Master of furies, p.6
Master of Furies, page 6
Ships were seen every day, mostly distant sails, but a few close enough to be identified, small- to medium-sized cargo ships; this was far more traffic in the area than was expected, according to the captain. Declan and Bogartis both assumed most were fleeing the assaults in the north, but at least three times ships put on extra sail and bore down on the Brigida, only to veer off when they got close enough to see forty armed men on the decks. Marauders, Declan judged, looking for easier prey.
The captain had put into a good-sized town for fresh water and purchased provisions from a local merchant. Bogartis had kept his men aboard, against the possibility of any surprises. After loading fresh water and food on to the ship, they had continued west until reaching the tip of the land, when they rounded the point and headed southeast. The captain shared word that raiders had cruised this coast weeks before, but it seemed as if they were more intent on keeping people on land, than actual sacking.
Crossing a vast bay, they reached the first sight of land two days later, which Bogartis said was the Range of the Border Tribes. Nomads who were loyal to no king or baron, they were free traders and horsemen who were by reputation matchless cavalry.
‘Should we be passing word to them about the baron building his army?’
Bogartis laughed, genuinely amused. ‘At best they’d rob anyone who approached them, or more likely rob him, then stake him out over an anthill for amusement. And they have nasty types of ants this close to the Burning Lands, big red bastards that can raise a welt the size of a jacket button.
‘No, the only time you can parley with any of those marauders is if they come into a town to trade. They tend to be on good behaviour then, as they want to be welcomed back, but that’s the only time. They consider the grasslands, lakes, hills, and valleys from this coast to the mountains west of Metros theirs, and while they may scrap among themselves and steal each other’s women and horses, feud and such, they’ll band together as one against any outsiders.’
Declan said, ‘Still, they sound like good fighters to have on our side.’
‘If you believe in miracles, such as the Church of the One teaches, that would be a good one to have, my friend,’ Bogartis said.
Declan stayed at the rail for a long time after Bogartis left his side, wondering if such a thing as a miracle existed and what it would take to arrange one.
DECLAN WAS STANDING WATCH AT the bow. To the west he could see the vague outlines of islands, and he knew from Edvalt’s instructions to him after gaining his master-smith rank that among them was one special source of the rare sand that was needed to make the finest steel known to any smith on Garn. They would need a quick rest, and then he and a few hand-picked men from Bogartis’s company would be off to secure enough of that sand to forge swords for an army. And that army would visit vengeance on those who had taken everything Declan loved from him.
As they neared the port of Abala, Bogartis came to stand next to Declan. ‘Something’s going on.’
Declan grunted his agreement. There were half a dozen ships anchored offshore, and several boats ferrying people and cargo from the land. ‘This look familiar?’ Bogartis asked.
‘Too familiar,’ said Declan. ‘Toranda, again.’
‘As soon as we drop anchor, we start ferrying the men ashore. It’s going to be a while before the ship is provisioned, and we need a smaller boat, from what the captain’s said about those islands. This ship draws too deep to be safe. And every one of us needs to stretch our legs on dry land.’
Declan nodded. ‘Agreed.’ He paused, then said, ‘I grew up on the coast in the Covenant. I know what type of boat to seek. We’ll need half a dozen men, some shovels, and a very large lined box or a crate we can put large bags in. If I remember Edvalt’s instructions exactly, it should be three or four days, there and back.’
Bogartis took a coin pouch out of his belt, hefting it to determine how much he had, then took a second pouch out and compared them. He gave one to Declan and said, ‘Buy what you need. Take Sixto and four others. Meet back before sunset at whatever inn is closest to where we put in.’ He made a sweeping gesture towards the very busy harbour. ‘I’ll go with the captain to see about provisions for a return trip north and see what all this is about.’
‘I think it doesn’t bode well.’
Bogartis looked at Declan and said, ‘Not much sign of attack along this coast, so let’s hope this is merely as it was in Toranda: rumours stirring panic.’
‘I hope that’s all it is,’ agreed Declan.
