Corsair

the way it’s done.”

The sorcerer surprised him with a sudden laugh. “I will bear that in mind,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll be troubled for a while. You bested Kronn, and that should earn you no small respect from the rest of the crew.”

“Narsk too,” Hamil said in a low voice. He nodded at the quarterdeck, where the gnoll paced. His red eyes, narrowed with thought, were fixed on Geran. Narsk watched them a moment longer, then he descended from the quarterdeck and ducked into his cabin again.

“He suspects something,” said Sarth.

Geran gazed at the cabin door. He still needed to find out what it was that Kamoth had given Narsk. And they were another day closer to whatever event the pirate lord had in mind. “We can’t do much about it,” he answered. He picked up his dinner tin from the deck, trying not to wince as his injured ribs protested. “Come on-I want to see if Tao Zhe has anything left in the galley, since Pareik and Kronn spoiled my supper.”

ELEVEN

4 Marpenoth, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

Geran soon learned how much he’d risen in the estimation of the rest of the crew. Early the next morning, as he once again aided Tao Zhe with the scullery work, Murkelmor wandered over and took a seat on a hatch cover, watching him scrub. The dour dwarf studied him for a long time without speaking, busying himself by scraping out the caked soot from a worn old pipe.

“If you’re interested in the pots, you can find yourself a brush and pitch in,” Geran finally said.

Murkelmor made no move to help him, but gave him a humorless smile. “That was a fine brawl yesterday,” he said. “No one’s ever bested Kronn wi’ nought but bare hands. Never thought I’d see it happen, neither.”

“It might’ve gone the other way if Dagger hadn’t thrown me his knife.”

“Aye, but you held your own until th’ ogre gave your friend a reason to help.” Murkelmor leaned forward. “You’re a stout fighter, no doubt of it, and maybe the other two as well, but three’s not enough to watch each other’s backs. You’ll be needin’ more allies, Aram.”

Geran stopped scrubbing and straightened up. There were three more dwarves on board. Murkelmor and fellows formed a tight, close-mouthed gang, watching out for each other. And he’d seen that several of the human crewmen-mostly Teshans, men and women of the Moonsea lands-stayed close to the dwarves. Murkelmor’s gang numbered eight or nine crewmen, then, and the addition of Geran and his companions would strengthen it significantly. “Allies we’re happy to have,” he said after a moment’s thought. “But we’re not looking for a master. I’m my own man.”

“I hear you,” the dwarf allowed. “I speak for me fist more often than not, but I’m no petty king like Skamang. I’ll not try to tell you what to do. An ally’s good enough for me. Keep an eye out for me lads, and we’ll do the same for you.”

“Done,” Geran told him. He’d have to talk it over with Hamil and Sarth, but Murkelmor was exactly the sort of ally the three of them were looking for. The dwarf nodded in approval and ambled off.

On the evening of the fifth, two days after Geran’s duel with Kronn, Moonshark rowed into the walled harbor of Mulmaster a little before sunset. The reek of scores of forges and foundries hung in the steep streets and clung to the rooftops; like most of the other Moonsea settlements, Mulmaster was a city that thrived on ironwork and the mining of precious metals from the mountains nearby. A different collection of merchant ships rocked softly in the swell, but otherwise little had changed in the harbor since Geran’s previous visit aboard Seadrake.

“Mulmaster again,” Hamil noted as they pulled their oar at a quarter-beat. “Well, now we know that at least one Black Moon ship calls here. One of those fellows we talked to a few days ago lied to us.”

“Possibly,” Geran said. “But it might be true that Kraken Queen herself hasn’t been here. Maybe Kamoth sends other ships to run his errands in the larger ports.”

It came as no surprise to Geran that no alarm attended the arrival of Moonshark in the city’s harbor. A harbormaster approached in a rowboat and hailed the ship as the galley glided into the city’s narrow bay. Narsk remained out of sight, but Sorsil spoke with the man and passed him a small bribe. With that business concluded, the harbormaster directed Moonshark to a vacant spot along the city’s stone quay and departed. Sorsil took the helm herself and steered the corsair ship expertly to the quay, where the deckhands made her fast to the pier with four heavy lines.

