The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion (45 page)

The snarl was still on Pax’s face.  He glared into Toria’s eyes, his hate obvious for all to see.  Then his expression faded.  His eyes took on a questioning look.  Something had gone wrong.  His sword dangled from his fingers then clattered to the floor alongside his knife.

Tallun was watching from the base of the stairs, mesmerized.  Again, few had been able to detect the girl’s movements.  Now he saw one of his best crewmen teetering before her.  The woman’s long knife was buried to the hilt in his neck, the shorter one was angled upward under his ribcage and into his heart.  The neck wound spouted gore in evenly timed rhythms all the way to the wooden wall beside them.

Then Pax was dead.  He died before he dropped and now lay in a bloody heap on the floor.

Tallun snapped out of his trance.  His fury increased.  He turned to his men behind him.  “Why are you standing there?  She killed your shipmate, chop that bitch to pieces.”

The remaining seven pirates moved forward with weapons drawn.  Dwan picked that moment to dart forward and try to plant her dagger into Tallun’s chest.  Alas, she did not have Toria’s natural speed and the distance she had to cross gave the pirate captain time to see her attack and grab her wrists.

Tallun put his face an inch from Dwan’s.  “Enough of this.  No amount of treasure is worth the trouble you bring.  You will die at this moment, slave.” 

Tallun squeezed Dwan’s wrist until she dropped her weapon, crying out in pain.  She tried to knee him in his private parts, but he turned his hip toward her, protecting himself.  Then he released her wrists and wrapped both hands around her throat.  He applied pressure and watched her eyes.  Her obvious pain and fear encouraged him.  Why had he not done this earlier?  The pirate’s twisted mentality excited him. 

Dwan managed to spit in his face.  Tallun pushed her out to arm’s length and continued to squeeze.  He could feel her pulse under his palms.  Her eyelids fluttered.  Her arms stopped beating against him and dropped to her sides.  The other women shouted and screamed, but they were held back by the other pirates.

There was a loud crash and a shattering of wood and metal.  The cellar door exploded from its frame and shot across the room to fall broken and splintered on the floor.

Tallun and his men expected to see members of the town guard.  Instead they saw a huge man wearing a black leather vest.  His hair was an impossible golden color and his eyes were a pale blue.  No man on this planet had features like that. 

The big man took in the scene in the cellar.  His eyes roamed over the women and settled on the one that Tallun was strangling.  With a fierce snarl the giant rushed forward.  Two of Tallun’s pirates stepped in front of him, protecting their captain.  Before their drawn weapons could find a target the big man bowled into them.  One man was struck by his shoulder and propelled backward into a wall.  The other was viciously backhanded.  That one spun like a child’s toy and crashed against an overturned table.  Just before the golden haired man reached them, Tallun released the woman and sprinted in terror to the stairway landing.

Taggart caught Dwan before her body could hit the floor.  The sound of combat erupted behind him as Lyyl and Geraar intercepted the other pirates who were attempting to bury their blades into the big man’s back.  Taggart ignored everything that was happening.  He peered into Dwan’s face.  She was unconscious and did not appear to be breathing.  He called her name, begging her to answer, to open her eyes.  Taggart held her close and prayed for her to speak, to give some indication that life still existed in her.

When the pirates surged forward to attack Taggart from behind, Lyyl and Geraar engaged them.  It was seven against two until one of the pirates fell forward.  The two warriors saw Toria behind him, blood on both of her knives.  Then Tay, now recovered from her unconsciousness, leapt in with her dagger in one hand and the unfortunate Pax’s sword in the other.  The four of them fiercely beat the pirates back, giving Taggart a chance to tend to Dwan.

Using their greater numbers, the seamen regained their composure and opened up their battle line, intending to encircle the four youths.  Then, unexpectedly, one of the pirates screamed in pain.  Two blurs of white fur had attached themselves to his head and face.  The pirate wailed as the two Mountain Children dug their claws and teeth into his face and neck.  The beleaguered pirate screamed in agony and dropped his sword, trying to use both hands to pry the animals from his face.  Every time he got a good grip on one of them and tried to pull them off, the pain of the embedded claws would make him stop his efforts.  He finally fell to the ground and thrashed in misery.

