The sand timer, p.12
The Sand Timer, page 12
The sergeant clenched his fists. He would find Karek, he reassured himself. And he wouldn’t bother with taking him prisoner. Far too risky. The boy’s head would have to suffice.
The mizen mast sail was being hoisted too. They would certainly reach their destination before dark.
The sun was, indeed, still in the sky as the galleon entered Cutlass Cove. Karson rejoiced when, from a distance, he spotted the East Wind at anchor. He was surprised that it was positioned so far offshore. He also made out a body, swinging in a leisurely manner from the yardarm. It didn’t take them long to draw close, and the sergeant was reassured to see the familiar faces of the soldiers and mercenaries on board the ‘East Wind’.
By now they had heaved to, and the two ships were side by side. A broad plank was laid across to enable marching from one vessel to the other. Karson strode proudly onto the ‘East Wind’. It wasn’t so much a matter of showmanship, but he was the senior officer on board and well aware of his responsibilities. It was clear what was expected of him. The soldiers around him stood to attention. The mercenaries, on the other hand, merely lounged around with bored expressions.
He caught sight of Captain Stramig overhead. The man looked pale and colourless – with the exception of his blue tongue, which was hanging loosely from his mouth. Seagulls or crows had feasted on his eyeballs. He certainly looked dead. To be deader than Stramig was well-nigh impossible.
He spoke without emotion: ‘Cut him down and sink him in the sea.’
A bearded mercenary pushed his way forward and stood before Karson, his legs apart. ‘Dunmar ordered that Stramig should remain hanging. And since he’s been swinging up there, he’s fared even better as captain. His crew are towing the line magnificently.’
Some of his comrades laughed.
Karson wrinkled his nose. For one thing, there was the dreadful stench of rotting flesh, and for another, he was suddenly faced with his first test of power since stepping onto the ‘East Wind’.
‘Are you the commander now?’ he asked the man.
‘Nah.’
Karson studied the scene. The ratio of mercenary to soldier seemed one to one, as far as he could make out. Behind him, on ‘Schohtar’s Will’ there were one hundred more soldiers, who were subservient to him. But for the moment, they were too far away and were not much use to him in this situation. He had never understood why Schohtar had relied on a combination of mercenaries and soldiers. Each group looked down on the other. Each group considered themselves a better class of people. No wonder, for their motivations and mentalities could hardly be more different. One lot fought purely for gold and booty. And the soldiers – he being one of them? What did they fight for? For pride and honour? Pride and honour are the worst killers, he thought grimly. Whatever – mercenaries and soldiers together in one army, that was a mixture as explosive as Schohtar’s Black Powder.
The bearded fellow stood there in front of him and leered.
A mercenary behind him opined: ‘Oh, not enough support nearby. Wait for the nice trousers of his uniform to turn brown.’
Now he had to act, or he would lose the respect of his men. The leather glove – reinforced with steel rivets – of his officer’s uniform smashed straight into the bearded mercenary’s face. The man’s upper front teeth, nose and cheekbone broke with a loud crunching sound. The legs of his opposite number gave way, the mercenary collapsing to the deck without uttering a word. Only the dull impact on the wooden planks caused some noise.
Karson was temporarily surprised by the sheer power of his blow. Then he understood why – he had used all the rage that had built up within him over the events of the past few weeks to give energy to the punch. His rage at Karek, his rage at Schohtar, his rage at himself. He tried to ignore the fact that his hand was burning like fire. He had probably, despite his glove, broken a couple of bones in his fingers. If he had been wearing one of the massive plate gauntlets typical of Toladarian armour, the man’s head would surely have exploded.
Now, and only now, did some of the soldiers draw their weapons, ready to defend their valiant leader. Yet their action seemed no longer necessary, for the mercenaries were making do with exchanging malevolent looks. No-one had made a move to do or say anything. His silent solution had indeed been handy – leaving, as it did, a lasting impression. He pointed at Stramig’s corpse. ‘Cut him down and sink him in the sea.’
This time, his command was obeyed immediately.
