Daughter of Fate - Chapter 4
Ikar stood at the railings of the Red Seagull and breathed in the fresh ocean breeze, savouring its coolness in the humid air...
The Knights of Alana is an original fantasy novel, packed with gods, dragons and magic. When Knights attack the temple of Skystead, seventeen-year-old Pela is the only one to escape. Her mother and the other villagers are taken, accused of worshiping the False Gods. They will pay the ultimate price – unless Pela can rescue them. Pela has never left the safety of her town, let alone touched a sword. What chance does she have against the ruthless Knights of Alana? She’s not a hero. But she knows one…
But she knows one.
Her uncle Devon was a mighty warrior once, in times when magic filled the world. Age has withered his strength and he retired long ago, but maybe he will answer the call of family. Can Pela convince him to stand against the darkness one last time?
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Ikar stood at the railings of the Red Seagull and breathed in the fresh ocean breeze, savouring its coolness in the humid air. The prisoners were all locked in the hold, but with the sailors scuttering about the deck, the Knights were still forced to wear their suffocating helmets. Along with the heavy plate mail and the thick woollen padding beneath, it would make for a long journey.
The sun remained low on the horizon, but already he could feel the sweat beading his forehead. Cursing, Ikar checked if anyone was watching, but the crew were occupied and most of his fellow Knights still slept. Quickly, he ducked into the shadows alongside the captain’s cabin and removed his helmet. He wiped his face with a cloth from his belt, before replacing it on his head.
“Uncomfortable, Ikar?”
Ikar spun around at Merak’s voice. The Elder leaned against the railing where just moments before Ikar had stood. With the prisoners secure, Merak had removed the rest of his armour and now wore the swathing red robes of the Elders. At first glance the man seemed relaxed, but as Ikar approached, he glimpsed a hint of irritation in the man’s eye.
“It is nothing,” Ikar replied, thinking of the Elder’s return in Skystead. The ship had been preparing to depart when Merak had come galloping into the port and leapt aboard. The fear in the Elder’s eyes had been palpable, but Ikar was tactful enough not to mention it. “I persevere in the name of our saviour.”
Merak smiled grimly. “As do we all.” His sapphire eyes flickered in Ikar’s direction. “Tell me, Knight, would you give your life for our cause?”
“Of course,” Ikar answered without hesitation, before adding, “as my brothers in Skystead did before me.”
He watched the Elder for his reaction. Merak claimed his party had been set upon by a mob in the town square. His fellow Knights had been slaughtered and the blasphemers freed, the Elder himself barely escaping with his life.
Yet when Ikar had volunteered to lead the rest of their company back into Skystead, Merak had refused, instead ordering the Red Seagull to set sail.
The memory burned at Ikar. It shamed him that they had fled, allowing their brothers to go unavenged. Worse, they had given the followers of the False Gods a victory. It would make the blasphemers bold. Skystead must be purged, its infection scourged before it could spread to other settlements, lest all the Order’s work come to naught.
“Ay,” Merak smirked. “Perhaps one day Alana will call on you to make that sacrifice.”
Ikar bowed his head. “I can only pray.”
“For now though, our preparations must continue, despite the loss of our brothers. Thirty years have passed since Alana made her sacrifice, and the solstice approaches. The power of the False Gods grows stronger with each passing day; candidates to renew her sacrifice must be found.”
The Elder’s words sent an icy fear racing through Ikar, raising the hackles on his neck. The False Gods could not be allowed to return. His people had fought too hard to free themselves from the yolk of magic, to be returned to the shackles of the past.
“What do you require of me?” he asked.
“Take the blasphemers their supper,” Merak replied. He gestured at a pair of pails. “The ship’s cook prepared them some food. Speak with them, discover if any might be worthy of our needs.”
Ikar’s shoulders fell at the menial nature of the assignment, but nodding, he turned his back on the Elder and retrieved the pails. Within, a murky liquid resemblant of stagnant water slopped back and forth and split over the edge of one bucket. He cursed as the muck stained his leggings. Thinking he heard laughter, he glanced back at Merak, but the Elder had already moved on to other tasks.
Muttering under his breath, Ikar staggered to the ladder leading into the hold. The stench of vomit and rotting fish swamped him as he carried the first bucket down, and it was a relief when he returned above-deck for the second. Cursing Merak, he gulped down several mouthfuls of fresh air before stumbling down the ladder a second time.
The prisoners had been relegated to a section in the bow, where the rocking of the ship was worst. It was a pitiful act of retribution for their fallen brothers, though Ikar had to admit it was effective. He doubted many of their prisoners would be interested in the food he’d brought. Placing the buckets on the shifting boards, he folded his arms and waited for them to take notice.
