Aethersmith (Book 2) (30 page)

Freed from his duties keeping one of the crates closed,
Rakashi drew forth his half-spear. As coinblades from Khesh, Feru Maru,
Acardia, and a dozen other tinier places swarmed the deck of the ship, it was
the Takalish warrior who gave men pause. The half-spear was an uncommonly used
weapon, worse than either a sword or a spear in the hands of a novice. In the
hands of a master, it was versatile and deadly. Rakashi’s first swing was with
both hands near the pommel, taking advantage of having a longer reach than
anyone else in the melee to land the first blow. The leverage of the blow was
too much for the cutlass that tried to parry it, and the blade buried itself in
the chest one of Zayne’s pirates via his collarbone. One of the man’s comrades,
seeking an opening, tried to make short work of Rakashi, but the Takalish
master let go the hilt with one hand and dropped to the deck, ducking beneath
the handle half of his weapon and letting the blow land there instead. He
tangled his legs between his opponent’s feet and tripped him as he regained his
own footing. Freeing his blade from the dead pirate, he gutted the stumbling
one and moved to look for more opponents.

Toward the center of the deck, Zellisan waded among the
mercenaries as they formed some semblance of a military line. It was no neat
row of troops, but rather an instinctive formation made of men who knew that,
so long as you kept your allies to your left and right, you need only worry
about what lies before you. The pirates fought well together, though, and had
an advantage of numbers.

From high above, a shot cracked, splitting the air above the
ferocious din of the battle raging on the deck of the
Frostwatch Symphony
.
Tanner’s new plaything was guarding against any unwelcome odds he saw his
companions facing. The pirates had pistols as well, and shots volleyed between
the swaying deck of the ship and crow’s nest high above. Tanner felt safe
enough, given what the pistolsmith had told him of the accuracy of the thing
and his shielding spell in place. His Errol pistol felt easy in his hands. With
a good eye and a feel for the roll of the waves, he was mainly hitting his
targets. Tanner was a soldier by trade; seeing a battle from an archer’s view
was a new experience. He rather liked it.

* * * * * * * *

Where is he?
Soria thought angrily … hungrily.

Men with blades thrice the length of her dagger were giving
her wide berth after seeing half a dozen men dead by her hand, but she was more
concerned with searching their faces than engaging them. They were more than
obligingly not rushing to cross blades with her, either.

Zayne should be here somewhere. If he did not board, he
must still be on his ship.

Soria had thought little enough of the ship’s name—had not
even really paid attention to it. They were at sea to catch a pirate and they
had: one flying Zayne’s sigil and everything. That it might not be his own
personal
ship had not crossed her mind. She assumed that she would see a face quite
similar to one she remembered from the mines of Raynesdark, stealing the Staff
of Gehlen.

Zayne’s men had firm hold of the area where the ships met,
but Soria did not let that deter her. She killed two more and kicked a third
over the railings, leaving a path to make the leap to the
Merciful
. A
shot reported from just behind her. Soria felt her shield reverberate and then
a shock of pain shoot through her back, but it was fleeting. There was a sting
left in its wake, but the pistol shot had not quite pierced her shield.

Stupid things are worse than arrows. Too fast and too
small. Rakashi’s half-spear would be easier to stop
, she groused to
herself. She paused just long enough to renew the aether of her shields from
her own Source, then made the leap across.

The eager among the pirate crew had made the crossing
already. That left the reluctant, the cautious, and the slow remaining on the
Merciful
’s
deck. She scanned what she could see of the ship as men backed away from her,
weapons drawn.

“Where’s Zayne?” she demanded loudly in Acardian, hoping the
pirate might even hear her himself, even if his crew would not reveal him.
Unsurprisingly, none spoke up and she knew most had understood her.

Soria had been watching in normal light so that she could
identify Denrik Zayne by her memory of what his twin looked like. She switched
to the aether, which let her see all around her, and waited for an opportunity
to present itself. She turned slowly, looking at each man and watching him shrink
from her. She lurched the opposite direction in a feint and smiled as three men
nearly tripped over one another to get out of her way. A quick look over her
shoulder, and another man hastening to get out of her way made the mistake she
was looking for.

