Raven said adieu to her favourite pirate and jumped on board the ship, standing close to the crackling prow torches, her cloak wrapped around her, her clothing beneath the cloak being armour and high sea boots, also borrowed from the reiver. Lifebane, dark yet clearly outlined against the torch-light of the harbour, stood with his hands on his hips, his legs braced apart. His mighty, double-headed axe dangled as though weightless from the thick leather belt around his waist. The spread wings of his helmet seemed to furl and unfurl in the flickering light. Beneath the helmet his pale eyes were twin points of fire, that burned into Raven as he watched her and spoke of heartache, and longing, and most of all of friendship.
She blew him a kiss.
“I shall claim more than that the next time you come,” he called to her. “Farewell, and may the All Mother smile upon you.” He turned and strode abruptly away, into the darkness.
When all had come aboard Wavecutter, Silver took a station at the rudder and Karmana and Arreena—who had decided not to remain in Kragg—slipped the ropes. The wolf ship drifted away from the harbour wall, and turned into the channel.
The sea grew choppy as they left the sheltered place. The cliffs on either side drifted slowly past, and at times Raven found herself reaching out to push at the slime-covered walls as the ship drifted too close for comfort.
Abruptly they were out on to the open sea and Silver turned the ship’s nose through the two rising rock pinnacles that marked the safe water through the reef. Beyond this they could see the flaring torches of the besieging fleet, a thousand night flames spread across the water for as far as the eye could see.
A ship detached itself from the fleet and bobbed across the water towards the wolf ship, whose truce flare was accepted. The vessel came alongside, and hostile, armoured men peered from the bulwarks. Weapons sparkled, and Raven noticed that in the darkness of the ship’s poop several men stood with bows drawn taut, each arrow no doubt centred precisely on the eye of one of the wolf sailors. Raven’s skin crawled, and she found her eyes watering. If a finger slipped by mistake…
“You sail under the torch of truce,” called one of two men who stood at the ship’s rail. “For what purpose?” His voice was hard, unforgiving. He suspected a trap, but could not act upon his suspicions without dishonouring his rank.
“My name is Raven. My companions are my riders, one of them being known as Spellbinder. Take those names to your Altan and say we come prepared to help him seek Krya, for she is not on Kragg. Tell him this quickly.”
“You have told him yourself,” called the soldier, and the man beside him drew off his helmet and face guard.
M’rystal stood there, every bit as sinister in the half light as he had been in the full light of his palace. He looked pale, angry of face, and tense around mouth and eyes.
“I thought you dead, Raven,” he called. “You fled Kahrsam with Belthis the Sorcerer banished and fleeing behind you. I thought all you dead in the desert of Lorn. I imagined that he slave raids in the south were the work of another woman warrior. I had hoped that to be the case. I should have known better.”
“Yes, you should,” called back Raven, laughing. But she was thinking Belthis driven from the Altanate? No longer friends with M’rystal, no longer his advisor? She had not known that, had imagined only that the Sorcerer had been lying low following his last clash with Spellbinder. But if he had been banished…
She exchanged a glance with Spellbinder and saw the same fire in his eyes, the same etching of a frown upon his handsome face.
M’rystal was saying, “’Tis of little matter, and little concern. That sea-spawn Lifebane has captured my sister and I shall slaughter everything that moves on Kragg by way of retribution, even the wind.”
Quietly, out of M’rystal’s hearing, Spellbinder said, “He’s taking his time about it.”
“He has all the time in the world,” said Raven, equally quietly.
“I think not,” whispered the Warlock, but did not expand upon his thought.
Raven called loudly, across the water: “Will you take aboard so we may talk?”
“Aye,” came M’rystal’s whining voice. “Talk all you wish, before your death.”
Again Spellbinder whispered: “He will be difficult. Perhaps…”
But whatever he was about to say was cut short. Ten grappling irons clattered on to the deck and pulled tight against the railings. Raven felt her legs go out from under her as the wolf ship pitched sideways with the sudden capturing tug of ten brawny pairs of arms. Silver leapt from the stern and began to hack through the ropes, his face blazing silver in the moon, his cry of anger resounding in the ocean stillness.
