Andalon Awakens

by T B Phillips

  A table had been set with rich foods from her homeland. Loganshire was filled with fertile farmland, and hogs and beef cattle augmented diets of corn, wheat, and barley. The nearby forests provided her people with venison, truffles and root vegetables, all of which were represented in the feast. The table was set with fare that would be found in a farmland banquet or celebration.

  “That’s quite a spread, Captain Eusari.” Braen tried to focus on the food and not what else might be offered on the menu.

  “Your family has raided my people for generations. Always taking what’s not yours.” She smiled. “I thought that I’d offer on my own what your family has always taken from mine.” She ran her hands down the sides of her breasts as she said this, insinuating much more than the meal.

  “That isn’t what I came here for tonight. I’m sorry, I need to go.”

  Eusari moved to block the door, grabbed his hand and tried to lead him back to the table. “Have a seat, Braston. I was only teasing.”

  Braen sat in the chair, but his mind was swimming. This woman, who had been so cold in their first meeting and so nonchalant in their last was acting so brazen. She was an enigma. “I… I’m not comfortable with this. If it’s some kind of a joke, or if you’re trying to make me feel bad for some reason, then it’s working. I’ve never taken from Loganshire.”

  Eusari’s eyes narrowed. “Oh really? The son of Krist Braston has never raided Loganshire?”

  “No. Well, not really.”

  “Which is it, Prince of the North? Did you, or didn’t you?” Eusari’s eyes changed during the exchange. Braen recognized a deep hatred within the dark green ring against the white.

  “I… I’m sorry. Tradition has guided my people for centuries. When I was eighteen, my father brought my brother Skander and me on a raid.”

  “And?”

  “Is this why you have scorned me since we met? Because I tagged along when my family raided yours? Eusari, I’ve left my clan forever, and I reject their tradition. I hope that you can forgive me. I feel nothing but remorse for my past life and for the sins of my father.”

  “Relax. I didn’t bring you here to dig up the past.” Eusari replaced her vixen charm with a disarming smile. Pausing to pick up a robe from her bed, she draped her shoulders. Much to his relief, the robe also covered her breasts. “We’re partners on this venture and Artema has entrusted you to my care. I just want to make up for the rocky start to our friendship.” She picked up two cups and held one out to him. “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” She toasted her goblet against his and each of them sipped.

  Eusari sat down across from Braen and cut a beef rib from the rack. Gone was the sensual nymph that had opened the door, replaced with a girl in a robe wearing black gloves with her elbows on the table and gnawing at the meat on the rib.

  “Seriously. What’s all of this about?” Braen’s shock was gone, replaced by a little anger at the insults. He took a long draw from his goblet which Eusari refilled immediately.

  “I hate your people.”

  “I see.”

  “Well, not all of them really. Mostly just your family.”

  “I need to go.” Braen tried to push back from the table, but she held up a hand.

  “Hear me out, Braston son of Braston.” Braen downed his cup which she quickly refilled. “I was thirteen years old when your family raided my town. Your father was battling my father and the other men of my village on the edge of the square. Most of us women and children were huddled in our homes, but I watched from my door with my mother.”

  “A teen wearing your family crest, pushed into our home and struck my mother in the head with the hilt of his axe, knocking her to the ground. Two other men followed him in, and they grabbed my arms. They leaned me over a table while the boy brutalized my mother. He raped her with his axe until she died, Braston.”

  “I… I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with this.” Braen tried to stand, but he felt the wine spin in his head and fell back into the seat.

  Eusari stood, picking up the rib bone off her plate and waving it in the air as she talked. “He screamed at her while he raped her, calling himself the ‘heir to the north.’ When he finished, and after he had brought the axe down, burying it in her skull, he turned on me with the weapon between his legs.”

  “Wh… What is this?” Braen could not focus. “What does this have to do with me?” His senses spun within the room and he picked up his goblet. A sticky residue clung to the sides. “Did you drug me?” Everything in his sight was blurred, except for the gloved hand holding the rib bone like a scepter.

