The Pirate King

LUSKAN'S LONG WINTER NIGHT



The man walked down the ally, glancing left and right. He knew he was right to be careful, for the cargo he would soon carry was among the most precious of commodities in Luskan that harsh winter.



He moved to a spot on the wall, one that seemed unremarkable, and knocked in a specific manner, three short raps, a pause, two short raps, a pause, and a final heavy thud.



The boards of the house parted, revealing a cleverly concealed window.



"Yeah?" asked the grumpy old man within. "Who ye for?"



"Seven," the man replied, and he handed over a note sealed with the mark of Ship Rethnor, cupping it around seven small chips, like those often used as substitutions for gold and silver in gambling games along the docks. Those too bore Ship Rethnor's mark.



"Seven, ye say?" replied the old man inside. "But I'm knowin' ye, Feercus Oduuna, and knowin' that ye got no wife and no brats, no brothers and naught but the one sister. That adds to two, if me brain's not gone too feeble."



"Seven chips," Feercus argued.



"Five bought, pocket-picked, or taken from a dead man?"



"If bought, then what's the harm?" Feercus argued. "I'm not stealing from my brothers of Ship Rethnor, nor killing them to take their chips!"



"So ye admit ye bought 'em?"



Feercus shook his head.



"Kensidan's not looking kindly on any black marketeering here, I'm telling ye for yer own sake."



"I offered to retrieve the goods for five others," Feercus explained. "Me sister and me, and Darvus's family, with no living man to come and no child old enough to trust to do it."



"Ah, and what might ye be getting from Missus Darvus in exchange for yer helpfulness?" the old codger asked.



Feercus flashed a lewd smile.



"More than that, if I'm knowin' Feercus - and I am," the old man said. "Ye're taking part o' the bargain in flesh, I'm not doubting, but ye're getting a fill for yer pocket, too. How much?"



"Has Kensidan outlawed that as well?"



"Nay."



"Then..."



"How much?" the old man insisted. "And I'll be asking Darvus's widow, and I'm knowin' her well, so ye best be tellin' me true."



Feercus glanced around again then sighed and admitted, "Four silver."



"Two for me," said the old man, holding out his hand. When Feercus didn't immediately hand over the coins, he wagged his fingers impatiently. "Two, or ye're not eating."



With a grumbled curse under his breath, Feercus handed over the coins. The old man retreated into the storehouse, and Feercus watched as he put seven small bags into a single sack, then returned and handed them out the window.



Again Feercus glanced around.



"Someone follow ye here?" the old man asked.



Feercus shrugged. "Lots of eyes. Baram or Taerl's men, I expect, as they're not eating so well."



"Kensidan's got guards all about the Ship," the old man assured him. "Baram and Taerl wouldn't dare to move against him, and Kurth's been paid off with food. Likely them eyes ye're seeing are the watching guards - and don't ye doubt that they'll not be friends o' Feercus, if Feercus is stealing or murdering them who're under the protection of Kensidan!"



Feercus held up the sack. "For widow Darvus," he said, and slung it over his shoulder as he started away. He hadn't gone more than a step when the window's shutter banged closed, showing no more than an unremarkable wall once more.



Gradually, Feercus managed to take his thoughts off the watching eyes he knew to be peering out from every alley and window, and from many of the rooftops, as well. He thought of his cargo, and liked the weight of it. Widow Darvus had promised him that she had some spices to take the tanginess out of the curious meat Kensidan handed out to all under his protection - and many more had come under his protection, swearing fealty to Ship Rethnor, throughout that cold and threadbare winter. Between that and the strange, thick mushrooms, Feercus Oduuna expected a wonderful meal that evening.



He promised himself that he wouldn't get too greedy and eat it all, and that his sister, all alone in her house since her husband and two children had died in the explosion of the Hosttower, would get more than her one-seventh share.



He glanced back once as he exited the alley, whispering his sincere thanks for the generosity of High Captain Kensidan.



In another part of Luskan, not far from the road Feercus traveled, several men stood on a street corner, a fire blazing between them over which they huddled for warmth. One man's stomach growled from emptiness and another punched him in the shoulder for the painful reminder.



"Ah, keep it quiet," he said.



"And how am I to stop it?" the man with the grumbling belly replied. "The rat I ate last night didn't go near to filling me, and I been throwin' up more of it than I put down!"



"All our bellies're grumbling," a third man said.



"Baram's got food coming out tonight, so he says," a fourth piped in hopefully.



"Won't be near enough," said the first, who punched the other's shoulder again. "Never near enough. I ain't been so hungry in all my days, not even when out on the water, days and days in a dead wind."



