Corsair

by Chris Bunch

  “But making open threats, sacking a nobleman’s house in the middle of the capital, in daylight, killing two or three dozen of his household guards and terrifying his staff? You really want to go back to the Great Dungeon, don’t you?”

  Gareth’s fine rage had subsided, and he sat sheepishly, letting her savage him.

  “I should never let you out of eyesight,” Cosyra said.

  “It’ll be a fine matter now, when the king hears about this! I’ll get a dungeon bag packed.”

  His uncle also ripped into him, saying that no man had the right to indulge himself so basely, particularly when the wealth and investments of so many others depended on him.

  Gareth, logically knowing he’d been in the wrong, took all the abuse humbly. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t suppress a savage red joy at finally striking at Quindolphin, although he knew the king’s slow-grinding justice would eventually find him.

  But none of the King’s Guards appeared with a warrant, and though the wrecking was the awed talk and eventual laughter of Ticao, no summons to the palace came.

  Nor was anything heard of Quindolphin or his family, and no one saw them in the capital.

  Gareth waited a couple of days for the king’s doom to crash down, then went back to getting ready to sail, as men swarmed about the merchant ships that had been converted into either transports or warcraft in the basin.

  Labala was forced to hire another pair of magicians, casting spells of safety around the ships and men. But nothing magical attacked them.

  Once the Linyati ambassador was seen, sitting at ease in an expensive watercraft, appearing to be doing no more than taking the air and casually watching the bustle. Gareth had him followed until his boat went back upriver.

  • • •

  Finally spring brightened into summer, and Gareth’s ships were ready.

  He set a sailing date, had it posted in the city’s taverns.

  Two days before, the king’s summons finally came.

  • • •

  “So now you seek riches to the north, Lord Newgrange,” King Alfieri said. The two were, once again, alone in the throne room.

  Gareth thought of lying, changed his mind.

  “No, your Majesty.”

  Alfieri’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

  “I’m sailing against the Linyati again, Sire. This time I’m intending to seize their entire treasure fleet and bring it back to Saros.”

  “We rather wondered about your purported target,” the king said. “We must remind you, in spite of difficulties, we remain at peace with that kingdom.”

  It was Gareth’s turn to be silent.

  “By the way,” the king went on. “We read the report you prepared for the First Lord, and we were truly shocked. It is bad enough for Man to be ruled by ignoblemen in far too many lands, far more terrible for the Linyati and their slaves to be governed by these strange demons you called Runners. That fact alone has altered our entire perception of how the Linyati problem might be solved, or at least brought under control.

  “Just what is your plan for attacking them? We can assure you this room is completely empty, and even our usual hidden listening posts are bare,” Alfieri said.

  “Once before, we struck them at sea, and were counter ambushed while savaging them,” Gareth said. “This time, my plan is simpler. I’ve hired mercenaries — ”

  “We know this,” Alfieri said. “For a brief moment we were worried that you were planning an insurrection against us.”

  “Sire! I shall always be your faithful servant,” Gareth said.

  “So we thought. Go on with your plans.”

  “I plan on using the old pirate lair of Freebooter’s Island for a base after we reach the Kashi seas,” Gareth went on. “Hopefully, we’ll not be discovered. From there — ” He broke off. “I wish I had a map to make my explanation easier.”

  “You need not fear losing our attention,” Alfieri said. “We’re aware — more than aware, due to recent events — of the lands the Linyati control.”

  Gareth hid surprise at the king’s interest, went on.

  “We’ll land somewhere on the isthmus between Kashi and Linyati, and seize their treasure city of Noorat by land, before the annual treasure fleet works its way along the coast of Kashi.

  “We’ll be waiting when it arrives. I’ll have the harbor forts secured with my gunners, and my fighting ships hidden, somewhere at sea, to close the jaws of the trap.

  “With luck, their captains will surrender, rather than fight, and we’ll have transport to bring the treasure home. But I’m taking enough ships of my own to handle even the worst disaster.”

