The Pirates of Brisa

By Paul E. Horsman

When young Eskandar leaves his ship with the tough broomrider girl Kellani, he has no idea how much his dull life in the navy is about to change.

Being chased by desert robbers, delving through ancient tombs, fighting mighty jinn and liberating Kalbakar Keep makes him aware of his past – and his future.

He is a Wyrmcaller; a person of great magic, a speaker with wyrms, and the defender of Bodrus the Sleeping God. Quite a change for a one-handed seventeen-year-old, five-feet-plus ship’s boy.

And that’s not all; an ancient lich lord with an army of mad minions, aided by the jinn and a bunch of pirates, threaten the Sleeping God’s safety. As Bodrus’ defender, Eskandar is the one to foil their plans. But for that he needs an army. An army of kids...

Follow Eskandar and his friends in The Pirates of Brisa, Book 2 of Wyrms of Pasandir, a grand fantasy adventure in a world of wyrms, steamships, magic and mayhem!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul E. Horsman
• Release date: Mar 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9789491730290

Paul E. Horsman

Paul E. Horsman (1952) is a Dutch and International Fantasy Author. Born and bred in the Netherlands, he now lives in Roosendaal, a town on the Dutch-Belgian border.He has been a soldier, a salesman, a scoutmaster and from 1995 till his school closed in 2012 an instructor of Dutch as a Second Language and Integration to refugees from all over the globe.He is a full-time writer of fantasy adventure stories suitable for a broad age range. His books are both published in the Netherlands, and internationally.His works are characterized by their rich, diverse worlds, colorful peoples and a strong sense of equality between women and men. Many of his stories, like The Shardheld Saga trilogy and The Shadow of the Revenaunt books, have mythological or historical elements in them, while others, especially Lioness of Kell and his current Wyrms of Pasandir books, contain many steampunk elements.You can visit him at his website: www.paulhorsman-author.com.

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PAUL E. HORSMAN

THE PIRATES OF BRISA

BOOK 2

WYRMS OF PASANDIR

© 2017 - Paul E. Horsman

Red Rune Books, Netherlands

All rights reserved.

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, peoples, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, peoples, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Editor: Kira Tregoning

Book cover and map designed by Deranged Doctor Design

For more info: paulhorsman-author.com

There is a list of names at the back of the book.

Paul E. Horsman’s books:

Zilverspoor Uitgeverij (Dutch Editions):

Rhidauna – Schaduw van de Revenaunt #1

Zihaen – Schaduw van de Revenaunt #2

Ordelanden – Schaduw van de Revenaunt #3

Red Rune Books (Dutch Edition)

De Shardheld Sage

Red Rune Books (English Editions):

The Lioness of Kell

The Road to Kalbakar – Wyrms of Pasandir #1

The Pirates of Brisa – Wyrms of Pasandir #2

The Bokkaners of the North – Wyrms of Pasandir #3 (upcoming)

Shardfall – The Shardheld Saga #1

Runemaster – The Shardheld Saga #2

Shardheld – The Shardheld Saga #3

The Shardheld Saga, trilogy

Rhidauna –The Shadow of the Revenaunt #1

Zihaen – The Shadow of the Revenaunt #2

Ordelanden – The Shadow of the Revenaunt #3

Vavaun – The Shadows of the Revenaunt

THE NATIONS

The Weal of Four Nations is the political union of Kell, Vanhaar, Unwaar and the Chorwaynie Archipelago

Kells: The tall, bronze-brown people of the Radhaijan Plains in Kell; famed for the fighting prowess of their warriors and the quality of their ordnance.

Vanhaari (the second tribe): The magician people of Vanhaar, warlocks and mages. They are of small stature and a slate-gray complexion.

Chorwaynies: The coppery-brown coastal people of the Chorwaynie Archipelago. A nation of sharp merchants and sea traders.

Jentakan: The golden-brown inland people of the Chorwaynie Archipelago. Fishers and sailors, their painted fabrics are priceless works of art.

Unwaari (the first tribe): The Singers of Aera; mage-priests, living in Unwaar. They are Vanhaar’s brother people.

Other Nations

Ma’aweshi (the third tribe): The people of the Pasandir Peaks; brothers to Vanhaari and Unwaari, distinguishable through a faint reddish sheen to their gray complexions. Followers of Bodrus the Sleeping God.

Qoori: The people of the far northern empire; distantly related to the three tribes, but of greenish complexions.

Nanstalgarodians: The late people of Nanstalgarod (now the Hellesands desert) were of a light brown complexion, dark-haired and hawkish. The only living Nanstalgarodian left is Princess Jem.

The nations of Malgarth, the small continent to the east:

Thali: The dark-brown people of the frozen south; inventors and technicians, who develop wonders like steam engines, airships and other contraptions.

