Ed Greenwood: The Mercenaries

The burly Konigheimer made a sound deep in his throat, and then turned and barked, "Belgin?"

"I'd sign," the sharper murmured, looking up. The dwarf, only a line or two slower in his reading, nodded.

Silence fell. The Konigheimer looked around at all of his comrades and then-slowly, face set in reluctant lines-nodded.

Belmer went to the barrel and lifted out two larger coffers. One held a candle, several quill pens, ink, and a striker; he set the candle on a shelf bracket near his head and lit it.

Without a word, Kurthe stepped forward, wrote his name, and made his pirate mark. His comrades fol lowed, Sharessa first. In similar silence Belmer opened the second coffer, drew out a decanter of firewine and eight tall glasses (peering, the dwarf saw another four gleaming in the depths of the container), poured each near-full, and passed them around.

Then he took his copies of the contracts, and read out the names. "Belgin Dree." The moon-faced sharper in the fine vest and breeches nodded and smiled.

"Brindra Arrose." The barrel-shaped woman inclined her head.

"Ingrar Welven." The youth lifted a hand, looking embarrassed. The finery short-term spell he'd hired for the evening was wearing off already-cheap work-and the glimmering and debonair cloth-of-gold shirt he was wearing was beginning to fade back into grimy, patched, much-torn leathers.

"Jolloth Burbuck."

The hairy, battle-scarred veteran lifted his teeth in a wry grin and said in his gravelly voice, "Call me Anvil. Everyone does."

"Kurthe Lornar." The tall Konigheimer nodded curtly.

"Nargin Olnblade."

The dwarf sketched a bow, his rings jingling, and corrected, "Rings, please. If ye call for 'Nargin,' ye may find me looking around for someone else."

Belmer nodded, and said, "Sharessa Stagwood." The beautiful she-pirate gave him a polite smile, and he asked, "Are you the one they call 'the Shadow"?"

Her smile broadened. "Yes," she said simply. The Konigheimer's eyes flashed once.

"You are agreed to work for me, and with me?" Belmer asked formally, meeting the eyes of each in turn. When he had the assenting nods of all, he signed the pile of writs and handed back two copies of each. "I go forthwith to the Lord to register these," he said, "and I suggest you seek out a Witness without delay; I'll expect to see you back here before this candle-" he inclined his head toward the one he'd just lit-"burns out. Anyone who comes back here with a Dagger, or uninvited companions, will die."

Shrugs were his silent reply. "I know that trust is not a thing easily won, and even less easily bought," Belmer told them softly, "but if it is to grow between us, I must warn you before we start that in my employ things may not always be what they seem." The pirates raised their eyebrows, but kept silent as they left the room in a wary group, cradling the writs as if they carried precious gold.

When he was alone, Belmer gave the candle a rueful smile, and left by another way that he'd somehow neglected to tell them about.

"I've not seen this ship before," Kurthe muttered in the darkness, as they clambered aboard a damp deck in the mist, dunny-sacks on their shoulders.

"And you're not seeing it now, either, Longshanks," Sharessa said tartly from behind him. "Head to the right, or youH walk straight into that-"

She winced, but a moment before a collision would have occurred, the pile of crates suddenly grew an arm and fended the burly Konigheimer off. "Watch sharp," Belmer murmured. "Companionway's just ahead."

"This'd be easier with a torch or two," Kurthe grumbled, feeling for the first descending step with his boot.

"No lights," Belmer told him, and was gone.

"How'm I supposed to find my bunk in the dark?" Kurthe demanded, reaching the end of the steps and standing uncertainly, facing featureless gloom.

There was a glassy rattle ahead and the faintest of mauve-hued glows, as someone-Rings-unhooded an Ulgarthan glowworm in ajar.

"Take any bunk on the right," the dwarf hissed. "This is the Morning Bird, a caravel from somewhere upriver in Ulgarth, by the looks of her."

"D'we have to crew?" Kurthe grunted, rolling his heavy bag of gear into a bunk.

"Nay-there's a dozen Tharkar wharf rats aboard, captained by a miserable cringing-guts who scares me white."

"Oh? Think he'll flee overboard at our first storm?" Sharessa asked. Neither of them had heard her enter the cabin; no doubt she was barefoot again, flitting about in the velvet silence that had earned the Shadow her nickname. Wordlessly Kurthe took her sack and put it with his own; she stroked his cheek with soft fingers and then stepped away.

" Twouldn't surprise me overmuch," Rings told her. "His name is Jander Turbalt, and if he's from Tharkar-port as he claims, I've never seen him before. Behner's already had to tell him to be quiet or his promised gold'll be fed into his slit-open belly coin by coin!"

The stairs creaked. "I heard that, too. Why all this secrecy, anyway?" Ingrar asked as he arrived, following Kurthe's pointing finger to a bunk.

"Our employer obviously doesn't want someone to know he's leaving town, dolt," Sharessa told him in kindly tones. "Did someone think to bring drinking water?"

"You're thinking thisll be a long voyage?"

"I'll want it if I don't bring it, lad," she explained patiently. Belgin and the Anvil held up bottles, and she nodded.

"Good. I'm for the deck."

"Going to romance Belmer already?" the dwarf asked in teasing tones of mock disgust. "Can't ye even wait until we're clear of the harbor?"

She blew him a mocking kiss and made a rude gesture in the same smooth movement, and was gone up the stairs without a sound, a darker shadow in the gloom.

Kurthe gave Rings a snort of disapproval. "I don't like this," he announced to the cabin at large. Wood creaked as he sat on the edge of his bunk. "I don't like this at all. Creeping out of Tharkar like sneak-thieves instead of honest pirates and going off on some sort of mystery snatching voyage… without even our favorite weapons."

"Well, that stands to reason," Belgin said. "None of us could get into the Masques again before dawn, with all the Daggers whoU be crawling all over it right now."

"Oh?" Rings replied quietly. "Why don't you open that strongbox over there?"

Belgin and Kurthe both gave him curious looks. After a moment's hesitation, the big Konigheimer got up from his bunk, took two quick strides, and flipped back the lid of the chest. All the weapons they'd checked at the Masques lay within. He snatched up his own dagger in disbelief, and tested its edge with his thumb.

"How, in the name of all the-"

The onetime slave frowned, and for a moment his eyes seemed to blaze like two red flames in the darkness. When he spoke again, his voice was low and far less furious, but still urgent. "Does it cross your mind, Rings, that our new employer arranged the fight and our easy escape from the Daggers… and all?"

"Just to sign up seven salts who got out of the Kissing Shark by luck and some hard swimming?" asked the dwarf. "Only if he believes all those fancytongue tales about the lost treasure of Blackfingers. Which is more than I ever did." He looked around the cabin, and asked, "Well? What do the rest of ye think?"

A thoughtful silence had descended on the cabin. No one replied. Kurthe hefted his dagger, said nothing, and went back to his bunk.

Up on deck, the mists clung chill and heavy. Sharessa shivered suddenly, and leaned back against the mast, cradling herself for warmth. Well, at least it would cut the chances of prying eyes seeing them leave. The Tharkaran crew were a silent and sullen bunch; they'd cast off and were poling away from the docks even before she was topside. They shipped then-poles into sail-padded cradles in pairs, to be as quiet as possible; Sharessa thought she saw Belmer working alongside the rest.