With a quick snap of her wrist, a dagger flew. The
unfortunate man she had picked out instinctively tried to deflect it with his
cutlass, but it was aimed to miss high regardless. The dagger sank into the
mast he had backed into, a handsbreadth above his head, and the free hand that
had thrown it was twisting his sword arm before he could recover. A forearm
jammed itself under his chin, forcing his head against the mast, and the blade
Soria still held was just brushing his throat.

“Where is Zayne?” Soria snarled, meeting him eye to eye,
though her own gaze appeared to look right through him until she shifted back
into the light to see him better.

“This … This ain’t Zayne’s ship. I … I … I mean it’s Zayne’s
ship, but he don’t sail it. We just work fer him is all,” the frightened man
babbled.

“Who is captain here, then?” Soria demanded, addressing the
ship at large and not just her captive.

Soria heard two clicks. Pistols were uncommon among decent
folk, but she had been around enough of the other sort to recognize the sound
of the hammer of one being cocked. Slowly she turned her head to see who held
them.

“I am,” replied a man with sun-browned skin and dark,
slicked-back hair. He smiled as he spoke with an ease that bespoke confidence
and curiosity about the visitor his ship had received. “I think you can stop
one shot but just barely. Two … I think maybe not?” he asked, as if posing the
question more theoretically than the two pistols aimed for Soria’s head
suggested. “We get so few visitors here, it would be a shame to make a habit of
putting holes in them. Especially pretty visitors.”

“Who are you?” Soria asked, trying to keep her accustomed
“demand” out of her tone.

He may be right. Two might be too much and I don't relish
even one hitting me in the head, shield or no shield.

“I am Robbono Stalyart, captain of the
Merciful
,
proudly sailing under Denrik Zayne’s banner. I am also a man who sees things
others do not. Three times I will ask this: who are you?” Stalyart responded,
bowing his head slightly in introduction, but taking neither his eyes nor the
aim of his pistols from her.

“Soria Coinblade,” she said, wondering what he was playing
at—and he clearly seemed to be playing. There was something distinctly flippant
about his attitude that made her think this Captain Stalyart was not taking her
entirely seriously as a threat.

“Ahh, a Kheshi warrioress with no family name. Instead she
takes on a false one, like her false hair, false eyes. Without those, who are
you?” Stalyart prodded, chuckling.

His men were slowly making their way away from Soria, back
to where their captain could offer some protection, real or perceived. Soria
released her hold on the pirate she had pinned, and freed her second dagger
from where it was stuck in the mast before deciding on an answer. The man was
useless as a hostage anyway.

“Just Soria, then, I suppose. Acardian by birth but orphaned
in Khesh and raised there. If you are done with distractions, I need to find
someone. If Zayne isn't here, then maybe you can answer me,” Soria said.

She took a deep breath as if to steady her nerves, and
averted her gaze. Slipping back to aether-vision, she checked the Source of
this Stalyart fellow. His was hale and healthy, stronger than most, enough so
that she might have difficulty corralling him with a telekinesis spell. It
might be enough for her to spoil his aim, though, should the need arise. The
battle still raged aboard the other ship, occupying most of the crews of both
ships, and on the
Merciful
, only the captain appeared to be armed with
more than a blade.

“Aha! You claimed to be seeking Captain Zayne, but it is
someone else you are looking for.” The pirate captain laughed aloud. “I have
your story figured out, I think, but I would hear one detail from you and your
reason. Tell me, in truth, who you
really
are and why you seek the twin
of Brannis Solaran, then we may be able to deal.”

Soria’s eyes widened. “You know where he is?”

Stalyart nodded.

“You could take me to him?”

Stalyart cocked his head innocently and shrugged, but said
nothing.

“I am Juliana Archon,” she replied in Kadrin. “Where is
Kyrus Hinterdale?”

