"The Assassin's Edge" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKenna Juliet E.)

Suthyfer, the Western Approaches, 18th of Aft-Spring

The islands rose from the vast ocean with shocking abruptness; sharp ridges strung out across the waters. Closer to, tree-clad hills hunched defiant shoulders beneath the infinite blue skies, steep bulwarks drawn up close beneath serried spines grudging the barest suggestion of a beach to the all-encompassing seas. The sea matched that niggardliness with a paltry band of surf, meagre waves lifting listless sweeps of white before retreating to the coruscating deeps. No hint of reefs threatened the ship shunning the lesser islets, intent on a narrow strait just visible between two emerald promontories.

Clouds drifting unfettered cast light and shade on restless waters already brilliant with fleeting shimmers like fish darting away from inquisitive eyes. The isle ahead offered an impassive mosaic of greens unruffled by the steady wind carrying the fast-approaching ship inshore. Stalwart trees carried sober hues beneath the verdant highlights of new growth and underbrush, motionless patterns framed by the dark mossy bulk of the rising peaks. The wind shifted and moist earthy scents momentarily won over the scouring salt of the sea breeze and seabirds’ cries pierced the creak and thrum of rigging and sail.

“I’ll be so glad when we land!”

“That sounded heartfelt, Parrail.”

The man clinging to the rail of the ship greeted this new arrival with a weak smile. “Naldeth, good day to you.”

“Duty to you, gentlemen, but clear out of the way.” A sailor hurried past, bare feet deft on the swaying deck, oblivious to the chill wind despite his sleeveless shirt and ragged knee breeches. “Can’t you go below with the rest of the passengers?” He didn’t wait for a reply before hurrying up the ladder-like ratlines running from the rail to the crow’s-nest where the top half of the mast was securely stepped to the lower.

Parrail looked apprehensively at Naldeth. “I don’t think I dare.”

“Over here.” Naldeth led the way to a stack of securely netted cargo. He cast a wary eye up at sailors deftly reconfiguring the creamy sailcloth billowing on the Tang’s tall square-rigged fore and main masts. “Still no sea legs?”

“It’s not so much my legs as my stomach.” Parrail took a reluctant seat, lifting his head to see past the intricacies of ropes and pulleys. “It’s better if I can see the horizon. One of the sailors told me that.”

“I do what I can to keep the ship on an even keel,” said Naldeth lightly.

Parrail managed a faint smile. “My thanks to you, Master Mage.”

“My pleasure, Master Scholar.” Naldeth made a comic attempt at a seated bow. Leaning back against the shrouded lump of canvas that was the ship’s boat, he yawned widely before looking around. Animation and intelligence lent distinction to an otherwise unremarkable face. “This trip’s taught me just how much I don’t know about the workings of water, but the winds have been favourable so I don’t think we’ve lost too much time.”

“Dastennin be thanked.” Parrail’s intensity had little to do with devotion to the god of the sea. Much of an age with the wizard, the scholar nevertheless looked appreciably younger thanks to a snub nose, boyish features and wiry brown hair teased by the wind.

Naldeth idly tapped a foot on the tightly fitted oaken deck. “Master Gede was saying we should be anchored and ashore in time for lunch.” He laughed. “I take it you didn’t want breakfast?”

Parrail took a deep breath. “No, thanks, and I’d rather not talk about food.” He tugged absently at the laces of the plain linen shirt he wore beneath an unadorned broadcloth jerkin.

“Sorry.” Naldeth looked up towards the sterncastle of the ship where captain and senior crewmen stood in purposeful conclave before the lateen-rigged aftmast. They broke apart, each one sliding deftly down the ladder-like stair, intent on his allotted task. The captain remained behind, scanning the vista ahead as he talked to the helmsman whose broad hands cradled the whipstaff that governed the ship’s massive rudder. The captain was a tall man, hair pale grey in contrast to brows still black and knitted in the scowl fixed on his weathered face by years of peering into sun and wind. He wore soft half boots and long breeches of plain blue broadcloth beneath a comfortably loose-cut shirt much the same as wizard and scholar wore. Where Naldeth had opted for the same leather jerkin worn by half the crew, the captain maintained the dignity of his rank with a sleeveless mantle of warm grey wool belted with a tooled leather strap and a fine brass buckle.

“So is Suthyfer just the name of this island or the whole group?” Parrail asked more for the sake of distraction than wanting an answer.

Naldeth obliged regardless. “I think it’s the whole group. I don’t think anyone’s actually named the individual islands. I’m not sure anyone’s ever stopped here to do a proper survey.” With the fast growing bulk of the largest isle now dead ahead, his hazel eyes were bright with curiosity. “Whoever does should name at least one rock for himself, don’t you say? That would be something.”

“You’re interested in doing it?” queried Parrail.

Naldeth was visibly taken aback. “No, I’m bound for Kellarin.”

