The Piratess

By Annemarie Nikolaus

Dragon World: Nanja, the piratess from the Floating Islands, steals a dozen horses from the nearest continent. A nobleman from Dragon Island aims to consolidate his power with the spectacle of the horses competing against the native dragons.
But first a dead calm, then an earthquake and finally an attack by demons threaten to ruin Nanja's business with the nobleman. It seems as if the horses should not reach Dragon Island.
Then Nanja’s client himself becomes her enemy, because he sets his sights on Ron, the one of the seafarers who is able to handle the horses.
But when Ron is free again, he is by no means safe...
Every novel in the series is a stand-alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annemarie Nikolaus
• Release date: Dec 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463004753

Annemarie Nikolaus

German free-lance journalist and author.Gebürtige Hessin, hat zwanzig Jahre in Norditalien gelebt. Seit 2010 wohnt sie mit ihrer Tochter in Frankreich.Sie schreibt Fiction und Non-Fiction, in der Regel in deutscher Sprache. Mittlerweile sind einige ihrer Werke in mehrere Sprachen übersetzt worden.Bleiben Sie auf dem Laufenden mit dem Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/TWEoTSie hat Psychologie, Publizistik, Politik und Geschichte studiert und war u.a. als Psychotherapeutin, Politikberaterin, Journalistin, Lektorin und Übersetzerin tätig.Ende 2000 hat sie mit dem literarischen Schreiben begonnen. Seit der Veröffentlichung der ersten Kurzgeschichten schreibt sie Romane, mit besonderer Vorliebe Fantasy und historische Romane. .

Book preview

Prologue

The surf thundered louder than usual against the cliffs outside Kruschar’s gates. Like an angry demon, the wind was tugging at the robes of councilman Margoro. This weather was harsh enough to lure people into the shelter of the town already days before the autumn festival.

If it had not been such a vulgar gesture, Margoro would have rubbed his hands happily as he walked a marble paved path to the largest of his stables. Even in the relative seclusion of his estate, the young nobleman never forgot for a moment that his prestige was based on the idea people were getting about him. Many a merchant was richer than he was, but in Kruschar no one was more powerful.

In the stable aisle a dragon herder waited for him with a basket full of cistus roses. Behind the high wooden gates on the right and left side, splendid dragons craned their long necks after the delicacy. Stocky draft dragons in brown and green, the colors of his noble house, were standing between the high-legged multicolored saddle dragons.

The herder handed Margoro one cistus after the other. Margoro plucked off the petals and fed them to a dragon with ocher and orange scales. The mighty beast swallowed them purring loudly. Don’t eat so hastily, Katran! They’re the last ones of the year.

Lord, came the brittle voice of Yawani from the stable gate. We’d better feed them to the racing dragons. After all...

Why do you worry? One of them still won!

A racing dragon with copper-colored back scales drew attention to himself with a kick against the stable wall. He snorted angrily, as if he understood the words of the humans.

Did we disregard you? Yawani approached sluggishly and patted his neck. Shall we let start all ten of them, Lord?

The Council rejected it yesterday. Margoro went with the next flower to a blue racing dragon. So be it. With the second race I’m offering the town a much bigger spectacle anyway. For that alone the townspeople are gonna re-elect me, and I’ll be able to stop the activities of Aharon’s priests.

We must curtail their influence, Lord – only this!

That first! Margoro finally fed the copper-colored racing dragon, which primly took one petal after the other from his palm. But someday I won’t be needing them at all.

He waved to the dragon herder and pointed to the remaining cistus roses. Distribute them fairly. The copper-colored dragon lowered his long neck and Margoro scratched him behind one ear; then he left the stable.

The wind was icy and he buried his cold hands in the wide sleeves of his cloak. He stopped in front of the house and waited for Yawani to climb the steps to the portal with his lame leg.

Eventually Yawani opened the door for him. In the entrance hall, a servant was startled from the stool where he had made himself comfortable. He hastily took the fur-trimmed cloaks from Margoro and Yawani and handed Margoro a silk surcot with a gold-embroidered train.

Margoro ignored the servant’s stammered apology; there were more important things now than blaming the man for his laziness. He turned to Yawani. One day the priests will bring a respected healer to trial and the people will rebel. He almost rubbed his hands after all.

Yawani looked at him thoughtfully. Maybe we should lend a hand.

My good Yawani. Margoro guffawed. Always a new idea. But it might stand out if one of our people started it off. I’d better not take that chance.

But not in instigating rebellion, Lord. Tracking down a witch. Yawani followed him through the two-story entrance hall into a brightly lit room where the blazing fire in the fireplace made the autumn weather forget. Groaning, he closed the heavy door.

I still need the priests. I quite like the way the Saint threatens the power of the guilds with his witch hunts. Margoro wanted to take possession of the alchemists’ knowledge before chasing Aharon’s priests back to the former kingdom of Dhaomond. Even on the mainland the glassware from his manufactories was considered to be the most artistic work there was to buy. But he wasn’t satisfied with that – he also wanted to produce the raw glass himself. The women will have to reveal one secret at a time to prove that there is no magic involved.

