“Curse me for a freshwater fisherman, but we had heaved to only a few miles north of the headlands above your lighthouse. If we’d sailed a little longer, we would have been safely in Crydee harbor two days ago.”
Arutha and the others said nothing. Trask continued, “They went through my cargo holds and started tossing things overboard, no matter what. Over five hundred fine Quegan broadswords, over the side. Pikes, lances, longbows, everything—I guess to keep any of it from reaching Crydee somehow. They didn’t know what to do with the Quegan fire oil —the barrels would’ve needed a dock hoist to get them out of the hold —so they left it alone. But they made sure there wasn’t a weapon aboard that wasn’t in their hands. Then some of the little land rats got dressed up in those black rags, swam ashore, and started down the coast toward the lighthouse. While they were going, the rest were praying, on their knees rocking back and forth, except for a few with bows watching my crew. Then all of a sudden, about three hours after sundown, they’re up and kicking my men around, pointing to the harbor on the map.
“We set sail and headed down the coast. The rest you know. I guess they judged you would not expect an attack from seaward.”
Fannon said, “They judged correctly. Since their last raid we’ve patrolled the forests heavily. They couldn’t get within a day’s march of Crydee without our knowing. This way they caught us unawares.” The old Swordmaster sounded tired and bitter. “Now the town is destroyed, and we’ve a courtyard filled with terrified townsmen.”
Trask also sounded bitter. “They put most of their men ashore quickly, but left two dozen to slaughter my men.” An expression of pain crossed his face. “They were a hard lot, my lads, but on the whole good enough men. We didn’t know what was happening until the first of my boys began to fall from the spars with Tsurani arrows in them, waving like little flags as they hit the water. We thought they were going to have us take them out again. My boys put up a struggle then, you can bet. But they didn’t start soon enough. Marlinspikes and belayin’ pins can’t stand up to men with swords and bows.”
Trask sighed deeply, the pain on his face as much from his story as from his injury. “Thirty-five men. Dock rats, cutthroats, and murderers all, but they were my crew. I was the only one allowed to go killing them. I cracked the skull of the first Tsurani who came at me, took his sword, and killed another. But the third one knocked it from my hand and ran me through.” He barked a short, harsh-sounding laugh. “I broke his neck. I passed out for a time. They must have thought me dead. The next I knew, the fires were going and I started yelling. Then I saw you come up the gangway.”
Arutha said, “You’re a bold man, Amos Trask.”
A look of deep pain crossed the large man’s face. “Not bold enough to keep my ship, Highness. Now I’m nothing more than another beached sailor.”
Tully said, “Enough for now. Arutha, you need rest.” He put his hand on Amos Trask’s shoulder. “Captain, you’d do well to follow his example. Your wound is more serious than you admit. I’ll take you to a room where you can rest.”
The captain rose, and Arutha said, “Captain Trask.”
“Yes, Highness?”
“We have need of good men here in Crydee.”
A glimmer of humor crossed the seaman’s face. “I thank you, Highness. Without a ship, though, I don’t know what use I could be.”
Arutha said, “Between Fannon and myself, we’ll find enough to keep you busy.”
The man bowed slightly, restricted by his wounded side. He left with Tully. Carline kissed Arutha on the cheek, saying, “Rest now.” She took away the broth and was escorted from the room by Fannon. Arutha was asleep before the door closed.
SEVENTEEN - Attack
Carline lunged.
She thrust the point of her sword in a low line, aiming a killing blow for the stomach. Roland barely avoided the thrust by a strong beat of his blade, knocking hers out of line. He sprang back and for a moment was off balance. Carline saw the hesitation and lunged forward again.
Roland laughed as he suddenly leaped away, knocking her blade aside once more, then stepping outside her guard. Quickly tossing his sword from right hand to left, he reached out and caught her sword arm at the wrist, pulling her, in turn, off balance. He swung her about, stepping behind her. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, being careful of his sword edge, and pulled her tightly to him. She struggled against his superior strength, but while he was behind her, she could inflict no more than angry curses on him. “It was a trick! A loathsome trick,” she spat.
