Master of Whitestorm (3 page)

“The captain must decide,” retorted the healer. “I doubt the injury to Alhar was an accident.”

The marshal shrugged. He extended a hand for the healer’s satchel and helped the man back onto the gangway. A crewman arrived to replace the departed mate, and both officers retired abovedecks.

* * *

Interrupted at breakfast by news of Alhar’s misfortune, the captain heard the marshal’s account through without comment. But when the healer insisted the slaves be tortured in retribution,
Nallga’
s
commander spared no patience for tact.

“Zhaird’s hells, I’m well rid of that incompetent excuse of a mate!”

The healer frowned. “That’s a dishonorable way to account for an officer who was murdered in thy service.”

The captain’s face went white. “Alhar’s weapons were not touched.” He qualified with menacing clarity. “Slaves who kill usually have courage enough afterward to strike a blow in self defense. We’re short-oared enough without wasting the morning carving sheep.”

The captain sized the healer up in a manner that withered the reply in the man’s throat.

“Get thee gone from here,” he finished. “Quickly, or I’ll teach thee the meaning of insubordination with a rope on the end of a yardarm.”

The healer backed through the doorway, his satchel forgotten in his haste. The captain booted it out of the cabin with such violence that medicine flasks shattered within. With no pause for apology, he rounded on the marshal.

“Clear that oar and get the joiner to work on the leak. Lock the slaves in the sail room, and don’t trouble me again concerning the matter.”

* * *

Confined in the semidarkness of the sailroom, Haldeth shivered as the sweat chilled his body. The stroke of the upper deck oars rumbled through the bulkhead at his back, and he breathed air thickened with the smell of mildewed canvas. The new location held nothing by way of advantage. Stout chain secured him to the ring set in the hatch grating, and a guard stood watch beyond the companionway. The man would not sleep at his post; every sailhand down to the waterboy had suffered repercussions from the captain’s foul mood. Haldeth found no comfort knowing that blame rested on the slaves whose oar had caused Alhar’s death.

As though sensing his companion’s thoughts, Korendir whispered from the shadow. “I never promised there wouldn’t be risk.”

Haldeth’s temper flared. “What have you gained us but misery? You’ve seen what happens to those who earn the disfavor of the Mhurgai. How long do you think it will take you to break, when they strip your back raw because you moved to swat a fly?”

“Be still!” snapped Korendir. “I never act without purpose.”

Haldeth felt his wrist gripped, and a warm object pressed against his palm. He raised it toward the dull streak of daylight which fell through a crack in the hatch grating, clued by the pungent scent of pine before his eyes confirmed. Korendir had passed him the pitch which once had lined the Kahillan box. Deeply pressed in the surface was an impression of the leg-iron key, surely purloined from the ring at the mate’s belt during the confused moment while the marshal had raced the length of the gangway.

Sobered into reflection, Haldeth returned the pitch. Over the stroke of
Nallga’
s
oars, he heard the whispered scrape of a whetstone grinding shell and in darkness, Korendir’s slow smile could almost be felt.

“I’ll have you a copy,” he said softly. “Wooden, but good enough, since the marshal so kindly oiled the locks.”

Haldeth suppressed a mad urge to laugh. Under normal conditions, the leg-irons were frozen with rust. But the marshal had nearly bent his key while unlocking the slaves for transfer to the sail room. In an irritable fit of efficiency, he had commanded a deckhand to work the slide bars with oil, then inspected the job personally to ascertain the work was done well. The locks now operated with a minimum of friction. For the first time, Haldeth entertained belief that escape might be possible.

He touched his companion’s arm. “Let me help. I can sharpen while you carve.”

Korendir passed the whetstone and the duller of his two shells, then resumed work in silence. The joiner would repair the leak in under an hour, and the duplicate key must be complete before the marshal returned to fetch them back to the oar.

II

SOUTHENGARD

A SCANT
hour later, Korendir tested his finished creation on the leg irons. His own fell open with a gratifying click, but Haldeth’s proved too stiff for the wood the Kahillans used to fashion boxes. The makeshift key slivered in the lock and snapped off.

