Free Perilous Seas by Dave Duncan

Kalkor, why
not just get the Evil out of there?”
    “I
knew he’d come to Durthing to find me.”
    “And
you thought he might be satisfied? Spare the town?”
    “Maybe.
“
    “Feeling
guilty for bringing bad luck?”
    “Maybe.
And you? Your reason?”
    “The
same.”
    Thirst.
Splash. Roll. Cold. Dark ...
    A
punch or two whenever Darad went by. Testing for softness. Gathmor again: “So
Kalkor has a seer now. You’ll be his eyes?”
    “No!
“
    Truly,
Master Rap? Suppose he made you an offer right now, . Master Rap? Pilot for an
orca-easy work for a seer. Just guide the death and rape up the river by night,
Master Rap. Outflank the guards. Locate the hidden treasures: gold below the
bricks, virgins in the attic. Good pay-all the booty you can carry, all the
women you can catch. Will you accept that offer, or stay where you are, Master
Rap?
    Take
all the time you need to think about it.
    Kill
yourself, Master Rap? You’re not man enough. Do it later, when you feel
better?
    Cold.
Thirst. Delirium starting. Inos on a horse. Darad and Inos. Andor. Bright Water
the mad witch.
    They’re
eating again. Drinking again. Splash after splash . . .
    Blood
Wave was a lower, longer, sleeker vessel than Stormdancer and yet she was still
only an open boat, for there were no unnecessary luxuries like cabins on an
orca longship. One small triangle of deck at the stern supported the
helmsmen-the steering oar needed two men or more in this weather, and if the
wind ever caught Blood Wave broadside she would be on her beam ends instantly.
Below that tiny deck was the only relatively sheltered spot on board. There
Thane Kalkor hung his hammock. He had a chair there, also, a throne, and when
awake he sat in bored glory, rarely speaking to anyone, waiting for better
killing weather.
    The
sailors bailed, prepared food, tended weapons, but mostly they just lounged
about, being idle. The storm would take them somewhere and they had no say in
where; rowing was impossible in weather like this. There might be rocks dead
ahead, but jotnar would never admit to fear.
    Despite
the howling wind and thrashing rain, few wore more clothing than leather
breeches. Their beards and hair flew wild in the breeze, or clung in soaked
tangles of silver or gold or even copper. There was a manic, ruthless quality
in their appearance, an animal ferocity that would have persuaded Rap to
believe their reputation even without the evidence of the cargo. Their
conversations were ravings of nightmare. He would accept any story told of such
men. They competed in cruelty and sought to outdo each other in atrocities. To
them compassion would be worse than cowardice. Brutality was their creed and
their ambition.
    He
had no doubt that they had killed everyone they had managed to catch in
Durthing-women, children, even the harmless little gnomes, for he had overheard
jokes about the problem of cleaning gnome off an ax.
    And
it worked! Kalkor had lost only one man in Durthing, the one Brual had taken,
yet there had been more than enough able fighters in the settlement to put up a
resistance. They could have driven the raiders off with rocks, or at least have
made them pay for their sport; but instead they had crumpled before the orca
reputation and thus themselves become part of the legend. Atrocity fed on
itself.
    But
who was Rap to judge? Only Kalkor’s arrival had stopped him from beating
Ogi to a pulp-squat Ogi, who had probably truly believed he was doing a friend
a favor by setting up a match for him, while at the same time enriching himself
by backing a dark horse. Typical imp! Rap had not lost control of his temper
since he was thirteen, the time he broke Gith’s jaw, but the madness was
still there underneath. He had been going to maim Ogi, and only chance had
stopped him. Kalkor felt that way more often, perhaps, but Rap was of the same
jotunn blood.
    He
was in the same boat.
    And
now maybe one of the crew.
     

2
    Strong
hands dragged Rap out of his cramped corner