The Isle of Ilkchild (The King of Three Bloods Book 4)

by Russ L. Howard

  The hills surrounding the bay were crammed with homes of all sizes and descriptions. The port was humming with Mexus, Rogue, and Citriodoran vessels unloading and loading their wares. A pilot ship flagged them and one of its pilots climbed aboard to guide them through the maze of ships. The pilot led them to the terminus of the docks and directed them to anchor outboard of the Mexus ship called the Cyclones. The pilot explained that a Friscan arbitrator would act as the go-between for the two ships for which both sides would pay him handsomely. Once the Hawthorn was anchored, a large drop plank was placed between them. The pilot then departed. As they waited for the Friscan arbitrator to board, Hartmut anxiously scanned the deck of the Mexus ship, identified by the pilot as the Cyclones. It was a three masted sailing ship, much smaller than the Hawthorn with a smaller freeboard. From the center mast a large white flag with the black image of a whirlwind on it fluttered in the strong breeze. Hartmut stood at the rail searching for Mendaho, but saw only the crew of the Cyclones on deck.

  Pyrsyrus, Makah, and Raven’s Tongue stood on deck along with a small contingent of the Baldurean Guard dressed in their most imposing uniforms.

  It wasn’t long before the arbitrator in his bright blue crushed velvet hood and cape walked across the brow to the Cyclones. He carried a silver headed cane as a mark of his office. A short potbellied strutting little captain greeted him. After a brief conversation, the arbitrator continued across the deck to board the Hawthorn, introducing himself as Antonio Sforza, Chief Arbitrator. He asked to see the ransom.

  Pyrsus said, “Before we proceed, I must ask you in your fiduciary duty to give assurance that our people are safe and will be turned over to us upon completion of payment.”

  “You have my sworn affirmation that they are safe in a nearby warehouse, and your ship the Overo, is ported here which you may claim once all parties have had a meeting of minds and are satisfied.”

  Pyrsyrus ordered the Baldurean Guard to bring the chests of gold monies on deck. Taking the keys from his black uniform tunic, Pyrsyrus unlocked the large padlocks designed by Govannon. At his signal, the guards threw open the lids. The arbitrator prodded the coins, stirred them with his cane and then ran the cane to the bottom of the chests. After ascertaining that the gold monies fulfilled the demands for ransom, he nodded to Pyrsyrus. “I am satisfied. Captain Pyrsyrus, with your permission, I will have the Mexus come get the gold and I will escort your representatives to the warehouse.”

  Pyrsyrus nodded, “They have my permission to come aboard.”

  Once the chests had been transferred to the Cyclones and the captain had given the arbitrator his formal acceptance, Sforza turned to Pyrsyrus and said, “I will now escort your representatives to the warehouse.”

  Pyrsyrus designated Mendaka and Habraham to go to the warehouse. Hartmut desperately wanted to accompany the representatives, but knew he had already stretched the goodwill of Pyrsyrus far enough. Anxiously, he watched as the money chests were taken from the Cyclones to the dock along with several large trunks to shore where he spotted a sounder of Pitters clustered nervously at the end of the dock.

  After a period of time in which he thought his nerves would explode, he spotted a large group of people led by the arbitrator along the dock. Slowly, one by one, the Sharaka and Quailor came down the dock, but as hard as Hartmut looked, he could not spot Mendaho among them.

  When the arbitrator reached the Cyclones, he stood to the side and prisoners climbed to the deck and then began to file across the plank to the Hawthorn. Standing by the rail Pyrsyrus greeted each one as they stepped onto the Hawthorn until the last one, Onamingo, was safely on board.

  The Friscan arbitrator asked Pyrsyrus, “Commander, are you satisfied you have all of your hostages?”

  Pyrsyrus turned to Habraham standing at his side with board and list in hand and asked, “Habraham, are all your people accounted for?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Habraham said as he lowered his list. “My people are all present accounted for.”

  “It is good,” the arbitrator said, checking his parchment.

  Pyrsyrus then asked, “Onamingo, are all of your people accounted for.”

  “Nay,” the chief responded with a worried look, “they have not yet released Mendaho. Nor did we see her in the warehouse. My repeated inquiries as to her welfare went unheeded.”

