The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War) (3 page)

“Twenty? He’s a boy!”

Charlie laughed. “And you’re a doddering old man?”

Corin shrugged. He was not yet twenty himself. “I am a pirate. That is a young man’s trade. But scholars, academics
…
”

“Jim said he was no ordinary buyer, but he is rich and anxious to be
…
less so.”

Corin shared a grin with Charlie Claire. “You have a way of making things clear. You’re right. Now step aside, and let us see if I can gain a double share.”

The pirate captain adjusted his shirt, accepted the book from Charlie, and strode through the tavern door with all the pomp and confidence of an Ithalian lord.

He barely made three paces before he spotted the buyer
at h
i
s ta
ble. Then Corin stumbled in his shock. He caught
himself, j
ust short of falling, with a hand on another patron’s table. The rattle and clatter of dishes there raised the dozing buyer, the youthful scholar, and Corin almost slipped away through dream. He hesitated, desperate not to lose any more time, and that moment was long enough.

The buyer blinked the sleep from his eyes, searching for the source of the disturbance. When he saw Corin, recognition flared into a blazing fury.

The scholar lunged to his feet and stabbed an accusing finger toward Corin. Then he shouted with a sonorous voice that overwhelmed the tavern’s chatter, “Guards! Guards! Someone call the caliph’s guards! This man’s a pirate and a villain and a thief! Someone capture him!”

The scholar scrabbled at his belt for a modest work knife, but Corin felt far more concerned about the caliph’s guards. The pirate captain dashed forward, caught the scholar’s extended hand in his, and growled a curse even as he closed his eyes. He stepped through dream and brought the buyer with him, back to that same rented room.

H
ow much had that cost him? Hours or weeks? Foolish! He should have sent Charlie to make the sale and pilfered a share of the money after the deal was done. But here he was, and almost too late he remembered the work knife on the scholar’s belt. Corin struck the scholar one sharp backhand to keep him disoriented, then chopped down hard to knock the knife from his grip. As long as he was at close quarters, he seized the chance to snatch the heavy purse at Tesyn’s belt. Corin slapped him openhanded to keep him distracted, tucked the purse inside his own cloak, and withdrew two paces in a bound.

Then he caught his breath and heaved a weary sigh. “What have you done, Tesyn?”

“What have
I
done?” The scholar raised his voice to shout through the thin walls. “Scoundrel! Thief! Release me!”

Corin didn’t strike him again. He didn’t touch the sword on his hip. He merely raised one eyebrow, and the young nobleman shut up tight as a Medgerrad clam. Corin took a slow step back and sighed. “So. It would appear that you remember me.”

“Remember you? You sank my father’s fastest merchant ship! You held me captive seven weeks and cost my family an enormous ransom!”

Corin shrugged. “But that was years ago.”

“That isn’t all! You ransomed me my books at twice the price you asked for me.”

Corin couldn’t quite hide his grin. “My crew would not believe it.”

“It isn’t funny! You cost me my destiny.”

“I’d hardly think—”

“No! No, you never would. You’re just a stinking pirate. You’re just a dirty brute. I doubt you even read, so how could you guess what secrets those books held?”

Corin bit his lip, considering his response. He knew those secrets quite well. It had been young Tesyn’s map that led Corin and his crew to the buried city of Jezeeli—the same tomb of a forgotten god where his men had found the book he now hoped to sell.

But how much should he share? By the weight of Tesyn’s purse—assuming the thing held good Ithalian gold—Corin already had enough in coin to fund his plans for revenge. But now that he knew whom he was dealing with, Corin wanted something more. The scholar could give him information.

So the pirate let the insults pass unanswered and instead asked a question of his own. “What was it, then? What was this destiny I stole?”

“I am not here to lecture history with my very nemesis! Now step aside or draw your sword, because I have no reason left to tarry here.”

Corin raised the eyebrow again. It didn’t work this time. The scholar shook his head. “If your accomplice lured me here in hope of another great ransom, resign yourself to disappointment now. My father has disowned me.”

“And yet you promised quite a fortune for a book
…
”

“My own funds. And that was everything I owned, but I won’t share a sou of it with you. I’d rather go home empty-handed.”

Corin considered all the threats that he might use, but in the end he chose another path. He produced the ancient manuscript and tossed it almost casually to the scholar.

Tesyn nearly dropped it. Even after he’d secured the book, he didn’t understand. “What’s this? Your ridiculous demands? You had them bound?”

