Black Turtle Isle
In the domain of Nahik Jarir
38th of For-Autumn
W
IZARDRY HAS NO
place in warfare. Now Corrain was inclined to agree. The eerie crawling sensation of whatever spell had armoured his skin was something which he would gladly never feel again.
Seeing the world outlined in the dim red light of magesight, as the Tormalin lady wizard had called it, was already giving him a headache. Granted he could see what lay ahead but he was finding it horribly difficult to judge distance. Time and again as he looked down, he felt his foot touch the ground before his eyes told him that the step should land.
How were his men and the Tallats and the Licanin guardsmen going to fight, if they couldn’t judge the heft and depth of a swing? On the other hand, yes, Corrain knew that they wouldn’t get close enough to fight, certainly not with any hope of taking their enemies by surprise, if they came crashing through this undergrowth with blazing torches in hand.
Just as he knew full well that some arcane magic was silencing their approach from their enemies while ensuring they could all hear each other. So every captain and sergeant had told their men that speed was of the essence, not stealth.
Regardless, Corrain winced at every snapping twig. Every boot nail squealing as it found a stone beneath the leaf mould set his teeth on edge. Such heedless haste went against every instinct which Fitrel had trained into him.
The beat of his own blood hammered loudly in his ears. It pounded all the faster as they reached the margin of the undergrowth above the anchorage. Corrain glanced from one hand to the other, to satisfy himself that every contingent was where it should be. Crouched at his side, young Reven sounded the brindle owl’s cry to warn all their allies against moving before they were bidden.
Now Corrain and his chosen double handful of Halferans had to cross this open expanse as Captain Mersed led the Tallats to seize and burn those galleys now drifting slowly into the beach.
With the Licanins to back him up, Mersed was confident he could take the triremes as well. Corrain was inclined to think he was right. The Tallat captain and his men had proved themselves most effectively along Caladhria’s shore throughout both halves of summer.
He had also seen the Licanin troopers’ eyes light up at the prospect of getting their revenge. They had all seen that black-haired bastard reflected in the meek Caladhrian wizard’s scrying spells. There was no doubt that these were the very same corsairs who had ransacked Halferan Manor and cut down the Licanins’ sword-mates and friends.
Meantime Kusint would lead the rest of the Halferans in wreaking their own bloody retaliation through the tents crews ashore. They would be ably assisted by the Antathele guardsmen, eager to bring some battle honour home for their new lord.
Corrain nodded at Reven and the other men pressing close behind him. Each one had lost some father, son or brother to these cold-hearted swine; their blood kin either cut down in the marshes with the true Lord Halferan or dying a wretched death in slave chains. Corrain had no doubt of their determination to see justice done.
He led them quickly towards the curved arc of the beach. The contorted fringe trees grew more widely spaced, finally straggling out into a line marking the high water mark.
Corrain barely needed the Tormalin girl’s gift of magesight to show him the lie of the land. He could even pick out the ugly tree where he had been used to sit, gazing out to sea and wondering if he would ever see Caladhria again.
Now he could go home with his head held high. Once he had killed that black-hearted bastard with the gold chains in his beard. Once he had found poor Hosh. Then the lady wizard Jilseth’s magic could carry them all safely back home.
He glanced towards the water. Yes, the ships were grounded in the shallows, still, incredibly, apparently unbeknownst to the corsairs.
So he and the Halferans must take the shortest route towards the furthest pavilion. Nolyen’s scrying had shown them the corsair leaders rutting with their whores. Corrain had seen Hosh kicking his heels as he sat on the edge of the terrace.
Corrain broke through the trees at a run. His men followed, running across the firm sand left by the retreating tide, cutting right across the curve of the beach.
It didn’t matter now if some wakeful sentry saw them, either aboard ship, in the camp ashore or over by the distant pavilion. The rest of the Caladhrians were only watching for Corrain and his Halferans to show themselves. That was their signal to attack.
