by J. W. Webb
Five more pirates succumbed to Wyrmfang’s steely kiss, their cloven skulls cracking like eggshells, and their tattooed limbs sent spinning through the air. Blood covered Barin’s bright shirt and face, and his beard and hair were streaked with red. On he came. Three Crenise remained on the quay. These turned and fled.
Barin struck one from behind, splitting the man from left shoulder to right hip. The other two gained The Starlight Wanderer, tried clambering on board when Barin pounced on them. He’d stowed Wyrmfang and now held one pirate under either arm, both helpless as new-born lambs in that brawny grasp. All three crashed thudding onto the deck.
Barin hurled one fellow overboard to greet the eagerly waiting sharks—these having arrived moments earlier on cue. Many fins could be seen circling around the harbour in a growing frenzy. The pirate’s agonised screams disappeared in a watery billow of crimson. In seconds he’d vanished beneath the frenzied brine.
Barin grabbed the other pirate by his throat with his left hand, whilst reaching down to grasp the man’s belt with his right. He hoisted him high, and then rammed the struggling man’s head into the main mast with a yell. The skull popped open like a rotten melon. Barin tossed the body overboard with contemptuous ease, letting the sharks feed again. He loosed Wyrmfang again and yelled at Fassof, whose wild-eyed glare had witnessed his captain’s return.
“Took your bloody time, we’ve been hard pressed here!” Fassof yelled at him whilst lashing out at a Crenise.
“Stop whingeing and cast off! Let’s get rid of these scum then we can sink that black tub over there!” Barin’s axe swung toward where The Black Serpent was sitting serene on the water, just a hundred yards away with only a few men remaining on board the Assassin’s flagship. The rest were bunched cursing at the other end of Barin’s ship, showing their arses and jeering at his crew, another brief impasse having occurred after Barin’s hectic arrival.
Barin glanced around. Mercifully there was no sign of any other enemy ships in the harbour. Barin had no illusions, the others wouldn’t be far away.
Despite the odd bravo, most the Crenise were clustered like angry hornets on the aft deck. A half score desperate bunch shocked at how the tables had turned.
“Gut that filth and toss them overboard,” Barin told his mate. He wiped sweat from his brow and took hold the wheel. A large face grinned at him.
“Who the –”
“Hello, Uncle, let me introduce my new friend Wogun.”
Barin turned slowly and locked gaze on his troublesome nephew Taic.
“You.”
“I’ll explain later,” Cogga yelled in his ear.
“Can’t wait,” Bain glared at Taic. He recognised Sveyn, Cogga’s cousin. Another idiot. But as for the other fellows standing beside them? One thing was sure, they weren’t from Valkador.
Barin allowed Fassof, Cogga and the new recruits to finish the pirates. There was a brief clash of steel—the Crenise were trapped with little room to swing their cutlasses. They fought stoically but to no avail. Within minutes Fassof’s vengeful posse had mopped the aft deck clean and commenced tossing the broken bodies of their foe overboard for shark bait.
Ruagon freed the bow line, and the brigantine eased away from the dock. Barin, feeling weary, the rage having worn through him, wrenched the wheel hard to port. Fassof yelled commands and his men stowed their weapons. These now took to the benches, commenced working the oars, their broad backs sweating beneath the merciless sun. Taic took oar next to Sveyn. They grinned at each other. It felt good to be on the ocean again. Behind them Wogun and Norman dipped oars and strained, blissfully unaware of Barin’s quizzical glance.
“You said you wanted some new lads,” Cogga growled in Barin’s ear.
“I wanted useful lads. And from Valkador. Those two,” he motioned toward Norman and Wogun, “appear a touch foreign to me.”
“They’re good lads. Bright too.”
“Which is more than you can say for our nephews.”
“They’ll shape up.”
“They will have to.”
Slowly, majestically, the trader rounded on The Black Serpent. The Assassin’s shark was quick to take the hint. Sleek and fast, (despite only half-crewed) she glided serenely out of Port Sarfe Harbour, The Starlight Wanderer closing fast behind.
