“Then which way should we track?” asked Elias.
The sleek wolf darted his eyes along the steep side of a nearby hill thick with trees. “That way,” he snarled.
Moving quickly, the band followed the wolf in a single line and wound their way through the muddy ground. The stillness of the air returned, and they were greeted with total silence save for their own heavy breathing.
The trees encompassed them like a forest. Sunlight barely filtered through. Trevor paused uneasily and peered about. Where were they hiding? he wondered. Where might fugitives make themselves unseen by both other men and wolves? There were no tracks. Trevor bit his lip and studied the foliage carefully. If he were a pirate, where would he lead his band?
The knowledge came, but it came too late. The trees!
Arrows whistled. There was a shrill scream, and one of his soldiers staggered, clutching helplessly at his throat, where the snubbed arrow had struck.
War cries filled the air, and ten men leaped down from the branches. Swords were drawn and clashed against the blades of the pirates. Cicero leaped high and brought down a brigand before the man could plunge his blade into Elias’s back. Once on the ground the wily wolf snapped his jaws tightly into the soft flesh of the throat. The man screamed in a frenzy, then slumped unevenly across the mud, with his stilled hand clutching a long, curved dagger.
Trevor whipped his sword and swung it about, catching one of the brigands squarely in his ribs. Reeling, the pirate fell and rolled around as the life drained slowly from him. Then he gurgled, gasped and died.
Another soldier fell to the pirates’ knives, but as the battle continued long and bitter, the Valley troops gained the upper hand, pressing the foe backwards.
“They’re fleeing!” cried Elias, seeing the remaining pirates dash through the trees to seek safety.
Cicero gave chase without looking to see what Trevor or the others were about to do. But Trevor kept only a few paces behind, shouting back to his men to follow.
The climb was steep, the hill filled with craggy boulders and thornbushes; Cicero balanced on a ledge and jumped down among the pirates. Trevor could not see what happened next but the terrible scream of a frightened man told him that one of the pirates had been caught.
“Up to the top!” Trevor cried. Along the crest, standing in a line with bloodied weapons drawn, the remaining eight pirates stood with eager anticipation. One raised his crossbow — Trevor leaped and knocked him down, but not before the arrow was loosed and had hit another of his lads. The soldier tumbled back down the slope, the shaft of the arrow through his gut.
Elias crouched and wielded his dagger. One of the pirates glared at him and laughed. A huge burly man, with a ragged dark beard and rotting teeth. His eyes were small, his nose crooked and broken. He heaved himself at Elias, and the two men stumbled to the earth, clutching and tearing at each other savagely. The pirate rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, his weapon ready.
“I knew they’d send you after me, Elias,” he rasped.
“You’re going to hang, Krebbs,” replied the riverman.
The pirate grinned. He toyed with his dagger, shifting it slowly from hand to hand. “Maybe, Elias, maybe. But first I’m going to kill you.” And with that, he jumped again and knocked the mariner off his feet.
Elias grappled with him and felt a hot flash as the blade slashed along the side of his right hand. In a moment of sudden pain he dropped his own blade to the frosted earth. Krebbs stood over him and laughed. “You’re a dead man, Elias,” he bellowed with hate, “a dead man!”
Krebbs screamed like a wounded beast as a wolf sprang seemingly from nowhere and dug his fangs deeply into his neck. Elias pounced up and shouted to the hunter, “Don’t kill him! We need him alive!”
Grudgingly the wolf inched away from his terrorized prey.
Krebbs lay still on the ground, eyes wide. “Don’t let the wolves have me, Elias! Please, not the wolves!”
The hunter snarled; Krebbs shivered. All around him the other pirates were dropping; Trevor and his Valley soldiers had the fight won at last.
“On your feet, Krebbs,” snapped Elias.
Painfully the pirate managed to stand. Cicero stood paces before him, poised to strike.
“Don’t let those beasts get at me, Elias. I’ll do anything you want.” Krebbs’ knees were knocking.
Elias turned to Cicero, then back to Krebbs. “Do you know who this wolf is?” he demanded.
Krebbs shook his head, but there was terror in his eyes.
“They call him Cicero,” the mariner said dryly.
