00.1 - The Blood Price (3 page)

“You may be the master of this ship, but for the duration of this voyage, I
am the captain,” Malus snarled. “And I know very well what my rights are
regarding mutineers.” He looked at the navigator. “Chart the course. Now.”

“I…” Shebyl began, then recoiled at the look in Malus’ eyes. “Very well,
sir.”

Malus nodded. “That’s more like it.” He drained the cup. “Good wine,” he said,
setting the goblet on the table. “Hopefully there’s more where that came
from.”

Silar Thornblood was waiting for Malus when he returned to his cabin after
the evening meal. The young knight stood opposite the narrow, wooden door, his
arms folded tightly across his chest.

This is it, Malus thought the moment he caught sight of his hired retainer.
On reflex, his hand darted to the sword at his belt, then he realized that as
far as he could tell Silar hadn’t armed himself. The highborn paused in the
doorway, uncertain how to proceed. We’re an hour away from the straits, Malus
realized, but if Silar is here to kill me he’s picked a damned strange way to go
about it.

Finally the highborn stepped inside the cramped room. “What in the Dark
Mother’s name do you want?” he growled. “Shouldn’t you be up pacing the deck or
something?”

The young knight gave Malus a hard stare. His jaw worked as he struggled to
find the right words to say. Finally, he simply blurted out, “What in the name
of all the gods is wrong with you?”

Malus blinked. “What?”

“Were you dropped on your head as a child? Kicked by a horse? Was your mother
cursed?” The young knight’s voice rose as a tide of pent-up frustration bubbled
forth. “Master Gul handed you a chance at easy wealth, but you’d rather die at
Ulthuan instead?”

“Mind your damned tongue!” the highborn snapped. “Another word out of you and
I’ll have the first mate strip the skin from your back!”

“You don’t know the first thing about sailing. You waste your time gambling
with the common sailors. I haven’t made sense out of a single thing you’ve done
since I met you,” Silar replied. “And with all the advantages you’ve been
given—”

“Advantages?”
Malus spat. “Is the cheese in the trap an advantage for
the rat? Mother of Night! Who do you think you are, Silar Thornblood?”

The young knight let out a derisive snort. “Merely a very poor knight from an
all but extinct house,” he answered. “My grandfather made the mistake of
scheming against your father, long before you and I were born. Lurhan destroyed
my grandfather and all but wiped out our house. We’ve no property, no patrons,
no allies at the Hag. We’re little better than common folk now.” He glared
angrily at Malus. “There will be no hakseer-cruise for me. No one will hand me a
fortune in slaves and gold, plucked from the coasts of the human kingdoms. I
have to take a paltry wage, like a tradesman, and be glad for it.”

Malus was speechless. His anger was overwhelmed by a wave of sheer
incredulity. “And here I thought you might actually be dangerous,” he muttered
to himself. “Is that what you think is going on here? Ask yourself this, then:
if my future is so damned bright, why do you imagine my father had to
hire
you
to be my one and only retainer?”

Silar paused. “I thought Lurhan was just trying to humiliate me,” he said. “A
final slap in the face for the last of my grandfather’s line.”

The highborn sighed. “If he’d hired you to serve anyone but me, you’d
probably be right,” Malus said. “But I’m nothing to Lurhan.
Nothing.
I
was the price he had to pay when he brought my mother back from the Black Ark of
Naggor. He wanted a sorceress, and she wanted a son. He’s been dreaming of
killing me ever since, and now the opportunity has arrived. This isn’t a glory
cruise; it’s a death sentence. My father has no doubt gone to a great deal of
trouble to ensure that I don’t return to Naggaroth alive.”

Silar’s eyes widened. Before he could reply, there came a knock at the cabin
door.

Both druchii frowned in consternation. Malus turned, reaching for his sword,
and opened the door with his left hand.

Lhunara Ithil stood outside. “I want to talk to you,” she said quietly,
glancing surreptitiously up and down the passageway.

For a moment, Malus didn’t know what to say. Finally he shrugged. “Well, come
in then,” he replied, and stepped aside. “We’ll have just enough room left over
to strangle each other.”

Lhunara gave Silar a passing glance and leaned against the forward bulkhead.
Malus took the bulkhead opposite. She waited to speak until the cabin door
latched shut. “How did you know about Gul’s trap?” the first mate asked.

Malus scowled. “Trap?”

