16
Grievance
They had been marching for two days and most of a second night now, stopping only for a brief rest each evening. Their food ration was meagre but thankfully their captors left the prisoners much to themselves. They marched in a chain gang, supervised by men on horses and two wagons, one leading, the other bringing up the rear.
Tor did not mind the marching. It gave him time to himself. He kept open the mindlink with Adongo, though the chieftain spoke only when spoken to. He made no trivial conversation, which suited Tor. Locky was also silent, keeping his thoughts to himself, but he definitely looked brighter since the administering of the arraq and seemed glad to be on the move. None of the sailors had come near him since he had been given back to Tor. Nevertheless, Tor did not rate their chances against the famous wrath of Janus Quist, even with this new respect.
As for Ryk, it was as though nothing had happened. He had awoken the following morning with no memory of the events immediately preceding the moment they had leapt from the ship. The boy did not speak of Blackhand’s punishment; he recalled nothing but the boiling sea and attributed his good fortune in being alive to the man he now knew as Torkyn Gynt, not Physic Petersyn. Despite Haryd’s orders, Ryk lavished attention on his saviour whenever the sailor’s eyes were averted. He was now cooking for the men and Tor was grateful for the extra meat and bread the boy managed to smuggle to them with their gruel. Tor asked him to look after Adongo too. It puzzled Ryk but he did as asked. Anything for Torkyn Gynt.
It was cold, though not bitterly so. Winter was just about upon the Exotic Isles. There was much excitement amongst the slaves over the raft crossing to the mainland, which took an entire day. The initial buzz died down though as the hours of being chained standing upright on the small craft took their toll. By sunrise on the fourth day, the slaves were standing on the jetty of the Cipres docks, awaiting transport to the market.
Haryd was happy. Today was the main slaving day and he intended to make quick sales, purchase berths for himself and his companions on an outgoing ship and be away from Cipres by nightfall. He was not taking any chances on the story that Locklyn Gylbyt was Quist’s brother-in-law.
Tor decided he must act soon to ensure Haryd did not escape his due. His powers must be revealed now, whether Adongo approved or not.
‘Locky, would you know where to find Quist?’ he whispered.
‘I’ve never been here before but I have directions from Eryn to the inn he favours in Cipres. However, I imagine the chains and manacles may give me away.’
Tor grimaced at his friend’s sarcasm. ‘Trust me and pay attention.’
He watched Haryd, who was busy giving orders. Even though the man was far away, Tor’s exceptional hearing picked up everything. The slaves were to be loaded onto carts and Haryd was currently negotiating with someone to provide them. Tor’s main concern was that Haryd was occupied. His henchmen paid scant attention to the slaves who had been made to sit together in a tight pack.
It was now or never. Tor weaved his Colours and watched the iron of Locky’s manacles melt away. Locky had not noticed; he too was engrossed in watching the haggling up front. So much for paying attention, Tor thought. He performed the same trick on the chains which held the lad’s wrists. The boy was free. Now they had to move carefully.
‘Locky,’ he whispered again.
‘Shhh,’ the boy hissed back. ‘I’m trying to hear what their plans are for us.’
Tor groaned. ‘I can hear every word. Would you like me to tell you that we’re to be loaded in carts shortly and taken to the western end of the main market? Would you also like me to mention that your arms and legs are no longer chained?’
Locky’s head whipped down to look at his ankles and he pulled his hands in front of him. He was about to exclaim but Tor’s voice stopped him. ‘Not a word! Move slowly and use all your disappearing talents. Melt away and find me Janus Quist.’
Locky did not respond. His mouth was wide; his eyes too, with disbelief. Tor glanced towards Haryd and did not have to hear the conversation to know the men had struck a deal. The slaves would be loaded immediately.
‘Go!’ Tor said, softly yet urgently.
Locky’s eyes turned to him now. ‘Who are you?’
‘Your friend. Now go.’
He watched with relief as the young man flexed his fingers and toes, preparing to creep away. The order to stand was given and the men began struggling with their chains to get to their feet.
