The bell began before the fort came into view.
Jon heard it through the creak of the oars: a hurried, uneven clanging somewhere beyond the headland. Hugin lifted from the mast. The crow flew towards the sound, then turned back when the cliff hid the ship.
"Keep the boats aboard," Jon told Hewyn.
The centurion looked past him. Along the rail, men were waiting to lower the first boat. Malcolm had a foot upon its bench.
"Hold," Hewyn called.
Jon beckoned Arthur towards the shelter behind the mast. A coil of heavy rope lay against the boards there, out of the rowers' way. He sat upon it, keeping his right hand clear of his knee.
"Stay beside me."
Arthur looked up at the crow and moved between Jon and the men forward.
Jon closed his eyes and found Hugin upon the wind.
For a moment the height caught him. The ship lay below, her oars combing green water, and beyond her the hired transports were still coming round the point. He turned the crow towards shore.
The eastern anchorage opened beneath his wings.
Two galleys lay off the landing. Men were running along their decks; on the nearer one, an anchor cable rose dripping from the sea. A third vessel sat higher out of the water, with bare patches along her rail and men scrambling down from the rigging. Four longboats lay close to shore. Someone was pushing one clear with a pole.
The stone steps were where the prisoner had said. They rose from the water between a low wall and a long storehouse, then joined a lane which climbed towards the fort. From the ship they would look like the quickest way ashore.
Hugin passed above the storehouse roof.
Men were gathering inside its upper floor. Through a broken patch of tiles Jon saw a bow drawn from a bundle, a man's shoulder, the pale shaft of an arrow. Along the wall overlooking the steps, shutters remained closed. The men at the foot of the landing were few and badly spread. A man in a striped cap waved them back, leaving the lower steps empty.
Jon took Hugin higher.
North of the landing, the shore curved into a yard where timbers and unfinished boats lay above a strip of shingle. A low ridge of rock ran out into the water between the yard and the steps. The loft could command the landing. It could not command all that beach.
Beyond the yard stood the two long sheds.
One door was open. Chained men were being driven out in short files. The line faltered where the path turned towards the fort. A guard struck someone with the shaft of his spear, and the whole file staggered against the men in front. Jon could see no more beneath the shed's overhanging roof.
He sent Hugin towards the hillside. The fort had a broad gate looking down the lane and a squat tower at the far corner. A stone stair climbed beside a hall to the tower and the adjoining wallwalk. There were men upon it, looking out to sea. Houses crowded below its western wall. Among them a pale path wound away from the spring and vanished behind trees. He followed it as far as the first turn.
Nothing moved there that he could see.
He had already spent too long.
The rope beneath him pressed against his thigh. He opened his eyes to Arthur's cloak and the smell of wet wood. The bell was louder now. Their ship had cleared the point.
"Bowmen in the storehouse beside the steps," he said. "Behind the shutters. They are leaving the landing open for us."
Arthur turned towards the shore.
Jon rose and called Denys. He pointed with his left hand, tracing the low rock ridge as it came into view.
"The boats go north of that. Into the timber yard."
Denys studied the narrow beach. "It shelves unevenly. They may have to wade."
"Better than climbing those steps under the loft. Can you keep its men down?"
"For a little while. Those galleys will have something to say about it."
One was already moving. Her oars struck the water in a ragged beginning, steadied, and drew her away from the shore. The second followed with men still running to their places.
"Then take them," Jon said. "The transports wait until we have the landing."
Denys pointed out a patch of water to the ship's master and went forward, calling for the signal. Hewyn brought Malcolm to Jon.
"The sheds are beyond the yard," Jon told them. "They have begun taking people towards the fort. First Spears secure the beach. Brus comes behind you. Do not run up the lane after anyone who gives ground. I want room to put the rest ashore."
Malcolm looked once towards the sheds, fixing them against the fort above.
"What if they start killing them?"
"Stop them if you can reach them. Keep your men together."
The centurion nodded and went back to his boat. Hewyn followed him, raising his voice to reach the next group waiting by the rail.
Jon caught Elyas's eye.
"Stay with the ship's bowmen. Shoot where their captain tells you."
The young knight had the bow out of its case already. "Yes, my lord."
"Garon, you go with Hewyn. Carry his orders until we are ashore. Corwyn, with me."
Aurane came forward before Jon could call him. A sailor had thrust a rope into his hands; he was keeping its loose coils out from under the men bringing a boat aft.
"And me?"
"Help get them away. Then stay with Denys until he sends you."
Aurane glanced at the men getting into the boats, then down at the rope in his hands. He shifted it to his other hand and went back to the sailors.
The nearer pirate galley turned across their course.
A shout rose from her bow. Jon saw shields above the rail, a hooked pole, a bare arm pointing towards their ship. Denys gave an order to the master. Their own oars checked on one side, and the deck slanted beneath Jon's feet as the bow came round.
"Down there!"
Arthur's hand closed upon his shoulder. Jon crouched behind the rail as an arrow struck the deck where he had been standing. Another passed overhead. The legionary beside him lifted his shield, and a third arrow lodged in its rim.
The bowmen answered.
From below the rail Jon could see little of it: the bend of a bow, a sailor's bare feet, the dark shaft quivering inches from his face. Denys remained where he could see both ships. He shouted to the men at the forward oars, then to the bowmen. The master repeated him. The ship heaved through her turn.
Malcolm's boat dropped into the water.
The men went over quickly, passing shields down before them. Another boat struck the sea aft. The cliff had sheltered them from the swell, but the wake of the turning galley caught it broadside and drove it against the hull. Wood cracked. One man fell between the thwarts; his companions dragged him up by his belt.
"Hold her off!" Hewyn roared.
A boat hook caught the rail. The men shoved, the boat cleared, and the first oars dipped.
Through the gap beneath a raised shield, Jon saw the enemy draw closer.
Denys had kept their bow towards her. Now the pirate captain altered course, seeking their flank. A second of Jon's fighting ships came out from behind them, her bowmen standing above a line of shields. The pirate checked. Men aboard her began shouting in different directions.
The sea between the ships filled with arrows.
One of Jon's sailors dropped beside an oar. The rower behind him tried to catch him and lost his stroke; the next oar struck his. A mate shoved between the benches, hauled the wounded sailor clear and thrust another man into his place. The oars found their work again.
Malcolm's boats were beyond the galley's bow now. The low ridge of rock lay between them and the steps.
Jon stood.
"Get down," Arthur snapped.
"I need to see the beach."
Arthur brought a shield up beside him. Jon looked past its edge.
The storehouse shutters opened.
Men leaned out with bows. They had waited for boats at the steps and found them making for the yard instead. Some tried to follow them with their arrows; others turned upon the ships. Denys pointed, and the forward bowmen shifted their aim. Elyas loosed among them, fumbled his next shaft, then steadied himself and drew again.
The first boats grounded short of the beach.
Malcolm went over into water above his knees. His men followed, stumbling over stones they could not see. A shield floated free. A man reached after it until Malcolm caught his collar and shoved him towards shore.
Pirates were running out among the timbers.
There were more than Hugin had seen. They came from a shed open at both ends, carrying axes, spears, a ship's boarding hook. One flung a stone which struck a legionary on the helm. The man dropped to one knee in the water. His companion hauled him upright and they went on together.
The beach was too narrow for a full front. First Spears had to come in between a hauled-out boat and a stack of rough timber, with the next boat's men still wading behind them. A pirate darted between the hull and the rocks. Jon saw him strike at a soldier's leg, saw the soldier fall, and lost both beneath the shields which closed over them.
"Close up! Shields together!" Malcolm's voice carried across the water.
The leading rank stopped trying to advance. Shields pressed together above the wash. More men came in behind, and spearpoints appeared between the shoulders of those in front. The pirates rushed them before the line was complete.
Jon watched a long hook catch a shield and wrench it sideways. A sword followed, striking the breastplate behind it. The soldier reeled into his comrades. They held him up, and a spear came over his shoulder and drove the attacker against the hauled-out boat. The legionary got his shield back in front of him before the next man came. Another pirate climbed onto its keel, trying to reach over the line. A legionary struck at his feet. He jumped down on the shoreward side and disappeared.
The second boat reached the beach. Then the third.
Malcolm's optio stood behind the line, catching each arriving file and sending it to a place. One man started towards the fighting at the boat's keel. The optio seized his shoulder, turned him and pointed him into a gap. He went there. The next men followed him.
