The King's Buccaneer by Raymond E. Feist
Abigail had returned at last to sit on her bed, and for another hour one of the creatures had sat staring at her. Then it had tried to touch her.
Margaret said, “Have you ever heard of anything like these?”
“No,” said Abigail. “They’re some sort of demon.”
Margaret studied the one who stared at her. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing that seems magical about them. But their skin looks like the hand I saw when I looked out the window on the ship that one time.”
The door opened and the servants brought in the morning meal. The girls didn’t feel much like eating, but they knew that if they didn’t, they would be force-fed. As they ate, the interest of the two creatures seemed to increase and they tried to get closer. Abigail drove off hers by throwing a plate at it, while Margaret simply ignored the other.
After the meal, Arjuna entered, and before he could speak, Margaret shouted, “What are these creatures?”
In his always calm tone, he said, “These? They are harmless. Companions for you.”
“Well, I don’t want them here!” insisted Abigail. “Take them away.”
All Arjuna would say was “They will do you no injury. They will remain.” He pulled up a chair and said, “Now, what do you know of the legend of Sarth?”
Margaret looked at the creature who stared at her, and for a moment there was something in its dead eyes that glimmered with intelligence. She felt a shiver down her back and turned away.
—
THE BOATS MOVED lazily down the river. Nicholas sat on the foredeck of the first, a lumbering thing of high gunwales, a half-barge, with a mast that lay folded along its length, as they used the currents of the Serpent River to carry them toward their destination. Two long oars beat halfheartedly against the current, keeping them moving faster than the water just enough so the tiller would do some good. They’d been aboard the boats for a week now, and would reach the City of the Serpent River soon.
Nicholas reviewed their situation. Between what they had salvaged from Shingazi’s Landing and the treasure, Nicholas’s Company, as they were now calling themselves, was well outfitted and relatively wealthy. They had moved downriver to the village that Praji had spoken of, and rested there.
At first the villagers had fled in terror, believing them to be bandits, but Nicholas had waited calmly with the wagons for a day until one of the braver men had ventured out of the nearby woods to speak with him. It took only a few kind words and a gold piece to convince the man they weren’t going to steal everything in sight, which they could have done while the villagers were hiding.
The villagers had turned out and feted the company for more than a week, and Nicholas’s injured recovered. He had hated to lose the time, but Nicholas had agreed that everyone needed rest before they attempted to move south by wagon. And the village was the most logical place to hail any passing river traffic. During this time, Praji’s companion, Vaja, had recovered sufficiently to join in conversations with the others. Nicholas discovered him to be a vain man, proud of his handsome profile and curly locks. The younger women of the village reinforced his high opinion of himself, lavishing attention on the handsome fighter, bringing him water, fresh fruit, and honeyed bread during the day and, Nicholas suspected, more intimate proof at night. Nicholas had also discovered that Vaja’s noble-sounding speech was an affectation, and that, on balance, he wasn’t a very intelligent man. Praji seemed to be the brains of the pair, but he was content to let others think the more charismatic Vaja was.
While his men had convalesced, Nicholas had undergone a quick course of instruction from Ghuda on the deployment of men at the company level. If Praji and Vaja stayed with them, they would number thirty-five soldiers and Brisa. The sailors had grumbled about the drills, but the soldiers had mocked them unmercifully until they had become practiced enough to hold their own in the mock drills and combat. Each man was put through endless sword and bow practice, until all were able to use the weapons, even if with only marginal skill. From what Praji and Tuka said, thirty-five was a small number for a company of any repute—some of the larger numbered as many as six hundred—but it was sufficient for them to be believable mercenaries.
At the end of the week, a river caravan hove into sight and Praji had run up a white banner, the sign for a parley. The first boat came close enough to shore for Nicholas and the caravan captain to negotiate, and after nearly ten minutes of shouting across the water, Nicholas had to have someone swim out and give the man gold.
Nicholas elected to send Harry, while Marcus, Calis, and the other bowmen were ready to provide either punishment or retreating cover should either prove necessary. But as soon as the captain of the boats saw the gold, the other boats swung into shore. It had taken nearly two hours to board everyone.
In the distance, Nicholas could see a dark smudge on the horizon, and he asked Praji, “What is that?”
“Smoke, from the City of the Serpent River. We’ll be there before nightfall.”
They had spent the entire journey considering their options and now they had a plan. At least, Nicholas hoped it was a plan, for he couldn’t admit to the others he had the feeling that he was leading them into disaster. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of Abigail and Margaret coming to harm, and the certainty that behind all the mysterious betrayals of the last two weeks stood the Pantathian serpent priests.
17
CITY
Nicholas tensed.
The Serpent River had been cutting through marshlands for an hour, and now they were crossing a huge lake. The boat crew began rowing in earnest once they were in the lake, as the currents were diffusing into the large body of water. The tillerman leaned hard against his pole and the boat turned, toward the river emptying from the lake on the east side. Nicholas sat up straighter to get a better look at the distant city. Turning to Praji, he asked, “Where are we?”
“Lake of the Kings,” answered Praji.
“Why is it called that?” asked Nicholas.
