“Who are these enemies that you speak of?”
“Pirates more than likely,” said Greghar, though his own suspicions lay elsewhere.
The captain nodded.
“Yes, half the fishermen of East Brosia moonlight as pirates.” He beckoned a seaman and sent him to request his officers to gather in his cabin below. “We will do as you suggest. I’d rather be armed and ready than surprised and taken.”
The captain and crew of the Southern Belle were veterans of many sea actions. The ship was readied for battle, but nothing was apparent to watchers on the Darling Thoma. They reduced sail as they closed, and slowed till their bow wave was no more than a ripple. Greghar peered intently as they approached, looking in vain for anyone he recognized. There were several men clustered around the helmsman and he recognized several items of clothing, but not the wearers.
“Ask for Captain Martius,” whispered Greghar to the captain of the Southern Belle, who nodded and turned the suggestion into an order.
The Southern Belle’s officer of the watch used a voice trumpet when they were within hailing distance.
“Ahoy, the Darling Thoma!” he cried. “Our master wishes to speak with Captain Martius.”
“He is not with us on this voyage,” came the response.
This lie was enough for the captain and he committed the Southern Belle to battle.
“Hard a-port!” he roared. “Fire away from the tops! Boarding party to the rails!”
The prize crew on the Darling Thoma attempted to steer away, but the Southern Belle had a full crew and moved much more adroitly through the water. Crossbow bolts flew through the air from the tops, claiming victims on the Darling Thoma. Then the men of the Southern Belle saw a black-hulled carrack emerge from the fogbank, a death’s head flag breaking out from her masthead. The sight of the enemy ship spurred them on and even before the hulls ground against each other, the Southern Belle’s boarding party vaulted over the rails of the Darling Thoma.
Greghar was over first with Karya in his hand. As their adversaries met them, he noted the death’s head of the Skull Watch on their collars. He fought with speed and ferocity, hacking his way through the ranks that met them. The outnumbered prize crew was quickly overwhelmed, but several darted down below.
“Take charge of the Darling Thoma,” Greghar shouted to the officer of the watch who had led the boarding party. “Set the sails and gather way. Put that black ship between the Southern Belle and us. We’ll see how they like being caught between a hammer and an anvil.”
With that he threw himself down the companionway into the bowels of the ship. His intimate knowledge of the Darling Thoma served him well. He rapidly overhauled two Skull Watchmen who were blundering through the dim and unfamiliar interior below decks. Without a word, he ran one through the back. As the one fell, the other turned and drew a wicked-looking greatsword from a back scabbard. Even in the dark, Greghar recognized Guttanar.
“I know you,” rasped the Skull Watch captain. “You are the filthy mercenary we saw in Grenhall. I should have killed you then. But no matter—I will kill you now.”
Guttanar was a good swordsman, but he was no match for Greghar. And Karya was much better suited to the confined space below deck than Guttanar’s ponderous greatsword. Greghar quickly outmaneuvered him, forced him back against a bulkhead and disarmed him. He put Karya’s tip to Guttanar’s throat.
“Turn around,” he said. Guttanar reluctantly complied and Greghar bound his wrists. “Lead me to the Darling Thoma’s crew.”
Guttanar did not respond.
Greghar pushed Karya’s tip through Guttanar’s leather vest till he pricked his skin.
“I can cut off choice pieces of you, Guttanar,” he said in a low tone.
Guttanar shrugged, but led the way to for’ard lockers. The hatches were secured with heavy ropes. Greghar sliced them with Karya’s blade and swung them open. The survivors of the Darling Thoma poured out.
“Collect arms and go above,” Greghar shouted to them. “We have retaken the ship, the men on deck are our allies! Our enemies wear the death’s head on their collars.”
The crew streamed up the companionways, but they seemed strangely subdued in their freedom. Martius came out last, carrying Nitya. Her face was covered with dried blood, and her blouse was stained dark red.
“Is she—” Greghar’s voice was strained.
