The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) (36 page)

63

The Knight Marshal

The Dark Sword preyed on the marshal’s mind, clawing at his
will, tempting him with promises of victory. He knew the sword was cursed, knew
it would most likely eat his soul, but he saw no other way to save the maroon.

At dawn’s first light, the marshal
slipped from camp like a thief. Seeking solitude, he rode north, gaining some
distance from the others. His horse picked a path through a forest of aspen
mixed with ash and dusky cedar. Slanting sunlight speared the towering trees,
the first hint of green coloring their branches. Birdsong greeted the sun, a
half-forgotten melody so different from the bitter clash of steel. The marshal
slowed his horse to a walk, letting the unexpected peace soothe his troubled soul.

*
Wield me!*

The dark-damned sword intruded,
denying him a moment’s respite. Urging his horse to a canter, he rode till he
found a mountain meadow large enough to be devoid of shadows. Securing his
horse, he shrugged the harness of his great sword from his shoulders.
Sir
Tyrone’s sword,
for a dozen heartbeats
he held the scabbarded blade
in his hands. A true sword of the maroon, it had saved his life in many
battles. He recalled the strange impulse to claim the sword from the knight’s
funeral pyre, like a boon from the gods. Unsheathing, the sword, he raised it
to the heavens, saluting the Light. “
For Honor and the Octagon!
” His
battle cry went unanswered, nothing but startled birds winging towards the
morning sky.

Perhaps he should have left Sir
Tyrone’s sword with Lothar, but that would have meant relying on the dark blade
for protection, and he wasn’t ready for that. Somehow, in the depths of his
soul, the marshal felt the dark sword should only be taken up as a deliberate
choice, wielded for the right reasons. He wondered if it would make a
difference. Perhaps he deluded himself, a desperate man grasping at straws.
Fastening Sir Tyrone’s scabbarded sword to the back of his saddle, the marshal
turned and strode to the meadow’s heart.

In the clear light of day, beyond
reach of any shadows, he knelt, laying the bundled sword on the ground. A quick
slash of the bindings and the furs and cloaks came unwrapped. The dark sword
gleamed deadly in the morning sun, steel so black it seemed to drink the
sunlight. Repulsed by the dark-damned steel, yet his gaze drank in the details.
Coiled dragons entwined the cross hilt, the pommel fashioned into an octagon.
Orrin Surehammer’s maker’s mark etched deep on the blade, as clear as when it
was first forged. The sword was a masterpiece, forged to be wielded by heroes.
Boric’s
sword,
the first blue steel blade…corrupted to Darkness. Anger blazed
through him. The sword was a trap, a taunt…yet a part of him longed to wield
it.
A mere squire slayed sixty ogres
,
what could a sworn knight do?
Yet
Baldwin had changed, paying a steep price for the sword. He stared at the dark
blade, a promise and a threat. For the sake of the Octagon, he’d take the risk.
“Valin help me.”

He reached for the sword, grasping
the hilt.

Pain
flared through his
gauntlets, a crippling cold. He hurled the blade from his hands.

It landed in the shadows.

He glared at the sword, realizing
the dark blade was going to make him work for it. The marshal strode towards
the blade, lying at the edge of the meadow. Naked branches cast shadows like
grasping hands reaching for the sword. The marshal reached for the blade and
then stopped short. The cursed blade was touched by shadow. Refusing to start
in darkness, he levered his boot under the blade and flipped it towards the
meadow’s sunlit heart. He kicked it with his boot till it fell in sunshine, a
dark slash across the snow-patched ground.

Once more, he reached for the hilt.
Pain lanced his hand, a searing cold, but this time he was ready for it. “By
Valin, you will serve me.” He tightened his grip, enduring the biting agony. So
cold, he half expected to see ice forming on his gauntlet. Gritting his teeth,
he endured the agony, fearing his hand would blister and blacken to frostbite.
Just when he reached his limit, the pain receded and strength flowed through
him. The marshal gasped in surprise. Strength roared up his sword arm pouring
into him…and with it came a heady elation, like a warrior’s flush of victory
after a hard-fought battle.

