Juliet McKenna - The Assassin's Edge

“That’s a rich man’s plaything,” commented the Dulse ’s boatswain. He gestured towards the gilded carving all around the sloop’s stern, the leaded glass in the cramped single cabin’s windows. The aftdeck above it was barely big enough to give the helmsman room to wrestle the whipstaff but it was adorned with two highly polished lamps and a carved dolphin springing along the stern rail. Another one arched beneath the bowsprit.

“I wonder who he killed to get it,” Temar murmured. He took a deep breath to calm his stomach. This was no time to get seasick.

Muredarch stood amidships by the leeboard that could be lowered or raised to adjust the vessel’s draught. He gave Temar a lordly wave that set sunlight striking blue fire from the diamonds studding his rings.

“Dressed fit for an audience with Tadriol, isn’t he?” Usara leaned on the rail and studied their foe.

“He’s certainly prospered since he met those enchanters in Kalaven,” said Temar. “What is it?” He saw concentration furrowing the wizard’s brow, which did nothing to calm his nervousness.

“I’m making the water run counter to Larissa’s spell.” Usara kept his attention fixed on the sea. “Just so they’re going nowhere without our permission.”

Guinalle appeared on Temar’s other side. “None of the Elietimm are aboard.”

“That’s good to know.” Though Temar hadn’t thought they would be.

“Esquire,” Muredarch called. “I’m offering a parley as you see. May I come aboard?”

“No!” Temar’s reply rang out half a breath ahead of a chorus of refusal from the Dulse .

“You will address the Sieur D’Alsennin with proper courtesy,” bellowed Halice.

“Messire.” Muredarch bowed from the waist and the sloop’s sparse crew did the same. Temar felt sure he was being mocked and anger drove out the qualms in his belly.

“Can you work a truth charm for me?” Temar murmured to Guinalle. “Just for a little while.” She nodded and stepped a pace back, murmuring an incantation under her breath.

“That’s close enough,” warned Halice from the aftcastle as the pirate vessel came almost within reach of the catheads supporting the Dulse ’s anchor.

“So, Messire D’Alsennin, what can I do for you?” Muredarch stood up, strong legs in black broadcloth and polished boots set wide to balance easily on the swaying boards.

“It’s your parley.” Temar rested his hands lightly on the rail. “It’s for you to offer me something, isn’t it?”

“I feel I should explain myself first.” Muredarch’s words carried easily across the water, a resonant note to his voice. The man could probably make himself heard in a hurricane, Temar thought.

“You doubtless think me merely a pirate.” Muredarch held up a hand though no one on the Dulse was disputing this. “Well, perhaps. In my youth, yes, I strayed among the free traders but that’s my point really. Pursuing letters of marque, bounties and the like, that’s a young man’s game and you can see my grey hairs from there, can’t you?” His self-deprecating laugh invited them to join in. Temar stayed stony-faced, Usara unmoved beside him, Guinalle’s expression unreadable on his other side. The pirate scanned their countenances, glancing up to Halice high on the aftdeck. His face hardened and Temar looked to see the mercenary commander wasn’t bothering to conceal her disdain as she sneered down on the pirate.

“I’m looking for a new role for myself, something more suited to my years and experience,” Muredarch continued conversationally. “These islands belong to no one and I’ve a mind to set up here.” He smiled amiably before adding with a first hint of menace, “You can’t show me any writ of yours running here, nor yet Tadriol’s.”

Temar ignored that. Halice might not think much of his training with the Imperial cohorts but even he knew better than to pick a fight on hopeless ground. “What exactly are you hoping to set up?”

Muredarch’s smile broadened with growing confidence. “You’ll be hoping to trade across the ocean, when you get this colony of yours on its feet. I could run a nice watering station for you here, offer a place where cargoes could be bought and sold maybe. That would cut everyone’s journeys. Surely, that would be worth a share in the coin you’ll all be earning? Good anchorage, secure warehousing and the men to make sure everyone keeps honest would look a handsome offer to most merchants I know.”

“I find it a remarkable offer from a pirate who’s been preying on our ships,” Temar replied with chilly formality.

“What if I agreed to leave your ships well alone? You don’t bother me; I don’t bother you. No, wait, I can do more for you than that.” A confiding note warmed Muredarch’s voice. “You’ll be a powerful rival to Inglis inside a few years, if you’ve any sense. They won’t like that, now will they? There’ll be letters of marque issued against your ships; they’ll find some reason to do it. If I were to be sitting here, a few good ships to back me, I could turn hunters into hunted. Curtailing the Inglis trade at your nod, I could improve your markets just when you needed it.”

“I hardly think so,” said Temar coldly.

“You know what they’re saying around Inglis, do you? And Kalaven, Blacklith?” Muredarch challenged him, beard jutting. “That you’re an untried boy holding one small corner of a vast land, gold in the rivers for the picking, gems in the sands of the beaches. They’re saying land and riches are for the taking, for anyone with the courage to risk the ocean. What are you going to do when ships land up your coast and set up a town for themselves? I could put a stop to all that before it starts and no one will write me off as some weakling.” The threat in his last words was unmistakable.

Temar matched his forcefulness. “Why should I grant you anything when you have stolen my colony’s goods and made slaves of innocent people?”

“You do have some spirit!” Muredarch laughed. “You want those people back? They’re building my trade town for me just now.” His face turned sly. “Well, perhaps that’s a trade we can discuss. I need rope, sailcloth, pitch for a start.”

“You misunderstand me,” Temar told him coldly. “You surrender your prisoners and your loot and then I will consider letting you live rather than hanging you for the crows for your crimes.”

“There’s spirit and then there’s foolhardiness, lad.” Muredarch scowled at Temar. “Don’t think you’ve got the hand on the whipstaff here. What makes you think you can do anything to stop me?”

“This parley is over.” Temar addressed himself to Halice, striving to equal his long-dead grandsire’s autocratic manner.

She nodded and turned to the helmsman.

“You’re young and you’re foolish, boy,” Muredarch shouted angrily. “Shame you won’t live to learn the error of your ways.” As quick as the snake on his pennant, he whipped a hand back and threw a knife at Temar. The small blade flew hard and accurate before a gust of wind suddenly flung it upward. As it fell to the water, everyone saw the blade bend back on itself, crushed by unseen hands before it disappeared into the depths.

Temar shook his head slowly. “You forget that I have other advantages to counter your years and experience. You’re as much a prisoner here as those unfortunates you’ve kidnapped. Don’t think your little ship can slip past our blockade.” He flicked a contemptuous hand at the sloop, barely two-thirds the beam or length of the Dulse .

“You’d do that, would you?” Muredarch sounded interested. “Run away and leave your men to die unheeded? No, my lad, I’ll be leaving here with all my men and all your goods and in my own good time.” The pirate didn’t look in the least disconcerted. “I have magic to call on too, boy.”