The King's Buccaneer

  “What?” asked Nicholas, seeing the alarm on the man’s face.

  “The inn at Shingazi’s Landing is burning.”

  Nicholas looked to the south and there a red-yellow glow could be seen just above the horizon.

  —

  THEY REACHED THE crest above the inn as the fire reached its height. Nicholas and the twenty fittest soldiers and sailors had run the mile and a half to this point, while the rest remained behind guarding the wagons.

  From their position on the hill, they could see that the entire building was engulfed in flames. And in the light of the fire, they could clearly see the bodies scattered around the courtyard.

  Ghuda counted. “Seems like someone had the same idea as we did, but used a real fire instead of smoke. I count thirty or more bodies in that courtyard. Those poor bastards came out the door and windows and were cut down as they did.” He considered. “It’s the same tactic they used in Crydee.”

  Nicholas felt his neck hairs stand up. “You’re right.”

  They walked down the hillside, seeing details of the carnage as they neared the inn. They stepped over the low wall and picked their way through the litter of bodies and debris. Tuka knelt to inspect the dead. After a minute, he said, “Encosi! These are clansmen!”

  He pointed to one man who wore a silver lion’s head on a leather thong around his neck. He moved quickly from body to body and said, “This man is being a Bear clansman, and this over here is from the Wolf’s clan. This is an alliance, all who must have turned against the Overlord.”

  Ghuda walked to the farthest corner of the yard, as close as he could get to the heat coming off the building and said, “Nicholas, over here!”

  Nicholas, with Calis, Amos, and two of the soldiers, hurried to where Ghuda stood. There he pointed at a pile of bodies, some of which were smoking in the heat from the fire. “There are those mercenaries I told you about.”

  “Damn,” said Amos. “When you spin a tale of betrayal, you really know what you’re talking about.” He glanced around. “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to get everyone involved in this caper very upset.”

  Nicholas knelt down and tried to see something. Amos followed his gaze and said, “Gods preserve us!”

  “What is it?” asked Marcus.

  “That helm, there, on the man beneath those two other dead men.”

  Marcus looked. “The red one?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “What about it?” asked Marcus.

  “I’ve seen its like, though when I last saw it, it was black.”

  Nicholas said, “Father’s spoken of its like. A full metal helm, covering the face, dragon crest, with two wings down-swept to cover both sides, and all the rest.”

  “Did he tell you who wore them?” asked Amos.

  “Yes,” said Nicholas. “He did. Murmandamus’s Black Slayers.”

  Tuka said, “That’s the helm of the Red Slayers.”

  Nicholas said, “And what do you know of them?”

  The little man made an elaborate gesture, a ward against evil. “They are very bad men. They are a brotherhood of warriors and they serve the Overlord of the City of the Serpent River.”

  Nicholas glanced at Calis, Amos, and Marcus. While he seemed to be addressing everyone, he was speaking only to them. “We’re heading in the right direction,” he said.

  16

  RIVER

  A man coughed.

  Nicholas and the others turned toward the sound and moved quickly. Two men lay dazed against the outside of the wall, and Ghuda helped two of the soldiers pull them farther away from the fire.

  One had a cut to the head that bled copiously, and the other had taken a crossbow bolt in the shoulder.

  The man with the bolt in his shoulder was unconscious, but the man with the scalp wound was starting to move. “Give me some water,” said Ghuda.

  One of the soldiers passed over a waterskin and Ghuda cleaned off the man’s face. Amos said, “Gods! If that isn’t the ugliest man I’ve ever seen…”

  Spitting water, the man blinked his eyes and shook his head. “Ooh,” he said, putting his hand to his temple. “That was a mistake.” He opened his eyes again and looked from face to face. Looking at Amos, he said, “You’re not exactly my idea of beautiful, either.”

