Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (36 page)

Elbow
slam to the throat, duck, spin and up again with rigid fingers into the solar
plexus. Two agents were on the ground, but the third gracefully thrust at his
stomach with a dagger. Jeff sidestepped, caught her arm and spun around. She
shrieked with pain as long bones snapped and her shoulder dislocated. He kicked
her in the head as she fell and took off at a run. Jeff was down to a walk and
breathing hard when he made it to the warehouse. He slammed into the back
office and cornered Belstan.

“We
must leave now!”

“But
goods remain to be loaded!”

“Fuck
that!”

Rogelf
heard the commotion and ran into the office. “What has happened?”

Jeff
related what he had heard and his encounter with the agents. Rogelf seemed
immobilized by indecision.

“Jeef,
we just cannot. We must have three more hours.”

“If
we do not depart at once,” Jeff said as calmly as possible, “the opportunity to
leave will never come. The waterfront is coming apart, panic will soon take the
city, and the guard will be here within the hour. Load the horses and save what
is already onboard ship.”

The
traders had heard similar reports, ignored them, and were inclined to do the
same with Jeff’s. He was about to go ballistic when common sense finally
overcame cupidity. Rogelf spun around and ran out of the office to start the
process of loading the horses. Belstan was only a step behind.

“Where’s
Zimma? Has she returned?”

Belstan
slid to a halt. “She is working on the ship.” Jeff ran out of the warehouse.

The
waterfront was in a state of gridlocked bedlam. Overloaded wagons crept along
at a snail’s pace when they moved at all. Heavily loaded packhorses staggered
by led by people, often entire families, who were themselves packing whatever
could be carried. Pushcarts, hand wagons, even dogs, had been pressed into
service. What had started out earlier in the day as hectic activity had become
a full-scale evacuation.

Cynic
was agitated by the groundswell of fear present along the waterfront and
capered nervously when Jeff led him to the ship. However, he wanted out of the
city as badly as anyone and nearly ran up the gangplank. Tossing his personal
gear down the main hatch, Jeff hustled to join the men guarding the pier head.
Jeff stumbled to a halt holding his injured side and bent over to get his
breath. Carl flashed an excited grin over his shoulder.

“Ain’t
we got fun?”

“Some
fun, bucko. What a day!”

Emerging
from the warehouse with his arms full of furniture, Rogelf bellowed, “The
warehouse is empty.”

The
guard force backed toward the ship a step at a time. Frightened people pleaded
and tried to bribe their way onto the ship. A band of wharf rats armed with
clubs attacked the north end of the line but took to their heels when
confronted with swords. The situation verged on a riot and was deteriorating
fast when a young couple confronted Carl and Jeff. The man was bent under a
huge load and sweating profusely. His wife was pregnant and leading a sobbing
child.

“Oh
please, sir. Please.”

“We
got the room, Jeff?” Carl shouted, thrusting back a richly dressed merchant
waving a sheaf of bills.

“Maybe
for fifteen or twenty. The ship is already crowded. Families with kids?”

 
“Got to do what we can.”

Carl
got a foot behind the merchant and tripped him backwards while simultaneously
pulling the woman and child through the line of guards, closely followed by her
husband. Pressed harder every minute, the guard contingent retreated. Every so
often the line opened and another family raced for the ship.

They
still had a ways to go when a troop of dragoons charged out of the city gate,
sounding bugles to clear the way. Seconds later, another troop followed. An
inchoate roar of fear raced along the waterfront. People tried to stay clear of
the troopers, but there was nowhere to go. Whips cracked up and down the
street, and not only over horses.

The
rearguard threw caution to the wind and pelted for the ship. No sooner were
they on board than her hawsers were let go. No time for niceties of seamanship,
the schooner was poled away from the pier and her sails raised with a rush.
There wasn’t much breeze and she wallowed like a pig stuck in mud. The captain
called out more orders and every stitch of canvas she owned was set. Slowly
gathering way she moved out into the lake trailing lines astern, plimsoll mark
two feet below the surface.