Attack always provokes defence. Fitrel had taught him that too. Half way and Corrain halted, his boots digging deep into the damp sand. A furnace blast of wizard’s fire was coming straight towards them. He should have remembered that the Mandarkin had no scruples about using magic in battle.
‘Scatter!’ Corrain bellowed.
Then before he could so much as decide which way to throw himself, a blinding shaft of white light snuffed out the fiery death hurtling towards them.
Before he could breathe a sigh of astonished relief, seawater swept across his boots, cold trickles through the lace holes tickling his feet.
Corrain looked down to see the retreating foam glittering like fool’s gold. Whatever the Mandarkin was trying to do, the Hadrumal wizards were proof against it. Jilseth had assured him of that.
His heart was pounding fit to crack his ribs.
A clash of swords erupted away to his rear and off towards the water. The attacks on the ships and the tents had begun. Now he must reach that distant pavilion before the uproar roused the black-bearded leader and the old corsair.
Anskal, evidently, was already awake. He could only trust in the Archmage’s promises to defend them all from the Mandarkin’s killing magic. That was easier to believe in now with one success already tallied up for Planir.
Corrain began running again. They reached the foot of the pavilion’s steps.
‘Remember,’ he bellowed at his following men. ‘We do not touch the mageborn! Hosh!’ he yelled as he drew his sword.
There was no reply. Corrain’s heart sank. He scrambled up the stone stair, looking this way and that. Now he was ready to curse this blasted magesight. Where was Hosh in all this red-limned darkness? Why couldn’t a man have an honest torch?
A woman screamed somewhere within the dwelling. Corrain saw that the entrance straight ahead was ajar. He led the Halferan contingent inside.
Three doors. The one straight ahead stood open. The woman screamed again. She was somewhere deeper in this building. Corrain pictured the hollow square as the Caladhrian mage Nolyen had shown it to him. The best place to get their bearings would be the garden.
‘Come on!’ He charged through the hallway and on through the inner chamber, passing through the glass-windowed doors to reach the dishevelled garden.
Now he heard sounds of a struggle and saw an eerie light cutting golden lines across a window’s louvered shutters on the far side of the garden. The shutters of the room beside it swung open, only darkness within.
‘Reven, secure our flank,’ Corrain jabbed his sword towards the silent rooms on that hand. ‘Linset, the off side. Weltray, watch our back! Follow me!’
Vigilant in all directions, the Halferans charged across the garden. Corrain planted one boot solidly in the crushed shells underfoot and swung his other leg to kick in the glowing shutters. If that was the only sign of life, that was where he would look for Hosh or for answers, whichever might come first.
Before the splintered wood had fallen to the ground, Corrain stood balanced and ready to take on whatever they might find within.
Madam Merenel’s magesight was no match for the golden light filling the room. As the redness burned away, they all took in the scene. Corrain stood like all the other Halferans, stunned with disbelief.
A woman dressed in a plain white shift stood motionless in the middle of the room. She didn’t seem to have noticed the armoured men kicking in her window. Then again, she was encased in brilliant magelight. Her head was thrown back, her eyes wide with terror and her mouth gaping. Corrain saw her jaw flexing as though screams were scraping her throat raw. If they were, no one could hear them.
Did that mean she was no threat? Corrain could only trust in the Archmage’s promises. The woman didn’t look as though she could move. He also remembered Jilseth’s repeated warnings that they must not touch these mageborn.
Besides, far closer to hand, Hosh was grappling with the old corsair leader. A bloodied sword lay caught up in a tangle of quilts on the floor. Though from what Corrain could see, despite the gore spattering his tattered tunic, neither Hosh nor the old blind bastard had suffered any wound.
Not beyond scratches anyway. The blind corsair was as naked as the day he was born, no clothing to offer Hosh a handhold. That hadn’t deterred the boy. Bloody gouges in the old man’s shoulders showed where he had dug in his nails in hopes of a grip.
The old man had a firm handful of Hosh’s stained tunic in each of his fists. He lunged forward, intent on smashing his eyeless brow into Hosh’s broken nose.