Her brow furrowed quizzically. “Lurhan paid Gul to get you killed in
Bretonnia,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”

Malus gave Silar a sidelong look. “And how did he plan to do that, exactly?”

“Gul has an arrangement with one of the coastal barons,” she said. “Each year
the baron empties out his dungeons and hands the prisoners over to us—sometimes he throws in a servant or two if it’s been a lean year. We leave his
towns and crops alone in return.” Lhunara shrugged. “Gul was going to stage a
raid on one of the baron’s villages, and then let the baron kill you when he and
his men arrived.” She shrugged. “It was a good deal for both sides, because the
baron could make a big show of killing a druchii corsair captain while Gul
sailed home to claim Lurhan’s reward.”

The young knight scowled at the first mate. “That sounds like a great deal of
trouble just to kill a single highborn,” he said. “There are dozens of simpler
ways to kill someone aboard ship. Accidents happen at sea all the time.”

“Accidents happen,” Malus agreed, “but no one with any sense would believe it—even if it was true. And Lurhan must be very careful, or he risks the wrath of
my mother, Eldire.” He tapped his lip thoughtfully. “If she believes he was a
party to my death, she would spare no effort to destroy him.” He gave Silar a
sidelong glance. “Previously, I suspected that someone had simply been
instructed to stick a knife in my ribs once we were so far from Naggaroth that
my mother could no longer watch over me with her sorcery. But this… this plan
is much cleverer, actually. By arranging to have me killed on the battlefield,
Lurhan places himself above suspicion. Gul reaps a fine reward in stolen loot,
and no one else is the wiser.”

After a moment, Malus gazed at the first mate thoughtfully. “Why are you
here, Lhunara?”

She considered her words carefully before replying. “I thought that if you
knew what Gul was up to, he was living on borrowed time, which suits me fine.”

“You don’t care much for Master Gul, then?” the highborn asked.

“I think he’d look just fine hanging off the end of my sword,” she replied
matter-of-factly. “If he hadn’t made me first mate I’d likely have killed him
before now.”

Malus smiled. “I’m told there aren’t many female corsairs. How did you wind
up on the
Manticore
?”

She shrugged. “I marched with the Witch King’s army during the last invasion
of Ulthuan,” she said. “I got a taste of war and found that I liked it. Since
there’s no place for a female in a highborn’s warband, it was the sea or nothing.
Now, tell me: how did you know what Gul was planning?”

“I didn’t,” the highborn replied.

Lhunara frowned. “Then why—”

“I looked at the map and saw that Ulthuan was half the distance from
Naggaroth than Bretonnia,” he said simply. “That meant a shorter cruise and less
time trapped on this damned ship.”

The two druchii gaped at Malus. He studied them in turn, contemplating his
sudden change of fortune. The question was, did he dare trust them?

“It would seem that all of us have a vested interest in my continued
survival,” he suggested.

Silar stole a glance at Lhunara, then regarded his erstwhile lord. “And how
is that, exactly?”

“I represent an opportunity for both of you,” the highborn replied. “Alone, I
believed that my chances of surviving this voyage were slim.”

“You’re leading us on a raid to Ulthuan,” Lhunara said. “I’d say your chances
are still pretty poor.”

Malus raised his hand. “Let’s leave that aside for the moment. It’s possible
that, with help, I could return to Hag Graef a very wealthy druchii.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Silar grumbled.

“No, we haven’t,” Malus replied. “I would return home rich and powerful. And
I would have need of retainers. Druchii I could trust.” He gave Lhunara a
meaningful look.

“You’d take me into your service?”

“Of course,” Malus replied.

“And you’ll raid Bretonnia?”

Malus shook his head. “Certainly not. Going to Ulthuan has thrown Gul
off-balance. I want him to stay that way.”

Silar shook his head. “You’d take my oath, knowing how much your father hates
my house?”

“For that reason
especially
,” Malus replied with a grin.
“Imagine how much it will vex him.”

The young knight considered this, and a baleful light came to his eyes. “I’ll
swear whatever oath you desire.”

Malus turned to Lhunara. The first mate hesitated. “I need to think on this
some more,” she said.

The highborn suppressed his irritation. “As you wish. But do not wait too
long. My patience is notoriously short.”

With a nod, Lhunara went to the door. At the threshold she paused. “One thing
more,” she said. “Gul has done this sort of thing before, helping fathers deal
with troublesome sons.”

