Out of The Furness
With his left boot, Hrókar Erstemann rolled the defeated man on to his back and stared into the terrified eyes of the unknown rioter who had managed to kill one of his guardsmen. He stared mere moments before the man drew a dagger from his sleeve and stabbed at Hrókar’s leg.
The big man saw it coming and avoided being wounded. The first commander drew up his war hammer and pounded it against the man’s arm, crushing the bones and sending the dagger clanging to the limestone paving. He was still screaming as Hrókar directed two Slithers to take the man away.
“Captain!” Hrókar shouted. The dashing young officer of Katizian descent, named Zyphos K’ron, lifted his hand in acknowledgement. Sporting a thin goatee beard and moustache on a face created for smiling, and with his long black hair tied at the nape of his neck, Hrókar often thought of the man as born in uniform. He had a manner full of easy charm and good humour. Hrókar had recognised the young captain’s potential early on and had taken an interest in his career. He knew Zyphos was popular among the men in his company of Slithers, which was rare enough for such a competent and dedicated officer.
Zyphos was standing on a pile of timbers from a collapsed and burnt storehouse, cleaning the blade of his sabre. There were several visible slashes through his City Guardsman uniform, where a weapon had cut as far as his ring-mail hauberk. “Sir,” he responded as he approached his commander.
“Report.”
“Thanks to the knight and her men we have retaken most of the docks and stopped the spread of the violence to the food stores. The fires are still out of control as far as the Dock Wall. We dug ditches, doused smaller fires and used horses to pull buildings to the ground. The wall is keeping the rest of the city safe from the flames, but if the smoke spreads, it might end up killing more. It was a good thing the Tocsin sounded when it did, or we would be facing hundreds dead instead of dozens. Right now, it seems the only meaningful resistance is coming from the Fish Hook arming-houses along the dock.”
“We had the same story at the Fish Hook control near the river,” said Hrókar. “We charged through the smoke and most fled, but a small group stayed to fight – there was even a Zadesti among them. When we killed some and drove off the rest, we discovered the trigger for the spear-trap was damaged. Any ship could hit the strut, the trap would not spring. We found similar resistance as we pushed on to the next Fish Hook. There can be no doubt the men were targeting the devices.”
“So, we agree, we are fighting soldiers instead of fishermen. The attack on Aksson has already begun, Commander. That they are trying to destroy our water defences means only one thing.”
“It’s an attack by sea,” Hrókar agreed. “We need to start gaining control of the Fish Hook buildings along the entire dock. Send some engineers to check the control levers for any signs of sabotage or damage. Post men on each of the buildings as we reclaim them and tell them to hold their positions at all costs. There is an invasion fleet coming, and we will need all our defences in working order. I need four runners.”
The captain spun and whistled to four Slithers moving some of the dead to one side of the main dockland thoroughfare. The men halted what they were doing and ran to the captain’s side.
“Good lads,” the commander said. “Still fighting fit, I see.” There were mute nods from the weary, soot-covered soldiers. “Each of you are to make your way to the garrisons and tell them to mobilise the remainder of the guard. The men are to report to me at the Dock Garrison where they will be given further orders. Tell the commanders I have ordered the city gates kept open until we see an enemy force. We need to allow as many people out of the city as possible in the event the fires spread. The attack is by sea, so the garrison commanders can leave minimal numbers on the walls to oversee the evacuation. You…” Hrókar pointed to the last man in the line. “Go to Fifth Garrison at the North Dock to tell Commander Orken to open the Tower and arrange for weapons to be distributed. All understood?”
There were nods and quiet affirmations from the soldiers.
“Good. Make haste, men.” Hrókar was about to speak with the captain when he heard shouts from some of the soldiers responding to those high on the nearest cliff.
On the cliff was a small group of men, one of whom was using a signal mirror to reflect the sun. The first commander watched, already knowing what was being signalled. Zyphos turned his head to Hrókar, a smile on his bronze-skinned face. “So, hundreds of uninvited guests are arriving. They will need a warm welcome. I did not have any other plans today, did you?”
The older warrior smiled. “I hope you will still be smiling by nightfall. One last thing – I need two riders, one each for Arnleif and Sonnerton. We need their men here, all of them if the signals from the cliff are correct. Send word to Sir Holt to dispatch the entirety of the Sonnerton Protection Fleet to help us defend our shores, by order of the baron.”
The captain’s smile faded. He knew what it meant to order every last soldier or ship to Aksson. The outlying towns, including anyone who remained, were to be abandoned. “With any luck, the other towns will not be attacked. Now go, and be quick about it,” said the first commander.
With the captain gone, and in the quiet of the immediate area, Hrókar reflected on the state of affairs. He had been concerned when the young Shielder, Brokk had told him the Lord’s Estate burned and Roslind had returned there; and he had ordered two squads of City Guardsmen to the baron’s house to help with any efforts. This was before he knew he would be fighting soldiers at the Fish Hooks, however, and it was also before a fleet of invaders were spotted beyond the headland. He knew their first target as they approached from the south would be the fort at Bryan’s Bluff.
