The Hag’s Contract
John Betancourt
To Brian Thomsen,
who always believed in me as a writer.
Dramatis personae
Albrecht Graben
Although imprisoned in Müden, King Graben continues to rule through his regent, Harlmut the Steward.
Lan Harlmut
King Graben’s right-hand man maintains a precarious rule over Grabentod. His loyalty is unquestionable.
Privateer Parniel Bowspear
Bowspear carries the bloodline of a minor awnshegh, which has given him ambitions beyond his station. He has long been prepared to usurp Grabentod’s throne … and with King Graben imprisoned, his chance may have arrived.
Ythril Candabraxis
This wizard’s presence has given Harlmut at least a momentary reprieve, as everyone tries to win his support.
Lady Delma Nauren
King Graben’s wife has no interest in politics, but is easily swayed by powerful commoners and pirate captains in the domain.
Haltengabben
This mysterious woman, who runs the thieves guild and the Temple of Ela, sees more than she admits.
Captain Terrill Evann
Bowspear’s chief rival among the pirate captains of Grabentod is an accomplished swordsman and adventurer. His following is small, but loyal to King Graben.
Captain Evann’s Men
Harrach: Evann’s right-hand man.
Uwe Taggart: The youngest of the men, at seventeen.
Breitt, Freisch, Lothar, Reddman, Shurdan, Wolfgar, and Turach: Swordsmen and sailors.
Prologue
In the dark, in a cave high in the Warde Pass, a huge iron cauldron bubbled and frothed over a dimly burning fire, letting loose a fetid stink that would have reminded lesser creatures of death and decay. But not the Hag. She cackled as she worked, tossing in feathers and bits of moss, exotic herbs and colored pebbles, bones and still-warm strips of flesh from creatures her guards had trapped the night before—squirrels, mostly, but also snow hares, a few crows, and even a stray bull moose that had wandered too close to her encampment.
Light suddenly flashed from the cauldron. An eerie glowing mist began to rise from the unholy mixture. Outside, a soft, moaning wind began to howl.
Now, the Hag knew, the time had come.
Leaning forward, she spoke the words of her scrying spell. The glowing mist parted, and she found herself gazing down through the cauldron at a ship on the ocean.
One comes.
She felt a strong source of power on that ship. She had scried upon it thrice in the last two days, and each time it was nearer the rocky shores of Grabentod.
He will be a danger.
She drew in her breath suddenly, knowing her fate was intertwined with the one on that ship. Nothing good would come of their meeting. Blood and fire and death lay in the future. But whose would it be?
He must be killed.
A light step sounded behind her, and suddenly the scrying spell collapsed. It did not matter, the Hag thought. She had seen enough.
She raised her head. The mass of snakes that made up the lower half of her body began to hiss, a sound of recognition rather than fear or anger.
“Pretty-pretty,” she said softly, without looking. She combed her long, thin, scraggly white hair with her fingernails. “What news do you bring?”
Orin Hawk, the lieutenant who guarded the northern border of her realm, spoke in a low, powerful voice: “All is ready, Mistress.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Hawk’s strong blue eyes met hers without hesitation. She saw love and admiration in his gaze, and such devotion as a man would have for his intended bride. Giving a low chuckle, the Hag turned back to her cauldron.
Many years ago, Hawk had been a ranger in the service of the king of Drachenward. He had led a force of thirty men against her. Rather than fight, she had charmed Hawk into her service … him and most of his men. Now they worshiped her. They would have died for her, and gladly, had she so commanded. Her bloodline ran deep, all the way back to Azrai the Shadow and the final battle at Mount Deismaar, and she knew the full extent of her powers. Men, she could charm with ease. They were such fools.
But not the one who comes, a tiny voice inside her said. You cannot charm him.
He would have to be dealt with more subtly … but already her plans were afoot.
“All?” she asked.
“Aye, Mistress.”
She chuckled once more. Leaning forward, she caught a faint glimpse of herself reflected in the cauldron, her normally sallow white skin looking green and puckered, the boils and open sores of her face wreathed by the rising steam. Once, she thought, studying her reflection, she had loved gazing into mirrors. That had been a long time ago, back in dim and distant days when she had been human and beautiful. Now she was awnsheghlien, a being of true power. The people of Drachenward and Grabentod might call her an abomination, but she knew better. She was a power.
“Good,” she said. Yes, every piece of her plot had begun to fall into place. She would kill this newcomer to Grabentod. “We leave at dawn.” “Yes, Mistress,” Hawk said.
Aye, them was the days, lad. I seen sixty winters, and my pappy seen sixty-five, so I figure it must’ve been eighty, ninety years ago when Ulrich Graben sailed into Alber Harbor. He didn’t have no fancy titles for him or his men, no Grabentod Raiders, like they call ’em today. In those days, they was just pirates, plain and simple. They lived by their wits and conquered by their swords.
Alber weren’t much of a city, then. Maybe few thousand folks lived here, and there weren’t much of an army, neither. It was perfect for plundering.
So, like my pappy told it, one winter Captain Ulrich Graben—aye, the great-grandfather of our own king—sailed into the harbor with twelve warships and near a thousand men, and there weren’t nobody to stop him. He declared himself the true heir to the Grabentod throne, marched up to the castle like he owned it. Weren’t nobody there to argue. The old regent and all his relatives had run off to the hills, and nobody heard from ’em again. Reckon the goblins or the Hag got ’em.
Anyway, there was King Ulrich Graben, sitting on the throne, and bless him if he didn’t get respectable. He set up a proper court, got a bride from Grevesmühl—a noble-born lady, even!—and set about being a king.
That, my fine lad, is how pirates come to rule Grabentod. Now, let me tell ye a real story…
One
“I’ll have them!” Parniel Bowspear roared from the longboat’s prow. “Pull, there! Pull!”
He leaned forward, straining to see through the darkness and fog. Somewhere ahead, he knew, the Müden merchant ship Truda Fey lay nearly becalmed, and he intended to have her before daybreak. The Truda Fey’s crew had long since doused their lanterns in an effort to hide from him, but it would do them no good. The northern trade winds had failed, and according to Bowspear’s reading of the weather signs, they wouldn’t resume for another day, at the soonest.
He smiled grimly as his breath plumed in the cold night air. Instead of surrendering to the inevitable, the Truda Fey’s captain had played a long cat-and-mouse game with him, bringing his ship close to shore and heading into the fog that perpetually shrouded Grabentod’s rocky coastline in the autumn months. Steering through the fog, nursing whatever slight breezes he could catch, always staying just out of reach—that Müden captain had eluded him thus far. But not for much longer, Bowspear thought. He could smell victory. It had come down to a matter of minutes.