by Martin Owton
“Be worth taking a few crossbows then,” said Gerom. “What's a Darien accent sound like? Can't say I've ever heard one.”
“I've no idea, but we're going to find out. Good idea about the crossbowmen, Gerom. His Lordship commands me take these men alive if at all possible, and there is no sense in crossing swords with a bladesman if we don't have to. I'll take twenty men, that should be enough.”
“The Ferryboat Inn is on the east bank, isn't it sir?”
“Yes, it is. Therefore we must conduct ourselves discreetly.”
***
“Alas. Truly the gods have deserted us.”
Earl Baldwin drained the wine jug of its contents and hurled it across the hall of Castle Nandor to shatter against the wall. Lord Hercival's courier had just left and the four Nandoran guardsmen who had journeyed with him from Sarazan stood around embarrassed by the Earl's reaction.
“What on earth is all the noise about?” Lady Alice appeared at the foot of the stairs that led to the upper floors of the castle. “What is happening, Baldwin? Is it Maldwyn?”
Seeing her husband's distress she hurried across the hall to him as fast as her long skirts would allow. Celaine appeared on the stairs and scurried down after her.
“Send for Thalon, muster the men,” declared Earl Baldwin. “We march on Sarazan.”
“Why? What has happened?” said Lady Alice.
“Our best hope is defeated. Sarazan hold Tancred for ransom of five hundred crowns. Nandor is ruined.”
“Slow down, Baldwin. Tell me what happened,” said Lady Alice as she reached her husband’s side.
He thrust the message scroll at her. “Read it and see for yourself.”
“What is it, mama?” asked Celaine.
Lady Alice quickly scanned the message. “Sarazan have Tancred.”
Celaine, her face set grim, spat out a short and unflattering description of her cousin. Lady Alice looked somewhat surprised at Celaine’s reaction, but said nothing.
“What are we to do, mama?” said Celaine.
“Summon every man and boy and ride on Sarazan,” cried Earl Baldwin. He stumbled over to the cabinet where the wine was kept. One of the guardsmen started to move then looked quizzically at Lady Alice.
“Don't be absurd! You will do no such thing,” Lady Alice said firmly. “But fetch Captain Thalon all the same if you please, Thomi.” The guardsman turned and headed for the door. The Countess stared at the three remaining men as if seeing them for the first time.
“You three were with the expedition; Kriss, isn't it? Tell me what happened.”
The guardsman called Kriss looked at the other two shamefacedly before he spoke.
“We was in a tavern in Sarazan.”
“Looking out for information and that,” interrupted one of his companions.
“We was with Lord Tancred, under his orders and all,” said the third.
“Go on,” said the Countess her voice tight with emotion.
“We got into a fight and the city watch came and took us. They didn't know who we was, so the magistrates set us to breaking rocks. But they must've found out 'cos the Duke's guardsmen come to the quarry and took us to the castle.” Kriss recounted the tale with his two comrades nodding assent. “They took Lord Tancred off and put us in a pit in the dungeon. Then they came and said we were going back to Nandor 'cos they had a message to go to Lord Baldwin, m'lady.”
“There were seven of you as I recall. Where are the other two, Davo and the Darien boy?” asked Earl Baldwin.
“I don't know, my Lord. Lord Tancred took against them and left them back at the lodgings when we went out into the town. The Darien boy said he'd found someone who'd sell us information, but Lord Tancred wouldn't give him the money.”
“So they're still in Sarazan?” said Lady Alice sharply.
“Suppose so, my Lady. The castle was in a right fuss when we left, but we didn't see them, did we lads?”
The other two murmured negatives in chorus.
“You sent for me, my Lord.” Captain Thalon entered the hall with Thomi a step behind him.
“Yes Thalon,” Earl Baldwin and Lady Alice spoke in unison and then stopped, waiting for the other to continue. Lady Alice was first to continue.
