“Do you not have anywhere else you might be tonight?” De Lisle blurted in exasperation, eyes rolling skyward.
What, and miss out on all the fun…? I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else…”
The Shard Gods had decided the girl was important for the time being and had made it clear she should be kept close as a result. A decree of that nature was something even a cardinal couldn’t ignore or question, yet de Lisle was conflicted by her presence all the same.
She was the strangest and most irritating creature he’d ever encountered; someone completely unlike any woman native to his world. To a man of such power as himself, whose commands were otherwise obeyed without question, her levels of irreverence and lack of respect for authority were such that he’d already come close to ordering her execution at least half a dozen times. Yet for all that, her unconventional cunning and an ability to ‘think outside the box’ (as she put it), had also undeniably been useful in spite of one or two glaring errors of judgement.
“Besides…” she added brightly, almost sounding sincere “...This is all your fault, letting me stand in for that old filth-monger…”
“You think that because I allowed you to burn Silas, you hold some claim to his position… his status…?” The cardinal snapped curtly, raising an eyebrow. “I think you overstep your mark… in fact, I’m sure of it! The warning I gave you aboard Rapier still stands, and I should urge you not to forget that: you already know how quickly fortunes can turn…” he added, and Percy didn’t miss the implication that it was the Shard Gods he was referring to.
Percy stared out toward the south, silent for a moment as she contemplated the dark majesty of the nearby mountains beneath the fading light of sunset. She’d been given a long sheepskin cloak to throw over her current attire – a thick, woollen dress of jet black – but it barely kept out the chill in the air. The reports they’d seen so far suggested at least five hundred civilians – mostly women and children – had made their way southward in the last hours of Harald’s approach, seeking the elusive promise of safety beyond those forbidding peaks. She gave a faint grimace: it didn’t pay to think about how long anyone might last in such conditions
Instead, Percy concentrated her thoughts on Nev, homing in on her as the pendant at her throat glowed bright for a few seconds. It was impossible to make out exactly where she was – perhaps she’d figured out how to put up some basic blocks against her surveillance – but she could nevertheless sense her presence: distant, but detectable all the same.
A long, thin-bladed dagger lay atop the battlement walls nearby, one of a number of discarded weapons and pieces of armour displaying the crest of Huon inlaid in gold against the broken steel. She reached out and gathered it up, turning it over in both hands and admiring the intricate details engraved into its hilt and guard. The great seal of Huon had been moulded into its pommel, and Percy could only assume it’d been dropped or otherwise cast aside by one of the fortress’ defenders in the last moments of the battle. Heavy but well-balanced, the oversized grip felt good in her hand as she held it out in front of her and made a few half-heated, experimental thrusts at the empty air.
“You can sense her... the other one…?” De Lisle murmured, instinct and her body language telling him everything he needed to know.
“Not well enough to get a location, although she’s further away: that much I know… I think she might be blocking me now…” she replied sourly, “…but yes, I can sense her; and where she goes, the princess will go too…”
“Of that I’ve no doubt,” he replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “We’ll continue our search: so long as the queen lives, a risk remains…” he added, unconsciously feeling the need to correct her use of Charleroi’s outdated title.
“Where to from here…?” She asked suddenly, changing tack. “…For you, I mean…?”
“I go where Harald’s army takes me… for now,” he shrugged. “The king would claim he needs no counsel in the prosecution of this campaign, yet I would advise him where I can all the same: for the sake of the innocent peasantry, if for no other reason…”
“A cardinal’s work is never done…” Percy observed, nodding sagely and with enough sincerity that De Lisle at least wasn’t certain she was being sarcastic.
“Indeed it isn’t, girl…” he agreed with a thin smile. “I’ll keep you with us also for the time being…” he continued, correctly deducing the real thrust of her question. “I’ve a feeling you’ll be of use to me yet and I’d rather have you close at hand if we do manage to locate this Anderson girl…”
“Just so long as everyone remembers she’s mine…” Percy growled softly, the coldness of steel in her voice now as she dug the point of the dagger deep into the stonework at her elbow.
