Banners of The Sa'yen, page 14
I stopped suddenly, hearing sounds of pursuers. My men turned and peered down the darkened street we had just passed over, their swords yet in their hands. Dimly behind us we saw the flicker of light from a torch reflecting off dark walls. And then came the sounds of many men hurrying. Grimly, I took the hand of the young girl again and started up the street swiftly. We had much distance still to travel, and I wished not to stop! Hurrying on we kept to the shadows and paused only long enough to catch our breath. Yet at each pause we could hear the men who pursued us both coming closer and growing in numbers.
Fearing that we would not reach the Black Falcon, I decided to lead our trackers off into a merry chase. Beckoning to Fidor, I quickly outlined my plan. I told him to take the girl and the men and hasten to the Black Falcon; I would take a torch and wait for the pursuers to catch a glimpse of me before disappearing up an alley. The dour-faced old man protested violently, but I silenced his protests with a wave of my hand. I took a torch from one of the men and bid them to hurry on. They wished me well, the large brown eyes of the young girl looking up into my face tearfully. I smiled, nodded, and turned my back to them and waited for the men behind us to step into view.
I heard Fidor lead the men and young Jamilia off into the night and suddenly I found myself completely alone. Holding the torch over my head, I stepped quickly to the mouth of a foul-smelling alley that opened into the street and watched a large rat scurry from a garbage heap and disappear into the depths of the alley itself. The stench was nauseating. The filth was piled in large heaps and the light of my torch drew waves of flying insects as I passed by. One glance down the alley told me nothing and I hoped the alley would be open to escape for me. Yet I had no time to explore for from down the street came the shout of men’s voices, and the clatter of heavily armed men breaking into a mad dash to capture me. I waved to them cheerily and then dashed off into the stench-filled alley.
And it was a merry runt Twice I had to scale rough plank fences, the pack of howling men always snapping at my heels. Several times the twang of a crossbow bolt glancing off stone walls came to my ears, and once a bolt from a marksman passed cleanly through the heavy cape I wore, only inches away from my body. Yet I held the men to a good distance as we hurried through twisting, smelly alleys and plunged into the darkness of narrow streets that led to parts of the city I was only vaguely familiar with. Behind me my pursuers, I soon discovered, were remnants of Thordak’s little party joined by the dark robes of Pictii priests. The Pictii, being a religious order, were barred from carrying the blades of swords or knives, as these weapons were reserved for the Caste of Warriors only. But in the hands of each Pictii I could see the heavy cudgel with long iron spikes for added killing power or the iron-spiked ball of a heavy war mace. And I knew that in their hands these were terrible weapons. Yet as I fled down the alleys and back streets of the city, I found myself enjoying this chase. Dodging around comers, fleeing up blackened alleys, hearing the hiss of crossbow bolts sizzling past my ears I found to be invigorating. Grinning foolishly as I ran headlong into another darkened alley, I soon found my grin turning to a scowling mask of fury when the alley abruptly ended in a stone wall that completely blocked off any further escape. I was trapped! Whirling, I lifted my sword up and quickly extinguished my torch, the noise of my pursuers growing louder with each passing moment. I found the alley was enclosed on three sides with blank, cold stone walls that held neither window nor door. Cursing myself for being a fool, I silently hurried up to the opening of the alley and laid my back up against one cold stone wall and glimpsed out into the street. To my chagrin I viewed between forty and fifty warriors and Pictii priests milling about in the middle of the street exactly in front of the alley I believed was soon to be my tomb. They appeared confused, their torches filling the night air with harsh yellow light, reflecting coldly off the steel of their weapons. Cursing silently to myself again, I started to turn and slink deeper into the alley but something out of the comer of my eye made me halt and look up. The shadow of a man, in heavy robes, leaping across the gap from one building to another, came to me in the light of the moon. Amazed, I blinked a couple of times and rubbed a hand across my eyes in wonder. Was I seeing phantoms? Were the low flying, fast moving clouds creating strange shadows with the moonlight and making me think a robed figure leaped from building to building with the grace and ease of an acrobat? Shaking my head, I looked up again to see. For a full minute a cloud slid across the sky and blocked the moonlight from my eyes, throwing everything into a darkness in which nothing could be seen. But then moonlight suddenly flooded the night again and I saw the dark-robed figure leap high into the air and span a gap between two buildings no mere mortal could possibly have leaped successfully. Holding back a grunt of amazement, I saw the strangely robed creature leap one last building and disappear behind a wall. Amazed, I wondered who this mysterious figure was but had no time to think about it, for several Pictii priests and warriors in the uniform of the House of Kandar turned, with torches in their hands, and started to approach my position.
