The Return of Nightfall, page 12
Softly, Alber reminded them, “Sudian saved Edward’s life and killed the sorcerer.”
Tenneth remembered. They all did. Nevertheless, he considered the possibilities. Nikolei had made an excellent point regarding Gilleran, who had worked his way into the king’s trust and the same position of power by also appearing selflessly loyal. “At the time, Sudian was only a squire. He needed an act that grand to earn his promotion to a position of ultimate trust.”
Alber tented his fingers over the parchment. “But he could have died. Should have. What would that have gained him?”
“Should have,” Nikolei repeated, raising his craggy head. “But didn’t.” His eyes became wary slits. “Just how did he survive that fall anyway?”
It was a long-standing debate. Most believed the Almighty Father had intervened, slowing Sudian’s fall to reward him for protecting the sacred line of kings. Had Gilleran succeeded in slaughtering Edward along with his father and brother, the bloodline of the Nargols would have ended that day. Less religious folk attributed Sudian’s survival to the tree branches he had seized to slow his landing, to the dumb luck of landing on top of Gilleran, or to a combination of both.
No one spoke any of the tired arguments now, but Nikolei raised a new one. “Only magic could have saved him.” He lowered his wheaten head, hatred clearly stamped across his features. “What do we know about Sudian’s past, anyway? Is it possible we have another sorcerer for a chancellor?”
From his studies, Tenneth knew events in history had a habit of recurring. Both of the warrior commanders had expressed their distrust of and dislike for Sudian in the past. Edward’s well-known exuberance and unsophisticated innocence in combination with Sudian’s suspiciously excessive loyalty raised troubling doubts about the chancellor’s long-term intentions. “That’s an excellent question, Admiral. What exactly do we know about Sudian’s past?”
“Not much,” Elliat said, head bobbing at the implications.
“Then,” Simont finished with warrior finality. “It’s time we find out what we can.”
The Sharius rocked gently over the swells of the Klaimer Ocean, under the smooth control of her crew. Though he had decided to spend most of the trip in his quarters, Nightfall found the actual execution of this plan unbearable. Alone, he brooded, worrying about rescuing the missing king without the proper information or any known direction. He felt helpless, which drove him to terrible, fierce fits of anger. He hated the situation, his ignorance, and his inability to tap the many information sources he had once kept at his disposal. He wanted to grab every man in existence by the throat and shake until one of them delivered King Edward, alive and unharmed, or at least the facts he needed to find the king himself.
Instead, Nightfall spent his days topside, listening to the guards’ stories and regaling them with some of his own. His time as Frihiat had taught him how to capture and hold attention, as well as to tell when his audience needed a change. He reveled in the riffle of salt air through his hair and the ceaseless slog of water against the hull. He even took some malicious pleasure in the occasional sight of the nobleman, Ragan, flopped over the railing, vomiting into the sea. Unlike Nightfall, the Schizian did spend most of his time in his quarters, until driven out in need of open air. Occasionally, he joined his men for a meal or to discuss mission matters, but he always avoided Nightfall. His rare glances vividly displayed distrust and hatred, a detail not lost on the guards.
On the sixth day of the crossing, the young blond, Dawser, approached Nightfall, who had his back pressed to the main mast, legs stretched out in front of him. “I think you’re incredible,” the boy said, sitting cross-legged beside him. “Why doesn’t Ragan like you?”
Nightfall glanced up, sweeping the deck with his gaze from long habit. A few of the guards and sailors milled about, some within earshot; but they seemed intent on other things. He did not care if they overheard. “I don’t know. I thought maybe one of you could tell me.”
Dawser ran a hand through his hair, leaving the short strands standing up in its wake. “I don’t know either. He seems to think you had something to do with the murders and your king’s disappearance.”
Nightfall appreciated the direct response. Though that possibility had sat foremost in his suspicions, it helped to have someone in the know clarify it. He snorted. “That’s nonsense.”
“I know.”
Though Dawser could not possibly know, Nightfall appreciated his loyalty, even if it did serve little real purpose. “I’m as faithful to and protective of King Edward as any man can be.”
