The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War) (18 page)

Corin frowned. “What?’

“Your plan has great potential, but it is also rash. Allow me to
…
adapt it to a better end. After all, we would not play dice with the don’s commission. He has placed great faith in us.”

Corin had to bite back a sarcastic response. “What would you suggest, then?”

“I will wait with Taker.
You
will go into the farmboy’s camp and do as you’ve suggested. But in the meantime, we will lay an ambush of our own. If anything goes wrong, if they suspect you, you need only break away and lead them on a chase back here—right into our ambush.”

Corin sighed. “I can see the reason.”

Ezio raised a hand. “That’s not all! If you intend to study, study closely. For if they buy all your lies, you can lead them, all unsuspecting, straight into our ambush. And even if you fail, even if they slit your throat before you get to say a word,
we
will still have another plan in place to capture them. Just
…
make sure to point them our direction before you die.”

Corin didn’t have to fake his look of awe. It was a
genuinely
cunning plan. It also left Ezio and Dave Taker together
outside
Corin’s influence for hours or days. He did not much like the thought. “I see all your reasons,” Corin said, “but couldn’t Taker lay an ambush on his own? I’d feel safer with you by m
y side
.”

“Of course you would. But no, for two reasons. First, he is a pirate. It’s not a career with much subtlety. I would not expect him to have much facility at laying traps on land. And second, I am honor bound to keep an eye on him at all times. I wouldn’t trust the blackguard not to run as soon as we were out of sight.”

Taker thumped his chest. “I’ll black yer eye if you say something of the sort again.”

“You will attempt to. But returning to the point, Gasparo
…
you must go alone. I have every faith in you. After all, you do know your way around a dagger.”

“That I do,” Corin said, deflating.

“Watch for your chance. Kill the others while they sleep, and drag the farmboy back to us.”

“As quickly as I can,” Corin said.

Ezio glanced toward the sky. “Within reason, eh? I will need some time to lay a perfect trap. Wait ’til nightfall if you can.”

Nightfall gave them half a day to compare notes and make plans without him. Corin wasn’t fond of the idea, but he could see no easy way around it.

Ezio clapped him on the shoulder. “Take heart, Gasparo. It is a simple enough task, and I expect you to excel. I’m sure the don will reward you for your part.”

Corin closed his eyes and sighed. “I suppose you’re right. For that—for the chance to stand before him and claim my right reward—for that I’ll go.”

“Good!” Ezio clapped his hands together in satisfaction. “Then I will set to work designing a most perfect trap. Mister Taker, if you’d be so kind, please point my companion in the direction of these ruthless killers.”

T
he Wildlands deserved their name. Civilization had never thrived in the lowlands and river valleys of ancient Spinola, and only the savage tribes of nomads had ever flourished here. Corin had always assumed trade couldn’t survive along the treacherous coastlines, but following Dave Taker through the thick undergrowth west of his cove, Corin began to suspect that had just as much to do with the land itself.

Narrow coastal plains gave way to steep, unforgiving
mountain
ranges that hemmed a vast highland plateau,
cutting
it off from the world as surely as the Dividing Line along Raentz’s border. Corin eyed the high mountains nervously, but Dave Taker turned north, following the coast through dense forest that almost felt like jungle.

In the distance, something screamed.

“Gods’ blood,” Corin whispered. “What was that?”

Taker shook his head. “Don’t know. Don’t want to know. There are more monsters in these lands than that blasted Raentzman.” He went a few paces in silence before adding, “But none I hate as much.”

“Give me a day,” Corin said, “and you’ll have your revenge.”

They went for some time soundlessly through the trackless wilderness. Then Corin asked, “How will I know him?”

“Shut yer yap!” Taker hissed. “They could be anywhere.”

Corin lowered his voice, but he persisted. “You said there were four of them, including the farmboy.”

“Sometimes five. The wizard comes and goes.”

“There might be a
wizard
to contend with?”

Taker shrugged. “He’s not the worst of them. The farmboy is the worst. Besides, I haven’t seen the wizard in a while.”

Corin shook his head. “How will I even know who I’m to bring back? Does he have a name?”

“You’ll know him. You’ll know him as soon as you see any of them in action. They
worship
him. But look for the golden hair. Now shut yer yap before you get us killed!”

They went more than an hour before Taker finally paused beside a wide, shallow stream. He caught Corin’s shoulder and dragged him close, pointing to a small pile of rocks on the
opposite
shore.

He spoke in a whisper, his breath hot and foul on Corin’s face. “That marks the path to their camp.”

“You placed it?”

Taker shook his head. “They come here for water. It’s a short journey from here. Half a mile?”

