The Guardian (7 page)

“Onward, to Chorym and victory!”

R
yadne paced the walls of the inner city, wondering how long it should be before Talan’s army came.

The day was warm, the sun halfway to its zenith. The sky was a pristine blue, save where the darting shapes of swallows punctuated the azure. High on the walls, she could hear their calling; below, she could hear the lowing of cattle and the muted voices of all the folk looking to her for protection, for safety.

Chorym was readied for siege. All those farmers and vintners and herders who’d come into the city were gathered. There was food aplenty. The walls were manned by the army Gailard had brought back; the catapults were prepared, well armed with missiles and balefire, great buckets of water and of oil set ready. She could do no more. Her scrying magic seemed dimmed now, likely fuddled by the workings of Talan’s Vachyn sorcerer. She could not discern the outcome or the time. She only knew it was vital Ellyn be gone, and that Gailard go with her daughter.

Ellyn was Chaldor’s only hope, and without Gailard that hope was lost.

Beyond that she could foresee little, save her own death.

She looked at the bright summer sun and blinked away tears.

Then, out of the west, she saw a brightness, a glowing that came along the West Road like approaching fire, and knew it for the glitter of sunlight on polished chariots and shields and spearheads, even before the scouts came back shouting warning that Danant’s army came.

She sighed and turned to her last duties.

K
erid held the
Blessing
close to the Chaldor shore, his eyes firm on the river ahead—save for the nervous glances he cast at his lookouts. The water ran shallow here, sandbanks and rocky shoals a constant danger to the unwary, and he would usually have held to midstream. But thrice since
quitting Antium he had encountered Danant’s god-cursed river raiders, and the
Blessing
was sore hurt. Her forrard mast was down, and catapults had stove holes in her port side that threatened to ship enough water to sink her should the weather shift or a high tide run. Worse was the loss of the
Pride
, which had gone down at the first encounter with all hands, or so Kerid assumed; he’d had no chance to try a rescue, but could only run as best he could from the sleek war-boats. He wished he commanded one of those craft. The
Blessing
, for all her greater size, was no match for those swift hunters. Indeed, he believed that had they not been called to the invasion, and thus not had the time to complete their task, his own vessel would now add its wreckage to the detritus of the Durrakym’s graveyard bed.

Nor had he seen any other Chaldor craft—save for the smoldering wreck of the
Glory
, and the masts of the
Revelation
jutting from the river—since leaving Gailard on the shore. He wondered where the other boats had gone. Anchored and waiting for Talan to seize them? Fled south? He did not know, and could only curse the coward captains who’d desert the Bright Kingdom in its hour of need. For himself, he was determined to fulfill his promise to the Highlander and return to smite Danant on the river as he believed Gailard would strike from the land.

But to achieve that aim he must survive and bring the
Blessing
safely north. He could not resist shouting at the lookouts, asking what they saw ahead.

“Clear water,” was the answer. “No sail, no mast.”

“Only shoals and sandbanks and eddies this close in, and few mad enough to risk them.”

Kerid turned to the swarthy man who joined him on the raised steering deck. Nassim was a Bordersman, his mother of Chaldorean stock, his father from Naban. He was Kerid’s first mate, and no less familiar with the river than his Chaldor-born captain; in some respects, more familiar.

“I’ll not chance the deep river,” Kerid grunted, holding
the wheel against a sudden swirl that threatened to spill more water into his flooding hold. “The gods know, she’s hurt enough already. How do the repairs go?”

“As well as we can hope.” Nassim opened a sodden pouch and extracted a pinch of wet tobacco that he chewed awhile before grimacing and spitting. “We’re patched as best we can be, and I’ve men on the pumps. But we need to put in and find sound wood.”

“And have some Danant boat find us?” Kerid shook his head. “No, we’ll sail this tub to Hel’s Town and sell her for what we can get.”