The pirate gasped. Cicero! He had heard tales of that one and he knew he was as mean and cruel as wolves come!
“Let me have him,” growled the wolf.
“Not this one, my friend. He’s special. I’m going to take a special delight in watching him hang.”
Trevor wiped the blood from his sword and sheathed it. “Three of my soldiers were killed today,” he hissed. “And the two Valley inspectors you murdered make five. Five men! You’re the worst killer Newfoundland’s ever known. And I’m going to make you suffer for it.”
Krebbs shivered. “You...you can’t harm me,” he stammered, brow breaking into a cold sweat. “You’re under orders.”
Trevor laughed. “I make the laws here, not the governor. He’s back at Deepwater, waiting for you to be brought in chains.”
“Well, I won’t give you a fight. Chain me, then! Do it! Do anything you want! But you have to bring me back safely.”
Trevor raised a brow. “Oh? Do I? Cicero, would you like me to turn this fine gentleman over to you?”
The wolf snarled; his fangs were eagerly bared.
“Elias! They can’t do this! Not the wolves!” cried Krebbs in anguish.
“He’s right, Trevor,” said the riverman.
“Give him to me, Trevor,” growled Cicero, his eyes ablaze. “Just for a while.”
Krebbs, in total horror at the thought of being put at the mercy of wolves, fell to his knees and began to sob. He had killed many wolves in his time, back in the Noatak, and he knew how much they would like to get a chance to even the score.
“I’m begging you, Commander,” he pleaded. “Let me hang! Don’t let me die like some animal.”
“You didn’t show such mercy to those Valley inspectors, Krebbs,” snapped Trevor angrily.
Krebbs looked up, aghast. “Their deaths were an accident! I swear to you, it was an accident! Some of my men were drunk. The inspectors threatened to take away my papers. We...we had no choice.”
Trevor bent over and yanked him up by the scruff of his neck. “What about those lads lying dead over there? Were they an accident, too? And the hunter whose throat you cut, what about him?”
Krebbs whimpered and looked through pitiful eyes at Elias. “Don’t let them have me, Elias! Please!”
Trevor threw him to the ground and kicked him sharply with his boot. “You’re nothing but a mangy hound, Krebbs. Not worth the effort or the time for torturing. Thank the Fates for your luck, but most of all thank Cicero here. Because if he wanted you that badly, I’d give you to him!”
He spit on the crying Krebbs and turned back to the riverman. “Our job is done, Captain. Let’s get back to your ship and sail to Deepwater as quickly as we can. The stench of death is in my nostrils, and I can’t get it out.”
Chapter Eleven
Stacy stood close to the forecastle, white knuckles clutching at the rough beams of the rail. Ever since the day before, when they had hit the rough waters of the rapids, she had felt sick. Spooner had advised her to stay in her cabin, and she had tried, but the constant tossing and bobbing below made it even worse. Besides, her cabin was hardly a cabin at all; more of a closet really, with a narrow hammock slung from wall to wall. And poor Casca had lain at her feet, whimpering. Sick as a dog himself, as it were. Too weak to even wag his tail.
Amid crates and boxes being brought up from below, she stood her ground and
buried her head in her arms. Three days, that’s all the trip to Rhonnda would take; but now, as Rhonnda drew ever closer, it seemed as if she had spent all her life on this boat.
The gray clouds were at last breaking up, and faint hints of pale sun were beginning to peek through. The breezes were mild, the air crisp. And Stacy felt brave enough to pick up her head.
Spooner, jolly as ever, made his way toward her, a cheery grin splitting his face from ear to ear. Stacy tried to smile back. She felt badly out of place here on this old ship and felt that if she were to take a single step or let go of the rail, she would topple over like so much refuse piled high into a trash can.
“Good morning, my lady,” said the merchant with exhilaration, swelling his lungs magnificently.
Stacy sighed, her face white as a sheet. “Hello, Spooner. Forgive the way I look, but I’m still sick from yesterday.”
The merchant frowned and cast an eye at the wolf lying sprawled at her feet. “He looks sicker than you do.”
“Oh, he is. Poor Casca. I pleaded with him to make this trip with me, you know. He was most reluctant. Forest wolves don’t like so much water.”