As the boy recoiled, the corsair let go with one hand, twisting to reach right over Hosh’s opposite arm. Keeping that forearm pinned against his chest, the old man dropped down, reaching to hook a hand under Hosh’s knee and throw him off his feet.
Corrain had his dagger drawn now as well as his sword but he dared not try climbing into the room for fear of fatally distracting Hosh. Even if they reeled close enough, Corrain couldn’t risk a thrust with either blade for fear of stabbing the boy.
Hosh stepped backwards to deny the old corsair the throw which he sought. Now his arm pinned to the old man’s chest offered him an advantage. Wrenching his other hand free, he wrapped both arms around the blind man’s bony ribs. Thrusting a foot between the corsair’s knees, Hosh swept the leg bearing his weight out from under him.
The old man fell heavily onto his back. The quilts saved him from being winded. As Hosh bent to reach across him for the bloody sword, the sly corsair kicked hard and true for the boy’s stones. Hosh saw his peril in time and a twist took the kick on his inner thigh.
With a brutality that Corrain would not have believed, Hosh dropped to his hands and knees on top of the old man. His hands pinned the corsair’s shoulders to the tiles. One of his knees spread the old man’s thigh. The other drove deep into his wrinkled groin.
As the corsair doubled up around his agony, Hosh reached for the sword a second time. As his hand closed around the hilt, he staggered to his feet.
The death blow to the old man’s neck was no elegant stroke of swordsmanship. Truth be told, it would have disgraced an apprentice butcher. Hosh hastily stooped and threw a fold of quilted cotton over the spurting corpse.
Every Halferan man watching cheered fit to shake tiles from the roof.
‘What—?’ Breathless, his face blank in utter disbelief, Hosh stared at Corrain as he stood framed in the window.
‘Captain?’ Over by the open shutters, Reven’s voice was shaking. ‘Him with the beard, he’s dead. My lord,’ he added hurriedly.
‘What—?’ Hosh’s white-rimmed eyes widened. He raised the bloodied sword.
‘Never mind.’ Corrain vaulted the window sill and seized the boy by the shoulders. ‘Did you kill him too?’ He didn’t mean to shake Hosh but he could scarcely believe it. Hosh had killed the corsair captain?
The lad nodded dumbly.
For an instant Corrain was furious. In the next breath he recovered himself. What mattered above all else was that Lord Halferan’s murderer was dead.
And that everyone would know he was dead. Corrain jabbed his sword point into the blind corsair’s thigh and nodded at the trio who had followed him into the room before they had taken a moment to think.
‘Somer, cut off this bastard’s head. Reven, go and get the other one.’
‘What’s happening to her?’ Linset quavered.
Corrain turned his attention to the imprisoned woman.
Her skin was splitting. Her gaping mouth had widened into a gash showing the entire curve of the teeth in her jaw. The holes that had been her ears extended right down her neck, laying bare the vertebrae beneath. Her eyes rolled in the middle of a slash running from temple to temple now that the corners of her eyelids had parted.
There was no blood. Turquoise magelight suffused the quivering flesh laid bare by her torment. More gashes were opening up her body beneath her cotton shift. That same magelight shone through the flimsy cloth; the tarnished green of weathered bronze.
Corrain had seen men die the ugliest of deaths. This was worse than anything he had ever witnessed. He could still see a spark of awareness in the woman’s frantic eyes.
She managed to raise one hand. As her fingers parted in desperate appeal, wounds opened between her knuckles, slicing down through her palm towards her wrist.
Corrain couldn’t bear to look but dropping his gaze only showed him her feet being flayed to bony claws.
Never mind not touching these mageborn. Corrain didn’t want to be within a plough length of whatever was happening to her.
‘Out!’ He drove everyone from the room, out of the window and back through the garden. Corrain had the edge of his blade ready if that’s what it took but no one halted until they had barrelled through the windowed chamber on the far side, through the hallway and reached the terrace outside.