Corsair

by Chris Bunch

  Wind shook his head violently. “No, for I am little, and they are great.”

  “Are they the same color?”

  “Of course. All proper men look like me.”

  Labala and Dihr grinned at each other.

  “Lad’s got common sense,” Dihr said. “I’ll wager that — ”

  There was a gurgle of agony. Gareth spun, saw Shenshi stagger, gasping for air, hands clawed. He took two stumbling steps, fell face-first, lay very still.

  Labala knelt, turned him over. Gareth looked away from the agony-stricken, flushed face, the bulging eyes.

  “He’s dead.”

  “What could — ”

  “The arrow,” Dihr said. “Poisoned.”

  Gareth cautiously picked up the arrow, noted a dark stain at its point, “I guess he ain’t as harmless as he looks,” Froln said. “Hard way to find it out, ain’t it?”

  “Do not harm me,” Wind said. “I tried to stop that man.”

  “We won’t hurt you,” Gareth said. “What Shenshi did was of his own foolishness. Nomios, take four men and bury the idiot, which should remind all of us to watch ourselves closely in this unknown land.” He turned back to the native.

  “Wind, about your Masters? You said they strike against anyone strange, and that they — all of your people — hate the ones we call Slavers.”

  Wind looked at the corpse on the ground, then at Gareth.

  “Yes. That is true.”

  “On the theory that the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Gareth said, and changed back into Wind’s dialect, “we want you to take us to your Masters.”

  “Oh no,” Wind said. “For surely they would kill me for disturbing them.”

  “Then take us to where we can find them for ourselves,” Gareth said.

  Wind looked at the armed men around him, slowly nodded.

  “I will do that, for I sense I must. I will take you to the great city of Herti.”

  Cosyra shook her head.

  “Enemy of my enemy? Considering how afraid he is of his own rulers, if that’s what they are … Gareth, I hope your logic, if that’s what it is, works back of beyond.”

  • • •

  The path wound through the jungle, almost imperceptibly getting wider, until it was a road. Dihr pointed out that the jungle on either side of the track was now scrubby, secondary growth.

  Gareth suddenly realized the road was now paved, with overgrown, untended cobbles.

  He ordered Iset to put flankers out.

  “Hells fire,” Thom Tehidy remarked as he passed with a scattering of mercenaries, “it do appear to us country folks, we’s approachin’ civi … civi … eddicated folks, it do, it do.”

  Then, on a crest, they saw stone buildings beyond — huge, flat-topped, shallow pyramids.

  Civilization, indeed. But as they drew closer, they saw the pyramids were overgrown, vines curling up the buildings’ steps.

  Gareth asked Wind about that.

  “We used to be much greater,” he explained. Then he glanced around to see if anyone was listening, lowered his voice. “Some say the gods have turned against us … or that our magic has become weak.”

  He clamped his mouth shut, looked frightened.

  Gareth, feeling a chill, made sure the men had their weapons ready, and the four cannon were loaded and their gunners close at hand.

  Now the road wound between these pyramids, and Gareth could see they were honeycombed with tunnels, the disused entrances half-blocked.

  There were scattered megaliths, some toppled and broken.

  A scout called an alarm, and a spotted cat, as big as a lion, growled from atop a pyramid and bounded away.

  They moved on, more slowly.

  Tehidy ran in from one flank.

  “Gareth,” he called, beckoning. Gareth and Cosyra followed him.

  Tehidy stopped beside a raised circle, like a well only larger, and pointed down grimly.

  At the bottom wasn’t water, but stacked bones, human skulls scattered among them.

  “Sacrifices,” he guessed.

  “Sort of,” Tehidy said. “Look at them more closely. Notice how they’ve all been cracked, for their marrow?”

  Gareth felt his stomach turn.

  “I suppose,” he managed, “that’s one reason for a population decline.”

  “Why,” Cosyra said, “am I thinking we ought to turn around and hustle back the way we came?”

  “There’s some say,” Gareth said, “the Linyati also have their favorite dishes.”

