Lord of the Shadows (15 page)

he
Makuan
had already left Mil the day before, but the
Orlando
was still taking on evacuees when the word came from the lookouts in the Straits that the Lion of Senet's fleet was heaved to at the entrance to the delta. The news hit Eryk with almost physical pain. There was no doubt in anyone's mind any longer: Dirk Provin had betrayed them and was leading their enemies into the Baenlands.

There were several hurried meetings when the news arrived, then Dal Falstov climbed onto the foredeck to address the people crowded onto the
Orlando
's deck. He explained to them there was no chance of slipping past the Senetian ships now, and they would all have to disembark and head for the caves surrounding Mil, where he hoped they could hide until the attack was over. It had taken nearly all day to load the passengers. It took the best part of the night to disembark them.

Exhausted and close to collapse, Eryk sought his bunk in the single-men's bunkhouse just on second sunrise. He hoped to get a few hours' sleep before the attack began, but he had to suffer the accusing stares of the other sailors, who sat around the bunks in small groups, talking quietly among themselves, as he made his way to his bed. Eryk lay down with his face to the wall and tried not to listen to the conversations going on around him. It was impossible. Every third word he heard seemed to be “Dirk Provin,” and most of the words in between were curses.

“Provin's not so smart,” one of the sailors scoffed, loud enough (perhaps deliberately) for Eryk to hear. “It's not much of a surprise attack when you heave to under the very noses of our lookouts.”

“Aye,” another man agreed. “If he was half as smart as he thinks he is, he'd have sailed straight through the delta, instead of giving us a whole night's warning they were coming.”

“You gonna stay and fight?” a third sailor asked.

“Maybe,” the first man replied. “Cap'n Falstov seems to think we'd be better off fleeing to the caves, but I don't like the idea of running away. Bring 'em on, I say!”

“Well, I'm going to the caves,” the second man announced. “My sister and her two little girls will be hiding up there and, with my brother-in-law on the
Makuan
, I ain't leaving 'em to be butchered by the Senetians.”

The first man chuckled. “I kinda like the idea of the Senetians coming all this way and finding nothing to kill.”

“I tell you one thing, though,” the third man said. “If I see that Provin prick anywhere about and can get a clean shot at him, I'll take it. Even if it means dying afterward …”

Eryk covered his ears with his hands and tried helplessly to shut out the sailors' voices. Sleep was a long time coming.

The attack, when it finally came, happened close to midday. The Senetian ships had negotiated the delta flawlessly, but they'd been very careful as they made their way upriver, which had given the Baenlanders more than enough time to flee the settlement. There were less than a hundred men left when the
Tsarina
heaved to in the bay, and every one of them was a volunteer, their mission simply to harass the Senetians long enough to give the last of the villagers time to make it to the caves.

Eryk had volunteered along with most of the crew of the
Orlando
. If Dirk was truly part of the invasion fleet, he had a much better chance of finding him if he stayed near the water, rather than hiding up in the caves above the settlement. From his place of concealment behind a cluster of rocks near the beach, he watched the Senetian crews hauling down the sails, trying to spot Dirk, but he could not see him anywhere. Eryk's heart thumped loudly in his chest as he watched the other ships
sail into the bay behind the
Tsarina
. He had never been in a battle before.

While they were still lowering the longboats, archers on the deck of the
Tsarina
fired burning arrows into the furled sails of the
Orlando
. There was nobody on board, but the sight of their ship in flames infuriated the sailors around Eryk. They were surprisingly well disciplined, however. They had orders not to attack until the Senetians made landfall, and no man broke ranks, despite the unhappy muttering that ran through them. As the first wave of soldiers reached the beach, more ships appeared through the delta. There seemed to be no end to them. Eryk watched them fill the small bay with a growing sense of dread.

Eryk wasn't sure who gave the order to attack, but it seemed that one moment they were hiding behind the rocks, the next moment the Baenlanders were running down the beach, screaming at the top of their lungs, charging the invaders. Fear of what would happen if he were left behind—as much as a desire to join the fight—spurred Eryk into following them. Arrows whistled overhead as the pirates' hidden archers picked off individual targets, but they were only moderately successful. The Senetians carried shields and used them to protect each other, so most of the arrows finished up harmlessly embedded in the black sand as they bounced off metal shields.

Despite the fact that he was brandishing a sword and yelling like a berserker, Eryk was largely ignored by the soldiers of both sides. He must have appeared too insignificant to bother with. Several Senetians pushed him out of the way in their haste to engage a more worthy foe. Infuriated, Eryk turned on the next man who brushed him aside, but he could not bring himself to strike the man's exposed back as he dueled with a Baenlander. A few moments of vicious sparring and the pirate ran the Senetian through. Still clutching his unblooded sword, Eryk stared at the man as he fell.

