Richard Baker - Corsair

A door on their right burst open, and a party of boisterous men flooded out into the street. Geran halted to let them pass, but one of the men-actually a bandy-legged half-orc with one tusk at the corner of his mouth-turned and met his eyes. A dark scowl came over the half-orc’s features. “Now what d’you think you’re lookin’ at, you goat-buggering bastard?” he demanded.

Geran bit back a retort and nodded down the street with more friendliness than he felt. “Just on my way to the next taproom. Don’t mind me.”

“I’ll mind whatever I decide to mind,” the half-orc growled. The fellow’s companions-five of them-moved to surround Geran and his comrades. They were a dirty, ill-favored lot, dressed in ill-fitting leather and armed with cutlasses or cudgels at their belts. At least a couple of them seemed unsteady on their feet, more than a little in their cups, but the sallow half-orc was unfortunately not one of them. “I don’t think I’ve seen you lot ’round here before. You ain’t in any crew I know. That means you’re mine.”

It seems we’ve seen this more than once , Hamil remarked. The halfling shifted a half step behind Geran, hiding his hands from view.

Geran glanced over his shoulder at Sarth and gave the tiefling a subtle shake of the head. “No magic,” he mumbled under his breath. Sarth scowled, but he nodded. It would be hard to masquerade as common sellswords if thunderclaps and blasts of fire erupted in the street. Then he looked back at the half-orc glaring at him. He doubted it would work, but he had to try. “We’ve got no cause to quarrel,” he said. “We’ll go our way, and you can go yours.”

The half-orc spat something in Orcish and swept out his cutlass. Geran had no idea what he’d said, but as far as he could tell negotiations were at an end, and he drew his own cutlass an instant later-nearly sticking the blade in the scabbard because the shape and weight were different from the fine elven steel he was accustomed to. The other brigands followed suit; the sound of steel rasping on leather filled the air, followed an instant later by the ring of steel on steel. Geran blocked the half-orc’s first vicious cut by passing it over his head then stepped close to smash the heavy handguard into the side of the half-orc’s head. The half-orc staggered back, and Geran immediately turned and leaped at the man to his right. They hacked at each other for three quick passes of steel, then Geran slashed the cutlass out of his hand with a nasty cut to the forearm. The cutlass dropped to the cobblestones with a shrill ring, and when the brigand doubled over holding his arm, Geran surged forward and planted a boot in the center of the man’s belt. With a strong shove of his leg, he sent the wounded brigand stumbling over the side of the quay and into the water.

Sarth blocked the cudgel of the man attacking him with a two-foot iron baton-actually his magical rod, disguised by his illusion magic. Then the tiefling bludgeoned his foe to the ground with a rain of blows to the head and shoulders. Meanwhile Hamil efficiently hamstrung the swordsman moving in to attack Sarth from the side, and kicked the man unconscious when he fell to the cobblestones. “Behind you!” he called to Geran.

Geran turned and found the half-orc rushing in again despite the vicious clout he’d taken. But the fellow was unsteady on his legs, and the swordmage easily twisted aside from a clumsy thrust. This time Geran hammered the pommel of the cutlass to the nape of the half-orc’s neck as he stumbled past, and stretched him out senseless or dead on the street. He leaped over the half-orc to smash the flat of the cutlass against the skull of a brigand stabbing furiously at Sarth. The man crumpled to the ground; Sarth dealt him a heavy clout as he fell for good measure. The tiefling looked up at Geran and scowled. “My way is easier,” he muttered.

“And louder,” Geran reminded him. He straightened up and looked around, just in time to see Hamil test the balance of the dagger in his hand and let fly at the last brigand, who had turned to flee. The blade turned over three times before the pommel cracked the fellow on the back of the head and knocked him to the cobblestones. Silence fell over the scene, and Geran realized all of the brigands were on the ground or in the river. Several bystanders stood nearby, including one tall, strongly built woman with a shaven head, who had her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her own sword.

Hamil looked at the bald woman. “You want a part of this too?” he demanded.

The woman let go ofher sword and held up her hand. She was no beauty; her shoulders were almost as broad as Geran’s own, and her face was square with blunt features. Geran could easily have mistaken her for a man, if not for the heroic expanse of her bosom and the fine point to her chin. “Not I, friend. I’m just an interested spectator,” she said. She looked down at the thugs on the ground and twisted her mouth into a hard smile. “Consider me impressed. You handled those wretches easily enough, although I can’t imagine why you saw fit to leave them alive.”

“We’re new in town,” Geran answered warily. “I have no idea who these fellows belong to. It didn’t seem wise to kill them without knowing who might take offense.”

“You’re a man of uncommon wisdom, then.” The woman nodded toward a ramshackle establishment on the other side of the river. “Those fellows work for Robidar. He’s the half-orc that runs the bar, festhall, and gaming hall over yonder. They’re in the habit of rolling drunks and stragglers. You’ll want to watch your backs if you stay here long. Sooner or later Robidar’s boys’ll want to even up the score.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Hamil answered. “I’m in the habit of watching my back anyway.”

“Indeed.” The woman hesitated, studying the three companions for a moment, then she spoke again. “By any chance, are you three looking for billets? I could use a few more sharp fellows who can fight like you can and have a good share of common sense too.”

“What sort of billets?” Geran asked.

“Deckhands on Moonshark . She’s the half galley tied up by the bridge, a good ship and swift. My name is Sorsil. I’m her first mate.”

Geran glanced toward the shadowed outline of Sorsil’s ship to hide his quick grin. It seemed that fortune had smiled on him. To conceal his interest, he rubbed at his jaw as if in thought. “As I said, we’re new in town. We intended to weigh a few opportunities before making any decisions.”

Sorsil gave a short laugh. “You won’t find many better opportunities, no matter how long you stay moored here. We sail under the Black Moon’s flag, my friends. Things are going well for us these days. A deckhand’s share’ll make a wealthy man of you after three prizes-maybe just one or two if they’re rich. And for men of ability, there’s even more to be had.”

Geran made a show of thinking over Sorsil’s offer, while he considered his next step. He’d hoped to catch a rumor of the Black Moon by visiting Zhentil Keep, but it seemed he’d caught a pirate ship. Now that he’d confirmed that the Black Moon Brotherhood had more than one ship at their command, he found himself wondering how many more vessels belonged to the pirate flotilla and where they might be found. He had the woman he wanted to talk to right here in front of him. The question was how to engage her without making Sorsil suspicious.

Tell her we’re interested in signing on , Hamil said silently. It can’t hurt to see what more she’ll tell us .

“That’s an interesting offer,” Geran said slowly. “But, truth be told, we’d sort of hoped to sign on with Kraken Queen.”

The bald mate looked at him oddly. “Really? Why?”