Parrail hesitated. “You didn’t seem overly taken with the colony when we were last there.”

“I was glad to see the back of the place.” A scowl threatened Naldeth’s cheery countenance. “I’d never seen people killed before. I mean, people die, don’t they? Poldrion rolls the runes but when it’s people you know…” He fell silent for a moment, face vulnerable. ”I’m sorry. You lost friends, I know.”

“I want to help Kellarin for their sake.” Parrail’s unguarded reply wasn’t a rebuke but Naldeth’s swift response was defensive.

“I’d done as much as I could, hadn’t I? I thought I’d best take what I’d learned back to Hadrumal. The Archmage and the other wizards left long before me.”

But Parrail’s soft brown eyes were looking inward on remembered sorrow. Awkwardness hung between the two young men as sailors’ shouts of encouragement and warning sounded the length of the ship. The hills loomed closer. Manoeuvres with ropes and rigging were punctuated by bellows of command from the rear deck and the snap of obedient canvas. The strait between the central island and its slighter neighbour threaded a silver ribbon between the green shores. White birds darted towards the Tang and wheeled above its wake, cries of alarm and curiosity loud.

“When did you go back to Vanam?” Naldeth’s question held the faintest hint of accusation.

Parrail dragged his wits back to the present. “For-Autumn last year, not long after you sailed. We reached Zyoutessela for Equinox and I was back in Vanam by the middle of For-Winter. I swore I’d never set foot on a ship again.” He shuddered before his expression brightened. “But Mentor Tonin persuaded me. I take it you’re on your way to consult with Demoiselle Guinalle as well? I heard Usara went looking for aetheric lore with that woman with the Forest blood, Livak? Did he truly bring one of the Mountain Artificers to Hadrumal?”

“Yes, a woman called Aritane but I’ve nothing to do with that.” Naldeth looked surprised. “I’m just lending a hand to keep this ship on course. I’ll want to see what’s to do in Kellarin. My affinity’s with fire and I hear the Edisgesset miners are planning on refining ore this year.” He grinned. “But you’re welcome to woo the demoiselle if you want.”

“I’ve no notion of wooing anyone.” Parrail tried to cover his chagrin with firm dignity. “I thought you worked at the Archmage’s orders.”

“When I’m one of three mages standing and Elietimm enchanters are knocking everyone else out of the game. Back in Hadrumal, I’m just a middling fish in a busy pond.” Disappointment lent a strained note to Naldeth’s offhand answer.

Parrail nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“I thought I could make more of a splash in Kellarin.” Naldeth’s talkative nature won out over any impulse to discretion. “It’s all very well endlessly debating theory and speculation but it’s nice to have ordinary folk glad of your help, not looking as if you’ve got two heads, if you offer to light wet firewood.”

He would have said more but the sailors’ calls rose to a new urgency. Master Gede bellowed a sudden command and the Tang heeled round on sweeping canvas wings to dart into the sound. The rolling swell of the open ocean gave way to calmer waters between the two islands, glassy smooth where they reflected the bright sun, crystal clear in the shallows of a frowning cliff, dark skerries visible just beneath the surface.

Naldeth spared a wary glance for passing sailors before urging Parrail to the side rail. “Let’s get a look at this place.”

The ship followed the curve of the shore past a precipitous cliff. Below a hollow in the hills some way ahead, a shingle spit offered a gently shelving anchorage. The shore of the lesser island broke into shallow promontories hiding little bays, with folds of land beyond rising in green swells.

Parrail sniffed. “Is that meat smoking?”

“They did it!” Amazed, Naldeth pointed to a vessel beached on the strand, masts lopsided as the retreating tide left it unsupported. It had the same long hull as the Tang, suited for open or inshore waters, square rigged on fore and main masts, shallow fore- and aftcastles in the most recent style and rails guarding the waist of the ship, low to ease the loading and unloading of cargo carried in the capacious hold.

“Den Harkeil’s ship?” Parrail squinted but no flags flew.

“I can’t tell.” Naldeth shook his head, visibly annoyed. “Just because this lot got lucky, that doesn’t mean anyone else will.”

Parrail sought a better view. “Perhaps it’s a Kellarin ship?”

“Sail ho!” Looking up at the shout, both saw the lookout in the crow’s-nest was pointing astern.

“Another ship?” Naldeth wondered aloud.

“Master Mage, Master Scholar!” The captain’s harsh summons set them hurrying for the sterncastle.

“Have either of you had word of other ships?” demanded Master Gede as Naldeth reached the top of the stairs.

“No one’s bespoken me.” Naldeth shook his head.

“Nothing from Bremilayne?” Gede peered aft, trying to identify the newcomer. About a quarter as long again as the Tang with the same long lines, it carried a formidable weight of sail rigged for speed and attack. Fore- and aftmasts carried three courses of canvas compared to the Tang’s two and that wasn’t counting the square-rigged bowsprit and two lateen-rigged mizzens on the aftdeck. Fancy carving adorned rails and the wales and the beakhead at the bow was carved into a threatening shark. As it closed, the boldly painted name below was plain: Spurdog. “Master Parrail?”

