The Swordmaster, page 25
He beckoned Blinn and Brawl to follow him and rushed into the building.
A sentry called them back out of the doorway as soon as they had entered. ‘Stop! What are you three doing here?’ The sentry made no secret of the fact that he distrusted the badly dressed young lads and had no intention of allowing them to enter such a refined institution.
‘We are looking for the manuscript of a particular book.’
A librarian, clearly also of the belief that the new arrivals didn’t fit the image of the normal library user, stopped beside them. ‘None of you look as though you are even able to read. Leave this place immediately.’
Brawl threw the prince a will-I-smash-his-gob-in? look.
Karek surreptitiously shook his head and turned to the librarian: ‘Indeed, our appearance does suggest what you have said, but we request that you overlook that. For in sooth, we are on the lookout for the first edition of Tel Krobek’s tomes concerning his voyages to the Southern Islands. In volume two, Krobek gives a magnificent account of the culture, the belief systems and the existential philosophy of the Azari. We are studying how this self-evident understanding can be illuminated and reconciled harmoniously with the ascetic existence of a frugal connection to nature.’
Brawl and the librarian looked equally non-plussed – if admittedly for different reasons. Blinn nodded in agreement, as he struggled manfully to give the impression that he understood.
‘Very well. You may proceed,’ said the librarian, waving them through. Still somewhat sceptical, he watched them disappear down a corridor.
‘Know-it-all,’ whispered Brawl before adding in a louder voice: ‘And what are we supposed to do here? Read – if I could – while the mercenaries string up Forand, Impy and Eduk from the main mast?’
‘We want to find something that will stop that very thing from happening,’ replied the prince, looking from side to side as he marched down the corridor. And, yes, at a reading table in a corner was a slim woman dressed in black leather with a hood over her head, reading a fat tome.
She didn’t seem to have noticed the boys, but Karek knew better.
Brawl said in surprise: ‘Hey – there’s the hottie with the long legs from the ship. Oh, I forgot.’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm: ‘Sorry, Linnek, she’s your bird and your bird alone. Well then, show me what you can do. Take her.’
Karek slapped himself on the forehead as the truth dawned on him. ‘Uh…Brawl. You mean, she was who you were talking about earlier? And I thought you were referring to Milafine.’
‘What the…?! That little girl – the daughter of Sergeant Karson you mean? Don’t make me laugh. She still has to learn how to hold hands properly. What would I want with her?’
‘Have you sorted things out between you now?’ asked Blinn impatiently. ‘Why are we here anyway?’ He made a move to leave.
‘Stay!’ Karek went to the woman in the corner.
She was looking at a tome that was familiar to him. He had studied a copy of it in the Fortress Beachperch library the very day that he had met Milafine for the first time. ‘The Myrns – Myth or Truth?’ Beside it was a small-sized book with the title ‘Saltpetre – extraction and application’. It reminded him of something, but this was no time to be distracted.
Without looking up, she growled: ‘What do you want?’
‘I need your help. Forand, Eduk and Impy have just been ambushed on board the ship by Schohtar’s men. We think they are being held captive there – you know yourself how Schohtar deals with swordmasters.’
‘And what’s that got to do with me?’
‘We won’t succeed without you. There are more than forty mercenaries.’ Karek’s frustration was unmissable. ‘We have to help them. They are my friends.’
‘Precisely. They are your friends – not mine. I have no intention of getting involved. I’m more likely to cut off your brawny pal’s birdbrain, which is clearly between his legs.’
Karek rolled his eyes. Of course she had heard Brawl’s comments. He remembered how sensitive her hearing was.
‘They’re going to kill my friends. I have to do something to save them.’
‘Even if I wanted to help you, I wouldn’t have any reasonable plan that I could implement.’
‘But I have a plan. Please help me. You are the only one able to climb onto the ship and save my comrades.’
‘What? This is getting better and better. You want me to do all the dirty work? And you?’