They
were several hundred feet from the pier when the first of the guard thundered
onto the wharf. Riders leaped from horses with bows in hand.

Carl
called out, “Take cover!” and ran to herd city folk below.

Diving
down the main companionway to the sound of arrows whistling overhead, Jeff
caught child after child then exhausted mothers and fathers before returning
topsides. Arrows bristled in the sails, masts and on deck. The quartermaster
had been forced to remain at the tiller and was writhing on the deck with an
arrow sticking out of his back. One of the horses had been hit and was bucking
wildly. A handler got the mare under control, but not until she was exhausted.

Jeff
was convinced his irrepressible friend had made a full recovery when Carl
marched to the stern rail, dropped his breeches and mooned the soldiers on the
pier.

The
remainder of daylight was required to sort out the shambles on deck. Crates,
furniture, assorted baggage—all were piled helter-skelter. Every able-bodied
man and woman turned to under the captain’s agitated direction. There was no
room in the hold for Cynic and three other horses, so several of the crew
knocked together temporary stalls on deck. Others threw tarps over deck cargo
and tied it down. Without exception, everyone sweated streams in sauna
humidity.

Looking
off to the northwest during a short break, Jeff understood the captain’s
concern. Dark, scudding clouds were almost overhead. Close behind, black
thunderheads billowed high blocking light from the sun.

As
darkness intensified, the captain ordered crewmen to double lashings. Nearly
full dark well before sunset, final preparations for the storm were made by
ship’s lanterns. Whatever breeze there had been disappeared, leaving the Tounae
to wallow sluggishly in confused waves. The captain had two reefs tied into the
foresail and the mainsail taken in, depending on a staysail run up in its place
to provide balance.

The
last hatch had just been fastened when a line squall came tearing across the
water. It hit with a steam-whistle roar, laying the Tounae on her beams end in
a lash of screaming wind and rain driven so hard it hurt. She slowly righted as
the quartermaster allowed her to pay off and run with the wind over the port
quarter.

One
of the horses had fallen when the squall hit and kicked its stall to splinters
trying to get up on the wet deck. Jeff and Carl got her up and were tying the
mare to a ringbolt when Carl happened to look south.

“God,
damn! Grab onto something, Jeff!”

The
wind had changed direction and blasted in from the south. Slamming the foresail
across, the force of the wind heeled the Tounae until her port rail was taking
green water over the top. The same horse fell again in a wild thrashing of
legs, this time skidding across the deck to fetch up against the port rail
smothered in foaming water. Rain came down in buckets along with lightning
bursts that seemed continuous, accompanied by deafening thunder rolls.

The
storm built in fury until the surface of the lake was churned into a confused
cauldron of towering waves that broke on board from every direction. The Tounae
buried her bow in waves that submerged her from bow to stern, others swept
across her waist in rushing masses of knee-deep water, and still she lived on.
Tying themselves to the mainmast, Jeff and Carl were nearly suffocated by air
that had more water in it then oxygen.

Jeff
knew it was a thunderstorm, not a large frontal disturbance that might take
hours to pass. Still, it seemed to his dulled senses that time had stopped and
the storm would never end. When it did and the first rays of a setting sun
suddenly broke through, he could hardly believe it was over. The lightning
rapidly decreased, the air became breathable and the thunderstorm was gone,
racing east.

Through
luck alone, the horse that had fallen didn’t break a leg. She was corralled and
maneuvered into a hastily re-fabricated stall. Jeff was in the middle of that
scrum. When it was over, he felt lucky that flying hooves had not stove in his
head or rib cage.

Cynic
had stood firm but trembled with anxiety and was covered in a lather of sweat.
Calming Cynic, Jeff stumbled below in a state of exhaustion. Too tired to
change out of wet clothing, he was about to curl up when he was pressed into
duty on a bilge pump crew. The pump eventually sucked air, but he kept turning
his handle in a stupor until someone shook him.

