by Dan Abnett
In moments the leader of the column arrived at the beach, and he, too, was stunned by the brutality of what had happened. He pulled his winged helm from his head, his face pale with shock. “For pity’s sake, help them,” he commanded his troops, and the spearmen put down their weapons and moved to help the survivors.
The lieutenant bit back a wave of despair as he surveyed the awful scene. His gaze fell upon another villager, sitting alone against the side of a wagon’s wheel. He approached the hunched figure, kneeling respectfully at his side.
“We came as soon as we could, cousin,” the lieutenant said. “What you did here was… very brave.”
The figure sighed. “I know,” he replied in a dead voice. “But we had no choice.” Before the lieutenant could reply Malus drew a dagger from within his sleeve and stabbed the sorrowful elf in the eye.
As one, the “villagers” leapt at the surprised spearmen, slashing and stabbing with their knives. Other corsairs leapt from the sands and attacked the elves from behind. In moments the slaughter was complete.
Lhunara pulled off the villager’s tunic she’d worn over her armour. Breathless, she staggered over to Malus. “The Lord of Murder favoured us,” she gasped. “But what now?”
The highborn levered himself painfully to his feet and pulled off his own disguise. “All is not yet lost.” He gestured out to sea. “Manticore wasn’t as fleet-footed at Master Gul hoped.”
Delayed by taking on her boats and with only a minimal crew to work her sails, the corsair had been quickly overtaken by the elven warship, and now they were grappled together in a brutal boarding action.
“These Sea Guard must have come ashore a few miles to the south,” Malus said. “Their boats are likely waiting for them on the beach. If we can reach them in time we can still rescue Manticore and get ourselves out of this mess.”
Lhunara thought it over and nodded. “We’ll load everyone into the wagons and ride the horses to death if we must,” she said with a fierce grin, and turned to shout orders to the corsairs.
As the raiders clambered aboard the wagons Malus surveyed the bloodstained sands one last time. Killing the slaves had been the only way, he realized, but the loss still ate at him. “Worth their weight in silver,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ll likely not see such wealth again.”
Manticore wallowed in the cold swells of the Sea of Malice as she limped the last few leagues back to port. It had been a long voyage back; the raider had suffered considerable punishment at the hands of the vengeful elves, and by the time Malus and the raiding party had managed to sneak onto the enemy warship’s deck, Gul’s troops had already been decimated. But the enemy captain had been overconfident, believing his troops had finished the raiders trapped on the beach, and had never expected a sudden attack from shore. By the time he realized his mistake it had been far too late. The battle ended swiftly after that. Malus ordered the warship set ablaze and the Manticore made good her escape, and rewarded the crew with the plunder he’d taken from the village in Ulthuan, in a single stroke he’d won the allegiance of the crew away from Hathan Gul.
Master Gul had abased himself at Malus’ feet when the fighting was done. His apologies were voluminous, and his pleas for mercy were most sincere. The highborn gave the treacherous slug every opportunity to convey the depth of his regret, slicing off only a small part of Gul’s body each day. The ship’s master was still alive when Malus offered him to the sea witches as they passed the tower of Karond Kar.
Standing at the prow of the crippled ship, Malus fished into the small coin pouch at his belt. His fingers closed on a handful of rough objects and he held them up to the sunlight. “All that plunder, and this is all the gold I have to my name,” he said, showing Silar and Lhunara a handful of Gul’s teeth.
The young knight shook his head and turned his gaze back to the docks of Clar Karond, just a few miles off the bow. Lhunara chuckled. “Melt them down and have them made into a set of dice,” she suggested.
“Perhaps I will,” the highborn mused.
“What happens once we reach port?” Silar asked. “We’re more than three months early, and you’ve nothing to show for your cruise.”
The highborn shrugged. “I could have come back dragging Teclis by the hair and it wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “I’ll return to Hag Graef and start plying the flesh houses again. Who knows? I might even start breeding nauglir.” He regarded Silar thoughtfully. “I misjudged you, Silar. A poor knight you may be, and too honest for your own damned good, but you served me well. I’ll release you from your oath here and now if you wish. You needn’t accompany me back to that den of vipers at the Hag.”
Silar chuckled. “And miss the look on your father’s face? No, my lord. I’ll accompany you.”
Malus nodded, then turned to Lhunara. “You, on the other hand, never gave me any oath. Gul is dead, and Amaleth was killed in the battle off Ulthuan. By law, Manticore is your ship now.”
“True enough,” the first mate said, “but I’m done with sailing the seas. If you’re still serious about taking me into your retinue, then I’ll give you my oath.” She smiled. “But I expect to be well rewarded for my service.”
“You may wind up with more than you bargained for,” the highborn answered sardonically.
“Speaking of bargains,” Silar interjected. “There’s still the matter of who shot you on board that patrol ship off the Blighted Isle.”
Malus frowned. “Ah, yes. Lurhan’s hidden assassin. That was Amaleth, I expect. I saw him with a crossbow just before the battle.”
“It was him, right enough,” Lhunara said. “I paid a couple of corsairs to shadow him during the battle.” Her expression soured. “They weren’t supposed to let him take a shot at you without my permission, though.”
“Your permission?” The highborn’s eyes went wide with shock. “You knew Amaleth was Lurhan’s assassin the whole time?”
“Of course. I kept him alive as insurance, just in case you had any treachery of your own in mind,” Lhunara replied. “What, did you imagine I would take you at your word?”
For a moment, Malus was speechless, torn between murderous outrage and grudging admiration. Silar leaned against the rail and chuckled softly, staring out to sea.
“We’ll be the death of you yet, my lord,” the young knight said.
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