Grimly I prepared myself for the last fight of my life. Slinking back deeper into the alley I took a good grip on my sword and stepped out into the middle of the dark alley. And then to my ears came the sound of something scraping lightly across the wall behind met Whirling, I saw through the dimness the long strand of a light rope dangling from the rooftop Into the alley. Looking up, I saw the robed shadow of the mysterious leaper standing practically above me, his feet spread apart to brace himself as if to lift a heavy weight And through the darkness I heard the voice whispering to me.
“Warrior! Warrior! Hurry! Grab the rope and scale the wall! Hurry! For they are almost upon you!”
“Aye, that they are!” I growled, sheathing my blade and taking hold of the rope quickly.
Halfway up the moist stone wall someone below me yelled as he discovered my escape route, and then suddenly the wall around me was a racket of crossbow bolts clattering off the stone. Then the mail given to me by old Fadah came to my rescue! The old armorer said that the sturdy chain mail given to me and to the Lord was impervious to almost anything, and that night I went a long way in proving that statement. As I reached up with a hand and took a firm hold of the outstretched hand of the mysterious figure, a crossbow bolt hit me squarely between the shoulders with a stunning, numbing blow. A blow that, by all rights, should have killed me. Any other chain mail and the bolt would have passed through it and my entire body, for crossbows are extremely powerful. But the mail of Fadah the Armorer, made of steel using the secret formula of the Ancient Kings, cast the bolt aside and I yet lived. The blow had been so intense that I gasped for breath, my arms numbed and my body racked with pain. But the grip of the robed figure was strong and powerful, and he quickly pulled me over the lip of the building and laid me gently down on die rooftop.
“You are wounded?”
“No, the mail made the blow glance off.”
“But it squarely hit! I saw that with my own eyes!”
“Aye, but I need only to catch my breath and well be off again,” I said, slowly moving my arms about to regain some feeling in them. As I looked into the darkness, I saw the moonlight on the face of the mysterious Charolarl Priest with bright white light “Aye. I should have known it would be you, priest And glad that you came to my rescue I am too! But next time, try to save me with a little more time to spare, eh? These narrow escapes are harrowing experiences for, old men of my age.”
“Chatter some other time, warrior. We must hurry and find your master. I have grave news for him and we cannot tarry about”
“Aye, you are right there, priest” I growled, coming to my feet and gritting my teeth from pain. “Lead on, priest! Lead on!”
We quickly fled, leaving behind us a howling pack of infuriated pursuers. After about a half hour of leaping from one rooftop to another, we stopped to catch our breath. Looking at the face of the hook-nosed, brown-haired priest I wiped sweat from my brow, and watched the robed figure pull from the depths of his toga a small bottle made of hard stone.
‘Drink, my friend. Cheap wine it is, but something to give you an ounce of strength perhaps.”
I nodded, took the stone flask and lifted it to my lips. It was only wine purchased with a few copper coins, but as it slid down my throat it tasted like the nectar of the gods. Handing the flask back to the priest I nodded my thanks and watched him place it back into his robe.
“We must hurry. The whole city has been aroused by the House of Kandar, and your master is to be arrested tonight. And any who claim to be followers of the Sa’yen and resist the troops sent to arrest your master are to be put to the sword without fail! The House of Kandar has even ordered two of their most powerful skyships to capture the Black Falcon as well. So you see, haste bids us move as fast as possible.”
“Aye, that we will do shortly, priest But tell me where Is old Fadah to be found at this hour? The granddaughter informed us that he had left with you hurriedly at the stroke of midnight and she appeared worried. Where is her
The priest glanced down at the roof of the tall building we stood on, sadly sighed, and then looked into my face before answering. “He’s dead, warrior.”
