Corsair

FIVE

19 Eleint, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

Seadrake sailed on the morning tide three days after Geran’s visit to the Erstenwold storehouse. As promised, Mirya and her daughter, Selsha, came down to the wharves to see them off, along with a couple hundred prominent Hulburgans and curious onlookers, including Nimessa Sokol and Harmach Grigor, who was driven down from Griffonwatch in an open carriage. Geran enjoyed the fanfare until Hamil punctured his mood by pointing out that all of the Moonsea would know of Seadrake’s sailing within five days. They wouldn’t be surprising any enemies for the foreseeable future.

The breeze was light and fitful; the caravel nosed her way slowly past the spectacular Arches guarding Hulburg’s harbor. In the morning light the soaring columns of stone seemed to glow with an emerald luminescence. As Hulburg receded behind them, the breeze freshened and Seadrake began to throw back a small wave from her bow.

“Master Galehand, make your course south by southwest,” Geran told the dwarf. “Hold that for an hour or so, and then bring her around to a northwesterly course. We’re going to keep in sight of land and work westward until we pass Thentia. I doubt Kraken Queen is still on this shore, but we might as well make sure she isn’t.”

“Aye, Lord Geran,” the dwarf replied. He shouted orders at the sailors on deck, followed by colorful oaths in Dwarvish as the untried crew set about their work.

Geran retreated to the lee side of the quarterdeck and left Galehand to supervise the watch, leaning against the rail to observe the crew at work while he considered his course. Sarth Khul Riizar climbed up onto the quarterdeck and glanced at the town falling into the distance behind them. The tiefling was an intimidating sight, with ruddy red skin and black horns sweeping back from his forehead. At his belt hung a long scepter of iron marked with golden glyphs. Geran knew they held powerful spells of battle and ruin; Sarth was a talented sorcerer. “Hardly any breeze to speak of,” Sarth observed. “We might as well have waited for better winds.”

“I was anxious to begin.” Geran straightened up and clasped Sarth’s arm. “I’m glad you decided to join us, Sarth.”

“It’s nothing.” Sarth shrugged. “I am happy to be of service, but I fear that I have no spells to summon a more favorable wind.” Five months ago Sarth had emerged as one of the heroes of the Battle of Lendon’s Dike. The people of Hulburg knew he’d battled furiously on their behalf, and few held his devilish appearance against him. From what little Geran had gathered of Sarth’s travels and adventures before his arrival in Hulburg, that was an unusual circumstance for the tiefling to find himself in.

“The wind suits me well enough for now. No one else is sailing any faster than we are today,” Geran replied. With the wind out of the west, they’d need to tack back and forth across it to beat their way westward. “But since you mention spells … do you have any means for divining the location of Kraken Queen?”

“Not without some tangible connection to the ship. Find me something or someone that was actually part of the ship, and I might be able to discern the direction and distance to her.”

“What about Nimessa Sokol? Should we go back to Hulburg for her?”

“I spoke with her already. She was held on Whitewing, and didn’t set foot on the pirate vessel. And even if she had, it might not have left a strong enough psychic impression. It takes time for such a link to form and grow strong, and Nimessa was only in the pirates’ keeping for a few hours.”

“I suppose that would have been too easy,” Geran said. “Well, we might find something you can use at the cove where Whitewing was sacked.”

It took Seadrake most of the day to work her way along the deserted coastlands between Hulburg and Thentia. Geran remained on deck, learning the feel and sounds of the ship, watching the crew handle the sails, and watching the sailing master and the other officers handle the crew. Two hours before sunset, Seadrake rounded the last cape and came within sight of Whitewing’s burned skeleton.

There was no sign of the pirate ship. “Damn,” Geran muttered to himself. He hadn’t really expected to find Kraken Queen here after eight days, but it certainly would have been convenient. He looked over to Worthel, who’d replaced Galehand on watch. “Drop anchor here and lower a boat, Master Worthel. I’m going to have a look ashore.”

