Dragonfang (37 page)
Jelindel noticed that Augerin was bleeding, that there were seven lindraks fighting, and that all of them were on the reception
hall’s floor. Hargrellien was forced back up the stairs by two lindraks. Then Daretor’s knife flew again, and one lindrak tumbled back down the stairs.
Two lindraks tried to bracket Jelindel, but she did the only thing that anyone can do under the circumstances. She executed an almost suicidal jump and half-turn for the nearer lindrak, parrying his sword with a chopping downward sweep, then backhanding the blade into his unprotected throat. The remaining lindrak closed more cautiously, advancing closed-step style with his sword at the guard. Jelindel feinted an attack, disengaged his parry, then slashed his arm as he tried to withdraw. He skipped back, clutching his arm. Jelindel snatched a fallen sword.
Meantime Hargrellien had forced her lindrak opponent down to the base of the stairs. Helda and Sermilly were kneeling with their arms around each other as Jelindel stepped between them and an advancing lindrak. He snatched a fang star from his belt as Jelindel flung her second sword at him, but he leaped straight up and it scythed past beneath him. He flung a fang star, striking Jelindel in the forearm. He was reaching for a second star as Jelindel closed.
Fang stars hurt, but rarely kill. He flung his second star, which she caught on the palm of her hand, then the lindrak was fighting for his life. He parried two cuts to the head, then tried to step into and under Jelindel’s next overhand cut while parrying upwards. Her knee caught him in the face, and her fourth cut went most of the way through his unprotected neck.
Jelindel looked around. Daretor stood uninjured amid the bodies of four lindraks. Hargrellien had somehow killed the second lindrak at the base of the stairs, then dealt a death stroke to another, after one of her sisters had hit him with a vase. Augerin was slumped against a wall, clutching his side.
Jelindel dropped her sword and plucked the fang stars from her hand and forearm. Tossing them aside, she picked up her sword again. Waves of pain from her left arm pounded her nervous system.
‘By all the gods and goddesses, Jaelin’s a girl!’ exclaimed Helda, who was still clinging to Sermilly.
Jelindel slowly raised her bloodied sword and pointed to Daretor. ‘
My
man,’ she said, emphatically. ‘I hope everyone is now quite clear about that.’ Then she passed out.
The unexpected attack turned out to be the beginning of a long and unpleasant night. Jelindel awoke to find Helda bandaging her arm. Hargrellien and Sermilly were with their mother, tending to Augerin’s more serious wounds. Other sisters had gone for help, or were self-consciously standing about holding swords.
‘Were you but a boy, you would never escape me with your virtue intact,’ said Helda as she worked.
‘What happened before we arrived?’ asked Jelindel. Although her mind was still fogged, she realised how lucky she had been that the fang stars had not been poisoned. They had been ‘sacrifice’ wounds that could have gone horribly wrong.
‘The black-robed warriors, the lindraks, broke in just as the last of us were about to go to bed. Father stopped two of them before he was wounded, then, well, you know what happened to the others. You were so dashing and brave, with your sword flashing and ringing while your hair swirled about unbound. There was blood on your shirt –’
‘Please, Helda. Is Daretor all right?’
‘Yes. He is in the kitchen with the surviving lindrak. He has
him tied over a chopping block, and he told my sister Mergel that he was going to do something out of Madame Jing’s third scroll. I do not understand. I thought Madame Jing sold contraceptive potions and devices. Oh! I’m not supposed to know that.’
There was a distant scream.
‘And your contract guards?’ asked Jelindel.
‘All five are dead. Daretor said they were taken by surprise. What are we to do? We’re a house full of girls.’
‘Well I killed several, and
I’m
a girl,’ Jelindel pointed out.
‘Why can’t the boys in my life be like you?’ sighed Helda.
‘You want a man with breasts?’ asked Jelindel.
‘No, I mean brave, dashing, well mannered, fine of features, educated, and good looking.’