“Neth,” murmured Korendir, keen disappointment in his tone.

Haldeth felt sweat spring along his spine. Caught with one leg iron opened, and the other crammed with splinters, nothing shy of miracle could spare them retribution from their Mhurgai masters.

But Korendir wasted no time brooding over consequences. “I’ll not be stopped,” he whispered. With quick, fierce motions, he twisted off a bit of pitch and used the sticky substance to bind his own lock shut.

“Listen carefully,” he said to Haldeth. “Until we reach the bench, the Mhurgai won’t know the locks have been tampered. Before then, we have them off guard. Keep your wits and wait for my move.”

Hardened by terrible resolve, Haldeth steadied his shaken nerves. He had no choice now but see the matter through. Relieved that their plot could hold no more surprises, Haldeth reviewed the steps his captors would take to return them to the lower deck. A desperate man could perhaps find an opening which might be turned to advantage.

In the past Haldeth had observed slaves removed for punishment often enough to guess the procedure. The Mhurgai would unlock their chains at the hatch grating, then attach them to rings on the belt of the officer-appointed mate in Alhar’s stead. He and Korendir would then walk the length of the upperdeck gangway, followed by the mate and the marshal. Since Mhurgai invariably adhered to custom, Haldeth assumed the marshal would move to the lead at the head of the companionway ladder, for no officer ever risked descent with an unguarded slave at his back.

“The lower deck companionway,” Haldeth murmured softly. Loose, Korendir could drop from above and kick the marshal off balance. And piled behind the ladder lay the leaded handles of seven broken oars, ready weapons against Mhurgai taken by surprise.

“A likely choice,” Korendir agreed. “However, if better opportunity presents itself, don’t expect me to wait.”

* * *

The light through the grating reddened and slowly turned gray as sunset faded into twilight. The Mhurgai seemed in no hurry to fetch the slaves who had caused Alhar’s death. With a prolonged rumble of sound, the upperdeck oars ran in for the evening meal, heralding the close of the watch. The sailroom became oppressively quiet despite the beat of the lowerdeck oars which maintained
Nallga’s
headway. Even whispered conversation became too risky. Haldeth clenched damp fingers against his forearms. Should the wait last very much longer, he felt as if he must shout to relieve the pressure. Taut and unsettled, he glanced at his companion.

Stretched full length against a roll of spare canvas, Korendir seemed asleep. Haldeth strove to match his patience. Presently the reverse in the oar shift signalled the fact that the lower deck received supper without them. Scant minutes later, the marshal and the mate wrenched open the sail room door. Both wore their full regalia of weapons. The marshal stepped briskly inside. He bent with a grunt and unfastened the bolt ring from the hatch grating.

“Come along,” he said impatiently. “Lively, unless thee fancy an empty stomach.”

Korendir sprang to his feet. The lightest jerk would part the pitch which bound his leg iron, and he could ill afford to have his freedom exposed untimely.

The marshal’s huge lips spread into a grin. “This wretch wants his dinner, I believe.” He snapped the ring into the lock at the mate’s belt, and his grin widened into a leer. “Let him be first. We’ll take bets to see whether he can swallow fast enough to beat the call to oars.”

Haldeth blotted sweating hands on his loincloth and feigned unconcern. The marshal pulled his own chain from the grating, then yanked him forward and secured the end to the officer’s belt. Shoved toward the companionway, Haldeth stumbled. The mate cursed the wrench at his balance which resulted, and viciously retaliated with a kick. Haldeth crashed to his knees, but managed to grab the doorframe before he fell full length. Resolved to take his revenge, he stepped through with an exaggerated limp. Yet his eyes fixed hungrily on the back of the mate, and his ear remained tuned to the tread of the marshal on his heels.