  “When you were finished with my mother, you ruined me, Braen. An innocent girl, years younger than you. After you stole my mother from this earth, you stole my innocence and pride. You called yourself the heir to the North. That was you. The oldest son of Krist Braston. The heir to the Northern Kingdom.”

  Braen’s vision swam. He looked at the wine in his goblet and then up at Eusari. He tried to reach for the knife on his back, but felt his weight shift in the chair, suddenly losing balance and falling to the deck. Light flashed in his head as he struck hard.

  “Careful, Lord Braston. I’d hate for you to be unconscious too soon.” Eusari strode to where he lay, reached down, and gently pulled the cutlass and axe from his side. These, she nonchalantly tossed on the bed before returning to retrieve his knife. “You know the best way to disarm a heavily armed man is to charm him into submission.”

  “B…But…” Braen stammered as he sluggishly tried to reach out toward her, grasping only the air where her arm had once been. A soft rapping came from the door, and Braen watched as several Eusaris made their way to answer the knock.

  “I hope that you haven’t killed him, we need him for a higher purpose, Eusari.” A low rumble of a male voice reached the prince as he lay on the floor helpless.

  “Not at all. I just started to have my real fun.” Her voice purred with glee.

  “Do you mind if I watch?”

  “You’re a sick bastard.”

  “I’m the sick bastard?” The male’s voice rang out in laughter.

  Her footfalls were always soft, but this time they thumped in Braen’s ears like large drums in a tiny room. “Braen. Listen to me, Braen. A wolf doesn’t always kill its prey outright. Sometimes… Sometimes she will toy with her food before devouring it with a beating heart. The meat tastes sweeter from the fear.”

  Braen tried to answer. He tried desperately to speak through the sludge of his mind but could only manage a low groan.

  “Don’t speak, Lord Braston. You’re drugged with a special concoction. You’re not paralyzed, only nearly so and your senses are heightened so that you’ll feel all the pain of my family. All the violence that I’ve endured, you’ll experience.” From out of nowhere, something hard struck his left ribcage. A cracking sound rang from his side. “But it’ll not be enough because I hate you. I hate your entire family. In fact, hate does not even come close to the pain that you’re about to receive.” Another blow struck him between the legs, sending a rumbling sensation through his stomach. Braen retched.

  His heightened senses revealed that another person had entered the cabin, and the male’s voice boomed in his ears like an unholy choir, “Marcus! I see that you are up and about. You couldn’t stay away from this fun, either?”

  “Just ensuring that she keeps him alive, Artema. His brother will pay me handsomely for his living body, and nothing for a corpse. Another blow struck Braen in the crotch. Unable to fight back and now fully paralyzed from all bodily function except thought, he felt Eusari removing his breeches. When he realized why she was still holding the rib bone, he wept.

  The explosion in the harbor blasted warm air through the open window, knocking both Sippen Yurik and Samani Kernigan onto the floor. Both men briefly lost their breath as a deafening explosion rocked the entire building and pla
ster and dust fell around them. Samani quickly scrambled to his feet and gave a hand to Sippen.

  The little man felt around on the floor and retrieved his glasses. “Suh… someone assassinated Horn!”

  “Nevra.”

  “Thuh… that must be why he posted the extra puh… patrols!”

  “Aye. He owns the city guard and apparently the guns on the walls. Why didn’t I see this coming? I’ve been watching him all this time and knew that he was up to something.

  “Whuh… we need to fluh… flee. Geh… get out on Ice Prince.”

  Samani looked at the little man standing in the center of the room covered with ash and wiping his lenses on his dirty shirt. “Can we get past the batteries?”

  Sippen returned the glasses to his face and focused his eyes on Kernigan. With a mischievous grin that gave him a childlike appearance he said, “Yes. Yes, we can.” He did not stutter, and so Kernigan believed him.

