Elsewhere ti-3 Page 2

  Cantu’s flagship, the Deirdre Bay was an older, heavy trireme and she took a bit of coaxing to turn and get underway, but once moving, anything she struck with her large steel pointed ram was going to the bottom…quickly. The Admiral had complete confidence in the Deirdre Bay and with luck he felt she would get her fourth kill today. It wasn’t until they were within a hundred yards that Cantu noticed something strange about the enemy bearing down on them. On the sides of all the approaching ships hung great white bundles, like protective bumpers only much, much larger. He wondered if the Palmerrio were foolish enough to actually think they could use the bundles as protection, but then the enemy ships were among them.

  As they neared, a galley foolishly darted directly in front of the Deirdre Bay, a near perfect target but just before they smashed into the smaller ship Cantu heard a great crash from starboard and risked a glance. He immediately saw, with satisfaction, that one of his sister ships, the Hermes, had plowed into another unfortunate enemy galley. The Admiral watched, briefly noting that the enemy ship had managed to pull its oars inside just in time, but still the ship was doomed. The heavy ram of the trireme smashed into the aft section of the smaller galley, splitting the timbered side easily and driving deep into the ship’s interior. Cantu knew that any sailors or oarsman in the immediate area of impact would have been killed almost instantly.

  The Admiral quickly turned back to watch the Deirdre Bay’s progress into the enemy, feeling for the unfortunates on the stricken enemy vessel who would not have the pleasure of another day on this earth. As his ship plowed through the waves Cantu watched as the galley directly in their path nimbly swung hard to port and out of harm’s way. The Admiral knew they would be hard pressed to ram the agile smaller ship on this pass, but ahead there were many, many other targets.

  “Admiral!” Denard yelled out in alarm and Cantu turned. Denard’s attention was starboard and when the Admiral glanced that way he saw that the Hermes was in the process of being boarded by a host of enemy sailors and the stricken vessel had somehow become anchored with its killer.

  Cantu raced to the rail trying to get a better view.

  “Port oars!” he heard a cry and swiftly turned his attention back to the Deirdre Bay.

  The galley they attempted to ram was sliding along the port side of the ship and arrows were now flying back and forth, though strangely flaming arrows were only flying away from the Deirdre Bay.

  Cantu took three steps toward the center of the deck, blatantly ignoring the flying sticks of death that filled the air. Men went down around him as others screamed out warnings, but the Admiral had a mind only for the galley that was riding the waves dangerously close to his hull. Then, all at once, the bundles tied to the side of the enemy ship plunged into the water like anchors, and to Cantu’s horror he understood their sinister purpose.

  “Hard starboard!” he yelled, but knew it was hopeless since the port oars were disengaged. The white bundles were attached to three large, thick planks and Cantu stared in alarm as they swung high up into the air. His eye caught the twinkling of metal coming from the very ends of each plank, and looking up he spotted dozens of sharp steel spikes, glistening in the morning light like poison dew. The planks were made of heavy timbers, easily eight to ten inches thick and were tied together to make a gangway nearly three feet wide. As the weight of the anchors pulled at them, the planks pivoted on massive iron hinges. They rode up impossibly high before gracefully arching down and smashing through the railing of the Deirdre Bay and jamming their steel spikes deep into the deck. Almost immediately both vessels shuddered with the joining, like two virgins tasting love for the first time. Running in opposite directions the strain on both ships was considerable, but the steel tips stubbornly held them together and the ships immediately began to swing around one another in a tight circle.

  Cries of alarm sounded all over the Deirdre Bay even as the first of the enemy started the perilous sprint from one ship to the other. To Cantu’s horror he saw that the enemy ship was packed with men, far more than a normal galley crew, and those making the crossing all appeared to be seasoned soldiers rather than sailors. Most of the attackers nimbly made the crossing, but a few lost their balance in the pitching and rocking of the sea and were thrown down between the ships. Cantu stared in disbelief as the enemy streamed across; arrows flew between the ships now with angry consistency. The Admiral risked a glance out at the rest of his fleet and was dismayed to see that many more Toranado ships were in the same predicament, the enemy at times even sacrificing a vessel in order to slow and trap the more experienced Toranado sailors.

