Geord had also made himself essential to the war effort by conspiring with Taggart to produce hundreds of huge crossbow-type weapons, which had helped turn the tide of the war. Taggart had last seen the old craftsman suffering from heat stroke in the middle of the final battle of the Great War. He had been pushing himself far too hard for a man of his age, and Taggart had long ago figured that he had not survived the day.
And now here he was standing tall and strong again in front of him. With care, Taggart embraced the man, careful not to squeeze him too hard. He was glad to see that his arms and back muscles were still strong. A lifetime of making, stringing and operating bows had the effect of developing a man’s body.
“Steady man, steady,” Geord said, but it was with a broad smile. “Why so surprised my large friend, did you think me dead?”
“Frankly, yes. The last glimpse I had of you they were carrying you off of the field of battle and back behind the walls.”
There was a hint of embarrassment in the old man’s face. “Yes, that type of battle is a young man’s game, but we gave those grey bastards a taste of Olvion’s fury that day did we not?”
“Indeed, old friend. Our success is due in no small part to your efforts on our cannons. What is that you’re holding?”
The man carried a long object wrapped in brown canvas. Taggart had a suspicion of what it contained, but he was almost holding his breath in anticipation.
“You know damned well what it is,” Geord said. He untwisted the several layers of cloth to reveal the beautifully carved and lacquered bow that he had made for Taggart months earlier. “Your wife brought it back to me before she left for Aspell. She said it was useless to all but you, and she was right. I have still to find a man with your strength who could string it, much less draw it to full length. I would be guessing that you are off to find her again?”
Taggart’s face showed his pain. “I am, old friend. I assume you know Aspell is now besieged by…some as yet unknown army that came from over the Sea of Panoply. I aim to free her and the city.”
Geord gave him a grim smile. “And I have no doubt that you will. She’s a beauty, your wife. A little tall for my taste, but that would be no obstacle to one such as yourself.” The old craftsman’s face grew serious. “Here,” he handed over the bow. “Take this, Lad. Promise me you will draw enemy blood with it in your efforts. It will help take the sting out of being too old to join you and these fine men and women in your quest.”
Taggart took the bow and caressed the fine swirls and designs that Geord had carved into the weapon. One had only to pick up the bow to instantly know that here was a serious weapon. Geord also passed over a leather quiver filled with dozens of feathered black arrows.
“Now these,” he said pointing to the arrows, “are not to be wasted. There are arrows and then there are arrows. These have been carved absolutely straight and are coated with a lacquer of my own making which reduces friction and drag. I know you probably don’t know what I’m talking about. Just suffice it to say that they will fly straight and true every time. You have a hundred there. I pray they leave a hundred enemy bodies in the dust.”
Taggart smiled and put his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I worry about you old friend, you are truly a dangerous man.”
Geord shook his head. “No more, my friend, but there was a time. Ah yes, there was indeed a time. Now, off with you. I expect to see you back in Olvion ‘ere long with that pretty wife of yours.”
The two embraced again, and Taggart watched the old gent as he strutted his way back down the cobbles toward his shop.
A hand on his arm drew his attention. Vynn was smiling as he looked at the retreating bow maker. “He’s a treasure, that one,” he said. “King Ruguer decorated him with a Warrior’s Mace.” The award was the highest honor that could be awarded to a civilian. “Now, if you’re coming, let’s be off.”
Vynn raised his arm over his head, and waved it in a circle several times. The cavalry mounted up, and the infantry shouldered their rucksacks. The men on foot stayed in a column of twos as they followed their commander out from the staging areas and through the large city gates of the west side of the city. Taggart was pleased to see Geraar among the passing warriors. They had a long journey ahead of them and the early morning air was crisp and invigorating. The sun was sneaking up over their shoulders, and the sky was free of clouds. The pinkish tint of the sky, which used to frighten Taggart, now filled him with hope.
As the last of the marchers filed out of the gates, they were followed by dozens of wagons drawn by burdenbeasts. These conveyances carried the essentials that an army required; food, cooking pots, extra arrows, replacement weapons and hundreds of other pieces of gear which would be needed upon their arrival. The wagons were driven by civilians who were hired on for the project, freeing up the warriors for the fight that was to come. There were also numerous other contracted non-military people walking behind the caravan. These workers would be used to set up camp, help the cooks and to perform the thousands of jobs that a marching army required.
The wagons and accompanying civilians had formed up outside of the western gates awaiting the passage of the warriors before they could fall in behind them. Taggart did not notice the hooded figure who turned her head when he and Vynn walked past.