  “Mercy,” Cosyra said, with mock enthusiasm, “what a great adventure this is turning into.”

  • • •

  They still saw no one, but the pyramids were no longer abandoned, and other roads crossed theirs. Low buildings appeared, also of stone.

  They rounded one and came to a gate. Its uprights were two huge scorpions, the crosspiece held up by their poised tails.

  “This is as far as I can go,” Wind said. “I have come too far … those are forbidden to be seen by my people.”

  Before Gareth could argue, Wind spun and ran, ducking through a narrow passage between buildings, and was gone.

  Gareth and Cosyra looked at each other, said nothing, and went on.

  Quite suddenly, from nowhere, a man was standing in front of them. He was big, taller than Labala, and wore what looked like snakeskin pants, paired with golden sandals and a snake vest that showed off his heavily tattooed chest. His face, also tattooed, carried the arrogance of long-held power. He had a tall staff in one hand and wore a circlet of gold around his curling, black hair.

  He spoke. Gareth held up both hands, not understanding.

  The man tried another language, then a third, both incomprehensible.

  He frowned in anger, then said, slowly, in the tongue Wind had spoken:

  “I am Baryatin, chief mage of Herti. What brings you, without invitation, to our lands, for you are not welcome?”

  “We did not come by choice,” Gareth said. “We are pursued.”

  “By the Raiders from the Sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is the second group my spell showed me.” He shook his head angrily. “I do not like using this speech of under-men. Extend your hand.”

  Gareth obeyed, hearing from somewhere behind him the clack of a musket being cocked.

  Baryatin held out his staff, touched Gareth.

  “Now you understand the speech of proper men,” he said in a different tongue. “Is there anyone else this might be useful for?”

  Gareth pointed to Labala, Cosyra, N’b’ry, and Tehidy.

  Baryatin grunted.

  “I see you are a man with little real power, if you must have all these underlings to listen to my words of wisdom and make judgments. But have them do as you did.

  “Except for the woman. I refuse to lower myself to her level.”

  Gareth held back anger, motioned the three forward.

  As Labala came back, he winked at Cosyra, whose lips unpursed. Good, Gareth thought. Labala can pass the language along. We’ll have every one of us learn His Haughtiness’s tongue before nightfall and have three hundred eavesdroppers.

  “So, pursued, you say,” Baryatin said. “Since you evidently encountered one of those the gods gave as my servants to bring you here, you no doubt know the Raiders are little liked in this kingdom, and are slain, or sacrificed, whenever we can seize one or more of them.”

  “So I learned,” Gareth said. “We wish no more than a day or two’s shelter and provisions for our march while these Raiders seek without finding us, then a guide to your borders, if you would, to a path that will lead us on east and eventually back to the sea, for that is also where we come from.”

  Baryatin’s face was motionless for a moment, then he nodded abruptly.

  “We can at least shelter you. Then I and my fellows will decide on your future.”

  “Enemy of my enemy, hmm?” Cosyra whispered. “Thank several gods for the cannon.”
>
  • • •

  As they followed Baryatin into the heart of the city, the signs of neglect grew fewer, although they saw no indication of new construction.

  The streets were lined with people watching the foreigners. No one smiled, no one laughed, and even the children were cold-faced, staring.

  Iset came up from the column’s rear.

  “Notice,” he said, stroking his mustache, “what they’re armed with? Bows and arrows. No muskets, and I saw no sign of cannon. This is very, very good, I think.”

  “You think we may have to fight our way out?” Gareth said.

  “Labala told me what that wand-shaker said, about them deciding on our future. Where I come from, that isn’t generally regarded as an expression of true love.”

  “No,” Gareth agreed.

  “And don’t these charming folks — yes, I’m smiling at you, you old fart with the beard and the glower,” Iset went on, “while I’d as soon slit your weasand for you — don’t they look like they’re just itching to invite us home for dinner?

  “Wanting us for the main course, I mean.”

