by J. W. Webb
“Is this who you have been expecting?” He’d turned his head, addressed the question to someone hidden inside the gloom of the gatehouse.
“Yes,” came the muffled reply. “Bring them in; I need to speak to the lady.”
***
Barin’s men sweated at their oars. Despite his misgivings the new lads were doing well, four extra pairs of arms working the oars was no small help.
But Taic and Sveyn? Barin had no idea those two were down here. Both were known for their idleness, unreliability and reputation for causing trouble. Barin had despaired of reining his nephew in years ago. Taic was a wild one. Sveyn was worse.
As for the other two. Barin had mixed feelings about allowing strangers on board, but after witnessing them fight and row he decided it only fair to give this Norman and Wogun a chance. If only for a little while.
Barin managed a smile. They were closing on ‘the serpent’. He pictured the Assassin’s pride and joy in splinters.
But not for long.
The sound of horns hooted through the city behind them. Barin turned, witnessed the city guard arriving on the quayside like angry ants, their red tunics and polished steel helmets blazing in the sun. Their officers shouted, and soldiers rushed to board skiffs and deal with the pirate invaders.
Barin watched them for a minute then swore profusely. Most of the small craft turned in their direction. These were heavily laden, resembling floating porcupines with the soldiers’ pikes sticking out at all angles.
“Idiots!” Barin shook his hammer fist at the nearest craft. “That’s the bloody enemy over there!” He pointed across to where The Black Serpent cut water some hundred feet ahead. Barin’s wild gestures were lost on the city watch. On they came, at least a dozen boats heading their way, the rest racing to cut off the pirate ship.
The Black Serpent had turned on her heels, making for the breakwater like a glossy sleek snake. Barin grinned evilly. They still had time. The Assassin’s ship was directly ahead of them and they were gaining fast. He glanced down at the golden sea eagle’s reflection as the gleaming ram sped beneath the water. He counted down the seconds.
But The Black Serpent was no ordinary ship; moreover these Crenise were Rael’s best sailors. They’d heard about the events in Kashorn. They would not be foiled this time. Barin leaned forward yelling at his oarsmen.
“Come on, boys, let’s cut her in half!” But then, with just fifty feet of water between them, and far swifter than Barin would have believed possible, The Black Serpent tacked half circle and faced the trader head on.
“Oars in!” roared Fassof but it was too late. The serpent ripped along the starboard side of The Starlight Wanderer, snapping oars like twigs, wrenching them from fists and dislocating arms and cracking ribs, in the grinding, scraping process.
Taic’s oar splintered and split, sending him sprawling, whilst Sveyn broke two fingers as he tried in vain to hang onto his oar. Barin cursed as he watched the carnage. They had been out-played twice. The Assassin had stolen a march on them arriving here unannounced and now his crew had fooled them too. Barin wasn’t happy.
The Crenise had retracted their own oars at the last moment, allowing their sleek hull to slide alongside the brigantine snapping oars like twigs. Once clear of The Starlight Wanderer’s wake, the lean vessel tacked again.
Now the serpent faced open water, her single black sail taut and full, while the trader floundered behind in confusion. Like a swarm of steely beetles the skiffs rounded on Barin’s ship. They’d given up on the pirate craft, The Black Serpent having almost cleared the breakwater.
Barin swore and kicked the gunwale, snapping a clinkered panel. Fassof barked orders like a demented hound, he’d lost a tooth in the collision and was spitting blood and curses at everyone in range. The trader lurched seaward. Those still in one piece assisted their injured, others were replacing broken oars where they could, or else hastily fixing the old ones. The shouts of the city guard announced their closing proximity. Barin was still swearing and kicking things.
“Those soldiers are closing.” Fassof’s red face glowed like a beacon. His eyes bored into Barin’s. “Any ideas?”
Barin glared at him and then nodded. “Hoist some canvas. Let’s put an end to this farce.”
“Unfurl the lower main!” Fassof yelled. “I don’t want to lose track of that ship!”