Corin rolled his eyes. “Then they might come by here at any moment! Get out of sight. You’ll ruin everything if you’re spotted.”

“Want me to rough you up a bit first? To help sell the illusion?”

Corin shook his head. “I can handle a farmboy and his
hunting
pack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Taker snorted. “You’ll probably be dead in an hour, but your partner seems to have some good ideas. Gods favor, either way.”

“Clear skies,” Corin answered.

He licked his lips, caught his breath, then slipped away across the gravel creek bed and into the water. It churned and splashed at every step, but Corin did his best to move silently. He wanted to save the theatrics until he knew exactly who was watching.

His only real plan was to find the camp, then dash in shouting, “Help! Save me!” He briefly considered trying it in the Raentzman’s native language, but he suspected a man who dallied with the princess of Aerome would have no trouble with honest Ithalian. As Corin left the stream and started down the path toward their camp, he found himself distracted by the question of this man. Was this really Princess Sera’s secret lover, some unknown commoner exploring the godless Wildlands?

He barely knew what to make of that. He’d never had much interest in the affairs of court, so the princess was a complete unknown to him. As far as he was concerned, they were all the same Vestossi snakes wearing different titles. But he had to
wonder
what would tempt Ipolito’s own daughter to risk h
er h
onor and her father’s disfavor on some farmhand from another nation. What sort of man was he that she could not buy ten
better
off the streets of Aerome with her father’s money? The closest thing he had to a clue was a passing comment from Dave Taker.
“They worship him
.
”

Before he could imagine what that might mean, Corin broke free of the heavy forest. The narrow footpath burst onto a
sprawling
clearing where green grass grew beneath a brilliant sun. The makings of a mighty bonfire marked the center of the clearing, and half a dozen tents clustered around it. From twenty paces off Corin spotted several figures—this farmboy’s army—mostly sprawled at leisure.

There was the wizard Taker had mentioned. He lay stretched out on his back and staring at the sky, hands clasped behind his head. The boy was pale and scrawny, with a melancholy look about his features, but even at this great distance Corin caught a spark of genius in his eye. He should have been no more than an apprentice, for he looked to be perhaps sixteen summers old, but he wore the robes of a journeyman—grass-stained now, but no less opulent.

Near him sat a mountain of a man, a hulking giant who might have dwarfed even Dave Taker, and a look at that one
figure
alone led Corin to understand Taker’s new scars. He
hovered
near the wizard, a huge two-handed sword strapped to his back, but the man had hands the size of brandy casks. He hardly needed a weapon.

But this giant was not the only warrior in sight. There was another some way off, dressed in the full uniform of a foot
soldier
from the army of Dehtzlan. He stood outside his tent, one hand on his sword’s hilt, his spine straight as a pole. He alone looked sharp, alert, and ready for battle.

Near the fire pit stood three more men deep in conversation. One had his back to Corin, but he had a frame much like the wizard’s—small and wiry—though this one dressed in far more ordinary clothes. The second man in the conversation was perhaps the most amazing of the whole troupe. He had the rich red-brown skin of the Wildlander nomads and wore nothing but a raven-feather skirt. He should have been in full bloodrage, warring with the Godlanders who’d dared to visit his ancestral home, but there was no sign of violence here, no struggle. The three spoke at ease like gentlemen.

And the third man in the conversation was tall and broad of shoulder, with thick golden hair and a hard-worn arming sword on his hip. This was the famous farmboy? He was a handsome man, but not extraordinarily so. The giant had him beat for size, the soldier for polish, the wizard for flair, and the Wildlander for ferocity. Of everyone on the field, this farmboy was the only one who looked truly ordinary.

Corin gathered all these details in a glance, and the array of mysteries might have been enough to make him hesitate, to concoct another plan, but he had no chance. The soldier in his uniform spotted Corin as soon as he appeared, and without a moment’s hesitation, the young man cried alarum and drew his blade. The others all responded just as quickly, and between one heartbeat and the next, every man was on his feet and searching for the threat. Three sharp swords, two daggers, and a Wildlander bow all appeared as if by magic, and all of them spun toward this new intruder. All at once, Corin understood Dave Taker’s fear.

He quelled a curse and sprinted forward, doing his best to pretend he’d been running all along. He cried out, “Help! Save me!” and that, at least, drew some looks of surprise and doubt among the fierce warriors. He went four paces forward at full tilt, and on the fifth he slammed hard into some unseen barrier. Empty air might as well have been forged iron. He smashed hard against empty nothing and then spilled to the earth.

Head spinning from the impact, he still held to his plan. He pushed himself up on hands and knees and groveled in the dirt. “Please! Please help me! I’ve just
…
I’ve escaped from a madman. He means to kill me. Please, protect me!”