Brus came through the shallows with his round shield raised, beating men forward with the flat of his sword. He took his first soldiers to the northern end of the yard, where pirates were already trying to get round the spear line behind the hauled-out boat.
The fighting vanished behind the hull. Jon saw Brus's helmet once, a lifted axe, the underside of a shield. Then a pirate came backwards into sight and fell among the stones. Brus followed far enough to clear the end of the boat and stopped his men there.
Malcolm moved forward.
The spear line took three short paces out of the water. Men still arriving filled the ranks behind it. Another three paces brought the shields onto dry shingle. Malcolm called again, and the front advanced together.
The pirates gave ground among the timbers. One tried to rally them beside a stack of planks, but Brus had already brought his men round its far end. The pirate saw the shields turning towards him and ran for the houses. Others followed, leaving their wounded where they had fallen.
Malcolm halted at the mouth of the lane. Behind him the next boats grounded upon a beach his men now held.
Hewyn was ashore. He climbed onto a stack of planks and raised his arm towards the ship.
Jon breathed out.
"Have my boat brought alongside."
Denys heard him from the forward rail. "Not yet."
The pirate galley struck the ship that had come up beside them.
The sound carried across the water, a deep wooden crash followed by screaming. Oars lifted and broke between the hulls. Grapnels flew. Their consort slewed round beneath the blow, and for a moment Jon saw men upon both decks thrown off their feet.
Denys was already shouting to the master.
Their own ship gathered way.
Jon caught the rail with his left hand and stepped clear as sailors ran past him with axes and coils of rope.
Beyond them, Hewyn lowered his arm and began widening the foothold.
* * *
Vhalar had sent three men to the headland before anyone could tell him where the black ships were going.
He stood at the western landing with blood drying beneath his mail and watched a boat pull in from Drazen's galley. Behind him the fort bell had stopped. His men had found the rope and cut it.
They were still coming down from the houses with their arms full.
A man hurried past carrying a copper basin packed with cloth. Vhalar caught him by the back of the neck and drove him against the storehouse wall. The basin rang upon the stones.
"Whose boat?"
The man stared at him.
"Whose fucking boat are you in?"
"Goro's."
"Then find him." Vhalar released him. "Leave that here."
The man looked at the spilled cloth.
Vhalar drew his knife halfway from its sheath.
He went.
"Stack it inside," Vhalar told the men behind him. "Put two at the door. Anything stolen before it's divided comes out of the thief's hide."
That carried farther than an order to muster. Men looked round from the bundles in their hands. One began protesting that he had found his silver before the gate fell; his own boatmate struck him in the mouth and told him to shut it.
Drazen came up the steps holding his side.
He had washed the blood from his face. There was more on his sleeve, though Vhalar could not tell whose. He stopped where the landing met the lane and glanced at the goods accumulating outside the storehouse.
"Sarro?"
"Gone."
"All four?"
Vhalar nodded.
Drazen spat into the water. "He saw them before we did."
"What did you see?"
"Black canvas. Men along the rails. They kept going."
"Dragonstone?"
Drazen looked towards the empty northern water. "Could be. Too far off to swear to it."
Vhalar felt the cut in his cheek pull as he worked his jaw.
The boy had taken his ships. That much he knew. He did not yet know whether these were the same men or another captain come to feed upon Moreo. A black sail could be bought in any port. It was the way they had passed the western harbour that troubled him.
They had seen the ships crowded beneath the fort. Seen the boats hauling spoils. They had kept going.
Towards his money. His anchorage. The men he had left to hold it.
"How soon can you sail?"
"My two can go now. Of Moreo's pair, one has half her oars broken. The other has a dead master and a crew who keep asking whether Moreo is alive."
"Show them."
Drazen looked back up the lane.
"Have his head brought down," Vhalar ordered. "Let them see who pays them now."
A runner came off the road, bent double and gasping. Vhalar caught his shoulder and kept him upright.
"Which way?"
"Round the north. All of them."
"How many?"
The man tried to answer, stopped, swallowed. "I couldn't tell. Big ships behind the galleys. Some with pale sails."
"Did any turn?"
"No."
Vhalar let him go.
Drazen said nothing. He did not need to. The two galleys left in the east could keep a few raiders off the steps. They could not fight a fleet alone.
"Get your men back aboard," Vhalar told him. "Send a longboat ahead. I want to know what's in my harbour before I put a bow into it."
"And these?" Drazen nodded towards Moreo's ships.
"Leave guards aboard. Break the steering on the ones we can't use. I won't have one rowing after us with Moreo's sons' colours up."
Drazen gave a short nod. He had begun to turn when Vhalar caught his arm.
"If that is the boy's fleet, you'll get another look at them."
Drazen looked down at the hand, then back at him.
"I'll know them close."
"See that you do." He released him.
* * *
The pirate galley was still locked against Jon's second ship. Denys had brought his own across the enemy's stern.
His bowmen could shoot along the pirate deck now. Men who had been trying to force their way over the consort's rail turned and raised shields against this new danger. Others kept fighting, unaware of what was happening behind them.
A grapnel caught the pirate galley's stern rail. A sailor braced his feet and hauled the rope tight; Jon stepped over it as three men ran to help.
"Boats!" Denys called aft. "Get the last men away!"
Arthur went down first. Jon followed, lowering himself with his left hand while a sailor steadied his belt. The boat dropped beneath his foot, rose again, and he landed hard across a bench. His bandaged right hand struck the side. Pain ran from wrist to elbow; he held the arm against his chest until it eased.
Corwyn came over after him with his shield upon his back. A sailor caught the shield's rim before it struck Jon in the face.
"Sit," Arthur told him.
He sat.
Above them a man screamed. Something heavy struck the water on the far side of the galley. Jon looked up once and saw Denys leaning over the rail, pointing their boat towards the yard.
They pulled away through broken wood and floating arrows.
From this low in the water the fort seemed much higher. The walls which Hugin had crossed in a breath stood above two steep lengths of lane. Smoke was gathering beneath the storehouse eaves. Jon could hear fighting inside, though the shutters facing the steps were empty now.
They passed a dead man whose shirt had filled with air and held his shoulders above the water. Corwyn looked at him until the boat carried them beyond.
"Watch the shore," Jon said.
The young knight turned.
At the timber yard, legionaries stood waist-deep to steady the incoming boats. A man offered Jon his shoulder. He took it with his left hand and stepped into cold water, then climbed the loose stones to Hewyn.
The centurion had blood upon his chin. It was coming from a split lip.
"Malcolm has the lane," he said. "Brus took the back of the storehouse. They kept looking out to sea until he was at the door."
"Losses?"
"Five dead that I've seen. Wounded coming back now. There's still fighting above us."
A shout came from the loft. Two men appeared at a window. One held a bow sideways above his head; the other waved empty hands.
"Down the stair!" Brus called from within. "One at a time!"
Jon looked up the lane.
Malcolm's line stood below a bend, shields towards the fort. The men had dragged a handcart across a gap between two houses. Behind them, soldiers carried their wounded downhill upon spare shields. One man walked with them, holding a broken arrow against his cheek so that the shaft would not move. Blood and saliva ran from the corner of his mouth. He kept spitting red onto the stones.
"Clear the steps and signal Denys," Jon told Hewyn. "Tell him we have the landing and need the rest of the men. Gerralt's men stay below until we know what is coming out of that fort."
Hewyn pointed towards the sheds. "They've shut themselves in there with the prisoners."
Jon turned.
The nearer door was barred from within. Men were battering it with a length of timber, stopping between blows to listen to someone shouting on the other side. At the second shed, a guard lay facedown beneath the wall. Another had dropped his spear and was kneeling, hands clasped behind his head.
"Bring him here."
A soldier caught the kneeling man by the collar and hauled him over.
Jon held out his left hand.
"Keys."
"I haven't got them."
"Who has?"
"Dallo. Inside."
"How many with him?"
"I don't—"
The soldier tightened his grip.
"Six! Maybe seven. I came out before they shut it."
Jon looked at the barred door. A woman's voice rose behind it, high and desperate. Someone inside struck the wood with a weapon.
"Stop the ram."
The men lowered their timber.
Jon moved close enough to be heard without shouting. Arthur stayed beside him, shield turned towards the gap around the door.
"Who commands in there?"
A pause.
"Who wants to know?"
"Lord Black of Dragonstone. Open the door, put down your weapons and come out."
"We have people in here."
"I know."
"We'll cut them."