“Aye, Lord Geran,” Worthel said. He frowned under his broad mustache of red-streaked gray. “But I don’t think there’s much to see there. She’s burned down to her keel.”

A quarter hour later, Geran, Sarth, Hamil, and Kara waded ashore from the ship’s boat. They inspected the burned wreck of Whitewing, and the scattered remains of the Sokol ship’s cargo, still strewn across the pebbled shore. Kara carefully studied the tracks and refuse left behind by the pirate crew, pacing back and forth across the cove as she followed the story she read there. Geran knew of no better tracker on the north side of the Moonsea, and he waited for her to finish. If there was anything to be found in the cove, she would find it. After a time, Kara brushed her hands off against the mail aprons of her armor and rejoined him. Her eyes gleamed with the uncanny azure of her spellscar in the fading light of the day.

“What do you make of it?” Hamil asked her.

“They left five or six days ago,” Kara answered. “I make their numbers at eighty or ninety, mostly humans with a few orcs and ogres. Most of the crew slept on the beach for the two or three days they stayed here.” That was not unusual; most captains, pirate or merchant, preferred to make camp ashore if conditions permitted. As long as the crew posted a few sentries, it was undoubtedly safer than continuing to sail through the hours of darkness, and most vessels plying the waters of the Moonsea or the Sea of Fallen Stars offered very little in the way of accommodations for their crews.

“Did you find anything that might have belonged to Kraken Queen?” Sarth asked. “A scrap of canvas, some discarded rope, an empty water cask?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid,” Kara answered. She held up a battered old wooden baton about two feet in length-a belaying pin. “I did find this near where they had their ship drawn up. It’s the best I could do for something that was part of the pirate ship … but there are several fresh graves over there in the brush above the high-water mark.”

Geran nodded. “I killed at least two men when I fought my way out of the camp.” He didn’t think he’d mortally wounded anyone else, but perhaps the pirate captain had decided to settle some question of discipline during Kraken Queen’s stay in the cove. The bodies might serve Sarth’s requirement, but he kept that thought to himself. They were too near the Highfells and the domain of the lich Aesperus to unearth corpses, regardless of what they intended to do with the remains. Better to leave the pirates’ dead in peace.

“Let me have a look.” Sarth held out his hand for the pin and examined it closely. The tiefling murmured the words of a spell and then closed his eyes in concentration. After a moment he snorted and shook his head. “It belonged to Kraken Queen, but the aura is weak or the ship is far away,” he said. “I cannot discern her direction.”

“It was worth a try,” Geran said. He sighed and looked out over the purple-hued waters lapping against the pebbled shore. “Very well, then. We’ll have to search out Kraken Queen the hard way. We’ll stay here for the night and begin in the morning.”

Over the next five days Geran steered Seadrake westward along the Moonsea’s northern coast past Thentia and Melvaunt as far as the River Stojanow and the small city of Phlan, with no luck. The weather worsened, as cool gray skies settled in with sheets of cold rain every night. By day Seadrake crashed through heavy swells, throwing white spray over the bow and running across the wind with a strong heel to her decks. They crossed the Moonsea to the southern shore near Hillsfar and spent another five days working eastward as they searched the numberless islets and forested coves that crowded the shore between that city and the River Lis. Still they had no sign of the ship they sought, and Geran decided that his quarry was not in the southern Moonsea either. That left only the two far corners of the Moonsea unvisited: the west end by the River Tesh and the Galennar, the wild eastern reaches of the Moonsea, where the mountains ringing Vaasa met the coast in mile after mile of spectacular cliffs. But Geran hesitated before ordering Galehand to set his course for either end. Both were desolate and unsettled, with no merchant shipping to speak of. Pirates would find no prey, no safe harbors, and no markets for their stolen goods at either end of the Moonsea. Geran worried at the puzzle for most of a rain-soaked afternoon then decided to call at the port of Mulmaster before he settled on his next move. If he heard nothing of Kraken Queen in the crowded city, he’d venture into the desolate Galennar.

