Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

“Pigs gone wild from those escaped from Brados Town,” said Chevell.

Perspiring, they stopped in the shade of a grove, the air redolent with the scent of the surrounding pines. As they sat on a log and took water, “How long were you a freebooter, Captain?” asked Celeste.

“In mortal terms, twelve years, Princess. About the same length of time I was a thief.”

“Did you capture many a ship?”

A frown of regret crossed Chevell’s features.

“Princess, I’d rather not think on those times, but yes, a goodly number fell to my crew.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. I did not mean to dredge up old memories.”

Chevell shrugged and turned up a hand. “There are things I’d rather forget.”

“As would I,” said Roel. “Deeds done in time of war.” A somber silence fell among them, and finally Chevell said, “Let’s go.” Once again they took up the trek, passing among the tall trees to come to a rocky way, and there they aided one another across the difficult stretch, clambering up and across and down, only to clamber up and across and down again.

Finally, as the sun touched the rim of the world, they reached an upland on the far side of the isle, the highland nought but a jumbled plateau of scrub and rock and trees. In the long shadows Chevell led them to a low ridge, and just ere reaching the crest, onto his belly he flopped, and then eased his way to the crown.

Following his example, Celeste and Roel did the same.

No more than a furlong downslope loomed a fortress of gray stone blocks, sitting atop a low rise jutting out from the fall of the land. On beyond and farther down, another half mile or so, stood a town, curving about a modest bay. Rover ships were moored in the dark waters, the cove enshadowed from the setting sun by the arc of the island shouldering up all ’round. As eve drew on in the dimness below, the trio could make out folk hurrying through the streets, and lights winked into being, and the music of a squeeze-box drifted on the air. It seemed to be quite a normal town and not a rover den.

As to the bastion itself, roughly square it was, an outer wall running ’round o’er the rough ground, some ten feet high and three hundred feet to a side and five feet thick at the top, wider at the base. “That wall is merely to slow invaders; it’s not a primary defense,” said Chevell, reminding them. “And though you can’t see it from here, there’s a gate along the starwise side. A road runs through and down a series of switchbacks to the town below.”

Between the outer bulwark ringing ’round and the main fortress itself, lay nought but open space, the land completely barren of growth. “A killing ground for any who win their way up the hill and breach the outer wall,” said Roel.

Centered within this outer wall and killing ground, the dark bastion itself stood: some fifty feet high to the banquette it was and also built in a square, two hundred feet to a side, with a great courtyard in the center, towers and turrets and a massive wall hemming the quadrangle in. “The main gate lies on the starwise side,” said Chevell, “but you can see a postern here on the sunwise bound. We, of course, will use neither.”

And in the very center of the courtyard stood a tall slender structure, mayhap some seventy feet high, window slits up its length, arrow slits up its length as well.

“There it is,” said Chevell, “Caralos’s aerie. From there he surveys his kingdom. ’Tis at the top where he keeps his charts and plots his raids.”

“Then that’s where we are bound,” said Celeste.

“Oui,” said Roel. “But first we need get over the outer wall and then the inner one and into the courtyard.”

“ ’Tis a good plan you have laid out, Chevalier,” said Chevell.

“Let us hope it all goes well,” replied Roel, “but like any plan of combat, it all falls apart the instant it begins.” They lay for long moments, watching the town come alive in the oncoming dusk, lantern glow or mayhap candlelight shining in nearly every house and building, songs drifting upslope. Finally, Roel slid a bit backwards and said, “One of the first rules of combat: take rest when you may.”

“I’ll keep first watch,” said Chevell. “I’ll wake you in four candlemarks.”

“What of me?” asked Celeste. “Which watch is mine?”

“Third,” grunted Roel.

Four days past new and on its way to setting, a crescent moon hung low above the sundown horizon when Chevell awakened Roel, and by the time he awakened Celeste the moon had long disappeared, and all was dark but for the stars, though a few windows in town as well as the bastion yet glowed yellow, including a lantern-lit window at the top of Caralos’s tower.

Celeste yawned and asked, “What is the count?”

“Two candlemarks after mid of night,” said Roel, now stepping back to the ridge and peering starwise.

Celeste slowly shook her head. “Ah, you trickster, you’ve cheated me out of my watch, for Armond and the crew are to-”

“My love, waken Chevell,” said Roel. “I see the shadow of Armond’s arrival.”

And even as Chevell and Celeste came to the ridge,

’round the shoulder of the cove in the glimmering starlight came the dark shape of the sloop under full sail, dark blots in tow-dinghies, the trio knew.

“Quick,” snapped Roel, “our gear.”

Down the back of the ridge they darted, to snatch up rope and grapnels and weaponry and other such. And by the time they reached the crest again, the sloop was blazing in flames as amid the pirate fleet it sailed.

From somewhere below there came the clanging of an alarm gong, and on the fortress walls, horns blew.

“Fire ship! Fire ship!” came the repeated cry. And in the light of the burning sloop, dinghies rowed for the outlying craft, and men from the Eagle threw torches aboard other dhows, with wads of oil-soaked brush following.

The entire bay now came alight with blazing flame, the center of the fleet afire as the raging unmanned sloop crashed in among the corsairs.

Pirates ran down to the docks, cursing, raving, weapons in hand. They were met by volleys of arrows from the archers aboard the dinghies.

And as alarms rang and horns sounded- chnk! — the tines of a padded grapnel hooked onto the ten-foot-high outer wall at the rear of the fortress.

Up onto this beringing bulwark clambered a trio of dark shadows, their faces smudged with black streaks.

Down the other side they scrambled, leaving a rope in place in case of need, for none patrolled this wall, and discovery of the line unlikely. Across the killing ground they slipped, nought but wraiths in the dark. They sped to one corner of the fortress, for there free-climbing would be easiest. And up they clambered, Roel in the lead, Celeste coming last.

Up the rough stonework they scaled, passing by arrow slits in the wall, darkness and silence within. Up they clambered and up, now and again slowed by a bit of smooth work. Finally, they neared the top, where Roel in the lead motioned the others to stillness, and they all clung to the stone without moving, for running footsteps clattered nigh. Cursing voices grew louder, along with the thud of boot. Lantern light shone brighter and brighter, and with their hearts hammering ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 143

in their throats, the trio pressed themselves against the stone, as all ’round the darkness faded. Directly above on the wall the glow passed, and then sped beyond, voices and light fading as the pirates loped onward.

Celeste exhaled, noting for the first time that she had been holding her breath. When the patrol was but a distant scuffle, upward Roel climbed, to slip over the parapet and onto the walkway above. Looking left and right as he slid Coeur d’Acier from its sheath across his back, he turned about to motion the others up, to find Chevell hoisting Celeste onto the banquette. They cast their cloak hoods far over their heads, for they would not have any see just who they were, strangers within the hold. Chevell drew a cutlass, and Celeste whipped the bow from her back and nocked an arrow.