The Shattered Crown (The Legends of Ansu Book 2)

by J. W. Webb

  She needs me…

  Corin glanced up wild-eyed as Roman and the Queen landed beside him, followed by a crashing, arm-swinging, and sweating Galed. Last to arrive was Bleyne, cool and casual as though he were off on an afternoon stroll. Arrow on the nock, he sprang lithely onto the slippery roof.

  Close by and below, the sound of steel-shod feet resonated through the cobbled streets. Corin glanced at his companions: Ariane looked worried, Roman resolute, and Galed manic. Bleyne looked like Bleyne.

  “Ready?” Corin asked. They nodded. At Corin’s signal he and Roman dropped silently to the dusky floor of the street below. They waited for a minute and then signaled up to the others. Bleyne remained perched on the roof, scanning all approaches.

  Still maintaining his new-found calm, Corin studied the town with professional precision. Kashorn appeared much like Finnehalle, though starker, the grey cold stone awarding little cheer.

  Beyond the low thatched roofs stood the stone harbor, larger and squarer in shape than that of his town, no doubt built for defense against the winter swells. Ariane had her slim rapier clutched in her right hand. To her left Roman crouched wary, whilst just behind them Galed pawed nervously at the handle of his axe.

  Kashorn seemed an uninspiring place, cold and comfortless as the dark cliffs looming above it. The spray-washed streets were empty, excluding the odd dog that nosed at discarded waste.

  It was evident the town’s folk had shut themselves inside, sensing trouble. That ploy wouldn’t work with Crenise pirates. They would be dragged out and gutted, all save the comeliest women, who would service the crew on the long voyage back.

  Occasionally Corin glimpsed movement from within a house and caught the wary eye of a frightened villager. He did not blame them. What else could they do? There was nowhere to run, and soon blood would be spilt on these streets.

  Bleyne joined them. “They’re in the next street,” he whispered, pointing to their left. “Best we lose ourselves in this labyrinth before they are on us.” The archer oozed cheerfulness. Galed shook his head in disbelief. Corin and Roman were bad enough. Bleyne was something else entirely.

  I’m glad you’re on our side, though…

  Galed launched a practice swing with his wood axe, narrowly missing Roman’s left ear. Ariane glanced his way, her face flushed with anticipation. Galed felt for her then. It helped him to be brave. He tried another swing, stronger and better this time. Ariane smiled, and Galed was filled with pride for the woman he loved.

  Corin turned and stared at his friends. “All right, let’s do it,” he said.

  Into the dusk-gloomy streets of Kashorn they ran, flitting in and out between the buildings. Corin stooped, waving them back. He slipped a throwing knife under his sleeve, then led the way again. The sound of running feet was very close, but the street in front was empty.

  “Hold together!” Roman growled. They regrouped at the corner of a fishing hut. Beyond that, barely a hundred yards away, loomed the harbor’s arm, twelve paces broad and ninety feet in length. Here a tense knot of Hagan’s men waited with swords and spears ready to intercept the brigantine drawing alongside.

  The Starlight Wanderer’s sails billowed in the stiffening blow. Her crewmen yelled curses, cast lines, and leapt ashore. Within moments, noisy shouts and the sound of clashing steel resounded through the streets. Above that, rose a booming voice that could only be Barin of Valkador.

  “Now is our chance!” urged Corin, only just keeping a lid on his rage as the sound of fighting stirred his blood. “A brave dash and we’ll make it to the ship! Come on!”

  “Let’s hope this Barin character stays alive long enough to sail it,” grumbled Galed as he took the rear again.

  “Chin up, Galed,” said Roman. “You’ve never seen a northman fight!”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Corin led the way, sprinting through the streets toward the harbor. It wasn’t far. The four followed hard on his heels. Bleyne pushed Galed forward and half turned, so his bow could cover them from any pursuit sure to follow.

  They reached the last street, hurdling scattered nets and flotsam. Rats scurried out from under feet. Behind, someone shouted. Corin stole a glance back. Armed men had entered the street and were giving angry chase. Bleyne’s arrow took the foremost in the throat, but the rest closed the gap.

  “Keep running!” Corin yelled, “Let Bleyne deal with those bastards!” They urged their legs on, nearing the end of the street, heedless of the shouting behind and the sound of clashing steel ahead. Then something hissed and thudded. A crossbow bolt. It whooshed over Galed’s head, embedding itself in the oak timber of a post, with a quivering thud.

