Chapter 72 - The Last Boats

The bearers were halfway down the landing steps when an arrow struck the door beneath the wounded man. He tried to roll away. One bearer stumbled, and Jon saw the whole load tilt towards the water.

"Keep him flat!" Rymond's optio shouted.

The lower bearer braced himself against the step. His fellow caught the wounded soldier by the belt, and together they lowered the door into the boat. Only then did the optio turn towards the timber yard.

Jon had followed Alasdair to the turn in the landing path. The lane and its defending shields lay behind him, the boats below. Rolo's archers had moved along the yard's far edge to shoot across the open ground between the houses and the southern steps. If the bearers dropped their load, they would block the steps. If the boatmen refused to come in, the wounded would have nowhere to go.

"Shields along that side," he told Alasdair. "Get a door from the empty house. Stand it across the top of the steps."

The household captain sent two men. Jon pointed Garon towards the loft above the lane. Four bowmen still occupied its upper room; the window overlooked the ground the pirates had crossed.

"Tell them where those archers are. Have them watch the gaps between the shields."

Garon started uphill, then checked himself. "The gaps by the woodpile?"

"Between the woodpile and the first house. Go."

Another arrow struck a raised shield. The soldier beneath it swore at the man crowding against him. Jon caught the second man's shoulder and moved him back. There was room if they stopped crowding the bend. They had cursed him for practising this. Now he wanted to shake each man who forgot until the old lessons came back.

Hewyn reached him before he could give another order.

"They're holding below the bend," the first spear said. "No movement up the lane."

"They can hurt us from there."

"Aye." Hewyn looked at the boat pulling away from the steps. "They know it."

From the loft came the hard snap of a bow. A pirate near the woodpile dropped his shield and sat down abruptly. The man beside him pulled him back by his coat. The next arrow from the yard went high.

It gave Jon room to breathe. Not much. Men were still bleeding for the length of time it took a boat to cross a harbour.

"How many fit men still on this shore?"

"Two hundred and twenty-two," Hewyn said. "The wounded go down first. Then I can start sending the others."

His men waited against the houses behind the shield line, leaving a narrow passage for the bearers. At the water steps, the wounded lay waiting for the next boat.

"Keep arrows going up to the loft," Jon told Hewyn. "And have the optio hold four of the largest boats beside the prize. Empty, with their boatmen aboard."

Hewyn frowned. "We're already leaving wounded waiting for boats."

"The others can keep ferrying. Those four are for the last men. Once they leave the line, they cannot wait for a second crossing."

"And if the ships call for another load?"

"They use the other boats. Have the optio count the places before we send the last groups down. Boatmen, shields, room for wounded men to lie flat. Then he brings all four in."

Jon watched the bearers turn another door on the narrow steps. A petty officer had once made him count the places in a boat twice while Jon argued about the damaged machinery they were leaving behind. He had hated the delay. Now he counted how many seated men would have to move to make room for that door.

"Where is Norren?"

"His sixteen are beside the store. The rest still have the spring."

"Leave them there for now. I want the upper path watched until the fort is empty."

Hewyn returned to the line. Alasdair waited with his shield towards the yard while another ferry came in. A crow called from the fort roof. Hugin was still in the west. If Brus had written an answer, Jon could bring it back.

"I need that room again."

Alasdair took him uphill. Inside the house, the onion still lay upon the shelf. Flies had found the bread. Jon sat where the wall hid him from the door and closed his eyes.

The world returned brighter and farther apart. Below the crow's perch, men were lifting pale wood towards a galley's stern. Jon recognised the western harbour steps. Corwyn's crab shield leaned against the store wall, a chest stood clear of the path and three wounded men were aboard the smaller ship. Beyond the harbour mouth, blue cloth moved above a steering platform.

Three galleys.

Vhalar had beaten the repairs.

Jon wanted to fly out and count the enemy, but Hugin carried a message. Hewyn needed his orders. He lifted from the perch, and a soldier called after the bird as it climbed above the stores.

The hills rose between the harbours. For a little while there were no wounded men beneath him, only scrub, pale stone and the movement of his own shadow. Then the eastern smoke returned. He brought Hugin to the familiar window and let go.

Alasdair had the bird before Jon had quite recovered the room around him. Paper crackled. His guard read Brus's report aloud.

The fort taken. Two dead, three unable to fight. Thirty-eight people freed. Fifty-nine fighting prisoners. One ship repairing, another that might sail if hands could be found.

Jon held out his hand for the paper.

He had sent thirty-two across those hills. Thirty still lived. There was victory in that small scrap, and Moreo's wealth beneath it, and the hulls he had hoped might break Rolo's grip. Now Vhalar stood between all of it and the sea.

A knock sounded. Alasdair opened the door a hand's breadth.

"Pirate with a white rag," Garon said. "Hewyn wants to know whether to hear him."

Jon looked up.

"The red-haired one sent him. He says his captain will speak."

Of course he would. Rolo had found how much a landing boat mattered, and now he wanted to discover what Jon would pay for one more crossing.

"Tell Hewyn to keep him below the bend. No one comes through our shields."

Garon ran. Jon carefully folded Brus's report, damp where his fingers had held it.

"Get the empty oil jars," he told Alasdair. "And the full ones from the kitchen. Put them where they can be seen at the fort gate."

His guard studied him. "The stores?"

"If Rolo wants them, he can leave us time to go."

There was enough coin waiting beside that gate to keep his men paid through winter. He wanted every chest aboard. He wanted the plate too, and the books that might tell him which ports had bought the people crammed beneath his merchant decks. He had not spent years building a legion to leave it broken on a pirate's beach; neither had he crossed the sea merely to burn the things he needed.

Alasdair opened the door. Two bearers were bringing a wounded man past it, and he turned sideways to let them through.

"Wait until they've cleared the lane," Jon added. "Then send the jars up."

* * *

Goro returned with blood upon his sleeve, and Vhalar's hand closed upon the rail before he saw that it was dry.

"Whose?"

"One of ours. Found him against the back wall of the northern store. He'd crawled out of the lane after the red axes came."

"Alive?"

"For a little while."

Goro climbed over the side, cursing the sailor who reached to help him. He put the dead man's belt beside the steering platform, folded around a short knife, before speaking again.

The red axes had reached the fort first. They had broken the men Vhalar left outside the gate, then the black soldiers had fallen upon them from the stores. Goro had found their dead in the lower lane. He had seen black shields above the harbour steps, more at the gate, and men carrying oars between them.

"How many?"

"I counted twenty-three. There'll be others inside. Thirty, perhaps forty."

"And my garrison?"

"Some are living. I saw them being brought up to the gate. Bound, but walking. Others were carried."

Vhalar looked past him. The small galley still lay beneath the steps, her replacement steering oar across two trestles ashore. A man shaved its shaft, stopping to try the fastening while another leaned from the stern to watch.

They were repairing what Vhalar had broken.

"Any archers?"

"Didn't see bows. Saw them gathering spears from the dead. The knight was there."

"The crab."

Goro nodded.

Vhalar raised the glass. The young knight stood bareheaded beside the water, hair stuck to his forehead, his crab shield against the store wall. He helped a sailor lift a chest over the galley's rail. Vhalar had fought for that harbour. Now these black-clad bastards were emptying it while he watched from outside.

He had killed Moreo for that fort. Stark's boy had sent others to take it from him.

Vhalar lowered the glass. He looked down at the boats waiting alongside his ship, avoiding Goro's eye. Let the knight try carrying that chest with arrows coming at him.

"Bring us in until the bowmen can reach those steps."

His first mate glanced towards the other ships.

"With us," Vhalar said. "Keep them across the way out. Nothing leaves that harbour."

The mate raised his arm. The rowing master's count changed, and the galley moved beneath Vhalar's feet. He let out the breath he had held since the headland. Here was something that still did what he asked of it.

The first arrows fell short. The second flight struck stone and wood. A man carrying a sack dropped it upon the steps and scrambled for the store wall. The oarmaker caught the steering shaft before it could roll from its trestles. Two black shields came down to cover him.

"The steps," Vhalar told the bowmen. "Keep them off the steps. I want those ships sound."

Goro followed his gaze towards the rocks north of the stores.

"I can bring twenty through there. Their lookout has seen me by now."

