Nightchild

by James Barclay

  He had been so proud. He had married a mage who wanted little more than to settle in Arlen, have children and operate her wonderful cleansing and healing charms on those that needed them. Their daughter was blessed too and when she was ten, he had cried tears of joy as they stepped into a covered wagon for the journey to Julatsa.

  They didn't ever arrive. Robbers, the coachman had said but the truth had come to Donetsk later. Black Wings. Witch Hunters working against the survival of the next mage generation.

  His smile disappeared as the depression rolled over him, as it always did in the dead of night and always would. No matter how much he worked or drank to forget, there would be a moment every day when it got to him.

  Donetsk put a hand to his face and prayed to the sky that the Gods would care for their souls. There was nothing for him now. Not even revenge. He had once craved it but now it seemed unimportant because it would make him feel worse, just bring the pain closer. And the Gods knew that was the last thing he needed.

  He stopped and leaned against an old mooring post, strong but splintering. His heart was racing and for a moment he found it hard to catch his breath. He looked to the ground until it stopped swaying before him, breathed deeply and cursed his muddled, drunken mind that tossed the memories through him like bodies twisting on a flaming pyre. Slowly, he blinked back the tears, swallowed the sudden grief and stared ahead. The Elm was not far and, beyond it past the fish market, his home and bed. Empty but welcoming for all that.

  Walking on, he opened his eyes wide and blew out his cheeks, letting the wind blow into his face. He yawned, looking forward to lying down until the dawn birds brought his aching head to reluctant wakefulness. Picking up his pace, he strode past the Ocean Elm, smiling and waving at the guard patrolling the deck. The elf signalled back. Donetsk couldn't tell whether he smiled too but the acknowledgement was enough. He liked elves, most of them. They had magic about them. He could feel it.

  He yawned again, tasting the strong smell of fish in his mouth. Strong but secure somehow. He was nearly home. Donetsk walked around the corner of the market, out of sight of the dock and that was when he saw them, issuing from the night, all on foot, their steps slow and quiet, swords or daggers in their hands, metal flashing dully as it caught the remnants of moonlight. He looked hard, still approaching, confusion muddling his head. There were ten, a dozen, then twenty. First reaction was that they were town guard but a heartbeat later it was clear they were not.

  Donetsk kept moving though he knew in the back of his mind it was a foolish act. He did it because they had not seen him but kept their eyes on a far larger prize. The Ocean Elm.

  Black Wings. Black Wings walking the dockside when surely they had been expelled. Anger gripped him. An unquenchable force stemming from his longing for his long-dead family and a grievous insult to Arlen, the Earl and the town.

  “Hey!” He started running, heedless of risk. He was Donetsk and the people of Arlen looked out for him.

  Men looked up, stopped their movement. One in front spread his arms and they all straightened, falling completely quiet. He was cloaked and hooded, his gesture calming the rest and he made no move as Donetsk came forward.

  “Get out!” he shouted, flailing his arms toward the road north. “Get out!” He was breathless, running hard. “Guard!” He looked around as he came but the street was empty but for him and them. His heart missed a beat. Too late to retreat now. He stumbled to a stop in front of them.

  “You're not welcome here. You're expelled. Leave.”

  “Come, come,” drawled the hooded man. “You're a little the worse for drink and don't know what you're saying. We're friends to everyone but those who deny the truth. Let some of my men escort you quietly home.”

  Donetsk shook his head. “No. You shouldn't be here.” He heaved in a breath and turned his head toward the castle. “Gu—”

  Pain, hot and intense, flared in his chest. He snapped his head back and the hooded man was so close he could feel his breath. The man put a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The pain spiralled. Donetsk grunted, feeling his strength flooding away.

  “You cannot stand in the way of the righteous,” whispered the hooded man in his ear. “You cannot be allowed to stand between us and the evil. Rest your soul now.”

  Donetsk could feel his mouth moving though it felt numb and clumsy.

