39: Into the Pirate Lands
Some hours later, we exit the Barrens to the north.
We look a sorry lot – more like beggars than soldiers. At least most of us can walk, although Talbot and several others have to be carried. My arm still aches fiercely, but the swelling has abated. I scarcely notice the pain, as the recent avalanche of good fortune had washed away all miseries.
We traverse low, grass-covered hills and empty meadows. Fine grazing land, but this is the pirate domain where no one dares reside. I strike up a conversation with Lieutenant Norman.
“Do the pirates rove far from the coast?” I ask.
“Mostly they keep to their port town or to their ships,” Norman replies.
“So, it’s possible they do not yet know we are here?”
“Yes, my lord, that’s likely the case.”
I glance about the vacant land. Sky and wavering grass meet on the horizon giving the whole area a feeling a vastness. It is easy to imagine that we are the earth’s final inhabitants.
“The longer I am in the Eastlands, the less I understand them,” I say.
“Your Lordship speaks of the Barrens?” Norman asks.
“Yes, and the people, too,” I say. “They look very different from Sopronians, but you and some others I’ve seen are just like us. And we all speak a common language.”
“As a boy I was taunted much for my ‘strange looks,’” Norman says. “Imagine my surprise when I first saw Your Lordship.”
“There is a strong link between our two peoples,” I say, “but it’s been replaced by superstition and fear. Why is that?”
“Perhaps we’ll know someday,” Norman says. “Right now we have other problems.”
He points to a hillside where two men watch us from horseback.
“Get them!” Norman commands.
Our best archers dash forward, but the horsemen flee out of range.
“Somebody knows we’re here now,” I say. “Pirates, do you suppose?”
“I know not, my lord,” Norman says.
“Those were no pirates,” Talbot rasps.
I turn to see the Captain standing nearby, gripping a trooper’s arm for support.
“Talbot,” I say, “you shouldn’t be walking around yet.”
“If we’re not careful, my lord, none of us will be walking around much longer,” Talbot says.
If he wants to throw a scare into me, he’s doing an excellent job. I try to keep my voice calm.
“Why do you say those men are not pirates, Captain?”
“Pirates would have headed north toward their port town,” Talbot says. “Those men rode southeast. They are Afflis’ scouts.”
“Curse him!” Norman spits. “He must have found a river crossing downstream beyond the Barrens.”
“Soon his main force will be after us,” Talbot says.
“So be it,” I say. “At least one thing is certain – we are not going back into the Barrens.”
The gloom that had so recently lifted from the Rebel Army crushes back down. Men lean on their weapons, trembling. I see the Pit-Eyed Thing staring out form their frightened eyes, but pay no heed to the contemptible brute.
“We march to the coast,” I say. “We shall see this pirate town for ourselves and, heaven willing, drive the evil from it.”
***
The knowledge of Afflis’ pursuit drives us on like maddened beasts. The pirate town offers us the only possible refuge, and we fairly run towards it, as if it were the very entry to paradise. The ground slopes gently downward, aiding our flight.
The hornet poison still courses through my brain, bringing ghastly visions. I see Afflis loping after us – shoulders hunched, waist bent. Now he opens his mouth, reveling huge yellow fangs; now he looks about with burning red eyes, sniffing the air. Behind him many others follow.
“Highness!”
I hear Norman’s voice from a million miles away; a hand grips my shoulder.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” I say.
“Some vision torments you. Is it of the butcher dog?”
“Yes.”
“Others report likewise,” Norman says, “but it’s just a daydream. And Afflis is only a man – remember that.”
***
We continue our quick march until a new scent wafts in the air, adding a pungent tang to the grassy odors around us. I hear a faint roar in the distance.
“What is that noise, Lieutenant?” I ask Norman.
“It’s the sea, my lord.”
He points to a nearby rise where several men stand gazing eastwards. A bolt of excitement drives away my terrors. I run ahead and take a place among the crowd.
Below us drops a steep cliff. At its base reposes a beautiful white beach. And beyond that ... the sea! An endless expanse, like the sky, only it’s made of water.
“It’s so much better than I could have imagined!” I cry.
Late afternoon sun sparkles upon the water. Foamy breakers tumble onto the beach, and large fish-like animals frolic near the shore. I give myself over to entrancement.
I breathe in the salty air like a rare incense and feel the hornet venom loosen its hold. I imagine myself aboard a ship with great billowing sails, heading beyond the horizon – away from war and death and my cruel enemies.
“What are those creatures swimming out there, Lieutenant?” I say.
“I know not, Your Lordship.”
“Odd,” I say, “they almost look familiar, though I’ve certainly not seen their like before.”
The wonderful sea air clears the last of the Barrens rot from my lungs, and I can feel my mind sharpening to its former keenness. Norman points northwards toward a large, horseshoe-shaped bay. A settlement, which must surely be the pirate town, stands upon its shore.
“There are no ships in the harbor,” Norman says. “Fortune favors our efforts.”
Talbot joins us. He looks much recovered, and the deathly grayness has departed his face.
“Stay close by, Captain,” I say in a low voice. “Advise me. I wish no further disasters like the Barrens.”