  Samani chased the little man down the workshop. Sippen stopped to load objects into a canvas bag and thrust a second into his arms, directing which of his many inventions were the most important to save. Loaded down, both men ran out of the building and into the streets. As they emerged outside, they collided with a warzone.

  Troops loyal to Artema Horn fought desperately against their mercenary counterparts but were rapidly losing ground. The keep must have fallen quickly, possibly even before the batteries turned on the ship, as infantry in tight and organized formations filed out. Troops loyal to Nevra had been pre-positioned in key areas around the city and quickly captured men, killing those foolish enough to fight back.

  Samani pointed to the merchant square. “A six-man squad is headed this way. Do you think that they’re looking for us?”

  Nodding agreement, Sippen handed his new friend one of his hand cannons and pulled him down an alleyway. The squad started running and were quickly closing the gap.

  Looking at the cannon, Samani asked, “Has this one been tested?”

  “No. Luh… let me know if it works.”

  “Great. I will write a full report after I field test it. Where’re we going?”

  “Wuh… we picked this apartment for a reh… reason. Quick eh… escape to the puh… pier.” At the end of the alley was a bluff overlooking an embankment. Hidden behind a planter box was a rope with a grappling hook. Sippen attached this to the wall and then pointed to another string attached to the hook. “Ruh… rappel down the rope, buh… but duh… don’t touch this struh… string.” He disappeared over the side and skillfully rappelled twenty feet to the ground. Tucking his cannon into his waistband, Samani followed him over the side with much less grace.

  The squad reached the top of the embankment at the exact moment that the fugitives’ feet hit ground. The lead pursuer grabbed the rope and started climbing over the edge. Sippen reached up and tugged the string, slipping the rope free of the grappling hook. The guardsmen plummeted twenty feet to the ground with a thud that sounded like glass shattering. Turning, the two men raced full speed toward the pier. Shouts of pursuit from above warned that their lead was short lived.

  They reached the pier after Ice Prince had tossed lines but pulled the gangplank. Guardsmen fought on deck with Krill and the rest of the crew, the men of Ice Prince gaining and pushing them back. Five guardsmen with swords drawn stood between Samani and Sippen’s freedom, five more quickly closing from behind.

  Sippen recognized Amash leading the group with his partner Turat. Turning to Samani, he said, “Ih… It’s ok. That is our fuh… friend, Amash. “Wh… what is guh… going on?”

  Amash stared beyond Sippen toward the five assailants. “Get us the hell out of here, Sip. With Artema gone, we’d rather take our chances and meet up with Braston.”

  Turat, his smaller partner, nodded in agreement. “Yeah! Nevra is leading a mutiny and we want off this island!”

  Amash pleaded, “We know that you can get out of here, Sip. Take us with you.”

  Kernigan pointed behind him. “Get them off our tail and you have a deal!”

  Amash and his squad formed a line in front of the two men, out of breath and panting. Turat, as usual, stood next to his partner as they stood their ground. When the squad was nearly in sword range, Turat pivoted and stabbed his sword into the side of Amash, finding the exposed ribcage between the plates of his light armor and driving the point into his vital organs. The big friendly guard spit out red blood and fell into a heap on the pier.

  Turat then wheeled and faced the two very startled men. Samani, without thinking, drew the borrowed hand cannon, pointed it at Turat’s head and pulled the little lever on the handle. Half of Turat’s face exploded in blood, brains and shards of skull that shattered onto his advancing friends. The sound was deafening and everyone on the pier shared the same ringing of the ears. Kernigan and the eight remaining guards stared at the cannon while Sippen beamed like a proud father. Knowing that it was empty, and knowing that they did not, he raised it toward the advancing five. They fled the way that they had come.

  Handing the cannon back to Sippen, he said, “It works.”

  “Kuh… keep it. And thuh… thanks for the report.” The little inventor smiled as they turned and raced down the pier. The ship’s crew had fought off the wave and yelled for them to hurry aboard.