“I know.”
Nightfall swiveled his head to look directly at the younger man. “How do you know?”
Dawser cleared his throat and spoke with a certainty beyond his years. “Because no one would do what Harvistan says you did in Duke Varsah’s dungeon unless he really cared for the person he was looking for.”
“And,” a wavy-haired, heavy-set guard added, joining them, “you fret way too much to be celebrating a calculated victory.” Nightfall remembered his name as Chintylin.
Ivin, who had been conversing with Chintylin a moment earlier came, too, to put in his piece. “And you’ve been a noble for too short a time to already think the way they do.”
Nightfall’s brows bunched, and the other two guards looked equally confused.
Chintylin questioned first. “What do you mean by that?”
Ivin made a noise deep in his throat. “I mean most commonfolk won’t dare harm nobles for fear of punishment, but the highborn take to slaughtering one another for status. Sudian’s not been privileged long enough to start using such tactics.”
Though Chintylin had come up with his own reason for Nightfall’s innocence, he dismissed Ivin’s. “Tactics like murdering a whole roomful of people?” He waved a hand. “Please. That doesn’t take a strategist.”
Ivin pressed his back to the side of the ship and slid to the deck. “Oh, it’s not subtle, but it worked. How’s Sudian supposed to get the clout or the money to hire the Bloodshadow Brotherhood in the three days he’s had to learn how to be a highborn?”
Though moot, and dangerously wrong, the question raised others. Nightfall could not believe an organized underground network existed that he knew nothing about. “The Bloodshadow Brotherhood? What’s that?”
Dawser jumped back in, “It’s this really mean bunch of thugs.”
Nodding, Chintylin elaborated. “Rumor is they’re demons, one grown from every droplet of blood spilled during the execution of Nightfall.”
Nightfall forced a shiver. “Creepy.”
“Quick and total destruction.” Ivin grunted. “Without a hint of humanity or guilt. They’re good at what they do, and they’re the only ones I can think of who could render an entire room of witnesses silent.”
Nightfall finally had his answer, though it merely served to raise more questions. He considered these, limited to the ones that would not make it clear he understood the workings of criminals.
At that moment, a cry wafted from above. “Pirates!”
Nightfall’s blood ran cold. Before he could think, he darted past the guards, leaped to the boom, and shinnied up the riggings. Even the off duty sailors scurried to the railings.
“Starboard!” the lookout shouted. “Black sails!”
Nightfall looked out over mild seas to the rapidly approaching ship. Sleek and light, it moved before the wind with a quickness The Sharius could never outrun. Double-masted with three triangular jibs, it flew two different flags from the topmasts, both jet black. The main mast’s bore a white hourglass against the dark fabric, and the mizzen’s displayed a human figure and a treasure chest, with arrows pointing each way between them. Nightfall recognized the meaning of only one. The hourglass cautioned them to surrender swiftly, before time ran out and bloodshed became imminent. He did not recognize the second; his ships had never used or seen it. Men swarmed the pirate ship’s railings and riggings, and sunlight glimmered from the blades of their thick, curved short swords.
Professionals. Nightfall scampered down the lines to the deck.
Danyal appeared at Nightfall’s side. “Quickly, my lord. You need to go below.”
Dread prickled through Nightfall. He had faced pirates once before, as Marak, had watched them gleefully slaughter every sailor for the pittance of money they carried and the cargo in the hold. Then, the pirate’s captain had appreciated Nightfall’s deadly aim and allowed him to live on as a member of the pirate crew. It seemed unlikely Nightfall would find two brigand captains enthralled by his ability to throw knives, and he had no better plan for survival this time. He could only hope the guards and crew could overpower the pirates and not too many would die.
“Come! Come, my lord!” Danyal hauled on Nightfall’s hand. “Quickly.”
With no plan of his own, Nightfall followed Danyal across the deck, to the ladder, and into the hold. Plunged into sudden darkness, Nightfall did not wait for his eyes to adjust, trusting his memory and the cabin boy to lead him safely to his quarters. He knew they would find only temporary safety there. Once the pirates killed the guards and sailors, they would come first to find any goodies stored below. With blood frenzy at its height, they would search every corner, steal or burn the ship itself, and take a grim and ferocious pleasure in tearing apart any man they thought to be noble.