She kicked helplessly as he laughed. “Don’t overextend yourself that way, even when it looks like a clean kill. You’ve good speed, but you press too much. Learn patience. Wait for a clear opening, therf attack. You overbalance that much and you’re dead.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and pushed her unceremoniously away.
Carline stumbled forward, regained her balance, and turned. “Rogue! Make free with the royal person, will you?” She advanced on him, sword at the ready, slowly circling to the left. With her father away, Carline had pestered Arutha into allowing Roland to teach her swordplay. Her final argument had been, “What do I do if the Tsurani enter the castle? Attack them with embroidery needles?” Arutha had relented more from tiring of the constant nagging than from any conviction she would have to use the weapon.
Suddenly Carline launched a furious attack in high line, forcing Roland to retreat across the small court behind the keep. He found himself backed against a low wall and waited. She lunged again, and he nimbly stepped aside, the padded point of her rapier striking the wall an instant after he vacated the spot. He jumped past her, playfully swatting her across the rump with the flat of his blade as he took up position behind her. “And don’t lose your temper, or you’ll lose your head as well.”
“Oh!” she cried, spinning to face him. Her expression was caught halfway between anger and amusement. “You monster!”
Roland stood ready, a look of mock contrition on his face. She measured the distance between them and began to advance slowly. She was wearing tight-fitting men’s trousers—to the despair of Lady Marna— and a man’s tunic cinched at the waist by her sword belt. In the last year her figure had filled out, and the snug costume bordered on the scandalous. Now eighteen years of age, there was nothing about Carline that was girlish. The specially crafted boots she wore, black, ankle-high, carefully beat upon the ground as she stepped the distance between them, and her long, lustrous dark hair was tied into a single braid that swung freely about her shoulders.
Roland welcomed these sessions with her. They had rediscovered much of their former playful fun in them, and Roland held the guarded hope her feelings for him might be developing into something more than friendship. In the year since Lyam’s departure they had practiced together, or had gone riding when it was considered safe, near the castle. The time with her had nourished a sense of companionship between them he had previously been unable to bring about. While more serious than before, she had regained her spark and sense of humor.
Roland stood lost in reflection a moment. The little-girl Princess, spoiled and indulged, was gone. The child grown petulant and demanding from the boredom of her role was now a thing of the past. In her stead was a young woman of strong mind and will, tempered by harsh lessons.
Roland blinked and found himself with her sword’s point at his throat. He playfully threw down his own weapon and said, “Lady, I yield!”
She laughed. “What were you daydreaming about, Roland?”
He gently pushed aside the tip of her sword. “I was remembering how distraught Lady Mama became when you first went riding in those clothes and came back all dirty and very unladylike.”
Carline smiled at the memory. “I thought she would stay abed for a week.” She put up her sword. “I wish I could find reasons to wear these clothes more often. They are so comfortable.”
Roland nodded, grinning widely. “And very fetching.” He made a display of leering at
the way they hugged Carline’s curvaceous body. “Though I expect that is due to the wearer.”
She tilted her nose upward in a show of disapproval. “You are a rogue and a flatterer, sir. And a lecher.”
With a chuckle, he picked up his sword. “I think that is enough for today, Carline. I could endure only one defeat this afternoon. Another, and I shall have to quit the castle in shame.”
Her eyes widened as she drew her weapon, and he saw the dig had struck home. “Oh! Shamed by a mere girl, is it?” she said, advancing with her sword ready.
Laughing, he brought his own to the ready, backing away. “Now, Lady. This is most unseemly.”
Leveling her sword, she fixed him with an angry gaze. “I have Lady Mama to be concerned with my manners, Roland I don’t need a buffoon like you to instruct me.”
