The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion (41 page)

Now here he was putting that training and dedication to work again.  He lifted his head just high enough to see that he was only fifteen yards from the alarm bell.  The sentry still sat near it.  The pirate was not a trained military man or he would not have a fire in front of him, spoiling his night vision.  It was the one advantage Markex had.  He had crawled past several of the other harbor sentries.  They had unknowingly aided him in his task by carrying on loud conversations which included laughing and shouting.  The knifeman sank into a patch of ankle-high grass and tried to keep his breathing under control.  Now he just had to wait.

***

Taggart let the rest of the ambush force go ahead of him.  His larger size made being spotted more likely.  He was thankful for the experience he’d gained during his time leading the Rangers in the Great War.  They had made numerous raids on the inhuman Greys during the hours of darkness, and the lessons he’d learned were invaluable.

He knew that Jo-Dall was in the process of leading the remainder of the force into the approaches to the town and waiting for the sight of Fauwler’s fleet entering the harbor.  Once the defenses were inactivated Taggart would leave most of this squad on the cliffs to guard them, and he would lead a smaller team down to join up with Tay and Toria.  He was the only one capable of doing so because it would take the remarkable abilities of the two Mountain Children to make it possible for the two groups to find each other.

When Spall and the rest of the ambush detail had crawled within twenty yards of the campfires of the defenders they sprang.  Taggart saw them rise up and he did so as well.  They were on top of the nearest surprised sentries before the pirates had a chance to react.  Spall never even slowed, running through the gathered sentries without engaging them.  He had designated ten other warriors to follow him as he ran for the more distant guards. 

Taggart ran past the first campfire and saw only dead bodies.  The same was true of the second and third.  At the fourth gathering of sentries a battle was taking place.  There were some fifteen of the pirates, and they were defending themselves against ten Olvionis. The surprise had whittled the pirates’ numbers from their original twenty before the men of Kylee were able to gather their wits and present a defense.

Taggart ran as fast as he could into the midst of the fight.  He saw the shocked expression on the face of one pirate before he batted his head aside with a swipe from his mace.  Another pirate had scored a stab wound on an attacker and was just raising his sword for a finishing slash.  Taggart was able to deflect the strike with his weapon and redirected the energy of his swing to bring it back around, catching the swordsman in the ribcage.  A painful scream issued from the man.

Then a sharp pain bit into the big man’s back.  He swiveled to see that one of the harbor defenders had planted a dagger between his shoulder blades about halfway up the length of the blade.  The stab just missed his spine, and the pirate might have struck a deeper blow had Geraar not lopped off his arm with a sword strike before he could finish it.  The man never even had a chance to scream as Taggart brought the heavy mace directly down on top of his head.

Evidently the sudden appearance of the huge man with the terrible mace broke the resolve of this particular group of sentries, and several broke away to seek escape.  All were run down and dispatched.  It was bloody and terrible work, but it was a necessity.  Until now, the only combat that Taggart had engaged in was against grey-skinned Neanderthals who killed humans for food.  This was the first time he had been forced to kill another human being.  Taggart reminded himself that these were the people who had come into their home and kidnapped their people.  It did not take away the revulsion he felt at what he was being forced to do, but it helped.

On the far side of the defense emplacements, Markex heard the attack begin and saw the guard by the bell jump up and look to see what was happening.  The moment his target moved, so did the knifeman.  Just as the sentry turned to run for the bell he leapt up and thrust his long dagger under the man’s ribcage and angled upward.  The pirate looked at Markex with an expression of bewilderment.  Then his eyes rolled back and he dropped to the ground.

Markex heard a shout and turned to see five more pirates converging on his location.  They saw him at the same moment that he saw them.  The pirate who was out in front of the others pointed an axe at him and urged his followers into a charge.  The knifeman had no weapon other than his dagger.  He wore a metal forearm guard on his left arm and it was his only protection.  At best it could deflect a single strike.  The Olvioni warrior thought briefly of his woman and young daughter back in their home.  Then he raised his dagger and took the fight to his attackers.

***

The sun was just rising over the sea horizon when Tay nudged Toria.  “There’s movement over there.”

Toria put her head next to Tay’s so both could see through the slats in the well shed.  Across the street at the big house she saw three men on the wide porch.  They were yawning and stretching as if they had just awakened.  Two of the men had long braided leather lanyards hanging from their hands.  The other man was taller and was better dressed.  He was obviously the person in charge.  The women could not hear what he was saying, but by the way he was pointing, and the expression on his face they could tell that he was giving the others orders.  The two subordinates listened and nodded until the man in charge stalked off.  A moment later another man emerged from the house with his hair in disarray from his pillow.  The three exchanged words while standing on the porch.

Pan sent Toria a jolt of alarm.  It was immediately plain to the young woman that something was happening that threatened the success of their plans.  She received a brief image of the women being led outside through the cellar door.

Toria grabbed Tay’s arm.  “They’re going to move them.”

Not for the first time since they started their mission, Tay missed the comforting presence of her bow and a quiver full of arrows.  “We can’t let that happen,” she said.

Toria was considering their options.  “If they are just relocating them we could follow and just keep them under watch, but that taller man looked like a seaman.  They might be taking them to a ship.  If that happens we could never prevent them from being removed from the island and taken anywhere in this new land.  We could lose them forever.”

Tay nodded.  “I agree.  I say we make our move as soon as they go inside.”

They both drew their knives and watched.  Pan slid inside his riding sling on Toria’s shoulder. 

After a brief conversation the men at the slave quarters turned and entered the building.

The women climbed out of the well shed, grimacing at the pain in their knees and backs from being bent over for the entire night.  They crossed the street and stepped up onto the porch.  Tay grabbed the latch and pulled.  It was locked.  She glanced back at Toria.  “What now?” she asked.