“Thanks for nothing, half-wit!” the Baenlander snarled as he pushed Eryk out of the way on his quest to seek out another opponent.

Eryk stumbled and fell onto the sand. He picked himself up and looked around, lost, frightened and alone in a sea of destruction and death. Smoke from the burning
Orlando
drifted over the beach. His eyes watered. The war cries, the yelling, the clash of metal on metal, the death and the overwhelming smell of blood smothered his senses until he was almost paralyzed by it.

Although Eryk didn't really notice, for a time the Baenlanders seemed to prevail. Their unexpectedly bloody response to the first wave of Senetians had driven the enemy back almost to the waterline. But the enemy was too numerous for their minor victory to be anything but a temporary respite.

Eryk jumped with fright when he heard Captain Falstov shouting to the sailors to regroup. The next wave of invaders was almost at the beach, and the Baenlanders were beginning to tire. Another flight of arrows darkened the sky overhead as Eryk turned to watch the boats nearing the shore. Somebody shoved him from behind, and he stumbled to the black sand once more, his eyes fixed on the second sortie. These were not Senetians. They wore the royal blue-and-silver livery of Dhevyn and, standing in the prow of the lead boat, was a figure Eryk knew very well.

“Prince
Kirsh
?” he cried, not realizing he spoke aloud.

Kirshov stood proud and tall, as if impervious to the arrows of the Baenlanders skittering off the shields of the Guardsmen. Then the longboats reached the beach and the Queen's Guard, with Kirsh in the lead, splashed through the shallows to join the fray.

Eryk barely noticed the battle intensify around him. Prince Kirsh was here, the man who had helped Dirk save him from the butcher's son on Elcast. Kirsh had always been good to Eryk, he recalled. He had always treated him like a sort of lovable stray puppy—not too bright, but not to be treated unkindly. Warm memories of Avacas, most of them filtered through the veil of Eryk's fear and loneliness, endowed Kirshov Latanya with an aura of shining hope. Here was someone who could help him. Here was someone he trusted, Lord Dirk's best friend.

He stumbled forward, tripping over a body he discovered was Grigor Orneo, the first mate of the
Orlando
. The mate's belly was slashed open, his guts spilling out on the black sand like a fresh string of sausages. Blinded by the smoke, and by tears of terror and desperation, Eryk moved through the battle, jostled aside by the combatants, pushed and shoved as he made his way toward the only familiar face in the crowd.

“Prince Kirsh!”

Kirshov was in the thick of the fighting near the shore, and was battling his way forward, cutting through his foes with devastating effectiveness. The Guardsmen beside him were no less efficient as they cut a swathe through what was left of the Baenlander resistance.

“Prince Kirsh!” Eryk yelled. He tripped again and hauled himself up, his mission to reach Kirsh the only thing he cared about.

Hearing his name called, Kirsh looked around, but did not notice Eryk in the melee. The prince turned his attention back to another sailor from the
Orlando
, deflecting the man's blow almost instinctively before slashing him across his bare chest on the return swing.

“Prince Kirsh!”
Eryk sobbed, thinking he would never reach him. Kirshov Latanya had become a beacon of hope for Eryk, the only thing he was certain of in a world suddenly gone mad. In his mind, Kirsh was his salvation; his only chance of deliverance from this nightmare.

“Prince Kirsh!”
he cried desperately, as another Baenlander fell. The body landed on top of him, hurling him to the ground. The dead man's staring eyes looked out from a shocked and lifeless face. It belonged to Holen Baker, the boy who always won at stingball.

“Eryk?”

He looked up to find Kirshov Latanya, blood splattered and panting heavily, standing over him.

“Goddess, boy! What are you doing here?”

Eryk burst into tears. Kirsh dragged Holen Baker's body off him and pulled Eryk to his feet.

“Can I thurrender now, Printh Kirsh?
Pleath
…” he begged.

“I think you'd better, Eryk,” Kirsh agreed with a hint of a smile. “Are you hurt?”

“I don't think so.”

Kirsh glanced back toward the longboats. “Go and wait for me by the boats.”

Eryk nodded willingly and moved to obey, but he found his way blocked. While Kirsh had been talking to him, a few of the remaining Baenlanders had been able to work their way between Kirsh and his Dhevynian Guardsmen.