Geraar sidestepped a sword thrust and leapt inside the pirate’s defense. He threw a punch to the man’s throat then followed up with his own sword.  The blade was driven through the ribcage and emerged from the pirate’s back.  He dropped without a sound, dead before he hit the dirt floor.

Toria heard a grunt from her left and looked to see her cousin wearing a painful expression.  His blade was buried into a pirate’s side but another seaman had lunged and stabbed Lyyl along his ribcage.  The wound did not appear to be deep, but the pain almost caused the warrior to drop his weapon.  Toria shouted in anger and threw herself at the pirate who was now withdrawing his sword in preparation for another lunge.  Unfortunately for him, he had focused his attention entirely on Lyyl and did not see the tornado of swinging arms and knives coming his way.  Toria slashed down with one hand and up with the other.  The blades bit deeply into the man’s shoulder muscle and abdomen.  By the time he realized he’d been assaulted she had delivered a second attack, this time slicing the large muscles of his thigh and his carotid.  Seeing the damage she had inflicted, the woman turned her attention to another pirate.  The savaged man opened his mouth to say something then closed it.  He dropped his sword and turned as if looking for a place to sit.  Then he fell to the floor on his back.  The man’s mouth continued to open and close wordlessly.

The remaining five pirates seemed to lose their confidence.  One escaped through the ruined cellar door.  Another tried to follow him but was skewered by Geraar’s sword.

Tay parried a lunge with her sword and countered by driving her dagger up under her attacker’s ribcage.  The man looked as if he was going to cry.  He fell to the floor and crawled over to the wall, coating the floor with blood as he went.

Then it was over.  The two pirates who remained were able to scramble through the open cellar door to safety.  They were not followed.

The warriors gathered around Taggart and Dwan.  Dwan’s head was now lying on a folded cape and Taggart was bent over her, delivering breaths over and over into her stilled lungs.  Dayel was by her side, holding her hand and rubbing her forearm.  She knew her efforts would accomplish nothing, she felt compelled to do
something
however
.

Some of the healers tried to gently pull Taggart away from her so that they could put their skills to use on her, but he did not even notice their efforts. 

The warriors and the abducted women were stunned into silence at the scene taking place before them.  Here was a giant of a man whose physical strength was so obvious.  Yet he was holding the woman with such gentleness as he continued to breathe for her.  Silent tears gathered at his eyes and ran down his face.  After each injected breath he would pull his face away and watch her as the air escaped from her lungs.  Then he would start again.

Many of the women also shed tears.  The medical strategy of rescue breathing had been known to the healers of Olvion for many summers.  They knew of the technique’s importance but also of its limits.  Unlike Taggart, they all knew how long Tallun had maintained his stranglehold on the young woman.  They knew that it would take a miracle, at this point, for his efforts to produce results.

***

Captain Jile stood on the raised quartermaster deck and observed the approach to the harbor.  The cliffs along the southern edge of the island showed no signs of preparation for attack.  That meant nothing, of course.  The catapults and trebuchets could be quickly loaded and operated once the fleet committed itself.  If they were caught during their entry to the harbor there would be no place to go, no room to maneuver away from destruction.

Jile looked back at the line of ships behind him.  So many men, so many good seamen, and all of them were depending upon him to make the right decision.  Such a state of affairs would be daunting to most men.  Not so for a man such as he.  He had been commanding men for longer than most of the seamen had been alive.  He knew that the only thing one could do in such a position was to make his best guess and pray he was correct.  It was as simple as that.  If he guessed correctly, they would celebrate.  If not, they would die.

Jile took another look at the cliffs above him.  Then he turned to his First Mate.  “Raise the pennant, we’re going in.”

The mate raised a red and yellow striped flag onto the halyard.  Behind the Dreadnaught all of the ships in the invading fleet dropped half of their sails, slowing their speed for the tricky entrance to the harbor.

At the island waterfront, Lampte saw the raising of the pennant on the lead ship and knew what it meant.  He had seen them out there and guessed that they would be there to support this surprising invasion. 

Lampte was corrupt, but he was not stupid.  Indeed, it was his intelligence that allowed him to rise to the governorship of the Council.  With little to do with his time between council meetings he often occupied himself with “what ifs”.  For instance, he once asked himself:
What if an invasion fleet were able to get through the gauntlet of cliff defenses upon which the island relied?

