by J. W. Webb
Barin was untouched by the storm’s fury. His cheerful eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight. He alone appeared eager to greet the coming day.
At mid-morning they spied land. It was Fassof who saw it first.
“Hoy, land ahead!” came the hoarse yell from high above as the freckled mate perched tenuously on the crow’s nest. “We’ve raised the Island of Thieves!” Nobody clapped.
Corin joined the somber gathering at the prow, hungry to see what the horizon revealed. He focused and at last spied dark peaks.
“Crenna,” announced Barin with a grunt. “Last night’s blow has helped us; we will be in Kranek harbor by sundown.” He stuck his head below deck and growled. “Ruagon, you worthless bilge barrel, get lunch on the way. Everyone’s famished!” It was true, even Galed had recovered enough to eat.
“I’m already bloody well doing it!” Ruagon’s grumble drifted up from somewhere amidships.
“Thank you.”
After lunch the crew set about their duties with renewed zeal. Barin held to optimism. He aimed to reach port before dusk.
“Kranek has a busy harbor,” he informed them. “Hopefully we won’t be harassed when we enter.” Corin glanced about ship. There was little damage from the fury of the previous night. His companions were in better spirits than the day before, despite their lack of sleep. Even Galed was almost cheery.
Roman interrupted his thoughts with an awkward cough. “The other night,” he said. “It was just a strange mood brought on by indolence. Forget about it.”
“I already have,” lied Corin. He added nothing more, so Roman left him to his thoughts.
Afternoon brought the mountains higher. Great forests draped their shoulders with dark pines. The lofty summits were crowned with snow. Tiny shapes could be seen high above those peaks, circling and diving.
“Behold the eagles of Crenna!” announced Barin. As the day dwindled, the island dominated the western skyline. Pale sandy beaches stretched beneath dark trees. There was no sign of habitation. Corin felt the Queen brush against his shoulder. He shuffled awkwardly.
“There lies our destination,” she said. Her hair was combed and immaculate despite the breeze, Corin couldn’t help noticing. “Beautiful, is it not, Corin an Fol?”
“Very beautiful,” Corin responded, not meaning the island. He changed the subject. “Were you very young when you visited before?” Corin asked awkwardly. He found it hard to look at those perceptive, dark eyes for more than a second or two. Instead he concentrated on the mountains ahead. A stunning vista—he had to admit that. Ariane continued to appraise him closely, he noted.
“Yes,” the Queen answered eventually, after returning her gaze to the island. “Long ago my father and I accompanied the High King on one of his royal visits. Kelsalion was overlord of Crenna in those days. The island was part of the Four Kingdoms, though even then a tenuous, unruly part. That was before the Assassin seized the castle. I was only a young girl, but I remember it well enough.”
“What do you know of this Rael Hakkenon?” Corin asked her. “His name is feared greatly throughout the lands I have travelled. People speak in whispers when they mention it. I heard a rumor he was born a noble, that something ghastly happened to him and twisted his mind toward cruelty.”
“I heard that, too,” replied Ariane. “Word is he was taken prisoner by the previous lord of Crenna and maimed in some most unfortunate manner. It would explain his ruthless reputation.”
“Aye, that it would,” Corin concurred, wincing at the thought. “I heard that he butchered the entire ruling house of Kranek.”
“It’s true.” The Queen looked up at him. Their eyes met, danced for the briefest instant. She turned away, a small smile showing on her lips.
“Rael Hakkenon captured the fortress at night with his outlawed pirate clan.” Her voice was soft, and Corin was aware of how close she stood to him. “They slew the guards, then rounded up the occupants of the castle.
“They thrust them in a withy cage Rael had ordered constructed in the harbor. This they put to torch, burning to death all those within.” Ariane shuddered picturing the scene.
“He made the citizens of Kranek watch the fate of their former lords. They say the screams were heard far out to sea by passing ships, and that the stench of burnt flesh lingered in the city streets for days. Can you imagine it, Corin? It must have been horrible. Those poor people…
“Since that day no one has dared speak out against the Assassin. Crenna became known as The Assassin’s Isle after that grim event, although some still prefer calling it the Island of Thieves. We must tread very carefully, Corin.”