  The man had a brow ridge that looked like nothing so much as an extrusion of granite. It was covered in dark hair, an eyebrow that formed a single line above the man’s eyes. They were dark pits, sunken deep below the ridge, and separated by a glob of a nose, one that might have once held a shape, but had been broken so many times since that there was no hint of its original design left. A ragged beard covered most of the jaw, but it was clear it jutted out in a pugnacious fashion, and the man’s lips were odd-looking, as if they had been struck so many times the swelling was permanent. What skin they saw above the beard had pock marks and scars and was blotched and mottled in the firelight. He was, Nicholas thought, as Amos said: the ugliest man he had ever seen.

  His unconscious companion, on the other hand, was as handsome as the other was not. Dark hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a fine profile were evident in the firelight.

  Ghuda gave the ugly man a hand to rise to his feet and asked, “What happened?”

  The man put his hand to his head. “All sorts of murderous treachery.” Glancing around the group, he said, “And I don’t think that’s much of a surprise to you, judging how you’re armed.”

  Nicholas, seeing that all his soldiers were still holding their weapons at the ready, gestured to them to put up their weapons.

  “Who are you?” asked Marcus.

  The man said, “I’m Prajichetas, and this is my friend Vajasiah. Call us Praji and Vaja.”

  Ghuda said, “Were you part of this band of mercenaries?”

  He said, “Not so you’d notice. We were looking for passage up river, heading for the wars—”

  “Wars?” asked Nicholas.

  “Who’s this?” asked Praji of Ghuda.

  “He’s the captain.”

  “Him? Looks like a boy—”

  Nicholas said, “Talk to me.”

  “He’s the captain,” said Harry.

  Praji said to Ghuda, “I’ll believe he’s your son, or your pet, or your—”

  Nicholas had his sword point at the man’s throat. “I’m the captain,” he said softly.

  Praji looked him up and down, then carefully moved the point aside with his hand. “Anyway, Captain,” he said to Nicholas, “we were heading upriver to the wars—”

  “What wars?” interrupted Amos.

  The man turned quickly to look at Amos and put his hand to his head. Closing his eyes, he said, “That was a bad idea. Anyone here have a drink?”

  Nicholas said, “Sorry, but we do have water.”

  “That’ll have to do,” said Praji. He took the offered waterskin and drank deeply. Anthony came over and examined his friend, opening up his tunic. “This isn’t bad,” he judged. “He’s wearing a mail shirt under this tunic. It took most of the blow.” He managed to pull the crossbow bolt out of the man’s shoulder and stanched the blood flow with a rag from a pouch he had prepared against the consequences of the raid. “He’ll live.”

  “Good,” said Praji. “We’ve been through too much for the bastard to die without me.”

  “You were speaking of wars,” said Marcus.

  Fixing him with a squinting eye, he said, “Was I?”

  “You were heading upriver,” supplied Amos.

  “And we were looking for passage to a village called Nadosa, between Lanada and Khaipur, on the Vedra. We hooked a ride with a wool trader who dropped us off a few miles south of here, and we hiked in here. We were going to journey up to the western headwaters of the river—there are always wagon caravans heading from there to Khaipur—anyway, we found this merry band of cutthroats and clan boys, and when the drinks started flowing, we joined in. Someone was buying for the house, and I’m not one to pass
up free ale.”

  “So you’re not with this group?” asked Nicholas.

  “If we had been,” he said, “we’d be over there.” He pointed to the bodies that were now smoking near the burning wall of the inn.

  “What happened?” asked Nicholas.

  The man sighed. “We was sitting around and drinking with a bunch of foolish children, and some regular mother-murderers, and the bloke who’s been buying all the ale comes over and whispers that there’s some work for us and we should join the other professional soldiers outside the inn. We didn’t like the way it sounded, so we came out, but we headed a little away from the others, keeping the bulk of them between us and the guy who called us out.

  “Suddenly there’s shouting and crossbow bolts are flying everywhere. Vaja and I jumped over the wall and landed hard. I saw him get hit and suddenly everything went dark.” He frowned and reached inside his tunic. Feeling around, he found what he had been looking for and pulled out a pouch. “Good,” he said as he loosened the drawstring. He took out a tiny roll of parchment, less than three inches wide, and a finely pointed piece of wood. He licked the end of the wood, which Nicholas noticed had been blackened, and unrolled the little parchment. Looking down a line of scrawls, he poised the writing tool over the parchment and said, “Is Overlord one word or two?”

