'Farewell, little tigers!' the pirate captain bellowed at the mercenaries as the sea took his ship plunging away from them. 'I was looking for hardened veterans of the Kissing Shark, but I see only nancy-boys out for a sail! Try to stay clear of ferocious fishermen, now!' His pirates joined him in a thunderous chorus of laughter as the most feared ship on the Utter Coast heeled over under a sudden gust, and then leapt ahead through the waters, racing west with its crew whooping and waving swords that caught the sundaz-zle of the fresh morning.
Their last ragged shouts gave way to a silence on the decks of the Morning Bird as six mercenaries looked down at the sprawled body of their comrade, and then up, hard-eyed, at the lone man with the empty crossbow in his hands. None of them spared a glance for Jander Turbalt, as the captain danced forward in an agony of anxious hand-wringing, looking fearfully from Belmer to the six mercenaries, and then back again.
As more than one of the Sharkers looked down at Kurthe for a second time, where he lay sprawled with his mouth open and his eyes half-shut, rolling slightly on the deck with the movements of the ship, Sharessa put one hand on the hilt of her sword and said grimly to Belmer, 'I think it's high time you told us just what our mission is.'
Belmer nodded as coolly as if she'd asked him the time of day. 'It is indeed,' he replied. 'I fear I've let events distract me from telling you what you need to know so that we'll reach Eldrinpar as a cohesive team.'
'Eldrinpar, is it?' Rings muttered. 'Thankee for informing us in so timely a manner, Master.'
Belmer nodded at him, ignoring the dwarf's thick sarcasm.
'And in Eldrinpar-?' Brindra rumbled, prompting him.
'You must search for, find, and capture the woman Eidola… without attracting overmuch attention, of course,' Belmer told them. 'I believe I know where to look for her and can soon show you a portrait of her that I've kept hid-'
The small man moved then, shifting a sudden pace to one side. A dagger, thrown awkwardly and wrong- handed, clattered on the deck boards by Belmer's feet.
Its source glared at Belmer, and staggered to his feet. 'Kidnapping wenches be damned!' Kurthe snarled. 'Redbeard burns our ship, slaughters our comrades, and then laughs at us! And when I up and go for him, you scramble my skull for me! No man does that and fails to answer for it!'
Belmer lifted an eyebrow in what might have been a mild charade of surprise, as Kurthe spat on the deck in contempt. 'Damned outlander!' the Konigheimer yelled, voice rising as he shook his head to clear it. He waved a furious finger, and then whirled to snatch one of Anvil's spare blades from the sheaths that crisscrossed the battered veteran's back.
He spun back to face Belmer, pointing with his bor rowed blade. 'You don't know how things are done here on the Utter Coast, do you? Well start in on your wench-snatching after we send a certain pirate down below!'
Still raging, Kurthe stumped away down the deck. 'Crowd on that sail, curse you!' he roared. 'You, Els-ger- and you, whatever your name is! Leap to it, now! We'll catch that ship, or I'll flog you until we do! Jump, you spawn of sleeping weasels!'
The crew gave him startled looks and then glanced at their captain, who was fairly babbling in frightened agitation. Kurthe stormed in among them, snatching sailors' shoulders and shaking them as a dog shakes rats in its teeth. 'I'll have this boat running down Redbeard inside four breaths or know the reason why!'
He flung a howling sailor away into the mast. The man struck it with a meaty smack, bounced away, and fell among ropes as limp and senseless as a thing of rags. Kurthe took hold of the next man by the throat, and shouted orders into the man's choking, darkening face. 'Crowd on the sail-the hardrunner too! And bring that bloody helm about! Now, or that wheel'll be dark with your heart's blood before I'm finished cursing!'
Tossing the sailor aside, he charged past the reeling man and bore down on the helm. 'Are you deaf, man?' he roared, towering up over the sweating Tharkarian.
The steersman looked up fearfully at the raging Konigheimer. 'But… but…' he protested. 'My orders-'
Kurthe's blade flashed out. Til give you orders!' he snarled as his steel darted down-but the wild thrust was turned aside by a gleaming blade that came out of nowhere, soft and swift, to meet his with deft precision.
'Keep to your course,' its owner told the steersman calmly.
