Corrain had done enough soldiering to know that most plans fell victim to the unexpected. The mark of a good captain was keeping hold of the reins whatever misfortunes struck.
They’d hoped to quietly watch and wait and see if the guards’ vigilance ever wavered. If so, all was well and good. If not, they’d wait for the galley’s next landfall.
Sooner or later, Corrain swore, a sentry’s attention would wander. He’d stood enough watches himself to know and Kusint had agreed. A slim chance but better than none.
So how well would a diversion serve them? Corrain only hoped that Kusint had his wits about him and Hosh’s new-found talent for thinking on his feet held up.
Corrain shoved the silent man, both hands on his chest. As the man staggered, Corrain pursued him before he regained his balance. Another push sent the man further back. Startled Aldabreshi recoiled to leave their way open. So far, so good. Unlike his victim, Corrain could see where they were heading.
But the not-so-silent man fell over. As soon as he hit the ground, he thrust his leg between Corrain’s ankles. Slamming his other foot against Corrain’s shin, he twisted like a stamped-on snake.
Corrain fell hard, face down, sweat and dust searing his eyes. He rolled quickly onto his side and hauled up his knees. If he kept their legs entangled then the silent man couldn’t escape him. He flung out his hands trying to catch the bastard in the face with the loop of his chain.
The silent man flinched away, arching his back. That saved him from the chain but he missed his chance to seize Corrain’s hands.
Corrain got one knee beneath him and threw himself on top of the man. Both muscled from labouring at the oars, he was still the heavier. They lay motionless for a heartbeat, close as lovers.
So another man’s death was the price of their freedom, of seeing justice for Lord Halferan. Corrain could live with that bargain. He wrapped the chain around his fists.
The man smashed his forehead into Corrain’s nose, momentarily blinding him. The silent man wriggled free. Corrain snatched at his ankle but the chain on his own manacles pulled his hand up short. Their would-be betrayer opened his mouth to yell. Kusint silenced him with a double-fisted blow to the face.
Corrain seized his chance to assess their situation. This was nowhere near enough distraction. He sprang up with a roar and ran straight at the traitorous rower. The man tried to step aside but Kusint stopped him with another punch. Corrain drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, ducking under his raised fists. He ignored the stinging slap of links on his back, the vicious gouge of the rower’s manacles. This time the man would fall over when it suited them.
His bare feet skidded on the dry earth. A few more paces. There it was. Corrain threw his weight forward, lifting their betrayer bodily off the ground. The man screamed as he landed in the closest cook fire. Corrain rolled away, his own skin seared, hands and forearms worst of all. The woman in charge of the cook circle was screaming curses while someone yelled for help.
A dark swathe of cloth swept above Corrain’s head. As he staggered to his feet, he saw Kusint had flung it at their betrayer, the man writhing as his clothes burned. But the Forest lad seemingly missed his mark, sending the heavy cloth into the next hearth where a pan of oil ignited with a flare prompting further panic. Kusint ran to drag the cloth away. Now the burning fabric landed close enough to a tent to stir fresh outcry.
Corrain saw the cloth merchant advance on Kusint, his snarl promising retribution. He scooped up a double handful of sandy soil and flung it in the man’s face. The blinded merchant lashed out wildly, catching another trader a violent blow.
Confusion was spreading fast. Some sought to help the cook fire’s victim. Opportunists snatched spilled food from the dust. The food sellers smacked thieving hands and heads with spoons and ladles. Outraged retaliation saw more pots upset, one fire quenched in a cloud of savoury steam. Another hearth erupted, the pot rolling away to scatter gouts of burning oil. Now those trying to get away from the flames were hampered by those drawing closer, curious to see the uproar.
Kusint grabbed his hand. ‘The warlord’s men are coming.’
‘But Hosh—’ Corrain couldn’t see him amid the chaos.
‘Move!’ Kusint’s merciless grip on Corrain’s scorched arm was excruciating. He could barely think, his nose throbbing and his eyes raw. ‘This way.’ Kusint abruptly changed direction, pulling Corrain after him.
He could have screamed with the agony of it. ‘We have to go back for the lad!’ Between a securely pegged tent back and a spiny tree, Corrain wrenched his arm free.