  Gunnery Sergeant Krill met them as they stumbled across the brow. “Your orders, First Mate?” Sippen, still smiling, pulled the one-eyed man to the side for a brief conversation. When they finished, Krill loudly yelled to the crew, “Avast! Lower the yardarm and full sails! We be about to slide outta this harbor like cum down your mudder’s leg! Gunners! Load the cannon with carcass!”

  Samani, ears still ringing from the hand cannon, asked Sippen, “Did he say carcass?”

  The little man, smiling even broader and said, “Wait until you see this shit!” After the way that his morning had gone so far, and, since the strange little man did not stutter, Samani Kernigan knew that it would be the truth. He would not believe any of the shit that this little genius pulled off.

  Lord Stefan Nevra sat on the throne in Pirate’s Cove. The entire Coup lasted only a half hour, and most loyalists had quickly surrendered once it was obvious that Horn had “died” in the explosion. Of course, he hadn’t really died. He had slipped onto She Wolf and was currently sailing off to trade that idiot Northman to his tyrant brother. Artema had promised Stefan that he would take the reins when he retired, and he had gone out in style. Nevra knew that pirates didn’t care who issued their marques or levied their taxes, quickly forgetting their past loyalty to Artema Horn.

  One problem nagged Stefan incessantly and it stood in the way of a perfect transition of power. Samani Kernigan had somehow disappeared during the brief fighting and had most likely hidden on the island. He would send his city guard door to door until he turned up. Of course, this was a pirate town. Pirates were consummate smugglers who shared an obsession with hiding people and goods. If he didn’t find him soon, Kernigan would turn into a ghost whispering “rebellion” into the ears of the sheep.

  “Lord Nevra!” Captain Pogue entered the hall.

  “What? Tell me you have him.”

  “We almost did, sir. He ran onto Ice Prince and they’re trying to get underway from the harbor. We’ll have him soon, since he can’t get past the batteries.”

  Smiling, Nevra stood and walked to the balcony overlooking the harbor. There, on the water, he could see the northern lord’s ship pulling away from the pier. Grapeshot was firing out of the starboard guns, keeping the city guard at bay and out of reach. The ship was racing down the length of the pier and starting to catch wind. “Those idiots have their full sails open in the harbor. They’re trying to sprint by the guns.”

  Pogue nodded. “All batteries have orders to sink any ship that tried to follow Wench’s Daughter. They won’t succeed. Today is your day, sir. Congratulations.”
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  Nevra nodded absently and continued to watch as the ship tore down the pier, noting its shallow hull and sleek design. Those north men really know how to make a boat. Clear of the pier, the ship raced headlong toward the opening. The northern battery reported the first cannon salvo and Ice Prince snaked hard to port, underneath the shot and careful to stay out of range of the southern battery. It turned again to starboard and exposed itself. Shrewd move, but when they come around again to port, they will be in range of both batteries.

  A salvo exploded from the portside guns. This was not a problem to Nevra, since the reinforced bunkers fully protected the batteries. The only vulnerability was from above, and cannon balls and grapeshot were not effective in a lob. Nevra leaned over the rail of the balcony. “What the hell kind of ordinance is that?” His pox covered face scrunched up into a sneer, as he watched twenty-five canvas wrapped projectiles burn in the air as they lobbed over the rampart. As soon as they landed on stone, each exploded into a puff of smoke. Combined, the cloud of fog clung to the parapet.

  Nevra recoiled in horror as his gunners choked and gagged in the cloud, some leaping off the battery and into the water. Ice Prince, instead of racing toward the open sea, turned in the harbor and moved out of range of the southern guns and toward the pier. The cloud lingered on the parapet and Nevra stood aghast, staring at his unmanned arsenal. Turning hard to port, Ice Prince again turned away from the pier, this time making a beeline to the southern battery. A gust of wind caught the open sails, propelling it at breakneck speeds. The lone battery fired.