  King Alfieri sat thinking.

  “A bold, but very simple plan, which is always to the good,” he said. “And you’ve done very well in keeping it concealed. We’re impressed. The only reason we guessed the northern expedition might be a hoax was, as we said earlier, we’ve had trusted men of ours investigate the lives of you … and your friends.”

  Gareth guessed that was why the King’s Chamberlain’s man had been digging into Cosyra’s life.

  “A bold plan, indeed,” Alfieri said. “One that could bring this kingdom great riches, and, this must be kept most secret, a measure of acceptance for a war that we fear is inevitable, given the intransigence of the Linyati.” He sighed.

  “Something you should be aware of. The Linyati ambassador has made several approaches to us, saying, with some degree of arrogance, that the pirate Gareth Radnor must be given into their hands, or the wrath of the Linyati might be loosed against all Saros.

  “Diddly-damned fool idiot! Doesn’t he know threats are to be made by men of war, not diplomats?

  “We were further irked when Lord Quindolphin sought an audience, some months back, asking for your head. We refused, and we gather he took other steps for revenge.

  “But we must say, we are not amused by your ruthless sacking of his estates! Especially in full light of day, and making no attempt to conceal who you were.

  “Tsk. We doubt me that you’d make much of a statesman.”

  “No, Sire,” Gareth said. “I’m afraid I would not.”

  “Then please, a favor. Do not embarrass us any further,” Alfieri said, a bit mournfully. “At least not here in Ticao or anywhere else for a space.”

  “No, Sire,” Gareth said. “I promise.”

  Alfieri walked to a long table, opened a drawer, took out a wax-sealed parchment scroll, and gave it to Gareth.

  “This is our most secret Letter of Marque, giving you our permission to strike against the Linyati Slavers, to maintain the safety of the seas and the peace of our beloved kingdom of Saros, by any means you deem necessary.”

  Gareth, overwhelmed, bowed deeply.

  “I thank your Majesty.”

  “We assume you’re not naive enough to think,” Alfieri said, “that should you be taken by the Slavers this will grant you freedom.

  “The best you could expect is a moment of hesitation, perhaps, which might give you time to escape. Or die nobly fighting rather than in their torture chambers.”

  Gareth put the parchment safely inside his belt pouch.

  “One other thing,” Alfieri said. “As we said, don’t embarrass us. Which also means, don’t pirate any of our closer allies. I have not given you open season on anything lootable.”

  “No, Sire,” Gareth said. “My only foe is the Slavers.”

  “Then go seek them out.” Alfieri shook his head. “We never dreamed we might be using a corsair to further the demands of this kingdom. At least you’re not a common pirate, even though certain, shall we say, habits, might well complicate both our future and yours.

  “Go out and do well, and you shall be rewarded beyond your dreams when you return.”

  Gareth bowed again. Alfieri nodded, turned away, and Gareth backed out of the royal presence.

  He found his tunic soaked with sweat once he was outside the palace, and wondered what Alfieri had mea
nt about his habits.

  But there was no one, not even Cosyra, to ask that of.

  • • •

  Saying good-bye to Cosyra was wrenching, but she seemed to take it almost lightly. They made love fiercely that last night, and in the morning, as they were dressing, she told him there’d be no playing about with brown-skinned Kashi women.

  “For there are many spells a woman knows, and I want you to be sure that I’ll always have my eyes on you.”

  “I give you the same promise I gave the king,” Gareth said. “I’ll consider no foolishness, not ever.”

  “Hmph. A pirate’s promise!”

  • • •

  Gareth’s twenty-five ships glided downriver carrying more than six hundred and fifty men, their sails stained gray, their hulls gleaming with fresh paint.

  They were escorted by a great flotilla of onlookers. It looked as if half of Ticao had rented boats, and the other half ridden or walked out along the shore to watch the expedition depart for “beyond the frozen cities of the north.”