Jon looked at the black gap beneath the door. A pair of feet stood just inside it. Bare feet, toes pressed hard against the dirt.
"Then you will have nothing left to bargain with."
Someone spoke rapidly inside. Another voice cursed him quiet.
"What are you offering?"
"Your lives if you yield now."
Arthur glanced at him, but Jon kept his eyes upon the door.
"You'll take us off in chains."
"Yes."
Silence followed.
Up the lane a horn sounded. Jon heard Malcolm calling his men back a pace. He could not see the bend from here. Hewyn looked towards it, then at Jon.
"Go."
The centurion ran.
Something scraped against the inside of the door.
"Lift the bar. Weapons out first."
The bar thudded onto the floor inside. The door came outwards an inch. Jon stepped back and let Arthur take his place.
A spear slid through the gap and fell onto the dirt.
The first man came out crouching, his hands above his head. Arthur pushed him to a waiting soldier. Another followed. Then three together, crowding the doorway until Arthur drove them apart with the edge of his shield.
The last man wore a ring of keys at his belt.
Jon caught the ring with his left hand as he passed and pulled him to a stop.
"Which opens the leg irons?"
The man pointed with a shaking finger.
A voice inside began to sob.
There were six guards. Jon had them taken to the storehouse with the other prisoners, away from the people they had kept. Then he went inside.
The smell stopped him at the threshold.
It was hot beneath the roof. Bodies packed the shadow beyond the doorway, some standing, others sitting against the wall with their knees drawn up. A rusted chain ran through rings set low in the posts. At the far end a woman was trying to pull a boy behind her while the man beside her stared at Jon's sword belt.
He had no sword in it.
She pulled the boy back anyway.
Jon called into the shed. "You're being taken out of here. The keys are coming. Stay clear of the door."
A man spoke from the dark in a language Jon did not know. Three others answered him. The woman kept watching his empty belt.
Corwyn came in behind Arthur and stopped so suddenly that the soldier following nearly struck him.
Jon handed him the ring and showed him the key the guard had pointed out.
"Find someone who can make them understand. Start nearest the door. Take their names as they come out, if they'll give them. Keep families together."
Corwyn knelt beside the first man and fitted the key. The lock was stiff. He worked it back and forth while the man held his ankle steady with both hands.
Jon stepped outside. Boats were moving towards the stone steps.
The second enemy galley lay farther offshore, beyond the two still locked together. She had tried to come round towards the boats and found the transport escort between her and the landing. Now she was backing water, her forward oars fouled, while men upon the escort's bow shot down at her. Jon could not tell whether she meant to fight or flee.
A black pennon rose above the nearer captured deck.
The first galley had fallen.
Jon watched the signal long enough to be certain, then turned back to the camp.
At the open shed, a young woman was trying to carry an older man through the doorway. He could not put his feet beneath him. His heel dragged, caught in a rut, and both went down. A legionary bent to help. The old man struck at him with a hand so thin that the tendons showed.
"Give them room," Jon said.
The soldier drew back.
Jon crouched where the man could see him and pointed towards the water.
"Ships. We have ships."
The old man stared. The young woman answered in broken Common, "He thinks you sell."
"No." Jon shook his head. "No selling. Can you tell him that?"
She spoke into the man's ear. He kept his eyes upon Jon.
"Tell him again."
She did.
This time he let the soldier take his arm.
Jon rose. Two men were carrying someone out of a lean-to beside the sheds. A strip of filthy cloth hung from the injured man's foot. Beneath it the flesh had swollen around a broad dark bruise.
"Can't walk," one of them said. "There are others behind him."
"Lay them in the shade by the yard. Water first. Find doors we can carry them on."
A thin man with pitch upon his sleeves pushed through the people gathering at the doorway.
"There are some they took up," he said. "Before your boats reached us. Seventeen. The ones they thought worth keeping."
Jon looked at his hands.
Two fingers were missing from the left.
"Tero?"
The man stopped.
"Who told you that?"
"Where is Merra?"
Tero tightened his grip upon the short iron in his right hand. A caulker's tool. He had held it so low that Jon had not noticed it.
"What do you want with her?"
"Her man spoke to me on Dragonstone. He asked me to try to get you both away."
The iron did not lower.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Still on Dragonstone."
Tero looked past him at Arthur, the soldiers, the boats coming to the steps. Behind him a woman had emerged from between two houses. She had a bundle gripped against her stomach.
"Merra," he called.
She came no closer.
"You'll see him if you come with us," Jon told her. "Ask me about him aboard. I need the road behind these houses. Where does it go?"
Tero followed his pointing hand.
"The spring. Then inland. There's a track round the back of the fort."
"Can men come down it to this yard?"
"If they know the turning."
The horn sounded again above them.
Jon looked towards the lane. Men were backing round the bend, shields up. A stone bounced down between their feet. Malcolm came last, walking backwards until he reached the straight below.
Hewyn came down the lane to Jon.
"The wall commands that bend. I've pulled Malcolm clear of it."
"Are they still shooting?" Jon asked.
"Stopped just before I came."
He looked at the tower. A man had been standing there with a bow when Jon reached shore. No one stood there now.
Denys had signalled the transports forward. They drew in behind their escort, and the first began lowering a boat. Reinforcements were coming, but the men in the fort could see the same water Jon could. If they meant to strike before the landing filled, they would strike soon.
"Hewyn, hold the lane. Get Gerralt together as his boats arrive."
He turned to Arthur. "Come with me."
They went behind the caulker's shelter, where stacked planks screened them from the yard. Jon sat upon a block of timber. Arthur took his shield and stood at the opening.
Munin answered more slowly than Hugin had. She was upon the ship's rail, worrying at a loose bright nail while men hauled a wounded sailor past her. Jon drew her away from it and up into the wind.
The shore swung beneath her. For an instant his stomach turned with the change, though his body sat still upon the block. He steadied her above the sheds and climbed towards the fort.
Men crowded the inner yard.
He could not count them. Part of the yard lay beneath a roof, and others stood so close to the wall that he saw only spearheads and the tops of helms. Those nearest the gate carried shields. A man in a red cap moved among them, striking the shields with the flat of his sword.
The gate remained shut.
Munin crossed the wall and turned towards the houses.
Below her, another group was coming down beside the spring. They moved in single file until the path widened, then gathered behind a low wall. The foremost man crouched and looked towards the rear of the sheds. One of the others carried an axe across his shoulder. Jon counted eight before branches hid the rest.
He could not see whether they meant the landing or the sheds. Either would put armed men behind Malcolm while the gate opened in front of him.
He let Munin settle upon the corner of a roof and returned.
His good hand was clenched upon his knee. He opened it.
"Men coming by the spring," he told Arthur. "More waiting inside the gate. They're coming out."
Arthur moved from the shelter before Jon had finished rising.
"Hewyn!"
The centurion turned.
"Gerralt goes behind the sheds. Take Tero to show him the turning," Jon ordered. "Put Rennick across the lane below Malcolm. When they come out, Malcolm gives ground to him. Slowly. I want them clear of their wall before we stop them."
"Then First Spears comes round the sides," Hewyn said.
"Where the houses leave room. Don't send men through doors we haven't searched. Rennick takes them in front."
Hewyn looked once towards the hidden path, then began shouting for Garon.
A horn sounded inside the fort.
* * *
Vhalar was still at the western steps when Goro brought the first count. Drazen's boat was pulling away. Goro had lost his helmet and bound a strip of sailcloth about his forehead. A dark patch was spreading through it above his ear.
"Twenty-seven of ours dead," he said. "Three hundred and thirty we put ashore. I've got the names from the boats."
Vhalar looked at the men gathering beside the storehouse.
Three hundred and three left. Some sat on the stones while others tied up their wounds. One held his arm across his chest and watched blood drip from the end of his sleeve. Another lay upon a door with his leg crooked beneath a blanket. He would not be climbing over a rail again today.
"How many can walk?"
"Most. Not all can fight."
"Put the worst aboard first. Those who can hold a spear can hold a deck."
"And the men who surrendered?"
Vhalar turned towards the yard.
They had been penned against the lower wall, with their weapons piled beyond reach and six of his men watching them. Some still wore mail. Others had stripped it off in the heat and sat bare-chested among men they had fought beside that morning. One had a torn piece of shirt pressed to his mouth.
"Sixty-five," Goro said. "From the gate, the houses, the landing. We've stopped finding them now."
"Moreo had more than that."