At that moment Pan leapt from the sling in which he’d been riding and scampered quickly off the porch and around to the side of the house where the exterior entrance to the cellar was located.  The women followed.

Inside the cellar the captive women had been up all night making plans.  Dwan had decided that, regardless of whatever else were to happen, they would not allow themselves to be taken to a ship.  They were prepared to resist to the point of some of them being killed.  The sounds of footsteps in the house above them gave them a warning that something would be happening soon.

There was very little that they had been able to find and fashion into weapons.  One wooden slat had been taken from the frame of a divan and sharpened into a point and the legs from a large bench had been removed giving four of them short sticks to be used as clubs.  It was not much, but it was all that they had.  That and the determination of twenty eight women of Olvion who refused to submit to any further degradation.

They were surprised to hear sounds coming from the cellar door leading to the outside.  They were not the sounds of a lock being turned.  It was more like someone working at the lock with a knife.  Dwan crept up next to the door and listened.  She jumped back as the lock suddenly gave a snapping noise, and the door opened slightly.

Then the door swung fully open, and she saw two younger women dart quickly inside.  All of the captives were seized by confusion and indecision.  Some surged forward to escape from their jail.

Both of the new arrivals held up their hands to motion them back.  Then they signaled for quiet.  They pointed over their heads.  Dwan caught their meaning and pulled the captives back away from the exit.

The smaller of the two women saw Dwan directing the others and drew up next to her.  “We need to stay inside,” she whispered.  “There will be a big fight outside soon and it will not be safe out there.  The people upstairs are coming to take you away, but we are not going to let that happen.  Have everyone lie down as if they are sleeping.”

Dwan nodded her understanding and whispered instructions to the others.  She noticed that the male Mountain Child was with the women.  That fact generated many questions, but she knew they would have to wait for answers.

When the captives were all back in sleeping poses, Toria and Tay found a dark recess under the stairs and hid themselves.  The wait was not long.  The door at the top of the stairs opened, and footsteps clomped downward.

Morlee was in the lead.  He was feeling confident after his demonstration of force upon Dwan.  His experience had taught him that slaves, especially female slaves, quickly abandoned thoughts of defiance once one or two of their number had been appropriately beaten.  He still harbored a great deal of animosity against Dwan.  She had been the cause of his being severely chastised and almost dismissed from his position with Tallun.  The Pirate Captain had informed him that the orderly transfer of the women from the cellar to the ship was his last chance to remain in his employ.  Any disruptions, no matter how slight, would be cause for his immediate dismissal.

The slave master would still have preferred to ravage and then kill the source of his embarrassment.  Only her abject humiliation and death would erase the effects of her disobedience, but Tallun had warned him that Dwan represented a large potential sale.  No more harm was to come to her.  What he would give to beat that defiant expression from her face.

So now he was shouting as he descended the stairs.  “Up.  Get up.  Move you sluts, it’s time for your trip to your new homes.  In three days’ time you’ll be warming the bellies of your new masters.  Up now!”

He was irritated that none seemed to be responding to his instructions.  He reached the bottom of the steps and shouted again.  “Move, you lowlife trollops!”

His two helpers came off of the staircase behind him.  All three were armed with iron rods which they carried to prod and strike with.  In their belts two of them, including Morlee, had swords, and the third had only a knife. 

Morlee was just about to shout out a third time when he saw a blur out of the corner of his eye.  Two unfamiliar women dashed out from behind the stairs.  There were two simultaneous yelps of pain, and one of his men dropped to the floor spouting blood from a severed carotid.  The blood spurted across Morlee’s trousers and he leapt backward to avoid it.  The second man staggered away from the two women.  He had been stabbed in the back, but had gained enough distance to begin drawing his sword.  His action was stopped when the women who had been presumed to be sleeping leapt up and swarmed the man, pulling him to the floor.  Two of the captives were raising short clubs over their heads and smashing them downwards over and over again.  The man’s screams rose, dwindled and then died.

Morlee, having been warned by the attacks on his helpers ran to the stairway intending to escape the vengeance of his former captives.  He had just reached them when a streak of white fur launched itself from the floor.  Pan attached himself to Morlee’s face with the claws on his rear legs.  Now he used his front claws and his teeth to visit mayhem upon the slaver’s face. 

Morlee screamed and tried to pull the animal free.  Bits of flesh flew as Pan dug in harder and deeper.  At last Morlee was able to pry the animal from his head.  Pan took pieces of the man’s face with him as he was finally tossed aside.

Morlee spun in confusion, trying to find the stairway again with blood flowing into his eyes.  He saw it off to the left and lurched toward it.  One of the captive women leapt in front of him and swung a wooden club at his head.  He dodged it, but the weapon struck his shoulder sending currents of pain through his upper body.  He staggered away from the woman with the club and found himself face to face with the problematic Dwan.  In a microsecond he saw that she held the dagger that had been worn by one of his assistants.  He remembered his sword and clawed at it, trying to free it and slay this woman once and for all.

The sword slid two thirds of the distance from its sheath.  Hope swelled in Morlee’s breast.  He would at least kill this damned slut, the source of all of his recent troubles.  A moment before his sword cleared the sheath Dwan plunged her dagger deeply into his heart.

She stepped back, leaving the knife in his chest.  Morlee was shocked into inaction.  He looked at Dwan.  She stood there in front of him, no trace of fear on her face.  She wore only that damned look of defiance that he so despised.

Then he looked down at the dagger in his chest.  It bobbed with each beat of his heart.  He tried to grab it and pull it free, but his arms and hands were no longer working.  He fell to his knees.  His vision was fading.  He looked up.  The last thing he saw was Dwan and her hated expression.