  The man stepped back, withdrawing the long dagger. Donetsk slumped to his knees, absurdly aware of how dark his blood looked as it slicked the cobbles. He frowned then, as the darkness closed in, disappointed he hadn't made them understand what they'd taken from his life.

  Ren'erei had returned to the Ocean Elm well before midnight, after a second fruitless search. She had heard no word that The Raven had arrived in Arlen, though a force of Lysternan cavalry were now camped to the northwest and her anxiety was beginning to grow. The Captain was keen to leave no later than dawn the following morning; any later and they risked hitting the Arl estuary as the tide turned. Not normally any more than an irritation, with the winds as fickle as they had been since Lyanna's awakening began, it could present a real obstacle to escaping into the open ocean.

  Erienne had been quite calm and Ren'erei drew strength from her total confidence in The Raven's certain arrival, late though it might be. But now, with her asleep and midnight upon them, her mind was unsettled again and she took a walk on deck, knowing deep inside that all was not right.

  Outside, the night was quiet but the wind was starting to bite. She nipped up the ladder to the wheel deck where the dead-hours sentry was standing, elven eyes seeing far into the dark.

  “All well, Tryuun?” she said as she recognised her brother.

  Tryuun turned and shrugged. “Well, Erienne's friends haven't shown up but apart from that, I've seen one drunk a little while ago and heard some shouting just now from over there.” He gestured toward the fish market, a low shape on the shore to their left. “Probably arguing with someone over a woman or another drink, I expect.”

  They both chuckled.

  “And what about you, Ren'erei. Can't sleep?”

  “No. I'm worried about them. The Raven, I mean. There's no word of them in Arlen, the Black Wings have been here and were only thrown out yesterday. There's an edge to the atmosphere.”

  “Edge?”

  Ren'erei held a hand out, fingers straight “On one side, people who sense something's going to happen but they don't know why, and on the other, people who think all their troubles rode out of town with the Black Wings.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think we need to get away from here as fast as possible.” Ren'erei looked toward the fish market; there'd been a movement, probably the drunk or, if she was lucky, someone come to tell her The Raven had arrived. Maybe even the great men themselves.

  “Do you—?” she pointed over to the market, wreathed in deep shadows but Tryuun was already drawing his slender elven blade.

  “Yes. Ren, wake the ship. It's the Black Wings.”

  Tryuun ran to the wheel while Ren'erei slid down the ladder to the main deck. Pushing open the doors aft, she heard the bell sound and Tryuun's voice rise in the call to arms.

  “Awake! Awake! Weapons to the decks. Weapons to the decks. Attack from shore. Awake, awake!” He would carry on until the first elves appeared from below.

  Ren'erei sprinted down the narrow corridor, slapping her hands on doors as she ran for the captain's cabin.

  “Up! Up! Black Wings attacking. Up!” Not pausing to knock, she entered the aft cabin. The Captain was already out of his bunk and pulling on breeches. Ren'erei unhooked his sword belt from its hook on the back of the door and threw it to him along with his leather jerkin.

  “How many?”

  “Maybe thirty,” said Ren'erei. “Tryuun's topside. We haven't much time. They came out of the shadows by the fish market.”

  “Get Erienne and get over the side. We'll hold them.”

  Ren'erei hesi
tated.

  “Go. She's all that's important.”

  Ren'erei ran out. Two doors to the left was Erienne's cabin. She half stifled a scream as Ren burst in, surprising her as she pulled a shirt over her head.

  “Erienne it's me, it's all right.”

  Her white face appeared out of the neck of the shirt, her movements to straighten it quick and nervous.

  “What's going on?” she asked, her voice small. Ren'erei could see in her eyes she already knew.

  “Black Wings attacking the ship. We have to get you off but I need you to remain calm,” she said though she could see it was already too late for that. Erienne was shaking at the very name and suddenly her fingers couldn't button the shirt at her neck.

  “What, I—” she trailed off, staring at Ren, her eyes wide and confused, resembling nothing so much as an animal caught in a trap.

  Ren'erei picked up her cloak. “Come on. We have to leave now.”

