The sails were hauled down, the men pulling desperately. Heavy canvas billowed across the decks, and the Makassar crewmen leaped to subdue it. It was bulkily piled on the booms and lashed in place. The ship swayed, blown against the current by the strong wind, held in place until there was no way on her at all, then began ponderously to make sternway. Loholo balanced off the helm without orders, obviously accustomed to taking ground with ships in the shallow seas of Makassar. As the tide raced away, she settled bow first, straightened, and came to rest on the sandy bottom, angled toward the shore.
“We’re fast,” MacLean said. He looked out at the pirate ship three hundred yards away. “By the Saints, he’s caught! He can’t make it against the wind.”
The enemy crew was straining at the oars, while others gathered the lateen sail against the mast, but even as they watched, the stern touched bottom. The tide race was incredibly swift, and within seconds the pirate was stuck as fast as Subao.
Brett ran to the waist of the ship. He struggled with the hatch cover until Vanjynk rushed up to help him. MacLean shouted from the quarterdeck. “What in hell are you doing?”
“We must get our mounts up from the hold,” Brett called. “Master Vanjynk and I would fight on our horses, Captain.”
“Let them,” MacKinnie told MacLean. “We’re outnumbered, and having a cavalry force can help. Look there.” He pointed to the pirate vessel. Men were boiling off its decks, but instead of rushing toward Subao, they formed ranks on the hard sand alongside their ship.
“My turn,” MacKinnie said. “You men see to your armor. Hal, help Brett sway those animals up out of the hold.”
The hatch cover was already off, and using the main boom held at an angle by the peak halyard, the two chargers were lifted by bellybands, swayed over the side, and set in place on the sand. Brett and Vanjynk scrambled to saddle their beasts and cover them with chain mail skirts.
“What are they waiting for?” MacLean asked, pointing at the pirates.
“They don’t know how many we are, or if we have star weapons,” Loholo said softly. “They will listen to their leaders tell them of rich loot, and the insults they have endured from Jikar, and finally they will attack. It will be best if our men are already on the sands unless you intend to fight from the ship.”
“Not from here,” MacKinnie said. “They’ve got axes. Give one of them a few minutes unmolested and we won’t float off here with the tide. Hal, form the men on the sand behind the ship so the enemy can’t see what we’ve got!”
“Right, Colonel.” Pleading and shouting, Stark managed to get the native crew into a semblance of order while his Haven guardsmen took places in a group at one end of the line. Shields glinted in the sun as the men stood nervously.
“Serve out those pikes, Mr. Longway,” MacKinnie ordered as the Academician appeared at the companion-way. “Then you and the others stay below.”
“If you order us, Trader,” Longway said. “But I can fight.” He came fully out on the deck, and MacKinnie saw that the scholar’s portly figure was cased in mail over leather. Together they took the pikes from their racks along the bulwarks and handed them over the sides to the waiting troops. Each of the Makassar natives wore a breastplate and greaves, a metal cap, and a shortsword, and held a round shield on his arm. The Samualites had mail as well. With their pikes in hand, MacKinnie’s small force seemed more disciplined, ready to face an enemy.
“They can fight well if told what to do,” Loholo said. “They are young men, but the Guilds begin their training early.”
MacKinnie eased himself over the rail to join the small group, leaving MacLean and Loholo on the ship. He turned to face his men.
“The important thing is to preserve discipline,” he said. “If you stay in ranks, there’s not much they can do to you. Keep your shield wall up as long as they aren’t close, so they can’t bombard us with arrows, and advance when I tell you. I want to hit them with a solid force, not a ragged group of individuals. Hal, have your Haven men form a reserve group behind the main body, and keep their javelins and crossbows ready. I want a solid volley from the crossbows as soon as the pirates get in range, and keep that up until they’re too close to reload. Then hold those javelins until I give the order to cast.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then wait for my orders. Brett, you and Vanjynk stay with me until I give you the word.”
“It is not proper that we stay behind and allow these groundlings the honor of opening battle,” Vanjynk said slowly.