"A hundred and fifty here, they say. His sons took the rest. Some are dead. Some got out over the wall. Orros says there are holes enough in these hills to hide a hundred men."
"Orros says a great deal."
The lieutenant stood near the prisoners. He had kept his sword. Vhalar's men had kept close to him.
Vhalar crossed the yard, pulling his helmet off as he went. Sweat ran into the cut upon his cheek. He wiped it away with the heel of his hand and looked over the surrendered men.
"Moreo's dead."
No one answered.
"His sons aren't coming to feed you. They're drinking somewhere with a cargo they haven't sold yet, and when they hear this they'll start asking which of you opened the gate."
A few faces turned towards Orros.
Vhalar let them look.
"You want to wait here and tell them?"
A man in a dented iron cap rose from the stones. He had grey in his beard and a raw graze along one side of his neck.
"You said we'd live if we put the swords down."
"You're breathing."
"And now you want us to fight your next battle."
"Now I'm offering you a place aboard."
"Chained to what?"
Vhalar came close enough to smell the man's sour breath. The other prisoners drew away from them.
"A share. The same as my own men. Moreo's silver is in that house. His ships are at those moorings. There'll be more before the day's done."
"Your men have taken our things."
"Then earn enough to buy better."
The man spat blood at his feet.
Goro moved, but Vhalar held him back.
He wanted the rest watching. They had seen him come over their wall. Some had seen Moreo die. Fear had got their swords onto the ground; it would not make them pull hard towards another man's fight.
He took a small silver cup from the heap beside the storehouse. It had been hammered thin, with Moreo's mark scratched clumsily into its foot.
"This came out of his house." He held it up. "How long were you waiting for him to pay you?"
Someone at the back laughed once.
"Ask Orros." Vhalar turned towards the lieutenant. "Did your old captain divide it fairly?"
Orros met his eyes. "His sons were paid before the crews."
"There you are."
Vhalar threw the cup to the grey-bearded man. He caught it awkwardly against his chest.
"Bring it when we divide the take. Say I gave it you against your share."
The man looked down at the silver.
"You can sit here until someone puts you at an oar," Vhalar shouted to the others, "or you can pick up those swords and come with me. I'll give you a share of what we take. Coin. Cargo. A berth in a ship that sails. Who's coming?"
No one moved at first.
Vhalar kicked a sword out of the heap. It skidded over the stones towards their feet.
"Up! You've pulled for Moreo's brats long enough. Take something for yourselves!"
The man with the cup bent and took the sword.
Others followed. Not all. A wounded youth shook his head when his companion caught his wrist; the companion let go and went without him. Two men kept their backs against the wall. One stared at the place where Moreo's blood had dried upon Vhalar's boot.
Goro began sending those who rose into groups among his own men.
"Six of theirs to a boat at most," Vhalar told him quietly. "One man you trust behind them. Orros stays where I can see him."
The lieutenant heard. He did not protest.
When no more would stand, forty-three of Moreo's men had chosen a share. The remaining twenty-two stayed beneath the wall, guarded, while Vhalar's wounded were carried towards the ships.
Up the lane, someone cheered as Moreo's head came into view.
Vhalar scarcely looked at it. He was watching the longboat leaving for the northern point, its rowers bent low. Soon he would know who had dared pass him and what they thought they could steal.
"Get them moving," he told Goro.
The silver cup had disappeared inside its new owner's shirt.
* * *
Jon watched Tero lead Gerralt through the gap beside the caulker's shelter. The centurion saw the low wall, looked towards the spring and brought his first files across the turning. His optio led the next men behind the shelter, out of sight of the path.
An axe showed above the wall. Then a man's head.
He had been looking towards the open shed door. He turned, saw Gerralt and shouted. The men behind him were already climbing over. One landed upon his knees; another shoved past with a spear and came straight at the black shields.
Gerralt caught the thrust and struck low. His men closed beside him. The raiders had room for only a few men abreast, and those coming behind could see little until they were already upon the waiting line.
Jon watched Gerralt's optio emerge beyond the shelter. He had kept his men together. At the centurion's shout they turned towards the raiders' exposed side.
A shout came down the lane. "The gate! They're coming out!"
"Arthur. The lane."
The knight looked from him to Gerralt's fight.
"Go. I'll stay here."
Arthur caught two legionaries standing beside the shelter. "With him." Then he went uphill at a run, shield upon his arm.
Jon remained where he could see both the landing and the rear of the sheds. Garon came back from Hewyn, breathing through his mouth.
"Rennick is moving up."
"Tell Hewyn to keep drawing them down. Rennick holds where he is until the horn."
Garon turned at once.
At the corner of the shed a pirate hooked his axe over a shield and hauled it down. His next blow struck the dark breastplate behind it, throwing the soldier to one knee. The quilted jack beneath the steel had not spared him the weight of it. His mouth opened, struggling for breath. His neighbour thrust over him, catching the attacker beneath the arm, and the optio's men struck the raiders from the side. Gerralt took his line forward while two men drew the kneeling soldier back. The man behind stepped into his place.
From inside the shed came shouting. The people nearest its rear wall had heard the fighting. They were pressing towards the door before all their chains were open.
"Keep that doorway clear!" Jon called.
Corwyn appeared with the key ring still in his hand. He looked at the fight, then back at the people behind him.
"They're pushing—"
"Take them out towards the beach. Keep them below the timber stacks."
"Most of them don't understand me."
"Find the woman who speaks Common. Make her understand. Go."
Corwyn disappeared inside.
Above them, the sound in the lane grew louder.
"Back! Keep the shields closed!" Malcolm brought First Spears down the lane a few paces at a time. His optio repeated each order from behind the line, keeping the rear files from crowding those before them. The pirates followed close, striking at shields and trying to thrust between them. "Halt! Set!" The front rank planted its feet and held until Malcolm called them back again. Arthur took his place at the outer edge, where the houses left room for a man to slip past.
Jon watched the interval between them and Rennick shorten. They had drilled this with blunted spears on level ground, stopped and begun again whenever the files tangled. Here the lane sloped, the stones were bloody, and men were dying. Still the officers' calls passed down the ranks. Malcolm halted them once more.
Rennick waited below them. His rear files had cleared a way for the men who would come back through. Hewyn stood beside the handcart, watching the bend.
The red-capped captain came into view, sword raised. "After them! Get to the fucking boats!" Those behind him pressed forward to share in the pursuit.
The lane above Malcolm filled with men pushing downhill.
Hewyn glanced down the lane. Jon raised his left arm. The horn sounded.
Malcolm's outer files turned towards the houses. His centre held while Rennick brought fresh spearmen through the space opening beside them. Then Malcolm drew his remaining men back through the gaps. One caught his foot beneath a broken shield; two companions hauled him clear, and Rennick's line closed behind them.
The pirates struck waiting shields and fresh men.
Their captain tried to pull them up. A man behind him shoved him forward, unable to see why they had halted. Spearpoints reached over the front shields. Jon saw a pirate lift his sword to strike and fall before the blow came down.
Hewyn sounded the horn again.
Rennick advanced. On his left, Malcolm's men came forward along the house fronts, catching those trying to get round the spears. The pirates at the rear began edging back towards the bend. Their captain struck one across the shoulders, but another ran past him. Then half a dozen went together.
At the sheds, Gerralt's men were driving the raiders back against the low wall. The optio's files had closed their way into the yard. The man with the axe shouted something in a harsh, unfamiliar tongue. Two of his fellows understood and scrambled back over the low wall. Another tried to follow. A legionary caught his ankle and dragged him down.
"Let the runners go," Jon called. "Hold the path."
Gerralt halted his men at the wall. Three pirates knelt before them with their hands raised; others were fleeing back towards the spring. A legionary tried to follow until his optio seized his belt and pulled him into line.
Behind the shields, two men lifted a wounded comrade clear. Corwyn's first group came out of the shed and passed towards the beach under guard.
Jon looked uphill.
The pirates in the lane were retreating towards the gate. Their captain had lost his red cap. He stood at the bend trying to stop them, one hand raised above his head, until Arthur came through the crush and struck the hand aside with his shield.
The man's sword met Arthur's.
Jon saw the first blow turned, the second caught close. Arthur stepped inside the third and drove him against the corner of the house. They vanished behind men running uphill. When Arthur reappeared, the captain did not. Four of the men he had tried to rally threw their weapons down as Rennick came upon them.
Hewyn called Rennick forward.
