The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 31

  “As you wish, but keep your feet under you and steer clear of the sea’s reach. If a wave claims you, you’ll sink like an anchor.”

  Kath nodded, doubling her grip on the railing.

  Blaine, Bear and Sidhorn climbed the stairs to the rear deck. Sidhorn carried her standard, the maroon banner snapping in the wind. The three big men edged towards her, looking bewildered. Bear’s deep voice dropped to a low growl. “What should we do, Svala?”

  “Stay out of their way and learn how a ship works.” Kath studied Juliana, noting the easy way the captain moved about the pitching deck. She supposed it was like riding a horse, something that came easy as breathing once you spent enough days in the saddle.

  “Cast off and push her away!” The captain spoke the order and her first mate bellowed her command. A sailor blew three short notes on small whistle. Men leaped to obey, some rushing to the dockside railing while others scampered up the rigging. The ship thrummed like a kicked beehive, every sailor moving to their appointed task. Kath took it all in, impressed by the seamless coordination of so many men doing so many different tasks, like an intricate dance. Ropes were pulled aboard and coiled, while sailors leaned from the railing wielding long hooked spears, pushing the ship from the dock.

  “Prepare to make sail!” Juliana’s order echoed the ship’s length.

  Timbers creaked and the Sea Sprite drifted away from the stone dock. Overhead, sailors moved out along the narrow crossbeams, risking a deadly fall.

  “Make sail!”

  Ties were released and great canvas sheets dropped open with a thunderous clap. Red and blue checked, the main sail was emblazoned with the white sea eagle of Navarre, a proud sigil, bold and bright. Sailors shimmied down ropes, landing light-footed on the deck. Canvas flapped overheard, limp and lifeless as a bird’s broken wing. Sluggish and slow, the ship ambled away from the cliffs, tossed by the waves.

  “Come two points to larboard.”

  Sails hanging listless from the crossbeams, the ship wallowed in the waves, a disappointing start. Two of her painted warriors raced for the railing, vomiting their last meal into the cold waves, a reluctant offering to the sea god.

  Slow and sluggish, the ship eased beyond the cliff’s dark shadow. A sudden gust caught the canvas with a hard snap. Sails billowed taut and the ship leaped forward with lively energy, like a hound loosed to the hunt. The Sea Sprite scudded across the waves, carefree as her namesake. Kath gripped the railing, feeling the thrum of the ship’s timbers. Elated by the windborne speed, she leaned out, salt spray licking her face. So this is what it is to sail! The wind whipped her long blond hair loose from its knot. Shaking out her hair, she let it stream behind like a battle banner. Kath reveled in the effortless speed of the ship, in the salty tang of the waves, in the clean smell of the ocean air. She loosed a joyful shout, “For Honor and the Octagon!”

  A large hand gripped her shoulder. “Careful, Svala.” Bear pulled her back, concern in his voice. “Are you sea drunk?”

  “Sea drunk?” Puzzled, she looked at the others. Blaine was whey-faced and Sidhorn leaned across the far rail, retching his morning meal. Compared to the others, perhaps she was sea drunk, intoxicated by the effortless speed of wind and wave. Kath flashed a joyous smile. “I’m fine, Bear. Look after the others.”

  She turned to find Juliana watching her.

  “The sea god favors you.”

  “Is it always like this?”

  “We’re on a broad reach with a powerful aft wind, our fastest line of sail. It’ll get tricky once we leave the bay, especially with the storm brewing ahead.” Juliana pointed west, toward the bay’s mouth. Black spires thrust up from the roiling sea, guarding the bay’s entrance like jagged teeth. Beyond the teeth, a curtain of gray sleet obscured the sea and sky, as if the world came to a sudden end. “I don’t like the look of that storm.” Juliana prowled her ship, issuing terse orders.

  Kath remained on the rear deck. Staring east, she watched as the Dark Citadel grew small. Holding her thumb aloft, she blotted out the fortress, a measure of the distance crossed. Relief washed through her, elated to escape the Mordant’s insidious trap. Glancing at Blaine, she saw an echoing smile on his face. “I guess we won’t be needing our chainmail!”

