Corsair (3 page)

The half-ore didn’t waste time on challenges. Baring his fangs in a fierce growl, he flung himself at Geran with a roar of rage, his axe raised high. Geran quickly stepped in front of the captive and met the half-ore’s rush with an arcane word and a lunge. His sword burst into emerald flame and took the half-ore in the notch of his collarbone, grating on bone as it struck deep. The pirate stumbled heavily and fell into the swordmage; Geran shouldered him to the side, then whirled to face the big straw-haired man and the other two pursuing from the fireside.

“Ho, so you’ve some fight in you after all!” the big man said. “I thought you were going to just run off there!” He had a cutlass in his hand, and he started forward with a more cautious advance than his crewmate had tried. The second man came up close behind him with a short boarding pike; the third fellow struggled to catch up.

“More are coming,” the half-elf woman said. And she was right; by the bonfire Geran could see more of the pirates turning aside from the fire aboard the Sokol ship and moving in their direction. He didn’t have time for a defensive fight.

He launched an attack on the big man. The fellow parried his first thrust, and blocked the slash that Geran followed with, but then Geran looped his point over the mans guard and stabbed him deeply in the meat of his sword arm. The pirate dropped his cutlass with a startled oath; before the man could recover, Geran flung out an arm and snarled another spell, flinging up a shield of ghostly white. The glowing disk caught the man with the boarding pike as he worked around to Geran’s flank and knocked him down in the sand. The fellow started to scramble to his feet, but a fist-sized rock sailed over Geran’s shoulder and caught him in the mouth. He fell back again, spitting broken teeth.

The third pirate looked up at Geran. realizing that neither of his two comrades was still in the fight. He was armed only with a long dagger, but he must have been daunted by Geran’s longer blade or magic, because he hesitated and then backed away. “Over here!” he shouted. “The girl’s getting away! Here!”

Geran snarled in frustration. He’d been within a few feet of escaping without notice! The man with the dagger realized his danger at the last moment and tried to retreat, but he lost his footing in the sand and fell. Geran silenced him with a savage kick to the jaw. Geran wheeled to face the big, yellow-haired man, just in time to duck under a wild, left-handed slash of the man’s cutlass. This man was the one who’d stripped the captive and toyed with her while she was helpless. Eyes blazing with wrath, Geran slapped his cutlass out of the way and rammed the point of his backsword into the man’s belly. The man howled in agony; Geran jerked back his point and finished the pirate with a cut that took off half of his face. He looked around for another foe to sate his anger, but no more were near.

The half-elf winced when he met her eyes and retreated a step. Geran took a breath, mastered his fury, and lowered his sword. Before any more foes could catch up, he seized the woman’s hand again and hurried her up the beach. “You’re handy with a rock, but it’s time to leave,” he told her. “We’ve worn out our welcome.”

Together they scrambled through the brush at the edge of the beach and ran up the hillside. When Geran risked another look over his shoulder, he could see dozens of men seizing burning brands from their bonfire and starting up the hill after them. The slope was treacherous in the dark; loose soil and rock slipped under their feet, and he had to keep an eye

ahead to make sure they didn’t flee into a bluff they couldn’t scale, as well as watching the pirates who followed.

He found their way blocked by a thick patch of brush at the foot of the cliff and realized they were climbing up by a different way than he’d come down. He paused, trying to find his bearings, but the half-elf took one glance and pulled him toward the left. “There’s a better path over here,” she said. Geran decided to trust her judgment and followed after her. With her elf blood, she could probably see in the dark much better than he could. When they got around the thicket, he took the lead again and steered her toward the spot where he’d left his horse.

They reached the boulders where Geran’s horse was tethered. The animal, a big, gray gelding, scented danger and pranced nervously. Geran sheathed his sword—he hated to do that with blood on the blade, but he’d just have to clean it up as best he could later—and unlooped the reins as the half-elf climbed into the saddle. Then he hauled himself up into the saddle behind her and set his heels to the horse’s flanks. They pelted out of cover along the trail as the first of the pirates reached the top behind them. The swordmage risked a glance backward and saw angry corsairs running after them brandishing torches and cutlasses. Then he leaned forward in the saddle, arms around the woman in front of him, and urged the gelding to its best speed.

