Ed Greenwood: The Mercenaries

The strip of roiling water between the two ships grew narrower, as the helmsman of The Black Dragon turned his wheel so as to shear along the side of the Tharkaran vessel somewhere in the waves ahead.

The pirates lined up along the dark ship's rail pointed at Rings and laughed at his height, and whistled at

Sharessa, crooking their fingers as sailors do to summon low-coin girls in taverns late at night.

She ignored them, and the taunts began in earnest. Kurthe shifted uneasily, and Ingrar, glancing sideways, saw the knuckles of the Konigheimer quivering on the hilt of his sword like a row of undead white bones.

And then the pirates suddenly fell silent. In their midst, someone was moving, advancing toward the crowded rail like a small mountain, shouldering aside those sneering, hardened men as if they were awestruck youths. The foremost pair of pirates parted, and those watching from the Morning Bird saw something flare like sudden flame as the bright sunlight shone between them.

A giant of a man lumbered forward to plant one booted foot on the low rail of The Black Dragon. His leather-armored shoulders were as broad as those of two normal men standing together, his arms were as gnarled and stout as old oak trees, and the flame was the sun dancing on his shoulder-length, glossy red hair, and even longer beard. His lazily confident moves and stance left no doubt that he was master of that ship and all aboard it.

"Redbeard!" Kurthe snarled, sudden fire in his eyes.

The fat pirate captain grinned, showing teeth that had been filed into points-teeth that had eaten disobedient crewmen, Coast legends whispered-and ran a lazy hand through his belt-length, fiery flowing beard.

"Aye, Orim Redbeard stands before you, as lovely as ever," the giant said with a rolling laugh, and his eyes moved along their ranks slowly and shrewdly as it died away. "I'd thought," he added casually, when he was done, "that I'd see Ralingor and his navigator Drethil among you this fair morning-are they by any chance below?"

"You see all of us," Belmer replied calmly as he raised something into view and balanced it on his shoulder, pointed at the clouds. It was a ready-loaded crossbow.

"We've no cargo worth dying for, Redbeard," he added as quietly as if he was pointing out trail details on a map. "Sail on, with peace between us… or this quarrel will take you through the guts, whatever befalls us after."

"A challenge, is it?" Redbeard asked jovially. Despite bis easy tone and broad smile, his eyes darkened with anger.

"Call it cordial advice," Belmer told him, his own eyes cold and steady as they held Orim Redbeard's gaze. "We've no quarrel with you

… but we could find one, if you make it so."

The pirate captain spread his hands as the freshening breeze plucked his beard out to stream like a flame-silk banner. "You wrong me," he said grandly, his face a masterpiece of mocking, injured innocence. Around him, his crew chortled. "Orim Redbeard is every man's friend-and every woman's dream!"

Amid the roars of mirth that followed, as Orim leered at them, Sharessa and Brindra raised eloquently and scornfully disbelieving eyebrows, but kept silent. At Sharessa's elbow there was a sudden stir as Kurthe snatched out his steel and mounted the rail of the Morning Bird. It was but a short, easy leap across empty air to the other ship.

There were whoops among Redbeard's pirates, and many enthusiastically went for their blades, but their enraged challenger never landed among them. As their swords and daggers flashed out, they saw Kurthe grunt, stagger-and suddenly fall from view back behind the rail of the Morning Bird, his sword tumbling into the waves.

There was a snap and the angry hum of a quarrel singing sunwards. The watchers on both ships saw Belmer calmly remove the butt of his crossbow from where his sudden sharp swing had brought it hard into the back of Kurthe's head.

Redbeard stared at the imperturbable little man for a moment and then roared out his laughter. After a moment or two more of astonishment, his crew joined him, shouting out their mirth as The Black Dragon slowly slid away, its larger sails catching the rising wind.

"Farewell, little tigers!" the pirate captain bellowed at the mercenaries as the sea took his ship plunging away from them. "I was looking for hardened veterans of the Kissing Shark, but I see only nancy-boys out for a sail! Try to stay clear of ferocious fishermen, now!" His pirates joined him in a thunderous chorus of laughter as the most feared ship on the Utter Coast heeled over under a sudden gust, and then leapt ahead through the waters, racing west with its crew whooping and waving swords that caught the sundaz-zle of the fresh morning.

Their last ragged shouts gave way to a silence on the decks of the Morning Bird as six mercenaries looked down at the sprawled body of their comrade, and then up, hard-eyed, at the lone man with the empty crossbow in his hands. None of them spared a glance for Jander Turbalt, as the captain danced forward in an agony of anxious hand-wringing, looking fearfully from Belmer to the six mercenaries, and then back again.

As more than one of the Sharkers looked down at Kurthe for a second time, where he lay sprawled with his mouth open and his eyes half-shut, rolling slightly on the deck with the movements of the ship, Sharessa put one hand on the hilt of her sword and said grimly to Belmer, "I think it's high time you told us just what our mission is."

Belmer nodded as coolly as if she'd asked him the time of day. "It is indeed," he replied. "I fear I've let events distract me from telling you what you need to know so that we'll reach Eldrinpar as a cohesive team."

"Eldrinpar, is it?" Rings muttered. "Thankee for informing us in so timely a manner, Master."

Belmer nodded at him, ignoring the dwarf's thick sarcasm.

"And in Eldrinpar-?" Brindra rumbled, prompting him.

"You must search for, find, and capture the woman Eidola… without attracting overmuch attention, of course," Belmer told them. "I believe I know where to look for her and can soon show you a portrait of her that I've kept hid-"

The small man moved then, shifting a sudden pace to one side. A dagger, thrown awkwardly and wrong-handed, clattered on the deck boards by Belmer's feet.

Its source glared at Belmer, and staggered to his feet. "Kidnapping wenches be damned!" Kurthe snarled. "Redbeard burns our ship, slaughters our comrades, and then laughs at us! And when I up and go for him, you scramble my skull for me! No man does that and fails to answer for it!"

Belmer lifted an eyebrow in what might have been a mild charade of surprise, as Kurthe spat on the deck in contempt. "Damned outlander!" the Konigheimer yelled, voice rising as he shook his head to clear it. He waved a furious finger, and then whirled to snatch one of Anvil's spare blades from the sheaths that crisscrossed the battered veteran's back.

He spun back to face Belmer, pointing with his bor rowed blade. "You don't know how things are done here on the Utter Coast, do you? Well start in on your wench-snatching after we send a certain pirate down below!"

Still raging, Kurthe stumped away down the deck. "Crowd on that sail, curse you!" he roared. "You, Els-ger-and you, whatever your name is! Leap to it, now! We'll catch that ship, or I'll flog you until we do! Jump, you spawn of sleeping weasels!"

The crew gave him startled looks and then glanced at their captain, who was fairly babbling in frightened agitation. Kurthe stormed in among them, snatching sailors' shoulders and shaking them as a dog shakes rats in its teeth. "I'll have this boat running down Redbeard inside four breaths or know the reason why!"

He flung a howling sailor away into the mast. The man struck it with a meaty smack, bounced away, and fell among ropes as limp and senseless as a thing of rags. Kurthe took hold of the next man by the throat, and shouted orders into the man's choking, darkening face. "Crowd on the sail-the hardrunner too! And bring that bloody helm about! Now, or that wheel'll be dark with your heart's blood before I'm finished cursing!"