Corsair botm-2

by Richard Baker

  He took two steps toward Pareik, intending to administer the beating of a lifetime to the Chessentan, but heavy footsteps to his right caught his attention. The ogre Kronn stood close by, glaring down at him with his piggish little eyes. Behind him, the tattooed Northman Skamang sat watching with a small smile on his face. Kronn spoke in a rumbling voice. “You hidded Pareik,” he said. “Thad mean any Skamang’s fisd can hid you. Kronn belong Skamang’s fisd. Kronn hid you!” The ogre lashed out with one enormous fist, mashing it straight down as if he meant to drive a nail into the deck.

  Geran leaped backward out of the way, not with any particular grace. His old mentor Daried would have winced; he’d always said that Geran had the slow-footedness of any big human. The elf bladesinger could have evaded Kronn’s fist with half a step and a twist of his shoulders. Hamil could have too. But Geran’s off-balance jump was enough to get him out from under Kronn’s blow. The ogre bellowed in annoyance and sprang after him; Geran skirted around the mainmast to put it between him and his foe, buying himself a moment to think.

  Sarth and Hamil surged to their feet and moved forward to join the fray, while the rest of Pareik’s little gang dropped their own suppers to the deck and stood their ground. But Murkelmor the dwarf moved between them and held up his hand. “None of that now!” he shouted. “Your man laid hands on one o’ Skamang’s fist, and Skamang’s fist chose one o’ their own t’ answer him. It’s the way it’s done. Take another step, and it’s a matter for th’ captain t’ settle!”

  “I will not stand aside and watch that ogre bludgeon my friend!” Sarth snarled.

  “You will if you know what’s good for him an’ for you,” the dwarf answered. “Two men fight, it’s between them. Any more join in, and th’ captain has to put a stop to it.”

  “Stand your ground!” Geran shouted at Sarth. “Keep it between Kronn and me!” Geran had faced ogres before. They were immensely strong, and big enough to shrug off wounds that would have incapacitated a human opponent. But they were slow and lacked skill, relying entirely on their size and strength. With a sword in his hand he wouldn’t have shied from a duel against Kronn. But he had only his bare hands for this fight.

  He circled the mainmast again. Kronn went low and lunged forward, and this time the ogre managed to catch hold of Geran’s ankle. He yanked Geran’s foot out from under him and dragged the swordmage across the deck, raising one meaty fist to crush Geran while he had hold of him. Geran tried to wrench his foot out of the ogre’s grasp and failed. In desperation he used the ogre’s grip to anchor his left leg while he scissored up with his right. He caught the ogre on the point of his heavy jaw with a strong kick, spoiling Kronn’s aim. Kronn’s fist mostly missed him as it crashed into his ribs, batting him down to the deck again. Geran’s breath left him in a whooshing exhalation, and he gasped for air, but before Kronn could finish him with a solid punch, he drove his right heel into the meaty paw gripping his ankle and bent the ogre’s thumb in a direction it was not supposed to go. Kronn howled, and Geran scrambled free, still trying to find his breath.

  “Keep after him, Kronn!” Pareik cried. “You almost had him there!”

  “Don’t let the ogre grab you like that!” Hamil shouted at Geran.

  “Never … would’ve … thought of that,” Geran wheezed. Kronn lunged for him again, and this time he threw himself under the ogre’s long arms and drove his head into Kronn’s gut. The ogre lost his breath this time, and before he recovered Geran threw several wild uppercuts under Kronn’s chin. It was like punching a bull; the ogre’s head barely moved. The blows had little effect other than enraging Kronn, and Geran quickly backed away again as Kronn swung wildly and stumbled to one knee. A reckless idea struck Geran, and he paused just in front of the mainmast as the ogre wound up for another punch. This time the swordmage stayed still until the very last instant before dropping to the deck under the punch. Instead of pulping Geran’s head like a melon, Kronn drove his fist into the mainmast.

  The whole mast shuddered, but not even an ogre could damage it with a punch; he howled and clutched his mashed knuckles. “Kronn kill you for thad!” the ogre roared.

