The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion

by Larry Robbins

  Pan froze. He expanded his sense of hearing. The snores continued undisturbed. Nothing else was heard.

  He let go of his grip on the wall and landed lightly on the floor. He used his nose to ease the door open a few more inches. The hinges complained, but not nearly as much as before. Then he slipped inside.

  Dayel was awakened by the first squeak from the opening door. She rose her head up and looked around. Like most of the others she had been sleeping on one of the pallets on the floor. She recognized the sound of the door opening because it was the sound that they most feared. One never knew what was coming down those stairs at any time. They could be raped, beaten or spirited away to the slave markets that they had been informed of. Her heart beat faster as she heard the second, fainter report of the hinges.

  Dayel thought about rousing Dwan. She had grown to regret her earlier resentment of the woman. She had thought that the woman was a self-promoter who was interested only in establishing authority over the women. Her courageous actions since then had convinced her of the woman’s strength of character.

  As she stared at the steps she heard not footsteps, but an odd scuffling sound. She caught a glimpse of white fur, and that made no sense to her. It was near the bottom of the stairs, and she knew of no one in the circle of men who controlled and fed them who wore footwear that was trimmed with anything so unmanly.

  Then a fuzzy little face looked at her from around the riser. It was a small animal. The fear that Dayel had been harboring dissipated and was replaced by absolute awe. She had never seen one before, but the myths and stories had described them perfectly. This was a Mountain Child, and a white one at that. That fact caused her to rush to Dwan’s side. Events from the Great War had made Dwan’s association with Tag-Gar, The Legend and his white Mountain Child common knowledge. This, then, had to be the fabled Tinker. Hope welled up inside Dayel.

  She put her hand over Dwan’s mouth. Dwan opened her eyes and appeared frightened at first, but then relaxed as she saw the finger Dayel held against her lips. Dayel put her mouth next to Dwan’s ear. She wore a broad smile and could barely restrain her excitement.

  “Your Tinker is here,” she whispered.

  Dwan sat up quickly and looked to where Dayel was pointing. Her pulse pounded as she saw the animal, and happiness flooded into her. Then she saw that this creature was larger than she recalled Tinker being. When the Mountain Child pranced over closer to them she also saw that this one was male.

  A hundred questions exploded into her mind. What could this possibly mean? She pointedly ignored the whispered questions from Dayel and looked directly at the animal. An image began to form in her mind. A feeling of calm and reassurance washed over her as well.

  The image was of hundreds of warriors wearing the uniforms of Olvion, Aspell and Archer’s Gate. They were all formed up in front of a stand of the oddly-leafed trees that Dwan had only seen here on this island. The image shifted and faded and was replaced by one of two young women hunkered down in darkness. Dwan recognized the outside of the building across the road from the one in which they were housed.

  Then, finally, there was another image. One that brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. It was an image of a giant of a man with golden hair and blue eyes. A white Mountain Child rode his shoulder.

  Other images and emotions flooded her mind. The combination of them served to explain the situation every bit as accurately as words could have.

  When the animal was finished he poked his snout out next to Dwan and nuzzled her face. It was a gesture of affection and reassurance. She had received the same actions from Tinker in the past. Then he turned and fled back up the stairs.

  Dwan turned to an eagerly expectant Dayel. “Help me wake the others quietly. We have much to discuss.”

  ***

  Taggart belly-crawled the last ten yards up to the edge of the light that was being cast by the torches, glow bulbs and campfires being used by the men manning the harbor defenses. This was the night before Fauwler was scheduled to launch his attack by sea.

  Pan had returned alone earlier that morning. He had interacted with Tinker, and she, in turn relayed the information to him. It was a measure of the importance of the message that she used actual words to express the details. Her delivery had been halting and painful, but she had accomplished it. They were now aware that the abducted women were still on the island, and that Tay and Toria were keeping watch on them so that they would know their location at all times.

  After delivering his information, Pan had insisted on returning to the city to rejoin the two women. Tinker sat on a hill and watched for hours after he made his way toward the town. Taggart could feel the waves of worry and sadness emanating from his little friend. He tried his best to ease her discomfort, but there was little he could do.

  Now Taggart was here in the grass with Markex beside him. They were taking a final close look at the manner in which the sentries were deployed. There saw one glaring problem; unlike the first night in which they had observed the defenses, now there was a man sitting on a log right next to the alarm bell. Evidently this guard shift placed more of an emphasis on being prepared to respond to any security threat.

  Everything else appeared to be the same as on their last visit. Taggart tapped Markex and gestured for them to retreat. Markex nodded and they crawled back behind the small hillock they’d used before.

  Taggart whispered to his companion. “I’m afraid this changes things. One of us will need to get in close and silence that guard by the bell when the attack begins. If he sounds it even once it might alert the defenders in the town.”

  Markex drew his knife. He had spent the greater part of the day making certain that it was as sharp as a razor. “I’ll do it, Friend Tag-Gar. No offense to your abilities, but there are few places in which you can hide. At least hide all of you. I will use the time to get into position.” He held out his hand to Taggart. “For Olvion.”