  The Friscan arbitrator walked midway onto the plank and called out, “El Capitan Castro, you seem to be still retaining a hostage you have not yet released, one Mendaho of the Sharaka Tribe. I cannot sanction this as a full and fair exchange unless you release her. Which means you will have to forfeit your arbitrator security as well as pay the Syr Folk security with three hundred Pitter solidi or you will not be suffered to leave port and your ship shall be forfeit.”

  The capitan, a short dark haired man with freckles and a mustache dressed in colorful red coat, black pants, and a white shirt said, “I have taken a liking to my little caged bird and I am willing to pay the necessary securities to leave port.” He signed for a large ugly man to bring out a leather pouch bulging with coin. “There, you shall find your fee enclosed.”

  The Friscan arbitrator emptied out the contents on the top of a secured barrel and counted. Once he was satisfied of the three hundred solidi, he nodded his head at Castro and said, “It is good. Very well.” The arbitrator then returned to the Hawthorn and addressed Pyrsyrus. “Commander Pyrsyrus, the terms of our contract have been fulfilled and satisfied. Once you are in open waters you may pursue what course you will, but I must warn you that any aggressive action on your part while in the Frisco Bay will be met with our full Naval forces. We have completed our part as arbitrator. We can do no more. Perhaps the sacrifice of one is not so great as to warrant any aggression. After all, you have all the rest of the captives.”

  The arbitrator gave an apologetic bow and departed.

  Hartmut leaped for the plank as it was being withdrawn, but was restrained by Makah and Raven’s Tongue. Turtle Duck and Degataga were about to join him when Onamingo motioned for them to stand down.

  Onamingo said, “Hold your wrath, my brothers. We will make right.”

  “But Mendaho!” He called struggling to free himself.

  “I cannot tell you what will happen with Mendaho,” Raven’s Tongue said. “But I can tell you we will overtake these bastards at sea. Never underestimate the Lord Pyrsyrus. The bastard Castro knows we cannot challenge him in this belly ship filled with women and children and it will be such overconfidence that ultimately nets him. Look to the port bow.”

  Raven’s Tongue whispered, “Our dragoons stationed on the open seas south of here will intercept the Cyclones. Believe me when I say these Mexus cannot outrun those dragon headed beauties.”

  The Friscan escorts led Pyrsyrus’ ship back out into open waters to the north of the Overo and instructed the Hawthorn to wait until the Cyclones arrived to fetch the Mexus mariners still on board the Overo. While retrieving their ship mates the Mexus crew taunted the Hawthorn through bullhorns and cupped hand. Pyrsyrus conferred with Turtle Duck who assured him his crew, despite their two weeks captivity was ready to sail the Overo back to Godeselle.

  Pyrsyrus maneuvered along side the Overo to allow Turtle Duck, his men, and the captives to take over the ship and prepare for the return voyage of the passengers to Godeselle. When they were all safely transferred and underway, Pyrsyrus plotted a southerly course, unfurling the Hawthorn’s sails to catch the wind and pursue the Cyclones.

  The Cyclones was a light ship built for speed and pirating. Pysyrus knew El Capitan Castro deliberately lingered to mock the lumbering Hawthorn. He turned to Hartmut, “Don’t worry, Hartmut, when I catch that arrogant fool, I will pull him limb from limb, like the slimy fat freckle-faced frog he is. I don’t care for this cat and mouse game he’s playing. He’s got something up his sleeve or we would not have been able to overtake him. Alert the men to be ready. I smell a weasel.”

  “I claim the honor of stomping that to
ad’s eyes out.” Hartmut declared. “When I catch him I will hack him to pieces and feed him to the sharks.”

  “Hartmut,” Pyrsyrus said with an amused expression, “it seems to me you Quailor have more of a war spirit than I realized.”

  “There is precedent for it. My first loss changed me altogether. I’m not going to allow a second loss of love. No hand of peace is strong enough to make me refrain from my rage this time. Pyrsyrus, even thou wouldst cringe at the dark things that are crawling out of my heart these days.”

  Pyrsyrus nodded, “I understand, no decent person wants to kill another, but we must not let that get in the way of protecting innocents.”

  Throughout the day the Cyclones teased the Hawthorn, Castro danced with his men aboard his ship and waved goodbye with scarves, gave raspberries, and other vulgar gestures. Then at twilight, on the horizon, Pyrsyrus spotted his wall of swift dragoons with the Pyringian pirates blockading the Cyclones. He positioned the Hawthorn at a safe distance and began preparing for slaughter in the kill zone.