  In the lead was the Steadfast, and Gareth stood, trying to hold back pride, on the quarterdeck.

  The river gave the ships to the sea, and the swell was gentle, the wind strong from the north, and the summer sky blue.

  The crowds at Nalta Mouth cheered, and the people aboard the motley boats echoed the cheers before they turned back toward Ticao.

  Above Gareth, at the tip of the mizzen mast, fluttered the black, green, and white banner of Saros. Once they’d gathered up the mercenaries waiting in Lyrawise and were beyond land, that would come down and Gareth’s own corsair banner run up.

  Then all would be reduced to the simple matter of fight hard, fight canny, or die.

  Sixteen

  The weather continued fair across the Narrow Sea, and ships’ officers had a chance to begin training the new men and assigning others their duty stations.

  There were only a few ships around them. Once a rakish yacht almost flew past the Steadfast, and Gareth wondered why he hadn’t used some of his riches to buy such a wonderful toy.

  Gareth was pleased to have his friends aboard the Steadfast: N’b’ry, Tehidy, and Galf as watch officers, Nomios happily back as bosun, Labala as wizard.

  Gareth would have wanted more strength in the magical area, but for some reason, really competent and experienced wizards hadn’t wanted to sign aboard, possibly content with their lot in Ticao, possibly accustomed to adventuring in other, more rarefied spheres, possibly terrified because the pamphleteer might have done too good a job writing about the terrible thaumaturges of the frozen north.

  He’d done some last-minute arranging to give Dihr and his men of Kashi a light scouting three-masted caravel he’d had rerigged with lateen sails to look like a Linyati patrol ship. They named it the Return.

  The fleet made port in Lyrawise. Waiting were the 300-plus mercenaries that had been signed, plus various officials with bills for the various taverns that had been ruined, citizens who’d been outraged in one way or another, not to mention unpaid charges at other taverns, armories, tailors, and inns.

  Gareth paid without too much complaint, thinking that this was exactly how he’d read soldiers would act, and he shouldn’t be upset.

  He also thought soldiers didn’t behave much differently than sailors, except their weapons would generally be more ready at hand, and hence their depredations would be bolder.

  At least during the wait Gareth’s agents had divided the mercenaries into squads and companies and appointed officers. They could drill on the decks of the transports to keep them somewhat out of trouble, although Gareth was glad he’d had those ships crewed by large, belligerent-looking sailors.

  Before boarding the soldiers, he gathered them on dockside and read the appropriate parts of the Articles — those that dealt with discipline.

  A rather beefy, dark man in half armor chortled something about having a child for a leader, and Nomios cracked his skull with a belaying pin. The men around the prone soldier seemed to understand the illustration that discipline afloat would be quick and harsh.

  Naturally, the night before they sailed, half a dozen soldiers changed their mind and went overboard, swimming frantically for the shore. Gareth didn’t have them pursued, for there’d be no other penalty but shooting for desertion, and he didn’t want to do that. Besides, even if he’d forgiven their crime, they’d most likely make indifferent warriors.

  The anchors came up, men chanting at the windlasses, the fleet put the land behind, and Gareth got seasick for half the day.

  A day and night later, after Juterbog was well astern and they’d passed through a fleet of small fishing boats, the signal went up on the Steadfast for all ships to heave to and all captains report.

  The sea was flat, and the sun was a bronze disk as the boats scuttled, like so many water bugs, over to the Steadfast.

  Gareth, looking very much at ease, inwardly with stomach churning, sat on the top step of the quarterdeck ladder smiling down at the officers and mates in the waist below. The watch behind him was armed with hidden pistols, and there were men concealed forward with muskets loaded. In addition, a swivel gun was unobtrusively mounted on a railing, loaded with grape.

  Gareth had no idea how his officers would take what he was about to announce. Tehidy had greeted each officer as he came aboard and given him a sealed envelope.

  “First things first,” Gareth said, and his voice carried across the water. He nodded to two sailors at the mizzen mast, and Gareth’s banner, the Sarosian flag with a skull and crossed cutlasses, soared to the mast.