“She is alive,” said Martius. ‘But no thanks to these brutes.” He indicated Guttanar with an angry movement of his head. “They beat her mercilessly. And if you had not come when you did, this monster planned to torture her.”
“I must see to the battle and make sure we are safe—” began Greghar.
“I will care of her ladyship in the captain’s cabin,” said Tar. The big, black form of the cook materialized at Greghar’s elbow. “You do what needs to be done to see off these vermin.”
BY THE TIME Greghar came on deck, the black Skull Watch carrack was beating a hasty retreat back into the fogbank. Black Sprite was spelled out on her stern in big brass letters. The Southern Belle stayed on her course parallel to the Darling Thoma till the Utrean ship disappeared from sight. Then she hove to and Martius brought the caravel to within a cable length of her before doing the same. Greghar had conferred with Martius and now took up a voice trumpet.
“We have freed the Darling Thoma’s crew,” he called. “They have lost some men, but there are more than enough to sail her. We will retain your boarding party in case the pirates return, and return them to you in Tirut.”
There was no immediate response from the Southern Belle. They could see Kitara speaking to her captain, resplendent in her bright gown and shawl. At length, they saw the captain conclude his conversation with Kitara and pick up a voice trumpet.
“Chevalina Kitara requests Lord Greghar to return to the Southern Belle,” he called.
“My best compliments to Chevalina Kitara,” called back Greghar. “But my ward, Miss Nitya, has been grievously injured. I must see to her. I will wait on the chevalina on our arrival in Tirut.”
They saw Kitara and the captain confer again. Eventually, the captain threw them a salute, Kitara waved one of the ends of her bright shawl, and the two ships made sail. The larger and faster Southern Belle quickly forged ahead and soon left them far astern. The Darling Thoma’s crew had other concerns than hastening to Tirut. All of the seamen that were not directly needed topside were clustered outside the captain’s cabin, talking in low voices. Tar opened the cabin door just as Greghar came down the companionway. They parted to allow him through and he caught snatches of their conversations. “The bravest lady I’ve ever seen…unarmed, she faced down the brutes…couldn’t squeeze the information they wanted out of her…kept getting up each time they knocked her down…when he cut her with the dagger, I swore by the One God…she’s the pride of the Darling Thoma, our Lady Nitya…”
“How is she?” Greghar asked.
“She is awake and asks for you, my lord,” replied Tar.
This brought sighs of relief from the worried crewmen as Greghar went into the cabin. Nitya was in a hammock. Tar had lovingly propped her up on pillows and dressed her wounds. He had cleaned up her nosebleed and dressed the cuts on her neck and the bruises on her temples with mustar oil. She looked pale and tired, but calm.
“I am pleased to see you have come through the battle well and unhurt,” she said before he could speak.
“Nitya, I…I am so very sorry,” he said, all his prepared speeches forgotten. His obvious distress rekindled her love for him. She took his hand and his look of gratitude extinguished the last of her anger.
“We are together again,” she said, smiling. “You saved my virtue and probably my life.”
“You have saved me time and again,” he said. “Why did you not incinerate the swine?”
“I have sinned enough,” she said, gentling her tone to take out the sting. “I did as you once advised me and thought of my father.”
�
�What did they want?”
“What do you think? They are Shobar’s men. They wanted me to bring Vasitha to them.”
“What can they do to him? He is immortal.”
“Immortality is not just a negation of mortality,” she said vaguely.
She was tiring, so Greghar did not press the point. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead.
“Rest,” he said, rising. “The fates have put that vicious thug Guttanar in my hands.”
GUTTANAR AND THREE other surviving Skull Watchmen from the prize crew were on the waist of the Darling Thoma, arms trussed behind their backs. They were hemmed in by every off duty seaman, all muttering dangerously. Two officers held them in check or else they would have torn the Skull Watchmen limb from limb.
As Martius and Greghar came up and they parted to let them through. The captain raised his hand and the crew subsided into silence.