Praji lay back against a bale of cargo while Vaja slept nearby; they were hardly ever apart, it seemed to Nicholas. “This city started a long time ago as a meetin’ place for the southern tribes of the Eastlands. Over the years the city built up and now you can’t hardly tell the city men are kin to the Jeshandi and the other plains tribes.” Praji started cleaning his nails with the point of his dagger. “Each tribe had a King, see, and each year it was a different tribe’s turn to preside over the annual meetin’. That sort of turned into each year the city got a different King hell-bent on getting even for whatever the other Kings did to his tribe for the thirteen years before—fourteen big tribes, you see?
“Anyway, the folks who lived in the city got pretty tired of it after a couple of hundred years and there was a big revolt, and when it was over, all fourteen Kings and quite a number of their kinfolk was dumped into this here lake. That’s why it’s the Lake of the Kings.”
“What happened then?” asked Nicholas, as Marcus and Harry came to sit and listen. They were now about halfway across the lake and could see another river emptying out of it, a river that seemed to wind around to the east side of the city.
“Well, for a while they tried getting along without rulers, but after a few major fires and some riots where hundreds died, they decided that was a stupid idea, and they decided their clan chiefs could have this council. As there was members of the same clan in more than one tribe, that seemed fair, and nobody got too upset, and things was pretty good, as I hear it, for a few hundred years.”
“Then the Overlord showed up?” said Harry.
“Well, he was around for a while, I guess,” said Praji. He scratched his chin. “I’ve heard a few stories here and there about who he was, but nobody knows for sure. It doesn’t pay to ask questions in too many places.”
“Secret police?” asked Nicholas.
“Called the Black Rose, if you can swallow that. Run by somebody known only as ‘the Controller,’ and nobody know
Praji put up his knife. “Here’s what I do know about the Overlord. His name is Valgasha, which isn’t a Jeshandi name, nor from anyplace I’ve ever been. He’s a tall man, ’cause I seen him once on a parade day at the End of Summer Festival. Big as your friend Ghuda, I’d say. Looks about thirty, but I hear he looks like he did the day he took control, and with those stories about his magician, who knows. Has a pet eagle he hunts like a falcon. Folks say that it’s a magic bird.”
Nicholas asked, “How much longer to the city?”
Praji said, “Not too much longer.” He pointed to a distant stand of trees on the far shore. “Lake empties over there, into the river that leads around the city.”
Praji fell silent awhile, then said, “When we get there, we’d best find you someplace to put up; a company’s got to have a place where potential employers can find it.” He said, “You got any objection to simple living?”
Nicholas said, “No. Why?”
“Well,” answered Praji, “you’ve got more gold than sense, from what I can see, and a small company living too high is a beacon for trouble. Wouldn’t do to put up at the priciest hostel in the city and have a couple of hundred fighters come visiting the second or third night. But if you live too plain, then folks will think you’re broke or cheap.” He thought about it a minute, then said, “I think I know the place. Just off the bazaar. Modest, not too dirty, and the hostler won’t rob you blind.”
Nicholas smiled. “I assume it’s someplace we might be able to hear a thing or two?”
“You can assume all you like,” said Praji with his broken-toothed grin, “but the trick isn’t hearing stuff, it’s sifting out the truth from the rumors from the lies.” He yawned. “In twenty years on the road, I’ll tell you I’ve never seen anyplace quite like the City of the Serpent River. Now, you take Maharta, for one. Clean city, brisk trading town, lot of civic pride. They call it the Queen City of the River, and yet a man can get murdered for a copper coin there as easily as anywhere else.” Praji continued his speculations on the strengths and weaknesses of different cities he had visited, while Nicholas watched the approaching city begin to take form in the distance. Where only a vague shadowy greyness had been visible on the horizon, now towers and walls began to be visible.
There were marshes all around the lake, and low rush beds, making it difficult to see where water ended and land began. Somewhere beyond the edge of the lake, a series of low earthen mounds rose, all barren except for a few tough-looking plants. To the right, the western side of the lake, the ground rose away from the marshes. Some broken masonry proclaimed that once someone had built there, but the area was completely deserted. Above it stood a small cliff face, perhaps fifty feet high, and on that Nicholas could see some activity, though it was too distant to make out what it was.
“Farms,” said Praji, as if reading Nicholas’s mind. “You’ll see lots of small ones in close to the city, for protection. A few burned-out ones on the far side of the river. It’s tough land to defend, and the Overlord’s soldiers won’t stir unless someone’s attacking the walls or he’s in the mood.” He spit over the side.
After a while they entered the eastern river and picked up speed as the currents increased. As they skirted the edge of the city, they saw a burned-out farmhouse on the east bank. “I see what you mean,” said Nicholas.
“Wasn’t raiders did that,” said Praji. He pointed to a hill a half-mile away upon which a large estate house rose, surrounded by a high wall. “That’s the estate of Dahakon. When he’s not in the Overlord’s palace, that’s where you’ll find him, though why anyone would want to is beyond me.” He made a good-luck sign. “He decided the farm was too close to his estates and ordered it burned by the Red Slayers.”