“Maintain your end of our bargain, and I will make every effort to keep mine…” he replied with a nod. “Gods willing, of course…”
You shall have your vengeance soon enough… the voice trickled down into her mind, far softer than usual in its intensity. Following so close after De Lisle’s words, it almost caused Percy to flinch in surprise. Days… months… years: it matters not. Serve me well, and her life will be yours for the taking when the time comes.
You know I’d make a far better ruler than that ignorant brute… She replied silently, not bothering to her disdain for Harald the Black.
Do you think so? It asked in return, sounding almost amused. Perhaps… but it is too early to decide such things: we see many possible outcomes and none are guaranteed. Serve us well, as we have said… it repeated with darker intensity …and there will be rewards…
Her thoughts a thousand miles from the here and now, Persephone Koutroulis stared blankly out into space for a few moments as her free hand reached up and snapped the Shard pendant away from the chain at her neck, allowing several tiny, broken links to fall to the stone beneath their feet with a soft tinkling sound. The flash of Dragonfire enveloped her hands as she clasped the dagger between them, pressing the Shard crystal against the leather-bound hilt, and De Lisle’s eyes flew wide as the very metal of Percy’s blade began to shimmer and flow, morphing into something completely different. The blue-white glow grew to painful intensity, forcing him to avert his eyes and cover them with one hand as the nearer pieces of shield and broken swords lying on the stones around them began to dissolve into the blinding glare. A gasp forced itself from his lips as he took several steps backward, keeping clear of several large droplets of molten steel as they fell from her hands and sizzled at their feet.
Cooling metal sent faint wisps of smoke into the chilly air and instead of the dagger, Percy now held over a metre of sword in her hands, three-quarters of which was a tapered blade of polished steel. In contrast, the hilt, pommel and cross-guard were plated in gleaming gold, drawn from the inlaid insignia of Cadle’s now-dead Huon defenders, and embedded at the very centre of the guard, the Shard Crystal from Silas’ pendant glowed dully in the aftereffects of her handiwork.
“There… that’s better…” Percy declared loudly, still sounding only partially-conscious and a little out of breath as the glow finally began to subside and De Lisle was able to uncover his eyes once more. “Little Miss ‘Heaven-Backwards’ gets to have a cool, butt-kicking sword… why shouldn’t I…?”
“It’s… it’s beautiful…” De Lisle breathed, staring wide-eyed at Percy and for the first time unabashedly in awe of the power she’s just put on display.
“Of course it is…” she answered glibly, lifting the blade until it caught the reflection of torches burning nearby. “Did a history assignment on Charlemagne once… not that you’d know who that was, of course…” she continued absentmindedly. “French king… always thought his sword was really pretty: Joyeuse, it was called.”
“And this sword is made in its image…?” De Lisle ventured, making the appropriate leap of logic.
“More or less…” She shrugged. “It’s not identical – my memory’s not that good – but i
t’s close enough to do the job. Better, really… ‘Charlie’ didn’t have a Shard Crystal stuck in the hilt of his, for a start…”
“‘Joyeuse’…” The cardinal repeated, only mildly mangling the pronunciation.
“Means ‘joyous’... obviously…” she explained, not really paying attention. “All special swords need to have a name, didn’t you know? Joyeuse… Excalibur… Sting…” She added with a shrug, swinging the sword back and forth with a few experimental slashes that were close enough to force De Lisle to take another wary step backward. “What shall we call you…? I’d a thought perhaps to go one-up on ‘Joyous’ and call you ‘Ecstasy’…” she declared with a grimace “…but then, everyone might start calling you ‘Eccy’ instead and I never could stand the rave scene: no one would take me seriously! Damocles: now there’s a good name for a sword… particularly considering the danger that’s shortly going to be hanging over someone’s head…”
“I doubt I’ll ever know what these witches are talking about…” De Lisle muttered softly under his breath, shaking his head in exasperation as Percy continued muttering to herself regardless.
