'A charge of whom?' Sharessa demanded, looking around. 'There aren't enough of us to give half a dozen good blades more than a few breaths of sword practice!'
'Ah, but we have a weapon few of them can hope to prevail against!' Belgin told her. 'Belmer.'
'Ye gods!' Sharessa said, rolling her eyes. 'He's a fat man who's hired us because his tricksll only take him so far, not some hero to be worshiped!'
As she spoke, the ship beneath their boots seemed to shudder slightly, and eerie green light flashed up through all the hatches.
Chapter 6
The Sharkers exchanged startled glances as the strange glow came again, flickering violently.
Rings peered at the fast-approaching black ship, and so he was the last on board the Morning Bird to see it, as the very air around them began to glow, and swirl, and turn green.
One of the Tharkarans cried out in fear. The pirates heard the smack of an open hand crashing into flesh, followed by Kurthe's snarl of exasperation, and the thumps of the sailor's body slumping to the deck. In the silence that followed, the air slowly brightened, until the night around them was gone, and their world had become an unbroken dome of swirling, glowing mists.
'Make ready,' Anvil said tensely. 'A little mist isn't going to stop that foe from ramming us-and at the speed it was making, that'll come soon.'
'Why doesn't Belmer have those dolts back there turn us again?' Belgin asked angrily. 'We're practically holding our side out to be hit!' He clenched his fists in exasperation, and started to pace. 'Why, if he was here right now, I'd tell him soon enough-'
A hatch cover under his boots suddenly rose, spilling the sharper abruptly into the rail, and Belmer's head came into view. He looked up at the mists and nodded, as if satisfied.
Belgin seemed to have changed his mind about telling their employer anything, so it was Rings who asked, 'Hadn't we better change course or do something to keep them from ramming?'
'I've done what was necessary,' Belmer replied, just a trifle sharply.
'How did you bring on the mists?' Sharessa asked. 'You hadn't time to cast any spell!'
Belmer shrugged. 'I had time to let loose a magic I paid someone else dearly for,' he told her. 'I'd hoped not to have to use it quite so soon, but…'
'We're somewhere slightly different from where we were before you called up the mists,' Sharessa said slowly, 'aren't we?'
Belmer nodded slowly.
'So,' Rings asked breezily, 'does any danger con front us in this-' he waved his arms at the roiling fog all around '-beside the usual mischance of running into things?'
'Well,' Belmer said in dry tones, 'there's always that.' He pointed into the greenish mists at something large and dark.
Another ship was drifting out of the mists to loom up over the far rail, bowsprit outstretched.
All over the Morning Bird folk cried out. It was going to ram them, it was an ancient carrack glistening with sea slime, it was a 'Ghost ship!' Jander Turbalt bellowed, and his crew sent up a wail. 'Ghost ship!'
The Sharkers stared at the vessel as it ran almost gently up against the Morning Bird and lodged its bows in their midships rigging.
A smell wafted across the decks: a channel reek of rot and old creeping mold and dead things. The sails of the ghost ship were sagging ropes of black, glistening brine slime, and its decks were furry with seabed plants and convulsing, dying crabs, strangling on air where they'd been breathing water before. Among them strode the crew: slow, lurching sailors who wore only rotten rags. They waved the rusty stumps of cutlasses at the Sharkers in eerie silence and shambled toward the bows of their ship, seeking battle.
Sharessa stared at them and felt her stomach rise up into her throat. They seemed to see her, but they had no eyes. Their faces were glistening white sheets of flattish, eaten-away flesh, all features long gone.
The faceless pirates shuffled tirelessly toward the Morning Bird, and from its stern the Sharkers heard despairing shrieks and splashes as more of the Tharkarans, mastered by terror, sought the cold embrace of the waves.
'This is what comes of dabbling in magic,' Kurthe growled, his face as white as fine linen Rings swallowed. 'I'd as soon fight off skeletons as those. Master Belmer, can ye call off the mists and rid us of this?'
'No,' Belmer said. He looked almost dejected as he added, 'This was called to us by what I unleashed. There's no way to…'
He paused. As the faceless zombies shuffled forward, the Sharkers moved reluctantly to form a line to face them. The fat little man suddenly whirled around and snapped, 'Fight and hold them-111 be as swift as I can!'
And with that he was gone again, his rotund body fairly flying across the damp decks. Sharessa felt somehow more hopeful as she stared after him.
A shout brought her attention back to the battle at hand. Kurthe had snatched up a sailpole and was battering the faceless things as they climbed awkwardly along the bowsprit of their vessel. One of them was smashed free, to claw at the air vainly for a moment before vanishing from view into the sea. Another crawled on, its arms broken to shapeless, dangling ropes of flesh by the Konigheimer's fear-frenzied blows.
The other Sharkers watched in horrified fascination until Anvil swallowed and started to trudge forward across the decks, his sword held out before him as if it was a shield to ward away the oncoming horrors. Rings followed, and after a slow moment Brindra trailed along in his wake.
Sharessa and Belgin traded looks, shrugged, and advanced in their turn, leaving only Ingrar, shivering and pale with fear.
Trembling and retching, the lad brought up the rear, more to stay with his comrades than because he'd found any scraps of bravery. When the first of the faceless things found its footing on the decks of the Morning Bird and hacked at Kurthe with dogged, dreamlike slowness, Ingrar moaned aloud.
The Konigheimer laid about himself with almost frenzied strength, roaring his defiance, goaded by fear and- even more-by the chance to finally lash out and hit something.
The end of the stout sailpole splintered under the force of his blows, but the half-pulped zombies staggered on, passing him in a slow, tireless flood.
Anvil muttered a prayer to Tempus and another to Tymora as the first faceless one reached him. Then he swung his sword with all his strength, in a blow that half separated that featureless head from its shoulders.
The undead thing staggered, slid free of his blade, and without pause or any evidence of pain swung around to drive the crumbling fragments of its blade into his ribs. Anvil twisted away to make the blade slice away from bis body-and it did not even manage that, falling away in flakes where a real blade would have sheared into the leather covering Anvil's flank.
The pirate did not wait to give it another chance. He grabbed his foe's sword arm behind the elbow and shoved, turning the thing completely away from him, into the path of the next zombie. The two dripping things bumped and struggled, and then crashed to the deck together as Kurthe smashed them both at neck level, and Anvil ducked in to hamstring them at knee level.
Even as the zombies fell and rolled, still dangerous, others shuffled forward to take their places. Sharessa and Brindra, white to the lips, were hacking and tumbling like women possessed; their usual tactics of fencing or causing pain were useless against these smothering, unfeeling foes. In a moment or two more they'd be overwhelmed and clubbed down.
Rings spat a curse as he ducked away from a vicious hacking blow, slipped, and had to leap for his life. The sight of his closest friend in danger seemed to goad Ingrar out of his fear-daze. With a scream of defiance the pale, sweating youth charged forward, hacking and slashing like a man trying to hew down a tree, driving the zombies back into a huddled mass.
With a wolfish grin, Kurthe swung his sailpole, and battered almost half of the undead into the sea. Packed