  Taggart gripped the other’s wrist. “For Olvion, my friend.” He watched the man crawl over the crest of the hill. Such courage. It made him proud to be an adopted son of Olvion. Taggart said a brief prayer for the man’s survival.

  The other members of the attack party were a few steps back down the hill. He met up with Spall and informed him of the new conditions. The Archer’s Gate sub-Commander accepted the news with a military attitude. Changes in plans were to be expected.

  The attack was to take place in the space of another half hour. Last minute instructions were passed along to the others. Lyyl was among this group. So was Geraar. Both of the men had impressed the commanders of the operation. Lyyl had led effective attacks against the pirates in the Aspell countryside while Geraar had distinguished himself in battle in the Great War. When men were chosen for this most important facet of their mission, their names were the first ones called.

  They had no timepieces, but a sense of the passage of time was something that the people of this world were born with. Spall looked at Taggart and nodded. The twenty warriors crawled over the top of the hill.

  ***

  Toria and Tay found a housed well head at the end of the alley from which they could conceal themselves and still keep the house under watch. The little construction had a set of slats in the side which was used to reduce moisture within and the slats were just far enough apart to allow them to see through.

  It was now halfway through the night. The attack on the harbor defenses would be taking place soon.

  “I hope Lyyl will be safe tonight,” Tay offered.

  Toria turned to look at her companion. “Lyyl? Twenty Warriors will be assaulting those defenses. Why him in particular?” She punctuated her question by raising her eyebrows several times.

  Tay laughed quietly and turned away, then turned back. “Oh we all have our favorites, don’t we? How is Geraar, by the way?”

  They shared a smile.

  There was a scratching at the well house wall. Tay drew her dagger, but Toria held up a hand
to signal that all was well. She cracked the little half-door which gave access to the shed. Pan stood outside, wiggling his whiskers. She opened it wider, and the little animal hopped inside.

  Pan and Toria immediately went into their silent communication mode. By now Tay had grown accustomed to the ritual and sat silently while they exchanged their telepathic communications. Finally, Toria opened her eyes and looked at her.

  “He checked the house again before finding us. They’re still inside. He delivered the news to Taggart. They should be moving on the harbor sentries right about now.”

  ***

  Markex crawled over rocks and dirt mounds for several hundred yards. He had been absolutely silent for the entire way. The small scratches and the insects which were crawling over his body were ignored. This was his specialty and he was good at it.

  Markex had gone into warrior training early in life after his parents both succumbed to sickness before a summoned healer could reach them. He had always thought himself to be just barely acceptable as a soldier. Then a Sub-Commander had a hunch about him, and he was sent to training as a knifeman. It turned out to be a fortunate fusion of a weapon and a man who had a natural genius for its use.

  As usually happens when one is good at something, Markex threw himself into his work. He developed a dedication to his art that impressed his instructors. They worked him hard, aware that he was destined to be a valuable asset. Their faith in him had been affirmed. Besides Markex’s unusual skill with the short blade he had an uncanny ability to slip unseen through enemy lines for the purpose of silencing sentries. It was those skills which had paved the way for many of the successes of Taggart’s ‘Rangers’ in the Great War.

  Now here he was putting that training and dedication to work again. He lifted his head just high enough to see that he was only fifteen yards from the alarm bell. The sentry still sat near it. The pirate was not a trained military man or he would not have a fire in front of him, spoiling his night vision. It was the one advantage Markex had. He had crawled past several of the other harbor sentries. They had unknowingly aided him in his task by carrying on loud conversations which included laughing and shouting. The knifeman sank into a patch of ankle-high grass and tried to keep his breathing under control. Now he just had to wait.

  ***

  Taggart let the rest of the ambush force go ahead of him. His larger size made being spotted more likely. He was thankful for the experience he’d gained during his time leading the Rangers in the Great War. They had made numerous raids on the inhuman Greys during the hours of darkness, and the lessons he’d learned were invaluable.

  He knew that Jo-Dall was in the process of leading the remainder of the force into the approaches to the town and waiting for the sight of Fauwler’s fleet entering the harbor. Once the defenses were inactivated Taggart would leave most of this squad on the cliffs to guard them, and he would lead a smaller team down to join up with Tay and Toria. He was the only one capable of doing so because it would take the remarkable abilities of the two Mountain Children to make it possible for the two groups to find each other.

  When Spall and the rest of the ambush detail had crawled within twenty yards of the campfires of the defenders they sprang. Taggart saw them rise up and he did so as well. They were on top of the nearest surprised sentries before the pirates had a chance to react. Spall never even slowed, running through the gathered sentries without engaging them. He had designated ten other warriors to follow him as he ran for the more distant guards.

  Taggart ran past the first campfire and saw only dead bodies. The same was true of the second and third. At the fourth gathering of sentries a battle was taking place. There were some fifteen of the pirates, and they were defending themselves against ten Olvionis. The surprise had whittled the pirates’ numbers from their original twenty before the men of Kylee were able to gather their wits and present a defense.