"Then he can watch you come back." Vhalar pointed towards the harbour. "Thirty with me. We take the landing while you come behind the stores. Once the boats have put us down, they fetch fifty more."

Goro looked at the little space between the moored hull and the stone steps. "Wait for my shout before you go up the lane."

Vhalar turned to snap at him, then followed his gaze. Goro was watching the men above the steps, waiting for one of them to turn towards the rocks. He meant to get behind them before Vhalar drove them uphill. Vhalar glanced at the dead man's belt beside the steering platform. Goro had friends in that garrison too.

"I'll hold the steps," Vhalar said. "You make sure I hear you."

Seventy-five fighting men would remain aboard the three galleys after the second landing, enough to keep the black ships penned and watch the sea behind them. He told his mate where to hold, made him repeat the order, then took his shield.

Goro fastened the dead man's belt around his own waist.

"His brother's aboard the watcher," he said when Vhalar looked.

"Give it to him when we're done."

He went down into the boat before Goro could answer. The man ahead of him held out a hand; Vhalar took it, found his footing and turned towards the steps. Black shields were withdrawing uphill. The passage from the water was opening.

"Pull."

* * *

The boy had put oil jars at the fort gate.

Rolo watched soldiers carry a jar and bundles of straw past the doorway, taking their time, making certain he could see. His jaw tightened. How many jars were empty? And what good would knowing do him if the one beside the grain was full?

"Shall we try the houses again?" the captain beside him asked.

Rolo looked at the man's shield. An arrow had passed through its upper edge; the point nearly touched his cheek whenever he raised it. He had not noticed.

"Break that off."

The captain stared, then followed his gaze. He lowered the shield and snapped the shaft with both hands.

Rolo let the captain stand with the broken arrow. Another rush might drive the black soldiers into the fort, where they could burn the stores before his men reached them. He needed to get the boy out of there.

His wrist throbbed beneath its filthy bandage. He rubbed the dried blood from his fingers, watched it fall in little black curls, and called for two shields.

The young lord waited above the bend in the lane. The black soldiers had opened enough room for him to be seen without leaving a gap in their line. A broad man stood at his shoulder; farther down, an older soldier kept his sword in his hand, watching Rolo's axe.

That must be the one giving the orders when the boy hid indoors. Rolo smiled at him first.

"You've made me walk uphill."

"You asked to speak," the boy said.

The voice was younger than Rolo had expected, but the boy watched Rolo's axe without flinching. Dirt caught in the pale streak above his forehead. He held a bandaged hand close to his body. Rolo made himself look away. A man noticed when you kept looking at what hurt.

"I asked you to come down."

"I'm here."

Rolo laughed. The black soldiers did not. He liked that less.

"Leave the people and the silver. You can take your soldiers home."

"No."

"Then leave me the ships."

"No."

"You practise that?" Rolo leaned against the nearest shield. "Someone sits you in a chair and has you say it until you sound like a lord?"

The boy's mouth tightened. Rolo felt a small, mean satisfaction.

"You can have the fort standing," the boy said. "The stores I haven't carried away. The boats left on the shore. My people leave with me, aboard the ships we hold."

"Your people." Rolo glanced towards the water. "They were somebody else's this morning."

"They're mine to protect now."

There it was. Rolo had heard lords dress ownership in prettier clothes, but the anger in this one sounded real. He pictured the boy trying to choose which boat to save while the others burned. He wanted to hear him give that order.

"And if I say no?"

"Then you'll be taking that gate through smoke."

The older black soldier shifted slightly. The boy had not raised his voice or looked towards the jars. Rolo glanced towards them himself. A man was carrying another bundle past the grain store.

He wanted to hit the boy. Not with the axe. With his hand, hard enough to see that solemn little face change. He let the wish pass through him and smiled instead.

"You leave me an empty shell and expect thanks."

"You came for the island. I'm leaving it."

A gull landed on the loft roof and shook something wet from its beak. Down by the yard, one of Rolo's wounded called for water, again and again. Another rush would mean more wounded. His captains knew it. He could make them go, but they would remember being sent uphill for nothing.

Rolo pointed past the boy's shoulder towards the ships.

"The low galley at the mooring. The one your men keep bailing. She stays."

The boy turned just enough to speak to the man beside him. Rolo could not hear the words. He watched the household captain shake his head, then point down towards the landing.

"That one," the young lord said at last. "After her people and goods are off."

"And the fort stays whole."

"If we leave without an attack."

Rolo lifted his eyebrows. "You think I'd give my word and come after you?"

"Yes."

For a moment he could only stare. Then he laughed so hard his ribs hurt. Some of the men behind his shields joined him, uncertain at first, then louder when he did not stop them.

"Then why are we talking?"

"Because you can stop your archers while we load. You can move the ships north of us out from the coast. My man will send one merchant ship through. If she passes, the rest begin to leave. When my last men go, the fort is yours."

Rolo's laughter died. He looked towards his waiting galleys. There would still be boats to catch after the merchants passed, and the little lord had a troublesome habit of staying beside his wounded.

"Your bowmen stop too."

"When yours move back."

"I want no black shields left in the fort after you go."

"You'll see the last of them leave."

Rolo let the silence last. He turned the axe in his hands, testing his sore wrist against its weight, until the broad man beside the boy lowered his gaze to it.

"Done."

He heard his own men breathe. The boy watched him a moment longer, then nodded to the old soldier. Neither side lowered a shield until Rolo had walked back beyond the bend.

At the timber stack, the waiting captain opened his mouth.

"Take the archers behind the wood," Rolo told him. "They keep their bows."

"And the ships?"

"A boat to my first mate. The northern pair move seaward. Leave a way along the shore, wide enough for the merchants. Let the first ones through."

The captain looked towards the oil jars at the gate. Rolo caught his chin and turned his face back.

"Listen to the rest."

The man went still.

"When the long horn sounds, the ships close again. No racing off after the first fat merchant. The last boats are where I want them looking." Rolo released him. "Have him send the boat back when he understands."

The captain went quickly. Rolo sat upon a timber and pulled the wet bandage from his wrist. He bit the inside of his cheek until the pain eased enough to enjoy the thought of that little lord hearing that horn.

* * *

The arrow struck the steps where Corwyn had been standing. He heard it break as he ducked behind his shield, then the sailor beside him shouted that the boats were coming.

Brus caught the man by the shoulder and sent him down to the galley.

"Finish the steering oar. Get the others aboard."

The spokesman for Moreo's captured soldiers stood against the store wall, rubbing the red marks left by his bindings. Twenty-one men waited behind him. Corwyn had been counting them when the arrows came, wondering how many would reach for a knife once their hands were free.

Now they were looking at Vhalar's boats.

"The same wage as the other rowers," their spokesman said. "Passage to Dragonstone. No irons."

"You keep off the weapons," Brus told him. "You pull when the sailor gives the stroke, and you don't leave a bench because you hear fighting. Do that and you leave this island as free men. I'll answer for the bargain."

The man looked towards the blue banners. "Cut the others loose."

A soldier drew his knife, and the men offered their wrists one after another. Corwyn kept his hand upon his sword.

"Oars," Brus ordered. "Help the sailors."

One of the freed men caught a replacement shaft before it could fall. Another joined him, and together they carried it towards the water. Corwyn let his sword hand fall.

The sailor at the smaller galley's stern shouted that the new steering oar still would not sit true. Bero knelt over its fastening with a mallet. Another shaft struck the hull beneath him.

"Leave the steps!" Brus called.

His men came back beneath their shields. A sailor pulled the gangplank onto the smaller galley. Those aboard crouched behind the bulwark; Corwyn glimpsed the wounded swordsman's hand upon the hilt tied beside his leg, then a raised shield hid him.

There was no getting them out now. The three hostile galleys had spread across the harbour mouth. Even a sound ship would have had to fight her way through them.

The first landing boat struck stone. A blue shield rose over its side.

"Up the lane," Brus said. "Between the stores."

Corwyn backed with the line up the uneven stones where they had trapped the red axes. Now the fort gate was behind him. Six legionaries guarded the bound prisoners beneath it. Five men, including the optio, barred the northern store's back door. Their scout had seen Goro coming off the rocks; if his men broke through, they could strike the shield line from the side. Brus counted the men left to hold the lane.