‘Good luck,’ Tor whispered and grinned at Locky, who was already disappearing between the tall bodies of the slaves towards the back of their column.
Adongo, Locky is free. Tell your people to keep it quiet.
He saw the man nod. I will pass the word.
Tor was concerned that the other slaves might start to look around at Locky. He should not have worried. A hand reached for the empty chains on the ground. Its owner’s lips parted into a grin and Tor watched him pass the chains carefully back down the line. Someone at the back would get rid of them.
‘Good magic,’ the man said, struggling to speak with the little Tallinese he knew. He was pleased when Tor nodded and grinned back.
Then they were herded forward and loaded onto two carts. Haryd had already turned his back on the prisoners. Probably heading for an alehouse, Tor thought. That suited him. Beryd, Bluth and the two other men who had been left behind to escort the prisoners to the market were not sharp; hopefully they would not even notice Locky’s disappearance until they were actually there.
Tor’s luck held. The carts rumbled away from the busy jetty and began to bump their way through the docklands. He could see the main city not far away. Beautiful buildings of pastel-coloured stone were enhanced by the watery sunlight which heralded the end of Deadleaf and the commencement of winter. Even the houses which crowded up the hillsides were picture-pretty with their pale colours. Standing alone on a huge outcrop of rock was the palace of Cipres. It was a breathtakingly elegant building with a row of tall, pale minarets, all of different soft colours. Their curved roofs were patterned with gold which caused them to glint constantly. It was an incredibly feminine-looking palace. And why not? It was home to a Queen.
The marketplace was located at a distance from the beautiful city and it was only a few minutes before they turned into the main arena on the western fringe. It was a lively, colourful place, thriving with people calling out their wares, their prices, their purchase desires. The carts rumbled on past into a secured area. Here the men were unloaded and told to sit in a group once again.
Tor wished Locky good speed and withdrew into himself to wait.
A few hours later, guards arrived, as did the Master of the Markets—a dumpy, overweight man known as ‘Master Lard’, a name which Tor considered most appropriate. Lard was not unkind though. He ordered the men’s wrist manacles to be removed and a pot of salve was passed around to ease the inevitable sores which the leg irons had caused. He spoke the pidgin language so the nomads could understand.
‘You have good fortune today. Each first day of the full moon, her majesty Queen Sylven visits the slave markets. It has been her tradition throughout her reign and she will be here later today. Her presence brings luck to the slaves. You will all find good homes today.’
Tor was surprised to see him smile kindly at the men.
The slaves murmured amongst themselves. Adongo still kept his peace.
Master Lard continued. ‘You are the first batch of slaves into the compound; the rest will be arriving during the morning. It will be far more crowded soon so make the best of this space.’ He chuckled but no one joined him. ‘Each main slaving day—again, you men are fortunate in your timing—we hold a Grievance Council. It gives slaves the opportunity to air their complaints to our city fathers. Cipres has a code of conduct for caring for our slaves, which begins with the conditions of capture. The city fathers will hear all reasonable complaints and make a judgement, which will be final. I’m sorry, just being captured is not enough to warrant a hearing.’
He giggled but his attempt at humour was met with stony silence and he quickly hurried on. ‘Ahem…so, do we have any official grievances? Please raise your hands.’
Tor was unable to understand most of Lard’s speech but Adongo quickly summarised it for him. The chieftain raised his hand in the air and Tor followed suit.
‘Ah, right. Well, you men come over here. The rest of you, if you would please remove your garments. The buyers need to see all of what they’re purchasing. Ahem…warts and all.’
He giggled again and turned to Tor and Adongo, who were flanked by Bluth and Beryd. Tor could see Haryd making his way towards them.
‘And you are?’ Master Lard asked in Adongo’s own language.
‘I am Adongo of the Moruks.’
‘What is your grievance?’
‘My captor, Haryd, killed my wife and two children though I offered to surrender myself without a fight.’
