00.1 - The Blood Price (5 page)

Even Lhunara looked worried at the thought. “That patrol ship will spread the
alarm for miles in every direction.”

Malus nodded. “But they’ll be expecting us to flee now, won’t they? They’ll
circle around to the western side of the Blighted Isle and try to catch us as we
come out of the mist. So we’ll go the other way, and hit them where they least
expect us.”

“That’s madness!” Gul exclaimed. “You’re taking too many damned chances with
my ship, and I won’t have it!”

Malus stepped close to Gul. “I should be more concerned about the chances
you’re taking with me, Master Gul. Sooner or later they’ll come back to bite
you.”

The ship’s master paled slightly and turned away. Behind Gul’s back, Malus
gave Lhunara a conspiratorial look. She nodded, and the highborn smiled. He was
gaining the upper hand.

As he turned to go, the first mate said. “What’s that on your shoulder?”

Malus frowned. “How should I know? I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.”

Lhunara stepped forward. The highborn felt a sharp tug and heard a scrape of
steel. At once, he remembered the blow he’d taken on the patrol ship as he’d run
towards the main mast.

The first mate held something out to him. It was a druchii crossbow bolt.

“I guess wearing all that plate was a good idea after all,” she said.

Streamers of silver cloud wreathed a solitary moon, painting the rocky
headland in patterns of shadow. The druchii raiders kept to the darkness beneath
the trees that ran alongside the curving coastal road. Just ahead, around the
bend of a rocky outcrop, lay their objective.

Malus pulled the cloak of Ulthuan wool tighter about his shoulders. The
ship’s crew had washed out as much of the blood as possible, and they had to
hope that the darkness would conceal the rest. In his right hand he held a
looted spear, and the Sea Guard’s heavy shield hung from a strap on his left
arm. Beneath the cloak he wore a hauberk of druchii chainmail, similar in size
and bulk to Ulthuan scale armour. The silver helm was too big, and kept wanting
to slide down over his eyes. He had hoped that the spearman’s long, blond scalp
would have given him the extra padding he needed, but it still wasn’t enough.

There were nearly a hundred corsairs in the raiding party—slightly more
than two-thirds of the
Manticore
’s surviving crew. Malus had been forced
to leave Master Gul, Amaleth, and the navigator Shebyl back on the ship with a
skeleton crew; if the treacherous ship’s master wanted to abandon him, he’d be
leaving most of his corsairs behind as well. The highborn hoped that would be
enough to give the bastard pause.

Gul had put the raiding party ashore just before midnight, five miles further
north. After recovering his boats, the ship’s master was supposed to take the
Manticore
farther out to sea to avoid detection, then swing back to a point
two miles south of the town to pick up the raiders and their plunder. By Malus’
reckoning they had less than two hours left to make the attack and reach the
pickup point.

Lhunara, Silar and four other corsairs were also disguised in Ulthuan cloaks
and wargear. The rest of the attackers wore dark cloaks and unadorned helms; in
the darkness, they could pass for Lothern Sea Guard so long as no one looked too
closely. Malus turned to the first mate. “Are you sure the rest of the raiding
party knows what to do?”

She scowled at him from beneath the brim of her dented helm. “It’s not
exactly complicated,” she replied. “They’ve done this sort of thing before, you
know.”

“Fine,” Malus growled. “Lead on.”

The disguised druchii stepped out onto the road, and Lhunara took a few
moments to make sure the “spearmen” were arrayed in proper marching order before
heading off. Malus walked alongside her, his spear resting against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she muttered.

“Neither can I,” Malus said.

“This was your idea!”

The highborn chuckled under his breath. “Well, yes. I just wasn’t sure I’d
live long enough to get this far.”

Just past the outcrop of rock the druchii found themselves at the north end
of a broad, shallow cove, edged with forests of dark green pine. The coast road
ran on for another hundred yards or so, and ended before the high gate of the
elven town. As Malus watched, the moon slipped from behind the clouds, and the
pearly light gleamed off the white stone of the town’s high wall and its tall,
graceful buildings. He suppressed a shudder at the sight of the place: it was
decadent and debased, with its gleaming white stone and jewel-like lamps. The
highborn could almost smell the weakness of its inhabitants, and felt the sudden
urge to put it all to the torch.