Grasping the sword with two hands,
he claimed it for his own.

Raising the blade to the heavens,
he swung it in the classical forms.
Slash of the eagle
, the diagonal cut
flowed into
strike of the snake
. The marshal danced the steel, stepping
through the forms. Perfectly balanced, the dark sword cleaved the air with a
deadly whistle. An extension of his will, it felt right in his hands. Laughing,
he marveled at the five-foot blade. Light enough to be wielded with one hand,
the dark sword blurred through each stroke, keening a deadly whistle. Twisting
and turning, the marshal worked the forms, finding joy in the ancient patterns.
A sense of jubilation roared through him.
He was the knight marshal of the
Octagon and this was his sword!
Slash and cut, he ended with
strike of
the dragon
.

The world came back in a rush.
Sunlight warmed his face. He noticed the shadows had lengthened, nearly
reaching his boots. He wondered how long he’d danced the forms…yet he was not
tired.
He was not tired!
The marshal took stock of his body, realizing
his shoulder no longer ached…and neither did his knee. He stared at the dark
sword,
a boon from the gods.

Laughter roared out of him…but then
he caught himself, wondering if he was drunk…drunk on dark steel. The marshal
sobered, but the feeling of elation did not leave. “You serve
me
now.”
The sword’s strange whispers had fallen silent, as if the blade acquiesced…or
bided its time, but the marshal put the grim warning from his mind.

Keeping the sword in his fist, he
strode toward his horse. It was time to find the others. It was time to turn
the tide of war.

64

Katherine

Dangling from a knotted rope, Kath hung from the side of the
Sea Sprite
. She’d needed a place to hide her warriors, but the open deck
was too exposed. With the sea tamed to a dead-calm, she dared to hide her men
on the outside of the hull. Twenty-two painted warriors dangled from knotted
ropes, waiting for the order to attack.

Kath tightened her grip. Blind to
what was happening on the deck; she listened to the sounds of the ship.

The cold gray sea lapped gently at
the hull below, indifferent to their plight.

Overhead, sailors climbed the
rigging to furl the sails, sending a signal of surrender.

Kath felt a dull thump shudder
through the hull, as if the
Sea Sprite
was repulsed by the raider’s
lethal touch…and then she heard the grim thunk of grappling hooks. Sweat
trickled down her back despite the biting cold. Kath smeared her doeskin boots
against the
Sprite’s
outer hull, seeking a better perch, fighting to
ease the strain in her arms. Looking left and right, she nodded at Blaine and
Sidhorn, giving them a reassuring smile…but lower down the rope, she caught the
look of terror on Tangar’s face. The hawk-faced warrior had lost his grip.
Slowly sliding down the rope, he struggled for a better hold, but the rope
slipped between his gloved hands.

None of her painted warriors
could swim.
Kath reached for him, but he was too far.

Her own grip slipped.

Tightening her hold, she watched in
horror, unable to save him. Tangar fought to regain his grip, but the weight of
arms and armor slowly dragged him down. Kath held his gaze, trying to leech the
terror from his eyes. She heard his muffled gasp as the cold water lapped
around him, slowly swallowing him whole. The hawk-faced warrior held her stare,
even as the sea reached his chin. Flashing a fierce grin, full of defiance, he
slipped below the sea without a sound, not even a splash to mark his passing.

Such bravery,
Kath closed
her eyes, stunned and angered by the loss.
By Valin, your courage shall not
be forgotten.

Kath’s hand slipped.

Tightening her grip, she stared
aloft, anxious for the signal to attack.

65

Juliana

The MerChanter captain flashed a lusty grin. “And where
might your cabin be?”

Juliana gestured to the door tucked
next to the aft stairs. “There, next to the stairs.”

