Corsair

climb up beside a window and peer inside.

The woman he sought was sitting by the table in her kitchen, frowning as she fixed herself a cup of tea. The blue cloak hung on a peg by the door. Rhovann smiled coldly and lifted his hand from the homunculus’s head. He knew where she was. “What is her name?” he asked the homunculus.

“Mir-ya,” the creature hissed. It possessed no real intelligence of its own, but sometimes it could learn things about the people it spied on, things it didn’t necessarily observe or hear aloud. That was the nature of its magic.

The name sounded familiar to Rhovann. “Mirya Erstenwold? That is Mirya Erstenwold?”

“Yes-s,” the creature wheezed.

“Why would Mirya Erstenwold spy on me?” he wondered aloud. The homunculus just gazed up at him without answering; the creature simply didn’t understand. He knew that she was a friend of Geran Hulmaster, but he’d thought she was a simple shopkeeper. As far as he knew Lastannor had given her no reason to pry into his business … but he hadn’t been the only person in the Three Crowns, had he? She must have been there to spy on Valdarsel instead of him. Either way, he had to assume that she knew things she was not supposed to know. She might not have overheard much during the time she’d been spying on them-after all, she’d gone home instead of going straight to Griffonwatch-but he couldn’t take the chance that she had.

It seemed that he had one more errand for the night. He found a piece of parchment, scribbled out a short note, and handed it to the homunculus. “Take this to Valdarsel. He was at the Three Crowns Inn earlier tonight and may still be there. Do not allow yourself to be seen by anyone other than Valdarsel if you can help it. Return by daybreak if you do not find him.”

“Yes-s, mas-ter,” the creature replied. It seized the note in its tiny paws and flapped away again.

Rhovann watched it for a moment, then he donned his hooded cassock. “Come, Bastion,” he said to his golem. “We must pay a visit to Mirya Erstenwold.”

THIRTEEN

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

Hulburg’s Arches stood ninety miles north-northwest of Mulmaster’s fortified harbor. With favorable winds and a full spread of sail, a swift ship such as Moonshark could make the crossing in twelve or thirteen hours. However, Narsk had Sorsil and Khefen run at half-canvas during the night of the fifth, so that as morning broke on the sixth of Marpenoth, they were only about thirty miles out of Mulmaster. The jagged line of the Earthspur Mountains still showed above the horizon behind them, although they soon vanished into an overcast that thickened throughout the morning.

Shortly after daybreak, Narsk and Sorsil summoned Murkelmor, who served as the ship’s carpenter, to the quarterdeck. Murkelmor was soon hard at work building a frame or stand of some sort in front of the helm, using some of the ship’s spare timber. Most of the deckhands paused in their day’s work to peer up at the quarterdeck or look over Murkelmor’s shoulder, curiosity which was sharply discouraged by Sorsil when she noticed it. When the dwarf finished, Narsk brought the mysterious parcel from Mulmaster up from his cabin and carefully removed a strange, dark glass orb about the size of a man’s two fists held together. Tiny pinpricks of light seemed to glimmer in its dark depths. The orb spun freely inside a collar of silver metal; Murkelmor secured the collar to the wooden stand he’d built for the device.

“The starry compass,” Geran murmured to Sarth and Hamil as they watched from the maindeck. They were halfheartedly pushing mops around the deck as they did their best to spy on the installation of the device. They weren’t the only ones; more than a few of the ship’s crew were looking for an excuse to take a look at it, whatever it was.

“What is it?” Hamil asked. “Some device for steering by the stars? A magical lodestone? And what does Narsk need one for?”

“I don’t know,” Geran answered. “Kamoth’s letter didn’t say much more than ‘Pick up the starry compass in Mulmaster.’” He looked over to Sarth. “Have you heard of anything like it?”

Sarth shook his head. “As I’ve told you, I know nothing about seafaring. That ignorance extends to arcane devices that might have uses at sea. I could imagine that it would be useful to have an enchanted compass, though.”

