“Show me the wizard.” But Gede stayed silent.

Despite the murmurs of distress all around him, Naldeth made no sound. He couldn’t have done so to save his life.

The pirate chieftain shook his head with regret as Gede’s chin sank to his chest. He wound strong fingers in the sailor’s hair to yank his head up. “Till tomorrow‘ Turning his back on Gede he walked unhurried to the rail. ”Get them ashore.” He swung himself down to his gaff-rigged ship.

As soon as Muredarch was off the deck, the pirates moved, belaying pins and the flats of blades herding the comprehensively cowed passengers. Parrail caught Naldeth by the elbow, urging the shocked mage forward. An older man with a dyer’s stained hands shot them both a fearful look from beneath lowered brows. The scholar swallowed hard on his own fear, foul bitterness in his mouth, gullet and belly sour and scalded. Surely these people wouldn’t give them up to these torturers, not when magic might be their only salvation? He dropped his own gaze, concentrating on moving with the crowd, on keeping Naldeth moving, terrified lest either of them do something to attract unwelcome attention.

The pirates simply counted off their captives into the waiting longboats like so many head of sheep; the pockmarked ruffian in charge didn’t tolerate delay. The woman with the daughter baulked at the rope ladders strung over the side of the ship and at his nod, two burly raiders swung her bodily over the side where she dangled, whimpering.

The man waiting below laughed until her flailing shoe caught him in the face. “Watch what you’re at, you clumsy bitch!” Snatching at her petticoats he pulled her down with an audible rip of cloth. If another pirate in the boat hadn’t caught her arm, the woman would have fallen into the dark waters but she was too frightened to realise he was saving her and pulled free with a cry of alarm.

The man laughed with scant humour. “Lady, I don’t want your notch on my tally stick.”

“Not given the choice.” The pirate rubbing his bruised face was looking up at her daughter’s legs hanging helpless above him. He grabbed her calf and the raiders above dropped the girl. The man slid his rough-skinned hand up her stockings and beneath her skirts as he caught her around the waist with his other arm.

The lass jerked rigid in his embrace and in panic, she spat full in the pirate’s face. “How dare you!”

“Beg pardon, my lady.” He removed his hands with elaborate care and a lascivious smile. “You come find me, if you change your mind.”

Parrail and Naldeth were pushed towards the rail. The scholar kicked the mage hard on the ankle and saw bemused realisation of pain burn through the shock fogging the wizard’s eyes. Parrail nodded at the rope ladders and to his relief, Naldeth managed to fumble his way down to the longboat. Parrail gripped the rungs with trembling hands, nails digging into the tarred rope, trying to go as fast as he could, fearful lest he fall but more scared of the consequences if he did.

“That’s your lot!” The pirate with spittle still glistening on his unshaven cheek waved to the ship and urged his rowers to their oars. “Get on!”

The passengers huddled on the central thwarts of the boat, the mother sobbing into her daughter’s breast. Naldeth was still staring ahead with unseeing eyes but Parrail twisted to try and gain some idea of where they were being taken.

He saw a crude stockade of green timber some little distance inshore, bark still on the trees, fresh axe marks still pale on the sharpened ends. A scatter of rough shelters, lean-tos and tents sprawled over the close-cropped turf between the stony beach and the thick underbrush that cloaked the rising land. Returning pirates were stirring fires to life, cauldrons and kettles swung over the flames. The few who’d stayed hidden ashore came out of the undergrowth and from the stockade, shouts of congratulation audible over the smooth waters of the anchorage. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle and the islands looked verdant and hospitable. Parrail felt utterly desolate.

The boat crunched to a halt on the shingle spit. “All out and sharp about it!”

As they scrambled over the side, stumbling in the knee-deep water, Parrail risked a quick look round for any hope of escape. He wasn’t the only one.

“Nowhere to run, sorry.” The scornful pirate wasn’t looking at him but Parrail still coloured, humiliated by the mocking laugh of several brutes waiting at the water’s edge.

“You’re in the stockade for tonight.” A thickset man with a shaven head in sharp contrast to his plaited brown beard stepped forward. He wasn’t dressed for raiding but wore buff breeches and jerkin of a cut and quality Parrail would have expected on any Vanam street. “Give us your oath that you’ll join us in the morning and you can set up your own patch.” He indicated the ramshackle camp with an expansive gesture.

Parrail shoved Naldeth into the centre of their group as they headed meekly for the stockade. The scholar hoped the grey despair on the wizard’s face would be taken for the defeat that hung heavy on the rest. Their captors seemed keen to dispel such gloom.

“Muredarch’s a great leader,” volunteered a muscular youth, tanned beneath a sleeveless shirt unlaced to the waist. “You should think about his offer. It’s the best chance for serious wealth for the likes of us this side of Saedrin’s door.”

“It’s good living,” his companion agreed, slapping at the gilt and enamel decorations on the expensive baldric that carried his sword. He swung a flagon of wine in the other hand, cheery in the bright sun that mocked the prisoners’ misery.

Parrail wondered where the wine had come from and who had died for it. They reached the stockade and were roughly shoved inside the crude gates. Parrail was hard put to stifle abject tears when he heard the rough-hewn bar outside secure it. He dashed them angrily from his eyes and grabbed Naldeth. The wizard looked at him numbly and Parrail shook him bodily before urging him into the narrow shadow cast by the crude walkway that offered their few token guards a vantage point.

“We have to send word.” He quailed lest anyone overhear his urgent whisper.

Uncomprehending, Naldeth struggled to find some response but none came.

Parrail found the first stirrings of anger fighting to rise above his fear and nausea. “We’re the only ones who can send for help.”

Naldeth shuddered and rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth. “Who?” he managed to croak.

Parrail licked dry lips. “Hadrumal?” The great mages had defended Mentor Tonin and his scholars before; Planir, Otrick and Kalion wielding mighty magic to send Kellarin’s foes screaming before them. That seemed so very far away and long ago compared to his present predicament.

Some animation was returning to Naldeth’s face. “I need to conjure a flame if I’m going to bespeak anyone.” He looked around. “And something shiny, something metal.”

Parrail looked around as well. “They haven’t left anyone so much as a hair pin.”

“Nor any fire.” Naldeth shivered. “It’s going to be a cold night.”

“Any flame will give you away as the mage.” Parrail wished he hadn’t spoken when he saw stifling dread threaten Naldeth’s fragile composure again. “Think, man! What are we going to do?”

The wizard drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Can’t you use Artifice?”

Parrail hugged his aching belly. “I can try but what if someone hears me?” He looked round at the other prisoners but all were sunk in their own misery, some clinging to each other, others lost and alone in their shock.

“Do you think they’ll give us up?” Naldeth asked in a hollow voice.

“Master Gede didn’t.” Parrail’s voice cracked.

“He’s not dead yet—and neither are we.” Naldeth grasped the scholar’s shoulder in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “I’ve just thought of something; I can weave air to cover your incantations, can’t I?”