It was only a few hours’ sail from the Lis to Mulmaster. Seadrake sculled slowly into Mulmaster’s narrow, fortified harbor at the end of the cool, rain-misted autumn day. Beetling ramparts and dark towers loomed over the harbor; Mulmaster climbed steeply toward the barren mountains at its back, a sprawling, grim-faced city. Under the city’s ruling nobles-or Blades, as they styled themselves-Mulmaster was a city where those with gold did anything they wanted, and those who didn’t have gold did anything they could to get it. The harbor was crowded with roundships and galleys from many different cities and trading houses, but Kraken Queen was not among them.

“I never much cared for Mulmaster,” Hamil remarked as Galehand steered the ship toward an open anchorage. “The first time I came here, I had to bribe someone just to find out the proper way to bribe someone! Hardly a friendly or forthcoming people, these Mulmasterites.”

“That’s been my experience of Mulmaster,” Geran agreed.

Kara nodded toward the stone quays as they came abreast of them. Several merchant ships rocked gently alongside, their decks illuminated with lanterns. Even at the end of the day, porters still worked to unload one of the ships, carrying casks and bundles up out of her hold in a steady stream. “The Veruna yards,” Kara said. She looked at Geran. “Seadrake may be recognized here, you know.”

Geran nodded. He was a little nervous about bringing the ship into House Veruna’s home waters too. “I doubt the Verunas would try to seize Seadrake by force,” he said. “We have enough fighting power on board to resist a merchant company’s armsmen.”

“True, but the Verunas might convince a magistrate or the High Blade to order the ship impounded. We can’t outfight Mulmaster’s navy or escape the port if they raise the harbor chain behind us.”

“We’ll choose an inconspicuous mooring,” Geran decided. “Master Galehand, steer for that one there; it’s not very close to shore.” With darkness falling, any Veruna retainers ashore who might recognize Seadrake wouldn’t see much more than one more dark hull riding at anchor out in the harbor.

“Aye, Lord Geran.” The dwarf took the helm himself and steered for the spot Geran had pointed out. Seadrake was no galley; she was slow and ungainly under oars. Geran couldn’t shake the impression that the whole city was silently watching their tedious progress to the empty mooring spot he’d selected. Finally Galehand brought the ship to a stop and ordered the crew to drop anchor.

“Master Galehand, put the longboat in the water,” Geran said. “Keep the crew at the sweeps and be ready to slip the cable and make for the open sea if anything goes amiss. Hamil and I are going ashore to see what we can learn. Kara, take command here.”

Kara nodded.

“What of me?” Sarth asked.

“I’d like you to come with Hamil and me,” Geran told the tiefling. “Your talents may prove useful ashore.”

Half an hour later, six of Seadrake’s sailors rowed the ship’s boat up to the quay along the south side of the harbor and tied up. Geran, Hamil, and Sarth clambered out of the boat and climbed the short flight of stone steps leading up to the street by the harborside. Choosing a direction more or less at random, Geran set off into the dank, foggy streets. It was still early enough that they passed many people, most of them laborers and workmen still engaged in the business of the day, but they also encountered men and women dressed for the evening’s revels and the occasional patrol of watchful soldiers.

They visited several different tradeyards and countinghouses near the waterfront, asking about Kraken Queen and spreading coin discreetly to help loosen tongues. Few of the Mulmasterites seemed inclined to be helpful, but in a wineshop across from the city’s chief customshouse, Hamil discovered a handful of touts and clerks from the Moonsea’s larger trading houses drinking after a long day in the merchant yards. The halfling brought a dour, gray-haired man in a House Jannarsk tunic to the table where Geran and Sarth sat, and set a flagon of good Sembian wine in front of him.

“This is Master Narm, a senior clerk who works for House Jannarsk,” Hamil said. “He’s on the Jannarsk wharves pretty much every day and deals with the Mulmasterite harbormasters. He’s not averse to supplementing his salary by answering a few harmless questions.”