Spooner knelt down and stroked Casca gently behind the ears. “Well, not to worry. We’ll be there soon. Yes, indeed, quite soon.”
Her eyes widened. “Be there? Rhonnda?”
Spooner nodded emphatically. “See that broad mountain a yonder? That’s a sure sign. And take a deep breath, my lady. Smell the salt? That’s from the sea. Seawater. Yes, indeed. The winds blow it right down this way.”
“How long, Spooner?” Stacy groaned.
“’Bout midday, I’d say. Thereabouts, anyway.”
Stacy closed her eyes. Thank Fara for that!
Looking out to the shore, she saw that the soil had taken on a deeper and richer hue. Some of the fields had been plowed; an occasional fence was spread out across the hills. A few head of cattle grazed here and there between small, neatly trimmed farmhouses.
“Up this way we have some of the best grazing lands in the Empire,” said Spooner proudly. “Are you interested in cattle, my lady?”
Stacy shook her head. “No. But I am interested in horses.”
“Well, bless me! Then you’ll want to take a little look at the Free Lands south of the city. Why, there’s some fine ponies and mustangs to be caught. Trouble is, there’s too few good people about to catch ’em. Say, maybe you and me can go into business together. I’ll fund the expenses, you’ll corral and break ’em, and we’ll split the profits.”
Stacy smiled. “Thank you for the offer, Spooner, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. The business I’m on is, well, kind of urgent. But I’ll tell you what — should the day ever come that I settle in Rhonnda, you’ll be the first one I’ll come to see. And maybe we’ll get something going after all.”
Spooner grinned, his ruddy cheeks aglow. “All right, my lady. I can wait.”
As they spoke, commands were barked from fore and aft. Captain Sykes stood at the prow and, as was his way, kept a careful eye. It was “Mr. Wren,” this, and “Mr. Woolsey,” that. There was a constant barrage of instruction as the ship began to slow.
Stacy looked on admiringly as the crew followed the commands smartly and with fervor.
“They’re a fine bunch of lads, these rivermen,” commented Spooner.
She readily agreed. “That they are. One of them, what’s his name? Mr. Pine? He came to my cabin and offered to bring me some dinner last night.”
Spooner raised his brows. “He did? Hmmm. I guess that lad has a fine eye for the ladies, too. Did you take the food?”
“Heavens no!” laughed Stacy weakly. “I was so sick that the very thought of eating made me want to vomit. But I was grateful for the offer. I always assumed that rivermen would be a rough bunch of fellows. But they’re not. Most of them are, well, just like anyone else.”
“As good a compliment from a Valley lass as I’ve ever heard. Yes, indeed. Captain Sykes would be pleased to hear it. And so would Mr. Pine, I’ll wager.”
Stacy gazed out to the snow-capped mountains in the distance. All of a sudden she felt good again. She was going to like these Newlanders and their odd ways. Quoting Spooner, she thought: “Yes, indeed!”
Her thoughts were broken by a frantic series of calls from the sailor perched atop the mast. “Port ahead, Capt’n! Port ahead!”
Captain Sykes dashed to the bridge and leaned hard from the starboard side. He smiled and gave the order for the sails to be trimmed. Then he came over to Stacy. “Rhonnda’s in sight, my lady,” he said. “You can’t see her from here, but my lad up there can. Once we round the next bend she’ll be in full view.”
“And you’ll see a sight like you’ve never seen before,” chimed in Spooner gleefully.
Stacy felt her heart race. Rhonnda! At last! How long she had dreamed of it! Now that the time had come, she was bursting.
“Sorry if I haven’t had much time to sit and chat with you on this trip,” said Sykes, pulling her from her thoughts. “But as you see, managing a ship is a full-time job. And this being the first cargo from the Valley since last autumn...”
“I understand, Captain,” said Stacy. “Your officers paid more attention to me than they had to, and well, Spooner here, he’s just been wonderful.”
Sykes laughed. “Glad to hear it. Well, back to my tasks now. Enjoy our sights, my lady. And have a good look at our coasts. I think you’ll be impressed.”
“I already am. They’re breathtaking. I never dreamed that Newfoundland would be anything like it. Back home they talk about it like...” She flushed.