"A pity we're not for eating man flesh," the third said with a pathetic chuckle. "Lots o' fat bodies out on Cutlass Island, eh?"



"A pity we're not working for Rethnor, ye mean," said the first, and the others all snapped surprised glances his way. Such words could get a man killed in short order.



"Ain't even Rethnor - Rethnor's dead, so they're saying," said another.



"Aye, it's that boy o' his, the sneaky one they call the Crow," said the first. "He's gettin' food. Not knowing how, but he's gettin' it and feedin' his boys well this winter. I'm thinking that Baram'd be smart to stop arguing with him and start gettin' us some of that food!"



"And I'm thinking ye're talkin'll of us dead in an alley," one of the others said in a tone that offered no room for argument. As much a threat as a warning, the harsh comment ended the discussion abruptly and the group went back to rubbing their hands, saying nothing, but with their bellies doing enough complaining to aptly relay their foul sentiments.



The mood in the Cutlass was fine that night - a small gathering, but of men who had eaten well and who had fed their families properly, and all thanks to the generosity of the son of Rethnor.



Behind the bar, Arumn Gardpeck noticed a couple of new faces that night, as he was now seeing quite regularly. He nudged his friend and most reliable customer, Josi Puddles, and nodded his chin toward the new pair who sat in a corner.



"I'm not liking it," Josi slurred after glancing that way. "It's our tavern."



"More patrons, more coin," Arumn replied.



"More trouble, you mean," said Josi, and as if on cue, Kensidan's dwarf walked in and moved right up to Arumn.



The dwarf followed their gazes to the corner then said to Arumn, "From the avenue called Setting Sun," he said.



"Taerl's men, then," Josi replied.



"Or Kensidan's now, eh?" Arumn said to the dwarf, sliding the usual brew his way.



The dwarf nodded, his eyes never leaving the two men as he brought the flagon to his lips and drained it in a single draw, ale spilling out over his black, beaded beard. He stayed there for some time, staring and hardly listening to the continuing conversation between Josi and Arumn. Every so often, he motioned for another ale, which Arumn, who was eating quite well thanks to the generosity of Kensidan, was happy to supply.



Finally the two men departed and the dwarf drained one last flagon and followed them out into the street. He wasn't far behind when he exited, despite pausing for his last drink, because the pair had to pause as well to retrieve their weapons as they left. On Kensidan's command, weapons weren't allowed inside Arumn's establishment. That rule didn't apply to Kensidan's personal bodyguard of course, and so the dwarf had not been similarly slowed.



He made no effort to conceal the fact that he was following the pair, one of whom stupidly glanced back several times. The dwarf thought they would confront him out in the street, with so many witnesses around, but to his surprise and delight, the pair slipped down a dark and narrow alleyway instead.



Grinning, he eagerly followed.



"Far enough," said a voice from the darkness beyond. Following the sound, the dwarf made out a single silhouette standing by a pile of refuse. "I'm not liking yer staring, black-beard, and liking yer following even less."



"Ye're for calling Captain Taerl's guards on me, I'm guessing," the dwarf replied, and he saw the man shift uncomfortably at the reminder that he was not on his home turf.



"H-here on - on Rethnor's invitation," the man stammered.



"Here to eat, ye mean."



"Aye, as invited."



"Nay, friend," the dwarf said. "Rethnor's welcoming them looking for a Ship to crew, not them looking to come in, eat, and go home to tell th' other high captains. Ye're a man o' Taerl, and good enough for ye."



"Switching," the man blurted.



"Bwahahaha," the dwarf taunted. "Ye been here five times now, yerself and yer hiding friend. And five times ye been on the road back home. A lot o' yer boys, too. Ye think we're for feeding ye, do ye?"



"I - I'm paying well," the man stammered.



"For what's not for sale," said the dwarf.



"If they're for selling, then it's for sale," said the man, but the dwarf crossed his burly arms over his chest and shook his head slowly.



From the roof to the dwarf's left came the man's companion, leaping down from on high, dagger thrust before him as if he thought himself a human spear. He apparently figured that he had the dwarf by surprise, an easy kill.



So did his friend, down the alley, who started a whoop of victory, one that ended abruptly as the dwarf exploded into motion, throwing his arms forward and over his head and springing a backward somersault. As he went over, he deftly pulled out his twin morningstars, and he landed solidly on the balls of his feet, leaning forward so that he easily reversed his momentum and plowed forward.



With surprising agility, the diving man managed to adjust to his complete miss and tuck into a fairly nimble roll that brought him right back to his feet. He spun, slashing with his dagger to keep the dwarf at bay.