“What do you want, Knight?”
Ikar scowled as the woman who had defied him on the mountainside rose to her feet. She seemed to be one of the few who had not succumbed to seasickness, though her face was pale and he guessed she was not far from joining the others. The boy she had helped earlier crouched at her feet, but she stepped forward, as though to separate her fate from his.
“To feed you,” Ikar snapped, sliding a bucket forward with the toe of his boot.
The woman fixed him with a glare. “Are we to eat like dogs then?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.
It took Ikar a moment to realise what she meant. With their hands still bound behind their backs, the prisoners wouldn’t even be able to lift the buckets, never mind spoon the broth into their mouths. He was about to reach for his knife to cut them loose, when he caught the defiance in the woman’s eyes. Scowling, he released the hilt of his knife.
“Do as you please, witch,” he snapped. “If it were up to me, you would all have been cleansed with your fellows in the town square.”
The woman paled. “I have a name,” she said. “As did those your Elder took.”
Ikar’s retort died on his lips as he heard the woman’s sorrow. He hesitated, his anger quenched as though plunged into ice water. Swallowing, he stepped towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I am sorry,” he said, though he could not have said why, “I should not have spoken so harshly. What is your name?”
“Kryssa,” the woman murmured.
“Fear not, Kryssa, you shall all have the chance to repent before the end,” Ikar reassured her.
Her eyes flashed silver as she looked up at him. “Repent?” she asked. “And for what do any of us have to repent?”
A long sigh whispered between Ikar’s lips and he took a step back. “You were caught worshipping in a temple of the False Gods, committing blasphemy against the apostle Alana.”
“Do our beliefs threaten you so much, oh Knight?”
“Your Gods would threaten us all!” Ikar snapped.
“And yet we lived peacefully beneath their rule for centuries,” Kryssa replied.
“Peace?” Ikar asked, disbelieving. “Were you not taught of the scourge of Archon? Or the devastation wrought by the Tsar? Or the countless other atrocities committed by their Magickers, down through the centuries?”
“The Gods gave us power, and the free will to use it,” the woman replied. “It is not upon them what we chose to do with it. And what of the good that was done? The Magickers who healed the sick? And those who stood against the dark? Do they count for naught?”
“We never had free will, only servitude,” he retorted. “Against the forces of magic, what power did we mortals have? What hope, when a single Magicker could slay hundreds? No, the only freedom your Gods offered was for the powerful, to those they deemed worthy of their gift. The rest of us were doomed, enslaved by their power.”
“Us?” the woman asked. “You speak as though you were there—yet you sound no older than me, sir Knight. How do you know what the Gods desired?”
“It is there for any with open eyes to see.”
“Ay, the truth is there,” Kryssa whispered. “Who is it that enslaves us now? Who has hunted us down, who seeks to take our freedom from us?”
“Your beliefs endanger us all!”
“How?” Kryssa asked, her eyes aglow in the darkness.
Ikar swallowed. “You would restore the Gods to life.” Somehow, his words suddenly seemed hollow, as though he were a fool to speak them.
Kryssa laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. “The Gods are dead, you fool,” she replied. “We all know that, and do not seek to change it, however much some might wish it. We go to Temple in honour of their memory. And to meditate, to find our own harmony, and seek the true paths for our lives.”
“Lies,” Ikar whispered, backing away from the woman.
Her eyes followed him, accusing. “Look around, oh Knight,” she replied, gesturing behind her. Huddled on the ground, the other prisoners watched him, terror written across their faces. “Where is the danger here? The threat? Do you not see? We are just a scapegoat, a false evil for your Order to strike down.”
“Stop!” Ikar roared. Steel hissed on leather as he drew his sword and pointed it at her. “No more of your falsehoods, witch!”
Kryssa’s face wilted at the sight of the blade. Shaking her head, she took a step back, a pall of fear coming over her. Ikar scowled and stepped after her, unsure whether the change was an act. Her mouth opened, but he darted forward, resting the tip of his blade against her breast.
“Not another word from you.”
She nodded, the fear no act now. A sense of power surged through Ikar then. Savouring in her acquiescence, he looked around, ensuring the others saw his strength, knew the Knights of Alana were not to be defied.
“You are all worse than the sorriest wretch,” he said vehemently. “Less than the lowest beggar on the streets of Lon. You asked if you are animals to us, woman? I say you are worse! Vermin who would drown us all in your filth.”
