Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1)

by Graham Diamond

  Thus it was that Trevor took action of his own. Men were not adept at the foul work that must be done. These strange hills would pose new threats behind every rock and tree. Wolves, though, could do what men could not. Mountain wolves, savage and free, wild as the rapids and the ice sheets of the Axe Blades. They would not flinch from their work, no matter what the cost, and Trevor knew he could trust them as a man trusts his right arm. And who better to lead these wolves than Cicero, the most cunning and daring wolf any man had ever known.

  Out in the Fiana, where the Scourie River sharply narrows before flowing into the still waters of Kilkiddy Lake, the Brora stood silent in the moonless night, waiting, eyes watching, like a great cat that has found its prey and pauses to consider the best plan before striking.

  A thin fog rolled down from the far mountains and settled unevenly over the lake, hazing all but the sharpest points of the gravelly bank from view. Elias, red-eyed from lack of sleep, peered evenly across the bow, teeth clenched, face impassive and cold. The pirate ship stood nestled at the far shore, near the channel that led down to the fjord. The channel was narrow, he knew, having been this way several times before, and his ship would not be able to negotiate the rocky bottoms and maintain good speed at the same time. But neither would the other ship. The pirates were cornered, trapped, with no chance to turn before reaching the fjord itself. And then there would be but two choices: Turn and face the Brora, or head for the open sea, which, at this time of year, was asking for an almost certain death. But in his heart Elias knew they would not run. They would turn and fight, burn the ship and run for the hills if they had to. No, devils such as these would not face the open sea, no more than they would have given their innocent victims a chance. Still, they were rivermen, and when finally faced, whether on land or water, they would hold their last inch of ground. And they would fight to the death rather than surrender.

  Elias fingered his dagger and inhaled deeply. Cicero, at his side, began to growl. Elias spun around.

  Trevor strode forward and held his hands slightly up, palms forward. “Only me,” he said uneasily, noting that Elias’s dagger was almost half out of its sheath.

  Elias put it back clumsily. “I thought you’d be asleep with the others,” he said.

  “Couldn’t. Tried to but couldn’t. Have they moved?”

  Elias looked up at the fog. “If we can’t, they can’t. They’ll do like us, sit it out until the mist lifts, then make a run for it.”

  Trevor frowned and involuntarily shivered. “Then they’ve seen us, you suppose?”

  Elias laughed curtly. “If we saw them, they saw us. A ship as big as mine is hard to miss.”

  “But how do they know we’re after them? Maybe they think we’re just carrying cargo out this way. Maybe —”

  Elias interrupted sourly, “They’d all know the Brora, and they’d also know that we don’t sail this way to bring whiskey to the trappers.”

  “Were they flying any flags?”

  “A black flag, Commander. Know what that means?”

  Trevor shook his head.

  “It means fever. A warning for other vessels to keep far away. It means they’ve got disease aboard.”

  Trevor sucked a cold breath between his teeth. “I assume that’s just a ruse — to keep everyone far away.”

  Elias shrugged. “Probably. But who can say for sure? We’ll know when we catch them.”

  “Wait a moment. If they have got fever aboard —”

  “Shall we run, Commander?” asked Elias, looking icily into Trevor’s eyes. “Isn’t that what they’re hoping?”

  The soldier frowned. “Well, just in case, hadn’t you better get out own black flag? They might have to quarantine us when we get back.”

  “It’s already done, my friend, it’s already done. But I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about it. I think I know that ship out there. Her captain’s a swine if there ever was one. One of the boys from out your way in the Noatak. He was a bully then, a renegade who used to befriend stray wolves and murder them for their pelts.”

  Cicero snarled; his eyes narrowed hatefully.

  “What’s your plan, then?” asked Trevor.

  “We’ll probably break out of this weather by dawn. Then we’ll chase them through the channel to the fjord. What happens next...” Elias shrugged. “If they choose to stand and fight...”

  “What if they ground their ship?”

  “Then you soldier boys take over. And our wolves, too. We’ll lead you inland for as far as the channel allows. Then you’re on your own.”

