The dwarf sketched a bow, his rings jingling, and corrected, “Rings, please. If ye call for ‘Nargin,’ ye may find me looking around for someone else.”
Belmer nodded, and said, “Sharessa Stagwood.” The beautiful she-pirate gave him a polite smile, and he asked, “Are you the one they call ‘the Shadow’?”
Her smile broadened. “Yes,” she said simply. The Konigheimer’s eyes flashed once.
“You are agreed to work for me, and with me?” Belmer asked formally, meeting the eyes of each in turn. When he had the assenting nods of all, he signed the pile of writs and handed back two copies of each. “I go forthwith to the Lord to register these,” he said, “and I suggest you seek out a Witness without delay; I’ll expect to see you back here before this candle—” he inclined his head toward the one he’d just lit—“burns out. Anyone who comes back here with a Dagger, or uninvited companions, will die.”
Shrugs were his silent reply. “I know that trust is not a thing easily won, and even less easily bought,” Belmer told them softly, “but if it is to grow between us, I must warn you before we start that in my employ things may not always be what they seem.” The pirates raised their eyebrows, but kept silent as they left the room in a wary group, cradling the writs as if they carried precious gold.
When he was alone, Belmer gave the candle a rueful smile, and left by another way that he’d somehow neglected to tell them about.
Chapter 3
Fire and Water
“I’ve not seen this ship before,” Kurthe muttered in the darkness, as they clambered aboard a damp deck in the mist, dunny-sacks on their shoulders.
“And you’re not seeing it now, either, Longshanks,” Sharessa said tartly from behind him. “Head to the right, or you’ll walk straight into that—”
She winced, but a moment before a collision would have occurred, the pile of crates suddenly grew an arm and fended the burly Konigheimer off. “Watch sharp,” Belmer murmured. “Companionway’s just ahead.”
“This’d be easier with a torch or two,” Kurthe grumbled, feeling for the first descending step with his boot.
“No lights,” Belmer told him, and was gone.
“How’m I supposed to find my bunk in the dark?” Kurthe demanded, reaching the end of the steps and standing uncertainly, facing featureless gloom.
There was a glassy rattle ahead and the faintest of mauve-hued glows, as someone—Rings—unhooded an Ulgarthan glowworm in a jar.
“Take any bunk on the right,” the dwarf hissed. “This is the Morning Bird, a caravel from somewhere upriver in Ulgarth, by the looks of her.”
“D’we have to crew?” Kurthe grunted, rolling his heavy bag of gear into a bunk.
“Nay—there’s a dozen Tharkar wharf rats aboard, captained by a miserable cringing-guts who scares me white.”
“Oh? Think he’ll flee overboard at our first storm?” Sharessa asked. Neither of them had heard her enter the cabin; no doubt she was barefoot again, flitting about in the velvet silence that had earned the Shadow her nickname. Wordlessly Kurthe took her sack and put it with his own; she stroked his cheek with soft fingers and then stepped away.
“ ’Twouldn’t surprise me overmuch,” Rings told her. “His name is Jander Turbalt, and if he’s from Tharkar-port as he claims, I’ve never seen him before. Belmer’s already had to tell him to be quiet or his promised gold’ll be fed into his slit-open belly coin by coin!”
The stairs creaked. “I heard that, too. Why all this secrecy, anyway?” Ingrar asked as he arrived, following Kurthe’s pointing finger to a bunk.
“Our employer obviously doesn’t want someone to know he’s leaving town, dolt,” Sharessa told him in kindly tones. “Did someone think to bring drinking water?”
“You’re thinking this’ll be a long voyage?”
“I’ll want it if I don’t bring it, lad,” she explained patiently. Belgin and the Anvil held up bottles, and she nodded.
“Good. I’m for the deck.”
“Going to romance Belmer already?” the dwarf asked in teasing tones of mock disgust. “Can’t ye even wait until we’re clear of the harbor?”
She blew him a mocking kiss and made a rude gesture in the same smooth movement, and was gone up the stairs without a sound, a darker shadow in the gloom.
