Harbinger: Fate's Forsaken: Book One

by Shae Ford

  When he bent to retrieve his weapon, Kyleigh smacked him on the rump with the flat of her blade.

  The world went red.

  He spun around and swung at her with a roar, sending blow after blow wailing in her direction. He aimed for her head, her chest, her knees — anywhere he thought might teach her a lesson. But no matter how hard or fast he swung, she batted him away with ease. She spun gracefully out of his reach until he was gasping for breath, and he knew he only had one good blow left in him. He summoned what remained of his strength, swung his sword high over his head, and brought it down.

  It was only after his blade broke, after it splintered and the two halves went sailing in opposite directions, that he realized he’d struck the unrelenting force of Kyleigh’s upraised arm.

  Now she had his sword wrist gripped in her hand, twisted painfully backwards, and the tip of her blade digging into his ribs. Her eyes blazed and her chest rose and fell quickly. The arm she held tingled strangely — and he realized she was probably cutting off the flow of his blood.

  “All right, that’s enough for today,” Morris said with a frustrated wave of his arm. “I hope you see now why the angry man never walks away the winner — if he walks away at all, that is.”

  For an entire week, Morris subjected him to Kyleigh’s torture. She beat him with every weapon in Anchorgloam’s armory — maces, staves, swords, spears, and at least a dozen other things. Morris wouldn’t stop the fight until Kael had developed a headache worthy of legend. Only when he was on his knees, swaying, trying to figure out which of the three lumps swimming in front of him was Morris’s head, would the battle would be over. Every night, he’d hobble down to the galley for dinner and afterwards collapse into his hammock, wondering if the beatings would ever end.

  Then one morning, sparring practice was a little different. Lysander let them choose the weapon they wanted to work with, and Kael chose the stave: it gave him the longest reach and he could attack with both ends. After they’d chosen their weapons, Lysander had them clear out a space in the middle of the deck. The pirates were murmuring excitedly by this point, and Kael didn’t understand why.

  Then Lysander cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted: “Gauntlet!”

  The pirates raised their weapons over their heads and let out a deafening roar. They stomped their feet and Kael stumbled backwards as they shoved each other into a large ring in the middle of the deck.

  “The rules are simple — if a man is disarmed or knocked unconscious, the fight is over,” Lysander yelled above the din. “If you win, you stay. The man who lasts the longest is our champion and will be rewarded with an extra share of the loot!”

  This announcement brought another round of cheers, and Lysander had to wait nearly a full minute before he could continue.

  “Every man can play, and must play at least once,” he added, with a pointed look at Aerilyn. “The only exception is Kyleigh — who is not allowed to play because we all know she’d only rout us.”

  Several of the pirates murmured in agreement. A few glanced at the girl perched casually on the railings, but none seemed willing to challenge her.

  “I’ll keep the time,” Lysander said, resting his hand on the oversized hourglass next to him. “Let the first brave soul step forward, and may the best pirate win!”

  Kael was looking to see who would be the first to step out when he felt a pair of hands shove him hard in the back. He stumbled into the middle of the circle, spun around, and saw Jonathan give him an encouraging nod.

  “I know you can do it, mate!” he said with a wave.

  Kael would have cracked his skull — if it weren’t for the big, tree-armed pirate that stepped between them. He raised the huge club he wielded high over his head, snarling through his tangled beard. And then he charged.

  Fear sent all of Morris’s lessons rushing to the front of his head. He’d harped for days about how speed was the only thing Kael had going for him — about how if he ever got caught between a big man and his weapon, he’d be cooked. So when the pirate swung down at his head, Kael spun away. He stepped behind him and jabbed his stave at the back of his knee.

  It was a leaf straight out of Kyleigh’s book, and it worked.

  The pirate let out a surprised grunt and fell forward as his leg collapsed beneath him. His chin hit the ground and the club shot out of his grasp.

  “That’s it. You’ve been disarmed, dog,” Lysander bellowed. “Next!”

