Daughter of Fate, page 19
part #1 of The Knights of Alana Series
“I can’t,” he croaked.
“You must!” she snapped. “I murdered your precious Elder.”
He glanced again at the body lying by his feet. Even in death, Putar’s face had a hateful look about it. Slowly Ikar shook his head.
“He was no Elder,” he murmured. “He defiled the title with his malice. You are chosen by the Saviour, if he died by your hand, it must be her will.”
Kryssa stood unmoving for a long time, her eyes transfixed on Ikar, as though somehow her gaze could pierce the steel confines of his helmet.
“So be it,” she said suddenly, her words as sharp as razors. “But know this, from now on you are my enemy, and I will not hesitate to kill you.”
Ikar opened his mouth to laugh, then he saw again Putar’s body, and the laughter died on his lips. A shudder raced up his spine, lifting the hackles on his neck.
“So be it,” he agreed.
That night, Ikar did not rest, only sat watching the woman in her sleeping sack, and when the first light of the morning found them, they were already well on their way.
Chapter 31
Pela sat crouched amongst a cluster of barrels, arms wrapped tightly around her chest. In her mind, she could still hear the screams of the dying men, rising like banshees above the crackling of flames. She could still see the burning ships, still smell the stench of roasting flesh.
A shudder rippled through her body and she struggled to keep from crying. She couldn’t afford so much as whimper, lest they hear and find her. Closing her eyes, she prayed to the Three Gods for deliverance, for rescue, to be anywhere but the queen’s ship.
She still could not process what had happened. One second, the King’s Guard had been celebrating their victory, their cheers rising up from the defeated Baronian vessel. The next, someone had been screaming, and Pela had spun in time to see a melee break out on the queen’s ship, to glimpse the catapult crouched like a spider on the stern deck.
Then with an awful crack, the weapon had released, hurling a burning barrel high overhead. Up and up it had risen, until it reached the peak of its arc, and went tumbling back down. Down into the cluster of ships it had fallen, and with an awful boom, exploded.
Almost in slow motion, the Baronian vessel had lifted from the water, as though propelled upwards by the hand of the Gods. Men had been hurled screaming into the air as flames blossomed, then suddenly the five ships were gone, vanished amidst the flaming tempest now burning upon the waters of the Lane.
Pela had hurled herself to the deck as pieces of wood and debris rained down. A wave had swept across the queen’s ship and for a moment she’d thought they would all burn. Clenching her eyes closed, she had waited for death to find her.
But somehow, Pela had been spared, and the heat had gone racing away, to be replaced by plumes of smoke that went billowing across the river. The clashing of steel had rung out across the deck of the queen’s ship, but amidst the putrid fumes Pela could not see who was fighting.
Stumbling through the chaos, she’d searched for the queen, but the woman had vanished, and Pela had searched for a hiding place of her own. With the screams of the dying and the roaring of flames all around, she’d stumbled into the pile of barrels at the stern—and had crawled between them.
Only when she was deep in the depths of the pile, did Pela realise the barrels were the same kind the catapult had hurled at the Baronian ship. Crouching low, she cracked the top off one, revealing a strange black powder within. An acrid stench touched her nostrils and she quickly replaced the lid, the hackles lifting on her neck.
If one barrel could do so much damage, what would a dozen do? But silence had fallen across the queen’s ship now and there was no time left to search for a new hiding place. She held her breath, waiting to find out who had won.
“There’s men in the water!” a voice called out.
A soft thud followed, then another, before a second voice replied, “Not for long.”
Pela choked back a sob as she realised the men were firing on any of the King’s Guard who had survived. Stuffing her fist into her mouth, Pela scrunched her eyes closed and waited for the nightmare to end.
Except it never did. As the hours crept by, Pela found herself dozing, made drowsy by the heat beneath the canvas covering the barrels. Eventually someone spoke nearby her hiding place, snapping her awake.
“Anyone seen the girl?” a man’s voice carried on the breeze.
