Nicholas noticed he rarely saw them apart.

  Margaret and Anthony could often be seen on the bow, stealing what little privacy they could for themselves. They were not as demonstrative as Brisa and Harry, but few couples were.

  Marcus and Abigail had settled into a quiet contentment, though Abigail could still bring a frown to his face by mentioning her desire to see Krondor and Rillanon. Nicholas was coming to judge his cousin a man unlikely to travel more than a day’s ride from his home again unless it was absolutely necessary or he was out hunting.

  Nicholas found his own life surprisingly satisfying. Iasha was passionate and instructive, and he was a more than willing pupil. The duties of captaining the ship, and of overseeing the training of the men for the coming battle, the time spent with Amos—all put him into a frame of mind that could only be called happy. He knew that a fight was coming and that nothing less than disaster for his homeland hung in the balance, but he preferred to put that problem aside until necessity dictated otherwise. It was the potential of conflict that heightened his appreciation of the good things he encountered along the way. For the interim, he was satisfied to enjoy the work, the company of good friends, and the affection of a beautiful young woman.

  Nicholas was too practical to think himself in love with the girl; what he felt for her was no small part affection: Iasha had revealed herself to be a shrewd and clever young woman with a keen curiosity and the same tough, street-wise savvy that Brisa displayed. What Brisa had named coldness back when they had first met turned out to be a pointed desire for survival, a trait Brisa could appreciate. Iasha’s lack of formal education and her rough upbringing could not mask her intelligence, and on several occasions Nicholas had been taken to task by her for confusing ignorance with stupidity. But while Nicholas dreamed of magical love, as young men his age often did, he had known from his earliest days that he was a child of the state and that the right to chose his own life would never be his.

  This interim of sailing northeast, through the hot afternoons of equatorial waters, with those he came in search of safe, was as close to freedom as the young Prince had ever known.

  Late in the second month they were entering familiar waters; Amos came up on deck one night and scanned the heavens. “The stars look like they’re supposed to,” he said with a grin. “We’re heading home.” The last was said with a wistfulness Nicholas had never heard from him.

  “What’s wrong?” Nicholas asked.

  “Nothing, really,” said Amos. He leaned against the rail of the main deck and looked out at the dark water. “I was just thinking that this is indeed my last voyage.”

  “It’s not as if you’re going to be walled up in the palace,” said Nicholas. “Grandmother has her estates and loves to travel. You may wish to stay in Krondor after one season of touring the Kingdom with her—Rillanon, Bas-Tyra, down to see Aunt Carline in Salador, a visit at Darkmoor to taste the new wines, a trip up to Yabon every second year.”

  Amos shook his head. “Landed gentry. I’ll never get used to that.”

  Nicholas grinned. “You will.”

  Amos said, “Just like you’re going to get used to returning to your father’s court?”

  Nicholas lost his smile.

  “I thought so.”

  Changing the subject, Nicholas said, “Do you think they’re making for Krondor?”

  Amos did not need to ask who “they” were, and he knew Nicholas already knew the answer; they had discussed this several times before, but he also knew that despite his having matured greatly over the last year, Nicholas was still young in many ways, and unsure of himself.

  Amos thought a moment, then said, “It’s the most logical choice.” He glanced around to ensure they were not being overheard and said, “We know their ultimate goal: Sethanon and the Lifestone. The plague is only a means to an end; by throwing the Kingdom into chaos, they can easily send an expedition to Sethanon, to release their ‘goddess.’ ”

  “Very foolish creatures,” said Nakor.

  They both turned suddenly, and Amos said, “Don’t do that. Where did you come from?”

  Nakor grinned. “Where could I have come from? We’re on a ship, remember?”

  Nicholas said, “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough. But nothing I didn’t already know.”

  Nicholas chided himself that he should never underestimate the little man’s knowledge, but he had been certain only a handful of people knew of the Lifestone. “What do you think?”

  “The snakes are very strange creatures. I have thought so for many years.”

  “You’ve encountered them before?” asked Amos.

  “The last time I was in Novindus.”

  Amos and Nicholas said, “You’ve been to Novindus before?”

  “Once, a long time ago—though I didn’t know it was Novindus at the time; it’s a long story having to do with a trick that didn’t work the way I thought it would, some temple relics I thought were abandoned, and a secret priesthood with no sense of humor. Anyway, these Pantathians are foolish creatures who would murder the planet for this false goddess of theirs; and in the end, their plans will fail.”

  Amos didn’t speculate on how much Nakor knew. All he said was “Well, a man can kill you for foolish reasons just as easily as for good ones.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Nakor. “You’re just as dead. You can’t argue with religious fanatics.”

  Ghuda came wandering over and heard the last remark. “Oh, you can argue,” he pointed out, “but a fat lot of good it does you. A desert man I once knew called it ‘pounding sand down a rathole.’ ”

  They all smiled. “How is the training going?” asked Nicholas.

  “Well. Some of the prisoners have recovered enough to join us; they’re very motivated to have a sword in their hand when we overtake that other ship.”