“Aye, Queen, that we must,” Corin replied. He so wanted to hold her, kiss those moist lips. He held back and turned away.
The sea was much calmer. They were protected by the island’s lee. Barin gave the order to change course, spinning the wheel with his brawny arms. Slowly the great ship of Valkador turned southward and paralleled the shoreline, just a mile or so out from the rocky coves. Throughout the rest of that day they skirted the eastern coast of the island.
Corin watched the Queen follow Galed below deck, the ginger-headed Cale as ever at her hem. Strange emotions tugged at him. It was more than just attraction. He felt a need to protect her. He’d only known her a few days, but Corin cared about this Queen, more than anyone before in his life. Even his fondness for Holly in those early days was eclipsed by this new emotion.
It was just another thing troubling him. What went on inside that pretty royal head? Perhaps she just liked a bit of rough, now and then. But no, it was more than that.
Corin shrugged, unsheathed Clouter, and ran his wet stone down its long edges until the steel glistened diamond in the late afternoon sun.
He studied the landscape off to starboard. Ariane was right, the island was beautiful. Corin hadn’t expected that, imagining a land as dark and cruel as its ruler’s reputation. The mountains rose ridge upon ridge. Despite his prejudice, Corin felt awed by their towering majesty. He turned away and gazed seaward instead.
They steered south for some hours, keeping the shoreline hard to starboard. In their trail were mewling gulls. Eventually, as evening beckoned, they reached a rocky shoulder of the mountains where they split and jutted forth in craggy clusters, their rocky knees meeting the ocean in a great sweeping curve. Broken rocks, eyots, and skerries were strewn about, making the ship’s way through difficult and hazardous.
But Barin knew these waters. He piloted a confident course through the skerries until they safely rounded the last outcrop of land. To south lay nothing but open water. Barin heaved heavy on the wheel, bringing the brigantine round to face the setting sun. They had reached the southeast corner of the island.
Here the forests commandeered the rocky shore; there were no longer any beaches in view. Some miles west, framed by woods, a stone fortress could be seen, its walls rearing stark and gaunt beneath the mountain’s mantle.
Sunlight reflected off granite. Below that shining tower was a city and a huge stone harbor partially hidden by the waves. Sailing closer, they espied dark sails gliding smoothly in the light evening breeze. The Assassin’s Sharks, no doubt. High up and dominating the terrain stood the castle keep, frowning on the town below.
“That is Kranek,” announced Ariane. “There’s the Great Keep. Somewhere deep beneath the halls of that bleak tower we’ll find Prince Tarin and learn what has become of the Tekara.” The Queen’s eyes shone with resolution as she spoke. “Or else perish in the attempt,” she added under her breath.
As they approached Kranek’s harbor they were amazed at its size. From east to west it stretched well over a mile. Moored within its perimeter were many ships. Sleek fighting sharks of Crenna there were but also merchant vessels, resplendent in the colors of many lands.
There were galleys and dhows from Permio and strange wicker craft from mysterious Golt. Bobbing between were the odd trader and brig, clinker-built trawlers, and myriad small craft. Co
rin now understood Barin’s logic in coming here. It would not be difficult to mingle unnoticed amongst this multitude of mast and sail.
The Starlight Wanderer rounded the harbor arm. Sailors clambered onto yards, lashing gaskets and stowing sails, whilst their fellows took to oar, rowing to the eastern quay, where the merchanters and foreign ships were moored. Corin fastened his green cloak, concealing Biter. Clouter he had reluctantly stowed below in Barin’s cabin. No way of hiding that.
They reached the quay and made fast to a wooden jetty. Within moments Fassof’s warning yell announced unwelcome company. “Soldiers approaching from the town!” the mate shouted. “A score or so—the bastards are coming fast!”
Barin cursed in annoyance and then barked orders. Corin slipped his hand beneath his cloak, fingering Biter’s hilt.
