The Shadow of Dread: The Bladeborn Saga, Book Six, page 56
“I ask too much of you, Carly. There are other ways. You don’t need to do this…”
“I want to do this, my lady. And I’ve had worse in there, believe me. You just make sure you get to me in time. If those two Bladeborn guards of his hear the seal whimpering, I’m not going to have much to defend myself with.”
Only that little stabbing knife, Amara knew, and it wasn’t even godsteel either. “We’ll be there,” she promised. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Carly.”
The once-leader of the Flame Manes had to trust her on that. She nodded, running a hand through her wild red hair, shaking it out. Her shift was tied about her waist with hempen string, illustrating the fine shape of her figure, a pair of bare legs extending from the hem, a little above the knee, and her arms were bare as well. Poor though the garb was, the girl was a vision, wild and beautiful, flame-haired and snow-skinned, almost impossible for a red-blooded male to resist. Or a seal, Amara thought. The Blubber King had expressed a great interest in Carly, and it was an opportunity not to be missed. “You’re certain the guards will let me pass?”
“I’m certain. Just tell them you’re there to speak to the Great One, and they’ll escort you to him.”
There was nothing else to say. With a nod from Carly to acknowledge that she was ready, the pair stepped to the door and left the cabin.
The great cavern outside was beginning to darken, dusk soon to set in, the torches being lit around the island-within-the-cave. Amara looked down the shore, and saw Captain at his longship, milling about, pretending to busy himself with this and that. A few trusted oarsmen were with him, fixing nets and stitching sails. As Amara looked his way, the Seaborn glanced over, gave her a wink, and returned to his work. Good luck, that wink said.
We may need it, Amara thought.
Sir Connor Crawfield was standing outside, alongside Sir Ryger Joyce, whom Jovyn had helped recruit to their cause. Sir Ryger had the guard of Amara’s men today, along with the sellsword Brazen Ben, who had followed Sir Penrose and Jovyn as they took a walk along the beach, as per their plans.
“There’s some suspicion from a few of the others,” Sir Ryger told her, in a low growly voice. “And there’s been a late change of shift too. At the armoury.”
Terrific. “Who?”
“Colossus has been given the charge, in place of Wilcock, who’s sick. Sir Talmer is still the other.”
Wonderful. This just gets better. Wilcock was a spotty-faced sapling of a sellsword, with barely a drop of Bladeborn blood in his scrawny little veins. It was expected that he would be easy to subdue, but Colossus was another matter entirely. His name was enough to paint a picture of the man. Amara had rarely seen anyone so monstrously large. “Will Sir Talmer be able to knock him out?”
“Doubt it, at that height,” growled Ryger Joyce. Sir Talmer was several inches south of six feet, Colossus several inches north of seven. “He tries, and Colossus will squash his head like a melon. Be easier just to kill him. Stick a dagger in his back when he’s not looking. Pick the right spot and any man would go down, giant or not.”
Amara could see a dozen ways where that could go wrong. “The plan was to sneak into the armoury unseen, Sir Ryger. That sort of bloodshed may only raise the alarm if Sir Talmer gets it wrong.” She gave out a breath, doubts swirling. “Maybe we should wait. The shifts might suit us better on another day.”
“Unlikely,” said Sir Connor. “We were lucky to have Sir Ryger and Ben guarding us today, my lady, and even more so with Sir Talmer at the armoury. Most days we get perhaps one of our men at those stations. To have three out of four is rare. We might not have that chance again for weeks.”
The man was right, she knew. Damn him. It was the slimy seneschal who set the schedule, and unless they could win him to their cause, they had no control over which guards would be at which posting at any given time. Right now those postings favoured them. The seneschal would bend the knee when it was over, Amara suspected, but until then, approaching him for help was too great a risk.
“Well?” Carly was growing impatient. “All this dithering isn’t going to help us. Shall I go or not?”
“No,” Sir Connor said, with a firm shake of the head. “It’s a senseless risk, always was.”