  Nicholas had been reluctant to allow apprentices and pages to carry weapons, fearing they would be more of a hindrance than a help. Ghuda had convinced him that they might need every sword they could muster, and the training occupied much of the passage, giving the other mercenaries something useful to do.

  They passed the evening quietly; then Amos complained of growing tired and went to his cabin. Nicholas saw Harry on the quarterdeck and decided to turn in. Reaching his cabin, he found Brisa and Iasha talking. Brisa jumped to her feet when she saw Nicholas, saying, “I was just leaving.”

  Nicholas smiled at her as she walked past. As the days grew hotter, the women had taken to wearing simple shifts, and Brisa’s was cut provocatively low up top and high at the hem, showing neck, arms, bos
om, and legs to good advantage. Nicholas watched her leave and Iasha pointedly cleared her throat. Nicholas turned to face her with a grin.

  “Come over here,” she said, “and I’ll make you forget that skinny tart.”

  Nicholas doffed his sword belt and removed his boots. As he dropped them on the deck, he said, “Skinny? Brisa?”

  Iasha reached up and unfastened the top. ties of her own shift, letting it fall to her waist. “Skinny,” she repeated.

  Nicholas laughed and playfully buried his face between her breasts. Then he kissed her and said, “What were you two talking about? You’ve become thick as thieves.”

  Removing his tunic, she said, “She’s helping me learn your barbaric tongue, if you must know. She’s really not a bad sort. Once she found out I wasn’t a noblewoman, she’s become very civil.”

  “For someone who doesn’t get along with noblewomen, she and Margaret get along famously, too.”

  Iasha said, “Your cousin is a very unusual woman. I’ve seen many rich and noble women, and she’s unlike any other.”

  Nicholas sighed as he nuzzled her neck. “Too bad you couldn’t have known her mother.” He found it difficult to picture Briana. A wistful feeling passed through him.

  “What is it?” Iasha asked.

  Nicholas shrugged. “Nothing, really. People die, you mourn them, then you get on with life. That’s the way it is.” More brightly he said, “It’s good you’re learning the King’s Tongue.”

  Iasha smiled. “If I’m to find myself a rich husband, I’ll need to know it.”

  Nicholas sat up. “Husband?”

  Iasha said, “Eventually. Your wife might not wish to have your mistress nearby. And neither one of us imagines for a moment your father would allow us to wed.”

  Nicholas sat up and started to protest; then he realized she was saying nothing he hadn’t already considered himself. He discovered he just didn’t like hearing her say it.

  “Your feelings are hurt,” she said, half-mocking. She stood up. “Let me make you feel better,” she said as she untied the belt around her shift, allowing the fabric to fall around her ankles.

  Nicholas grinned as she came back to him and settled into his arms.

  —

  THE PURSUING GALLEY had not been seen for a week, and Amos judged it had finally succumbed to the long passage. He came up on deck and took a deep breath of sea air. It was early spring again.

  Amos went to Nicholas’s side on the quarterdeck and said, “One of these days I may ask for my command back.”

  “Anytime.”

  Amos clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. “You’re doing a fine job.”

  Nicholas said, “I’d feel better knowing where that other ship is.”

  Amos said, “If that captain knows his craft, they’re south of the Frigate Rocks, about a week south of Three Fingers Island. They’ll turn there and make directly for the Straits of Darkness.”

  “We’re going to cut them off?”

  “I don’t know,” said Amos. “This ship is almost as fast as the real Eagle, and the real Gull was only slightly slower than that. It’s a difficult choice, and we didn’t know the southern waters as well as their captain.” He rubbed his hand, and said, “But no man knows the northern waters like I do, and once on the Bitter Sea, I’ll use every current and eddy, every wind and comber to push us along. We’ll take them, have no doubt.”

  Nicholas asked, “When is the earliest we might see them?”

  “Now,” said Amos. “We could have overtaken them anywhere along the route, depending upon where their captain starts his eastward run.”

  Two hours later, the lookout called, “Sail ahoy!”

  Nicholas ordered as much canvas on as possible and every man jumped to push the ship through the water as quickly as could be done. After a while the lookout called, “I mark her, Captain. It’s the Royal Gull!”

  Amos shouted, “All hands to stations!”

  “No,” said Nicholas.

  “No?” asked Amos.

  “We’ll not attack her yet.”

  “Why not, for the gods’ sake?” asked Amos.

  Ghuda came up on deck, Praji and Vaja behind him, and Nicholas addressed all of them. “We have no idea how many men they’re carrying. And we don’t have surprise. I’m not going to move in on her until we’ve passed the Straits of Darkness and we’re almost home.”

  “Why?” demanded Harry, climbing up from the main deck.

  Nicholas said, “Because I’m not going to let one of those creatures reach Krondor. If I have to, I’ll lash the ships together and burn them both. If we have to swim home, I’d rather have it a short distance to friendly shores.”

