Except for maybe once.
With wind and oar, the ship leapt forward like lightning, making for the far eastern edge of the lagoon’s mouth. The pirate vessel was turned the wrong way, and Cor saw its crew working frantically to bring the big, slow ship around. It looked as if they would make it as they passed exactly parallel to the pirates with more speed than Cor had ever seen, the two vessels heading in opposite directions. Cor watched as a half dozen great ballistae fired from the other’s deck, ropes attached to the giant bolts. Some missed altogether, splashing harmlessly into the water, while others bit into man, deck or hull. The momentum of the two ships pulled the ropes taught, and all this Cor watched in horror as he realized what as about to happen.
The jolt threw Cor and most of both crews to the deck; he hit the hardwood planks with splinters in bruised palms. The ropes of bolts that had found their mark snapped immediately, but the damage had been done, their momentum broken. Another half dozen ballista fired, and with their target moving much slower, these all hit their mark, pulling Naran’s ship to a halt.
“Cut the bonds! Cut the bonds!” Naran screamed, running to aid his men in the task. It was too late as the pirates had pulled alongside and were upon them.
Cor remembered little of his first battle; it wasn’t really his battle anyway. He stood stupidly in a corner while he watched men fight and die around him, having absolutely no idea how to use the cold piece of metal in his hand. He watched in fright as a dark haired Westerner came toward him, sword in hand and a wicked grin on his face. The man had not shaved in weeks, maybe months, and his naked torso was browned from the sun and carried several ugly scars.
Somehow Cor managed to parry the man’s first blow; it was clumsy at best and his blade was knocked from his hand. The man laughed at this and moved in closer for a killing blow, just as a massive fist carried by an equally massive arm connected with the left side of the man’s skull. His skull emanated a terrific crunch as the man’s limp body flew to lay motionless several feet away. Cor tore his eyes from the body to look up on Naran’s massive bloodied form. The captain shoved Cor into his room.
Cor sat with his arms around his legs, knees up to his chin for some time as the sounds of clanging steel died off into silence. He cautiously opened the door to find most of the crew lay dead, but more were the bodies of the pirates. Their vessel was several dozen feet off the starboard side, ablaze and slowly sinking into the deep waters. The remainder of the crew tossed the dead offenders overboard to the waiting sharks. Cor stared with horrified fascination at the death around him; blood was everywhere. Naran approached him.
“You have never seen such violence,” he said. “This one is a brutal world, boy. You must accept this fact and learn to be of action. He who acts first often dies last.”
“I think you should teach me to fight sir,” Cor had said.
“Indeed. We’ve won the day, boy! We sail back to port.”
Naran himself taught Cor how to fight with a blade, and it seemed that he took naturally to it. He trained daily with a short sword, a weapon of lighter weight and easier to maneuver than Naran’s own monstrous weapon. Cor had several opportunities to test his fighting skills, and he always managed to come through unscathed. Though, fear always stayed in the pit of his stomach. Naran later told him that it was fear that made men brave; without it they were usually foolish and dead.
* * *
Captain Naran paced his deck with an impatience to which he was not accustomed. He never agreed to sail with other ship captains, and as such he set his own schedule. Naran preferred leaving port at the moment he saw sunlight, and instead it was halfway to noon before Kosaki’s cargo finally arrived. And when he saw it, he swore and spat over the side. Cor came to stand next to the captain.
“Gods be damned! The bastard Kosaki deals in slaves now!” Naran shouted, gesturing his open hand toward the dock.
A long line of perhaps fifty wretched souls made their way across the dock, the first starting up the gangplank to Kosaki’s ship. Men, women and even a few children, the slaves were filthy and smelled worse. Their ribs projected from their sides, bellies sunken in for lack of proper food, and most had signs of whips upon their backs. Cor could see Westerners and Tigoleans, even a few Shet, and one tall man with skin the color of night.
“That one is from Dulkur far to the east,” Naran said, following Cor’s eyes. “I will not sail there. It is five or six months, depending on the winds. And you’ll be lucky if their rulers do not set you aflame on sight.”
“I’ve never seen slaves before,” Cor said quietly. “It’s horrible.”
