00.1 - The Blood Price (2 page)

“Let’s get on with it then,” the highborn replied, gesturing impatiently to
the officers.

Each druchii stepped forward in turn and knelt before Malus. First came
Shebyl, the ship’s navigator, a thickset, pox-scarred corsair with bright,
rodent-like eyes. Next came the ship’s second officer, a square shouldered,
fierce-looking raider named Amaleth. He muttered the proper words of allegiance,
but his gaze was direct and challenging.

Malus was surprised to find that the last of the three was female. She was
tall and fit, her skin made dusky by months of life at sea. Fine, pale battle
scars cross-hatched her high cheeks. Her dark hair was pulled back in dozens of
fine braids and bound up in a corsair’s topknot. The worn hilts of a pair of
highborn swords rested at her hip.

“Lhunara Ithil, first mate of the
Manticore
,” she said in a husky
voice as she sank to one knee. “Through wind and storm, red rain and splintered
shields, I will serve thee, captain. Lead, and I will follow.”

The highborn’s eyes widened at the sight of her. Perhaps this voyage wouldn’t
be entirely unpleasant after all. “Perhaps I’ll lead you to my cabin and keep
you there,” he said with a predatory grin.

Howls and hisses of laughter rose from the assembled crew. Lhunara looked up
at the highborn with a broad smile, her eyes gleaming. She rose to her feet in a
fluid motion and punched Malus full in the face. The highborn’s feet flew in the
air and he hit the deck with a tremendous crash.

“Try it and I’ll feed your guts to the gulls,” she said, still smiling.

There was a hiss of steel and Silar leapt onto the deck, sword in hand. With
a startled shout, Gul leapt between the young knight and the first mate. “Stay
your hand, young lord!” he said to Silar. “You’re aboard ship now, not at a
highborn court. She was well within her rights to reply as she did.”

But Silar refused to yield. “What would you have me do, my lord?” he said to
Malus.

For a moment, Malus was sorely tempted to turn Silar loose on the first mate.
Lhunara was a bit older than the young knight and looked like she knew how to
use those swords she carried. He could certainly vouch for the strength of her
hands, he thought, wiping blood from his chin. At worst, he would be rid of
Lurhan’s hired man. After a moment’s thought, however, he shook his head. “Put
away your sword,” he told Silar. “I’ll not go stirring up a feud among the
crew.”

“Well said, captain,” Gul said quickly, bending to help Malus to his feet.
Lhunara gave Silar a disdainful look before turning on her heel and striding
away, snapping orders to the ship’s crew as she went.

“All is in readiness,” Gul continued as he pulled the highborn to his feet.
“The crew was at work all night long to ready
Manticore
for sea. If we’re
to find the best pickings for you, it’s crucial we cast off and make for the
straits as soon as possible.” The gold-toothed corsair’s unctuous expression
faltered a little, and he looked over the rail at the empty pier. “Ah, has my
young lord arrived earlier than planned? Normally one’s father and mother are
present to commemorate the occasion. Why, it is well-known that Lurhan sent his
eldest sons on their first cruises with great fanfare—”

Malus spat a stream of red over the rail. “There will be no fanfare, Master
Gul,” he snapped. “My father has done what he must to protect his reputation,
and that’s as far as his regard for me extends.”

“I… see,” Gul replied thoughtfully. “Do you wish to give the order to
depart then?”

The highborn turned about and scowled at the complicated array of rope,
tackle, mast and sail. “Master Gul, I know that those upright poles are masts,
and the cloth bundles up there are sails. I know I’m standing on a deck, and I
assume there’s an anchor around here somewhere, but I wouldn’t know where to
look for it. That is the sum total of my knowledge of sailing,” he said. Malus
waved his hand dismissively at Gul. “You’re the ship’s master. Get us out of
here.”

If Gul was appalled at his captain’s utter lack of skill, he gave no sign of
it. If anything, his grin only broadened further. “Of course, sir,” he said,
bowing once again. “Leave everything to me. You are in good hands aboard the
Manticore
.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Malus replied sourly. “I’m going below. Wake
me when we get to Bretonnia.”

Slate-coloured waves crashed against the
Manticore
’s sleek hull,
spraying icy water along the deck. Near the forward citadel deck a group of
corsairs huddled together in their sealskin cloaks and crouched low next to the
wooden bulkhead.