The spiked head of a morningstar met that extended hand, and if the blow wasn't enough to shatter it, a coating on the ball exploded with magical power. The dagger, a misshapen and twisted thing, flew away, along with three fingers.



The man howled in agony and punched out with other hand as he brought the wounded one in close.



But again the dwarf was way ahead of him. As his first, right-hand morningstar swiped across to take the knife, his left arm went over his head, his second weapon spinning the same way as the first. Executing the block easily, the dwarf stepped forward and down. The punch went over his head as his second morningstar whipped around, the spiked head reaching out at the end of its black chain to take the man on the side of the knee.



The crack of bone drowned out the squeal of pain and the man's leg buckled and he flopped down to the ground.



His charging friend nearly tripped over him, but somehow held his balance, brandishing sword and dagger at the low-crouched dwarf. He thrust and slashed wildly, trying to overwhelm the dwarf with sheer ferocity.



And he almost got through the clever parries, but only because the dwarf was laughing too hard to more properly defend.



Frantic, trying hard to block out the pitiful crying of his broken friend, the man stabbed again, rushing forward.



He hit nothing, for the dwarf, in perfect balance, slipped out to the side.



"Ye're starting to try me patience," the dwarf warned. "Ye might be leaving with just a beating."



Too terrified to even comprehend that he had just been offered his life, the man spun and threw himself at the dwarf.



By the time the second morningstar ball smashed him on the side of his ribs, crunching them to dust, he realized his mistake. By the time that second ball smacked him again, in the head, he knew nothing at all.



His friend howled all the louder when the swordsman fell dead before him, his brains spilling out all over the cobblestones.



He was still howling when the dwarf grabbed him by the front of his shirt and with frightening strength stood him upright and smashed him against the wall.



"Ye're not listening to me, boy," the dwarf said several times, until the man finally shut up.



"Now ye get back to Setting Sun and ye tell Taerl's boys that this ain't yer place," said the dwarf. "If ye're with Taerl then ye ain't with Rethnor, and if ye ain't with Rethnor, then go and catch yerself some rats to eat."



The man gasped for breath.



"Ye hear me?" the dwarf asked, giving him a rough shake, and though it was with just one hand, the man couldn't have any more resisted it than he could the pull of a strong horse.



He nodded stupidly and the dwarf flung him down to the ground. "Crawl out o' here, boy. And if ye're meaning to crawl back, then do it with a pledge to Ship Rethnor."



The man replied, "Yes, yes, yes, yes..." over and over again as the dwarf calmly walked out of the alleyway, tucking his twin morningstars diagonally into their respective sheaths on his back as he went, and seeming as if nothing at all had just happened.



"You don't have to enjoy it so much," Kensidan said to the dwarf a short while later.



"Then pay me more."



Kensidan gave a little laugh. "I told you not to kill anyone."



"And I telled yerself that if they're drawing steel, I'm drawing blood," the dwarf replied.



Kensidan continued to chuckle and waved his hand in concession.



"They're getting' desperate," the dwarf said. "Not enough food in most quarters for Baram and Taerl."



"Good. I wonder how fondly they look upon Captain Deudermont now?"



"Governor, ye mean."



Kensidan rolled his eyes.



"Yer friend Suljack's getting more than them other two," said the dwarf. "If ye was to send him a bit o' ours on top o' what he's getting from Deudermont, he might be climbing up behind yerself and Kurth."



"Very astute," Kensidan congratulated.



"Been playing politics since afore yer daddy's daddy found his first breath," the dwarf replied.



"Then I would think you smart enough to understand that it's not in my interest to prop Suljack to new and greater heights."



The dwarf looked at Kensidan curiously for just a moment, then nodded. "Ye're making him Deudermont's stooge."



Kensidan nodded.



"But he's to take it to heart," the dwarf warned.



"My father has spent years protecting him, often from himself," said Kensidan. "It's past time for Suljack to prove he's worthy of our efforts. If he can't understand his true role beside Deudermont, then he's beyond my aid."



"Ye could tell him."



"And I would likely be telling Baram and Taerl. I don't think that's a good thing."



"How hard're ye meaning to press them?" the dwarf asked. "Deudermont's still formidable, and if they're throwing in with him..."



"Baram hates Deudermont to his soul," Kensidan assured the dwarf. "I count on you to gauge the level of discontent on the streets. We want to steal some of their men, but only enough to make sure that those two will understand their place when the arrows start flying. It's not in my interest to weaken them to anarchy, or to chase them to Deudermont's side for fear of their lives."