“Proper be damned. Vanjynk, if you or Brett start a charge without my orders I’ll have Hal shoot you out of the saddle. I ask nothing dishonorable, Master Vanjynk, nothing save winning this battle.”
“We have agreed to serve the star man,” Brett said. “It is proper that we take his instructions, my friend.” He clapped Vanjynk on the shoulder. “Besides, what honor have pirates? What is propriety to them?”
“Here they come!” Longway shouted from the quarterdeck.
MacKinnie strode to the bow of the ship and looked around. The pirate group, nearly a hundred strong, was moving slowly and in good order across the sand toward Subao. “Hal, get your crossbowmen out at the stern and stand by. Fire when you think they’re in range.”
“Yes, sir. Guardsmen, right face. March.” Stark took his tiny group to the stern and deployed them just beyond it. This put them closer to the enemy than MacKinnie’s detachment at the bow.
Nathan eyed the advancing ranks of pirates, now broken up by small tidal pools until there were definite gaps in the formation. There seemed to be no effort on the part of the pirate officer to reform his men. From what MacKinnie knew of similar groups on South Continent, it was a masterpiece of tactics for the pirates to have formed at all before starting a wild charge.
They came on, and Hal shouted to his men. “Ready! Fire!”
Several fell to the volley of crossbow bolts, but the rest came on. MacKinnie watched, but gave no signal. Behind him Brett and Vanjynk talked calmly to their animals, but their voices were rising in pitch. Their eagerness to join the battle sounded through the soothing words.
A second volley cut down more of the pirates, and the ragged army of brightly colored natives, armed only with swords except for a few with axes and shields, curled around toward their tormentors, presenting their flank to MacKinnie.
“Now, men. March out. Follow me and stay in good order. Brett, you and your companion remain behind the shield wall until I tell you.”
The pirates were now caught between the two small detachments. Their leader shouted orders, and they broke into smaller groups and hurled themselves toward Stark and his men.
“With me, troops!” MacKinnie shouted. “Keep your ranks. Watch the men to either side and stay next to them.” He trotted his group away from the bow, angling away from the ship but moving sternward, keeping the pirate group between the two parts of his army. Some of the enemy turned to face him now. Others continued their charge toward Stark.
Hal fired one more volley of crossbow bolts and his men dropped the weapons. They bent to seize their javelins. As MacKinnie’s group closed with the pirates, Nathan shouted, “Now, Hal.” Stark’s group ran forward, casting their slender weapons, tearing holes in the ranks of the pirates, and then MacKinnie was upon them, his pikemen thrusting their weapons forward, as Hal and the Samualites fell on them with sword and shield from the other side.
On either flank a group of pirates now fought MacKinnie’s troops, but the main body held back, unwilling to enter the dangerous area between. Then they suddenly broke directly toward MacKinnie’s force, charged forward, ducking under the spear points, closing rapidly with the unarmored men, slashing with shortswords. Two of the young Jikarian sailors fell, opening a gap in the line of pikes.
On the other side of the formation the pirates made no headway at all against Hal and his Wolves. Unarmored, with inadequate shields, they did well to hold Stark back, but by sheer numbers were able to do so. A thir
d group darted forward to leap for handholds along the ship’s railing.
MacKinnie charged into the gap in the line of pikemen, his sword slashing, shouting to his men to hold firm. A shortsword thrust at him, and he parried, beat hard in quarte, following with a cut to the pirate’s neck. His enemy fell and Nathan brought his sword in a whistling moulinette to drive back a second attacker. The gap was too wide to hold with his saver alone, and another enemy tried to circle to his left, only to be impaled by the pikemen, his last stroke falling weakly on MacKinnie’s mail. Nathan frantically shouted orders to close the line.
The Jikarians awkwardly moved closer to each other.
“Shield to shield!” MacKinnie shouted. “Close it up!” When they had filled in the gap he was able to turn his attention to the group which had charged the ship.