Fourteen shields settled across the lane. There was room for only a few men to stand abreast; the others crowded behind, waiting to replace them. Edden, the older swordsman who had fought beside him at the western gate, stood upon Corwyn's right. Donnel, the young soldier who had helped him carry the wounded, stood upon his left, swallowing so hard that Corwyn could see his throat move.

* * *

Vhalar left five men at the landing to keep the rowers aboard. He brought the rest up between the stores, pointing two shields towards the open window above them. The black soldiers had used it once already.

"Close up. Wait for Goro."

The crab knight stood in the front rank, blood drying upon one sleeve. Beside him, a young soldier swallowed and tightened his grip. Vhalar brought his men within a spear's reach. Behind the northern store, Goro shouted. Something heavy struck the door.

"Now!"

They met with a crash that jarred Vhalar's shoulder. He thrust beneath his shield; a blade turned his point. Beside him, two of his men caught the young soldier's shield with a hook and hauled it sideways. Vhalar stepped into the opening and drove his sword low into the man's belly.

The crab knight struck at him. Vhalar knocked the blow aside and shoved the dying soldier into him. The knight stumbled; a grey-haired swordsman caught his belt. Another shield filled the gap, but the whole rank had moved uphill.

Vhalar went after them.

"Together!" someone behind him shouted.

He waited for the shield beside his own. At the back door, a man was calling for help. Too few voices answered. Vhalar grinned and drove forward again, forcing the knight against the men behind him. The knight's shield rim caught him beneath the jaw.

His teeth shut upon his tongue. For a moment he could hear nothing but his own breath. The mouths before him moved without words. Blood ran warm inside his cheek.

He was back in the yard at home, trying to get up. His practice sword lay beyond his fingers. His father caught him by the collar and hauled him to his feet.

"You stepped back."

The first blow turned his head.

Vhalar thrust beneath the crab knight's arm. His point scraped mail and bit through the padding. He wrenched it free as the knight twisted away.

"Weak boy. Stand and face me!" his father shouted.

He had raised an arm against the next blow. His father struck it down, hit him again and dragged him upright before he could fall. A sailor stood by the yard gate, looking at the ground.

"Look at you. A failure."

The knight's sword struck his shield. Vhalar swung at his face and made him duck. For a moment he saw Drazen's face as Rolo had held it up by the hair. Rolo had laughed while Vhalar's own men dragged him back from the rail.

Weak.

Drazen had come back to him bleeding, and Vhalar had made him beg for a cup of wine.

Failure.

Vhalar struck again. The knight's sword arm dropped against his side. Above his shoulder stood the fort gate, the walls Vhalar had climbed and won. Jon's men had carried his chests out through that gate.

WEAK. FAILURE.

Vhalar stepped past the man on his left, who was still fending off a spear, and followed the knight uphill.

"Vhalar!"

He heard that. Goro had come round the waterside corner of the store. Behind him, his men were still battering the door.

"Back! You're ahead of your men!"

The man on his left was a pace behind him now. He could fall back and let him draw level.

WEAK. WEAK. WEAK.

Vhalar drove his shield into the knight's, forcing him uphill. Let Goro see him bring this one down.

"Come on!" he shouted to his men.

A spear jabbed past his shoulder and rang against the knight's helm. The grey-haired swordsman struck it aside. Vhalar pressed harder. He could feel the knight's shield arm yielding beneath his weight.

"Take him!" the centurion called.

The knight bent his knees. His shield dropped beneath Vhalar's, then thrust upwards. Vhalar lurched forward and planted his foot wide to keep his balance.

A sword went into his thigh.

He roared and smashed his shield into the grey-haired man's helm. The man reeled against the wall. Before Vhalar could finish him, the crab knight dropped his sword, let his shield hang from its straps and seized Vhalar's sword wrist in both hands.

Vhalar tried to wrench free. His wounded leg folded.

"Through!" the knight shouted. "Let us through!"

The black shields parted behind him. A hand caught Vhalar's collar and another closed above his elbow. He kicked at a knee, dragging the knight sideways, but the centurion drove his shield into the pirates coming after him.

"Forward! Hold them there!"

Vhalar fell upon the knight behind the closing rank. His sword scraped stone beside the young man's head. Someone stamped upon the blade. The knight twisted his wrist until his fingers opened.

He let go of his shield's grip and punched the bastard in the mouth.

The knight drove a knee into his wounded thigh. Vhalar could not hold back the cry. The grey-haired swordsman dropped beside him, blood running from beneath his helm, and pressed a blade under his jaw.

"Move again."

Vhalar swore at him. Beyond the shields, Goro was trying to force his way uphill through the crowded men.

The centurion's line was yielding. One black soldier staggered back clutching his shoulder; another lay against the store with a spear through his throat. The rear door cracked beneath a fresh blow. A little longer and they would have broken through.

"Your captain's alive!" the centurion bellowed. "Come another pace and he won't be."

He pulled two men apart to show them. Vhalar tried to rise, and the blade lifted his chin. His men stopped. He could see their faces between the shields.

"Goro!"

Goro turned and shouted to the men behind the store. The blows upon the door ceased.

More boats were leaving the galleys. The centurion sent a scout up to the fort for one of Vhalar's captured men.

"Tell them to stay out," he told Vhalar. "You have men alive up there. I'll give them back. But you tell those boats to stay out."

Vhalar looked at the crab knight. Blood covered the young man's teeth. He was shaking, but his hands held firm, and his knee pressed harder into Vhalar's leg.

"Call them back."

The centurion beckoned the other scout close.

"Back to the hollow. Wait for Jon's crow. We need to know what's happening in the east."

* * *

Rolo's archers withdrew first. Jon watched the last one lift his quiver from beneath a shield and carry it behind the timber stack. The man did not unstring his bow.

"Keep ours in the loft," Jon told Hewyn. "Out of the windows."

The silence made the yard seem larger. Men bent beneath shields all afternoon began to straighten. One of Gerralt's soldiers sat staring at his knees until the centurion touched him with a boot.

"Eat something while you've time."

The soldier fumbled for his pouch. Jon remembered him complaining about the hard bread before they sailed. He would have given him fresh bread now, and a bed, and a month without the sound of a horn. Instead he looked past him to count the boats.

"They'll break it," Alasdair said.

"Perhaps."

His captain raised an eyebrow. Jon was too tired to pretend with him.

"Yes. When they think they can win more by breaking it."

"Then we should keep the fort until dark."

"And get the last men down those steps in the dark? With their ships waiting somewhere we can't see?" Jon rubbed his forehead with his good hand. He wanted to snap at Alasdair for finding one more difficulty. That was what the man was supposed to do. "We use the time. Keep the soldiers armed in the boats. Nobody leaves a shield ashore to make room for silver."

The first chest came down between two bearers, scraping the wall at one corner. Behind it, another pair carried a man with his leg splinted between boards. The chest bearers stood aside without being told.

There would be money for iron, another hull, stores laid in before the next war drove prices up. Men would rightly call this a raid for plunder. Jon had wanted the silver before he saw the prisoners' scarred wrists. He still wanted it. He could hate the men who filled those chests and find work for every coin inside them.

"Alasdair. The paper."

Inside the house, Jon dictated the agreement for Denys: one merchant through first, the fighting ships beside the troop boats, four ferries kept for the last men. Alasdair read it back.

"If the pirates close before we're aboard, he holds the passage for the boats. Even if they attack one of our merchants, he stays until the last boats are through."

Alasdair glanced at him. "Some of his own sailors are on those merchants."

"I know. Write it."

From here the merchant decks were distant brown shapes. Denys would hear the people upon them calling for help. Jon had ordered him to leave them to their escorts and keep the landing open.

Munin waited beneath the eaves. When the note was tied, Jon settled behind the closed door and took her out over the water.

The northern ships were pulling away from the coast. Beyond them, the red galleys facing Denys made room grudgingly; one turned only after a boat from Rolo's flagship reached her.

Jon brought Munin to Denys's after rail. Aurane reached for the thread with his sound hand. Jon released the crow and came back to his own aching hand, the cramped room and Alasdair waiting with a cup.

"Now Brus," he said.

This note took longer. Jon stopped Alasdair: it sounded too much like an order to win a battle he could not see.

"No. Say that if he gets clear, he takes the northern coast. Both ships if he can crew them. He waits behind the last headland before this harbour, where the pirates cannot see him from the landing."

"And then?"