Kurthe gave Rings a snort of disapproval. “I don’t like this,” he announced to the cabin at large. Wood creaked as he sat on the edge of his bunk. “I don’t like this at all. Creeping out of Tharkar like sneak-thieves instead of honest pirates and going off on some sort of mystery snatching voyage… without even our favorite weapons.”
“Well, that stands to reason,” Belgin said. “None of us could get into the Masques again before dawn, with all the Daggers who’ll be crawling all over it right now.”
“Oh?” Rings replied quietly. “Why don’t you open that strongbox over there?”
Belgin and Kurthe both gave him curious looks. After a moment’s hesitation, the big Konigheimer got up from his bunk, took two quick strides, and flipped back the lid of the chest. All the weapons they’d checked at the Masques lay within. He snatched up his own dagger in disbelief, and tested its edge with his thumb.
“How, in the name of all the—”
The onetime slave frowned, and for a moment his eyes seemed to blaze like two red flames in the darkness. When he spoke again, his voice was low and far less furious, but still urgent. “Does it cross your mind, Rings, that our new employer arranged the fight and our easy escape from the Daggers… and all?”
“Just to sign up seven salts who got out of the Kissing Shark by luck and some hard swimming?” asked the dwarf. “Only if he believes all those fancytongue tales about the lost treasure of Blackfingers. Which is more than I ever did.” He looked around the cabin, and asked, “Well? What do the rest of ye think?”
A thoughtful silence had descended on the cabin. No one replied. Kurthe hefted his dagger, said nothing, and went back to his bunk.
Up on deck, the mists clung chill and heavy. Sharessa shivered suddenly, and leaned back against the mast, cradling herself for warmth. Well, at least it would cut the chances of prying eyes seeing them leave. The Tharkaran crew were a silent and sullen bunch; they’d cast off and were poling away from the docks even before she was topside. They shipped their poles into sail-padded cradles in pairs, to be as quiet as possible; Sharessa thought she saw Belmer working alongside the rest.
The sweeps were already in the water, lashed to the sides of the ship by cables that the captain now unspiked. The crew bent their backs with infinite care to avoid splashings; as the Morning Bird slipped out of the throat of Tharkar harbor, only the creak of wood and a faint foaming of water at the bows marked their passage.
Suddenly, without a sound, Belmer was at her elbow. “Nicely done,” she whispered. “I’ve never heard so quiet a leave-taking.”
“Not quiet enough,” he said grimly, and pointed back at the docks. Sharessa looked along his arm and felt a fresh chill run down her spine. A signal lamp was blazing… and as she watched, a second flared into life beside it.
“Go below and tell your comrades to prepare for battle,” Belmer added. “All are to come up on deck when ready.”
Sharessa opened her mouth to reply—but he was gone again. She gave the signal lamp another glance, sighed, and did as she was bid.
Silver clouds scudded overhead, hiding the fitful moon from view. The seas were calm, and the caravel was running easily out to sea under light sail, the sweeps long since shipped and Tharkar far behind.
The Sharkers stood together on the unfamiliar deck, hearing the rhythmic creak of a ship rushing through the waves. It felt good to be at sea again—and yet wrong that it wasn’t the Kissing Shark, with its cheerful chaos of rigging and boarding-pikes and hammocks amidships, with comrades lazily trading too-well-known jests on the moon watch. Sharessa stood by the lee rail staring out over the silver-touched waves. In some ways this long, wild night seemed like a dream�
��or the beginning of a nightmare.
A battle at sea; now that at least would be—she stiffened. Aye, there.
“Ship ho!” she shouted, pointing.
A ship was rushing at them out of the night—lying low in the water but running fast, its full sails dark. No lamps sparkled aboard as it raced out of the northeast, heading straight for them.
Belmer came sprinting down the deck toward the helm. The captain thundered after him, his untidy gray-white beard bobbing as he moaned in fear. A paunch larger than Belmer’s wobbled along below it. Sharessa gave the panting man a look of contempt and drew her sword, winding her arm firmly through the nearest rigging to keep from being hurled overboard if their attacker rammed them.
The other Sharkers were taking battle stances, blades flashing back moonlight as they scrambled for safe perches.