As he spoke, he kicked at her legs. Kryssa cried out as his heavy boot connected with her shins, and crumpled to her knees. With one foot, he pushed the bucket of slop closer. She looked up at him with horror written across her face.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Eat,” he growled. When she did not move, he drove his boot down into the woman’s back, forcing her head down into the bucket. She cried out, but her shrieks were cut off by gurgling. Ikar’s eyes swept the other prisoners, so that when he spoke, they knew his words were for all of them, “Like the vermin you are.”
Caledan was already awake when the first hints of sunlight touched the horizon. The gentle rocking of the ship had kept his stomach roiling all night, and no amount of practice with his blade had helped to settle it. Whatever food he’d eaten before embarking on the Seadragon was long gone, and he was beginning to wonder if joining Devon had been the right choice.
“Of course it is,” he muttered to himself, though the words meant little for his nausea. Only the fact his stomach was empty kept him from vomiting again.
“What is?”
He jumped as Devon appeared at the railing beside him. For such a big man, he moved with an unnatural quiet, even on the tiny ship. The rest of the crew were just beginning to stir, and Caledan let out a long sigh at the thought of spending another day trapped with the foolish villagers.
“Nothing,” he murmured.
The hammerman leaned his arms against the railing and fixed his amber eyes on the distant coast. Overnight, the shoreline had changed. They had left behind the towering cliffs and peaks of Golden Ridge, and now the land had given way to marshland, its myriad of twisting streams and dense mangroves all but impassable by foot. The tide was out, exposing close to a mile of mudflats upon which great crocodiles basked.
Caledan’s gaze drifted from the mud to the waters around the ship, as he considered what might happen should they capsize. The crocodiles were larger than any man, with massive jaws lined with dagger-like teeth. He had seen a man caught by the arm once. The witless fool had been dragged into the water before he could do anything more than scream. Caledan and the other bystanders could do nothing but watch as the man was torn apart.
A great splash drew his eyes back to the shore, where a trail of mud now led into the ocean. There was no sign of the croc though, and shuddering, Caledan turned his attention back to Devon.
“I was only wondering, what is our plan once we arrive in Townirwin?”
The big man shrugged. “Find wherever the Knights are keeping our people, and take them back.” Devon grinned. “Kill whoever gets in my way.”
“Sounds promising, if a little light on the details,” Caledan commented.
Devon chuckled. “I never was one for planning,” he replied. “Although…at this time of year, the tax collectors should be making their rounds. Bound to be a few of the King’s Guard in town for their protection. I’ll see if we can’t enlist them to our noble cause.”
“When was the last time you visited Townirwin?”
“Five…no, it must be closer to ten years now. How the years fly.” Devon sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “There will be those in the Guard that remember me, though.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Caledan replied, then hesitated. Much had changed since the war with Lonia had ended. “However, you may…find the people of Townirwin less than receptive to your cause.”
“Oh?” Devon asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The Knights of Alana are well-liked there. It would be foolish to denounce them, without proof of their crime.”
“What more proof could we need than catching them red-handed with our people?” Devon snapped, his brow hardening.
Caledan held up his hands. “Easy, man. I only meant we would be wise to keep our heads low, until your daughter and the others are safe.”
“She’s not my daughter…” the old hammerman said, though his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. “At least…you might be right though. We cannot risk the Knights…disposing of the evidence before we can free our people.” He glanced at Caledan. “But we can trust the King’s Guard.”
Trying not to roll his eyes, Caledan nodded. Devon was a fool if he believed he could trust anyone associated with Braidon. Though of course, the two had fought alongside each other, early in the civil war. Last night, lying awake in the darkness, Caledan had heard the story about Pela’s father.
“Whatever you say,” Caledan replied, keeping the doubt from his voice. He nodded at the hammer lying at Devon’s feet. “Were you planning on finding a new weapon?”
Devon chuckled. Hefting the hammer, he turned it in his hands. Light shone from the corner that had been carved away by Merak’s sword. “This will do, whatever its flaws. Truth be told, no weapon has ever been able to replace kanker, the warhammer I inherited from my ancestor.”
“They say it was cursed?” Caledan asked, recalling the legends.
“Cursed? No, only spelled by a Magicker named Alastair. It protected me from magic, so long as I was holding it. Allowed me to stand against all manner of Magickers and demons. Now…”
“Now a man, and women, must stand behind their own strength,” Caledan muttered. “The strong rule, and the weak make do with the scraps that we leave.”
The lines in Devon’s face deepened as he looked down at Caledan. “Ay,” he replied sadly, “and we are all the lesser for it.” Letting out a long breath, he looked out over the ocean. “So, what were you doing in Skystead in the first place? The town is no place for a sellsword.”
