Читать книгу: «The King’s Buccaneer», страница 8

Nearly a month after the reception dinner, Nicholas and Harry dined with the Duke’s court once again. Since they were members of the household, it was not an unexpected event, but it was the first time since they had come to Crydee that the boys had been free enough from duty to eat at the same time as everyone else. They sat at the foot of the table, removed enough from the Duke and his family that only faint snatches of conversation reached them. Not only was the household in attendance, but several important members of guilds and crafts from the town were seated at the Duke’s table, while some visiting merchants and traders were seated around the hall.

Nicholas sat staring across the hall at Abigail, who seemed to be listening somewhat distractedly to something Marcus was telling her. She glanced at Nicholas with regularity and occasionally flushed and lowered her eyes when he caught her gaze.

Harry said, ‘The girl likes you.’

Nicholas said, ‘How do you know?’

Harry grinned as he sipped at a goblet of wine. ‘She keeps looking over here at you.’

‘Maybe she thinks I look funny,’ Nicholas said with a note of fear.

Harry laughed. ‘Given how much you and Marcus resemble each other, and that you’re obviously the only two chaps she pays the least bit of attention to, I’d say she has a preference for a certain type.’ Tapping his friend upon the shoulder, he said, ‘She likes you, dummy.’

Dinner passed with the boys engaging in trivialities with the two young men who sat beside Nicholas. One was a gem dealer seeking to underwrite an expedition into a region of the Grey Tower mountains; he claimed there were gem deposits still untapped by dwarves or human miners. He was to be disappointed, Nicholas knew, for the Kingdom made no claims over the Grey Towers beyond the foothills; the gem dealer would have to treat with Dolgan, the King of the western dwarves, at village Caldara, a week’s travel or more inland.

The other man was a traveler from Queg, a merchant in fine silks and rare perfumes, who had occupied most of the girls’ afternoon showing them his wares, which was why Nicholas had not caught sight of them all day. Margaret was more given to hunting leather and simple tunics, like her mother, it seemed, though she wore the proper gowns and jewelry in court; but Abigail and most of the daughters of the town’s richer merchants had purchased enough of the merchant’s fineries to guarantee him a profitable trip before he visited Carse and Tulan on his way home.

The merchant was named Vasarius, and something about him irritated Nicholas. Perhaps it was the way Nicholas had caught him staring at Margaret and Abigail, in a manner Nicholas could only consider covetous. When Nicholas caught him at it, he merely averted his eyes from the girls, or smiled at Nicholas as if he were but glancing around the room.

After dinner the merchants gathered before the Duke and his lady and a short period of socializing followed, before they were escorted out of the castle. Nicholas noticed that while the other merchants were attempting to get Martin’s attention, Vasarius was chatting amiably with Charles and Faxon.

Nicholas was on the verge of saying something about this to Harry when Marcus approached. ‘We’re going hunting tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You two begin laying out everything we’re going to need. Have a couple of servants go with you.’

Nicholas nodded, while Harry barely suppressed a groan. They hurried off and motioned for a couple of the servants to follow. Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and noticed Abigail watching his departure. She waved to him, wishing him a silent good night, and Nicholas turned to see Marcus looking at her with a sour expression. Smiling slightly, Nicholas felt better than he had since coming to Crydee.

It was late when Nicholas and Harry finished organizing the equipment for the hunt. They would be gone only two or three days, but there would be a half dozen in the party – Martin, Marcus, Nicholas, Harry, Ghuda, and Nakor – so a fair amount of equipment and provisions needed to be readied. After a minute of standing around in confusion, not knowing where to begin, the boys had allowed the experienced servants to take charge and had mostly observed, save when it came to choosing weapons. Both squires knew they were responsible for those choices, and by now both had a good idea of what Martin and Marcus would require. Like his father, Marcus was an excellent bowman and favored the longbow.