But something cold in the pit of his stomach told him that was not likely.
DECLAN INSPECTED A TWENTY-FIVE-FOOT LONGBOAT fitted with four rowlocks, three benches, a tiller, and a mast that could be easily raised or taken down while on the water. Two long spars lay next to it, and the design was unfamiliar to Declan.
He pointed it out and asked, ‘How’s she rigged?’
The boat merchant looked surprised at the question. ‘Fore-and-aft, crab claw.’
One of the men behind Declan said, ‘I’ve sailed them.’
Declan looked over his shoulder and saw that the speaker was a man named Toombs, a tall, broad-shouldered fighter with grey streaks in his light brown hair and beard. Declan said, ‘I’ve seen square and lateen before, but I don’t know this.’
‘Don’t see them much up in the north,’ said Sixto. ‘I’ve seen them down along the Zindaros coast a few times.’
Toombs said, ‘You’ll get the knack after a few hours.’
‘It’s not hard to master,’ offered the merchant. There was a frantic tone to his voice: apparently, he wanted the sale concluded as quickly as possible, as he might be among those anxious to leave. ‘I’ll give her to you for what I paid!’
He was a stocky man who had apparently been given to gaudy jewellery, evidenced by several pale bands of skin on his fingers and around his neck, where rings and necklaces would have blocked the hot sun. His clothing was expensive, but dirty and sweat-stained, as if he hadn’t changed for days.
Declan said, ‘And that would be how much?’
Before the man could answer, a voice cried out from north of where they stood, and within seconds other voices rose in alarm. It was a sound all too familiar to Declan and his companions, and as one they turned to face the source of the commotion.
‘Raiders!’ was repeated by several people as others started running frantically.
Declan turned in time to reach out and grab the merchant before he could flee. Yanking the man around, Declan shouted, ‘Is there a gate that way?’ He indicated the southeast end of the city with a jerk of his chin.
‘A small gate, a way to go to the shore and fish … to dump trash! Beyond are the Burning Lands! Now let me go!’ He pulled hard and with a tear of his once-expensive shirt, slipped Declan’s grasp and ran.
Declan said, ‘We must find the others.’
‘Where?’ asked Sixto.
‘Bogartis will head for that inn he mentioned, I think.’
Declan hurried along, dodging people fleeing to the wharf. One glance towards the harbour told him those arriving there would find no escape. Boats were casting off and heading towards ships moored farther out, some of which appeared to already be preparing to depart, dropping sails and raising anchors.
Minutes later, as they neared the inn where they were to rendezvous, Declan saw Bogartis leading a party of men, the rest of his company and perhaps another dozen armed fighters Declan didn’t recognize. Before Declan could speak, Bogartis shouted, ‘Is there a gate?’
Instantly Declan understood and said, ‘A small one to the south!’
‘Run!’ was the command, and Declan without hesitation turned and started fleeing with a few city folks who also seemed to know there was a way to leave the city. Within minutes they reached a clutch of people trying to force their way through a small gate, big enough for a good-sized wagon to pass through, but now clogged with citizens elbowing their way past each other, nearly trampling those ahead who had slowed down.
Bogartis roughly grabbed a big man who was shoving a child aside, turned him, and with a backhand blow sent him to the ground almost senseless. He reached over and grabbed the child, a small boy in shorts and tunic, and handed him to a frantic-looking woman who gave him a brief look of thanks, then half-carried, half-dragged the boy to the gate.
Through the gate Bogartis beckoned the mercenaries to turn eastwards, past a mountain of rubbish and away from those fleeing south along the coast. He stopped a short distance away and when everyone had caught up with him, took a moment to catch his breath, then looked at one of the fighters Declan didn’t know. ‘What now, Benruf?’
‘They will die,’ said the stranger, nodding towards the fleeing city people.
Declan assumed he was the leader of the newcomers, and from his accent and dress took him to be from Zindaros. A few men like this had passed through Oncon during his days there.
