The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion (47 page)

Fauwler had just parried a sword thrust from one of the windlass guards when an arrow pierced his thigh.  One of the bowmen had wisely stayed apart from the fray and taken his time to re-nock an arrow and take aim.  The pain of the wound almost made the captain fall, but he steeled himself anew.  He reached down and quickly tried to pull the shaft free.  The barbs were too solidly affixed so, instead, he snapped the arrow off at the flesh line, ignoring the fresh burst of agony.

Hobbled now by a barely functioning leg, Fauwler narrowly dodged another swing of a sword.  He saw the pirate lining up for a third strike.  He drew his dagger and caught the man’s blade with its edge, then drove his rapier into the man’s abdomen.  The pirate fell to his knees with blood pulsing from his mouth.

Then there were five, not counting the one pirate with the shattered knee.

Fauwler saw the bowman drawing back another arrow, preparing to deliver a killing shot.  The captain leapt forward, ignoring the burning agony of his leg wound.  He stabbed out with his dagger catching one pirate in the soft spot at the side of his head.  The light in the man’s eyes was immediately extinguished.  Behind him the bowman was taken by surprise, unable to launch his missile in time.  Stretching out to his fullest, Fauwler’s foil pierced the bowman’s eye.  The arrow shot off harmlessly while the bow and the bowman fell away.  The screams of the archer were heart-rending.

Another bolt of white hot pain surged through Fauwler’s abdomen.  One of the remaining pirates had taken advantage of his focus on the bowman and slipped sword under his dagger.  The wounded captain felt a measure of strength go out of his arms and legs.  With the blade still in his belly he dropped his dagger and reached out to grab the swordsman’s arm, securing it in a steely grip.  Looking directly into the pirate’s eyes Fauwler saw the fear in his face and the knowledge of what was coming.  The captain drove his blade forward with what remained of his strength.  The rapier was designed to slide between the ribs of an opponent and pierce the organs within.  The weapon did its job well and the swordsman died screaming.

With little strength remaining, Captain Fauwler took the hilt of his rapier in both hands and turned to meet the remaining two pirates.  Instead he saw only their retreating backs as they abandoned their friends and fled to the safety of the forested hills.

The rapier fell from Fauwler’s hands as he began to shudder.  His vision fogged and refused to focus.  His hands reached for his weapon, but they could not lift it.

“Not yet!” he shouted to himself.

The Captain of the Dreadnaught staggered over to the windlass.  It was a large construction made mostly of wood with metal parts used where the effects of friction was most pronounced.  A cogged wheel held the chain tightly.  The wheel was chocked by a metal slat.

Fauwler collapsed and fell against it.  The pain in his abdomen and leg was excruciating.  He pushed himself back and squinted while trying to force his vison to clear.  He saw the slat. It was hinged at the bottom, and there was a rope attached to a hole at the top.  Fauwler reached out.  His hands missed the rope three times.  He found it on the fourth try.  The Captain tried to stand but was unable to summon enough strength to make his legs respond.  He scooted backward until he could force his legs up against the windlass. 

Exhaustion overtook him.  The blood loss, especially from the stomach wound, was stealing his strength.  He gulped air.  His eyes closed, and he lost consciousness.  He fell backward and lay motionless.

“No!”

He struggled back up to a sitting position.  His eyes sought the ships in the channel, but they were too far away for his impaired vision.  He would have liked to see ships again.  He concentrated and tried to hear the waves and the seabirds, but the sounds that reached his ears echoed like he was at the bottom of a well. 

He tried to remember what he was doing.  What was that in his hand?  A rope.  The windlass.

Fauwler wrapped the rope around his arm several times.  He leaned forward and took a fresh grip with his other hand.  All pain was gone now.  Euphoria began to wash over him.  He readied himself. 

With a shout of defiance he heaved back on the rope.

***

“Clear ahead, Captain!”

Jile heard the shout from the crewman in the rigging.  He rushed to the rail and opened his scope.  It was true.  The chain was submerged.  There was no way to tell how deeply it had dropped, but they really had no choice. 

“Raise half sail,” the old captain ordered.  The sheets were quickly pulled upward on ropes and pulleys.  The light wind was immediately captured by them and the mighty Dreadnaught turned gracefully back toward the middle of the channel.

Jile turned his scope to the windlass on the passing shore.  He saw multiple bodies heaped about it.  One man was crawling away.  Another was leaning face-down against the mechanism.  They were too far away to make out faces. 