When everything was ready, Nicholas and Harry returned to the banquet hall. Nicholas left his friend and went up to the Duke. Martin finished his conversation with one of the local merchants and said, ‘Yes, Squire?’

Nicholas said, ‘All is ready for tomorrow, Your Grace.’

‘Good. I have no further need for you this evening, Squire. We leave at first light.’

Nicholas bowed and departed, leaving Martin to his guests. Harry was likewise on his own, from all appearances, as he hurried across the hall to Nicholas. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I thought I’d turn in. It’s an early start tomorrow.’

‘Lady Margaret mentioned that she’d be taking a stroll through the Princess’s Garden.’

‘Well, there you go,’ said Nicholas. ‘Now’s your chance.’

Harry grinned. ‘Abigail went with her.’

Nicholas grinned in return. ‘What are we waiting for?’

With a signal lack of decorum, the boys hurried out of the Duke’s great hall just a stride short of a full run.

As the boys leaped the three steps to the Princess’s Garden, Margaret and Abigail exchanged glances and smiles. Margaret’s was confident and amused; Abigail’s was shy and pleased.

Both boys came to an abrupt halt and bowed with a fair amount of courtly dignity. Grinning self-consciously, Nicholas said, ‘Good evening, ladies.’

‘Good evening, Squire,’ replied Margaret.

Abigail spoke softly. ‘Good evening, Highness.’

The two boys fell in, Nicholas next to Abigail and Harry next to Margaret. The boys were silent for a moment, then both started to speak at the same time. The girls laughed and the boys had the good grace to look embarrassed. Again there was a silent moment, then Harry and Nicholas began to speak again.

Margaret said, ‘I know you two can’t seem to live a moment apart, but why don’t you come over here with me, Squire Harry.’

Harry glanced at Nicholas and his expression was a mix of surprise, pleasure, and panic as Margaret took him firmly by the hand and led him off toward a small bench beside the blooming roses.

Nicholas and Abigail walked slowly to the far end of the small garden to another bench, where they sat. Softly Abigail said, ‘You seem to be adjusting to living with us, Highness.’

Nicholas said, ‘It’s “Squire” here, my lady.’ He flushed a little and said, ‘I … think I like it. Some of it.’ He stared at her, amazed at how delicate her features were, almost doll-like. Her skin was clear and smooth and without the usual blemishes girls her age endured. He was certain he had never seen eyes as big or blue, almost luminous in the faint light of the torches upon the wall. Her hair was gathered back, encircled with a silver ring, then fell to her shoulders in a cascade of golden silk. He glanced down and said, ‘Some things I find a great deal more appealing here than others.’

She flushed a little, but smiled, then said, ‘Is His Grace overworking you? I hardly ever see you in the castle. We’ve spoken little more than a dozen words in weeks.’

Nicholas said, ‘I have a lot to do, but in truth I find it more interesting than going to lessons, or attending my father’s court and being a fixture at the parades, presentations, and receptions that go on all the time in Krondor.’

‘I would have thought that a wonderful life,’ she said. Her tone was disappointed. ‘I can’t imagine anything more thrilling than being presented in your father’s court, or the King’s court.’ Her eyes were wide and her expression earnest as she spoke. ‘The great lords and beautiful ladies, the ambassadors from distant lands – it all sounds so wonderful.’ She positively glowed to Nicholas’s eyes as she said this.

Trying not to sound too blasé, Nicholas said, ‘It’s often colorful.’ In fact, he found the entire demands of court pomp an unrelenting bore. But he was sure Abigail didn’t wish to hear that, and at this particular moment causing her any sort of disappointment was the last thing he wished. She looked at him with eyes so wide he felt he could fall into them; he forced himself to inhale, as somewhere in the last moments he had forgotten to breathe. ‘Perhaps someday you can visit Krondor or Rillanon.’

Her expression turned from wondering to resigned. ‘I’m the daughter of a Far Coast Baron. If my father has his way, I’ll be pledged to marry Marcus soon; I’ll be an old woman with children before I have a chance to visit Krondor, and I’ll never see Rillanon.’

