The Hag of Calix

by Rod Fisher

  * * * *

  Stet-Arnak's wrath at Felic's escape was nothing compared to the explosive rage that rattled the second-floor room of the inn the next morning. He tried patiently to get a response from the girl. He wheedled at the door, begging her to unlock it, promising a breakfast, which he described in mouth-watering terms. His oily pleadings soon turned to veiled threats, and finally, patience gone, he had Krel hack the door down with an axe. Confronted with an empty room he flew into an uncontrollable fit of madness, gnashing his teeth, drooling and wrecking his quarters in a surfeit of angry violence.

  Krel didn't wait around for orders. He slipped away from the rampaging priest and kicked his troops into action. It was almost noon but an ominous black anvil cloud hid the sun. Gusts of wind whirled the dust off the cobblestones as the swordsmen followed Krel double-time through the village. He led them north, taking the path into the swamp.

  Before long the rain started and the path became a slippery ribbon of mud. As the onslaught of wind and rain increased, Krel slowed the pace. The drenched file was soon slogging along ankle deep in muck. Krel called a halt, unsure of himself. The trail opened into a marshy meadow, but the path through the clearing, so clearly defined the previous day, was hidden. The tall grass undulated in bobbing ranks from the force of the wind.

  Krel was studying the ground ahead for some sign of the elusive trail when an arrow pierced his throat. It came with such force that it went completely through his neck and clanged off the shield of the man behind him. Krel watched in surprise as his life flowed through his fingers and cascaded in rain-diluted crimson down his breastplate. He went slowly to his knees, then pitched face down into the mud. The quick whirr of a second arrow preceded the second man's yelp of pain as it tore into his unguarded thigh. He flopped to the wet grass, cursing and tugging at the shaft. The remaining swordsmen fell back taking more arrows on their shields. They argued a few moments before returning to help their limping comrade and to drag Krel's corpse out of the clearing.

  Felic smiled in grim satisfaction. He launched one more shaft at the retreating soldiers just to encourage their departure. He slipped down from his wet perch in the crotch of a tree and returned to the boat. He went to work immediately preparing for the return of the Dagrans. As he worked the rain diminished and finally stopped. The wind settled to a breeze, and the sun came out.

  He looked anxiously at the water level. The Sun-Eagle was still resting on the bottom. He considered waking Chessa and making a run for it while there was still time. But the only sure way out of the swamp was the path to the village. He went below and shook Chessa awake.

  "You have a choice," he told her. "Your Dagran friends will be here soon. I must stay and try to get this vessel away. If I do not, I am afraid they will burn it. But you can go and hide."

  Her eyes blazed. "I will fight. Show me how to use the bow!" She stood up proudly.

  "Spoken like a true princess, Pigeon. But there is no time for teaching you the skills of warriors...but you can help. Come." He led her on deck and forward to the capstan. "When I give you the signal, you turn this wheel in this direction. Keep turning, don't stop. Understand? Keep turning. And don't pay any attention to whatever else is happening. Just keep turning... can you do that?"

  "Yes, I understand what you want me to do. But I don't understand why."

  "It's a trap I have rigged. You will be the bait, and you will spring it. When the Dagrans see you on deck they will come down the dock. I'll be crouched out of sight at the rail. When I signal, you turn the capstan. I have weakened the center section of the dock and keyed it to give way with the removal of a wedge. The wedge is on the other end of the line on the capstan. The line runs under the dock and will pull the wedge loose when you turn."

  Chessa looked mystified. "I do not understand such mechanical things, Felic, but I will turn the wheel when you give me the signal."

  "Are you frightened, pigeon?"

  She clung to him for a moment, face pressed against his bare chest. She seemed tiny and forlorn. "Don't worry, Felic, I'll turn the wheel," she assured him.

  A howl of shocked surprise came from out of sight down the path. Felic pushed Chessa toward the capstan. "Get ready. They are coming." He unsheathed Battle Flasher and crouched behind the rail in the waist.

  The howl came from the leader of the troop. He was caught in a snare set by Felic and whipped aloft. The Dagrans paused long enough to cut down their comrade from the rope that dangled him head-down over the trail. Then they pushed ahead to where the path led out of the trees and on to the dock. The sight of Chessa standing on board the Sun Eagle elicited a growl of triumph from Stet-Arnak. He urged the troop on from behind, and they moved swiftly down the dock, their shields held high in anticipation of another ambush from the deadly bow.