The three dice clattered across the damp planks and rebounded from the
bulkhead, showing a trio of sharpened bones: the horns, a losing toss.
“Damnation!” Malus hissed angrily, and the sailors covering him from the
elements chuckled and hissed their amusement. Grimy hands reached down and
plucked coins out of the highborn’s winnings. “Another go,” Malus grumbled. “All
this damned pitching and heaving is souring the dice.”

Some of the corsairs shifted about on their heels and grumbled. One of the
men, a one-eyed druchii with half a nose, ducked his head fearfully. “Most of us
have to stand watch, dread lord…”

“Not if I say otherwise!” Malus snapped. “We’ll go until I say we stop, and
that’s an order!”

The corsairs looked to one another and shrugged. Coins were pressed to the
deck, and Malus picked up the dice. There were definite advantages to being the
captain, he thought.

The
Manticore
was riding rough seas up the neck of the Slavers’
Strait, and according to the navigator they would slip into the wide ocean in
less than a day. Then—as Master Gul constantly reminded Malus—his proving
cruise would well and truly begin.

Once free of the harbour at Clar Karond the raiding ship had made excellent
time, racing across the inland seas a day or more ahead of their rivals. Malus
had spent the first few days in utter misery, too sick to eat or drink anything
stronger than water. When he’d finally got his sea legs and felt hungry again,
Silar had tried to serve Malus in his cabin, but the highborn refused, fearful
of the possibility of poison. Instead, Malus went to the ship’s cooks directly
for his meals. Not long after, he fell into gambling with them.

Eventually he hit upon the notion of hiring one or two of the crewmen to
murder Silar. The young knight often walked the decks after dark once the
highborn had dismissed him from his duties. Surely it would be simple enough to
knock him in the head and toss him over the side? And the sooner the better,
Malus reckoned; the farther they got from Naggaroth, the greater the odds that
Lurhan’s paid man would try to make his move. So far though, the highborn hadn’t
managed to find any useful candidates for the job. To a man, the crew preferred
to keep its distance from him, despite all the games of dice he played with
them. Perhaps I shouldn’t keep taking so much of their coin, he mused, rolling
the dice in his palm.

The knot of crouching sailors around Malus shifted suddenly, letting in a
gust of freezing air and sea spray. Malus glanced up, a snarl curling his lip,
and caught sight of Silar. The young knight surveyed the gamblers with a
disapproving frown. “Master Gul wishes to speak to you in his cabin, my lord,”
he said coldly.

Malus growled under his breath. He was tempted to tell the unctuous ship’s
master to wait while he won back his silver. The highborn eyed the sad handful
of coins at his side and decided to try and build a bit of goodwill with the
men. He shrugged, gathering up his paltry winnings. “You’ve plucked me to the
bone this time, you sea birds,” he said to the corsairs. “We’ll see who the gods
favour next time.”

The corsairs gathered up their coins and got back to work, grinning to
themselves. Malus sighed and waved his hand at Silar. “All right. Take me to
him,” he said.

Silar led him through a narrow door in the fortress deck aft, then down to
the master’s cabin. A corsair stood watch outside Gul’s cabin door. At the sight
of Silar and Malus, the scarred druchii pushed the door open and stepped aside.

Tall, narrow windows dominated the aft bulkhead of Gul’s cabin, throwing bars
of weak, grey light across the broad expanse of the master’s oaken table. A huge
map was spread across its surface, showing Naggaroth, Ulthuan and the domain of
the humans etched in fine, black lines. Gul sat on the far side of the table,
sipping wine and smiling to himself as he traced the sinuous lines of prevailing
currents across the map. The navigator Shebyl sat nearby, consulting a thick set
of scrolls marked with astronomical charts. Lhunara stood off to one side, arms
folded tightly across her chest. She studied Malus and Silar thoughtfully as
they entered the cabin.

“Welcome to my humble quarters, Captain Malus,” Gul said, opening his arms
expansively. “Please, sit. Have some of this fine wine. I stole it in a raid off
Ulthuan many years ago, and it only gets better with time.”