‘I will do the more dangerous work, because I will draw their attention to me and distract them as much as I can so that you can work away unhindered.’
One eyebrow raised itself. ‘You are the peskiest pest I have ever encountered who has lived to tell the tale. Give me one good reason why I should help you?’
‘Can I give you three?’
She stared at him with her unnerving black pupils as she rubbed the fingernail on her left little finger. ‘Well then?’
‘First, you will be doing me a favour by helping me again, so that I will be even more in your debt and feel even more guilty. Second, you will give your pal Duke Schohtar a taste of his own medicine. And third, the event will be risky, and people will certainly die.’
The third point settled it.
‘What is your plan?’
lies and treachery
Frantic noises brought Forand on deck. He understood what was going on immediately. Mercenaries with drawn swords were storming the ship. The crew of the ‘East Wind’ were putting up no resistance – he wouldn’t have expected them to. If there was war, then it was best to stay well clear of it if you were a mere sailor on a merchant vessel.
Eduk and Impy were in danger – and himself, of course, assuming the mercenaries knew who they were.
A motley-coloured fellow was bellowing to the troop: ‘Order the crew over here and open the trapdoor. Put them in the hold.’
Strangely, Captain Stramig seemed completely unruffled – surely, he should be objecting vehemently to the seizing of his ship. Forand feared the worst. This was a set-up, and more than likely the targets were himself and the boys. Only – how did these men know who was on board?
The old warrior placed his right hand on the pommel of his sword and addressed the commander. ‘What is the purpose of your presence on this ship?’
The man stared at him wide-eyed and screamed: ‘There he is. Garemalan. Everyone – come here!’
It wasn’t long before the commander was surrounded by twenty or so men.
‘How can I help you?’ asked Forand, knowing full well already that it would all end in tears.
The response was fast and curt: ‘Seize him!’
Forand drew his sword, turned and ran towards the poop, the rabble on his heels. He clambered up the sterncastle, a fortified construction untypical for a merchant vessel but necessary on account of the increased piracy, so that one could resist if the cog was rammed and boarded. Here he could only be attacked from the front as long as long-range weapons weren’t used.
The mercenaries gathered below him. The men knew his name, they knew who they were dealing with. None of them wanted to take on Garemalan the jade warrior single-handed.
The motley commander ordered some of his men: ‘Come on! Are the crew in the hold? Then search the ship and bring me all the boys.’
The mercenaries fanned out and combed the vessel. Forand feared for Eduk and Impy.
What should he do? He could leap into the sea from where he was and swim away. That would mean leaving the two lads in the lurch. And, anyway, Karek, Brawl and Blinn could turn up at any moment. While he was still pondering, two men pushed the terrified Impy forward.
‘Here is the only boy we could find. The rest of them are men – all over the age of twenty. The other lads mustn’t be on board.’
The commander reacted furiously. ‘Only one squirt? There should be five! And the fattest one is Karek. Where are the others?’
He turned to Impy. ‘Hey, short arse. Where are your buddies?’
Before Impy had a chance to answer, Forand called down from above: ‘The other four are not on board. They are enjoying themselves in Tanderheim.’
The man in motley commanded: ‘Fetch Captain Stramig. Let’s see what we can get out of him. Or – wait. I want to hear it from the mighty Garemalan himself. I know how to get him talking.’
He snatched Impy with a quick arm movement and held his dagger at the boy’s throat. ‘Hey, jade warrior! I ask the questions – you answer. If you don’t, I’ll fillet this pretty boy, piece by piece. And these are no empty words. Your dark friend, the other swordmaster – I enjoyed bleeding him dry, too, you know.’
The murderer of To Shyr Ban was standing down there. Forand could feel the rage beginning to fog his judgement.
‘Maks, blank out emotions. Analyse critical situations rationally.’