“Perhaps it was fate that brought me there, to help with your cause.”
Or to bring me closer to my goal, he thought silently, careful to keep the excitement from his face.
Devon chuckled. “I’ve seen Gods and demons and dragons, but I’ve never believed in fate. A man, or indeed a woman, forges their own path in this world.”
“Then perhaps it was intuition,” Caledan replied with a grin. There was at least truth in that. He had learned long ago to trust his instincts. They had rarely led him astray, though he’d had his doubts when he set foot in the backwaters of Skystead. “I was following a story. The captain who hired me claimed there were Baronians in these waters, that they possessed some new magic that allowed them to sail against the winds.”
“And how did that turn out?”
“After three days of misery, I decided the story wasn’t worth pursuing.”
“Lucky for us, I guess,” Devon grunted. He flicked a glance at Caledan, his eyes hardening. “Though your story seems a little too convenient. You’d best not cross me, sonny. It won’t end well.”
Unable to help himself, Caledan smirked at the hammerman. “You think you could take me, old man?”
Devon’s face darkened and he straightened. Caledan’s hand dropped to his sword hilt, but when he looked into the hammerman’s amber eyes, the blood froze in his veins. In that instant, it seemed as though death itself stared back at him, and Caledan knew the old warrior would not hesitate. The second he tried to draw the blade, his life would end. It took an effort of will for Caledan to release his sword hilt.
“Good decision,” Devon said, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
With that, he turned and wandered away. Caledan stood staring after him, the hairs on his neck still standing on end. Slowly the coils that had wrapped themselves around his stomach loosened, though the ice in his veins took longer to melt. Finally he let out a breath he had not realised he’d been holding.
“We’ll see,” he muttered to himself, trying and failing to draw strength from the words.
Out on the mudflats, one of the crocodiles slid down the bank into the ocean, without so much as a splash.
Pela rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the ache that had taken root in the muscles of her neck. For two days now, Caledan had pushed her and the others hard, drilling them in the basic attacks, stances, and parries of sword fighting. It was hard work, and the poorly-weighted blades they’d managed to scavenge from Skystead’s decrepit dungeon made the work all the harder.
She hadn’t touched the blade Devon had given her yet. She could hardly even bring herself to believe it had truly been her father’s at all. All her life, she had grown up believing he’d been killed on the road by Baronians. To suddenly learn that had been a lie, that he had died defending their king from enemy soldiers…
Pain flared in her arm as Tobias’s sword slipped beneath her guard and struck her wrist. Cursing, she leapt backwards out of range. The clumsy farmer tripped over his own legs chasing after her, and she struck back, her sheathed sword tapping him lightly on the side of the head.
“Enough!” Caledan shouted at them.
Breathing hard, Pela lowered her sword and spun around. Caledan sat on a barrel leaning against the mast, equal measures of anger and frustration writ across his face. Since accepting them as students, his expression had hardly changed, and Pela wondered whether he regretted taking her on. So far, neither herself nor anyone else had shown much sign of improvement, though at least Genevieve had started with some basic knowledge of how to wield a blade.
But Caledan was not a man to accept defeat. He would either turn them all into something resembling warriors, or toss them overboard to hide his failure. His hard attitude had turned them all against him, even the unfathomably cheerful Tobias, and if it came to it, they might be the ones to throw him overboard.
Not that it seemed to matter to Caledan. With a weapon in hand, the man was cold, bordering on cruel, and when they took turns sparring with him, he did not pull his blows. Wielding an old fire poker one-handed, he’d given Pela more than bruises when she’d been careless enough to lower her guard. None of them had even managed to touch him yet.
The heavy footsteps of her uncle approached from the bow where he had been napping all afternoon. Tomorrow they would finally reach Townirwin, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the fear that they would be too late. For herself, Pela had tried not to think about what would happen when they got there.
Rubbing his eyes, Devon yawned and gestured her to join him. She glanced at Caledan for permission, and the swordsman waved a hand, dismissing them for a break. Pela retrieved a jug of water and wandered over to Devon.
“I haven’t seen you with your father’s sword yet,” he said without preamble.
Pela quickly looked away. “No…” She trailed off, her throat contracting. She glanced at her bag where she had stashed the blade. It remained out of sight, but she could sense it there, a presence in her mind. “I…what if I’m not worthy?”
“Worthy?” her uncle pressed.
Lowering her eyes, Pela fought back tears. “I’m no good, Uncle!” The words went from her in a rush. “I keep dropping my sword, tripping over my own feet, flinching when someone swings at me. How can I use my father’s sword when I’m so useless?” She kicked the side of the ship to emphasise her last words.