“Lord Tancred has been captured by Sarazan and they are demanding ransom for him. It seems that we have no other option than to plead our case before the High King and throw ourselves on his mercy. We shall need to leave as soon as possible. Please see to the arrangements.”
“And you really think that he will take our side and forget that Nandor stood against him?” said Earl Baldwin.
“Is this not the same king who spoke of healing and reconciliation and justice for all?” replied Lady Alice.
“And then filled his council with his friends?” said Earl Baldwin.
“Do you see another choice? One that does not bring ruin upon us?”
Earl Baldwin snorted in reply.
“Very good, my Lady,” said Thalon crisply. “Who will be going?”
“Why, we all shall. It is high time the girls were presented at court.” With that Lady Alice turned and swept across the hall towards the stairs followed by Celaine.
CHAPTER 19
Aron stood on the deck watching the countryside slip by as the flat-bottomed boat continued on its way. The river here was broad, and the steersman had to keep a lookout for other craft; mostly the coracles of the fisherfolk whose poor villages they passed every so often, but occasionally another trader passed by with shouts and a waving of signal flags. From this Aron gathered that there were no obstacles ahead of them.
“We should reach Erkan by sunset,” the captain said to Aron, his words plucked away by the sharp breeze. “We've a good wind and the weather looks set fair.”
He pointed towards the west; there was a distant line of dark cloud, but most of the sky was sprinkled with broken white cloud that the sun was trying to peer through.
Aron moved slowly towards the stern where Maldwyn and Davo sat. Aron was bored; Davo was playing dice with Maldwyn, trying to teach him some trick or other that Aron had no interest in. He reached for his pack and dug out his whetstone and did what he always did when he had time to pass, sharpened his knives.
After a while, Aron became aware that the air had grown colder. He looked up; on the eastern bank there was a long two storey building with a jetty beside it. On the other bank was a similar jetty with a ferryboat moored to it. Looking skyward, he saw dark clouds piled up blotting out the sun.
The captain followed Aron’s gaze and walked along the deck toward him.
“I don't like the look of that,” he said. “Don't feel right. The wind's telling me one thing and my eyes another. Gonna come right over us that lot.” He gestured with a grimy finger. “I think I'll shorten sail.”
He called out to the deckhand, who emerged from below deck and began to take down one of the sails.
“Good tavern that,” he again gestured with the grimy finger. “Good place to stop a night, the Ferryboat, reckon I'll call in there on the trip back.” He looked at the clouds again. “Them ain't natural, don't like it at all.”
He turned and made his way back to the steersman. Aron stood staring at the boiling clouds for a minute or two and then stepped over to where Davo and Maldwyn were still focused on their dice.
“Get your gear together. There's bad weather coming.”
Maldwyn looked up. “Time for one more game?” he said.
“No. Now,” said Aron firmly.
The first squall hit the boat within a minute, heeling it over where it teetered for agonising moments on the point of capsize before righting itself. The captain shouted for his crew to get the sails off the mast as he fought for control of the steering oar. The crewmen ran for the ropes holding the sails and loosed them so that the sails tumbled to the deck. The boat righted itself just before the next squall hit and, with the sails down, was buffeted but didn't come so clo
se to capsize. Aron, Davo and Maldwyn clung desperately to the rail as the wind beat at them and waves broke over the deck. The captain, having won his struggle for control, steered for the safety of the riverbank as more squalls battered at his craft, but the storm hadn't finished with them.
Davo looked up from where he clung towards the west; the wind swept his lank hair from his face and he shrieked in terror. Aron followed his gaze and felt a heart-stopping moment of intense fear. A dark pillar of whirling, raging water rose out of the surface of the river and climbed into the boiling clouds. Furious gusts of wind tore at the boat's rigging as the waterspout raced straight for them.
Aron reached for his pack and took a tight grip of it, wrapping the straps around his wrist, and waited for the impact.
“Get hold of your pack, Davo,” he yelled at the top of his voice over the roaring wind. “It'll keep you afloat.”
