Brot’ân’duivé did not wonder why.
He heard movement beyond the door. Someone—more than one—was locked in there now. He looked sidelong at Dirken.
“Be ready to step past me. It would be best for those inside to see a human face first.”
Dirken frowned as he nodded.
Brot’ân’duivé hefted the bar from its brackets. He ratcheted the lever handle and stepped aside as he pulled the door outward. Sounds of rapid movements, those of bodies rustling and pushing past each other, came immediately from inside.
“Settle down!” Dirken barked. “We’re here to get you out.”
Brot’ân’duivé stepped around behind Dirken but held back. Several men in the room gasped or cursed.
“It’s one of them!” a man called out.
“Don’t be a fool!” Dirken shouted over the rest as he held up the lantern. “Or do you think just one would open the door for all of you?”
Some of the crew did not appear to listen. The panic and arguing grew louder. Then a young man stepped forward, squinting; there was a bad bruise on his forehead, and his right eye was swollen shut. It was Hatchinstall, the captain’s first mate. Through the dim light, he peered at Brot’ân’duivé’s face.
“It’s one of our passengers!” he called back to the others.
As Brot’ân’duivé had feared, at first the frightened sailors had seen only a tall an’Cróan in the doorway. More squinted at him, perhaps noted his scars, and began to quiet.
“What happened?” Brot’ân’duivé asked.
The young mate’s good eye was glazed. “A group, looking like you, boarded and killed half the men. We couldn’t stop them.... Nothing we tried did any good.”
“Where’s your captain?”
Hatchinstall shook his head. “Don’t know. They dragged me down here but ... not him. Maybe they locked him in his quarters.”
Brot’ân’duivé took a slow breath. That was where Léshil would go first.
“Get them up on deck,” he told Dirken and then turned down the passage at a run.
A hostage kept separate in upper quarters accessible to the deck would be guarded.
Leesil hadn’t expected to find anyone in the passengers’ cabins. He and his companions were this ship’s passengers. But as he and Chap turned the other way from where Brot’an had headed, the notion of where to look first came to mind.
Any crew left alive for future needs would be locked away below. Less than a handful would be needed to manage the vessel. But one, most of all, would know the routes and ports along this coast.
Silence in the first level below deck ate at Leesil’s nerves.
Chap was the first to creep in on the door to the captain’s quarters. Leesil waited as Chap sniffed the space below the door, and the dog lifted his head back up.
—Two—inside— ... —One—elf—
Leesil wondered how Chap could know that by smell, though the dog probably could tell by strength of scent whether anyone was in there. Then again, if even one was an’Cróan ... well, one of them wouldn’t be here unless someone else was present.
Leesil reached back and under his velvet tunic for his box of lock picks.
—No—a blade—
Leesil blinked—Chap couldn’t possibly know the door was unlocked.
—Why—lock?— ... —A blade—now—
Leesil reached for his right winged blade.
—No— ... —Anmaglâhk—blade—
Leesil hesitated. In Calm Seatt, Brot’an had given him anmaglâhk weapons—a stiletto and a curved bone knife—when they’d gone to get Wynn out of her own guild’s keep. He hated those weapons and had disposed of his own long ago. For some reason, he’d kept the ones Brot’an had given him.
The stiletto was hidden in a sheath in his boot.
Leesil had to trust his old friend’s greater instincts. He drew the stiletto and palmed the hilt, with the blade flattened behind his wrist and forearm. Exhaling slowly, he reached quietly for the door lever and turned it with a light push.
The door opened, and he fixed on two figures before a porthole at the chamber’s rear.
Beyond the broad desk covered in charts, Captain Bassett stared at him with wide eyes. Someone nearly as tall as Brot’an stood behind him and held a curved bone knife against his throat.
The anmaglâhk, with a long braid of hair, looked at Leesil and then glanced down at Chap. He had to have known someone was outside the door, but clearly he hadn’t known who would enter.
Leesil realized Brot’an had been right, that the anmaglâhk team had taken their ship and likely murdered half the crew to set a trap for Magiere and him. More people suffered and died because of them.
“Let him go,” Leesil said dully in Belaskian.
Chap entered the cabin and veered left as Leesil followed, sidestepping the other way.
“You for him,” the anmaglâhk answered in perfect Belaskian. “A fair trade ... and I let him live. But the majay-hì leaves now.”
Leesil took another step along the cabin’s far side. Hope and fear crossed Bassett’s face, and Leesil shriveled inside. He could not imagine the cruelties that had taken place on this ship. One more innocent suffered because of him, because of a task Magiere felt compelled to complete....
Because of those damned orbs.
“Let him go with Chap,” Leesil said. “And I’ll leave with you.”
The anmaglâhk’s expression remained unreadable. When Leesil glanced aside, Chap’s eyes were already on him.
—Save—the captain—if you must— ... —But—you are—an assassin—facing—an assassin—
Those words, what Chap had called him, made Leesil sick inside.
—Act—like one— ... —You—we—are—better than him—
It took great effort for Leesil not to let his expression change. Could he save the captain and kill an anmaglâhk?
“If we are agreed,” the anmaglâhk said, “discard your weapons.”
—Wound—the captain—
Again Leesil fought to kept his expression blank, but a part of his old self began awakening.
—Do—this— ... —I will—go over—the desk—before—the anmaglâhk—can react—
In years past, serving Lord Darmouth, Leesil had helped hunt down the warlord’s enemies. Now and then one of his targets took a hostage as this one did now, someone Leesil didn’t need or want to kill to get to the one he’d been ordered to kill. He knew what to do and needed no further prompting from Chap.
“All right,” Leesil answered.
He leaned down, unstrapped his left winged blade, and let it drop to the floor. As it fell, he watched for the anmaglâhk to relax even slightly. It didn’t happen. He twisted over the other way, but because of the stiletto hidden behind his right hand, undoing that other sheath wouldn’t be easy. He feigned difficulty and leaned farther across to work the straps with his left hand.
His right blade started to come loose.
“Kick them away,” the anmaglâhk ordered.
“All right, all right,” Leesil grumbled.
The right winged blade hit the floor, and the stiletto slipped down his right wrist. He snatched its tip as he toed a fallen winged blade as if to nudge it away.
Leesil shifted his weight in a step and snapped his right hand out as his eyes locked on Bassett’s shoulder.
The stiletto struck low, piercing the captain’s upper right arm.
Bassett cried out, twisting from the wound. His left shoulder struck the anmaglâhk’s chest as his legs buckled, and his weight dropped. The anmaglâhk automatically tried to get a grip on his crumpling hostage.