  —

  THOUGH MOST OF the dead were already half burned, there wasn’t enough wood close by for a pyre, so Nicholas ordered them buried. By the time they had finished and brought the wagons up, it was midday. The man called Vaja regained consciousness an hour after they found him, and he corroborated Praji’s story.

  Leaving the two wounded men to rest, Nicholas took Calis, Marcus, and Harry on a quick search of the area. Whoever had killed the mercenaries and clansmen had left it completely.

  When they returned, Nakor greeted them with the news that most of the lower storage room Tuka had told them about had survived the fire. Nicholas led a group of men through the smoking char of the inn and found the trapdoor. While it was blackened, it was intact. The Prince lowered himself down into the room and was followed by Tuka, Ghuda, Nakor, and Marcus.

  Harry handed down burning torches to Marcus, then joined them. Nicholas turned and almost fell over the body of a man. He was unburned, but his face was contorted into a mask of pain. Tuka looked at him and said, “Shingazi. He must have tried to hide down here when the fire came.”

  Nakor examined him and said, “He died from smoke, I think. Not pleasant.”

  “There’s a pleasant way to die?” asked Harry.

  Nakor grinned. “Several. There’s a drug that will kill you, but in the last few minutes of life, you’ll experience ecstasy beyond imagining, and then a particularly beautiful woman—”

  “Enough,” said Nicholas. “See what you can find down here that might be useful.”

  They searched and suddenly Marcus said, “Look at this!”

  Nicholas crossed to the section of the cellar where his cousin waited and there they found an armory. “Looks like our host was ready to outfit an army.”

  Nicholas saw stacks of chain mail, unmarked shields, swords of all description, crossbows, bows of various sizes, arrows, bolts, and knives. Nicholas said, “Get some men down here and start passing these up.”

  Ghuda broke open a barrel and reached in. Pulling out some dried meat, he tasted it. “A little smoky, but not bad.”

  Nicholas looked around and said, “Let’s get it all up so we can see what we’ve got.”

  He returned to the trapdoor and Harry gave him a boost up. Leaving the burned-out inn, he heard shouts coming from the wagons. Glancing heavenward, he swore. The voice belonged to the Ranjana.

  Reaching the wagons, Nicholas saw the young noblewoman standing before Amos, hands on her hips in a defiant pose, as she shrieked like a wounded cat. “What do you mean, no boats! I am supposed to be in the City of the Serpent River within two weeks’ time—”

  Nicholas said, “What’s this?”

  A guard stood nearby, nursing an impressive set of scratch marks on his cheek, and said, “I tried to keep her in the wagon, High—er, Captain, but she overheard someone say the inn was destroyed—”

  “And came to see for myself what situation you fools have taken me into,” she finished.

  “What we’ve done,” Nicholas said, his patience nearing an end, “was save your life, and your virginity, and your wealth, and put up with your nonsense….Now get back to your wagon!” The last was a loud shout of anger.

  The girl turned defiantly and strode off, managing to keep her chin up the entire way without tripping. As she reached the back of the second wagon, she turned and said, “When the Overlord hears what I’ve had to endure at the hands of a dirty, rude, and barbarous mercenary, you’ll wish you had been born a slave!”

  Nicholas watched her and then turned to Amos. “Dirty?”

  Amos grinned. “You’re no nosegay, Nicky. None of us are.”

  Nicholas looked at the company and realized they all looked filthy and villainous. He ran his hand over his chin and realized that the beard he had shaved on the Raptor was now a ragged stubble.

  Looking around, he said, “Well then, I guess we’ll take some baths.”

  Amos grinned. “If you say so, Captain.”

  Groaning in disgust, he pushed past Amos and shouted at those men carrying goods out of the inn, “Find out if there’s any soap down there.”