  Felic judged the speed of their advance and signaled Chessa to turn the capstan. She didn't move. She stared wide-eyed, hypnotized by the approach of the swordsmen.

  "Chessa!" Felic roared, "Turn the wheel!

  She leaned against the foremast, transfixed by panic. Felic abandoned his plan and leaped over the rail to the dock. A singing sweep of his huge sword caught the first Dagran's shield. The force of the blow ripped the shield loose and popped the leather arm loop from its rivets. As his sword went into the follow-through, Felic was momentarily exposed to a thrust from the other man's lighter weapon. But the Dagran, shieldless and awed by the power of Felic's first swing, hesitated. Felic brought the great blade around in a reverse arc.

  The Dagran stumbled back and tried to parry. But his blade shattered with the impact and Felic cleaved into shoulder muscles and collarbone.

  Two swordsmen filled his place. Felic wagged the great blade defensively and stepped back for room to strike. He brought the sword in low, reaching for their legs.

  The Dagrans danced out of the way and pressed forward. But Felic didn't stop the swing and reverse it as before. He used the momentum of the sword to carry it up, over, and down; he sprang into the air and reinforced the downstroke with the full force of his arms plus the weight of his body. It fell squarely on the foremost Dagran's casque, shearing the thin bronze; chopping the man's head in two parts. He jerked the blade free of the cloven skull and jumped back to face the next man.

  He was a terrible sight--a blood spattered madman, his mighty sword clotted with brains and gore. The Dagrans shrank back to reassess this giant of a butcher. He moved forward swinging and slashing, exulted by the might of his new sword. They fought defensively, moving back, taking ringing blows on their shields and blades while trying to form an effective line.

  As they grouped together, the dock suddenly collapsed. Planking, timbers and men splashed into the water. The water was only a few feet deep but it gave Felic an advantage. He swung his great weapon down into the confused melee and the water carried a spreading cloud of red.

  "You feel the sting of Battle Flasher," he roared. "Tell the grieving widows! Battle Flasher slew their men!"

  When there was no target within reach, he bounded back aboard Sun-Eagle and traded the sword for the bow. As the Dagrans splashed back to safety, he harassed their flight with arrows.

  The Dagrans regrouped out of bowshot. Stet-Arnak harangued the remainder of the troop but they listened with dull eyes. No one wanted to be first to return and face this fierce opponent or his long sword.

  Felic watched the Dagrans and rubbed his arms. Battle Flasher had levied its toll in aching biceps. His attention was diverted by the sound of Chessa. She was kneeling by the capstan, her face ashen with shock, and her frail body wracked by tearless sobs of terror.

  "Pigeon! Pull yourself together. We haven't lost yet."

  "Oh, Felic, I couldn't move. I let you down."

  "It's all right," he soothed, "when you did turn it, your timing was perfect."

  "Will they come back?"

  "Yes. But there are only five left, not counting the priest. I killed two. Three are b
adly wounded." He helped her to her feet. She recoiled, suddenly realizing what a grisly sight he presented.

  "Felic, the blood ...where are you hurt?"

  He laughed. "I don't think any of it is mine. But never mind. I think the boat is off the bottom." He looked over the side. The yacht was floating on its waterline. "Go take the steering oar, Pigeon. When the boat is free, try to steer it to the center of the channel." He cast off the dock lines. The boat would drift quietly away from the dock and maybe the Dagrans would not suspect anything. The current and the breeze favored its progress downstream, but the rising tide offset those forces somewhat. The little ship drifted slowly away from the dock as he made his way to the stern and took the steering oar from Chessa.

  "They haven't noticed that we are moving, yet." He conned the boat further into the stream where the stronger current made their progress more obvious. The gap between them and the dock spread to several feet. "Now Chessa, hold it steady. I'm going to hoist a sail."

  He worked quickly to drop the yard and release the furling line. Shouts from the soldiers indicated their escape was discovered. He hauled the yard up and the vertical red and white stripes of the sailcloth flapped a defiant message at the Dagrans. The sail was sheeted in and it bellied in the breeze. The yacht surged ahead, splitting the water with a small bow wave. Felic took the helm again and they waved goodbye to the swordsmen who gathered at the gap in the dock.

  The Dagrans watched helplessly as their prey slipped away down the watery corridor through the trees.