  Noah stepped out from the circle, grinning as he spun his sword effortlessly with a single hand. His first swing landed in the middle of Kael’s stave, nearly jarring it from his grasp. Noah struck at mindboggling speeds: his blade would come whistling for Kael’s neck and half a blink later, be at his shins. And for a while, all he could do was react. Noah had him pushed nearly to the edge of the circle when he let loose with a flurry of attacks — chest, head, knee, right, left, knee, gut, and then he spun.

  His arm was cutting across, cocked back like a stone in a sling. When it landed, the blow would have enough force to knock Kael’s stave into the ocean. There was just one problem: in all his movement, Noah left the full, broadside of his back unguarded.

  Morris warned Kael never to turn his back on an opponent, especially on one within striking distance. And why was that again? Oh, yes.

  Kael stuck his stave between Noah’s ankles and the poor boy never saw it coming. His legs got tangled up and he fell hard on his back. Kael leapt forward and kicked the sword out of his hand before he could get to his feet.

  “Disarmed,” Lysander said cheerfully. “Next!”

  One by one, his opponents fell. No sooner was one man disarmed than the next jumped in. Kael’s feet didn’t stop moving the whole morning — and yet he never tired. None of the pirates could wear him out the way Kyleigh did, and it was midday before he even broke a sweat. He stopped recognizing the faces before him and instead saw patterns: the movement of arms and legs, the angles of blows, the shift in height and weight.

  At one point, he knew he was fighting Jonathan — and he was sure to land a few extra blows in his gut. When he knocked the club out of his hand, Jonathan grabbed him by the wrist and whispered: “See, what did I tell you? All those lessons with Morris the Handless Helmsman have done the trick — not a one of us can best you.”

  Kael didn’t have time to respond: he heard the planks creak behind him and knew the next opponent was at his back.

  The sky was red and the cool of evening was upon them when Lysander stopped the fighting. “We’ve only got light for one more round, and I said everyone had to play,” he barked.

  The break in the action jerked Kael out of his trance. He realized everyone was looking at Aerilyn — who had her hands twisted nervously about her staff. Her eyes flicked to Kael before they went back to Lysander.

  “Can’t we just say that he’s beaten me and move on?” she pleaded.

  “No, we can’t,” Lysander said firmly. “And if you even think about throwing your weapon down, I’ll give you a week of galley-scrubbing as punishment.”

  There were only a few fates worse than death, but having to clean up after Anchorgloam’s notoriously bad cook would be one of them. He used at least a dozen man-sized pots for every meal — which he only scraped out once a year. In fact, many believed the insides of the pots were actually made up of the charred-on remains of squid and crab shell.

  When Aerilyn let out a squeal of terror, Lysander latched on. “Let’s make this a little more interesting, shall we?” he said. “I declare that the loser of this duel will have a week of galley-scrubbing added to their duties!”

  The pirates cheered, and while Lysander’s decree was popular with the men, Aerilyn gave him a look that very clearly meant he’d just made it onto the list of people she’d like to see murdered.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Kael promised as she stepped up to face him.

  She nodded once, gratefully, and then they began.

  Aerilyn was actually prett
y good with the stave — her biggest problem was her lack of strength. Kael nearly knocked it out of her hand with his first blow, and he was only swinging half as hard as he usually did. Still, he did his best to give her a fair shot.

  They danced around for a bit, and she let him do all the leading. He would swing, and she would block him. He grunted and made over-exaggerated movements, giving her plenty of time to react. The longer they went, the more excited the pirates got.

  Maybe that skinny boy was finally getting tired. After all, he’d been fighting all day. What if little Aerilyn was the one to beat him? Wouldn’t that be something?

  The sharp clatter of a stave striking the ground brought their duel to an abrupt end. It took Kael a moment to realize that his hands were empty — he was the one who’d been disarmed. He’d gotten so into the play of it all that he didn’t notice when Aerilyn had cut down over the top of him, knocking the weapon from his hands.