Kurthe stared along the sword and met the dark, dangerous eyes of Belmer, looking back at him expres- sionlessly.
'You!' the Konigheimer shouted as his eyes kindled into two red flames. 'All of this started when we took your cursed writs-and became, it seems, Master Soft-and-Sweet, your slaves!'
He smashed his blade free of Belmer's in a skirl of protesting steel and waved it menacingly, eyes narrowing. That, little worm, is going to stop right now. I'm going to see the color of your innards, Belmer- here, on this deck, now!'
Belmer shrugged and spread his hands. With another snarl, Kurthe stepped forward and swung with vicious force.
The small man ducked and swayed smoothly, and the Konigheimer's blade whistled through empty air. Belmer reached out with almost delicate grace and slid his own blade along Kurthe's side, slicing through the Sharker's stained old shirt and drawing a ribbon of dark blood along exposed ribs. Then he stepped away as if he had all the leisure in the world, in time to deflect Kurthe's frantic backhand swing down into the deck boards with a ringing clang.
The other Sharkers watched, stepping slowly closer, and the crew of the Morning Bird — all save their moaning, hand-wringing captain-clambered up to perches low in the rigging to see better. Sobbing with rage and pain, Kurthe swung his borrowed blade in another great two-handed swing, to chop the fat little man in half at gut level.
The steel bit deep, ripping into Belmer. No blood sprayed, and they heard no wet thunk of metal biting flesh. Kurthe's blade tore easily through soft leather, and cloth beneath it, and burst into view again, trailing a few tumbling glass vials-and they all saw that Belmer's fat belly was a false thing: a front of padding and straps.
Belmer had taken the slash to stay close, bending over backward away from it, falling-no, he touched the deck with one spread hand, and in the same fluid motion used it as a spring to lunge back up, in behind Kurthe's swing. His own blade sliced open the Sharker leader's shoulder and shirt together, and-as Belmer glided swiftly sideways-peeled the shirt away to lay bare the Konigheimer's whip-scarred back.
As the watchers gaped at that catlike attack, Belmer shot them a quick look and moved sideways again with the same gliding grace, unbuckling his false belly to let it fall. As the wounded leader of the Sharkers snarled around to meet him, the small man, suddenly thin and sleek, stood facing them all. Now, as Belmer fought, no one could take him from the rear.
Bellowing in frustration and rising pain, Kurthe advanced with his head lowered, like a bull seeking to drive an opponent into a corner, chopping and hacking in short swings that wove a deadly, oncoming wall of steel. Belmer took a pace back, braced himself, and then met those swings with his own blade. His strength surprised them all. When the blades met and shivered, and the sparks flew, it was Kurthe's steel that was turned aside, and the former slave who grunted with effort.
Calmly, icily silent, Belmer parried his furious foe, causing the Konigheimer's blade to glance wildly hither and thither. Each time it clanged too wide, the tip of the smaller man's blade darted in like the questing tongue of a serpent, slicing Kurthe's wrist here, and his forearm there. Soon the panting pirate was streaming blood from a dozen small cuts, and his sword hand was slick with dark blood.
Kurthe's fury mounted. He began to jump from side to side, seeking to startle his adversary, or use the momentum of his landings to jar the smaller man's grip on that deadly, darting blade. Belmer calmly slashed away Kurthe's shirt on his other flank, giving him a wound to match the first cut he'd taken on his ribs. The furious pirate balled up his own bloodsoaked shirt and swung it like a club, beating down Belmer's blade so that he could launch a low, deadly thrust right through the smaller man's belt.
The man who'd hired them all flashed a smile at him and nodded his head in what might have been admiration, as he sprang sideways like an acrobat at a fair.
Kurthe's seeking sword point found only empty air. Overbalanced, he couldn't manage the grip he needed to stop Belmer from tearing his own blade free. The small man twisted past the snarling pirate, spinning to rap him on the shoulder with the pommel of a dagger that hadn't been in his hand a moment before.
Jolloth and Brindra murmured in fearful unison at that as they watched-but when Kurthe and Belmer spun to a halt to face each other once more, the dagger was gone again, and the smaller man's knife hand was empty.
'Still hungry to know the color of my innards?' Belmer asked as quietly as if he'd been asking his foe's