His horse’s hoofbeats thundering in the night, Geran galloped out of the cove with the pirates’ captive on his saddle and leaping red firelight behind him.

11 Eleint, The Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

After a hard run of a mile or so to gain distance on the pirates, Geran slowed his horse to a canter and rode for a time. When he judged that they’d put any immediate pursuit well behind them, he let the horse settle into a trot, its breath steaming in the cool night air. The night was clear and cold, but the moon was up now; its silver light glittered on the Moonsea to their right. The woman shivered in his arms, and he realized that she was clutching only a shred of her torn dress over her torso. For that matter, he was still soaked from his moonlit swim. “I think we’ve outrun them for now,” he said. “We can stop for a moment. I have a spare shirt and cloak in my gear.”

She turned her head to look back at him. “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m freezing.”

He reined in and dropped down out of the saddle. Then he offered a hand to help her down as well, trying—but not entirely succeeding—to keep his eyes fixed on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest with an awkward grimace, and he made himself turn his attention to the satchel behind the saddle. He rummaged through it quickly and found his spare clothing. “Here. You’re welcome to it.”

He turned away and watched the trail behind them, giving her the privacy to dress as well as she could. There was no sign of the pirates behind them. He guessed they’d covered three or four miles pretty quickly; the marauders must be at least a quarter hour behind them, if indeed they were still giving chase. He heard rustling and the sound of tearing cloth. Then the half-elf spoke again. “I’m decently covered now,” she said. Geran looked back to her; she had ripped off the ruined top of her dress and

tucked his oversized shirr into what was now a very uneven-looking skirt. His cloak hung down to her ankles, and she hugged it close around her shoulders. They regarded each other for a moment.

“I’m Geran,” he told her. “I mean you no harm. If you like, I’ll see you to Hulburg and help you on your way once we get there.”

“My name is Nimessa Sokol.” She held the cloak tightly around her collar, as if she meant to hide inside it. “We were bound for Hulburg. We were supposed to land there this afternoon.”

“You’re a Sokol?”

“Yes. My father is Arandar Sokol.” She glanced over Geran’s shoulder at the trail leading back along the hills toward the cove. There was a smudge of orange light flickering against the hillside. “Is it safe to linger here?”

“No, we should keep moving,” he said. Geran didn’t know any of the Sokol family personally, but he knew of them. They were from the city of Phlan, a few days’ sail west of Hulburg. Like many of the wellborn folk around the Moonsea, they were merchant-nobles; they had interests in several cities, including Hulburg. “It’s a little less than twenty miles to Hulburg, by my guess. Too far to ride tonight, but I think we can put the pirates well behind us.”

“Then yes, I’ll be happy to let you see me to Hulburg. But you won’t have to go to any more trouble on my account. My family’s coster has a trading concession there. I’ll be fine.”

“In that case, I suggest we ride another few miles and then get off the trail. We’ll be home by noon tomorrow.”

“Home?” Nimessa looked more closely at Geran. “Of course. You’re Geran Hulmaster, the harmach’s nephew. You’re the one who fought the King in Copper and killed Mhurren of the Bloodskulls. We heard the story. But what in the world were you doing by that beach? You must be mad to challenge so many enemies at once.”

Geran allowed himself a small smile. “I’ll answer, but let’s ride while we talk.” He helped Nimessa up into the saddle again, not that she really needed the assistance, then settled himself behind her. They rode eastward along the crest of the coastal hills, following the winding trail. The moon draped the dark landscape in silver and shadow; it was clear enough that the promontories and inlets for several miles ahead were visible, and the Moonsea was a great, gray plain stretching out of sight

on their right. With Nimessa’s slim body in front of him and her golden curls just under his nose, it did not seem like such a bad night for a ride after all.

“How did you come to find me when you did?” Nimessa asked.