"If Rolo keeps his word, Brus joins the convoy. If he attacks, Denys will call with three long blasts. Then Brus comes round behind the galleys closing on our boats. He strikes at their sterns, makes them turn. He isn't to board them."

Vhalar might keep Brus in the west until night. Even if the ships came, their decks would be crowded with wounded men and freed people. Jon watched the pen, wanting to recall the order. Those survivors faced another fight, but making the galleys turn might give Denys time to get the last boats out.

"Add that Denys must still be holding here," he said. "If we're already away, he follows us. No fighting for a harbour we've left."

Hugin complained when Alasdair tied the note, then settled upon Jon's knee. Jon ran a finger down his neck until the crow pecked him.

He carried the warning west inside Hugin. At the hollow, the older scout waited, spear against a tree, fresh blood dried upon one sleeve. He rose at the sound of wings. Jon set the crow upon the perch and released him as the scout reached for the paper.

By the time Jon returned to the landing, a square of pale cloth showed above Denys's stern. The message had been read.

At the steps, Rymond's optio checked each boat. Six coin chests waited against the wall beside the wrapped books. Two men brought the heavier plate chest down last and set it clear of the wounded.

"Room?" Jon asked.

"In the next boat after them." The optio pointed at the waiting bearers. "The plate waits."

"Good."

Far below, boats towed the first merchant clear of the crowded anchorage, her sail hanging loose. When she had room, her crew hauled the yard round. The canvas filled and she moved along the coast.

Jon watched the nearest red galley.

It stayed out.

For the first time since Rolo appeared, a ship full of people was leaving the island. Jon followed her until the northern rocks hid her lower hull. He wanted to believe the rest could be as simple.

"Hewyn," he called. "Start bringing the men down."

The first group came through the houses in two files, leaving room for bearers. At the landing turn, an optio sent down one boatload at a time. Shields remained along the lane and beneath the loft; the men boarding came from the ranks behind them.

Across the anchorage, soldiers climbed the sides of the troop transports. Jon watched one deck fill with black shields. The ferries came back for more.

* * *

Vhalar's leg was bound with a strip of his cloak. He watched the blood darken it, then tried moving his foot. Pain turned his stomach.

"Stay still," the grey-haired swordsman said.

Vhalar would remember that face.

Goro stood beyond the black shields. The centurion had propped Vhalar against the store wall where his men could see him. Each time he slipped, the swordsman caught his collar and hauled him upright.

"The boats are going back," Goro said.

"Keep the ships across the mouth. No one advances."

Fifty men waited in those boats; seventy-five more remained aboard. Goro still held the northern side of the stores. The black soldiers could barely stand, but their blades remained steady enough. Another attack would get Vhalar killed. Waiting might get him freed.

The sword pressed beneath his jaw.

"You kill me," he told the centurion, "and you have nothing to bargain with."

"Twenty-six of your garrison. Nine need help walking. Your wounded in the lane, too." The man turned towards Goro. "You can take them aboard. Or wait for Rolo to send ships round."

Vhalar watched Goro. Drazen would have found something else to offer them.

Goro glanced towards the wounded. "We need those men aboard before he comes."

"Then take them," the centurion said. "Your ships clear the harbour mouth. You leave our way north open."

"And him?"

"He comes to Lord Jon. Alive in my keeping. After that, he answers to my lord."

"For a rope?"

"I don't decide that."

This bastard could bargain away his life without once troubling to look important. He would carry Vhalar home like the silver and say he had obeyed.

Vhalar turned towards the young knight beside him. "You took me. What's your name?"

The knight straightened. "Ser Corwyn Celtigar."

"Then you answer for me. Goro will take a knight's word."

Corwyn glanced at the centurion. Vhalar saw the pause and pressed him.

"Or does he command you?"

"Aye. Brus commands here." Corwyn wiped his bloody mouth. "You heard his promise. I'll see it kept."

"Say it to my man."

The knight faced Goro. "He stays alive in Brus's custody. You have my word."

"And your lord?" Goro asked.

"I cannot promise his judgement."

Goro looked at Vhalar, propped against the wall.

"Then I'm coming to hear it."

The centurion frowned. Goro pointed towards the ships.

"You have my captain. I'm not sailing out of sight of him."

Below them, two men stopped upon the steps to shift a wounded sailor's weight. Brus watched them, then looked towards the galleys still blocking his way out.

"Clear the mouth. Wait off the western point until we've passed. You can follow beyond bowshot. One ship closes on us, he dies."

Goro's mouth tightened. He nodded.

Vhalar looked down at the blood beneath his leg. Goro had told him to come back. He had heard him. Now his men waited for his orders while a common soldier decided what to do with him.

Beyond Goro, two pirates were carrying a third downhill, a helmet beneath the wounded man's head. They stepped carefully around the dead, watching for any movement that hurt him.

Rolo would take the three galleys if he could.

"Take them. The garrison. All the wounded. Leave nobody here for that mad bastard."

"I'll speak to him about your ransom," Goro promised.

Goro's torn ear had begun bleeding again. Vhalar remembered the gold ring that had hung there that morning; a foolish thing to remember with the crews waiting upon his word.

"Keep the ships together," he said. "Whatever they ask for me, keep them together."

Goro nodded once.

They brought the garrison down in groups. Vhalar counted until a man stumbled and showed the raw bandage beneath his tunic. Then he watched their faces instead. Some looked towards him. More looked at the boats.

Two galleys drew west with the garrison and most of the wounded aboard. The third stayed across the harbour mouth. Below Vhalar, Goro stopped at the steps while men carried the last wounded down.

"Have her turn," Brus called. "Then you can follow in your own boat."

"When I see those men aboard." Goro pointed to the loaded boat pulling out to the galley. "They can't climb a rope. She stays until they're up."

Brus watched the ship, then beckoned two shieldmen down beside him.

"You stay here until she turns. Your boat can follow her out."

Goro's hand closed on his sword belt. Vhalar held his breath. Those men were already clear of the steps; Brus could not call them back. But Goro remained within reach of his shields.

"Aye," Goro said.

The galley's crew lifted the wounded over her side. Goro counted them across the rail, then raised his arm. Oars stirred; her bow turned west. Brus stepped aside to let him reach his boat.

One of the departing men called Vhalar's name. He lifted his chin before the swordsman's hand could make him do it.

* * *

The first merchant passed the northern point with every man upon her deck watching the red sails farther out.

Denys watched them too. The two fast pirate ships had pulled away from the coast as promised. One began to follow the merchant on her seaward side, keeping well beyond bowshot. Her fellow stayed behind her. They had opened the passage; they had not gone away.

"She's through," his mate said.

"Send the next."

The signal cloth rose. A second merchant moved towards the point, her sail filling. A guard urged the people crowding her rail back. Among them, the islander woman still held her bundle against her breast. She watched the shore as the fort slipped astern.

A shout drew his eye back to the leaking galley Jon had promised Rolo, moored farther down the landing, apart from Arthur's prize. Her old seams had opened as the boats brought more weight aboard. Despite the full buckets passing over her side, she sat lower than an hour ago.

For once, Denys begrudged the pirate nothing.

"Get the last men off her," he called. "Prisoners first. Bring the men bailing when they're clear."

The prisoners came up under guard, stumbling where their bound hands made the short ladder awkward. They were divided between boats already waiting beside her. A sailor tried to come down with a coil of good rope over his shoulder. The knot caught beneath the rail. He hauled at it, swore, and looked towards the flagship.

"Leave it," Denys shouted.

The man left it and climbed down into the boat, still muttering.

Ser Arthur stood beside the steering platform, working the fingers of his sword hand. His shield rested against his leg. When he moved his other shoulder, the skin tightened about his eyes.

"You could have that looked at."

"After Jon comes aboard."

Denys glanced towards the black line still holding the lane above the steps. "Aye."

The pirate galley still waited seaward of the flagship. Her captain had drawn his men back from the rail, but the hooks they had displayed all afternoon lay beside their feet. Other red sails waited behind her. Denys hoped the agreement disappointed him.

"Keep the signal up where their captain can see it," he told the mate. "Let him know we've heard the terms."

The mate followed his glance. "You believe them?"

"The first merchant is through. That's all we know. Keep your eyes on that galley."