Danyal came to a sudden halt at the door to Nightfall’s cabin. When the boy made no move to open it, Nightfall whirled to face the first mate, a spare, balding man with a crusted beard and piercing blue eyes who stood against the wall between the two cabins.
“Sudian,” the man said, as if seeing right through the cabin boy, “sir.”
Danyal’s hand slipped from Nightfall’s, and he sidled toward the exit.
Feet rattled on the deck, and the shouts of readying guards and sailors blended into a hum punctuated by shouts.
“That’s me,” Nightfall confirmed. “Were you looking for me?”
“Yes, sir.” The mate continued to train his sharp gaze on Nightfall, though he shuffled his feet with clear uneasiness. “I’m afraid pirates are swiftly approaching the ship.”
Nightfall nodded. “I’m aware of that.”
“Yes.” The first mate fell into an edgy silence that unnerved Nightfall more than the stare.
“How can I help?” he prodded. If someone had a reasonable idea, he felt more than ready to consider it. All of their lives depended on it. When pirates turned their minds to plunder and slaughter, no one survived unless he seemed worth more money sold into slavery. A slight, sinewy thirty-four-year-old man did not fit that category.
“The pirates have proposed what they call a ‘hostage barter.’ ”
Nightfall narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly to indicate the words meant nothing to him. For once, he did not have to feign ignorance. He could not recall his pirate company ever employing such a tactic, but he guessed the second flag announced their intentions, since the other ship had not yet drawn close enough for direct communication.
“If we surrender the highest-ranking man on the ship, they won’t fight us. No one dies.”
Nightfall remained in place, and his expression did not change. It made no sense for pirates to accept some soft-handed, sweet-smelling noble like Ragan instead of whatever treasures the ship might hold. “Then . . . ?”
“The hostage barters for his life, promises a reasonable amount of silver or gems or jewels to equal his worth. If the pirates accept the blood price, the exchange is made. The agreed upon amount goes to the pirates, and the man returns to his rightful ship.”
“If not . . .” Nightfall prompted.
The mate’s face flushed, barely noticeable in the darkness of the hold. Danyal tried to look busy, now behind Nightfall. “. . . the hostage is killed. The pirates board the ship, slaughter every man aboard, and take whatever they wish.”
Nightfall considered the arrangement. Though different than what he had known as a sailor or a pirate, it made a certain amount of sense. So long as the pirates held the highest-ranking passenger, the crew would not attack. The brigands had a nobleman to terrorize without risking their own lives in any way. The pirates might not get all the moneys aboard, but they would not settle for any pittance. The hostage seemed likely to promise anything, if properly “persuaded,” and would likely hold his life worth a significant amount of treasure. In time, one’s worth in barter to pirates might even become a symbol of status among the highborn. The pirates would get their money, the ship might keep at least some of her goods, and no one had to fight or die. Guessing the first mate’s next question, Nightfall said, “You may feel free to use the chest of money, gems, and jewelry I brought aboard as you see fit for barter.”
“Thank you, sir.” No taller than Nightfall, the first mate met his gaze levelly. “But I’m not the one who’ll be doing the bartering.”
Nightfall dismissed the comment with a wave. “Then tell Ragan he can use the Alyndarian treasure.” Though he did not care for the nobleman, he saw no reason to put the guards and crew at risk for an unnecessary battle. Money meant nothing to him, especially when it was not his own. “All of it, if he believes he’s worth it.”
“Yes, sir.” The first mate’s gaze returned to his shoes, and he shuffled his feet in a nervous gesture. “But Alyndar’s lord chancellor and adviser outranks a Schizian knight.”
As the implications suddenly became all too clear, Nightfall felt his chest squeeze tight. “Me?”
“You, sir.” Now, the first mate dodged Nightfall’s gaze. “You are the highest-ranking man aboard The Sharius. You are the one the pirates want.”