And so the chase was on.
***
Rael ducked lithely beneath Corin’s sweeping longsword. “You’ve some skill with that spike, peasant.” The Assassin showed his patrician smile. “Not many longswords around these days. Impractical things and unwieldy. Easy to get behind, like—so!”
Rael’s gleaming rapier swept around Corin’s blade with a dazzling riposte. Corin leapt back, but Rael was on him again. The slim rapier darting hungry towards his belly with lightning speed.
Corin leapt backwards again, wondering how long he could keep this up. This bastard was quick. Lightning quick. Corin kicked out at his enemy in desperation, the rapier hovering scarce inches away, he knew his steel coat and leather would not rebuff a sword of that quality.
Corin spat in his enemy’s face. “What’s keeping you—losing your touch, Assassin?” Corin desperately parried another lightning thrust, bringing Clouter up barely in time. Corin was sweating hard, the big blade weighing heavy in his arms. He knew himself outmatched. Rael Hakkenon was the finest swordsman he had ever faced. His reputation was no exaggeration. It was depressing, he so wanted to skewer the bastard but couldn’t get near him. Corin thought of Roman and his vow to avenge him. He spat again, and again blocked barely in time.
The Assassin smiled beautifully. He’d stepped back and held his sword vertical in mocking salute. “You look tired, peasant. Out of your depth. I think I’ll let you get your breath back. No need to rush a good thing—heh?”
Corin was dimly aware of Barin’s wild shouts resounding across the quay, accompanied by the panicked yelling of Port Sarfe’s traders as the Northman hurried to assist his crew.
Corin closed on the Assassin again. He smote down hard at Rael’s head, utilising the advantage of his height. Rael, still smiling, danced aside with effortless ease and then glided in close with another probing lunge.
That one nearly got Corin. He hurled himself backwards out of reach and grunted in pain as his back struck the wall of a building.
Rael wiggled the blade’s point towards his foe. “Time’s up, peasant. Nowhere to run.” Rael was savouring this moment and taking his time.
Which was just what Corin wanted. He was hemmed in, cornered and outmatched, trapped with his sweating back hard against a wall. It wasn’t proving a good day. And how many times had he been in this situation? Too many. So no change there.
Rael’s grin widened. Corin looked worn out, resigned and defeated.
“And they said you were someone to worry about. I must say I’m rather disappointed in you, peasant.” Rael flicked the rapier’s needle point up at Corin’s face. Corin slammed his head to the side and spat a third time.
“And such atrocious manners.”
Cold sweat trickled down Corin’s back and his old scar itched into his forehead like an accusation of failure.
But he wasn’t done yet.
With sudden unleashed fury, Corin slammed Clouter down hard at Rael’s neck. The Assassin danced aside and again levelled the rapier toward Corin’s throat.
Rael looked peeved. He was bored with the game and ready to skewer this brute. But the Longfellow had a dreary talent for survival despite his clumsiness with that mile-long blade.
Rael creased his brow. Time to gut this lanky peasant and go see what his idiot men were messing about at. Why had they deserted him? By nightfall Rael would have skewered a few of them as well.
A was noise coming from the other end of town.
“What is that racket?” Rael asked Corin, who was now smiling back at him. “Oh, the city watch. So what?” Rael glanced peevish up the lane. Another blast. The long clear note of a horn sounding from the barbican above. Its c
larion call sharp and defined above the din in the quay. And now from the direction of the castle came the sound of many voices shouting, followed by the pounding clatter of hoofbeat on cobble. The city guard had been roused from their slumber. Port Sarfe was suddenly alive with hoarse military shouts and blaring trumpets. Corin’s grin widened.
Rael grinned back. Then his mouth curled down at the corner. Rael flicked the rapier at Corin’s face but again he missed.
“You, peasant, are becoming tiresome.” The horns were everywhere now. And the sound of rushing feet. It was time he got moving. Rael turned slightly to his right. Voices—the watch coming this way.
