Ed Greenwood: The Mercenaries

The night erupted into towering sheets of flame, so hot and so sudden in their roaring birth from the pitching boats that everyone at the rail stumbled back, cursing and clapping their hands over their eyes-except Belmer, whose hand was already shielding his.

Night seemed to become day as the flames went white and spat sparks, and through the blinding brightness Sharessa saw Belmer running along the decks again. She trotted unsteadily after him, shaking her head to banish brilliant afterimages of searing flame.

The fat little man moved like lithe lightning now, wearing an air of command like a mantle. He was bound for the mainmast.

"Jander Turbalt," he snapped, as he slowed in front of the white-faced, sweating man who was bound there, "I want you to up sail, rouse your men, and find guts enough to stay aboard! You're safer obeying and keeping close than leaping into the endless sea, witless dog! We'll be your crew-but I want us out of here, straight out to sea, as fast and as quiet as you can take us? Understood?"

The terrified shipmaster gulped and stammered and nodded his head. Belmer whipped out his sword, and the captain's noises of assent rose into a terrified wail. The small man slashed once, his steel winking in the moonlight.

The captain's bonds fell free, and Turbalt followed them to the deck, pleading and groveling on his knees. Belmer hauled him to his feet and said something soft, level, and menacing. The shipmaster scuttled away down his still-smouldering decks like a shore crab fleeing the claw of a hungry bear. Anvil and a grim-looking Brindra were waiting for him.

Sharessa smirked as she watched him dwindle and then disappear into the tangle of ropes and bound sails in the forethroat. Then Belmer looked at her and at the abandoned hose, and she remembered what it was she was supposed to be doing. She ran back to where the bilgewater still flowed. It was coming slowly now; Kurthe must be very tired.

As the ship turned again toward her former course and started to pick up speed, leaving the still-impressive columns of flame behind, Belmer slowly strode the decks in search of places that were still alight. Idly he kicked a bone across the deck and out a sluice-chute.

Sharessa raised her brows. Impressive aim, too. Rings was stalking over to their employer now, and Sharessa drifted closer to hear what was said.

The dwarf stopped and planted his hands on his hips. Sharessa knew that gesture of old; it was what Rings did when he was talking to the captain.

A night after Blackfingers had met his final fire and water, the Sharkers had a captain again.

As the Morning Bird slipped away into the night, Rings squinted up at the man whose eyes were looking knowingly back down at him.

"I understand what ye're about," Rings began, "fooling them on the black ship, them as tried to ram us, into thinking we're ablaze from stem to stern, and going down. But what if they see us, now, and aren't fooled?"

Belmer looked back at the flames behind them for a moment, and turned to face the dwarf again. "Then," he said softly, and Sharessa saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled mirthlessly in the darkness, "youll all have to start earning your jargoons."

"I've sailed ships before,'' Anvil growled to Brindra, as they stood shoulder to shoulder hauling in a mainsail line, "but by the looks of 'em, that's more than these Tharkar rats've ever done."

His barrel-shaped comrade spat over the rail, nodded grimly, and replied, "Our new master would've done better to leave them all behind on the docks, to be sure. I never heard of crew who had to be clubbed senseless to keep them from leaping to their deaths in the sea!"

"If I'd known we were going to be fighting fires and dancing bones half the night, I'd've put away a few less tankards back at the Masques," Brindra said. "When d'y'suppose Belmer will think we've run far enough and let us all find a bunk? Or does he think his jargoons buy folks' sleep, too?" She yawned for perhaps the hundredth time.

Anvil groaned. "Don't do that, woman! I'm afraid 111 be wakened by my head bouncing off the deck after I fall asleep and then fall over!"

Brindra chuckled hoarsely. "That's better than not waking when you crack your head open on the deck, if you take my meaning."

"Ho ho," Anvil agreed with weary sarcasm. "Are we going to work the sails all night? I hear Kara-Tur's notautfwrffarofr…"

"Was that someone yawning I heard?" a dry voice asked, out of the darkness down the rail.

Anvil turned. "Belgin? What news?"

"Supper," was the wry reply, as Belgin and Rings staggered into view, a dented carry-cauldron between them. Its edges bristled with ladles, hook-jacks, and pans. "Some sort of soup our mysterious and all-talented master cooked up."

"He cooks, too? Gods above," Brindra muttered.

"So that's where he went," Anvil said, accepting a pan of steaming liquid. It looked thick and green in the moonlight, and when he stirred the spoon that came in it, pale lumps surfaced momentarily. He peered at them rather suspiciously as a hungry-looking Ingrar joined them. "Any idea what went into this?"

"Dead things," the dwarf said laconically." 'Shrooms, sea turtles by the score, a crab he netted, and herbs- lots of herbs."

"Not like that powder he threw on the boats, I hope," Sharessa said with a yawn, joining them. "If I didn't think he wasn't quite crazed, I'd guess he intended to keep us hauling on sails and trying to outrace black ships all night!"

"No," Rings joked, twisting his voice into strangled mimicry of the gaunt sailor back in the Masques, "it's ghost ships ye has to watch out for, lassie! Late at night, when folk on the moon watch are a-yawn, they rise out of the deeps, trailing bones and seaweed, and creep up on the leeboards of unsuspecting ships, seeki-"

"Oh belt up, nimble tongue of the Olnblades," Sharessa said affectionately, patting the dwarf's tanned bald head. She knew he hated that.

Rings gave her a glare. "You sound to me like a lass too sleepy to have any o' this fine soup, hey?"

"Give," Sharessa told him grimly, "or youll be wearing that ladle in a shorter time than you'd think-the handle in your gullet and the bowl out your backside."

Grinning, Rings passed over a steaming skillet. As Anvil had before her, Sharessa stirred and looked at it curiously.

"'Sgood," Anvil assured her, licking the last errant drops from his thumbs. "First time I've ever really liked sea turtle."

Sharessa raised her own hot spoon, sniffed, and sipped. It was good, with a strange taste, like lemons, under the stronger briny tastes of the seafood. She dug in.

"Anyone hazard who gifted us with fire arrows and skeletons?" Brindra asked idly. "I'd like to know who we're running from-so I can accidentally run into them in Tharkar-port some night, with my sword unfortunately drawn."

The ghost of Blackfingers, furious that we've taken ship with someone else?" Rings teased.

That's not funny," Sharessa told him. "I liked Ralingor," she added, almost in a whisper, after a moment- and then wondered why she'd admitted that aloud. She never wanted anyone to know about the nights she'd crept into his cabin, so late that even Destra and his other wenches were snoring.

Angrily she banished those memories, and the tears she knew they'd bring. Gods, why was she thinking this way?

"I never wanted to go to sea," Belgin told them, his voice low. "I just ran out of cities that my neck was safe in."

"Who doesn't?" Rings grunted, "what with the Five Kingdoms the way they are-all double-dealing merchants, and nasty feuds wherever idiots aren't hurling armies!"

"Or fleets," Anvil grunted. "Which reminds me: unless Master Belmer knows some back way into wherever we're to search for this lady of his, we'll be turning south soon-into the very teeth of the Doegan Dogs."