The Flagship of the Fauwler fleet reached the point where the chain had been.  There was no jolt such as they would have experienced had the chain been lowered just enough to deceive them.  The danger was past.

“Raise the flag of the Eye of Kylee,” Jile shouted.  A cheer rose from the crew.  Jile smiled.  The smile faded quickly.  He took a final look at the spot on the shore where the released windlass and the pile of dead men lay.  There was something about that one man.

Then he pushed all else from his mind.  “Prepare to make shore!”

***

“Stop!  Everyone stop!”  Dayel raised one hand over her head to emphasize her words.  All sound ceased in the cellar.  Even Taggart paused in his efforts.

Dayel stared intently at Dwan’s arm.  There was nothing.  The silence continued.  Still nothing.

Taggart bent forward, preparing to force air into the woman’s lungs again.

The hand twitched.

“Stop!” Dayel repeated. 

Taggart looked at her, brows lowered.

She pointed to Dwan’s hand.  There was nothing for a moment more.  Then it twitched again.  Then it flexed.  The fingers curled.

“It’s just a muscular reaction,” one of the healers opined.

“No!  It’s more.”  Dayel raised the woman’s hand and offered it to Taggart.  The big man took it gently into his own.  He felt along the wrist, searching for that special spot.  He found it.

“Her heart beats.”  He said it quietly and without emotion.

The gathered women wiped at tears as they stared at the dramatic event taking place in front of them.  No one spoke, the cellar was as quiet as a church.

Dayel slowly raised her hand and pointed at Dwan’s chest.  It was rising and falling on its own.

The quiet in the room was now broken by the gentle weeping of the other women.  Toria and Tay stood together with Lyyl and Geraar.  Even the stoic Tay had tears in her eyes.

A moment passed, then another.  Then Dwan made a small mewing sound.  Taggart raised her head and rested it on his lap.  His hand stroked her hair gently, it was an act that she enjoyed when they were alone together.

There was another faint sound.  Then her lips parted.

Dwan’s eyes opened.  She looked left to where the women stood.  Then she looked right to where Taggart was bending over her.  There was no expression on her face for a moment.  Then she displayed a look of bewilderment.  She struggled to say something but appeared to be unable to.  Her eyes fluttered and opened again.  Finally she regained control of her voice. 

“Are you really here?” she managed weakly.

Tears fell anew from Taggart’s eyes.  “I am here, my sweet girl.”

Dwan continued to look at him with no emotion.  Then a small and barely noticeable smile appeared on her face.  Her hand trembled with the effort, but she was able to lift it and place her hand against his cheek.  She looked deeply into her husband’s eyes.  “My Warrior.”

Tears ran silently down Toria’s face. Like the others in the room she was deeply affected by what she had just witnessed.  She watched the two reunited lovers for several minutes before movement on the floor near Dwan’s head caught her attention.  Tinker had come out of the trance that she had entered in order to enter Dwan’s mind.  The motion that Toria had seen was the twitching of her long tail.  She watched as the animal nuzzled her mate’s whiskered face.  There was something wrong.  Pan was still lying motionless on the floor beside her.  Tinker was emitting waves of anxiety which Toria was receiving.  She understood immediately that Pan was not coming out of his spell.

***

The smell of smoke and burned bodies made the air difficult to breathe.  The situation was not helped by the screaming of the injured.  The town guard had overlooked the need to commandeer people who were trained in the healing arts which made efforts at easing the pain of the wounded ineffective. 

Lampte had ordered all of the crewmen off of Tallun’s ships and put them on the battle line.  There had been some squawking, but he had shortstopped it quickly.  With the horrific results of their attempted trap, the town guard was now down to some thirty three hundred fighters.  At least that was what the number would be if all of the guard were still present.  Lampte could not be certain, but it appeared that a number of the fighters under his command had slipped away in all of the confusion.  There was nothing to be done about it anyway. 

The Governor estimated that he had two hundred archers left after the warehouse debacle.  He wished there were more.  Bows and arrows were useful at sea where fleeing ships could be compelled to surrender in order to escape a constant barrage of missiles from the rigging of surrounding pirate vessels.  Each ship usually only carried a dozen or more.  With the unusual security that the island’s natural layout provided, there had been no real call for developing more archers.  After all, no one seriously expected an attack from the South.  Lampte certainly hadn’t. 