His gaze followed her gesture.
“Good enough.” He grabbed her arm as he snapped commands. “Balthar, fit the
prisoners with shackles and chain them below. Gallwax, plumb the hold for
treasure. Corway, secure the ship while I have my way with the strumpet.”

“Aye, Lord.” His men scrambled to
obey, scattering across the deck.

“Come here, wench.” The captain
pulled her close, his breath stinking of sour ale. “I expect a rollicking good
time,” his gaze turned deadly, “or I’ll turn you over to my crew for sport.”
His tongue licked the side of her face. Repulsed, Juliana squirmed away, but
she did not get far. His fist clamped tight on her arm, pulling her close.
“You’ll do more than squirm when I take you.” Laughing, he tugged her toward
her cabin. As he reached for the latch, Juliana dove to the side.

The door slammed opened.

A snarling mountain wolf burst from
the cabin. Loosing a primal howl, Bryx attacked. Teeth slavering, the wolf
lunged for the lord, clamping his jaws on the MerChanter’s throat. Blood
sprayed across the deck. Bryx snarled, smothering the lord’s nerve-shattering
scream with a vicious growl.

The MerChanter warriors cringed
backwards, stunned by the wolf, as if some monster summoned from lore had
appeared aboard the ship.

Teeth bared and hackles raised, the
big mountain wolf straddled the lord, shaking the corpse like a rag doll. Blood
spatters rained on the raiders.

Chaos erupted across the deck.

66

Katherine

At the sound of the wolf’s howl, Kath scrambled up the rope.
She reached the railing in time to see Bryx straddle a MerChanter, his teeth
savaging the man’s throat to bloody shreds. The other MerChanters stood frozen,
staring slack-jawed at the blood-spattered wolf as if he were a demon summoned from
the netherworld.

Fierce and savage and totally
unexpected, the huge mountain wolf evoked a primal fear, providing the perfect
distraction.

Vaulting the railing, Kath leaped
lightly to the deck, her sword whispering from its scabbard. Blaine was on her left,
Bear on her right. She tugged her octagonal shield from her back, settling it
on her left arm. All along the length of the
Sprite,
painted warriors
climbed the railing as silent as death. Weapons bared, they fell on the
MerChanters. 

Kath’s sword slid beneath the
brigantine armor, deep into a MerChanter’s back.

The man’s dying shriek roused his
comrades to battle.

Snarling in rage, the MerChanters
erupted in motion. Whirling, they brought their tridents to bear. Steel clanged
against steel as the ship’s deck became a battlefield. Arrows thunked down from
above, skewering the raiders. Sailors snatched up their long knives, lunging at
the enemy. Bryx loosed a chilling howl, adding to the chaos.

Blaine waded into the fray,
cleaving bearded heads with a single stroke of his sapphire blade.
“For
Castlegard!”
The MerChanters fell back under the knight’s fierce onslaught.
Kath fought on Blaine’s right, taking a hard stroke to her shield. Forming a
wedge with Bear and Sidhorn, they battled their way into the heart of the
enemy. Kath spied Juliana fending off a MerChanter with only her long knife.
Juliana ducked a blow to the head, but lost her footing, slipping beneath the
MerChanter’s battleaxe. Kath leaped forward, intercepting the axe with her
shield. The bone-jarring blow drove Kath to her knees. Gritting her teeth
against the pain, she lunged upwards with her sword, taking the raider in the
groin. He loosed a bloodcurdling scream, collapsing to the deck. Kath leaped
aside, shielding Juliana. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Juliana scrambled to her
feet, her face pale, her long knife clutched in her fist.

“
The oil!”
Kath hissed the
command.
“We’ve got to cripple the trireme and then get the
Sprite
away!”