  “My troops will be ready. How long until dawn?”

  “Couple of hours or so. You’d be better off catching that sleep, Commander. Tomorrow, take my word for it, you’re going to need it.”

  *

  Dawn spread quickly across the eastern sky, a splash of purple that grew brighter and brighter. And as Elias had said, the fog began to dissipate.

  “She’s moving, Elias!” came a muffled cry.

  The captain glanced to the sailor perched high in the nest atop the mast.

  “Damn!” Elias pounded his fist against the rail. “They must be crazy,” he hissed. “They’re trying to outrun us through the channel!” Then, hands on hips: “Full sail across the Kilkiddy, Mr. Boniface! Trim ’er for the channel. They might want to smash themselves on the rocks, but I damn well don’t!”

  “Aye, Capt’n. Full sail it is!”

  Trevor came running from the leeward hatch, hastily strapping his sword onto his belt.

  “Morning, Commander,” growled Elias. “Seems they’re going to give us more of a run than I’d thought. They’re trying to cut through the channel like it was an open canal.”

  “But they’ll smash up on the rocks!”

  “Maybe, Commander. But we’ve got to follow. Fly the colors, Mr. Ashcroft!”

  “Aye, sir. Rhonnda colors, it is!”

  “Not Rhonnda colors, Mr. Ashcroft! This is Valley business. Empire colors! Let those bastards know who we are and what we intend! And by Fara, I hope it makes them shiver!”

  With the swelling wind the Brora picked up speed and cut sharply at an angle across the Kilkiddy. Gold sail blazed in sunlight; the black hawk shimmered and glistened. High above, the brown and green banner of the Empire flapped wickedly in the wind. It was a sight to be seen, this proud Empire ship, bow dipping and rising, speeding across the lake, every moment gaining on the sloop now dangerously making its way through the hazardous channel.

  Trevor stood close to the bow and felt his heart pound as the pirate vessel loomed larger and larger. He could make out the frantic scrambling of swarthy men racing across the tired deck, drawing more sail.

  With a soldier’s instinct he fell to the floor as an arrow whistled over his head and smacked against a spar.

  “That’ll teach you a lesson, Commander!” shouted Elias, signalling for all hands to keep low.

  The Valley soldiers, who by this time had all clambered onto the deck, knelt low against the railings at the starboard side.

  “Let’s show these lads a thing or two,” called Elias. And about six of his own men came running to the forecastle, crossbows and arrows in hand. They formed a line near the bow, then, almost as a single entity, shot. There was a quick twang as the arrows loosed and smashed helter-skelter aboard the other boat. Then, ducking before their own shots could be answered, they reloaded and shot again.

  “Good at it, ain’t they?” laughed Elias. “Didn’t know Newland lads could be so sharp, eh?”

  Trevor mumbled: “I guess they didn’t learn that on the river.”

  “No, Commander. Not on the river. My lads —”

  “Capt’n, she veers!”

  Elias grimaced and leaned hard along the portside. The pirate ship had set itself a dangerous course against the shoals and the reefs close to the left bank of the ever narrowing channel. The Brora, meanwhile, had all but cleared the deep waters of the Kilkiddy and was swiftly approaching the dange
rous channel currents. Elias could feel the growing swells along the hull and feel the dramatic surge of the Brora as she lurched ahead.

  “Trim our sails and tack ’em a quarter off the wind!” he shouted, glaring at Ashcroft and Boniface. Without so much as a blink the two officers were barking at the crew. Slowly the great canvas began to shift.

  “Close-hauled, she is, Elias,” called Ashcroft.

  “Then set her straight down the channel and keep her by the wind.”

  Confused at what was happening around him, Trevor sat in his crouched position along the rail and began to give commands to his own men, who had crept closer to the forecastle. As Elias returned to the prow, Trevor inched closer and peered ahead. The Brora had already passed the banks of Kilkiddy and was ever steadily negotiating its way through the channel. He felt his body quiver as the ship reared at what seemed only inches away from the sharp rocks along both banks that jut like icebergs above the water.