And what hadn’t he drummed into his cadets about fear? Fear was artificial, it only existed in the mind. Didn’t the same apply to rage? Not quite. His body didn’t want to play along so easily. His heart was pounding. He forced himself to calm down. There had to be a way of helping Impy.
The commander looked up at him. ‘Right, then. Let’s start with an easy question: Where is Prince Karek?’
Forand realised that there was little point in pleading ignorance and pretending that Karek was nowhere in the vicinity.
‘I’ve told you already. He disembarked this morning with his comrades and is somewhere in Tanderheim.’
‘And where is somewhere?’
Forand shrugged his shoulders. ‘They didn’t tell me of their exact plans.’
Motley took his dagger, grasped Impy’s arm and with a quick movement, cut off the little finger of the boy’s left hand. It happened so quickly that Impy stared for a moment at the bleeding stump before he started screaming in terror and agony.
The man gleefully used his own thumb and forefinger to flick the little finger overboard.
‘Fish food – for little fish. Next, we will cut off our little friend’s thumb – the little finger was only for fun – he doesn’t need it anyway. But thumbs are more valuable. And, indeed, bigger fish need to be satiated too, do they not? Which means, that his arm will be the third item on the menu.’
He wiped his bloodied knife on his trouser leg. ‘Unless, of course, you come down and we can converse in peace and quiet. Do not be afraid. I assure you that we will leave your head in place. Surrender – or the lad will die.’
Impy called out tearfully: ‘He’s lying! Don’t come down! He will kill you!’
Forand wondered how the brave lad had come to that conclusion, although the truth of it was clear to him too. Mercenaries were well-trained, unscrupulous men whose consciences were answerable only to their moneybags. And the nastiest of them were generally the leaders, as was the case here with Motley.
‘Maks – there are moments in life when one has little time to ruminate. This is one such moment. I have pushed open the door to you several times in the past, but today I will cross the threshold, and in all probability, I will close the door behind me.’
‘Wait. I’m coming down.’
The old warrior clambered down the castle. Brandishing his sword, he approached the commander. Motley released Impy so that he could grasp his own weapon hanging from his belt.
The old warrior lowered his sword. ‘Here I am. Now let the little fellow go so that we can converse in peace.’
Forand saw that Impy was no longer being restrained, so he screamed: ‘RUN AND JUMP OVERBOARD!’
The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second before rushing away. He swung himself over the railing and disappeared with a splash in the seawater below.
Forand bored his sword into the heart of the mercenary who was standing between himself and the commander. He tried to reach Motley, for his only chance of survival was if he killed the bellwether. But more and more men were pushing their way in between himself and the multicoloured fellow. His old sword sang, dispatching someone with almost every thrust. But spears and swords were stabbing at him from all directions now. He could hardly defend himself as he was pushed back, further and further. A mast offered him protection to the rear. Then a cudgel caught him in the upper thigh. He hadn’t expected the blow, busy as he was fighting off three blades coming from the opposite direction.
‘Sara – do not think too badly of me. I dearly would have seen you once more. I wish you a prosperous life, my daughter.’
Forand stumbled, then three men threw themselves on top of him. A blade cut into his shoulder.
‘Just hold him captive. I promised him that we would leave his head on. And since when did mercenaries break their word?’ He guffawed. ‘Mind you – I never said anything about his hands.’
the plan
To say it was dark would be an exaggeration. Dusk was setting in was a more accurate description, for the shadows were lengthening. It would have to suffice for her to climb on board unnoticed, approaching as she was from the side away from the pier. A normal human would have no chance scaling the bulkhead. A normal human. That didn’t apply to her. Logical.
This time she wasn’t so hard on herself for having declared herself willing to participate in this madness. When it came down to it, she could only admire Karek for having come up with such a crazy plan. The boy really didn’t spare himself, and she wasn’t certain if it was bloodlust, curiosity, boredom or whatever that was driving her to join in this caper.