  “Hold on,” she said, her eyes flickering about her, wringing her hands then wiping them down her trousers. “I need to—”

  “Now!” snapped Ren'erei. She stepped forward and grabbed Erienne's arm. “Be scared later. Now we have to go.”

  “Don't let them touch me.”

  “Not while I have a drop of blood in my body.” Ren half led, half pulled her into the corridor where the sound of pounding feet and shouted orders echoed through the ship.

  Tryuun watched them coming as he rang the bell and shouted. There were well over the thirty he'd guessed when they had first appeared and they came well armed and carrying three long planks as well as grapples and ropes. There would be no time to set sail and cast off. This would go hand to hand. Inside, the fear churned his stomach and his ruined eye burned with remembered pain. But he couldn't let it show.

  With the first crew dashing up from aft, he jumped down to the main deck.

  “Go forward, make sure they heard,” he ordered the first elf before turning to the others. “They have gangplanks, they'll have crossbows. We can hold them there, but I must have shields. And you—” he tagged another as he ran past “—bows. We must have bows now.”

  The Black Wings ran on, breaking into two groups. The larger, carrying the planks and some with shields, came straight for the Elm. The second, smaller group detached and fell a few yards back, slowing.

  “Crossbows!” yelled an elf standing on the wheel deck.

  Tryuun looked to shore. So little time. He was disappointed by the sound drilling of the attack but had grudging respect for its organisation. He couldn't rely on any mistakes.

  “Get those shields on deck!” he shouted. “And where are my bows. Gods crying, let's move!”

  “Ward!” Crossbow bolts flashed across the deck, most clearing the ship to splash into the water behind it, the odd one burying itself in deck or mast. They had been lucky this time.

  Fore and aft, the doors slapped open and at last the whole of the Elm’s crew surged on to the deck. Bowmen ran to stations behind all three masts, seeking angles and cover while shields were brought up to the shore rail.

  At a shout from the dock, the gangplank carriers moved forward, flanked by shield-bearing swordsmen. Another volley of bolts swept the deck, better focused with lower trajectory, four striking shields, another piercing the leg of a crewman. He dropped shrieking to the deck and was hauled away by two others.

  One after the other, the planks were raised and dropped, two bouncing off the rail and sliding sideways, the third crashing right through and lodging fast between splintered struts.

  “Get that rotten wood off my deck,” roared the skipper, barging his way to the rail. Elves stooped to shove the loose planks aside as the first elven arrows whipped into the enemy, felling a crossbowman and two swordsmen. The Black Wings were already running up the third.

  “Take them down!” ordered the captain. One plank was shoved off the side, the second was braced from the shore and the third was a disaster unfolding.

  The Black Wings had nine crossbowmen standing. Their third volley hammered into the elves guarding the rail by the secure plank. Three went down clutching bolts in stomachs and legs, bones chipped, flesh punctured. Black Wing swordsmen poured up the gangplank, launching themselves into the shield cordon, their crossbowmen in two ranks releasing regular volleys at the crew of the Elm. It was a well-disciplined charge and even with the elven bows picking off the early runners, the Black Wings made the deck and the hand-to-hand fight commenced.

  For Erienne, a blur of noise and shadowy figures, the smell of fear, and the excitement of action left her senses reeling. Her pulse was thumping in her neck, her throat felt full of bile and her mind full of visions of blood in a tower, of her murdered sons and of Selik's cruel smile. She shuddered and closed her eyes in a vain attempt to clear the memories.

  Ren'erei went in front of her, shoving others aside as she pulled her on toward the deck. The shouts were louder but there was no ring of steel. Not yet. They burst into the chaotic spread of running feet, flailing limbs and the thrum of bow strings. A pool of blood was spreading across the deck.

  Erienne let Ren'erei pull her right and they skirted the wheel deck, heading away from the fight to come and ran up a narrow gangway to the stern of the ship.

  “Right,” she said, stopping and turning to her. “Don't think about it, just get up on the rail and jump over the side. I'll be right behind you. The water's choppy but warm enough. We'll move along the Elm and into the next berth to another vessel. All right?”

