The Complete Krondor’s Sons 2-Book Collection: Prince of the Blood, The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

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      The boy yelled, ‘What, master?’ He stared at the Prince in confusion, not understanding the nautical term.

      Borric yelled back, ‘More to the right!’ Borric turned his attention back to the dangers ahead. He shouted to Suli, directing him first to come a little right, then left, then right again, as they steered a maddening course through the shoals.

      Borric glanced back and saw the larger boat had closed some distance, and he cursed. Even with the spinnaker, they were not moving fast enough. He yelled, ‘Turn toward shore!’

      The boy reacted instantly, turning so hard Borric almost lost his footing. Borric looked for rocks, rocks just below the surface of the water that they could avoid but that would bring their pursuer to a nasty halt.

      As they moved closer to shore, the boat’s up and downward movement became more pronounced, as the ground swells moved toward the breaker line. The sound of surf could now be heard clearly. Borric pointed with one hand. ‘There! Steer there!’

      Praying to the Goddess of Luck, Borric said, ‘Let us hit that on the crest!’

      As if the Laughing Lady had heard him, Borric felt the boat on the rise as they passed over the spot he had marked. Even so, as they started to feel the boat come down, a groaning, tearing sound of the bottom scraping rock could be heard and a teeth-jarring vibration came up through the hull of the boat. The centreboard seemed to pop upward as if by its own volition, then fell back into place.

      Suli’s face turned ashen as he crouched, holding on to the tiller as if it were his only connection to life. Borric shouted, ‘Come left!’ and the boy yanked upon the tiller. Again the sound of wood scraping over rock filled their ears, but the boat settled down into a trough and rose without further difficulty.

      Borric glanced back and saw the sloop heeling over as the captain gave orders to his frantic crew to turn away from shoals too lethal even for his shallow craft. Borric gave a low whistle of relief.

      Turning his mind to what to do next, he signalled Suli to head slightly away from the coast, picking up speed as they moved out of the tide’s pull and into a better angle away from the wind. The freshening breeze moved the boat along, and Borric could see the sloop fall farther behind with every minute as the captain had to stay outside the reef that now lay between the two boats.

      Borric lowered the makeshift spinnaker and took the tiller from Suli. The boy grinned at him with an expression that was half-delight, half-terror. Perspiration soaked the lad’s tunic and Borric found himself wiping his drenched brow.

      Borric pointed the boat slightly upwind and could see the sloop’s sail falling off even farther as the reef ran off toward the northwest. He laughed. Even with the headsail jib the sloop’s crew was running out, it was too late. By the time they rounded the reef, the pinnace would be so far ahead they could be anywhere upon the sea. It would be nightfall before the distance could be made up, and Borric planned on being far away by nightfall.

      The next two hours passed uneventfully, until Suli left his place at the bow and came toward Borric. Borric noticed water splashing under the boy’s feet.

      Borric looked down and saw water was gathering in the bilge. ‘Start bailing!’ he yelled.

      ‘What, master?’

      Realizing the boy didn’t understand that term either, he said, ‘Get the bucket from the locker and start scooping up the water and pouring it out!’

      The boy turned, got the bucket, and began bailing out the water. For an hour or so it seemed the boy kept even with the incoming water, but after another hour of the exhausting work, the water had gathered about his ankles. Borric ordered him to switch places and took over. After another hour, it was clear that even when bailing at a furious rate, it would prove an eventually hopeless undertaking. Sooner or later the boat was going to sink. The only question seemed to be when and where.

      Borric glanced to the south and saw that not only had the coastline been running southwest, away from them, but their course was northwest, toward the Straits of Darkness. By his reckoning, they were now as far away from the coastline as they could get, slightly northeast of Ranom, where the coastline would turn northward. Borric had to make a quick choice, either head for the south shore, or hope that between Suli and himself they could keep the boat afloat long enough to reach the coast somewhere south of LiMeth. As he was about equal distance between either part of the shoreline, he decided his best choice was to keep as much speed as possible and hold his present course.

      As the sun sped westward, Borric and Suli alternated bailing out the boat and keeping it pointed toward LiMeth. Near sundown, a scattering of clouds appeared in the north and the wind turned, now blowing into their faces. The pinnace was decent enough travelling into the eye of the wind, but Borric doubted they would survive long enough to reach land if it started to rain. As he considered this, the first drops hit him in the face, and less than an hour later, the rain began to fall in earnest.

      As the sun rose, a ship was upon them. Borric had seen its approach for the last quarter hour, as it suddenly had appeared out of the predawn gloom. Both the Prince and Suli, exhausted from a night’s bailing to keep afloat, could barely move. Yet Borric mustered what little reserve of energy he possessed and stood up.

      They had taken down the sail at sundown, decided it was better to drift in the dark and have both of them bail for periods, than to sail blindly in the gloom. The sound of breakers would alert them to any chance of coming too close to shore. The only problem was that Borric didn’t have any idea of how the currents in this part of the Bitter Sea ran.

      The ship was a small three-masted merchantman, square-rigged with a lateen sail on the back. It could have come from any nation on the Bitter Sea, so it could be their salvation or their doom.

      When the ship was close enough for him to be heard, Borric called out, ‘What ship?’

      The Captain of the vessel came to the rail as he ordered the helm put over, bringing the ship to a slow pace as it passed Borric’s sinking pinnace, wallowing in the chop. ‘The Good Traveller, out of Bordon.’

      ‘Where are you bound?’

      ‘Bound for Farafra,’ came the reply.

      Borric’s heart began to beat again. It was a Free Cities trader bound for an Empire city on the Dragon Sea. ‘Have you berths for two?’

      The Captain looked down at the ragged pair and their rapidly wallowing boat and said, ‘Have you the price of passage?’

      Borric did not wish to part with the coins he had taken from Salaya, as he knew they would need them later. He said, ‘No, but we can work.’

      ‘I’ve all the hands I need,’ called back the Captain.

      Borric knew by stories that the Captain would not likely leave them to drown – sailor’s superstition forbade it – but he could exact a price of an indenture for several cruises; seamen were an inconstant lot and keeping a steady crew was difficult. The Captain was bargaining. Borric pulled out the rusty fishing knife and brandished it. ‘Then I order you to strike your colours; you are all my prisoners.’

      The Captain stared in wide-eyed disbelief, then began to laugh. Soon every sailor on the ship was laughing uproariously. After a moment of genuine amusement, the Captain called out, ‘Bring the madman and the boy aboard. Then make for the Straits!’

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