Corsair

by Chris Bunch

  Laboriously they pulled the gun back from the battery. Tehidy slashed the breeching rope, and they turned the gun around, pointing across the ship’s main deck.

  Someone tossed a torch through the air, and Labala had it, rammed it against the cannon’s touchhole just as Gareth wondered if the thing was loaded, and the squat cannon belched fire across the deck, grapeshot scattering the Linyati.

  Pirate gunners sheathed their swords, and hurriedly began reloading the gun.

  Gareth heard a high squealing he remembered from his first encounter with a Linyati warship, just as the Revenge came alongside and reinforcements poured over the railing.

  A cabin door on the deck above the fighters slammed open, and a nightmare burst out.

  It was an enormous, tailless lizard, half again as tall as a man, with a long, fanged head like a crocodile. Its skin was composed of rainbow-hued scales, and it carried a forward-curving sword in each four-clawed hand. It moved impossibly fast, leaping down the ladder, slashing into pirates, spinning away from counterthrusts and lunges, squealing all the while.

  Gareth shot at it with one of his pistols, missed, and, guts clenching, went for the monster with his sword.

  Then the cannon went off again, and balls riddled the creature. It fell, but was up again, and then Labala came from nowhere with a huge ax and smashed it into the reptile’s skull.

  It shrieked, writhed, and fell. Labala, not taking any chances, yanked the ax free and smashed it down again, beheading the monster.

  Very suddenly, the battle was over. Surviving Linyati seemed to lose all heart. Some dropped their weapons and slumped to the deck; more ran for the side and leapt overboard.

  Gareth paid no mind. He gaped at the dead monster as its muscles curled and spasmed.

  Labala was shaking.

  “That’s their god?”

  “Or demon,” Gareth managed.

  “Forget him,” Thom said. “He’s dead. You and you, put this overside, just to make sure.”

  The two ordered pirates, pale-faced, picked up the creature, staggered to the railing, and rolled it over. Then one looked at the slimy ichor on his hands, and threw up.

  The companionway was opened, and the bottled-up crew of the Steadfast stormed out, to find no one left to fight.

  Gareth went to one of the Linyati, pulled him to his feet. The man slumped as though he was boneless.

  “What was that?” Gareth demanded.

  He had to ask twice more before the man looked at him.

  “We call them Runners,” the man said slowly, dully.

  “What are they? Your gods? Demons?”

  “No.”

  “Are they your priests?”

  “No.”

  “Magicians?”

  “They have great magic, but they aren’t just our wizards.”

  “Then what?”

  “Runners,” the Slaver said.

  “You follow their orders?”

  The man nodded.

  “Where did they come from?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Why do you follow them?”

  “Because,” the Linyati said, “they made us.”

  “They created you? Are you not-men?”

  “We are men,” the Linyati said.

  “What do you mean, then?”

  But the man refused to answer any other questions.

  Gareth was considering whether he could stomach putting the man to torture, thought the Linyati still wouldn’t answer, when someone shouted.

  “Cap’n Radnor! Come below!”

  He put the matter aside to think on, followed the voice down a ladder into the hold.

  Three pirates with torches stood, gaping.

  The hold gleamed silver, gold, other colors at them. Carefully lashed down was an incredible treasure, from golden ingots to strangely wrought, small statues in metal Gareth had never seen to hand-worked ceremonial weapons in gold.

  He picked up a small, perfect onyx statue of a naked woman, then heard the burble of water.

  “We holed her,” he said. “One of our shots must’ve gone low.”

  He went to the hatch, called up to Thom Tehidy.

  “Thom, get men down here! The ship’s sinking, and we’ll not let it go down with this cargo!”

  Pirates streamed down and the riches were cut free, passed to the deck, and overside into the Steadfast and Revenge.

  Two Kashi went overside to see if a sail could be fothered to seal off the hole the cannon had made. They surfaced, shaking their heads.

  “The gun tore away several timbers,” one called up to Gareth, “and the sea has taken others away. This ship is dying.”

