The Golden Shield of IBF (32 page)

Mitan, hands outstretched toward the six crewmen, the wind doing lovely things with her brown ringlets, implored the gathering Gle’Ur’Gya crew, “We were sent here to speak with all of you. Please! There is no time for us to fight. Your ship is superior to ours. Our magic is superior to yours. If we fight, there will be fewer who will be able to fight against the Queen Sorceress. That is all that a battle will accomplish. If we join together, though, we will all be stronger. Please! Who is in command here?”

“I am in command, fair lady!” It was the same voice which, moments earlier, had ordered them to be killed.

Garrison wheeled around. His nautical terminology was failing him again. He couldn’t remember what to call the higher after deck where the wheel was located. It looked just like the deck from which Errol Flynn always made heroic speeches about fighting for England in all the old swashbuckler movies. The Gle’Ur’Gya who’d spoken might have been a pirate, and was quite imposing, but there the resemblance ended.

The commander seemed taller than the others, looming over them from the higher deck as he did, but that might have been optical illusion. Regardless of height, like the others he wore a garment similar to a Scottish great kilt, only it was faded black, girded around his waist and draped diagonally across his chest over a brown leather breastplate. His body was festooned with weapons: a sword was suspended from a baldric to his left hip, a long dagger in his belt, two additional and presumably shorter daggers carried one in each boot top.

“I am Alan Garrison, Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, United States Justice Department. I work out of the Atlanta Field Office and have come from this place very far away to help the Virgin Enchantress fight the evil of the Queen Sorceress and secure freedom for the people of Creath.” Garrison took a breath. “The lady to whom you just spoke is Mitan. She is K’Ur’Mir and has considerable magic. The third member of our party is Gar’Ath, a warrior of great renown. The Virgin Enchantress herself caused us to appear on your deck through the great power of her magic so that we might offer you a proposal.”

“I am Bre’Gaa. There is no love lost between your Enchantress’s people and the Gle’Ur’Gya. Leave now as you came, or die.”

Garrison couldn’t fault the Gle’Ur’Gya commander for a lack of directness. Under the circumstances, Garrison figured that he had nothing to lose by what he was about to say. “Then it doesn’t matter to you that a ship of this size and its entire crew were killed in these waters only days ago by the magic of the Queen Sorceress?” There were a few unintelligible grunts from the crew. “I witnessed one of the Gle’Ur’Gya making the bravest gesture of defiance I have ever seen. A cyclonic wave, like you’d have when the two moons crossed paths, but made by Eran and sent to destroy us, intercepted one of your ships. When the ship was clearly lost, all of the crew dove into the water. They were just as doomed as if they’d stayed aboard. We couldn’t turn back and try to rescue them without being destroyed ourselves. I think they knew that. But one of the ship’s company stayed aboard. He drew his sword. He manipulated his sword with a grace unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He stood on the deck, like you’re standing now, and met the cyclonic wave with his sword ready. Such bravery doesn’t incite you to want to destroy the evil woman who caused his death? I’d heard that the Gle’Ur’Gya were great warriors. Perhaps those who told me this were mistaken.”

Bre’Gaa’s face was anything but inscrutable, the anger there unmistakable. Directed against whom, Garrison wondered?

From behind him, he heard one of the crewman mutter the name “Ag’Riig” and then another and another repeated the name. Garrison knew it, the name of the Gle’Ur’Gya chieftain who had fought Swan’s grandfather, then killed his own crewman for interfering in the duel and murdering his opponent.

“Was Ag’Riig the swordsman who stood defiantly against Eran’s magic?” Garrison shouted up to Bre’Gaa.

“Yes,” Bre’Gaa answered. “My mother’s oldest brother, the war chieftain of our clan. Ag’Riig taught me the use of the sword, gave me my first ship.”

Gar’Ath spoke then. “If my uncle were killed fighting an enemy, that enemy would become my enemy, Bre’Gaa.”

“I am not dressed as a warrior, as I told you. But even though I am a woman, I am a warrior. I wore these skirts to come here only so that you would know I came not to fight.” Mitan announced. “And I echo the words of Gar’Ath, Bre’Gaa.”

“Let’s give the guy a little space here,” Garrison told Mitan and Gar’Ath, then returned his gaze to Bre’Gaa.

