Richard Byers - The Reaver

Umara stood quietly for a moment. Then she said, “Hm.”

“I see my tale of woe affected you deeply.”

“If I’d responded with a gush of commiseration-not that I’m suggesting I was inclined to-you would only have jeered at it.”

Anton realized she was right. “Be that as it may, now you understand why I can’t return to Sapra.”

“No, I see I was right from the start. If people want to kill you everywhere, that’s no reason to stay away from Turmish. You’ll actually be safer there. Your brown skin won’t stand out.”

“My traitor’s face will.”

“Was it wearing the usual ridiculous Turmishan beard the last time anyone in Sapra saw it?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“And that was years ago, in addition to which, I know a bit about disguise. It’s part of the illusionist’s art.”

“Thank you, but it would still be too risky. I won’t be responsible for the failure of Stedd’s errand, whatever mooncalf thing it turns out to be.”

“Stedd wants you with him, and not just because Lathander and Nobanion think it’s a good idea. He had to forsake his family, too. They’re back on the farm thousands of miles to the west where he’ll never see them again. He needs someone to stand by him, and little though we deserve his trust, he’s fastened on you and me.”

“The more fool him, then.”

Umara scowled. “If you don’t want to return to Turmish, then don’t. But at least be honest about the reason. It’s not fear of the headsman’s axe. It’s shame.”

To his own surprise, Anton nearly flinched. He forced a laugh instead. “You should ask the folk I’ve robbed and the widows and orphans of those I’ve killed if I seem like a man susceptible to shame.”

“You may not feel it over anything Anton Marivaldi the pirate has done. But Anton Marivaldi the youthful customs officer is a different matter.”

“How in the name of the Abyss would you know? Who ever heard of a Red Wizard suffering shame over anything?”

Umara scowled. “I’m tired of arguing. If you want to go, go.” She pulled her hood up and headed into the beeches.

Anton told himself he was glad she’d given up. But he stood and watched her go, and when she was about to disappear into the trees and the darkness, he blurted, “Wait.”

A while back, the travelers had started seeing axe-chopped tree stumps and other signs of human activity in the forest. Now, keeping low, Anton, Umara, and Stedd skulked from one bit of cover to the next. As far as Stedd was aware, there was no particular reason to make sure they got a look at Morningstar Hollows before anyone in the village sighted them. But after all the dangers he and his friends had passed through, he supposed caution was a good idea.

They reached a spot where the trees thinned out. Some distance beyond them, farmers were working bedraggled, rain-lashed fields.

Everything looked all right to Stedd. He started to straighten up, and Anton put his hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t,” the pirate said.

“Why not?” Umara asked.

Anton smiled. “If you squint, you might make out a couple white faces among the brown ones. And while Turmish doesn’t forbid outlanders to immigrate, I don’t see why they’d bother just to settle in a backwater like this. The village has failed and been abandoned so many times, it’s a wonder even Turmishans keep rebuilding it.”

“You think Evendur sent a force here to intercept us,” the wizard said.

“It’s a logical move,” Anton replied. “I wish we could get a better look at the white men. But maybe we don’t need one. If those are pirates over there, their ship can’t be too far off. Come on.”

They headed back into the forest, collected the Thayan sailors and marines who were waiting for them there, and then they all marched north, keeping to the fringe of the forest the while. After a time, they reached a spot where the rain-fed waters of the Inner Sea had advanced up a valley. There, a caravel floated with sails furled and several ropes mooring it to tree trunks.

Anton grinned. “Hello again, Mourmyd. My compliments on the skill required to bring the Octopus so far south on an uncharted and uncertain waterway, over submerged trees and who knows what else. My friends and I are in your debt.”

“What are you thinking?” Umara asked.

“We steal the ship. Mourmyd surely didn’t leave her unattended, but just as surely, he and most of his crew are lurking in Morningstar Hollows waiting for us to turn up there. We shouldn’t have much trouble wresting Octopus away from whoever’s still aboard, and afterward, if any more of Evendur’s hunters spot us on our voyage east, they’ll mistake us for some of their own.”

The Red Wizard smiled. “That is a good plan. I like it.”

Stedd peered up at the two adults. “But what about Morningstar Hollows?”

Umara shrugged. “What about it?”

“If Mourmyd’s pirates are there, doesn’t that mean they took it over? Aren’t they doing bad things to the people who live there?”

Anton sighed. “Now that you mention it, I’m sure they are.”

“Then we can’t just steal the ship and sail away. We have to help them!”

Umara frowned. “Your mission is our concern. We shouldn’t risk it and you in a battle we can avoid.”

“Helping people is my mission.”

Anton turned to Umara. “You aren’t going to talk him out of it. And why else are we here but to back his play, however feckless it turns out be?”

Umara glowered. “I didn’t know when I was well rid of you.”

Mourmyd Jacerryl was full. He made himself eat the last piece of roast chicken anyway, because the village woman who’d cooked it for him was watching.

Slender and long-legged, comely in the swarthy way of her people, the village woman didn’t appear to be enjoying the spectacle, although she had the sense to try to hide her resentment. He wondered what bothered her more, that he’d ordered every one of Morningstar Hollows’s few remaining farm animals butchered to feed his crew, or that he was gorging while her belly was empty. Probably the latter, he decided, with the food disappearing down his gullet right in front of her and the aroma of it hanging in the air.

He swallowed the last bite of meat, belched, and tossed the leg bone on the floor. “Well, that was rank,” he said. “Filthy peasant food.”

It had actually been quite tasty, and the woman likely knew it and took pride in her cooking. Still, she really had no choice but to mumble, “I’m sorry.”

Mourmyd grinned. “Well, perhaps you can make it up to me. Take off your clothes.”

The villager’s dark eyes popped open wide, and then she shook her head. “No. Please, no.”

“Do it.”

“Please, no,” she repeated.

She actually sounded like it would take more than simple verbal intimidation to coerce her, so Mourmyd considered his options. Straightforward rape was the obvious one, but in the wake of his meal, he wasn’t feeling especially energetic. He turned to Gimur and said, “Help me convince her.”

The pudgy sorcerer reached for a little jade carving of a nude and headless woman, one of dozens of talismans pinned or tied to his long gingery braids. It was the one he used to subvert a female victim’s will.

The effects of such magic varied. Some women turned into docile sleepwalkers. Others grew timid, and the fear made them compliant. A few even became lustful.

Whatever the precise effect, the experience left the target feeling complicit in her own violation and filled with self-disgust. It was a subtle refinement to the basic torment, and Mourmyd liked to think he could be subtle when the spirit moved him.