Dangerous Waters (30 page)

Corrain saw the tension in Kusint’s angular jaw, as well as a darkness behind his eyes. Corrain recognised that unspoken fear. It had visited him in the cool grey light of dawn.

‘They won’t take us again,’ he murmured to the Forest lad. ‘We outnumber them three to one. We know when they’ll be weakest—’

‘A brindle owl!’ Mersed uncoiled his long limbs to crouch, alert.

Corrain’s hand was already on his sword hilt. ‘We don’t move till they’re split between ship and shore.’

That first call meant a corsair vessel had been spotted off shore. The next signal would indicate it was making for the inlet.

Absurd uncertainties quickened Corrain’s heartbeat. Someone aboard that ship might know that supposed owl for a counterfeit. Brindle owls only hunted among the forests inland. He thrust away such foolish misgivings. The Aldabreshi would be as ignorant of Caladhrian birds as he had been of the twittering in Archipelagan trees.

Kusint offered Corrain a swig from the water skin slung over his shoulder. He sucked gratefully on the horn mouthpiece.

He refused to indulge in more foolish speculation. There was no chance they’d find Hosh chained to an oar. The fool boy was doubtless dead, murdered when Corrain had escaped with Kusint. He would have to answer for that whenever he finally stood before Saedrin.

The brindle owl called a second time. Corrain watched the corsair galley advancing cautiously up the inlet. The platforms at prow and stern were both crowded with armed and armoured Aldabreshi, vigilant in every direction. The slow oars barely raised a whisper in the sluggish water, obedient to the flute’s steady rhythm.

Corrain glanced at the clumps of sea reed marking the uncertain margin between mud and more solid ground. Chest high to a tall man, the tufted green and brown stems offered sufficient cover to hide the Tallat troopers. Mersed had promised they could contain their hatred. He’d threatened to personally castrate any fool ruining all their hopes by attacking too soon.

Corrain knew the Halferans wouldn’t give in to their outrage, not and risk his and Captain Arigo’s boot so far up their arse that they’d be sucking on hobnails. The galley was drawing ever closer to the broad wedge of firm ground, where the stream offered untainted water. With deftness impossible for any ship under sail, it spun around inside its own length, the oarsmen on one side backing while those on the other flank rowed forwards. Now the galley lay sternward to the shore.

‘It’s not the
Reef Eagle
,’ Kusint breathed.

Corrain saw the disappointment deep in his eyes. He had hoped to rescue Hosh too.

Every oar rose clear of the water, drops pattering down from their blades. The whip master blew his whistle. With a crash, each oar descended and backed the galley so close to firm ground that Corrain could hear the keel grate on the mud.

The corsairs were shouting briskly, no alarm to stir the salty air. The oars were drawn inboard with a rumble like distant thunder, leaving the blades bristling along the oar ports. The crude anchors hit the shallow water, splashing loudly.

‘We’ve got them,’ Mersed whispered, exultant.

‘Lay an egg before you cackle.’ Corrain crouched, tense as a bow string.

Attack now and the corsairs would cut those anchor ropes, whip the rowers to their oars and be away to warn their allies never to venture here again.

The galley’s master was visible in the stern, gesturing as he ordered the hatch opened to the hold. Some Aldabreshi were already climbing down the ladders fixed at the galley’s stern. Corrain watched as a gaggle of slaves began filling leather flagons from the stream while others manhandled the little barrels to be filled with water.

He took a carved horn whistle from the pouch of oddments on his belt and blew a raucous blast. The corsairs looked around, more curious than concerned.

Every Caladhrian recognised the sun-faced duck’s call. They erupted from the thickets and reeds. Mersed ran to join his men, all concealment abandoned.

Those raiders already ashore readied their own weapons. Curved Archipelagan steel clashed with straight mainland swords. Cries of pain mingled with abuse hurled by both sides, mutually incomprehensible.

Every muscle in Corrain’s body urged him to join the fray. No, that first assault was Tallat’s task. If the Caladhrians were to win the day, they must stick to their plan.

More Aldabreshin raiders poured down the galley’s stern ladders, shining blades in hand. Tallat’s troop began retreating. The first of the fallen, Caladhrian and Aldabreshin, were trampled underfoot.

Corrain gritted his teeth. Men died. It was the way of battle. At least those heroes of Tallat had struck a blow to avenge Caladhria’s sufferings.

Now they were relying on Captain Mersed’s mastery over his men. The Tallats must hold off from striking back long enough to draw the corsairs far enough from the ship.

