Magician (52 page)

“But while we made the passage
early, we paid the price. A monstrous storm blew up from the south,
and we were driven for a week. When it was over, we headed east,
striking for the coast. I thought we’d have no trouble plotting
our position from landmarks. When we sighted land, not one aboard
recognized a single feature. As none of us had ever been north of
Crydee, we judged rightly we had gone farther than we had thought.

“We coasted by day, heaving to at
night, for I’d not risk unknown shoals and reefs. On the third
night the Tsurani came swimming out from shore like a pod of
dolphins. Dived right under the ship, and came up on both sides. By
the time I was awake from the commotion on deck, there was a full
half dozen of the bast—begging the Princess’s pardon—them
Tsurani swarming over me. It took them only minutes to take my ship.”
His shoulders sagged a bit. “It’s a hard thing to lose
one’s ship, Highness.”

He grimaced and Tully stood, making
Trask sit on the stool next to Arutha. Trask continued his story. “We
couldn’t understand what they said; their tongue is more suited
for monkeys than men—I myself speak five civilized languages
and can do ‘talk-see’ in a dozen more. But as I was
saying, we couldn’t understand their gibberish, but they made
their intentions clear enough.

“They pored over my charts.”
He grimaced in remembering. “I purchased them legal and
aboveboard from a retired captain down in Durbin. Fifty years of
experience in those charts, there were, from here in Crydee to the
farthest eastern shores of the Keshian Confederacy, and they were
tossing them around my cabin like so much old canvas until they found
the ones they wanted. They had some sailors among them, for as soon
as they recognized the charts, they made their plans known to me.

“Curse me for a freshwater
fisherman, but we had heaved to only a few miles north of the
headlands above your lighthouse. If we’d sailed a little
longer, we would have been safely in Crydee harbor two days ago.”

Arutha and the others said nothing.
Trask continued, “They went through my cargo holds and started
tossing things overboard, no matter what. Over five hundred fine
Quegan broadswords, over the side. Pikes, lances, longbows,
everything—I guess to keep any of it from reaching Crydee
somehow. They didn’t know what to do with the Quegan fire oil
—the barrels would’ve needed a dock hoist to get them out
of the hold —so they left it alone. But they made sure there
wasn’t a weapon aboard that wasn’t in their hands. Then
some of the little land rats got dressed up in those black rags, swam
ashore, and started down the coast toward the lighthouse. While they
were going, the rest were praying, on their knees rocking back and
forth, except for a few with bows watching my crew. Then all of a
sudden, about three hours after sundown, they’re up and kicking
my men around, pointing to the harbor on the map.

“We set sail and headed down the
coast. The rest you know. I guess they judged you would not expect an
attack from seaward.”

Fannon said, “They judged
correctly. Since their last raid we’ve patrolled the forests
heavily. They couldn’t get within a day’s march of Crydee
without our knowing. This way they caught us unawares.” The old
Swordmaster sounded tired and bitter. “Now the town is
destroyed, and we’ve a courtyard filled with terrified
townsmen.”

Trask also sounded bitter. “They
put most of their men ashore quickly, but left two dozen to slaughter
my men.” An expression of pain crossed his face. “They
were a hard lot, my lads, but on the whole good enough men. We didn’t
know what was happening until the first of my boys began to fall from
the spars with Tsurani arrows in them, waving like little flags as
they hit the water. We thought they were going to have us take them
out again. My boys put up a struggle then, you can bet. But they
didn’t start soon enough. Marlinspikes and belayin’ pins
can’t stand up to men with swords and bows.”

Trask sighed deeply, the pain on his
face as much from his story as from his injury. “Thirty-five
men. Dock rats, cutthroats, and murderers all, but they were my crew.
I was the only one allowed to go killing them. I cracked the skull of
the first Tsurani who came at me, took his sword, and killed another.
But the third one knocked it from my hand and ran me through.”
He barked a short, harsh-sounding laugh. “I broke his neck. I
passed out for a time. They must have thought me dead. The next I
knew, the fires were going and I started yelling. Then I saw you come
up the gangway.”

Arutha said, “You’re a bold
man, Amos Trask.”