Within minutes the big sail had trapped some wind and the brig pulled clear of the pursuing pike men. But it was too late. The Black Serpent had cleared the harbour. She was speeding ahead, keeping tight to the sandy shore. The narrow pirate craft was built for raiding these shallow waters. The Starlight Wanderer dared not steer that close to the beach, her deep-sea keel ensured she stayed in the middle of the harbour. Thus she trailed behind again.
Barin sighed. He was calmer now, reflective even. He shook his head in resignation; at least they were out of reach of the soldiers’ pikes and halberds. None of the guard had crossbows, an oversight on their part but one Barin was grateful for. He gazed back at them where they sat yelling and waving their weapons furiously as their skiffs slipped to stern.
Bugger off!
Barin glanced skyward, wiping sweat from his dripping brow. He’d slung the silver headband in his cabin and doused his head in a bucket of sea water. He looked almost human again, though still blood-splattered, shaggy and mean.
Above, his men unfurled the rest of the sails; wind filled these too. Once again the silver sea eagle fluttered high over water. Fassof handed him a horn of mead, the mate’s face was a mask of dried blood.
“So? What’s the damage?”
“Just buggered oars and a few cracked ribs. Nothing as won’t mend.” Fassof spat a gobbet of bloody phlegm on the deck. “Most the lads seem alright.”
“My nephew still in the land of living?”
“If you mean that skinny yellow-haired twat down there, then, yes.”
“Good. Get the bugger working and his friends too.”
“Will do. But what about that?” Fassof pointed to The Black Serpent just visible beyond the harbour’s arm. “Do we chase her into nightfall?” Fassof’s frizzy blood-crusted red hair gleamed like polished copper in the afternoon sun.
“No,” replied Barin, scratching his ear. “Just mark where she goes, Fassof. Then steal inshore, make for that small smugglers’ cove we used to frequent in the bad old days. You remember the spot?”
“Aye.”
“Make for that and lie low for three days. Send some healthy lads ashore, have them coppice young trees to replace those damaged oars. And, Fassof.”
“What?”
“Keep a lookout on the headland, there’s a good fellow. That Assassin will be lurking somewhere close by. That’s if Corin hasn’t gutted the little shit.”
“What of yourself, captain?” asked the mate, pulling at a second loose tooth. He’d have to borrow the carpenter’s pliers for that one.
“I’ve business onshore,” came Barin’s reply.
***
Corin slammed Clouter in its scabbard and sped through the filthy alley, his enemies close on his heels. The track was scarce wide enough for two men to stand abreast, weaving backwards and forwards between shabby, faded whitewashed leaning houses.
Rubble and clutter barred his way, rats wriggled and scurried under his feet, their enemies the cats peeking at him warily from their nearby hideouts. Clothes hung on twine across his path, drying in the heat. Corin tore them down in desperation and hurled them behind him into his pursuers’ faces.
Corin unsheathed Biter as he ran, weaving left and right crossing from alley to alley. He cursed once when a cat got under his feet, nearly tripping him. It spat at him then hissed and bolted. A glance back revealed the Assassin gaining on him.
Fuck!
Rael kept pace with his quarry, but Scarn and the other man had fallen behind, their faces red with exhaustion as they panted in the heavy heat.
Rael wasn’t panting. He was ice cool and clos
ing on his prey. The lane twisted sharp, Corin tripped on a loose cobble, regained his feet but slammed into a wall. Rael was on him then, diving low for Corin’s legs.
Corin twisted out the way and lashed out with Biter. Rael rolled free of the steel and danced back on his feet. He had no room to swing his rapier, instead Rael stabbed his dagger viciously up at Corin’s face, Corin ducked and the dagger point wedged itself in the wall’s mortar.
Biter sliced towards Rael’s neck. The Assassin tugged his dagger free just in time and trapped Corin’s sax with its guard. He pushed hard, forcing Corin back into the other wall. The two faced each other. Rael swore at Corin and Corin swore back. Then Scarn and the other one came crashing in and the chase resumed again.
The alley opened on another. Corin turned left, saw another cut and turned into it. This one led down towards the harbour again. Corin could hear shouting and horns blowing below. He ran on without turning. No point, he could hear Rael’s feet padding the cobbles close behind.