  Taggart ran as fast as he could into the midst of the fight. He saw the shocked expression on the face of one pirate before he batted his head aside with a swipe from his mace. Another pirate had scored a stab wound on an attacker and was just raising his sword for a finishing slash. Taggart was able to deflect the strike with his weapon and redirected the energy of his swing to bring it back around, catching the swordsman in the ribcage. A painful scream issued from the man.

  Then a sharp pain bit into the big man’s back. He swiveled to see that one of the harbor defenders had planted a dagger between his shoulder blades about halfway up the length of the blade. The stab just missed his spine, and the pirate might have struck a deeper blow had Geraar not lopped off his arm with a sword strike before he could finish it. The man never even had a chance to scream as Taggart brought the heavy mace directly down on top of his head.

  Evidently the sudden appearance of the huge man with the terrible mace broke the resolve of this particular group of sentries, and several broke away to seek escape. All were run down and dispatched. It was bloody and terrible work, but it was a necessity. Until now, the only combat that Taggart had engaged in was against grey-skinned Neanderthals who killed humans for food. This was the first time he had been forced to kill another human being. Taggart reminded himself that these were the people who had come into their home and kidnapped their people. It did not take away the revulsion he felt at what he was being forced to do, but it helped.

  On the far side of the defense emplacements, Markex heard the attack begin and saw the guard by the bell jump up and look to see what was happening. The moment his target moved, so did the knifeman. Just as the sentry turned to run for the bell he leapt up and thrust his long dagger under the man’s ribcage and angled upward. The pirate looked at Markex with an expression of bewilderment. Then his eyes rolled back and he dropped to the ground.

  Markex heard a shout and turned to see five more pirates converging on his location. They saw him at the same moment that he saw them. The pirate who was out in front of the others pointed an axe at him and urged his followers into a charge. The knifeman had no weapon other than his dagger. He wore a metal forearm guard on his left arm and it was his only protection. At best it could deflect a single strike. The Olvioni warrior thought briefly of his woman and young daughter back in their home. Then he raised his dagger and took the fight to his attackers.

  ***

  The sun was just rising over the sea horizon when Tay nudged Toria. “There’s movement over there.”

  Toria put her head next to Tay’s so both could see through the slats in the well shed. Across the street at the big house she saw three men on the wide porch. They were yawning and stretching as if they had just awakened. Two of the men had long braided leather lanyards hanging from their hands. The other man was taller and was better dressed. He was obviously the person in charge. The women could not hear what he was saying, but by the way he was pointing, and the expression on his face they could tell that he was giving the others orders. The two subordinates listened and nodded until the man in charge stalked off. A moment later another man emerged from the house with his hair in disarray from his pillow. The three exchanged words while standing on the porch.

  Pan sent Toria a jolt of alarm. It was immediately plain to the young woman that something was happening that threatened the success of their plans. She received a brief image of the women being led outside through the cellar door.

  Toria grabbed Tay’s arm. “They’re going to move them.”

  Not for the first time since they started their mission, Tay missed the comforting presence of her bow and a quiver full of arrows. “We can’t let that happen,” she said.

  Toria was considering their options. “If they are just relocating them we could follow and just keep them under watch, but that taller man looked like a seaman. They might be taking them to a ship. If that happens we could never prevent them from being removed from the island and taken anywhere in this new land. We could lose them forever.”

  Tay nodded. “I agree. I say we make our move as soon as th
ey go inside.”

  They both drew their knives and watched. Pan slid inside his riding sling on Toria’s shoulder.

  After a brief conversation the men at the slave quarters turned and entered the building.

  The women climbed out of the well shed, grimacing at the pain in their knees and backs from being bent over for the entire night. They crossed the street and stepped up onto the porch. Tay grabbed the latch and pulled. It was locked. She glanced back at Toria. “What now?” she asked.

  At that moment Pan leapt from the sling in which he’d been riding and scampered quickly off the porch and around to the side of the house where the exterior entrance to the cellar was located. The women followed.

  Inside the cellar the captive women had been up all night making plans. Dwan had decided that, regardless of whatever else were to happen, they would not allow themselves to be taken to a ship. They were prepared to resist to the point of some of them being killed. The sounds of footsteps in the house above them gave them a warning that something would be happening soon.

  There was very little that they had been able to find and fashion into weapons. One wooden slat had been taken from the frame of a divan and sharpened into a point and the legs from a large bench had been removed giving four of them short sticks to be used as clubs. It was not much, but it was all that they had. That and the determination of twenty eight women of Olvion who refused to submit to any further degradation.

  They were surprised to hear sounds coming from the cellar door leading to the outside. They were not the sounds of a lock being turned. It was more like someone working at the lock with a knife. Dwan crept up next to the door and listened. She jumped back as the lock suddenly gave a snapping noise, and the door opened slightly.