Nicholas didn’t know what to say; all he knew was that a tightening in his throat and stomach seemed to reach painful proportions when she spoke of marrying Marcus. At last he said, ‘You won’t have to.’

‘Have to what?’ she asked, a faint smile upon her lips.

‘Marry Marcus if you don’t want to,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s not as if your father can command you to.’

‘He can make it very hard for me to say no,’ she said, lowering her eyes and looking at him from beneath lashes that were impossibly long.

Feeling as if his hands were slabs of wood, he reached out and took her hands in his own. Holding them awkwardly in one hand and patting them with the other, he said, ‘I could …’

Softy, her eyes fixed upon his own, she said, ‘What, Nicky?’

Feeling as if he were choking upon the words, he said, ‘I could ask my father –’

Abigail said, ‘Nicky, you’re wonderful!’ She reached out and put her hand behind his neck, pulling his face to hers.

Nicholas suddenly found himself being kissed. He had never known a kiss could be so soft, sensual, and pleasant. Her lips rested perfectly upon his, and her breath was as sweet as roses. His head swam as he began to return the kiss. He felt his body warming as he drew her to him, feeling her softness beneath his hands. She moved in such a way it seemed she melted into him, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms.

Abruptly she pulled away. ‘Marcus!’ she whispered and before Nicholas could gather his wits she was gone. He blinked in confusion, feeling as if someone had poured icy water over his head. A moment later, Marcus came into view, entering the garden from the rearmost steps, the ones by the football field. Nicholas had been so caught up in the kiss he had not heard his cousin approach.

When Marcus saw Nicholas sitting upon the bench, his expression darkened. ‘Squire,’ he said coldly.

‘Marcus,’ answered Nicholas, feeling thoroughly irritated.

‘I don’t suppose the Lady Abigail is here.’

Nicholas discovered that he didn’t like the way in which Marcus was looking at him, and even more to the point, he disliked hearing him mention her name. ‘She’s not here.’

Marcus glanced around. ‘But unless you’ve taken to wearing her cologne, she was here moments ago.’ With narrowed gaze he said, ‘Where is she?’

Nicholas stood. ‘Over there, I think.’

Marcus moved away, and Nicholas had almost to jump to catch up with him. They both crossed to the other side of the Princess’s Garden, where they found Harry sitting on the bench. The Squire from Ludland was flushing furiously.

Standing, he nodded to Marcus and Nicholas.

Marcus said, ‘I suppose you were entertaining my sister.’

Harry’s flush deepened to a blush of heroic proportion. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Looking off toward the castle-in the direction the girls had obviously gone-he added, ‘She is a most remarkable girl.’

Marcus stepped away and turned to face them both. ‘I hoped you two would figure things out for yourselves, but obviously you haven’t. Well, here’s how it’s going to be.’ Pointing at Harry, he said, ‘My sister can take care of herself, but she’s slated for bigger things than a meaningless romance with the son of a petty Earl.’

Harry’s face burned scarlet, and his eyes flashed anger, but he kept his silence.

Looking at Nicholas, Marcus said, ‘And you, cousin … Abigail doesn’t need any fancy court boy sweeping her off her feet, then leaving her behind when he goes home. Is that clear?’

Nicholas stepped forward, ‘What I do, Marcus, when your father doesn’t have duties for me, is my business. And who Abigail chooses to spend her time with is her business.’

Appearing to be on the verge of coming to blows, the two cousins were separated by Harry, stepping between them. ‘It won’t do anyone any good if you two start brawling,’ he said, his anger making his voice hard and scolding. Looking as if he would welcome any excuse to brawl himself, he turned a challenging gaze at Marcus. ‘The Duke would be displeased, wouldn’t he?’

Marcus and Nicholas both looked at Harry in momentary surprise, then locked gazes. Marcus said, ‘We leave at first light, Squire. See that everything is ready.’ He turned and marched away, his back as straight as a poll arm.