Jon started up the lane behind the moving ranks. His two guards came with him. He passed a man sitting against a wall with his helm in his lap and another crawling towards an open doorway. Neither looked up.
A broken chest lay in that doorway. Red silk spilled from it, a silver clasp bright among the folds. Men stepped past it to follow their century. Jon saw one look, then turn his face back towards his officer. The chest remained where it had fallen.
At the bend, he could see the gate.
One leaf was swinging shut. The other had caught upon men trying to get through. Those inside were pulling; those outside were pushing, shouting that their own were still coming. A wounded pirate lay across the threshold, both hands pressed over the loops of gut spilling from his belly. He tried to drag himself clear on his elbows.
Arthur reached them before the opening narrowed.
He drove his shield into the closing leaf. For a moment it stopped. Malcolm struck the wood beside him with his shoulder, and three more legionaries came after. The men pulling from inside gave ground.
A spear came through the gap and struck Arthur's shield. He let its point slide past him, trapped the shaft against the door with his shoulder and shoved again.
The gate opened far enough for a man.
Rennick went through first.
The soldiers behind him followed so quickly that Jon could no longer see the courtyard. Steel rang beyond the wall. Someone screamed for the gate to be shut. A body fell into the opening and was dragged aside by its belt.
Jon stopped below the threshold.
His right hand had begun to throb again. He kept it against his stomach and looked back down the lane. Boats still came to the landing; men still climbed the steps. The people freed from the sheds were gathering below the timber stacks, guarded from the path. Corwyn stood among them with his head bent close to the woman who could translate.
A runner came up from the water.
"Norren's ashore, my lord. Rymond's coming behind."
"Norren takes the spring path. Gerralt holds the timber yard once Norren relieves him. Rymond keeps the landing and the prisoners. Tell him to start sending the injured aboard. Brus holds his men below until I call for them."
The runner repeated the orders and went.
A bowman appeared upon the wall above the gate. He drew upon Jon.
One of the guards thrust his shield up. The arrow struck it with a dry crack. Jon stepped close beneath the stonework while the other guard shouted a warning. A moment later the bowman disappeared from sight, driven back by someone inside.
Jon waited until a soldier came to the gate and waved him through.
The yard smelled of dust and opened bowels.
Rennick had brought his front rank as far as the well. Beyond it the pirates were falling back towards the stone stair, dragging their wounded with them. One stumbled over a broken spear. The man beside him caught his collar and pulled him upright without lowering his shield.
"Keep them moving!" Hewyn shouted.
Arthur reached the foot of the stair with six men close behind him. He caught a descending sword upon his shield, thrust beneath it and drove the man back into those above. The pirates yielded three steps. Then a spear came down over their shoulders and struck the legionary at Arthur's side beneath the jaw.
Arthur caught him as he fell.
An arrow struck the stones beside Jon. His guard pushed him beneath the gate arch. From there he could see the bowman at an upper window, already reaching for another shaft.
The tower and the hall adjoining it occupied the far end of the yard. The stair climbed along the hall's face to an upper door. From the landing, a short passage led onto the wall beside the tower. Those who had escaped Rennick crowded the upper landing. A man in a leather jerkin shoved them towards the parapet, trying to clear the doorway. They could hold a narrow stair. There was no room for them to form another line across the yard.
Rennick's men advanced past the well under raised shields. They had more room now. Their ranks spread across the yard, pushing the last scattered pirates towards the stair and the kitchen door beneath it. A man flung down his axe and knelt. Two others ran past him and were hauled into the kitchen by their fellows.
The door slammed.
"Rennick, support Arthur," Jon called. "Malcolm holds the gate. Leave a way through for the wounded."
Hewyn repeated the orders. Malcolm's men drew against the near wall, panting. Some had been fighting since their feet touched the shingle. Sweat dripped beneath their helms; the quilted jacks were dark at the sleeves. One man bent forward, the short plates over his belly sliding against one another, and let his spear butt fall onto the stones. His optio touched his shoulder, pointed out his place by the gate and waited until he had taken it.
Arthur brought the wounded man back behind the shields. Blood welled between the fingers pressed to his throat. He tried to draw breath, and red froth broke over his knuckles.
"They can reach over us from above," Arthur warned. "They've packed the landing."
Jon took the glass from Arthur's belt and passed it to the guard beside him. "Keep that ready."
The man in the leather jerkin sent two bowmen towards the windows. Behind him, others were pulling a heavy table through the upper doorway. They turned it upon its side and began wedging it across the entrance.
A woman cried out behind one of the shutters.
Jon looked towards the sound. Fingers gripped the narrow gap between the boards. Then they disappeared.
He pointed to the pirate who had yielded beside the well.
"The people brought up from the sheds. Where are they?"
The man's eyes went to the hall.
"Above the kitchen."
"Which room?"
"End one. By the tower. They locked them in."
Jon turned to Garon. "Bring Brus up. Have him send men for the ladders in the timber yard. Tell Rymond the freed people and our wounded are to keep going aboard."
Garon glanced at the stair, where Arthur's men were hauling their fallen comrade clear.
"Now."
He ran.
Across the yard, Rennick pressed the pirates farther up the stair. One lost his footing and went down beneath the shields. The others closed above him.
"Hold there," Jon called. "Shields up. Let them wait for us."
Arthur looked round, then raised his sword to stop the men behind him. Those in front settled upon the steps they had taken. Jon pointed out the bowmen's windows to Hewyn. Legionaries with javelins moved beneath the opposite wall, ready for the next man who showed himself.
The pirates shouted down at them. No one came off the stair.
Brus came through the gate as a pirate leaned over the stair wall to thrust down at Arthur. Two javelins flew across the yard. One struck the stone beside his head; the other caught his upper arm. His spear fell among the shields below.
Brus's men had room to enter behind Malcolm, though they had to turn sideways to let two soldiers carry a wounded man out. Brus saw the blood upon Arthur's shield and started towards him.
Jon caught his sleeve with his left hand.
"Here."
He drew him against the wall. An arrow passed through the gateway and struck the lane outside.
Jon pointed. "The roof beside the kitchen. It reaches almost to the wallwalk. Get your men up there."
A timber lean-to stood against the wall, its low roof piled with bundles of firewood. Above it, three pirates watched the yard over the stone parapet. They had a clear throw at anyone crossing the open ground below. The hall hid them from the men fighting upon the stair.
Brus studied it. "We'll need shields over the ladder."
"Take the broad ones from Malcolm's rear rank. Hewyn will press the stair when you climb. If they turn on you, Arthur goes up. If they stay with him, you take the wall."
Brus nodded. "Who comes after me?"
"Your own men. Rennick stays in the yard until there is room above. Leave the gate clear."
The centurion went to choose his first men. Jon beckoned Hewyn beneath the arch and gave him the same order.
"No torches," he added. "There are people locked above that kitchen."
"I heard them." Hewyn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We can hit the pirates from both sides once Brus is up."
"Then keep Arthur's men fresh. He's been at the front since the bend."
Hewyn went across the yard behind Rennick's shields. A stone struck the well curb beside him and broke into pale chips. From the far wall, a legionary raised his javelin. The pirate who had thrown the stone drew back out of sight.
Jon's right hand was wet inside its bandage.
He pressed it against his stomach while one of his guards found a strip of linen. The man tied it over the dressing. Jon watched the stair throughout. Arthur still held the steps he had taken. Fresh legionaries were passing spare shields forward, and the men behind began taking the worst-damaged ones out of the line.
Beyond the gate, the first ladder was coming up the lane.
Garon ran ahead of it. "Aurane's coming ashore with word from Denys, my lord."
"Tell him I'll meet him at the steps."
Jon waited until Hewyn looked round.
"Send to me when Brus is upon the wall. No one goes through those upper doors alone."
"They'll go together," Hewyn said.
Jon went down with his two guards. Behind him came the scrape of the ladder being raised and Arthur shouting for the front rank to close.
* * *
Vhalar's galley had nearly reached the northern point when the longboat came back.
He knew something was wrong before its master shouted. The man stood in the bow waving both arms. Drazen's galley was farther out, keeping clear of the crowded longboats following the galleys.
Vhalar ordered the pace slackened. The messenger came alongside, caught a hanging rope and stayed in his boat.
"They're ashore."
"How far?"
"Through the gate. Black shields in the yard."
"The tower?"
"Ours still held it when we turned back. They were fighting on the stair. Black shields all the way down the lane, more by the boats. They've got both galleys."