“Not since the attack,” another replied. “Probably jumped ship.
Someone cursed. “Then she’s croc food. I wonder who the third sacrifice will be now.”
“The Elders will find one. Maybe the Consort, or one of his companions. I hear they’re riding straight for the Cove.”
The first speaker laughed. “More fool on them,” he said, then after a moment had passed: “Have you ever seen such a sight?”
“The flames?” came the reply, the speaker’s voice touched by awe. “Never.”
“That black powder…”
“Not even the cursed Magickers could have done so well,” another added. “Truly, the engineers have outdone themselves. When all of Lonia’s ships possess the black powder and steam engines, no force in the Three Nations will be able to stand against us.”
“Praise be Alana!” the other exclaimed. “Her sacrifice finally bears fruit for our people.”
“Her sacrifice, and all those who have followed,” another chuckled. “The solstice approaches. How long until we reach the Cove?”
An icy chill spread through Pela’s stomach as she listened. Their words revealed them as members of the Order, but how had the infiltrated the queen’s ship? And where was the queen? Pela had not seen or even heard her since the explosion. Had she been caught in the melee?
The men had spoken of the Elders finding a third sacrifice. A cold breeze touched her neck as she realised the first must be her mother, the second the queen.
She was to have been the third.
Suddenly Pela was unable to catch her breath.
They planned to murder me!
Pela gripped the top of a nearby barrel, struggling to keep quiet, and only the tiniest of squeaks slipped from her lips. She felt as though she were suffocating. Then another thought struck her:
They know about Devon!
They knew her uncle was coming. She shuddered, the blood pounding in her ears as true panic took hold. What was she going to do? She was trapped aboard this ship, going who-knew-where! The rowers had taken to the oars not long after the battle; they could be anywhere by now.
I must warn Devon!
But she couldn’t even help herself.
No, she hissed in the silence of her mind. You are a fighter.
Her hand dropped to the hilt of her father’s sword. Derryn had fought for the king himself, had saved the man’s life. How could she do anything less? If she could get the queen away from wherever they were keeping her and over the side, Pela thought they could make it to the riverbank before anyone noticed. It was already growing dark, and it did not sound as though there were many men left onboard. And those that remained were relaxed, thinking the day won.
“Tomorrow night, I expect. I’ll not be sad to see this ship burn. Tired of rowing.”
The other laughed. “Can’t stand a little hard work?”
“Not when a bit of coal will do it for me.”
“Soon enough,” came the reply. “Come on then, the girl’s gone. Let’s put our backs into it. The harder we row, the faster we’re there. Then we can finally burn this archaic heap of timber.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
The voices retreated, and Pela crawled to the edge of the stack of barrels. She poked her head out from the canvas and saw the red light staining the horizon. The yellow orb of the sun was just visible through the wiry branches of the mangroves. The speakers were just disappearing beneath the deck to the oar banks. Pela had only been down there once and was in no hurry to return. It stank of rotting fish and sweating bodies, the air stifling in the summer heat.
Silently, she crept from her hiding place. The aft was raised, with a single flight of stairs leading down to the rest of the ship. Beside the stairs, a railing prevented anyone from accidentally falling from the upper to lower deck. Pela crept forward until she was positioned behind the railings and peeked over the edge.
Directly below her, two men stood with their arms folded, guarding the door to the main cabin positioned beneath the aft deck. She cursed silently to herself. That had to be where they were keeping the queen.
Pela loosened her sword in its scabbard, then thought better of it. Both guards wore plate mail armour and carried heavy broadswords on their belts. She wouldn’t stand a chance if it came to a fight.
I should never have brought you.
She shrank as Devon’s words whispered in her mind. Retreating to her hiding place, Pela crouched in the shadows and hugged her knees to her chest. Her uncle had been right. She should never have come. What chance did she stand against full-grown men, when they’d already cut down the best of the King’s Guard? She should just do as the men thought she had and jump overboard. She could swim to shore and head for Lane, and report the attack to…
Who?