  “Admiral!” Captain Denard yelled, his kali already drawn and ready. Cantu turned and saw a sight which chilled him. Enemy bearing the uniform of the Temple Knights were now crossing to the Deirdre Bay, and on the galley’s deck waiting to cross, stood a man dressed all in black, his cape and pants trimmed in red. The man stared briefly at Cantu, a wide smile on his face. He gave a slight nod before turning his full attention to the crossing.

  ‘Executioner!’ Cantu thought and pulled his own kali from his waist, though he knew he was no swordsman. He absently wished Tabernas was here. But despite his lack of skill, the admiral did not hesitate and waded into the battle for his ship, Denard at his side. The fighting was very heavy and going against the Toranado in an ugly way. Almost immediately Cantu caught a kali in the right bicep, he cried out and dropped one of his weapons. He did not try to retrieve it knowing his wounded arm was now useless. Instead he frantically tried to block the powerful swipe of a long sword. He managed but barely, and was only dimly aware of being spun about by the force of the blow. He gazed in horror out at his stricken fleet for just a second and before he could swing back around he felt a hammer blow in his lower back. The admiral fell to his knees as his pants grew heavy and wet. He thought for a moment his bladder had gone, but then saw the blood running smoothly from the bottom of his trousers. Cantu was breathing hard and fast, but felt no real pain. He saw Denard, already lying on the deck; his throat was slashed open, the only movement coming from the twitching of his eyes. Cantu somehow managed to gain his feet but his legs, which had never failed him at sea, would not work properly and he stumbled hard into the railing. With great effort Cantu turned back to face the fighting, wanting to defend his ship and his men, but just as he did an enemy soldier caught him in the chest with a pike and flipped him backward over the rail and into the water.

  Cantu almost smiled. ‘Yes, let the sea have me,’ he thought and then he was under, the salt, briny taste of the water filling his mouth and nose. He held his breath and worked his way to the surface with his good arm. He fought to tread for a moment as his eyes searched back toward his homeland. He saw Eno and the keep on the distant shore, thought once of his love Ramona, and then quietly sank to his death.

  ǂ

  Cyn de Baard rode along at a good clip, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Manse as possible. She needed time to think and to plan, but most importantly to kill. She needed to kill someone, anyone…badly. She knew if she’d stayed around the headquarters of the Massi much longer, Lee Brandt was going to die. And while that might cure the itch and provide her with a great deal of satisfaction, it would also raise far too many questions, questions she did not want to deal with at the moment. So she asked Bock for a few days leave, ostensibly to finally get her head together after her brother’s death. Bock agreed readily enough and within the hour she was packed, saddled and riding away from the pressures of being proper.

  She spent no ‘goodbyes’ on Brandt.

  de Baard had no real destination in mind, just away. She needed to be alone to get her priorities in order. Events were not going as planned. She’d neither killed Gwaynn Massi as the High King ordered, nor seduced him as she desired, and now word was filtering down from the finger that the Fultan slut was pregnant. If true, it complicated things greatly. Even though she hated the very idea, de Baard had little doubt that the rumors were true.
After all, pregnancy was the snare all peasant girls sought when they wished to raise their station. The red headed whore was no different. Who knew if the sniveling, slimy seed growing in her belly was even the Prince’s? No doubt the bitch had lured countless men to her honeyed crotch before Gwaynn, attracting them like flies no doubt. Hell, she’d probably even rutted with the dullard that always hung around…Cobb, yes that was his name. de Baard was surprised that Gwaynn could not see through such an old and worn out deception.

  Unconsciously de Baard began to grind her pelvic region against the pommel of the saddle as she imagined what it would be like having the Prince’s seed inside her, impregnating her, his heir growing in her body. She felt the familiar warmth spread outward from deep in her belly. It was the feeling that almost always accompanied thoughts of Gwaynn Massi, and she was growing accustomed to them.