Garthans (the High Kingdom of Malgarth): A rural people of pale complexions.

The Five Tradeports (Brisa, Reveul, Lismer, Dibloon and Veurdel): Hotbeds of piracy and crime on the northwestern coast. Populated by Garthans and renegades of all the peoples in the region.

Both Kells and Vanhaari have settlements on Malgarth: the cave city of Tar Kell, and New Winsproke.

MAP OF THE CONTINENT AND MALGARTH

CHAPTER 1 – A NEW ENEMY

‘Gonna getcha, kid...’

A flash of poisonous thoughts shocked me out of my abstraction and in a reflex I ducked into the shadows of a tall building. Crouching low, I sent my mind out to see where that hateful burst came from, but the dark streets around me were silent again.

After a few minutes in which nothing happened, I walked on cautiously, trusting in the dagger-sharp iron hook I wore over my lame right hand. Gonna get me? I’ll show that footpad this kid isn’t as defenseless as he looks.

Little Lothi-Mo, my wyrmling companion, stirred inside my tunic. ‘Silly Eskandar,’ she thought drowsily.

I grinned. She was eighteen inches of fearless fighting madness, with teeth, claws and cunning to match. No, I wasn’t defenseless at all.

Around me, the merchants quarter was silent. At this late time most buildings were deserted, safe asleep behind their strong locks and warding spells, and their owners would be home, counting their coins.

That thought made me smile. For the first time in my seventeen years I, too, had money; small change in my pockets and a huge chest of gold back in the wyrmcaller tower my late grandfather had left me.

Much had changed in my life since I roamed these streets as an undersized orphan waif. Clammers, the good citizens called us derisively, after the orphanage in Clam Street. That miserable orphanage with its uncaring keepers and one overcooked meal a day. I’d loathed the place and I blessed the day the navy took me in as an eight years old ship’s boy.

Now for the first time I was back in Seatome, as a man of magic and a wyrmcaller myself. Tonight, a strange mood gripped me and I’d left my friends behind in the guesthouse, to walk the streets, remembering.

Stay alert! I told myself as I crossed a square full of moving shadows.

‘Closer, come closer, kid!’ a mental voice whispered from the dark ahead of me. I froze, and a flaming spell appeared in my hook-hand, ready to use.

‘Danger!’ Lothi-Mo was awake now and wriggled her way onto my shoulder. ‘Bad man lurking. No hunting us... other prey.’ The little wyrmling sounded angry and with a soft wing-clap, she took to the air. ‘Lothi-Mo go look.’

I cast my mind around and this time I caught a mass of loathsome emotions. I shivered as I felt the greed, the fear of a big guy in a brocaded tunic and the glee at the sight of his intended victim almost within grasp. He’s under a compulsion! I thought, noting how all thoughts swirled round in an unnatural mental fog. Someone’s put a spell on his mind. He’ll not be a common footpad then.

I searched for any others in the area. There! Mountain’s Breath, it’s a kid!

I had found a young street kid, the same age as I was when the navy got me, and with a skin as darkly gray as mine. He was on his way home to Clam Street, just tired and hungry as I remembered. Unaware of any danger, his thoughts were on his empty stomach and a little black kitten. I broke into a run.

Skirting an empty grocery stall, I almost missed a step as the child’s panicked cry battered my senses. Then I rounded the corner and stopped as I recognized the place. This was Old Wharf, a long row of high, narrow warehouses facing the Tome River. It was a perfect spot for a trap; a maze of shadows and dark spots, where the gods know what might be hiding.

A second cry broke off, but now I saw them. In the shadow of a boarded-up building, a fellow in bellbottoms was trying to pull a sack over the head of a struggling child. Hot rage exploded inside me as the image of the boy became mixed-up with my memories of my own orphan life, and all at once it was very personal. I screamed as I rushed forward.

The villain looked up, cursing. He drew his belt knife, at the same time trying to maintain his grip on his victim. It made him clumsy and left his defense wide open. Immediately I spell-punched a fist of air at his upper torso that set him tottering. The kid slipped from his grasp and melted away into the shadows.

I went all hero and ran at the man, waving my hook as I yelled. Stupid, for he was a big fellow, head and shoulders taller than me, and his reach was far greater.

As I came close I noticed his eyes were like the windows of an empty house. Clumsily, he tried to catch my iron limb in his sack.

‘Mountains aid me!’ I prayed, and jumped aside, letting flames leap inside my hook. The ruffian didn’t even notice them. He growled, waving his knife at my midriff. I danced away and jeered in his uncommonly pale face. This time, I must have penetrated the compulsion in his mind, for his eyes showed some awareness and he snarled. ‘Die, cur!’

His knife hand nearly slashed my throat and then, in one fast, unexpected move, his left foot crunched my kneecap.