  • • •

  The city was studded with small lakes, which kept the temperature cool in spite of the bright sun and stonework. Baryatin led them down a causeway to a flat islet of bare stone with two long buildings on it that looked like barracks.

  “These are your quarters until we inform you otherwise,” he said. “You may clean yourselves and rest. Tomorrow night there will be a meal, when my fellows will have assembled to evaluate you and pass judgment. Bring only your ranking officers.”

  Without waiting for a response, he stalked away.

  “Officers, to me,” Gareth called, and the men ran up.

  “I don’t like this at all,” he said. “There looks to be only one way off this island.”

  “But only one way on,” Iset said. “We’ll put two guns covering the causeway and let ‘em charge.”

  “Until we run out of powder,” Thom Tehidy said.

  “Another thing, Gareth,” N’b’ry said. “Did you look close at those buildings? And see the bars on the windows?”

  “I hadn’t before,” Gareth said. “Get the carpenters to work. Loosen the bars from the inside, so we’re not quite as trapped as we look. And have them mousehole the walls on all sides, without breaking quite through, so we won’t be held to the doors if we want to make a fast exit. Instruct them to work quietly, so our friends on the other shore don’t figure out what we’re doing.

  “Labala, get your language spell working.

  “Froln, get a couple of swimmers and go for a bath. Find out how deep the water is, especially from here to that avenue over there. It looks wide enough for a quick retreat out of this wonderful city.”

  “I’ll do that,” Froln said.

  “Thom,” Gareth said, “pick your best gunners for the other two cannon, and have all four loaded with fresh powder and shot, fully manned at all times. Also, grab enough men to move those guns anywhere on this flat little mantrap. Save on our grapeshot, and load them with the rubble the carpenters dig out of the buildings — busted rock can kill just as dead.”

  Tehidy grinned tightly.

  Gareth caught himself. “Wait a minute. Iset said he saw no sign of guns or even muskets. Did any of you see any gunpowder weapons?”

  Headshakes, denials.

  “A strange thought comes to me,” Gareth said. “Baryatin didn’t seem to pay any attention to our guns. I wonder if he knows what they’re for? I wonder if we could bumfoozle him for a time.

  “Thom, when the guns are out, have your gunners dance around them every now and then, as if they’re some sort of idols, or sprinkle them with flowers or something.”

  “Nobody’s that stupid,” Tehidy said.

  “So what’s the harm in doing what I suggest? It’ll keep the gunners angry at me, and keep them from stiffening up.”

  “I’ll do it,” Tehidy said with a sigh. “I hope you’re going to do something equally stupid.”

  “Probably,” Gareth said. “I’m going for a swim. As soon as it’s dark.”

  • • •

  Armed men brought food to the island … and a miserable-looking man who, a guard told Gareth, was their food taster. “So you will know we do not seek underhanded ways of destroying our enemies.”

  “I take that to mean,” Cosyra said, “that they seek underhanded ways of destroying their enemies.”

  “Most likely,” Gareth agreed. “But that poor man looks as if he could use a good meal.”

  The foods were dressed fowls, corn, eggs, spiced peppers, a rather sour beer, and fruit.

  “Makes you wonder,” Tehidy said. “If these cheerful fellers aren’t in the habit of entertaining, where’d they rustle up the rations so quickly?”

  “That ain’t hard,” Froln said. “They did a house-to-house and yanked everybody’s dinner out from the table.”

  “Makes sense,” Tehidy said. “You notice the men with the bows didn’t vanish after making their delivery, but are manning posts on the other end of the causeway?”

  “I noticed,” Froln said. “I noticed.”

  One end of a barracks was a cookhouse, and the sea-cooks set to work while the rest cleaned up in shifts, weapons at hand.

  • • •

  Cosyra splashed about happily.

  “I think,” she said, “if I soak for, oh, another week and a half, I might get most of the jungle muck off my skin.”

  “Don’t work too hard,” Gareth advised. “Remember, we jump back in it in a few days — assuming these rockpilers we’re guesting with do something civilized, like replenish our supplies.”

