‘They never meant to trade,’ Rusan muttered. ‘Who was it?’
‘What figure-head?’ Garzik asked. ‘On the ships. What was the figure-head?’
‘I didn’t notice,’ Trafyn confessed.
‘How many of them? Where is everyone?’ Rusan asked.
‘I don’t know. I don’t... They killed anyone who picked up a weapon against them. Knocked children senseless.’ Trafyn whimpered. ‘I ran away. It wasn’t my fight.’
Garzik didn’t translate that last part.
‘Useless!’ Olbin shook the squire, which made Garzik suspect he understood some Merofynian.
‘Bring him,’ Rusan ordered.
Olbin dragged Trafyn with them, but not before warning him. ‘Make one sound to betray us and I’ll wring your neck like a chicken!’
As they neared the settlement, it became clear only the long-hall and the cook-house were inhabited. The sound of the evening meal being prepared came through the cook-house open window. But there was no laughter, no chatter.
The two Utlanders stopped in a hollow about a stone’s throw from the cook-house’s open window. There was just enough light to make out each other’s features.
‘They think they’re safe. Most of them will be in the long-hall,’ Rusan said.
‘It’ll be a while before Danja and the others get down here.’ Olbin made a frustrated gesture.
‘If we attack, they’ll use our families as hostages,’ Rusan warned. ‘We need to lure them out of the hall.’
They fell silent. Unable to follow the conversation, Trafyn huddled down, obviously wishing himself elsewhere.
‘When I think of them sitting at our table, eating our food, forcing our women and children to serve them,’ Olbin growled. Garzik knew how he felt. He’d been in a similar position when the Merofynians took his father’s hall. ‘When I think of Sarijana in their hands –’
‘Set fire to their ships,’ Garzik suggested. ‘That’ll draw them out.’
Olbin brightened. ‘That’s –’
‘One ship,’ Rusan cut in. ‘Two ships would be suspicious. One ship could be an accident. We mustn’t alert them to our presence. Not until we’re ready to attack. If one ship caught fire that would be enough to draw them down to the jetty.’
‘Good,’ Olbin said. I’ll –’
‘Not you,’ Rusan told him. ‘Belongs-to-no-one should do it, him and the lazy one.’
Garzik felt like saying I have a name. They’d never asked. They were his captors, even Cheeky-puss who had thought so little of him that she laughed in his face.
‘I’ll fetch oil and coals from the cook-house,’ Rusan said and took off.
Olbin watched him go, then turned to Garzik and Trafyn. ‘You two creep aboard one of the ships, set it alight. When they come running out, we’ll slip into the hall, kill any who stayed behind and get our families out. Hopefully the rest’ll be too distracted to realise what’s happening.’ He turned Garzik around so that the dim light from the cook-house fell directly on his face. ‘You understand?’
‘It was my idea.’
Olbin grinned. He ruffled Garzik’s hair. ‘You’re all right for a hot-lander.’
Then he turned back to watch Rusan who peered in the cook-house's window before leaning inside to speak with someone.
Trafyn leant closer to Garzik. ‘What’s going on?’
Garzik explained.
Even before he finished, Trafyn was protesting. ‘Are you crazy? If they catch us torching their ship they’ll kill us. They’re barbarians. Worse even than this lot!’
Olbin cuffed him over the head. ‘Keep your voice down.’
Trafyn didn’t need to understand the Utland tongue. He lowered his voice, but he was still furious. ‘Why are you even doing this? You’re their slave. Why risk your life?’
It was a fair question. Garzik could have said they needed the raiders to sail home. It was the kind of logic Trafyn would understand. He could have said he was worried about the defenceless women and children in the long-hall.
He said nothing because Trafyn should not have had to ask.
The squire went to protest further, but Rusan returned with a small pot of coals, a jar of fish oil and some rags. He gave these to Garzik. ‘You know what to do. Don’t fail to light the fire.’
And it came to him – this was what the oracles had meant. He could still light the fire.
