00.1 - The Blood Price Read Free

it’s crucial we cast off and make for the
straits as soon as possible.” The gold-toothed corsair’s unctuous expression
faltered a little, and he looked over the rail at the empty pier. “Ah, has my
young lord arrived earlier than planned? Normally one’s father and mother are
present to commemorate the occasion. Why, it is well-known that Lurhan sent his
eldest sons on their first cruises with great fanfare—”
    Malus spat a stream of red over the rail. “There will be no fanfare, Master
Gul,” he snapped. “My father has done what he must to protect his reputation,
and that’s as far as his regard for me extends.”
    “I… see,” Gul replied thoughtfully. “Do you wish to give the order to
depart then?”
    The highborn turned about and scowled at the complicated array of rope,
tackle, mast and sail. “Master Gul, I know that those upright poles are masts,
and the cloth bundles up there are sails. I know I’m standing on a deck, and I
assume there’s an anchor around here somewhere, but I wouldn’t know where to
look for it. That is the sum total of my knowledge of sailing,” he said. Malus
waved his hand dismissively at Gul. “You’re the ship’s master. Get us out of
here.”
    If Gul was appalled at his captain’s utter lack of skill, he gave no sign of
it. If anything, his grin only broadened further. “Of course, sir,” he said,
bowing once again. “Leave everything to me. You are in good hands aboard the Manticore .”
    “Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Malus replied sourly. “I’m going below. Wake
me when we get to Bretonnia.”
     
    Slate-coloured waves crashed against the Manticore ’s sleek hull,
spraying icy water along the deck. Near the forward citadel deck a group of
corsairs huddled together in their sealskin cloaks and crouched low next to the
wooden bulkhead.
    The three dice clattered across the damp planks and rebounded from the
bulkhead, showing a trio of sharpened bones: the horns, a losing toss.
“Damnation!” Malus hissed angrily, and the sailors covering him from the
elements chuckled and hissed their amusement. Grimy hands reached down and
plucked coins out of the highborn’s winnings. “Another go,” Malus grumbled. “All
this damned pitching and heaving is souring the dice.”
    Some of the corsairs shifted about on their heels and grumbled. One of the
men, a one-eyed druchii with half a nose, ducked his head fearfully. “Most of us
have to stand watch, dread lord…”
    “Not if I say otherwise!” Malus snapped. “We’ll go until I say we stop, and
that’s an order!”
    The corsairs looked to one another and shrugged. Coins were pressed to the
deck, and Malus picked up the dice. There were definite advantages to being the
captain, he thought.
    The Manticore was riding rough seas up the neck of the Slavers’
Strait, and according to the navigator they would slip into the wide ocean in
less than a day. Then—as Master Gul constantly reminded Malus—his proving
cruise would well and truly begin.
    Once free of the harbour at Clar Karond the raiding ship had made excellent
time, racing across the inland seas a day or more ahead of their rivals. Malus
had spent the first few days in utter misery, too sick to eat or drink anything
stronger than water. When he’d finally got his sea legs and felt hungry again,
Silar had tried to serve Malus in his cabin, but the highborn refused, fearful
of the possibility of poison. Instead, Malus went to the ship’s cooks directly
for his meals. Not long after, he fell into gambling with them.
    Eventually he hit upon the notion of hiring one or two of the crewmen to
murder Silar. The young knight often walked the decks after dark once the
highborn had dismissed him from his duties. Surely it would be simple enough to
knock him in the head and toss him over the side? And the sooner the better,
Malus reckoned; the farther they got from Naggaroth, the greater the odds that
Lurhan’s paid man would try to