“Buffoon!” he cried, leaping forward. She caught his blade and riposted, nearly striking. He took the thrust on his blade, sliding his own along hers until they stood corps a corps. He seized her sword wrist with his free hand and smiled. “You never want to find yourself in this position.” She struggled to free herself, but he held her fast. “Unless the Tsurani start sending their women after us, most anyone you fight will prove stronger than yourself, and from here have his way with you.” So saying, he jerked her closer and kissed her.
She pulled back, an expression of surprise on her face. Suddenly the sword fell from her fingers and she grabbed him. Pulling him with surprising force, she kissed him with a passion that answered his.
When he pulled back, she regarded him with a look of surprise mixed with longing. A smile spread on her face, as her eyes sparkled. Quietly she said, “Roland, I—”
Alarm sounded throughout the castle, and the shout of “Attack!” could be heard from the walls on the other side of the keep.
Roland swore softly and stepped back. “Of all the gods-cursed, ill-timed luck.” He headed into the hall that led to the main courtyard. With a grin he turned and said, “Remember what you were going to say, Lady.” His humor vanished when he saw her following after, sword in hand. “Where are you going?” he asked, all lightness absent from his voice.
Defiantly she said, “To the walls. I’m not going to sit in the cellars any longer.”
Firmly he said, “No. You’ve never experienced true fighting. As a sport, you do well enough with a sword, but I’ll not risk your freezing the first time you smell blood. You’ll go to the cellars with the other ladies and lock yourself safely in.”
Roland had never spoken to her in this manner before, and she was amazed. Always before he had been the teasing rogue, or the gentle friend. Now he was suddenly a different man. She began to protest, but he cut her off. Taking her by the arm, half leading, half dragging her, he walked in the direction of the cellar doors. “Roland!” she cried. “Let me go!”
Quietly he said, “You’ll go where you were ordered. And I’ll go where I’m ordered. There will be no argument.”
She pulled against his hold, but the grip was unyielding. “Roland! Take your hand from me this instant!” she commanded.
He continued to ignore her protests and dragged her along the hall. At the cellar door a startled guard watched the approaching pair. Roland came to a stop and propelled Carline toward the door with a less than gentle shove. Her eyes wide in outrage, Carline turned to the guard. “Arrest him! At once! He”—anger elevated her voice to a most unladylike volume—”laid hands on me!”
The guard hesitated, looking from one to another, then tentatively began to step toward the Squire. Roland raised a warning finger and pointed it at the guard, less than an inch from his nose. “You will see Her Highness to her appointed place of safety. You will ignore her objections, and should she try to leave, you will restrain her. Do you understand?” His voice left no doubt he was deadly serious.
The guard nodded, but still was reluctant to place hands upon the Princess. Without taking his eyes from the soldier’s face, Roland pushed Carline gently toward the door and said, “If I find she has left the cellar before the signal that all is safe has sounded, I will ensure that the Prince and the Swordmaster are informed you allowed the Princess to step in harm’s way.”
That was enough for the guard. He might not understand who had right of rank between Princess and Squire during attacks, but there was no doubt at all in his mind of what the Swordmaster would do to him under such circumstances. He turned to the cellar door before Carline could return and said, “Highness, this way,” forcing her down the steps.
Carline backed down the stairs, fuming. Roland closed the door behind them. She turned after another backward step, then haughtily walked down. When they reached the room set aside for the women of the castle and town in time of attack, Carline found the other women waiting, huddled together, terrified.
The guard hazarded an apologetic salute and said, “Begging the Princess’s pardon, but the Squire seemed most determined.”
Suddenly Carline’s scowl vanished, and in its place a small smile appeared. She said, “Yes, he did, didn’t he?”
Riders sped into the courtyard, the massive gates swinging shut behind. Arutha watched from the walls and turned to Fannon.
Fannon said, “Of all the worst possible luck.”