“I’ve heard nothing but Artifice isn’t always effective worked over the ocean,” Parrail hastily qualified his reply.

“Ware sail forrard!”

Gede gauged the speed of the rapidly approaching vessel behind before looking to the front where a second ship emerged from concealment behind a curve of the shore. The newcomer could have been built from the same plans as the Spurdog but a sterner shipwright had fashioned the plain rails ringing the crow’s-nests and deck castles. The bow was unadorned but for a brass spike and the name Thornray carved and painted black beneath.

“Dast’s teeth, it’s a god-cursed trap!” spat Gede.

“We’ve barely steerage, this slow,” the helmsman hissed, testing his whipstaff with a leathery hand.

“All sail!” Gede bellowed. “Wizard, raise us a wind!”

“Flag astern!” The lookout clung to the rope stays at a perilous angle.

As the Spurdog ran a vivid scarlet pennant up its mainmast, the Thornray answered with its own.

“That’s no Tormalin insignia,” said Parrail dubiously. “Who raises snake flags?”

“Pirates,” said the captain with loathing. He narrowed his eyes to judge the course of the Thornray now intent on blocking their path. Naldeth didn’t look up from a spark of blue light he was cherishing between his hands. He drew his palms a little wider and the light grew into an iridescent sphere, azure threaded through with brightness painful to the eye.

“Quick as you like, wizard.” The helmsman glanced over his shoulder as the Spurdog’s sails stole what little breeze the Tang could hope for between the confining islands.

The lookout yelled with fear and fury as a shower of arrows rattled among the Tang’s sails. Several sailors cried out, arms or legs bloodied. One unfortunate thudded heavily to the deck; screaming and clawing at a vicious shaft piercing his belly.

Parrail knocked Naldeth clean off his feet. The mage’s curse went unspoken as he saw bright arrowheads biting deep into the planking where he’d stood. Master Gede was dragging the helmsman beneath the inadequate shelter of the stern rail, the man choking on his own blood, an arrow deep in his chest. Shocked, Naldeth’s magic scattered in a haphazard flurry of feeble gusts.

Master Gede knelt on one knee by the whipstaff, the other booted foot braced and his hand steady. “We need wind, Master Mage.”

“Can you use the water to slow them?” Parrail’s voice shook.

“It’s too antithetical.” Naldeth fought to steady his hands as a faint sapphire glow suffused the empty air between them. He’d done this before, he reminded himself. If he was ever going to be the equal of Kalion or Otrick, he had to meet challenges like this. If he lived that long.

A second deadly wave of arrows came from the rigging of the pursuing ship. “They’re looking for magelight.” Parrail cowered by the stern rail trying to help the helmsman.

“Curse it!” Raw power burst from Naldeth’s hands. At the last moment, he managed to fling it up at the main mast and the Tang lurched as the sails suddenly filled, dragging the vessel bodily through the water.

“Ware rocks!” A sailor high on the foremast pointed urgently off to one side.

“Ware boats!” The cry came up from the waist of the ship, frantic sailors gesturing ahead and astern. A flotilla of long boats was darting out from the lesser island’s hidden bays where they’d been lurking for the Thornray’s signal. Parrail risked a glance over the stern rail and saw a second hungry pack come fanning out on either side of the Spurdog. Sweating rowers leaned into their oars, each boat full of raiders, swords in hand. In every prow, a man swung a menacing grappling iron.

Naldeth’s face contorted as he struggled to master the gusting currents of air buffeting him. Livid glints of magic swirled around him but at last a steady wind billowed the Tang’s sails. The pirates astern hurled abuse as the ship pulled away, the enchanted wind stronger than the toiling men at their oars. Shouts of alarm ahead sounded beneath the questing prow, splintering sounds of wood drowning them an instant later.

Gede shook his head at Naldeth. “Stop or we’ll ram her!”

The Thornray was dead ahead, her rails lined with pirates. Her captain was steering directly into the Tang’s path, confident his heavier hull would withstand the impact.

“What can I do?” Naldeth stood stricken with indecision.

“Lend a hand to turn her!” Gede was struggling to steer his ship past the predatory pirate’s stern.

Parrail cowered beneath the rail, trying to staunch the helmsman’s wound. “Zistra feydra en al dret.” His voice cracked as he tried to work the enchantment. The helmsman coughed a gout of scarlet blood and drew a deep shuddering breath before falling limp beneath Parrail’s hands.