‘Oh dear,’ Master Lard tsk-tsked to himself. ‘Well, that is indeed a gripe we must hear out. Yes, you may present to the city fathers. Please return to your place, remove your clothes and I will call you in due course. Thank you.’ He smiled anxiously as Adongo turned to rejoin the group.
‘My name is Torkyn Gynt,’ Tor said amiably, trying to put the nervous man at ease. ‘I am a physic from the Royal Court of Tallinor,’ he lied, ‘and I had paid transport on The Wasp, which sank during the great storm off the Exotic Isles. In saving myself and two others, I was captured by Haryd despite the fact that I was a guest on board his captain’s ship and had paid good coin for my passage.’
Lard frowned. This was a set of circumstances he had not come across before. ‘I see. And you say The Wasp sank?’
‘Yes, sir, to the best of my knowledge. The captain was already dead. All the crew, bar the one who survived with me, died in the storm.’ Tor stared into the little man’s face. ‘He was the cook,’ he lied. ‘An amazing young lad who works magic with food.’
‘Really?’ exclaimed Lard, impressed. ‘Well, I can’t think of anyone more important to survive a sinking ship,’ he said, rubbing his ample stomach. ‘The palace is seeking a new cook. What did you say his name was?’
‘Ryk. He is descended from the famous Savyls of Ildagarth. He even worked in The Tapestry kitchens there.’
‘Good grief, man, are you serious? Even we have heard of the great Savyl chefs of Ildagarth.’
‘Well, where is this cook of such impeccable bloodline?’
‘You must ask Haryd, sir,’ Tor said politely and pointed manacled hands towards the furious sailor approaching.
‘What happens here, Master Lard?’ Haryd bellowed.
Lard wobbled with fright. ‘Haryd, is it? Er, good. Um…this man here has brought grievance against you, as has Adongo of the Moruks. I deem both complaints be heard by the city fathers. You have no objection, I trust?’
‘None,’ growled Haryd, staring hard at Tor. The look was a threat.
One of Lard’s staff whispered into his master’s ear and Haryd took advantage of Lard’s attention being momentarily diverted. ‘Just remember the boys, Gynt,’ he said nastily.
‘Master Lard,’ Tor said.
The fat little man turned his attention back to them. ‘Er, yes?’
‘Didn’t you want to speak with Haryd about the young cook, Ryk Savyl?’
‘Yes, indeed. Sailor Haryd, would you be kind enough to have the lad brought to the palace immediately. We wish to discuss something with him.’
Haryd glared but nodded and ordered his men to make the arrangement straightaway.
‘Oh and Haryd…er, sir,’ Tor said politely. ‘I’m not sure which other boy you were talking about.’
Haryd sneered. ‘Quist’s make-believe stepson, of course. He’ll be sold in two shakes of a duck’s tail, Gynt.’
‘Not sure he’s available, sir.’ It was Tor’s turn to smirk. ‘May I be excused to undress, Master Lard?’
‘Indeed you may,’ the Master of the Market said, waving Tor away. ‘I shall call your name shortly but there is a change to today’s schedule and I must inform these men about it.’
Haryd strode along the rows of slaves, searching for Locky. His face was a picture of rage. ‘Where is he, Gynt?’ he howled.
Tor shrugged. All the other men kept their eyes downcast.
Haryd suddenly looked terrified. How could the lad have escaped? What if the story was true? He had already found out that Quist was in town, staying at his favourite haunt. Gynt looked confident. Perhaps there was some truth to the story. If so, he was in serious trouble. Thoughts of escape flashed across his mind; he could leave the slaves and the proceeds of his other precious cargo and preserve his life, for surely Quist would not spare it. Just as he was considering how he might quietly make his way out of the compound, trumpets sounded. He saw that extra guards had manned the gates and were standing to attention. No one would be allowed to enter or leave this area without official permission now. He was trapped. What was going on? Master Lard’s quavery voice enlightened him as he made a new announcement.
