Rob Scott - The Hickory Staff

Someone called from above, ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t leave me out here in the moonlight alone.’

Shocked by the sound of an unfamiliar voice, Kaylo leaped back into the shadows, his knives at the ready. ‘Who’s there?’ he rasped, trying to control his breathing.

‘It’s just me.’ Brynne stepped towards the rail that lined the forward rim of the quarterdeck.

Kaylo was taken aback. It was a woman, and except for a selection of knives and a small axe, she appeared to be unarmed. Was she alone? He couldn’t see any grappling hooks, so how did she get up there? Panting slightly in surprise, he looked around, trying to locate the other members of her raiding party. He had to assume he was now acting alone in defence of the ship.

‘What are you doing here?’ He was almost embarrassed by the absurdity of his question.

‘Just enjoying a night out.’ The woman was backlit by torches; he could hear her smile, even though he couldn’t see it. ‘You?’

He did not answer. He was in an untenable position. He backed away slowly, trying to improve his view, but he had to stop when he bumped into the thick oak trunk of the aft mast.

‘Where are you going?’ Brynne began to move towards the starboard stairwell. ‘We were getting on so well.’

Kaylo decided the old man was not Prince Malagon but an intruder, working with the young woman – but how exactly could one woman and one bandy-legged old seaman take the Prince Marek ’s crew? Sweat ran freely across his face and neck and he tried, too late, to lie. ‘I should warn you: there’s a crew of a hundred and fifty below decks. They’ll be on hand in a moment.’

‘Sorry,’ Brynne said, ‘if you’d opened with that one I might have believed you, but you spent too long trying to find an escape. Just like a man! You squirm around and then try to lie your way out of trouble.’ She took several steps towards the stairs. She had to keep him talking until she could get close enough to engage him hand-to-hand.

As Kaylo watched her approach the starboard stairs, he spied the answer to his dilemma from the corner of his eye – it was a risk, especially if she had archers with her, but it was the only way to assess the quarterdeck. He sheathed his knives and leaped into the ship’s rigging, climbing the stiff but awkward rope ladders as rapidly as possible until he had climbed high enough to see clearly. The quarterdeck was empty. There was no one with her. She was alone. Who was this woman who thought she could just wander about the decks of Prince Malagon’s ship?

A wry smile played across Kaylo’s lips as he dropped to the main deck with the agility of a cat. ‘You’re by yourself.’ He had no idea how many intruders had already entered the aft companionway, but he was confident that if he killed this woman, he would have the advantage of higher ground whenever her accomplices emerged from the prince’s quarters.

‘Of course I’m by myself.’ Brynne paused. Good. Let him come to me. Get him away from them.

Kaylo drew his knives with a flourish and strode confidently towards this curious girl. ‘Might I ask who you are?’

Staring down at him from above, Brynne’s voice was icy as she replied, ‘I am the one who is going to cut your throat if you go anywhere near those chambers.’ She gestured towards the companionway with the toe of her boot. Her response had the desired effect.

Kaylo saw the strange woman draw twin blades with a practised, graceful motion and mounted the starboard stairs. ‘Well met, then, my staggeringly attractive adversary.’

Brynne bowed slightly to acknowledge his flattery, covertly examining his movements, his grip, even the style and length of the blades themselves. ‘I thank you for the compliment, but I am afraid I am spoken for, and I also have a prior engagement, so might I suggest we just get this over with.’ She considered him for a moment before adding, ‘The quicker the better, my pockmarked, homely and unfortunately malodorous adversary.’

Kaylo recognised that she was sizing him up and he dropped to a crouch to reduce the exposed surface area of his torso and neck to a minimum. Seeing how she maintained her composure, he thought she might prove skilled. He swallowed hard and attempted to remain calm.

‘Now that’s unfair,’ he whispered, ‘I am too far away for you to know I smell bad.’

‘Well, come closer then, and we can discuss it.’ She grinned fiercely.

It had taken Twinmoons for Brynne to recover from being raped and beaten in that corner room at Greentree Tavern. Sallax had wanted desperately to help, but he was young too, and had no idea how badly such an attack could emotionally scar a woman, marking her as damaged goods in her own mind for all time. What he could do was teach her to defend herself. Nothing brought Brynne the sense of grim satisfaction she required except for the knife. She had told her brother, ‘I have to be in close… Sallax, I want to be in close. I want to see them suffer.’

The first time Sallax saw Brynne use her newly developed skill had been devastating. The tavern had been bustling with out-of-town travellers and locals and Brynne scurried about the front room serving wine and beer and food while her brother manned both bar and kitchen.

Returning from his cooking range he detected a change in the atmosphere: the fire crackled contentedly on the far wall, but across the room, something was different. Then he saw his sister. Brynne was struggling to make her way past three brothers who had positioned their chairs to block her into a corner. The men had been drinking heavily and what might have been a moment of sexual banter had elevated quickly to a potentially violent incident. Dropping a stew-stained towel, Sallax called for Garec and Versen, but they had not gone three steps when one of the men reached out to Brynne.

‘Don’t!’ Sallax cried, but he was too late.

Brynne dropped the tray, and her knives appeared as if by magic. She delivered a deft slash to the first brother’s wrist, a half-moon across the back of his hand that mirrored the scarred merchant who had raped her only five Twinmoons earlier. Bellowing in pain and surprise, the young man stood, toppling his chair and reaching for a dagger at his belt, but Brynne was there first, slashing her blade across the man’s chest: a wide backhand that opened his tunic and left a deep wound.

His brothers were moving now as well, drawing short swords as Brynne dropped to a crouch, lunged across the small round table and buried one knife to the hilt in the fleshy part of the second brother’s abdomen, then pulled it out and, spinning gracefully, brought both knives around in a sharp arc that left twin parallel slashes across the third brother’s stomach. She completed her movement by burying one blade hilt-deep in the first brother’s thigh.

The entire engagement had lasted less than two breaths. A moment later, the entire front room at Greentree Tavern erupted with shouts; patrons sprang to their feet, some to help and others to escape. Sallax was forced to leap onto the bar to see what was happening; he saw Versen and Garec dragging the three men out and dumping them into the muddy street. None of them would die, but each would think twice before trying to have his way with an unwilling woman again.

Brynne was smiling, but there was no joy in her face. There was a fierce pride, and triumph, and bitterness. And there was an unremitting hatred. Sallax shuddered. The merchant had created a monster of his beloved sister.

Now Kaylo saw that smile. Despite himself, he shivered.

Brynne did what she always did when called upon to fight. She superimposed the shadowy image of the Falkan merchant who had stolen her life over the Malakasian’s face. Now she could kill with impunity. She couldn’t remember a hand-to-hand struggle that had lasted more than a breath or two. Someone always lunged a bit too deeply, exposing too much flank, or extended an arm too far forward, and that was when she moved. Would it be the same with this fellow? He seemed well trained.