Vengeance of the Pirate Queen(65)

The thought of sleeping in a bed made up by undead fingers has me gagging.

It must be midafternoon, and for the first time, I wonder just how long I slept. I do not think it was only one night. I had been pushed past the threshold of exhaustion again and again. My body quit on its own. Fell asleep in that immortal man’s arms. I never would have allowed that otherwise.

And how long did he carry me before reaching this place? We could be days away from my crew’s camp for all I know.

But there is nothing to do except keep walking.

So I keep on.





THE TERRAIN ALL LOOKS the same.

White everywhere.

Though, I do pause when I find a frozen waterfall, the water turned to icicles clinging to the cliffside. When the sun hits it, I have to blink for the brightness.

It’s a single image of beauty. A reminder that not everything is dark and forlorn right now.

I scale the cliffside, taking a route to the right of the waterfall. It is harder than it looks, but I don’t fall. Only slip a few times. Good thing the cold doesn’t affect my grip on the rocks.

When I reach the top, I see something through a break in the trees. Someone standing just as still as any trunk.

I have a present for you.

Oh, what has he made his undead do now?

I try to decide the best approach to take. Head-on? Roundabout? Nothing matters anymore, though it feels that it should.

When a sound cuts through the trees, I halt in place.

Shouting.

Shouting in Islander.

I can’t make out the words, but I’m certain of the accent. I can’t have reached my crew already. This terrain isn’t familiar yet … unless they’ve happened to move camp closer to Threydan?

I move closer.

From within the cover of the trees, I spot a clearing, where the shouting grows the loudest.

I do not recognize the people before me.

I note fifteen of them, wrapped in furs and deprived of weapons. Some are in bad shape with arms in slings or bandages on their heads. Too thin and haggard from not enough nourishment. I recognize not a soul among them, but I know immediately who they must be.

The crew of the Wanderer.

And they’re being herded by the undead, forced to come straight in my direction.





Chapter 19





THERE’S AT LEAST TEN undead for every single Islander. They surround the crew of the Wanderer, blocking them in a fence made of undead clutching one another’s arms. They move as one unit, seamlessly forcing the living to keep pace or be trampled underfoot.

I watch one of the larger men try to punch the closest undead. It does nothing, of course, just results in more shouting from his crew.

“Dammit, Nydus, stop hitting them!” one of the women says. “You’ve as much brains as they do.”

“I suppose you’d rather I wait until they force us off a cliff, then?”

“Quiet,” another man says.

“Have you a plan, Captain?” The woman says his title like it’s an insult.

“No, Shura. I just don’t want to hear your bickering any longer.”

When I finally make my presence known, the undead halt their march, and the Islanders within the circle of arms stop, too.

No one says anything for a full minute. Then, “Who the hell are you?” This comes from Nydus, the man who’s supposedly all brawn and no brains.

“Quiet,” Shura snaps. “You know the natives can’t understand us!” She’s a tall woman, probably nearing six feet, and her figure has all the support to bear such an impressive height. Her cheeks have a rosy tint to them, which contrasts beautifully with her onyx-colored skin.

She is not the only woman among them. There are six in total, and I pray each of them is one of the women Alosa sent me to find. I’d hate for any of them to have been lost because I took too long to reach this cursed place. Since the Wanderer was a large ship, I can tell they’ve already lost two-thirds of their crew as it is.

“My name is Captain Sorinda Veshtas. I was sent by Queen Alosa Kalligan to find what became of the crew of the Wanderer and bring any survivors home.”

One man steps in front of the others, coming as close as he can to me before reaching the wall of undead bodies. He’s older than the others, perhaps in his forties. A stern chin sits beneath chapped lips. “I am Toras Warran, captain of the Wanderer. Neither I nor my crew have any need of being saved by pirate filth.” He spits on the ground before stepping back toward the rest of the survivors.

The rest of the crew exchange looks between themselves.

“Speak for yourself!” Nydus says. He’s about the same height and build as Shura, and he rubs his hands together before blowing warmth into them. “I would very much like to be saved, and I’ll kiss the pirate queen’s boots if that’s what it takes. I’ve had it with this stars-forsaken place.”

Another man asks, “Why should the pirate queen take an interest in the crew of one of the land king’s ships?”

I meet the eyes of Shura, and she winks at me.

“Do not trust any offer made by pirates,” Captain Warran says. “If they offer food with one hand, the other is sure to hold something sharp. Obviously the Kalligan girl means for us to serve her or die. That is always the way things go.”