“We’ll have a look at it later,” Geran decided. He was more than a little curious about the device, but at the moment the threat to Hulburg occupied the greater part of his attention. He returned to his mopping. On the quarterdeck, Sorsil and Murkelmor cut a piece of spare sailcloth to serve as a cover for the compass and its frame. They slipped the cover over the device and lashed the canvas securely in place. Clearly, Narsk and Sorsil didn’t want it pawed by every member of the crew.

Moonshark passed the day lazily pacing northward under half-sail, as Narsk dallied in the middle of the Moonsea well out of sight of the shore. Geran willed every ounce of speed from wind and wave, but the half galley refused to hurry her steps. Under cheerless gray skies he paced the decks anxiously, chafing as the hours dragged slowly by. The rest of the crew, on the other hand, spent the hours eagerly anticipating the looting of the town. They told stories of rich prizes from the past, boasted about their sexual prowess, or speculated about where the best loot would be found. The larger fists in the crew-Skamang and his men, Murkelmor with his dwarves and their Teshan allies, the goblins and half-orcs, the Mulmasterites-clustered together, laying their plans to go their own way once the ship’s business was taken care of. Some of the smaller fists struck alliances with larger ones or grouped with each other. A few men who’d been to Hulburg before did their best to sketch out maps of the town for the others, which ranged from fairly good to wildly inaccurate. The pirates laughed and jibed at each other in a rough good cheer that lasted throughout the day.

A little before midnight, Geran, Hamil, and Sarth arose and prepared themselves for their watch. But the swordmage motioned for his companions to follow him forward instead of going up to the deck. When he was satisfied that no one was in earshot, he said, “We’re taking the ship tonight.”

Hamil and Sarth glanced at each other, then Hamil nodded. “What do you have in mind?” the halfling asked.

“We’ll take care of the rest of the watch and steer due north for the rest of the night. I can’t wait for Narsk to reach the Black Moon rendezvous.”

“A dangerous ploy,” Sarth said. The tiefling frowned unhappily behind his human guise. “Narsk roams the ship at odd hours. If he discovers us …”

“We’ll have to deal with him along with the rest of the watch,” Geran answered. He wished he could think of some other way to get to Hulburg in advance of the Black Moon raid, instead of risking all on such a reckless plan, but they were out of time. “Let’s get to it, then. The sooner we change course, the closer to Hulburg we’ll get.”

Hamil held out his fist and looked up to his companions with a bold grin. “Good fortune to us, then,” he said. Geran fought down his fears of what might happen if they failed and set his hand on top of his friend’s. Sarth shrugged and set his hand atop Geran’s.

“Good fortune,” they both repeated in low voices. Then the three companions turned to the work ahead.

First they visited the ship’s armory. Hamil expertly picked the lock, and Geran helped himself to a good cutlass. With a little work he rigged the scabbard to lie across his back, where a hooded cloak might help to hide the fact that he was armed. Then, in the privacy of the arms locker, Geran quietly invoked the swordmage wardings and spells, which served as his armor, for the first time in days. They were not normally noticeable, but someone trained in the arcane arts might sense their presence, and anyone who struck at him-for example, the first mate with her cudgel-would likely notice their effect, which was why Geran had gone without the wardings. He hoped he wouldn’t need them, but it was better to be ready. Tonight would be a night of decision, and the time for fitting in with their fellow corsairs was drawing to an end. “All right, let’s head up for watch,” Geran told his friends.

They quietly closed the arms locker and went up on deck, reporting for their watch under the second mate, Khefen. Although Khefen’s watch consisted of a full third of the ship’s company, twenty men weren’t needed on deck at all times. Normally Moonshark sailed with the mate and a helmsman on the quarterdeck, a lookout in the bow, a lookout aloft, and a couple of roving deckhands who kept an eye on the rigging,