“It’s a risk,” Amara agreed, “but not a senseless one. The last thing we want is the Lord of Lard wriggling off into some secret passage we don’t know about. If he escapes, we may never get away. With Carly there, we’ll have someone on the inside to stop him.”
Sir Connor disagreed. “We don’t need that. That whale moves slower than a dying snail. If we’re quick, we’ll get to him first.”
If. Too many ifs. They had been through all this before, arguing the merits of each option at length the previous night. In the end, it was Carly’s decision. Amara looked at her, “Your choice, Carly.”
“Then I’m going,” the Flame Mane said, ever decisive. “That was the plan and I’m sticking to it.” Before Connor Crawfield could object, she stepped away, swinging her hips and swishing her hair, making for the little wood that grew at the heart of the island.
I love that girl, Amara thought, watching her swagger off, already in character. She’d rarely met anyone so bold and wilful. “I guess it’s settled, then. You two know your roles. If you hear fighting, or anything goes wrong, you get to Carly first,” she said to Connor Crawfield. She looked at Sir Ryger again, saw that he bore two blades, as planned, one at each hip. Good. “I’m going to the others. Good luck to you both.”
Sir Ryger Joyce stopped her as she stepped away. “There’s going to be blood, my lady,” he said, in a dark, portentous voice. “Some of the other men are growing suspicious, as I just told you. Might be a few will throw down their arms when the fighting starts, even join our side, but not all. It’ll be battle at the beach tonight. I hope you’re ready for that.”
Amara only looked at the man. “The world is a battleground, Sir Ryger. Perhaps it’s time this beach became one too?”
The others were sixty or so metres away, dawdling along the shore, Sir Penrose and Jovyn occasionally picking up a pebble to bounce along the calm crystal waters within the cave, splashes echoing. Brazen Ben Barrett walked along a half dozen paces behind them, a hand on the hilt of his godsteel sword, watchful. To anyone else, the sellsword was watching the knight and the squire, as per his duty. In truth he was glancing surreptitiously around to check the positions of the guards and sailor-soldiers, watching the waters to see which boats were coming and going, tallying up how many of the Bladeborn in the service of the Great One were on the island at any one time. He’s sharper than he looks, that one, Amara noted. Carly had promised him a kiss on the lips when all this was done, and that seemed the only motivation the man needed to do his job, and do it well.
“It’s happening,” Amara whispered to him, through her smile, as she passed him by. “Be ready, Ben. We’re going to divert toward the armoury.”
She saw him give her a nod. “Squidge and Palmer went out that way, I saw, with a jug of ale and cups,” he whispered back. “There’s a willow they like to sit under, on the shore. It’s in sight of the armoury cave, my lady. Be wise to wait until they’re gone.”
For Vandar’s sake...That was another complication they could do without. Amara was half-temped to turn back, intercept Carly before she could reach the grove and tell her the plan was off…but the girl was already gone. We’re in too deep now. “We can’t delay. Carly’s already left.”
“Oh.” Brazen Ben thought a moment. “We’ll need to distract them then. I’ve got some dice here, my lady, always keep a couple in my pocket. Those two like a game of liars. I’ll see if I can keep ‘em looking away while you get into the armoury.”
“And if not?”
“Then I guess I’ll have to kill them. Ask them to join us first, of course, but doubt they would. Those two like it here. Won’t want us causing disruption.”
The same as many others, Amara knew. “And you’d do that? Kill them?” Squidge and Palmer were two fellow sellswords, both Bladeborn, weak-blooded. “You’ve served beside them for years.”
“True, but I’ve disliked them for years too. Got no problem with killing, my lady. Wouldn’t be much of a mercenary if I did.”
He’s more ruthless than he looks as well, Amara noted. Brazen Ben Barrett might have the appearance of a giant grinning rabbit, but clearly there was some steel between those oversized ears of his. Amara nodded her understanding, then stepped past him and up to the others. “Did you hear all that?” she asked them.
Sir Penrose had just sent a pebble skimming along the water, leaving ripples in its wake, five, six, seven of them. “We did, my lady. Join or die.”
It was a choice many would have to make. “Good. Veer toward the armoury, then. Stay relaxed. I’ll see you there.”
