Against That Shining Darkness: Boxed Set Trilogy Page 16

  As they dropped lower, the buildings below them changed from child-sized block toys to actual buildings. With the buildings, came the smells.

  “At least it isn't Wallside,” Kane said.

  The breeze brought the invigorating fragrance of sun on water that swept into the city like an invisible wave, blowing away the odors that hung there. It seemed tragic how little would make it to the far side of the city and the foul land-change it would suffer by the time it did.

  The air became sweeter with each step they took. As they rounded a bend in the road and crossed a broad, shadowy courtyard—a trilling whistle sounded from the right. A sudden hush fell in the courtyard. The vendors, who lined the sidewalks, spreading their wares on the flagstones, vanished like ragged smoke into doorways. The handful of pedestrians passing through or examining the wares disappeared into alleyways and shop openings. Faces jerked away from windows, and the rapid footfalls of people running faded to an eerie silence.

  Alaina shot a look at Kane.

  His eyes darted among the surrounding shadows, and he cocked his head in quick jerks, trying to gauge by sight and sound what was happening. His hand slipped under the cape that whipped and swirled around his braced legs. Alaina checked her sword to see if it was loose in its scabbard.

  “Which way?” she whispered.

  Kane shook his head. Shadows flickered in the depths of the alleys. The whisper of cloth on leather and leather on metal came nearer with the tread of muffled feet—stealthy but confident.

  Surrounded.

  Figures, dressed in a dark gray that blended with stone and shadow, emerged from the alleys carrying odd devices. Alaina slid around Kane's side to press her shoulders against his back, drawing her blade in a fluid motion as she set herself. Like a stroked bowstring, her muscles tensed as she prepared for an explosion of movement.

  Kane studied the band tightening upon them. He hadn’t drawn his blade yet. The figures moved in a spiraling concert to the left as they brought the circle tighter. The weapons they carried struck a note in Kane's mind: nets; weighted, leather sacks on long chains; miniature grappling hooks. They wanted them alive.

  “Slavers!” snarled Kane. “And they've got us in an open space. They won't even need to get close to throw nets and hooks.”

  “I've had enough life in confinement this year,” said Alaina. “I suggest we leave before we can’t refuse the invitation.”

  “I'm open to suggestions,” Kane replied.

  “Feint straight ahead; then reverse to break through.” Without waiting for a reply, Alaina sped across the plaza in a rush that forced the startled slavers before her to fall back. Kane was right behind her, moving so fast the slavers scarce had time to see them coming.

  Kane singled out a net man, starting a cast at Alaina, and took him out with a straight thrust over the net and under his arm. The sword “chinked” on contact and bowed a fraction before popping through the man's mail shirt and driving into his body.

  Not waiting to see him go down, Kane ripped his sword out before and spun to reverse direction. Alaina stayed with him; she had feinted low before cutting the throat of a big slaver with a hooked staff when he dropped his guard.

  From the other side of the ring, five slavers rushed in. Two had nets, two had staves and one with grappling hooks hung back, waiting for a chance to cast.

  They were well-drilled. The two staff wielders took the middle positions while the nets hung off to the side waiting for an open cast when the staves engaged and delayed their victims.

  The strategy would have been good if the staves had delayed them. Kane slashed at the right shoulder of the staff wielder on the left. When the counter-blow came, he was already inside the powerstroke, bowling him over with his shoulder. The slaver staggered back, swearing and flailing for balance before sprawling on the ground. His staff, still clutched in his grip, whipped around and rapped the net man next to him on the skull. Even through the leather cap and swathed veils, the blow was enough to knock the slaver to the ground, where he sat shaking his head.

  On the other side, Alaina slashed along the staff into the fingers of the other attacker and rushed through the gap. As she ran, she dragged her blade across the net at an angle, shearing through the reinforced cords and the fingers holding them.

  They sped out of the plaza. A huge net dropped from the roof, but fell short as they put on a furious burst of speed and turned down a wide boulevard.

  Whistled signals sounded from the plaza.