Thuds sounded all along the ship’s sides. The long boats had reached the Tang. Pirates flung their grapnels with practised precision and for every rope a desperate sailor cut, two more gripped with irons claws biting deep with the weight of men climbing the lines below. The pirates swarmed over the rail, sailcloth jackets soaked in pitch to foil the few blades that the sailors could muster. Once on the deck, every raider drew short swords or daggers in either hand, hilts wrapping round into brazen knuckles for a brutal punch if close quarters foiled a stroke with a blade.

“Zistra feydra en—” Parrail choked on his enchantment as a grappling iron soaring high over the rail hit a sailor at the bottom of the aft castle stair. The man shrieked, razor sharp points ripping open his face and chest.

Instinct brought blazing fire to Naldeth’s outstretched palm. He threw it full in the face of the first pirate to set foot on the deck by the screaming man. Crimson with magic, flames wrapped around the pirate with a furnace roar. Hair blazed in a passing flash then the man’s naked scalp blackened and split, face beneath contorted in tortured shock. Raw flesh oozed for a scant breath before the all-consuming fire scoured the man’s silent scream to the rictus grin of a skull. He fell, head charred and naked bone, arms scorched and blistered, booted legs untouched. Sparks took hold of the pitch in his smouldering jerkin and the magical fire ran greedily across the deck leaving barely a scorch mark. It leapt to the grappling iron, melting it into a shapeless lump before consuming the rope as it went in search of fresh victims in the boat below. Unseen screams lifted above the ear-splitting din of the vicious struggle aboard.

“Wizard, yonder!” Master Gede waved at a new sail. A gaff-rigged ship, deft and manoeuvrable was swooping down the anchorage. Barely two thirds the length of the Tang, the single mast carried triangular headsails rigged to the bowsprit and cut back all the better to spill wind and turn the ship in its own length. The square topsail and fore-and-aft mainsail drove her on and a bold red pennon streamed from the masthead, a black snake writhing down the length of it.

Frenzied, Naldeth snatched at the roiling air around him but a hail of slingshot thudded all around, bruising him cruelly. He wove a frantic, fragile shield but it was too late. Master Gede was down, bleeding from a gash to the head, the Tang drifting forlorn without his guiding hand.

Parrail had been vomiting but struggled towards the captain on his hands and knees. Tears poured down the scholar’s face but he gritted his teeth and mouthed the measured syllables of a charm.

Naldeth looked wildly into the waist of the ship where the crew fought with pirates swarming aboard from all directions. Gede’s boatswain went down to a slashing blade, the shipwright beside him struggling to defend himself with a belaying pin at the same time as stretching a hand to his fallen comrade. The pirate hacked it from his arm and raised his weapon for a killing blow but the sailor who’d fallen first kicked out with his last breath. The one-handed sailor smashed the pirate’s face to a bloody pulp with his length of solid oak but another raider cut him down, stamping for footing on the bodies of ally and prey alike.

“Nis tal eld ar fen.” Parrail wiped bile from his chin. He knelt beside Master Gede but his eyes were fixed on the murderous pirate below. The man yelled and clapped his hands to his face, swords forgotten as he swung this way and that rubbing at his eyes.

“I have him!” Naldeth exulted. He pulled a shaft of lightning from the confusion of grey and white clouds overhead and seared the man dead but a blue echo of his magic flashed all around him drawing several arrows. Worse, pirates below made a concerted move towards the rear deck.

Parrail grabbed at the mage’s tunic. He drew a deep breath, enunciating an incantation with meticulous care. Naldeth was simply frozen with fear until he saw the pirates intent on his death had halted, confused like a pack of questing hounds who’d lost their scent. Faces turned to the aftdeck seemed to be looking straight through him.

Parrail’s eyes were hollow with consternation. “What do we do now?”

“Take hold.” Naldeth held out a shaking hand, hoping he was equal to his sudden inspiration.

Parr ail snatched at it like a drowning man. “But Master Gede—”

Too late. An azure spiral of power bound his arms to his sides, his feet leaving the deck for an instant before he was plunged into darkness. Parrail groaned with misery as his abused stomach sought to empty itself once more. Then he realised they were in the dimness below decks. Panicked voices rose in the broad hold where those hoping for a life in Kellarin had been waiting out the long days at sea among their hammocks and chests of treasured possessions.

“What’s happening?” demanded a man’s voice.

“It’s pirates!” Naldeth replied, anguished. “They’re killing everyone!”

The consternation that provoked threatened to turn to outright hysteria but everyone fell silent a few moments later when a hatch at the far end of the deck opened to the white and terrified faces below.

“Out!” A swarthy Gidestan beckoned with a bloodstained glove.

The hapless youth at the bottom of the ladder looked around wildly for guidance but everyone else dropped their gaze.

“Out, all of you.” The Gidestan sounded menacing.

The lad climbed slowly up the ladder, yelping as his head reached deck level and unexpected hands hauled him bodily through the hatch.

“And the rest!” What little patience the Gidestan had was plainly exhausted.

