The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) (33 page)

Lathered in sweat, his valiant
warhorse lowered his head, sucking air like a bellows about to burst. The
marshal slipped from the saddle, staggering when his boots hit the cold hard
ground. Ambushed by his own exhaustion, the marshal sank to the snow.
Bone-weary, he stared up at the wooded hillside. If the ogres chose to follow,
he did not have the strength to fight.

56

Katherine

Kath crouched behind the railing. The great trireme bore
down on the
Sea Sprite
like a many-legged beast. A drumbeat boomed
across the closing gap, tolling the time. Oars cleaved the frothing waves with
determined menace. Striking the water in deadly unison, they flashed blood-red.
A brass ram shaped like a saw tooth protruded from the enemy’s prow. Jagged and
keen, it turned the trireme into a fearsome weapon, like the snout of a
monstrous beast. Eyes were painted above the ram, as if the ship could see its
prey. Kath’s heartbeat thundered. Death rowed towards them with a reaper’s
speed.

So close, the details became clear.
She saw the enemy crowding the deck, thrice the number of her own band. Big
swarthy men with dark braided hair and forked beards, they hefted tridents and
double-bladed axes. Beneath their horned helms, the raiders looked fierce and
eager, but Kath judged their armor to be their weakness. Copper scales sewn
onto leather brigandines, a meager defense against sharp steel. Outnumbered and
unaccustomed to the sea’s bucking motion, her painted warriors desperately
needed the slender advantage.

Kath’s gaze sought her own men. Blaine, Bear and Sidhorn, crouched by her side, the others spread across the deck. Hiding
from the enemy, they kept low. Weapons sheathed, they braced for the collision.
Twenty-seven seasoned warriors, they’d fought the Mordant’s gorehounds and
stormed his Citadel and lived to gain their glory. Mountain lion, eagle, bear,
owl, wolf, badger and boar, she claimed them all, fierce fighters and loyal
friends, risking their lives on a chancy sea voyage. It seemed the
thrice-cursed north would not release them without a blood price. Gripping her
gargoyle for luck, Kath whispered a prayer to Valin,
grant us victory
…
and
protect my men
.

Beside her, Blaine hissed, “Look at
that thing!”

Oars flashed to a frantic drumbeat,
the great trireme bore down on them at a ramming speed. Her gaze fastened on
the ram, a jagged saw of hardened brass. So close, it loomed lethal. Kath
cringed for the impact, fearing the captain had left it too late.

“Ready about!”

Sailors scurried up the rigging.

“Helm’s alee!”

Canvas snapped and timbers creaked.
The
Sea Sprite
groaned, heaving violently to the right. Kath gripped her
shield and clutched the nearest railing. The deck pitched to a steep angle.
Torkin, a wolf-faced warrior, lost his grip, sliding across the deck, headed
for the briny deep. Kath lunged for him, her fingertips snagged his, nearly
yanking her arm from her shoulder. Refusing to let go, she swung him to the
right, aiming for the nearest railing.

The
Sea Sprite
smashed into
the trireme, a violent blow. The raider’s oars snapped and shattered. Someone
shrieked in pain. The two ships hit with a fearsome crunch. Kath was thrown
backwards, landing hard, tasting blood in her mouth.

Grappling hooks arched through the
air, impaling the
Sea Sprite.

Kath scrambled to her feet and drew
her sword. “
Attack!”
 Racing across the deck, she jumped to the railing
and leaped the gap. Shield first, she slammed into the enemy’s ranks, hitting
with her full weight. Beneath her, a sea raider crumpled to the deck. Kath got
her sword up and lunged for his throat, a killing strike. Hot blood spurted
across her hand. Cut and slash, she fought for space, she fought for her life.