  Amos swore. “Well, we’ll have to dog them, and I hope their captain doesn’t have a lot of imagination.”

  Nicholas said, “Pass the word, we’re going to run if she turns to fight.”

  Amos said, “I don’t like it—”

  “Those are my orders,” said Nicholas. “We’ll take her only if she turns toward the Free Cities or Kesh. Otherwise, we’re going to follow her home.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Amos said, saluting. His expression was a mixture of doubt and pride.

  24

  BATTLE

  Nicholas watched.

  The counterfeit Royal Gull was trimming sail, slowing in a provocative invitation for the Eagle to attempt to overtake it. Amos stood on the quarterdeck. He had become a fixture there for the last two weeks, but he still hadn’t requested a return of command from Nicholas.

  Nicholas had been open about his lack of knowledge in running a ship, but he was an apt student, and between his lifetime of small-boat experience, the time he had worked on the Raptor, and what he could learn from first Pickens and now Amos, he was turning into a first-rate deep-water sailor. Amos had told him that at the rate he was learning, he’d be a first-class cabin boy in a year or two. Nicholas realized the near-legendary captain had only been teasing, but his successes so far were constantly offset by a nagging doubt that his luck was about to run out.

  Amos mused, “They’re really not asking for us to engage.”

  Nicholas agreed, “They know we don’t want to…yet. But I can’t fathom what they’re up to.”

  Amos called aloft, “Anything to the stern?”

  The lookout called back, “Nothing, Admiral!”

  They had cleared the Straits of Darkness a week before, and were now due north of Durbin. Nicholas said, “You don’t really expect to see anything back there, do you?”

  “You never know,” said Amos. He spit over the rail. “The snakes managed enough magic to create those plague carriers and had years to plan this; they probably began this plan the minute Murmandamus died at Sethanon. I wouldn’t put it past them to have a way to get that bitch of a bireme across the ocean.” He smiled. “More to the point, I wouldn’t put it past them to have a ship in reserve somewhere in the Bitter Sea just in case of this sort of turn of events. And their slowing down would make sense if they expect help.”

  Nicholas said, “That’s a risk I can appreciate.”

  Just then the lookout called, “Sail ahoy!”

  “Where away?” shouted Nicholas.

  “Dead to starboard, Captain!”

  Nicholas and Amos both crossed the rail and looked, and after a minute a sail could be seen. “She’s coming fast,” said Nicholas.

  Amos said, “Uh-huh. Keshian cutter. Privateer out of Durbin. Time to run out the colors.”

  The imitation Kingdom warship carried a full complement of banners and ensigns, and Nicholas called, “Run out the Kingdom banner and the royal ensign.”

  Amos said, “Put my pennant out there, too, while you’re at it.”

  Nicholas called out for the Admiral of the Fleet banner to be added, and soon large colorful flags flew from topmast and mizzenmast.

  The Keshian cutter bore down on them, then suddenly veered to port. Amos laughed. “That captain sees two Kingdom warships returning from pa
trol, one with the Admiral of the Fleet and a member of the royal household aboard. He’ll give us a wide berth.”

  The day wore on, and Nicholas kept his interval behind the Royal Gull. The pursuit took on the aspects of a tacking duel in a race, but in this race the purpose was not to overtake, or to fall behind, but to stay within striking distance.

  The Gull put on more canvas near sundown, and Amos said, “The bastard’s going to try to run on us in the dark. Hasn’t he figured out I know these waters too well? I know where he must come back to come to Krondor.”

  “What if he doesn’t run to Krondor?” asked Nicholas.

  “He must,” answered Amos. “He could put into Sarth, or Land’s End, but why bother? Your father is almost certain to be out on the Far Coast, trying to make sense of the mess we’ve left in Freeport. I think that was the purpose for what we thought was a needless raid at Carse, Tulan, and Barran. With that level of destruction, your father will have pulled most of the fleet out of Krondor and sailed straight to the Far Coast as soon as the Straits cleared. Then he’ll be out to Freeport.” He calculated. “He’s probably deciding to return here or go after us by now.”

  Nicholas said, “She’s breaking north!”

  Amos said, “I think it’s a feint. Wait a moment, run out sails, follow, and as soon as it’s dark and she can’t see us, turn back to this line for Krondor. I’ll bet you all I’ve got we’ll see them no farther than a mile away at dawn tomorrow.”

  Nicholas said, “I know better than to take that bet.” Putting his hand on Amos’s shoulder, he asked, “Something to eat?”

  “Why not?” answered Amos.

  The old Admiral was still a little unsteady on his feet by the end of the day; however, Anthony judged him fully recovered from the sword wound. His strength would return slowly, but he would be fit and well by the time they reached Krondor. Muttering as they descended the ladder to the main deck, Amos said, “If we were sailing a straight line, we could be home in another four days. But this tacking around, like a boat race in the harbor, it’s a serious waste of wind.”

  Nicholas agreed. “I’m anxious to have this over with, but I think we know that the chances of those murderous dogs accommodating our desires are slim.”