But so far the priests haven’t learned anything useful. Only the fearful and insignificant ones break under torture. Yawani rang for the servant and ordered him to replenish the wood supply.

I could equip an army that would be invincible even with glass weapons if the alchemists revealed the secret of the black powder.

We don’t need an army, Lord, once we have united the free cities of the North. Yawani pushed his stiff leg back, bent over to the wood basket and put three thick logs to the fire. The resin hissed loudly before they began to burn; this wood was not well-seasoned.

The wind pressed a cloud of smoke into the room and Margoro squinted his eyes. But I want the whole island, not just the North. And I want the royal title of Dhaomond.

No one will be crowned king unless he’s linked to the High House of Sondharrim.

Then find me a suitable woman. Margoro spread his arms. Am I not rich enough to provide a princess with anything her heart desires?

Yawani’s gaze once again seemed to express disapproval. This was probably one of those days when gout plagued the old man so much that he saw everything in dark colors.

Again a gust of wind pushed smoke back into the room. Margoro’s eyes began to water and he pointed to the window.

Yawani opened it for him and swung one of the heavy curtains to get the smoke faster out of the room. They say the Saint had the windows of two temples, which are located on pass heights, made weatherproof with colored mosaics from Olmaram.

Why didn’t he buy the glass in my workshops? Margoro grabbed Yawani by the shoulder. And why didn’t I learn that until now?

The workshop of Adhar could not supply. We had shipped all the glass to Thannes Lane just days before.

Then the ship should have been retrieved!

Impossible! Only the agile ships of the elves to whom wind and sea obey, are able to catch the big schooners.

And the piratess’ brigantine! But one day I’ll own such ships, too. He tugged at his right sleeve with barely controlled displeasure; its gold trim was already completely worn out. Where is she anyway? You promised she’d bring me the horses.

Nanja will arrive in time, Lord. Yawani reached for the mirrored decanter on the table and filled a magnificent crystal goblet to the half. She’s the best seafarer of all. Except the elves, of course.

That’s not an answer.

Yawani was holding the goblet out to him. As Margoro didn’t grab it right away, he raised his eyebrows. Do you despise your nightcap today? It’s distilled from the fine phragmites that grows on the beaches of Belascha.

Margoro took the goblet, held it in front of his nose and sniffed. But it smells bland.

Shall I have the cassava schnapps brought for you, Lord?

I don’t want any schnapps. I want those horses. He put the goblet back on the table and strutted up and down, dragging the train behind him like an irritated dragon dragging his tail. It’s barely twenty sunrises until the autumn festival. Without the horses, I’ll be ridiculed.

Therefore, I had advised to announce only a surprise. But we had to spread everywhere our plan to let the dragons compete against these alien animals.

It would have been known anyway. After all, I needed the agreement of the other racing teams.

Yawani took a deep breath, but then he seemed to reconsider and gave no answer.

Margoro suspected him to have gotten a monopoly on dissent that evening. He reached for the reed brandy and emptied the goblet in one go. If the piratess doesn’t bring me the horses, I may as well give up my seat on the town council voluntarily. Instead of re-electing me, I’ll be laughed at.

Even then, Lord, if these racing animals should lose. Unless we make a comedy out of it to demonstrate the arrogance of the mainlanders.

An amusing thought. Remember it. Margoro held out the goblet to Yawani and he poured again. He drank up and burped loudly and with relish. But one thing at a time. When is this piratess coming?

1

Loud purring in her neck woke Nanja. Again one of the cats had smuggled itself into the cabin. Without opening her eyes, she reached behind her and pushed the animal out of bed.

Clearly the cinnamon-brown spotted tomcat: It was its outraged voice that for a moment drowned out all other noises around the ship. Shortly thereafter something clanked to the ground. Nanja rubbed her face with both hands and swung her legs out of the bunk. The tomcat was sitting on the chart table. Once again. It mewed reproachfully.

Nanja gave it an equally reproachful look and picked up the necklace with the Sol gem it had thrown down. Then she opened the wide cabin window and leaned out. Like a cat she was flehmening for a breeze; the rising sun made her blink. The sea was still smooth, but the splashing against the hull seemed a little louder than in the last days. Perhaps the first timid harbinger of wind.

She tied up the long shirt in which she had slept and wrested some silk ribbons from the cat, as green as her eyes. With the glass of the open window as a mirror in front of her, she weaved the ribbons into her hip-length brown hair. Then she pulled a colorful linen skirt over her head, slipped into boots and put her iron dagger into her belt. She took the cat under her arm before she left the cabin. Go do your job and take care of the rats.

So early in the morning many sailors were still below deck. As long as the dead calm lasted, they could start the day at leisure. Working aboard a sailing ship was often enough exhausting.

Kethan, the young boatswain from the Floating Islands, stood near the quarterdeck at the bulwark, his grim gaze directed at the motionless topsail on the main mast. He looked at her when she closed the door behind her. What does Margoro actually want with these animals?