“Dead? By whose hands?” I growled, suddenly enraged, for the old armorer had been but a simple and gentle man.
“By the hands of the Pictii. We came upon the shop of the old armorer right after you rescued his granddaughter from the hands of Thordak and his men. Bodies still cluttered the street in front of the old man’s shop, including the body of Thordak himself. Unfortunately a group of Pictii priests entered the street as well and saw us. One of them lifted a crossbow and shot The bolt passed cleanly through the old man.”
“And you fled, leaving him dying, perhaps alive, on the street to be delivered into the hands of the Pictii?” I snarled, stepping closer to the priest in my rage, my hands curling into hard fists as I glared at the robed figure.
“He was close to death, warrior, when I left him. It was his wish that I do so. I laid him gently on the stones of the street and heard him whisper to me his last words. He wanted me to hurry and join the following of the Sa’yen. He wanted me to make sure his granddaughter fell into the arms of her betrothed. I promised him that she would just before I left him. I followed you through the streets of the city. I never could catch up with you because of the warriors who followed you. Not until you led them off into a fruitless chase was I able to help in any way.”
I said nothing for some time, my rage too intense for me to speak. The death of the old man seemed senseless, pointless to me, and I had no understanding as to why the old man had to die. But then, I had not heard from the lips of the priest what had been so important in talking to the old armorer that far into the night. Looking at the stilled when off in the night we beard the thundering roar of cannon fire. In the moonlight we could see off in the distance the tower the Black Falcon was moored to. And reflecting from the billowing white sails, the moonlight revealed to us the sight of two massive ships tacking into the wind, their yardarms filled with every inch of canvas they could carry on the upper and keel masts, their cannons bellowing broadside after staggering broadside out toward the Black Falcon. The two ships were the largest the House of Kandar commanded, and they were coming in just a bit higher than the Black Falcon. In the night, with the wind still blowing fiercely and the clouds still racing across the face of the moon, we saw canvas appear as if by magic on the upper and keel masts of the Black Falcon. The black-hulled ship, once an Aggarian pirate’s vessel, heeled away from the landing tower it had been moored to and shot away furiously. And it fled not away from the attacking warships, but directly at them! Stunned, I yelled furiously at the top of my voice for Fidor or Tallsus to take the helm and heave the black-hulled vessel around to escape! But suddenly the hull of the Black Falcon disappeared into a wall of fire-spitting smoke and fury as it delivered its first broadside to one of the approaching warships. Holding my breath, I waited for the wind to blow the smoke away into the night, disregarding the quiet urgings of escape the priest was whispering to me. I had to see if the Black Falcon yet survived. And I cheered like a madman at the sight I saw. The Black Falcon yet lived! And not only lived, but had wreaked havoc upon the closest warship of the House of Kandar. Tallsus’s gunnery had completely carried away the keel masts and the upper mizzenmast of the attacking warship, leaving the crippled ship to flounder in the wind above the city uselessly. Seeing the damage done to her sister ship so easily by a much smaller ship, the second vessel of the House of Kandar heeled hard over and gave way to the oncoming Black Falcon. I cheered loudly at the short but sweet fight and then frowned. The Black Falcon was making no attempt to flee the city and escape into the night. She was instead coming directly toward us proudly, all sails set and filled with wind, and looking to me like the proud, hungry bird she was. Yet it made no sense that the Sa’yen did not try to escape while He had a chance. Already from the roofs of a hundred landing towers I could hear die long trumpets of the various houses of nobility blaring into the night, their calls warning all that an enemy warship was above the city, making crews of a hundred ships come alive to meet the attack. At first it did not make sense to me—this sudden foolish show of fierce pride. And although my heart filled with a glowing surge of pride and excitement at this show of daring, yet I wished for the Lord to take the Black Falcon on a new course that promised a chance of escape. And then it hit me suddenly as to what the Lord had in mind. He wanted to rescue us! Disregarding the hundreds of warships floating above the city and those setting sail to meet Him in combat, the Lord was determined to rescue us if at all possible. I shook the thin, robed priest joyfully, laughing like a fool.