  Kane could see more dark forms moving in the shadows, waiting for them. He veered into an alley, grabbing Alaina's arm. Strident whistles and the sound of running feet followed them.

  The alley was narrow and cluttered, strewn with castoff furniture and garbage. They dodged around the debris, scattering larger pieces behind them, to slow down their pursuers.

  “Light ahead,” Kane said, breathing hard. As they got closer to the end of the alley, the light grew brighter, and the sounds and smells of the sea came clear to them on the breeze.

  They burst out of the alley into the sunlight. The sea and the wharf were straight in front of them. Sea birds wheeled, screeching in the sun, and boats glided across the water. Boatmen shipped oars to avoid each other as they passed in and out of the sheltered harbor, but—considering their situation—the sight was only frustrating.

  They were at the end of a cluttered cul-de-sac; the wharf was barred from them by a high iron gate. The gate was shut, locked and the key dangled from a chain in the hands of a dark-robed man whose eyes glittered, evil and merry, above a black veil. A chuckle came from beneath the veil.

  Kane looked around him. The walls were high and smooth preventing any hope of climbing them, and the gate was set into the wall flush with the archway, with no way over the gate. The chuckling cut off with a thud and a cry. Kane glanced back. Alaina's dagger protruded like some strange ornament from the man's face. He staggered back a step before falling. The key clattered to the cobbles. Alaina dove to the ground and stretched her sword through the bars, scratching for the key with the tip of her blade, over a foot too short.

  Kane rushed forward too. The man lay on his back on the near side of the keys, the light chain of a grappling hook dangled from his belt. Kane reached through the bars, stretching his arm as far as he could. His fingers brushed the dangling chain, scraped it closer, and closed around it. A mighty tug jerked the chain through the gate, but two of the sharp hooks sunk deep into the sturdy leather belt.

  Frantic, Kane hauled hand-over-hand until the body reached the iron bars. He tugged at a hook until it came out. Terse whistles and running feet were drawing nearer.

  Kane tossed the hooks just beyond the key, holding the chain with his other hand then dragged them towards him. Though the hooks dragged over the key, somehow they failed to snag the chain attached to it. Kane growled in frustration and threw again, this time hooking the key and pulling it through the gate.

  At that moment, nine slavers burst into the cul-de-sac. Alaina snatched her dagger from the corpse and flipped it side-armed toward one of the cloaked figures. The man jerked his head aside; the knife only grazed his turban and bounced off, clattering to the ground.

  “Skreet!” The warning came from the tall slaver hanging behind the other shrouded figures and swinging a grapple.

  Kane bared his teeth. “Cover me while I open the gate,” he said to Alaina in the Raydcliffe dialect. Alaina stepped in front of him. She reached to the strings of her cloak and pulled her hood free, revealing her face and the tawny braid of hair that wrapped around her head. The slavers muttered; their companions had died at the hands of a woman. It was disgraceful to their way of thinking. No man in the city would admit they’d even known a man killed by a woman. A few of them backed away. They’d seen her speed.

  “Fools!” snarled the one in back. “Would you have it known you ran from a woman? Any kind of death is better than being shamed for life. What kind of men do you call yourselves?”


  Kane edged toward the gate, using the momentary distraction, as the slaver continued to berate his crew. He felt for the lock with his free hand, keeping his eyes ahead. As he reached to insert the key in the lock, a hand clamped onto his wrist. At the same moment, a net dropped from the roof of the building next to the gate. Kane saw it fall as he twisted to wrench his wrist free, hanging on to the key with all his strength as eager fingers tried to pry it loose. He broke away and dove away from the tangling cords, but the net covered him and tripped him to the cobbles.

  A flurry between Alaina and the slavers left one bleeding and down from a stomach thrust. The others moved back again. Now there were eight. Wary, they shifted back and forth.

  Alaina stood poised, like a leopard among a pack of dogs. Helpless in the net, Kane used the only weapon left him.

  “Look now, this tack is not good business, for your guild or ours. Let's negotiate. We don't want to kill anyone else, and you've already lost more than we're worth to you. You'll lose more, unless we come to an agreement.”