“It was an unspeakable place,” Talbot says, “but we’d have all been slaughtered had we not taken refuge there.”
“Thank you for your attempt to humor me,” I say. “It is not necessary, though.”
Talbot shakes his head emphatically.
“Your Lordship knows it is not my practice to sugar coat my remarks,” he says. “I’m stating plainly that your decision was the best one possible.”
“But the losses!” I say.
“This is war,” Talbot says. “We will suffer losses wherever we go.”
“What about our men,” I say, “how do they feel?”
“Didn’t they all volunteer their service?” Talbot says. “If Your Lordship truly wants my advice, here it is: Stop blaming yourself. After all, a man – ”
“I know,” I say. “A man makes many mistakes in his lifetime.”
Talbot cocks an eyebrow with surprise, he almost looks comical.
“Thank you Captain. I feel much better ... I think.”
We head down the slope towards the pirate settlement and whatever destiny awaits us.
40: The Rebel Army Comes Calling
We advance along the shore, crouching behind such cover as is available. The horseshoe bay is still empty, and no breakers disturb its surface in the gathering dusk.
The settlement is just a collection of crude wood and stone buildings. A tumbled down stockade rings the outskirts. A black flag with skull and crossed bones upon it flies from the center of town. Just looking at that evil banner makes my blood run cold.
No guard mans the stockade, and the entrance has no gate.
“Good fortune remains with us,” Talbot says.
We slip through the entrance like silent death, reaching the outermost buildings undetected. All is quiet, except for the cries of seagulls. Then, from farther inside the town, comes shouting and coarse laughter. We creep towar
d the noise, down the narrow street, hugging the walls of empty buildings.
We halt. Ahead of us opens a small square where a dozen men with chains on their legs collect debris or drag around barrels and crates. Off to the side, two covered heaps that look suspiciously like corpses sprawl on the ground.
Several armed louts watch the laborers. Their chief is a large, ferocious man with a scarred face. These pirate guards curse the workers and laugh at their distress, delivering shoves and kicks. To complete the misery of the laborers, a hateful little dog barks and nips at them.
My face burns at the sight of so much injustice.
The prisoners toil with heads bowed. Except for one – a bald, hefty man shoveling up rubbish. He wears an expression of proud dignity quite out of keeping with his sorry circumstances. The guards direct much of their abuse against him.
“Come’n Baldy!” The leader aims a kick. “Can’t you work no faster?”
The other thugs laugh. The dog yips along with them.
“Should we take them now?” I whisper. “Or check for others first?”
Before Talbot can reply, the dog gets wind of us and starts barking furiously. Then the ugly little wretch runs right toward us.
“Hey!” The pirate leader calls. “What goes on there?”
He approaches us, cutlass drawn; his mangled face is hard and alert. The other pirates follow. The bald prisoner creeps up behind them and raises his shovel.
WUMP!
He brings it down on the leader’s head. The brute crumples, and the other guards spin around in confusion.
“Attack!” I shout.
Our men surge forward, and the pirates flee like rubbish before a whirlwind. The bald prisoner stands his ground, holding his shovel before him like a spear, and our men bypass him like a river current flowing around a rock. In moments we have cut down all the guards.
Talbot grips the bald prisoner’s arm.
“Are there more of them?”
The man regards Talbot coolly.
“Aye, by the docks most likely,” he says in a thick accent. “And I’ll thank ye to release my arm.”
“Lieutenant Norman!” Talbot commands. “Take one company and scour the town. Have the rest secure this square.”
Men dash off to their assignments. The bewildered laborers huddle around the bald fellow, speaking in a language I do not understand.
Talbot lets go of the man’s arm and fixes hard eyes upon him. “Who might you be?” he demands.
“I’m Captain Petra, of the merchant ship Starcoast,” the man says with great dignity. “These others are what’s left of my crew.”
The din of combat echoes from elsewhere in the town. It surges closer, then drifts off.
“And who might the lad be?” Petra asks.
“Crown Prince Rupert of Sopronia,” Talbot says. “It’s to him that you owe your liberation.”
Petra draws himself up and salutes.
“Your Royal Highness, Captain Demetrius Petra and his crew at your service.”
I return the salute.
“Talbot, have the chains struck from these men’s legs, immediately,” I say.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And tear down that filthy rag!” I jab a finger at the pirate banner. “Burn it.”
Talbot departs, leaving me alone with the sea captain.
Petra looks about the square, hands on hips. Even in the fading light, his eyes sparkle. He turned towards me.
“Highness, I regret that I do not know of your country,” he says. “Your people are not seafarers?”
“No we are not,” I say. “How long have you been held captive?”
“It’s been three months since they attacked us,” Petra says. “Lost most of my crew, but I scuttled the Starcoast before the pirates could take her.”
“So, they brought you here,” I say. “Why?”
“They was hoping for ransom!”
Petra laughs uproariously until tears come into his eyes. For the life of me, I can’t find anything humorous about the situation.
“Imagine – who’d give ransom for me?” Petra wipes the tears away. “Most of my competitors would pay to have me hanged.”