“It is and don’t forget it,” answered the captain. “There is no greater evil than taking the warmth of freedom from a man. It is the only thing I truly own, and the only I need in this life.”
“The priests of Garod back home told me much the same thing.”
“And they were correct in that at least boy. I live, I sail and I am free. And I will kill to protect that.”
“You won’t sail to Dulkur, but you will sail to the Loszian Empire?” Cor asked. At this Naran turned his head to search Cor’s face whose eyes were still fixed on the slaves.
“Ha! Fear not young Cor! The Loszian necromancers would never set foot upon this ship! I fear the sea more than I fear those godless bastards!” Naran blustered and turned toward the deck. “We do not wait for Kosaki to load his ‘cargo’. Cast off! We make sail for Katan’Nosh now!”
Cor remembered the teachings of the priests at home, and he was fairly certain the Loszians were not godless.
3.
Katan’Nosh was due north across the Narrow Sea from Hichima, a mere ten days sail on a fast ship with an excellent crew. As it turned out, Kosaki’s ship was faster, a fact Naran attributed to its narrower design. Kosaki passed them on the second day, despite a later start. As he passed near, Naran made it clear to Kosaki how he felt about the new business in which Kosaki was involved. Cor doubted the two would again embrace, at least any time soon.
The docks in Katan’Nosh were little different from those in the West, but everything had a dark countenance. Instead of oak, sandstone and granite, Cor saw mahogany, basalt and obsidian. The city’s design seemed no different from a Western city, but it felt darker and more dangerous. A great wall of purple stone wrapped around the city and a pair of purple towers stood watch over everything. He saw few people, and most of those walked shrouded in hooded cloaks. Cor shuddered and quickly decided he would not step foot off the ship in this port.
They moored not far from Kosaki’s ship, and the entire crew actively avoided interacting with Kosaki and his men. In fact only Naran and the First Mate left the ship at all and only to arrange whatever deliveries and payments were necessary to conclude their business. The entire affair had soured Naran’s mood, and he had been dealing harshly with the crew. He wasted no time finishing his business and giving the order to prepare to sail within a day.
“Boy, what does your sight linger on so?” Naran asked with a shout from across the deck at Cor who stood staring across the docks. Naran followed Cor’s stare, and it fell on Kosaki and another figure.
“Ah,” Naran said, “you have never seen a true Loszian before then have you? Now I know why Kosaki has changed so - conducting business in slaves with a Loszian lord,” Naran swore and spat again as he had in Hichima.
The Loszian stood as tall as Naran, but his frame could have been no more than two feet wide, making him appear even taller. His complexion was not so much fair as simply pale white, and Cor could not tell from this distance if he was clean shaven of head and face or purely hairless. He had a long and narrow face, unnaturally so, causing his nose and chin to be thin and pointed. The Loszian wore black and purple robes emblazoned with symbols that hid the rest of his form; he kept his hands tucked within him.
“Come away to my cabin Cor,” Naran said as the Loszian turned his gaze to take a long hard look at them. “It is time that we leave.”
They sailed due south to Hichima and lingered for a day before turning east and then south following the coastline of Tigol. It was not the most direct route, but Naran wanted to make a friendly port before starting a long leg of their next journey. Naran watched the horizon behind his ship starting the first day out of Katan’Nosh; he had the sharpest eyes of anyone aboard ship, and if something were to be seen, he would see it. The fourth day out of Hichima, he ordered the ship turned around to the astonished looks of the crew.
“My old friend Kosaki follows us at a great distance, and I will have no more of it,” Naran announced. “He follows, but does not overtake even with a faster ship. We will come to him. Men, arm yourselves.”
Perhaps if Kosaki had Naran’s eyesight he would have realized sooner that his quarry had turned to face him. The two Tigolean vessels crossed the distance between them with such speed that Kosaki had no choice but to continue onward; he knew he’d been seen. He had miscalculated, and there was no point in turning back to maintain the ruse. The two ships came upon each other within hours, and they both dropped sails to pull alongside with oars. Only a few feet of water separated their decks. Cor noticed the other crew was also armed, and he hoped Naran saw it too.
