She stumbled backwards, looking around for a spar, the boathook, or anything else she could use as a weapon. Her lack of fitness was telling on her, and the weakness in her knees told her she could not resist much longer.
From a small pack on her back, Lizue withdrew a head bag like the one she had used in the cells. She slid a heavy knife from a sheath on her left thigh, and advanced. Tali went backwards until her back was against the side of the boat. If she moved left she would be trapped at the stern; on her right, a winch blocked her way.
How could she beat a fanatical opponent who carried a knife as big as a machete? Tali’s one advantage was that Lizue could not do her serious harm before she had the head bag securely over Tali’s head. She could not risk destroying the pearl. And Lizue had a weakness. Her thigh.
Tali groped behind her in the open compartments that ran along the sides of the boat, but felt only coils of rope and other items that were useless for self-defence. How could she attack Lizue’s thigh wound? She could not use any of the tricks Nurse Bet had taught her, for Lizue knew them all. Something new, then? No, a combination of old and new.
Tali attacked with a flurry of right-handed blows intended to divert her attacker from her real attack, a roundhouse left to the throat. Then, as soon as Lizue moved to defend against the blow, Tali raised her right foot and slammed her boot heel into the thigh wound.
Lizue screamed, dropped the head bag and fell back against the side of the boat, blood flooding from the wound. Her beautiful face was twisted in agony. Tali had to finish this now; she could not fight for one more minute. She crouched, seized her attacker’s ankles and, with a swift heave, dumped her overboard.
“Did I hear you call?” said Holm from the top of the cabin ladder.
“About an hour ago,” she snapped. “Where the hell have you been?”
She picked up the boathook she had used earlier and stood ready for when Lizue tried to reboard.
“I was at the crapper,” said Holm, coming to the cabin door. “Wasn’t aware that I was supposed to ask your permission.” He looked down at the bloody deck, up at Tali’s heaving bosom and scarlet, bloody face, and his weathered face paled. “What’s going on?”
“Lizue happened. She tried to take my head. Again!”
Lizue’s head and shoulders shot from the water. Her eyes were staring and the sea was red with her blood. Her arms caught the side of the boat, heaved and she was on the side.
“Not this time,” Tali said savagely.
She jammed the curve of the boathook against Lizue’s chest and shoved hard. Lizue slid off into the water and floated there on her back, her blood staining the sea around her.
A grey fin cut the water. The sea churned and a huge, grey head burst out. Jaws opened, revealing dozens of backwards-angled teeth. A single snap took Lizue’s bleeding leg off at mid-thigh. She screamed until foam gushed from her mouth. Her hands caught the gunwale and she tried to pull herself up, but the jaws opened again, closed around her middle and pulled her under.
Even when she was screaming, even when she was about to die, Lizue was still the most beautiful woman Tali had ever seen.
CHAPTER 28
“I bear dreadful news, Rixium,” said Swelt, three days later, “and I’d prefer the whole household did not hear of it. At least, not yet.”
“News of the war?”
“Yes.”
“How did you hear?”
“Your great-aunt insisted on knowing the affairs of Hightspall, and I’ve maintained her network of informers.”
“It’s a long walk from any of the battlefronts to here.”
“We use carrier hawks. One flew in an hour ago.”
“You’d better come in.” Rix opened the door to its fullest extent and Swelt squeezed through.
Out of respect for his great-aunt, and the feelings of the house-hold about her, Rix had not taken her chambers for himself. He had occupied the rooms of her late husband, Rorke, an ineffectual man who had died thirty years before and not been missed by his spouse or anyone else.
Rix gestured Swelt to the chair by the fire and resumed his seat at an ornate desk by a narrow window. The only light in the chamber came from the fire but he did not light a candle. If they would soon be besieged, every candle was precious.
“What news?”
“You knew that Lyf had sent an army of twenty thousand across the mountains to attack Bleddimire?” said Swelt.
Rix’s stomach knotted. “I’d heard he’d sent an army. I didn’t know it was that big.” The army of wealthy Bleddimire was Hightspall’s main hope of relief. “What’s happened?”
“There was a battle by Lilluly Water yesterday.”
“Where’s that?”
“Two hours’ march south of Bledd. Lyf’s forces wiped Bleddimire’s army out, leaving the capital undefended. They’ll be attacking the walls of Bledd by now.”
Rix rose abruptly, stalked to the fire and stirred it with a poker. Sparks shot out onto the floor. He crushed them under his boot. “What about the chancellor?”
“He’s holed up in Fortress Rutherin, a hundred and fifty miles to the south.”
“But… he must have known Lyf was marching on Bleddimire.”
“He must have,” said Swelt. “Not even Lyf can move so great an army in secret.”
“Why didn’t the chancellor go after him? He could have attacked from the rear.”
“At a guess, because he’s a schemer, not a fighter.”
“But he’s got half a dozen generals…” said Rix. Swelt was shaking his round head, his jowls quivering like dewlaps. “Hasn’t he?”
“It seems Lyf targeted our commanders in the initial attack on Caulderon. All the chancellor’s generals and senior officers were killed or captured on the first day.”
“Even so — ”
“The chancellor’s army is small, and his only officers are raw lieutenants. They don’t know anything about military strategy and they’ve got no battle experience.”
Rix drew another chair up to the fire and sat down abruptly. “So we’ve lost the centre, the south and now the north-west. Half of Hightspall will soon be occupied — the strongest and wealthiest half. And the chancellor, who’s useless, is stuck in Rutherin, a hundred miles across the mountains from anywhere. What do we do, Swelt?”
“Why ask me? You’re the lord of Garramide.”
Rix had already come to rely on the old man, and valued his advice. In some respects, Swelt was the kind of father figure Rix had yearned for, but never had. “I haven’t been in charge of a fortress before. I don’t know these mountains and I don’t know the servants. What are they like? Will they support me?”
“Depends what you want to do?”
“I told you, fight for my country.”
“Then most will support you — as long as you don’t just talk about it.”
“But some won’t.”
“The ones who served your great-aunt — a couple of hundred, all up, including myself — are loyal. Most of them have lived and worked at Garramide for generations and they loved the old lady. Since she named you her heir, they’ll follow you.”
“Even to war?”
“Of course — they know what the alternative is if Lyf wins.”
“What about the others?”
“The war has brought over a hundred new people in, counting Leatherhead’s fighters and their hangers-on. In the absence of anyone stronger, most of them will follow you…”
“And the rest?”
“Troublemakers. They’ll obey you if you’re strong enough, but you’ll never gain their loyalty.”
Rix sat back. “What about the enemy?”
“Lyf has a few garrisons lower down in the mountains. There’s one at Jadgery, one at Fladzey, further east, and another way up north at Twounce. Only forty or fifty men at each; he’s just showing the flag.”
“I know Jadgery,” said Rix. “I spent some time there when I was a kid.” He rubbed his jaw. “So… if we could take one of their garrisons…”
“Jadgery is closest,” said Swelt.