Ocean Breeze lay tied up at a small wooden pier on the eastern edge of Morsel Bay, a short, narrow body of water leading off the very northern tip of Mockery Inlet. A few of Strahn’s outer lying homes stood nearby but the area was mostly taken up by ramshackle boat sheds and similar wharfs, where small fishing cogs were moored. A heavy mist lay across the dark water, eerie in the pre-dawn glow spreading across the eastern horizon, and there was a bitter chill in the air as the queen rode out from the fort that morning with a small escort, Nev and Godfrey among them.
Most of those camped outside the walls still slept, just a few shivering sentries on duty vainly trying to warm their bones as they stood at a number of cast iron braziers dotted about the site, the flicker of orange flame licking up here and there amid the general darkness. Those few who were awake watched the small procession with the mild disinterest of those too tired to care, with only the closest making an attempt at coming to attention as they passed.
Farouk was standing ready at the near end of the wharf as the troop rode up, several of William’s guardsmen taking the reins of the other horses as the official party dismounted and approached, Randwick in the lead.
“Well met, Ismail…” he acknowledged, hand extended in greeting and readily accepted as they closed.
“Well met indeed, kinsman…” the captain acknowledged with a toothy grin. “And not before time either: there’s been reports of Blackships this side of The Takers overnight, and it’s only a matter of hours before they make it this far south. If they come with another one of those ‘cannon boats’, it’ll be all over for all of us…”
“I’ve seen what they can do first hand,” the old man conceded with a single nod and a wry smile, “although I’ll warrant they’ve not see what you’re capable of in a tight spot. All the same, much as it pains me to say so, it’s better the queen was away from here without further delay. You’re ready to weigh anchor?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be.”
“Well and good then. A moment if you will, and I’ll see to our ‘cargo’…” He turned and made his way back to where Nev, Charleroi and the others stood as a small, shivering group, the remaining mounted guardsmen bringing their horses close in to form a protective screen to the landward side.
“This is our ship to safety?” The queen asked dubiously, more concerned about her first sea voyage in general than any comment about the condition or seaworthiness of the vessel itself.
“Aye, lass…” Randwick nodded with a wan smile, not sounding at all pleased about the situation. “Farouk here’s as good a ship’s captain as any I’ve seen: he’ll see you to safety well enough…”
“See ‘me’ to safety…?” She blurted in reply, instantly picking up on his exact wording. “Surely you mean ‘us’…?”
“No, lass…” he replied with a distinct sadness in his tone now, and Charleroi’s heart sank with fear as she realised he couldn’t meet her gaze in that moment. “…This is as far as we go together for now…”
“No… no…!” She barked with a stamp of her feet, finding power in her tone as she attempted to assert her royal authority. “I shan’t allow it…!”
“Aye, you will lass… you will…” he countered, shaking his head. “Someone needs to stay behind and organise a resistance, but we must see you safe away from here until we know we can stop Harald and hold his advance. They need me here right now – they need all the help they can get – but Huon also needs you clear of all this until the invasion is stopped and Baal’s either captured or dead. It’s best for the kingdom…”
“But… but…” she stammered, desperate to find some reason or excuse to not accept his argument and fighting back tears the entire time “…if you stay here… who’ll… who’ll…”
“I’d not see you left alone, my girl… not for all the gold in the Sun Empire and beyond…” Randwick said kindly, managing a smile now as he finally realised the true fear behind her protestations “…but I know you won’t be alone: not with these two to take care of y’ for me…” he added, casting a quick glance at Nev and Godfrey “…ain’t that right, mistress?”
“What…? Oh… oh… of course… yes…!” Nev blustered, caught completely unawares by the old man’s question without notice.
