by K. C. Herbel
Hugh stared at Scarosa in disbelief. If he had the only means to follow Billy at his disposal, then why hadn’t he said so from the first, instead of this long-winded foxhunt?
“How much do you want for them?” asked Hugh.
“How much?” whined Scarosa, placing his hand on his chest. “Sir Hugh, you hurt me to the fast. I only wish to share them with you.”
“If you have all this information and the only means to follow Billy, then why do you want me along?” asked Hugh.
“I am only a little man,” said Scarosa, “but you . . . you are a warrior, a hero. We may need that to catch him. And who knows? . . . Maybe there will be a song in it for you.”
“No!” snapped Hugh. “There will be no songs about this cursed quest . . . and if I ever hear that you have written one, then it is you whom I will be hunting.”
“Fine. Have it your way,” said Scarosa with a smile. “No songs. Does this mean you will take me?”
“I’m not sure who is taking whom,” said Hugh, “but yes.”
“Good!” exclaimed Don Miguel. “You will no regret this.”
Hugh glanced out the corner of his eye at the Spaniard. He inhaled to say that he already regretted it but remained silent. His mind moved on to the journey ahead. The feeling of inescapable damnation had returned and with it a fatalistic view towards the spiritual consequences of his choice—his duty. Hugh watched his new companion and wondered if the sleazy troubadour had any concept of what he was getting himself into. Who knows? thought Hugh. Maybe musicians are just what they need in hell!
Chapter XXVIII
The Gyldan Mene
The night before the Gyldan Mene was to set sail, she anchored deep in Kelmyrr Bay. Oswyn, captain of Dyven’s city guard, and the port authorities thought it a prudent move, considering recent dockside events and rumors. The ship’s captain and his crew, having loaded their ship, were ashore enjoying a last night’s frolic. As usual, the giant, Camion, was left behind to secure the ship.
There was only one problem with this logic: Camion, unlike everywhere else, had made a lady friend in this port, and he yearned to see her just one last time. He longed to look into her soft brown eyes and hear her gentle voice and perhaps stroke her long blonde hair or touch her soft pink skin. However, he was doggedly loyal to his captain, and as such he dared not leave his post. So, as with most sailors without their best girl, he sought comfort from Dionysus.
“But no!” grumbled the giant, lying on the deck. “Camion must stay with ship!” He took another long draft from the cask above his head and lay back. He allowed the wine to overflow his mouth and spill down his cheeks to the deck before he shut off the spigot.
Slowly Camion talked and drank himself into oblivion. Therefore, no one saw the figure of a small man swim across the bay and quietly climb the anchor line onto the ship. Nor did anyone see this trespasser tiptoe over the sleeping giant and stow away into the cramped cargo hold.
* * *
The next morning, as the crew of the Gyldan Mene reluctantly returned from their night on the town, they were greeted by a grumpy giant who was only slightly less hung over than they. The captain brought several passengers aboard next then showed his guests where to store their gear and gave the ship a quick once-over.
“No one came aboard last night, Camion?” asked the captain.
“No, Captain!”
“You are sure?”
“Camion stay here all night, Captain,” assured the giant.
“Good, good,” said the captain. “As soon as the rest of our passengers arrive, we’ll get under way.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Shortly before high tide, the last two passengers of the Gyldan Mene came aboard. Both men dressed in shabby dark cloaks and carried little in the way of gear. Despite their arrival on the same dinghy, they appeared to be strangers. The slighter of the two was a dark man who carried a lute and walked with a spring in his step. The other, while built larger and more athletic, plodded along. He kept his head covered and carried a small ragged bag and a child’s coffin.
The crew became clamorous when they saw the coffin, but the captain quickly put the “superstitious lot” in their place and welcomed the two men aboard. The captain then went to the stern while the newcomers went to opposite sides of the ship and settled in.
The captain gave the word, and the anchor was raised. He barked several commands, and crewmen scurried up the rigging. Within a minute, the sails were deployed. The Gyldan Mene was under way. Within ten minutes she cleared the natural breakwater of Kelmyrr Bay and headed into the open sea.