The Gle’Ur’Gya captain’s hands—huge—grasped the rail before him so tightly that Garrison thought it would snap into splinters. Bre’Gaa’s voice so low that it was barely audible, he spoke. “The Queen Sorceress has never bothered the Gle’Ur’Gya, but only because she has no ships which can attack us and she uses her magic elsewhere. If she conquers the last resistance against her from among the Landers, she will find the time and find the means to bedevil us, dispatch her Sword of Koth to make war against us. But it is not my place to commit the Gle’Ur’Gya to warfare against the Queen Sorceress. That is for our Queen and her council to decide.

“I, as an individual, will fight.” Bre’Gaa drew his sword and raised it over his head. “Who among you stands with me?”

From behind them, Garrison heard the Gle’Ur’Gya crew shouting and cheering. He heard the rattle of their steel. All that was missing was a trumpet fanfare.

Garrison turned around to look at the crew. He caught sight of Gar’Ath, instead, sweeping Mitan into his arms for what started out to be an enthusiastic hug, one comrade to another. The hug turned into their bodies molding against one another and Gar’Ath crushing Mitan’s mouth beneath his, his hands hungrily grasping her body.

Gar’Ath had evidently overcome his shyness. Either that, or Mitan’s courage and beauty had overcome it for him.

Mitan curtsied, and without rising said, “Virgin Enchantress, Daughter Royal, Princess of Creath, may I present to you the Chieftain Bre’Gaa, Captain Commander of the Gle’Ur’Gya vessel
Storm Raider.”

“I am honored, Enchantress,” Bre’Gaa murmured, momentarily bowing his head. His left fist was clenched to the hilt of his sheathed sword; his right arm swept upward, its fist coming to rest over his heart.

Swan held her skirts and made a low curtsy to the Gle’Ur’Gya commander. “It is I who am honored, Captain,” she declared, then raised her eyes to his. Like most Gle’Ur’Gya, his eyes were blue, but Swan found Bre’Gaa’s particularly piercing and quite beautiful. They were, she thought, also a little nervous. With two of his lieutenants, she had magically transferred him from the deck of his vastly larger vessel to the deck of her tiny flagship.

Swan offered her hand. Bre’Gaa took it gently in his, lowered his eyes. “I suppose you know, lady, that I speak only for myself and my crew, and not the Gle’Ur’Gya as a people. That understood between us, I pledge my life and my sword to your service against the Queen Sorceress that I may take my revenge for the death of my uncle, Ag’Riig.”

“I accept your pledge and am well-pleased by your wisdom and your courage, Captain.”

Bre’Gaa relinquished her hand. Swan smiled. “May I present my uncle, Erg’Ran. He is brother to the Queen Sorceress and he is my most trusted advisor and oldest friend.” She nodded her head toward Erg’Ran. “He witnessed the great duel between your uncle and my grandfather.”

“You took many lives of the Gle’Ur’Gya, Erg’Ran. You were an enemy then, but your courage is still spoken of among the Gle’Ur’Gya.” Bre’Gaa saluted Erg’Ran, fist again touching his chest over his heart.

Erg’Ran responded, “Although I was outraged at the death of my father, I was impressed with the great honor of Ag’Riig and how he so decisively dealt with my father’s murderer. I shall forever be both impressed and grateful. I revere your uncle’s memory and will be honored to fight beside you, Captain Bre’Gaa.”

“Al’An, you have met, Captain,” Swan told Bre’Gaa. “He is my Champion. He is, indeed, come from the other realm where he is a great warrior. He has proven himself in battle here, as well, fighting heroically against my mother’s magic.”

“Al’An. Yes,” Bre’Gaa said, bowing curtly to Al’An as he came to stand beside her. “What is the meaning of the strange runes which adorn your burnished shield, Al’An?”

Al’An responded, “As I have told you, in my own world I am an FBI agent. That is what these runes signify, Bre’Gaa.”

“It is a fine shield. I have seen no finer.”

Al’An nodded. Swan couldn’t have been prouder of what he said next. “May my shield gather but one-tenth the honor in battle that I know your sword will win for us against the Queen Sorceress.”

Bre’Gaa cocked one of his black bushy eyebrows and very deliberately nodded his great head.

* * *

With the strong, steady wind Swan magically drew into their sails, the five little ships of her original armada, dwarfed beside the sixth vessel, continued on through the night across Woroc’Il’Lod. The Gle’Ur’Gya were gifted as seamen and could read the stars to guide their navigation. By late in the following day, Bre’Gaa had told them, they would reach the shore of Edge Land. The march on Barad’Il’Koth could then begin.