‘We’ll only have this chance.’ Kusint let his arm go, only to grab the chain between his manacles. ‘To escape those swordsmen and lie low in the woods until we can find a boat.’
Corrain looked desperately around. ‘But Hosh—’
‘Go back and you will be flogged, most likely killed. Your bones will rot in these islands. Will that see your master avenged?’
In that instant, Corrain hated Kusint more than he’d ever loathed anyone. Even Minelas. But the Forest lad was right; curse him to Poldrion’s demons.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the domain of Khusro Rina
31st of Aft-Spring
CORRAIN TOOK IN the uproar along the trading beach. He couldn’t see how to retrace their steps to the cooking circle. Even if he went back for Hosh, he couldn’t hope to find him in this commotion.
The Khusro warlord’s guards ran past, ignoring them completely. The grassy expanse between the beach and the shady trees was left empty. Beyond, another rough sward ran to the foot of a brush-covered slope. From these shallow hills the island rose steadily to a distant peak.
‘Come or not. It’s all one to me.’ Kusint ran.
Corrain followed. How could he not? If he’d had the breath he would have begged Hosh’s forgiveness all the same.
Was that a warning yell behind them? Some cursed Aldabreshin alerting Khusro Rina’s guards to fleeing slaves? What of it? Looking back risked fatal delay. They broke through the trees, skirting the guards’ empty benches. Corrain ran faster, hating himself with every stride. How could he abandon Hosh? But how could he go back for him now?
‘Get down!’ Kusint flung himself into a gully carved by a stream. ‘Are we pursued?’ he demanded as Corrain crouched beside him. ‘What can you see over there?’ Peering over the gully’s lip, he looked to north and west.
Corrain wiped anguished tears from his stinging eyes and scanned the trees to south and west. While there was plenty of commotion spilling out off the trading beach, none was heading in their direction.
As his pounding heart slowed, the deafening rush of his blood lessened. ‘There’s no hue and cry.’ His chest ached with guilt as well as exertion. He wondered desperately what had happened to Hosh.
‘We must head away from the shore.’ Kusint shifted, ready to move. ‘Will they set hounds on our trail?’
Corrain was dumbfounded to realise he hadn’t seen the meanest mongrel among the corsairs.
‘Do they use hounds to hunt?’ demanded Kusint. ‘By sight or scent?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Corrain admitted.
Kusint grimaced and retreated to wallow in the shallow stream. ‘We should break our trail regardless. Hurry!’
Kusint was already scouting ahead up the far slope. Corrain followed, barely pausing to douse himself with cool water.
This red-headed youth knew a suspicious amount about foiling pursuit. Well, Halferan’s guards had always agreed Forest Folk were thieves and mountebanks, as they supped their ale. Forest women could warm the coldest bed and rouse the limpest manhood and only a fool would turn an invitation down, but their men were good for nothing.
Saedrin’s stones! Where had he gone? As Corrain halted, stricken, Kusint appeared beside a stand of red canes, beckoning swiftly.
Good for nothing? Hardly. Kusint had the measure of this tangled undergrowth inside ten paces. Corrain followed quickly, intent on not losing
him again. Thankfully the Forest lad soon found a deer path threading through the grey-trunked trees.
They crossed that first ridge on hands and knees to avoid being sky-lined. The far slope dropped steeply down, bare earth corded with roots. Kusint jumped from the last crumbling ledge to land beside a green-furred puddle. Yellow-veined leaves sprouted in clumps beside another stagnant slick.
Corrain saw movement through a cluster of red canes further along the gully. He was surprised to feel dull relief. They were caught. Hosh would know he hadn’t been abandoned.
If Khusro Rina’s men didn’t kill them on the spot. They’d seen that straying slaves suffered no worse than a beating for breaking the bounds of a trading beach. No wonder. Kill a visiting ship’s rowers and a warlord would have to recompense the vessel’s master. They’d been relying on that, as they planned to test the Khusro guards’ vigilance. But there could be no mistaking them for anything but runaway slaves if they were caught so far from the shore.
Corrain heard an odd barking sound. Dogs, after all?