Slowly, the pain in his right hand eased off. He really needed to concentrate on the task in hand. Know your enemy. Time and again, the saying had been drilled into him as a cadet. Put yourself in your enemy’s place. Think like your enemy. Feel like your enemy.
The sergeant silently summed the situation up: Karek would do anything to regain control of the ‘East Wind’. For with the best will in the world, Karson couldn’t imagine that Karek would march all that way through the Soradian wilderness only to finally turn up in the south of Toladar. For that would mean, of course, being right bang in the middle of King Schohtar’s territory. The only sensible thing for him to do would be to try and reach his father, King Marein, by sea. This reassured Sergeant Karson. For he controlled the only two ships that Karek could possibly use.
Once he had spoken to Stramig’s old crew and some of the soldiers without gleaning any new information, he retired to ‘Schohtar’s Will’ for the night. He felt safer there than among the unpredictable mercenaries on board the ‘East Wind’. He cast anchor at a respectable distance and assigned duties to the night watch. ‘Look out for any movement on the “East Wind”. I want to be immediately informed of the slightest suspicious activity.’ Those were his orders. Furthermore, he had left a sufficient number of soldiers back on the ‘East Wind’ in case anyone tried pulling a fast one. It would be laughable if he failed to capture and kill Karek Marein.
setting sail
Karek couldn’t believe his fate. How could it have come to this? Only a few hours previously, things had been going swimmingly – armed with an ingenious plan and the genuine hope of re-taking the ‘East Wind’, now he was surrounded by mercenaries under the leadership of that disgusting Dunmar. The fellow with the ugly, bell-shaped cloak hanging from his broad shoulders was stomping along right behind him. The ‘East Wind’ was peacefully anchored offshore.
The prince received a well-aimed kick in his posterior, causing him to stumble and almost fall on his face. He would never have been able to protect himself with his hands, for they were tied behind his back. The troop marched onto the beach, then stopped before the shoreline. As if nature was trying to comfort them, they were being treated to the most magical of sunsets. The red sky cast the cove in a warm glow.
Dunmar waved over to the trading cog – some men waved back – Karek couldn’t make out who they were, the distance was too great.
‘Get down!’ snarled the leader of the mercenaries to the prince, giving him another kick.
Karek dropped painfully to his knees, landing on the sharp shards of broken shells, which were scattered everywhere along the beach.
‘Ow! You don’t need to overdo it, Brawl,’ he hissed to the cloak-wearer.
‘What do you mean? It has to look real. You said so yourself, otherwise they won’t fall for it on the ship.’
Karek muttered something incomprehensible.
From a distance, Nika, Blinn, Eduk, Impy and Brawl all looked like Toladarian mercenaries. Brawl was playing his role with great gusto. Indeed, with too great a gusto as far as Karek was concerned. As for himself, he was performing his role magnificently. A captive prince, shortly to be delivered to his arch enemy Schohtar and certain death.
The dead and fettered soldiers had provided them with sufficient uniforms, which they had divvied up and dressed themselves in. Impy had proved a little bit of a problem in the costuming department until Nika had the brainwave of shortening his uniform jacket and trousers with her knife to the extent that they were no longer flapping an extra half-yard from his arms and legs. They had transformed Bostun’s officer cloak into a worn and bedraggled cloak. Stiffened through salt water and filth, the bell-shaped mantel hung from Brawl’s shoulders.
Karek breathed a sigh of relief when he looked out to sea. Two rowers were guiding a tender in their direction with the intention of picking them up and bringing them to the ship.
‘They’ve fallen for it, hook, line and sinker!’ exclaimed Impy jubilantly.
‘That’s what it looks like.’ Karek gritted his teeth. ‘Let’s see what happens when the rowers realise their mistake.’
‘Shite! They’re sending two of the soldiers and not two from the crew. Tsk! How can people be so mistrustful?’ muttered Blinn, distinctly annoyed.
Slowly, the tender drew closer. The six companions waded into the water. They wanted the rowers to have as little time as possible to observe their future passengers.
One of the soldiers stood up and asked: ‘Have you really captured the prince?’ He peered at Karek and stammered: ‘Lithor be merci…merciful. I recognise him. Yes, I’m certain. It is Linnek from Fortress Beachperch. They say that he is Prince Karek Marein in reality.’
