The Mercenaries - Ed Greenwood [17]
"He's killed people," Anvil put in, "lots of them, I'd say. And he's gotten very good at it."
Rings lifted a finger from the bowl in his hands and put it to his lips. "He didn't have the same soup as the rest of us, mind," he said grimly, "whatever he told us."
"Maybe he was part of Redbeard's crew," the deep voice of Kurthe said, out of the darkness along the rail. His eyes glowed like two red flames; Ingrar stared at him, wondering why he'd never noticed that before.
The others shifted aside to let the big Konigheimer into their circle. Ingrar glanced around quickly; they weren't acting as if anything about the big man was odd.
"He fled mighty fast from Tharkar," Kurthe continued, hooking two thick thumbs into his belt, "and with pains to keep quiet, too. And he seemed to know a ship'd be following us. It could be he did his captain out of some of Ralingor's loot-a treasure map, say, or a logbook-and made a run for it, hiring us to swing swords for him and die, if Redbeard ever catches up with him."
"But Blackfingers never-" Sharessa protested, and then fell silent, as Kurthe's familiar arm went around her hip. His fingers lingered, as they always did, on the little ridge there, that marked the top of the old sword-scar that ran down across her belly like a restless white snake.
What had they really known of Ralingor's wealth? He was always laughing and drinking cellars-full of good wine, and spending coins by the fistful… but where had he kept it hidden, and how much could any man have left, after pouring it away by night and day the way Blackfingers had?
In shared silence the Sharkers considered Kurthe's all-too-likely scenario… and the silence lengthened as the implications sank in. And brought on chills.
"He'd make a good pirate captain," Anvil said. "But not one you could ever relax around. He's too-dangerous."
"Aye, I want to trust him," Belgin agreed, "but-"
"Trust," Kurthe echoed, twisting his lips to make the word a curse. "He wanted us to trust him-and men who bleat about trust, as far as I've ever seen, just do it to make you down shield as they drift close enough to drive a blade into you."
"So why'd you want to become a pirate?" Rings asked merrily.
Kurthe just snarled at him wordlessly, and stumped away.
"Not much laughter there," Brindra murmured. "Mayhap-"
Whatever she might have speculated was lost and forgotten before it was said. At that moment tattered black clouds drifted away from the moon, and in the sudden blue-white brilliance everyone on board clearly saw the black ship that had attacked them earlier, scudding along astern and off to the north.
The sailors of that dark vessel obviously saw the Morning Bird too. It immediately heeled over and turned toward them, extra sails rippling as they were unfurled.
The Sharkers erupted in heartfelt curses. "We'd better find Belmer," said Sharessa, "and get our orders before it's too late to be doing anything but dancing with skeletons again!"
"Keep low, ignore any firepots and the like, but try to roll those bone balls overboard before the skeletons rise up," came a crisp voice from overhead. The Sharkers stared up at the man in the rigging. How had he returned, without their seeing him? Had he been there all along, listening to Kurthe?
Moonlight touched Belmer, and they saw that his face was hard as he stared at the onrushing black ship. He indulged in no curses, but burst into sudden movement again, swinging down to sprint away across the deck without another word. Sharessa stared after him and shook her head, but by her elbow Rings said, "Ye heard the man! Along the rail, swords out, crouch low, hang onto the ropes, and wait. I never did think ye tall folk were very smart, standing around on moon-drenched decks practising being targets!"
"All right, all right, clevertongue," Anvil said. "You can lead the charge onto the decks of the foe when they try to board us!"
"A charge of whom?" Sharessa demanded, looking around. "There aren't enough of us to give half a dozen