There were shouts aft, and the Morning Bird groaned and heeled over, turning abruptly; Belmer had ordered the crew to dip one of the sweeps and use it as a drag to make the turn swifter. The deck heaved and flexed under her boots, and Sharessa felt the familiar excitement of battle racing through her, making her tingle all over, and feel slightly sick. She grinned at her comrades and crouched low in case the crew of the onrushing ship had bows.
No hail came as it rushed down upon them, cleaving the water in its haste. It was straining under full sail; if it struck them squarely, the Morning Bird would be broken into two and driven down into the dark water.
Because she had no better weapon to wield, Sharessa laughed in defiance as death raced to meet her.
The Bird was turning, groaning like a wounded seal. Somewhere aboard, wood snapped with a deafening sound, and a loose line danced across the decks. The dark ship came on, a carved black dragon at its bows seeming to open its jaws to take them. It raced nearer… and nearer…
Sharessa heard despairing cries from the sailors. And then the dark ship was rushing past, hurling back water from its bows, and didn’t seem that close after all. Sharessa peered at its flanks and decks, trying to make out a name or see what manner of men crewed her, but murky darkness seemed to cling to her decks like a shroud.
Out of that dimness something twanged and leapt, and unseen things whistled through the air toward the crouching Sharkers. Then the night was full of the snapping thrum of catapults letting fly, and points of fire suddenly blazed at the stern of the passing ship.
Fire arrows! Sharessa stood up to shout a warning, realized it was useless, and hastily freed herself from the rigging as firepots shattered up and down the decks. She saw Brindra swing frantically at one as it came right at her and then smash it to shards. Glass crashed on all sides, and Sharessa’s nose was full of the familiar reek of lamp oil. She crouched low behind the rail, feeling for the storm ropes.
The deck was awash now, and strange clay balls as big as shields were landing in the puddles of oil. Sharessa cowered away and for the first time looked around for the Morning Bird’s deck boats—those balls must be some sort of explosive. They slumped in the oil as if they were melting… and then she had no more time to wonder what they were, as the night rained fire.
Shaft after shaft whooshed low overhead, trailing bright flames, and plunged to the decks. Where arrows met oil, flames rushed along the wet boards, and she saw her fellow Sharkers cursing and dancing about, trying to stamp out rising tongues of fire. She had one glimpse of the stern of the ship that had attacked them, dwindling in the moonlight—and then an inferno roared in front of her and she scrambled back with an involuntary scream.
She smelt the reek of her own scorched hair as she ran along the decks, seeking Belmer or the captain. If there were buckets of sand or water to be had, they’d know where—
And then she saw what was rising ahead of her. Sharessa gasped and skidded, frantically trying to stop. She slipped in oil and fell heavily on her knees, still sliding slowly forward; she jabbed her sword into the decks to finally bring herself to a halt. And gaped.
With a sound like rustling leaves, things that were gray, brown, and mottled ivory were rising out of a shattered clay ball. Angular things, delicate and somehow familiar—bones! Human bones! They circled each other, awkwardly, the skull floating up to surmount an assembly of ribs that seemed to be missing pieces, but still hung together and moved as if… alive.
“Gods!” Sharessa husked, as the skeleton turned its head for all the world as if it could see her, and raised a scimitar—a blade of bone, she saw with a sudden chill—as it glided forward. Bones clicked as it moved, swaying and dancing in the air just above the decks. She tried to back away, and grimaced. It wouldn’t be slipping in oil, as she was.
Beyond the advancing skeleton more bouncing bones were rising in eerie dances, and she saw Kurthe snatch up a sailpole and smash a skeleton into spinning fragments; his defiant snarl rose into a yell of exultation. Others closed in around him.
The Tharkarans were shrieking and fleeing for the rails. Sharessa heard a despairing wail and then a splash, followed by another. Their terror was driving them to seek death in the sea! Something burst past her, heading for a wailing, running sailor, and Sharessa saw it was Belmer.
He was moving impossibly fast for one so fat. As she watched, he caught up with the crewman, tackled him, and they slid together past a grinning skeleton. A bone sword swung down and missed, and beyond it Belmer rose and slugged the man under him. When he scrambled up a moment later, glistening with oil, the sailor lay still on the deck.
“Sharkers!” their fat little employer roared. “Knock the crew senseless! We’ll need them to sail, later!”
