Haggart's Dawn

by Martyn J. Pass

  “We've been at it a long time,” said the Captain who was still looting the dead and gathering a large pile of valuables at his feet. Thomas' crew were eager to do a bit of plundering themselves until a glare from the Captain stopped them in their tracks. He'd even been through the decks and the cabins, opening chests and rooting through lockers. Whatever he hadn't taken, the crew had. They were like dogs waiting for scraps from their master. Indeed, they looked upon both the Captain and Haggart with a sense of awe - they'd never seen such ability coupled with such ferocity in two fighters and before the trip was over they begged them to teach them a little of their skill.

  “What does their leader say?” asked Haggart, washing the blood from his face and hands with sea water.

  “Not a lot,” replied Thomas. “He's in chains with the rest of the prisoners. He refuses to speak.”

  “Go and have a word, Haggart,” said the Captain without looking up from his plundering.

  “Aye,”

  “Good luck,” shouted Thomas after him.

  The prisoners were in the hold, chained to the beams by steel eyelets. They couldn't move more than a few feet in any direction and most of them lay sprawled out enjoying a modicum of rest. Their leader, a man called Mordec, sat with his hands dangling over his knees, staring at the opposing bulkhead.

  Haggart approached him and fitted the torch he was carrying into a sconce on the wall. Then, in the dim light, he crouched down in front of him.

  “You're Mordec,” he said. “I've never heard the name. I’ve never seen those robes either. Or that flag.”

  “They're a little before your time,” he replied with a grin.

  “Why are you hunting us?” he asked.

  “You're criminals.”

  “What crime are we supposed to have committed?”

  “You know exactly what crime.”

  “I'm afraid I don't,” he said. “On deck you mentioned the King. What did you mean?”

  “I don't have to tell you anything,” he said. Haggart raised his hand and it began to glow. An eerie purple light splashed the sides of the hold, bathing their faces in a horrible light. Mordec began to laugh and continued laughing as Haggart touched the side of his head.

  “Nice trick,” he said through his barking laugh. “Won't work on me though. You'll need to be smarter than that, Summoner.”

  Haggart relented, shocked but trying not to betray that emotion.

  “You're trained,” he said. “Who trained you?”

  “Like I said - I don't have to tell you anything.”

  “You're right. You don't.” Haggart drew his sword and held the point to his throat. Mordec backed away from it until the back of his head struck the bulkhead.

  “Do it. I know for a fact that you won't,” he said. Haggart stared at him and slowly nodded. “See?”

  “We don't torture prisoners,” he said standing up.

  “We do. I warn you of that.”

  “I'll bear that in mind.” And with that he left and went back up onto the deck.

  Darkness was falling fast and the Captain had taken his loot to the cabin for safe keeping. Thomas, wrapped in a coat and cloak, was standing at the wheel and Haggart approached.

  “Well?”

  “He won't talk,” he said. A boy appeared with a tray of hot spiced wine and offered those on the quarter deck a cup each. Haggart smiled and accepted one.

  “We can make him talk,” said Thomas.

  “No,” he replied. “I've not tortured anyone in my life and I'm not starting now. Even in battle there should be some kind of rules, some hope of honourable combat. A fair treatment of prisoners and wounded, a love for civilian life.”

  “There may come a time when some may question just what honour is - and more importantly what value it does or does not have.”

  “Well I expect that we here are men of honour, are we not?”

  “Your expectations should have already been well satisfied thus far. He will have safe passage to Minivad, he and his crew. His ship however...”

  Haggart turned and saw a burst of orange light on the horizon as the ship was engulfed in tongues of fire and splashed in vermilion waves. A small boat was rowing towards the Kings Bane, it's crew of three having completed their task.

  “Shame,” said Talbert who'd appeared on deck. “Quite a prize.”