Swan—wisely Garrison thought—had determined that if the captain and crew of the
Storm Raider
were to be their allies they should be trusted fully. With that as the operating principle, Swan had asked Bre’Gaa if she could once again magically transport him to the flagship for a conference. That he came alone, that he drank wine with them, was equally demonstrative of his trust in the alliance.

Garrison and Swan, Erg’Ran with them, sat in the usual place, the blue white globes of light like captured stars illuminating the bow pulpit. In addition to Bre’Gaa, Mitan and Gar’Ath, all but inseparable since their kiss earlier that day, had been invited to join them.

Erg’Ran was saying, “I have the strongest reasons to believe the Enchantress’s father still lives within the walls of Barad’Il’Koth. If I am correct in other matters, he will possess certain knowledge which will aid us in defeating the Queen Sorceress, my sister. And he may be able to provide direct aid to us, as only he can.”

“What kind of help can he give us, Erg’Ran?” Garrison inquired.

“I cannot say until I am certain. It is my hope that before we even consider a direct assault against Barad’Il’Koth, a small group of us should get inside and find the Enchantress’s father. If I am right, he has the power to confound Eran’s greatest magical strength, if indeed he will cooperate.”

“So, a commando raid on the castle,” Garrison said, thinking aloud. “How do we get past the armies she’ll have surrounding the place, the guards within the castle itself, the magic of her witches, Eran’s own magic? And assuming we do, how do we get out again? I wouldn’t think that we could use magic to transport ourselves inside. Eran’s gotta have some defenses against that, right?”

“Indeed, Champion,” Erg’Ran responded. “We cannot use magic alone to enter and leave, but the Enchantress may be able to use magic along with a deception of some sort.”

“I’ve been thinking a great deal about just what you propose, Erg’Ran,” Swan announced. “I also feel that it is vital to our interests that I should find my father. And, of course, to fulfill the prophecy, I must. I hope that he still lives for many reasons.”

Erg’Ran said nothing for a moment, merely stared at Garrison. Garrison asked, “What’s wrong?”

“The time has come that I must reveal certain things to you, Champion.”

“What certain things?”

“First of all,” Erg’Ran began quite deliberately, “about your firespitters. They—”

“What are firespitters?” Bre’Gaa interrupted.

Garrison told him as best he could, “They are weapons which I possess. Like a bow, they fire a projectile, but not an arrow.” Garrison drew one of the SIG pistols from beneath his jacket, removed the magazine, then cycled the action to empty the chamber. He closed the slide rather than leaving it open, lest Bre’Gaa inadvertently activated the slide release and catch his beard or something. Then he handed the .45 to the Gle’Ur’Gya Captain Commander. “They fire very small pieces of a lead alloy—a type of soft metal—but at very high speeds. One or two of these small projectiles will drop an average man in his tracks. Even a person your size would be seriously injured or killed by anywhere from one to just a few of these.” Garrison handed over the loose round he’d taken from the chamber. “The front part there is the bullet. That’s the projectile.”

“This is a marvelous thing, Al’An! May I try it?”

“It’s quite noisy, so we’d best wait until tomorrow.”

“Agreed.” Bre’Gaa handed back the pistol, fingering the cartridge in his enormous hand a moment longer, then returning it as well.

“Firespitters are not unknown to Eran,” Erg’Ran said solemnly. “She may well have a spell which will render them inoperable just when you might need them most. You must not allow yourself to rely on them as your sole means of defense, for yourself alone or in your role as Champion to the Enchantress.”

“Let’s get in a little swordplay on deck tomorrow, Champion. It might serve you well,” Gar’Ath suggested.

“Fine.”

“And, another thing that concerns you, Champion,” Erg’Ran began again.

“Yeah?”

“You must firmly resolve that, should something go wrong—”

“Gosh! How could anything go wrong?” Garrison interrupted. He could hardly wait for more good news. First, his pistols might suddenly become inoperable because of a spell of evil magic. What now, he wondered?

“In the event of your imminent, unavoidable capture by Eran’s forces or—the courage of Mir be with you—by Eran herself, you must die fighting or, failing that, take your own life. If you, because of your origin, should fall victim to her power, all would be lost. There would be no hope.”

“Because I’m the Champion?”

“That is only a part of it. I can say little more until we have entered Barad’Il’Koth and know what we must know, Champion.”

“That’s just great! My guns might stop working at the drop of a hat and I’m supposed to do the dutch act.”