“An accident. I left Thentia early this morning and was looking for a place to make camp for the evening when I stumbled across the pirates and your ship. I was about to ride off when they brought you out and tied you up.” He shrugged awkwardly, even though she couldn’t see him. “I couldn’t leave you in their hands without at least trying to help, but I had to wait until it was dark before I could move. You saw the rest.”

“The fire on Whitewing? “

“Yes, I’m afraid that was my doing. I figured that she was a loss already, so I might as well deny the pirates their prize while making a distraction.” They rode on for a short time, and then Geran sighed. He hated to ask what he asked next, but he thought he’d better. “I watched for a while, Nimessa. I didn’t see any other captives. Were you the only one they spared?”

“Yes.” She looked down. “There was no one else left to save.”

“Were you—” he began, and then he stopped himself. He was going to ask if she’d been traveling alone, but he knew better. A young noblewoman of a good family would have been accompanied, most likely by a maid-in-waiting or a kinsman. There was a chance that the pirates would spare wellborn captives in the hopes of winning a rich ransom, but somehow he doubted that they’d intended to ransom Nimessa back to her family. And if they hadn’t intended to ransom her, no one else in her party would have been worth keeping alive. He let the question die on his lips. He could only imagine what she’d seen and been through. Even if she was made of stern stuff, it would not be easy on her.

After a while he realized that she was shaking inside his oversized cloak, and she failed to stifle a sob. He frowned behind her, trying to decide if it was kinder to leave her to her thoughts for a time, distract her with meaningless conversation, or draw her out and let her tell her story. Half an hour ago you were thinking of her as a princess in a Waterdeep romance story, and you the brave knight, Geran fumed at himself. She’s seen more murder and cruelty in a few short hours than most people do in a lifetime. And he’d certainly contributed his own share with his furious skirmish on the beach. All she knew of him was that he’d stolen her out of a pirate camp, savagely cutting down anyone in his path. Regardless of

the reasons he gave for his actions, she had to wonder whether his motives were honorable or not.

Not knowing what else to do, he squeezed her hand and said, “It’s over now, Nimessa.” She nodded but did not answer.

Geran found a spot that he remembered along the track and paused to look around. They still had the trail to themselves, as far as he could tell. He spurred his horse up and over the crest of the hill. An old footpath led into the low thickets and hedgerows of a small valley where a stream descended to the sea below. They headed inland into the empty hills. If the pirates were still in pursuit, Geran figured that they’d likely follow the coastal trail. They couldn’t know where Geran and Nimessa had left the trail unless they had a very good tracker with them.

A long-abandoned homestead stood at the head of the valley. It might have been wiser to keep on going, but he was exhausted, and the moon would be setting soon. There were dangers other than pirates abroad in the Highfells at night, and Geran didn’t care to meet them in the dark. He dismounted and led his horse inside the old house. There was a back door leading out to overgrown fields behind the house; if they had to, they could flee deeper into the hills.

He helped Nimessa down then busied himself with setting up a small camp. “I think it’s safe to rest a couple of hours,” he said. “We can’t ride all night, and I’m too tired to go much farther. My apologies for the accommodations.”

“For some reason a lonely old ruin in the middle of nowhere doesn’t seem so bad to me tonight,” Nimessa answered. She found a small, rueful smile. “Do you know where we are?”

“More or less. I used to hunt up here when I was younger.”

Geran found some dry brush and built a small fire inside the old hearth. He stepped around the corner to change into the last of his dry clothing and spread his wet clothes out in front of the fire. Then he shared his provisions with Nimessa, and they made a supper out of a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, dried sausage, and apples. She ate ravenously.

When Nimessa finished, she looked up at him and brushed a hand across her eyes. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening,” she explained.

“I understand.”

“And I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet for saving my life.” Nimessa dropped her gaze. “I don’t know what moved you to risk your own life to

save a stranger, but I’m very glad that you came along when you did. The things they said they would do to me—I can’t even think of it.”

“Do you know who they were?” Geran asked gently.

“The ship’s name was Kraken Queen. I saw it painted on her stern. The captain was a fierce man, maybe fifty or so, and almost as tall as you. He wore braids in his hair and beard. I never heard any of the crewmen call him anything other than ‘Captain.’”