Men screamed and yelled, locked in
close quarters. Blood slicked the deck. Kath spun left and then right, evading
a battleaxe. The deck rolled beneath her boots, yet she took it in stride. A
trident snaked in below her guard, slamming into her side. Her chainmail
deflected the triple barbs, but the blow staggered her, knocking her to her
knees. A heavy boot stomped on her shield arm, pinning her to the deck. A
battleaxe whistled towards her head. Kath wrenched to the right, desperate to
twist away, but then Blaine was there, his great blue slicing the axe from the
arm. Blood spurted across the deck as the maimed MerChanter staggered away.

Released, Kath scrambled to her
feet.

Blaine waded into the enemy,
bellowing his war cry.
“For the Octagon!”
Sparks flew as steel clashed
against steel. His great blue sword cut a swath through the enemy, hewing limbs
from bodies and severing heads from shoulders. None could stand in his path.
Kath rushed to fight by his side. The deck rocked beneath her boots, making the
footing treacherous. A trident slashed towards her face but she parried the
strike with her shield. Sidhorn and Bear joined her. They formed a wedge,
following Blaine, hewing into the enemy. Stroke and parry, they forced the
MerChanters back.

More of her maroon band leaped the
gap, adding their swords to the fighting wedge.

The MerChanters bellowed a mighty
roar. Surging forward, they fought to reclaim their ship. Packed in the narrow
deck, the fighting was fierce. Kath could smell fish oil in the enemy’s braided
beards. A wild-eyed raider pressed towards her. Kath ducked beneath a vicious
slash of his double-bladed axe. Lunging forward, she buried her sword in his
armpit. Howling in pain, he crumpled to the deck.

Steel clanged and blood flowed.
Corpses became obstacles, tripping the living. The MerChanters fought like
fiends. Stabbing low with their barbed tridents, they pressed forward.

Flaming arrows whistled overhead.
One stuck the red sails. Overhead, the canvass ignited with a deadly whoosh,
flecks of flame falling to the heaving deck.

The MerChanters howled, redoubling
their effort. Jabbing with tridents, they brought their numbers to bear.

Kath slipped on blood, stumbling
over a body. She flicked her shield down, protecting her center while her sword
stabbed upwards, slicing a MerChanter between the legs. Bright blood spewed
across her arm. Screaming, the man crumpled on top of her. A hand grabbed her
by the back of her chainmail, hauling her to her feet. Kath turned to strike,
but then stayed her sword.

Bear steadied her. “
Take care,
Svala!”
 

She crouched beside him, taking
stock of the battle. The enemy ship was on fire, the great sail flaming
overhead, but too many of the MerChanters still lived. Fighting like demons,
their eyes’ crazed, they attacked with tridents and axes, berserkers forcing
her men back. Blaine held the center, his blue sword taking a deadly toll, but
the warriors on either side of him retreated under the MerChanters’ crazed
attack, the wings slowly collapsing under the onslaught. Once the wings
collapsed, they’d all die. She had to do something to turn the tide.

Heat beat down at her, singeing her
hair. Kath stared aloft at the burning canvas, a great square of flames, and
then she noted the wind’s direction. Her gaze followed the ropes to the ship’s
railings. “
Bear!”
She gripped his arm, pointing. “Cut that rope!” She
left him, slashing her way to the far side. Reaching the railing, she hacked at
the rope, but her sword had little effect, the blade blunted by the battle.
Swearing, she sheathed her sword and reached for a throwing axe.

Three sharp whistles came from the
Sea
Sprite
, the signal to retreat.

Fear spiked her. “
No!
Too
soon! Hold the line!”
Kath yelled the command, but some of her painted
warriors started to retreat. “
Hold the line!”

Kath struck at the rope,
desperation lending her strength. The axe proved sharp. The rope parted. She
stared aloft. The great sail fluttered and fell. Pushed by the wind, it
collapsed backwards onto the MerChanters, a fiery shroud straight from hell.
Shrieks erupted from the enemy. Flaming figures writhed beneath the burning
canvas, horrible screams raking the air.

“
Retreat! Retreat!”
Kath
danced backwards, yelling to her men. 

