Corsair (42 page)

“Shut up,” someone hissed.

“Why are you men of ships and deep water here, in our jungles?” Riet said, obviously not understanding Sarosian.

“We sailed from the island you knew us on, against those Slavers,” Gareth said. “We took one of their cities, far west of here, and were waiting to seize their treasure ships.”

“We heard tales of a great battle,” Riet said. “But little more than fireside stories without details.” He looked around. “I would guess you were defeated, and lost your ships.”

“We fled that city, our ships burning behind us,” Gareth admitted, “through the jungles and across the high flatlands, with the Slavers pursuing us.

“When we thought we had lost them, we turned north, determining to follow this river to its mouth, and somehow find ships to return us to our homeland.”

“You would chance the Slaver city of Cimmar, as they call it? You are brave indeed,” Riet said.

“Desperate men can be called brave,” Gareth said.

“Well, you are safe now, at least for as long as you remain with us,” Riet said. “Our scouts reported strangers in the jungle days ago, and I decided to come with them and see if we would have a chance to destroy some more Slavers, arrogant in their gold lust, for chancing travel this deep in enemy lands. From my unfortunate experience with those creatures, my people now think of me as a war leader, although war is a disgusting thought to all of us.

“Now there shall be great rejoicing and feasting, for there are many who remember being slaves, and being hopeless, thinking they would never see their lovely jungles again, and remember your freeing us, asking never a hide in payment, nor any of the gold, gems, or silver we work for amusement that seem to drive the Slavers mad when they see it.”

Froln licked his lips unconsciously, hearing the word “gold.”

“Yes, and we shall do all we can to help you in your journey downriver,” Riet went on. “But first is a time, as I said, to feast and rejoice.”

• • •

The town, a respectable settlement of more than two-hundred score people, sat on a tributary that pooled, then ran into the Mozaffar. The Kashi who lived there, who called themselves the Sa’ib, farmed the fertile land behind the town and raised fish in pools. Hunting was now just a hobby for them, and Gareth got the idea the Sa’ib looked a little down on anyone who hadn’t figured out farming was a far more stable way to live than lurking in bushes for a passing deer or knocking monkeys from trees with slings or bows.

The feast, Riet said, would be in three days, rather than immediately. The next two days would be for rest and recovery.

The pirates were given their own compound, and food and drink were provided. Some of the pirates talked about going out and looking for women, but Gareth noted when night fell the collection of huts fell silent except for exhausted snores.

Gareth sat beside the sleeping Cosyra for what seemed to be half the night, unable to sleep, listening to the night, waiting for hostile sounds. He decided he was too tense to get any rest, but thought he might lie down with his eyes shut.

It was late the next afternoon when he awoke, feeling differently than he had for … for months, he realized, feeling some of the strain slip away.

“Get your dirty body clean,” Cosyra advised. “You’re hours behind the rest of us.”

And so it was.

The pirates’ filthy clothing was piled and burned. New garments were provided like the ones Riet had worn, stylish jackets and pants sewn of various animal skins, lavishly decorated. Even sword belts and pistol slings were worn and cracking, and Riet had tanners making replacements.

Most of the men went to the river to bathe, although there were a few, as always, who boasted of liking the way they smelled. The men came back laughing, for the women of Sa’ib had been eager spectators, and made comments that were easily understandable, although not many of the corsairs had been given a language spell by Labala.

That night, too, ended early, although there were some hardy souls — Tehidy, Froln, others — who sat up drinking the palm beer they’d been given and talking quietly.

The next night, all was abandon.

Gareth had wondered if the Sa’ib were intensely private, for no one except Riet and the men who brought food had disturbed them thus far.

Now he found otherwise.

The compound gates were thrown open, and it seemed everyone in the town swarmed in, eager to meet these white-skinned strangers, each with a small present.

There was a constant flow of food, everything from tidbits to huge roasted fish from the river, seasoned with hot peppers.

There was drink — the palm beer that some liked, wine made from fruit, and even some fruit brandies, for the Sa’ib knew the art of distillery.

And there were other pleasures.

The tough little foremast hand, Kuldja, staggered up to Gareth, tears in his eyes, and swore he’d stay here for the rest of his life, and the hells with being a pirate.