  Blaine gave her a terse nod and then abruptly gripped the railing. Leaning out, he emptied his stomach into the slate-gray sea.

  Kath crossed to the far side, gradually growing accustomed to the rocking motion. Seagulls dipped and screeched overhead, following the ship’s wake. Their incessant cries sounded hungry, as if begging for morsels, like pigeons of the sea. Her painted warriors drifted away, some slumping to sit cross-legged on the deck. Gray-faced and miserable, they sought shelter from the wind and waves, but Kath remained standing, one hand gripping the rear railing, thrilled by the feel of the ship.

  Under full sail, the Sea Sprite skimmed across the waves, cutting a straight path for the mouth of the bay. As the Dark Citadel dwindled to insignificance, the great sea stacks loomed large. Dark spires, jagged as teeth, rose in a grim line cutting across the bay’s narrow mouth. Waves beat against the pinnacles, breaking white at their base, a swirl of foam surrounding the sinister rocks.

  Kath stared beyond the pinnacles, yearning for her first glimpse of the open ocean.

  “Ship ho!” The cry rang from the rigging.

  Kath felt an electric jolt race through the crew.

  Sailors leaped to action. Scurrying up the rigging, several pointed north.

  “Red sails approaching!”

  “A MerChanter trireme!”

  “Ware the north!”

  Kath heard fear in their voices.

  Juliana snapped a volley of orders. “Release the jib and turn one point to larboard! I want every scrap of speed we can muster! Let’s see if we can out run the bastards!”

  Grim-faced sailors scurried to obey.

  Kath sidled close to the captain. “An enemy ship?”

  Juliana sent her a baleful look. “It seems the north is not done with you.”

  53

  The Knight Marshal

  Under cloak of darkness, the marshal sought a glimpse of the enemy. Lothar and Sir Rannock rode at his back, but he missed Sir Abrax. His steady strength and the surety of his blue steel sword could not be replaced. A hollow sadness gripped him. The winter war was taking a ferocious toll on the maroon, yet he would not relent. Like a badger locking jaws on a lion’s throat, he continued to gnaw and chew, desperate to bring down the larger beast. He wondered if the Octagon stood a chance.

  A shooting star blazed a path across the night sky. With the moon nearly dark, the slash of light flashed brilliant as a drawn sword. Such a glorious burst of light, but so brief…as brief as a warrior’s life. The marshal shook his head, dismayed by his gloomy thoughts.

  They rode along the ridge, the horses picking a path among the winter-bare trees. Fetlock-deep snow crunched beneath hooves, enough to leave tracks without slowing the horses. A scout stepped from behind a cedar. “This way, my lord.” Clad in a dark gray cloak, a bow strung over his back, Targin led them towards a rocky spur overlooking Raven Pass. Hobbling the horses, they crept towards the edge.

  Campfires crowded the valley below, too many to count. Like a river of fire, the enemy encamped the length of Raven Pass, securing the gateway to the south.

  Beside him, Lothar hissed, “By the gods!”

  The marshal shared his friend’s anguish. For nigh on two turns of the moon, they’d fought the Pentacle, waging a winter war, yet for all their bravery and blood they’d barely culled the horde.

  Sir Rannock whispered. “At least we’ve kept them bottled in the north.”

  The knight had the truth of it. The horde might have splintered, leaving a smaller force to chase the Octagon, while the rest plundered the south…but it seemed a slim comfort...and an odd strategy. “Come, we’ve seen their numbers.” The marshal turned, leading them back from the edge. Reaching their horses, they mounted as the
scout slipped back into the forest. They rode in silence, retracing the trail back along the ridgeline.

  Lothar nudged his mount forward, riding beside him. “We should move the camp. Stonehand is too near Raven Pass.”

  “The scouts say it lies beyond the Pentacle’s regular patrols. Far enough to be safe yet close enough to be ignored. They’ll never expect us to have so much audacity.”

  Lothar tugged his mustache. “I don’t like it.”

  “One more night till the dark of the moon. We’ll collect our scouts, stragglers and supplies and be off, forging a path deeper into the Spines.”

  “You saw their numbers,” Lothar cast him a sideways glance. “It will take more than steel to win this war.”