Good enough. The second wave of Caladhrians, led by Mersed himself, surged forward from concealment to cut the raiders off from their ship. Seeing they were now caught between the two troops, the corsairs quickly drew close together.

That left them wrong footed when Mersed’s men rushed up the stern ladders instead. Now the Tallats’ initial retreat stopped dead. Those swordsmen sprang forward to prevent the corsairs on shore from falling back to defend their ship. However, there were still enough raiders on the galley to make a fight of it and these southern barbarians had other resources.

‘Corrain,’ Kusint said warningly.

‘I see it.’ Corrain was watching the prow platform, jutting out from the shore. Pale smoke rose, teased by the summer breeze.

He took the crossbow that Reven offered him. Tucking the stock tight into his shoulder, he sighted along the length of the weapon, through the fine ironwork lattice set in the centre of the curved arms. Several men were stooping over the source of the smoke.

Corrain saw one straighten up. The Aldabreshin drew back his arm, intent on making his throw. Corrain pressed the crossbow’s trigger and felt the bolt’s discharge rush through his body like a physical release.

As the corsair fell, he saw the others in the prow looking wildly around their feet. ‘Reven!’

The boy took the spent crossbow, handing Corrain a second with its sturdy hemp string already drawn, deadly bolt loaded. Reven bent to thrust his foot through the stirrup at the front of the empty crossbow. Snagging the string on the hook on his belt and standing upright, his action drew the weapon ready for use once again. He reached into the quiver slung from his shoulder for another bolt, only to realise Corrain was still watching and waiting.

‘Captain?’ Reven had started calling him that, along with a fair few of the other lads. Thus far, Arigo had chosen to ignore it.

Corrain saw a raider in the galley’s prow pounce like a cat on a mouse. The man sprang up, his arm swinging wildly. Something small soared through the air; no bigger than a man’s fist. It burst in a flash of flame, sending fragments spattering into the water.

That was a relief. He didn’t want the fools to burn their own ship to the waterline. The relief was short-lived. The next fire pot flew straight over the galley’s stern to smash on the shore. While it fell too short to shower them with flames, the Tallat men recoiled with cries of alarm.

Corrain raised the crossbow and as quickly as he could, aimed bolt after bolt at the galley’s prow. Other Halferan bows joined him. Hunters like Fitrel and Arigo were deadly accurate, their skills born of years of hunting.

The Archipelagans’ short wooden bows had no hope of reaching the archers equipped with either crossbows or mainland bows in the Dalasorian style, masterfully crafted with bone, horn and sinew. After seeing how readily Aldabreshin wooden bows warped through their rain-filled seasons, Corrain had realised such intricately wrought mainland weapons could never survive the damp. So the raiders would have no answer for Halferan arrows.

Now younger men were emerging from cover to hurl grapnels clear across the inlet, not at the ship but to each other. Each one trailed a rope. As the barbed iron teeth bit into the mud, swift-footed lads ran forward to haul on the ropes. Nets followed, edging across the mud and through the water to be lashed securely to the deepest rooted thorns on either side. Soon a double layer of heavy mesh would frustrate any attempt to row the galley away to the safety of open water.

Corrain saw one of the Halferan lads fall backwards into the ooze. The boy clutched at the garish Aldabreshin arrow piercing his chest. The corsairs were loosing sheaves of arrows to drive the net riggers off and some had carelessly strayed within range.

One of the men in the prow threw a smoking pot towards a thorn bush tangled with ropes. A Halferan man recoiled, arms flailing madly as golden fire blossomed on his chest. The flames spread with impossible speed. Another trooper grabbed the man, trying to force him into the muddy water to quench the flames. The greedy fire surged up the rescuer’s arms, devouring his face. Sticky fire; as vile as travellers’ tales promised. Corrain had warned them.

Up on the galley, the Tallat men had seized control. Now they were charging down the walkway. The men in the prow abandoned the pots of sticky fire, seizing swords to fight for their lives. Corrain saw Caladhrians among the rowers’ benches. Blades rose, casting off scarlet showers of blood. Did they know who they were killing? Or was every dark-skinned man fair game?

‘Come on!’

Corrain ran, Kusint at his side. Yelling for the Tallat troopers ashore to clear the way, he slashed at any Aldabreshin too slow to evade him. Kusint was hacking his own path. They reached the stern ladders together.