Eryk's fleeting moment of relief withered as he looked around. More than a dozen Baenlanders surrounded them, with only one thing on their minds: the murder of Kirshov Latanya and anybody foolish enough to be standing by his side.

irsh realized the danger even sooner than Eryk. He glanced back over his shoulder, but in his surprise at finding Eryk in the midst of this carnage, he had lost touch with the rest of his men.

It was a stupid and fatal mistake.

The Baenlanders hesitated once they had him surrounded, perhaps a little stunned by the importance of their quarry. Behind him, Alexin and the rest of the Guardsmen were busy with their own battles, and the rest of the Senetians were fighting with Sergey farther along the beach. There was another wave of longboats heading for the shore, but they had orders to make for the village, and were headed away from where Kirsh stood, trapped and surrounded.

It took him only a few seconds to take all of this in. He turned and faced the pirates defiantly.

“Who's going to try to take me on first, then?” he yelled, brandishing his sword. It was a gamble, but Kirsh knew there
was no way he would survive a concerted attack. His only chance lay in challenging these men to single combat. He could take them one at a time. Of that, he was certain.

“Think we're idiots, do you, Latanya?” one of the men replied. He was a small man in his midforties, but much better dressed than Kirsh expected of a pirate. “There's no chance for honor here, your highness. Still, we're not unreasonable men. You've got about five seconds to say a prayer to your imaginary Goddess before we send you to meet her. Actually, we'll be sending you off to find out she doesn't exist, now that I think about it. There's a happy thought.”

“Cap'n Falstov …” Eryk begged, wiping away his tears as he stepped forward. “Please don't hurt him …”

The pirate looked at Eryk for a moment and shook his head. “You're as bad as that treacherous bastard who brought you here,” he spat. “You've chosen who you stand with, boy. Now you can die with your Senetian friend.”

“Leave the boy out of this,” Kirsh warned.

“If he's big enough to hold a sword, he's big enough to wield it,” the pirate replied, “Take 'em, lads. And don't leave any pieces bigger than my fist.”

They charged all at once. Kirsh's only defense was to swing his sword in a wide arc, hoping his swiftly moving blade would be enough to discourage them from coming any closer. Eryk hampered his ability to move, waving his sword around wildly. But his unpredictability made him dangerous and the sailors gave him a wide berth. Kirsh beat back one attacker only to find him replaced by another, then another. He stepped back and crashed into Eryk, both of them tumbling to the ground. As he fell, he noticed the Queen's Guard were closer. He cried out, hoping to catch their attention.

Alexin looked up at the cry, took in the situation with a glance … and hesitated.

It was the last thing Kirsh saw before the pirates closed in on him. He stabbed at them wildly, but there were too many of them and Eryk lay beneath him squirming and screaming.

He saw the blade that would end his life coming for him as
if the world had suddenly slowed down. Every little detail burned into his brain: the blood-splattered sword, the rotten-toothed grin of the man who wielded it, the hate-filled faces looming over him, even the position of the second sun, which burned bright and uncaring in a sky almost too blue to be real …

And then the man collapsed on top of him with a dagger protruding from his throat, and the screams of bloodthirsty triumph turned to screams of despair, as Alexin and the Guardsmen cut their way through to him and Kirsh realized he wasn't going to die today after all.

Eventually, they wore down the pirates by the sheer weight of numbers. As each ship in Kirsh's fleet disgorged its fighting men, the pirates were beaten back a little more. The battle was all over within an hour. Corpses littered the beach. Those left living were stripped of their weapons and placed under guard near the remains of the burning village.

“There's barely a woman or child among them,” Sergey pointed out, as Kirsh inspected the prisoners. “The village was empty.”

“Where have they gone?”

Sergey shrugged. “More to the point would be
when
, your highness. If they left before we reached the Bandera Straits, they could be anywhere on Ranadon by now.”

“You agree with Dirk, then?” Kirsh asked with a scowl. “You think they were tipped off by someone in Senet?”

“It wouldn't be the first time we've had to weed out Dhevynian sympathizers in Senet, your highness. A vocal minority at home believe Senet shouldn't involve itself in the affairs of other nations. The rebels often find fertile ground for their propaganda among them.”

“I want them found, Sergey, and dealt with.”

Sergey nodded and then added, a little hesitantly, “There
is
another possibility you may not have considered, your highness.”

“What's that?”

“You have fifty-odd Queen's Guardsmen who knew about this. Perhaps one of them betrayed us?”

“Are you speculating on the possibility or accusing someone, Sergey?”