Nicholas said, ‘He is going to cause trouble.’

‘You’re the one who’s already caused trouble,’ answered Harry.

‘She doesn’t love him,’ said Nicholas.

‘Oh, she told you this?’ asked Harry.

‘Not in so many words, but –’

‘Tell me on the way to our rooms. We’ve got to be ready for tomorrow.’

As they walked, Nicholas said, ‘She doesn’t want to stay here with Marcus, that’s certain.’

Harry nodded. ‘So you think you’ll take her back to Krondor?’

‘Why not?’ said Nicholas with an edge of anger in his tone.

‘You know why,’ answered Harry. ‘Because you’re going to marry some Princess from the court of Roldem, or a Duke’s daughter, or a Princess of Kesh.’

With anger in his voice, and the memory of Abigail’s kiss still fresh in his thoughts, he said, ‘What if I don’t want to?’

Sighing, Harry said, ‘What if your King commands you to?’

Nicholas’s jaws tightened, but he said nothing. He ached with frustration, the frustration of the interrupted embrace and the frustration of wanting to plant his fist in Marcus’s face. At last he asked, ‘What did Margaret do that got you so flustered?’

Harry blushed again. ‘She’s … amazing.’ He drew a deep breath and blew it out theatrically. ‘She started by asking me how the men in Krondor kiss, then asked me to show her. One thing led to another.’ He stopped as if catching his wind. With red cheeks, he said, ‘She got very bold, and …’ He paused, then blurted, ‘Nicholas, she asked me if I’d ever been with a woman!’

‘She didn’t!’ exclaimed Nicky, half laughing, half groaning.

‘She did! Then …’

‘What?’

‘Then she asked me what it was like!’

‘She didn’t!’

‘Will you stop saying that. She did.’

‘So what did you say?’

‘I told her what it was like.’

‘And?’

‘She laughed at me! Then she said, ‘When you know what you’re talking about, Squire, come let me know. I’m curious.’ Then she went back to kissing me, and moving around against me so I thought I was going to burst! Then Abigail came running over and said Marcus was coming, and they hurried off.’

‘Amazing,’ observed Nicholas, his anger and frustration vanishing before his astonishment at his unusual cousin Margaret.

‘She’s that,’ Harry said.

‘You still think you’re in love?’ Nicholas asked jokingly.

‘My stomach hurts worse than ever, but …’

‘What?’

‘Your cousin Margaret is really scary.’

Nicholas laughed and bade Harry good night. As he returned to his own quarters, he lapsed into a memory of soft lips, warm perfume, and the most incredible eyes he had ever beheld. His body warmed at the memory. And his stomach hurt like mad.

• CHAPTER SIX •
Raid

MARTIN SIGNALED.

The party halted as he turned and said, ‘All of you wait here a bit. There’s something ahead.’

The two boys were glad of the halt. They were footsore and tired. They had left the boundary of Crydee town at dawn. Martin had been teaching the two city boys something of wood lore, so they were moving on foot the entire way. Their destination was another day’s walk away, the banks of the river Crydee. They waited with Nakor and Ghuda while Martin and Marcus moved into the woods, vanishing silently. ‘How do they do that?’ asked Nicholas.

Huntmaster Garret said, ‘Your uncle was raised by the elves as much as by the monks at Silban’s Abbey who found him, and he’s taught Marcus and myself everything we know.’ Nicholas had met the Duke’s Huntmaster Garret for the first time the night before.

Nakor waved absently at the woodlands and said, ‘We’re being watched.’

Ghuda, his hand resting absently on his sword, said, ‘For about half an hour.’

Neither sounded concerned. Nicholas glanced around, while Harry said, ‘I don’t see anything.’

‘You have to know where to look,’ said a voice from their left.