Apart from his archers the town guard was equipped with numerous other weapons.  Most of the seamen carried the broad-bladed short swords that were made to be used for hacking and slashing.  Fauwler was the only privateer that Lampte knew of that favored the thin rapier.  After the swords there was the usual assortment of knives, spears, clubs and sharpened gaffs. 

It was good that so many of his fighters were experienced with the sword, but that particular weapon was only effective in close quarters.  What was needed here were more people who were accomplished in the use of javelin and spear.  They needed something beyond the few archers in their army to score kills from a distance.  Lampte was comforted in the knowledge that he had such a large superiority in numbers.  As far as he could tell his fighters still outnumbered the outlanders three to one, but that advantage was meaningless unless they actually attacked.  Then his numbers and the prepared defensive positions would come into play.  Lampte searched the sky to see the position of the sun.  It was still early in the day.  The invaders had many hours before they would be disadvantaged by the darkness.  Then Lampte would send raiding parties out to harass the enemy using their knowledge of the town.  He hoped to deny sleep to the enemy and draw down their numbers enough to force them to attack on the next morning.

One of Lampte’s lieutenants called up to him.  When the Governor looked his way with a hand cupped to his ear the man pointed to the harbor channel.  He looked.  The chain was no longer stretched across the water, and the ships that Lampte had presumed were doomed to destruction were now leading the remainder of the invasion fleet inside the harbor.  Three liberty boats had been put in the water, and some forty or more of the invading seamen were pulling up next to the windlass with the obvious intention of guarding it.  Lampte sat down on the side of the wagon.  He hung his legs over the side and emitted a long and labored sigh.

Jo-Dal saw Palto looking skyward.  He imitated the actions of his second in command and was pleased to see that time was still on their side.  One of his lookouts who was stationed in the third floor of an inn had sent word that the chain obstacle had been defeated somehow, and Fauwler’s fleet was now entering the harbor.

Now it was time to pare down the enemy numbers and inspire fear and confusion among their ranks.  He pulled in the hundred warriors who had been sent to secure the piers.  There were too many pirates guarding them to be overcome.

Jo-Dal had reluctantly admired the defenses that the town guard had been able to erect so hastily.  They had obviously stashed the needed materials in the seafront area so such an event could be readily accomplished.  The open ground of the pier area was also well chosen.  It gave them a wide field of view to avoid being approached without detection.  Yes, their plans had been well conceived.

Once again, however, the pirates had planned only on repelling an attack from the sea.  Since this attack was coming from the opposite direction they had made one massive mistake:  The harbor area was at sea level.  That meant that all of the land of the town was above it, and the ground beyond it slanted down toward the sea.  Jo-Dal now decided to enlist a soldier named “Gravity” into their ranks.

While two thirds of the invading warriors were busy guarding against a possible enemy attack, the other third had been at work gathering needed materials.  Wagons, hay, alcohol, kitchen grease and even unused wheels had been collected and stored in a large intersection a few streets back from the edge of the waterfront.  At Jo-Dal’s signal they were all carried forward.  The amassed material had been worked and transformed into objects that they hoped would be helpful to their cause.  Now there were teams gathered at each opening between the town buildings which faced the sea.  Palto received the signal from his commander and nodded.  He raised his left arm over his head, and fires were sparked all around the waterfront.

***

From his perch on the tall wagon which was located on the seawall, Lampte saw smoke.  It began to seep up from every street which faced his forces. 

“What now?” he asked himself.  “Why won’t the damned outlanders just attack?”

No sooner had he asked himself the question than a large ball of tied and burning twigs, small branches and hay came rolling down from the elevated city streets.  The flaming ball traveled slowly and eventually stopped twenty yards from their front lines.  It remained there burning brightly but doing no harm.  The pirates and citizens of the town guard began laughing.  Lampte joined in.  This was good.  It exposed the invaders to be capable of failure.  There had been damned little of that thus far this morning.  Several of the seamen looked up to where he sat and pointed back at the burning ball, still laughing.

Then a single wheel with hay and twigs sticking out a good two feet on either side rolled toward them.  The wheel was traveling at a rapid pace and it was casting off flaming grease and alcohol as it spun.  Some of the pirates stopped laughing when it became clear that the wheel was coming straight at them and, instead of slowing, it was speeding up as gravity pulled at it. 