The dwarf nodded.



"And no more killing," Kensidan said. "Run the intruders out, show them a way to more and better food. Break a few noses. But no more killing."



The dwarf put his hands on his hips, thoroughly flustered by the painful command.



"You will have all the fighting you desire and more when Deudermont makes his move," Kensidan promised.



"Ain't no more fightin' than I'm desiring."



"The spring, early on," Kensidan replied. "We keep Luskan alive through the winter, but just barely. When the ships and the caravans don't arrive in the early spring, the city will disintegrate around the good capt - governor. His promises will ring as hollow as the bellies of his minions. He will be seen not as savior, but as a fraud, a flame without heat on a cold winter's eve."



And so it went through Luskan's long winter night. Supplies reached out from Ship Rethnor to Closeguard Island and Kurth, to Suljack and even a bit to Deudermont's new palace, fashioned from the former Red Dragon Inn, north of the river. From Deudermont, what little he had to spare, supplies went out to the two high captains in dire need, though never enough, of course, and to the Mirabarrans holed up in the Shield. And as the winter deepened, Suljack, prodded by Kensidan, came to spend more and more time by Deudermont's side.



The many ships riding out the winter in port got their food from Kurth, as Kensidan ceded to him control of the quay.



The coldest months passed, and were not kind to battered Luskan, and the people looked with weary eyes and grumbling bellies to the lengthening days, too weary and too hungry to truly hope for reprieve.



"I won't do it," Maimun said, and Kurth's eyes widened with surprise.



"A dozen ships, heavily laden and hardly guarded," the high captain argued. "Could a pirate ask for more?"



"Luskan needs them," said Maimun. "Your people fared well throughout the winter, but the folk on the mainland...."



"Your crew ate well."



Maimun sighed, for indeed Kurth had been kind to the men and women of Thrice Lucky.



"You mean to drive Deudermont from power," the perceptive young pirate captain said. "Luskan looks to the sea and to the south, praying for food, and grain to replant the fields. There is not enough livestock in the city to support a tenth of the people living here, though only half of what Luskan once was remains."



"Luskan is not a farming community."



"What, then?" Maimun asked, but he knew the answer well enough.



Kurth and Kensidan wanted a free port, a place of trade where no questions would ever be asked, where pirates could put in and answer only to other pirates, where highwaymen could fence jewels and hide kidnap victims until the ransom arrived. Something had happened over the winter, Maimun knew, some subtle shift. Before the onset of the northern winds, the two plotting high captains had been far more cautious in their approach. In their apparent plan, Deudermont would rule Luskan and they would find ways around him.



Now they seemed to want the town for their own, in full.



"I won't do it," the young pirate captain said again. "I cannot so punish Luskan, whatever the expected outcome."



Kurth looked at him hard, and for a moment, Maimun expected that he would have to fight his way out of the tower.



"You are far too full of presumptions and assumptions," Kurth said to him. "Deudermont has his Luskan, and it serves us well to keep him here."



Maimun knew the lie for what it was, but he didn't let on, of course.



"The food will arrive from Waterdeep's fleet, but it will come through Closeguard and not through Deudermont's palace," Kurth explained. "And the ground caravans belong to Kensidan, again not to Deudermont. The people of Luskan will be grateful. Deudermont will be grateful, if we're clever. I had thought you to be clever."



Maimun had no answer to the high captain's scenario. Maimun knew Deudermont as well as any who were not currently crewing Sea Sprite,and he doubted the captain would ever be so foolish as to think Kurth and Kensidan the saviors of Luskan. Stealing for the reward was the oldest and simplest of pirate tricks, after all.



"I offered Thrice Lucky the flagship role as a tribute," Kurth said. "An offer, not an order."



"Then I politely refuse."



Kurth nodded slowly and Maimun's hand slid down to his belted sword, with all expectation that he was about to be killed.



But the blow never came, and the young pirate captain left Closeguard Island a short while later, making all haste back to his ship.



Back in Kurth's chamber, a globe of darkness appeared in a far corner, signaling that the high captain was not alone.



"He would have been a big help," Kurth explained. "Thrice Lucky is swift enough to get inside the firing line of Waterdeep's fleet."



"The defeat of the Waterdhavian flotilla is well in hand," the voice from the darkness assured him. "For the right price, of course."



Kurth gave a sigh and rubbed his hand over his sharp features, considering the cost against the potential gain. He considered many times in those moments that Kensidan would certainly handle the land caravan, that Kensidan was walking ever more boldly and more powerfully in no small part because of the food those strangers in the darkness were providing.



"See to it," he agreed.