“It is the promised book. The one you came here for.”

“Impossible! That manuscript should be at least six hundred years in age.”

“Nearly twice that.”

The scholar shook his head. “No, no. I’ve seen the
Khera Codex too
, but I suspect its timeline—”

“You are wrong,” Corin said, unyielding. “Jezeeli fell
twelve hu
ndred years ago, and in your hands you hold a p
erfect artif
act, untouched by time.”

The scholar’s eyes strained wide. He shrank away from the book in his own hands, gripping it delicately with just thumb and forefinger. He shook his head slowly back and forth. “It can’t
…
It’s not
…
How could
…
” Something clicked behind his eyes, and he fixed Corin with a piercing glare. “How can you know these things?”

Corin spread his hands. “As it happens, I
can
read.”

“You
…
you read my notes?” The nobleman went pale and in a voice just above a whisper, asked, “You deciphered my map?”

Relishing this reversal, Corin held his gaze. “I? A stinking pirate? A stupid brute?”

The scholar frowned, considering, then he unleashed a booming laugh. “Hah! No. No, how could I have thought it?”

“I did!” Corin shouted. “It took three years, but I uncovered all Jezeeli’s secrets.”

“Three years? Your story crumbles with every word. My
family
has been searching for this place for decades.”

“Your family searched libraries and ancient records. I searched in the world. That’s the key. It’s not enough to read the books; you have to risk your neck. You have to go adventuring to find anything worth having.”

Tesyn snorted. “You sound like Lorenzo. But there, you see? The Vestossis are hunting for Jezeeli too, with ships and
expeditions
. And for all their vast resources, they can’t find it.”

“But I did! You hold the proof within your hand.”

The scholar glanced down at the book, then heaved a weary sigh. “Oh, more the fool am I. I wanted so much to believe, but I should have known.” He cast the book aside. Corin winced as it struck the stone floor, but the scholar had already forgotten it. “I say again: Draw your sword or step aside. I’m finished here.”

Before Corin could find an answer, the door slammed open. Charlie Claire came bustling in, all out of breath. “Oh, praise the thunder! You’re here.”

“I am,” Corin said. “And how many days have I lost this time?”

“Days?” the scholar asked.

“Not half an hour,” Charlie answered. “But you near lost me. The caliph’s guards came faster this time.”

“Half an hour,” Corin mused. “But over the same distance that cost us half a day. It makes no sense.”

“What makes no sense?” the scholar asked, suddenly interested.

Corin met his gaze. Perhaps this shipwreck could be
salvaged
yet. He showed his teeth. “The magic of Jezeeli. How did you think I brought you here? King Oberon himself taught me a trick or two.”

“King Oberon,” the scholar breathed, almost reverent. “You are a monster
and
a madman, but I’d give much to hear your story.”

“Aye, you will. Two thousand livres, as agreed, and you will tell me everything you know about this place. About its lore
and it
s strange magics.”

“As easily done as asked,” the scholar said. “And alas, as quickly done. What can I say you don’t already know? The
legends
tell of Jezeeli or Jesalich or—”

“Gesoelig,” Corin told him. “But Jezeeli’s really close enough.”

The scholar sighed. “You see? It cost me years of study to learn the things you already seem to know.”

“But there are gaps in what I know. Who are the druids?
What was
their pact with Oberon? Why did they leave
yesterworld
to come here? What was the purpose of the strictures?”

Both men stared at Corin, the scholar every bit as baffled as the deckhand. Corin’s stomach sank. “Forget the druids, then. Tell me about the elves who remained loyal after the city fell. Where did they flee? What became of them? Surely they didn’t all join Ephitel.”

The scholar took a sharp step closer. “The elves? The ghosts who haunt the Isle of Mists? Are you telling me that
they
came from Jezeeli?”

“That’s all you know?” Corin sagged, suddenly very tired. “You truly
don’t
know more than me.”

The scholar bristled. “I know the grammar of a dozen
living
languages and half a dozen dead. I know the economy and culture and military disposition of every nation in Hurope. I know—”

“Too much by half,” Corin interrupted. “And yet none of it
of
any use to me.” Corin felt a sickness in his stomach,
exhaustion
in his bones. “If you don’t want the book, take your money a
nd go
.”

“But
…
but
…
you must tell me what
you
know!”

“I know a place not far from here that serves a proper glass of rum.”