She left them to their slow circuit along the shore, moving back up the beach a little and then taking a shortcut through the trees. There were some guards posted here and there, wandering on their patrols or sitting about their little cookfires roasting fish. One young soldier was sharpening the head of a wooden fishing spear. Another was standing at a workbench beneath the creaking branches, working on a shark-head halfhelm. Most ignored her as she passed, though a few gave her courteous nods, even smiles. Some favour me, she thought. The same was not true of others, who only squinted at her and scowled, misliking her presence here among them. They see a menace in me, she thought. Sir Ryger was not wrong about that.
Her path took her through the grove and out onto the other side of the island. It was darker here, deeper into the cavern, and overhead the cave’s rock walls rose up above her, curving into that great mossy ceiling that came alive with colour at night. Beneath the dangling leaves of an old cave willow, she saw Squidge and Palmer sitting on a pair of rocks down on the shore. They had set down their jug of ale between them and were drinking from wooden cups, sharing jokes and laughing.
Amara walked up to them. “Evening, gentlemen. Not on duty today?”
They turned, half startled to see her. “What you doing over this side?” spat Palmer, a fat-cheeked, ugly man of five and twenty. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I have leave to walk the island at my will.” She smiled and looked at Squidge. Despite his stupid name he was actually rather handsome. “I hear you like liar’s dice, is that right?”
They both perked up. “We do. Best players on the island.”
“Which island?” she asked. “This one, inside the cave, or the island proper?”
“Both,” said Palmer. “And all the others too. We’re the kings of liar’s dice, ain’t we Squidge?”
“Damn right.” The man grinned and slurped his ale. “There’s no one here who can beat us.”
“Brazen Ben says otherwise,” Amara told them. “He tells me he’s much better than the both of you.”
The pair of sellswords looked at one another, then laughed. “You’re having us on, woman,” Palmer said. “Must be. Ben’s dull as dishwater. Ain’t no world in which he’d beat me or Squidge at liar’s. Everyone knows it.”
“Not everyone,” she said. “I’ve heard others say the same.”
“Who?” demanded the ugly one, getting irate now. “What’s Ben been saying?”
“That he’s better than you at liar’s dice,” Amara said. She smiled. Her words had provoked a fierce annoyance in both of them, as she’d hoped. “I saw him a little while ago, ambling along this way. Maybe you can take it up with him personally?”
“We will,” said Palmer, closing a meaty fist. “I’ll knock that bucktoothed lackwit’s front teeth down his throat. Lying bastard. He’ll take it back or we’ll make him.”
Amara Daecar smiled. Ah, the thin skin of sellswords. It could always be counted on. Usually when calling into question their skill with the blade or bravery in battle, true, but clearly these two hung their hats on liar’s dice instead. To each their own.
She continued along the shore, leaving the two men to glower and grumble, glancing into the rock pools as she went, seeing the crayfish and the crabs scuttling over the glistening stone. The armoury was near, perhaps forty metres down from the willow along the curve of the shore, built into a natural cave where the rear walls of the cavern rose up, dangling with vines and heavily clothed in lichen. The interior had been fitted with shelves and racks for weapons, and the way was blocked by thick iron bars and a gate, rusted and chained and locked.
Sir Talmer stood outside, looking a little worried. He had been expecting Wilcock too. Instead he had the gargantuan sellsword Colossus for company, garbed in a byrnie of godsteel mail with a huge greatsword slung across his back in a leather scabbard. He had long black hair that flowed all the way down to his brawny shoulders, a jaw so square and wide it looked to have been chiselled by the demigod Ilith himself. Most giant men tended to be brutish and uncomely, in Amara’s experience, but this one, no. He was as dashing as he was grand.
“Oh, well hello,” she said to the pair of them, feigning surprise as though she had completely lost track of her bearings. “I was in another little world there. Aren’t these pools just fascinating?” She smiled and walked closer to the two men standing at the bars. “Don’t you think?”
“I’ve no interest in those pools,” Sir Talmer said to her. He gave her a hard look, as if to say, ‘this isn’t going to plan.’