  Geran rolled away across the deck and regained his feet. But Kronn seized a heavy block and chain from its place by the mainmast, wielding the wooden pulley like a crude flail. He lashed out furiously at Geran, each whistling blow smashing splinters from the deck or crashing against mast and gunwale. Corsairs gathered around to watch the brawl yelped in alarm and scrambled back out of the way, although one unfortunate fellow caught the heavy block high on his shoulder on Kronn’s backswing and was knocked spinning to the deck. Geran wheeled from side to side, searching for a weapon of his own. He didn’t know what the Black Moon had to say about weapons in a brawl, but he’d have to deal with that later. First he had to avoid getting killed.

  Dagger coming! Hamil warned him. Geran looked back over to his friend just in time to catch the heavy poniard Hamil tossed to him. It was not much of a defense against Kronn’s overwhelming strength and reach, but the feel of steel in his hand was reassuring. He realized that, oddly enough, he was now in the exact position Hamil was whenever the two of them sparred. He was facing a bigger, stronger, slower opponent with much greater reach. And that meant he had to get in close without getting killed.

  What would Hamil do in this sort of fight? he wondered. The answer came to him quickly; he’d watched Hamil fight enough times to guess how his friend might handle a big, clumsy foe. A smile flickered across his face as he ducked under another swing of the block and circled to his right, moving next to the mainmast again. “Come on, Kronn! Can’t you hit me?” he taunted.

  The ogre howled in fury and lashed out again-but Geran ducked to the other side of the mast. The block and chain wrapped around the mainmast, momentarily entangled, and he made his move. He dashed forward up under Kronn’s guard and slashed the ogre several times across the belly and chest, holding back from a mortal thrust simply because he didn’t know what would happen if he actually killed his opponent. When Kronn threw up his left arm to shove Geran away, he laid open the ogre’s forearm from wrist to elbow. Blood splattered the deck, and the ogre cried out in pain. Then he let go of the block and chain and fell back on his broad bottom, shielding himself with his arms.

  Geran stepped closer to strike again, but Narsk suddenly appeared on the main deck, brandishing a mace with a spiked head. “Damn the lot of you! What is going on here?” the gnoll roared. Geran quickly backed away from his foe.

  “The new man shoved me to the deck and cut up Kronn when he stood up for me,” Pareik said quickly. “He would’ve killed Kronn, Captain!”

  “Skamang’s man started it!” Hamil retorted. “He knocked Aram’s dinner to the deck, looking for a fight. He’s damned lucky Aram didn’t kill him for it.”

  “He’s lying! The halfling’s a liar!” several of Skamang’s supporters shouted. Hamil surged forward to answer them, but Sarth restrained him.

  The gnoll captain snarled in anger. He might not have had any reason to care what happened to his new crewmen, but at least he seemed to know Skamang, Kronn, and their gang well enough to guess what had happened. He stalked over to where Kronn crouched groaning on the deck, hands clamped around his midsection. “Who drew the first weapon?” the gnoll demanded.

  The ogre looked up at Narsk. “Kronn dint do nuttin’, Cap’n. Th’ new fellah jusd wend mad. He cutted Kronn. Thad’s th’ troot!”

  Narsk swore and wheeled back on Geran, his mace clenched in his hairy paw. He loomed over Geran, his canine fangs bared. “And I suppose you’ll tell me you were willing to fight the ogre with your empty hands until he armed himself?”

  Geran met his gaze without flinching. “None of this was my idea, Captain. The ogre took the block off the mainmast. I had to defend myself.”

  Sorsil cleared her thoat and looked over to the dwarf Murkelmor, who sat on a cask, watching the whole scene. “Did you see what happened, dwarf?” she demanded.

/>   Murkelmor shrugged. “Pareik picked a fight with Aram, and when Aram took him up on it, he had Kronn t’ step in for him. I’m guessing that Kronn’s no’ so happy with the whole business now.” He paused and then added, “Kronn was th’ first to arm himself.”

  Narsk turned away, still muttering to himself. Geran watched him carefully, poniard still in his hand, steeling himself in case the gnoll turned back and swung at him. He’d kill Narsk if he had to, and damn the consequences. But the gnoll looked down at Kronn instead. “You’re beaten, you fat oaf. Is this done, or do you and Aram go on until one of you is dead? It seems to me that won’t be Aram.”

  “It’s over, Captain,” Skamang said. The Northman gave the ogre a stern look. “Kronn won’t trouble him again.”

  “Is that so, Kronn?” Narsk asked.

  The ogre looked at Skamang then nodded. “Kronn say it done.”