‘What are those?’ Kusint moved for a better look, mystified.
Corrain could only shake his head. ‘I have no idea.’ The island harbouring the corsairs was a small one and he’d only ever seen goats among the trees. Starving slaves had long since trapped and eaten everything else.
Black-furred creatures were lapping from a bigger pond beyond the canes. About the size of a lurcher, they had dog-like muzzles but as one sat up on its haunches, it showed rat-like forepaws, long-fingered and sharply clawed. The largest stood upright, bow-legged and lashing a tail as long and lithe as a cat’s. It barked again, inky lips drawn back to show formidable teeth. Corrain didn’t take his eyes off the creature, lest it suddenly spring.
‘No one’s hunting us here,’ Kusint said with satisfaction, ‘or they wouldn’t be drinking.’ But as he spoke, the lithe creatures darted away, scurrying up trees to vanish among the leaves.
Corrain didn’t wait to see if their arrival had startled the beasts or the creatures’ large furry ears had heard Khusro Rina’s men. Kusint was already running. They didn’t pause until they put another tree clad ridge between themselves and the shore.
‘Wait.’ Corrain slowed. ‘I need those.’ He pointed at tight clusters of fleshy leaves in a patch of dappled sunlight. ‘Leatherspear, the corsairs call them.’ So Hosh had said, Corrain recalled with a bitter pang. ‘Good for burns.’
Careful of the spiny tip, Corrain twisted a leaf free and tore it lengthways. He offered one half to Kusint, belatedly noticing that his antics with the flaming cloth had scorched his hands as well. ‘Lay it pulp side down.’
He breathed slowly as the cool juice soothed his burns. These injuries should scab cleanly, as long as he could find more of these plants over the next few days. That was a relief because after all this travail, Corrain was not prepared to die from such trifling wounds. Not after losing Hosh. He breathed a savage prayer to Poldrion, hoping that the silent man died screaming after days of festering agony.
Twisting another leaf free, he used his teeth to split its tough base, spitting out the bitterness. This would be so much easier with a knife.
Kusint waited until he’d treated the burns on both his forearms. ‘Let’s go.’
By the time that the yellowing sunlight heralded the Archipelago’s swift dusk, Corrain had wished for a knife a hundred times over, to strike back at the vicious leaves or to cut through knots of creepers. Hunger gnawed at his belly. With something to cut the thinnest, wiry vines, they could have rigged a snare, maybe caught one of the lapdog sized deer they saw or even a forest hog rooting with its odd spiral tusks. He was hungry enough to risk eating one raw.
Kusint interrupted his fruitless musing, his lean face taut with exhaustion. ‘Let’s get to higher ground before dark. Talagrin only knows what will come down to drink.’
They were following yet another narrow defile carved by a stream through the rumpled landscape. The Forest lad was right. Corrain looked for a route up the steep valley side and then at the streambed strewn with sharp-edged rocks, plenty of them large enough to snap a falling man’s spine.
‘We have to free our hands.’ He looked around for a boulder to serve as an anvil. ‘Spread your fists. Keep the chain taut.’
The first hammer stone he tried split clean in half. Cursing, he tried another. It held but so did the chain. Worse, every crashing strike echoed back from the ravine’s sides.
Corrain’s throat tightened with apprehension lest the noise drew some hunter’s attention, man or beast. The stubborn metal finally yielded.
‘My thanks for that.’ Kusint stretched his long arms wide with a fervent groan of appreciation.
‘My turn.’ Corrain had no time to waste.
The shadows were thickening ominously before the second chain finally fractured. Night had truly fallen by the time they reached the top of the slope, grazed and dirty from heart-stopping slips as the plants that seemingly offered handholds proved perilously shallow rooted.
‘Which way?’ Corrain looked up. Precious little light was finding its way through the trees. There’d be little enough out in the open. The Greater Moon was dark with the Lesser only at her half. That’s how they’d known this was a trading voyage, without the highest tides ahead to carry the corsairs onto the mainland and a raid.
‘We had better sit tight till dawn,’ Kusint said reluctantly. ‘I don’t fancy stumbling into some abyss.’
‘True enough.’ Corrain yielded to his exhaustion. ‘They can’t hunt us in the dark.’