The idea had intrigued him, and so he put some thought into the matter.  Because the prospect was so remote he did not want to spend a lot of treasure on it. While piracy was the primary source of income for the island, a small but growing activity was the trading of goods with those seaside towns which ignored the edicts of the various kings and nobles against doing business with the pirate enclave.

The volcanic island was so rich in metals and ores that one of its largest products was metal goods.  The simplest and most sought after trade good was Kylee Chain.  The quality of the iron found on the island, mixed with some exotic ores, made for excellent quality chain which was known for its ability to withstand rust and erosion.  With the demand for the product being so high, there was always much of it produced and stored, ready for loading onto ships.

So to indulge his musings Lampte had commandeered a length of thick chain and had it laid on the bottom of the harbor approach channel.  One end had been secured to a small islet which sat just north of the harbor.  The other end was secured to a man-powered winch on the island itself.

Lampte reached out and grabbed a member of the town guard who was passing by with an armload of arrows.  The Governor delivered instructions to the man then designated ten more seamen to join him.  The pirates took off jogging down the dirt road to the path that ran alongside the harbor approach.

Dayel still knelt by Dwan’s side, holding her hand.  The big man, whom she now realized was Tag-Gar, The Legend, continued his attempts to restart her breathing.  One of the healers, knowing that too much time had passed, gently put her hands on his shoulder and tried to pull him away.  It was like trying to move a mountain.  He ignored her efforts.  The women gathered around them quietly to watch as the big man would breathe twice into her mouth then pull back to watch for a reaction as the air escaped her lungs.

He laid her on her back and started to push on her chest after each breath.  There was no emotion evident on his face, just the slow falling of silent tears.  The healers saw what he was doing, and one leaned over her.  With her arms locked straight out, she started pushing rhythmically up and down on her chest.  The healer knew it was a futile effort, but she was so moved by the man’s anguish that she felt compelled to join in.

Across the floor Toria had taken charge of everyone in the room and had them blocking and reinforcing the two smashed doors again.  The war was still raging outside and they had to ensure that no one else came to hurt them.  Tay was busy binding Lyyl’s wound with torn strips of towels.

Another healer stepped forward and spoke to Taggart.  “You can stop now,” she said gently, “She’s…”

“No!”  Toria pointed a finger at the healer.  “She’s not!”

The young woman nodded and stepped away.

Tinker now slinked her way through the many legs surrounding Taggart and Dwan.  Her path was blocked, but Pan appeared beside her.  His muscularity served to force some of the women aside giving them access.  Both animals now sniffed and nuzzled Dwan’s head.  As Taggart and the other healer continued their efforts, the Mountain Children took up a position next to her.  Both laid down and placed a paw on her forehead, far enough up that they did not impede Taggart’s efforts.

The women watched in astonishment as the animals touched their whiskered muzzles to each other and closed their eyes.  All movement of the two creatures ceased.  Even their breathing seemed to stop.

“Join with me,”

“I have joined.  You have been in her mind before.  Show me the way.”

“The path is narrow now, but it is still open.  Stay close, My Love.”

“Lead.  I will be there with you.”

The path of which they spoke was an imagined tunnel in a cavern, created by Tinker as a means by which she could connect with Dwan’s mindscent.  That mental signal was present in all sentient beings at one level or another.  The white Mountain Children had been endowed with the strongest mindscent of all living things on Olvion.  The gift was critical to their abilities to connect with other living creatures.  When Tinker first was brought into the company of Dwan she conjured up the image of the tunnel as a means of linking up to the young woman’s mind.  The actual neural pathways of the human brain were so complicated and numerous that no creature, not even a Mountain Child, could follow them for long.  So the creatures created imagined pathways which took the place of the brain’s actual physical construction.  They weren’t always tunnels.  Sometimes they were hallways in a home or branches on a tree, but, since this path had already been laid by Tinker, they followed it saving precious time.