He hadn’t been able to save Rolencia but he could save the Utlanders.
The irony of it stung.
Chapter Thirteen
IT WAS JUST as well he knew the settlement, knew the path down to the shore and knew the jetty.
What he didn’t know was the layout of the Utland vessels. He’d spent his time on a captured Merofynian vessel. Only one of the renegade’s ships seemed to be occupied. A glow came from the hold. Perhaps they were still stowing the stores they’d stolen. On the other ship the renegades had either doused the lantern and gone to sleep, or they’d left it unattended.
Garzik carried a small cooking pot of live coals, a jar of fish oil and a handful of rags. Trafyn carried nothing.
Other than the glow from the hold of one ship, there was no light. Mindful of the importance of his task, Garzik crept down the path to the jetty, picking his way with care.
Trafyn went as far as the beginning of the jetty then stopped. ‘That’s it. No further. I’m not dying for filthy savages.’
‘Stay here, then.’ Garzik kept his voice low. ‘I don’t need your help.’
He felt the planks of the jetty under his shoes. They made hardly any sound on the weathered wood of the jetty.
Ignoring the ship on his right, where he could hear voices coming from the hold, he made for the ship on the left. The tide was low and there was a drop of almost a body length from the jetty to the deck.
He put the pot and oil down on the jetty, tucked the rags into his vest, then lowered himself. A wave of relief swept him as his feet found solid deck.
It was so dark he might as well close his eyes. Keeping them open only produced colourful swirls that his over-active imagination turned into all manner of threats.
Lifting his arms above his head, he felt along the jetty for the jar and the coal pot and nearly burnt his fingers in the process. A pox on Trafyn; he should have been helping.
Last time, when he went to light the warning beacon, he’d had plenty of help. Everyone had been ready to die to make sure he succeeded. Silly little Kiri.
Concentrate.
Garzik closed his eyes and breathed slowly, listening. There was the gentle lap of the sea. The slight rock of the deck. The softest of snores. Someone slept on deck.
Feeling for the side of the ship, he edged along, making his way to the rear of the ship. There were bales stacked in places and more piled up at the rear. He knelt to place a rag in the gap between two bales and poured a little oil on it. Taking the end of the oily rag, he dipped it in the coal pot and blew softly. The hot coals glowed red. Once, twice... on the third time a flame ran up the rag.
It fascinated him, so dainty and fragile now, but so deadly once it took hold.
He backed off and turned away.
A glow came from behind him and he recognised rolls of carpet, bales of flax and wine bottles. Those should burn well.
No time to hesitate.
As he headed towards the prow of the ship, he could just make out the deck now and he saw someone sleeping near the open hold.
Which gave him the idea of dropping a burning oil rag into the darkness below.
A crackling came from behind him. The flames had taken. Giving up on secrecy, he ran lightly across the deck.
The sleeper snored on. A boy younger than himself. Garzik caught the scent of alcohol now that he was close and winced. He tried not to think how the boy had been used.
In a rush now, he knelt, poured oil over the remaining rags, dipped them in the coal pot and blew on it.
‘Here. What’re you doing?’ a high voice dem
anded.
He dropped the oily rags into the hold and tipped the rest of the coals after them for good measure. Saw the rags fall away, bringing illumination to a half-packed hold.
‘Stop that.’
Garzik spun around.
The boy held a knife, the blade glinting in the flickering light of the flames. If the lad gave the alarm and told the renegades the ship had been deliberately set alight, they’d be on alert for Rusan and Olbin.
The boy titled his head, surprised. ‘You’re no Utlander.’
In that moment of distraction, Garzik lunged forward and smacked the coal pot down on the boy’s knife arm. He heard a crack and kept swinging the coal pot to hit him in the side of the face.
The boy went down like a dropped sack, all loose limbs.
Garzik heard a cry from the other ship. They’d come up on deck and noticed the flames.
He couldn’t leave the boy to burn.
Bending his knees, he hefted the boy across his shoulders and ran for the side of the ship.