“Hail Kosaki! I have watched your scow follow me for over a week. Too much flesh aboard to catch me it would seem. I thought I’d turn about so you could apologize,” Naran said, insulting both the man’s ship and his pride, which Cor had learned were basically one and the same among ship’s captains.
“Naran, we have been friends for a long time. Don’t make me end that friendship with a blade. We only want the boy with gray skin,” Kosaki returned in a quiet voice that carried easily in the calm wind; half the crew glanced at Cor, and some whispered.
“He is of my crew, and not yours to demand,” Naran said, his voice dropping to a level Cor had never heard before.
“Naran, be reasonable. He is nothing to you, and there is a Loszian who would reward you heavily for turning him over. On the other hand, you can refuse and make an enemy of the sorcerer. And of me, an old friend. Does this make sense?” The edge in Kosaki’s voice had softened – Cor had heard merchants use the same tone in negotiations, but Naran only tensed.
“Slavers are no friends of mine Kosaki! If you want him,” Naran yanked his massive, curved blade, “then come claim him!”
Naran leapt across the distance between the two ships and brought his sword down in a great two handed sweep meant to cleave Kosaki in twain from forehead to genitals. Kosaki barely brought his own weapon, a straight Western style longsword, up to defend himself, and the impact knocked him back to the deck. Men from both ships boarded the other, and steel clashed and rang out like lightning.
Cor found himself fighting near his own mainmast, a short and stocky Tigolean attacking him with a pair of long knives. Cor had not truly fought many foes and certainly never one like this. The man weaved under his sword swings and thrusts, rendering them completely powerless. With his intense quickness, he could have struck Cor many times within the first few seconds, but instead used his attacks to back Cor into a corner below decks. With another ineffectual attack from Cor, the man ducked low, and Cor felt his feet fly into the air as his legs were knocked out from under him. His sword dropped, and the Tigolean was upon him. The man straddled Cor’s waist, knives still in hand. He struggled, but the Tigolean was stronger and the knives came inexorably closer to be only a few inches from his bare skin.
“Stop fighting,” the Tigolean said. Nearly nose to nose with Cor, his breath stank of raw fish. “I don’t need to hurt you, but I will if I must.”
Naran taught Cor to use a sword, but he also made clear that steel was not a man’s only weapon. He knew that, if necessary, every part of the large Shet could be made to kill a man.
Cor didn’t think before he acted; he whipped his forehead forward with all the force he could muster and caught the surprised Tigolean right on the point of his nose. Cartilage gave way, blood sprayed Cor’s face, and the Tigolean howled, dropping one blade to cup his broken nose. Cor renewed his fight to push the man off, bringing him back to his senses. In rage, the man brought his remaining knife down with full force into Cor’s left shoulder.
Cor screamed as steel pierced his skin and muscle, meeting bone. He had never felt anything like it, the cold of steel coupled with the hottest fiery pain. He felt his warm blood begin to soak his tunic, and in that moment, feeling the blood that both he and his foe had shed, strength built inside Cor. He suddenly pushed the heavier man off of him, but to say push would not even be fair; Cor physically threw the man backward, and the Tigolean’s head impacted the ship’s inner hull. To his credit, the Tigolean never lost grip of his weapon, yanking it from Cor’s shoulder.
Cor retrieved the shortsword and plunged it deep into the dazed man’s chest. He drove it through flesh and bone and felt both give way as the sword passed through the Tigolean’s torso and imbedded into the deck. Cor stood breathing heavy and fast over the short man as the light faded from his eyes. He stood staring for hours, at least it felt that way, as he watched the blood pool. His breathing slowed.
He tried to yank the sword free, but it would not budge; Cor felt weak and sank to his knees. He had never fought for his life before, nor had he ever killed a man. Cor threw up.
Calming his nerves, Cor picked up the fallen knife and climbed the wide ladder back above decks to find the battle already over. Naran had taken both Kosaki’s legs off at the knees, and seeing their captain defeated, most of his crew surrendered. About a dozen men from both ships lay dead. Naran yelled for his First Officer.