‘Either the men of the Border Tribes will hunt them down, or they will die of thirst. There is no drinkable water that way.’
Declan understood. Drinkable water came from the mountains, or hills above the sea, but here beyond the endless field of rubbish and the tide pools filled with slops and crabs, there would be no drinkable water.
‘What next?’ asked Bogartis.
‘Most likely, we die,’ said Benruf. ‘We have a choice. We walk into the Burning Lands and die if we don’t find an oasis, or we wait here for the raiders from the Border Tribes. A slow death or a quick one?’
Another man in Benruf’s group said, ‘We can go down fighting.’
Bogartis looked around and pointed to a large rise. ‘We wait there.’
Benruf’s pained expression was accompanied by a plaintive question. ‘Why would I wish to trudge up that sandy slope to die, when I can wait here and rest before death greets me?’
‘Because I don’t intend to die,’ said Bogartis as he moved towards the base of the large slope.
‘Then what, hide behind the ridge, as if no tracks can be followed?’
‘No, I plan on standing on top of the ridge, and invite any who follow to come fight.’
‘Why, in the name of the gods?’ asked Benruf.
Bogartis said, ‘Because I intend to kill them and take their horses.’
Benruf’s eyes widened a bit, his expression brightened, and he said, ‘Now that is a plan I like, Captain.’ By that address, he let his own men know Bogartis would be in charge. He waved to his men to follow and Declan and the rest of his company fell in next to them. Without giving his concern any voice, Declan knew Bogartis’s plan would be decided by just how many horsemen came through that gate to hunt down those fleeing.
Still, it was a plan, and any plan was better than running away from riders or dying in the desert. He felt his legs starting to burn as he slogged up the slope, his feet sinking into the sand. Then he understood Bogartis’s plan. In this sand, the horses would become useless. Without hardpan to cross, they couldn’t charge.
Bogartis reached the crest and a moment later the others were alongside him, stretched out in a line to wait. Smoke was now rising from the city and despite the heat, a chill ran through Declan’s body as the memory of the fight at Beran’s Hill struck him. And with that memory came a cold from within, and he knew he would be killing men today.
He felt a smile spreading across his face.
‘Bowmen?’ asked Bogartis, between deep breaths from the climb. Three men unslung bows from their backs and strung them. ‘Stand behind the rest of us,’ he ordered, ‘and when we move out of your way, take out as many riders as you can.’
Declan realized that the horses trapped up to their hocks in sand would make the riders easy targets before they understood they needed to dismount. It was obvious, but no one else had thought of it besides Bogartis. Declan felt a sudden certainty that the captain would get them through this. He looked around and saw a few faces were missing from the company who had set out from the north. But the newcomers had increased the size of the waiting fighters.
They did as they were ordered, while Bogartis positioned half the mercenaries in a single line at the peak of the rise, then the others down out of sight a short way behind them, flanking the three bowmen in the centre. Without any spoken order, Declan realized Bogartis was attempting to lure the raiders into charging by presenting a smaller company than they actually had atop the rise and surrounding the archers to protect them as long as possible. Declan looked from one end of the line to the other, and saw they now numbered forty-nine swords, all at the ready.
They waited.
• CHAPTER THREE •
Flight, Decisions, and Partings
The sound of screaming, panic-stricken people faded, and the clatter of shod hooves striking stones grew louder. Declan realized that most of the people in this part of the city were already through the gate below or dead. A few might be hiding as best they could, but they would be silent.
He watched the gate keenly, waiting for the raiders to appear. From the sound he calculated there were probably a few dozen men in the raiding party, and a moment later as the first horsemen rode through the narrow gate, his assumption proved accurate. The riders in the vanguard slowed as they saw Bogartis’s company atop the distant rise, and one shouted back over his shoulder at those following.
It took only a few moments before Declan realized these were fine horsemen, but not trained soldiers. He could tell by the manner in which they moved their excited, even fractious, horses through the gate, controlling them effortlessly with knee and leg pressure, shifting their weight on their backs as they quickly wheeled in behind the first pair of riders who had waited near the bottom of the sandy hill.