The captain glanced over to where Alexin and his men were guarding the prisoners. “Your guard captain is Reithan Seranov's cousin, your highness. And you know what they say about blood being thicker than water …”

“He's one of Alenor's most trusted captains,” Kirshov pointed out, shaking his head. “Besides, I served with him for two years in the guard. I think I'd know if he was a rebel sympathizer.” Kirsh did not add there was a time when that's exactly what he had thought. But any lingering suspicions he might have had about the captain's loyalty were banished when Alexin came to his rescue. If he was in league with the Baenlanders, he could have rid Dhevyn of her regent and struck a body blow to Senet, simply by not lifting a finger to aid him.

“Well, you know him better than I, sire.”

“But you don't like Alexin, do you, Sergey?”

“I think he's a pompous fool,” Sergey agreed pleasantly. “But he's useful in a fight, I'll give him that much.” The captain glanced at the prisoners again with a frown. “Who did you want to start with?”

Kirsh studied the sullen, defiant faces of the prisoners. They were hard men, all of them. It was going to be a long and laborious process breaking them one by one. And even then, Kirsh would have no way of establishing the veracity of their information.

“We'll start with Eryk,” he announced.

Sergey frowned. “That half-wit who almost got you killed? What useful information would he have?”

“Not much, probably, but what little he knows will be the truth, and he'll tell me willingly. That's worth a dozen confessions of dubious value gained by torture.”

Sergey shook his head with a sigh. “You've been spending too much time around Dirk Provin, Kirsh. You're starting to think like him.”

“Perhaps you should spend more time with Alexin and
the Queen's Guard, Captain,” Kirsh retorted coldly. “You might learn something about the correct way to address your prince.”

The captain bowed apologetically. “I beg your pardon, sire. I'll bring the boy to you.”

“Not here,” Kirsh said. “I don't want him intimidated by the prisoners. Bring him up to the house. And then I want you to search it and report to me when you're done.”

Without waiting for Sergey to acknowledge the order, Kirsh walked away and headed for what had once been the home of the notorious heretic Johan Thorn.

Kirsh waited for Eryk, sitting on the wooden steps leading up to the house. A cursory search had proved the house empty, but Kirsh wanted to speak to Eryk before he proceeded any further.

Still looking shaken and confused, Eryk was delivered by a Guardsman to the foot of the stairs. Kirsh dismissed the guard and indicated Eryk should come and sit beside him. The boy complied willingly, taking a seat beside Kirsh on the steps with a weary sigh.

“Well, you've certainly had your share of adventures since I saw you last, haven't you, young Eryk?”

“I didn't mean to,” the boy assured him apologetically. “It just all seemed to …you know… just happen.”

“Dirk's on board my ship, did you know that?”

Eryk's face lit up. “Is he? Can I see him, Prince Kirsh? Is he all right? They say he did such awful things around here, but if you're still his friend, then he's not a bad person, is he?”

“Dirk's not a bad person,” Kirsh promised the poor boy, thinking the lie justifiable. “He's been helping us because Misha was kidnapped.”

“Prince Misha looked pretty sick when they brought him on board the
Orlando
,” Eryk confirmed. “But Tia looked after him. He looked much better before he left Mil.”

“Do you know where he went?”

Eryk shook his head. “Nobody does. One day they were just gone.”

“Who is
‘they’
?”

“Prince Misha, and Tia and Reithan and Mellie. And Master Helgin.”

“Helgin? The old physician from Elcast?”

The boy nodded. “I think he was looking after Prince Misha.”

It was something of a relief to realize the Baenlanders had sent a physician along to care for his brother. On the other hand, it indicated they had long-term plans for him, which wasn't good at all.

“Where are the rest of the villagers, Eryk?”

“Some of them left on the
Makuan
,” he said with a shrug. “The others … well, I don't really know for certain. Nobody tells me anything, especially not since I tried to kiss Mellie. They all hate me here.”

Kirsh smiled, thinking Eryk's world was still defined by his own limited experiences. He had no concept of the broader picture. He judged the Baenlanders not by their rhetoric or the value of their cause, but by the fact that he had obviously gotten in trouble for kissing some girl. “Well, you need fear them no longer, Eryk. I'll have you sent back to the ship, and you can see Dirk again and then when we get back to Avacas, we can decide what to do with you.”

“Do you think I could be Dirk's servant again, Prince Kirsh? I used to be really good at that.”

“We'll see.”

Eryk smiled tentatively and climbed to his feet. “I'm glad you came, Prince Kirsh.”

Kirsh couldn't help but smile. “You'd have to be the
only
one in the Baenlands who thinks that, Eryk.”