Juliet McKenna - Northern Storm

Is this a sign that we need not resort to any more lies to find these people?

Kheda forced himself not to look at Dev. Where has it come from? Shaiam, can you tell? Yere?’

‘On that side of the channel?’ The helmsman searched the murky water for the wreckage before leafing through his route record to confirm exactly where the navigable backwaters ran hereabouts. ‘It’ll have washed out of that inlet, I think?’ He pointed, looking to Shaiam for support.

The shipmaster nodded, tugging at his braided beard. ‘Or the one to the north.’

Kheda got to his feet. ‘Raise signal flags for the Yellow Serpent. We’ll take the northern channel, they can take the southern. Let’s see who thinks Chazen can afford to lose a serviceable boat for firewood.’ He stifled a qualm of apprehension as the vessel shot towards a gap in the chain of islands on the far side of the channel. At first glance, the narrow entrance offered no more than a stagnant dead end for the unwary, or worse, a deathtrap for the uninvited. The shore was thick with grey-brown knot-tree roots clawing at tangles of lily leaves. As the Yellow Serpent vanished down a similarly uninviting watercourse, the air grew thick and stifling once again. Kheda felt sweat trickle down his spine.

In contrast to his apprehension, this unexpected turn of events prompted a surge of enthusiasm from the rowing deck. The Mist Dove forced a path through the dense vegetation, branches yielding in a flurry of snapping noises.

‘My lord!’ Another of Aysi’s hopeful swordsmen was perched precariously out on the timbers that projected from the trireme’s bow to protect the foremost oars when ramming an enemy. He clung to the upswept prow with one hand. ‘A trading boat but flying no pennant!’

‘Follow it!’ Kheda shouted back.

Shaiam caught up his coiled brass horn and blew a terse demand that the smaller vessel stop to identify itself. Its master plainly had no such intention, hastily canting his sail to catch the wind and speed away. ‘Sound a signal for the Yellow Serpent,” Kheda ordered Shaiam, keeping his eyes on the fugitive.

As the horn’s cry echoed back from the green-cloaked isles all around, the Mist Dove’s piper picked up his pace and the trireme’s rowers followed suit. They were nearly on top of the trading boat as it rounded a shallow headland foul with muck and flotsam and fled headlong for a muddy cove. With a shock of relief, Kheda recognised the landing that Dev’s spell had shown him. Small figures on the shore froze in startled confusion as they saw the trireme bearing down on them.

‘We’re going ashore,’ said Kheda tersely.

‘My lord?’ Shaiam looked at him with surprise.

Kheda could see the unspoken words in the shipmaster’s dark eyes.

It’s not the place of warlords to get themselves killed in skirmishes like common swordsmen. That’s all very well, as long as a warlord has plenty of common swordsmen to do his bidding. ‘I’m going ashore,’ he reiterated, ‘and I want every oarsman trained with a sword to follow.’

At least they have proper swords, even if each lesson Dev gives them is the one I’ve just finished drilling into him.

‘Hold on to something,’ Shaiam advised before shouting down to the rowing master, ‘Turn and beach us!’ The piper sounded a shrill note and every blade rose clear of the water. Kheda held tightly on to the back of the shipmaster’s chair as Yere hauled on his steering oars to twist the Mist Dove’s stern to the land. Below, the rowers lifted their feet and spun around on their seats, each man now facing the prow. Turning almost inside its own length, the Mist Dove wallowed for a moment before the rowers dug their first stroke deep with a guttural shout. The oars crashed into the water and the galley surged stern-first for the shore.

Dev threw the ladders down over the stern while the timbers were still reverberating with the impact. Aysi and his men came running along the side decks, the archers scanning the shore, arrows nocked and ready. Below, the innermost ranks of rowers abandoned their sweeps to their neighbours as the sail crew handed out the weapons the ship carried in lieu of a full contingent of warriors. Kheda pulled on mail-backed gloves and steadied his swords as he made ready to drop over the stern.

‘Running like rats.’ Dev observed the commotion ashore with contempt.

‘A cornered rat can still take your finger off’ Kheda watched the men and women on the beach scattering. A few were running to the huts just visible in the trees. More were retreating towards the three ships they had beached, drawing swords of their own. Some had clambered aboard the vessels, throwing aside the concealing knot-tree branches with frantic haste.

‘They won’t get them afloat, not with the tide as it is,’ Dev said with cruel amusement before sliding lithely down a rope ladder.

‘If they do, Hesi will catch them.’ Kheda glanced over his shoulder to see the distinctive silhouette of the

Yellow Serpent approaching. He settled his helm firmly on his head and drew the chain-mail veil around his neck and throat, snapping the clasp below his chin. Sliding the ornate face plate down the nasal bar, he locked it in place. But as he climbed down the ladder, he realised he was lacking the metal-plated leggings that should complete his armour.

You still have a lot to learn about being a decent body slave, Dev. Telouet would never have let me on to a hostile shore with bare knees.

He had no chance to do anything about it. The trireme’s swordsmen were pressing close behind him, drawing their blades in a flurry of flashing sunlight as they splashed through the shallows. ‘If they yield, take them prisoner.’ Kheda’s words rang out across the beach for the benefit of these unknown newcomers as well as Aysi’s warriors. ‘If they fight, kill them. This is Chazen land and my writ runs here.’ His voice was harsh behind the steely lattice of his visor.

At the centre of the ragged line of armoured men, Kheda led a slow advance across the damp, muddy ground. The youth Ridu raised a cry of ‘Chazen!’ and the oarsmen backing the swordsmen picked it up, every repetition gathering menace.

The unknown men and women drew back till they had their boats at their backs, swords thrust forward. All Kheda could see was ugly defiance. Men and women alike, all were young, their feet planted firmly on this ground they had claimed and brandishing swords with more ferocity than skill. A couple wore chain mail and a handful more had somehow scrounged the coats of nail-studded leather that were customarily a village spokesman’s privilege. The rest were relying on hastily sewn jerkins of turtle hide or sharkskin.

The Chazen line advanced to within twenty paces of the beached boats. With an inarticulate roar the enemy rushed forward, wild strokes cleaving the air until Chazen blades met them with a grating clash of steel.

Kheda’s vision shrank to the foe before him, anything to either side a blur. His opponent thrust desperately, a last instant of hesitation robbing his sword of any real strength. Kheda parried easily before turning his stroke into a backhanded slash to bite deep into the man’s upper ann. With skills honed since his earliest youth, he swept up his off-hand sword to run the man clean through just below his ribcage.

Not so low as to strike a hip. Not so deep into the body as to risk binding on the backbone.

Kheda ripped his sword free of the dying man and took an instant to assess the combat on either side. Dev was more than holding his own, even if his strokes owed more to natural viciousness than real skill. A rower to Kheda’s open side was not doing so well, already bleeding from a ragged slash to his thigh. Kheda moved to shield the man with his armoured body and a killing stroke came down to rasp impotently along the warlord’s mail-clad arm as Kheda forced the rusty sword aside.