The ravening tower of water circled for a moment then dashed the final distance towards the boat. Aron, Davo and Maldwyn were flung through the air as the craft was plucked from the water and lifted skyward before it was spat out to crash back into the raging waters upside-down.
Aron surfaced surrounded by debris. He spat out a mouthful of bitter river water and struck out for a barrel that bobbed a few armslengths away. He grabbed it and pulled himself up to look around. There was no sign of the waterspout, the clouds no longer churned and the surface of the river was covered with gear from the ruined boat. Davo, splashing wildly, broke surface ten paces distant. Aron gathered the pack that was still attached to his wrist and swam over to him. He managed to disentangle himself from the little man before Davo drowned them both and got him to clutch a floating spar instead. Maldwyn was further away but was swimming noisily towards them.
Between the two of them, Maldwyn and Aron propelled Davo to shallow enough water so that they could wade to the bank. Aron dragged his pack to dry land and then removed his shirt. He checked that all his blades had survived the soaking and then he began to wring the water out of the shirt. Looking out across the river he saw the Captain and a crewman swimming for the far bank, and offered silent thanks that the decent man had been spared from drowning.
“What on earth was that?” gasped Maldwyn as he sat on the bank to recover from his ordeal.
“Nothing natural, I think,” said Aron. “It came straight for us and then disappeared as soon as it had run over us. That sounds like wizardry, powerful wizardry.”
“Sarazan?” asked Maldwyn.
“Who else?”
“How’d they find us?” gasped Davo, still breathless.
“You know Sarazan well enough to guess how long our sailing would have remained secret. And who knows what wizards can do?”
“So they'll be able to find us again,” said Maldwyn.
“Yes, probably,” said Aron. “ So let's get moving.”
The three of them gathered up their gear and pushed through the undergrowth towards a muddy path that led along the river margins in the direction of the tavern they had seen from the boat.
***
In his tower in Castle Sarazan, Ezrin smiled in satisfaction as he leaned back from his crystal and stretched. He was exhausted from the effort of summoning and controlling the storm and would need to sleep for twelve hours to regain his strength, but he had every reason to be pleased with his work.
“Go to Captain Nicoras,” he commanded his servant boy, “and tell him the fugitives have landed.”
***
Captain Elthorn watched as the three bedraggled figures approached the tavern.
“Pass the word. Let them get inside then we'll move in and take them,” he said to his sergeant who slipped away quietly through the woods.
Elthorn had been curious about how Lord Hercival had known the three would be coming ashore at this point and he'd been utterly shocked by the ferocity of the waterspout's destruction of the riverboat.
“All this trouble about three fleabitten foreigners” he'd said to Gerom when he'd first read Lord Hercival's message, without realising the magnitude of the trouble.
After what he'd just witnessed it was obvious that Lord Hercival wanted these three very much and he didn't want to have to be the one to face his Lordship's wrath if they got away again. He drew his sword as he watched the three figures approach the tavern door.
***
Aron pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped forward onto the flagstones, conscious for a moment that water still dripped from him to leave little puddles in his footsteps. A few heads turned at their entrance before resuming what they had been doing, but one group in a circle around the fireplace took particular note of the new arrivals. The low hum of conversation in the room stopped as the three men walked to the counter. The group beside the fire put down their mugs and stood up drawing knives or clutching cudgels, two of them moving up to block the doorway. Aron, Davo and Maldwyn stood with their backs to the counter as the men encircled them. Then one stepped forward with a long knife in his hand. He was at least ten years older and a handswidth taller than Aron with a deep chest, thick shoulders and the face of an unshaven pig
“Good to see you again boys,” said Pigface with a gap-toothed smile. “I believe we have some unfinished business.”
Aron let his pack fall to the floor and felt the hard wood of the counter at his back as he faced the circle of enemies, a tight knot of fear in his stomach as he reckoned the odds; at least a dozen hard-bitten caravan guards faced them. His right foot found a small wooden stool and without looking down he slipped his foot under it. The fingers of his right hand closed around the handle of the throwing knife he wore sheathed along his left forearm, and all the time he kept his eyes on the men before him, awaiting their move. Suddenly the door crashed open and mail-clad warriors surged in.