‘I have just been informed that Queen Sylven is making her visit to the slave market much earlier than planned this morning. Since the market does not officially open until midday, we have only you men to present to her. Security is high so please refrain from making any sudden moves or calling out. Such behaviour will not be tolerated near our Queen. You will all kneel and place your foreheads to the ground until further orders. The Queen’s carriage approaches. We are doubly honoured today by her majesty’s decision to hear grievances on behalf of the Council and make judgement. Now, please kneel and remain silent.’
The naked group of slaves did as instructed. Tor’s pale body stood out sharply amongst the swarthy skins of the Moruks. They remained with their heads to the ground for some time, hearing voices and the sounds of footsteps passing by—guards, no doubt. When they were finally bid to kneel upright again, they were confronted by a glorious carriage adorned with jewels, its sides covered with artful veils. They could not see beyond the billowing layers, though they guessed Queen Sylven sat behind them.
In fact, the Queen was lying on a bed of plump cushions, sharing a private joke with one of her senior handmaidens about how well hung that particular man at the front of the group was. She put her finger to her mouth to hush the servant from laughing too loudly, though her own eyes were filled with mirth. Then her attention was caught by the white man. She could not see his face, which was hidden from her line of view, but his chest was broad and muscled. It was rare to see a white man for sale. She would enjoy seeing him stand up naked, but she kept that thought to herself.
At that moment there came the noise of angry voices from outside the compound. She could see guardsmen moving towards the scene and her own head of the guard followed after, ordering his men to close in around her majesty.
Her own man returned with information. ‘It is the captain of The Raven, your majesty. He is a good man. Fearsome but honest. He says he has a serious grievance to present which involves these sailors who are selling their slaves today.’
‘I see. What is your recommendation, Klug?’
‘Your majesty, he has brought us many fine things, this captain. The quality of his goods is normally exceptional and, to my knowledge, his prices are always fair. He is held in high regard by the Caradoons and feared by other pirates and slavers.’
‘Then we can assume his grievance is justified?’
‘Yes, your majesty. I would suggest that Captain Quist would be unlikely to bring any small claim into your esteemed presence.’
‘Allow him in. I shall hear his grievance.’
‘Very good, your majesty,’ Klug said and, with a movement of his hand, indicated that Quist, three of his men and Locky were to be permitted entry to the compound.
Haryd felt his stomach turn.
Tor was not allowed to look around but guessed from Haryd’s face what had occurred. He had to struggle not to smile. The three strode into view. Locky winked at him and Tor clapped eyes once again on the memorable patched face of Janus Quist.
‘Watch him!’ Quist said to his men, before moving to pay his respects to the Queen. His three men closed menacingly around Haryd, who was now dearly wishing he had never laid a finger on Locky. He did not even like boys. He preferred his sex with women, hard and rough, but he had felt desperate that night and his men had urged him on. They had been stuck on the island for weeks without word from The Wasp and had taken no women slaves during this time. The chieftains were getting clever, sending out scouts and putting their women and children into hiding before raids. Only this chief had refused to send his family away. And he had paid the ultimate price for that arrogance. Pity. The woman had been young and beautiful, as were the two girls. They would have made his nights far more pleasurable than the abusive lad had done. What could he do to find his way out of this situation?
Haryd watched Quist come to a halt before the Queen’s sparkling coach.
Lard made his announcement. ‘Her majesty Queen Sylven will now hear grievance. Would Adongo of the Moruks, Torkyn Gynt of Tallinor and Haryd of The Wasp please step forward.’
Naked but unabashed, Adongo and Tor walked side by side to where Lard pointed.
Inside her cocoon of veils, Sylven’s attention was riveted on the tall white man. What a glorious specimen he was. As one might imagine a god, she fancied. She sat up to see him better. Not only was he fantastically handsome but his body matched his face…and, oh my, such arrogance. He was staring straight at her. She was not used to such behaviour but she rather liked his forthrightness, the fact that he was not cringing like Haryd. She marvelled at the incredible blue of his eyes and wondered, briefly, how it would feel to have him make love to her.