My right leg buckled and I fell. As I went down, little Lothi-Mo’s war cry echoed my scream while she dove, claws first, into the man’s face. Her talons gashing his cheeks proved too much for the ruffian. He turned and fled, protecting his head with the sack against Lothi-Mo’s furious attacks. The wyrmling followed, flapping round him and screeching like a demented owl.

‘Run!’ I yelled after the fleeing villain. ‘Run wile you can! She’ll get you!’ Then the pain of the kick came back to hit me, and I followed up with some choice expletives.

I could feel the tendons in my knee swelling under my touch and clenched my teeth as I called forth a wave of healing. It took a few minutes; repairing my own body works agonizingly slow, but after a while I could stumble to my feet.

I sought Lothi-Mo’s mind, crystal clear and wyrmly different, while she was harassing the kidnapper. I knew she could catch him if she wanted to. Lothi-Mo was small, but lightning-fast, and she had a bitchy sense of humor. She would kill the kidnapper if he was foolish enough to attack her, but she’d have far more fun chasing that child-stealer all over the place, bless her mean little heart.

I didn’t want her to stray too far, so I sent her a thought. ‘Enough, girl! Let him go!’

Lothi-Mo’s grumbling made me smile; she collected cusses, the more outrageous the better, and she wasn’t afraid to use them.

I turned around to the shadowy mass of stacked crates and drums waiting before one of the buildings. ‘Come on out, kid,’ I said. ‘He’s gone.’

For a long moment nothing happened, but I sensed the child was still there, so I waited, massaging my knee. Finally, a small Vanhaari boy came from the shadows; scruffy, tousle-haired and slate gray, clutching a black kitten to his chest. He kept a row of drums between us, poised to flee.

‘E’s gone? Good! Hope he’ll break his neck runnin’,’ he said. Then he looked up at me, frowning. ‘I dunno you.’

I grinned. ‘You wouldn’t, mate. I’m only visiting, though I was a Clammer here before you were born. You all right?’

The boy gave a jerky shrug. ‘A pirate, he said he was; kidnapping kids. I don’ wanna be kidnappered.’

‘Of course not,’ I said serious as I could. ‘That’s no fun at all.’

The boy shook his head. ‘Don’ wanna be a sailor. Cat hates the sea.’ He buried his nose in the animal’s furry back and sniffed.

‘She must be a clever kitten,’ I said. ‘That fellow was going to take you to a ship?’

The whole thing puzzled me. There were pirates on the Wydemere Sea, calling themselves the Bokkaners, but they were few and wouldn’t show their faces in Seatome. More common were the honest merchants ships from Brisa and the other Tradeports. These fellows were known to dabble in privateering, yet none of them would ever admit to being a pirate.

So what was this fellow – a Brisan, who wouldn’t call himself a pirate, or a Bokkaner, who wouldn’t come into Seatome? And why for all the fishes in the great Wydemere would he be stealing a little kid with a cat?

The boy shivered. ‘He said I was gonna be like him. Must been lyin, he was; I’m never big enough for piratin’.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Would he... would he have taken those other guys as well?’

I stared at him, nonplussed. ‘What other guys?’ The kid looked seriously scared still; he wouldn’t be telling tales, not now.

‘The missin’ ones.’ The boy shook his head and put a finger to his lips. ‘You must ask the Weevil.’

‘He is your gild boss?’ I guessed.

The boy pulled a face. ‘Don’ let ‘er hear you. Willow is she an’ very touchy about it. Willow’s Weevils we are, the harbor gild.’

In my day the orphanage had been organized into gilds, each with their own territory and leader. Apparently that was unchanged. If they were missing kids, this Willow boss would perhaps know more.

‘I must speak with her,’ I said. ‘I’m going home now; you run and tell Willow I want to meet her. Tomorrow at ten, at the Liberator statue in the harbor.’

The boy looked doubtful. ‘I dunno if she’ll care to.’

‘Convince her,’ I said. ‘I saved your hide, didn’t I? Now we must see about those other kids’ lives.’

For a second I wondered why I bothered. I’d never liked my fellow Clammers; they’d been nuisances; stupid bullies and mean girls. Still, for four years they had been my family and I wasn’t going to let some blasted pirate steal them. I was darned sure the authorities wouldn’t lift a finger for some missing orphans.

He nodded. ‘I’ll tell her.’

‘Good. What’s your name?’

‘Brat.’ He looked up at me and his nose wrinkled. ‘Bratolomeus. Keepers had no other free name with B.’

I nodded, remembering the orphanage named foundlings following the alphabet. Nice, of course, but... Brat? What a stupid sense of humor.

I heard a flapping of wings in the air and raised my arm. ‘Lothi-Mo, we’re going home.’

‘Home, home; Lothi-Mo home. Eat, nap; good!’