“Come! We must make a fire! Quickly let us set fire to this building!”
“What? What do you babble, warrior? We must escape! Not create a funeral pyre for ourselves! Come, let us flee!”
“Flee? Flee? Can you not see the Lord is coming to rescue us? Look!”
And I pointed to the Black Falcon, all sails set, spewing out expertly timed broadsides at ships that had rashly come too close to her! For a moment or two the Charolarl Priest looked at the sight of the black-hulled ship approaching us in silent amazement. I grinned, let him go, and started to look around the rooftop for anything that might be used to make a fire. Finding many empty crates of wood, I made a large stack, and then started cursing loudly and obscenely. I had no flint or striker to make flames. Cursing like a deranged madman, I leaped to the edge of the tall building we stood on and threw my cape from my shoulders. With both hands I began waving, hoping that in the moonlight one of the Black Falcon’s crew might see us. Yet I held no real hopes. From every quarter of the sky, ships were closing in on the Black Falcon, and die thunder of cannon fire was filling the night. Waving the cape back and forth over my head, I watched the gunnery of Tallsus demast another foolish ship that had tried to subdue the Black Falcon in a roar* mg broadside of fire and smoke. Standing on the rooftop I could hear all through the city the blaring trumpets of warning carried faintly in the wind, and die drumming cadence of hundreds of ship’s fifers signaling their crews to their stations. And then behind me there was the sudden intake and whoosh of an explosion, and the pile of wooden crates went up in a column of white fire too intense to look upon. Leaping to my side, the Charolarl Priest nodded his head and smiled faintly.
“You have your fire, warrior. Let us hope they understand what it means.”
“The Lord will know, priest. Believe me.”
And He did! Almost at once we saw a large portion of the crew swarming’ down into the rigging of the keel masts, several holding large coils of ropes in their arms. And then faintly in the distance we heard the booming voice of the Lord Himself yelling into the night at us.
“Ahoy, Magdar! Are you capable of hauling in grappling hooks?”
Adi, such a sweet, powerful voice to my ears! I was cheering, tears running down my cheeks, gleefully pounding on the frail, thin back of the Charolarl Priest at the same time. Throwing the cloak over my shoulders again, I cupped hands around my mouth and yelled out we were more than eager to take in grappling hooks.
“And the Charolarl Priest is with me too, Master!”
“Good! Stand by to catch grappling hooks!” the Lord boomed, the Black Falcon now a massive black object almost over our heads arid moving at an incredible speed.
Behind us a cannon bail smashed into the rooftop, showering the priest and myself with splinters and almost knocking us from the lip of the building itself. The fire behind us was rapidly consuming the roof and the heat was beginning to singe the edges of my cape. On either side of the Black Falcon large warships had descended from superior heights to give battle, while hundreds of other sails filled the night air and were bearing down on her. Broadside after broadside was being pumped into the night air by the Black Falcon, and was returned by the larger ships on either side of her. But amazingly little damage was being done to her by the fire of the two ships flanking her sides, whereas the gunnery of Tallsus was devastating. With each broadside, the Black Falcon shot away huge chunks of the attacking ships, the pieces of wood ripped away from their hulls and fluttering down to crash into the city streets below us. The road of cannon fire from hundreds of ships was numbing to my ears, and at each passing moment increasing in intensity. Yet I cared little of the sound but watched men in the rigging of the keel masts heave through the night air the grappling hooks attached to heavy ropes.
Each of us caught a hook with our hands, and as the ship and her keel masts sped directly over our heads, only fifty or sixty feet above us, we both took firm grips on the ropes, placed a foot into the curved shank of the large iron grappling hook, and waited for the jolting, snapping wrench that would sweep us away from the burning rooftop. And it came almost immediately. With a suddenness that almost ripped my hold from the rope, the ship flew over the burning tower and the priest and I were quickly swept up and flung madly through the towering pillar of fire. But the speed of the Black Falcon was enough to sweep us through the tongue of fire so quickly as not to seriously harm us. I felt intense burning pain and then sudden cold. And then strong hands started hauling in the ropes even as the battle raged on about us fiercely as more ships came in to try their luck against the Lord’s master gunner.