The crippled prize's last men left her. The sailor in charge lingered beneath the stern rail, looking along the deck, then climbed into the boat. Denys waited until it was clear before sending it on. The abandoned hull sagged at her mooring. Drazen's carrier and Arthur's captured galley would go home with them, if he could keep them.

Arthur's captured galley lay between Denys's flagship and the shore, close enough to cover the ferries coming from the steps. The twelve soldiers Malcolm had sent aboard her still guarded the steering platform and the prisoners beneath the raised deck. Two were bowmen; Denys had put them at the inshore rail to watch the timber yard. Her borrowed crew had found something like a common stroke. Denys would need it when the shore party came down.

"Keep her there," he told the mate. "If the archers start again, her bowmen cover the steps. She goes with the last loaded ferry. We follow both."

Aurane brought Jon's note aft, marked by the crow's foot. Denys reread the last lines. Boats for the covering men. Ships ready before the line came down. No one was to be left on those steps calling after a boat that had already gone.

He looked up. Aurane had already turned towards the boat tackle.

"Which one?" Denys asked.

"The broad ferry. She'll take shields without putting everyone against one side."

"Keep her outside our oars until you're called in. If the other boats crowd the steps, wait behind Arthur's prize. They'll see you from the landing."

Aurane nodded. "I'll take the boatmen who brought Rymond out."

The wounded centurion lay beneath a stretched sailcloth nearby, his leg raised upon a folded cloak. He opened his eyes at his name.

"My optio will be the last at the steps. He'll want to count them before he gets in."

"Then your optio can count in the boat," Denys replied.

Rymond's mouth moved, almost a smile. "Tell him that."

"I will," Aurane said.

Blood had soaked through the fresh linen near Aurane's thumb. Denys nearly told him to remain aboard. There were men enough to steer a ferry; surely he could send someone else.

Aurane saw where he was looking and curled his fingers, testing them.

"I can hold the tiller."

"Have someone else take the lines."

"Already chosen him." Aurane beckoned a boatman with a coil of rope over his shoulder. The man came over, grinning at something Aurane said too quietly for Denys to hear.

Denys watched him cross the deck. He had been glad of Aurane when captains needed persuading and ships hiring. Now, with Rolo's hooks a short row away, he could think of a dozen reasons to give the work to someone else.

"Keep one boat at the steps when the others fill," he called.

Aurane looked back over the rail. "Have you forgotten I've Velaryon blood? We know the sea." He grinned and climbed into the boat.

He sent his boatmen to their places and took the tiller himself.

The next merchant was moving. Beyond the point the first had drawn farther north, and the transport escort held between her and the watching pirates. Soldiers lined the troop transports behind them, their shields hung ready along the rails. More than a hundred fit men had been afloat even before Hewyn began sending the shore force across. They were spread among the fighting ships, the escorts and the prizes with prisoners aboard. Now the transports were filling too. Denys sent them north as they were ready; bringing their men back would mean sending loaded boats through the galleys waiting to close upon him.

Denys folded Jon's message along its old crease. Below the inshore rail, Aurane's ferry pushed clear, turned, and settled into its place beneath the captured galley's stern. Aurane raised his sound hand.

Denys answered, then looked back at the hooks.

* * *

The third galley cleared the harbour mouth and joined the others off the western point. The lookout upon the ridge lowered his arm. Brus called the rowers to their places, and Corwyn began unfastening a harbour rope.

"Not that one," the sailor at the bow shouted. "The other rope. Leave me that one until we're clear of the steps."

Corwyn hauled the wrong rope back aboard and felt his face grow hot. The sailor took it without comment.

Goro had followed the last galley in his boat. Before leaving, he had touched the dead man's belt and looked up towards Vhalar. Corwyn had helped bring the captive aboard afterwards. Now Vhalar sat bound beside the smaller galley's stern, watching his ships.

Bero kept his hand against the replacement steering oar's fastening while the sailor tested it.

"She'll make a broad turn. Haul her round hard and you'll tear this loose."

Brus looked at the wood beneath his fingers. "Tell me before we ask too much of her."

"I will."

The sailor eased the shaft back. Bero stayed beside him.

Across the strip of water between the prizes, men lowered the second galley's oars. There were too few rowers to work them all, so the sailors had left empty places at either end and matched the working oars on each side. She would move, but slowly.

Twenty-two of Moreo's men sat upon those benches. Beside them were the two freed rowers the smaller galley did not need, and eight legionaries with their shields stacked within reach. One legionary's oar struck his neighbour's. The man beside him swore, caught the shaft and showed him how to keep it clear.

Brus divided the sailors between the ships. Each deck would have six fit fighting men. He gave Corwyn command of the second galley, with three bowmen and two guards, and kept two bowmen aboard his own. They had found bows in the stores and gathered arrows from the dead. Edden watched the bound red-axe men beneath the smaller ship's forward rail, while a guard stayed close to Vhalar. The other red-axe captives went aboard Corwyn's galley.

Twenty still fit, out of the thirty-two who had crossed the hills. Four dead lay wrapped beneath the forward shelters, two in each galley. Eight wounded had places made for them, including the three hurt in the first fight. Corwyn had helped carry the last aboard and had been afraid to ask whether the man was breathing until his eyes opened.

The freed brothers sat close enough to see each other. One pulled an oar; the other lay with his bad leg stretched beside a chest. He kept a hand upon its corner each time the hull moved, as though he could steady the ship that way.

Moreo's portable wealth filled the spaces Brus had allowed it. Coin, small silver vessels, sealed packets taken from the strong room. A carved chair remained beneath the gate, along with the heavy things no man could carry without leaving another man ashore. Corwyn had coveted a silver lamp until he tried lifting it with his cut wrist. It was still in the house.

The older scout brought the crow aboard upon its perch. He had fetched Jon's letter while Goro's last boats loaded. Brus had read it twice before passing it to Corwyn.

They were to wait behind the last headland before the eastern landing. Three long blasts from Denys would call them out against the sterns of the galleys attacking the last boats. Otherwise they were to join the convoy.

Corwyn had looked from the letter to their benches. He had thought they were escaping.

Brus dictated his answer. Two prizes ready to row; Vhalar taken; his man Goro following with the three galleys, beyond bowshot, to discuss a ransom. Two more dead, five more wounded, everyone aboard. The scout tied the paper to Hugin's leg. Brus moved the perch beneath the steering platform, clear of the ropes.

"Will he find Jon from out there?" Corwyn asked.

"I'd rather he left from a ship than from a fort we're abandoning." Brus checked the knot beneath the bird's leg. "When he goes."

Hugin stared at Corwyn, who withdrew his hand before the beak opened. There had to be a trick: some faint call, some manner of feeding that taught a crow where to fly. Jon would not be getting this creature back without questions.

Brus went forward and told the rowers where they were going.

One of Moreo's men called across from the other galley that he had bargained for Dragonstone.

"So have we," Brus answered. "The rest of our men are at the eastern landing. We help them clear, then we all go."

"Red axes there?"

"Aye."

The man stared at him, then looked towards the heads bent over the wounded. He spat into the water and took his oar again. Corwyn was grateful that Brus had not called it an easy passage.

The younger scout ran down from the gate and crossed the plank. Sailors took in the last ropes. Vhalar cursed beneath his breath as the count passed along the benches.

Corwyn went to the rail beside Brus.

"Did Jon know we'd have to buy our way out with a man's throat?"

"No."

"But he expects us round the island."

"He expects me to decide whether we can get there."

Corwyn looked from the centurion's torn sleeve and bloody jaw to the loaded decks. The men trying their oars had brought more aboard than he would have believed possible.

"Can we?"

Brus watched the coast ahead. "We'll know more at the point."

Corwyn tightened his shield straps and crossed to the second galley. Brus's rowers found their stroke first. The smaller ship moved out, then eased while Corwyn's mixed crew struggled after her. Both hulls cleared the harbour mouth and turned north. Beyond the point, Goro's three galleys began to follow, keeping their distance.

* * *

Rolo let the grain carriers pass.

They came down from the fort in pairs, their backs bent beneath sacks. He could have put arrows into them. Instead he watched the number of black shields above the lane diminish and listened to the captains beside him discover how much restraint they possessed when he was holding the axe.

One had begun to complain about the people aboard the merchants. A look silenced him. The next complaint concerned the silver, and that man took care to make it sound like a question.

Rolo pointed to the pale head moving above the landing steps.

"There."

