The Forlorn by Dave Freer

Author:Dave Freer [Freer, Dave ]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 0-671-57831-6
Publisher: Baen Publishing Enterprises
Published: 1999-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

The night was quiet. Too quiet. All that could be heard was the sea's constant crash and whisper. Keilin knew his were not the only ears straining to hear the creak of a rowlock, or any other ship-betraying sound from the sea. He knew that up on the clifftop many anxious eyes were peering seawards, wishing desperately for more moonlight. That didn't stop his stomach twisting itself into knots. What the hell was he doing here? If he slipped off now he could be a good few miles away before morning. His reading had lead him to believe that battles were glorious, and he'd often imagined himself leading the heroic charge. Now it was coming. And he was scared.

Something touched him on the shoulder. He whirled, assegai at the ready. It was Shael.

"Kim! I mean . . . Princess. I'm sorry. I . . . I wasn't expecting you."

There was a glimmer of a smile. "It's all right. Even Beywulf's jumpy. They've spotted them from the clifftops. I . . . just came to say goodbye, Cay, and . . . I'm glad you still think of me as Kim."

"Habit. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. For everything. I absolutely hate you. Good luck." She turned and fled.

Keilin was left to reflect about his scant knowledge of what made women tick for the next few minutes. He also spent some time regretting a certain missed opportunity. But he hadn't known he might be going to die quite this soon. Then the first Hashvilli galley came cautiously nosing in between the moles, the rowers putting their muffled oars carefully into the water.

As quietly as possible, men jumped from its sides and spilled like ink across the white stone of the South Mole. Then the second galley arrived, and its reivers leapt off onto the other mole. The third, fourth, and fifth galleys quickly followed, now sacrificing silence for speed. There were nine vessels between the moles, the oarsmen rowing as hard as possible to reach the inner harbor and beach, or run up alongside the quay. The running vanguard surged ahead along the moles and struck against the breastwork and its wall of pikes. In the stilt-mounted pavilion behind the pike line, Leyla waited until the attack was a thick and clustered mass of swearing men hacking against the spear points. Those behind were pushing their leaders onto the thicket of sharp points. Her calmness seemed to spread across the archers. "Aim at the mass, after that, pick your marks." The sound of stretching bows and indrawn breaths was audible in the silence of the pavilion. "Loose."

Across the channel the same scenario was being enacted.

"Like shooting ducks in a barrel," commented one archer as the mass attacking the pike line was suddenly turned into a rout of screaming men. A rending crash, and the sound of splintering timber drowned his words. The lead galley ripped her bottom out on the heavy sharpened logs that had been anchored just below the water line. The next two galleys were only yards behind her.

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