  ‘I cannot be tied to the slut’s death…not now,’ de Baard thought, almost in a panic. She rode along vaguely to the northeast though she was largely unaware of her surroundings. She was heading toward the sea, but angling away from Cape. She thought perhaps that the sight and smell of the familiar Inland Sea would help her concentrate, but she wanted to be as far away from any crowds as she could get.

  She rode along in the fog of thoughts until suddenly she noticed that the day was growing to a close. Baal, her mount, was beginning to show serious signs of tiring, strong though he was. A thick film of sweat was casting a sheen on his glossy black hide. She pulled him to a walk and for the first time since leaving Manse looked about at the countryside. She was in a long, shallow valley with no town or farmhouse in sight. She had no idea where she was. She must have passed through a town, perhaps several at the speed she was riding, but she did not remember even one. She let Baal slowly walk to the top of a low hill just as the sun kissed the horizon. The vantage point was little better since it was a very low hill, but farther to the north and maybe a half a mile off the main road she spotted a lone farmhouse in the distance.

  She climbed from Baal’s back and walked, letting him rest for a time, but she would mount once again as she got closer to her destination in order to make herself appear more imposing. Call it an Executioner’s instinct.

  When she was within a quarter of a mile of the house she climbed back onto Baal’s back, but as she moved closer she realized it was a useless gesture. No one was in sight; no one was waiting. She rode up to the open front door just as it was getting dark and leaned over to look inside, but the hall and part of the one room that was visible was empty. She did not call out but instead coaxed Baal toward the barn behind the house. Its wide door was also open. She pulled to a stop in front of the open door and once again climbed from the horse. She pulled on Baal’s reins, leading him to the dim interior.

  “Hallo there miss,” a voice came from above and de Baard glanced up to see an elderly man leaning out from the hayloft above.

  “I’m a Captain in the King’s army and need a place to stay for the night,” de Baard announced in a commanding tone.

  “King?” The old man asked. “King? What King?”

  “King Gwaynn of course,” de Baard said simply and led Baal farther into the dark interior of the barn without asking. She heard the old man hobbling along above her head.

  “Well why didn’t ya say so,” the man said, now all smiles as he moved to the ladder which descended from the loft. “Thought ya meant the other fellow. Never cared for him much.”

  de Baard smiled and wondered what the old man would say if he knew he was standing in the presence of the person who’d killed ‘the other fellow.’ There were five open stalls all together and a mule in the sixth. She guided Baal into the farthest one on the right, away from the mule and began to unsaddle him.

  “Allow me miss,” the old man said and hung the lantern he was carrying on a nearby hook. “Name’s Jasper, Jasper Fenn.” He introduced himself and held out a hand. de Baard looked at it but did not take his hand, so Fenn eventually dropped it.

  “A Captain ya say,” he said, talking over the slight and pulling the heavy saddle from the horse’s back. “Master Gwaynn sure put a hurtin’ on the Deutzani I’d say.”

  “King…King Gwaynn,” de Baard corrected.

  “Yes miss,” Fenn answered bobbing his head. “You’ve been riding hard,” he said noticing the slick coat of Baal.

  “Yes,” de Baard answered. “Is there a place where I can clean up as well?”

  “Of course miss,” Fenn said and led her back to the door of the barn,

  “Cyndee!” he yelled and for a brief moment de Baard thought he was yelling her name. When she turned rapidly toward him, he smiled and shied from her a bit. “My Missus,” he explained as he walked closer to the house.

  “Cyndee!” he yelled once more and an extremely large, harsh looking woman appeared in the light at the back door. She eyed de Baard suspiciously.

  “I heard ya the first time ya old fool,” the woman spat loudly and Fenn stopped walking toward the house.

  “This is…this is…” the old man started, looking to de Baard for help.

  “Captain de Baard,” she said softly, in sharp contrast to the hulking woman at the door. For some reason she did not want them to know she shared a name with the beast of the house.

  “Captain?” Cyndee asked, eyeing de Baard with open hostility.