To her surprise, Devon chuckled. Pela swung on him, shame giving way to anger. “What are you laughing at?” she snapped.
Devon smiled. “Do you think your father, or myself, were any different when we first began?”
Pela blinked. “I…what are you talking about? I’m terrible!”
“A man my size, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I had keeping my feet under me in my first year as a recruit,” Devon said. “I didn’t know your father when he was younger, but I have no doubt he was the same. The warrior’s arts require skill, and practice—you cannot become a master like Caledan overnight.”
“Oh.” Pela blinked, feeling suddenly foolish for her worries. She glanced at her pack again, and the sword within. “Still, though…I should wait, until I get better.”
“Or you could use it now,” Devon replied. “If you want to be a good swordswoman, you need a better blade than that thing you’re currently calling a sword.”
Pela sighed. “Fine.” She strode across the deck, dragged the blade from her bag and carried it back to Devon.
“Why don’t you draw it for me?” Devon asked.
There was the slightest of sheens to Devon’s eyes when she looked at him. Pela remembered then that the last time this sword had gone to battle, her father had been carrying it, marching at Devon’s side. Swallowing, she did as her uncle bid.
Light caught on the blade as it emerged, so that for a moment it seemed to be sheathed in flames. Then she turned it in her hand, and the fire died, and there was only the silver sword of her father. She sucked in a breath, struggling with a sudden wave of emotion.
My father.
He had carried this weapon into battle, had saved the king with it, had died with it in hand…
She didn’t want you to die young, never knowing your family.
Pela lowered the blade quickly as Devon’s warning came back to her. She let out a breath, the pride dying in her throat, replaced by a sudden terror. Was that to be her fate, now that she had embraced Derryn’s legacy?
No, this is not my life. I only want my mother back.
But then she remembered Devon, back in the plaza, as he had carved through the Knights like death itself. She remembered the screams of the young men as they had fallen. They hadn’t expected to die either—how could they? The villagers had removed their armour to bury them, revealing their youthful faces, barely older than herself.
A trembling began in her knees as she stared at the blade. What was she doing? Who did she think she was, holding the sword of a King’s Guard, believing she could be a hero?
“How did you do it?” she asked suddenly, her voice several pitches above normal.
Devon frowned, one silver-streaked eyebrow lifting above the other. “Do what?”
“Win!” she gasped. “Defeat all those Knights! There were so many of them, but you won and they died or ran. How?”
Letting out a long sigh, Devon leaned one elbow against the railing. “You’ve been training with Caledan for three days now, little one. How do you think I did it?”
“How should I know?” Pela snapped.
“Think.”
Pela tried to quell her racing heart. They were nearing Townirwin now, and still she knew nothing. How could she help her uncle, her mother, when she couldn’t even beat the coffee farmer? It wasn’t possible. But then, Devon had been able to do the impossible. Despite his age, despite being outnumbered, he’d crushed the Knights and caused their Elder to flee in…
“Fear?” Pela asked, the blood still pounding in her ears.
“Fear.” Devon nodded in agreement. “It is a warrior’s greatest weapon—and greatest weakness.”
“What do you mean?”
“In small doses, it gives us caution, keeps us alive,” Devon replied. “But when left unchecked…”
“Like that Elder…” Pela finished for him.
“Ay. He saw me kill two of his men in as many seconds. Never mind that they were taken by surprise—he panicked. His fear spread to the others, and they hesitated. If they had gone for the kill then, I could not have beaten them all. They might have won before Caledan intervened.”
“But how did you know that would happen?” Pela pressed. “What if he’d sent all of them against you from the start?”
Devon shrugged. “Then I would be dead.”
A cold hand gripped Pela’s belly. “Then why were you not afraid?”
A sad smile touched Devon’s lips. “I have lived for a long time, little one, far longer than I ever expected. Most of my friends are waiting for me on the other side. What do I have to fear from death?”
Pela shivered, but before she could respond, a call came from Caledan.
“Back to it!”
Swallowing, Pela looked from her uncle to the swordsman. Devon’s explanation had done little to quell her own concerns. He might not fear death, but she did, and she had little doubt it would find her if she continued down this path. Even so, she nodded her thanks and returned to stand beside Tobias and Genevieve.
“A new sword, Pela?” Caledan commented, nodding to the blade in her hand.
Pela blinked. She’d forgotten she still carried her father’s blade. After a moment she nodded, and Caledan smiled grimly.
“Very well then,” he said. “Let’s see whether it helps, shall we?”