***
The twin moons of Olvion shone faintly over the darkened walls of Aspell. It was now the tenth day of the siege. Captain Fauwler stood on the deck of his flagship, the Dreadnaught. He closed his eyes as the wind blew gently in from the sea bringing the scent of brine. The ship rocked lazily, and the rigging squeaked. By the Stars, he loved this life, but his heart was heavy, and it was growing more so each day. As he had stated in the Council of Captains meeting, he had become a pirate for legitimate reasons. When governments grew corrupt and served only the privileged, then thievery was the only way to strike back. Fauwler had always been drawn to the sea, and it was natural for him to combine that love with the life of an outlaw by engaging in piracy. He had been surprised to discover that most captains he had hired on with shared his sense of honor and decency. A captured crew was always offered a chance at joining their numbers and the little town of Kylee had grown quickly. If there were women aboard a captured ship, they were always treated with the utmost respect. Most captains even surrendered their quarters to them. They were then taken to one of the many neutral coastal cities and released. Some even elected not to go.
To be sure, there were times when deaths resulted from their efforts. Mostly this was the result of the ship’s noblemen owners hiring mercenary guards who specialized in thwarting the pirate’s raids. Even still, the guards chose surrender and life over combat and death on most occasions. Dying for a tyrant’s treasure was pointless.
Fauwler had seen the nature of the captains changing over the last few summers. In the past, the actions of a Captain who petitioned to join the Council of Captains were subjected to scrutiny. Any extremes, especially in the way that captured crews were treated, was frowned upon and the offending captains were rejected and banned from Kylee. Four summers past, however, Captain Lampte was elected as Governor. The selection had been made while Fauwler and several like-minded captains were at sea. To Fauwler, it appeared that the timing had been deliberate. Still, it had been within the guidelines the pirates had set for themselves, so he accepted the results. It was not long afterward that people like Tallun, who would never have been accepted before, were now being admitted in numbers that worried Fauwler. It seemed that profit was the overriding concern of Lampte’s administration. Many stories were circulated regarding Lampte trading council seats for money. That was a clear violation of their bylaws, and would have been grounds for removal, but witnesses to said transactions seemed to always wind up dead behind ale houses or floating in the harbor. The situation was worsening every day.
Fauwler had been against the attack on Aspell, had voted against it, in fact. He was here because someone of conscience had to be present t
o keep circumstances under control. The murder of the four townspeople had happened when Fauwler was at sea, having been assigned to survey the surrounding coastline by Tallun. It was tradition that any captain who discovered a potential target was in complete control of any resulting actions. That put Tallun in charge.
The laws of Kylee allowed considerable latitude in the actions taken by a man in such a position. Most crewmen of seized ships were given a choice of joining the pirates or being put ashore at a neutral port. When a ship seizure uncovered a potential windfall, however, the continuing confinement of a crew was allowed if it was thought to be necessary to the success of the operation. It had always been understood that such an action would be handled in a humane manner. Also, any person who was not occupying a role as a combatant was expected to be treated as such. Unfortunately, there was no procedures for disciplining a Captain who violated those understandings. None had ever been needed. Until lately.
Fauwler had been captivated by Kal’s stories of the free governments of the continent of Maltania, upon which the kingdom of Aspell was located. The young captain maintained a cautious skepticism about the notion, certainly it would not be the first time that a prisoner had spun pretty yarns in an attempt to engineer an escape. Fauwler had spoken to the man at length, however, and he was inclined to believe him. Think of it. A land where all were equal even to the level of king. A place where it was forbidden to beat a man or put him to the lash. Where all were fairly represented by people who were elected to their posts because of the integrity that they displayed.
It was all that Fauwler had ever wanted; a place where he would be respected because of what he was, not the circumstances of his birth. He looked out over the city. Lights were blazing cheerily in the inns and taverns along the wharf as well as the houses which had been liberated by the occupying force. The dark stone walls of the stronghold appeared dreary in comparison. There were small glow bulbs here and there, but mostly it was dark. The darkness aided in their night vision and prevented a sneak attack. Several times Fauwler watched through his glass as men shimmied down ropes from the redoubt and disappeared into the countryside. Everyone onshore was either too drunk or too preoccupied to notice them. He had never alerted anyone to the situation. Obviously they were being sent to request help from elsewhere. For the hundredth time, Fauwler wondered why he had never reported the escapes. Now he found himself questioning on which side he wanted to stand.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lyyl, Toria’s cousin, crouched in the darkness. He and ninety-two others, all reactivated Warriors of Aspell, had returned from Olvion to their home shores as soon as word of the invasion had arrived. Like Lyyl, all had recently been released from the military after the Great War and were taking up residence in and around Olvion. The state of emergency had automatically recalled them back into service. At the age of twenty-five summers, Lyyl was one of the most experienced warriors among them. He had fought in numerous skirmishes with the Grey Ones while assigned to a supporting force in Olvion. He was one of the fortunate survivors of the numerous battles of the war including the last one in which so many perished. He had thereafter requested release from military service, and it had been granted. He had been looking forward to starting a new life with his Uncle on his farm. Now here he was two seasons later and back in uniform. No officers were among their group so the small band of Aspell warriors were now being supervised only by Lyyl and one other experienced fighter. The rest of their group were mostly green reservist men and women who had been activated late in the war and had little or no real combat experience.