Malus picked up a goblet and poured from a crystal flagon set on a tray at
the end of the table. It was the first time he’d been invited into Gul’s
personal quarters, and he was impressed at its luxurious appointments: a feather
bed, expensive chairs of oak and dwarf hide, shelves of books and an impressive
collection of trophies, from gilt skulls to jewel-encrusted ceremonial daggers
and silver-inlaid armour. Whatever else Gul may be, Malus had to admit the
gold-toothed corsair knew a thing or two about his trade.

“Far be it from me to turn down an offer of wine and hospitality,” he said,
taking a deep drink. “What is the occasion?”

Gul tapped the map with a calloused finger. “We’re nearly to the open sea, my
captain,” he said. “Time for you to approve the course I and the good navigator
have laid out.”

Malus sampled some more of the wine. It was, indeed, quite fine. “All right,”
he said with a shrug. “Tell me.”

“Since your father approached me last winter I’ve been thinking about a
course that would be suitable to your, ah, level of skill,” he said. “There is a
great deal riding on this cruise, after all. You are about to enter highborn
society. The wealth and fame you win on the
Manticore
will determine your
initial status at court, after all.”

The highborn cast a momentary glance at Silar. “Provided some human doesn’t
dash in my skull or I suffer a similar misfortune along the way.”

Gul smiled. “Well, life is about risk, is it not?” He leaned forward over the
map. “But have no fear. I have gone to great effort to chart a route that
minimizes such risk, but will still yield a handsome profit over time.”

Provided my damned retainer doesn’t find some way to kill me between now and
then, Malus thought. “Show me.”

“Well, to start with, with your father’s coin I was able to hire a good crew,
and outfit them with proper weapons and armour,” he began. “We’ve not enough men
to hazard a large human city or fortress, such as your older brother Bruglir
might, but there are any number of towns that would be easy pickings along the
Bretonnian coast.” Gul’s finger traced a long arc, dipping south of Ulthuan and
then north and east to the shores of the human kingdom. “We will avoid cities
like Bordeleaux or l’Anguille and strike at the small fishing towns that stretch
between them. Sweep in at midnight, kill any who resist, and cart everything
else back to the ship. Nothing left but ashes by morning.” Gul traced a
seemingly meandering route up the coastline, past l’Anguille and then east. “We
take a bite here and a bite there, always staying a few days ahead of the
Bretonnian forces. By late summer we could be at the inlet leading to
Marienburg, by which point our holds will be bursting, and it will be time to
head for home. After a brief stop at Karond Kar to unload our slaves, you would
arrive at Clar Karond a rich and successful young highborn.”

Gul leaned back in his chair and folded his slim hands across his chest,
clearly pleased with himself.

Malus scowled down at the map. “I see none of these small towns you speak of
on this map.”

Gul chuckled. “Rest assured they are there, young captain. I’ve plied this
route many a time myself. Slow, perhaps, but safe and profitable. Just the sort
of thing to prove your worth to the nobles back at Hag Graef. So. What do you
say? Shall I tell Shebyl to chart the course?”

The highborn thought it over. Near Marienburg by late summer, he thought.
Five months at sea, by the Dark Mother! He took a contemplative sip from his
cup.

“No,” he said at last.

Gul’s gleaming smile faltered. “What did you say, my lord?”

“I’m here to make my reputation,” he said, “and I won’t go back to the Hag
after five long months smelling like a fishmonger. We’ve got a good ship and
good men, so let us take a prize that’s worthy of our mettle.” He glanced down
at the map and let his finger fall with a portentous
thump.

The ship’s master paled. “Ulthuan?” he stammered. “Surely you jest.”

“Did I say something amusing, Master Gul?” the highborn said darkly.

Gul managed an uneasy chuckle. “No doubt the young captain is aware that
Ulthuan is very well defended,” he began. “Its shores are constantly patrolled,
and our traitorous cousins have ships nearly as swift and deadly as our own. Not
even your older brother and his fleet have dared strike there.”

Malus grinned mirthlessly. “Then I’ll truly have something to boast about when
I reach home,” he said. The highborn waved dismissively at the map. “Chart us a
course to take us close around the southern tip of the Blighted Isle, then on to
the west coast of Ulthuan,” he said. “That shouldn’t be too demanding, should it?
We’ll find a good-sized town and sack it, and make our fortunes in a single
stroke.”

“But… you can’t do this!” Gul sputtered. His face was white as alabaster.
“It would be suicide! I forbid this!”