Rob Scott - The Hickory Staff

‘Damnit. Wrong.’

‘But look-’ The old man’s voice jumped an octave. ‘The first carving’s stayed in place.’

‘Excellent – so that must be side number one.’ He turned it round. ‘The other adjacent side must be number two. Let’s try it.’ He’d just spun the box on the table and was reaching for the twin silver cones when Nerak arrived.

Malakasian Home Guardsman Private Kaylo Partifan struggled to push the clumsy wooden hatch open above his head. He had been sleeping in a tiny berth beneath the foredeck when a muffled explosion awakened him. His first thought had been to ignore it and go back to sleep; there were a number of members of the Home Guard on board, as well as a skeleton crew of some twenty-five seamen, at least six of whom would be standing watch. But lying there in his cramped, uncomfortable bunk, his thoughts returned to Devar Wentra, his former platoon leader – his former friend – killed by a glance from the dark prince. As Kaylo lost the wrestling match with his wool blanket, he could not tear his memory away from the sight of the lieutenant collapsing beneath Prince Malagon’s gaze.

He decided to grab some fresh air while investigating what would no doubt turn out to be nothing.

Most of his platoon had been ordered to the Falkan Occupation Headquarters. They very rarely travelled, so they’d had no idea what to expect. They had boarded the Prince Marek in Pellia, set sail for the Northern Archipelago and had not seen Prince Malagon again until they moored in Orindale Harbour. Kaylo had been a little surprised that the Home Guard escort was so small, although rumour had reached the Prince Marek that the combined occupation forces of southern Falkan were entrenched along the outskirts of the city. Prince Malagon might have feared an attack on Orindale, or perhaps even an attempt on his life, but he seemed confident that a single platoon of his Home Guard would be ample protection at Occupation Headquarters.

Apart from wishing he could see the old Falkan royal residence, Kaylo was happy to be one of the detachment overseeing security on board the Prince Marek. Being at Occupation Headquarters meant greater risk of ending up like Devar.

The city of Orindale was so close: Kaylo yearned for shore leave, but he knew his chances were slim. Still, the journey itself had been an adventure – he was only a hundred and fifty Twinmoons old, and he still was excited at the prospect of seeing new places and doing new things. He had wondered if sunsets looked different in other parts of Eldarn, if the fruit tasted sharper, or the wine sweeter. But thus far, he had seen and done nothing new except learn to stand watch on a rolling sea and to keep a trencher and goblet from falling off a listing tabletop.

Pausing on the narrow wooden ladder leading above decks, he stretched the stiffness from his back and legs and cursed his unyielding wooden berth. Sleeping on board had been the worst part of this trip; how he envied his colleagues who were resting ashore tonight, sleeping in comfortable – unmoving – beds. Then he thought of Devar and sighed, ‘No, I’m better off here.’ He stifled a yawn and pushed his way onto the deck above.

He found himself suddenly awake and quite lucid in the cool night air. He drew a deep breath of the sea-scented breeze and moved rapidly along the main deck. He could see no sign of the overnight sentry, but he wasn’t much surprised. The sailors were rubbish compared with Prince Malagon’s Home Guard, who were famous for being the best-trained and most efficient soldiers in Malakasia. Kaylo, despite his youth, was deadly with a bow, a short sword, a broadsword, a rapier, and an assortment of knives and daggers, and he was trained not to hesitate to engage an enemy of any size or strength in the prince’s defence. He was young to be a member of the elite force, and good as he was, Kaylo knew he still had a great deal to learn – ‘Like how to be as stealthy and near-invisible as whoever has watch tonight,’ he whispered, and searched for any sign of another Home Guardsman.

No one else was about. He needed to find someone who could tell him what had happened so he could go back to sleep. He wasn’t worried: there was little to threaten a ship of this size, especially as the Malakasian Navy controlled all shipping in the Ravenian Sea.

He was getting cold now. Kaylo squinted into the dim light provided by the sconces and marvelled at how far he had come without finding anything out of the ordinary. That began to alarm him somewhat. He considered how far he had already walked along the main deck and the distance the sound of the explosion had travelled to reach and wake him. He quickened his pace. ‘Destroying the ship ourselves,’ Kaylo grumbled, ‘I’d hate to have to explain that one to Prince Malagon.’

Mark sighed with relief as Brynne slipped over the stern rail and began climbing nimbly down to the skiff. He had no idea how many men she had been forced to deal with, but at least now she was back in the relative safety of their rowboat – not that there were any guarantees they’d be able to escape to their little yacht and sail away. But he felt better just knowing Brynne was off that ship.

He watched carefully, counting the seconds and hoping she wasn’t going to fall when Brynne surprised him by hefting herself back up the rope and over the side. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he whispered as loudly as he dared. ‘Come back!’

‘I’ll be just a moment,’ she said, her voice low. ‘I heard something.’

‘ He wants you off that ship!’ Mark tried to avoid yelling.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘and he was a little too quick to want me away. I’m worried something isn’t going well in there.’

‘Brynne,’ Mark pleaded.

‘I love you,’ she mimicked in broken English before slipping silently from view.

Kaylo stumbled across the first body. He crouched low and drew two knives from his tunic, cursing himself for leaving his sword and longbow stowed beneath his bunk. Creeping quietly, avoiding the pools of firelight beneath the sconces, he strained his ears to detect anything out of the ordinary. He laid his palms against the main deck to feel for vibrations of anyone moving through cabins or along companionways below, but save for the distant rumble of a prolonged thunderclap somewhere east of the city, he heard and saw nothing.

Twenty sailors and one Home Guardsman lay strewn about the main deck like forgotten marionettes waiting for the curtain to come up. No one moved. Kaylo checked carefully, but except for one burly seaman who had a gash like a half-moon across his forearm, no one showed any sign of injury. He moved further into the shadows and made his way towards the stern cabins. He fought to keep his head clear, but an uneasy thought kept recurring: the dark prince returning, finding something that displeased him, and wiping out every member of the skeleton crew left aboard.

He had nearly reached the aft end of the Prince Marek when he saw a solitary figure climb down the starboard stairs. Even from a distance, the Malakasian could see the man was scrawny, and unarmed – and something in the region of five hundred and fifty Twinmoons old. He watched, a little incredulously, as the unknown visitor walked – with no apparent concern or stealth – into Prince Malagon’s private chambers. As he recalled the bodies scattered across the main deck, an alarm went off in his mind.

‘Be careful,’ Kaylo warned himself. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. Those are strong, battle-hardened men unconscious on the deck.’

He kept his guard up, watching and listening for any sign of other boarders as he moved warily towards the narrow door that led into the aft companionway, but there was still no sight or sound of any other crewman or Home Guardsman. Kaylo had to assume they had all been taken – maybe even killed – by whomever had overpowered the men on deck. Moving almost silently, he covered the final few steps to the aft cabins. He listened for what felt like a long time but might only have been a few breaths, then reached for the thin leather latch holding the companionway door closed. Oh gods, he thought suddenly, what if that old man is the prince? He’d never seen Prince Malagon disrobed. Kaylo feared he was about to enter the prince’s private chambers unannounced and uninvited, and the image of Devar’s lifeless body came back to him in a rush. He looked back at the score of sailors and crewmen slumped and crumpled in awkward positions about the main deck and dropped the leather thong. He stepped hesitantly back from the door.