“I’ll handle this!” announced Barin. He turned to the approaching soldiers with a broad smile. “Greeting, Captain,” he said to the leader, a thin man with drooping moustache and sallow, cratered face.
“What business have you in Kranek?” demanded the man, dark eyes suspicious and hooded.
“To trade, my friend,” announced Barin, waving his arms expansively. “I have on board many furs and rugs from my homeland in far-off Valkador. Also jewels from the distant south to tempt your wealthy ladies!”
The man nodded slowly, clearly unimpressed. “Very well, but be warned, barbarian, weapons are banned in the harbor by the order of the Lord Assassin himself.”
“As I said, Captain, we come in peace to trade.” Barin’s smile was swiftly replaced with a frown at the word barbarian. “Now, if you will excuse me,” he added tersely, “I have work to attend to. Good day to you!”
The captain nodded knowingly. He glanced sideways at Corin, Roman, and the Queen, who kept her face well hidden beneath the hooded cloak. He smiled like a man with a perfect deck of cards.
“Good day to you, too, master merchant, but have a care.” The captain turned briskly and, snapping his fingers, bid his soldiers follow him back up to the town. He stopped once before leaving the quay and called out.
“I did not realize it was the practice of northern barbarians to carry priests of the Witch Goddess on board. It will interest his Lordship a great deal.” The captain spun on his heels again.
“That one means trouble,” muttered Barin. Corin glowered as he watched the soldiers leave, his old hatred burning inside him. Ariane placed her arm on his shoulder.
“Be careful, Corin,” she urged him. “Here is no place for hotheads.”
“I know, but it’s so fucking hard.”
“Stay strong for me, fighter. I don’t want to lose you.” Corin looked up hearing that, but she’d moved on to bolster Cale and Galed, who were looking very nervous. Corin stared after her. She was a bloody fine woman that Queen—a bloody fine woman. He wouldn’t lose his temper. Not now. He had to stay alive to ensure she did, too.
It was agreed amongst them that Barin, Corin, the Queen, and Roman Parrantios would seek to gain access to the Great Keep after dusk. Bleyne, Galed, and Cale would stay behind to watch the harbor and placate any curious soldiers sniffing about. Fassof and the crew would keep the ship ready for a swift getaway, if needed.
“We will keep to our guise as priests of Elanion,” said the Queen. “Ignore what that pompous twat said. He was just trying to unnerve us. The Goddess is respected amongst common folk everywhere, even Crenna,” she assured them.
“Barin and I shall create a diversion. Once inside the gates, Corin and Roman will enter the keep while we two keep watch outside.” She made it sound easy, Corin thought.
“The dungeons will be at the rear. They always are. All weapons must be well hidden beneath our robes, obviously. Remember this, all of you; I am a High Priestess of Elanion, here on the goddess’s sacred business.”
“We had best wait until nightfall proper and then enter the town under the cover of darkness,” said Barin. “That oily worm of a captain will doubtless be watching the harbor, so we had better go carefully.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “It won’t be long before we can slip into the city unnoticed.”
Barin had reluctantly placed his massive axe in the safe keeping of Fassof, close by Corin’s Clouter. Roman kept his broadsword, only just concealed under his shabby cloak. Barin stowed a short sword and a tiny crossbow in his belt, together with a small bag of bolts, his big woolen cloak hiding them from view; no priest’s gown would fit him.
Corin had Biter and his five knives hidden beneath the green cloak. Ariane kept her rapier hidden beneath the folds of her own cloak. Those remaining on board made sure they had weapons to hand also. Tensely they all waited for night’s cover and the general hubbub of the surrounding town to abate.
Just after dusk the chosen four stole silent along the jetty, taking care not to be seen by anyone, especially those soldiers still loitering on the edge of the town as if expecting trouble.
The heady stench of Kranek filled their nostrils as they filed into the narrow, oddly empty streets of the lower town. Ever upward coiled those streets, dirt strewn and rat ridden, hemmed by houses that tottered outwards from either side, almost meeting at roof height two (sometimes three) stories above. Ahead loomed the castle, a squat black beast watching them with torchy eyes. Through narrow windows the firelight flickered.