A young man emerged from the woodlands, his movements as stealthy as Martin’s and Marcus’s. ‘And it’s been closer to an hour,’ he added. He was dressed in leather tunic and trousers dyed deep green. His hair was blond, but rather than the pale straw color of Anthony’s, it was nearly sun-golden. It hung to shoulder-length, but was cut at the sides, revealing lobeless but otherwise normal ears. His eyes were blue, but almost too pale, and his movement hinted at tremendous power, despite his slight frame.

Then with a grin that made him look years younger he said, ‘This is a game with Martin and us.’

‘Us?’ asked Nicholas.

The boy signaled and another three figures emerged from the woodlands, and Nicholas said, ‘Elves!’

The young human said, ‘I am Calis.’

The three elves stood silently nearby, then one turned suddenly as Martin and the others appeared. With a half-smile, Marcus said, ‘You didn’t think we were fooled by that false trail, did you?’

Martin made what looked to be slight gestures to the elves, who nodded slightly, or raised an eyebrow. Garret whispered to Nicholas and the others, ‘They have a subtle speech with few words when they want.’

Then Martin spoke aloud. ‘This is Nicholas, son of my brother, Arutha, and his companions, Harry of Ludland, Nakor the Isalani, and Ghuda Bulé from Kesh.’

Calis bowed and said, ‘Greetings. Are you bound for Elvandar?’

Martin shook his head. ‘No. Garret returned to the castle yesterday, carrying news that you were south of the river, so I thought it a good excuse to have you meet my nephew while we hunted. Perhaps in the future I’ll bring Nicholas to your court.’

‘And me,’ said Nakor.

Calis smiled and scratched his temple, his hand brushing back his long hair. Nicholas was surprised that Calis looked and sounded entirely human.

Martin frowned slightly, but Nakor said, ‘I have never talked to a Spellweaver before and would like to.’

Calis and Martin exchanged glances, but it was Nakor who continued to speak. ‘Yes, I know about your Spell-weavers, and no, I am not a magician.’

The three stood seemingly motionless for a moment, then Calis grinned. ‘How do you know so much?’

Nakor shrugged and said, ‘I pay attention when other people are babbling. You can learn a lot when you shut up.’ Reaching into his ever present bag, he said, ‘Want an orange?’

Producing four pieces of fruit, he tossed them to Calis and the elves. Calis bit into the fruit and tore away a bit of peel, then sucked the juice. ‘I haven’t had an orange since the last time I visited Crydee.’

The other elves sampled the fruit and nodded their appreciation to Nakor. Harry said, ‘I wish I could figure out how you can fit so many oranges into that bag.’

Nakor began to speak, but Nicholas interrupted: ‘I know. It’s a trick.’

Nakor laughed. ‘Maybe someday I’ll show you.’

Martin said, ‘Why has your Queen sent you south of river Crydee?’

‘We’re growing lax in our patrols, Lord Martin. Things have been peaceful too long on our borders.’

‘Trouble?’ said Martin, instantly alert.

Calis shrugged. ‘Not to talk about. A moredhel band crossed the river to the east of our borders a few months ago, heading south at great speed, but they did not trespass upon our lands, so we left them in peace.’ Nicholas knew of the elves’ dark cousins, called the Brotherhood of the Dark Path by humans. Their last rising had been broken at the Battle of Sethanon. ‘Tathar and the other Spellweavers speak of vague echoes of dark powers, but they can sense nothing that threatens us directly. So we mount more active patrols and venture farther from home than we have for years.’

‘Anything else?’

Calis said, ‘One report of a strange sighting near your new fortress up at Barran, near the river Sodina. Someone beached a long boat in the mouth of the river one night a few weeks ago. We found marks in the mud and tracks of men coming and going.’

Martin’s face reflected his consideration as he was silent for a moment. ‘No smuggler would be willing to come that close to a garrison; besides, there’s no one to trade with that far to the north.’

Marcus said, ‘Scouts?’

‘For whom?’ asked Nicholas.