The pirates were stopped at deck level by Longway, who stood sword in hand, thrusting at the face of a pirate who had managed to raise himself almost to the level of the thwarts. MacLean stood with him, whole Loholo, shouting in mad fury, jumped to the sands below with an enormous two-handed sword. The native captain sent the weapon whistling around his head and screamed oaths.
“Subaois mine!” he shouted. “Filth, slime of the sea, spawn of unwashed carrion eaters! …” He lopped off a pirate’s head at a blow, then stood with his back to the ship, holding the rest at bay with the fury of his attack.
The pirate chieftain, his rank marked by bright gold bands around his neck and ankles, shouted commands to his men, breaking them away from combat to re-form and make use of their superior numbers.
MacKinnie waited until they had broken off the battle. Then he signaled Brett. “Now!” he shouted.
Brett screamed strange curses. He and Vanjynk spurred their mounts forward and thundered toward the pirates, wielding their great swords to crash through feeble attempts to parry as the enemy tried to avoid being trampled by their mounts. The beasts themselves fought, rearing up to strike with sharp hooves, crashing down to crush men to the sand. A group of pirates broke and ran as Hal and his shieldsmen closed swiftly in a disciplined formation from the other side to hew down the outer ranks. MacKinnie held his own detachment in place, their spears held out toward the pirates, forming a wall of points, while Loholo continued his mad rush, his great sword singing. The last of the enemy turned to run toward their ship.
Brett and Vanjynk pursued the enemy across the sands, but when a group aboard fired on them with crossbows, MacKinnie shouted them back. He re-formed his little command behind Subao again and left them to rest easy in ranks while he surveyed the battlefield.
He had lost two native troopers, killed when the pirates broke ranks. Several others had deep cuts, and one had a throwing knife through his shoulder. In addition, MacLean had caught a wicked cut across the back of his hand from the dying efforts of a pirate Longway spitted. The others were unharmed. The Haven detachment had been always on the attack and the pirates had little chance of closing with them, nor were their weapons heavy enough to do much damage through chain mail unless given more time than Hal had allowed them.
There were thirty-four bodies on the sand between the two boats. Some wriggled feebly. Most lay well away from Subao, cut down in flight by Hal’s men or the cavalry in pursuit.
“It’s always like that,” he explained to Longway and MacLean as he climbed back on board. “I’ve never seen a battle where at the decisive moment the loser didn’t have enough strength to turn the table. Once they lose the will to fight, they’re finished. More men are killed in pursuit than battle every time.”
“But it seemed so easy!” Mary Graham said.
MacKinnie turned, surprised to see her on deck. “I told you to stay below,” he muttered. “As to easy, it wouldn’t have been if they’d caught us on our decks. If they’d swarmed aboard with our troops not in formation and no room to maneuver, they’d have won. They were fools to fight on our terms. What can you serve my men for lunch, freelady?”
She swallowed hard before she replied. “Will they come back?” she asked. “It will take time to prepare.”
“I doubt they’ve the stomach for it.” He turned to Loholo. “Will they try to attack again after we’re afloat?”
“Loholo shook his head. “We’ll both have enough trouble staying off that shore, Trader. There won’t be much time for fighting when the water wall comes.”
MacKinnie noted that while they had been fighting, the officers had broken out one of the ship’s anchors.
MacLean had it carried out and laid in the sand on the seaward side of Subao. “We’ll need that,” he explained. “Without it, the ship might be washed ashore when the tide returns. This ought to hold us until we can sail off.”
“Will the pirates have one out?” MacKinnie asked.
“If they have any sense.”
“I see. That gives me an idea. I’ll have to speak to Brett.”
There was no further action, but Nathan kept his crew in ranks on the sand. They ate in place. An hour before the tide was due in, Vanjynk’s horse was swayed aboard, and the rest of the crew then took their places behind the ship, leaving only Brett and his mount on the sand behind the ship. A few pirates approached to within a hundred yards, but the sight of Brett thundering around the side of the ship toward them put them to flight, and Brett returned to his post as Vanjynk fumed in the waist.
