Richard Baker - Corsair

“Mirya and her daughter?”

The soldier shook his head. “No, but a woman here says there are other captives in the dungeons.”

Geran hurried over to the fellow and found him standing by the entrance to the kitchens that served the great hall. Seven or eight people in threadbare servants’ garb stood in a confused knot inside, staring at their unexpected rescuers.

The soldier motioned to one of the freed captives. “Here she is,” he said. “This is Olana. She was taken captive four years ago near Phlan.”

A dour-faced woman of middle years stepped forward. “Long I’ve dreamed of this day, m’lords, but never I thought to see it with mine own eyes. You’re a welcome sight, you are.”

“We’ll take you home as soon as we’ve finished here, Olana,” Geran told her. “But first, is there a woman named Mirya Erstenwold here? She’s tall and slender, with black hair and blue eyes. She might have had her daughter with her, a dark-haired lass of about nine years. Have you seen her?”

“I did see those two, m’lord. I’ve brought them their food and water for a couple of days now, and Lord Kamoth had me bring them new clothes as well. They were held down in the lower dungeon. But-they’re gone now.” Olana fell silent.

“Well, where are they then?” Geran demanded.

“They’ve escaped, m’lord. I went by their cell to bring them their breakfast and discovered the bars bent wide enough for them to slip out.”

“When was this?”

“It was only an hour or two ago, m’lord. I don’t think the Black Moon men know she’s gone yet. I wasn’t about to tell, not until they’d had a good chance to slip away.”

“Good woman,” Hamil said in approval. “But where could they slip away to?”

The woman frowned. “I expect your Mirya and her daughter ran off into the jungle.”

Another of the servants, a stooped old man with a bushy, white beard, spoke up. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lords, but I think they must have done just that. I was with a party sent to cut firewood this morning. We found the postern gate standing ajar when we came back in. I’d wager that’s the way your friends went.”

“Did the Black Moon pirates go after them?” Hamil asked.

“No, m’lord. They figured one of us had left it open when we went out in the morning. Besides, they only venture into the jungle in large parties, and well-armed at that.”

Geran gripped the hilt of his sword and turned away, teeth bared in pure frustration. If they’d only been an hour or two swifter, they might have found Mirya and Selsha before they slipped out of their cell. Now they might have the whole black isle to search! He took a deep breath to master himself and then looked back to Olana and the older servant. “I’ll need you to show me to the postern, and quickly,” he said.

Olana bowed. “Of course, m’lord.”

“Hamil, you take over here. Make sure we cover every inch of this keep, and keep an eye open for Sergen. He’s still around somewhere, and you know the sort of trouble he can cause.”

“My apologies, Geran, but I can’t do that,” Hamil said. “I’m coming with you. Mirya’s my friend too, and I’d fight a whole moon full of monsters to keep Selsha from harm.”

Geran started to argue, but thought better of it. He could use Hamil at his back, and things seemed well in hand with the pirate keep. “All right, then. Sergeant Xela, send messengers to find Sarth and Larken. Tell Sarth he’s in charge until we return. I trust you to do what needs to be done here.”

The Shieldsworn soldier nodded. “Aye, we’ll look after things, Lord Geran. As soon as we can, we’ll send some soldiers out after you and Master Alderheart.”

“Good.” Geran clapped a hand to the armsman’s shoulder and then looked back to Olana. “Show us the quickest way to the postern, Olana.”

The woman curtsied. “Of course, m’lord. I hope you find her-the jungle of the black moon’s no place to wander. It’s this way.” She hurried off for one of the servants’ stairs leading off the great hall. Geran and Hamil followed her into the mazelike passageways of the keep.

17 Marpenoth, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

The alien jungle of the black moonlet crowded menacingly against the walls of the pirate keep. Its fronds and grasses, its brush and its trees grew in a riot of fantastic colors unlike anything Geran had ever seen before. A dozen strange, sweet scents hung heavily in the air, and he could hear the chirps and croaks of small creatures-birds, frogs, or something like them-echoing in the dim light. The air was damp and cool, with a faint white mist clinging to the ground. More than a few of the plants had a distinctly unwholesome look to them, and he wondered if any of them were carnivorous.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Hamil said softly. “I don’t like the looks of this place. I hope Mirya stayed on the trail.”

“So do I. Even Kara couldn’t track her through this.” Geran looked around the stone steps leading down from the keep’s postern gate. There was a small clearing right by the gate, with overgrown paths leading in either direction immediately below the walls. In theory, the postern allowed the keep’s defenders to send out parties of raiders to counterattack an enemy concentrating on the front gate. He saw no sign that Mirya or Selsha had circled the keep at the foot of the wall, though. If they’d fled the keep, they wouldn’t want to skulk around by the base of the wall; they’d want to get as far from the place as they could, and would hope to outrun or evade any pursuers out in the jungle.

Across the clearing, a single footpath led off into the jungle. Geran headed for it while still watching for any tracks along the trail. If he had to guess, he’d say that the path saw infrequent use at best; it was mostly overgrown, but a strip of bare dirt in its center suggested that people came this way from time to time. Fifty yards from the gate, the trail met the edge of the moonlet’s dark forest … and here Geran found something more familiar. He stopped and kneeled in the violet grass by the trailside. The impression of a small, bare foot lay in the center of the path. “Look here,” he said to Hamil.

The halfling kneeled beside him. “Selsha?”

“I think the size is about right. And I don’t think it’s more than a few hours old. It’s hard to tell, since I have no idea what sort of weather this place gets, but look-the grass that’s bent under the heel, there, it’s still damp and the same color as the rest.”

Hamil stood up and circled around the area, looking down. “Over here,” he said. “I think this may be Mirya.”

Geran moved over to look at Hamil’s find. This print was a smooth slipper of some kind, with a pointed toe, but the size was about right. It could have been any of the women enslaved by the pirates, of course, but he didn’t see any reason why serving women would leave the keep by this door, at least not in shoes such as those. “I don’t think those are Mirya’s shoes,” he said. “But then Olana said she brought Mirya a change of clothes. Maybe she brought slippers too.”

They set off again, following the footpath as it wound through the forest. After a few hundred yards, it emerged briefly along the lakeshore; they could look back and see the keep atop its hill, and the two ships grappled alongside the dock. A few thin streamers of smoke rose up into the dark sky, but no other signs of strife were evident from their distance. Several other footpaths-or gametrails, possibly-met by the shore. They searched the ground for any signs of which way the Erstenwolds might have gone, and Geran spotted something on the bole of a tree near the path they’d just emerged from. He took a closer look and found the tree’s fleshy bark scored in two rough horizontal lines. Beads of dark sap welled up from the marks.