Raven ordered him to desist, and he obeyed, though reluctantly. The Altan’s vessel turned about and hauled the wolf ship after it, both vessels riding difficult and lopsided in the sea, but making effective progress as a hundred oars struck the waves and heaved the double ship back to safe waters.
Raven was led, with the others, across narrow plank-walks on to the great flagship. Below decks they found themselves in the presence of M’rystal, now stripped of his armour and more familiar in his flowing robes of stark silver; his hair, bright yellow like the gold that adorned his wrists and neck, was tied back with a circlet of black metal. His eyes were sharp, piercing, suspicious, belying the appearance of mindlessness that his moist, slack lips would have suggested.
He sprawled in a deep chair and watched his prisoners led towards him.
“You look tougher than when last we met,” he said after a moment spent appraising Raven. He lifted his sword and indicated her leather armour, and the cuts and gashes upon it. The armour was a gift from Lifebane, but she inwardly admitted that her own armour was no less battered than this. Perhaps, too, M’rystal saw more battle weariness in her face, more lines, more etchings of age and survival.
When last they had met, shortly before her duel with Donwayne, and the same day as Spellbinder escaped from the death-spells of Belthis, M’rystal too had seemed younger, less tired, less distraught. Without his read an green face paint the man looked less human than when the pains disguised him as some asexual creature.
“It is no easy life,” said Raven, “wandering from city to city, war to war.”
“And slave train to slave train,” said M’rystal quietly. His green eyes blazed with secret anger, but the smile remained on his lips. “You cost me dear in slaves, Raven. You are too successful in your rescue bids. Had I been sure it was you I would have stopped you long ago.”
“Slavery is abhorrent to me. And what you do to them even more so.”
“Were you not a slave in a good house in Lyand? Were you not well treated?”
“Aye,” said Raven, “and one of the few to be so treated. But even my luck ended, when the Weaponmaster Donwayne took me, long before he was your mercenary. But Lyand is not Kahrsaam. You cannot claim the same compassion as a few of the City States.”
M’rystal nodded, grinning broadly. “Donwayne,” he said, “yes, I remember. You did a good job on him. The fight was spectacular. A pity you had to ruin it afterwards and burn so large a part of the city.” He grew solemn. “Why should I not kill you now. I intend to kill you, all of you,” he looked about the group. “Why should it not be now?”
Spellbinder said, “Do not underestimate my power, M’rystal. You underestimated us once before, and we escaped. I am a worker of magic, and I have strength enough, and spells enough, to isolate this ship from the reality of the ocean without, and my death would condemn you to eternal darkness.”
“I shouldn’t like that at all,” said M’rystal evenly, staring at Spellbinder. “Perhaps I’d better let you live awhile, then.”
Raven felt a chill take her heart. Had she underestimated the unreasonableness of the Altan? Was he deaf to reason, prepared to listen to nothing that went against his beliefs? Raven glanced around at Silver and Moonshadow who stood grim and silent, their hands clenched on air now that their weapons had been taken fro
m them. The cabin seemed crowded with armed men, and the air grew hot, and foul.
Moonshadow turned to stare at Raven, and the look in his eyes was unreadable, and yet something angry, as if she had led him deliberately into a trap.
Raven looked back at the Altan. “Krya is not on Kragg. Lifebane is innocent of her kidnapping.”
“So you’ve already said,” pointed out the Altan. He let his sword fall to the ground and stood, stretching. “But why should I believe you? A wolf ship sailed up the Lym, sea wolves debarked from her, rode through the streets of Kyal, scaled the walls of the temple, took my wife, naked from her bed, and sailed away. They had silenced the guards and were well clear of the city and retribution by the time the warning was given. A thousand people saw it, the ship, Krya’s struggling body on the rear deck, they say she was in the clutches of a man described variously, but always similarly: a tall, muscular man, wearing a winged helmet and wielding an enormous double-headed axe. Does that not sound like our friend the cliff-dweller? It does indeed, and he shall die for his insolence. I shall take his head home to Kahrsaam, impaled upon the main mast of this ship. Kragg, as a centre of habitation, shall cease to exist. I am angrier, far angrier, than I sound. I want only his blood and his guts, and his head and his life. And Krya. I want Krya, and for every minute of abuse she has suffered at the hands of that sea-barbarian, I shall slaughter a hundred Kragg prisoners, horribly slaughter them.”