“But—”

“You’ve already cost me more than I could ever claim in ransom for your sorry bones. Be glad that you convinced me on that point, and gladder still that I choose to set you free. In my line of business, that counts as a lucky break.”

The scholar scoffed. “What would you really have to gain from hurting me?”

“Your two thousand livres, for one,” Corin answered, casual. “And I’d still have Charlie’s book to sell to some other sad scho
lar so
mewhere.”

Corin turned away from the ashen scholar. Suddenly he did not feel at all friendly. Charlie came to meet him, but Corin spoke beneath his breath. “I’m going for a drink. Don’t you worry. Tesyn will not really pass up the book, although he may pretend he’s lost his purse. Press him, take your time, and you’ll get all your gold.”

“But what about your share? You done your part. I can’t keep all the money.”

With Tesyn’s fortune already tucked inside his cloak, Corin felt a pang of guilt at Charlie’s concern. But he had important business to do. And after all, Charlie had left him to burn in the fires of Jezeeli. He could afford to lose an easy score.

“Whatever you can get from Tesyn,” Corin said, “consider it your own. I don’t need anything more than I already have.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Stow that talk. I’m not your captain anymore. You’re your own man now, Charlie Claire. Revel in it.”

“But
…
surely you still need a crew.”

Corin stopped, one foot already out the door. He didn’t turn back, but he did consider the matter for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I am alone in this, Charlie Claire. The path I plan to walk
…
who could possibly walk it with me?”

Charlie’s hand closed warm and strong on Corin’s shoulder. “I’ll go with you, Captain.”

Corin shared his sad smile with the empty night and spoke over his shoulder. “I know you will, Charlie. I believe it. But
…
”

In the end, he shook his head, shook off the sailor’s hand, and headed down the narrow lane. As he went, he finished the thought silently, for himself alone.
You couldn’t follow where I’m going. You aren’t bad enough.

N
ight was always quiet over Khera. Back home in Aepoli, the cruel investigators fought hard to enforce their lord’s curfew, but the caliph faced no such challenge here. The bitter cold of desert nights did far more than thumbscrews and burning coals could accomplish in civilized lands.

So Corin stalked through empty streets as he left his inn
behind. The silence suited him well. For as much as that was worth,
the cold suited too. He wrapped his long black cloak more
tightly
around
him and strode through shadow and silence and gloom.

He should not have been so disappointed. He knew that, but the knowledge didn’t help. An hour ago he’d only hoped to score a handsome bounty, but for a moment there in the room—for one brief instant—he had thought he’d found an ally. He had thought he’d found someone who’d understand.

Charlie couldn’t understand. The man was true enough and brave to a fault, but he had been the third dumbest of all the men in Corin’s crew. No, Charlie Claire could never really help him in his quest. But Corin had hoped that perhaps the scholar, the same man who had pointed him to Jezeeli, who had spent his lifetime scouring the world for clues, could at least share an understanding of the things Corin had seen.

And with that thought, Corin understood why he felt so sour to discover the scholar’s inadequacy: He needed help. His quest
…
gods’ blood, it made his knees quake to consider it. What was his quest? Revenge, but it would be no easy blow. He still hoped to save the girl, but she could yet become one of the many scores he aimed to settle with the traitor Blake.

Not Blake. Not Ethan Blake, as he had called himself, but some blasted Vestossi’s son or cousin. For all he hated them
…
for all the secrets he had learned, how could Corin hope to cut do
wn a
Vestossi and survive? And if he
did
survive, he h
ad anot
her promise to fulfill. He had a god to kill.

Unconsciously, he closed his hand around the hilt of the sword on his hip.
Godslayer
. There was one answer, anyway. He had the means. But how was he to
find
Ephitel? How was he to face him?

Corin laughed despite himself. It scarcely mattered. He had no way of settling with Blake, so plans for Ephitel could wait. In all likelihood, some unseen knife from the Vestossis’ thugs would settle Corin before he ever came close to his f
irst g
oal.

He was so thoroughly lost in these thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of footsteps trailing him. How had Charlie uncovered his deception so quickly? He’d expected it to take at least half an hour before the two men realized that Corin had stolen Tesyn’s purse. Still, he felt confident he could sort things out. He put on his most innocent expression and spun around. “Listen, Charlie, I can explain everyth—”

But it wasn’t Charlie Claire. It was a woman, judging by her frame, but Corin spotted little else to know her by. She was draped in miles of the light white fabric that the natives wore, her face concealed behind a veil and obscured by the dark.

