and I heard all.”
Shouts from the deck: “The ram! The ram!” SKELTER
leaped sideways in the sea, rolling far to starboard. Lady
Ilys and Carin fell back on the pots and casks. Sturm’s head
banged onto the deck, and the dagger flew from his hand.
Above came the sounds of fighting – heavy thuds, the
ring of metal on metal, the screams of the wounded and
dying. Men fell overboard with loud splashes.
A shaft of sunlight slashed into the enclosure. Kernaffi
marines had cut down the hides. Sturm groped dazedly for
the lost dagger. The boarders charged in. Mistress Carin
bravely faced them, but the nearest man grabbed her by the
hair and dragged her out on deck. Lady Ilys called for her
son. By then Sturm was crawling about, searching for
Soren’s weapon. The Kernaffi approached Lady Ilys, but
she walked out on her own and stood regally in a circle of
poised javelins.
Sturm saw his mother confront the rough, kilt-wearing
Kernaffi. His throat tightened when the ring of spearpoints
closed in. He cast around desperately for the dagger. Back
among the crates of cloth the braided handle gleamed.
Sturm reached for it. …
A rough hand grasped the hood of his cloak and hauled
him to his feet. “KOY ESK TA?” said the Kernaffi, laughing
in the boy’s frightened face.
By the time Sturm was drag-marched to deck, the battle
was over. The Thelite sailors were bunched together by the
mast, on their knees and begging for mercy. Sheer numbers
of javelin-armed Kernaffi had forced Soren back to the
starboard rail. They pinned him there, spearpoints at his
throat. Soren’s broken sword lay at his feet, as did a good
number of wounded Kernaffi.
Carin was weeping. Lady Ilys comforted her. There
was a scuffle on the poop deck. Two marines in conical
leather hats shoved old Captain Graff down to the main
deck.
“Who commands here? I demand to see yer captain!”
Graff said, rising to his feet.
“POLO KAMAY!” said the Kernaffi holding Sturm. All
eyes followed his glance.
Down a narrow boarding bridge came two
extraordinary figures. The first, in a gilded breastplate and
plumed helmet, was obviously the commander of the galley.
Behind him, and taller by half a head, came a woman in
mail and black leather armor. A corona of copper-colored
hair shone around her conical cap.
“Which one is the ship’s master?” said the woman,
stepping down onto the SKELTER.
“I am Graff.”
“Captain, this ship is ours. Yield your cargo manifest.”
“Demons take you!” he said, spitting at her feet. The
woman backhanded him with one mailed fist. Graff’s head
snapped back, and blood ran from his split lip.
“I am Artavash, lieutenant to our great Sea Lord,” said
the woman in a loud, ringing voice. “You people are now
his prisoners.”
The plumed commander went to Lady Ilys and Carin.
“What’s this? Passengers?” he said. “Lady Artavash, look
here!”
The tall warrior woman looked down at Lady Ilys. She
ran a finger over the nap of the fine velvet dress Sturm’s
mother wore. “Wealthy, highborn, or both?” she said. When
Lady Ilys failed to answer, Artavash drew a knife and put
the point to Carin’s stomach.
“It would cost me not a moment’s rest to gut this lady
like a chicken,” she said. “Who are you?”
“Lady Ilys, wife to Lord Brightblade of Solamnia.”
“And why is a great knight’s lady traveling the open sea
without her noble husband?”
Lady Ilys’s lips set firmly until Artavesh pushed the
knife tip through the first layer of Carin’s dress. The maid
inhaled sharply.
“We are traveling – for our health,” Lady Ilys said.
Artavash laughed and translated the remark for the
Kernaffi. They joined her in mocking laughter.
“MUJAT! Enough!” She turned to the galley’s
commander and said, “Well, Sir Radiz, how shall we treat
this poor company?”
“They have nothing we want, lady. Why not let them
sail on?” the beplumed Kernaffi said.
Just then, Sturm managed to slip his arms out of his
cloak. He dropped on his heels and left the marine holding
an empty bundle of cloth. Sturm ran to the women. He
pushed the knife away from Carin and interposed himself