Corin entered a wider street leading to a busy marketplace. The Assassin followed heartbeats behind. Corin hurdled a table laden with fruit. The seller cursed him and leapt back, arms flailing wide. Corin seized a water melon. He turned, launched it at the Assassin. Rael ducked, but the fruit vendor was not so quick. The melon exploded into his head, much to the humour of his fellow peddlers.
Corin ducked and weaved, pulling awnings down in the Assassin’s path. Rael hissed as he kicked them clear. Behind, Scarn and the other pirate had entered the marketplace. They were already being accosted by angry peddlers.
Corin heard the rap of armoured feet. Now what? Soldiers were running down the main street towards them. He turned, lashed out at Rael Hakkenon’s knee with a vicious kick and then upended a table of cheese in his path.
The Assassin dodged round the table, ignoring the pain in his knee. A back glance revealed Scarn and the other idiot being pursued across the market by the city guard. The watch looked conspicuous and clumsy in their ridiculous red coats. Rael despaired at their dress sense. He yelled at Corin’s back.
“You cannot escape me, peasant! Slow down so I can start murdering you!”
“Bugger yourself!” came the reply.
Corin collided into a cheese stall. The vendors leapt up in outrage, but he twisted and sped past them.
Rael wasn’t so lucky.
Two large cheese peddlers barred his way; the biggest, a bearded sweating brute of a man, clutched a heavy cudgel in his greasy palm. Rael’s left hand jabbed hard into his stomach. Grunting, the big lad slumped to the floor.
The other man’s fist flew at him, but Rael danced aside, arcing his elbow into the surprised man’s face. There was a sharp crack as the nose split open and the second cheese peddler collapsed on top of his prone comrade.
Rael grinned. A small thing but any pain inflicted gave him cheer. He turned, gazed about. Where had that longfucker got to? There was shouting everywhere, traders were yelling at the watch and pointing to where Rael stood.
“Scarn! Where the fuck are you!” The city guard was running toward him. Rael yanked his rapier free. Time to go. He turned, then blinked as an arc of steel slashed hard at his face. He leapt back but not quite far enough. Rael yelled as Biter tore open his face.
Rael’s head flew back. He spat like a lynx as his handsome features exploded in a river of bloody pain. Corin smiled, he readied Biter for a second blow. He had narrowly missed slicing the Assassin’s throat but instead had slashed Rael’s face wide open, leaving a deep welt from right eyebrow through both lips to chin. Rael’s ruined face oozed blood and splattered down on his expensive garb. Rael gurgled more in outrage than pain. Blood obscured his vision. That didn’t matter, he knew where Corin was standing.
He blocked Biter’s second thrust and lunged back with the slim sword.
Corin was caught off guard by the speed of Rael’s attack. He shifted left in the nick of time as Rael’s rapier scored a slice along his arm. Corin grinned in relief. It was just a flesh wound.
“You missed me!” Corin’s grin widened. Rael Hakkenon resembled a contorted parody of what he had been. “Spoiled your looks, heh Assassin! That was for Roman Parrantios! Remember the kiss of Corin an Fol next time you admire your pretty features!”
Rael’s lips splattered blood as he tried to reply. He wiped his eyes clear and saw soldiers everywhere. He faced a quandary: stay to skewer his enemy and get skewered by the watch, or else leg it back to his ship and plan a rematch. Tough call.
Corin heard the stomp of heavy feet behind him. The city guard and traders had been avidly watching their fight, exchanging views on who would win. Deeming the show over, the watch advanced on Corin and Rael with levelled pikes.
Corin grinned at Rael and Rael glared back. Another day then. Corin rammed Biter into Rael’s midriff but the Assassin jumped clear. The watch crashed forward, all steel and kerfuffle. Corin found a gap between pikes and raced for the far end of the market. In seconds he’d vanish down another side cut. A dozen guards broke off from the main squad and ran after the fleeing longswordsman.
Rael stoked his anger and watched the guard file out to block his escape. The remaining watch circled him, their long weapons probing. They were taking no chances with this dangerous bastard. There was six of them and they were careful. It didn’t make any difference. They all died.
The first fell with the Assassin’s knife in his throat, as did the second clutching his belly in disbelief and crumpling to the floor.