He gestured her forward. After a moment’s hesitation, Pela nodded and looked around for the scabbard to sheath the blade while they fought.
“Leave it,” Caledan ordered. “Ready?”
Pela lifted her father’s sword and nodded, sliding one foot behind her in an attempt at a fighting stance. Caledan strode forward, eyes hard, and hefted his iron poker.
“Defend yourse—”
“Sails to starboard!” a voice called down, interrupting Caledan before he could launch his first attack.
Pela had bunched herself up in preparation to spring, and almost tripped over her own legs trying to spin around in search of the new ship. She had assumed her mother’s captors would have already made port, but what if they had been delayed?
Squinting at the horizon, she couldn’t see any sign of another ship. She tried to recall which direction was starboard, but wherever she looked there was nothing but empty ocean. The ship, if it existed, hadn’t come into view for the rest of them yet, only for the man in the rigging.
“There’s nothing out there,” Caledan murmured, moving to the right-hand railing of the ship. “Who would be mad enough to sail out of sight of land?”
“No one with good intentions on their mind,” the captain replied. He rushed past the villagers and grabbed the tiller. “Hope your people are ready for a fight, Devon!”
“Fight?” Tobias asked, the colour fleeing his face.
Pela’s heart started to race as a black dot appeared on the horizon. Beside her, Caledan cursed, then glanced at the sails.
“The breeze is coming from the north,” he muttered. “They’ll never catch us sailing from the south.”
“It’s flying a black flag!” the man in the crow’s nest called down.
“You’d better pray to whatever Gods you worship you’re right,” Tallow replied, before turning to his men. “Sails at full tilt, lads! Let’s outrun those Baronian bastards!”
Caledan watched in silence as the black dot grew larger. The Baronian ship had changed direction to cut off the Seadragon’s escape and was no longer sailing directly against the wind, but it was still moving far too quickly for his liking. Already it had halved the distance between them.
So the captain was right, Caledan thought, and cursed out loud.
Tallow’s shouts were becoming more desperate. As the gap between the two vessels narrowed, the Baronian crew came into view. Most stood waiting at the railings, swords and axes in hand and grins on their faces. Behind them, several crew members scurried around the deck, but it appeared there was little that needed doing. Only one of the ship’s three masts had a sail up, and that hung loose in the wind, seeming to only be for show. Sunlight reflected from the other two empty masts, and Caledan realised with a start that they were made of steel.
His frown deepened as a puff of black smoke bellowed from the top of one of the masts.
They’re not masts at all, he realised, they’re smokestacks.
Though what they were for, he could not have guessed.
“What in the damn hell?” the captain muttered beside him.
Wood creaked as Devon appeared alongside them. “We’re not going to escape them.”
“Impossible,” Tallow snapped, then shouted another string of orders to his men.
The Seadragon surged forward as another span was added to the sails, though Caledan could see by now it would not matter. Whatever magic the Baronians were working, they were faster, with or without the wind. Clad in their black-leather armour, their fighters packed the deck, waiting in grim silence for their prey to come within reach. They outnumbered Caledan and the others ten to one.
“Well, folks, I hope you’ve been paying attention to Caledan!” Devon bellowed, turning to address the villagers and Tallow’s crew. “Ready those weapons, you’re going to need them. Pela, to me.”
The girl rushed forward, still gripping her father’s blade. Caledan watched as Devon kneeled in front of her, wondering what he would do. Despite his best efforts, neither Pela nor the others were ready to go up against battle-hardened warriors like the Baronians. They would be cut down in moments.
Then again, against so many, Caledan doubted even he would last much longer. Studying the oncoming ship, he searched for another way to strike.
“Your mother wanted a better life for you than this,” Devon was saying to Pela, his voice barely audible over the shouts of the sailors. “So did I, once upon a time. But such is fate. Are you ready to use that sword?”
There was open fear on the girl’s face, but to her credit, she lifted her jaw and nodded.
“Good,” Devon replied. “Your father would be proud to see you carry it.”
Tears formed in the girl’s eyes, quickly wiped away.
“You’d best stick close to us, girl,” Caledan said, still watching the Baronian ship. “You’re quick; use that. And remember, the Baronians are born killers.”
“They’re not all bad,” Devon murmured. A grin crossed his bearded face. “I led one of their tribes once—albeit, only for a few weeks.”
“Whoever was calling themselves Baronian back then, they’re a different people now,” Caledan snapped, irked by the old man’s seemingly cheerful mood. “These ones will show you no mercy. If you see an opening, take it!”