Corin seized the moment to take stock of his surroundings. Glancing left, he saw another grubby alley trailed off into gloom. He registered the alley in his mind and rounded on the Assassin again. He smiled.
“You’re out of time, Assassin.”
But the footsteps approaching fast turned out to be two of the Assassin’s men. The biggest sported an embroidered eye patch and glared at Corin with contempt. Corin’s grin fell from his face. This was looking bad.
“My lord, the city is alive with soldiers,” Eye-patch said whilst glaring at Corin. “That bastard Barin’s chasing your serpent out of the harbour. The crew got split up when the fighting broke out.”
“Why is everyone so fucking incompetent these days, peasant?” Rael’s rapier flicked toward Corin playfully. Corin didn’t flinch. He was biding his time, seeing possible advantage in the current situation.
“Lord, we cannot remain here!” Eye patch looked worried.
“I am aware of that, Scarn, you one-eyed twit,” responded the Assassin without taking his eyes off Corin. “As you can see I am currently preoccupied with this longshanks and his big sword. Wait there, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Goodbye, Longfellow.
Rael’s rapier darted at Corin’s exposed throat.
But Corin was ready, having anticipated the blow. He spun on his heels using the weight of his steel coated body to knock the rapier off course and unbalance his foe. Rael lurched forward. Before he could regain balance Corin seized Rael’s arm, dragging the smaller man toward him. With a snarl Corin rammed Rael’s face hard into the wall, Clouter gripped level in his other hand to ward off Scarn and the other pirate.
“Is it true what they say, Assassin?” Corin’s eye was on the narrow alley that cut away to his left. “You prefer playing with boys and lack the equipment of a normal man?”
Rael Hakkenon clutched his bleeding nose and fought to quell his torrent of rage. His eyes blazed emerald fire. It was generally known that he had suffered dreadful torture at the hands of the previous lord of Crenna. That his manhood had been taken from him whilst he lay naked in the cold dungeons of Kranek Castle. But until this moment no one had dared remind him.
And now this Longswordsman, this rough-neck hick dared mock him.
Rael snapped his arms apart, breaking loose from Corin’s grasp, his badly broken nose leaking blood as Scarn and the other man gaped in horror at their master’s white-faced silent fury. They said nothing, a word spoken now could be a slow death later. Instead the pair waited in ashen-faced silence for their lord to close in for the kill. Rael’s left hand gripped the rapier whilst his right reached down freeing his dagger from its sheath. He feinted with the sword then lunged the dagger toward Corin’s left eye.
Corin dived sideways under that flashing steel as the dagger point scraped the wall. He pitched himself head first into the side cut, lashing out at the Assassin with a final, desperate sweep with Clouter. That big sword held Rael back for just long enough for Corin to propel his aching body along the side alley and up toward the city main. He ran like a hare harried by hounds, Rael’s spewing insults following close behind as the Assassin and his men gave chase.
But Corin was used to legging it in Port Sarfe. His long legs soon gained him ground. He vaulted discarded piles of filth and clutter. Behind him Rael Hakkenon ranted like a madman, his customary cool demeanour usurped by a torrent of fury.
A common brigand had mocked the lord of Crenna. The rogue would pay for that. Rael would make a tapestry out of his cured, flayed hide. He’d wrench this Longfellow’s head off with a blunt saw, scoop out the gooey contents and then piss in his hollow skull.
Corin an Fol. From this day on Rael would never forget that name. Grim-faced, Scarn and the other man hurried after their lord, gripping their cutlasses and wondering bleakly if they would get out of Port Sarfe with their heads still attached to their bodies.
Chapter 7
A Score Settled
Ariane sped up the hill. Beside her loped Bleyne, cool as ever, whilst behind them Cale puffed and a struggling Galed wheezed his way up the steep winding way.
After a sweaty, seemingly endless climb, they’d reached the eastern shelter of the city wall. They criss-crossed two lanes and followed its perimeter, hurrying towards the looming barbican. It wasn’t far. They could see the round, flag-festooned, guard patrolled turret of the nearest tower shimmering above the sunlit rooftops.