A murmur passed along the deck.
Vhalar turned his head and it stopped.
"The carrier?"
"Still afloat. They're going aboard her."
"How many still fighting?"
"I couldn't count them. Some got out inland. We passed one of the message boats. They'd left before the fighting reached the steps."
Vhalar looked beyond the point.
He had left two fighting galleys and a fort with men enough to keep raiders off the steps. The galleys were lost, and the bastards were through his gate. But his men were still fighting. His cheek had begun bleeding again. He wiped it with two fingers, looked at the blood and rubbed it upon the rail.
"Bring Drazen alongside."
The master gave the signal.
His four western galleys and six longboats had gathered into a loose line. Moreo's prizes remained guarded beneath the western fort. Goro had left men there to hold the landing and guard the twenty-two of Moreo's men who had refused his offer; that was strength Vhalar could not bring to the east. Those aboard were tired. Some were wounded. Forty-three had been trying to kill him before breakfast.
The man with the silver cup stood near the mast, watching him.
Vhalar held his gaze until he looked away.
Drazen's galley drew close enough to speak across the water.
"They've got the landing," Vhalar called. "Our men still hold the tower."
"I heard."
"Could your boy do that?"
Drazen glanced towards the point. "The men who took our ships could."
Vhalar leaned upon the rail.
He wanted to drive straight into the anchorage and put his sword through whoever was wearing his silver. He wanted Sarro caught and stripped and dragged behind a boat until he stopped making bargains. He wanted the men at the oars to pull hard enough to break them.
He looked at the longboats.
Crowded. Low in the water. Easy to shoot into.
"No boats ahead of the galleys," he said. "Keep them behind us until I give the word."
Drazen nodded.
"When we clear the point, spread out. I want their ships looking at us. Give the men in the fort something to fight for."
"When do the boats go in?"
"When we have their galleys caught." Vhalar pointed towards the sheltered water beyond the headland. "Then we put our men into the yard."
"They've men waiting there."
"I heard. Keep those longboats clear until we can cover them." He looked towards the tower above the point. "The men up there only need to hold until we get in."
The cut in his cheek stung in the wind. He took a shield from the man beside him and tried its grip.
Vhalar raised his voice to reach the men at the mast. "If that little bastard is there, he'll live long enough to watch every ship he brought go down."
The grey-bearded recruit raised his sword. Others answered him, some eagerly, some because the men beside them had begun to shout.
Vhalar lifted the shield.
"Pull!"
The oars bit again.
* * *
Jon found a freed man sitting upon the steps, refusing to get into the waiting boat.
He held both arms around his knees. The sailor waiting below held out a hand. The man shook his head and began speaking so quickly that the woman translating could not interrupt him.
"His daughter," she told Jon at last. "She's still up there."
"Name?"
She asked. The man answered once, then again, louder.
"Some are still in the fort," Jon told her. "Ask him if she was taken up."
She spoke to the man. He nodded so violently that she caught his shoulder.
Jon gave the name to a soldier going up the lane. "Tell Hewyn. The people above the kitchen."
Behind them the next file had stopped. One of the men waiting could barely stand. A legionary put an arm beneath his shoulder while the sailor looked up from the boat, impatient to move.
"Use the other side," Jon told him. "Take those who are ready."
The sailor shifted the boat. The queue began moving again.
A little farther along the beach, men were loading the injured across two planks laid between a boat and a flat rock. The broken-footed worker lay upon a door. Tero held one end, his maimed left hand hooked beneath the edge. A sailor took the other.
Merra stood beside their bundle. When Jon came past, she caught his eye.
"What do we owe for the passage?"
"Nothing."
Her gaze shifted to the sailor helping her brother. "They know that?"
"They do." Jon beckoned the legionary at the planks. "See these two aboard together."
Merra loosened her hold on the bundle. Once the injured man was aboard, Tero took it from her and went ahead, then turned to offer his good hand. She glanced once towards the houses before she took it.
Corwyn came down with the count scratched upon the smooth side of a broken board.
"Two hundred and twenty-one from the sheds and the shore. Those are the ones we've counted. The seventeen taken up to the fort are still there."
"Anyone still missing?"
"Some are asking after people who were sold before today. Some don't know whether theirs were sold or moved. We're taking the names." He turned the board. "Twenty-six chained men in the galleys. The sailors counted those. The rest of the rowers say they were paid."
"Keep the paid crews apart until Denys has questioned them."
Corwyn nodded.
Two hundred and forty-seven freed, counting the rowers. Another seventeen above them, behind the men still fighting upon the stair. There was room aboard for them all, with Tero, Merra and the others asking passage, if he could get them out.
Jon looked at the boats instead of the board.
"How many aboard?"
"One hundred and sixty-one. More leaving now."
"Tell Rymond to keep the next file ready beside the steps. No pushing. Let the boatmen place them."
Corwyn went back up the landing, calling for the woman who had been translating. His sword had never left its scabbard. There was blood upon his knees from where he had knelt beside the chains.
Three women waited by the timbers in shifts torn almost to rags. One had grey in her hair. Beside her, a woman of perhaps thirty held hers shut with both hands. One eye was swollen shut, her cheek dark with bruises.
"The men you took." She spoke in Common, watching him with her one open eye. "They raped us."
A legionary looked towards the storehouse. "Fucking scum."
Jon's left hand closed until his nails hurt.
"Bring cloaks." Jon had to raise his voice to make the staring men move. "Ask who needs carrying."
The third woman still wore an ankle iron; its lock had seized. A soldier knelt to work it loose. As he lifted it away, she caught the knife at his belt and pulled it free.
He reached for her wrist. She screamed and stumbled backwards. Another man dropped his spear and went after her.
"Put it down," he pleaded. "We won't—"
She turned the blade upon herself before he reached her.
The first soldier caught her as she fell. He tore off his cloak and pressed it against the wound while the other took the knife away.
"Cloth," Jon ordered. "Fetch the men tending our wounded."
A woman in the waiting line began sobbing. The grey-haired one caught her arm and led her away. The bruised woman stayed, gripping her ruined shift, watching the soldiers try to save her companion.
Jon stood back to let help through. The legionary would not lift his hands until another man knelt beside him.
She died before they could carry her to a boat.
They covered her where she lay. The soldier sat back upon his heels, still holding the stained cloak. Her ankle iron lay open beside his knee.
Jon stared at it. He had counted her among the rescued. There was room aboard for her. He had brought ships, soldiers, everything he had thought they would need, and she had died at his feet.
His eyes went to the storehouse. The bastards inside would be listening for Vhalar, hoping to be rescued in their turn.
I'll kill them all. Every last one.
He took a step towards them. Corwyn moved with him, then stopped when Jon did. Uphill, steel rang against steel. There were still people locked above the kitchen.
"Get her aboard." His voice was harsh. Corwyn glanced at the wounded waiting by the steps. "After them. But she comes with us."
Beside the timbers, the bruised woman accepted a cloak and wrapped it round the one who was crying. Jon could not look at the storehouse again without wanting its door opened and the prisoners dragged out.
Aurane came ashore in the next returning boat.
He carried Denys's report, a waterskin and a bandage tied badly around his forearm. Jon looked at the bandage.
"Arrow?"
"Splinter. A grapnel tore the rail beside me."
"Can you use the hand?"
Aurane opened and closed it.
"Yes."
"The report," Jon snapped. Aurane straightened.
"One captured galley can row once we have men aboard her we trust. The other needs replacement oars and her steering mended. Denys says he can bring her off, but she'll need help if the wind comes against her."
"Our ship that took the blow?"
"Still making water. They have it under control, but Denys is keeping men at the pumps. She can fight. He says she ought not to take another like it."
"And the carrier?"
"Sound below the water. The rail is broken and her rigging is being repaired. He can put a crew aboard. He wants to know whether to bring her cargo out first."
"No. Put aboard enough to work her. If she has to be left, we take the portable goods then."
Aurane glanced towards the ship. Sailors were carrying a coil up her side while others cut loose the unfinished repair hanging above the deck.
"The longboats?" Jon asked.
"Two taken. Two got away before we had the steps. Denys has the captured ones carrying people now."
"Tell him to put a lookout high in every ship. We are through the gate, but they still hold the tower and the upper rooms. Vhalar knows we are here."
Aurane handed him the waterskin. Jon drank, then passed it to the nearest wounded soldier. The man took a mouthful and gave it to his comrade without being asked.