Globes of turquoise-coloured light shone at regular intervals along the top
of the town wall, and Malus saw solitary figures pacing along its length.
Lhunara muttered a curse. “They’ve been alerted,” she murmured. “I warned you
about this.”

“So what does that mean, exactly?”

“At this hour, about a third of the town watch will be on the walls and
guarding the gates. The rest will be sleeping nearby in full armour.”

“How many warriors will there be?”

She shrugged. “For a town this size? Maybe a hundred.”

Malus grunted. “Is that all? We can take them.”

“If we can get inside the walls!” Lhunara hissed.

“Well, then, you’d best be convincing, hadn’t you?”

They marched along the road in plain view, their helmeted heads bowed as if
in weariness. Malus could feel the eyes of the sentries upon him as they came up
to the gate.

“Who goes there?” spoke a cold, quiet voice from above. The language of
Ulthuan was a debased relative of druhir, but close enough that Malus could make
out most of what the sentry was saying.

“A shore patrol from the
White Lion
,” Lhunara answered, her husky voice
thick with feigned weariness. “The captain put us ashore north of here to look
for signs of the druchii raiders. Have any of you seen anything?”

“None,” the sentry replied. “You say you’re from the
White Lion?
I
don’t know that ship.”

“This isn’t our normal patrol route,” the first mate replied without skipping
a beat. “We’d been out hunting pirates west of the Blighted Isle and were
heading back to port at Lothern when we got word there was a raider in the
area.” Lhunara shifted from foot to foot. “May we enter, cousin? We’d like a
place to rest our feet and get some food if we could. We’ve got another five
leagues to march before the dawn.”

The sentry didn’t reply right away. Malus kept his gaze focused on the paving
stones at his feet and tried to appear tired and bedraggled. Finally the warrior
spoke. “Very well. Come inside.”

A ripple of tension ran through the raiders as quiet orders were passed
beyond the gate, and the sound of heavy bolts being drawn back. The highborn
turned and surreptitiously glanced back at the outcropping a hundred yards
distant. He hoped the raiders were paying attention, and were fast on their
feet.

The tall gates swung open. Malus waited until Lhunara started to move, then
fell in line beside her. His hand tightened on the haft of his spear.

There were two warriors on each of the gates, their spears laid aside as they
wrestled the portals open. Beyond them the road continued through an open square—where almost two score soldiers slept or tended their weapons in a temporary
bivouac.

Malus felt his blood run cold. “Blessed Mother of Night,” he cursed under his
breath.

One of the warriors on the gate next to him raised his head at the sound.
“Did you say something, cousin?” he asked.

The highborn glanced up at the warrior, trying to think of a quick lie—and
met the spearman’s gaze. Too late, he saw the look of shock on the warrior’s
face as the warrior noticed the highborn’s dark eyes, and knew that their ruse
was finished.

“At them!” he yelled, smashing the rim of his oval shield into the spearman’s
face. The elf staggered backwards with a cry, blood spurting from his broken
nose, and the highborn buried his spear in the soldier’s throat.

Shouts of alarm rang through the air all around the druchii. Lhunara threw
off her cloak and helm and attacked the spearmen to her left with a feral
shriek. Silar dropped spear and shield and drew his long sword, readying himself
as the first of the soldiers camped in the square charged at them.

The second spearman to Malus’ right turned and dashed for his weapon. The
highborn reversed his grip on the spear and hurled it at the warrior, striking
the elf between the shoulder blades. “Stay beneath the arch!” he warned the
corsairs. They just had to hold the gate open long enough for their
reinforcements to arrive, but with seven against forty, he didn’t think they
were going to last very long.

Malus raced up to join Silar just as the enemy spearmen attacked. The young
knight knocked a thrusting spear aside and caught his attacker full in the face
with a backhanded cut. Another elf warrior charged forwards and stabbed
two-handed with his spear, driving the keen point through the mail covering
Silar’s left shoulder. Malus stepped in with a snarl and severed the spearman’s
left arm at the elbow, hurling him back in a spray of steaming blood. As Silar
pulled the spear free, the highborn stepped past him and caught another
spear-thrust against his looted shield. The enemy warrior, in his haste, had
forgotten his own shield, and Malus made him pay for the error. His blade
slipped beneath the edge of the spearman’s scale hauberk and plunged deep into
the warrior’s guts.