Spellbinder stepped forward suddenly and M’rystal drew back. A guard stepped from the eaves of the cabin and placed a broad-bladed spear across the warlock’s chest. Spellbinder looked down at it, then smiled. “M’rystal you are a fool.”
M’rystal laughed. “Words cut nothing more than pride. Even so, some words are blunt, like those.”
“You must listen to us,” said Raven loudly. “This is a trick, this bringing you to Kragg. You have left the Altanate undefended, or practically. This is a ruse. It has to be.”
“But you’re not sure,” said M’rystal, wagging a finger at Raven. “And I’m quite sure that this, this defence of Lifebane, is also a ruse. The man is guilty, and shall suffer for it.”
“You shall suffer more,” said Spellbinder. “When you return and find your kingdom in the hands of another.”
M’rystal smirked and called out, “Gorghai!”
From behind the Altan’s throne an old wizened man appeared, and stepped forward. His voice was frail and high pitched, his eyes, in their beds of wrinkles, stared brightly at Raven. “I have seen no such signs. I have asked the gods for a vision of Kahrsaam, and it is as we left it. You speak little that is truth, woman.”
“If not a ruse to get you away from your kingdom,” said Raven, “then this is at least a ruse to send you on a wrong track. Lifebane did not kidnap Krya. I know the man too well, and this is not his style.”
“If not Lifebane, then who?”
“That,” said Spellbinder, “is easily determined. I have a spell almost in my grasp that will show us what really happened when Krya was taken.”
“No such spell exists,” said the wizened sorcerer behind M’rystal. “He lies.”
“I do not lie,” said Spellbinder. “Who do you think you talk to, you pitiful man of feeble magic. Look at my eyes! Stop watching the Altan, and look at my eyes. Know me!”
Raven had never heard Spellbinder so angry.
Gorghai looked up at Spellbinder, and the old man turned away, shaking his head. Raven wondered if the priest had reconised her friend as being from the Ghost Isle itself, mist shrouded Kharwhan. It was something Raven suspected, but Spellbinder would not affirm or otherwise.
But she knew that men of magic could recognise such a Sorcercer Priest, such an outcast from the mysterious land that defied all time and space.
The Altan sat down again and stared thoughtfully at Spellbinder. “If you speak true, if Lifebane is the unwilling dupe of some other’s plan to entice me from Kahrsaam, then I am playing direct into the their hands and when we attack Kragg tomorrow, and when it falls a few minutes later, we shall find nothing. On the other hand, your friendship with Lifebane is obvious, and it may well be that you are risking your lives to dupe me, to remove me from Kragg until such a time as he can prepare his defences better.”
Raven shook her head, and glanced at Spellbinder, who raised an eyebrow to acknowledge that he too felt exasperated with the Altan’s stubbornness.
M’rystal said loudly, “Gorghai, you mumbling old fool. Show me the air picture of the ports along our coast.”
Gorghai made two swife passes with his hand, and murmured words in the archaic language that could still be seen on certain ruins in Ishkar and the Southern Wastes. Immediately the space between Raven and the Altan misted, and the mist resolved to show a view of Lym. All seemed well with the port, and a low-masted trader was just stroking its way out to sea. The scene shifted: Salit, the high towered Vol in the north, the town that guarded the headland below the Irkard river. Then Raven reconised Irkar, the busiest port of all, and everything there seemed right and peaceful too.
Raven glanced at Spellbinder who was studying the image carefully, suspiciously. “This is illusion,” he said, stating, it seemed to Raven, the obvious. “Illusions, like coloured paints, can be manipulated with ease. I am suspicious of this vision, and so should you be.”
“Do better,” said Gorghai, and grinned. Perhaps there was no better way of seeing from afar.