A look of deep pain crossed the large
man’s face. “Not bold enough to keep my ship, Highness.
Now I’m nothing more than another beached sailor.”

Tully said, “Enough for now.
Arutha, you need rest.” He put his hand on Amos Trask’s
shoulder. “Captain, you’d do well to follow his example.
Your wound is more serious than you admit. I’ll take you to a
room where you can rest.”

The captain rose, and Arutha said,
“Captain Trask.”

“Yes, Highness?”

“We have need of good men here in
Crydee.”

A glimmer of humor crossed the seaman’s
face. “I thank you, Highness. Without a ship, though, I don’t
know what use I could be.”

Arutha said, “Between Fannon and
myself, we’ll find enough to keep you busy.”

The man bowed slightly, restricted by
his wounded side. He left with Tully. Carline kissed Arutha on the
cheek, saying, “Rest now.” She took away the broth and
was escorted from the room by Fannon. Arutha was asleep before the
door closed.

C
arline
lunged.

She thrust the point of her sword in a
low line, aiming a killing blow for the stomach. Roland barely
avoided the thrust by a strong beat of his blade, knocking hers out
of line. He sprang back and for a moment was off balance. Carline saw
the hesitation and lunged forward again.

Roland laughed as he suddenly leaped
away, knocking her blade aside once more, then stepping outside her
guard. Quickly tossing his sword from right hand to left, he reached
out and caught her sword arm at the wrist, pulling her, in turn, off
balance. He swung her about, stepping behind her. He wrapped his left
arm around her waist, being careful of his sword edge, and pulled her
tightly to him. She struggled against his superior strength, but
while he was behind her, she could inflict no more than angry curses
on him. “It was a trick! A loathsome trick,” she spat.

She kicked helplessly as he laughed.
“Don’t overextend yourself that way, even when it looks
like a clean kill. You’ve good speed, but you press too much.
Learn patience. Wait for a clear opening, therf attack. You
overbalance that much and you’re dead.” He gave her a
quick kiss on the cheek and pushed her unceremoniously away.

Carline stumbled forward, regained her
balance, and turned. “Rogue! Make free with the royal person,
will you?” She advanced on him, sword at the ready, slowly
circling to the left. With her father away, Carline had pestered
Arutha into allowing Roland to teach her swordplay. Her final
argument had been, “What do I do if the Tsurani enter the
castle? Attack them with embroidery needles?” Arutha had
relented more from tiring of the constant nagging than from any
conviction she would have to use the weapon.

Suddenly Carline launched a furious
attack in high line, forcing Roland to retreat across the small court
behind the keep. He found himself backed against a low wall and
waited. She lunged again, and he nimbly stepped aside, the padded
point of her rapier striking the wall an instant after he vacated the
spot. He jumped past her, playfully swatting her across the rump with
the flat of his blade as he took up position behind her. “And
don’t lose your temper, or you’ll lose your head as
well.”

“Oh!” she cried, spinning
to face him. Her expression was caught halfway between anger and
amusement. “You monster!”

Roland stood ready, a look of mock
contrition on his face. She measured the distance between them and
began to advance slowly. She was wearing tight-fitting men’s
trousers—to the despair of Lady Marna— and a man’s
tunic cinched at the waist by her sword belt. In the last year her
figure had filled out, and the snug costume bordered on the
scandalous. Now eighteen years of age, there was nothing about
Carline that was girlish. The specially crafted boots she wore,
black, ankle-high, carefully beat upon the ground as she stepped the
distance between them, and her long, lustrous dark hair was tied into
a single braid that swung freely about her shoulders.

Roland welcomed these sessions with
her. They had rediscovered much of their former playful fun in them,
and Roland held the guarded hope her feelings for him might be
developing into something more than friendship. In the year since
Lyam’s departure they had practiced together, or had gone
riding when it was considered safe, near the castle. The time with
her had nourished a sense of companionship between them he had
previously been unable to bring about. While more serious than
before, she had regained her spark and sense of humor.

Roland stood lost in reflection a
moment. The little-girl Princess, spoiled and indulged, was gone. The
child grown petulant and demanding from the boredom of her role was
now a thing of the past. In her stead was a young woman of strong
mind and will, tempered by harsh lessons.