He laughs some more, then turns abruptly solemn.
“Ah, they’d have killed us before long,” he says.
“Is the town often this empty?” I ask.
“Usually there’s plenty of cutthroats in port,” Petra says. “Just today a ship departed, and what a brawl they had before they sailed!”
He gestures toward the shrouded bodies.
“They left two gentlemen behind. Very quiet types they are.”
41: The Battle Standard
The next hours pass in hectic activity. We strengthen the stockade, block the gateway, and begin an inner defense line around the square. Finally, night becomes too dark and the men too exhausted for further efforts. Everyone, save for the sentries and our outlying scouts, retires to their quarters.
Mine are dreary and bare, but they seem the height of luxury after so many nights spent in the open. Talbot enters, and we spend a brief time relaxing together over mugs of hot cider.
“I am so grateful to have made your acquaintance,” I say at one point. “You have been like a wise elder brother to me throughout all this.”
Talbot frowns.
“Did I say something to offend you, Captain?”
“No, my lord, of course not. I am highly flattered,” Talbot says. “I was just thinking that if I truly were your elder brother, then I’d be the crown prince. I do not envy your situation.”
“Yes ...”
I shift in my chair. The blunt honesty of my commanders still makes me uncomfortable.
“Besides,” Talbot says, “Afflis already offered me the succession – should he prevail in his conquests.”
I am beyond astonishment.
“And you turned it down? Why?”
“It was a temptation, of course,” Talbot says, “but such a realm would be without honor or justice. I could not serve it.”
Before I can digest this latest amazing bit of news, Petra appears at the door.
“You sent for me, Your Lordship?” he says.
“Yes, Captain, please come in,” I say.
Petra enters. He carries himself with new confidence, and even seems to have gained weight over the past few hours. His eyes glitter sea blue in the candlelight.
“How may I be of service, my lord?” he asks.
“I wish to make a Sopronian flag,” I say. “Can any of your men do cloth work?”
“One is a sail maker,” Petra says. “He could stitch a flag easily enough. And there’s plenty of materials in the storehouses.”
“Excellent,” I say. “The hard part will be the Royal Crest, it’s rather complicated.”
I pull my cloak from its peg. The fine garment is almost done for, and the feel of its tattered material gives me a pang of regret. I locate the little royal crest stitched into the lining.
“Look here, Petra.”
He examines it critically.
“A bit difficult to see in this light, my lord.”
“It’s is a crown attended by three animals,” I explain. “See? There’s a great bird overall, on the left side a bear, and on the right side a water creature ...”
My head jerks back in surprise.
“Is something wrong?” Talbot says.
“W-why ... I saw this same water creature only today!” I say. “I’d always thought it was some mythical thing.”
Petra studies the crest.
“It’s a porpoise, my lord. Quite common in these waters.”
Understanding flashes in my mind like a lightning bolt.
“Do you see what this means?” I say. “Sopronia and the Eastlands – one country! The bear of the Western Mountains, the porpoise of the East Sea.”
“An interesting explanation,” Talbot says.
“It’s the only possible one!” r />
I simply can’t remain still. I begin pacing in high agitation.
“Clyde said the Eastlands are a ‘lost country.’ How true!”
“There’s also the bird,” Petra says. “Does it represent a third part of the old realm?”
“One mystery follows another,” Talbot says.
The bird, the porpoise, the pirate town – it’s all too much to absorb at one time. I ease myself into a chair, exhausted from excitement.
Then the guard pokes his head in the door, and my joy evaporates.
“Our scouts have spotted horsemen,” he said. “Forty in number.”
Talbot rises.
“That must be the advance guard,” he says. “We can expect Afflis’ main force soon.”
42: Siege
By late afternoon the next day, hundreds of enemy fighters lurk outside the town, with more arriving all the time. We watch them grimly as we continue building our fortifications.
The outer wall is much strengthened, and a new inner stockade surrounds the town square and its storehouses, along with a small area of waterfront. It’s a good defensive system, if only we had sufficient troops to man it! Our new flag billows overall, showing our proud defiance.
The sea guards our back – or so we think until two pirate ships appear in the bay. The military council, which now includes Captain Petra, has just convened in my quarters when the news comes. We dash outside and scale the watchtower by the dock.
“Wondrous!” I can’t help saying.
The ships are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Great wooden structures with billowing sails, gliding across the water as if pushed by a divine hand. Only the black Jolly Rogers flying from the mainmasts betrays their evil nature.
“Petra, how many men would you say are on each ship?” I ask.
“Oh, perhaps 35 or so,” Petra replies. “More, it they’ve taken captives.”
“They won’t attempt a landing with so few men,” Talbot says. “They can easily see that the town is occupied.”
“Aye,” Petra says. “My guess is they’ll anchor and bide their time.”
BOOM!
Everyone ducks. A puff of smoke billows from one of the ships, and an object whistles by overhead. A great hole appears in a nearby roof amidst a shower of splintered wood.
“What was that?” I gasp.
“Cannon,” Petra says. “We’d best get off this tower.”
We clamber down and take shelter behind the sea wall.
BOOM!
A second missile smashes into the town.