The captain followed his gaze. The boy had come down with his last guards. He spoke to the officer loading the boats, then turned uphill as more soldiers descended. They were bringing their spring watch in; Rolo recognised the long spears he had seen above the northern houses.

No more jars went up to the gate. No more bearers came out of it.

"The boy?" the captain asked.

"His men go aboard. He stays until they do."

A fine habit. Lords ought to encourage it in one another.

Rolo stood, stiff from the timber, the cut beneath his shirt pulling. His first mate had sent the boat back; the ships knew to close at the horn. Some merchants were already beyond the point. Let them go. The boy was down from his fort now, with more men waiting on the steps than the boats alongside could take.

Rolo grinned and tightened the fresh strip around his wrist with his teeth.

"Shields first. The bowmen come to the end of the stack when we move. Shoot at the men waiting by the boats. I want them climbing over one another."

A captain swallowed.

"They'll fire the fort."

"The gate's empty. He'd have to send men back." Rolo pointed his axe at the shields below the bend. "Keep them here."

He glanced west. Still no word of Vhalar, his three galleys or the raiders sent after him.

But the little lord was here.

Rolo raised the axe. The horn beside him sounded its long, ugly note.

He ran before it ended.

The men carrying shields reached the lane first. Rolo went between them as the black line turned, and the first spear came so quickly that its point struck sparks from his mail. He knocked the shaft down, stamped upon it and drove his axe over the shield in front of him. The soldier caught the blow high. His knees bent beneath it, but he did not fall.

"Again!" Rolo shouted, laughing now. "Come on, you hard little fuckers!"

A second pirate struck the shield from the side. Rolo wrenched his axe loose and chopped at the space that opened. The edge entered below the soldier's helmet. Hot blood splashed his knuckles. He dragged the man forward by the lodged blade, using his falling weight to pull at the black line.

Another shield filled the gap.

For an instant the denial enraged him more than the whole afternoon's fighting. He had killed the fellow properly. His friends were supposed to notice. They were supposed to flinch.

They noticed. One of them screamed something at him, a name perhaps, but the shields stayed together.

Rolo put his shoulder beneath the axe haft and shoved. The men behind drove with him. This time the line yielded a pace. Over its rim he could see the landing path, a boatman turning at the horn, the boy being pulled behind a raised shield.

There. Let him count the boats now.

At the southern steps an arrow struck a sailor who was holding a ferry steady. He fell against her gunwale. The boat swung out, its stern catching the bow of the one waiting behind. Oars lifted in a tangle. Men shouted from both boats, each trying to push the other clear.

Rolo saw the boy look towards them.

He hit the shields again.

* * *

Jon started down towards the jammed ferries. Above him, Norren's men were hurrying from the store to join Hewyn at the lane bend.

"Hold the bend!" Jon called. "Garon, get our bowmen shooting from the loft. Then come straight back."

Sixty-four fit men had remained ashore when Rolo broke the truce, Norren's sixteen among them. The rest of the eastern force had crossed, including the spring watch. Hewyn had kept shields in the lane while each group went down. The optio had checked the places in the four reserved ferries. They could take these last men together, but the first two were jammed at the steps.

Alasdair caught his shoulder. "Behind me."

At the foot of the path, the first ferry still slewed across the landing, her wounded boatman folded over the gunwale. Aurane's broad boat was trapped behind her, rowers holding their oars clear of the stone.

Rymond's optio had one foot in the water. He pushed at the nearer bow without moving it.

"Leave that oar!" Jon shouted. "The one caught underneath. Let it go."

A sailor stared at him, then released the shaft. It slid between the boats. The ferries lurched apart, and the optio shoved the first away from the steps.

"Get him into the bottom of the boat," Jon called, pointing at the wounded boatman. "Fill the other places. Then make for the prize."

The sailor looked at his remaining oars. There were not enough to pull evenly. Aurane leaned over his own stern and caught the smaller boat's painter.

"Take my spare pair!"

The oars passed across. The optio rushed the waiting soldiers down, then caught the next man by the chest before he could crowd aboard. The ferry pulled away full, carrying several men meant to cover the others. Jon let them go. The remaining boats had room; calling anyone back would jam the steps again.

A crash sounded uphill. Hewyn's men yielded a pace at the bend, then held. Norren brought his remaining spearmen into the lane behind them. Two soldiers were trying to carry a wounded man past the spears. There was scarcely room to turn.

Jon looked seaward. Red galleys were turning towards the passage Denys had kept open. The nearest was already bearing down upon Arthur's captured galley, which sheltered the boats. Beyond her, Denys's flagship began to turn.

Brus should have reached the point by now.

Should. He had sent orders across a hill and trusted two broken ships. Vhalar might be standing over their ashes.

"Alasdair. The store doorway."

Alasdair pushed him into the shallow recess beside the landing path, where the stone wall hid him from the passing men, and stood over him with his shield raised.

Jon closed his eyes.

Hugin clung to a moving perch. Below him, a rower's scarred back rose and fell. Brus stood beside the newly fitted steering oar while a sailor tested its turn.

They had come.

Relief struck so sharply that Jon nearly lost the bird. The headland still hid the eastern landing. Corwyn's galley followed Brus; farther astern came three more hulls. Folded paper pulled at Hugin's leg.

Jon launched from the perch. Brus called up after him, his words lost in the wind. No time to circle. He flew round the point.

Rolo's northern watchers were well out from shore, turning towards the convoy. The coastal water remained clear. The nearer red galley had committed herself southwards towards Denys and the ferries; her stern faced the headland. Jon carried Hugin to the landing-store roof, then down to Alasdair's waiting arm.

The world shrank. His guard was already taking the paper.

"Two prizes," Alasdair read. "Vhalar taken. His garrison returned for our passage. Goro follows with the three galleys, beyond bowshot, to discuss his captain's ransom."

For a heartbeat Jon stared at him. Vhalar taken. Brus had brought a pirate lord out with the silver.

A spear scraped down the wall outside. The household captain pushed Jon lower.

"Tell Denys they're behind the point," Jon said. "Three long blasts will bring them in. Send Hugin to his ship with that paper."

Alasdair turned the note and added the words. Jon counted his breaths, hearing Hewyn call for the left side to hold. Rolo's laughter sounded as if he stood in the doorway.

He took Hugin once more, flying across to Denys's after deck. As the captain reached for the bird, Jon released him and dragged himself back to the pain in his hand.

That was all the looking he could afford. Three long blasts sounded from Denys's flagship.

"Back to Hewyn."

They emerged among the bearers. One man pressed both hands where his ear had been. Jon let him pass, then saw red shields at the bend.

Hewyn had abandoned it. His men now stood across the narrower lane between the loft and store, barely a dozen paces from the path down to the boats.

"I told you to hold the bend." Rolo was that much nearer the steps.

"And who would carry them?" Hewyn pointed with his bloody sword. "Four shields across here. I could spare six men."

The bearers hurried past. Hewyn had made the choice while Jon sat helpless behind Alasdair.

Jon swallowed the order to retake the bend. He had taught Hewyn to judge the ground.

"Aurane's below. Send them straight down."

"Go with them."

Rolo's axe rose beyond the shields. A household guard fell. Rolo called something, and the red shields drew back a pace. Jon thought they were tiring. Two household men stepped forward to cover their fallen companion while another caught him under the arms.

One guard shifted his shield to let the bearer through. Rolo struck its edge and drove into the gap, his laughter rising above the clash. He had given them just enough room to come after their friend.

"Norren! Spears over them!" Jon pointed. "Let the swordsmen bring him in."

The long shafts met Rolo as he reached across with the axe. He knocked one aside, but the second drove him back. The soldier was dragged clear, leaving a dark smear down the paving. Jon kept Norren's spears behind the household, ready to cover the next bearer.

Jon wanted every bow turned upon that laughing face. The soldier sagged between his friends, his heels dragging over the stones.

"Keep shooting at their archers," he told Garon, who had returned from the loft. "Send two bowmen down with the next boat. The other two stay until the galley's bows take over."

The boy looked towards Rolo. Jon caught his sleeve.

"The archers. They can reach the boats."

Garon nodded and ran.