  * * *

  As they closed in on the Cyclones, Hartmut hung over the railing of the ship, impatient to board. Standing nearby, Pyrsyrus declared to Raven’s Tongue, “We have the coyote snared in our kyklos. Bring the ship up close, Raven’s Tongue. I promised this kill would be our young lion El Yid’s. Then we shall board.”

  “But what, I thought we were going to capture it!” Hartmut exclaimed. “Mendaho could be hurt with a fight on board. Someone needeth to be looking out for her.”

  “We’ll hold here while Shug and El Yid go in for the kill. I promised them the glory and I want to see how they handle it on their own.”

  “Chust let me go on board to protect her. I can’t wait here while the one I love is in the midst of a firestorm.”

  “With your permission, Pyrsyrus,” Raven’s Tongue said, “he may use one of our kayaks.”

  “Very well, but see to it he is outfitted in a fyrd coat, so that he is not mistaken for a Mexus.”

  Hartmut quickly accepted a fyrd coat and saber from Raven’s Tongue who said, “Use this one, my man, it has been proven. Go get her, my boy. Bring her back home.”

  His friend Wyclif ran his hand down his long beard and said, “Remember you have to act! Don’t think!”

  Rurik added, “Work yourself up and go berserk on those bastards. There’ll be time enough for thinking when the killing is done.”

  The kayak was lowered overboard and Hartmut scurried down the side by rope. Soon he was inside it and rowing to the Cyclones as fast as he could.

  It was late twilight when Hartmut arrived and saw the crewmen of the Mexus ship were too fixated on El Yid’s and Shug’s dragoons approaching from starboard to spot his small craft. He spied a rope dangling from the anchor port. His small craft easily sidled up beside the wooden ship. He grabbed for the dangling rope and swiftly climbed hand over hand until he could peer over the railing. As he edged up to the deck level he saw the Mexus sailors lined along the starboard rail, weapons in hand waiting for the fight.

  With his one hand gripping the sword at his side and the other hooked around a pilaster, he waited while the two dragoons paralleled the Cyclones. Then Shug’s Columba Rogues struck with grappling hooks and pikes flying over the ship.

  Lightning like, a feisty black clad pirate with the Hebrew letter shayn on his bandana, cut a rope and swung aboard. El Yid landed with his rapier drawn and became a whirling death engine as he cut the Mexus pirates down in a swath before him. The rest of the Jywdic warriors followed suit and swung aboard. To Hartmut, they all looked like supermen the way they bounced off masts, swung through the air, climbed, ran, and jumped like frogs in an offense against the Mexus that surpassed anything he had ever seen humans perform, testament to Pyrsyrus’ rigorous training in the fighting technique of Parkour and other martial arts.

  While El Yid and his men continued to swarm over the sides of the Cyclones, Hartmut tensely waited for the sound of steel against steel. He pulled himself over the railing and ran for the mast only to be confronted by a bruiser of a Mexus, with large ear and nose rings and a snarl on his fat tattooed face. He stared at Hartmut with the most unforgiving, sinister smile he had ever seen.

  Sword drawn, he lunged at Hartmut who parried his sword thrust and pounded him across the back of his head with the pommel, sending the assailant crashing to the ground with a thud where he remained unconscious. Hartmut looked up, and saw Castro and his cadre standing behind his crew members waiting to cut down any of the Mexus sailors who dared to flee before El Yid. Taking full advantage of the distractions, Hartmut conducted a search for Mendaho on deck. Unable to spot her anywhere, he fixated on his enemy. As Hartmut assessed the predicament, El Yid’s men were efficiently making short work of the Cyclones crew.

  Hartmut ran up behind Castro who had hidden behind a stack of barrels, and in an effort to to rid himself of any recognizable rank was stripping off his coat and undressing. He threw off his chapeau and speedily untied his sash. Hartmut then slipped upon him quietly as a cat and slowly placed the tip of his knife to Castro’s dewlap throat, the Captain’s wide toad mouth gaped.

  “Order your men to stand down. Now!”

  “Si!” Castro tried to remove his neck from the pressure of the blade, but Hartmut increased the pressure, drawing blood. Castro shouted, “Stand down! Jose, Maria, and Jesus! Stand down!”

  Those crewmen who were still fighting, ceased.

  “Now command them to drop their swords and lay down face first on the deck.”

  “Ju heard him! Drop jour swords and heet the deck.”