Then pirates were now jumping and running and fleeing the wheel’s path.  Most escaped the burning liquids that it was spewing, but two men were blocked from escaping by others.  The wheel crashed into their backs, and their clothes were soon aflame.  They yelled and started to discard their clothing as many of their brethren laughed at their distress.  The flames from the wheel were igniting portions of the barricade upon which it had come to rest.

Up on his wagon Lampte had a bad feeling.  He stood up to see the city’s edge more clearly.  There was more smoke up there now.

Even before the two afflicted pirates could completely extinguish their flaming clothes, another object came rolling toward them.  This was a small wagon that had been packed with dry branches, twigs and hay. All of it had been drenched in flammable liquids.  The heavier weight of the little wagon gathered speed more quickly than the first two objects.  It also cast off more flaming grease as it rattled and sped forward than had the others.  The front line of the town guard that was in the path of the wagon was not laughing now.  The men in that position were quickly plotting the course of the flaming wagon and making certain that they were well clear of it.

Now other wagons were being rolled from the heights of the town down toward the pirates.  Six, then eight, then thirty more of the wheeled weapons bounced and clattered down the descending cobbled streets which led to the piers.  The tongues of the wagons had been wired to ensure that they rolled in the direction in which they had been aimed.  Each wagon trailed a plume of heavy, black smoke behind them.

A sort of pandemonium broke out among the pirates.  Men who had been deployed to the front lines were now hopping over their own barricades and trying to get back among the men in the deeper lines.  The wagons were now fully engaged in flames and still bouncing over the cobbles, heading toward the piers.  Some of the pirates who had been designated as supervisors shouted for their people to stand firm, but they were shouting it while they, themselves, sought safety so their words were ignored.

The first wagon crashed into the nearest defensive position.  The men had already fled its path, but it plowed heavily into the debris and scattered it into the air.  Soon, that portion of the barricade was burning.

Other wagons slammed into the barricades.  Most of the defenders were able to get out of the way of the wheeled weapons, but some had been caught in their path.  Several men screamed in agony as they implored their friends to help them discard their flaming clothes.  Most of those friends were too busy trying to avoid winding up like them.

All up and down the first line of barricades flames were raging out of control.  It got so bad that the entire first line of defense was abandoned and allowed to burn.

Lampte rubbed his chin as he oversaw the damage.  “Not too bad,” he thought.  It certainly could have been worse.  They had lost a few dozen men to burns, but that was not crucial.  They still had superior numbers against the invaders.  The Governor took in a breath of relief.  No, that was not too bad at all.  True, they’d lost a defensive line.  No worries, they had three more.  This only served to make those lines stronger.  Lampte tried hard to convince himself that such was the case.

An hour passed with no more attacks.  Most of the first defensive line now lay smoldering and consumed by the fire.  The pirates began to relax.  Some even began heating water for tea.

Then more smoke rose up from the town. 

Fifty large round balls of flaming and wired hay, grease and twigs came speeding from the town down toward the defenders.  The pirates barely had time to notice their presence and react before they rolled and bounced over the remains of the first barricade.  They then smashed into the second defensive line spewing ignited grease and alcohol over everything in their path.

The first such ball had been made too large and heavy.  Upon seeing the performance of their test weapon these following fireballs had been constructed to be smaller, lighter and faster.  Instead of running out of speed before reaching their target, these performed effectively.

Just before the hay balls struck the second barricade, a volley of two hundred arrows was released from the Olvioni lines.  Being too far away for accuracy the volley had been directed high up into the air to drop down upon the town guard’s positions at maximum range. Most of the pirates were paying attention only to the approaching fireballs and were caught exposed to the rain of deadly shafts.

A second arrow barrage was launched before the first one had even struck.

More confusion erupted in the lines of the defenders.  The first arrow assault had killed or wounded forty six of Lampte’s fighters.  The second caught thirty two more.

The fire balls took out an additional seven and ignited most of the second barricade.

Lampte was furious.  He yelled for his men to answer the assault with an arrow attack of their own.  The archers regained their composure and launched their own potentially lethal shower, but they mostly struck the exterior town walls behind which the Olvioni forces were hiding.  None found flesh.  Infuriating laughter was heard coming from behind the buildings.

Lampte knew something must be done.  His plan had been to hold his position in the hope that the outlanders would attack his fortified defenses.  Failing that, he had counted on being able to launch effective night raids on the enemy, reducing their numbers and denying them sleep.  This steady hemorrhage of fighters, however, had to stop!