Garon came down while Aurane was returning to his boat. A wounded soldier had an arm across his shoulders. He helped the man to the shelter beside the steps before coming to Jon.
"Hewyn sent the count. Seventeen dead that they know of. Thirty-one wounded enough to need carrying or help. More coming down."
Jon looked up the lane. The first five had been lying upon the beach when he landed. Now men were being carried through the gate above him, and he did not know which would live to reach the ships.
"How far is Brus?"
"Brus has men on the wall, driving the pirates towards the tower. Ser Arthur's pushing up the stair."
Jon looked towards the storehouse. Rymond stood outside it, watching a file of prisoners being brought down from the loft.
"Stay with the lookout," Jon told Garon. "Send to me the moment he sees a ship."
He crossed to Rymond and gave him the order to bring their dead down when men could be spared to carry them. The wounded were to go first. The captured guards and bowmen were to be bound and sent under guard to the sounder captured galley, apart from the people they had kept in chains.
"Gerralt holds the yard beside you," Jon said. "If boats try to land, he stops them at the water. You keep this lane open and the people moving."
Rymond pointed towards the storehouse. "I've put shields across the passage behind it. Anyone coming from those houses meets us there."
"Good. Send to the gate if you need more men."
Beyond him, Gerralt's files were taking their places among the timbers. Norren had relieved them at the spring. The path, the sheds and the water steps each had men watching them now. Jon could bring fresh troops into the fort without leaving the boats exposed.
* * *
Vhalar saw the boats first as his galley cleared the northern point.
They were coming away from his landing, heavy with people. One turned awkwardly beneath its load. A woman sat in the stern with a child held between her knees; behind her, a sailor pulled at an oar tangled with the next man's. The pale-sailed ships waited farther out to take them aboard.
His master offered him the glass.
Vhalar raised it towards the timber yard.
Black shields stood among the hauled-out hulls. More men were coming down the lane, carrying something between them. A body. They brought it to the steps and waited while a boat was steadied below.
He moved the glass back to the yard. A soldier bent to help another man over a timber, and light caught the edge of a dark breastplate. The man beside him wore one too. So did the men standing behind their shields. Vhalar had paid a great deal for his own harness. These bastards had put steel upon the common spearmen.
At the yard's edge a man turned towards the sea and raised his arm. Heads followed. An officer came out between two hulls, pointed, and the nearest files moved down towards the shingle. Men farther back stayed where they were. At the steps, the next wounded man was being lowered into a boat.
Vhalar lowered the glass.
He knew how to catch a crew after a sack. Men carrying too much to fight, men with both hands upon a chest, captains shouting for oarsmen who had gone back for one last load. He had counted upon finding some of that here. His storehouses stood open. Yet the men who had taken them were waiting behind shields while others worked the boats.
His master pointed at the laden boats. "We could cut those off."
Vhalar looked beyond them. A black galley was turning out from the anchorage, keeping between the boats and his bow. Another followed her. The first had bowmen forward and shields along the rail.
"And take that one across our side?" Vhalar asked.
"If we pull hard—"
"She turns inside us. Look at her oars."
The master looked, then spat over the side.
Vhalar handed back the glass. "Take us farther out. Bow towards her. I want room to turn without putting a longboat under us."
The steering oars shifted. His men looked from the shore to the enemy ship. Near the mast, the grey-bearded recruit had stopped fingering the cup beneath his shirt.
"Shields forward!" Vhalar called. "Axes to the fucking rail! When we catch one, cut her oars before you climb."
Men began pushing through to their places. One stumbled over a wounded oarsman; Vhalar hauled him upright by the back of his belt and thrust him towards the bow.
He pointed to Drazen's ship and gave the signal to close the gap. No black galley would get between them and rake the longboats if he could help it. Once the fighting ships were caught together, the boats might have a way in. Until then their men would have to wait, however loudly the fort called for them.
A horn sounded ashore.
Vhalar looked up at his tower. A man upon it had seen him and was waving a sword. He could not hear the shout across the water.
"You'd better still be there," he muttered.
He took his place behind the forward shields. The black galley's bow came round to meet him.
* * *
The horn reached Jon at the bend below the fort.
He turned. At the timber yard, a lookout stood upon a stack of beams, pointing north.
The leading galley stood off the headland, her bow towards Denys's ships. Longboats followed behind her; more galleys were clearing the point.
Vhalar had come sooner than Jon had hoped.
"Tell the signalmen to warn Denys," he said to one of his guards. "Keep the transports covered. The boats go on loading."
The man ran back towards the water. A flag rose at the landing; Denys's ship answered.
Jon climbed the last stretch of lane.
Inside the fort, one ladder led onto the lean-to roof. A second stood upon it, propped against the wall, with two soldiers holding its feet. Brus was already upon the wallwalk. His men followed in pairs, turned behind their shields and went towards the tower.
The pirates between Brus and Arthur had nowhere left to stand.
One tried to scramble over the stair wall into the yard. He dropped his sword when Rennick's men levelled their spears at him. Another caught Arthur's blade upon his shield, backed a step and stumbled over the table wedged across the upper doorway. Hands reached out to drag him through.
Brus reached the head of the stair. Arthur stepped onto the landing beside him.
"Give me room!" someone shouted from within.
The table scraped backwards. Men crowded through after it, leaving two bodies upon the landing. Brus drove the last standing pirate into the doorway, then ducked behind his shield as a spear thrust from the darkness.
Arthur caught his shoulder before he followed too far. They formed their men into line across the opening.
Rennick began sending the surrendered men down to Malcolm. The yard was clear. Along the wall, Brus's soldiers occupied the places from which the pirates had thrown stones at them. Those still fighting were shut inside the hall and tower, with black shields outside their doors.
Jon crossed to the well under his guard's raised shield. Above, Arthur called for an axe. Jon could still see the open iron beside the dead woman's foot. The men behind that table had been driving captives up this very stair.
"Hewyn!" he shouted. "Get men through the kitchen below them. Search it first. Find the stair to those locked rooms."
The centurion called to Rennick. Men went to the lower door carrying a short beam from beside the lean-to.
From the tower roof came a shout. A pirate pointed out to sea, waving his sword. Others looked from the windows. A name passed from one opening to the next.
"Vhalar!"
The man in the leather jerkin appeared behind the overturned table. He was shouting for the others to follow him. Three came over it together, one scrambling onto the landing with his shield still caught upon its edge.
Arthur struck him back. Brus caught the next man's sword and thrust beneath it. The third tried to stop, but the men behind were still pushing. For a moment Jon saw the leather jerkin in the crush. Then a black shield drove against the doorway, and the pirates fell back inside.
"Close the gap! Keep them in the doorway!" Hewyn shouted.
The legionaries closed again. They had not given up a step.
Hewyn came back to Jon. "The lower door will go. I'll send the next men up that way."
"There may be someone waiting behind it. Keep the shields in front." Jon pointed towards the gate. "Vhalar's off the northern point. Malcolm stays here, ready if the shore calls. Finish this with the men you have."
Hewyn looked up at the crowded doorway, then towards the beam swinging against the kitchen door.
"Aye."
Jon returned to the arch. The path below was clear as far as the landing. Soldiers carried wounded men down it; boats waited at the steps. Through the open gate he could see Vhalar's foremost galley facing the black ships. The pirate would have to get past Denys, then force a landing against men already waiting for him.
Above Jon, an axe bit into the table. A spear came through the splintered wood in answer.
Garon appeared in the gateway, bent double from the climb.
"Two galleys south, my lord." He swallowed. "The lookout sent me. They're coming in fast."
Jon took the glass from his remaining guard. For an instant he thought Vhalar had sent them round to close behind him.
The southern ships were pulling hard. Men aboard the nearer one stood looking towards the landing. As Jon watched, her oars faltered. The second checked behind her, so close that her bow seemed almost to touch the other's stern.
Jon's ships lay between them and the landing. Above him, the defenders were still shouting Vhalar's name.
He lowered the glass.
Munin sat upon the roof below the gate, where he had left her after the second flight. He clicked his tongue and reached for her, urging her closer. She lifted from the tiles and settled upon the gatepost beside him. Hugin was circling over Denys's ship.
Jon turned towards Garon. "Get a signal to Denys. Two more from the south. I want—"
Garon was looking past him, out to sea. "More behind them."
Jon raised the glass again.
Beyond the two galleys, sails were opening round the southern point.
Behind him, Arthur called for another push.
* * *
Rolo had let the two galleys run.