  The tall man gave another terse command and the other slavers stepped back.

  Alaina eyed him.

  “Twenty gold then. The witch goes free to collect it.”

  Kane clenched his teeth. It was hard to tell when not watching a face, but he knew—from the gloating pitch of the man's voice—he was lying. A sharp puffing sound from behind them made him shout a warning to Alaina, who was already dodging, but a tiny dart lodged in the back of her neck. She plucked it out with and oath and charged into the pack of slavers who scattered before her like leaves before a wind. She cut one and hamstrung another before she staggered and fell, cursing them in a groggy voice.

  Kane heard steps behind him and struggled to turn. Then he felt a sharp prick on his neck, and blackness overcame him.

  It was a long time before he dreamed, and when he did, his dreams were filled with accusation.

  Chapter 4 (Sea Roads)

  The soft clanking woke him. That and an aching knot between his shoulder blades. Kane opened his eyes—still gummy and crusted—and looked around.

  The smooth curve of a wind-filled sail rose above him—a huge square-rigged wing. The sun glared, and he raised a hand to shield his face. As he moved his feet, he heard the clanking again, looked down and sighed. A chain ran from his foot to a mast; it brushed the timber when the boat rocked.

  Kane looked over the rail. There was no land in sight and the ship rode on the long, slow swells that spoke of deep water.

  The foredeck where he lay was uninhabited; a few ropes lay coiled in the bow. A familiar sword—his—lay well out of reach with its strap looped over a belaying pin.

  What might this mean?

  He sat up little by little then moaned; his head throbbed, front and back.

  A voice came from behind him. “Thought you'd be coming around about now.”

  Kane turned around, moving his neck with measured care. The speaker stood framed in the hatchway that led below deck, a rangy man with sun-faded, red hair and ruddy, freckled skin. Although the man's face was grim, the expression seemed a habit rather than a condition, and Kane sensed no hostility in his voice. He stepped onto the deck—moving with the roll of the boat—and knelt a few feet away.

  Kane judged the distance—just in reach. He looked back to the man, who had a hard smile on his face.

  “Wouldn't try; won’t do any good.”

  Kane considered that and chewed his lower lip. “You're the captain?” he asked.

  “Captain and owner. I'm called Red Maclury in the ports—Red Dog to my enemies. If things work out, you can call me Captain.” Maclury stood and walked to Kane's sword. He lifted it from the scabbard, noting the markings along the hilt and running his callused thumb along the edge. “The slavers told me you can use this. I paid a bonus to keep it with you. Your good fortune, they didn't recognize its true worth.” He looked at Kane with a blue, piercing stare. “It's a sword of honor. Do you deserve it?”

  Kane shrugged. “It stays with me.” Maclury nodded. “Then you deserve it.” He slid the sword back into the scabbard. “You owe me fourteen ounces of gold for your ransom and you'll work it off as a hired sword. Or…” he hesitated a moment while scanning the sea. “You can pay me that much plus fifty percent, if you have access to money at any of the ports where we stop. Welcome aboard the Dolphin.

  Kane scratched at his nose. “Not that it matters, but how did you happen to ... ransom me?”

  “I have an offer standing with the slavers to bring anyone by who shows spunk. They seldom go after fighters, but when they catch them in their traps, they can't back down. It’s bad for business. Fighters don't settle into slavery well, but I need swordsmen to get through these waters. I haven't made two ports in a row without running into trouble with pirates. Most of those I ransom say I did them a favor,” he said, staring at Kane in appraisal. “What do you say? Did I do you a favor?”

  Kane considered. It was true; he could be in worse circumstances now. But, he had to find out about Alaina. He couldn't leave her a slave in Ibuchan. “I'm in your debt,” he said, “but, when you ransomed me, was there someone else? A girl?”

  Maclury grunted and glowered at the horizon. “Not one of my best investments, I'm afraid,” he said, “but, aye, she's here.” He fished in his pocket and drew out a key.

  “Maybe you can talk sense to her,” he said, tossing the key to Kane.