He looked greedily over at his comrade. ‘We have him. Schohtar will reward us.’
Nika was up to her waist in water when she reached the tender. With a single movement she pulled herself on board and produced two daggers, each of them was pointing dangerously below the rowers’ midriffs.
‘If you want to remain men to any degree, then behave perfectly normally.’
Brawl had clambered onto the tender by now and was helping Impy up, the water having reached the little lad’s chest. Then he calmly drew his sword and rested it beside him.
The two soldiers were clearly shocked by the realisation that they had been duped. Their eyes downcast, they didn’t say a word.
Karek was delighted with how his plan was unfolding.
Once Blinn and Eduk were on board, the men – clearly impressed by the keenness of sharpened steel – began to row towards the trading cog. Brawl threw the prince a rope and the belt bag. Karek hung the cord around his shoulder, opened the bag, took out the sand timer and held it in his hands. With these objects, their plan was to seize control of the ship without the necessity for death or injury. According to Dragan, four mercenaries and two soldiers had been detailed to guard the cog. Two of them were sitting in the tender – therefore, there were four left on the ship.
They approached the ‘East Wind’ from the portside – luckily, it was in the shade of the setting sun. Three men looked down from above. Thanks to the semi-darkness, they didn’t seem to recognise who was really sitting in the tender. One of them dropped a ladder.
This was the moment. This was what they had discussed. With the help of the artefact, he would once again disarm and tie up the enemy. After that, regaining control of the ship would be child’s play. Grimly determined, he turned over the sand timer.
The first thing that he noticed was the noise everywhere. The repetitive sound of the waves. And Blinn’s impatient voice: ‘Siblings be damned. Hurry up, Karek!’ He looked at the sand timer in amazement. But that didn’t help things. The sand was trickling down without anything else happening. He waited a moment. Still nothing.
Karek shook the artefact, turned it hectically this way and that, yet to no effect. Nothing changed – the sand always flowed down to what had initially been the upper chamber no matter which way he turned it – it even flowed upwards. His companions and the two oarsmen stared at him, the expressions on the latter’s faces suggesting that he had lost his mind completely.
‘It’s not working,’ he groaned, quite unnecessarily.
‘Shite artefact! I can’t rely on anything.’ Nika grasped the ladder and whooshed up. ‘Except my own handiwork.’
She had tightly tied back her chin-length hair so that it was only once she stepped on board that the soldier facing her realised that there was something amiss with his supposed comrade. In fact, that was his last thought.
Karek only saw the quick movement of Nika’s elbows. By now he was familiar with her method of cutting throats without giving her victims the chance to scream or even defend themselves.
Brawl raised his sword and pointed it at the two rowers. ‘Into the water with ye. Ye can swim back to the shore.’
Karek added: ‘If you march inland due west, you will find your comrades.’
‘Or what’s left of them.’ Brawl pushed the tip of his weapon against the chest of one of the soldiers.
The man didn’t need to be asked twice and jumped into the sea, closely followed by his fellow rower. They quickly swam a safe distance from the tender before beginning to scream: ‘WATCH OUT! It’s time! NOW!’
Before Karek had time to deliberate on the significance of the word ‘now’, Brawl had already clambered up the rope ladder and thrown himself onto the deck with his sword at the ready. Karek followed him, holding the sand timer in his hand. Before reaching the top, he spotted Nika’s taut features in the twilight. She hissed to him: ‘A trap. Get back! Flee!’
Too late. Right and left, faces appeared along the railing. Many faces. Enemy faces. A voice called out: ‘There is the prince – he is the only one we need. Kill all the others.’
Karek looked at the sand timer in despair. The sand was trickling down to its original position without a care in the world – and without any noticeable effect. They had come this far only to meet a dreadful ending. He wondered if he should jump back into the water, but that would mean leaving the others to their fate. He would be no good to anyone, swimming aimlessly in the sea. They would pick him up in no time at all. Therefore, he thought, continue up and look danger directly in the eye. Determined, he grasped the upper rungs of the rope ladder.