“My terms are these: win this ship for me, and I will take
you to him, and grant safe passage back to the mainland, if you desire. I think
this battle goes badly. You can change that, I think,” Stalyart said.

Zayne’s pirates or root-peddlers from the Point. Same
scum, different pond, but this Stalyart knows where Brannis is.

“Deal.”

* * * * * * * *

Zellisan grunted in exertion as he parried another heavy
blow. The fellow he was dueling was one of the few opponents he had ever faced
who had both a reach and strength advantage on him. The brute had carved up a
handful of the
Symphony
’s coinblades before engaging Zell and was now
pressing him as well. The man was not a graceful fighter, but was young and
vigorous, making up in ferocity what he lacked in technique. Zellisan could
tell that the pirates were losing men, though, and if he kept his current foe
at bay long enough, someone would come free to help kill him. Zell was well past
the age of caring who got the glory blow to end a fight, or objecting to
dishonorable tactics in what had many similarities to a formal duel. In the
end, they wanted one another dead and he was rather indifferent as to how the
other fellow met his end, so long as he lived through the battle.

“Change of plans! Switch sides!” a high voice bellowed over
the clash of swords, screams of the injured, and occasional reports of pistol
fire. It spoke Kadrin.

Oh, for the love of …

Zellisan blew an exasperated breath, made a feint to draw
his opponent’s defenses up, and quick-stepped back away from him. Each of the
hired blades aboard the
Frostwatch Symphony
had been given a purple
ribbon to tie around his upper arm. In the chaos of battle among two crews of
mongrels, they wanted some way to tell who was on whose side. Zellisan slipped
his sword under his own ribbon and cut his away.

“Sorry, friend,” he apologized to his opponent. “Looks like
I finish up this one on your side.”

The big man appeared unconvinced, but Zellisan gritted his
teeth, and cut down two unsuspecting former comrades who had not yet realized
the betrayal.

Little princess, you vex me sorely at times. You had best
hope Rakashi goes along; he likes these little stunts of yours even less than I
do.

It was not the first time one of Soria’s plots had them
changing sides mid battle, and he knew better than to toss vinegar in her stew.

* * * * * * * *

These are the things that love makes us do. Would I do
any less if the quest were for my own beloved?
Rakashi knew the desperate
need Soria felt for finding this Kyrus fellow, the twin of her twin’s love. She
could content herself in Veydrus if she could find contentment in Tellurak.
Rakashi had never heard of such a thing happening among the twinborn, but he supposed
that the bonds of marriage existed separately in each world. To carry on an
affair in such a matter felt unseemly, but he could not rationalize the feeling
with any sound reasoning.
“This world is not the other world.” I taught her
that myself.

The crew of the
Frostwatch Symphony
were traders in
death spices. Their employer, Parjek Ran-Haalamar, was a blight in Rakashi’s
eyes. The pirates might have been no better, but they were certainly no worse.

Rakashi used the flat of his blade where he found it
convenient, and set about laying into his former associates. He was willing to
test the name of the pirates’ ship and see if there was mercy to be had after
the battle. Some among the hired blades might have been worthy of it.

* * * * * * * *

“So these three are yours?” Stalyart asked, touring the deck
of the prize ship he had captured.

Soria, Zellisan, Rakashi, and Tanner stood amid the pirate
crew who were rounding up the few survivors who had surrendered, as well as the
ship’s original crew. The rest of them were largely unhurt, but Tanner was
limping. He had read in a storybook once about a pirate who slid down a sail
using his dagger to slow his fall. Tanner’s runed blade had cut through the
Symphony
’s
mainsail as if it had been made of parchment instead of sailcloth.

“Yes, just these three and myself,” Soria answered.

“And you, sir. What is
your
name here?” Stalyart
addressed Rakashi directly.

“I am known as Rakashi dar Fandar,” Rakashi replied. “You
look older here.”

Stalyart laughed. “I am older. I have not seen you in many
years.” He clapped the Takalish warrior on the shoulder. “The girl should have
sent you to negotiate. We could have shared a drink while the rest fought.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Soria asked Rakashi.