  The black sword again, the marshal bristled. “That way is damned.”

  “Yet it may be our only hope.”

  Anger riddled the marshal’s words. “I’ll not speak of it.” Yet in his heart, he feared it was true.

  54

  Katherine

  A ship emerged from behind a sea stack like a lurking marauder. Blood-red sails billowed in the wind, a horned skull emblazoned in black on the canvas. Three rows of oars flashed from the ship’s sides. Painted red, the oars knifed the sea with deadly precision, thrusting the ship on a straight path towards the Sea Sprite. Kath knew little of ships, yet this one cut the waves like a predator, like a falcon stooping for prey. “An enemy ship?”

  Marcus, the first mate, flicked a glance her way. “Aye. The MerChanters are fearsome raiders. They’ll take us if they can.”

  “Take us how?” but Marcus had already turned away, attending to his captain.

  Juliana barked a string of orders. Sailors leaped to the rigging, adjusting sails and tugging on lines. A triangular sail burst from the ship’s front spar. Canvas-white it puffed with wind, straining at its bindings. The Sea Sprite leaped forward like a startled horse, moving from a brisk canter to a spurred gallop.

  The deck lurched beneath her boots. Kath clutched the railing, her gaze locked on the enemy. Unlike the Sea Sprite, the trireme moved by wind and by oar, a lethal menace plowing the waves.

  The enemy’s oars flashed bright, doubling their pace. Cleaving the water with frightening speed, the ship leaped forward like a hound slavering for the kill. Indifferent to the wind’s direction, the MerChanter knifed through the waves, cutting a straight course for the Sprite.

  Kath gripped the railing, urging the Sprite to speed. “Faster…faster!”

  The enemy oars maintained their furious pace. Churning the water, they clawed the distance between the two ships, narrowing the gap.

  “We’re not going to make it.” Kath gripped Bear’s arm. “Tell the men to prepare for a fight. Have them don arms and armor, ready to rush the top deck.”

  Bear nodded. “As you say, Svala.”

  Kath sidled towards Juliana. “Can you evade them?”

  The captain gave the barest shake of her head, her gaze fixed on the enemy ship. “This is our best line. If we tack, we’ll only bleed speed.”

  “My warriors are fierce but we’re unaccustomed to the sea. We need to know how the enemy fights.”

  Juliana spared a glance her way. “We can’t outrun them, but I know a trick or two.”

  The captain started to turn away, but Kath gripped her arm. “I can help but I need to know what to expect.”

  Juliana’s gaze raked Kath with a mixture of anger and annoyance. Kath thought the captain might pull away but practicality won out. Her answer was short and clipped. “They’ll try to ram us, to hole our ship. They’ll use grapples to bind us close and then they’ll board. They’ll kill us or enslave us and take our cargo, and then they’ll leave the Sprite to sink to a watery grave.”

  “But you’ve got a plan.”

  Juliana flashed a lethal smile, like a predator about to bite. “I won’t let them ram us. When they get close, I’ll jibe the ship around, avoiding their ram and smashing them with our starboard side.”

  Kath interrupted. “Jibe?”

  “A sudden wrenching turn, like a violent pivot.”

  “And starboard?”

  “Our right side.”

  “So our right side will smash into their ship?”

  Juliana nodded. “Just before their ram hits.” Her face sober. “Then it will come down to knife work, their tridents against our swords.”

  “A battle of swords, I’ll take that bet.”

  “You’ve never fought MerChanters. They’re fierce fighters. They’ll show no quarter.”

  Kath flashed a feral grin. “Yes, but they’re expecting merchant sailors not seasoned warriors.”

  Juliana looked at her then, as if truly seeing Kath for the first time. “Jordan sent me north for you…but what are you?”

  “A woman who wields a sword.”

  Juliana gave her a piercing stare. “I suspect you’re more than that.”

  Kath shrugged. “I don’t like to lose.”

  An iron determination flooded the captain’s voice. “Then help me win this battle else you’ll never leave the north.”

  55

  The Knight Marshal

  Horns blared in the night, a desperate call to arms. The marshal leaped awake, reaching for his sword. In the dim brazier-light, the first sword that came to hand was bound in furs. A jolt raced up his arm. *Wield me!*

  Repulsed, he flung the cursed sword aside.