  —

  A SUPPLY OF clothing had been found in the basement along with the other goods, and most of their ragged, filthy clothing had been replaced. It was an odd assortment of items, from men’s plain trousers and tunics, to a few items of fashion, richly appointed. Ghuda and Tuka both surmised the more expensive items were things either left behind or used as security against room and board by those short of funds. From the look of things, Shingazi had been a soft touch or in love with odd fashions.

  Nicholas ordered the discovered clothing washed to rid it of the reek of smoke, and then for the men to bathe before changing. In the late afternoon heat, the clothing quickly dried on lines tied between the wagons. By sundown, all the men had bathed, and those who were inclined had shaved or trimmed their beards.

  One thing that pleased Marcus was the discovery that another longbow was counted among the many weapons. By the time the men were cleaned and ready, Amos and Harry approached carrying a charred iron-bound wooden chest. “Look what we found,” said Amos.

  They opened it: it was filled with small pouches. Nicholas opened one to discover gems. Others contained jewelry, silver, and gold. “We’re rich,” said Harry in awe.

  Nicholas took one of the bags of gold and carried it over to where Praji and Vaja rested in the shade of a wagon. Both men had eaten and were now dozing. Praji stood as Nicholas approached and Nicholas tossed him the bag. “For you.”

  Praji listened to the sound of coins as he hefted the bag and said, “What for?”

  “I could use two men who knew their way around the City of the Serpent River.” He pointed to the bag. “You keep that, for your trouble and to help you on your way, whatever you decide, but we’re a new mercenary company and we have no one but that little wagon driver who knows his way around down there. And we can always use a couple of men smart enough to avoid getting murdered when everyone else around them couldn’t.”

  Praji glanced down toward his friend, who was half-asleep and said, “Well, we’re not fit for traveling on foot as is; Vaja will be all right by the time we reach the city by wagon. But one question…”

  “What?”

  “Are you for the Overlord or against him?”

  The expression on the man’s face showed it was an important question, and Nicholas said, “Neither; we have other matters of importance. But from the presence of that Red Slayer’s helm back there I suspect we may find ourselves on the other side of the battle lines once they’re drawn.”

  Praji rubbed his bearded chin as he said, “Well, we’ll ride al
ong with you, and by the time we reach the city we’ll have a better take on one another. We’re not inclined to sign compacts until we’ve seen more of you. Fair?”

  “Fair,” agreed Nicholas.

  Then Praji grinned, which was a scary sight, and said, “Now that the Overlord’s on my list, I can’t very well help anyone who’s with him, you see?”

  “List?” asked Harry.

  “I’ve got this list, see, and when someone does me dirt, I put his name on it if I can’t sort him out on the spot. I’m not saying I’ll be able to settle accounts with everyone on it, but I never forget.”

  Harry was about to comment when Calis appeared suddenly, jogging into camp from the south. He had been scouting all day, and when he reached Nicholas, he said, “We’ve got company.”

  “Where?” asked Nicholas.

  “Four, five miles down the river. A company of riders, twenty-two by my count. They’re armed to the teeth and know how to set out sentries. Regular soldiers wearing black tunics and carrying a banner, a black flag with a golden serpent on it. It looks like they’re breaking camp and getting ready to ride at sundown.”

  Praji had been leaning against the wagon. “Those are the Overlord’s. Damn far from the city for regulars.”

  Nicholas signed for Ghuda and the others to join him, and when he had shared Calis’s intelligence, asked the mercenary, “What do you think?”

  Ghuda shrugged. “I’ve seen enough bloody double-crosses in my life, and half of them in the last two days; I expect they’re up here to find the wagons, kill the ‘guilty,’ rescue the princess, and ride home in triumph.”

  Praji said, “Are you saying all this was a setup of some kind?”

  Nicholas said, “If I told you the wagons had been attacked by clansmen, what would you say?”

  There was a brightness in the man’s eyes that spoke of a quick wit. “I’d say the clans were trying to cause major trouble for the Overlord’s treaty with the northern trading alliances. Which would surprise no one. What would surprise everyone would be that they’d be so dumb about doing it publicly, especially leaving witnesses.”