Dawnbringer

All this Gareth noted in an instant, his gaze traveling up the man’s form. When he stared into the figure’s face, he gasped.

He looked like a man, albeit orc-tall and similarly broad. But his face, otherwise human of feature, was striped like the hide of the beast Ping had on the floor of his chambers, a great cat from the jungles of Durpar. In the moonlight, he couldn’t tell what color the stripes were, but they were dark and looked painted over the pale surface of the figure’s face. His hair, long and thick, was tied back, but Gareth could see that the stripes that marked the face continued where they met the hair, which likewise alternated pale and dark.

A muffled grunt made him turn his head, and he saw Ivor a few feet away, similarly sprawled on the wide planks of the dock. A second figure grasped him firmly by the collar. This one was slightly smaller than the first, but still imposingly tall, with a similarly draped garment with loose sleeves. The figure let go of Ivor and straightened, and Gareth saw it was female. She wasn’t tiger-striped as her companion, but she wore a wide mask of some pale, thin fabric stretched across her eyes. From two oblique holes in the mask her wide, liquid-dark eyes surveyed the scene. Her dark hair was partially braided in rows back from her face, and the ends fell free over her shoulders. Gareth could see the hilt of the sword she wore strapped across her back, and his quick eyes noted that she, too, carried a dagger thrust beneath her belt.

Gareth heard Ivor coughing and, drawing his cramped legs beneath him, focused on standing up without falling over. Their rescuers, imposing as they might be, didn’t seem to intend them any harm-at least not yet. And if they did intend to attack, he’d rather meet them on his feet.

Getting his balance on the gently rocking dock was easy after the months aboard the Orcsblood. He untangled his traveling cloak from his sword belt and scabbard, but he was careful to make no sudden movement toward the hilt. The tall, striped man didn’t move as Gareth inclined his head slightly.

“My thanks to you, goodsir,” he said, then, with a nod to the female figure, added, “And to you as well, fairlady.”

Ivor was also standing, but his coughing kept him from replying. He hit his own chest with a balled fist and nodded his agreement.

The man tilted his head.

“What think you, Lakini?” he called to his companion, in a deep voice that had something of a tiger’s growl to it. He never took his eyes off Gareth. “Pirates, or fleeing from pirates?”

“Both, as I see it,” she replied, in a soft, clear alto. Her masked eyes stared unblinking at Gareth, then flicked back to Ivor, as if looking for clues.

“We’re not pirates,” Gareth said, trying to sound indignant. Both of their strange rescuers turned to regard him, their gaze unblinking and their bodies absolutely still, even on the swaying dock. The seconds stretched out, and he sensed they were ready to stare him down forever. He opened his mouth again and closed it, unsure of what to say.

Ivor cleared his throat. “We’re not pirates now,” he said in a hoarse voice, shaking his head at Gareth’s frown. “But I will admit to you fair folk that yesterday night we were. But we are no longer.”

“Reformed pirates, then,” said the woman. Both she and her companion fixed Ivor with that steely gaze, and Gareth saw him shrink beneath it.

“As it happens, we’re looking for pirates,” said the tiger-striped man.

“Would that we still were, for your good people’s sake,” said Gareth. “But, alas, we have thrown off the life.”

“Lusk and I are looking for particular pirates,” said the woman. “Or, rather, a particular pirate ship and her crew.”

“A ship that kills other ships, leaving no survivors,” said the man. “A ship well-known for her cruelty, even in these wicked days. With a master with no respect for the sanctity of life or mercy for those who would surrender.”

“Or desire for the ransom that might be earned from surrender,” said Ivor ruefully.

“Even so,” said the man.

“Leaving such a ship might have been a wise choice for one who chooses to be an ex-pirate,” said the woman. “And an even better decision for two.”

“We hope as much,” said Gareth. “And begging your pardons, but the sooner we can slip up a back road and find a place to roost in Mulmaster, the happier these expirates will be.”

The woman stepped toward him, and, hypnotized as a sparrow by a snake, he couldn’t help looking into her eyes. With an inner start, he realized that she wore no mask at all-the band across her eyes, paler than the color of her face, was either painted on or part of her facial coloration. The hair braided back from her temples continued the pale stripe.

It didn’t look like paint.

“We have business with these pirates, although they don’t know it yet,” she said, looking down at him, for she topped him by two fingerbreadths. “We would like to know where to find them.”

Gareth considered lying, but there was something very compelling about her request. If Ping heard they’d put mercenaries on his track, however …

“Very much like to know,” she said.

Gareth made a quick decision. “The Orcsblood lies at anchor there, two degrees from the light of that barge tethered there.” He pointed at the tenuous point of yellow light that looked like a tarnished star fallen to the ground. “And if you visit that fair vessel tonight, you’ll find that two of the watch were careless of their wine this night.” He swallowed and continued. “There’s a boat, late of the Orcsblood, made fast to a pier beneath this dock, if you’re of a mind to clamber down and get it. I don’t think we’ve a need for it anymore.”

Gareth’s eyes met Ivor’s questioning glance. He understood without words-it was one thing to slip away, to desert the ship in the middle of the night. It was another to put this pair of-what were they, anyway? Paladins, sworn to rid the world of Ping and his ilk? Thieves, in search of the treasure a pirate ship might hold? Pirates, looking to seize a vessel for themselves?

Whatever they were, it was another thing entirely to put them on Ping’s wake.

The woman smiled. “Many thanks, for the information and the means.”

She backed away a few paces. “I hope you prosper well, and honestly, in Mulmaster.” Her companion ignored them, staring intently into the purple-tinged darkness of the Moonsea as if he could see the Orcsblood if he concentrated enough.

It was clearly a dismissal, or at least Gareth chose to take it as such. The strangers watched them in their strange, stone-still way as Gareth took Ivor by the arm and pulled him toward the dim, irregular line of lights that marked one of the streets of Mulmaster.

The breeze was stronger now, and cold. His arms ached where his perilous climb had skinned them. His shoulders and legs were sore, too-in fact his entire body protested its treatment this night.

But it was good to be off that ship.

“They mean to destroy Ping,” said Ivor, breaking in on his thoughts as they hurried along. “And I don’t say he doesn’t deserve it. But the rest of the crew …”

“They had the same choice before them as we did,” said Gareth curtly. “And with luck it’ll distract Ping from hunting us down. And do you think that pair could take down the entire crew of the Orcsblood? ”

Ivor looked behind him. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Gareth couldn’t help a backward glance at the abandoned dock and the crescent moon hanging low in the sky. There was no one there now. It was as if the strangely marked couple had never existed.

Something moved around his neck and he jumped, startling a curse from Ivor. It was the chain, unhooking itself from around his neck and slithering down his arm, snakelike, under his filthy sleeve. When it reached his wrist, it coiled around it and solidified, thickening until it again took the shape of a torque.

“I still think you should get rid of that thing,” muttered Ivor.

“Not yet,” said Gareth. “Not till I’ve found its uses.”