Martin said, ‘We’ve no neighbors to the north, save goblins and moredhel. And they’ve been quiet since Sethanon.’

‘Not too quiet,’ said Calis. ‘We’ve had a few skirmishes along the northern borders of Elvandar.’

Marcus said, ‘Are they preparing to invade again?’

Calis said, ‘There’s no pattern to it. Father rode out and thinks it’s nothing more than migrations due to failed crops or clan wars. He sent word to the dwarves at Stone Mountain that they may have unwelcome neighbors soon.’

Suddenly Nicholas made the connection: this was Megar and Magya’s grandson! His father was Tomas, the legendary warrior from the Riftwar.

Martin nodded. ‘We’ll send word to Dolgan that they may be returning to the Grey Towers as well. It’s been more than thirty years since the great migration; the moredhel may be returning to their abandoned homelands.’

‘Thirty years is not very long as elvenkind counts time,’ observed Garret.

Marcus said, ‘To have the Dark Brothers in the Grey Towers and the Green Heart again would mean serious trouble.’

‘We send word to the commander at Jonril as well,’ said Martin. ‘If the Dark Brothers establish villages in the Green Heart, every caravan and mule train from Carse to Crydee is at risk.’

Marcus glanced around. ‘We should make camp, Father. The light is failing.’

Martin said, ‘Calis, will you join us?’

Calis glanced at the sky, noticing the fading light, then at his companions, who seemed to Nicholas to remain motionless, but after a moment he said, ‘We’d be pleased to share the fire with you.’

Turning to Nicholas and Harry, Martin said, ‘Better start gathering firewood, Squires. We make camp.’

Harry and Nicholas glanced at each other, but both knew it was futile to ask where one finds firewood. They moved away from the clearing and began looking about. Many fallen branches and some dead trees were in sight. As Nicholas started to pick out a deadfall, a hand touched him upon the shoulder. Nearly jumping straight up, he turned to find Marcus behind him, holding out a hatchet. ‘This might be easier than trying to chew through the branches,’ he said. He handed another to Harry.

Feeling foolish, Nicholas watched his cousin return to the others. He said, ‘Sometimes I could really learn to hate him.’

Harry began chopping at the deadfall. ‘He doesn’t seem overly fond of you, either.’

‘I have half a mind to take Abigail and return to Krondor with Amos.’

Harry laughed. ‘Oh, what I’d give to be a fly on the wall when you explain that to your father.’

Nicholas fell silent as he continued to hack away at the wood. When a full armload was ready, they gathered it up and returned to the clearing. Martin had already begun a fire with twigs and some moss, and fed the branches into the flames. ‘Good, this is a fine start. Bring us three times that, and we’ll have wood for the night.’

With a barely hidden groan, the dirty and sweating Squires returned to the deadfall and resumed hacking.

The sentry leaned out of the tower. Something was moving across the water into the harbor mouth. His station at the top of Longpoint lighthouse was the most vital post in the Duchy, as Crydee was more vulnerable from the sea than from any other quarter, a lesson hard learned during the Riftwar. The Tsurani had burned half the village with fewer than thirty men.

Then he saw: six low shapes gliding across the water. Each shallow boat was rowed by a dozen men, with another dozen standing in the middle, armed and ready.

The soldier had orders to toss a pot of special powder on the fire that would turn the flames bright red; then he was to strike a gong. Reivers were entering the harbor! As he turned, a line snapped out, weighted at one end, and before he could take another step, his neck was broken.

The assassin had concealed himself beneath the window of the tower, crouching low upon a support beam, barely two inches of which protruded beyond the stone. He quickly pulled himself into the window and removed the metal hooks he had used to climb the wall by embedding their points in the mortar between the stones. He hurried down the winding stairs, killing two more guards along the way. Three men served each night in the tower, with another three in a small guard shack at the base. As he reached the shack, the assassin saw three bodies slumped over a table, while a pair of black-clad forms moved away. He quickly overtook them, and the three killers hurried along the causeway of land called Longpoint that led from the town to the lighthouse. One of the black-garbed killers glanced toward the harbor. Another dozen pinnaces followed the first six, and the raid would soon begin in earnest. Still no alarm sounded, and all was proceeding as planned.