  She seemed just as surprised as he did. She brushed the sweat-drenched hair out of her face and stared down at the stave like she wasn’t sure how it got there. “Kael, I’m so sorry —”

  “Don’t be.” He realized his voice was the only sound on the ship — everyone was watching him, waiting to see what he would do. And so he put a fist over his heart, mirroring the pictures of the defeated knights in the Atlas, and said: “I’ve been bested.”

  The deck erupted in cheers. Two burly pirates scooped Aerilyn up and balanced her on their shoulders while the others whooped and jumped around her. Lysander had a barrel of grog rolled out on deck — one so enormous that it took three burly pirates to lift it — and he poured Aerilyn the first tankard.

  “To the lady merchant, for defending our pirate honor,” he said, grinning. “We are forever in her debt!”

  Celebrations went on long into the night. Though they were thrilled that he’d been beaten, the pirates still clapped Kael on the back and said they’d never seen a lad who could fight quite like him. Several asked if he might be willing to show them some of his tricks.

  He’d just managed to escape the crowd when Lysander bumped into his shoulder, sloshing a good amount of his grog onto the deck. He wrenched Kael’s head to the side by the roots of his hair. “You made history tonight, seadog!” he said, his words already a little slurred. “Twelve turns of the hourglass — only one other pirate has ever managed it.”

  Kael was going to ask him who else had managed to go twelve turns when Lysander jerked his head to the other side. “D’you think she’d dance with me?”

  Through the crowd of swaying bodies, he saw that Aerilyn had started a jig. She was skipping to the tune of Jonathan’s fiddle, her arm linked in Morris’s. Whenever the notes picked up, she changed partners — spinning and latching onto the arm of the next pirate to jump in.

  Her eyes were shining, her face flushed pink — and Kael knew it had nothing to do with the grog, because he’d watched her hurl it overboard the second Lysander’s back was turned.

  “What d’you think, dog?” he asked again. “Think I got a chance?” Before Kael could answer, he threw back the rest of his drink and dragged a sleeve across his mouth. “You’re right — of course I got a chance. I’m a captain!” He saluted and stumbled purposefully towards Aerilyn, who was now spinning in an intricate pattern with Kyleigh.

  Their antics earned them a fresh round of loud whistles and foot-stomping — so loud that Kael didn’t hear Morris approach until he’d already run him over.

  “I haven’t danced like that since before I got fat,” he said, slapping an arm to his ample belly. “Makes for a whole new jig, it does, having something so burdensome hanging off my chest. You ought to get in there and show them a thing or two.”

  Kael wanted to say that he thought dancing was for moonstruck idiots, but he held his tongue. “I think my legs have earned a rest.”

  Morris smiled and thumped him hard on the back. “They sure have, lad. I’ve not seen sparring like that in many tide turns.”

  Kael wanted to thank him for teaching him how to fight, for pushing him to the brink of death everyday, but he never got the chance. No sooner did Morris speak than the sky opened up and torrents of cold rain fell down upon them. Icy water soaked through their clothes and doused the lanterns — and sent the pirates rushing for their hammocks.

  “All hands below deck!” Thelred said as he sprinted towards the captain’s cabin. “Hands below deck — snuff your lanterns and get some shuteye, dogs!”

  Kael would have loved nothing better than to snuff his lantern and go to sleep, but losing to Aerilyn meant that he had a week’s worth of galley-scrubbing — starting immediately.

  He jogged down the stairs to the kitchen, wringing water out of his shirt as he went, and nearly lost his footing when he saw the horrible task before him.

  Every surface of the closet-sized galley was piled high in woefully grimy pots — some of which looked as if they hadn’t been clean since the day they came out of the fire. They were stacked in teetering piles, held together by the greasy remnants of last week’s dinner. Some of the stacks nearly reached the ceiling.

  He would have thrown the whole lot out to sea if he didn’t believe Lysander could come up with an even worse punishment for wasting dishes. So he rolled up his sleeves and went to work.

  He was wrestling with a particularly stubborn patch of greasy black goo when he suddenly felt as if he wasn’t alone. She hadn’t made a sound, but he knew she was behind him. “Hello, Kyleigh. Have you come to scold me for letting my guard down?”