  “Fuck,” said Roman. “That was close.”

  “Why me?” Galed grumbled. “I was never meant for this!”

  More bolts buzzed over their heads. Corin managed a wry grin. At least Hagan’s boys were crap shots. One quarrel passed clean through Roman’s cloak before embedding itself in a wall. He swore again but kept running.

  Close ahead, the crash and boom of breakers assaulted the harbor wall, accompanying the desperate sound of fighting.

  Nearly there! They reached the end of the street and paused for breath. “One last push!” Corin said. Ariane nodded while the Kelwynian men panted and puffed. The threat of Bleyne’s arrows kept Hagan’s boys lurking at safe distance.

  But then a tall figure blocked their passage. A swordsman, lean and long, garbed in black, silver-studded leather, face scarred and eyes cold grey. Other men strode out casually from behind the last house on their right, led by a huge, ugly brute sporting a kettle helmet.

  A boy followed. Corin recognized Cale. He looked scrawny and unwashed, and his ginger mane was a twiggy matted mess—so no change there. The boy stood gawping at the Queen as if he’d never seen a woman before.

  The grey-eyed leader was smiling broadly. Corin knew how rarely Hagan smiled. His old comrade/adversary appeared in good shape. The captain’s tunic and gauntlets looked expensive, trimmed as they were with those silver studs, as was the scabbard that carried his heavy blade.

  Hagan appraised them calmly, coolly eyeing each in turn. His smile widened when he saw the Queen. Lastly he looked at Corin and fondly patted the shaggy head of the boy at his side.

  “Well done, shithead,” Hagan told the boy, and Cale beamed scarlet. Compliments were rare from the captain—though he’d prefer being addressed by his correct title now and then. “So,” continued Hagan, “the wayfaring Corin an Fol has returned north after long in the sun. How strange we should meet again in chilly Kashorn, of all places.”

  Corin didn’t respond, just spat in Hagan’s direction.

  Cale felt nervous. He’d been hoping one of the lads would skewer Corin an Fol with a crossbow. He hadn’t planned on meeting this evil bugger again. It was hard enough keeping Borgil at bay. He locked eyes with Corin and winced as a wet fart won free from between his buttocks.

  Those steely eyes clocked him briefly before turning to Captain Hagan. There was fusion in the air, the atmosphere tense as midnight murder. Cale couldn’t guess this one. He shuddered, turned away, and gaped at the woman again.

  Not a woman, a Queen, though she was probably both really. He couldn’t stop looking at her, but she scant noticed Cale’s affectionate attentions. Her dark eyes were locked on Hagan and Corin. The big bugger beside her caught the boy’s eye and growled. Cale stuck his tongue out and farted again.

  Up yours…

  Cale resumed his inspection of the Queen. She was small and dark and very pretty, in Cale’s expert opinion. Brave too. Cale noticed how she gripped her expensive sword with angry confidence, noted how her elegant royal hand hardly shook, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the hilt.

  Behind her loomed Borgil. He ratcheted another bolt and leveled his crossbow. The kettle helmet hid all save his bloodshot eyes and crooked, grinning toothless mouth.

  Cale didn’t like Borgil very much. The man was a weirdo with a
humor transplant and stale lingering aroma. Kettle-head was bad enough before, but since his escape from the forest and harsh berating from the captain for losing three good men (with Cale’s humorous input as salt in the wound), Borgil had been oozing vengeful menace at every given opportunity.

  And he hated everybody, did Borgil. But he hated Cale more than anyone else. Big Ugly was jealous of the new affection Hagan had for the boy. Cale ignored Borgil, kept his gaze on the Queen and commenced reconsidering his options.

  He liked Captain Hagan and respected him. But if he got in with her royal gorgeousness and won her favor (which of course he would, what with his winning charm and good looks, panache, and so forth), who knew what he could aspire to? She might make him an earl or something important. Cale rather fancied becoming an earl. He decided to watch and wait, review the situation as events unfolded. He wouldn’t have to wait long.

  Hagan grinned as he ruffled the boy’s ginger mane. Corin had recognized the lad at once, though he was baffled by how the guttersnipe had mingled successfully into such a renowned bunch of freebooters. A survivor, this boy.

