00.1 - The Blood Price by Dan Abnett, Mike Lee - (ebook by Undead) Page B

probably told you to wait until we were well out to sea
before slitting my throat, Malus thought grimly. Or perhaps one of my brothers
promised you a bag of gold to slip some poison into my food.
    While the young knight struggled with his and his master’s possessions, Malus
took a few tentative steps with his right leg. The muscles were still weak and
ached down to the bone, but he forced himself to remain upright.
    Silar eyed the highborn’s halting movements and frowned. “Are you hurt?” he
asked. “Did the guardsmen beat you?”
    “Oh, most assuredly,” Malus answered, “but this was a going-away present from
one of my siblings, I think. Someone slipped a rock adder into my wardrobe
yesterday morning. Fortunately it bit both my body-servants first before it got
to me, so it had little venom left.”
    “Ah. I see,” Silar replied. “Will you need help climbing the gangway?”
    “Don’t be stupid,” Malus hissed, turning his back on the retainer and eyeing
the long gangplank balefully. Then, setting his jaw, he started upward.
    By the time Malus reached the deck of the corsair the crew had passed word of
his coming back to the ship’s master, who arrived to greet the highborn at the
rail.
    Hethan Gul was sleek as an eel in a fine black kheitan of human hide and a
shirt of expensive chainmail. His robes were of thick wool, and his high boots
were supple leather, too new to be stained with sea salt and tar. Rings
glittered on his scarred fingers, and a single, heavy cutlass hung from a
studded leather belt.
    “Welcome aboard the Manticore ,” he said smoothly, his thin lips
pulling back to reveal a mouthful of gold-capped teeth. Gul bowed low, causing
the weak sunlight to glint on the gold bands that secured his corsair’s topknot.
The long tail of hair was streaked with grey. “We are honoured to have been
chosen for your proving cruise, young lord.”
    Malus paused at the rail, surveying the deck and the assembled crew. Sailors
wearing faded robes and kheitans of orc or human hide climbed nimbly up the
raider’s ice-coated lines or busied themselves stowing the last crates of
provisions into the Manticore ’s forward hold. Blackened mail covered
their chests and upper arms, and their wide belts bristled with a vicious
assortment of knives, cudgels and heavy, single-edged swords. Their faces were
lean and weathered, scarred from long years prowling the sea lanes, and they
studied the highborn with cold, predatory stares.
    The ship was an old one, as far as he could tell, but the lines and fittings
were new, as well as the deep, red sails furled overhead. New weapons shone in
notched wooden racks set at intervals along the length of the ship, and the
reaper bolt throwers fore and aft showed signs of recent installation. Likewise,
the cluster of officers at Gul’s shoulder wore armour and weapons as freshly
minted as the highborn’s own.
    “Quite a lavish honour indeed,” Malus growled. “I see my father spared no
expense to refit your ship, captain.”
    The corsair’s golden grin widened. “Of course, young lord. No son of Lurhan
should put to sea without the best that Clar Karond can offer. But you must not
call me captain,” he said. “From the moment you set foot upon this deck, that
title belongs to you. You will refer to me as Master Gul, and I will be at your
service in all things.”
    Malus’ gaze sank to the scarred planking on the other side of the ship’s
rail. One more step and there was no turning back, he thought. He wouldn’t be
able to back out of the cruise without appearing weak, and he’d sooner die that
give his family that satisfaction.
    Of course, once he stepped onto the Manticore he’d be as good as dead
anyway. Up until now, Malus’ entire world had been the tall spires of Hag
Graef, never far from the distant but watchful eyes of his mother Eldire. The
hakseer-cruise, a right of passage for all druchii highborn, was his father’s
first and