Rael’s rapier danced its cobra death, slicing through pikestaffs and killing two more. Number five got close, but Rael’s dagger slid down the pike taking the guard’s fingers and then lancing into his throat. The last one turned and legged it. Rael legged it after him and skewered him from behind. Rael glared at the strewn tables and gibbering, accusing traders. There was no sign of Corin an Fol.
More heavy feet approaching.
Another troop of scarlet-clad pikemen had entered the marketplace after hearing the tumult. They saw their dead comrades and, outraged, hastened to cut off his retreat. Rael turned on his heels, floored a couple of stunned traders, kicked out at a dog that snarled at his legs and was gone. Within minutes he’d flitted back into the labyrinth of streets behind, distancing himself rapidly from the chaos in the marketplace.
Rael sought solace in a dingy doorway once he’d lost his pursuers. He could hear them crashing and yelling two streets away. Their voices grew quieter. Satisfied he was safe for the moment, Rael carefully wiped the blood seeping from his face with a black silk handkerchief. Then he squatted, calmly took out the needle and thread he always kept stowed up his sleeve as defence should his fine cloth fray.
Rael stitched the scar, working down from brow to chin. The pain was nothing: it focused his mind. As he worked the needle, Rael thought about the peasant that had scarred him for life and broken his nose. Longswordsman Corin an Fol. The brigand Caswallon had told him to kill.
And kill him he would. In due course. It was just a question of when and more importantly how. Corin an Fol. Rael would cherish that name. He’d think about it every day, on the hour until he had his enemy naked and bound before him. Then, very slowly and with intricate care, Rael Hakkenon Master Assassin would take his revenge.
Chapter 8
An Old Friend
Barin stood at the prow of his vessel whilst Fassof steadied the wheel. The Starlight Wanderer rounded the southern, rock-strewn tip of the small bay that thrust seaward protecting the city’s harbour. To the south, Kael’s Stream rushed to greet the ocean in a chiming whirl of spume and spray. It was late afternoon and still very hot. Far out to sea, the sail of The Black Serpent was only just visible in the hazy sunlight.
Barin’s mood had calmed to pragmatic reflection. The day could have gone better but things could also be a lot worse. He hoped Corin and the queen were alright and that the Assassin lay gutted in an alley. Barin had taken stock after their elopement from the harbour. Fortunately Ralee
nians were lethargic sailors. There would be no pursuit from the city at least. Port Sarfe’s harbour commissioners relied on trade and kept few war boats. Barin had spied two galleys when they’d entered this morning but both had been undergoing repairs.
He turned to his crew. Ruagon the cook had splinted the broken bones, rubbed salve on deep cuts and bolstered the crew’s spirits with fresh food and copious ale. This last having been fortuitously purloined by Cogga, Taic and Sveyn from the harbour master’s stores just before the raid on their ship.
Barin counted heads. He had lost two men during the fight, but had gained four—though two he deemed useless and the other two foreign, thus untrustworthy despite Cogga’s endorsement. Barin traded with foreigners, had friends from other lands, but until now had never employed anyone overseas.
He determined to keep a sharp eye on Wogun and Norman. Both big rough-looking lads. And very foreign. He’d keep a sharper eye on Taic and the other idiot. Or rather Fassof would while Barin was away.
Barin watched as the trader rounded the point in a bright flourish of sail. To port, half a mile away, was the mouth of Kael’s gushing stream. Once free of its eddying currents his men would heave to and await their captain’s orders.
Barin had tossed his blood-spattered silk shirt into the harbour, deeming it no longer fit to wear. Instead he’d donned a tight leather tunic over close fitting goat-hide trews. Once again he strapped the huge axe across his back. He then stooped to tie a cord of braided leather around his forehead. It would keep his hair from impeding him on this next venture. Satisfied, Barin strode to the prow. Fassof stood waiting with Cogga and Taic, of all people.
“You got nothing to do?” Barin glared at his nephew.
Taic beamed. “Just wondered if you needed a companion, Uncle.”
“Nope.” Barin turned to Fassof. “This should do it,”
Fassof nodded his approval. “Will they return, do you think?” The mate cast his eye towards the tiny black sail on the horizon.