The cityfolk stared at them askance as they ran. Most eyes were on Ariane, but a girl winked at Cale and the boy’s red face reddened. He grinned back and she blew him a kiss. Then he thought about Corin and Barin and the smile ran away from his face. He ran on.
From somewhere close a horn sounded one long clear note over the city. Ariane guessed that Zallerak had alerted the guard. She didn’t share Corin’s view that the wizard had deserted them. Moments later she heard horses’ hooves thudding out onto the dusty streets, together with the sound of many iron-shod feet marching forth in ordered fashion. The city guard had been raised.
About bloody time.
Panting and gasping at short breaths they trotted along the sun baked street until finally reaching the eastern flank of the barbican. Beneath its sandstone walls showed a gate house, turreted and square like the main holdfast above.
Within it were two soldiers, clad in polished steel and broad red tunics, helmets thrust under arms and their long ornate pikes resting redundant against the wall as they absorbed themselves in a game of dice. They appeared unconcerned that the castle had recently emptied itself of most the garrison. These two were evidently content with their role as rear guard.
They leapt up seeing Ariane approach, exchanged glances and one of them grinned. Ariane glared at him as she glided close with brisk strides. The queen was in no mood for challenges by such as these.
“Who are you, my lovely? What do you want?” The smiler still grinned at her though his sidekick blocked her advance with his pike.
“It’s a bit hot to be rushing about.” The pike wielder viewed her curiously.
“I am the Lady Salese of Calprissa,” Ariane answered briskly as she regained her breath. She didn’t have time for this. “These are my manservants, this worthy fellow my bodyguard.” Ariane motioned toward Bleyne who viewed the men with little interest. “I am not used to such oafish behaviour when dealing with militia. Are you not concerned that your city is under attack?”
Smiler smiled. “Oh that. Probably just a drill, the watch get bored. I expect they’ll drop by the taverns and sling a few drunks out. Nothing to worry about, sweetness. You, however—”
“Expect to be taken to your captain at once, so I can explain what I require from him.” Ariane’s tone left no room for discussion. The men exchanged uncertain glances but kept their pikes firmly in place. The nearest guard eyed Bleyne warily. Ariane had had enough.
“You will desist from this ridiculous posturing, and escort me to your captain at once!” She stamped her left foot. Again they exchanged glances.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said Smiler, using a milder tone. “I’m sure you’re very important. And are on important business.” A broad yellow sash split his red tunic from left shoulder to right hip, marking his authority over his companion, “but I ain’t heard of no Lady Salese of Calprissa. You come here claiming we have enemies rampag
ing through our city. Perhaps it’s you that’s brought them here, begging your pardon of course. But it does seem a bit of a coincidence, if you’ll forgive my bold assumption, so to speak. Wouldn’t you agree, Aric?”
Aric nodded his head slowly. “We can’t be too careful, Roul.”
“They are pirates, you bloody fools! Come raiding from the sea!” snapped Galed in indignation. He stood beside Ariane and was fretting about Corin and Barin fighting below. “They’re lowlifes and brigands, intent on pillaging your homes and raping your women. Their leader is—”
“Enough, Galed, these two are blunt instruments.” Ariane was drained of all patience. The queen stamped her foot harder this time in deep frustration and then looked up suddenly.
A newcomer had surfaced from the gloom of the gate house. Broad set, saggy jawed and lugubrious, his gold-trimmed purple tabard stating his importance.
“What nonsense is this, Roul?” The officer’s leather-gloved hand rested on his curved sword and his dark eyes narrowed as he saw Bleyne’s longbow slung across the archer’s back.
“My captain, these—”
“I have already informed your guards of my identity, captain.” Ariane interrupted with a sweep of her arm. “I’ve men fighting for their lives down there at the quay. They are fighting your enemies as well as our own. They’ll be in dire need of assistance, whilst protecting your citizens from a plague of marauders out of Crenna.”
The captain did not answer. Instead he stared hard at the angry dark-eyed, young woman who stood so confidently before him.