  Gareth thought of stripping off and diving down to see for himself, decided there wasn’t time.

  There were still other Linyati ships to be taken.

  • • •

  Within moments after the corsairs had streamed back to their own vessels the great Linyati merchant ship began listing heavily, going farther and farther over as each minute passed. Its railing went under, and the sea flowed, unchecked, into the open hatch. The hulk rolled, and its stem lifted, showing the cannon wound that had doomed her.

  Then her nose went down, and her stern rose high in the air, and she slid under.

  “Now, let’s look for another victim,” Gareth ordered, and they raised sail and turned east.

  The shattered Linyati convoy was a melee of ships, some still with headway, fighting with their cannon or trying to flee. These were being pursued, or brought to battle with gunfire or boarding.

  The battle was not one-sided. Gareth saw a ship with the black flag at its truck sinking, a scattering of boats pulling away.

  There was no question of stopping to pick up survivors while the treasure ships were still to be taken. After the battle there’d be time … and riches … enough for mercy, and no pirate expected otherwise.

  Gareth wished he had something better than signal flags to let Dafflemere know about these Runners, and to try to bring them down, for it seemed, mostly, to break the Linyati’s spirit.

  But not always.

  The Freedom and the Naijak found them. They’d boarded the two Linyati who’d rammed each other, and also found great treasure, although the Naijak had been swept with two broadsides as the boarders were going across, losing men on its gun deck and its mizzen mast.

  But there were no Runners aboard, so unless the monsters had gone overboard, or hidden, they weren’t always to be found. But these Linyati fought to the last man.

  Again, a puzzlement, and for another day.

  This day was for loot.

  The Revenge and the Steadfast caught up with another merchantman, this one less full of fight than the first. They stood off and cannoned its guns into submission, the little Goodhope nipping here and there like a terrier after a bull.

  Again they boarded, and this time the Linyati dropped their arms and stood, waiting to be killed, after a few minutes. But they found no Runner, and Gareth wondered if there was only one with the treasure fleet.

  One of the handful of surviving Linyati warships attacked, and the Revenge fired chainshot, bringing down its main mast in a clutter of canvas and wood, leaving it dead in the water.

  They looted the merchantmen, filling their holds with gold. Now they disdained unknown metals and silver, keeping only gold and jewels.

  Gareth watched his men pass treasure into the Steadfast’s hold, noticed that the wind had changed, and now was blowing onshore. Dafflemere’s spell must have broken. But the change would bring no good to the Linyati — the swifter, more maneuverable pirates could chase them right to the beach.

  “This,” Labala said, “is a day to remember. I guess my dream of sharks was false, or that we are the sharks.”

  “It is a great day,” Gareth said. “We’ll have a worthy homecoming, and — ”

  He was interrupted by a cry from the masthead:

  “Sail ho! Many ships to port!”

  In
these waters they could only be Linyati.

  “More treasure for the taking,” Labala said.

  “Maybe,” Gareth said, and went to the lookout’s position with a glass.

  They weren’t merchantmen, not with the three rakish sails of the Linyati warships. But these were bigger than any he’d seen.

  He counted fifteen, in two inverted V formations, creaming waves at their prow, the wind at their stern, sailing hard toward the battle.

  Gareth went down the mast quickly.

  “Cut away from that ship,” he ordered Thom Tehidy, who looked bewildered, then saw the onrushing Linyati.

  Gareth ordered signal flags up to alert the other pirates and found a speaking trumpet.

  “All hands! All hands!” he shouted. “Back aboard your ships, and make full sail! We’ve fallen into a Linyati trap!

  “Now it’s our turn to run!”

  Thirteen

  The pirates, no longer wolves but the broken herd, fled in all directions under full sail, all organization broken.

  “What orders, Cap’n?” Tehidy shouted.

  The wind, possibly magical, was driving them toward shore, favoring the attacking Linyati who, offshore, now held the weather gauge.

  “Due east,” Gareth ordered, and the Steadfast, flanked by the other four ships in his Company, drove away from the battle.