“The women don’t want money, or even a present to lie with me,” he said. “Not like any damned port town I was ever in, not even like Ticao, where everybody has to pay one way or another.”

He hiccuped, saw a rather plain, but smiling, woman wink at him, and stumbled after her.

“Poor bastard,” Cosyra said.

“That’s one of the worst things about being a sailor,” Gareth said. “You come ashore, and only have a few hours.

“We brag about our independence,” he said, a bit melancholic. “But that means no home but a foc’sle bunk, no food but that in a waterfront dive, no love but — ”

“But you don’t know anything about that, remember,” Cosyra said. “You were a virgin before you met me, and now you don’t need anything else.”

Gareth’s momentary sadness vanished. “I could not agree with you more, my Lady Cosyra of the Mount.”

“Damned well better,” she growled, kissed him, and they found their way to the outskirts of the town, and a quiet glade.

At dusk, the real feast began.

Long tables were set up, and a steady stream of courses and drink arrived. It wasn’t possible for the human stomach to hold that much, but some of the pirates tried.

Riet and other Sa’ib made speeches about how glad they were to be able to repay the pirates for what they’d done, and how they wished they could do more. But the Slavers were so evil, so skilled with weapons, no one except great warriors like the corsairs could ever stand against them.

Gareth thought of saying that if someone never tried to fight, they could never win, but that wasn’t for this night. Besides, he had no right to feel superior to people who were constantly in fear of a Linyati raid, who’d seen relatives torn away, not just once as Gareth and others had, but year after year after century. His speech was nothing but praise and thanks for their new friends.

And so the party went on, great fires roaring, driving away the jungle darkness around the town.

Drink poured down gullets in unbelievable quantities, and Gareth, again, was almost sorry he didn’t favor alcohol.

Cosyra sat beside him, sipping a glass of wine.

“So much for piratical abandon,” she said. “Welcome to a life of sobriety, Cosyra, doing what your love does.” She hiccuped, proving sobriety was a matter of degrees this night.

Labala wandered up, and Gareth was a bit surprised to see him quite sober.

“You’re not feeling well,” Cosyra said. “Or is it magicians, as they grow in strength, become more abstem … abstem … they don’t get drunk anymore?”

“Maybe I am getting sick,” Labala said. “Or maybe I just can’t relax, and keep expecting something to happen.”

“Such as?” Gareth asked.

“Such as I don’t know,” Labala said.

“Look,” Cosyra said. “See that woman? She’s smiling at you. Why don’t you go see
why
she’s smiling.”

Labala forced a smile.

“Thanks. Maybe I will,” and left.

The feast seemed fated to go on until dawn, or until there was nothing left to eat or drink.

Riet had slumped under the table, a happy smile on his face.

Gareth saw two naked women, screaming laughter, drag a pirate into a hut, pulling at his pants, noted Froln very earnestly peeling and tossing fruit to an amazingly big and multicolored bird, and having what must have been a most meaningful conversation.

“Shall we?” he asked, jerking his head toward their hut.

“I think so,” Cosyra said, yawning. “And I think you wore me out this afternoon. I’m ready for sleep, no more.”

Gareth had barely fallen asleep when the Linyati attacked.

The shots woke Gareth. He was on his feet, brain not working, but his hands automatically fumbled for a sling of pistols and his sword belt.

He found his breeches, yanked them on as another volley rang and he heard screams of men dying. Cosyra pulled on her breeches and a man — not a man, Gareth realized, seeing the curved helmet, but a Slaver — burst into their hut. Gareth had a pistol out, shot the Linyati in the face, saw others in the flaring torches outside the hut.

A musket cracked and the ball whipped past him, and a torch was hurled into the hut.

“Now!” Gareth shouted, and the two plunged out of the hut as it caught fire. Gareth cut down the Slaver reloading his piece, ducked a thrust from a swordsman and slashed at him. That one went away, and there was another Slaver with a musket aimed at his breast; Cosyra shot him before he could fire.

The compound was like a flame-lit day as pirates staggered awake, still drunk, trying to fight back.

There was a Runner amidst them, a cutlass in each clawed hand. Some pirates saw the monster and charged it, screaming rage. Froln came in from a flank, lunged, and cut the Runner’s leg open.