***

Dwan improved quickly after regaining consciousness.  She was still lying with her head in Taggart’s lap and sipping water from a cup that he held to her lips.  His other hand continued to stroke her hair.

Outside, the sounds of combat grew louder.  The waterfront was only two streets north of their position.  The smell of smoke was noticeable in the cellar.

Dwan watched her man’s eyes every time there was an increase in the noise.  He would temporarily stop stroking her hair and try to identify the sound.

Dwan pushed herself up into a sitting position, ignoring his protests that she must lie still and rest.

“I’m adequately rested, My Love.”  Her voice was hoarse and scratchy from the assault, but she was feeling stronger with each passing moment.  She took his hand in both of hers.  “And I have several trained healers here among us who can provide any further treatment that I might require.  Now go do what you are so eager to do.”

Taggart searched her eyes for a sign that she was delirious, but he saw nothing to indicate it.  It was true that he wanted to join the fight.  Most of the warriors out there were risking their lives for Dwan and the other women.  He felt compelled to share the danger they were experiencing, but how could he leave her after being separated from her for so long?  He shook his head.

“We have a thousand warriors out there.  One man will make no difference.”

“One particular man will.  Remember who you are, Tag.  You are The Legend, the mighty and mythical warrior returned from the past to lead the people of Olvion to victory.  Your presence alone will give them courage.”

Taggart started to protest again, but Dwan put her finger to his lips.  “These warriors are here for us.  They risk their lives for us.  Some are dying for us.  If you can help them in any way you must.”  He began to interrupt her, but she shook her head.  “Don’t worry, the universe is not so cruel as to separate us again after asking so much of us.

Taggart was not as certain as she was about the kindness of the universe.  After all, he had been taken from her just as their future together seemed assured.  He knew, however, that her spirit and sense of honor would demand that they share the risk of the rescue effort.  He kissed her forehead for the hundredth time since she had awakened.  Then he slowly unwound his large frame from the floor and stood.  Two healers moved in immediately to attend to her.  Dwan smiled at him and made a shooing motion with her hands.

Lyyl, Geraar and Tay started strapping on their weapons.  Lyyl moved stiffly owing to his wound.  Taggart raised a hand to still their efforts.

“I know this is a lot to ask of a warrior,” he said, “but I need you all to stay here and protect them.”  His hand waved across the room to indicate the former captives.  “They are the reason that we are here.  If they are not protected then all who died will have done so in vain.”

The disappointment showed plainly on their faces.  It was not the way of the warrior to stand by while their brothers and sisters died in battle.  Fortunately, they also had the discipline of the warrior.  Taggart was their Sub-Commander, and he had given them an order even though he had phrased it as a request.  They would obey.  The rescued women would be protected even if it cost their lives.

Taggart noticed that Toria was not among them.  He searched the room and saw her on the floor near the stairway.  She was sitting cross-legged rocking gently back and forth while tears dripped from her eyes.  In her arms she cradled Pan who laid there motionless, his small jaws agape.  His eyelids were slightly open, and the whites of his eyes were all that was showing.  Tinker was standing on hind legs with her nose to Pan’s cheek.

Taggart knelt beside her.  Tinker was perched on Toria’s knee, her nose nuzzling her mate’s cheek.  For the first time Taggart recognized the feeling of his little friend’s emotions being projected to him.  The depth of Tinker’s sadness was almost overpowering.  Taggart did not know whom to comfort first.

“Is he…?”  He let the sentence go unfinished.

Toria looked up as if noticing him for the first time.  She shook her head slightly.  “I can still feel his little heart beating.  He is breathing…only very slowly.”  She hugged Pan to her chest gently, then she pointed to Tinker.  “She told me that it was his first time inside an injured human’s mind.  He used up so much of his strength in saving her that he didn’t have enough left to find his way back.”  Her chin quivered.  “She told me in
words,
Tag!”

Taggart nodded.  He knelt down and stroked Tinker’s head with two fingers.  That action usually elicited a purr of pleasure from the little creature.  She showed no reaction now.  After a moment she turned her furry little head to him.  A blast of images and emotions enveloped his mind.  In the space of a heartbeat Tinker relayed to Taggart all that she believed about their situation.  She believed that Pan would either live or die, and there was nothing that Taggart could do to help him.  She would be mentally joining with her mate again shortly when she had fully recovered from her first effort.  They would either find their way out of the mental maze that they had constructed together or they would both surrender their bodies and their lives to the struggle.  Either way they would be together.