Someone else was half pushed, half urged up the ladder and others followed. A surge of bodies carried Naldeth and Parrail closer to the shaft of pitiless daylight, whimpers of fear and ragged breaths of distress all around them.

“We work no magic or enchantment.” Parrail dug painful fingers into Naldeth’s arm as the wizard opened his mouth. “We have to live long enough to get word out to Hadrumal or somewhere, anywhere.”

The press brought the two of them to the ladder and they had no choice but to climb, Parrail first then Naldeth close behind him. Scrambling on to the deck, rough hands shoved them towards the motionless crowd clustered around the main mast. Homespun folk with the honest faces of craftsmen and farmers huddled together, watching the pirates casually tossing the bodies of the slain overboard. Parrail recognised the ship’s sailmaker, the helmsman, a farmer from Dalasor whose name he couldn’t recall.

A few were looking wide-eyed at the forecastle where a bare-chested pirate was tying up the remaining sailors. A few struggled with the pirates restraining them, more went with sullen obedience but one man managed to break free. He hit out wildly, felling one and then kicking out to catch another in the groin, shouting some incomprehensible abuse. The defiance died on his lips as the bare-chested man smashed the back of his head with an iron bar. He twisted his fingers in the blood-soaked wavy hair and held the corpse up to warn sailors and passengers alike. “That’s what making trouble gets you!”

Naldeth’s gorge rose at the sight of the dead man’s misshapen pate, bone gleaming white around grey pulp and gore. He swallowed hard and his terror unexpectedly receded in the face of desperate calm as he forced himself to assess his plight. At least he and Parrail were dressed much the same as the rest of the passengers. For the first time since his childhood he breathed a thanks to Saedrin. The showy robes and elemental colours fashionable in Hadrumal would have condemned him as a mage at once.

With the unresisting sailors now bound, pirates were moving among the prisoners, cutting knives and purses from belts, ripping the few pieces of jewellery visible from necks and wrists, dumping all the spoils in a prosaic wicker basket once destined for a goodwife’s trips to market.

“Your rings.” One gestured at a yeoman’s gold-circled fingers with a bloodstained knife and an evil grin on his undernourished face. “Take ’em off or I cut ’em off.”

Naldeth offered no resistance as rough hands searched his jerkin and breeches pockets, his coin purse torn from the cord he wore beneath his shirt. Then the rat-faced man reached for Parrail’s hand.

“The ring,” the pirate ordered.

Parrail’s stricken expression was little different to those all around but Naldeth saw the added pain in the scholar’s eyes as he surrendered the silver emblem of Vanam, hard-earned symbol of long years of study and self-denial.

That distraction left the mage slow to realise why everyone had fallen silent. All the pirates standing upright and ready, faces turned to the far rail. Naldeth saw the single mast of the ship that he’d failed to hit with any useful magic, snake pennon whipping to and fro in lazy mockery.

A taller man than any Naldeth could recall climbed over the rail with a deftness belying his bulk. The pirates raised a loud cheer, boots stamping, swords smacked together in raucous celebration. The tall man swept a courtly wave to acknowledge those on the forecastle and Naldeth noticed he was lacking the little finger on his sword hand. He had black hair with a curl to it, long enough to fall below his shoulders if it hadn’t been pulled back into a merciless queue. Those shoulders looked broad enough to bear any burden but the man was dressed like a noble who’d never had to soil his hands.

As he turned to share his approval with his pirates, Naldeth saw a delighted smile deepening creases beginning to claim a permanent place around the pirate’s eyes. He was a man in the prime of life, teeth white against the trimmed and disciplined beard that showed just a touch of grey. “Well done, my lads. Now, let’s have a little hush.” His voice was a carrying boom well suited to his barrel chest. The pirate approached the terrified colonists, heedless of his polished boots as he kicked some bloodied body aside.

“Good day to you.” He bowed low with ostentatious politeness. “I am Muredarch and I am the leader of these—” His smile turned feral. ”We’re pirates. You’re prisoners, though you’ll get a choice about that. We’re taking everything we find on this ship. You don’t get a choice about that.” He grinned at a stifled squeak of protest. ”But we’ll be handing out fair shares because that’s the way we do things in my fleet. If you want a share, all you have to do is swear fealty to me and do as I say until I say different. Show a talent for our life and you’ll find it’s recognised. Birth means nothing here but ability counts for a lot.”

He brushed a casual hand over his sea-blue tunic, embroidered velvet and belted with silver, the breeze ruffling the lawn sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t promise a long life but by all that’s holy, it’s a merry one while it lasts. We take our pleasures as readily as we take our plunder,” he continued airily. “Wine, women, good food and if you’re hurt, we’ll see you doctored and kept in comfort. If you’re left unable to fight, we don’t cast you off; there’s always jobs to be done that don’t need a sword. When you’ve earned me enough loot to pay me for sparing your lives, you are free to go, with whatever you’ve saved for yourselves. But most stay on and make themselves richer still.”