There was no one left. The King’s Guard were all gone, slaughtered to a man. The queen was held hostage and Devon was walking into a trap. If she fled, she would be giving up her one chance to do something, to fight back against the Order and their Knights.
Pela sucked in a breath, thinking again about the guards outside the queen’s door. They were well-armed, but relaxed, confident of their victory. Their barrels of magic powder had won the day with them hardly having to lift a hand.
Remembering the awful explosion, Pela shuddered. Then an idea came to her. How much did the Order truly know about this magic powder of theirs? It was obviously dangerous. What would they do if anything happened to their supply?
She couldn’t risk a fire. Pela had seen the damage done by a single barrel; there wouldn’t be much left of the queen’s ship if a dozen took light. But if she made them think something had happened …
Studying the barrels, she tried to estimate their weight, but dismissed the idea. They must weigh eighty pounds each; there was no way she could lift them. But she might be able to knock one over. Putting her shoulder to the closest, she heaved with all her strength.
The barrel rocked on its base and started to tip, but she let go before it could fall. She sucked in a breath, wondering if she was truly game. Angrily, she shook her head. If she hesitated, she was lost. She shoved the barrel again until it tipped, teetered on the edge of its base, and then toppled to the deck with a crash.
“What was that?” a voice shouted from below.
Pela retreated as the barrel rolled across the tilting deck. Clearing her throat, she shouted in her deepest voice: “Fire!”
Panicked shouts followed, then the thump of boots on the stairwell. Pela reached the railing just before the guards reached the aft deck, and vaulted over the top. Lowering herself down, she landed softly on the main deck. There was a slight overhang and she quickly stepped beneath it so she could not be seen from above.
The cabin door was closed and Pela cursed under her breath. She hadn’t thought about a lock…but it was too late to turn back now. Casting aside the last of her caution, she gripped the handle and turned.
Her heart skipped a beat as it opened with a click. She quickly stepped inside, swinging the door gently shut behind her. Within, the cabin was dark and warmer than outside, but at her entrance she sensed movement. A glow appeared in the corner.
The queen blinked, holding out the lantern and sitting up in bed. A frown crossed her delicate features as she saw Pela standing in the doorway.
“Pela?” she murmured, and Pela could tell she was struggling to wake.
“Dim the light!” Pela hissed, glancing at the glass windows. “Before they see!”
Chapter 32
Crouched on the hard earth, Caledan’s muscles were beginning to cramp by the time the Knights had finally ridden into view.
Devon had spotted the group the day before, while they’d been riding up into the foothills of Mount Chole and its two unnamed shadow peaks. They’d been a long way off amongst the mountain tussock, but there was no mistaking the shining armour and long white capes.
The Knights might have only been late to the gathering, but Caledan thought it more likely the men were hunting them. If that was the case, they had not sent enough men. He’d counted half a dozen—against Devon and Caledan alone they would have struggled. With Genevieve and the man Brenden adding their swords, the Knights might still have the numbers, but not the advantage.
Caledan glanced across the track, trying to spot where Genevieve and Brenden had hidden themselves amongst the trees. The forest was sparse here in the foothills, little more than a few wiry mountain beeches. Even so, his companions were well concealed, but Caledan was patient, and eventually their movement gave them away.
The huntress was crouched in the shadows of a jagged boulder, sword in one hand, hatchet in the other, while Brenden hid behind a narrow tree trunk with sword in hand. Caledan eyed the man, then shook his head. Their new companion might have fought beside Devon, but he was obviously out of practice—no veteran would have wasted energy drawing his sword so soon.
Devon himself stood in the centre of the trail, hammer in hand. The pounding of horse’s hooves slowed as the party galloped around the bend below and spotted him barring their passage. A voice carried up the mountain, ringing from the cliffs that rose at their back.
“Who goes there?”