Gorghai was in a cold sweat, and breathing hard. The exertion of even so simple a spell was quite draining. It was an ominous sign, for Raven knew that what Spellbinder planned was something far more complex, far more demanding of his strength and stamina. She remembered the duel he had fought with Belthis, the duel of magic fought on the island of Kragg. Both Warlocks had completely exhausted themselves at the end of what had been less than an hour, though it had seemed—Spellbinder said later—like many hours; and most of the magic duel had been fought with nothing more than elementary levitation spells, among the easiest spells to control and bind, and then to use.
Gorghai, recovered from his exertion, grinned and leaned close to M’rystal. “The old test would be a good test of the truthfulness this woman speaks. Would it not?”
The Altan straightened and brightened, pleasure flooding his face as if some dam of emotion had broken. “By the Eye, yes. And we have just the warrior to do it!”
“The old test?” asked Raven. “The duel? What will that tell you? Of what possible significance can trial by combat have for a truthful moment?”
“It has been show to work time after time,” said M’rystal. “You, Raven, shall fight in combat, now, on the deck of the flagship. You shall fight my Night Warrior, my secret weapon which shall bring about the downfall of Kragg.” He smiled broadly. “If you win, then you shall have convinced me that Lifebane is not responsible, and then we shall see what Spellbinder has up his sleeve. Should you lose, as you will, then Kragg will be invaded tomorrow, and Lifebane’s body shall join yours, on the reef. Take her, take them all!”
Rough hands grabbed her arms and she was hauled from the Altan’s quarters, up the steep steps and out into the night, on to the torch-lit deck where a host of men stood around the bulwarks, watching the prisoners. Spellbinder was hauled up on to the deck and stood next to Raven, angry.
Raven shook back her hair and smiled crookedly at her companion. “Why are we even thinking of helping this man?”
“We are helping Gondar.”
“Aye, but if I win, then Gondar will no longer need our help—always assuming M’rystal knows the meaning of honour. Why should we continue to help him then?”
“We must. Though it sours the mouth, and eats the pride, we must help M’rystal for in a greater way we help the forces of Chaos that are our guardians.”
Raven shrugged, looked around the deck for the Altan’s Night Warrior, his champion. She saw Silver, standing by the starboard railings, and Moonshadow nearby. They were both guarded. The others were not
in sight, and Raven hoped that they had not already felt the cold edge of a sword, somewhere below decks.
A broad-bladed sabre was thrust into her right hand, less comfortable and efficient than her own sword. A small wicker shield was offered to her and she accepted it. She would have preferred her sleeve shield, but there was no chance of her being given that particular weapon. Her stars had also been removed when she had come aboard, and she asked for them now. M’rystal, seated beneath a flapping silk canopy, agreed, and she buckled on the leather belt with its seven stars, razor-edged, the most lethal weapon she possessed. M’rystal knew that she would not use them in a duel of honour, but would use then unhesitatingly in the event of treachery. Giving her the stars was his way of saying that he would play by honour.
She felt relieved at this.
She was pushed forward across the deck, stumbling as the ship shifted on the growing seas. A cold wind took her hair and blew it about her face and she brushed it back with her fingers, turning round as she looked for her enemy.
She heard someone approach behind her, feet heavy on the planking, and whirled to face him.
There was no one there!
She whirled back, and then caught the sound of breathing beside her, struck round and felt her sabre parried by a hard thrusting blow. Her hand shook and ached, and she staggered back, lifting her shield almost by reflex and feeling it chipped by the glancing edge of a sword.
But there was no visible man there!
A Night Warrior! An invisible warrior who could walk undetected behind Kragg’s defences and wreak havoc among them. So that was M’rystal’s secret weapon.
And now he came for Raven, unseen, heard only by his footfall and his breathing.
Raven ran, felt a sword brush close to her scalp and saw a long curl of golden hair drift to the ground.
The invisible swordsman kicked the lock of hair away, and Raven struck at the place where he stood, felt her sword jar on a metal shield. She wished she had time to think, for magic was being used here and that was unfair…but there was no time to object now! She leapt back and made a parrying motion, and the Night Warrior’s unseen blade smashed against hers, nearly knocking the weapon from her grasp.
A Time of Ghosts Page 13