Billy had never experienced the exhilarating feeling of a ship on the ocean. It was all so new, so exciting, so nauseating. He hadn’t anticipated such a reaction, and it frightened him. At first he was afraid he would die, but after an hour he feared he wouldn’t die soon enough. By far, his greatest fear was that his churning stomach might cause him to be discovered. It was all he could do to keep quiet each time he retched. After four hours of such torture, Billy was ready to turn himself in and take whatever horrible fate awaited him. If the captain will just let me off the ship, he thought, but when he went to stand up, he found he didn’t have the strength.
The darkness of the hold brightened as two sailors entered to collect supplies. “Good thing the sea’s calm today,” said one.
“Aye,” agreed his companion. “Some of the passengers look like farmers!”
“Aye, farmers!”
The two crewmen laughed and slapped each other on the back.
“Do ya think we should eat in front of them?” asked the first sailor, cramming a trencher in his mouth.
“Only if ya offer them some,” answered the second. “Common courtesy, ya know!”
The first mariner spat out the bread with a laugh. “Aye, but they won’t take any.”
“Well . . . more for us.”
“If that storm catches up to us . . . we’ll have all we can eat!”
The two sea dogs carried on, laughing at each other’s jokes. They then exited, leaving Billy alone in the dark, fearful that the worst was yet to come.
Before nightfall, Billy’s fears came to fruition. At first it was a subtle change, with a slight increase in the crash of waves against the bow. The water turned green, and the waves swelled, transforming the terrain of the sea into tall rolling hills. The ship surged upwards onto the hills only to drop off into the gullies between with a loud slap. The sky darkened, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Howling winds from the northeast buffeted the sails, causing the captain to order his men aloft to trim them.
Inside the hold, the air was unbearably oppressive. Rain and seawater started to spill into the compartment through joints in the upper-deck planking. In addition, Billy was being beaten from the inside by his tangled guts, and from the outside by cargo that had broken free. He now had a painful lump on his head and wanted desperately to escape the confines of his deteriorating sanctuary.
Suddenly there was a horrendous boom, which rattled the ship’s timbers and Billy’s nerves. At that same moment, he saw a flash of bright light through the leaky cracks over his head. Instantly he was on his feet, scrambling for the hatch. The lightning was so close that Billy thought it must have struck the ship. After the initial adrenal response, the thought that the ship might be on fire kept him moving.
Wind-driven rain and seawater pelted Billy, instantly soaking him as he opened the hatch. The crew combated the storm while the passengers huddled together on the deck. Some prayed for salvation while others cried out in fear. Only two of the passengers seemed untroubled by the storm. The first was a poor musician whose only interest was to protect his precious instrument. He fretted with a tattered lute cover, oblivious to his peril. The second man sat away from the others, calmly watching the sea. He held tightly to a small casket, which lay across his lap.
Billy cautiously crept out through the hatch and hid himself amongst some casks on deck. As he was settling in, a rogue wave bashed the
ship nearly sending him overboard. Billy quickly found a length of rope and lashed himself to the nearest cleat.
As he was getting back into his hiding place, Billy glanced over at the paying passengers. They wailed miserably, the pious and the ungodly alike. The musician had lost, abandoned, or stored his lute somewhere out of sight.
The man with the child’s coffin clung to it tightly, as if it held life, instead of death. He still did not huddle with the others and daringly refused to hold on to anything but the sad little box. Oddly enough, this madman seemed familiar to Billy. As if by design, a wave rolled over the deck and struck the man head-on. The water instantly receded, revealing Sir Hugh holding the diminutive casket.
Billy, out of habit and instant joy, started to hail the King’s Champion, but intuition stopped him. He looked at his hand; his mother’s ring glowed dimly.
Billy fell back against the barrels, confused and shocked. Here was Sir Hugh—on the same boat—in disguise. Something was amiss. In a flash, the import of Billy’s nightmares became clear.
“He’s come after me,” mumbled Billy to himself.