Three urgent whistles came from the
Sea Sprite.

Her painted warriors began to
disengage, rushing for the side railing. Kath waited long enough to see Blaine pull back, his silver surcoat reflecting the flames. Sheathing her axe, Kath jumped
on the railing and then leaped across the widening gap. Her jump was short, her
fingernails raking the
Sprite’s
railing. Strong hands grabbed her. A
pair of sailors hauled her aboard. More of her painted warriors made the leap.
She watched as Bear and Sidhorn reached the
Sprite
. Torven climbed the
railing, a terrible gash on his face. Many bore wounds but they’d live to fight
another day.

“
Shove off!”

Sailors cut the enemy’s grappling
hooks.

“
No!
” Kath pushed her way to
the railing, certain there must be others. “
Wait!”
Two more painted
warriors reached the
Sea Sprite.
Kath helped pull Torkin aboard. Looking
across the widening gap, she saw Blaine on the enemy ship, a wall of flames
behind him. Sheathing his blue sword, he leaped for the
Sprite
…but the
gap was too wide. Landing on shattered oars, he made a desperate lunge
but
fell short. Weighed down by his chainmail, the sea sucked him under.

Kath saw the horror on his face. “
No!”

A sailor with a rope tied round his
waist, dove in Blaine’s direction. The sea thrashed white, but then a hand
emerged clutching the rope. Sailors heaved the line, pulling them both aboard.
Shivering and sopping with seawater, Blaine collapsed on the deck, gasping for
breath.

Kath sagged in relief.

The distance between the ships
widened.

The trireme burned like an inferno.
Flaming figures dove from the enemy ship, plunging into the foaming sea. Most
sank like rocks but a few heads bobbed among the waves, shouting for help. Dark
fins appeared in the churning water. A streamlined shadow cruised beneath the
waves, circling the survivors. One man yelled, a single horrid shriek, and then
disappeared in a thrash of blood.

Kath gagged.
Men eaten alive,
she’d
never seen such a thing. She turned away in horror.

Checkered sails flapped overhead,
empty of wind. The
Sea Sprite
slowly turned. The wind caught the sails
and the
Sprite
leaped forward.

An ominous shape shadowed the deck.
A dark pinnacle loomed overhead. They sailed close to a rocky spire, too close.
Kath gripped the railing, fearing they’d crash. Juliana shouted orders and
sailors scaled the rigging. The ship started to turn but not fast enough. The
spire loomed large, a sharp black rock thrust up from the sea like a
razor-sharp tooth. Waves battered the base, an angry froth of white. The ship
moved closer, like iron drawn to a lodestone, close enough to see orange
starfish clutching the dark pinnacle. Kath held her breath, wondering if they’d
survived the battle only to be dashed against the rocks.

Sailors rushed the railing wielding
long poles with hooked ends.

The deck slowly tilted, sails
snapping in the wind.

Sailors leaned out, muscles
straining, pushing against the spire with their poles.

The deck tilted higher, rising
towards the dark spire, so close Kath could almost touch the rocky menace.
Timbers groaned and Kath heard a terrible scraping noise, wood screeching
against rock, the death knell of a ship. Clutching her gargoyle, she whispered
a fervent prayer to Valin. The rocky spire loomed overhead, sharp and dark and
deadly…and then they were past. The wind took the sails and the
Sea Sprite
leaped
forward, escaping the bay, escaping the north. The deck settled to level, salt
spray licking the far side. Kath released a long-held breath. Gray waves
stretched to forever, an endless open ocean.

Kath slumped to the deck.
Everything ached, her ribs, her shoulder, her sword arm. Too tired to stand,
her gaze swept the deck, taking note of her men. Bloody and battered, they
sprawled on the deck, some felled by sleep, while others cleaned their weapons
or bound their wounds. A fierce pride flashed through her,
exhausted but
victorious, they’d won free of the north.
Kath turned towards Blaine. “Are you hurt?”