  “With no crew to sail to Slow it is a curse, not a prize Mr. Talbert. But its hold had a fair amount of stores and loot before she burned. We can make use of those at least. With any luck that will be enough excitement for one journey. I'll be glad to be rid of you three, you seem to draw danger to you.”

  “Sadly I don't think that our leaving will alter the path we seem set upon. A great many people will be swept up into this, Thomas. Be prepared.”

  “Oh I am that. Perhaps it's time to retire early...”

  After another week at sea with nothing of note taking place, the three were glad to be finally on dry land. The King's Bane rolled gently into the teeming bay of Minivad in the late afternoon and docked on the eastern side, away from the fishing vessels that were hauling in great amounts of cod and tuna and even the odd whale. Thomas' crew were already off loading their cargo by the time Haggart had gathered his things and made his way to the gangplank.

  “A pleasure, boys,” cried Thomas from the quarter deck, waving his hat in the air. “Try not to get yourselves killed, eh?”

  “We can't promise anything,” said the Captain. Thomas laughed and together they made their way to the end of the jetty where their horses waited. They gave the cabin boys a little coin and mounted their beasts, setting off down the road at a slow walk.

  It was snowing and had been for quite some time and the cold wind that blew in off the mountains was bitter, nipping at their faces and hands. The docks were alive with activity regardless of this and, like an ants nest , workers and shipyard tradesmen moved to and fro between derricks and rigging and half-built sloops. Crates were pulled by and pushed around the yards, cages filled with birds and animals were stacked in heaps to the squawking dismay of their occupants. The three riders negotiated this tumultuous scene carefully and moved quickly north in the hopes of finding lodgings for the night. Haggart, feeling oddly at ease amongst the chaos, smiled. By rights, this was his home land and though he'd never believed he had any feelings towards it in the past, they made themselves very clear now.

  “Thomas said there's an Inn a good ten miles down the north road,” said the Captain. “But before all that...”

  The Captain turned his horse towards the opening of an alley between a fishery and a lumber mill and climbed down, handing his reigns to Talbert. Then he lifted two large clanking panniers down and carried them through the narrow street and into a small, seedy looking shop.

  “What's he doing?” asked Talbert.

  “Selling his loot,” said Haggart with a sigh.

  They reached the Inn as the snow began to fall in great flakes of soft white down, blurring their vision and forcing their heads under their hoods. Haggart marvelled at the dancing, spinning snow as it tumbled down from the shadowy twilight sky to land on horse's heads and travellers shoulders. It wasn't too cold now that the hills shielded them from the unrelenting eastern gale that rolled in off the distant mountains. Still, a hearth and a hot pie was not to be kept waiting and the Captain had kicked his horse a few times at the smells coming down the road before the Inn could even be seen. Soon enough it appeared - like two glowing yellow eyes in the darkness, almost blinking as the snow flew across them. The candlelit windows loomed until they could define the face in the void, the sharp contours of its angled cheeks, the tiled crown of white and its closed mouth. It's ear was a stable and a young boy was fighting against the flurry, doing his best to greet them as they approached.

  “Good evening, sirs,” he cried over the wintry cacophony. “Can I take your steeds?”

  “Aye, you can. I hope you have lodgings?” said the Captain. The boy was taken aback by the s
heer size of him and he stammered his affirmation.

  “Of... of... course, sirs!”

  “Good. Lead on, young man. I smell beef and ale.”

  As they entered the Inn from the stable side, the heat from a roaring fire blasted them and the sounds of conversation died away as the Captain entered the room first. It was only when they saw Haggart with his braided, straw-coloured hair and thick set beard that they all relaxed once more and resumed their babel of noise.

  “And here was me thinking that your lot had got civilised,” muttered the Captain as they shook off their cloaks.

  “You did insist on wearing that uniform,” Haggart replied. “I'll get us a room..”

  “Aye, you do that. We'll find a quiet spot in the parlour. Near the fire.”

  Haggart approached the bar. Behind it a pale but full bosom drew his eyes and the smiling face above it greeted him.