Narm shrugged. “The Jannarsks care not, so long as I keep their business to myself. I’ll not speak of Jannarsk cargoes.”

Most likely that meant that Narm wouldn’t speak of Jannarsk cargoes without a more substantial bribe, but that didn’t bother Geran. He didn’t really care what House Jannarsk was sending into or out of Mulmaster. “I understand,” he said. “Have you ever seen a good-sized war galley-a ship with a black hull and the figurehead of a mermaid with a kraken’s tentacles on her bow-in the harbor here?”

The Jannarsk man shook his head. “No, no such ship’s called in Mulmaster so long as I’ve been posted here, and that’s two years now. But I’ve heard a tale about a ship like that. She’s a pirate.”

Geran allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He’d been a little afraid that Kraken Queen might be anchoring openly in Mulmaster and sailing under a letter of marque from the High Blade. If the pirates harrying Hulburg’s shipping were under Mulmaster’s protection, that would have been a daunting challenge to say the least; Hulburg had no hope of forcing the rulers of the larger city to give up the practice. “Go on,” he said.

“A merchant I did business with was ruined by a ship with a kraken figurehead. He owns a couple of cogs that ply the route between Hillsfar and Mulmaster, importing Dalelands grain, cheese, fruit, and such-a decent trade for a small shipowner. But his biggest cog was taken by two pirate ships a few miles off the Lis back before Midsummer. Both pirates flew the same banner-a black field with a crescent moon and a cutlass.” Narm lowered his voice. “The banner of the Black Moon Brotherhood.”

“The Black Moon Brotherhood?” Sarth asked.

“I’m afraid that it’s little more than a story to frighten children into good behavior,” Geran answered. “There have always been rumors of a pirate league in the Moonsea, and any time pirates appear in these waters, people begin to tell those stories again.”

Narm scowled. “It might’ve been little more than a fable a year or two ago, but it’s true enough now. I spoke with a man who survived the attack-an armsman paid to defend the cog-and he told me what he saw.”

“Pirates don’t often leave witnesses behind,” Hamil observed.

“The armsman went over the side during the fight, but was lucky enough to find a bit of flotsam to cling to until another ship picked him up.” Narm shrugged. “Believe me or not, as you will. The shipowner’s cog was certainly taken, of that I have no doubt.”

“I don’t doubt you about the pirate attack on the cog. It’s the pirate league I wonder about.” Geran rubbed his jaw, thinking. “You’re certain you haven’t seen the black galley with the kraken-maid under her bowsprit here? You haven’t heard anyone speaking of a ship named Kraken Queen?”

“No, she’s never called in Mulmaster.” The clerk shook his head. He hesitated a moment then offered, “However, I might know of someone who would know more about such matters.”

Geran nodded to Hamil, who paid off the man with a half-dozen gold crowns. Narm quickly scooped the coins into his pouch. “Sometimes we find it useful to avoid the formalities of customs,” he said in a low voice. “There’s a man named Harask who helps us arrange matters. You can find him in the storehouse across from the Bitter End, a taphouse on the southwest wharves. Be warned that he’s not above robbing a couple of strangers and dumping their bodies in the harbor.” The clerk gave the three companions a shallow bow and withdrew.

Geran waited until the man was out of earshot and leaned in close to speak to Sarth and Hamil. “What do you make of it?” he asked them.

“We could seek out the armsman who survived the attack,” Sarth said.

“I doubt that it’s worth the effort,” Hamil said. “After all, Geran’s seen Kraken Queen. What else would we learn from the armsman?”

“I don’t recall a standard on Kraken Queen when I saw her,” said Geran. “But my attention was fixed on Nimessa Sokol and the danger she was in. I might have missed it.”

Hamil smirked at him. “You mean you were distracted by the beautiful, half-naked woman tied up on the beach? Honestly, Geran, a hero of your quality should be able to keep his mind on business.”