As soon as the ship was tied up, Narsk emerged from his cabin, dressed in a heavy, hooded cloak that shadowed his bestial features. A small number of the so-called savage races could be found in any large city in Faerun, but most of those would be goblins or orcs-a gnoll couldn’t help but attract attention. He picked out several deckhands of Skamang’s fist as the men were securing the ship and growled, “You three, arm yourselves and come with me. I have business ashore. Sorsil, let no one else leave the ship before I return. I will not be long.”

“Aye, Captain,” the mate replied. She took up a post by the gangplank as Narsk and his guards swept down the ramp and headed off into the town.

Geran watched the gnoll disappear into the narrow streets as Hamil and Sarth worked to secure the ship’s oars. “I think this is my opportunity,” he said to his companions. “If I’m ever going to get a look inside Narsk’s cabin, now is the time.”

“Agreed,” Hamil said. “The plan we talked about?”

Geran nodded. “We’d better move fast. I don’t think Narsk will be away from the ship for long.”

Hamil climbed up to the quarterdeck and began to occupy himself by coiling lines there. His real job was to serve as the lookout and warn Geran if anyone was coming. Geran and Sarth headed below to the midships crew quarters and from there worked their way aft to the storeroom directly beneath Narsk’s cabin. Sarth closed the door behind them and set his back to it. He was also a lookout. Geran needed the storeroom to stay empty, and it was Sarth’s job to make sure that no other crewmember wandered in at some inopportune time. “You understand that we may have to fight our way off the ship if this goes poorly?” the tiefling asked.

“I know it,” Geran answered. Still, this was the first chance he’d seen in days to find out what was in the letter pouch that Sergen had handed to Narsk. He only hoped that the gnoll hadn’t taken it with him when he went ashore.

Before he could begin to second-guess the plan, he focused his mind into the still, silent readiness he’d learned under the leaves of Myth Drannor. He brought to the forefront of his thoughts the mystic words of the teleportation spell, sensing the power locked within the arcane syllables. He drew Hamil’s poniard with his right hand and held it at the ready, just in case he was about to find himself in the middle of a fight. Then the swordmage hurled the force of his will into the arcane syllables fixed in his mind as he spoke a single word in Elvish: “Seiroch!”

There was a dizzying instant of darkness, a sense of bitter cold, and Geran found himself standing in the cabin directly above the place where he’d been standing in the storeroom. He turned quickly, dagger held before him, but there was no one else in the room. Narsk’s cabin was empty for the moment. With a small sigh of relief, he sheathed the poniard and studied his surroundings more carefully.

The cabin was dark and cluttered, and a heavy animal smell lingered in the air. Geran wrinkled his nose in distaste; Narsk was none too tidy in his living arrangements. He realized that he’d need a little light to see by, so he took a copper coin out of his pocket and quietly murmured the words of a light spell. The coin began to glow with a bright, warm light; Geran quickly wrapped it in a bit of scrap cloth to mute its brightness as much as he could. He didn’t want it shining from the row of windows across the stern end of the cabin. By the dim light, he studied his surroundings. Discarded clothing lay strewn where Narsk had dropped it, plates with the half-eaten remains of old suppers, and an assortment of odd baubles-gold goblets, pearl-handled cutlery, small idols, and other such things likely gleaned from the pillage of a dozen ships-lay scattered about, along with what seemed to be half an armory’s worth of weapons.

“Now where did Narsk put that pouch?” Geran asked softly. He moved over to the small desk in the cabin and searched through the old charts and cargo manifests strewn there. Just like the baubles of gold and gems that were lying around the cabin, they’d probably been seized from Moonshark’s prizes too. Finding nothing there, Geran rifled through the desk drawers. Then he moved to the bookshelves-hard to believe that Narsk