‘Maybe you are keeping company with the wrong sort of boys – and stay away from Daretor.’
Daretor was looking grim when he emerged from the kitchen.
‘He’s still alive, but I doubt he will ever walk in a straight line again,’ he announced. ‘You might need a new soup ladle, icing tube, and pepper grinder, by the way.’
‘Did he say why they attacked our home?’ asked Helda.
‘He did, while he could still talk. They wanted Jelindel.’
‘Who? Oh, you mean Jaelin. But why?’
‘Never mind. Jelindel, can you walk?’
‘Not well, I suspect, but yes.’
‘Then we leave tonight. The
Dragonfang
sails three hours before dawn.’
‘I heard they have a full crew already.’
‘Then we board as passengers. With us gone, this house will be safe.’
________________________
Daretor and Jelindel’s departure was hasty. Both of them knew that fast decisions were beyond most people, and that the Preceptor would not expect them to vanish straight away.
‘The Preceptor rules the kingdom of Skelt,’ Jelindel explained to Hargrellien as she scrubbed her face and changed back into her ‘Jaelin’ look. ‘This time he tried to take me in secret, without fuss. Next time he will put ten thousand regular troops into the city, seal off the neighbourhood, and start burning houses until he flushes me out.’
‘But where can you go?’ protested Hargrellien. ‘Your left arm is badly hurt; you can’t defend yourself.’
‘Daretor will be with me, and we make a good team. We travel light and fast, and we are good at not being seen. Most times,’ she added. ‘I suspect we have become rather careless. It was too good, too soon.’
‘Will it ever stop, Jelindel? What will bring you peace?’
‘I need to get rid of certain dangerous and destructive little nuisances. They should not be destroyed, but there is a lady who can put them safely out of reach of fools, idiots, and rulers of large empires.’
‘But the
Dragonfang
is not sailing for Zaria.’
‘We’re talking at cross purposes, Hargrellien. I refer to a different lady than the
Dragonfang
. There were considerable hours on the last voyage that most know nothing of. This particular “lady” belongs to those hours.
‘How is your father?’ she said, wanting to change the subject.
‘Weak, but recovering. We shall have to send for the Watch soon. How shall we explain all the bodies?’
‘Daretor is even now arranging the bodies of the guards to make it look like they were in the fighting, and that your father was the only survivor.’
‘What about the lindrak in the kitchen?’
‘My knowledge of these assassins tells me that he will be already dead. They carry poison within teeth capsules in case of capture. I’m surprised he held out as long as he did – perhaps he still had hope of escape, although he obviously underestimated his captors.’
‘But the militia,’ Hargrellien insisted.
‘They will be convinced that between your family and the guards, you held them at bay. Especially if you let them do a search of the house. Tell them that you had two guests who were out of the house when the lindraks arrived. Say that they have not yet returned and you suspect that they have been ambushed. Now goodbye Hargrellien, it was a pleasure to sail with you.’
‘You changed my life, Jelindel. You taught me what I could really become.’
‘Trust me, girl, you don’t want to become what I am.’
They embraced, then went to find Daretor.
Jelindel and Daretor were on the
Dragonfang
and helping to cast off as the city’s murder bell began to peal out through the darkness. Jelindel’s plans of a brief respite were irretrievably lost.
While Daretor helped above decks, she retired to their cabin. It took less than an hour to come to the decision that they must leave the
Dragonfang
under cover of darkness. By this time the caravel was sluicing north through the water, and the pealing murder bells had long since ceased their clangour.
They had left Zimak behind, although they doubted he would mind. He was now firmly ensconced in D’loom’s most notorious inn, the Flick an’ Tickle. It was rumoured that he conducted Siluvian kick-fist contests, and was a man of some wealth,
much admired by ladies of ill repute, including nobility.
Little did Jelindel and Daretor realise, however, that Zimak was bored with his sordid life, and his jealousy of their partnership was way past simmering.