  Horns blared in warning, summoning the maroon to battle. Beyond the canvas walls, he heard men scrambling for arms and armor.

  Lothar and Martyn burst through the curtain into the marshal’s sleeping cell. Lothar was already gird for battle, his battleaxe in his gauntleted hand, his silver surcoat gleaming in the dim light. “Scouts discovered a troop of ogres approaching from the east!”

  Martyn stirred the brazier to life and began armoring the marshal.

  “How many?”

  “Eighty or more. Hard to tell in the dark.”

  “Eighty!” Visions of the slaughter field assaulted his mind. “Where do they get these beasts?” He shrugged on a gambeson followed by chainmail.

  “Valin only knows, but they’re coming.”

  “From the east, you say?”

  Lothar nodded. “They’re making their way up the backside of Stonehand Mountain.”

  Martyn strapped on his breastplate and then knelt to buckle his greaves.

  “At least we have the high ground…and some time.”

  Lothar scowled. “Time to flee or time to attack?”

  That was the question. “What word from the west?”

  “None so far.”

  “None?” The answer bothered him, a prickling at the back of his neck. “Ogres are attacking from the east, yet there’s nothing to the west? This close to Raven Pass that makes no sense.” He swirled his maroon cloak across his shoulders. “Either there’s nothing there…or our scouts are dead.”

  “A trap?”

  “Eighty ogres attacking at the dark of the moon, sounds like a trap to me.” The marshal reached for Sir Tyrone’s great sword, shrugging the harness across his shoulders. “They know we’re here.”

  “Betrayed?”

  “Or merely discovered.”

  Lothar scowled. “Fight or flee?”

  The marshal moved to the map table. The rugged terrain held answers but the telltale snow remained their enemy. “If we flee they’ll only follow, especially if a larger force lurks to the west.” He considered his choices. “Our scouts foiled their surprise and we have the high ground, so somehow we have to turn that to our advantage.”

  Martyn thrust a stale biscuit into the marshal’s hand and then began to pack.

  “Lothar, I want you to lead the bulk of our forces north along this ridgeline” his finger traced a path along the map, “and then cut down this ravine. Double back around behind the ogres to…this meadow, and I’ll meet you there.”

  Lothar raised a bushy eyebrow. “You’ll meet me there?”

  “I
’ll lead a charge of a hundred mounted knights down the Stonehand’s backside. With the mountain at our backs, they’ll be no stopping us. Our horses will barrel through their lines, our swords cutting like scythes.”

  “You’ll charge eighty ogres?”

  “They won’t be expecting it.”

  “They bloody well won’t.”

  “Then I take it you like my plan?”

  “It’s mad…and daring…but the odds could be improved.” Lothar stepped close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Give me the dark sword and I’ll lead the charge.”

  “No.” The marshal’s voice held firm, but his gaze slid away. “We’ll kill what we can and then punch through their lines to meet you in the meadow.”

  A horn sounded beyond the canvas.

  “Silence that horn! We’ve given them enough warning!” Beyond the canvas flap, someone scurried to obey. The marshal turned to Lothar, grasping his arm. “Get the war host away. Save the maroon to fight another day…I’ll meet you in the meadow.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” They locked stares and then Lothar hastened away.

  “Martyn, take the maps, food and weapons. Leave the rest.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  The marshal reached for the black sword. Even through the fur wrappings, he could feel it pulsing with power.

  *Wield me!*

  Grinding his teeth against the temptation, he slung the cursed blade across his back and strode beyond the canvas curtain. In the pavilion’s heart, knights struggled to don their armor. “I need a hundred mounted knights for a diversionary charge. Who’s with me?”

  “I’m with you, my lord!”

  “And me!”

  “Count me in!”

  Their rousing response lifted his heart. “Tonight we ride into the teeth of death!”

  “For Honor and the Octagon!” They followed him out into the cold night, scrambling for their mounts. The camp swarmed with men preparing for battle. A pair of stewards struggled to bring down the pavilion but the marshal gainsaid them. “Food and weapons only, we haven’t time for more.”