All morning their oars had beaten white water along Vhalar's southern coast. One of his captains had called for leave to chase. Rolo had waved him back into line. Let the bastards exhaust themselves. He would catch them at their moorings, with the shore behind them and no room to turn.
Now they had stopped short of the anchorage.
His master leaned over the sun-split rail. "What are they waiting for?"
Rolo held out his hand for the glass. Salt grated beneath his thumb on the brass.
There were too many ships beneath the eastern fort. Black sails among them, and boats moving between the larger hulls and the landing. He followed a file of men up the lane. Black shields again. They passed through the gate without meeting a blow.
On the wall above them, more black shields faced inward.
Someone had got here before him.
Men pressed an upper doorway beneath their shields. A spear stabbed out and vanished. They gave it a little ground, then closed up again.
"Fetch the captain Sarro's men spoke to."
The man came aft in a faded blue coat, sweat dark beneath the arms. He had bought and sold prizes with Sarro for years, and had brought the two boatmen to Rolo before they returned west. He stopped at the head of the stern ladder.
"What did they say was left here?"
"Two galleys. Four longboats. Drazen's carrier."
"And those?" Rolo pointed the glass at the black sails.
"They said nothing of them."
"Did you ask?"
"I questioned them separately. Both gave me the same count. They went back before we began loading." He glanced at the ships. "These must have come after. Sarro would have told me."
"Would he?"
"We've dealt together for years. He knows what this could cost me."
Rolo laid the glass down and took his axe from beside the ladder.
The captain lifted his hands. "I've told you everything."
Rolo caught his coat, dragged him close and struck him in the neck. Blood sprayed across his cheek and mouth. He pulled the axe free as the man's knees gave way, then let him fall.
The master had stepped back. Along the rail, men stood watching the axe drip upon the deck.
"Get him out of the way."
Two sailors hurried to obey. The dead man's heels knocked against the ladder. Rolo picked up the glass. Blood ran beside his nose; he left it there.
The man might have been telling the truth. The southern watch had been where Sarro said it would be, and Vhalar was away in the west. Sarro had wanted Rolo to fall upon him there, after Moreo had done some of the killing. Rolo had chosen the weakened east instead. These strangers must have come while Vhalar was gone.
At the foot of the ladder, a sailor held a strip of dried fish between finger and thumb. His jaw had stopped moving. Rolo looked at him. The man swallowed and lowered his hand.
His master looked towards the landing. "Shall we put in?"
"Against those ranks? Fuck that. Keep the bowmen ready. No fire arrows. I want the ships whole."
The master called down to the bowmen. Along the rail, men plucked arrows from leather quivers and squinted down the shafts.
Below the fort, a boat drew away from the steps, green water slapping a hand's breadth below her gunwale. No shields along its sides. People huddled together while the oarsmen worked. At the stern of a transport, two men were hauling someone aboard in a sling.
Slaves. The strangers were taking Vhalar's slaves.
They were carrying the lame ones too, using good boat space on men who would scarcely fetch the price of their feeding. Another load came down the steps. Whoever commanded here meant to have them all. His fighting ships were coming out to cover the loading.
"Keep us beyond bowshot," he told his master. "Fast ships to seaward. Send two farther north. I want them across the merchants' way before they think to run."
The master followed his pointing hand, then looked back at the boats and nodded.
"Make the black sails come out after us."
"If they leave the merchants." Rolo lowered the glass. "And if they don't, we choose where to hit."
The master called the order to the signalman. He had stopped looking at the blood.
Rolo had brought six hundred fighting men in nine galleys and six fast ships. There was enough here to take Bloodstone, if he struck while its strongest crews were fighting one another.
Blue water showed between the ships, churned pale where the oars bit. Pitch and the sour stink of bilge came up from below. Rolo could already picture the captured hulls beneath the fort, his red axes flying from their mastheads.
They had laughed when he first came among these islands. The young Myrish bastard, too proud to wait his turn. Greybeards had patted his shoulder and told him to be patient. Then Vhalar's father had begun to die, and while his son sat waiting for the ships, Rolo had paid the right men and taken the southern beach.
Some of them still called that luck.
Vhalar had inherited ships, coin and crews who had made his father's name feared. The fool had mistaken it all for something he had earned. Moreo was an old man clinging to what his sons had not yet taken from him. Between them they had spent years fighting over pieces of Bloodstone. Now their fighting had given Rolo his chance to take the whole fucking island.
By nightfall he meant to have both forts, both harbours, every ship still fit to float. Sarro could come asking payment for his help. Rolo would decide what it had been worth.
Beyond Bloodstone, the nearest islands were held by Tregar Ninefingers, Qarro the Eel and Belaro the Gilded. Each on his own rock, each in the way. They would face him next. He wanted the whole Stepstones. Let them make their little agreements and swear to stand together; he knew what such oaths cost when a man's own harbour was burning.
Belaro had called him boy at their last meeting. Rolo would make him say it again.
"More galleys north!"
Rolo swung the glass towards the headland.
Four galleys, with longboats crowded behind them. He knew the broad stern of the nearer ship. Vhalar had come home.
Rolo laughed before he could help himself.
His master looked from him to the ships. "He could turn on us."
"He could. Put two galleys at the northern end of our line. Keep them close." Rolo watched Vhalar's bow. It pointed at the black ships. "But look where he wants to go."
Back to his fort, his silver, the men who ought to be holding his walls. Rolo could almost hear him demanding that someone give it all back.
The master pointed north. "Let him try them first. Wear each other down."
"While those boats finish loading?"
"We don't know the black ships."
"No. We know what they're staying for." He passed the glass to the master.
The master glanced at the transports, then at the bloody axe in Rolo's hand.
"We could lose ships."
Rolo turned his head.
The master had been there in the shoals, eleven days into the chase after the Pentoshi who had fired upon Rolo's boat under a parley flag. He had heard their galley break on the rocks and obeyed when Rolo ordered the boats lowered.
They had caught the Pentoshi alive. His ship could still be towed; half her cargo remained below. Bound to his own mast, he had offered the lot of it, and more besides. Rolo had sat in a boat watching the flames climb towards the bound man. Even then the fool had kept naming sums, as though they were haggling.
He remembered the moment the begging stopped.
"Keep your distance from the shoals, then."
The master swallowed. His throat worked above the salt-stiff collar.
Rolo rested a hand on his shoulder. Felt him stiffen beneath it.
"You saw the boats. You saw what holds them here. Keep the line together and we'll take them. Can you do that?"
"A-aye." His eyes flicked seaward. He drew breath and barked at the signalman. "Bring the outer galley closer. She's opening a gap."
Rolo took his hand away.
Good. He had no use for a man who could only tremble.
Ahead, one of Vhalar's southern watchers turned towards open water, saw the fast ships spreading to meet her and checked. Rolo's bowmen shouted at the sight. He went down from the stern with the axe hanging at his side. The crew made room along the deck.
At the bow he stopped beside the boatswain and pointed towards the ships beneath the fort. Men turned to listen. A few stared at the blood on his face until he looked their way.
"Take them whole. Crews that yield go in chains." Rolo lifted his voice above the oars. "Every chest comes aboard before a lid is lifted. You'll have your shares."
"And Vhalar?" someone called.
Rolo looked north. The man's galley was still bearing towards the black sails.
"Take him alive. I want him for myself." He grinned, blood wet between his teeth. "My last dog died. This one ought to know how to beg."
His grip tightened on the axe haft. Vhalar on his knees, trying to look proud with someone holding his hair. Rolo wanted to be close enough to see the bastard's mouth tremble.
A few of these men had served Vhalar's father. He could have more soon. Sound ships needed crews; captains who knew these waters were worth keeping, once they understood whose water it was.
He would take the ships and the slaves, the treasure in the forts and the goods in the sheds. By the time Moreo's sons came home, they would find his men upon their walls. Bloodstone would be his. The other islands would follow.
All of it. The wind cooled the blood on his face. He could hardly stand still.
He raised the axe.
"Close the way out!"
The boatswain struck his sword against the rail.
"RED AXE!"
The bowmen took it up. Men at the waist turned towards Rolo, blades lifted, and bellowed the answer. Across the water the nearest galley answered them. Another joined as the signals rose, her red axe shaking out above the deck.
Rolo climbed onto the bow platform so they could see him.
"RED AXE! RED AXE! RED AXE!"
Rolo smiled at the black sails and licked the dead man's blood from his lip.