Roland blinked and found himself with
her sword’s point at his throat. He playfully threw down his
own weapon and said, “Lady, I yield!”

She laughed. “What were you
daydreaming about, Roland?”

He gently pushed aside the tip of her
sword. “I was remembering how distraught Lady Mama became when
you first went riding in those clothes and came back all dirty and
very unladylike.”

Carline smiled at the memory. “I
thought she would stay abed for a week.” She put up her sword.
“I wish I could find reasons to wear these clothes more often.
They are so comfortable.”

Roland nodded, grinning widely. “And
very fetching.” He made a display of leering at the way they
hugged Carline’s curvaceous body. “Though I expect that
is due to the wearer.”

She tilted her nose upward in a show of
disapproval. “You are a rogue and a flatterer, sir. And a
lecher.”

With a chuckle, he picked up his sword.
“I think that is enough for today, Carline. I could endure only
one defeat this afternoon. Another, and I shall have to quit the
castle in shame.”

Her eyes widened as she drew her
weapon, and he saw the dig had struck home. “Oh! Shamed by a
mere girl, is it?” she said, advancing with her sword ready.

Laughing, he brought his own to the
ready, backing away. “Now, Lady. This is most unseemly.”

Leveling her sword, she fixed him with
an angry gaze. “I have Lady Mama to be concerned with my
manners, Roland I don’t need a buffoon like you to instruct
me.”

“Buffoon!” he cried,
leaping forward. She caught his blade and riposted, nearly striking.
He took the thrust on his blade, sliding his own along hers until
they stood corps a corps. He seized her sword wrist with his free
hand and smiled. “You never want to find yourself in this
position.” She struggled to free herself, but he held her fast.
“Unless the Tsurani start sending their women after us, most
anyone you fight will prove stronger than yourself, and from here
have his way with you.” So saying, he jerked her closer and
kissed her.

She pulled back, an expression of
surprise on her face. Suddenly the sword fell from her fingers and
she grabbed him. Pulling him with surprising force, she kissed him
with a passion that answered his.

When he pulled back, she regarded him
with a look of surprise mixed with longing. A smile spread on her
face, as her eyes sparkled. Quietly she said, “Roland, I—”

Alarm sounded throughout the castle,
and the shout of “Attack!” could be heard from the walls
on the other side of the keep.

Roland swore softly and stepped back.
“Of all the gods-cursed, ill-timed luck.” He headed into
the hall that led to the main courtyard. With a grin he turned and
said, “Remember what you were going to say, Lady.” His
humor vanished when he saw her following after, sword in hand. “Where
are you going?” he asked, all lightness absent from his voice.

Defiantly she said, “To the
walls. I’m not going to sit in the cellars any longer.”

Firmly he said, “No. You’ve
never experienced true fighting. As a sport, you do well enough with
a sword, but I’ll not risk your freezing the first time you
smell blood. You’ll go to the cellars with the other ladies and
lock yourself safely in.”

Roland had never spoken to her in this
manner before, and she was amazed. Always before he had been the
teasing rogue, or the gentle friend. Now he was suddenly a different
man. She began to protest, but he cut her off. Taking her by the arm,
half leading, half dragging her, he walked in the direction of the
cellar doors. “Roland!” she cried. “Let me go!”

Quietly he said, “You’ll go
where you were ordered. And I’ll go where I’m ordered.
There will be no argument.”

She pulled against his hold, but the
grip was unyielding. “Roland! Take your hand from me this
instant!” she commanded.

He continued to ignore her protests and
dragged her along the hall. At the cellar door a startled guard
watched the approaching pair. Roland came to a stop and propelled
Carline toward the door with a less than gentle shove. Her eyes wide
in outrage, Carline turned to the guard. “Arrest him! At once!
He”—anger elevated her voice to a most unladylike
volume—”laid hands on me!”

The guard hesitated, looking from one
to another, then tentatively began to step toward the Squire. Roland
raised a warning finger and pointed it at the guard, less than an
inch from his nose. “You will see Her Highness to her appointed
place of safety. You will ignore her objections, and should she try
to leave, you will restrain her. Do you understand?” His voice
left no doubt he was deadly serious.