The lesser pirates hanging on his every word laughed but Naldeth heard genuine merriment, not the sycophancy he’d expected and found that worried him more.

“You ladies can work for us as you choose.” Muredarch turned a serious face to a mother clutching a daughter just blooming into girlhood. “No man will take you against your will, not without being gelded for it. Share your favours and be paid for the courtesy or earn your keep with cooking, washing, nursing.” He shrugged. “Or you give your oath with the men, sign on the roster and earn an equal share. Where’s Otalin?” A chorus of approval rose from the pirates as one stepped forward from a blood-soaked foursome on the forecastle. “We don’t keep women to firesides and distaffs if they don’t care for such things.”

Otalin shouted something derisory at the bound sailors, proving her womanhood by pulling jerkin and shirt apart to bare her breasts. It was, Naldeth decided, quite the least erotic display he’d ever seen.

Muredarch clapped his hands, which brought instant silence. “Anyone endangering the fleet in any way dies for it. Anyone starting a quarrel on board ship hangs for it,” he said with quiet menace. “You can settle a score in blood ashore as long as you don’t involve anyone else. If you can live by our rules, you’ll earn more gold than you ever dreamed of. If you can’t, we’ll take our price for your life out of you in work but I warn you, that’s the long way to earn your freedom. The quickest way out is not to work, then you won’t eat and you’ll die soon enough. If that’s your choice, so be it. You’ve till dawn tomorrow to think it through and then I’ll want a decision from each and every one of you.”

He turned to nod to the pirates on the sterncastle. “Bring him here.”

Naldeth heard a sharp intake of breath from Parrail as Master Gede was pushed down the ladder to the deck. He fell heavily, blood dark and matted in his grey hair. The woman Otalin jumped down lightly beside him and hauled him to his feet. The master sailor was pale, eyes bruised, arms bound behind him and looking unsteady but his jaw was set.

“Good day to you, Captain.” Muredarch inclined his head, one equal to another. “I take it you understand you’re in my fleet now?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “A captain should always stay with his ship, shouldn’t he? I always do my best to see to that. So you have a choice to make.”

“Turn pirate and prey on honest men?” growled Gede with contempt. “Never.”

“I said you had till tomorrow to make that decision.”

Muredarch smiled that feral smile again. “No, I’ve something else to ask you. Who’s the wizard?”

Gede’s eyes fixed on Muredarch, face expressionless.

“Who’s the wizard?” Muredarch repeated, soft and venomous. “Give him up. He didn’t do you much good, did he?”

Naldeth’s heartbeat sounded so loud inside his head it deafened him. The breath caught in his throat and his groin shrivelled with fear.

Gede stayed silent, eyes focused only on the pirate chieftain. He didn’t dare look anywhere else in case he gave some hint away, Naldeth realised. Numb with shock, he wished he could look away from the appalling sight but he dared not turn lest he meet someone else’s accusing eyes, see some pointing finger handing him over to this brute. His thoughts disintegrated into wretchedness and terror.

Muredarch was studying Gede intently. “No, you won’t give him up, will you? Not without a little persuasion. But I’m a man of my word. I’ll let you stay with your ship.”

The pirates laughed and Naldeth saw savage expectation on their faces all around. Otalin shoved Gede towards the main mast and the passengers scattered in alarm. Muredarch casually drew one of several daggers sheathed on his silver ornamented belt and the bare-chested man jumped down from the foredeck. He carried a hammer and sharp iron spikes as long as a man’s forearm. Muredarch cut Gede’s bonds but two pirates were waiting to grab his hands. Their chieftain stepped aside as the pair pulled Gede’s arms behind him, one either side of the mast, forcing his hands flat to the wood.

At Muredarch’s nod, the bare-chested man drove a spike through Gede’s hand, nailing him to the mast. The captain couldn’t restrain a yell of anguish. “Dast curse your seed!”

Muredarch was unmoved. “Show me the wizard.”

Gede shook his head, biting his lip so hard blood ran down his chin.

Muredarch nodded and the second spike hammered home. Gede’s cry was joined by sobs and distress all around.

“Show me the wizard.” But Gede stayed silent.

Despite the murmurs of distress all around him, Naldeth made no sound. He couldn’t have done so to save his life.

The pirate chieftain shook his head with regret as Gede’s chin sank to his chest. He wound strong fingers in the sailor’s hair to yank his head up. “Till tomorrow‘ Turning his back on Gede he walked unhurried to the rail. ”Get them ashore.” He swung himself down to his gaff-rigged ship.

As soon as Muredarch was off the deck, the pirates moved, belaying pins and the flats of blades herding the comprehensively cowed passengers. Parrail caught Naldeth by the elbow, urging the shocked mage forward. An older man with a dyer’s stained hands shot them both a fearful look from beneath lowered brows. The scholar swallowed hard on his own fear, foul bitterness in his mouth, gullet and belly sour and scalded. Surely these people wouldn’t give them up to these torturers, not when magic might be their only salvation? He dropped his own gaze, concentrating on moving with the crowd, on keeping Naldeth moving, terrified lest either of them do something to attract unwelcome attention.