“You know who!” Devon bellowed, raising his hammer. “Who are you, Knight, to follow me?”
The Knights drew up a few yards from Devon. “The queen asks you return to Lane,” their leader answered. “The culprits of the attack on Skystead have been found, and the woman Kryssa freed.”
For a moment, Caledan thought the hammerman would believe them. Their words seemed to stagger him, his hammer lowering half an inch. But finally he shook his head.
“I wish I could believe you, sonny,” he croaked. “But you are Knights of Alana, not the Queen’s Guard. Why would she send you?”
“My heart grieves for the hurt these radicals amongst my Order have dealt you, Devon,” the Knight answered. “We come to make amends.”
Devon shook his head. “You came for blood, sonny,” he murmured. “Is that not why your Order has come to these lands?”
“My brothers come on pilgrimage, to witness a ritual to the Saviour, to commemorate her sacrifice,” came the Knight’s response. “None of us wish for more bloodshed.”
“Then throw down your swords and remove your helms.”
“We cannot,” the Knight answered, his voice taking on a harder edge.
Devon hefted his hammer. “Then blood it shall be.”
The Knights exchanged glances, then as though suddenly realising they were wasting their time, they drew their blades. Caledan tensed as the hiss of steel whispered up the trail.
“You will not grant me the honour of a duel?” Devon asked.
The leader chuckled. “No, Consort. I’m going to ride you into the ground like the animal you are.” He lifted his sword and his horse reared. With a scream, he charged towards Devon.
Caledan braced himself, but the old warrior’s words rang in his ears—wait for my signal—and he forced himself to still. The Knights closed in rapidly, the steel-shod hooves of their horses tearing up the trail and filling the air with dust. The damp of the river lands was far behind them now and in the shadow of the mountains, the earth was hard.
Bellowing in the face of his attackers, Devon drew back his arm and hurled his hammer. His aim was true, and the heavy weapon struck the leading horse in the chest with a sickening thud. The beast screamed and crashed to the ground, hurling its rider from the saddle. Behind, the other horses reared, toppling several of their riders, while others furiously tried to regain control.
“Now!” Devon shouted. Charging forward, he swept up his hammer and launched himself at the nearest Knight.
Shouting a war cry, Caledan leapt from the trees. A Knight was just coming to his feet and died without ever drawing his sword. Leaping past the dead man, Caledan glimpsed Brenden engaged with a second, and Genevieve burying her hatchet in the helmet of a third.
Another man came at Caledan, sword raised and shield in hand. Cursing, Caledan parried the blow and riposted, but the man blocked the attack with his shield and then thrust forward. The shield caught Caledan in the wrist, almost jarring the blade from his hand. He retreated, and his feet became entangled in the dead man.
Glimpsing an opportunity, the Knight attacked again, and only a desperate flick of Caledan’s blade saved him from being impaled. Even then, he felt a slash of pain from his arm as the broadsword nicked him.
He leapt back, clearing the dead man, and blocked another flurry of blows from the Knight. Then he grinned. The man was good, but Caledan had his number now. Every time the Knight attacked, his shoulder dropped, exposed the joint in his armour at the throat. As the man lunged again, Caledan’s blade speared through his gorget, hard enough to sever his spine.
Blood spurted from the wound and the man fell. Caledan twisted his sword to free it, but the jagged tear in the man’s armour caught the blade, dragging the weapon from his hand.
Caledan leapt for the man’s fallen sword as a horse screamed behind him. Lifting the unfamiliar blade, he turned to see a horseman barrelling down on him. The broadsword was heavy in Caledan’s hands, sluggish as he tried to raise it. The Knight’s sword swept down…
…A shriek erupted from overhead as Brenden appeared in front of Caledan, his long sword leaping to deflect the Knight’s attack, then spearing up through the Knight’s armpit, where the joints in his armour were weakest. The horse’s momentum carried the Knight past, tearing the blade from Brenden’s grip, but after a few paces the Knight topped from the saddle with a crash.