“Staunch this dog’s bleeding before he dies,” Naran pointed his sword at Kosaki. “Bind the wounded, and throw the dead overboard. Kosaki, I claim your ship. Your crew may join me or be thrown to the sharks as well!”
“Cor!” Naran exclaimed as he crossed back to his own vessel. “You are wounded!”
“I…” Cor reached to touch his wound realizing that he no longer felt any pain. The shoulder of his tunic was cut neatly from the knife’s blade and soaked with his blood. His fingers lightly touched the smooth skin around his shoulder, finding no wound. “No sir. I think I am fine.”
“Good lad.”
Kosaki screamed as three strong men held him down, pouring lamp oil over his bleeding stumps; blood had pooled and began to run across the deck toward the rail. His eyes widened in horror as a crewman produced flint and steel and approached. “No!” the Tigolean shouted and pleaded, even until the first spark caught hold and caused the oil to flame. Cor had never heard such a howl as the flesh burned, and the sailors roughly slapped the fire out.
Kosaki no longer bled to death.
Cor turned to see Naran speaking with his first outside the door to his quarters. The Shet turned and entered, leaving his officer to supervise the decks. Once everything seemed to be in order, the other officers joined Naran, bringing the half conscious Kosaki and Cor. It took some time to make Kosaki coherent again.
“The Loszian is named Taraq’nok. He’s a lord of some power,” Kosaki told them haltingly. “I fell in with him last year. He pays well. He asked me to watch for anyone who looks like the boy, skin the gray color of the dead. I arranged to make sure you would have to port in Katan’Nosh so he could see the boy. I was going to follow you until you ported and try to take him in secret. I never intended this.”
“I shall kill you for this Kosaki!” Naran howled.
“No doubt. I am almost there anyway,” Kosaki answered unfazed.
“What did the Loszian want with the boy?” Naran asked, his face red with anger.
“I don’t know my friend, but he wants him alive.”
“Get out and throw this shit over the side to the sharks,” Naran ordered, sweeping his hand around the room and pointing toward the door. “Not you boy.”
Cor stopped and turned. As the door to Naran’s quarters shut behind his officers, he could heard Kosaki screaming again, begging f
or his life. He heard the faint and muffled sound of a splash. Naran motioned to a chair and waited for Cor to seat himself.
“Boy, tell me who you are.”
“I’m no one sir. The son of a farmer,” Cor answered.
“What made you leave home and run to join my crew?” Naran asked softly, his face calm.
“Where do I start?”
“The beginning.”
4.
Well into the winter of Cor’s seventh year, a massive snow had fallen. Snow was not unknown to southern Aquis, but rarely did this part of the country see more than a few inches at any one time if not over the course of an entire winter. But every so often, a large storm would arrive, and this was one of those times. The snow began falling shortly after the sun rose, and a huge wall of stolid clouds cast a gray light across everything. It began slowly at first, a beautiful light snow that commonly brought joy to children during this season, and as the snow blanketed the ground, parents let their children break from chores and play as they might.
Throughout the morning hours to midday, the snow fell more heavily and had a cold wetness, and the farmers started to realize that this was not a common snow that would quiet after a short while. They hurriedly went about the tasks of rounding up and provisioning livestock in preparation for a long stay indoors. The snow continued as the day got darker, the only sign that the sun was dropping below the horizon, and parents pulled their children indoors before warming fires.
In the evenings of winter, there was little to do, and the storm only added to a feeling of restlessness. It was quiet in Cor’s home; he lay on the floor before the fire arranging wooden blocks his father made for him into the semblance of structures. His mother, as usual, worked on some needlework project or another, while his father sat quietly, no doubt organizing his thoughts for tasks tomorrow, assuming the storm let up. Cor attempted to balance a square block on the point of a triangular block, then stopped to cock his head. Over the crackling of the fire, and the soft sound of falling snow, he thought he heard the sound of a horse in the distance. Sitting up, he saw that his father had also heard it; Pel had stood up to peer out one of the shuttered windows. He shuttered the window again and drifted to the front door, opening it and half stepping outside.
Blood and Steel Page 3