Hugh absently pulled the hood of his cloak back over his head. The wet, tattered cloth whipped wildly in the roaring tempest, while the inside of the noble knight was serene. He faced certain death at the hands of nature with no trepidation. He accepted this as just punishment for his sin. His blind, arrogant obedience to duty had brought him to this end.
Within the boundaries of the coldness that had invaded him at Cyndyn Hall, the terrible void still suckled on his essence. Hugh put down the little coffin and got to his feet, intending to let the next wave take him. At that moment the void seemed to change. It was not empty after all but filled with bitter heartbreak. The barrier burst, and sorrow poured into every corner of his being. Tears bled from his eyes and were instantly lost in the sea spray rolling down his face.
“I’m sorry Father . . . Mother,” he said to the wind. “I failed you.”
The Gyldan Mene suddenly listed to the far side, forcing Hugh away from the edge. As the ship righted itself, he moved back to the railing and grabbed hold.
“Billy, my friend . . . forgive me,” muttered Hugh. “And Myrredith . . . I love you as no other, yet I allowed my pride to destroy what chance we might have had. I will regret that most of all . . . for eternity.”
Hugh released the railing and waited for his wave.
Billy could see no tether around Hugh and became panicky when the King’s Champion threw his arms wide in challenge to the sea.
Just then, Billy spotted the musician moving up behind Hugh. The man glanced around suspiciously, before putting his hands up and drawing back. It was clear to Billy that he meant to push the unsuspecting knight overboard.
“Hugh!” screamed Billy, jumping out from his hiding place.
Hugh glassily gazed in the direction of the voice calling his name. Seeing Billy caused his legs to buckle momentarily, and he grabbed the rail to keep from falling. He was abruptly brought to his senses, by the impact of a wave on one side and a man on the other.
The men fell, and the wave washed them to the center of the deck. Hugh sat up gaping at Billy. Without warning the musician kicked the King’s Champion in the face, knocking him back to the planks. Then he drew a dagger and struck at his foe. Hugh recovered from the kick just in time to stop the descending blade. He elbowed his assailant and knocked the weapon from his hand.
The man fighting Sir Hugh miraculously stood and spun around to face him. In his hand there was another blade. Billy blinked out of disbelief. It was the exact move the assassin used against Prince Gaelyn. The man held out his hand for balance, and Billy saw the angry red cross on his palm where Gaelyn had twice slashed him.
“Assassin!” shouted Billy, hopping on to the barrel in front of him. He stepped forward but unexpectedly found himself at the end of his tether, which threw him backwards to the deck.
As Billy regained his footing, he looked over the casks and saw the passengers attempting to disperse. Those fortunate enough to have a knife had cut their ties and were headed for the poop deck. The others desperately tried to free themselves. Sir Hugh was now on his feet, facing the assassin. He was still empty-handed.
The murderer thrust and slashed at Hugh. He circled around some gear on the deck and shortly found his tether hindering his movement. He grabbed the line to cut it with his knife. When he lowered the weapon, Hugh made his move and managed to get a hold on him. As the two combatants grappled, Billy struggled with the knot he had tied around his waist.
Hugh pushed his foe against the central mast and bent back his arm until he dropped the knife. Despite his strength and fighting experience, Hugh was hard pressed to keep hold of his wiry attacker. The man headbutted Hugh and slipped out of his grip. He grabbed the lantern hanging from the mast above his head, and before Hugh knew what happened, the assassin bashed him in the side of the head. The King’s Champion fell back, trying to shake off the stunning blow. His attacker struck again. This time however, the lantern broke on Hugh’s shoulder and spewed burning oil over the deck.
While Hugh rolled on the deck, attempting to snuff the fire on his arm and back, his assailant looked for his dropped knife. The ship, in its contest with the angry sea, pitched abruptly, tossing Hugh into a stack of cargo. A cascade of crates and barrels came crashing down on him. Several of the crates and one barrel shattered on impact, splattering their contents over the deck. The feeble flames of the broken lantern leapt across the planks, following a trail that led back to the broken barrel. In a flash, the fire spread, engulfing the crates and loose bundles.