By now the fire was a roaring dragon, intent on devouring everything. Garzik swung one leg over the side, then the other and let his momentum take them both. The splash he made as he hit was drowned out by the fire.
Cold. So cold...
He surfaced, gasping for breath, struggling with the weight of the boy. The fact the lad was unconscious worked in his favour. Garzik was able to turn the lad around, hold his head above water and swim for shore.
Tufts of tall grass provided excellent cover as he dragged the boy out and left him there. Keeping low, he peered over the grass.
The Utlanders’ ship was well alight now. Several wine bottles exploded, and flames shot into the air. There was no sign of Trafyn on the jetty. Half a dozen men darted about, calling for buckets, calling for help, cursing. All this he guessed from their gestures because the roar of the fire drowned out their voices.
Scrambling onto his hands and knees, he crawled up the bank and into a small field of newly planted rye. He felt vulnerable as he darted across, but no one pointed him out, or gave pursuit.
Ahead of him, he could see the long-hall, its door standing open as men raced down to the jetty. Some carried buckets or blankets, some swords.
Keeping to the shadows, he ran up slope. Where were Rusan and Olbin? They’d been going to lead the women and children to safety. He saw one of the old kitchen women, making off into the dark with several children.
Shouts and screams came from the long-hall. He abandoned stealth and ran towards the open door.
Inside it was chaos.
Women had taken up kitchen knives, chairs, anything they could use as weapons. They tackled the remaining renegades.
He spotted Rusan and Olbin battling a dozen renegades, who were half-dressed, but none the less deadly. Picking up a fallen chair, Garzik brought it down on a naked back. The man staggered and turned in surprise. When he saw Garzik was unarmed, he lifted his sword. Cheeky-puss darted out from under a table and stabbed him in the groin.
Before Garzik could react, she disappeared again.
The man toppled, bleeding out.
Garzik grabbed the fallen sword, a nasty nicked blade, and laid into the renegades nearest him. Hack, block, duck. Kill without being killed. No time for finesse. Captain Blackwing would not be impressed.
Olbin spotted him and beckoned with a grin.
Screaming from outside.
Garzik ran to the window. Danja and the others had arrived and were tackling the renegades down by the jetty.
A hunting horn sounded.
No, it was the call to retreat. The renegades inside the hall turned and ran, intent on getting out before their ship sailed.
Now it was a race to chase them down to the departing vessel. By the light of the burning ship, Garzik could see they’d raised the sail of the remaining ship and were hastily preparing their oars.
Several renegades leaped off the jetty onto the deck. Others missed and had to swim for it. Still others ran along the shore as their ship gathered speed. They leaped into the bay to swim out as it passed. But many others never made it. They were hacked down without mercy.
When there were no more running renegades, the Utlanders followed the ship along the shore, jeering, mocking and waving weapons.
Hardly able to believe it was over, Garzik watched the sails fade into the night.
The children and beardless who had followed the ship along the shore jeered for a bit longer, then returned. Most of them were uninjured, but many of those who’d remained at the jetty limped or staggered.
The burning ship had reached the waterline, and the last flames were extinguished as it sank. Everyone cheered.
Those who were whole and hearty helped support the injured as everyone made for the hall. Garzik offered an arm to one of the beardless. She accepted his help, wincing with each step. When they reached the long-hall, she headed over to the fireplace, where the injured were being treated.
‘More lamps. I need more light!’ Iron-hair called as she tried to hold a bleeding wound closed. Sarijana ran to help her.
‘Here’s one!’ Children dragged an injured renegade out from under a pile of bodies. ‘Over here!’
Rusan cut his throat without hesitation. No mercy.
‘Do that outside, Rus,’ Iron-hair snapped. ‘There’s enough mess on the floor.’
‘Sorry, Ma.’ Rusan sounded twelve.
Garzik blinked, suddenly very tired.
Several of the older children, Cheeky-puss amongst them, were dragging dead renegades outside, while others gravitated to the fireplace to help with the injured. Old women gathered the wailing infants and small children, and took them upstairs to sing them to sleep.