“The kingdom needs you safe…” Randwick continued, moving back to solid ground with his argument. “It can’t afford to lose you… not when we’ve lost so much already. If you order me to come, My Queen, then I’ll of course obey, but I think you know this is for the best…”
“I’ll miss you…” She whispered softly, too filled with emotion to meet his gaze and instead electing to stare at the ground between them.
“I’ve watched you grow up before my very eyes, and I’ll miss you more than you could ever know, lassie…” he replied with equal feeling, reaching out and gently lifting her chin with one finger until they were again looking into one another’s eyes. “But we’ll see each other again soon enough, I promise you…”
“Master Randwick, the tide…” came a hesitant warning from Farouk, still standing at the pier with one eye warily on the falling water level.
“Aye, captain, I know you’re on a schedule: we’ll be done here by and by…” the old man vowed in response before turning quickly back to Charleroi and the rest. “You need to go now, Your Majesty…” he continued, all business now and with greater urgency in his tone. “There’s clothes and belongings enough stowed aboard already – I’d prepared for this even before Harald sprung his trap at Burnii – and there’s no need for you to delay any longer: if they miss the morning tide, we’ll all be done for!”
Charleroi hugged him then, throwing her arms sightly about his waist and squeezing for all she was worth before he could even react. He returned the embrace after a moment’s pause, and it was clear to everyone standing by that Randwick too was struggling to hide his emotions.
“Come on, Your Highness…” Nev suggested gently, realising someone else needed to make a move as she caught Randwick’s fleeting, pleading glance. “This’ll be your first ever ride on a ship… there has to heaps of exciting stuff to see: I saw dolphins on the way over from the mainland!”
“Dolphins…really…?” Charleroi asked weakly as she separated from Randwick once more, well aware of what Nev was trying to do but too fragile to do anything but go along with it. “Do you think we’ll see any on this trip?”
“Hope so…” She answered quickly, trying to keep her tone upbeat as she extended an arm as if to guide the young queen toward the pier. “That time was my first ride on a ship too… a sailing ship, anyway… but I didn’t really get a chance to enjoy it…” she went on, Charleroi turning to walk slowly with past Farouk and onto the wooden planks as Nev shouldered her sports bag behind her, the hilt of her katana poking out of the top. “I’m sure this one will be much more fun!”
�
��You’ll need everyone you can get, I’ll warrant…” Godfrey ventured awkwardly, very conflicted as his eyes flicked back and for the between the old man and the two young women making their way along the jetty. “Every… uh… able-bodied man who can hold a sword…”
“Lad, I don’t know who’ll end up protecting who…” Randwick observed with a faint, knowing smile, “…but I know well enough where your place is, and it’s not here! I’ve William here to keep an eye on me,” he added, clapping a reassuring hand on Godfrey’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on both of ‘em for me, kinsman…?”
“Oh – really…?” He faltered in reply, the intent of the old man’s words not fully sinking in for a moment or two. “Yes… yes, of course, kinsman…” he continued excitedly, reaching out and shaking Randwick’s hand firmly as it was offered. “You have my word!”
“Look after her, boy…” he added softly, his tone making it very clear to Godfrey that he wasn’t referring to the queen. “She’s both stronger and more fragile than she knows, and she’ll need both your strength and yer wisdom before all this is done…”
“I – uh…”
“Go, lad…” Randwick urged, more insistent this time. “Go…!”
With his own rucksack over one shoulder and sword at his belt, Godfrey Westacre gave one last nod of thanks and acknowledgement before turning to jog after Nev and the queen, catching them up while they were still several metres short of the steep gangway.
Randwick stared and watched as all three made their way up the walkway and onto the deck a moment later, his heart filled with far more fear and apprehension than he dared show. With a single, silent nod of his own, Farouk also bade him farewell and made his own way back to the ship, bellowing orders to his suddenly very-active crew the whole time.
“Come on, young fella…” Randwick called out to William eventually, rousing himself from his own melancholy and heading back over to his horse. “There’s nowt more we can do here this morning, and plenty still undone elsewhere that needs our attention.”
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