The darkness of the night wrapped around Lyyl as he watched the eight men approaching the dirt road intersection. The two wide roads led off to different kingdoms, one to Archer’s Gate and the other to Northland. It was an important military position, which was why the pirates had finally gotten around to sending a party to secure it. Any force approaching from either direction could be observed and reported on. Lyyl had taken it upon himself to keep it under surveillance.
Now there were a dozen warriors hidden in the bushes alongside the road. Lyyl was nervous. He tried to quiet even the sound of his breathing, which seemed horribly noisy in the darkness. He knew that the others in his group would take their cue from him. To them he was the old, experienced warrior who feared nothing and would show them how to visit mayhem upon the outlaws who threatened their kingdom. They were also frightened, and expecting him to look out for them. Lyyl prayed their trust was not misplaced. He was just experienced enough to know that anything could and would happen in battle. He had set up his ambush expertly, but this exercise was going to be performed by people and people were fallible.
Just as the eight pirates were arriving at the crossroads, Lyyl heard a clink of metal on metal coming from across the road. He grimaced. The pirates froze. For ten seconds no one made a sound. Twenty seconds. Forty. Then Lyyl heard a bush rustle.
The pirates, who just a moment earlier had been laughing and talking among themselves, were now drawing swords and lowering lances. Lyyl prayed to the stars that the moment would pass and the pirates would go back into a relaxed state. It was not to be so.
From behind him, Lyyl heard a creak of bending wood as a bow was drawn. The pirates heard it also.
Lyyl jumped up to a standing position and threw his javelin with all of the strength he possessed. The sharpened metal spear flew the length of twenty paces and buried itself halfway through the chest of the only pirate who was carrying a bow. The man screamed as he dropped his weapon and clutched at the wooden shaft.
Mayhem erupted. The pirates started shouting and Lyyl’s warriors fell upon them with sword and mace. One other warrior raced forward with a javelin electing to use it as a lance. He drove it into the back of one of the enemy. He was then struck down from a sword slash to the neck. Lyyl ran forward, leaving two of his archers behind him. They would not be effective in this type of melee, but they had their uses and their orders. They stood ready.
Lyyl had been trained in every type of weapon that existed in the four kingdoms. For some reason, he had always preferred the flat heavy-bladed sword like the one Mattus had gifted to Taggart. It was heavy enough for someone of his musculature to use effectively against the more slender and lighter swords. He employed it to its full usefulness now as he met a blade that was aimed at his head. The slash was halted and Lyyl was able to pivot his shoulders and slice open his opponent’s thigh. The pirate began a screech that he never completed. As quickly as Lyyl landed that strike he pivoted again and landed a killing blow to the back of the man’s neck.
Around him the battle was ending quickly. The pirates were outnumbered and still somewhat surprised. They fought savagely, but by the time they fully realized what was happening, half of their number had already fallen. Only two now remained alive, and they sprinted off in the direction of Aspell. Lyyl pointed to the two archers, one male, and the other female. They stepped into the road and carefully lined up their targets. Their arrows shot forward, both finding their mark. One pirate went down screaming. The other stumbled slightly but kept running.
“Pull them off of the road. If they’re alive keep them that way,” Lyyl ordered. He beckoned to one of his archers, the female, to follow him. She was surprisingly quick, and he had to fight hard to stay up with her. Up ahead, they saw their quarry exit the dirt road and plunge into the dense foliage alongside. The archer got their first, stood in the road, and drew back her arrow.
“Stay there, if you see him, kill him.”
The archer nodded, and Lyyl entered the brush ten paces down from where the enemy had gone. Once past the denser brush, the foliage thinned, and Lyyl could see about five paces in all directions. He crept as quietly as possible, his odd sword drawn back and resting on his shoulder. A moment later he saw the snapped off shaft of an arrow lying on the ground. The feathers were wet with blood. Lyyl forced himself to stand still and listen. The blood coursing through his ears was not helping. He willed h
imself to calmness. He listened.
There was a faint scuff of a boot on dirt. Lyyl crouched.
“Rarrrghhh!” The pirate exploded, screaming, out of the bushes to Lyyl’s right. He had a raised axe and had caught the warrior by surprise. He was too close. Lyyl turned and lifted his sword, desperately hoping to parry the strike.
Then the pirate was falling backward, his arms pin-wheeling as he fought to stay afoot. He failed. Lyyl waited a moment, then approached his prone body cautiously. He heard a gurgling sound. He kept his sword at the ready as he drew closer. The gurgling stopped. In the dim moonlight Lyyl saw feathers protruding from the dead man’s throat. The archer stepped in from Lyyl’s opposite side. She had another arrow already drawn and ready. Her shot had taken the pirate high in the neck, severing his carotid artery, and choking him on his own blood. He looked at her for any signs of revulsion or horror. He saw none.
“You saved my life,” he said.
“I know that,” she replied.
Back at the ambush site Lyyl’s people were cleaning up. The bodies of the dead pirates had been dragged off of the road, and dust was thrown over the blood patches. When they left, his people would use leafy branches to erase any footprints that would betray the direction in which they would be heading.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 17