  “Hullo,” she said in the familiar broad dialect - familiar to Haggart who could still remember his mother's voice.

  “Room and a meal for three, if you would,” he said.

  “Ale? We've got a honey and berry mead just come in, like. If you fancy tryin' it,” she replied.

  “Aye, go on then. Three pots.” She filled three jug-sized, kiln-fired mugs with a golden brew from the keg behind her and set them on the bar. He asked her if she had any news, to which she began to explain the problems Ted was having with his sheep on the slopes of the hills. When he asked if she had anything else, she came up blank.

  “Don't get that many people out here,” she replied. “News is limited. What about you?” He gave a rough account of what was happening across the sea, leaving out the particulars. She smiled. “I knew you weren't from 'round here. You look like a tribesman, but you ain't been here for a while, have ye?”

  “No,” he replied. “In fact, I haven't been here for a long time, not since I was a boy.”

  “A lot has changed,” she said and for a brief second he saw her countenance shift to one of a deep, extraordinary sadness. It shimmered and left almost as quickly as it had come. “It's very different now...”

  “How so?”

  “Perhaps you'd better get that mead to your companions before they die of thirst...” she said and smiled, moving away down the bar to serve another customer.

  “You took your time,” said the Captain, lifting the pot to his mouth and taking a long draught from it. “She's a nice looking one.”

  “Aye, she is that,” he replied and sat down with them.

  “Are we sorted?” asked Talbert.

  “Yes. She's just lighting the fire in the room.” They drank in silence for a time, staring into the flames and bathing in the heat as the mead took effect. It was a fine brew and thick with a sweetness that was much lacking from Hector's concoctions. The Captain said as much as he signalled a bar man for three more.

  “You need to get a recipe off 'em,” he said to Haggart. “This would be gold to us back at the 'Helm.”

  “Tastes like it, doesn't it? I can't imagine Hector would be pleased if we set up a rival business.”

  “I don't think Hector will be saying much, to be honest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it,” said the Captain as three more jugs of brew were set before them. “Do you think his brother was very happy when he discovered the machine had been destroyed?” Haggart thought about it.

  “Sadly, I think you're right. But his own brother?”

  “Blood isn't as thick as people would like to make it. More often than not it's your family who are the first to stab you in the back. Friends stab you in the front.”

  “Aye to that,” he replied and they clanked their pots together in toast and let the mead slosh over the rims and run down their hands.

  “Oh smell that!” cried Talbert as three delightful young women approached with their arms outstretched in front of them bearing large oval plates that steamed despite the heat in the room. There were pies and roasted vegetables, creamy mashed potatoes and dollops of relish, a jug filled with rich dark gravy and a plate of cold cuts of pork, beef and chicken breast. Once the plates were down there was little of the table showing. Haggart gave each of the girls a large coin taken from their swollen purse - a purse well kept by the Captain's sale of the plunder. They giggled and thanked them, but despite the monetary gesture it was clear they only had eyes for Talbert.

  “Git,” said the Captain.

  “What?” cried Talbert, holding his hands in the air and grinning from ear to ear. “I can't help it - blame my mother!”

  “I will if I ever meet her,” said Haggart.

  “I'll do more than blame her...”

  Once they'd finished their meals and mopped up the last of the gravy with bread, they settled in their chairs a little nearer to the fire and felt the drowsiness of a good meal creep over them.

  “I shouldn't have accepted the cake,” said the Captain, patting his stomach.

  “She'd baked it herself,” said Haggart. “How could we refuse?”

  “Oh my, so nice. So tasty. All that cream...”

  Talbert had abandoned them once the plates had been cleared, choosing to speak with the youngest of the three who'd served them their meals and now they sat on the far side of the room with only a candle and a bottle of wine between them.

  “Youth,” moaned the Captain. “What a waste.”

  “We were that young once,” said Haggart.

  “If I was, I don't remember.”