She froze in place for half a heartbeat, but Corin found himself just as shocked. The woman recovered first. She raised one arm toward him like a marksman aiming a flintlock pistol. She might even have concealed one in the voluminous folds of her sleeves. But she made no threat. She asked no questions. She backed slowly to the nearest crossing alley, then darted off with a slipper-soft step.

Instinct drove Corin after her, but he only went two paces before he caught himself. Concealed though she was, something in the woman’s stance had felt alluringly familiar. But who could he know in Khera? This one had been too small of frame for Iryana, and he could scarcely believe the fierce slave girl would have run. But who else? His life left little room for female entanglements.

No. His desire for
some
companion had fooled him into seeing what wasn’t there. Surely. Far more likely she was some local lady on an errand, frightened to encounter an outlander alone on these dark streets. Aye. He nodded to himself. Far more likely, she was just a stranger.

And not the only stranger in the night. Before Corin could turn back to his path, he spotted a pair of shadows approaching down another side street. Cautious now, Corin concealed himself within a narrow alcove and watched them approach. These men too carried a familiar aura, but this time it was one Corin placed easily enough.

They were pirates. He knew it at first by their rolling gait, and then by their dress, and then by the stink of them. A sinking suspicion settled over him as he remembered some of the things Charlie Claire had said before. He and Tesyn had chosen Khera because it was not a safe place for pirates anymore. That meant these two men wouldn’t be here without some pressing business.

And they were not just in Khera. They were
here
, in this neighborhood that Old Grim had so much preferred. They were rounding the corner and heading back up the street Corin had just come down. They were heading toward Charlie Claire.

An angry snarl tugged at Corin’s lips. These were no stran
gers
at all. These were Ethan Blake’s men, come to punish Charlie Claire for daring to leave their ranks. It wasn’t enough that Corin had robbed him; now the poor sod was going to get his throat cut.

Run
, Corin thought, shouting the order in his own head.
Get clear of this place. It’s their business now; let them sort it out. You’re supposed to be hunting Ethan Blake.

And yet he didn’t move. He stood frozen in place, staring down the dark street after the retreating figures and thinking of poor Charlie Claire sobbing in a corner. The man didn’t deserve to die like this.

You’re nobody’s hero, Corin Hugh.
He licked his lips and clenched his fists and fought to restrain an angry growl. He wasn’t a hero. He had more important business to do. And yet he couldn’t make himself move.

Then a thought struck him. Charlie wouldn’t just die.
Charlie woul
d talk. Charlie would tell them everything, and then Ethan Blake’s thugs would go rushing back to him with news that Corin Hugh was still alive. That Corin Hugh was hunting him. That Corin Hugh had strange new magic powers.

Somehow, that realization eased the weight on Corin’s chest. He was no hero—that was sure. But he wasn’t about to lose his only advantage over Ethan Blake. He had no choice but to stop those men. He checked his sword within its scabbard and the dagger on his belt. Then he ducked his head and, silent as a shadow, crept down the road behind the stalking pirates.

He’d lingered too long in his hiding place and couldn’t catch the men before they reached the inn. Still, he was not more th
an a
hundred heartbeats behind them when he slipped into the i
nn an
d up its narrow stairs. The door to his old rooms stood open just a crack, and Corin stood a moment on the landing, motionless, listening for some clue as to what was happening i
n the
re.

For a moment there was nothing, and Corin began to wonder if the pirates he had seen were truly Ethan Blake’s at all. Then Charlie cried out in surprise, and a moment later a violent blow landed with a wet
crack
against the sailor’s skull. Corin cursed and moved like lightning. He burst into a sprint even as familiar voices carried out into the hall. “Oh, Charlie, you never shoulda run on us.”

“Never shoulda stole the captain’s rightful booty,” another answered.

“Never shoulda showed your face. Never shoulda come back for more.”

“It’s all ours now! Search ’im, Billy!”

Billy Bo. Corin’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. One of Ethan Blake’s favorite cronies. And that would make the other—

“Slit ’is throat, Tommy?”

Tommy Day. Dave Taker’s half-brother. Two of the cruelest men Corin had ever known, and he’d been seven years a pirate.

An animal grin twisted Corin’s mouth. He wasn’t a pirate anymore; he was a vengeful spirit. And these two men had a reckoning to pay.