The pirates simply counted off their captives into the waiting longboats like so many head of sheep; the pockmarked ruffian in charge didn’t tolerate delay. The woman with the daughter baulked at the rope ladders strung over the side of the ship and at his nod, two burly raiders swung her bodily over the side where she dangled, whimpering.

The man waiting below laughed until her flailing shoe caught him in the face. “Watch what you’re at, you clumsy bitch!” Snatching at her petticoats he pulled her down with an audible rip of cloth. If another pirate in the boat hadn’t caught her arm, the woman would have fallen into the dark waters but she was too frightened to realise he was saving her and pulled free with a cry of alarm.

The man laughed with scant humour. “Lady, I don’t want your notch on my tally stick.”

“Not given the choice.” The pirate rubbing his bruised face was looking up at her daughter’s legs hanging helpless above him. He grabbed her calf and the raiders above dropped the girl. The man slid his rough-skinned hand up her stockings and beneath her skirts as he caught her around the waist with his other arm.

The lass jerked rigid in his embrace and in panic, she spat full in the pirate’s face. “How dare you!”

“Beg pardon, my lady.” He removed his hands with elaborate care and a lascivious smile. “You come find me, if you change your mind.”

Parrail and Naldeth were pushed towards the rail. The scholar kicked the mage hard on the ankle and saw bemused realisation of pain burn through the shock fogging the wizard’s eyes. Parrail nodded at the rope ladders and to his relief, Naldeth managed to fumble his way down to the longboat. Parrail gripped the rungs with trembling hands, nails digging into the tarred rope, trying to go as fast as he could, fearful lest he fall but more scared of the consequences if he did.

“That’s your lot!” The pirate with spittle still glistening on his unshaven cheek waved to the ship and urged his rowers to their oars. “Get on!”

The passengers huddled on the central thwarts of the boat, the mother sobbing into her daughter’s breast. Naldeth was still staring ahead with unseeing eyes but Parrail twisted to try and gain some idea of where they were being taken.

He saw a crude stockade of green timber some little distance inshore, bark still on the trees, fresh axe marks still pale on the sharpened ends. A scatter of rough shelters, lean-tos and tents sprawled over the close-cropped turf between the stony beach and the thick underbrush that cloaked the rising land. Returning pirates were stirring fires to life, cauldrons and kettles swung over the flames. The few who’d stayed hidden ashore came out of the undergrowth and from the stockade, shouts of congratulation audible over the smooth waters of the anchorage. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle and the islands looked verdant and hospitable. Parrail felt utterly desolate.

The boat crunched to a halt on the shingle spit. “All out and sharp about it!”

As they scrambled over the side, stumbling in the knee-deep water, Parrail risked a quick look round for any hope of escape. He wasn’t the only one.

“Nowhere to run, sorry.” The scornful pirate wasn’t looking at him but Parrail still coloured, humiliated by the mocking laugh of several brutes waiting at the water’s edge.

“You’re in the stockade for tonight.” A thickset man with a shaven head in sharp contrast to his plaited brown beard stepped forward. He wasn’t dressed for raiding but wore buff breeches and jerkin of a cut and quality Parrail would have expected on any Vanam street. “Give us your oath that you’ll join us in the morning and you can set up your own patch.” He indicated the ramshackle camp with an expansive gesture.

Parrail shoved Naldeth into the centre of their group as they headed meekly for the stockade. The scholar hoped the grey despair on the wizard’s face would be taken for the defeat that hung heavy on the rest. Their captors seemed keen to dispel such gloom.

“Muredarch’s a great leader,” volunteered a muscular youth, tanned beneath a sleeveless shirt unlaced to the waist. “You should think about his offer. It’s the best chance for serious wealth for the likes of us this side of Saedrin’s door.”

“It’s good living,” his companion agreed, slapping at the gilt and enamel decorations on the expensive baldric that carried his sword. He swung a flagon of wine in the other hand, cheery in the bright sun that mocked the prisoners’ misery.

Parrail wondered where the wine had come from and who had died for it. They reached the stockade and were roughly shoved inside the crude gates. Parrail was hard put to stifle abject tears when he heard the rough-hewn bar outside secure it. He dashed them angrily from his eyes and grabbed Naldeth. The wizard looked at him numbly and Parrail shook him bodily before urging him into the narrow shadow cast by the crude walkway that offered their few token guards a vantage point.

“We have to send word.” He quailed lest anyone overhear his urgent whisper.

Uncomprehending, Naldeth struggled to find some response but none came.

Parrail found the first stirrings of anger fighting to rise above his fear and nausea. “We’re the only ones who can send for help.”