It was cold. Their breath froze as they walked. The night was tense and coffin silent.
Like four green ghosts, the companions shadowed their way up toward the high castle. At the rear walked Corin, grim of face and heavy-hearted. He glanced often into the hidden alleys on either side of the street. Those houses spilt no light, and no sound issued from either tavern or inn. Beneath his priest’s robe, Corin’s right palm rested on Biter’s bone hilt.
Into the dragon’s den….
Chapter 23: The Dark Prince
Rael Hakkenon, Master Assassin, Pirate Prince, and Lord Protector of Crenna, watched the solitary candle flicker, gutter, and diminish. And so it is with men, he thought. A man burns brightly for his brief duration then is gone forever, extinguished like the candle flame.
No one is immune. Everything becomes ashes and dust eventually, even the gods cannot alter that. They burn brighter, with longer flames, but they too fail ultimately. They too are forgotten.
Rael had no fear of death. He courted it, rather, and sometimes yearned for it when the black walls closed in on him. Death alone was faithful, his constant companion, a pale, sleepless ghost that waited behind every corner. All one had was a brief flicker of time. It was enough. What mattered was what one achieved in the short time given.
What mattered was power.
His past had been a shadowy, bloodstained trail of revenge and ambition, of slow tortures of pain and pride. The future would prove more of the same until one day the pale ghost catches him at last. That day was long years away unless he should falter. Rael would not dwell on that day. His thoughts were on the present, his ambitions ruled the now.
There was little light seeping in through the heavy linen drapes that shrouded his high hall. That suited his mood. He often sat alone on the richly carved ebony chair. It was the throne and altar of this self-styled Prince. Here Rael passed his judgments, here he watched the fear in their eyes and fed on that fear.
Ahead, the great hall of Kranek Castle stretched silent, dark, and empty, a place of echoes and shadows, creeping draughts that bore cold whispers of feudal friction and sibling murder. Rael smiled thinly thinking of days gone by and of the blood spilt in this.
It had been thirty years since he first came to the island, a boy, half-starved and almost drowned, a lone survivor of the watery depths. Even at fourteen years he’d been cunning and cruel. Rael Hakkenon was a destroyer. It was his one great talent, his central reason for existing.
Violent youth, he’d stolen and cheated his way through the dirty back streets of Kranek. He’d killed his first man within a month of arriving. A brutal gang leader, Rael had stabbed him throu
gh the eye in one of the seedy inns. He’d taken control of the gang, fought the rival gangs, broke them one by one, and then welded them to his own.
At twenty-three Rael ruled the back streets, profiting from contraband and murder. His word was law among the gutters. Fear was his currency, corruption his profit. But Rael became bored. He was easily bored.
There had always been pirates in Crenna but they were no more than disparate outlaws in those days. They operated out of Storn, a craggy hidden harbor on the remote west of the island. Kranek’s ruler had sought upon occasion to eradicate them, for they were an embarrassment to him. But he was fat and indolent and his efforts half cooked.
And so Rael Hakkenon took to piracy. He raided, raped and murdered his way along the coast, from Morwella to Golt, until his name was dreaded at every seaport. He returned to Crenna a rich man, built more ships, and took to the sea again. Rael had a large following of brigands and murderers, mostly Crenise but foreigners too.
For ten years he roved, and during that time Rael watched and waited too. He studied politics, read the signs, plotted and schemed. He entered Kelthaine, practiced swordplay in secret schools. Rael excelled beyond any other student in his talent for dealing death.
Then one day the High King’s councilor, Caswallon, approached him. There were things they had in common, ambitions they could further together.
They formed a pact, a secret union that would serve both their purposes. Now and then the pirate chief was called on to perform certain functions for his ally. Murderous functions.
Killing excited Rael as no woman ever had. Known by everyone, feared by all, Rael took on a new guise, calling himself the Master Assassin. A silent phantom, he’d strike in the dark, anywhere at any time, extinguish life, and fade back into shadows. The legend grew and Rael fed its flames. He became vain, arrogant in his self-worship.