Geran remembered Nimessa’s bare shoulders and the feel of her slim body before him in the saddle. He quickly pushed the idle thought aside. “I’ll ask Nimessa if she recalls a moon-and-cutlass standard the next time we call at Hulburg,” he said. If Narm’s secondhand story was accurate, then Seadrake might be hunting a flotilla instead of a single ship. And the fact that Narm had told them about an attack on a Mulman ship suggested corsairs who were preying on any Moonsea traffic they happened across, instead of waylaying Hulburg’s trade alone. “I say we pay a visit to this Harask and see what he can tell us about Black Moon pirates.”

They left the wineshop and headed back down toward the wharves, where the taphouses and taverns were filled with a rougher crowd. “It’s possible that we’ve just missed Kraken Queen so far,” Hamil pointed out as the three companions strolled down the center of the street, avoiding the filthy gutters. “If she was on the north shore while we were on the south shore, we could easily have passed her by. For that matter, she might be lurking near Hulburg again by now.”

Sarth snorted. “Best not to dwell on that possibility. We could chase the pirate ship around the Moonsea for tendays, if that’s the case.”

They made their way toward the poorer side of the city, passing a series of progressively more disreputable and dangerous establishments. The night grew clammy and cool, and a foul-smelling fog settled over the city’s waterside districts. It took them the better part of an hour to find the Bitter End. From the darkened street outside, they heard the muffled sound of voices, the clinking of tin cups, and the occasional shout or harsh bark of laughter. Across the street a dilapidated storehouse loomed in the fog.

Sarth frowned. “After hours of searching, I believe we have found the foulest establishment in this dismal city. Our prospects can only improve after this.”

Geran raised an eyebrow. Was that a jest from the straitlaced tiefling? He wouldn’t have expected it from Sarth. “If we learn nothing new here, we’ll give up for the night,” he said. “Come on, we might as well get it over with.”

He went to the storehouse door and knocked sharply. There was no answer at first, but then voices muttered and floorboards creaked inside. Someone drew back a bolt with a rasp of metal, and Geran found himself looking at a pair of sullen Mulmasterites in dirty workman’s garb, standing in a small clear space at the front of cluttered stacks of crates and casks. Both men wore long knives at their belts. “What d’you want?” one growled.

“We’re here to speak with Harask. Is he here?”

The two men looked at each other then stepped back from the door. “He’s here. Come in.”

The three companions entered. Their sullen guides led them through the leaning stacks of cargo to a clear space near the back of the storehouse, where a small crowd of dirty humans and half-orcs lounged on rough-hewn benches or sat on old barrels. The ruffians glared at the three of them suspiciously. In the middle of the room stood a ham-fisted, round-bodied, black-bearded man who wore an ill-fitting jerkin of leather studded with steel rivets.

“Well, well,” the fat man rumbled. His voice carried the thick, throaty accent of Damara or Vaasa. “A human, a halfling, and a devilkin walk into a room. I’m waiting for the rest of the joke.”

“Are you Harask?” Hamil asked. “We may have a business proposition for you.”

Harask spread his hands. “I am listening.”

Geran spoke next. “We’re looking for a ship that sails under a black banner-a banner with a crossed crescent moon-and-cut-lass design. Have you ever seen such a ship or such a banner?”

“I might have,” Harask answered. “What’s it to you?”

“We’ll pay well for news of her whereabouts,” Geran answered.

“Ah, so you are a man of means,” Harask observed. His eyes darted to the ruffians lounging behind Geran. Geran whirled and reached for his sword, just in time. Without a word the smugglers waiting in the storehouse threw themselves at the three companions, producing knives and cudgels hidden under their cloaks and tunics. For a furious instant, Geran feared that they might be overwhelmed. He dodged back from a knife slash, parried the fall of a club with his blade then slashed the truncheon out of his enemy’s hand with a cut that also removed two fingers. Behind him, Hamil put a man on the floor with a cut to the hamstring then threw himself at the shins of another ruffian to send him crashing to the floor. Geran knocked that one unconscious with a kick to the face while he was on the ground. Then a brilliant, blue flare seared the room, and lightning crackled across the space. Several of the ruffians shrieked and fell convulsing. As quickly as it had started, the brief assault fell to pieces.