  “Is this safe?” cried Trevor, in a near panic.

  “Don’t concern yourself,” replied Elias, his gaze on the ship ahead as it zigzagged at a fierce clip. “That captain knows his only chance of escape is to run us ragged and hope that we smash onto the reefs.”

  “Then aren’t we playing his game? We’re doing exactly as he wants.” Trevor was aghast at the terrifying maneuvers.

  Elias chuckled. “Not quite, Commander. Not quite. His ship is smaller than ours, but she’s too light to be forcing such speed in these waters. His sails are almost full — the first good strong gust that sweeps down will send him reeling.”

  “The wind’s shifting to dead stern, Elias,” shouted Boniface, worried.

  “Then run with her, Mr. Boniface. And feel for the swells. There’s rough current ahead, and I don’t want to get bogged down while those brigands head for open sea.”

  Tense minutes passed. Trevor wiped his brow as the pirate ship began to loom larger. The Brora was catching up to her, closing in fast. He could almost smell the fear of the pirates on board. Three swarthy men, dressed in thick fur jackets, were leaning over the after rail, aiming their crossbows. But no arrows were loosed. It was obvious they were holding their fire now until the last possible moment — when the Brora would bear down hard.

  “Set for ramming, Mr. Ashcroft,” said Elias coldly.

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  From the sailor in the mast came a frantic cry. “Capt’n, she’s turning about!”

  Elias’s jaw dropped. “Damn that cagey devil!”

  The pirate boat had twisted herself in the channel, run purposely aground, in the hope of forcing the Brora to smash her broadside.

  “Can we trim sail enough in time to avoid her?” called Elias.

  “I doubt it! We’re running too fast.”

  Elias looked about anxiously. “Get the anchor overboard, Ashcroft!” he barked. “Fast!”

  Ten sailors raced across the poop deck, untied the lines and hoisted the heavy iron weight over the side into the icy waters. The Brora lurched ahead with the wind full in her sails, then, reeling with a tremendous blow, pulled back sharply and came to a sudden, petrifying halt. The pirate ship was less than fifty meters away. Elias sighed with relief. A matter of seconds would have brought them crashing at top speed. He’d been caught off balance, he knew — badly off balance. And he cursed himself for not giving the pirate captain more credit.

  A thick black cloud suddenly began to rise from ahead.

  Trevor gasped. “They’re burning their ship! They’re burning their own ship!”

  Elias spun around. “Furl our sails, Mr. Boniface! If the winds don’t rip her, then those damned flying embers will!”

  As the Brora’s crew scampered about, Trevor could plainly see what Elias meant. The wind, gusting madly, was sending flying sparks of timber in every direction. An open sail as broad as the Brora’s was especially vulnerable.

  The yards bared, the ship began to toss and bob terribly amid the strong currents. “What now, Elias?” called Trevor.

  Elias pointed glumly. “They’re going overboard, Commander. We’ll have to swim to shore after them.”

  Trevor glanced over the railing and groaned. The choppy waters looked cold and hazardous, indeed. It was a good hundred meters to the nearest bank. But as he stared, his eye caught a glimpse of the first pirates already reaching land. Swords and daggers in hand, they were scrambling along the muddy edges of the bank and racing for the thick spruce forest that lined the length of the Fiana hills.

  “Prepare your weapons,” he shouted to his men. Turning back to Elias he said, “I enjoyed the trip, Captain. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.” Then, standing straight on the bow, he dived into the cold waters. Moments later his soldiers followed.

  Cicero and his hunters dashed across the deck and jumped, too.

  “Take charge of the ship, Mr. Ashcroft,” shouted Elias. He looked down at the uninviting water and shivered.

  “But what about the brigand ship, sir? Shouldn’t we wait and see what we can salvage?” He looked fitfully at the burning ship beginning to sink.

  Elias laughed caustically. “She’s blazing out of control, Mr. Ashcroft. That roaring fire’ll leave little to get a hold of. If there’s anything left we can claim, then claim it. As for me, I’m going to follow Trevor and his lads.” Ashcroft began to protest, but Elias shook his head. “Please, Mr. Ashcroft, don’t try to talk me out of it. The more I look down at the water the more I’ll probably let you change my mind.”