J
elindel and Daretor spent less than six hours aboard the
Dragonfang.
During that time they prepared for what they were about to do. Unfortunately, no amount of preparation could make up for the fact that neither of them was a good swimmer. And this part of the coast was particularly treacherous.
All was quiet on the deck as Jelindel and Daretor slipped silently overboard and clambered down the rope ladder to the dark water. They dropped into the water with hardly a splash, as the ship crashed through the waves, all on board oblivious to their departure. Jelindel was trailing her left arm, which was wrapped in waxed cloth, but Daretor helped to pull her along as they struck out for the shore. Also strapped to Daretor’s waist was a hessian sling bag, containing their few possessions and the carefully wrapped pentacle gems.
The water was choppy and cold, and occasionally things brushed their legs beneath the surface. Jelindel shuddered each time she was nudged, and tried to rein in her imagination. Daretor
had them near the shore within a half hour of leaving the ship. Before they knew it, waves began to break around them and they were borne along to the shallows. They collapsed on the damp-compacted sand and gasped for air. Despite the cold and the discomfort, they lay companionably for some time before Daretor spoke.
‘Are you well?’ he said, between gulps of air.
‘I have felt worse,’ said Jelindel, with the surf swirling around her. ‘Just now I cannot recall when, but I have.’
‘Surely swimming was meant only for fish,’ he wheezed. ‘Lucky the shoals forced the
Dragonfang
so close to shore.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it. I used to be navigator, remember?’ She coughed, hugging herself for warmth. ‘Can I have some fresh-baked bread, roast duckling, and hot spiced tea for breakfast? Call me when it’s ready.’
‘How could you think of food at a time like this?’
Jelindel said, ‘White Quell, you’re starting to sound like Zimak.’
Daretor picked up a handful of wet sand and threw it at her.
‘What was that for?’
Daretor glared at her. ‘After all that we have been through, I think you could desist from insulting me.’
‘You know,’ said Jelindel, thoughtfully, ‘I can’t tell if you’re developing a sense of humour or not. And speaking of what we’ve been through, I think it’s about time you called me Jelli.’
Daretor turned away so she could not see his smile. He climbed unsteadily to his feet and headed up the beach, towards the treeline. Exhausted, Jelindel followed. Amongst the trees they found plenty of kindling and soon had a fire going. Daretor immediately stripped off and hung his clothing to dry before the fire.
The last remnants of Jelindel’s modesty prevented her from doing the same, though she compromised by removing her top for drying and keeping one arm discreetly wrapped across her breasts. Daretor snorted and headed into the brush to find breakfast.
He eventually returned with two rangy scut rats, by which time Jelindel was clothed again. He deftly skinned and gutted the animals, spitted them on green wood, and propped them over the fire. Before long, a pungent aroma filled the small clearing. Having eaten, they set off in the direction of the nearest town.
‘The Preceptor will expect us to be on the
Dragonfang
at Sezel,’ said Jelindel as they walked. ‘If we ride, we can arrive at our destination a lot faster, and nobody will be looking for us.’
‘Why Sezel?’
‘Because there is a house there where powerful artifacts may be left, and from which they can never be removed.’
The nearest town was Argentia, named after the silver coin. Nestled among the foothills of the westernmost flanks of the Algon Mountains, it was a raw mining town, full of smelting furnaces and smithies. It had the rough-and-tumble etiquette common to such places. Jelindel and Daretor knew they would have to keep a low profile. The Preceptor’s spies were everywhere, and strangers inevitably aroused suspicion.
Jelindel took a room at a tavern called The Green Skull. Despite its name, it was reasonably clean and efficiently run by a man with one leg. His giant frame and bulging biceps managed to instill order and civility in his unruly patrons, with only rare recourse to a good slamming together of heads.
Daretor approached the local stable master and enquired after horses. If they were to reach Lady Forturian’s abode in far-off Sezel, and do so before the Preceptor’s men overtook them, they would need fast and tireless mounts.