She dismissed the thought. Old Lardy was speaking again and she must pay attention.
‘We will hear from Adongo of the Moruks.’
The tall chieftain stepped forward. He began to speak and his voice was deep and measured. She noticed that he wasted no words, showed no unnecessary emotion and held himself regally. He spoke perfect Ciprean which took everyone by surprise. ‘My wife and two daughters, one of them not yet nine summers, were murdered by this slave trader, Haryd, your majesty. They were not taken as prisoners but summarily executed for no reason other than the pirate did not like the way I looked at him.’ Adongo paused. It was effective. ‘He dragged them in front of all our people, your majesty, and stabbed each in the heart. He kept the child until last, forcing her to witness her mother and elder sister dying horribly before her. But she was brave, your majesty, and would have made a fine elder of our tribe one day. She made no sound and gave no satisfaction to her killers. She turned to me with the knife in her chest and her lifeblood gushing over her dead mother, and spoke her final words: “Father, I was born in blood from Mother and now I die with her blood mingling with my own. Avenge us.” She died quietly, your majesty.’
There was silence as Adongo’s listeners, awestruck by his composure and calm delivery, took a moment to realise he had stopped speaking. Looking directly at Haryd, the chieftain added, ‘There was no reason for their execution, your highness.’
Lard nodded, shocked by the horrific tale. ‘Queen Sylven will consider your grievance once she has heard all the complaints. I call Torkyn Gynt.’
The white man stepped forward, all of his lean, muscled body now on direct show to the Queen.
Sylven, disturbed by the chieftain’s story, was surprised and relieved to hear amusement in this man’s voice. ‘To be honest, Master Lard, although I do have a grievance, I just thought it would be worth my last moments as a free man to be this close to such a beautiful woman.’
Poor Master Lard nearly fainted at the audacity of the comment. He was surprised to hear a deep gurgle of laughter from behind the veils.
‘And how do you know of my beauty, Torkyn Gynt, when the Queen of Cipres never goes unveiled in public?’
Despite the barrier between them, he was staring directly at her with those arrogant blue eyes. ‘Your majesty, your taste alone gives away your beauty. Your palace is the most breathtaking building I have seen, and I have travelled far and wide. Your city— what I could see of it from the slave cart—is exquisite and I would give anything to roam its streets. No, my lady, my guess is that your beauty is not only unrivalled in this Land…but anywhere in our world.’ She could see his eyes glinting with wicked wit.
Tor turned back to Lard. ‘Should I outline my grievance now, Master Lard?’
Lard could only nod.
Tor proceeded to tell his story again. When he had finished he bowed to the veils.
Lard responded. ‘Er…her majesty Queen Sylven will consider. Um…Captain Quist, please.’
Janus Quist stepped forward. ‘Your majesty, I claim grievance against Haryd of The Wasp. My young brother-in-law here,’ he said, tapping Locky on the shoulder, ‘was working his way across to Cipres aboard The Wasp to be with me. When it sank, he escaped with Physic Gynt but, together with Gynt and another of the ship’s crew, was captured by Haryd and his men. He was used forcefully as a whore by Haryd and his men and raped repeatedly on the night of his capture. If the physic had not stepped in, I believe he would no longer be alive.’
‘Thank you, Captain. Queen Sylven will consider.’
They all waited in silence for her command.
Sylven felt confounded to begin with. It appeared that all of these stories intertwined and led back to Haryd, who was clearly an unscrupulous brute. She took the time to work out how she could unravel their stories and come to a conclusion which would ensure all felt fairly done by. Her eyes rested on Torkyn Gynt. There was something about him which fascinated her and it went beyond his disarmingly handsome appearance.
Sylven motioned to her maidservant that she would now pronounce her decisions. The word was given and Master Lard went through the protocol of informing the audience to pay attention. The Queen spoke.
‘Captain Quist, I believe the grievance truly rests with your brother-in-law. You must concede to him the demand for settlement of the complaint against Haryd. Such behaviour is intolerable, particularly as the boy was not fair game for slavers and his captors would have known this.’