  They weren’t sailing at top speed, all of them heavy-laden with treasure. The Naijak, missing its aft mast, was trailing to the rear.

  “Look there,” Tehidy said, passing Gareth a glass. Gareth saw the Thruster, Dafflemere’s ship, being attacked by three Linyati warships, then something more important:

  Five of the Linyati, holding close formation, were coming after him.

  “Labala!”

  “What?” the heavy magician shouted up from the main deck.

  “Can you manage a weather spell? I could use a nice steady wind a bit off the port bow. We can sail closer to the wind than they can.”

  “Dunno. Those spells are bastards, especially if there’s magicians on the other side, and I’m still studying. But I’ll try.”

  “Steer a little to port,” Gareth ordered the helmsman. “We’ll run before the wind till we close on land.”

  He thought of telling the watch quartermaster to be wary of steering close and being taken aback, then caught himself. The sailor was experienced and knew that if that happened, the Linyati might be down on them in less than a glass.

  Thom Tehidy came close, so as not to be overheard. “Interesting the Slavers hit Dafflemere’s ship, then came after us. Far as I know, Dafflemere and Labala are the only magicians a-pirating around here.”

  “You’re thinking their wizards sense our magic, and track us?”

  “I’m not thinking anything,” Tehidy said. “I’m just worrying.”

  “Let’s hope you’re wrong,” Gareth said, “and they’re merely after us because we look organized.”

  “Let’s hope,” Tehidy agreed. “And as long as we’re hoping, let’s think good thoughts about being able to outsail them.”

  Two turnings of the glass later, and hope was running short: The Linyati ships, their triple lateen sails full, were closing, the lead ship not half a dozen cannonshots distant.

  Labala’s weather spell had not, so far, begun to work, although the weather had begun to worsen, the onshore wind gusting, and the seas choppy, which slowed down the less handy Linyati a bit.

  But the Naijak was falling astern, in spite of all possible sail clapped on its two remaining masts.

  Within another two glasses, it’d be within range of the Linyati. And then …

  He was still watching the Naijak when he saw its foremast sway, crack, and fall, carrying all sails overboard. The ship rolled, out of control. He saw men with axes swarm the welter of canvas, wood, lines, trying to cut away the debris.

  “Dismasted,” Tehidy said. “She’s done.”

  Gareth nodded absently, thought a moment, made a decision, thought he was a softheaded fool.

  “Put her about,” he said. “We’re going back to take off her men. If we can.”

  Tehidy looked at Gareth, started to say something, then began shouting orders.

  The hands stood, stupefied, then moved to obey. Except for one man, who came to the foot of the quarterdeck ladder.

  “Cap’n, what the hells are you doing?”

  “Saving some shipmates.”

  “Screw them! They barely even signed th’ Articles. What about our own asses?”

  “Would you want someone to leave you for the Slavers?”

  The man hesitated, heard the growls from his shipmates.

  “Awright,” he said. “We’ll do it. But you’d best get away with it … Captain.”

  Gareth ordered signals hoisted to the other ships, telling them to steer north-northeast, making for Lyrawise, Juterbog’s capital, as they’d agreed.

  He’d catch up as he could, when he could.

  “Labala! Get me some kind of casting on that Linyati … uncontrollable itching or desperate fear or pubic lice.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Gareth was pleased with his crew’s steadiness, hearing laughter at his command.

  He ordered new signals hoisted to the Naijak, then there was little to do for some minutes except remember his geometry. He calculated the closing triangle between the Steadfast, the Naijak and the forward-most Linyati.

  “Main guns, load chainshot,” he called. “Bow and stern chasers, load grape. Gun captains, we’re going alongside the Naijak on her port side. Sta’board guns, shoot high when you’ve got something to shoot at. We want to dismast that first one if we can. Port, when we clear the Naijak, pick the same targets.

  “You men in the bow and stern, sweep me their quarterdeck if you have a chance!”

  The Naijak was close, and, beyond her, the Linyati.

  “Grapnel men to the rail,” Gareth shouted, then ran to the rail with his speaking trumpet.