  “Then get up and get someone to stitch you back together,” the gnoll snarled. He looked at the assembled deckhands and waved his hand angrily. “Back to work, all of you!”

  Kronn slowly got up, still bleeding profusely. He gave Geran one sullen, hate-filled glare then shuffled back toward Skamang and his gang. Geran watched him just in case he had any thought of a sudden rush and only rejoined Sarth and Hamil when he felt safe in turning his back on his adversary. He handed the poniard back to the halfling. “My thanks,” he said.

  Hamil glanced toward the ogre on the other side of the deck. “You’d better keep it. I’ve got a couple of spares.”

  Sarth looked closely at Geran. “How badly are you hurt? Do you need help?”

  Geran felt his ribs with a wince. “I’m well enough,” he managed. He discovered that he ached all over, in fact-his ribs, his left ankle, his right foot from kicking the ogre’s thick jaw, even his back from being thrown (or throwing himself) on the deck. “If you’re so concerned, next time I’ll allow you to fight the ogre. That seems to be the way it’s done.”

  The sorcerer surprised him with a sudden laugh. “I will bear that in mind,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll be troubled for a while. You bested Kronn, and that should earn you no small respect from the rest of the crew.”

  “Narsk too,” Hamil said in a low voice. He nodded at the quarterdeck, where the gnoll paced. His red eyes, narrowed with thought, were fixed on Geran. Narsk watched them a moment longer, then he descended from the quarterdeck and ducked into his cabin again.

  “He suspects something,” said Sarth.

  Geran gazed at the cabin door. He still needed to find out what it was that Kamoth had given Narsk. And they were another day closer to whatever event the pirate lord had in mind. “We can’t do much about it,” he answered. He picked up his dinner tin from the deck, trying not to wince as his injured ribs protested. “Come on-I want to see if Tao Zhe has anything left in the galley, since Pareik and Kronn spoiled my supper.”

  ELEVEN

  4 Marpenoth, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

  Geran soon learned how much he’d risen in the estimation of the rest of the crew. Early the next morning, as he once again aided Tao Zhe with the scullery work, Murkelmor wandered over and took a seat on a hatch cover, watching him scrub. The dour dwarf studied him for a long time without speaking, busying himself by scraping out the caked soot from a worn old pipe.

  “If you’re interested in the pots, you can find yourself a brush and pitch in,” Geran finally said.

  Murkelmor made no move to help him, but gave him a humorless smile. “That was a fine brawl yesterday,” he said. “No one’s ever bested Kronn wi’ nought but bare hands. Never thought I’d see it happen, neither.”

  “It might’ve gone the other way if Dagger hadn’t thrown me his knife.”

  “Aye, but you held your own until th’ ogre gave your friend a reason to help.” Murkelmor leaned forward. “You’re a stout fighter, no doubt of it, and maybe the other two as well, but three’s not enough to watch each other’s backs. You’ll be needin’ more allies, Aram.”

  Geran stopped scrubbing and straightened up. There were three more dwarves on board. Murkelmor and fellows formed a tight, close-mouthed gang, watching out for each other. And he’d seen that several of the human crewmen-mostly Teshans, men and women of the Moonsea lands-stayed close to the dwarves. Murkelmor’s gang numbered eight or nine crewmen, then, and the addition of Geran and his companions would strengthen it significantly. “Allies we’re happy to have,” he said after a moment’s thought. “But we’re not looking for a master. I’m my own man.”

  “I hear you,” the dwarf allowed. “I speak for me fist more often than not, but I’m no petty king like Skamang. I’ll not try to tell you what to do. An ally’s good enough for me. Keep an eye out for me lads, and we’ll do the same for you.”

  “Done,” Geran told him. He’d have to talk it over with Hamil and Sarth, but Murkelmor was exactly the sort of ally the three of them were looking for. The dwarf nodded in approval and ambled off.

  On the evening of the fifth, two days after Geran’s duel with Kronn, Moonshark rowed into the walled harbor of Mulmaster a little before sunset. The reek of scores of forges and foundries hung in the steep streets and clung to the rooftops; like most of the other Moonsea settlements, Mulmaster was a city that thrived on ironwork and the mining of precious metals from the mountains nearby. A different collection of merchant ships rocked softly in the swell, but otherwise little had changed in the harbor since Geran’s previous visit aboard Seadrake.