“And then what?” Nassim emptied his mouth over the side, inspected his pouch afresh, and stared sadly at the contents before tucking the pouch back inside his shirt. “What will a damaged cargo vessel like this fetch there?”

“I don’t know.” Kerid shrugged. “I’ve never sold a boat before, and you know those pirates better than I.”

“Pirates?” Nassim affected a look of outrage. “Some of those pirates are blood kin.”

“Then I’ll let you handle the sale,” Kerid declared.

“And then what?”

“We get a raiding craft and attack every god-cursed Danant boat we find.”

“Ha!” Nassim leaned against the rail, staring moodily at the mist swirling across the wide expanse of the Durrakym. “We’ll be lucky to reach the islands before we sink. And even do we, think you we’ll get enough for this broken sow to buy us a raider?”

Kerid said, “I made a promise.”

“And I swore to serve Chaldor,” Nassim said. “But what poor navy Andur built is destroyed or fled. What can we do?”

“Any man who wishes to quit my command may go.” Kerid stared at his mate. “Shall you?”

“No.” Nassim shook his head. “My father told me I was mad to seek service in Chaldor when I could have been
a Hel’s Town pirate, but still I did. Like you, I gave my word.”

Kerid grinned. “Then we’d best pray we reach the islands, eh?”

• Nassim opened his mouth to answer, but the forward lookout shouted: “Sail ho!”

“What colors?” Kerid yelled back.

The lookout hesitated. The mist swirled thick. They’d sailed the last two nights and anchored—nervously—by day. Now the sun was but a promise along the horizon and the moon’s light lost in the grey of dawn.

Then: “Danant’s. And they’ve seen us!”

Kerid made an abrupt decision. He could take the
Blessing
closer in to the shore and hope the Danant boat went by for fear of foundering on the same sandbanks and shoals as might well destroy his own craft. Or …

“What is it?” he bellowed. “A warboat?”

“Larger,” came back. “A two-master.”

“Ready for battle!” Kerid swung his wheel, bringing the
Blessing
over farther shoreward. “We’ll take her!”

“You’re mad.” But there was a light in Nassim’s eyes that matched and met the excitement in Kerid’s. “You’ll ground us and we’ll be a sitting duck.”

“Exactly.” Kerid held his course. “Tell the men to act dead. And light some smoky fires.”

“The gods be with us now,” Nassim said, and sprang from the steering deck to convey Kerid’s orders.

Kerid swung his wheel, aiming the
Blessing’s
prow at a sandbank. It was not difficult to make the stricken craft wallow, and with her downed mast and holed side, she surely looked dead in the water. And the more so for the fires Nassim lit, that sent ugly streamers of smoke drifting to join the mist.

Kerid ran the bow onto the sandbank, almost stumbling as the boat grounded.
The gods be with me now
, he thought,
for she’ll not come off.
He watched the lookouts scurry
down the rigging and take their places on the deck. He could not yet see the Danant boat.

Then it came out of the mist: a solid-built two-master, with an arbalest mounted forrard and another aft, Danant’s hated pennants fluttering limply. She slowed, coursing in toward the foundered
Blessing
, and sent a shaft from the forward arbalest thudding into the grounded boat’s flank.

Kerid cursed and called, low, “Hold steady and we’ll take her.”

The Danant boat came closer, sending a second shaft hurtling through the
Blessing’s
rigging, then drew alongside. Kerid spat curses and ran to the rail, sword in hand.

“May all the gods damn you! May they damn your parents and your children and send your wives into whoredom!”

He staggered a little, for greater affect, then fell down as arrows whistled through the dawn air. He picked one up from the deck and tucked it between his arm and ribs so that it thrust out as if he were hit, then clambered up again and shouted, “You’ll not take my boat!”

Laughter and a fresh volley met his sally, and he slumped to the deck.

He waited as commands drifted across the river and he felt the vibration of the Danant craft striking the
Blessing’s
side. Then grappling irons landed on the thwarts and the Danant men swarmed aboard.