  Kane smiled as he caught the key. “It's possible,” he said. “Would it blot out my debt?”

  Maclury's frown didn't change.

  “She's much more valuable on your side than in chains,” Kane pointed out.

  Maclury's face blossomed with a slow smile. The expression only served to make him look more dangerous. “I knew you were a sly one before you even woke up,” he said. “But I don't see that it would be to your advantage not to convince her anyway. So, no deal. You just talk to her. It'll be better all 'round.” He stood and helped Kane to his feet, taking back the key to the locks. “Nice try though.” He turned and motioned for Kane to follow.

  After a few lurching steps, steadying himself on riggings and railings, Kane's equilibrium returned, and he regained the knack of moving with the roll of a ship. The sea was no stranger to him. He’d sailed to all the major ports on the charted mainland and the southern archipelago. A bard had to travel, and Kane had seen many lands in the twenty years since he'd first set out from Raydcliffe as a lanky lad of fifteen.

  He looked out at the ocean, the sun and the sky. A brisk southwesterly crosswind pushed them south down the coast. That meant they’d pass the seaport village below Arod's mountain stronghold. His spirits rose. If he could contact Jyrmak, he could arrange for funds.

  As they came around the corner of the aft storage cabin, Kane stopped short, his hand dropping to his sword hilt. A group of half-clad seamen squatted in a semi-circle around two figures. Alaina, chained and crouching—the other, a blocky seaman with his hair in the braid common in the northern peninsula—stood out of reach holding a long fishing pole. At the end of the pole hung a gelatinous mass with red tentacles dangling from it—one of the stinging jellyfish that drifted in these waters.

  “Captain won't like it, Yon,” said one of the on looking seamen. “Orders are, don't touch the greens.”

  The northerner chuckled. “Haven't touched her, have I?” The jellyfish swung a trifle closer. “Just let her have a little tickle.”

  Maclury's wrist snapped forward. A flicker through the air ended in Alaina's snap-shut fist; the key.

  Before the blocky northerner could react, the shackles were off, the jellyfish and pole smashed into the sea with Alaina's chain, and Alaina was nose-to-nose with Yon. The northerner was taller and he bulked more than half again her mass.

  By reflex, Yon took a step backwards. Alaina turned away with disdain.

  The timing and staging were perfect: Yon's step backward now looked like a retreat, as though he’d been faced down. Without looking
back, Alaina walked over to Maclury and returned the key.

  “Since my cousin has judged it best to come to terms with you, I'll go along with him on the matter. He has the older and wiser head—as he is so fond of reminding me,” she said.

  Maclury nodded, pocketing the key. “You've left a loose end over there,” he warned, glancing to where Yon stood fuming as his shipmates taunted him—in quiet voices, not wanting the captain to overhear.

  “I'll let him live with it for a while,” Alaina said.

  Maclury looked from Kane to Alaina and back again. “I don't know which of you is worse,” he muttered. “Is there anyone else still living in this family of yours? I just want fair warning.”

  “Well now,” voice dropping lower, he turned to his crew, .

  The crewmembers glanced at each other, each remembering certain tasks they'd left off from that the Captain might not be too happy finding incomplete.

  “Yon, you don't seem to be able to handle a tough job like fishing for supper. Go relieve the scrub. You can clean the decks below while he catches us something to eat. I don't like bullies much, mister, but I hate it when my orders aren't followed. Three weeks’ pay docked.”

  “Don't slack on my ship again. I don't go so easy on a second offense.” He glared and jerked his chin.

  Yon slunk downstairs.

  Maclury looked around at the rest of the crew.

  “Are you waiting for something?”

  The seamen wagged their heads, mumbling.

  No, no they weren't waiting for anything, really.

  “Well, I'd hate to think you all won't remember, it's your duty to see my orders are followed next time.”

  Oh no, no, was the ragged chorus.

  “I'm sure you all have tasks?”

  Well, yes... now that you mention it...

  “THEN MOVE! You landlocked baboons. You're late on the tack. We're half-a-mile off course.”