Dark Crusade by Karl Edward Wagner Read Free Book Online Page B

they poured past the unguarded gates.
V: Sharks
    The leaden waters of the Inland Sea thundered fitfully against the iron-hard fangs of the promontory overlooking the small harbor of Bern's Cove. The tide was at ebb, and the sour-sweet smell of seaweed and brine and fish hung on the desultory breeze. It mingled feverishly with the stale-sour stench of the refugee camp strewn out along the beach like jetsam of some darker tide.
    Several months earlier Berri's Cove had sheltered a few hundred fishermen and their families. Today uncounted refugees swamped the tiny village and the rocky beaches beyond. Tents and huts and brush lean-tos afforded shade to those who could claim such luxuries; others huddled in the sparse shade of the storm-sculpted headland. The equatorial sun made the beaches shimmering expanses of white-hot flame, summoning forth a miasma of sweat and refuse and filth and fear. Typhoid was already killing faster than heat or starvation, and there was a dread whisper of cholera.
    As Sandotneri closed its borders to the ever-increasing flood of refugees from the Prophet's conquests, those who sought to flee the Dark Crusade crowded the scattered towns and fishing villages along the western shore of the Inland Sea. Those who could, bought passage on whatever vessel might take them aboard. Ships were few; the cost of passage quickly soared. Most waited on the beach--waited for more ships to come to port, schemed and begged for the cost of a berth, endured the heat and misery for the hope of flight. Most simply waited. And waited.
    Within the village itself, floorspace for a reed pallet rented nightly at a sum that would have purchased any dwelling in Bern's Cove a few months before. Food and drink sold for whatever price a merchant cared to demand. Fishermen who owned any vessel larger than a rowboat were in a quandary whether to reap the certain wealth their catches brought from those who clamoured for food, or instead to dare the sudden storms of the Inland Sea for the gold of those who begged passage to distant shores.
    Between the village and the refugee camp, a hastily thrown tip patchwork of awnings and pavilions contained the overflow of merchants and opportunists of every sort who gathered whatever the misfortunes of war meant ready wealth. Northward, beyond the sea and savannah, the forests of Shapeli lay under the shadow of the Satakis. That this shadow of dread might soon engulf those beyond the forest's fringe in no way troubled the appetites of the vultures.
    Beneath the shade of a sailcloth awning, Captain Steiern mopped the sweat front his round face with a silken scarf and sipped wine from a golden flagon. Returning the flagon to the heavy wooden table beside him, he leaned back in his chair and smiled at the anxious faces that crowded beyond the shade.
    "Who's next?" he inquired lazily. The oaken chair creaked beneath his beefy frame. Golden coins made a bright chink as a mate counted the last of them into the strongbox upon the table.
    Below the promontory, Captain Steiern's caravel, the Cormorant, rode her anchor and tempted the hopes of those on the shimmering beach. Her lateen sails were neatly furled, and at the distance no one could see their careless patches or the cracked mast. The Cormorant had made harbor that morning, and despite the exorbitant demands of her captain, already her decks would soon be crowded with passengers.
    "Come quickly now!" Steiern called. "Only a few berths remain, then I dare take on no more. Who's next? Show me only ten marks of gold or whatever barter that's equivalent. Ten marks, my friends, for safe passage to far Krussin. Ten marks for your lives and your freedom."
    "Ten marks should purchase that leaky barge of yours," scoffed a disgruntled onlooker. Several of Steiern's burly hands scowled, but the captain only sipped his wine. "Well then, my would-be shipowner," he said evenly. "Save your gold to buy the next leaky barge to make port. Could be another ship will