  She leaned against the counter, an arm’s reach from him. Her hair was dripping wet and little beads of water still clung to the skin of her face and neck. The smell of rain mixed with lavender was a nice reprieve from the stink of days-old food. “I haven’t come to scold you, I’ve come to help you,” she said, setting a tankard down by his elbow.

  He saw the pale green foam before he smelled the sharp tang of pirate grog. “Thanks, but I don’t think I could hold down another one.”

  She shook her head and took the filthy washrag out of his hand, her fingers brushing against his. She dipped the cloth into the tankard and wringed it out over the goo. Foam bubbled up and the greasy black chunks went sliding down — melted away by the sizzling grog.

  “Well that’s … useful,” he said, though he was more than a little disturbed. “What’s in that stuff?”

  She gave him an amused smile. “Do you really want to know?”

  No, he didn’t. But if grog could peel off an ancient layer of grease, he could imagine what it might do to his stomach. He thanked her for the help and swore off drinking in the same breath.

  She laughed and turned to leave. “That was kind of you to let Aerilyn win, by the way.”

  The tone of her voice startled him into looking up. The expression she wore confused him: she wasn’t laughing, she wasn’t angry or annoyed. He couldn’t put his finger on why her mouth was set that certain way, or why her brows were bent in those particular arcs. He did notice the way she leaned against the door, and how having one arm propped over her head like that pulled against the soft material of her pirate’s shirt, revealing a good deal of her figure.

  “I didn’t let her win,” he said gruffly, because he thought being gruff might somehow hide the burn in his face. “I got distracted, and she beat me. That’s all there is to it.”

  Her look didn’t falter. “Only you know what you did or didn’t do. But do you want to know what I think?”

  He could only nod.

  “I think, in a nobler realm, you would have made a terrific knight.”

  For a long moment, he couldn’t respond. He scrubbed absently, trying to make sense of the sudden kindness in her words, trying to think of something to say in return, but he couldn’t think of anything. She wasn’t like Aerilyn — who flung out compliments like crumbs to the birds. So if she ever said anything at all, he knew it was because she meant it.

  But when he finally thought to look up, the
doorway was empty. Kyleigh was already gone.

  Chapter 23

  Dangerous Pets

  Miles away from where Anchorgloam sailed, Duke Reginald was just finishing his evening swim. His arms glided through the water with ease. He came up for a quick breath, and the salty ocean ran off his short, wavy hair. When his lungs were full, he thrust his head back under. Above the waves, he could hear the sea beating against the jagged rocks behind him. But the world below was quiet.

  He rather liked the solitude. And after having to deal with his squabbling managers all day long, he felt that he’d earned it. He took a few more strokes and, as he turned his head for a breath, he heard someone call his name.

  “ — inald! There’s a — says he wants — ”

  Oh, what now? He stopped and flipped over on his back, letting the sea hold him in its bobbing embrace. A steward waved from the rocky shore. “What is it?” Reginald shouted.

  “Manager to see you, Sir Duke!”

  It was just like Chaucer to show up early and wreck his swim. “Let him know I’m on my way,” he said, rather snappily.

  “Very good, sir. Shall I send a boat to pick you up, sir?”

  Reginald may not have been a young man, but he was not so desperate that he needed a boat to drag him in. “No, that won’t be necessary. Be on about your business.”

  With a nod, the steward jogged away.

  Reginald bowled through the waves without a problem and clamored up the iron ladder nailed into the stone beneath his castle. The fortress was built on an island of rocks, nothing but ocean surrounded it. Well, there was that bothersome bridge connecting the island to the shores of the Kingdom. But if it weren’t for this ruler business, he’d have burned it up a long time ago.

  Though the sun was setting, the air hadn’t lost a bit of its stickiness. The water clinging to Reginald’s skin cooled him for a few steps, but by the time he reached the wall where he’d tossed his shirt, the heat was back. Sweat beaded up on his face and trickled down his neck. He decided he’d rather not add a layer to his discomfort. So he ducked through the back gate of his castle wearing nothing but a pair of trousers rolled to the knee.