“Not a scratch from the raiders but
the sea damn near killed me.” He shivered, swiping wet hair from his face.
“Let’s not do that again.”

“You should get out of those wet
clothes or the cold will finish what the sea started.”

Blaine groaned. “Too tired to
move.”

She flashed a smile. “Get Dermit to
help. That’s what squires are for.”

Overhead, a sailor shouted. “
Sail
ho!”

Kath sat up, peering over the
railing, but she saw nothing.

Sailors scrambled across the deck.

“Sail ho! A MerChanter raider!”

Kath leaped to the railing. She saw
it then, another blood red sail emerging from behind a distant sea stack. Oars
flashing black against the wave-tossed sea, it raced towards them. Kath’s heart
sank.
Another enemy, another fight,
the north was relentless, demanding
their death.

57

The Knight Marshal

Sprawled on the snow-crusted ground, the marshal took stock
of the others. Twenty-four knights out of more than a hundred, with many of the
survivors bearing bloody wounds. The losses staggered him. A litany of names
ran through his mind, some of them friends, all of them brothers-in-arms. Yet
mingled with the sorrow, he felt a swell of pride. A hundred mounted knights
against seventy ogres; it was a feat worthy of legends. Yet how long could the
maroon dare such odds?

Battered and sore, the marshal sat
sprawled in the snow, not caring if his armor rusted, not caring about the
cold, just breathing in and out, grateful to be alive. He stared up at the
wooded hillside, listening for the enemy, for the blunder of ogres crashing
through the thorny thicket, yet he heard nothing. Not yet. With the horses
spent, fleeing wasn’t an option. He needed to rally his men to a defensive
position, but he could not bestir himself, too exhausted to do anything but
live.

Dawn light cracked the sky, a
golden glow dispelling the darkness.

He stared at the sky, mesmerized by
the beauty of the glow.

“
Riders approaching!”

The marshal staggered to his feet.
He had no strength left to fight, yet he’d meet his fate standing with a sword
in his hands. Leaning on his sword, he stared across the meadow, waiting for
succor or death.

*Wield me!*

So tempting, but for the hundredth
time, he ignored the cursed sword strapped to his back.

A line of mounted knights galloped
into the clearing…all of them wore maroon.

Tension bled from the marshal’s
shoulders. It took all of his strength just to remain standing.

Lothar found him. “Too tough to
kill?”

“Just so.”

Lothar slid from his horse and the
two friends clasped arms. “You had the truth of it.”

“What?”

“Bartlet stayed behind, shimmied up
a cedar tree. It was a trap. A host of black-cloaked soldiers came charging up
the east side of Stonehand. A few tracked us along the ridgeline and fell to
our archers, but most followed you down the west side, playing the hammer to
the ogres’ anvil.”

“They wagered we’d fight rather
than flee.”

“Just so.” Lothar’s gaze roved the
survivors. “I count twenty-three.”

“Twenty-four.”

“A stiff price.”

The marshal did not answer.

Lothar leaned close. “Did you wield
it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Lothar gave him a sharp
look.

The marshal’s voice dropped to a
harsh whisper. “You don’t know this sword the way I do. It begs to be wielded,
as if it thirsts for blood.” Shuddering, he made the hand sign against evil.
“It whispers like teeth gnawing at my mind.” He shook his head. “The sword is
cursed.”

Lothar stared at him. “But how many
knights might have been spared?”

And that was the question. The same
awful damning question he’d been asking himself since they’d reached the
meadow. “That way is cursed.”

“Even if it brings us victory?”

The marshal scowled.

Lothar stepped close. “I’ll wield
it if you won’t.”

“We’ll talk no more of this.” 

His friend gave him a measured
look. “We best be going. If we linger, they’re sure to find us.”

“Tell the others to mount up.” The
marshal swung into the saddle, the cursed sword bound in furs and strapped to
his back, a nagging whisper clawing at his mind.