  *

  Chilled to the marrow, Elias swam his way across the channel. As he reached the gravelly bank, he saw that Trevor and his men had already grouped and were running at a quick clip along the slope of a hill. Cicero and the hunters were well ahead, dashing atop the escarpment, barking and growling.

  The land was filled with wild cranberry and partridge-berry bushes, tall columns of spruce, peppered here and there with stunted trees. Dagger in hand, panting, Elias caught up with the soldiers and ran alongside.

  Near the crest of the hill, Trevor paused and stood perfectly still; ears straining, he listened to the dim sounds. He could hear the wind whistling down from the Fiana Mountains and could make out the soft slapping sound of the faraway channel waters lashing against the banks. But as for the sounds of men, there were none. Only silence. He bit his lip and signaled for his troops to move slowly over the top.

  The scape was flat and broad, and the spruce trees were as thick as molasses. A man could lose himself among them forever. Just then there was a rustle from among the bushes. Trevor spun, expecting to see a band of pirates, swords already lunging at his throat. But it was Cicero. The wolf had been slinking along the top, overseeing the directions in which his hunters had spread out and making careful observations for tracks.

  “Have you lost them, too?” Trevor asked.

  Cicero growled, his eyes flashing hotly in the manner of all wolves who feel slightly cheated by an escaped prey.

  “Men?” he asked with a snarl. “Their stink carries on Aleya’s breath like a bloodied buck. We’ll find them for you, Commander.”

  “Then which way, Cicero? We’ve only got a few hours of light. By dark they could make their way to the Badlands.”

  Cicero sniffed at the air and wagged his tail furiously. “No tracks up here. I think they’ve taken a path along the lowlands, keeping as far as possible from high ground. Remember, the big cats prowl these hills, and even men like them would make a fine meal for their cubs.”

  “Then back down the hill it is.” Trevor turned and began to lead his men down.

  “No, not that way. Across the top to the other side. I’ve sent my hunters down first. The best thing we can do is follow.”

  Trevor nodded. Then, following Cicero as best they could, they raced across the top and began the arduous climb down. Thistle and brambles stung and tore at their wet clothes; the muddy earth made them slip and lose balance.

  Once down they made their way along a narrow gorge that l
ed between hills that seemed to grow ever higher. The afternoon sun was low, and as they moved, their shadows danced and bounced off the rocky ledges like fearsome beasts. Still there was nothing; no scent of the pirates, nor any sign of the hunters.

  After another few minutes of fruitless search, Cicero stopped in his tracks. Nose wrinkling, ears twitching, he lowered his snout. “What is it?” whispered Trevor.

  Cicero shook his head and inched off to a patch of fern. The earth showed an inconsistent burrowing, indicating that something had been dragged into the bushes. Trevor followed close behind. A moment later the wolf stopped and stared. The body of a hunter lay in a heap, eyes wide in a stare of surprise. Blood covered its face. Between the wolf’s jaws a chunk of flesh hung from the side of its mouth.

  Trevor gasped. But what had happened became clear. The hunter had found one of the fleeing pirates and attacked him, ripping savagely at his arm. But during the fight another pirate had evidently come to his companion’s rescue, caught the wolf from behind and slit his throat.

  Cicero raised his snout and gave a long, mournful howl — the chant for the dead, Trevor knew. The kind of wolf cry that for countless millennia has sent shivers up and down the spines of men.

  Trevor stood silently by until Cicero had finished. And then from some far-off point the cry was returned by another of the hunters. An even more distant cry soon followed that one. Cicero had spread the word. A wolf had been murdered, and all his hunters would not rest until that death had been avenged.

  Elias made his way through the bushes and glanced around at the ghastly sight. “I told you these pirates would be rough to catch,” he grumbled, his teeth gritted.

  The soldier swallowed hard.

  “They must be close,” growled Cicero. “Their smell is everywhere.”