With her eyes shut, tinker imagined herself snaking through narrow burrows and wider caverns.  Pan followed her up and down, left and right.  Tinker had been worried that his abilities would not be up to the task yet; he was still so new to his tasking, but his natural strengths emerged and he was able to stay directly behind her.  It was a good thing.  A Mountain Child who had insufficient mental strength could get lost in the imagined matrix and never be able to extricate themselves.  Tinker knew this was a risk, but she would need his strength.

“I feel it just ahead.  Can you go on?”

There was a pause which concerned her.  Then:

“I …am with you.  Lead, I will follow.”

Tinker felt a flood of concern for her mate, but squelched it.  There were more important tasks at hand.

The tunnels turned upward then down.  Then there was a glow up ahead of them.  They lowered themselves to squeeze through a narrow passage.

Then they were through.  The images before them now were of a nest.  It had an appearance much like the nest of a seabird composed of string and sticks and vines.  It lay in a wide cavern with a ceiling high over their heads.

They approached.  The nest had numerous orbs within.  They were of different colors, and all of them glowed.  Weakly.

Tinker crossed to one side, making room for Pan on the other.  They both stretched their small, human-like hands out over the nest.

“They are barely here.  I see no means to help her.”

“Life still persists within her.  The humans are breathing for her, making her heart beat, but she has no strength.”

Pan moved his hands over the top of one orb.  It was the dimmest of any within the nest.  As he watched, the sphere would fade almost to darkness then struggle back to a pale glow.

“We must choose one with which to link.  We may be able to instill some energy within it.” 
She held her hands over each of the globes, discerning the purpose of them. 
“Here, this is the heart.  Help me to energize it.”

Tinker placed her hands on the orb.  She waited to see her mate’s hands on the other side.  A moment later she spoke again. 
“Pan, help me.  I cannot do it alone, the damage is too deep.” 
She looked across the nest to where he was standing.  His hands were still above the weaker sphere.  His face wore an intense expression. 
Pan, time is critical.  Help me.”

Tinker’s mate was now placing his hands directly upon the dimmest of the imaginary orbs.  His eyes were closed, and he lowered his forehead to touch it.

Tinker was anxious, but also intrigued.  Something was happening that she did not recognize.

After a moment Pan lifted his head.  His eyes opened.  He looked at Tinker’s mental image. 
“It is this one.”

With reluctance she abandoned the heart sphere and leaned forward to position her hands over the other.  Her brow furrowed as she struggled to read the weak signal emanating from within.

Then she found it.

She looked across the nest to her mate, and her delicate face reflected their version of a smile. 
“It is her will to live.  She treasures it, but is not fighting for it.  Her reason for continuing has left her.” 
Tinker placed both hands directly on the pale ball.  The light from within, already pale, was waning. 
“It is too late.  There is not enough of it remaining.”

Pan’s strong hands covered hers.  Tinker was astonished at the surge of power that flowed from her mate and into her mind.  The strength of it was almost overwhelming.

“It is for me to do.”

***

Jile stood on the forecastle of the Dreadnaught and directed the actions of his helmsman.  The treacherous reefs were tricky to maneuver even under the best of circumstances.  He motioned for a sharp turn to port, and the ship began its quick response.  Jile marveled at the maneuverability of the ship.  It was an absolute joy to command.

“Captain!”  The voice was edged with concern.  Jile looked aloft and saw the watch crewman in the crow’s nest.  “Barricade ahead!”

Jile whipped out a scope and opened it.  He searched the channel until he spotted it.  A heavy chain had been stretched across the harbor approach.  It was just above the surface of the water.

“Drop sail!” the master seaman yelled.  “Drop all sail now.  Signal the other ships.  Black pennant, black pennant!”

The crew of the Dreadnaught were the best in the pirate fleet.  They sprang into immediate action, releasing the lines which held the sheets aloft.  The air was dumped and the Dreadnaught bled speed.  There was still a gentle breeze from behind them, however.  That, combined with their momentum, was propelling them onward.

The safe route of passage through the harbor channel was narrow.  It was barely the width of two normal ships.  Before the obstacle was sighted there had been eleven ships which had already entered the approach.  The others now used their speed and quickly altered sheets to swing away from the mouth of the harbor.  That still left Jile and his other ten ships heading for destruction on the chain before them.

“Rig the sea anchor!” the old captain ordered.

