Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

Pursuit

In but a heartbeat and before she could scream, Celeste crashed down onto a canted surface that rang like hardwood, and- “Uff!” — she fell forward to her hands and knees. Her long-knife was lost to her grip and went skittering away in the blackness. Floundering to her feet, “Roel, Roel,” she called, but then she was grabbed from behind, and a rough hand was clapped over her mouth.

Celeste wrenched to and fro, and tried to stomp her heel onto the foot of whoever or whatever had her in its grasp, but she could not break free.

“Quiet, or I’ll snap your neck,” came a hissed command, and whoever had her twisted her head to one side.

Celeste stopped her struggle.

“My Lord Captain,” the being said, keeping his voice low, “I have one here. A female, by the feel of her.”

“There’s another over here, my lord,” someone else said, also in a hushed voice. “I think he’s dead.” Roel dead?

Celeste moaned, but then fell silent as the grip on her mouth tightened in threat.

“Oi, now, wait a moment. He’s breathing. I think he’s just unconscious.”

Thank Mithras, Roel’s alive.

Footsteps neared on wood, but stopped, and the surface Celeste stood on slowly rose and fell. She smelled a salt tang in the air, and she heard the rush of water. A ship. I’m on a ship.

Her eyes now beginning to adjust to the darkness, Celeste could make out a dim shape standing before her.

“Madam, if my lieutenant takes his hand from your mouth, will you keep your voice down?” Celeste managed a restricted nod.

“She agrees, My Lord Captain,” said the one who held her.

“Then do so, Lieutenant.”

The person took his hand from her mouth, yet held her tight, and in that very same moment and in the near distance there sounded terrified screams and roars and splashes.

“What th-?” breathed the one who held her.

“Goblins and Ogres and Trolls, Captain,” said Celeste. “They were in pursuit of us. Now release me so that I might tend my consort.”

“Consort? Who are you?”

Momentarily, Celeste hesitated, for she did not wish to be held for ransom. But then from nearby there came a groan. Roel. She took a deep breath and said,

“Celeste, Princesse de la Foret de Printemps.”

“Princess of the Springwood?”

“Oui. Now again I say, release me so that I might tend my consort.”

“Tell me something few know of your pere,” said the captain.

Does this man know my sire? “Thief,” said Celeste.

“Release her, Lieutenant.”

Set free, Celeste turned in the direction of the groan, and in the darkness she could just make out the shape of something or someone-presumably Roel-lying on the deck, with someone kneeling at hand.

As she made her way toward the supine figure, the lieutenant said, “My Lord Captain, with those screams, surely we move not in secret any longer.”

“Mayhap not,” replied the captain. “Nevertheless we will hew to our course.”

“But, Captain, the men grow ever more fearful, for should we cross over the bound-”

“I know, Lieutenant. We could crash the ship into a mountainside, or burn in a fiery flow, or plummet over an escarpment, or any number of other terrible disasters. Yet heed, if we are to overtake the corsairs, spring upon them unawares, then this is the best course. ’Tis a trick I learned from my freebooter days. Helmsman, just make certain the very ebon wall remains immediately on our port beam. That blackness is the midpoint we dare not cross.”

“Aye, aye, my lord,” replied another voice, the helmsman, no doubt.

Even as Celeste dropped to her knees beside Roel, for surely it was him, he groaned awake. “Wha- Oh, my jaw.”

“Keep your voice low, beloved,” said Celeste.

“Celeste?”

“Oui.” She removed Coeur d’Acier from his grip and took his hand in hers and squeezed.

“I think my chin slammed into the edge of my very own shield,” said Roel. “Where are we?” Celeste looked about, her eyes now fully adjusted to the dimness. She could just make out the dark-on-dark silhouettes of railings and the helm and men and masts and sails and rigging. To the immediate port side there loomed a pitch-black wall. “On the stern of a ship, cheri.”

“A ship?” Roel struggled to a sitting position. He freed his shield arm. “What ship?”

The man-or was he a lad? — kneeling at Roel’s side said, “The Sea Eagle, my lord, my lady. Three-masted and full rigged, she’s the fastest in the king’s fleet.” From the tenor of his voice, Celeste decided he was a youth.

“What are we doing on a king’s ship?” asked Roel.

“At the moment, chasing corsairs,” said Celeste.

“Corsairs?”

“Pirates.”

“I know what corsairs are, my love,” said Roel.

“Rather, I was wondering how we got here. Have I missed an episode in my life?”

Celeste smiled. “Non, Roel. When we ran through the border, we fell onto this ship.”

“Oi, now, I’d say Lady Fortune must have been smiling on you two,” said the lad. “I mean, what are the chances that we’d even be here, faring through this perilous dark, and the chances that you’d come running through the black bound just as we sailed underneath?

Aye, Lady Fortune indeed.”

“More likely ’twas the Fates instead,” said Celeste.

“Otherwise we would have been swimming, as are the Goblins and Ogres and Trolls who were after us, assuming they can swim.”

“What of the warband?” asked Roel. “Did they plunge into the sea as well?”

Shock slammed into the pit of Celeste’s stomach, tears following. “Oh, Roel, you don’t suppose-?” Roel embraced her. “We can only hope they did not.” And as he held her, the ship sped on through darkness, with a stygian wall immediately abeam, and the only sounds were that of the hull racing through water, the wind in canvas, and rigging creaking under the strain.

But then from somewhere in the distance to the forequarter starboard, there came the call of someone shouting orders.

A shadowy figure stepped nigh and knelt and said,

“My lady, I ween you should go to the safety below, for we are about to o’erhaul the corsairs, and battle will soon be upon us.”

“Captain,” said Celeste, recognizing his voice, “have you any spare arrows? I am quite good with a bow.” She stood and slipped the weapon from her back, then added, “And where is my long-knife? I will need it should battle become hand-to-hand.”

Roel clambered to his feet and took up his sword and shield from the deck. “I can help.”

The captain rose and said, “Well, now, I am not certain I should allow Valeray’s daughter to be put in jeopardy.”

Celeste started to protest, but Roel said, “Captain, you cannot win this argument. Believe me, I have tried.

Besides, she is indeed quite good with the bow.”

“All right, but this I say, Princess: we will board the corsair, but you need stay on my ship, for from here your arrows will reach the foe, but their swords will not reach you.”

“Agreed,” said Celeste.

Within moments, Celeste had resheathed her long-knife and had buckled over her shoulder a baldric holding a sheaf of arrows. The shafts were a bit lengthy for her draw, but there wasn’t time to trim them. “Better long than short,” she said, upon testing one in her bow.

As they sailed on through the shadow, Celeste said,

“Captain, might I have your name?”

“Oui, my lady. I am Vicomte Chevell of Mizon.”

“Mizon? Why, that’s where we were bound when we were beset by the Goblins and Ogres and Trolls.”