Devon hefted his hammer. “Never said I wouldn’t,” he growled, and Caledan was reminded of their earlier disagreement. Then the hammerman turned back to his niece. “Caledan is right though, they’re experienced warriors. Keep a tight hold of that sword, but stay back unless the fight comes to you. Caledan and I will lead the charge, see if we can’t scare them off.”
Pale-faced, Pela nodded and took her place alongside Genevieve and Tobias. The other sailors had retrieved long knives and were gathering around their captain. It seemed they’d given up trying to escape the oncoming ship.
Studying his companions, Caledan wondered whether they would hold. He’d been impressed with their resolve these last few days. He’d pressed them to breaking point, but they’d risen to every challenge he’d set, even timid Pela and nervous Tobias. He would not blame any one of them for fleeing at the first clash of battle, but he sensed they would stand strong.
Caledan loosened his sword in its scabbard, then transferred the poker he still carried to his left hand. He did not have a shield, and he would need every advantage he could get in the coming fight.
“Damnit, how is this possible?” the captain growled as he came to stand alongside them. A big man himself, he had armed himself with an axe. “They barely have any sail out.”
“We can worry about that if we survive,” Caledan snapped. “Are your men ready?”
Tallow answered with a string of vulgarities that would have made even the hardest veteran blush.
“If we keep on this heading, they’re going to take us side-on,” Devon observed.
“Did you have a better idea?” Tallow asked.
“Ram them,” Devon replied.
“What?!” the captain exploded. “This is a fishing ship, we have no ram, we’d be torn apart.”
Devon shrugged. “Do they know that?”
“You want to play chicken with the Baronians?”
“They want your ship and whatever goods we have on board. We’re no good to them on the bottom of the ocean. They’ll turn away. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Tallow asked with a scowl.
He stood staring at Devon, expecting an answer, but the big man just grinned. Letting out another string of curses, the captain gave in and leapt to the tiller. The ship turned slowly as he swung them away from the coast.
Caledan’s stomach roiled, reminding him uncomfortably of his seasickness. It had improved over the last few days and he’d managed to eat a little, but he was still weaker than he would have liked.
“There’s too many!” one of the sailors shouted.
“They’ve got to board us first!” Devon bellowed back. “So long as they’re over there, we’re safe. If they throw hooks, cut the ropes. If they jump aboard, kill ‘em!”
Silence settled over the ship as they watched the gap narrow. The two vessels were rushing headlong at one another now. Running with the wind, the Seadragon had picked up speed. Overhead, the mast and rigging creaked and the sails went crack, and Caledan wondered for a moment whether they might tear themselves apart before they ever reached the Baronian ship.
The gap was hardly a hundred feet wide when the enemy ship swung violently to the left, its speed slowing abruptly. Onboard, the Baronians stumbled over one another, thrown off-balance by their sudden change in the direction. The Seadragon surged onwards. For a moment it looked as though they might sweep past into open sea, that the Baronians would be swamped. They were close to Townirwin now, if they kept going at this pace, they might reach port before…
Sunlight glinted on metal as a hook shot from the Baronian ship, a black line trailing out behind it. They must have fired it from a bow, for it flew far further than Caledan would have believed, clunking down onto the deck of the Seadragon. Before anyone could react, it snapped backwards, and the steel hook sank deep into the wood of the railings. The deck lurched beneath their feet as the line went taut, throwing half of them from their feet.
“Up!” Devon bellowed as the Seadragon pitched wildly. Overhead, the sails went slack as the line dragged them around so that they sat headlong into the wind. “At ’em!”
Caledan rushed to join the old man. On the other ship, the Baronians jeered as another line grabbed hold of the Seadragon, dragging them closer. Caledan hacked at the first cord, but his blade sprang back, the line untouched. He stared at it in shock, realising the rope was made of steel. There would be no cutting themselves free.
Grimly, he turned to face the Baronians, sword and iron poker in hand. Only a few feet separated the two ships now, and roaring, a giant of a man sprang over the railings and leapt at them. His shoulder slammed into Devon, staggering him. An axe shone in the sunlight as the Baronian lifted it above his head.
Surging forwards, Caledan drove his blade low, catching the man unawares. The Baronian staggered as Caledan’s sword pierced his chest, but as he fell, two more jumped to take his place. This time they came at Caledan, giving Devon a chance to recover.
Caledan caught the tip of a spear with his sword, then spun, reversing his blade and driving it into the stomach of his attacker. The man staggered back, and Caledan roared, his blade rising to block the second’s sword—but he was already dead, his skull crushed by a blow from Devon’s hammer.