‘Oo-eh,’ Brat said, big-eyed, as the little wyrm streaked down and curled her snaky body around my arm. ‘What’s that?’

‘Me Lothi-Mo, how-de-do,’ the wyrmling said in a clear voice, while she inspected the boy with one big eye. ‘Me bited the bad man; scratched and bited. Wanted to kill him, but he called me back.’ Her sniff as she looked at me was chock-full of loathing.

‘Oo-eh,’ the boy said again. ‘You can speak!’

‘Course I can! Lothi-Mo big wyrm now; can speak.’ The wyrmling cackled. ‘We go home; Lothi-Mo hunger.’

I grinned. ‘Tell me a new one.’ I winked at the boy. ‘She’s an orphan, too. Born hungry.’

‘I know that,’ Brat said wistfully. ‘I were lookin’ for food; guess I wonna get any now.’

I fished a penny from my pocket. ‘Here, buy a snack on your way home.’

The boy snatched it from my fingers. ‘There’s a funny ship in the harbor,’ he said. ‘Old steamship. Moored at Blasted Pier. There’s a guard keepin’ people out. I’ll tell the Weevil.’ Without another word, the little guy spurted away, his cat following like a running miniature of those lions I’d seen in Atnortod.

‘So he did know something,’ I muttered. I shook my head and turned to go.

‘Eskandar!’ Teodar’s voice sounded loud in my head.

I broke into a grin. ‘The mighty Kavid-Jar speaks to his humble servant! I am honored.’ I knew that would irritate him. Served him well for not calling me in days.

‘Don’t be daft, bud,’ he said.

‘But I am honored,’ I said innocently. Teodar was my oldest friend. His bodiless voice had guided me for as long as I could remember; he’d kept me alive and taught me magic and I loved him like an older brother. He was the only family I had.

‘Cut it out. You were fighting,’ he said and his voice sounded worried.

‘I’m all right,’ I said quickly. ‘It was only a pirate.’

‘I saw that; you were very brave. That fellow you fought – there’ve been men like him coming to the monastery below. Large men, with silly pants and faces the color of soggy bread. Unshaven, shifty-eyed types with a look of the sea and a strange accent. There’s only a few of them, but it’s not a good sign.’

Teodar was the latest Kavid-Jar, the avatar of Bodrus the Sleeping God, and he lived locked away in his sanctum somewhere in our homeland of the Pasandir Peaks. He was only a few years older than me, but very powerful, and if he was bothered, that spelled trouble.

‘Give me an image of those men, will you,’ I said, trying to force down the sudden queasiness in my stomach. I knew the feeling; fighting always did that to me.

Then a picture formed in my mind of a heavy-set, swaggering fellow in flaring pants and a stained, oversized shirt.

‘He’s a Garthan.’ I then realized our man had been one, too. I scratched my neck with my hook-hand as I thought. That pointed to Brisa, as most of the Five Tradeports were populated by Garthans, Weal dropouts and the offspring of both.

‘What are they doing?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know; the monastery’s magic shield keeps me out.’ Teodar sounded frustrated, as well he might. His holy haven had been captured by our enemies – Wrachazd the lich king and his mad monks. For many years there’d been an uneasy stalemate between Teodar and the lich; years in which Teodar had trained me to become his god’s – and his own –defender.

Mountain’s Breath! If that idiot lich was getting reinforcements, Teodar was in danger, and through him, Bodrus. I couldn’t allow that.

I slapped my thigh with my hook, itching to go to the monastery and kick that undead monster out of our Peaks. But Teodar had forbidden it. He thought it too dangerous yet and I’d long ago learned to trust his judgment. For the moment that left the pirates; the Bokkaners or the Brisans. Maybe both of them.

‘I’ll get onto it,’ I promised, but Teodar had left me.

‘Home now?’ Lothi-Mo asked plaintively.

‘Sure,’ I said, deep in thought, and teleported us back into the apartment the Broomrider Service had provided for me and my friends.

CHAPTER 2 – LATE TALKS

Kellani slumped in her chair, in that vague almost-world between waiting and sleeping. Around her was silence. The broomrider guesthouse was one of a row of pompous pre-war mansions lining the road to the castle. Solidly built and overgrown with ivy, its self-important walls kept out all noises and with all other residents asleep, it was silent enough to hear someone teleport into the hall of their apartment.

Finally! she thought. It’s way past darned midnight. He must’ve walked all over the ruddy town. She grunted inaudibly. Why was she staying up waiting for him? Heck, ever since she plucked the guy from that silly ship of his she felt responsible for him. He’s seventeen and the blasted wyrmcaller, girl. He’s well able to take care of himself. Still, danger stalked him mercilessly as a lion its prey, and he was only a little fellow underneath that magic of his.

The door whispered open and Eskandar’s familiar presence tiptoed into the