“You have attacked and taken my ship,” he said. “And we are not at war. That makes you pirates. By the laws of the sea, it is my right to string you all up from the yardarm. And normally I would have done just that.”
He paused and the hands began remonstrating.
“That’s too good for them, sir!”
“Give them to us, we’ll know what to do!”
“We’ll give them what they gave Lady Nitya!”
The captain let them go on for a while, relishing the fear in the eyes of the Skull Watchmen. Only Guttanar stood with his chin jutting out, as if daring them to do their worst.
“You see how lucky you are that I do not give you to my men,” said Martius at length. “By I agree with them, hanging is too good for you. So I’m going to keelhaul you first. Once you are well pickled in brine, I’ll hang you.”
“You may do what you like with three of these men,” said Greghar as soon as Martius finished. “But I have a score to settle with that one.” He pointed to Guttanar.
“It is your victory,” said Martius, with a slight bow. “He is yours.”
Greghar came forward till he was just a pace from Guttanar. The Skull Watch captain was broader, but Greghar stood a good half a head taller.
“You like beating women don’t you, Guttanar? In Grenhall, you needed to bind your victim before you beat her. Now you have savaged and cut young Nitya, a mere slip of a girl. Such courage!” He paused and looked around at the seamen who were muttering angrily again.
“Well, I don’t need you bound. I will give you the opportunity to defend yourself.” He drew Karya, and with two perfect cuts, sliced Guttanar’s bonds. The Skull Watch captain swung his arms to get the circulation going again.
“Bare hands against your sword,” he said. “I will fight you even so.”
Greghar sheathed his sword, unbuckled his sword belt, and threw it to Martius. He closed on Guttanar without another word. The hands rapidly formed a tight circle around them.
“No on touches him but me,” Greghar called out.
Guttanar looked arrogant as he put up his hands and took his guard.
“Your men will doubtless kill me in the end, but it will be a pleasure to thrash you,” said Guttanar.
He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when Greghar’s foot lashed out. The steel toe of his boot struck Guttanar in the crotch. As he doubled over, Greghar hit the back of his head with double-handed hammer blow. Guttanar fell to the deck. Greghar picked him up by the collar of his leather vest and hit him as hard as he could in the face. Fierce satisfaction flowed through him as he felt bones in Guttanar’s face break under his fist. He released him and Guttanar collapsed again on the deck. Greghar now straddled his chest and began to pound his head and face, urged on by the seamen, who loudly began counting his blows.
“Stop! Stop immediately!” The commands were so sharp that Greghar instinctively ceased and looked around. Nitya leaned on Tar, and she was livid.
“Are you as much a brute as him?” she demanded. “I thought that we were civilized folk, that we were better than them. But it seems that there is nothing to choose between us—that the only difference is who is stronger on the day.”
She scanned the seamen.
“And look at all of you, urging him on,” she cried. “You are like brothers, like fathers to me. But now you make me ashamed.”
The men shrank back before her rage and formed a wide semicircle. They hung their heads and would not meet her eyes. At length, Martius came up to her.
“What would you have us do, Miss Nitya?” he asked.
“Surely you can spare an open boat,” she said. “I will buy you a replacement in Tirut. Let us give them some provisions and oars and set them adrift.”
Guttanar was unconscious, but the other three Skull Watchmen looked at Nitya eagerly, their eyes lighting up with hope.
“I don’t know, Miss Nitya,” said Martius, scratching his beard. “By the laws of the sea they have committed piracy and should be hung.”
“You are captain,” replied Nitya. “The law on the Darling Thoma is your word. Remember, most of those that boarded us are dead already.”
“What say you, Greghar?” asked Martius.
Greghar got to his feet, leaving the motionless Guttanar lying on the deck.
“If Nitya wishes them freed,” he said. “I have no objection.”
Nitya insisted on remaining on deck till the four Skull Watchmen were lowered to sea in an open boat. Guttanar had still not regained consciousness and was lowered into the boat in a harness. Only then did she consent to Tar helping her down to the captain’s cabin again. Greghar followed them down. When Tar withdrew, Nitya finally sank back into the pillows and showed her fatigue.