A sea anchor was a device that was tethered to the ship by rope and was tossed overboard.  The weight of the construct combined with the wide wooden slats served to act as a brake to slow a ship in times of emergencies.  Jile judged the rate of the ship’s speed against the distance to the chain.  In his judgement they would just be able to avoid crushing their hull against the blockage.  That would not be the end of their danger, however.  The channel was lined with sharp reefs on either side.  With no sail to maneuver by, the ships within the harbor approach would eventually be pushed by the wind into one of those reefs.  Their hulls were strong, but no ship could withstand that type of battering.  Unless something changed quickly they were doomed.

***

Jo-Dal’s point scout returned and advised him of what was waiting for his forces at the harbor.  The report of the strip of hay was expected.  It was one of the defenses that Captain Fauwler had contributed to the plans for the defense of Kylee. 

He now moved his forces toward the waterfront.  He did this in increments advancing a hundred forward then allowing those warriors time to take up defensive positions before moving up another hundred.  In time the Olvion invaders were all in position.  They were deployed along the seaward side of the town, using the outlying buildings and houses for concealment and protection against any unexpected attack from the pirates.  In effect it was providing them with their own fortified position.

Jo-Dal felt the sea winds on his face.  He examined the fortifications.  They were well-conceived and constructed.  The town guard had erected multiple rows of barricades.  Bales of hay, overturned wagons and anything else which could serve as a hindrance to an attack had been used.  The layout of the defenses allowed for the pirates to resist attack while causing the Olvionis to bleed troops trying to overcome them.  When one layer of defense fell, the pirates could simply fall back to the next layer and begin the process all over again.  The idea was to whittle down the numbers of Jo-Dal’s forces until they were eventually small enough to be overrun.

Over to the east stood the warehouse.  It was a huge, hulking affair made of wood.  The years of exposure to the sun and the ocean wind had served to dry the timbers.  Jo-Dal could see the large numbers of archers positioned there, protecting the eastern flank of the seawall.  The opposite flank was protected by the harbor channel.  He looked to the east and saw his warriors poised at the edge of the town awaiting his direction.

The Aspellian Sword of the King decided to address the eastern flank first.

The military term of “flanking” an enemy’s position merely referred to the act of getting around one side of their formation.  The pirate commander had sought to prevent being flanked on the east by putting his archers in the big warehouse, thus preventing the Olvionis from approaching their larger units from that direction.  The reports from Jo-Dall’s scouts contained an observation that, if true, might make things a bit more complicated for the town’s defenders.

Jo-Dal stood and raised his hands in front of himself, arms crossed like an “X”.

From the eastern edge of the town, a hundred flaming arrows streaked out, trailing smoke.  Many of the arrows had their flames extinguished by the sea breeze, but many more had not.  These struck the old warehouse and continued burning.  Then another volley buried themselves in the old building.  Then another.

Flames slowly spread from the embedded arrows to the dry warehouse walls.  Some of the arrows had entered the open doors and windows and smoke began to seep out from within. 

The archers inside the doomed edifice began their own barrage.  Their shafts mainly struck the buildings and homes behind which the warriors were concealed.  Only the occasional fortunate missile found flesh.

In minutes the warehouse was on the way to becoming fully engaged by flames.  Screams were heard coming from the upper levels.  Pirates began jumping and fleeing from the old building.  The Olvioni archers targeted them as they ran.  It was a grim task, but the warriors were trained soldiers.  They knew that every enemy fighter who made it to safety could be the cause of the death of a fellow Olvioni.  Emotions had to be set aside in such a circumstance in favor of protecting one’s own.

Lampte stood on top of a high-wheeled wagon and watched the carnage occurring to the east.  He was furious, but, more than that, he was afraid.  The warehouse had figured prominently in their plans for defending the island.  With the western flank protected by the harbor, the warehouse was meant to confine the invaders to a single line of attack.  That plan had failed in spectacular fashion in mere moments. 

The Governor wondered how these invaders from a foreign land had rendered that plan useless so quickly and with so little effort.  Then a recollection sprang forward in his consciousness.  The originator of the warehouse plan had been the traitor Fauwler.  He had cautioned the other implementers of their defenses that the old building must first be splashed with water to prevent just such an atrocity of events.  Lampte looked about himself, wondering how many others recalled that fact.