raised his shield in front of him and was sheltering behind it, agony contorting his features. The raider cut at him again with the scyax, and Garnet, taking all the weight of the strike on his shield, shuddered and fell back towards the crackling brazier. I was with him in two strides. The raider sensed my approach and turned to face me.
I lunged, and, as he pulled his scyax across his chest, ready to swing, something Orgos had taught me kicked in. I dropped the tip of my blade under his parry and it connected. It was a weak strike, nothing like enough to pierce his breastplate, but as the sword kicked in my hand I lost my balance and fell forwards. Suddenly my face was inches from his helm and I could see blue eyes through the eye slits and a misty stone like an opal set into the bronze between them, glowing orange in the firelight.
I saw the panicked look in his eyes. He tried to wield the scyax against me, but it was too big and I was too close. I fell upon him and my sword point slid up his cuirass and found the soft flesh of his throat. My body weight carried me forwards. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to.
Then there was a scream, a long, slow cry that stopped abruptly. One of the raiders had fallen from the tower as he struggled with Mithos. Blood streaming from a broad slash in his cheek, Mithos ran for the stairs, where Renthrette was holding off the last two.
“The fire! Put the fire out!” he shouted.
Without another word he flung himself down the steps, sword aloft.
I tore two of the scarlet cloaks from the dead raiders, plunged them into a bucket of seawater by the brazier, and pulled Garnet to his feet. His arm was bleeding heavily but he said nothing as he seized the edge of the cloaks. We stretched them taut over the brazier as the flames jagged out from underneath. The heat was almost unbearable, but just before I released the steaming fabric, the light died and smoke began pouring out. It was done.
The last of the raiders fled, seized his horse, and galloped away before Renthrette or Mithos could give chase. I grasped the stone of the tower to hold myself up and inhaled the sea air deeply, staring out into the darkness until the shock and nausea subsided. I was covered in blood, but it wasn’t mine.
The four of us stood together, wheezing, staring west, waiting. It was almost a minute before we saw the brightening spark of the Seaholme lighthouse flare up to guide the barges in.
SCENE XXVII
The Convoy
We moved off at first light, a column of dark wagons bristling with spears and escorted by sixty horsemen in royal blue cloaks and silver helms. We looked ready for anything and, suspecting that we weren’t, I hoped that appearances would do the trick. I didn’t know what Mithos had told the duke about how close his precious cargo had been to the bottom of the ocean thanks to a mere handful of the raiders. I had always known they could outnumber us, but I had presumed we could outthink them, like in the stories. I was pretty pleased with myself for figuring out the lighthouse ruse, but I also knew that if we hadn’t caught them off-guard in a space too small for them to swing those bloody ax things, the evening would have gone rather differently.
We sent some of the infantry to recover the corpses of the raiders so we could inspect them, but they couldn’t find them, or they lost them, or something.
“How is that possible?” I yelled at the young officer in charge of the detail. “They were at the lighthouse. Did you find the lighthouse?”
“They weren’t there,” he said. “Not when we got there. Somebody must have taken them.”
Great. I doubt we would have discovered anything from them, but it was disheartening to have missed the opportunity of learning something from our brush with death.
“I hear you did your part at the lighthouse,” said Orgos.
“I guess,” I said, uncertain whether I was proud of the fact or not. The whole thing had unnerved me rather.
“You guess what?” said Renthrette, appearing at my elbow.
“Nothing,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t pursue it.
“Sounds like Will was quite the warrior,” said Orgos.
Her slim mouth frowned.
“I didn’t see,” she said flatly. “I think he helped.”