  “Captain,” Fenn said quickly, taking a few steps forward. “In Lord Gwaynn’s army,” he explained.

  Cyndee eyed de Baard a moment longer.

  “She needs a room,” Fenn said in her defense.

  “Well of course she does fool, it’s already dark out,” Cyndee yelled then shook her head. “Idgit,” she repeated with no attempt to even lower her voice. “Follow me.”

  de Baard followed the large woman into a spacious kitchen that was full of delicious smells. de Baard’s stomach growled as she realized she had not eaten since very early that morning. Food would be good and from the look of her Cyndee was undoubtedly a very good cook. The woman led her through the kitchen and up a set of stairs. Cyndee was so large in her lower half that her hips nearly brushed both walls of the narrow staircase that led up to the second floor. When Cyndee reached the top she was breathing heavily from the strain. She opened the first door and de Baard squeezed past her, not expecting much. Her instincts were as sharp as ever. The room was small and contained a narrow bed and a large chamber pot in the far corner. There was no fireplace and no chest of drawers. de Baard stared at the chamber pot, wondering why on earth it was so large. The old woman, who was following de Baard’s gaze, sniffed.

  “You’ll be emptying that yorself,” she said gruffly and lit the lone candle in the room. “I’m not runnin’ an inn here.”

  de Baard smiled slightly and her eyes actually twinkled. “Of course,” she replied in her silkiest voice and then set her small bag on the foot of the bed.

  “There’s water in the trough out back,” the woman added already descending the stairs, “and if ya be wantin’ to eat, you’ll be helpin’ with the cookin’.”

  Anger flared in de Baard’s chest and she was near the point of drawing her kali and sprinting down after the fat woman when she realized just how hungry she was, perhaps she would let the woman cook before she died. The aroma wafting up from the kitchen below was near paradise and her stomach growled loudly. de Baard took a deep breath then closed the door, again a slight smile on her face. She was going to kill someone today.

  As she changed out of her riding clothes, de Baard could hear the old couple arguing downstairs but she had no interest whatsoever in their conversation. She no longer cared what they thought and a great pressure lifted from her shoulders. This trip was exactly what she needed. She was satisfying a craving for a need she hadn’t realized was empty.

  Once changed, de Baard moved downstairs fully intending to let the old woman cook before killing anyone. Her kali were still strapped at her side however, and she was making no promises.

  Cyndee, w
ho was standing over the sink, glanced back and frowned when she noticed the weapons hanging from the woman’s waist. “Fenn thinks I ought not to make ya work, you being a Captain in the army and all,” the large woman began, turning just enough for de Baard to see she was stirring a large pot of boiling vegetables. On a spit over the fire was what looked to be a freshly plucked chicken. It was browning nicely and smelled divine.

  “You a Captain in Prince Gwaynn’s army?” Cyndee asked.

  de Baard nodded. “King Gwaynn’s army,” she corrected softly.

  “Hmmmph. Well I’ll be lettin’ you decide then,” Cyndee said turning an intimidating glare on the tall beautiful woman relaxing in her kitchen. “You can help or not.”

  de Baard took a seat and smiled sweetly at the large woman. “Alright then, I guess…not.” She answered and lifted one leg and rested her foot on the chair opposite her.

  Cyndee’s brows furrowed in disapproval.

  de Baard laughed, light and joyous, and for the next half hour she made no move to help at all. She just sat as the fat woman made a mixture of boiled potatoes, carrots and onions, baked a small loaf of bread and periodically turned the chicken as it cooked. As she worked de Baard ran over the many ways she could kill the Fultan slut without being discovered. Poison and miscarriage might be the best, though de Baard loathed the idea of not slicing into the bitch with her kali. Finally the heavenly smells of the food coaxed de Baard to rise. She moved past Cyndee to the stove where the vegetables were simmering. The old woman eyed her scornfully as de Baard picked up a spoon and stirred the boiling mixture, raising a piece of carrot and a potato to inspect them.

  “Smells delicious,” de Baard said and meant it.