They were dressed in a simple fashion, wearing leather or cloth breeches, some cut at the knees, no heavy boots that he could see, but what looked to be soft leather slippers or moccasins, and their shirts appeared to be a mix of buckskin, cured leather, or cloth purchased from traders. A few were bare-chested or wore only waistcoats.
The first thing that struck Declan was they were all clean-shaven, but their hair had been done up in a huge range of styles. Some wore it flowing past their shoulders, some loose, some plaited, others sported shaved skulls but with a tall roach of hair down the middle, many coloured with dye. And every man wore jewellery: rings in ears and noses, or tiny spikes of metal and gems pierced through eyebrows, cheeks, or chins. A few bore tattoos rather than piercings, but this was easily the most colourful company of fighting men Declan had ever beheld.
Despite his initial notice of their odd dress, he concentrated on their weapons. Two he could see had small shields on their left arms, strapped there so the left hand was free for the reins. The rest had only a sword or axe in the right hand.
‘I count two bowmen,’ said Sixto.
Without taking his eyes from the assembled raiders below, Bogartis said to the crouching archers behind him, ‘Take out those two. One is directly ahead off my left side, the other is a few points to the right of him.’ To the rest of his company, he said, ‘As soon as I give word, everyone duck. Don’t give those archers large targets.’
The riders below parted, forming a path allowing another horseman to come forward. Declan instantly saw he was their leader. He wore a black leather waistcoat over a bright red shirt, and alone of the men assembling below, he sported black boots. Declan judged them to be a prize taken off a soldier the man had killed.
Bogartis said to the bowmen hidden behind, ‘Once you take out their archers, their leader wears a red shirt and black weskit. Kill him as soon as possible.’
Benruf said, ‘That is their chieftain. Kill him and they may withdraw.’ Then he took a deep breath and said, ‘But that may prove difficult.’
As the last riders gathered below, Declan judged that his forces were outnumbered by at least a dozen men. He hoped the bowmen behind him were good. He wished for a moment that the young woman from Beran’s Hill, Molly Bowman, were here. She might be a little strange of manner, but from what he’d seen and heard she would have had both archers below and the leader off their horses in no time. She might even have levelled the number of fighters by the time the attackers crested the ridge, if the praises of her skills were to be believed.
The leader of the horsemen held up his sword, then waved it above his head in a circle, and pointed at Bogartis’s company, ordering the attack. As expected, after a few yards, the horses encountered deeper sand and suddenly slowed. Some sank to their withers, while others just had to pull high from the hocks, but all were halted abruptly.
‘Wait!’ said Bogartis.
The two horse-archers below unleashed shots which rose high and landed a few yards shy of where Declan and the others waited.
‘Ready,’ said Bogartis. ‘They’ll have our range next time!’
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, two more arrows were arching downwards, and Declan moved a step away from the one heading in his general direction. That struck the sand a few feet from him, while the other grazed a man on the other side of Bogartis, eliciting a grunt of pain and an oath.
As the riders headed up the hill, the horses began to stumble and falter. Declan and the others crouched at the ready, as arrows intermittently threatened them. By the time Bogartis judged the horse-archers close enough, two of his company had been felled.
‘Now!’ he shouted, and Declan moved aside to let one of the three bowmen past. Looking over the archer’s shoulder, Declan saw him take a bead on the leftmost of the two bowmen on horseback and let fly. The shot was true, and that raider tumbled out of the saddle.
Declan glanced to his right and saw two arrows missing the other archer, but one archer was very quick, and unleashed a further shaft which struck his horse and they both went down as the horse screamed. From what he could see, Declan judged that rider would be lucky if he hadn’t broken his neck.
The charge had degenerated into a milling clump of mounts and riders struggling to move forward. A few horses were more adept at negotiating the deep sand, but they were spending as much time bumping into others who as often as not kicked out in response.