“What of it?” Malus asked.

“Well, most times these fathers don’t like to leave matters to chance,” she
replied. “They’ll have a fallback in case Gul can’t get the job done.”

Malus frowned. “So you’re saying there could be an assassin among the crew as
well.”

She shrugged. “Something to think about,” she said, and shut the door.

Malus turned and scowled thoughtfully at Silar. “Damnation,” he muttered.

* * *

For a week the
Manticore
crossed the cold sea, curving south and east
with the currents as they drew closer to Ulthuan. News of their destination had
made its way inexorably to the ears of the crew, and their mood had turned ever
more anxious and grim with each passing day. Malus tried a few games of dice
with the sailors, determined to lose a bit of coin to lighten the mood, but none
of the sea birds would try him. Master Gul kept to his cabin, relaying
instructions to the navigator and the first mate by way of Amaleth, the second
mate.

By the sixth day the fog-shrouded bulk of the Blighted Isle loomed on the
eastern horizon. The sighting brought Gul to the fortress deck, and he spent
several tense minutes conversing with Shebyl and Lhunara. Finally, it was
decided to cleave as closely to the isle and its mists as possible, in the hopes
of avoiding enemy patrols. By the end of the day the black hull of the raider
was wreathed in cold mists that clung to the skin like grasping fingers,
chilling the druchii to the bone.

The master’s plan was a good one, but luck wasn’t with the
Manticore.
On the following morning, Malus was shaken roughly awake by Silar.

“Mother of Night!” the highborn exclaimed, tangled in sheets and glaring up
at his retainer. “What in the name of the Abyss are you doing?”

The young knight’s face was tense. “The lookout’s spotted a sail.”

Malus was awake at once. “What time is it?”

“First light.”

“Have they seen us?”

“Lhunara seems to think so.”

“Damn it all,” Malus breathed. “All right. Get me my boots.”

By the time Malus and Silar reached the fortress deck the master and his
mates were already in the middle of a heated debate. Dawn was stretching pale
streamers of light across the sky, outlining the vague shape of the Blighted
Isle to their north. Malus went to the rail and peered into the fading darkness.
There, off to the north-east, he could make out a pale triangle of sail. The
enemy patrol ship had their stern to the
Manticore,
and seemed to be
getting smaller with each passing second.

The highborn turned to Lhunara. “What’s happening?”

Lhunara shot him a worried look. “The ship changed course almost as soon as we
spotted it. It’s possible that it’s just following a standard patrol route.”

“Or it might have seen us and is running for help,” Master Gul interjected,
his teeth glinting coldly.

“All right,” Malus said. “What do we do?”

Lhunara spoke first. “We have to catch it. We can’t take the chance that it
didn’t see us.”

“Or we could give up this fool’s errand and turn back now!” Gul urged. “The
enemy won’t give chase. This is our only chance to escape.”

“Escape?” Malus growled. “
That
ship there is trying to escape,” he
said, pointing off at the receding elven ship. “And with good reason. Lhunara,
can we catch it?”

The first mate nodded. “The wind is with us. I believe we can.”

“All right then. Lower all the sails, or start rowing, or whatever it is you
do,” he replied, waving in the general direction of the masts. “And prepare the
crew for battle.”

And with that, the chase was on. Red hides crackled in the wind as
Manticore
put on full sail, and boots drummed over the deck as the crew
readied their weapons and counted the distance between them and their prey.

For a time, it seemed as though nothing changed between pursuer and pursued.
The sun rose into the cloudy sky, and Malus could see little more than the
fleeing ship’s sail, an angular chip of white on the horizon. But slowly,
steadily, as the hours wore on into the morning, the elven ship took shape.
Malus moved forward to the citadel deck, where the bowmen and the reaper bolt
thrower crews waited for action.

Then, at mid-morning, the corsair’s luck turned with the wind. It shifted
from north-east to north-west, blowing towards the Blighted Isle, and the
fleeing patrol ship lost some of her headway. The distance shrank quickly after
that, until Malus could clearly see the outline of the enemy vessel. She was low
and sleek like
Manticore,
with three masts and angular sails. Her twin
hulls were painted a rich blue and her ship’s fittings were golden. Sunlight
glinted coldly off the points of spears and silver helmets arrayed at the stern
of the ship.