  “You know,” Cosyra said, pointedly looking away from Gareth, “to change the subject away from people who I’m pretty sure want us dead, I’ve been thinking about this marriage idea, and am not sure I like it all that much.”

  “You’ve gone back to the way you used to think.”

  “Think, I think, is the correct word, I think,” she said. “This damned love business muddies your mind.

  “However, pretending I’m a rational adult, I did decide to do something when we get back to Ticao.

  “I was never keen on finding out who my father is, I guess for fear he’d turn out to be some piece of noble slime like our friend Quindolphin.

  “But I’m going to be a big girl, and put inquiry agents to work when we get back.”

  “What’ll you do if you find him?” Gareth asked.

  “That I’m not sure of. Probably, after I finish crying my eyes out, slap the old bastard silly for hiding from me all these years.”

  • • •

  Gareth moved through the water slowly, smoothly, keeping his legs and arms below the water, as he’d learned as a boy, hand-spearing sharks lazing near the surface of the ocean, never splashing, never alarming.

  A light rain drizzled the lake, making it harder for him to be seen.

  He knew the corsairs were being watched, most likely by watchers in the shadows and magic, and had taken precautions before setting out. Ten men had jumped into the lake, splashing noisily, but only nine had surfaced close to the island.

  Gareth swam to the mucky bottom, about ten feet down, then as far as he could underwater. He surfaced, took a breath, went on toward the far side of the lake. It turned out to be larger than he’d thought, curving around in a large C.

  On the far side of the lake, just beyond sight of Gareth’s island, was another causeway, this one floating.

  He saw nothing on the shore worth investigating and was about to swim back, then he swam to the causeway and examined it carefully. It was a series of lashed-together rafts of heavy wood, each raft about fifteen feet by twenty feet.

  Gareth floated on his back, thinking, planning. Interesting, he thought, as he began the slow, careful swim back. Very interesting.

  • • •

  Gareth and Cosyra had been given a corner to themselves, and someone had hung blankets on a r
ope for privacy.

  They lay close together, listening to the rain as it drummed harder on the tile roof.

  “Very strange,” Cosyra whispered, “sleeping indoors and all.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Do you think it’ll become popular?” Gareth asked.

  “Probably not,” Cosyra said. “Ouch — I’d gotten used to my nice soft mud and all. This floor magnifies all my corners.”

  Gareth whispered a suggestion in her ear, and she giggled and rolled on her back.

  “I do love you, you know,” he said, as his hands moved over her body.

  “Nice to have something to depend on,” she murmured.

  • • •

  Gareth dreamt that night, and his dream was terrible, for he knew it was truth.

  He hung over dense, uncleared jungle, seeing nothing but the furtiveness of the forest creatures as they came and went. In the distance was the sea. Slowly, tribes of hunters, slash-and-burn farmers moved into the region.

  A fierce tribe of warriors came from the south, fleeing some strange demons. They cleared and planted the jungle, warred on the tribes around them, subjugated them.

  These slaves labored, building great pyramids, while the warriors went out, again and again, bringing back captives from afar.

  Some of these were made slaves, others were sacrificed in larger and larger lots. The wizards of this people grew stronger with the deaths.

  They became creative in their killings, slowly dismembering their prisoners, slicing them slowly to ribbons, or, worse yet, closing them in intricately wrought iron scorpions over fires. When the screams stopped, the magicians fed on the scorched human flesh, and pronounced this good, that they were gaining the strength of these defeated soldiers.

  Then came a time when there were no more enemies to fight or raid, and so the wizards turned on their own people.

  The sacrifices grew ever more elaborate, more brutal, and the magicians seemed not to care that the jungle was slowly regaining its ground as the population shrank and seemed to lose their spirit.

  The evil of these people hung over them and their lands like a dark, dirty fog, and then Gareth woke up in the dimness just before dawn.

  Cosyra woke at the same time, looked at him, started to say something, then got up and hastily went out and threw up into the lake. He followed her out.