‘Here, help me get rid of this.’ Olbin indicated a renegade’s body. He left the dead man with Garzik and collected another body.
Garzik caught the first renegade’s legs and dragged him outside, only to be directed down to the field near the jetty, where they were building a pyre to burn the bodies.
It seemed vaguely obscene to drag the man’s body over the rutted ground. Garzik tried not to look at his face.
‘Leave that one for the fire.’ Olbin gestured to the heap, where he had already thrown the body he’d carried.
No ceremony for the enemy.
Garzik straightened up. Everything ached.
‘Well, who would have thought?’ Olbin muttered.
Garzik turned to see what he meant. Trafyn was coming up from the shore dragging a body.
‘I killed him!’ the squire crowed. ‘Tell them. Tell them I killed him!’
Garzik felt a growing sense of dread as Trafyn pulled the small body closer. Strong-arm picked up the lad and threw him onto the pile.
No mistake. It was the boy Garzik had saved. The boy’s throat had been cut. Probably while he was unconscious.
‘Put up a fight, did he?’ Garzik asked, voice thick with fury.
‘Something fierce,’ Trafyn boasted.
Garzik punched him, smashing the squire’s nose.
Trafyn went down, holding his face.
As blood seeped between his fingers, Garzik advanced on him.
‘Hold up.’ Olbin grabbed his arm. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He punched me!’ Trafyn protested thickly in Merofynian. ‘Did you see that? He punched me!’
Olbin turned Garzik around. ‘What was that for?’
Tears of fury glazed his vision. Coward, sneak, braggart... words he didn’t know in the Utland tongue choked him.
‘Well?’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Garzik countered.
Olbin glanced past him to Trafyn.
Who hastily backed up, scrambling to his feet. ‘Whatever he says, I didn’t do it. He’s just mad because I didn’t help set the ship alight.’
It was on the tip of Garzik’s tongue to reveal how the boy had died, but then he realised the Utlanders would probably have cut the lad’s throat anyway.
These we
ren’t his people. Not the Utlanders and certainly not Trafyn. He’d never felt more alone.
Garzik flung off Olbin’s restraining hand.
The big Utlander searched his face.
Garzik shook his head.
Olbin shrugged. ‘Go back, clean the hall of bodies.’ He gestured to Trafyn. ‘You too.’
Garzik stalked off, ignoring Trafyn, who wisely avoided him. He’d never trust the squire to protect his back.
Back in the long-hall he found everyone organised. The fury drained from him, leaving him even more exhausted than ever.
Somehow he kept going.
Garzik carried yet another body down to the funeral pyre and he was there beside Olbin when an eerie wailing made him jump.
‘They’re mourning the dead.’ The big Utlander turned slowly to face the rise to the long-hall.
Everyone looked up towards the hall as if they dreaded going up there. Of course they would. In a settlement this size, everyone knew everyone else. No one would be untouched by death.
‘Might as well face it,’ Olbin muttered and strode up the hill. ‘Come on.’
Garzik followed.
The bodies of the settlement’s dead were being laid out in a neat row in front of the long-hall. Of the beardless who’d been left behind to mend the cow byre, not one survived. Three women were dead. Two children.
So senseless.
It was the children that got to Garzik. He wanted to cry, but he felt nothing.
Just a horrible emptiness.
More and more people came out to see who had died. The wailing grew louder and louder as others added their voices to the ululating cries.
The combined grief of the settlement was a terrible thing. Out of respect, Garzik backed away to let them mourn their dead in peace.
Inside the hall, he found the injured all bandaged up by the fireplace. From the look of some, there could be more dead tomorrow. Danja was pale and tense and her breath came in shallow gasps.
He went over and knelt next to her. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’
Her one eye flickered open. For a heartbeat she didn’t recognise him, so deep had she sunk into the pain. Then she shook her head.
The King's Man (The Chronicles of King Rolen's Kin) Page 13