  Erienne looked at her, eyes completely uncomprehending. Below them, the water which rocked the ship was dark and menacing. She stared down into the blackness, seeing it move, writhing, waiting for her to leap into its clutches and suck her down.

  She swallowed hard, fighting back a sweep of nausea. Her head swam.

  “Isn't there a boat?” she asked, unable to grasp what she was being asked to do.

  “No,” she said sharply. “There isn't time. Come on, Erienne, please. We'll be fine. I won't let you go.”

  The stern of the ship was high and, despite being below the wheel deck, the drop was still almost twenty feet. She could hear the water slapping against the hull and it sounded so distant. She could imagine only too well the cold as she hit its surface and the enveloping as she submerged. And then those hands, waiting to drag her down, to keep her kicking under the surface until her lungs exploded and she had to draw breath but take in only water. Then she would choke, try to gulp more, cough and scream but none would hear her and she would submit to the will of the sea, forever a prisoner of the depths.

  “Erienne, what's wrong?” Ren'erei had grabbed her, spinning her shaking body around, the elf's strength surprising.

  “I can't,” she managed, her breath ragged. “I can't.”

  From behind them, shouts rose and the unmistakable ring of swords clashing echoed into the night.

  “You've got to,” urged Ren. “If they take the ship, they'll take you. We cannot risk you.”

  “But you'll throw me into the lake instead? No.” She turned away again and grabbed the rail, knuckles whitening.

  “What are you scared of?” Ren'erei turned her around, gently this time. “Please, Erienne. We must do this.”

  “I won't be able to see what's beneath me,” she said, sure that Ren wouldn't understand her fear, would think it stupid. “Please don't make me do this.”

  The elf fell silent and Erienne could see her thinking hard. A frown creased her forehead and her eyes narrowed. She shook her head.

  “I shouldn't do this but…”

  Ren moved fast. Too fast for Erienne to react. The elf bent, picked her up just below the waist and levered her over the side.

  The elven bows flexed again but the Black Wings were massing, ignoring their other planks to concentrate on the one that the crew could not shift. They had forced a wedge on the deck and the hand-to-hand fighting grew in intensity. The remaining crossbows fired, a bowman took a bolt clear through the chest
, he fell, clutching at the metal, agonised cry unanswered by his friends who were fighting for their ship and their lives.

  Tryuun took a blow comfortably on his shield and struck back, meeting solid defence. His opponent came again, punching forward with his shield and sweeping left to right with his blade. Tryuun swayed back, taking one reverse pace, easily evading the push. The enemy moved in but didn't strike again right away.

  Tryuun looked left and right: the crew of the Elm was in a loose semicircle around the Black Wings, ten of whom had made the deck with more on the gangplank. A moment's confusion cleared. He knew what they wanted, and he didn't have enough elves to stop them.

  Another volley of crossbow bolts and the last bowman fell. A shout rang up from the shore and the Black Wing swordsmen pressed forward but hardest of all to the right-hand side. Engaged in defence, Tryuun could do nothing as Black Wings smashed into the weakest part of their line. Pushing back his enemy, he winced as he watched a sword crash through the shoulder of an elf, blood fountaining into the sky, splattering the deck.

  With the gap made, the Black Wings surged into the space, taking much of the deck while the rest of their number thundered up the gangplank and on to the ship. They would soon be surrounded. Tryuun called to the Captain and forged forward once again.

  Ren'erei hurdled the rail immediately after, making barely a ripple as she landed in the water below. But Erienne hadn't fallen. Flailing her arms in panic, she'd caught the rail and hung over the stern of the ship, too scared to drop but unable to pull herself back on board the ship.

  There was a roar from the other side of the wheel deck. Below her, Ren'erei called up, her voice, though soft, carrying easily.

  “Come on, Erienne, we're losing the ship. You've got to do it now. There's nothing down here but water and safety.”

  “I'm coming,” she said, aware her voice must sound feeble. Shutting out the images of the hell beneath the waves, the grasping hands and the world closing in as she drowned, she got ready to loosen her grip.