The maze of razor coral had its entrance near the fort, and any ship’s captain not wishing to either sail against the coral or go hours out of their way needed to come within range of the fort’s weapons. Armed with its giant ballista, catapults and mangonels, the fort would do significant damage to any enemy ship within range; as would the two forts at Herrnan’s Bluff to the north, which protected the sea passage to the salt mines. The commander hoped the reduced number of men at the fort could hold their positions should they be attacked.
The signal from the cliffs indicated the ships were ‘too many to count’. The ominous tone of the fort’s horn sounded, as if to emphasise the signal from its men.
Thorn slipped past the soldiers who had broken through the gates of the Great Watch House moments before. As they stormed into the tower and ran up the stairs, they paid little attention to the shadowy corners of the pantry and none at all to the drops of vermilion cougari blood along the way. His body shuddered with pain and his heart was beating hard. It was heavy with grief as he crouched beside the lifeless body of his old friend.
The baron’s eyes, red from burst vessels, seemed to stare at the sky as the cougari checked for any sign of life.
I am sorry Feylan, I have failed you.
With his right hand, Thorn closed the baron’s eyelids. The cougari then noticed the curved knife still tucked into the baron’s belt and removed it. “I will see your blade to your heir,” he recited, placing the weapon next to his own.
He was aware of someone shouting from the top of the tower and presumed the soldiers were calling to him. Thorn ignored them. From the corner of his vision, he could see a small crowd gathering. Thorn looked up into the eyes of a ruddy middle-aged individual dressed in the black uniform of the City Guard, who then looked to the baron’s body.
The Slither fumbled with his sword and levelled it at the cougari.
“St-stand up and mu-move away from the baron,” stammered Talbert.
Thorn complied, keeping his gaze fixed on the man.
“Wh-what happened here?” Talbert demanded. The soldier noticed the blood still dripping from the cougari’s left hand; and when he looked back to the baron’s body, he could see two of the creature’s claws still stuck in the Baron’s chainmail.
Thankful he would not have to defend himself from the soldier, Thorn stood and answered in an even tone. “The baron has been murdered. I tried to save him but failed. His enemies are not only attacking the city from the sea but also from within. The baron’s killer fled but is somewhere in the city. I need to find him, and when I do, I will make him suffer like no other creature has ever suffered before.” There was a ferocity in the cougari’s words. Talbert made no response. He lowered his sword but did not sheath it.
Accompanied by the City Guardsmen, the remaining Shielder who had ridden out with the baron had descended the tower and was approaching at speed, quickly reading the scene. One of the Slithers kicked at Thorn’s knees from behind. “Scratcher scum!” he shouted as his boot connected.
Anger flared in the cougari. At once he wanted to destroy the entire world, to exorcise the agony in his body and the torment in his heart until he was defeated or fell from exhaustion. He wanted everything to burn.
Thorn reacted on instinct as he fell to the ground, and with a roll to the side was back on his feet next to Talbert. He spun in front of the old guardsman and disarmed him while driving his undamaged shoulder into him, knocking him back to the dust.
He swept the left leg of the guardsman who had kicked him, pulling it forward before delivering an axe kick to the man’s collarbone. The other Slithers and the Shielder drew their swords. Despite the pain of his left hand, Thorn grabbed the unconscious soldier by the front of his breastplate and drew up his right arm, claws extended, poised to slash the guardsman’s throat.
“Stop! Please!” screamed Talbert.
The call jarred the cougari from his rage. Thorn stopped, looked again at the man he held and flung him to the ground. He lowered his arm and retracted his claws. Standing, he glowered at each of the men. “Help me return the baron to his home,” he said, addressing the Shielder with his composure regained.
The Shielder, wary, made no movement. “Help me with him or attack, I do not have the time for indecision,” grumbled Thorn. Having seen the cougari at the Lord’s Estate earlier, the Shielder, Stefan, presumed the creature was welcome there – and at least it was not trying to escape. He lowered his sword and sheathed it. “I’ll help you,” he announced. The other men followed his lead. Thorn moved to Talbert, who had managed to get to his feet, and offered him his own weapon.
“Apologies,” offered the cougari, with a shallow bow of his head.
The guardsman nodded and grasped the sword. “I have a cart we could use…for the baron,” Talbert offered. Stefan and the Slithers marshalled the horses from the Lord’s Estate, which had been discarded in the attack on the Tower. He recovered his own mount and hitched another to the small two-wheeled cart Talbert had provided. By the time they had secured the animals in the nearby City Guard’s paddocks, Talbert had placed the body of the baron on the cart and draped it with his ceremonial cloak.
