Magician (51 page)

The Prince wheeled around and saw his
other companion also engaged, hacking downward at the bowman. More
men in black dashed from within the tower, rushing forward silently.

Arutha’s horse screamed. He could
see an arrow protruding from its neck. As it collapsed beneath him,
he freed his feet from the stirrups and lifted his left leg over the
dying animal’s neck, jumping free as it struck the ground. He
hit and rolled, coming to his feet before a short figure in black
with a long sword held high overhead with both hands. The long blade
flashed down, and Arutha jumped to his left, thrusting with his own
sword. He took the man in the chest, then yanked his sword free Like
the others before, the man in black fell without uttering a cry.

Another flash of lightning showed men
rushing toward Arutha from the tower. Arutha turned to order the
remaining rider back to warn the castle, but the shouted command died
aborning when he saw the man pulled from his saddle by swarming
figures in black. Arutha dodged a blow from the first man to reach
him and ran past three startled figures. He smashed at the face of a
fourth man with his sword hilt, trying to knock the man aside. His
only thought was to open a pathway so he might flee to warn the
castle. The struck man reeled back, and Arutha attempted to jump past
him. The falling man reached out with one hand, catching Arutha’s
leg as he sprang.

Arutha struck hard stone and felt hands
frantically grab at his right foot. He kicked backward with his left
and took the man in the throat with his boot. The sound of the man’s
windpipe being crushed was followed by a convulsion of movement.

Arutha came to his feet as another
attacker reached him, others only a step behind. Arutha sprang
backward, trying to gain some distance. His boot heel caught on a
rock, and suddenly the world tilted crazily. He found himself
suspended in space for an instant, then his shoulders met rock as he
bounced down the side of the causeway. He hit several more rocks, and
icy water closed over him.

The shock of the water kept him from
passing into unconsciousness. Dazed, he reflexively held his breath,
but had little wind. Without thinking, he pushed upward and broke the
surface with a loud, ragged gasp. Still groggy, he nevertheless
possessed enough wits to duck below the surface when arrows struck
the water near him. He couldn’t see a thing in the murky
darkness of the harbor, but clung to the rocks, pulling himself along
more than swimming. He moved back toward the tower end of the
causeway, hoping the raiders would think him headed in the other
direction.

He quietly surfaced and blinked the
salt water from his eyes. Peering around the shelter of a large rock,
he saw black figures searching the darkness of the water. Arutha
moved quietly, nestling himself into the rocks. Bruised muscles and
joints made him wince as he moved, but nothing seemed broken.

Another flash of lightning lit the
harbor. Arutha could see the ship speeding safely into Crydee harbor.
It was a trader, but rigged for speed and outfitted for war. Whoever
piloted the ship was a mad genius, for he cleared the rocks by a
scant margin, heading straight for the quayside around the bend of
the causeway. Arutha could see men in the rigging, frantically
reefing in sails. Upon the deck a company of black-clad warriors
stood with weapons ready.

Arutha turned his attention to the men
on the causeway and saw one motion silently to the others. They ran
off in the direction of the town. Ignoring the pain in his body,
Arutha pulled himself up, negotiating the slippery rocks to regain
the dirt road of the causeway. Staggering a bit, he came to his feet
and looked off toward the town. There was still no sign of trouble,
but he knew it would erupt shortly.

Arutha half staggered, half ran to the
lighthouse tower and forced himself to climb the stairs. Twice he
came close to blacking out, but he reached the top of the tower. He
saw the lookout lying dead near the signal fire. The oil-soaked wood
was protected from the elements by a hood that hung suspended over
it. The cold wind blew through the open windows on all sides of the
building.

Arutha found the dead sentry’s
pouch and removed flint, steel, and tinder. He opened the small door
in the side of the metal hood, using his body to shield the wood from
the wind. The second spark he fired caught in the wood, and a small
flame sprang into existence. It quickly spread, and when it was
burning fully, Arutha pulled on the chain hoist that elevated the
hood. With an audible whoosh, the flames sprang fully to the ceiling
as the wind struck the fire.

Against one wall stood a jar of powder
mixed by Kulgan against such an emergency. Arutha fought down
dizziness as he bent again to pull the knife from the dead sentry’s
belt. He used it to pry the lid off the jar and then tossed the
entire contents into the fire.