Screams and shouts of pain sounded all around Malus. More and more soldiers
were joining the battle, and he was forced to give ground in the face of a
thicket of stabbing spears. Two of the corsairs lay dead beneath the gate arch,
and another bled from a wound in his chest. Malus caught a trio of spearmen
swinging wide to his right, and realized they were trying to reach the gate.
They could use the oak barrier to push the druchii outside.

Cursing, Malus turned to rush at them—and then a spear-thrust from his left
glanced off his stolen helmet and knocked the rim down over his eyes. Yelling,
he raised his shield to ward off another blow and fumbled with the unfamiliar
helm, trying to shift it around and hold onto his sword at the same time. There
was a searing pain in his left leg as a spear point sank into his thigh. Furious
and blind, he knocked the weapon loose with the rim of his shield. Then a huge
impact on his back knocked him off his feet and a triumphant roar echoed in his
ears.

Malus covered himself with his shield as he hit the ground, and the
bone-jarring impact sent the helmet flying. Heavy footfalls shook the ground all
around him; the highborn looked about frantically and realized that the bulk of
the raiders had finally arrived. Screaming corsairs raced out of the night and
swept in a black tide over the startled defenders, driving them past the gate
arch and back into the square. Within seconds the battle was receding into the
distance as the surviving spearmen retreated deeper into the town.

Safe for the moment, Malus cast aside his shield and tried to check on the
wound in his leg. Blood had already soaked through his robes and was dripping
freely on the ground. Silar stood nearby, stuffing a bloodstained rag into the
hole in his armour. Seeing the highborn’s wound, the young knight forgot what he
was doing and joined Malus. “How bad is it?” Silar asked.

Malus grimaced. “Damned if I know,” he said. “It hurts like the blazes, but I
think I can stand.”

“It’s bleeding freely, my lord. Best let me bandage it first,” Silar replied,
and began tearing strips from a dead spearman’s cloak.

By the time Silar had knotted the field dressing tight the battle in the town
was over. Lhunara came jogging back to the gate, her sword dripping red and her
face spattered with gore. “I was wondering what happened to the two of you,” she
said.

“Never mind us,” Malus growled. “What of the battle?”

The first mate grinned. “The town is ours,” she said. “The garrison is
finished, and we’re searching the houses for captives. Looks like the women and
children fled earlier in the day, though. Probably hiding somewhere up in the
hills. Lots of plunder, though, so we won’t be leaving empty-handed.”

Malus nodded as Silar helped him to his feet. It wasn’t a total victory, but
not a total loss, either. “Take everything you can, but be quick. We’re running
short on time.”

It was just over an hour before the raiders were ready to move again, with
three looted wagons laden with plunder and a coffle of thirty slaves. Losses
among the raiders had been light, and despite the precariousness of their
situation the corsairs were jubilant as they set off down the southern coast
road. Malus rode in the lead wagon, cursing the wound in his leg. He could walk,
but there was no way he could keep up the pace to get to the rendezvous in time.
The druchii gave their captive cousins a taste of the lash to hurry them along.

They raced down the curving road, trading caution for speed and trusting to
the fickle luck of the gods to see them through. It was just past the hour of
the wolf when Lhunara gave the signal to leave the road and make for the narrow
strip of beach to their right. Malus focused his tired eyes and peered into the
darkness offshore. If the
Manticore
was out there, she was invisible in
the night.

Exhausted, the coffle of slaves collapsed onto the sand. Lhunara barked
another set of orders and the corsairs got to work posting lookouts and
unloading the wagons. Silar came up alongside the highborn and searched the dark
horizon as well. “You don’t think he left us, do you?” the young knight asked,
giving voice to Malus’ fears.

“Gul’s chances of making it back to Clar Karond with such a small crew would
be very slim,” Malus said. “Even I know that.” Still, he thought, it could be
done. He wished he’d insisted on having the navigator accompany the raiding
party, but it was likely that even the crew would have balked at such a reckless
notion.