  Soon Shug’s men had confiscated all the weapons. El Yid strolled over to Hartmut with his rapier still drawn. “We have met before, Brother Quailor, am I right?”

  “Thou art right. It was in Ur Ford. We spake about how fortunate it was to dwell under the Herewardi wing. My name is Hartmut Hagele.”

  “Yes, I remember now, my good man. I am Zeru-Herewardi, but they call me El Yid. It is good to see you once again.”

  “You can probably release your captive now, Brother Quailor.” Shug said with a grin. “We have signaled Lord Pyrsyrus and he and his men will be boarding soon.”

  Hartmut felt the tension in his knife hand relaxing, but kept the blade close to Castro’s throat, “Almost ... thou wouldst have been the first man I ever killed. Thou dost not deserve to live and if thou dost not tell me where my woman is, thou shalt be the first man I ever kill.”

  Castro sneered, “It’s up to ju to find her.”

  “Pray that I do or thou art dead and that’s a promise.” Then Hartmut shoved Castro at the Columba guards who hauled him off.

  “Forgive me, Shug and El Yid, I must fetch Mendaho. I’ll search the ship for her.”

  “She’s likely being held in El Capitan’s cabin,” El Yid said with a twist of his head, pointing to the cabin.

  Hartmut ran to the stern where the captain’s cabin was located, and though he searched every nook and cranny, he saw her not. When he returned to the deck he kept searching where she might be hiding, perhaps behind the barrels lined along the cabin’s wall. As he approached, he saw small bronze bare feet curled up between two barrels covered in ristras of red peppers. He lifted the peppers up and said, “It is safe. Thou canst come out of hiding now, my love.”

  But instead of Mendaho, a young boy climbed out from between the barrels and cried, “Please don’t hurt me. I am not with them. My name is Chise. I am Ndee.”

  “No one will hurt thee boy,” Hartmut assured him in a gentle voice. “Hast thou seen a beautiful Sharaka woman with long black hair anywhere aboard this ship?”

  “You mean Mendaho?” the stripling asked with a big smile.

  “Yes, how dost thou know her?”

  “We were friends and we had planned to escape from the Gore Tooth together. I managed to get out of my trunk, but could not free her before Captain Gore Tooth took her away.”

  “Who is this Gore Tooth, thou speakest o
f?”

  “He is the white eyed pitter bastard that holds my brother like a slave. He left with all the gold monies.”

  “What dost thou mean, took her away?” Hartmut felt a pang of raw fear.

  “When you were swapping gold for prisoners in Frisco, Gore Tooth hauled her away in a trunk. He paid Capitan Castro to pretend to still have her. He even told him to sucker you, white eyes into a chase.”

  Hartmut’s hope drained out of him. His voice cracked. “Where did he take her?”

  “She’s been taken to Copperopolis, the camp of the Cha’Kal. He took a real fancy to her. But he usually hurts women real bad.”

  “Shades of hell!” Hartmut exclaimed. “Dost thou know how to get there?”

  “Of course, what do you expect, I’m Ndee. I can lead you straight to him.”

  A trumpet blast announced the arrival of the Hawthorn on the port side.

  Pyrsyrus sprung aboard. “Well done, Shug and Yid, I salute you and your men, in your swift victory.”

  “I must say, my lord,” El Yid said with a tweak of his lip, “it was our Quailor brother over there that brought the conflict to a speedy halt. He captured Castro. Tis he should get the reward.”

  When Pyrsyrus looked his way, Hartmut shook his head. “Do with the booty what you will. I appreciate the offer and El Yid’s kind praise, but I want only Mendaho. The booty is rightfully yours to allocate.”

  “Then you shall at least have a handsome wedding present from me,” Shug said.

  “Did you not find your woman? Is she not here?” El Yid inquired.

  He drew the young Ndee closer. “No, Chise here was a captive of Gore Tooth. He said they took her to Copperopolis.”

  Chise had a puckered frown and the fire of a great warrior in his eyes. “He is a very bad man. I hope your knife finds his heart.”

  Pyrsyrus looked thunderous. “Shades of hell and death. That puts her beyond our or anyone’s reach. With our small numbers it would be suicide to go into the camp of the Scynscatha. No one but the Wose would ever be able to pry her from that monster’s grip. I will send a pigeon to one of our spy outposts and let the Wose know to look for her.”