‘Go on.’ Kusint sprang half way up, looping one arm through the upright, sword ready to foil any attacker pursuing them.

Corrain scrambled up the ladder. The noise up on the deck was making his blood run cold. The Tallat men must have forgotten what their captain had agreed, overcome by bloodlust.

‘Don’t kill the rowers! Don’t kill the slaves!’

He nearly skewered a hapless trooper as he half-jumped, half-fell onto the stern platform. The man recoiled with an obscene oath.

‘Do you think we’re muttonheads?’ Captain Mersed jumped up onto the walkway, just as insulted. ‘You can lay any dead on this ship to the corsairs’ account!’

Corrain saw that most of the rowers were alive, cowering between their benches. Those few who lay dead were obscured by Aldabreshi corpses. The whip master and overseers had been killing the oarsmen themselves before the Tallat men cut them down.

‘What now?’ Kusint appeared at the top of his ladder.

Ashore, the Tallat men were prevailing. Even Aldabreshin ferocity was no match for Caladhrian weight of numbers. The ground was sodden with blood, fresh puddles shining as grey-headed Halferans cut any fallen enemy’s throat.

‘Captain Mersed!’ Corrain hurried up the walkway. ‘Forgive me. I meant no offence but I need this ship and these men to row it.’

‘Do you now? Suspicion coloured Mersed’s sardonic tone. ‘Why?’

Corrain didn’t blink. ‘To be about the Archmage’s business in return for him telling us where to lay our trap today. Beyond that, I’m sworn to secrecy.’

He and Kusint had racked their brains over how to convince some Caladhrian captain to hand the galley over. Finally they had concocted this bare-faced lie.

‘Let’s talk without too many ears flapping around us.’ Corrain ushered Mersed to the galley prow. ‘You’ve heard that Lord Licanin travelled to Hadrumal after the Equinox?’

‘With the barons of Saldiray and Taine?’ Kusint added, ‘to ask for the Archmage’s help.’

‘Aye and those noble lords were sent home with their tails tucked between their legs.’ Mersed’s face betrayed the same resentment that Corrain had felt when he’d heard the story.

Corrain forced himself to smile. ‘The Archmage cannot break his own edict.’

Mersed folded his arms. ‘Then why do you look like the pig with the deepest spot in the wallow?’

‘Perhaps we should say,’ Kusint reflected, ‘the Archmage cannot be seen to break his own edict.’

Mersed looked at him with sudden suspicion.

‘As long as no one speaks out of turn,’ Corrain said with spurious innocence, ‘Baron Tallat has allied with Halferan purely out of shared concern over these corsair raids.’

‘Like Lord Taine,’ Kusint nodded, ‘and Baron Saldiray too, before the turn of the season.’

‘Stop talking in riddles.’ Mersed was getting annoyed. ‘You say the Archmage is willing to help us? As long as it’s a secret?’

Corrain grinned. ‘How do you suppose my friend and I escaped the Aldabreshi?’

‘Impossible to believe. As incredible as—’ Kusint pretended to search for an elusive word ‘—as magecraft?’

‘Magecraft?’ Corrain pretended surprise. ‘But using magic to help Caladhria would threaten the wizards’ edict.’

Kusint nodded. ‘No mage would ever do such a thing,’

‘Any more than a lady wizard could send men away in rags and rust,’ Corrain remarked, ‘when they’d been fully armoured.’

Much as he distrusted the Hadrumal woman Jilseth, he could kiss her feet for that flourish. What better to persuade Mersed of this supposedly undeclared alliance?

‘Truly?’ The Tallat captain looked at them, awe-struck. Then he looked around the inlet, his expression one of savage delight. ‘So we can catch them all like this?’

‘The Archmage cannot risk his involvement being discovered,’ Corrain said quickly. ‘Not yet.’

Kusint was alert to his cue. ‘But he has shown us how the corsairs rely on this inlet, and we know they must have other such lairs where they take on water before they row south.’

‘If you ride to confer with the other baronies’ captains up and down the coast,’ Corrain looked straight at Mersed, ‘Caladhrian swords can ambush them coming ashore in the days after every high-springing tide.’

‘Best not to mention the Archmage though,’ Kusint advised.

Corrain nodded. ‘You wouldn’t want to risk his wrath. Not when you can enjoy your lord’s favour for solving the riddle of catching the corsairs.’

‘Along with the gratitude of those other captains who’ll be so praised by their lords of Karpis and Saldiray, Myrist and Taine,’ Kusint agreed.