‘I wish we had a fire,’ Kusint muttered some while later.
They were sitting back to back in the shelter of a bushy tree. Not too close to the trunk, for fear of snakes in the branches, on bare earth they had cautiously swept clear, for fear of scorpions amid the leaf litter.
The black night was alive with insects churring and chittering, hovering close before darting in to bite their sweaty flesh. Unable to see their tormenters, unable to see their own hands in front of their faces, neither man could swat the bloodsuckers.
Corrain grunted. ‘I didn’t see those rocks strike a single spark from our chains.’
They sat in silence through the interminable night. Small creatures squeaked and rustled through the undergrowth. Some larger beast passed slowly by, ponderous and ominous. They heard its heavy breathing, flanks brushing the leaves along one of the deer trails. Predator or prey? Corrain didn’t want to find out.
Finally the first hint of day filtered through the leaves. His hunger reawoke, clawing at his belly.
‘Let’s find something to eat.’ Kusint looked gaunt in the half-light.
But picking a cautious path through the grey jungle, they found precious little that Corrain knew to be wholesome.
‘I’d settle for some water.’ Kusint wiped sweat from his brow. ‘We should find a stream heading for the sea anyway. Let’s get our bearings.’
Before Corrain could ask what he meant, the Forest lad was climbing a tree, lithe as any squirrel. As he vanished, Corrain scowled at the thick green leaves. Fall and break a bone and Kusint might as well break his neck. Corrain had no hope of stealing a boat with an injured man—
Kusint dropped back down and grinned through his weariness. ‘I can see the sea and a stream heading that way.’
‘Any smoke?’ Corrain demanded. Fires meant people and even if word of fleeing slaves hadn’t reached these remote thickets, they were clearly fugitives, shaggy-haired and unwashed.
Was anybody hunting them? Had they beaten the plan out of Hosh? Not that the lad could betray which way they had gone. Corrain had no idea where they’d wandered by now. But would the whip master believe that before he’d flogged Hosh to death? Would they kill the fool boy just to warn the other slaves off planning such boldness?
Kusint shook his head. ‘No smoke. No roofs. No noise.’
‘Lead on.’ As Corrain gestured, the last of the withered leatherspear fell from his arm. He
kept his eyes open for more of the plants as Kusint forced a path toward the stream he’d seen. They were both bleeding from plenty of fresh scratches by the time they reached it.
The going was easier after that. Following the deepening rivulet, they emerged into the mid-morning sun above a narrow creek. Before Corrain could stop him, with a whoop that shook a flock of emerald birds from the trees, Kusint jumped feet first in the water.
Corrain hastily searched the banks for any sign of people. None to be seen. That was both good and bad news. They needed to find people to find a boat, unless they planned on paddling out to sea on a floating log.
He contemplated the darkly swirling water. Much as he longed to scrub off some grime and cool his itching insect bites, he decided not to risk some corruption from the mud on his burns.
‘This way to the sea.’
As Kusint swam, Corrain followed on the bank. Reaching the mouth of the creek, they found waves breaking noisily on black shingle. Kusint clambered out of the water and Corrain found a path of sorts tracing along the coast. As noon approached, he was beginning to despair. The rocky cliffs were rising ever steeper, plunging sheer into waters deep enough to drown a man inside a heartbeat. They toiled through the vicious tangle of another tree-choked headland.
‘Trimon be thanked.’ Hoarse with thirst, Kusint pointed to a cove lying below them. Boats hung with nets were hauled up on the beach. Huts straggled beneath a line of nut palms well beyond the high water mark.
Corrain gripped his arm. ‘Can you sail those?’
Kusint nodded. ‘If we can steal one.’
Corrain gauged the sun overhead. This was the hottest stretch of the day. If the customs of the corsair anchorage were any guide, whoever lived in this fishing hamlet would be enjoying whatever shade they could find. With luck, the fishermen were sleeping off their night’s labours. Women wouldn’t emerge to cook or send their children foraging among the trees until it grew a little cooler.
He resisted the temptation to scramble down and rush across the sand to the boats. ‘We need water.’
Dangerous Waters Page 13