He pressed forward until he found the mystic force he’d crashed against. It was still in place, still unyielding and
completely
invisible, but he leaned against it, feet scrabbling, in a pitiful show of fear. “Please help me! He’s coming!”

And then he saw what Dave Taker had predicted. Five deadly men, all armed to the teeth, turned like curious schoolchildren and looked to the golden-haired farmboy for directions. The farmboy didn’t seem notice, nor did he spend any time coming to a decision. His expression softened at Corin’s pleas, and the sword went back in its scabbard. Before any of the others could move, the farmboy was sprinting across the field toward Corin.

“Ridgemon!” he cried as he went. “Drop the wards. A’Gileen, get water. Tesyn, come aid me. He might need patching up.”

That last name struck a sharp shard of ice into Corin’s heart, even before he’d fully placed it. Tesyn? It was too familiar. And then the wiry man who’d been speaking with the farmboy turned, and Corin knew him. Tesyn. He’d learned that name when the young man was his hostage, but he’d never used it much. Corin mostly just called him the Scholar.

This was the same young man who’d made a deal with Charlie Claire, the same who’d recognized Corin in Khera and called the caliph’s guards on him. And Corin remembered what he’d said about Jezeeli.
“It’s not enough to read the books; you have to risk your neck. You have to go adventuring to find
anything
worth
having
.”
Now Corin had one paralyzing moment of stark fear as their eyes met across the clearing.
…

But a thin gray mist still hung across his vision. Oberon’s magic preserved him. He still wore the illusion of Gasparo, and it served him here. The scholar Tesyn came timidly forward, eyes fixed on Corin, but he showed no real signs of alarm. He sheathed his dagger and knelt to take Corin’s pulse.

Before Corin could guess how to react, the scholar withdrew and gave his report. “He’s greatly agitated, but I see no signs of serious harm.”

The farmboy nodded, real relief in his eyes. Then he sank to his heels before Corin. “You say it was a man that attacked you? Not a vicious beast?’

Corin caught a ragged breath and fought to reassemble his plans. “I
…
yes. You
…
could almost call him a vicious beast, but it was truly a man. A pirate by the look of him. Tattoos on his arms and face. Hideous scars. And
…
what looked like a fresh burn on one shoulder.”

The farmboy grinned from ear to ear and spun around to call back toward the wizard. “You hear that, Ridgemon? I told you that one hit him!” He turned back to Corin and clapped a firm grip on his shoulder. “Rest easy, friend. You’re safe now. We’ve met the man you’re speaking of, and he’s no match for us. He wouldn’t dare cross us again.”

That comment drew a booming laugh from the giant, who came forward with a dripping waterskin. A’Gileen, he’d been called. And Ridgemon seemed to be the wizard. Corin tried to catch every little detail for use later, but the details bombarded him, every one a fount of puzzling questions. Who were these men, and why were they here? How had the scholar come to join them? Corin reminded himself that it had been
months
since they’d crossed paths in Khera, but still it seemed
impossible
. And where would this farmboy—even one beloved of the Vestossi princess—have found himself a journeyman wizard? And a friendly savage?

“Hartwin,” the farmboy called, “Go and search the woods. Make sure our friend here wasn’t followed.”

The Dehtzlan soldier snapped a smart salute and followed his orders, but the farmboy wasn’t even watching. He was already turning back toward the fire. “Longbow
…
” He paused when his gaze fell on the Wildlander, and he barked a startled laugh. “Put away your bow! He is a friend.”

The savage never relaxed. He held a massive bow at full draw, a clothyard shaft ready to pin the newcomer to the earth. Corin hardly dared breathe. The Wildlander stared him down. Without ever glancing away, he answered the farmboy. “A friend? How can you be certain?”

The farmboy shook his head. “He is in need of aid, and he has asked it of us. That is all I require.”

The Wildlander snorted. “Perhaps you are a fool.”

The arrowhead never even trembled. Corin stared at it, transfixed, while he tried desperately to imagine some place he could escape to. If he dared to step through dream—to sacrifice time and opportunity to random chance—where would he go to escape a deadly bolt? And could he go fast enough?

Before Corin found an answer, the farmboy grew frustrated and said, “Longbow! I gave an order. At ease.”

The savage arched an eyebrow. “You do not order me, Godlander.”

“And you do not threaten those under my protection, or I will take it as a threat to me. Will you break your promise so soon?”

The Wildlander lowered his weapon, but a fury flashed in his eyes. “Do not question my honor, Godlander!”

“And do not threaten my friends,” the farmboy answered. He turned back to Corin at last and extended a hand. “Can I call you ‘friend’?”