As they made their way to the baron’s house, Thorn, Stefan and Talbert could see some of the buildings before the Dock Wall were little more than smouldering remains. The streets were thronged with people, none of whom paid them any attention. Stefan wanted the bodies of the Shielders in the Great Watch House recovered but Thorn said there was no time, telling them he had seen the baron’s house burning from the roof of the tower.
Thorn sat on the cart and ripped the end of his cloak in strips to tightly wrap his bloodied left hand and to sling his right arm, the task made harder by the pain shooting through him with every bump in the road.
As they reached the last street before the Lord’s Estate, Thorn signalled Talbert to stop under the cover of nearby buildings and he moved into a position to view the scene with Stefan.
The great hall, Úrsfrekr, no longer had a roof, and black smoke still drifted skywards. The house itself was intact as far as Thorn could tell. The gates were closed and barred, and there were white-cloaked soldiers on the walls. “All is well, there are still Shielders on the battlements,” said Stefan with relief.
Thorn locked eyes with the Shielder. “They are not House Shield men. There are merely masquerading. Some are women and others have no armour under the cloaks. The house is in enemy hands. Look carefully through the gate on the left, there is a pile of corpses.”
Stefan was shaking and distraught. “We…we need to get in there and see who is left alive or captured,” suggested the Shielder.
“Agreed, but we will need to find another way. There is a drain by the river which –”
“Look,” the Shielder interrupted, pointing to a street to the west of the estate. “Is that Sir Roslind?”
The knight ran across the open area to the wall, with her shield on her back and holding a coiled rope with what looked like a makeshift climbing claw. She pulled herself tight against the bricks.
“Is she going to climb the wall? In armour?” Thorn wondered. Looking back to the street from which Roslind had emerged, the cougari could see other signs of movement, but nothing clearer. A hint of movement on the roof of the building to which Roslind had run caught the cougari’s attention – he could make out a man with a bow crouched behind a large gargoyle. There was an instant tightness in Thorn’s chest, and he looked back to Roslind. The cougari was about to warn the knight when he noticed Roslind look to the roof and nod. The man held up a palm, fingers wide, signalling Roslind to wait.
“She is not alone,” said Thorn, relieved. “We need to draw those on the south battlements to the gate to give her a chance of getting in undetected. Stay here, I’ll look around for something to help us.”
Thorn moved back along the street, scouring the alleyways and peering through the windows of the houses for anything of use. He had just moved into another alley when Talbert appeared.
“Stefan is gone with the cart,” he began. “I tried to stop him, but he said there was no time to wait. He threw his weapons under my cloak, then dipped his hands into the blood in the cart, wiped them in his surcoat and left.”
Thorn moved back to the end of the street to see the Shielder leading the cart with the baron’s body toward the front gates of the estate. “The damned fool! He is going to get himself killed.” Thorn looked back to the walls Roslind had decided to climb. The people on the battlements were looking at the front gates but staying where they were. The man on the rooftop raised a hand to signal Roslind to wait still.
Stefan could feel eyes on him as he drew ever closer to the gate. His hand holding the reins of the horse trembled.
“Stop or you will get an arrow,” came the command from a man dressed in the white cloak of the House Shield as he drew his bow.
Stefan was unsure whether to go along with the pretence or to flee. In a moment of clarity, he recalled fragments of overheard conversations from the tavern he frequented. Talk of the baron someday getting what was coming to him for his increased taxes and the hunting of Kraken captains had grown more frequent in recent weeks. “I…I have great news. I have killed the baron! Open the gates, brother,” he shouted.
The man on the battlement looked surprised but he did not lower his bow. Stefan could see the man eyeing up his uniform.
“I swiped this gear from one of the fools what was protecting him so I could move around without anyone giving me grief. I see you had the same idea. I stabbed him right through his black heart. It’s a good tale, get me a drink and I’ll tell it.” Stefan could hear the man calling to the others on the wall.
“That him?” the man asked when he faced Stefan again, nodding at the cart.
“Of course,” replied the Shielder. “I would not leave his stinking carcass behind. He needs to be hoisted high for everyone to see what comes from his injustices. Am I right?” The Shielder faked a vicious laugh, moved back to the cart and pulled the cloak toward himself, revealing the lifeless body of the baron.
Thorn looked back to the battlements above Roslind. They were empty. The knight had already cleared the top of the walls. He looked to the gargoyle on the rooftop where the man still crouched, an arrow notched in his bow.
“It seems to be working,” said Talbert in a worried tone.
“The Shielder is beyond our help but there are other ways inside. This is as far as you go,” said Thorn.
Talbert straightened his back and adjusted his sword belt. “I’m going nowhere until I get my cart back. My wife would have my hide,” Talbert said with a weak smile.
Thorn nodded. “All the same, it would be better if you could explain the situation to a commander or anyone who can return with a force to retake the estate. We could use whatever help can be given.”
“I will return with men ready to fight,” responded Talbert. “Don’t kill everyone until I get back.”
“No promises,” said Thorn, his face growing stern as he moved past the Slither toward the river and disappeared among the buildings.