Sandwiched between their Mhurgai escort, Haldeth and Korendir began their walk down the upper deck gangway. On either side, row upon row of slaves bent muscled backs in unison over the sweeps; a few grimaced in hatred as the detested marshal passed by. Sunk in animal misery, most showed no emotion at all. When Haldeth and his benchmate reached the companionway to the lower deck, the upperdeck mate caressed his whipstock and spat on the boards at Korendir’s feet. The insult drew no reaction. Korendir stepped squarely on the patch of spittle and stood with witless subservience while his Mhurgai overlords rearranged themselves for the descent.

The inhuman quality of Korendir’s acting left Haldeth chilled. He forced a deep breath to steady himself as the marshal stepped around him and lowered his bulk onto the ladder. Korendir followed. His palms left wet marks on the top rung; except for that small betrayal, he might have been born nerveless so little emotion did he display. Haldeth felt a quiver invade his knees.

The mate seemed not to notice. Encumbered by the slave chains, he lowered himself awkwardly, head tipped back to watch Haldeth. “Step on my fingers, thou, and I’ll draw blood.”

With a silent vow to break the man’s knuckles, Haldeth set his weight on the ladder. That moment, Korendir snapped his heel upward. His leg iron cracked into the marshal’s chin. The man overbalanced and tumbled backward with a bellow of surprise. The mate twisted on the rungs and snapped savagely at Korendir’s chain. The pitch binding the lock parted instantly. Korendir launched himself from the ladder, dropped like a stone toward the deck. He struck the marshal’s chest with both feet. Bone splintered, accompanied by a hideous scream.

The mate jerked back in horror. Before he could reach for weapons, Haldeth stamped down and pinned his knuckles to the rungs. Helpless, the officer cried out as Korendir closed his fists over the leg iron now which dangled empty from his belt. Haldeth jumped upward, caught the companionway latch and banged the hatch closed overhead, just as Korendir set his weight to the fetter and yanked.

Bruised fingers wrenched loose; the mate toppled, yelling, from the ladder. The lowerdeck guard charged down the gangway to the rescue. He dared not throw his knife for fear of striking the wrong man. His concern proved a waste of effort. Haldeth leapt the full height of the ladder and landed squarely on the mate’s skull. He bent, plundered keys to his freedom and weapons before the corpse had stopped shuddering.

Bloodied to the wrists over the body of the marshal, Korendir straightened, sword and knife in hand. He met the guard’s rush with a stop thrust and skewered the man through the chest. Korendir ripped the ring from the officer’s belt and dangled the keys before the stupefied lowerdeck slaves.

“You all stand condemned,” he shouted. “Who among you would fight?”

A crack punctuated his words. The companionway hatch swung open, and the upperdeck mate dropped through, screaming a Mhurga battle cry. Newly released from his chains, Haldeth met the attack with seventy pounds of leaded oar wielded like a quarterstaff. The officer crumpled like a burst grain sack.

A shout from the benches hailed his fall. A pair of hands shot up. Korendir tossed the keys. Haldeth flung himself up the ladder and once again slammed the hatch. He clung to the grating, holding it closed with his weight while slaves frantically unlocked shackles. Feet pounded overhead, counterpointed by staccato strings of orders.
Nallga
drifted uneasily on the sea, her orderly stroke abandoned.

Men leapt from the benches and joined the rebellion beneath the companionway. Soon the bodies of the fallen were stripped of weapons; other men brandished the sheared ends of their oars. A yelling horde waited to receive any Mhurga who dared attempt the companionway by the time Haldeth’s strength yielded to the prying tool applied from above.

The smith dropped clear. Caught by a dozen pairs of hands, he was shoved aside by men crazed with hatred through years of Mhurgai oppression. Slaves forced themselves at the ladder. Bodies swayed and battered upward, struggling to reach the open hatch. Their rush was messily stopped by a stand of Mhurgai dartmen. The slaves who survived fanned in an angry ring around their dying companions and screamed threats. Others sought longer lengths of oar to bludgeon any dartman foolish enough to show his face.

“Stalemate,” Korendir said softly in Haldeth’s ear. “We’ll have to end it quickly. Choose six steady men and follow.”

The smith complied without question. He picked his men swiftly and met Korendir and a second party on the gangway amidships.