It shrilled pain, rage, spun on him, knocked Froln’s blade away. The pirate went flat, and the Runner’s slash missed.

Dihr was braced against a hut, and Gareth saw blood runnelling down his leg. But his hold on his musket was very steady. He fired, and the ball took the Runner in the throat. It thrashed about, dying.

Women, screaming, ran out of the huts, and the Slavers showed no mercy, killing them to get at the corsairs.

Gareth heard a howl of rage, and Riet and other Kashi, Cosyra at their head, attacked the knot of Slavers. He lost her in the melee, then she burst out the other side, her blade black with blood in the firelight.

There were soldiers then, heads still muzzled with drink, but forming an unsteady line and attacking.

No one fled, no one hid. By now, there were no cowards left among the corsairs.

A Kashi woman, arm half severed, used a Slaver’s pike to impale a Linyati in robes, then twisted and fell herself.

Two Slavers attacked Gareth. He knocked one’s thrust away, slashed at his legs, then pain burnt across his chest as the other Linyati’s thrust almost went home. Gareth spun inside the Slaver’s guard, smashed his face in with the pommel of his sword, kicked him into his fellow. As they stumbled back, his blade flicked once, twice, and they both were down.

The night exploded and Slavers, Kashi, pirates were cut apart as Linyati cannon fired into the throng, not caring who they killed.

Gareth saw Tehidy pushing a cannon from behind a hut, flanking the Linyati guns, and ran toward him.

Cosyra was shouting for a rally, and a Runner saw her, leapt over two Slavers, dropping one of his swords, and grabbed at her. Cosyra back-rolled, came up under the monster, and drove her sword straight up, through the Runner’s chin into where a brain should be.

Another Runner darted at her, and Kuldja swung at him from the side with a ramrod that was somehow afire. The Runner staggered, and then the fire touched him and he burned as if he were made of tar.

Kuldja whooped joy, and Cosyra grinned at him. A Linyati cannon banged, and Kuldja was ripped like a cloth doll.

Cosyra, untouched by the shot, found a loaded musket in the dirt, had it up, aimed, and killed a Linyati gunner.

Gareth pushed the second gun into line beside Tehidy, and Knoll N’b’ry was beside him, helping.

N’b’ry grunted oddly, stood up, and blood poured from a small hole above his ear. Eyes wide, he fell limply, and Gareth didn’t need to look to see if he was still alive.

Blood rage surged, and Gareth pulled a slow match from a gunner’s hand, bent over the cannon. It bore, and he held the match to the touchhole and the cannon fired, Tehidy’s an instant later.

Grapeshot swathed through the Linyati gunners, and the survivors fell back from their guns for a moment.

Gareth, screaming rage, ran into their midst, knowing nothing but a killing frenzy, seeing men’s faces come up, go away, seeing Linyati, thrusting at them, again, killing another, and there were men beside him, fighting, killing, some white, some brown.

Labala was shouting a spell from somewhere, and Gareth saw dropped weapons stir, lift, and thrust at Linyati, with no human hand to control them. A Slaver wizard was calling a counterspell, and a brush knife spun through the air and took most of his head away.

The Slavers broke, tried to flee.

But there was no safety, no mercy, and the pirates and the Sa’ib slaughtered them as they ran.

There was nothing but blood and death for Gareth, and then he recovered, kneeling beside N’b’ry’s body.

He remembered Knoll’s japery, friendship, the ships he wanted to build, and now there was nothing but death on a nameless jungle town’s dirt street.

He thought of telling Suel, the woman Knoll had companioned, far away in Saros, of N’b’ry’s bravery, tasted ashes and knew courage was meaningless compared to the vast emptiness he felt.

Gareth got up, staggered, but paid no attention to his wound. Cosyra, Tehidy, Riet, Dihr, Froln, others were before him. He saw Kuldja’s unrecognizable body lying nearby, other bodies of pirates, soldiers, Kashi.

“This was a beginning,” he said, voice calm. “We have destroyed those who pursued us. Now, we shall journey downriver, to Cimmar.

“That means you, Riet, and other men of Kashi. We shall recruit as we travel. It is time for the Kashi to stand and take back what is their own.

“Our plans have changed. No longer are we going to be content with just stealing the Linyati ships at the river’s mouth.