Chapter 5
Given a chance and a little ingenuity, most men will hand you their money.
—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend
The Sharius’ canvas snapped and rattled in the winds as she lay at anchor in the Klaimer Ocean. Nightfall stood near the main mast, with one booted foot propped against the rail, studying the other ship. Above him, a sailor in the lookout post flashed a flag indicating agreement to the terms. The Schizian guards, fully armored, stood around him, offering words of advice and encouragement that Nightfall did not bother to heed. He did not need their sympathy; the arrangement suited him. If lives had to hinge on the skills of one man aboard, he preferred it to be himself. He had survived too long by trusting his own instincts; and the idea of waiting in ignorance while Ragan, or one of the sailors, bartered for him might have driven him to madness.
Although the first mate, a man he now knew as Bermann, had told him any monetary exchange would occur after the bargaining, Nightfall had crammed his pockets with gems, jewelry, and silver. He did not want to give the pirates any reason to board The Sharius or an opportunity to violate their promise by claiming some man had offended them. Tensions would remain high on both sides, and neither guards nor pirates were known for holding their tempers. He had hidden Edward’s personal ring deep in the change of clothing he left lying casually across his bed. The ring clearly held significance beyond its obvious value, and he could not allow it to catch a pirate’s fancy.
Bermann stood beside Nightfall now, the only man he bothered to listen to. “We’re not usually a sea-crossing ship. We prefer jobs nearer to Brigg, so most of the crew has a family. The captain and I prefer to bring them all safely home.”
Nightfall nodded once, saying nothing. He had no intention of squandering lives, his own included.
“Thank you.” Bermann rested a hand on Nightfall’s shoulder. “The sailors, they love the sea. It’s not a well paying job, but—”
When Bermann did not continue, Nightfall tore his gaze from the pirate ship to look directly at the first mate.
“The men have scrounged together seven silvers they can add to the coffer. The captain says he’ll contribute two of his own as well.”
It was a fortune to workingmen, and Nightfall appreciated their generosity, though he refused it. “Thank you, Bermann; it’s a generous offer. But if it takes more than the treasures of Alyndar to appease these killers, nine more silvers won’t make a difference.”
Now, Bermann nodded, and Nightfall returned his attention to the sea. A detail niggled at his thoughts, and he frowned. The impending ordeal had nearly pushed it from his mind, but he needed to mention his suspicions to the first mate in case his discussions with the pirates failed. He pitched his voice too low for anyone to overhear. “Bermann, you need to look to your men.”
The first mate drew a step toward Nightfall, though it put him nearer than proper social boundaries demanded. “Excuse me, sir?”
“You have a traitor aboard. Or else one on shore who knew your mission.”
Bermann jerked away, clearly shocked by the accusation. Then, curiosity overcame surprise, and he returned to their conversation. “Why . . . ? Why do you say so?”
A small boat slid down the side of the pirates’ ship, and two men scurried down a hatchwork of sisal lines to settle into it. For a few moments, they adjusted their paddles, then started rowing for The Sharius.
The apprehension around Nightfall seemed to treble in an instant. He could sense the coil of guardsmen’s hands around hilts, and even sailors’ fingers disappeared into their tight-fitting shirts, where they kept a utility knife or two. As his eyes adjusted to the sea mist, Nightfall carved out details that distance and salt-grained air had kept at bay. Though sleeker and smaller than The Sharius, the pirate ship looked weathered, its caulking dull and overdue for repair. The bowsprit held a trinket shimmering with amber highlights that defined it as gold, and it appeared to have the shape of an animal head. Nightfall’s imagination filled in gem-encrusted eyes. He put his mind to its significance. If the pirates could afford to put such a great piece on display, without fighting over its ownership, it meant they had fared well in the past few days or weeks. Heavy with treasure, battle weary, they would understandably choose a ploy such as their so-called “hostage barter.” Likely, they were already short several men and ready to return to whatever city or hidden atoll they called home. Someone with more ship experience than these bloodthirsty bandits-at-sea needed to handle repairs before their slipshod maintenance sent them all to a watery grave.