Behind them Aurane shouted that the next ferry was ready. Hewyn sent men from the rear by pairs, keeping the four shields across the passage and fresh men behind them. The bearers went with each group. One carried a dead soldier's feet against his breast while his companion struggled with the weight beneath the shoulders. Rolo saw the ranks thinning and drove harder. Norren took a thrust upon his shield and turned it aside for the swordsman next to him. The man killed the pirate reaching after it and stepped back into place.

At the steps, the optio laid the dead beneath the benches and sat the wounded between men who could support them. The second ferry left. He beckoned the third in while Aurane held his broad boat clear of the steps.

A warning horn sounded beyond the northern point. At the back of Rolo's men, someone shouted towards the harbour.

Beyond the yard, a galley's blue banner came into view close against the shore. Black shields lined her deck. The next hull followed, Corwyn standing behind the painted crab. The nearest red galley's crew scrambled aft as arrows struck around her steering platform. She had been closing on the ferries. Now her helmsman was looking behind him, and her oars faltered.

"There's Brus," Alasdair said.

Arthur's captured galley drew towards the steps while the red ship struggled to regain her stroke. From there her two bowmen could shoot past the store corner into the timber yard. The first shafts struck around the stack; a pirate dropped behind it, and another ran for the houses. Garon came out of the loft with the last two bowmen at his heels.

Three more blue banners appeared beyond the point. Rolo swung round. "Vhalar, you bastard!" A captain caught his sleeve and pointed at their landing boats beside the timber stack. Rolo shoved him towards the yard.

"Get our boatmen aboard and pull clear of the shore! The rest of you, forward!"

He struck a shield hard enough to throw its bearer against the man behind him. Norren's spear caught beneath the axe haft and held it long enough for the soldier to recover. The pirates at Rolo's back shoved forward, but only four could reach the black shields between the walls.

The third ferry shoved off. Aurane brought his broad boat alongside the steps before it had gone a length, and the optio caught the line thrown to him.

"Last boat!"

Jon looked at Hewyn. "Bring them down."

Gerralt took the middle of the shield line. Hewyn drew the spearmen out behind him a pair at a time, sending them straight to the steps. Rolo pressed after each movement. Gerralt gave ground by single paces, with the shields still touching, until his men stood beside the door Jon had ordered brought from the empty house. It screened the top of the steps from the timber yard. The path narrowed to two men abreast at the stairhead.

The last two bowmen were already in Aurane's ferry. One loosed towards the yard while the other crouched beside a wounded man to keep clear of his fellow's string. Arrows from the galley struck above them. Jon saw a pirate try to reach the open side of the landing and stumble back with a shaft in his shoulder.

"At the water!" Rolo shouted. "Get your bows down to the water!"

His archers began edging away from the stack, looking for a shot past the door. Hewyn caught Norren's arm and sent him down. Alasdair brought Jon after them. Gerralt and the last shieldmen still faced the pirates.

The last wounded man lay in Aurane's ferry with a cloak beneath his head. The optio counted the men coming down the steps, pointing each to a place without letting anyone stop beside the gunwale.

Jon turned to look for Gerralt. Alasdair put a hand between his shoulders.

"Get in. You're blocking him."

Jon stepped into the ferry and caught the rail as it dipped beneath his weight. Behind Alasdair, Hewyn held his shield over the optio while the man cast off the line. Only Gerralt and two guards remained above them.

Gerralt's borrowed shield split across its boss beneath Rolo's axe. He thrust over it, forcing the pirate to pull his head back, and shouted to the guards. They heaved the door sideways into the passage. Its edge struck the nearer wall and jammed across the way. A pirate caught it before it fell; the men behind him crashed into his back.

The guards came down the steps with Gerralt behind them. A boatman held the ferry against the steps with his pole until the last man jumped. Aurane put the tiller over.

"Push! Give me room for the oars!"

The pole scraped stone. The ferry swung clear, and the rowers pulled. Above them the door fell with a crash. Rolo came through it, dragging a man out of his way, but the first stroke had already carried the boat beyond his reach. An arrow struck a raised shield. Another skipped from the water beside Jon's hand.

Jon looked back. Rolo stood on the steps, shouting for his bowmen, axe in hand. Behind him the fort gate remained open, the stores standing, the jars unlit. The island was his to take.

Jon turned towards Denys's ship and put his sound hand beneath a wounded man's shoulder.

* * *

The pirate captain had driven his rowers back to the stroke. His galley came on again, turning across the water between Denys and the landing.

An arrow struck the man beside her steering oar. He fell across its shaft. Another glanced from the stern rail, and the helmsman ducked, leaving the great oar to drag.

Denys looked past her.

The two western prizes drew in behind her, a blue banner above the nearer ship's black shields. On the slower second galley, a red crab flashed upon a knight's shield. Farther north, Goro's three fighting galleys held beyond bowshot, clear of the passage along the coast.

Denys stared. "Brus."

Arthur had seen them. "Those are Corwyn's colours."

Thirty swords and two scouts had gone into the hills; now their ships came at the pirates' backs. Denys could see scarcely half a dozen black shields on either deck.

"Forward together," he told the mate. "Bring us alongside that bastard. Keep our inshore side clear."

The mate bawled the stroke. The flagship moved, her bow rising through the wash of the nearest galley. Denys pointed towards the shore. Aurane's broad ferry had left the steps. Shields crowded her gunwale; a pale head showed between two of them. Jon was aboard.

The pirate captain saw the ferry too. He shouted towards his steering platform, urging his galley across the water the little boat would have to cross. The helmsman hauled the fallen man off his oar. Behind him, Brus's bowmen loosed again.

"Stay on him," Denys said. "He doesn't get round our stern."

An arrow took one of Malcolm's bowmen beneath the jaw. He sat down hard against the rail, both hands closing upon the shaft. The bowman beside him reached out, then looked at Arthur.

"Keep shooting," Arthur told him.

The man turned back with his mouth twisted. Denys gripped the rail, watching the pirate captain point his sword at Aurane's boat. All afternoon he had shown his hooks and let other ships keep him safe. Denys wanted to put a spear through him.

"Steady," he said, before the mate could ask him how much closer. Then, as the hulls drew together, "Oars in! Both sides. Leave room for the ferry."

The mate passed the order. Oars scraped inboard, and the flagship glided against the pirate. Wood grated along her outer side. The enemy rowers had been too slow; two of their shafts broke between the hulls, their splintered ends springing above the rail. A hook flew over Denys's forward deck and caught. Another fell among the shields. Malcolm stamped a foot upon its line while a soldier hacked at the rope.

"Archers, stern!" Arthur called. "Keep their helmsman down."

He left the forward deck and came aft. At the inshore rail a sailor was leaning out with a boathook, trying to catch Aurane's ferry as the ships' wash pushed her away.

"Not her gunwale," Arthur said. "The rope. Take the rope."

The boatman Aurane had chosen threw it. The coil struck the flagship's side and dropped. Arthur put his shield down, caught the line with both hands and hauled. His face whitened. A sailor took the strain beside him, then another, bringing the loaded ferry beneath the rail.

"Make her fast fore and aft," Denys said. "Don't let her swing under us."

The ship lurched. On the outer side, pirates came over the damaged rail.

Malcolm met the first with two spearmen. Their points drove him backwards into the man climbing after him, but a third dropped farther aft, beside the mast. One of the legionaries turned to face him. The pirate's sword went under the shield and into his belly.

Arthur snatched up his own shield.

The swordsman pulled his blade free and came at him, his next cut already rising. Arthur stepped inside it. His shield rim caught the man's wrist; his point entered beneath the lifted arm. He drew back as the pirate folded, turning towards a second man whose axe was coming over his head.

Denys saw the blow coming and thought it must strike the injured shoulder. Arthur gave it the shield's sloping edge. The axe skidded down, wrenching his arm low, but his sword was already moving beneath it. He cut the man's forward knee and, as he fell, drove the point into his throat.

The third pirate had a short spear. He thrust over his dying fellow, using the body to keep Arthur back. Arthur's blade struck the shaft aside. He did not follow it. He waited while the spearman dragged the point round for another thrust, then advanced as Malcolm's nearest soldier raised a shield against it. The spearhead struck black-painted wood. Arthur went past the shield's edge and cut across the pirate's exposed neck.

Three men lay between him and the mast. He had barely crossed the width of the deck.

"Arthur!" someone roared.

The name ran forward. Men who had been looking back towards the ferry turned their shields upon the outer rail again. Malcolm shoved one into place beside him, and they drove at the boarders together.