“You push yourself too hard,” said Greghar. “I don’t know how you can endure so much physical abuse.”
“I am a Yengar. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
She took his hands in hers. They were raw and his knuckles were split from beating Guttanar. He looked at her bruises and cuts and sighed.
“You should have let me beat Guttanar to death,” he said. “I swore to myself that I would get him for what he did to Princess Caitlin. And now to you.”
“Hatred and anger are corrosive,” she said, beginning to feel light-headed. “They damage you, not their object. My father always said that the most powerful are those who can master their emotions, not those who are slaves to them.”
“So you let Guttanar and his thugs beat you. And now they are laughing at us.”
“I knew you would rescue me,” she said, yawning. “And I don’t think they will be laughing for long. The Chekaligas are on the warpath and they control this coast.”
She fell asleep before he could respond.
EIGHT
THE ROAD TO TIRUT
MEGARA TRIED INCESSANTLY to open comm channels to Asgara but found herself mysteriously sidetracked much of the time. She suspected that Andromache was putting obstacles in her way, but she had no proof. Eventually, she grew frustrated enough to apply for a permit for Asgara and Iantha to visit her on holiday. When Megara managed to reach Asgara and convey this information, it sent her into a fever of happiness and anticipation. She knew these things took time, but she still could not control her impatience. She secretly hoped to be on her way to see Megara within a day or two.
A week passed without any change. She tried to get one of the caregivers to open a comm channel to Megara for her, but they always seemed to find excuses not to do so. She wondered why Megara did not open a channel to her and began to worry that something had happened to her. Maybe she is sick or injured, she thought. She scolded herself for thinking such things, superstitiously uneasy that her thoughts might bring them to pass.
When ten days had gone by, she could not bear to wait any longer. She waited up till Andromache came home and tiptoed to her great study. It was late and past her bedtime, so Andromache looked surprised when she saw her. However, she smiled a welcome.
“I’m so happy to see you, my dear,” she said, tapping closed the hologram she
was working on. She stood up. “What is keeping you up? Did you have a bad dream? Come, I’ll tuck you in. Perhaps we can cuddle together for a while.”
“I am worried about my mother,” said Asgara as Andromache took her hand and began walking back to the nursery of Palace Saxe. “She said she would apply for a holiday permit for Iantha and me to visit her. That was over a week ago, and I have heard nothing since then.”
“Oh that,” she said, stroking Asgara’s curls. “Yes, she applied. It was turned down, and her appeal was turned down as well. The huntresses don’t appreciate how important it is to keep our children away from danger.”
They reached the nursery. Andromache tucked her in and lay down on the bed beside her.
“What danger is there?” asked Asgara. “We were taught that Daksin has been peaceful for over a century. What harm could come of our visiting our mother for a couple of weeks?”
“Things have changed, darling,” said Andromache. “There is unrest down there now. That is why several of our best military personnel—officers like Seignora Megara—are down there. But Seignora Megara is young and impulsive. Blinded by her own desires, she would expose you to risk. I am pleased that it has all turned out for the best and you will be remain safe and sound in Atlantic City.”
“How do you know all about my mother’s application?”
“I am your local guardian, sweetheart.”
“I see,” said Asgara. She smiled at Andromache and closed her eyes. Andromache lay with her for a few more minutes, until she thought she had fallen asleep. Then she got up and went back to work in her study.
Asgara cracked her eyelids open just a fraction to watch her leave. She waited patiently for over half an hour. Then she silently rose from the bed, dressed herself and packed methodically. She cinched the shoulder straps to make sure her pack was comfortably on her back. She opened her viewport and climbed out. The nursery was on the ground floor, so she was able to drop into the garden without difficulty. She walked around the palace, keeping in the shadows. She knew where the security cams were, so she was able to avoid them.
The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2) Page 19