Naldeth shuddered and rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth. “Who?” he managed to croak.

Parrail licked dry lips. “Hadrumal?” The great mages had defended Mentor Tonin and his scholars before; Planir, Otrick and Kalion wielding mighty magic to send Kellarin’s foes screaming before them. That seemed so very far away and long ago compared to his present predicament.

Some animation was returning to Naldeth’s face. “I need to conjure a flame if I’m going to bespeak anyone.” He looked around. “And something shiny, something metal.”

Parrail looked around as well. “They haven’t left anyone so much as a hair pin.”

“Nor any fire.” Naldeth shivered. “It’s going to be a cold night.”

“Any flame will give you away as the mage.” Parrail wished he hadn’t spoken when he saw stifling dread threaten Naldeth’s fragile composure again. “Think, man! What are we going to do?”

The wizard drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Can’t you use Artifice?”

Parrail hugged his aching belly. “I can try but what if someone hears me?” He looked round at the other prisoners but all were sunk in their own misery, some clinging to each other, others lost and alone in their shock.

“Do you think they’ll give us up?” Naldeth asked in a hollow voice.

“Master Gede didn’t.” Parrail’s voice cracked.

“He’s not dead yet—and neither are we.” Naldeth grasped the scholar’s shoulder in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “I’ve just thought of something; I can weave air to cover your incantations, can’t I?”

Parrail managed a wan smile. “Let’s see who I can reach.”

He moved to the negligible protection of a rough-hewn upright supporting the walkway and sat facing the blank wall of the stockade. Naldeth dropped down beside him, sitting with bent knees and feet flat to the trampled grass, elbows resting on his knees, head and hands seemingly hanging limp. Only Parrail could see the utter concentration holding the mage rigid. This was no time to let any hint of magelight escape his working.

“When—” The silence that swallowed his tentative query told the scholar he could attempt his own enchantment. Parrail forced himself to breathe long and slow, concentrating on the memory of Vanam’s university quarter and banishing the reality of this nest of pirates. He pictured the scholarly halls where learned men shared their theories in lecture and demonstration, the dusty libraries where long-dead rivalries stood shoulder to shoulder in the chained ranks of books. With a longing that twisted his heart, he focused his thoughts on the cramped house where Mentor Tonin shared his enthusiasm for the lost lore of the ancients with his students, conscientious in tutoring even those he only took on for the sake of their fathers’ fat purses, their gold keeping the roof over the heads of those poorer but diligent like Parrail.

He mouthed the words of the enchantment that should carry his words to Tonin but felt nothing. The image in his mind’s eye was as stiff and unresponsive as a painted panel. He tried again but there was none of the thrill he recalled from his past use of Artifice. Where was the vivid connection, the wondrous sense of touching the aether that linked all living things, thought speaking to thought, free from the fetters of distance or difference? Vanam was as unreachable as the sun sailing high and untroubled above them.

Was he doing something wrong? Parrail wondered. But he’d worked this Artifice with Mentor Tonin even before he had helped the scholar rouse the sleepers of Kellarin. He had worked it so much more effectively after Demoiselle Guinalle had explained the apparent contradictions in their lore, untangling the contrary incantations that had been hampering their attempts at enchantments. Hopeless longing seized Parrail. He’d been so eager to share the winter’s discoveries with Guinalle, not least those woven into love songs that he’d be able to sing to her.

Perhaps he should try that older, simpler form of Artifice. Parrail closed his eyes, the better to hear the silent melody playing in his head. What was the song Trimon had used to call to Halcarion, lost as he wandered in the depths of the Forest, calling on the Moon Maiden to light the stars to guide him home? Would it work, sung unheard in the elemental silence all around him? Could he keep the pitch and beat? He’d never been a good singer. Determination gripped Parrail as he concentrated every fibre of his being on the mythic ballad.

The malice of elder dark move shadows to snare and

bind him.

Trimon took up his harp and sang that his love might

find him.

Driath al’ ar toral, fria men del ard endal

Cariol vas arjerd, ni mel as mistar fal

It was the jalquezan that held the enchantment, wasn’t it? The incomprehensible refrains of Forest Folk songs worked their long-forgotten Artifice. Parrail sang in mute resolve, weaving his cherished memories of Guinalle through every nuance of the travelling god’s desperation and desire for the remote goddess of maidenhood and mystery. The rhythm of the song pulsed in his blood, warming him from head to toes in an exultation that bordered on ecstasy. He gasped and the rapture was gone.

“Well?” Naldeth released his spell, looking at Parrail with the intensity of a desperate man.

A shiver seized Parrail and it was a moment before he could speak. “I don’t know,” he admitted lamely.

A shadow fell across the pair of them and they looked up guiltily. Relieved, they recognised the yeoman absently twisting his ringless fingers.

“So what are you two going to say when they come for us in the morning?”