Quist nodded his agreement.
‘Yet I feel that Adongo of the Moruks has a greater right to grievance than the boy and so I award to him the first chance to best Haryd. If Haryd survives, he must face the grievance of your brother-in-law. However, to compensate you for waiting your turn, I award all proceeds of the sale of the slaves in this group to you. Meanwhile, your brother-in-law is free.’
‘And Torkyn Gynt, your majesty?’ asked Lard.
‘He is not a slave. He is free to leave Cipres immediately.’
She noted Tor’s face twitch. Was it with pleasure? She could not tell but she intended to find out.
‘Adongo of the Moruks,’ the Queen called.
The chieftain stepped forward.
‘I cannot free you. You are a slave, owned now by the captain, and only he can free you. But I can offer you the chance to avenge the death of your loved ones. Will you fight?’
‘Yes, your majesty, I will fight.’
‘Then let the contest take place now, before the midday trading.’
The audience was over, though the Queen would remain at the marketplace to ensure her decrees were met.
Tor, Quist, his men and Locky gathered in a huddle around Adongo, whilst Beryd and Bluth allied themselves with Haryd. They looked nervous. If he failed, they would face a similar fate.
Locky introduced the captain to his friend. ‘Tor, this is Janus Quist.’
Quist clasped Tor’s hand in the Tallinese manner. ‘Locky has told me all about you and your connection with Eryn. She has asked me to help you find what you seek. I am at your service. What is it I can do for you?’
Tor looked at the man who had threatened Saxon’s life and stolen Cloot. He was not a man to be trifled with. There was no point in hedging.
‘Do you remember stealing a falcon from a Kloek outside a stracca den in Caradoon?’
Quist pulled his hand away as if he had been stung and stared at Tor. His eyes narrowed. ‘And what is it to you if I do?’
‘I have come a long way to get the bird back. You stole it from me. It did not belong to the Kloek.’
Surprise registered in Quist’s face but just then the Queen’s head guardsman called the proceedings to order.
‘There is no time for this now,’ Quist said. ‘We shall talk later.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ Tor replied gravely.
They turned back to Adongo. He had tied a colourful loincloth around his waist.
Quist spoke first in clipped Ciprean. ‘What is your choice?’
‘Of what?’ Adongo said calmly.
‘Weapon, man! Did you think you were going to fight with fiddlesticks?’
Tor tried. ‘Adongo, you chose to fight Haryd. Do you know how to fight?’
‘I am not a fighter, Tor. I am Paladin; a protector.’
Quist shook his head and walked away, muttering about riddles.
‘Adongo, you must choose a weapon. This is a fight to the death.’
‘No weapon is required,’ Adongo said. The man was truly frustrating.
‘How will you defend yourself?’ Tor’s voice betrayed his concern.
‘In the Moruk way,’ was Adongo’s final comment on the subject.
‘Haryd of The Wasp chooses the cutlass,’ the guardsman announced. ‘And Adongo of the Moruks chooses…’
He stopped as he realised the man standing in the centre of the compound held nothing in his hands.
‘Adongo of the Moruks, you must choose a weapon.’
The chieftain stood silently, looking every bit as regal as a king. His eyes were closed and his long, lean arms hung loosely at his sides. He ignored everyone.
Tor spoke to him via the link. Remember your destiny—the young one whom you must help.
My bonded one is almost here, Tor. I sense it.
Then you must not risk death. He could hardly put it any plainer.
I will survive. But Haryd will not die at my hand. Nor will he die at yours.
It was a veiled message. Adongo’s charcoal-coloured eyes were open now and fixed firmly on Tor. He was warning him not to interfere with his powers or by any other means.
Tor shook his head; he felt helpless. Haryd was brandishing two cutlasses. He was barefoot now, wearing only breeches, no shirt.
‘Fight!’ called the guardsman.