“Out,” Korendir ordered. “Through the oarports and climb the strakes. Take the quarterdeck, and
Nallga
is ours.”

The men needed no urging. They footed their way over benches vacant and inhabited. Others joined them as the keys circulated into fresh hands. The squeeze through the oarport left each man vulnerable for a moment, but with the companionway the focal point of the mutiny, no crewman thought to guard the rail. A brief, bloody struggle saw captain, quartermaster, and three sail hands dead on the deck. Armed with their weapons, a shark gaff, and several marlinspikes, the slaves resolved the dispute over the lowerdeck hatch with vengeful dispatch. At the end no Mhurga remained alive.

Haldeth stripped the scarlet salamander device from the masthead and pitched it over the rail. Laughing like a drunk, he pronounced
Nallga
a free vessel. The keys of her murdered crewmen circulated quickly, and the top deck became packed with rejoicing humanity. Men rifled the captain’s coffers for gold, then broached the rum stores to sounds of tumultuous cheering. Fruit nets and perishables shortly littered the planking of the quarterdeck. Lifting two brimming tankards from the cask, Haldeth sought amid the chaos for Korendir and did not immediately find him.

Worry dampened his exuberance. Fate had a malevolent touch if Korendir proved to be one of the handful of fallen. Haldeth shoved his way aft. Inquiries after Darjir drew a string of blank faces. Openly distressed, the smith thrust his tankards into the startled hands of a stranger, then extended his search beyond the laughing crowd of the living.

Twilight had long since faded into night. Stars hung poised over the yardarm, cold after the orange glow of the lanterns. Oppressed by rising hopelessness, Haldeth almost missed the slim shadow bent over the lashing which secured
Nallga’
s
cutter to its davits.

His relief found release in anger. “What in Neth’s almighty image are you doing now? We’re free men. Isn’t that worth a celebration?”

Korendir paused. Wind flapped the folds of the officer’s cloak draped over his shoulders. “Free?” His breath hissed through his teeth. “How long will that last, in waters infested with the entire Mhurgai fleet?”

Haldeth perched himself on the rail. “There’s talk of sailing north.”

Korendir interrupted. “Also talk of sailing south.” His tone turned icy. “South, Mhurgai vengeance will finish us off. North, unless someone browbeats this crew into sealing the oarports against the weather, winter storms will make a quicker end. The first gale would see us awash to the quarterdeck, and that scrap of a sail won’t draw to weather.”

“What in Aerith do you propose instead?” Haldeth clenched his fists on his knees, unhappily aware his companion had spoken nothing but fact.

Korendir shrugged. “I don’t intend to spoil my chances by waiting to see if this lot of drunken revellers can reach agreement.” He jerked his head at the cutter. “She’s provisioned already. I’ll sail for the coast of Southengard.”

Haldeth stared, openmouthed. “What then?”

Korendir’s expression could not be read in the close, tropical night, but his hand moved to his belt and emerged cradling a pair of rubies pried from the eyes of
Nallga’s
figurehead. “I’ll build myself a holdfast,” he said carefully. “The defenses will become the death of any man who tries to break in.”

“That’s well beyond price of your gems,” Haldeth pointed out.

Korendir rattled the stones like dice in his palm. “These should buy me a horse and a good sword. I’ve heard any man who lifts the Blight of Torresdyr will inherit a wizard’s treasure. Perhaps there is enough wealth to quarry the stone.”

Haldeth felt a qualm pervade his middle. “That quest is impossible! Every man who attempted it ended up buried without a marker in the King’s tilt yard.
Are you mad?”

Korendir turned back to the lashing. “Impossible tasks pay best,” he said simply. “Don’t look to me for patience.”

Haldeth resisted a sudden urge to grab the man’s shoulders and shake him. “Would you sail alone, then?”

Korendir’s fingers hesitated on the knots. A strangely mirthless laugh convulsed his throat. He tossed one of the rubies to Haldeth. “Help yourself to Alhar’s other cloak and a rigging knife. I need a second man to launch and crew this cockle shell anyway. All along I meant to remind you of that.”