It
was after noon before Jeff found enough motivation to emerge from below decks.
The Tounae was making good time to the northeast on a close reach, the main
staysail having been replaced with a double reefed mainsail. The sun was
shining in a clear sky and sparkling off the water. Hanging onto the weather
shrouds, Jeff breathed deeply of the cool breeze. I could live on this, he
thought, but a bite to eat wouldn’t hurt.

The
stench of vomit was overpowering when he went below to get some food, and his
stomach churned in sympathy. Snatching a hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese,
he fled topsides with Carl hurrying to catch up. The bow was empty, providing
privacy for Jeff to fill Carl in on the situation in Rugen and Valholm. Carl
whistled under his breath when Jeff stopped to yawn.

“So
you’ve got a pack of Vandals and Visigoths doing their thing, and a loosely
knit collection of feudal types that would like to think they’re a kingdom,
right?”

“Something
like that, wise guy,” Jeff laughed.

“Well,
hell. You’ve got yourself a real situation, all right.” The men debated
strategy until a crewman nudged them out of the way so he could hang a night
lantern. “Time to eat, squirt, let’s head below.”

The
main cabin had been aired out, swabbed down, and was now inhabited by folks who
could do more than throw up. Children were sleeping in every nook and cranny or
climbing on whatever was at hand. Parents did their best to supervise, but it
was something of a madhouse scene. The pregnant mother spotted Jeff and Carl at
once. She had no words, but hugged each of them and kissed their cheeks.

Following
an evening meal taken in shifts, oil lamps swinging overhead, Jeff cornered
Belstan. Talking with Carl had focused his mind.

“Rugen
must be the center of any defense in the North. I am convinced the king will
fight, the city was constructed to be defensible, and I believe there is time
to prepare it for a siege. However, that will not suffice.

“Opening
meaningful trade with Rugen is vital and must begin at once if there is to be
any hope for its long-term defense. It sits near a treasure chest of raw
materials, offering great wealth to any trader capable of perceiving the
potential. I believe that you and Rogelf have that capability.” Jeff folded his
arms and waited.

Belstan
stirred in his seat after a long silence. “Great wealth or certain death. Roll
the bones and take your chance. If Rugen falls to the Salchek, it would mean
death or worse for those who assisted in its defense.”

“Yes,
but…”

Belstan
frowned at Jeff and he shut up.

“On
the other hand, if Rugen stands any businessman with an early foot in the door
could found a trading empire. As I said, roll the bones and take your chance. I
will tell you, boy, that your vision intrigues me, but I must think on it and
converse with Rogelf.” Belstan patted several children on the head and went in
search of his partner.

“Well,
I gave it my best shot, Carl,” Jeff said with a doubtful expression. “Now we’ll
have to wait and see what comes of it, if anything. Whatever the outcome, I’ll
be heading north shortly after we land at Astholf. How about you? Where do you
want to fit into all of this? If you even do, of course.”

Carl
had been cogitating on that very question since they had started their
conversation in the bow earlier in the day. He frowned in concentration and
spoke slowly.

“It’s
not often that a person has the opportunity, can choose, to be part of
something like this. We’re talking a major historical event here, Jeff, not
some tribal scuffle.” He lapsed into a contemplative silence.

The
‘swish, swish’ susuration of water coursing along the starboard side of the
hull they were leaning against formed a soothing background.

“Rugen
could really benefit from your training. From a public health perspective, it’s
a disaster.”

“Doesn’t
surprise me.” Carl began nodding. “I’ve got to be part of this. I want to put
my training to use in a practical way that I could not even dream of back in
Seattle.” He smacked a fist into his palm. “I have this gut feeling we can whip
the Salchek, or at least drive them back south if the right pieces can be put
together in time. While you haven’t said it in so many words, I know you are
going to try and weld the northern tribes into some form of confederation. You
are best suited for that job, you have been called to do it, it must be done.”
Carl narrowed his eyes as if listening to some inner voice. “I feel, I sense
that my place is in Rugen working to make it stronger through what I know. A
chance to make a difference.” Carl sat up straight, his eyes gleaming. “Damn,
what an opportunity. What a time! I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”