Instantly the flames turned bright
crimson, a warning beacon none could confuse with a normal light.
Arutha turned toward the castle, standing away from the window so as
not to block the light. Brighter and brighter the flames burned as
Arutha found his mind going vague again. For a long moment there was
silence in the night, then suddenly an alarm sounded from the castle.
Arutha felt relief. The red beacon was the signal for reavers in the
harbor, and the castle garrison had been well drilled to meet such
raids. Fannon might be cautious with chasing Tsurani raiders into the
woods at night, but a pirate ship in his harbor was something he
would not hesitate to answer.

Arutha staggered down the stairs,
stopping to support himself at the door His entire body hurt, and he
was nearly overcome by dizziness. He drew a deep breath and headed
for the town. When he came to where his dead horse lay, he looked
about for his sword, then remembered he had carried it with him into
the harbor. He stumbled to where one of his riders lay, next to a
black-clad bowman. Arutha bent down to pick up the fallen soldier’s
sword, nearly blacking out as he stood. He held himself erect for a
moment, fearing he might lose consciousness if he moved, and waited
as the ringing in his head subsided. He slowly reached up and touched
his head. One particularly sore spot, with an angry lump forming,
told him he had struck his head hard at least once as he fell down
the causeway. His fingers came away sticky with clotting blood.

Arutha began to walk to town, and as he
moved, the ringing in his head resumed. For a time he staggered, then
he tried to force himself to run, but after only three wobbly strides
he resumed his clumsy walk. He hurried as much as he could, rounding
the bend in the road to come in sight of town. He heard faint sounds
of fighting. In the distance he could see the red light of fires
springing heavenward as buildings were put to the torch. Screams of
men and women sounded strangely remote and muted to Arutha’s
ears.

He forced himself into a trot, and as
he closed upon the town, anticipation of fighting forced away much of
the fog clouding his mind. He turned along the harborside; with the
dockside buildings burning, it was bright as day, but no one was in
sight. Against the quayside the raiders’ ship rested, a gangway
leading down to the dock. Arutha approached quietly, fearing guards
had been left to protect it. When he reached the gangway, all was
quiet. The sounds of fighting were distant, as if all the raiders had
attacked deeply into the town.

As he began to move away, a voice cried
out from the ship, “Gods of mercy! Is anyone there?” The
voice was deep and powerful, but with a controlled note of terror.

Arutha hurried up the gangway, sword
ready. He stopped when he reached the top. From the forward hatch
cover he could see fire glowing brightly belowdecks. He looked about:
everywhere his eyes traveled he saw seamen lying dead in their own
blood. From the rear of the ship the voice cried out, “You,
man. If you’re a godsfearing man of the Kingdom, come help me.”

Arutha made his way amid the carnage
and found a man sitting against the starboard rail. He was large,
broad-shouldered, and barrel-chested. He could have been any age
between twenty and forty. He held the side of an ample stomach with
his right hand, blood seeping through his fingers. Curly dark hair
swept back from a receding hairline, and he wore his black beard cut
short. He managed a weak smile as he pointed to a black-clothed
figure lying nearby. “The bastards killed my crew and fired my
ship. That one made the mistake of not killing me with the first
blow.” He pointed at the section of a fallen yard pinning his
legs. “I can’t manage to budge that damned yard and hold
my guts in at the same time. If you’d lift it a bit, I think I
can pull myself free.”

Arutha saw the problem: the man was
pinned down at the short end of the yard, tangled in a mass of ropes
and blocks. He gripped the long end and heaved upward, moving it only
a few inches, but enough. With a half grunt, half groan, the wounded
man pulled his legs out. “I don’t think my legs are
broken, lad. Give me a hand up and we’ll see.”

Arutha gave him a hand and nearly lost
his footing pulling the bulky seaman to his feet. “Here, now,”
said the wounded man. “You’re not in much of a fighting
trim yourself, are you?”

“I’ll be all right,”
said Arutha, steadying the man while fighting off an attack of
nausea.