  “Ahoy the Naijak! I’m coming alongside to take you off! Bring what you can carry, no more!”

  Petrich, on the quarterdeck, shouted something back, which was lost in the wind. More minutes rushed past, and the other ship was very near.

  “Stand by to back the helm,” he ordered. “Thom, back all sails and have your grapnel men ready to throw.”

  “Aye, sir,” and the Naijak was looming close on them, its rail about three feet above those of the Steadfast.

  “Let go!” Tehidy shouted, and three grapnels arced through the air, dug into the Naijak, their ropes quickly lashed around bitts, and they were tight with the cripple.

  The first Naijak hand appeared, teetering on his railing. He was carrying a bar of gold in each hand, a cutlass stuck in his waistband.

  “Come on!” someone shouted, and the man jumped, then a stream of sailors followed, all laden with treasure snatched from the hold of the doomed ship, none worrying about inconsequentia like their gear or provisions.

  Gareth heard shouts, turned, saw the Linyati ship round the stern of the Naijak. Its guns boomed, and three balls whistled across the Steadfast. Someone was hit, and screamed, the scream cut short.

  The Steadfast’s main guns couldn’t bear yet, nor did the bow guns have a target, the Linyati stern blocked by the Naijak.

  Gareth saw two of the Naijak’s officers, then Petrich, leap down onto his ship. The grapnel men, not needing orders, cut the grapnel ropes, and the Steadfast was free, just as the two swivel guns in the bow had a target.

  They banged, and grape swept the Linyati quarterdeck. The helmsman and a man beside him pitched sideways and fell.

  The Linyati guns slammed again, and the Steadfast reeled, taking solid hits just above the waterline.

  Then Gareth’s main guns bore, and they crashed. The mainmast of the Linyati broke, fell overside, then, from nowhere, the little Goodhope swept in, and fired a broadside from its light guns, well aimed, that smashed into the Linyati gundeck.

  “Reload
, grape,” someone shouted, and the Steadfast’s guns went off again. The Linyati, hit hard, heeled, its helm over, and turned away from the battle.

  “All sail,” Gareth shouted. “And below, Thom, with three men, and report on the damage.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Then pick our best hands and make repairs,” but Tehidy was gone.

  They were in the clear, and Gareth saw the other four Linyati closing. He had his trumpet up, shouting to the Goodhope, “Thanks!”

  Dihr, not needing any assistance, bellowed back:

  “We pay our debts,” just as his popguns went off again, and more Linyati dropped aboard the warship.

  Then something strange happened aboard the Slaver, as their crewmen looked away from the two pirates, seemed to see something on their port, and shouted warnings. A gun went off, firing into emptiness.

  That could only be Labala’s spell.

  Tehidy was back on the bridge.

  “Everything looks above the waterline, Gareth, and as long as you don’t heel over too sharp, we won’t take on much water. The carpenter said he’ll have the holes patched in a watch, maybe two.”

  Gareth took a moment, breathing the sharp air of the wind coming across the bows, feeling life surge through him; he noticed Petrich beside him.

  “Thanks, Captain,” he said. “I didn’t expect — ”

  “Forget it,” Gareth said. “I’m just sorry to see all that gold go to the sea bottom.”

  “Forget the gold,” Petrich said. “We can always steal more of it, being still alive, can’t we?”

  “Alive we are,” Gareth agreed. “And let’s try to stay that way. But I could use some of your hands below, repairing the damage.”

  “You’ve got them,” and Petrich hurried away. Labala came out from below.

  “I couldn’t give you a weather spell,” Labala said. “But I magicked you a couple of monsters, even though they’re most likely fangless.”

  “That was what the Linyati were screaming about and shooting at?”

  “Surely was. I modeled them after Dafflemere’s beasts, the ones we saw when we first sailed into Freebooter’s Island. Thought maybe you’d prefer them to crabs, eh?”

  “Good,” Gareth approved.

  Labala breathed heavily. “Poor damned Dafflemere. Now we’ll never be able to repay that favor we owe him.”