Sarth held up his rod that was glowing with a dangerous blue light. “I do not care to be accosted by the likes of you!” he snarled. The ruffians still on their feet stared at him then bolted for the door.

Geran turned back to Harask and found the fellow halfway out a small, concealed door. He lunged after him and dragged him back into the room, throwing him into his seat. Then he tapped his sword point on the man’s chest. “Now where were you going?” he asked.

The fat man glared at him. “You’ll be sorry for this,” he said. “I have powerful friends in this city! They’ll see to you soon enough.”

“I don’t much care about your friends,” Geran replied. He reached down and seized Harask by the collar, giving him a good shake. “Now tell me, what do you know about the Black Moon?”

“To the Nine Hells with you!”

Geran was out of patience. Some of the ruffians might already be on their way to summon more help or even find the local Watch, and he had no particular desire to explain himself to the lawkeepers in Mulmaster. He cracked the flat of his blade across Harask’s left ear, a stinging blow that elicited a howl of pain and raised a bright welt on the side of Harask’s face. “Mind your manners,” he said. “Now, tell me: Have you seen a ship with that banner? Where did you see her?”

“Zhentil Keep,” the man replied. “Damn it all, she was in Zhentil Keep! Now leave me be!”

“You’re lying. No one goes to Zhentil Keep. It’s a monster-haunted ruin.”

“Cyric take my tongue if I am lying!” the man snarled. “Outlaws and smugglers from the cities nearby hide in the ruins along the Tesh. No one troubles them, and there’s always a ship or two there looking for a few hands.”

The swordmage narrowed his eyes, studying Harask, who sat glaring at him with a hand clapped up against his ear. If he’d been in the ruffian’s place, Zhentil Keep was exactly the place he might have told his interrogator to go to. The ruins happened to lie all the way at the other end of the Moonsea, and they were infested with monsters. But Zhentil Keep was about the only place in the western Moonsea that he hadn’t looked already. Merchant ships had no reason to go any farther west than Hillsfar and Phlan, so he’d turned Seadrake back to the east without working his way another hundred miles into the prevailing wind to search deserted coasts and ruined cities. The prospects for a pirate lair in the ruins seemed almost as dim as those for a base in the Galennar … but Geran had heard stories that brigands and such outlaws occasionally laired in Zhentil Keep. It was at least plausible that pirate ships might lurk there too.

I believe he’s telling the truth, Hamil said to him.

Geran knew that the talent of the ghostwise for speaking mind-to-mind didn’t allow Hamil to read the thoughts of others, but it did mean that the halfling had a better sense for truthfulness than most. I think so too, he answered Hamil. To Harask he said, “If I find that you’ve lied to me, I will come back for you.” He jerked his head toward Sarth. “My friend the sorcerer here will invert you with his magic. You’ll walk on your tongue and carry your eyes on your arse, so you’d better hope that we find what we’re looking for in Zhentil Keep.”

Sarth gave Geran a startled look, but Harask didn’t see it; he was cringing. “I’ve told you what I know!” he said.

The swordmage looked at his companions and nodded toward the door. They filed into the fogbound street outside. None of the men who’d fled the storehouse were in the vicinity; Sarth’s magic had well and truly put them to flight.

“So it’s off to Zhentil Keep, then?” Hamil asked in a low voice.

“So it seems,” Geran answered. A shrill whistle rang through the night, piercing the fog. Apparently some of the ruffians had run straight for the Watch to report dangerous sorcery on the loose. Geran winced then exchanged looks with Sarth and Hamil. “Let’s be on our way. I think we’ve worn out our welcome in Mulmaster.”