  “Mulmaster again,” Hamil noted as they pulled their oar at a quarter-beat. “Well, now we know that at least one Black Moon ship calls here. One of those fellows we talked to a few days ago lied to us.”

  “Possibly,” Geran said. “But it might be true that Kraken Queen herself hasn’t been here. Maybe Kamoth sends other ships to run his errands in the larger ports.”

  It came as no surprise to Geran that no alarm attended the arrival of Moonshark in the city’s harbor. A harbormaster approached in a rowboat and hailed the ship as the galley glided into the city’s narrow bay. Narsk remained out of sight, but Sorsil spoke with the man and passed him a small bribe. With that business concluded, the harbormaster directed Moonshark to a vacant spot along the city’s stone quay and departed. Sorsil took the helm herself and steered the corsair ship expertly to the quay, where the deckhands made her fast to the pier with four heavy lines.

  As soon as the ship was tied up, Narsk emerged from his cabin, dressed in a heavy, hooded cloak that shadowed his bestial features. A small number of the so-called savage races could be found in any large city in Faerun, but most of those would be goblins or orcs-a gnoll couldn’t help but attract attention. He picked out several deckhands of Skamang’s fist as the men were securing the ship and growled, “You three, arm yourselves and come with me. I have business ashore. Sorsil, let no one else leave the ship before I return. I will not be long.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the mate replied. She took up a post by the gangplank as Narsk and his guards swept down the ramp and headed off into the town.

  Geran watched the gnoll disappear into the narrow streets as Hamil and Sarth worked to secure the ship’s oars. “I think this is my opportunity,” he said to his companions. “If I’m ever going to get a look inside Narsk’s cabin, now is the time.”

  “Agreed,” Hamil said. “The plan we talked about?”

  Geran nodded. “We’d better move fast. I don’t think Narsk will be away from the ship for long.”

  Hamil climbed up to the quarterdeck and began to occupy himself by coiling lines there. His real job was to serve as the lookout and warn Geran if anyone was coming. Geran and Sarth headed below to the midships crew quarters and from there worked their way aft to the storeroom directly beneath Narsk’s cabin. Sarth closed the door behind them and set his back to it. He was also a lookout. Geran needed the storeroom to stay empty, and it was Sarth’s job to make sure that no other crewmember wandered in at some inopportune time. “You understand that we
may have to fight our way off the ship if this goes poorly?” the tiefling asked.

  “I know it,” Geran answered. Still, this was the first chance he’d seen in days to find out what was in the letter pouch that Sergen had handed to Narsk. He only hoped that the gnoll hadn’t taken it with him when he went ashore.

  Before he could begin to second-guess the plan, he focused his mind into the still, silent readiness he’d learned under the leaves of Myth Drannor. He brought to the forefront of his thoughts the mystic words of the teleportation spell, sensing the power locked within the arcane syllables. He drew Hamil’s poniard with his right hand and held it at the ready, just in case he was about to find himself in the middle of a fight. Then the swordmage hurled the force of his will into the arcane syllables fixed in his mind as he spoke a single word in Elvish: “Seiroch!”

  There was a dizzying instant of darkness, a sense of bitter cold, and Geran found himself standing in the cabin directly above the place where he’d been standing in the storeroom. He turned quickly, dagger held before him, but there was no one else in the room. Narsk’s cabin was empty for the moment. With a small sigh of relief, he sheathed the poniard and studied his surroundings more carefully.

  The cabin was dark and cluttered, and a heavy animal smell lingered in the air. Geran wrinkled his nose in distaste; Narsk was none too tidy in his living arrangements. He realized that he’d need a little light to see by, so he took a copper coin out of his pocket and quietly murmured the words of a light spell. The coin began to glow with a bright, warm light; Geran quickly wrapped it in a bit of scrap cloth to mute its brightness as much as he could. He didn’t want it shining from the row of windows across the stern end of the cabin. By the dim light, he studied his surroundings. Discarded clothing lay strewn where Narsk had dropped it, plates with the half-eaten remains of old suppers, and an assortment of odd baubles-gold goblets, pearl-handled cutlery, small idols, and other such things likely gleaned from the pillage of a dozen ships-lay scattered about, along with what seemed to be half an armory’s worth of weapons.