The killer finally spotted his weapon and retrieved it. He then stepped towards the downed knight to finish him.
“Stop!” shouted Billy from behind the assassin.
The man froze and slowly turned. Lightning washed away the shadows from the murderer’s face.
“Don Miguel . . .” muttered Billy. “You’re the assassin?”
The Spaniard smiled. “Assassin, spy, troubadour . . .” he said with a bow. “A man of my profession is recognized so rarely for all his talents.”
“You murdered Kathryn and Gaelyn!”
“Yes,” hissed Miguel, “and now I am going to do what I should have done long ago.”
Without further ado, Don Miguel threw his blade. It sped through the air, directly at Billy, catching him flat-footed. The knife stopped unexpectedly, in Billy’s grip. He stared at it momentarily, then, in the blink of an eye, he flipped the weapon and flung it back to its master.
It’s hard to say which of the rivals was more stunned. Don Miguel’s smile slowly melted as he examined the knife-handle protruding from his chest. Blood ran down his shirt, then he stumbled to the side and fell over the railing into the sea. Billy recovered his wits and ran to the side but could find no trace of the Spaniard.
At that moment, the fire flared up. Billy jumped through the flames to help Hugh. He pushed back one crate, then another, but could not find the King’s Champion.
Hugh was trapped under a large crate with the fire just inches away. He tried to move the big box, but it was far too heavy. He tried to lift the crate again, but with his arms pinned he couldn’t get enough leverage. He then tried to slip out from under it and found that it held him fast. Hugh craned his head to spot his opponent, and then Billy’s face was peering down at him.
Billy pushed on the crate then said, “I’ll get help,” before disappearing into the smoke and steam.
Billy cried out to the passengers for help, but most of them cowered in the aft of the rolling ship near the captain. The only ones nearby were three desperate men struggling to get free of their tethers and escape the fire. As for the crew, they were aloft, striving to get the sails and rigging secured. Realizing that no one was coming to help, Billy sought a way to lift the heavy crate himself. He spotted a thick-handled gaff by the railing and grabbed it.
Moving as fast as he could, Billy placed the pole under one edg
e of the crate. The flames were still growing, and the sea seemed determined to toss the ship until it was torn asunder.
“Where’s Don Miguel?” asked Hugh.
“He decided to go for a swim,” said Billy.
“What?”
“We were juggling knives . . . He missed.” Billy grimly mimed the deadly blow and then set his gaff to lift the crate. “We lift on three!”
Hugh nodded and prepared to push on the crate. Without warning, a thought entered his head. “Wait!” he said.
Billy looked at Hugh’s troubled face and was reminded of the moment before he and Malcolm removed the arrow from Hugh’s thigh. “On three!” he assured his friend.
“No, wait!” insisted Hugh.
“What’s wrong?” shouted Billy.
“You can’t!” shouted Hugh.
“What?” said Billy, shrinking from the expanding fire. “Why not?”
“Billy,” said Hugh, “don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“I am the one they sent after you. I am to bring you back!”
Billy nodded solemnly then firmly placed the gaff against the crate. “On three!” he repeated. “One . . . two . . .”
“But I have to . . .” started Hugh.
“No buts!” yelled Billy. “We get you out of there first, then we can talk all you want! Now . . . one . . . two . . . three!”
Billy and Hugh pushed on the huge oak crate. It inched up, creaking as the weight began to shift off Hugh’s body. Together, they forced the crate up, but it stopped moving before Hugh could free himself. Billy’s gaff began to crack.
Without warning, two great hands grabbed the top of the crate. Billy looked up and saw Camion, the giant, grinning and lifting the heavy crate back from Hugh. Hugh quickly rolled out from under the crate. Camion dropped the crate, and it smacked the deck with a loud thump.
Camion showed Billy his crooked, toothy smile and said, “Not know little people on boat.” Then as quickly as he appeared, he moved towards the bow and disappeared.
Hugh looked up at Billy. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have.”