Flames were crackling and dancing over the decks now, the skeletons ignoring them as they danced forward, seeking the living. She saw Ingrar slip with a despairing cry, and Rings leaping over him with both axes flashing. The skeleton above the snarling dwarf flew apart, but she had no time left to see if its bones would draw together again. Her own skeleton was upon her.
She stared into its empty sockets out of habit, trying to read what her foe would do by looking at eyes that were not there. The bone sword cut the air with deceptive slowness, coming down…
Chapter 4
Bonedance
Sharessa stood in a trance and watched the dancing skeleton swing at her, but at the last moment she shuddered and flung herself to the deck. As its blade of bone passed over her, she kicked out at the thing’s shins, saw it stagger, and scrambled to her feet, hacking at its sword arm.
It was not a pretty attack. She slipped once, then again, and ended up clinging to the brown bones she was trying to sever. That grinning skull turned to look at her, only inches away—and in a sudden surge of terror Sharessa brought the hilt of her blade smashing down into its teeth.
Bone shards flew in all directions, and with a snarl of horror she hacked and slashed, hewing at the headless undead horror until it flew apart. Bones fell and spun around her at last, and she staggered back, panting. The bone blade was still waving feebly; she stamped on it with both feet and ground it into the deck.
Another skeleton was dancing her way. Sharessa swallowed, hefted her blade, and went to meet it. Beyond it she saw Anvil cut down a skeleton with a rain of calm blows, like a woodsman chopping a tree; beyond him, Brindra laughed and hit one with a sailpole, spinning the long spar in her hands as if it weighed nothing. The ghoulish thing flew apart around the wood like a smashed toy, its bones tinkling down the mainmast in a shower of fragments.
Sharessa dared watch no longer. Her own skeletal foe was moving to meet her, raising its blade—and then it wasn’t. Kurthe had come around one of the deck boats at a dead run, lowered his head, and put his shoulders into the thing. Bones flailed the air vainly.
Sharessa ducked aside, holding out her blade, and sheared an arm off the undead thing as it spun past her, smashed into the rail, and flew out to sea in a rain of separate bones.
Kurthe grinned at her, clapped her on the shoulder, and set off up the deck again at a lumbering run, slipping in oil from time to t
ime. There seemed to be only a few skeletons left, but flames were snarling everywhere now, and Sharessa’s heart sank. They might yet die as drowned ashes.
“Shadow!” Belmer called, and she spun around. Somehow the little fat man had reached the stern again. Now he was trudging back the length of the boat with his arms locked around a squirming bundle that was larger and heavier than he was. “I need you to throw sand—the buckets are aft, with Belgin!”
As Sharessa nodded and hurried down the boat, she saw that Belmer’s burden was the fat old captain, his eyes rolling in terror.
“Cease, fishbrains, or I’ll cut off one of your fingers and make you eat it!” she heard Belmer hiss. Turbalt squealed in wide-eyed terror and vigorously, but vainly, tried to hit and kick his way clear of the smaller man. Sharessa hadn’t yet reached the open hold where Belgin was when their employer shouted another order.
“Rings! Brindra! Stop amusing yourselves with those bonewalkers and tie this lout to his own mainmast! I haven’t time to waste on keeping him aboard and alive just now!”
Sharessa heard the dwarf whoop as she reached the hold and saw Belgin’s sweating face looking up at her. A line of buckets was waiting just below the lip of the open hatch; he boosted them up to her. “Mind you don’t get those buckets burnt!” he warned, puffing.
“Ah, the glorious life of a pirate!” she hissed, staggering and nearly falling under the weight of two full buckets of sand.
By the time she’d emptied her load, the other Sharkers were hastening aft to help—and Belmer was running along the rails opening all the sluice-chutes.
She thought she was fast on her feet, but by the time she reached the open hatch again, Belmer was there before her, calmly handing out orders again. “Buckets all—except Kurthe.”
The Konigheimer’s head snapped up, and his brows drew together.
“You,” Belmer told him, “are going to pump. Sharessa can hold the hose. What we can’t smother, she’ll wash off the decks into the sea, and it can burn the waves instead of us.”
Forgotten Realms - [Double Diamond Triangle Saga 03] - The Mercenaries Page 3