The seaman leaned upon Arutha. “We’d
better hurry, then. The fire is spreading.” With Arutha’s
help, he negotiated the gangway. When they reached the quayside,
gasping for breath, the heat was becoming intense. The wounded seaman
gasped, “Keep going!”

Arutha nodded and slung the man’s
arm over his shoulder. They set off down the quay, staggering like a
pair of drunken sailors on the town.

Suddenly there came a roar, and both
men were slammed to the ground. Arutha shook his dazed head and
turned over. Behind him a great tower of flames leaped skyward. The
ship was a faintly seen black silhouette in the heart of the blinding
yellow-and-white column of fire. Waves of heat washed over them, as
if they were standing at the door of a giant oven.

Arutha managed to croak, “What
was that?”

His companion gave out with an equally
feeble reply: “Two hundred barrels of Quegan fire oil.”

Arutha spoke in disbelief. “You
didn’t say anything about fire oil back aboard ship.”

“I didn’t want you getting
excited. You looked half-gone already. I figured we’d either
get clear or we wouldn’t.”

Arutha tried to rise, but fell back.
Suddenly he felt very comfortable resting on the cool stone of the
quay. He saw the fire begin to dim before his eyes, then all went
dark.

Arutha opened his eyes and saw blurred
shapes over him. He blinked and the images cleared. Carline hovered
over his sleeping pallet, looking anxiously on as Father Tully
examined him. Behind Carline, Fannon watched, and next to him stood
an unfamiliar man. Then Arutha remembered him. “The man from
the ship.”

The man grinned. “Amos Trask,
lately master of the
Sidonie
until those bast—begging
the Princess’s pardon—those cursed land rats put her to
the torch. Standing here thanks to Your Highness.”

Tully interrupted. “How do you
feel?”

Arutha sat up, finding his body a mass
of dull aches. Carline placed cushions behind her brother. “Battered,
but I’ll survive.” His head swam a little. “I’m
a bit dizzy.”

Tully looked down his nose at Arutha’s
head. “Small wonder. You took a nasty crack. You may find
yourself occasionally dizzy for a few days, but I don’t think
it is serious.”

Arutha looked at the Swordmaster. “How
long?”

Fannon said, “A patrol brought
you in last night. It’s morning.”

“The raid?”

Fannon shook his head sadly. “The
town’s gutted. We managed to kill them all, but there’s
not a whole building left standing in Crydee. The fishing village at
the south end of the harbor is untouched, but otherwise everything
was lost.”

Carline fussed around near Arutha,
tucking in covers and fluffing his cushions. “You should rest.”

He said, “Right now, I’m
hungry.”

She brought over a bowl of hot broth.
He submitted to the light broth in place of solid food, but refused
to let her spoon-feed him. Between mouthfuls he said, “Tell me
what happened.”

Fannon looked disturbed. “It was
the Tsurani.”

Arutha’s hand stopped, his spoon
poised halfway between bowl and mouth. “Tsurani? I thought they
were reavers, from the Sunset Islands.”

“At first so did we, but after
talking to Captain Trask here, and the Tsurani slaves who are with
us, we’ve pieced together a picture of what’s happened.”

Tully picked up the narrative. “From
the slaves’ story, these men were specially chosen. They called
it a death raid. They were selected to enter the town, destroy as
much as possible, then die without fleeing. They burned the ship as
much as a symbol of their commitment as to deny it to us. I gather
from what they say it’s considered something of a great honor.”

Arutha looked at Amos Trask. “How
is it they managed to seize your ship, Captain?”

“Ah, that is a bitter story,
Highness.” He leaned to his right a little, and Arutha
remembered his wound.

“How is your side?”

Trask grinned, his dark eyes merry. “A
messy wound, but not a serious one. The good father put it right as
new, Highness.”

Tully made a derisive sound. “That
man should be in bed. He is more seriously injured than you. He would
not leave until he saw you were all right.”

Trask ignored the comment. “I’ve
had worse. We once had a fight with a Quegan war galley turned rogue
pirate and—well, that’s another story. You asked about my
ship.” He limped over closer to Arutha’s pallet. “We
were outward bound from Palanque with a load of weapons and fire oil.
Considering the situation here, I thought to find a ready market. We
braved the straits early in the season, stealing the march on other
ships, or so we hoped.