Longpoint broadened, with a low dock on one side and shops and storage buildings on the other. Silent ships rested alongside the quay, with half-alert sentries dozing upon their quarterdecks. A door opened as the three assassins passed, and the last patron of a dockside inn stumbled out. He was dead before he took two steps, as was the innkeeper who had shown him the door. One of the three killers glanced through the door, and the innkeeper’s wife died from an expertly thrown knife before she realized it was a stranger in the doorway instead of her husband.

They would fire the docks and destroy the ships at anchor, but not yet. It would alert the castle, and if the raid was to succeed, the garrison must not be roused until after the keep gates were opened.

The three killers reached the main docks. They passed one last ship in its berth and saw movement at the bow. One assassin drew back a throwing knife, ready to kill any who might give alarm too soon, but a familiar black-clad figure waved once, and climbed over the rail, shinnying down the bowline to join his three companions. The guards on that ship were now all dead. They continued south along the docks, to where they found the small boats pulling in. Two other black-garbed men waited. They kept their distance from the armed men who now silently climbed up from the shallow boats tied off below. This was a murderous crew, men of no loyalty and one goal: killing and booty. The six men in black felt no kinship with these brigands.

But even these hardened men stepped away in dread to clear a path for the hooded and robed figure who climbed up from the last boat. He motioned toward the castle, and the six dark assassins sped up the road toward the keep. Their task was to climb the walls and open the gates. All other considerations were to wait for the breach of the final defense of Crydee.

The robed man beckoned and a small group stepped away from the main force. This band he had picked to be the first through the gate. They were the men he judged most likely to keep their wits and follow orders during the first frenzied moments of combat. But to drive home their instructions, he said, ‘Remember, your orders. If any man breaks my commands, I will personally cut out his liver and eat it before life fades from his eyes.’ He smiled, and even the hardest of these men felt a chill, for the man’s teeth had been filed to points, the mark of a Skashakan cannibal. The leader threw back his hood, revealing a head devoid of hair. His massive brow was close to a deformity, as was his protruding jaw. Each earlobe had been pierced and stretched until long loops of flesh hung to his shoulders, with gold fetishes tied to the loops. A golden ring decorated his nose, and his fair skin was covered in purple tattoos, which made his blue eyes even more startling and terrifying.

The captain glanced back into the harbor, where the third wave of pinnaces should be approaching, another three hundred men. Silence was less a problem for the third wave, as he fully expected the alarm to sound before the third band of raiders reached the docks.

Another man approached and said, ‘Captain, everyone is in place.’

To the group nearest to him he said, ‘Go, the gates will be open when you reach them. Hold or die.’

To the man who had approached he said, ‘Does everyone understand the orders?’

The man nodded. ‘Yes. They can kill the old men and old women, and any children too young to survive the journey, but everyone who is young and healthy is to be captured, not killed.’

‘And the girls?’

‘The men don’t like it, Captain. A little rape is part of the caper. Some say it’s the best part,’ he added with a smirk.

The captain’s hand shot out and gripped the man’s shirt. Pulling him close enough so his sick-sweet breath filled the man’s nostrils, he spoke in tones of low menace. ‘Vasarius, you have your orders.’ He pushed the man roughly away and pointed to where a half-dozen men stood silently observing. Cross-gartered sandals too light for these cooler climates were all the protection afforded their feet, and except for the black leather harnesses that formed an H on back and chest, and leather masks covering their faces, they wore no clothing save black leather kilts. They stood motionless in the cool night air, ignoring whatever discomfort the other men might have felt. They were slavers from the guild in Durbin, and their reputations were enough to cow even as hard a crew as Captain Render’s band of cut-throats.