She walked along the pier towards the sea and lowered herself into the water, unseen in the shelter of a galleon. Silently, she swam under the jetty towards the merchant cog. She swam underwater a good distance before coming up for air close to the ship.
Now she had to wait until the diversionary tactic came into play. And yes. There were the three lads – the prince in front, the other two five yards or so behind. And what was that? Although she knew what the prince had planned, and still remembered what Sara had told her, she shook her head in astonishment as he walked along the pier with an incredible entourage. Countless numbers of seagulls were flying above his head and all around him. They were buzzing like flies around a half-rotten corpse. The air was swooshing with the beating of thousands and thousands of long, narrow wings. And more were arriving all the time. Karek was uttering the typical gull cries. She could hear him, but he was impossible to see, surrounded as he was by the enormous flock. From high in the sky, the gulls were plummeting, resembling falcons as they sought proximity to the prince. Mad. Completely mad. Furthermore, there was an ever-growing crowd of people far behind him, following in stunned amazement.
In front of the ‘East Wind’ stood a few sentries, calling out in panic for their leader. More of the mercenaries were disembarking and running along the pier towards the land, so that they could see the hustle and bustle from up close.
Karek was only moving slowly now, for it seemed as though there were so many seagulls that he did not know where to step.
His diversionary tactic was a total success – she had to give him that.
The planks on the hull were extremely wide, but all she needed were a few cockle shells to get a grip, enabling her to scale the side of the ship and pull herself over the railing. The mercenaries were focused completely on what was happening on land, giving her the chance to have a good look. There were bodies scattered all over the deck. Most of them were clad in the grey, leather uniforms of the mercenaries. A cursory glance revealed no sign of seamen, dead or alive. Loud voices could be heard coming from the sterncastle – presumably from the captain’s cabin. She drew one of the two daggers that hung from her belt. Those, together with the knives in her boots, would suffice when combined with her natural speed in her task of tidying up within the narrow confines of the vessel.
A man was guarding the entrance to the cabins. Before he knew it, he was dying in the arms of a beautiful woman, who placed him gently on the deck. His throat had been cut. There were worse ways of expiring.
She listened to the voices. Through one door she heard a voice asking urgently: ‘Where is the map extract? Where are you planning on going?’
No answer. Just a dull sound. A groan.
‘Where are you planning on going?’
Silence.
Another blow.
‘Where is the prince now?’
Silence.
A loud blow, a loud scream.
A second mocking voice: ‘It’s all over for you. Look at yourself. The Great Swordmaster’s hand / It will the king’s son crown. Well, I don’t see that happening. I mean, how could it?’
A very disturbing laugh.
The first voice again: ‘Where is the map extract?’
She had to act and decided to rely on the element of surprise. Her breathing slowed – every muscle in her body was ready to pounce.
She opened the door. Within the blink of an eye, she understood the situation and killed. No hesitation, no questions, no mercy. She caught the man to her right with the dagger in her left hand. He stared in disbelief at the handle of her weapon, whose blade was buried deep in his heart. She didn’t even have time to pull the dagger out again, for another mercenary in motley colours and thinking on his feet was already charging at her with his brandished sword. She evaded the thrust by throwing herself to the side at lightning speed, driving her second dagger into his eye with her right arm. She somersaulted over the planks, pulling out the dagger from her first opponent. Other mercenaries would undoubtedly be drawn by the sounds of fighting. There were no more enemies alive in the cabin anymore, only one person, his feet bound: Garemalan, the jade warrior. He had no need of more fetters, for the old man was lying in a dark pool of his own blood. They had tied his upper arms to slow down the loss of blood. This had become absolutely necessary, for Garemalan, the Grand Swordmaster, would never hold another sword again. The mercenaries had hacked off both his hands. She knelt down beside him and examined him more closely. The old warrior was still conscious and looked at her with sad eyes. She could see that the man would not experience another morning – no matter how well his bloody arm stumps might be treated and sewn up.
