Swallowing dryly, Garec recalled Steven’s display of magic without benefit of the staff and searched for the right words. ‘Yes, well, about that-’
‘Is it on the raft?’ Steven wasn’t paying attention. ‘That’s a good little fire you have going there, Garec. Ah, here it is.’ He strode to the stone wall and retrieved the smooth length of wood. ‘Do we have any tecan? I could use a bucket or two.’
Garec decided to drop the subject of magic for the moment. ‘No, all we had was drenched as we came through the rapids. I’m sure we left a trail of brown runoff in our wake.’
‘Criminal.’
‘Couldn’t agree more.’
Mark joined them. ‘There’s some food in Brynne’s pack, and feel free to burn more of that log if it starts to die out.’
‘I think we ought to save that,’ Steven replied. ‘Who knows how long we might be down here? It might come in handy later.’ With that, he stamped out their campfire and allowed the absolute darkness of the underground cavern to swallow them. Garec and Mark heard him exhale deeply, then watched as a small fire burst into view where their campfire had been an instant before.
‘I can keep this going while you two get some rest,’ Steven said. ‘When you wake we’ll eat again and then continue down the shoreline.’ He placed the staff on the ground near the fire and began rummaging through his pack.
Garec looked at Mark, shrugged, and folded himself within the protective layers of his blanket. He rolled over to feel the fire’s warmth across his back and was asleep before Mark could spread his own blanket out on the pebbly ground.
Two avens later, Garec woke with a cry and leaped to his feet. Without really knowing why, he checked the watch, and wondered what that rune meant, the one Steven and Mark called ‘Seffen’.
Brynne was already awake. She left her perch on one corner of the Capina Fair ’s deck and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, and peered into the darkness as if anticipating someone’s arrival. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘Only you jumping out of bed.’ She crouched beside him. ‘Go back to sleep, Garec. You look tired.’
Steven observed their exchange over his shoulder, but remained where he was, standing watch out near the edge of the firelight. He had heard something.
‘I’m all right,’ Garec insisted as he continued staring at the wall of darkness shrouding their camp on all sides. ‘I just thought I heard something.’
‘Well, there’s nothing out there,’ Brynne said, comfortingly. ‘We haven’t heard or seen anything in the past two-’
She was cut off by a wave of shouts, commands and warnings hurled at them from the darkness. Garec dived for his bow and quivers while Brynne reached for a rapier, her dagger, and the hunting knife that was never more than an arm’s length away. She scanned the darkness, half-expecting to see an army of bone-hunters skimming across the surface of the water on spiked tentacles or diving down at them from the obsidian sky – then she realised the cries were human.
Suddenly angry, Brynne prepared herself for a fight. ‘Come right in,’ she cried as Steven’s firelight gleamed along the carefully honed edge of her knife. ‘I haven’t disembowelled anyone in a couple of Twinmoons and I am ready for you!’ She felt the heat of battle rage through her body as she quickly discarded the thick woollen tunic she wore over her cotton undergarment: she needed to be agile and quick, not weighed down by heavy clothing. The number of intruders approaching their camp sounded formidable.
Then Mark was by her side, his battle-axe poised to strike. He didn’t look comfortable. ‘What’s happening?’ he shouted unnecessarily.
‘We’re about to come under attack.’ She shot him a sexy grin and reminded, ‘Remember, don’t try to hack off any limbs – especially not your own.’
Mark gurgled an incoherent reply, regained his senses and yelled to Steven, ‘Hey, how about some light?’
Calmly, Steven nodded, closed his eyes and held one hand out, palm-down. He made a sweeping gesture from shoreline to shoreline: this would get their attention! All at once, scores of enemy torches that had been extinguished to ensure a stealthy approach burst into flame and illuminated the cavern around their camp. The four friends gaped at the force coming towards them. Ten longboats, each loaded with twenty or more armed warriors were approaching over the lake while another crowd of assailants were creeping over the rocky shore to surround their camp: a classic pincer movement.
Mark guessed the screams were meant to intimidate and demoralise, but as all their torches sprang to light simultaneously, their shouting died out in an instant. There was an unexpected hissing as a number of the attackers, stunned by the sudden fire in their hands, dropped their torches into the water. One was so startled that his flaming branch fell into the longboat and cries of warning and anger were replaced by screams of pain and surprise as several men struggled to stamp out the strangely resilient flame dancing about inside their vessel. What had begun as a highly organised silent ambush had evolved into a confused and broken attack, all strategy forgotten, thanks to Steven’s magic.
Cries of ‘Evil magic! Demon fire!’ and ‘Retreat!’ replaced the previous intimidating threats. Steven set his jaw in determination, hoping he had turned the tide before the battle began.
One voice rose above the others. ‘Stand fast!’ it commanded urgently, ‘it’s just a trick. Stand fast!’
Garec had an arrow nocked and ready to fire; two additional quivers were standing ready by his hand. He took in as many details of the enemy as possible. They did not appear to be Malakasian, or if they were, they did not wear Prince Malagon’s colours. On closer examination, he wasn’t even sure they were soldiers: they were a ragtag band of men and women of all ages, and in all states of dress. Even though the light was not that bright, he could see a number of bare feet. Some of the people looked fit and tough; others sported hefty paunches. They were armed with everything from bows to broadswords. Many brandished daggers and even kitchen knives; there were quite a few sturdy wooden cudgels as well. This was no organised fighting force; this was a band of thieves or pirates.
Garec thought they might stand a chance if he and Steven could kill a pile of them before they reached shore, but he had no idea how they would handle the attackers approaching along the beach, then Steven gave him the answer.
‘Stay where you are!’ Steven shouted above the confused din.
‘Steady now,’ the commanding voice called back. ‘On my mark.’ The voice came from a longboat off to Steven’s left.
Shaking his head, Steven pointed the staff at the closest boat and watched as flames crept up its gunwales and licked along the handrail to ignite the oars. Twenty would-be assailants screamed at once and summarily leaped, fell or were pushed over the side. He repeated his directive. ‘Stay where you are!’
One man, about Garec’s age, had been warily creeping along. Now, hidden in the shadows with his back to the stone wall, he waited. When all eyes were on the burning longboat, he took advantage of their inattention and charged towards Mark and Brynne, weapons drawn and bellowing a battle cry. Brynne, who both felt and heard him approach, took several steps towards him, then dropped to her knees and used the young man’s weight against him. Unable to slow in time, he stumbled, tripped over her and tumbled to a stop near the waterline.
Mark stared in disbelief – it had happened so quickly he hadn’t even realised Brynne had moved; her skill with that blade was stunning, terrifying! The foolish man’s stomach had been sliced open; Mark watched silently as the dying pirate struggled to replace several loose coils of intestine that had escaped unchecked as he rolled across the shore.