Near the main mast, in front of the quarterdeck of the brigantine, their precious cargo had been accommodated: horses, the legendary racing animals from the mainland. From the pastures of the Sabienne in Thannes Lane they had brought a herd of thirteen animals aboard the Agena: a male animal – the Sabienne called it stallone – of impressive grace and ten females. Two of them had young ones, who were now also on board, because Nanja hadn’t had the heart to leave the trustful animals to fend for themselves.

Nanja put the tomcat down; it scurried off towards the galley. Since when does a nobleman think for what he needs something? As long as he’s got it.

And we needn’t care as long as he pays us. Khetan saluted with a grin and went to the hatch in the middle of the deck.

Ron, one of the few mainlanders who sailed with them, stood in the shelter between the animals. In the last harbor she had called at Thannes Lane, he had come on board and took over the care of the horses as if natural. No one knew how to keep them quiet like he did.

He had one of the smaller water vats standing between his feet and seemed careful to ensure that all the horses equally got a few sips of water.

Farwo, another one of the boatswains, leaned against the main mast and followed Ron’s actions with obvious displeasure. Did he count the drops or what? If the horses got sick, Margoro would rightly push down the agreed price. Or even refuse to pay them properly.

When Farwo passed the horses immediately afterwards, the stallone kicked, neighed and hit with its hind hooves against the wooden struts that bordered the shelter. Involuntarily, he withdrew. But the horse wasn’t finished with him yet. With an angry neigh it turned against Farwo and rose, its hooves threatening over the railing.

Ron jumped in, grabbed the stallone’s mane and tried to calm him down. The horse fiercely shook its head as if to get rid of Ron. But then it went down again on its forelegs; thereby it stepped with a hoof into the vat.

The water poured over the straw in the shelter and immediately the horses pushed and shoved to lick up some of the liquid that was seeping away.

Furious to the utmost, Farwo grabbed a grappling hook and hit Ron across the chest. I’ll deduct the wasted water off your ration.

Ron writhed in pain and fell on his knees groaning.

Next time, you better watch out. Farwo dropped the grappling hook and beckoned two seafarers to help Ron get back on his feet.

That was no way to treat anyone on her ship! Nanja squinted her eyes angrily. She would have liked to confront Farwo immediately and in public, but that was not wise. With her fists clenched, she climbed the starboard stairway to the quarterdeck.

Sitaki was standing on top at the helm – wide-shouldered, wide-legged – just as he’d already been standing there when her father had taken her to the ship for the first time at the age of seven.

With the pipe in the corner of his mouth, he squeezed out his comment. Why doesn’t he let Ron do his work? You’d think the mainlanders would stick together, but Farwo seems to consider him a rival.

She growled. Land dwellers!

This Ron might have figured out by now what matters at sea. Yet Farwo’s making it hard on him to settle in.

Ron just pulled his shirt over his head. The grappling hook had left a bloodshot print below his chest. Well proportioned shoulders, but not excessively wide – he didn’t look as if he were used to hard work. A land dweller after all. He’s still only fit to tend the horses.

What no one else can do. You should have his back when Farwo harasses him. Sitaki blinked up to the topsail, which was still hanging motionless from the main mast. It’ll be just as hot and calm as yesterday.

Water’s running short. At this time of the year the crossing of the ocean usually took less than two weeks and they had generously loaded supplies for three. But it still wasn’t enough. They had never experienced a dead calm like this before.

Nanja patted Sitaki on the back. Blow a little more, old man. I’m going for breakfast.

Meanwhile Farwo saw his task as a boatswain once again in harassing Peire and Samnang, the ship’s boys. The two of them sat next to one of the landing boats and were splicing rope. Farwo plucked one apart again. What the fuck? Don’t you realize that a life depends on it?

He was right, but this way they’d never want to learn how to do it correctly.

Nanja went at the fence to the horses. Good morning, beautiful ones! She spoke out loud. In contrast to the dragons of the Islands, horses seemed to be unable to see thoughts. As she had observed at a Sabienne’s market, she held her hand flat over the railing.

The stallone threw its head and snorted. Then it approached curiously and sniffed her fingers. Its mouth was much softer than that of her dragon Tiruman. She laughed amusedly as it buried its mouth in the pocket of her wide-cut skirt immediately afterwards: Voracity – in that all animals resembled each other.

One of the female horses raised its head across the railing. A ray of sunlight fell on its back and although the coat was dark brown, in this early morning light it had a glimmer similar to that of Tiruman’s silver scales.

Do they actually give you names? And do you listen to them as our dragons do? Gently Nanja stroked the neck of the cavalla. The horse put its head on her shoulder and she scratched it behind its ears like she did with Tiruman. But the cavalla didn’t purr.

Meanwhile Ron stood next to the hatch to the hold and had hay handed up to him. Unexpectedly he hurled a bale towards the shelter and Nanja was wrapped in a cloud of dust; she coughed and frowned. He really wasn’t mindful enough of what he was doing.

Forgive me, Captain.

At least that.

He brought the feed to the horses and spoke quietly to one of the cavalla, who put its petite head on his arm.

Nanja smiled. The white horse and the black-haired man made for a picture akin to a drawing of her mother. Graceful animals. Almost as beautiful as Tiruman.

Ron looked up, visibly