After they passed under a bridge that led to the magician’s estate, they entered an area of huts and houseboats clustered along both sides of the river. These were poor people by the look of things, fishermen, workers in the city who couldn’t afford to live there, and some farmers with terraces of land behind their huts. Small boats darted here and there, running errands and carrying foodstuffs. From several of the boats, children waved and laughed as the river caravan passed, and Nicholas waved back.
The farther downriver they moved, the more boats crowded around them. Near the landing, Nicholas saw that some of the riverside buildings were old, built up to two and even three stories high. From the balconies of several, women in varying states of dress sat, displaying themselves and calling out their names to the rivermen.
“Whores,” said Praji indifferently.
Nicholas blushed as one called out to him and suggested something he hadn’t realized was possible. Praji saw him turning red and laughed. “Captain,” he said dryly.
The eastern bank fell away as the river’s mouth broadened, and they entered an estuary. Holding tightly to the right-hand shore, they followed it around until they encountered the first of a large series of docks and quays. A small boat cut across their bow, heading for a ship anchored out in deeper water, and the helmsman of Nicholas’s boat cursed the man at the tiller of the smaller craft as they barely missed colliding.
Nicholas followed the craft and then his eyes settled on something in the harbor. “Marcus,” he called.
Marcus moved forward. “What?”
“Tell Amos to look over there.” He pointed.
Marcus looked, then nodded and went back to the stern of the boat. He shouted to the second boat, where Amos sat. “Nicholas says to look over there.”
Amos shouted back. “Tell him I already saw it. It’s the same one.”
Marcus returned and said, “Amos says it’s the same one.”
Nicholas nodded. “I thought so.”
Riding high at anchor, her hold empty, the black ship sat like a beacon for them. Nicholas turned to Marcus. “We did make the right choice.”
Marcus put his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder and said nothing.
—
THEY LEFT THE boats and made their way through the crowded dockside, down a broad street that led to a huge open-air bazaar. Praji and Vaja led the party through the press in the market, telling them to stay close less they get lost.
Nicholas’s senses were dazzled by the exotic display of costumes and wares. The people were as diverse as those in Krondor or the north of Kesh. Men and women of all colors, from fair-skinned and blond to dark as night, thronged the market, shouting the value of their wares and haggling over price. The dress of the locals was diverse enough that the outlandish dress of Nicholas’s crew did not attract notice. Garish colors were common, so even Harry’s choices of colors drew no attention.
Praji turned the company south at a large intersection of two open malls and down through another quarter of the bazaar. Soon they left the market and passed through a narrow street, to another, where they found themselves before the hostel. Praji entered with Nicholas and shouted, “Keeler!”
A stout man, with a scar running down his left cheek, appeared from a back room. “Praji!” he said, picking up a meat cleaver. Slamming it down into the wood of the bar for emphasis, he said, “I thought I’d seen the last of your miserable face a month back.”
Praji shrugged. “Got a better offer.” He indicated Nicholas with a bob of his head. “This is my new captain.”
Keeler squinted at Nicholas through beady blue eyes, then scratched his stubbly chin. “Very well. What do you need…Captain?”
“Quarters for forty of us.”
“I’ve room for fifty,” he said. “Six private rooms that will hold up to four each and a common sleeping room for twenty-six. You can squeeze a few more in if you’re friendly,” he added with a smile.
“We’ll take them all,” answered Nicholas. “I’m seeking new recruits.” They had agreed that this story would give them a few days to sit and apparently do nothing. Mercen
Nicholas signaled to Harry, who stood at the door; Harry passed word and the company entered. The Ranjana threw Nicholas a black look as she came in with her maids and inspected the hostel common room. Nicholas had not shared with her the details of why the Overlord’s soldiers had come to Shingazi’s Landing. The girl had expected to be taken straight to the Overlord’s palace and was outraged that she was being required to continue another day in Nicholas’s company. Putting her under Brisa’s watchful eye proved the proper solution; the Freeport street girl informed the Ranjana that if she caused a fuss, Brisa would be happy to cut her tongue out.
Once they were in their quarters, Nicholas inspected the hostel. They had use of the common room, its courtyards—which Nicholas judged would be sufficient for the men’s drilling—the stable, which was currently empty, save for a shaggy donkey who viewed the approach of strangers with beatific indifference, and the common room. It was traditional for the company occupying a hostel to decide if the common room would be open to outsiders or not. That was the first topic of conversation for his first meeting with those he decided would act as staff: Marcus, Ghuda, and Amos, as well as Praji. Nicholas had concocted a story about their being from a very distant city on the other side of the continent, which Praji seemed to accept at face value; the lands between the city-states were so chaotic that men seldom traveled more than a few hundred miles from the place of their birth, and even widely traveled soldiers for hire such as Praji had journeyed only as far away as the city of Lanada, home of a Priest-King who was the current cause of regional unrest, for he was involved in a three-way war with the Raj of Maharta and the Overlord of the City of the Serpent River.
Nicholas sat with his lieutenants in the common room, while Harry oversaw getting the men into their rooms and stowing their gear. Nicholas said, “Praji, what’s the best choice? Keep the commons open or close it?”