Dawn of the Ice Bear (11 page)

“The
Restless Heart
!” Donial said.

“But the sailors are still on it,” Alanya protested. “And Elonius, last of the mercenaries, with them.”

“Then they'll accept me as their captain,” Kral said. “Or they'll die trying to keep us off.”

“But are we enough to sail her?” Alanya asked. “And if we fight them and win, what then? The three of us could never do it.”

“Four,” Tarawa corrected.

“You would leave Stygia and accompany us?”

“She is no longer safe here,” Kral said.

“Kral speaks the truth,” Tarawa agreed. “Shehkmi will figure out who let you in. His magic will reveal it to him. I have as much reason as you to want to be away from here as soon as possible.”

Alanya nodded. Kral suspected that she was worried about what would happen when they returned to the ship without Gorian and the others. She was right in guessing that the
Heart
's sailors would not readily accept them. But there was every likelihood that they were anxious to be away from Stygian waters, no matter who was aboard.

“And I believe I can find a few more who would love to put Stygia behind,” Tarawa added. “So we should be able to form a crew for your ship.”

“Not our ship,” Kral amended. “At least, not yet. But it will be.”

 

 

GOVERNOR SHARZEN LISTENED to the continuing chaos outside with a growing sense of dread. For a second night, the walls had held against the Pictish assault. But how much longer could they last? Fires burned throughout the fort. Waves of attacks came and went, as Picts climbed the walls or broke through the burned-out sections. Runners had come back from the farther reaches of the wall with reports that Picts had overwhelmed it, simply circling around where it had not yet connected to the next fort up the line.

From all appearances, the Pictish clans had banded together. Sharzen didn't know if their goal was the complete elimination of all settlements from the Westermarck, or just of Koronaka. But Koronaka alone could not stand against them indefinitely, certainly not without reinforcements from Aquilonia. A couple of scouts had arrived claiming that reinforcements had, in fact, been sent.

At this point, it appeared that they would be too late to help.

Sharzen had no intention of dying here on the frontier. To help figure a way out of this, he had summoned Gestian. The captain stood before him now, pacing, anxious. “You would rather be out there,” Sharzen observed. “On the wall.”

“I belong where my men are fighting,” Gestian answered.

“Which is precisely why I made you captain of my forces,” Sharzen said. “I admire that.”

“Yet you have called for me,” Gestian pointed out.

“Indeed,” Sharzen said. “Koronaka is doomed, Gestian.”

“How can you say that, Governor?”

“I say it because it is true,” Sharzen replied. “Perhaps not on this night. But the next, or the one after that. Our losses these last two nights have been serious, would you not agree?”

“I would,” Gestian said. “Serious, if not cataclysmic.”

“So if they return tomorrow night—which they will—they will finish us?”

“Likely they will,” Gestian admitted.

“When they breach the walls, think you that they will leave any survivors at all?”

Gestian paused before answering. He was covered in blood and soot from the night's battles, and his eyes glowered as if from behind a black-and-red-streaked mask. “We left none in the Bear Clan village,” he noted, crossing to a window and looking out. Sharzen could see the uneven light from the flames flicker across the captain's face and armor. “It seems safest to assume that they will leave none here.”

“This is my feeling as well,” Sharzen acknowledged. “Our chances of surviving this are slim. The reinforcements Conan has sent are still days away. I would prefer not to breathe my last away from Aquilonian soil.”

“Do you have an idea?” Gestian asked. “A plan of some kind?”

“More of a notion,” Sharzen said. “I suspect that as yesterday, when the sun rises, the Picts will pull back. They know that darkness is their friend, darkness and the forest hide them from us. I propose that we take advantage of that fact. As soon as the sun rises, those of us left alive abandon Koronaka and make for Tanasul.”

“Do you really think we'll reach it?”

“Not without a fight,” Sharzen replied. He let his eyes drift over his office—the physical symbol of his authority here, and the height of his career. He doubted that he would have much of a career after this. There might be a way to salvage it, but he would have to wait and see once he reached Aquilonia. If not, he would, at the very least, take with him as many valuables as he could manage. “There are certainly Picts watching the fort during daylight hours. They will see us, raise the alarm, give chase. But at least we will be on the move, not penned inside our own walls waiting for them to come in and pick us off one by one.”

“You speak wisely, Governor,” Gestian said. Sharzen could tell by the faraway look in his captain's eyes that he was considering the possibilities. “Many would still die, but at least some might live.”

“Exactly,” Sharzen said. “Can you spread the word, then? We cannot let our defenses weaken now, but at first light everyone should be ready to make a run for it.”

“I will,” Gestian promised.

“And at first light,” Sharzen added, “I will need a force around me, of course, to guarantee my safe passage to Tanasul. As provincial governor it is vital that I be among the survivors, so that I may negotiate for our interests once we arrive there.”

“Certainly,” Gestian agreed.

“First light,” Sharzen said again, for emphasis. Not that he thought Gestian would forget. But he wanted to make very sure that, when the time came, he had his best men around him as protection.

Most would probably never reach Tanasul, a settlement at least twice Koronaka's size, with a bigger army and better defenses. Sharzen had every intention of doing so. And from there, of striking east for Aquilonia with a larger force, determined to put this place behind him once and for all.

 

 

THE RESTLESS HEART was anchored where they had expected it to be, its sails furled. No lights shone on board, but as the sun rose it gleamed off the wood of the ship's hull, and Kral could see where to direct the dinghy.

The group had waited inside Tarawa's home while she went out and recruited some able-bodied slaves to help sail the ship. They had left Kuthmet before the dawn and traveled as far as they could before being forced to seek shelter from the most powerful rays of the sun. Once night had fallen, they had continued. At the shore, they had found the dinghy where they'd left it, and climbed in.