“I know,” laughed Sykes good-naturedly. “They think we’re little more than frontier barbarians. But folk who come out our way, well, they know better, don’t they?”
Stacy pushed the hair back from her eyes and smiled fully. “Yes, Captain, indeed we do.”
With that, Sykes turned away. “Fly the colors, Mr. Woolsey. We’re going home!” The banners were raised; they flapped wildly in the brisk wind.
The Lady of Newfoundland swept in a broad arc and made her way around the bend. Stacy stood breathlessly, hands on her hips, gazing at the magnificent sight ahead. Even Casca managed to rouse himself from his sickness to peer across the bow. The river opened majestically, wider than Stacy could have imagined. Fully half a league on each side of the creaking ship, the water rolled as far as the eye could see, until it branched into two great channels at the foot of Rhonnda Island. The sight of the riverships, though, was the one that swept her breath away. There were swift double-masted sloops, sleek yawls cutting and bowing deeply into the water with each swell, small cats with tall single masts and flowing sails that reached out to the clouds. Some craft were old and weather-beaten, others as fresh and new as the fine coats of paint on their decks. But they all had one thing in common — the Rhonnda banners of maroon and blue. There must have been close to a hundred ships in all, each one proudly flying their flags both fore and aft as well as from the yardarms. It was a sight that Stacy knew she would never forget as long as she lived.
Way off to the west stood the high spiral towers of the city itself. Bright colors were everywhere, and even at this distance she could see the shimmering golds and reds of the tiled roofs, the purple of the towers, the deep grays and browns of the warehouses at the ever-busy piers. Rhonnda was all she could have hoped — and then some.
“Welcome to Rhonnda, my lady,” said Spooner proudly.
But Stacy scarcely heard. She just stood at her place and stared and stared as the city grew bigger and more wondrous before her eyes. “It’s...so huge,” she whispered. “I never thought —”
“One day it’ll rival the Haven itself,” predicted Spooner. “Just you wait. We don’t have the fine boulevards that you have. But we will. Yes, indeed. One day — and soon, I’ll wager — we’ll have the same grand statues and fountains, the same columns of marble. We’d have ’em already if the cost of hauling the stone from the Valley quarries w
asn’t so prohibitive.”
“You don’t need them,” said Stacy, still in awe. “What you have the Valley can never duplicate.”
Spooner looked at her, brows slanted in puzzlement.
“The river and the sea, Spooner. The river and the sea! What more could you need? My sister says that more than half of all Newlanders already live in or near Rhonnda. One day that’ll be half the Empire. And believe it or not, in my own small way I’m going to make all of that come true.” Then Stacy turned and gazed again at the city.
And so the ship Lady of Newfoundland at last came to berth at Rhonnda. And for Stacy-of-the-wolves, as many Newlanders came to know her, the first real adventures of her life were about to begin.
*
Stacy sat quietly on the small divan, gazing out the arched window. In the starry night she could plainly see the towers and lights of Rhonnda glittering and flickering brightly in the distance. Her sister’s husband, Simon, got up from his own chair and reached for a worn, leather-bound volume on the highest shelf of his bookcase. Smiling, he said, “Let me read you something.” He opened the worn volume to a yellowed faded page and skimmed his eyes across it. Large gray steely eyes, Stacy noted, set deeply in a strong-featured face. Except for a touch of gray peppered here and there across his curly hair, Simon was very much the same as she remembered him when he had left the Valley five years ago.
Softly, in a singsong voice, Simon began to read:
“O Rhonnda-by-the-sea, with your spires of gold and your purpled towers shimmering like baubles in the softness of dawn; Like a tiger poised, like heaven’s jewel you watch over as we bow in your shadow; As a man I live and die, but peace fills my heart and throbbing pulse, for you are of me and will be so forever, O Rhonnda-by-the-sea.”
He put the book gently on the shelf and also stared from the window. Rhonnda by the Sea glittered in return.
“That was a lovely poem,” she said, glancing his way. “Who wrote it?”
“A mystical poet named Bartok, long dead.”
Stacy sighed, closed her eyes and ran her finger along the rim of the goblet in her hand.
Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1) Page 12