“We’ll have need of you, Vanjynk,” MacKinnie said. “You stand by to carry out your orders.” They waited.
“I see it!” Loholo shouted from the masthead. “The tide’s coming.”
MacKinnie waved to Brett. “Now.” he ordered.
The mounted rider galloped toward the enemy ship. He stayed well out of arrow range, going around until he found the anchor the pirates had laid out beyond their boat. He cut the anchor cable with a quick slash of his sword, then rode furiously back toward Subao. His armor and that of his mount had earlier been put aboard, and as Brett reached the ship, Vanjynk was ready with a belly sling. Rider and animal alike were swayed aboard, as the thunder of approaching water grew louder.
MacKinnie climbed partway up the shrouds and stared seaward. He saw a dark line not more than a kilometer away, and as he watched it advanced at incredible speed, a wall of water three meters in height boiling furiously toward them. The pirates screamed, one standing in the stern of his ship and shaking his fist at Subao. There was nothing they could do; by the time they could reach
Subao’scable, the wall of water would be on them, and it appeared that no pirate was willing to give his life to make trouble for MacKinnie. Their ship was carried relentlessly towards the rocks as MacLean gave the order to raise sail and prepare Subao for her long voyage.
PART TWO
LOYALTIES
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE HUNTING LODGE
Twelve light-years from Makassar Malcolm Dougal cursed as he followed a winding road uphill through thick forests. The forest had been a game preserve for all the centuries since the Secession Wars had devastated Prince Samual’s World, but Dougal ignored its loveliness, as he ignored the bird songs and the calls of the corkborers.
He did not know that the trees themselves had been imported from Earth. If he had, he would have cursed them, as he cursed everything of Earth.
He wore plain kilts. His round face, always rabbit-like in appearance, was screwed into a grimace that made him look less harmless than he usually did, but still few would have guessed his occupation. He considered his appearance an asset; as he sometimes said in rare moments when he could relax with his friends, what should a secret policeman look like?
A corkborer fluttered past, and Dougal actually lashed out at it, although he usually enjoyed the antics of the small flying mammals. Others darted near in curiosity, but Dougal took no notice. As he neared the lodge he muttered more curses.
Twenty years, he thought to himself. No. Be fair. More like fifty. Damn the Empire of Man! Where was the Empire when we needed help? When we were trying to
rebuild a civilization out of radioactive ash and ruined cities? And now, with our own spaceships not more than fifty years away, the Empire has come — and they won’t give us fifty years. They won’t give us any time at all.
They’ve come, and I must meet the king in secrecy in this lonely place …
It disturbed Dougal’s sense of majesty. Instead of walking up this wooded hill to a lonely log cabin, he should be approaching his sovereign across a purple carpet, or meeting him privately in the working office behind the Audience Chamber. Now those rooms could not be trusted. Nothing could be trusted. The Empire had ears everywhere.
They’ll not learn this secret!
But they might. Fear warps us all, he thought. And so I meet King David out here, and not even the royal guardsmen know where His Majesty has gone.
The king’s instructions were explicit: Dougal was to tell no one of this meeting, and His Majesty would be alone. No one, not even the guardsmen, were to know the meeting had taken place. Only two men in the universe were to know that Dougal and King David were meeting here.
More did, of course. Malcolm had provided men to cover the hunting lodge. But they were reliable men, absolutely reliable, men who could be trusted to—
“Halt!” Two men stood in the deep alcove of the lodge doorway. Dougal recognized them as guards officers out of uniform. They carried both pistols and rifles, and they stood alertly. One eyed Dougal coldly, then nodded. “Pass, my lord.”
But — why? Dougal wondered. As he entered the lodge he had an even greater shock, for the king was not alone under the high-beamed ceiling.
“Our greetings, my lord,” David said formally. “We trust you are well.”
“Thank you, yes, Sire.” Dougal bowed to the king, then to the other man.
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