Haryd began to circle the Moruk, swinging the blades in a menacing rhythm. He looked comfortable with them. Adongo still did not move; once again the eyes were closed in the lean face.
‘What is he doing?’ Locky groaned.
‘We have to trust him,’ was all Tor could think of to say. But it was of no comfort even to him.
Haryd continued his circling, trying to guess what the Moruk might do. However, he was not a man of patience or foresight. True to his impulsive character, he made a run at his enemy, screaming his intent, both weapons lifted high above his head.
Just as the pirate was a moment from striking Adongo down, the chieftain leapt astonishingly high into the air and somersaulted backwards. As he did so, he kicked and one of the cutlasses went flying. His other foot connected with his rushing opponent. Haryd hit the ground hard, his chin taking the brunt of the impact.
It was a terrible landing and the audience groaned at the sound of bone breaking. Adongo was almost back in the same spot and, frustratingly for Haryd, standing still again, his eyes closed, arms loose at his sides. He was breathing evenly, as though smelling the fragrance of blossom on the air.
‘I’m not sure I just saw that,’ Locky exclaimed.
Quist stood with his mouth open in awe.
Is that the Moruk way, then? Tor said.
It is, came the measured reply.
Haryd was back on his feet. He rubbed at his swelling jaw; one arm hung broken and useless. He moved the remaining cutlass to his other hand with purpose, ignoring the pain. Murder was written on his face. He said something in pidgin. The other slaves watching looked horrified.
What did he say? Tor asked.
It is very bad to curse a Moruk’s mother, Adongo replied calmly.
Haryd was rushing forward again. Everyone held their breath.
This time Adongo fell low to the ground and with a deft movement swept Haryd’s feet from under him. As the sailor crashed again to the dust, the Moruk leapt onto him, smashing into the low part of his spine, then lightly jumped away.
Haryd screamed in agony. It was brutal punishment. Several of the Queen’s ladies looked away. Even Locky wished Adongo would hurry up and deal the killing blow, even though he dearly wanted that pleasure for himself.
But Adongo waited.
Haryd’s breathing was horribly ragged now. He pulled himself painfully to his knees and stared at his opponent, who had struck his by now familiar pose, eyes closed, arms loose.
This infuriated the sailor who, with one final bloodcurdling bellow, hurled his cutlass directly at his opponent, barely steps away. Despite the terrible pain he was in, Haryd’s throw was accurate and frighteningly fast.
Adongo caught the cutlass by the blade, eyes still closed. The reflex action brought rapturous applause. Anyone who had not witnessed this would never believe the tale. Not a drop of blood had been spilled by either party, though one of them was near dead.
The Moruk opened his eyes, tossed the cutlass to one side and leapt again. This time Haryd screamed for his life. Adongo landed neatly on the man’s chest, crushing his ribs with a cracking sound that echoed throughout the compound. One of the ladies fainted.
It was enough.
Adongo bowed low to where Queen Sylven sat impressed behind her veils and then bowed to his men before rejoining them to sit in the dust.
The guardsman listened to Haryd’s chest.
‘He lives,’ was all he said.
Lard nodded and spoke. ‘Her majesty calls upon Locklyn Gylbyt.’
Locky ran to the Queen’s carriage and fell to his knees. ‘Your majesty.’
‘Well, Locklyn, it seems you will have your revenge on this man. I, for one, am glad for you. What is your choice of punishment?’
‘Queen Sylven, I choose that he ride the Silver Maiden.’
She was surprised. ‘But you will have to wait for that to be arranged. Why not a swift death by your own hand now, child? He is almost finished.’
‘Your majesty, I will wait. A swift death is not enough for his sort. He needs to know fear and I have heard of this local custom.’
‘It is a terrible death. I am assured a man dies a thousand times just imagining it. Are you aware of the entire custom of Cipres—that the person choosing this method must first take his chances with the Maiden himself?’
‘I am.’
‘Then you are the bravest of men. And I have no choice but to pronounce that your wish be decreed. Haryd of The Wasp will ride the Silver Maiden.’