Hardly was he on board when he noticed Brawl and Nika using their weapons to fight four soldiers simultaneously. The same number of mercenaries again – at a minimum – were approaching them from the side. The second group were being commanded by a fellow wearing a filthy, bell-shaped cloak. The real Dunmar.
What a bummer! The dirty swine had made it back on board again, which meant that their ruse would never have worked. They had innocently rowed into the lion’s den, where a particularly hungry feline was awaiting them. Nika and Brawl had been pushed hard against the railing by the superior forces. Brawl was bleeding profusely from his cheek. They wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer.
Karek’s brain was working feverishly. Then he shouted as loudly as he could: ‘Stop!’ He held up the sand timer. ‘Here is the artefact. Cease your fighting or I will throw it into the sea!’
Dunmar stared stupidly at him, then at the item in the prince’s hand.
‘Pull back! Stop fighting! We have them in our power anyway. And he really is holding the sand timer in his hand.’
It was becoming ever darker. Two of the sailors lit the hurricane lamps.
Blinn, Impy and Eduk had clambered aboard by now and were holding on to their weapons for dear life, their faces expressing sheer terror. Confidence certainly looked quite different – but Karek understood his comrades only too well, confronted as they were by a far superior power.
The prince held the artefact over the railing. ‘I’m not joking. I will throw it into the sea. Then Schohtar will rip off your heads.’
‘If you throw it into the sea then you will have lost your bargaining tool. Ripping off heads will be a walk in the park compared to what we will do to you.’ Dunmar stretched out his hand. ‘Give me the timer.’
Karek considered his options. ‘Let us all row back to the shore. Then you will get the artefact.’
Nika whispered to him: ‘There is no way that you can give him the sand timer even if it means not buying our freedom.’
Dunmar saw things the same way and shook his head. ‘Even your corpse is of more value than the sand timer. I am sure of that. You are in no position to negotiate. Here are my terms. Your companions will suffer a mercifully quick death. You will allow yourself to be taken prisoner and you will give me the artefact like a good little boy.’
Nika murmured: ‘With a bit of luck we will be able to kill half of them. Or, to put it in a nutshell – it doesn’t look good.’
Thanks for your help, good crow.
Karek peered at the sand timer. It wouldn’t be long before all the sand reached the bottom, and then – maybe – it would work like it did the first time. This time, he couldn’t rely on any other assistance.
One of the mercenaries grunted impatiently: ‘What are we waiting for, Dunmar? I see five milksops and one wench. Let’s slit open the stomachs of the milksops and then take care of the wench.’
Jeers and whistles greeted this suggestion.
Dunmar grinned, showing his yellow teeth. ‘I’m done with dilly-dallying here. If this cheeky brat throws the artefact overboard, so be it. Then it won’t be of use to anyone anymore. On the other hand, we will be holding Prince Karek in captivity. That should be more than enough to pacify Schohtar.’
Their room to manoeuvre was narrowing all the time as they inched inexorably towards the last remaining option, ‘death’.
Forgive me, my friends. My dressing-up idea has led us into a fatal trap. Apologies.
Karek stuck the sand timer into his waistband and hurriedly drew his sword. He would fight to the end – to the bitter end. They would never get him alive, at least.
Already Dunmar was shouting out his command: ‘Men! Kill ‘em all – with the exception of the prince! Him, too, if necessary. Attaaaa…’
With a look of disbelief, the mercenary looked down at a piece of sharpened metal protruding out of his chest. In the light of the hurricane lamps, it shone a bloody red. Dunmar’s knees gave way. He collapsed. Behind him, a face appeared, grinning broadly. It was not clay-encrusted, yet clearly belonging to Belch. Some of the mercenaries turned in irritation to look at the unexpected attacker. Nika’s reactions were instant – fast and furious. With movements almost too swift for the human eye, she mowed down three of the enemy. Brawl, too, took advantage of the situation, hurling himself at the mercenary before him. Karek couldn’t believe his eyes. A long-haired woman appeared on the other side of the ship. No. it wasn’t a woman. It was Mane, and beside him Child was waving his bastard sword in the air. A threatening voice: ‘Skewer ‘em. Skewer the lot of ‘em!’