The sailors on board reacted with astonishment when the small boat rowed up out of the rising sun, carrying not Gorian and his mercenaries, but Kral, Alanya, Donial, Tarawa, and eight muscular Kushites. When Kral clambered aboard, Allatin strode to meet him, his boots clopping over the deck's boards like the hooves of a horse.

“Who are they?” Allatin demanded, gesturing toward the small boat. His tone was less than friendly.

“My new crew,” Kral answered enthusiastically.

“Your crew?” Allatin said. “For what vessel?”

Kral had expected this. “For this one. The
Restless Heart
.”

Elonius, the mercenary left on board, put a hand on his sword's hilt and walked to stand at Allatin's shoulder. A couple of the others sailors circled around. Kral stood with his hands resting lightly on his hips, far away from his weapon. He kept his legs spread for balance. If an attack came, it could be from any quarter.

“This is not your ship,” Allatin reminded him brusquely.

“Is it yours?” Kral countered. “You gave it up to Gorian easily enough.”

“He had—” Allatin began.

“A crew of armed mercenaries?” Kral finished for him. “Gorian's dead, as are his men. But I am not.” He ticked his head toward the dinghy. “And I have them.”

“Know they aught about sailing?” Allatin queried.

“As much as those mercenaries did, I'll wager,” Kral said. “What they don't know, they can be taught. At any rate, your choices are clear. You can't sit here in Stygian waters waiting for Gorian, who will never come. I am sailing with or without you. So you can either come with us or not. I would rather you did, because if I have to kill you, it will take effort and energy better spent putting to sea.”

Allatin looked enraged, and his hand closed on the hilt of his cutlass. But then he moved it away without drawing the weapon. “If you're right about Gorian . . .”

“I saw him die.”

“Probably murdered him,” one of the other sailors said.

“He was killed by Stygian sorcery,” Kral corrected. “Which will likely overtake us all if we don't get under way.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Allatin said. “What did you get into out there?”

“You would not like the look of it either,” Kral said. “But you will see it if we do not settle this now.”

Allatin's aggressive posture changed. He looked beaten. Kral could see why he had never captained a ship of his own. A first mate had to be good at taking orders, but a captain had to be able to give them. “Very well,” he said. “We all want to be away from here. If what you say is true, then we might as well sail with you as anyone.”

“Are we supposed to call a Pict savage ‘captain'?” one of the sailors complained. Kral couldn't tell which had said it. He wished he could have, since ere long that sailor might resent him enough to threaten mutiny.

“Call me whatever you like,” Kral said. “As long as you obey my orders, I care not.” He went to the side and motioned the others on board. “And my first command is, let's get this ship moving!”

AS SHARZEN HAD expected, when the sun broke, the Picts melted back into the trees. Gestian and his men were ready, as promised. They would form a phalanx around Sharzen, who had thrown a few of his most precious possessions, and all the gold he could carry, into leather saddlebags. Outside the walls, the sounds of the Pictish attack had died, and the usual morning sounds the birds made began to be heard.

“They are still out there,” Gestian warned. “They have pulled back to rest, but they still watch.”

“I know,” Sharzen said. He stood with the others outside his private stable. He had selected his sturdiest stallion, and had allotted the rest of his horses to soldiers who had none. “But we will not get a better chance. They will expect us to hold out for at least one more night.”

“Probably,” Gestian agreed.

“Then of all days, this is the one they will least expect us to make a break for it.”

Gestian came closer to him. Sharzen could see how weary the man was—no less so than himself, he was sure. But then, he had not been at the wall most of the night, fighting. He had not slept, but he hadn't been on his feet, either. “I should tell you, Governor,” the captain said. “Many of the men do not agree with your plan. They think we should stay and fight, keep the fort until the reinforcements arrive from Aquilonia.”

“Those reinforcements would come here to find our headless corpses,” Sharzen insisted. “Anyone spared by those savages would wish they had not been.”

“I agree,” Gestian said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that there is some grumbling in the ranks. Especially from those with families, who feel the women and children merit our protection more than you.”

Sharzen had anticipated discontent over his decision. But what could he do? Some of the soldiers had chosen to bring their families to a dangerous place. The border was no place for wives and children. If they tried to remain in Koronaka, they would be committing suicide. At the same time, there were not enough horses for them all to ride, nor enough soldiers to provide them an effective escort to safety. “I am sorry that we will most likely lose some. But they'll stop grumbling when they realize I helped the rest survive.”

“Like as not,” Gestian said.

“Then let's get on with it,” Sharzen said. “To the north gate.”

Tanasul was two days' ride to the north, under normal conditions. Scouts had made it in a day by pushing their mounts to the limits, and beyond. With a group this size, and not nearly enough horses available to them—and with Picts waiting to block their way—Sharzen figured the first ones would reach it in two or three days, the stragglers a few days after that, and many not at all.

He mounted his dun stallion, and the guards climbed into their own saddles. At his signal, the gate was thrown open and the horses spurred into sudden action. They burst from the gate and out onto the road in a thunder of hoof-beats, kicking up clouds of dust.
If the Picts aren't watching,
Sharzen thought,
they'll no doubt hear us anyway.

But as they put more distance between themselves and the fort, he began to feel more confident. The Picts should have been close by, even if they had gone to tend their wounds and catch some sleep. If they hadn't rallied by now, perhaps they had gone all the way back across the Black River. The road was lined with thick pines on both sides, and a soft breeze rustled the branches, making a lulling sound barely heard over the horses' hooves.

Sharzen was about to suggest that they had made it out safely to the rider nearest him, a Poitainian named Martel, when an arrow slammed into Martel's chest, knocking him from his mount.