Arutha said, “Luck has nothing to do with it. The Tsurani would certainly not be attacking when the advantage is ours.” Everything looked peaceful, except the burned town standing as a constant reminder of the war. But he also knew that beyond the town, in the forests to the north and northeast, an army was gathering. And by all reports as many as two thousand more Tsurani were on the march toward Crydee.
“Get back inside, you rat-bitten, motherless dog.”
Arutha looked downward into the courtyard and saw Amos Trask kicking at the panic-stricken figure of a fisherman, who dashed back into one of the many rude huts erected inside the wall of the castle to house the last of the displaced townsfolk who had not gone south. Most of the townspeople had shipped for Carse after the death raid, but a few had stayed the winter. Except for some fishermen who were to stay to help feed the garrison, the rest were due to be shipped south to Carse and Tulan this spring. But the first ships of the coming season were not due in for weeks. Amos had been put in charge of these folk since his ship had been burned the year before, keeping them from getting underfoot and from causing too much disruption in the castle. The former sea captain had proved a gift during the first weeks after the burning of the town. Amos had the necessary talent for command and kept the tough, ill-mannered, and individualistic fisherfolk in line. Arutha judged him a braggart, a liar, and most probably, a pirate, but generally likable.
Gardan came up the stairs from the court, Roland following. Gardan saluted the Prince and Swordmaster, and said, “That’s the last patrol, sir.”
“Then we must only wait for Longbow,” said Fannon.
Gardan shook his head “Not one patrol caught sight of him, sir.”
“That’s because Longbow is undoubtedly closer to the Tsurani than any soldier of sound judgment is likely to get,” ventured Arutha. “How soon, do you think, before the rest of the Tsurani arrive?”
Pointing to the northeast, Gardan said, “Less than an hour, if they push straight through.” He looked skyward. “They have less than four hours of light. We might expect one attack before nightfall. Most likely they’ll take position, rest their men, and attack at first light.”
Arutha glanced at Roland. “Are the women safe?”
Roland grinned. “All, though your sister might have a few harsh words about me when this is over.”
Arutha returned the grin. “When this is over, I’ll deal with it.” He looked around. “Now we wait.”
Swordmaster Fannon’s eyes swept the deceptively peaceful scene before them. There was a note of worry mixed with determination in his voice as he said, “Yes, now we wait.”
Martin raised his hand. His three trackers stopped moving. The woods were quiet as far as they could te
ll, but the three knew Martin possessed more acute senses than they. After a moment he moved along, scouting ahead.
For ten hours, since before dawn, they had been marking the Tsurani line of march. As well as he could judge, the Tsurani had been repulsed once more from Elvandar at the fords along the river Crydee and were now turning their attention to the castle at Crydee. For three years the Tsurani had been occupied along four fronts: against the Duke’s armies in the east, the elves and dwarves along the north, the hold at Crydee in the west, and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the goblins in the south.
The trackers had stayed close to the Tsurani trailbreakers, occasionally too close. Twice they had been forced to run from attackers, Tsurani warriors tenaciously willing to follow the Huntmaster of Crydee and his men. Once they had been overtaken, and Martin had lost one of his men in the fighting.
Martin gave the raucous caw of a crow, and in a few minutes his three remaining trackers joined him. One, a long-faced young man named Garret, said, “They move far west of where I thought they would turn.”
Longbow considered. “Aye, it seems they may be planning to encircle all of the lands around the castle. Or they may simply wish to strike from an unexpected quarter.” Then with a wry grin he said, “But most likely, they simply sweep the area before the attack begins, ensuring they have no harrying forces at their backs.”
Another tracker said, “Surely they know we mark their passing.”
Longbow’s crooked grin widened. “No doubt. I judge them unconcerned with our comings and goings.” He shook his head. “These Tsurani are an arrogant crew.” Pointing, he said, “Garret will come with me. You two will make straight for the castle. Inform the Swordmaster some two thousand more Tsurani march on Crydee.” Without a word the two men set off at a brisk pace toward the castle.
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