Nodding, Juliana scrambled up the
stairs to the aft deck while Kath battled her way toward the far railing.
Stroke and parry, she fought her way forward but it was like swimming against a
deadly current. The fighting grew fiercest near the railing, a thicket of
clashing steel as MerChanters leaped from the trireme to the
Sprite’s
deck, howling for vengeance.

Bear and Sidhorn cleaved a path to
her side. Together they fought their way to the first cask. Hidden in the
Sprite’s
hold, Kath had found three casks of lamp oil crucial to her plan. Sheathing
her sword, she quickly freed the cork. Sidhorn heaved the cask to his shoulder
with a grunt and then hurled it onto the trireme’s deck. The cask hit hard.
Cracking, it spurted a pale puddle of oil.

A trident snaked towards Kath’s
head. She ducked, avoiding the blow. Unsheathing her sword, she lunged forward
but her blade skittered on scaled armor. Unharmed, the burly warrior grinned
down at her. “
A wench!”
A lewd smile curdled his ugly face, gold coins
winking in his beard. Anger blazed through Kath. She punched him in the gut
with her shield and then slashed upward, opening a second smile in his bearded
throat. “
Pig!”
She spat the word as he toppled over the railing.

A second MerChanter loomed over
Kath, but an arrow took him in the shoulder before he could strike. Slipping
past the wounded raider, Kath fought towards the second cask, but Grenfir was
already there. The owl-faced warrior heaved the cask onto the trireme and then
disappeared as the battle closed around him. Beyond him, the fighting was so
thick; she could not see the third flask.
Two will have to be enough.

An arrow thunked from above,
narrowly missing her head. Blood slicked the deck, making the footing
treacherous. “
For Castlegard!”
She charged into the fray, hacking left
and right.

Flaming arrows streaked overhead
like sizzling comets. Kath grinned, praying Juliana’s aim struck true.

Bryx appeared at her side, darting
in to hamstring a MerChanter. As the warrior’s leg crumpled, Kath slashed her
sword across the raider’s throat. Cut and parry, she fought to hold her
position near the railing.

Flames erupted on the trireme,
licking skyward with a billow of dark smoke. 

“
Cut the grapples!”
Kath
yelled the command. She hacked at the nearest grapple, the pronged hooks sunk
deep in the
Sprite’s
deck. On the third stroke, the rope sliced through,
slithering over the side. Kath moved along the railing, slicing grapples while
Bear and Sidhorn fought to shield her from the raiders.

Flames billowed on the trireme.

Wild-eyed MerChanters rushed the
railing, leaping aboard the
Sprite.
They fought like fiends, wielding
battleaxes and tridents with terrible effect. Caught in onslaught, Grenfir and
Tomlin were cut down before Kath could reach their side. Howling for their
loss, Kath pressed forward, attacking the nearest MerChanter, seeking vengeance
with her sword. The
Sprite
ran slick with the blood of both sides.

From the aft deck, Juliana bellowed
a command, “
Release the sails!”

Overhead, the checkered sails
dropped open like a thunderclap.

“
Hard to port!”

The
Sprite
was slow and
sluggish as a rheumy old man. The checkered sails gave a feeble flutter…but
then the
Sprite
began to slowly turn. A slight breeze puffed the canvas,
tugging the
Sprite
towards the south…but the trireme stayed locked with
her prey, snagged by grapples. Kath stared in horror as the burning trireme
lurched towards the
Sprite,
the two ships bound at the prow.

Flames spread along the trireme,
turning the ship into an inferno. Kath cringed from the heat, fearing for the
Sprite
.

“
Cut the grapples at the prow!”
Kath
screamed the command, but her voice was swallowed by the din of battle. “
Sidhorn,
Bear, with me!”
Painted warriors formed a wedge around her. Fighting with
grim ferocity, they battled a path towards the last grapples. Flames roared on
the trireme, spilling a terrible heat onto the
Sprite
, like hell come
calling. Kath reached the nearest grapple and began hacking at the rope,
desperate to sever the two ships.