No, she agreed, but they had no option but to proceed.
“Well, that’s sad to hear, Sir Talmer. I find the little ecosystems terribly interesting.” She looked up, craning her neck to meet the eyes of the giant. They were a sky blue, very clear. Goodness, this man is beautiful. Such a shame he has to die. “How about you, Colossus? Do the rock pools tickle your fancy?”
“No,” he thundered, in a voice that shook the air.
She leaned back. “Oh my. You need to be careful with that bass of yours, Colossus. You speak any louder and the entire cavern may collapse.”
He stared, saying nothing. Not even the hint of a smile. This man is not easily charmed.
She smiled calmly and glanced back the way she had come. No sign of Ben just yet. “Those two are very sensitive about their skills at liar’s dice,” she said. “Is it played among all of the men here?”
“Most,” Sir Talmer told her. “Not much else to do, half the time.” It was part of the reason behind his desire to leave, she knew, the boredom of life on these isles. And there’s some honour in him as well, rusted and old, yes, and in need of a good polish, but it’s there. Sir Talmer wanted to lend his blade to the war effort, such as it was, the same as the other men they’d recruited. All were sick to the back teeth of serving the Lord of Lard.
“No battles?” Amara asked, pretending as if she didn’t know. She did, of course. She had spoken to Sir Talmer and Sir Ryger and Sir Hockney and Brazen Ben and a host of others about their experiences here. Why they’d come, how long ago, what they’d been doing in the months and years and, in some cases, decades since. Though there were occasional uprisings from one local pirate lord or another, testing the Great One’s rule, there had not been any significant conflict here in long years. These men have been reduced to snaring passing ships for their tolls. To a knight, even a disgraced one, that was an execrable existence. It was no wonder so many of them had opted to join her.
“Not for a while,” Sir Talmer answered, playing along with her. He seemed to sense that she was trying to buy some time. “Tis a rare day we draw our blades, my lady.”
“It must be dull,” she said, looking up. “Don’t you find it dull, Colossus? Living here?” He was one of the few she hadn’t spoken to much. Or at all. The man was half a mute, and rarely did he say a word. All she knew about him was that he came here with his brother, who had subsequently drowned when he fell from a longship during stormy weather. Apparently that brother had sworn the Great One his sword, and Colossus, loyal as he was, wanted to honour that. If it wasn’t for that fact, she might ask that he join them right now. But alas no. Best you join your brother instead.
“I do not think in those terms,” the giant rumbled. “I just do my duty.”
Duty to a sack of suet. She glanced back again. This time she sighted the gangly figure of Brazen Ben lolloping toward the willow tree. Both Squidge and Palmer had spotted him as well. They stood up from the rocks they’d been sitting on, turning to him confrontationally, facing away from the armoury. A few shouts rang out from them, curses echoing. Both men were waving at Ben angrily.
“I wonder what that could be about?” Amara said, all innocence.
“Sellswords like to argue,” growled Sir Talmer Hedgeside. “Those three especially. Been bickering for years.”
Further off, Sir Penrose and Jovyn were wandering along the shore, stopping occasionally to pick up a choice pebble and skim it along the water, as they had been before.
“Those are your men,” she heard Colossus say. His eyes were glaring at them. “They aren’t meant to be on this side of the island.”
“They’re doing no harm,” Amara said to that. “Goodness, all these rules.”
“The Great One’s rules.” The giant sellsword’s block-of-stone jaw clenched. That bite could snap godsteel, I’d wager. “You shouldn’t be this close either. You are not meant to come near the armoury.”
“Me?” Amara put a hand to her chest.
“Yes, you.” The cliff of man looked down at her. “Why are you here?”
She glanced at Sir Talmer, saw him flexing his sword hand, moving it to the hilt of his blade.
The giant did not miss it. “What was that?” he rumbled.
Amara frowned up at him, puzzled. “What was what?”
“That look you gave him.” The giant turned upon Sir Talmer, casting him in his shadow. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing. Stand down, Colossus. You’re always on edge.”
