Oberon's Dreams - By Aaron Pogue Page 0,6
Corin turned away to watch Blake’s approach. Still she lingered for a moment, but then she surrendered with a huff and Corin felt a small relief as he heard her footsteps receding across the sand.
He’d risked too much, rescuing her. And he had won no great victory in compelling her to open the gate for him. But she’d become entangled in this plot, and she was his responsibility. He couldn’t leave her to the traders, and he certainly couldn’t leave her to Blake’s care. Even if it had to be against her wishes, he’d see her safely on the other side of this affair, and likely with a fortune to pass on to her granddaughters. All he had left to do was end this strange adventure.
But as Corin watched the furious approach of his first mate, he remembered Iryana’s warnings concerning the man. Blake was pompous, reckless, and ruthless. Corin had no love for his first mate, but there were those among his crew—among any pirate crew, even Old Grim’s—who spoke no other language than violence. It had been useful to keep Ethan Blake around to manage those.
But like a gale-force wind, Blake’s power could prove difficult to harness. The only respect Corin had ever won from the man had come from shows of power. Perhaps taking the camel had been a step too far, but the card had been played. Corin didn’t dare back down. Not against so cutthroat an opponent. The only way forward was to raise the ante. The captain met his first mate’s glare, unconcerned, and when Blake finally stormed to a stop before him, Corin frowned. “You look tired.”
“I am tired, Captain. All the men are tired.” He glanced over his shoulder. “How long will you make us toil in this senseless pursuit?”
Corin kept his gaze locked with Blake’s, but he raised his voice. “Not much longer. Not at all. But right now, you all have important work to do!”
Corin’s deckhands obeyed the order, murmuring their assent as they flowed past Corin and Blake toward the pit they’d carved from the valley’s floor.
“Strange reward for victors returning from battle,” Blake said.
“It was not meant to be a battle,” Corin said. “Just a minor skirmish. How much blood was spilled?”
“Not enough. Not near enough. You should have let us kill them all. And then, after depriving us that natural right, after miles of trek across the open desert, you send us all straight back to our labor?”
“We all want to be finished with this business, Blake. We are so close. There may be grumbling—and rightly so—but they are good hands.”
“If you’re so anxious to be done, why waste a day of work to steal one rebellious slave back from the sheiks?”
“I have told you before, we need her magic—”
“There is no magic among these people and plenty in the cannons.”
Corin shook his head. “Some tasks require a more delicate hand.”
Blake sighed and shook his head. “Those are not the right tasks for pirates. Everything about this venture is wrong. We should return to the ships. I’m not the only one saying it.”
Corin nodded toward the men. “They will serve me for a while yet. Sand or sea, they’re all hard workers.”
“They’re ready to be out of here,” Blake snapped back. “I am, too, if it comes to that.”
Corin didn’t meet his eyes. “Are you sure of that, Blake? Are you in such a hurry to get back to the ship?” The first mate was already nodding, but Corin went on. “Back to my ship?”
That stopped him. The mouth worked, but Blake made no words. A cruel smile tugged at Corin’s lips, but after a moment he relented and climbed to his feet. “You’ll have your own command soon enough.” He clapped his first mate on the back. “That’s why you followed me a hundred miles from the shore, right?”
“I followed you because you’re my captain,” Blake said hurriedly.
Corin’s mouth twitched with the same dark smile. “Of course.”
He shaded his eyes and looked across the narrow valley to the far wall, where his men worked industriously at the base of the sun-seared cliffs. The huge carved figures of men and gods looked down on them, patiently watching while a hundred lawless sailors dug a path through years of rubble. There had to be a door beneath it all. There had to be.
Just then he heard the shout. He saw the excited face of a messenger hurrying their way, and a smile split his face.
“Iryana!” he called toward