They were met with steel and fury. The first onto the
Blessing
died as Kerid’s men rose up and vented their anger on the attackers. Then the
Blessing’s
crew clambered over the thwarts and dropped onto the Danant boat, sweeping across the deck like ravaging pirates. Kerid went with them, leaping from his own steering deck into the rigging of the attacker, swinging down to confront the startled captain.

The Danant man was protected by two sturdy rivermen, each with bucklers on their forearms and wide-bladed swords held ready. Kerid cut the first down with a savage
sweep that took the man’s legs from under him, and kicked him away. The second blocked his cut and aimed a blow at Kerid’s midriff. The Danant captain danced back, shouting, then fell silent as a belaying pin struck him between the eyes, sending him staggering from the wheel to slump against the stern rail. Another pin bounced off the chest of the second riverman and, as he raised his buckler against further airborne attack, Kerid drove his blade into the exposed belly. The Danant man screamed and fell down. Kerid struck him across the back of his neck and swung around to pierce the other. Then he paced across the deck to the captain and drove his sword into the man’s chest.

He spun as Nassim came grinning to join him.

“They’d have stuck you like a pig if I hadn’t thrown that pin.”

Kerid frowned and said, “Perhaps, but I think I’d have taken them. Even so, thank you.”

Nassim bowed, still grinning. “A favor owed;” and they both went down onto the lower deck to finish the fight.

It was soon won. Taken by surprise, the Danant men were swiftly defeated. None lived, and their bodies were tossed overboard. Fish rose to eat them, and from the shoreline and the sandbanks riparine mammals came to feast. The sun rose higher, waking birds that came winging in search of such bounty. Kerid beamed as he shouted for his crew to bring their gear over from the
Blessing
—and Chaldor’s colors, which he had set in place where the Danant pennants had hung.

He checked the boat and knew it was sound. It would fetch a better price than his abandoned vessel.

“Set sail! We go to Hel’s Town.”

He paused as he saw his mate staring in naked amazement at the river. “What is it?”

“By all the gods!” Nassim pointed at the water. “That I’ve never seen before.”

“What?” Kerid asked.

“Look.” His mate angled a finger at the V-shapes of disturbed
water that came toward the boat. “Rats joining a sinking ship.”

“We’re not sinking,” Kerid returned. “We’re sailing on to glory, and to revenge Chaldor.”

Nassim stared at him awhile, then smiled. “By the gods, I think perhaps you’re right.”

E
llyn rode in sulky silence, or perhaps a contemplative mood; I could not tell for sure. Her mouth was a grim line and she spoke to me not at all. I tried awhile to make conversation, but I am not very good at that and soon gave up. I could not, truly, blame her. After all, she was but fifteen years of age and cast adrift in a world torn by war. Her father was slain and she knew her mother would likely die ere long. Did she not know for sure, then surely she must guess that we should soon be hunted; and she was accustomed to the luxuries of the palace, not the road. I was pleased to see that she was a good horsewoman, and considerably less pleased with her first display of arrogant temper.

I had set a brisk pace, and Chorym lay a good few leagues behind us by the time the sun approached its zenith. We traveled the Great East Road that pierced the hills ringing Chaldor’s heart through a pass known as the Geffyn, but we should not reach that boundary for at least another day. The road was crowded with folk going in to the hoped-for sanctuary of the city, and we must often turn our mounts off the paved way onto the grass beside as herds of lowing cattle or flocks of bleating sheep blocked our path. There were numerous wagons, groups of riders, and more folk afoot. I pitied them all for what they faced, knowing their hopes
were faint, and prayed none recognize Ellyn. I thought they would not, save on close inspection, for with her shorn hair and boyish gear, she looked, at least on brief examination, like some gangly, sulking youth.

We came to the first way station as the sun climbed past its midpoint, and Ellyn spoke for the first time. “I know this place; they set a good table.”