  “You won't - that was before we became cynical old men.”

  “Were we ever not cynical?”

  “Aye, we were. Once. Back when we could get excited about summer and long walks. When we knew it would be possible to court a woman, a fair woman full of beauty and girlish fun. That feeling in the pit of your stomach, that excitement, the rush of it all...”

  “Now they wince when they see us. Our faces are just maps with every battle, every campaign etched on them in blood and fire. Our youth fled when we first sat on a War Horse and it vowed that day never to return.”

  “Any regrets?” asked Haggart. The Captain shook his head.

  “Do I regret stopping murderers killing children? From pushing back armies who want to enslave us? No. No regrets. I just wish...”

  “Wish what?”

  “Maybe I just wish someone else had done it instead. And that the cost hadn't been quite so high.” He trailed off and sat there staring into the hearth. The glow from the fire snaked its way across his face and shadowed every scar, every scratch, nick and cut he'd ever suffered. Haggart knew that he had plenty of his own. Yet for a time, a split-second or so, Haggart could perhaps see him as he once was - a young man, strapping and tall and filled with cocky, youthful arrogance, dreaming of heroics and glorious war. Now what was he? A man darkened by death and hunched over by burdens unseen. Cocky arrogance replaced with experience-forged wisdom, youth exchanged for resilient old age. If so, then what did that make himself, thought Haggart.

  In the morning they went down stairs to breakfast in the parlour whilst their horses were fetched from the stables. They were met by the grizzled but welcoming face of the owner and he informed them that the lady behind the bar last night had been his daughter.

  “Aye, she's a handful,” he said with unveiled pride. “But she keeps out the riff-raff and runs a tight ship. She'd have made a fine sailor had she been born a boy.” They were eating eggs and bacon with a loaf fresh from the oven and washing it down with milk.

  “Were you a sailor?” asked Talbert.

  “Aye, I was bosun on the Abergwen. That was before she sank.”

  “Then you must have known our friend, Shanksworth?” said the Captain.

  “No, I'm afraid he mustn't have. I knew every man, boy, plank and beam of that ship from the day it left the dockyard 'till the day it sank. Never heard of the man. Sorry.”

  Talbert was about to speak but the Captain made him bite and chew the words instead. The barman wis
hed them well and left them in peace.

  “What was that about?” said Talbert. “Was Shanks lying?”

  “I don't know,” replied Haggart. “Let's just leave it be. The man's dead, what good would the truth do us now? Let's concentrate on today.”

  Haggart pulled a folded piece of thin hide from his pocket and laid it across the loaf. “We need to start moving into the mountains now. I spoke with the barmaid and showed her this map, got her to mark on anything that wasn't quite right. This,” he said, tapping the map with his fork, “should be the best way.”

  “How long?” asked the Captain. He moved the map so he could get another slice of bread from under it.

  “She thinks about a week to this point... here... then two more until we're where I think Dagma believes the cave is.”

  “And Jurgenbraw.”

  “And Jurgenbraw. We should see signs of settlement within miles of it though.”

  The Captain chewed and drank and stared at the map. “How do you feel about killing them?” he asked Haggart.

  “The same as any one, if I think I grasp your meaning. I think from a tactical point of view we should keep this as quiet as possible. You know what we're up against.”

  “Aye, lad. I do. Stealth it is.” He turned to Talbert and pointed at him with a corner of crust, “And how did you get on last night? You were late into bed.”

  “I'm a gentleman. I never tell,” he replied, grinning.

  “Bastard,” muttered the Captain.

  They finished their meals and made to leave before the heat from the morning fire enticed them to stay another night. Already, through the frosted glass, the day was marred by heavy snowfall and the stable boy struggled to tie their mounts to the hitch post outside the front door.

  “Horizontal snow. My favourite,” remarked Talbert as he slipped his furs over his shoulders. They'd all grown in size with the extra clothing but none of them doubted they'd need it that day.