As everyone turned, Aron was first to react; he flicked out his right foot sending the stool flying at the same time as drawing the knife from his left arm. The stool caught Pigface in the groin as the knife hit the first warrior just below the chin. At that the room exploded into chaos as the caravan guards turned on the new enemy. The soldiers reeled in dismay and confusion; they had expected three men and little resistance. Now they faced almost equal numbers of tough and seasoned ruffians. Crossbows twanged and wounded men screamed in agony, but the caravan guards drove forward, forcing the first group of soldiers back into their fellows. The crossbowmen struggled to reload in the crush and succeeded only in hindering the swordsmen. The soldiers attempted to fall back but only pressed into more men trying to get through the door. The front rank, their swords too long for such close hand-to-hand fighting, were falling to the long knives of the guards. The men crowded at the door were under attack from a hail of bottles and mugs thrown by Davo and Maldwyn and were unable to respond or escape. The caravan guides, sensing their enemy weakening, pushed forward and drove the soldiers backwards where they tripped and fell over their already-felled comrades leaving them helpless before the rampant ruffians.
Aron saw the caravan guard's advance for the opportunity it was. He grabbed Davo as the little man sought to join the forward rush.
“Come on, let's get out of here. You too,” he said turning to Maldwyn. “Before they remember who they were originally going to fight.”
He scrambled over the counter dragging his pack after him and pushed through a curtained door into the room behind. Looking around he realised he was in the kitchen.
“Food,” Aron called to Davo and Maldwyn. “Grab as much as you can carry.”He picked up a basket of loaves and then caught sight of a man cowering beneath a table, presumably the tavern-keeper. Their eyes met for a moment and, overcome with guilt, Aron dug in his pouch and threw some coins on the floor, then was moving again to the door at the far side of the kitchen.
He opened the door and cold air struck his face, chilling his still-damp hair. He led the other two into the yard and, hearing the stamp of restless beasts, ran to the stable oppos
ite. There were about a dozen rough-coated horses in the stalls, enough for the number of caravan guards.
Why not? Aron thought. “Horses, boys,” he called. “Let's get out of here quick. Bridles only.”
They bridled their chosen horses in double quick time, mounted and rode out of the yard leading the rest of the horses. Sounds of conflict still came from the far side of the tavern. The soldiers must have regrouped and fought back, Aron thought.
When they were clear of the tavern they kicked their mounts into a gallop and loosed the others, but they were well-schooled beasts and did not scatter as Aron had hoped. There was nothing more to be done other than put as much distance as possible between them and the soldiers, so Aron turned his mount's head towards the road that lead away from the river.
CHAPTER 20
The three men rode until the darkness of the night made the track hazardous. Maldwyn, as befitted a nobleman, rode easily, still carried by the adrenaline high from the fight in the tavern. Davo, in contrast, bounced awkwardly and cursed almost continuously. Aron grew tired of his complaints and snapped at him.
“Better a sore arse than a stretched neck.”
Davo continued to curse, but under his breath. Aron rode on with more ease than Davo but not in complete comfort. The food he had gulped down as they fled from the tavern sat uneasily on his stomach and a headache had grown from a vague discomfort to the point where every jolt from his horse released sharp needles of pain through his head. The road they had followed from the ferry had deteriorated with the miles into a rough track that threatened to fade out entirely. Several times the way had forked and Aron had been entirely unsure which was the major path. Maldwyn and Davo had offered no guidance and Aron had chosen almost at random, distracted by the fever brewing in him.
“Halt. We go no further today,” Aron called out and steered his mount off the track towards a grove of scrubby trees.
The grateful Davo was already out of the saddle, but Maldwyn pivoted his horse on its haunches and prepared to argue the case for continuing.