  “So here we are, Hagan.” Corin readied Clouter. Roman and Ariane marked Hagan’s men, whilst Bleyne put Borgil in his sights and kept an eye on the others still lurking down the street. Close by, the sound of fighting intensified. Barin roared like a bear beset by wolves.

  “It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Hagan ignored the din. He stroked the boy’s hair as if Cale were a cat. “Strange how fate brings the Scourge of Permio to this remote corner of Kelthaine? And in such a hasty hurry, too?” Hagan shook his head in mock concern, then gave a small sardonic bow to Ariane. She rewarded this with contempt.

  “Your Highness,” Hagan continued, his cold grey gaze never leaving Corin. “I beg your indulgence. I was forgetting my manners. But Corin and I are old friends.” Hagan dusted his shoulder with sudden irritation. “Perhaps acquaintance is a better term.”

  Corin counted the men filing their captain. There were seven. Five waited behind, two carrying crossbows. It would be close.

  “You appear unchanged since I last saw you in Cappel Cormac,” Corin said. “But you surprise me, Hagan. I didn’t think that even you would stoop to this level. Who pays you, Caswallon or Rael Hakkenon of Crenna?”

  “Actually, on this occasion, both. I am most fortunate.” Hagan grinned. He was relishing this reunion. He signaled to his men to relax their guard. No need to rush now they had their quarry cornered.

  Beyond the street, new shouts were added to the sound of fighting. Hagan’s men on the quay whooped in delight as the Crenise warships bore down on Barin’s ship. It would all be over soon.

  “You know me, Corin, I serve the best payers,” Hagan continued with a shrug. “It’s nothing personal. You of all people will understand that. I wonder, is her Highness aware of what a total bastard you actually are?” Hagan winked at Ariane, who glared back. “You, pretty lady will make me a rich man.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Hagan feigned shock. “My goodness, Queen, wherever did you learn such language?” Beside him, the boy Cale looked even more impressed.

  A swearing Queen. Awesome!

  Hagan shrugged, feigning disappointment. “Time presses, however. Perhaps you would care accompany me to the harbor, my pretty one. My lads and the Assassin’s boys hopelessly outnumber your Northman friend and his band of tossers.

  “Now then, my patience wanes,” said Hagan, still pinning Corin with his eyes whilst the other glared back in silence. “If you would be so kind, those Crenise warships await us.”

  “You streak of Morwellan shite!” spat Roman, no longer able to contain his rage. His sword arced toward Hagan in a blur of steel. “I’ll slice you down the middle!”

  “Wait, Roman!” shouted Corin.

  Hagan leapt backwards, signaling to his crossbowman to fire. One raised his weapon, then screamed in agony as a raven, appearing from nowhere, tore hungrily at his face, plucking out first one eye then the other. The man fell screaming and rolling, the raven a blood-soaked blackness raking his ruined face.

  Borgil fired, but Bleyne’s arrow pierced his arm and his shot went wild. He fell back, clutching at the grey-fletched shaft protruding from his bicep. The man by his side spun round in alarm, then gurgled as Bleyne’s next arrow ripped into his throat.

  The raven had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving its weeping victim fruitlessly trying to staunch the scarlet drops spilling from his sightless sockets. Hagan’s men were frightened, and the boy Cale pale as a sheet with a bad need to void his bowels.

  No one liked sorcery, and that had been no natural bird. Something untoward was at work here. They hesitated, uncomfortable and at odds with how best to proceed.

  Corin and Roman seized their moment. With a whirl of steel they bore down on the mercenaries, killing three. The Queen skewered a fourth, while Bleyne put paid to the final pair. The three left standing behind in the street hung well back, waiting their chance, but Bleyne arced high: his arrows found them one by one.

  Only Hagan and the boy remained. Cale grinned lovingly at the Queen. He tore loose from the captain’s grip and bolted down the quay before anyone could react.

  Hagan shrugged. “Such loyalty.” He calmly stepped out of reach of their blades. “This is foolishness,” Hagan said. “Come Queen!” he ignored the others with distain.

  Panther swift, Hagan reached for her, only to be confronted by her leveled blade. He raised an approving brow and stepped back again. “A swearing and fighting Queen—gosh! Fancy a quick one before we board, My Lady? You rather excite me.”