  “Now we’re flying under our true colors,” he said.

  There was a bit of a cheer.

  “You can open your envelopes now,” he said.

  Some of the men obeyed, and read the identical instructions within. Others looked uneasily about, fingers touching their swords.

  There was a sudden curse here, and a grin there, as the more geographically inclined officers understood the instructions.

  “Yes,” Gareth said. “I’ve lied to you all these long months. We’re not sailing north against any great kingdoms. As far as I know, the only thing beyond the frozen cities of the north are polar bears and ice up to your bum.

  “But I do know where treasure lies.”

  He reached behind him, picked up a piece of Kashi sculpture of solid gold, exotically shaped. He tossed it down the ladder, to bounce dully on the deck. An officer picked it up reflexively, gasped at the weight.

  “That’s one piece of the treasure the Linyati steal from the Kashi every year.

  “Last year, I stole a little of it away from the Slavers. Some of you shared in the riches, and I’m sure you all saw my men, from common deckhands to mates, lording it about Ticao.

  “Now I propose to go after all of it.

  “I invite all of you to change your ideas, your plans, and go with me after real treasure, treasure I’ve seen, handled, looted for myself.”

  There came that wolf-growl from some of the officers. Dihr and his first mate were grinning happily. Froln had moved to one side, was leaning casually against a bulwark watching his fellow officers, hand nonchalantly draped on his sword grip.

  “This is outrageous,” one captain sputtered.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Gareth agreed. “Just the kind of thing a pirate would do.”

  The captain harrumphed; then, in spite of himself, a grin came, and he laughed aloud. “Glad to be with you, Captain Radnor.”

  But another officer wasn’t amused. “We signed aboard for one duty,” he said. “I’m no seabag lawyer, but I’d guess this change invalidates the Articles I signed.”

  “Possibly,” Gareth agreed. “But the deceptions were intended to deceive the Linyati and their agents in Ticao. It would be a disappointment, would it not, for you to return, barely two weeks after you sailed out so boldly, to announce all was a fraud?”

  The man thought, realized what was behind Gareth’s words, paled.
<
br />   “Just for m’ own knowledge,” Froln called, “what do you propose to do with someone who wants out?”

  Gareth had given hard thought to the matter, and the answer had been given by a close study of his charts.

  “I’ll not murder him,” he said, “nor force him to sail, unwilling, after gold he’d probably hate to possess.”

  He went on, through the laughter. “About four days’ sail from here there’s a certain island that used to be inhabited. There’s still supposed to be huts, and fishermen leave dry food, in the event they’re wrecked there.

  “My solution for anyone opting out at this point is to maroon them there. By the time the fall storms come, and fishing vessels might pass by the island, the Linyati will already know of our presence, by the bloody grip we have on their throats!”

  There was silence except for the creak of the ship and the wind rustling through the rigging.

  “You’re very damn’ clever, Captain Radnor,” someone said. But his tones were admiring, not critical.

  “Thank you,” Radnor said. “Before you leave the Steadfast, be sure and advise me, or one of my officers, if you plan to defect, so we can make the proper arrangements.

  “And don’t think of returning to your own ship and then attempting to break away from the fleet, for I promise you, all our lives will require us to pursue and destroy you.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But this is a hard world. Now, to continue our plan against the Linyati …”

  • • •

  “I was watching their faces,” N’b’ry said. It was about two turnings of the glass later. The captains had departed, and the new course, almost due south, had been ordered and sail set. The two were in Gareth’s cabin, relaxing for a moment.

  “I saw only three or four who’re afraid of the Slavers or whatever,” he went on, “and the more they thought about the fortune we brought back, the less they wanted out.”

  “That’s what I expected,” Gareth said. “Or, so I don’t sound arrogant, hoped, anyway. All the officers we interviewed for command had a bit of the rogue in them, or at least the opportunist, in my eyes.”