The sword escaped its sheath as Corin spun into the room. With his left hand he drew a heavy dagger too and put it almost immediately to use. Tommy stood two paces closer to the door than Corin had guessed, and the fiend reacted to his old captain’s appearance without a moment’s hesitation. He swung the same heavy cudgel that he’d used to club poor Charlie, but Corin caught it on the guard of his dagger and then plunged three feet of silvered steel into Tommy Day’s abdomen. The old sailor didn’t even scream, but he fell away.

Corin flung himself aside half a heartbeat before Billy Bo’s hooked axe slashed through the air where he had been. Corin landed on his shoulders, looking back on his attackers, and he kicked out hard with both feet. Corin’s boots found Billy’s shins, and Billy
did
scream. Corin sprang right up, ducked a wild swing of the axe, and dropped Billy with a vicious backhand.

Still, old Tommy hadn’t made a sound. Corin turned that way, curious, and found Tommy stretched out on the floor, his shoulders propped against the wall. The man’s right arm was extended, and in his hand he held a flintlock pistol.

Something cold and crushing closed around Corin when he saw the weapon. He hated guns.

Tommy grinned, and his teeth were red with his own blood. “Give my regards to Ephitel.”

Corin fought down the icy panic and grinned right back. “I’ll add them to the list.”

Tommy roared in anger, his hand clenching convulsively around the pistol’s grip. Corin closed his eyes and stepped through dream. The pistol’s crack was loud enough to drown out Tommy’s roar, but it came too late to harm Corin. Faster than a man could blink, Corin sprang ten paces across the room. The gunshot flared and roared and faded, all more quickly than it should have, and Corin already knew it was a waste of effort when he hurled his dagger across the room.

The blade buried itself a hand’s width deep in painted plaster. Full daylight flooded the room, blinding Corin for a moment, but there was no enemy left to take advantage of it. Everyone was gone. He’d stepped through dream again, and once again he’d lost hours or days.

“Gods’ blood,” Corin said, then stopped to catch his breath. “I’ve got to get a hold on that.”

He strained his ears for a moment, but the house was strangely quiet. Midafternoon then, when all the locals retired from the searing sun for prayers and meditation. But Corin wasn’t interested in locals.

A bloodstain marked the place where Charlie Claire had fallen. It was no sure sign that he was dead—scalp wounds always poured like summer storms—but Charlie had left a larger pool than even Tommy Day’s.

Corin curled his lip at that. Tommy Day was gone, his debt yet unpaid. And Billy Bo as well. Corin had quite hoped to wring some news of Ethan Blake from them before he put them down. Worse still, they’d
seen
Corin alive, and seen his new magic firs
tha
nd.
Grays take them both
, Corin thought.
They’ll tell it all to Blake
.

A groan from the far corner caught his attention. He took two hurried steps that way and half-drew his sword again before he saw the sad figure who’d been left there.

Corin heaved a weary sigh. “My lord.”

The young scholar groaned the louder. “What more could you
ever
do to me?”

“I could tell you everything I know about Jezeeli,” Corin said, and some mad joy bloomed in the scholar’s blackened eyes.

Corin shook his head. “But I am not that unkind. You have suffered enough.”

“But—”

Corin didn’t stay to listen. If the scholar were still here, just waking, then Oberon’s magic had not stolen days or weeks this time. Midafternoon suggested hours. Corin had a guess where he might find his former shipmates, but he had to hurry.

He went two steps toward the door and then stopped. In the wreckage from the struggle, beneath a broken side table, Corin spotted the corner of the book that Charlie Claire had stolen. He scooped it up, weighed it in his grasp, and flipped the priceless treasure underhand across the room to land in the scholar’s lap.

“Keep better care of it this time,” Corin said. “Next time we meet, I’ll want a full report.” Then he left the room, cloak f
lappi
ng, and hit the empty streets at a full sprint.

Midafternoon in Khera was not much unlike midnight, although the daylight boiled where the night wind seared with chill. Still, the streets were strangely empty, the shops closed up, and Corin crossed the deserted city with an eerie sense of déjà vu. That sense was only heightened when he turned a corner and ran full-tilt into a woman—the only other living soul on Khera’s streets. She was shorter than Corin, thin and light, but she barely gave a step when he hit her. Instead she pirouetted, graceful as a University swordsman, danced around his momentum, and sprang free.