  “Fuck off!” Ariane hissed. “I’ll not have my plans foiled by the likes of you!” She thrust her sword hard toward Hagan’s throat, forcing him off balance. He recovered his step and lopsided grin simultaneously.

  “How I envy Caswallon. Your resistance is hopeless though. I—”

  “Oh shut up,” Corin, having seized the initiative by slipping behind Hagan whilst the other regained his balance, rammed his shoulder hard into Hagan’s exposed back, throwing the captain off balance. “Run for that ship, Ariane, before it’s too late!” he yelled. “I’ll deal with this bastard.”

  Hagan rolled, regaining his posture with catlike ease. His heavy sword blurred toward Corin’s throat. It was Corin’s turn to retreat and wait his chance. Corin was wary. Hagan was cunning fast with a sword.

  They circled tentatively, testing each other, probing, seeking an opening. Both were canny veterans with their steel. Corin thrust out with Clouter but was blocked by Hagan’s parry, and then the mercenary captain let fly a dazzling riposte that Corin barely stopped.

  He lunged again, a difficult thing to do with so big a blade, forcing Hagan back. Corin was dimly aware that the others hadn’t moved yet when a voice he knew interrupted his fight.

  “Valkador!” came the shout. Barin had joined them. “Hurry behind me! We are beset on all sides.”

  Hagan jumped back, eyed the huge axeman in alarm. “I think I’ll depart for the nonce,” he told them. “I’m sure we can finish this some other time.” Hagan ducked under Bleyne’s questing arrow and vanished down a side alley before anyone could move.

  “Bastard!” Ariane spat at his departing shadow. “I wanted to see you gut him, Corin.” Corin was about to give chase.

  “Let him go!” shouted Barin, his huge fist grabbing Corin’s shoulder and forcing him back. “That rude fellow can wait. We must board my vessel while it still frigging floats! Come on!”

  At Barin’s words they raced into the harbor. The first of the Crenise fighting ships had closed with The Starlight Wanderer. Sinewy raiders massed on deck, seeking to clamber on board Barin’s brig. His crew fought them off with fury, but they were heavily outnumbered.

  The skinny Fassof was yelling at Barin to hurry. He had his knife held ready, waiting to sever the bowline. More of the crew were battling Hagan’s mercenaries on the quay. Soon they would be surrounded and trapped.


  With a bear-angry roar, Barin was on them, wielding his horribly huge axe like a windmill sail caught in a gale. Heads flew in all directions. Sundered limbs splattered the sea-washed stone with gore and gristle.

  Barin’s face was a mask of rage. None could withstand him. The others followed in his wake. Corin and Roman slew with precision. Bleyne had shouldered his bow and now favored a long knife. The Queen’s rapier was dripping scarlet, and Galed screamed as he stuck a pirate between the eyes with his axe.

  The last of Hagan’s men rushed to confront them, fury written on their faces. Barin swept them aside like harmless bugs in a bloody whirl of furious steel.

  They reached the vessel! Barin hurled himself aboard. Growling profanities, he set about swatting pirates who had dared leap onto his deck. Corin and the Queen followed close behind, whilst Roman pushed Galed onboard and dispatched a final mercenary in the throat with a backwards sweep of his broadsword.

  Last came Bleyne, bow in hand again. He’d recovered most of his arrows, and these he loosed at the screaming pirates leaping down onto the blood-soaked deck.

  Fassof cut the bowline.

  The brigantine lurched free of her mooring. Barin wrenched the wheel from a pirate, butted the man’s face, snapping his neck like a rotten branch, and then pitched him headfirst overboard to float like a discarded rag doll. The brig’s stern crushed two others as she scraped along the quay, their screams lost in the waves.

  A score remained on deck, but their clumsy cutlasses and belaying pins were no match for the heavy swords of Roman and Corin an Fol, let alone Barin’s terrible axe.

  Within minutes they were all dead, tossed overboard for shark bait. The pirate ships cast off in keen pursuit, leaving Hagan’s few surviving men (including Borgil, now with right horn missing from the crest of his kettle helm) jeering and lewdly gesticulating from the safety of the quayside.

  But the chase was on!

  Barin worked the wheel. “Get a grip on those oars, and reef the sails!” he shouted. “Let’s win free of this harbor, lads!” As one, his men sped to carry out his orders. Barin’s blue eyes scanned the deck. They narrowed when he noticed Roman leaning out over the gunwale.