Nodding his thanks, Devon bellowed a war cry and vaulted onto the railing of the Seadragon. A horde of Baronians awaited on the other ship, but most had not yet been able to cross to the wallowing fishing ship. Devon’s laughter washed over them.
“Come on then, cowards!” he roared. “Come and get me!”
Angry screams answered his challenge as the Baronians surged forward, each desperate for a chance against the grey-haired warrior. Caledan joined Devon on the railing. A Baronian spear shot right by his shoulder. Caledan’s blade flashed out and the Baronian on the opposite railing fell back into the crowd of black-garbed enemy.
An axe flew at Caledan’s face, but he wrenched himself back. Balanced precariously on the edge, he felt the breath of the weapon sweep past, then straightened and skewered the wielder. Beside him, Devon’s silver beard was drenched with sweat and his face seemed a shade paler, but his hammer still rose and fell with devastating power.
Aboard the Baronian vessel, three faced them now across the narrow gap. More could have come, boarding the Seadragon from other vantage points, but the enemy was focused now on destroying the old man who had dared to call them cowards.
Caledan readied himself to face his next foe, but the ship pitched wildly beneath him as a rogue wave struck. His arms windmilled as he struggled to keep upright, while alongside him Devon dropped to his knees and gripped the railing tight. On the other vessel, the Baronians weren’t so quick, and two toppled forward into the sea. Their screams were silenced as the ships slammed back together.
Regaining his feet, Devon’s hammer claimed the third. Before others could take their place, Devon leapt across the gap to the other ship. Caledan stared in shock, unable to believe the old hammerman had just boarded the Baronian vessel.
“Back!” Devon boomed, his voice ringing out over the black-garbed men.
The Baronians were as shocked as Caledan, for they obeyed, taking a collective step away from the madman and his hammer. It gave Devon the space he needed to speak.
“My name is Devon, great-grandson of Alan!” he roared. “Are you not Baronians, that you do not know me?”
Caledan gaped at the man. He’d thought Devon was joking earlier. Had the man actually lived amongst the Baronians? He seemed to recall some obscure legend from around the time of the fall of the Tsar, but so much folk law and legend was attached to that time, one could never know truth from fiction.
Aboard the Baronian ship, the black-garbed warriors wavered.
Then a man at the front raised an axe and shouted. “To hell with history!” he shrieked. “We are Baronian, and we take what we want!”
A roar of agreement came from the others, and Caledan tensed, preparing to join the old man, but another voice rose to silence the enemy cheers.
“Hold!”
It was more of a croak than a bellow, but the speaker must have held great authority over the enemy, for every soul aboard the Baronian ship froze in their tracks. Movement came from the rear of their ship as a man appeared on the upper deck. Leaning on the railings, he squinted down at them.
“Is that truly you, Devon?” he called.
Devon stared back. “Ay, Julian, though I had not expected to find you in such company.”
The old Baronian chuckled. “Times change. After your escape in Lon all those years ago, the blame eventually found its way back to me. The Tsar confiscated everything I ever owned.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t kill you,” Devon retorted.
“In his mercy, he spared me. I did betray you to him, after all.”
“Ay, you did,” Devon rumbled. “Do you intend to finish the job this time?”
The Baronian named as Julian stared at them for a long while. “No,” he said finally. “I did you a great wrong, Devon. I have regretted that day for a long time. Let today be my penance.”
He made a gesture with his hands, and the Baronians retreated, giving Caledan enough breathing room to appreciate their discipline. The black-garbed fighters were renowned for their ferocity, but this was something different.
“Thank you, Julian, though I forgave you a long time ago.”
“Go in peace, Devon,” Julian said, “though should we ever meet again, I cannot promise the same mercy.”
“Fair enough.” Devon started to turn away, then paused. “What are you doing all the way out here, anyway? I thought the Baronian hunting grounds were to the north”
Julian chuckled. “I might ask the same thing of you, old man.”
“I’m looking for a friend. She was taken by the Knights of Alana.”
“They’re a day ahead of you,” Julian replied. “We saw their ship, though they were too heavily armed for my people.”
“So that’s all you’re up to, pirating the southern seas?”
A chuckle came from the old Baronian. “Don’t press your luck, hammerman,” he replied. “My purpose is my own. Now get off my ship and out of my waters, before I change my mind.”
Devon nodded and returned to the Seadragon. Hammers were retrieved and the hooks torn from the railings. The Baronians wound them in with great wheels, then smoke erupted from the ships chimneys and they were powering away, leaving Caledan and the others standing aboard the Seadragon wondering what exactly had just happened.
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