Arthur paused, sword low. His shield arm shook as he lifted it. He drew breath through his teeth, then went to help Malcolm hold the crossing.

The mate caught Denys's sleeve. "The ferry."

Jon was still below, pushing a wounded man towards the sailors reaching down. Alasdair braced a shield over both of them. Men were climbing the short ladder one at a time; there was no room to hurry them without putting someone into the water. Beyond the ferry, Arthur's captured galley had begun to pull north with the last of the other boats sheltered beside her.

"Bring the wounded over this rail," Denys told the sailors. "Two men to every lift."

An arrow struck Alasdair's shield. Jon flinched beneath it, then put his sound hand under the wounded man's shoulder and pushed again. Denys caught the man's belt. For a moment the weight hung between ship and boat; then the sailors dragged him aboard and laid him clear.

Coming up behind the pirate, Corwyn brought his bow beside her last oars on the seaward side. A hook caught the pirate's after rail. Two sailors made the rope fast around a stout post. At Corwyn's call, his rowers reversed their stroke. The line drew taut, checking the pirate's stern. Her last three oars struck Corwyn's bow and were dragged inboard. With Denys alongside, she had little room to turn. Brus's two archers loosed at the men gathering to cut the rope. One fell across the steering platform; the others crouched behind their shields while their captain screamed at them.

A second pirate galley tried to come to his aid. Denys filled the water beside the first ship; Corwyn's bow lay close behind her stern. The newcomer turned away from the shore to seek room.

Brus turned towards the coastal passage. A man caught the helmsman's arm and pointed at the steering oar's rough fastening. The helmsman eased it back and called for the outer oars to pull harder. The laden hull swung slowly, its bow clearing the pirate's stern.

The way north was open between the fighting ships and the coast.

"Send the inshore galley ahead," Denys ordered. "The boats with her."

The mate raised the signal cloth and shouted until the sailor aboard Arthur's captured galley looked back. Her bow turned towards the point. The ferries followed close to her inshore side, their boatmen pulling hard.

A spearman beside the mast tried to stand and fell against it. His leg would not bear him. Another legionary crawled clear of the crossing with one arm bent horribly beneath him. Malcolm had already sent two men away from the forward rail with arrows in them; now he called for someone to take the injured spearman's place.

Denys looked at the bowman beside the rail and the stabbed soldier by the mast. Neither moved.

"Jon!" he shouted. "Aboard."

Jon waved the next soldier towards the ladder, then the boatmen. Denys was about to curse him when the pirate captain stepped onto his own rail.

Arthur turned towards him. The man's sword struck his shield. Arthur gave ground half a pace, set his heel, and caught the returning cut upon his own blade. The pirate had seen what happened to his men. He stayed upon his own rail, reaching across the gap, while two of his fellows dragged a hooked line tighter.

Malcolm raised his spear to cover Arthur's flank.

They could take him. Denys knew it. Another push, Arthur over the rail, Malcolm after him, and the captain who had tormented their boats would be theirs.

Jon caught the top of the ladder. Alasdair came behind him, then Aurane, last of all, with the ferry's towrope over his sound wrist. A sailor took it and secured it at the stern. The lines holding the empty ferry alongside were released, and she dropped back on the towrope.

"Cut away," Denys ordered.

Arthur looked back once.

"Everyone's aboard. Cut us loose."

Malcolm struck at the hands hauling the nearest line. Arthur turned the captain's blade, stepped back, and brought his sword down upon the taut rope. The first stroke opened it. The second parted it, sending one of the pirates sprawling. Sailors pushed with poles. The hulls drew apart amid the snapping ends of broken oars.

Across the pirate's stern, Corwyn's men cut their own grapple. Brus waved from the leading ship as she straightened into the coastal passage. Corwyn brought his bow round towards the northern point and followed him.

"North," Denys told the mate. "Behind them."

The flagship began to turn. Her outer oars went out between the broken shafts and caught the water. Aurane bent double beside the ladder, holding his bleeding palm against his chest. Denys pulled him clear of a sailor carrying a spear.

"You came back."

Aurane looked up, breathless. "I had your ferry."

Denys almost laughed. Then he saw the second pirate galley coming round the seaward side of the fight.

Her captain had abandoned his damaged fellow. Corwyn was nearer, his few black shields gathered at the bow. A hook flew across his after rail. It caught beside the steering platform, and the pirates hauled their line tight.

Corwyn's stern swung seaward, dragging the oars sideways. The rowers lost their stroke, shouting across the benches. One legionary reached for his shield.

"Keep rowing!" Corwyn roared.

Brus was ahead in the passage, with the coast on one side and Corwyn's galley behind him. His helmsman leaned on the steering oar; Bero seized his shoulder and shook his head. Even if the fastening held, Brus could not bring his bow round without blocking Corwyn's escape. At Corwyn's stern, a sailor hacked at the taut rope as the pirates hauled themselves closer.

"Hold here," Denys ordered. "Bowmen, their forward deck."

The mate looked towards the open water ahead.

"Corwyn's still caught. Hold."

Denys pointed out the pirates hauling at the grapple. There was clear water between those men and the western prize. Malcolm brought the bowmen to the rail; their first arrows made two pirates drop the line and stoop behind their shields. The others kept hauling.

Corwyn ran aft. His red crab shield struck a spear thrust across the narrowing gap. A pirate stepped onto the rail behind the spearman, reaching for the prize's side. Corwyn's sword caught his hand. He fell back aboard his own ship, screaming, and the knight set his shield beside the sailor cutting the rope.

The sailor chopped twice against the rail. Fibres parted beneath his blade.

The captain behind Denys shouted for fresh hooks. An arrow struck the flagship's stern. Arthur started towards it with his shield low, but Malcolm sent two soldiers past him. Jon waited beside the ladder, sword drawn. Denys wanted him below, every ship beyond that damned point.

"Again!" he shouted to the archers.

Their arrows struck the pirate bow. The sailor beside Corwyn drove his blade down once more, and the rope parted. Its loose end whipped into the water. Corwyn's stern swung free; men at the benches dragged their oars clear and found the stroke again.

"Now," Denys told the mate. "Get us after him."

The second pirate captain had to turn to follow. Denys brought his flagship up on Corwyn's seaward side, shielding the prize with his own hull. The pirate could come against them if he liked. There would be no frightened handful waiting for him this time.

He held away. Beyond him, Rolo's larger galley raised a signal and turned towards the timber yard. Men were gathering at the water there, their boats coming in to fetch them.

The western prizes passed the northern point. Ahead, the merchants had the distance the truce had bought, sails dark against the evening sky. Denys watched Corwyn's uneven oars until the galley reached Brus. Both were still moving.

"Keep pulling," he told the mate.

Behind them a horn called across the water. Denys faced forward.

* * *

Rolo came over his flagship's rail with blood drying between his fingers. A sailor reached for the axe. He drove the haft into the man's chest and kept it.

"The fast ships can catch them," his mate said.

Rolo looked north. Beyond the damaged prizes, three blue banners moved with the black ships. He knew those hulls. Vhalar's remaining galleys, sound and crowded with men. They had followed the raiders round the island without striking at them once.

So the little shit had made his bargain. Rolo had killed Drazen, and Vhalar had gone running to the boy.

The big black ship turned enough to show the shields along her rail. The men who had held the landing were aboard now. Rolo's fast ships would reach them alone, with Vhalar's three waiting nearby. One of his own galleys was clearing broken oars; boats still crossed between the others and the shore.

"Call them back."

The mate hesitated. Rolo caught his collar.

"Together, you deaf cunt. Bring the ships together."

The horn sounded. Rolo let him go and looked towards the fort. Whole walls. Stores unburnt. His men upon the steps. He would not empty the harbour chasing silver and leave Vhalar a way back in.

"Get our men off the beach. Leave enough to hold the fort. Lookouts on the ridge. I want warning if those blue sails turn." He wiped his hand down his shirt. "And I'll have a count of what's still mine."

Rolo watched the black sails draw away. "I'll remember that boy lord." A cruel smile spread across his face. "Once I've more men in that fort and my ships are ready, I might pay him a visit."

* * *

The northern headland passed astern.

Jon watched until the fort disappeared. After a day spent looking towards those walls, their absence unsettled him. Beyond the point, red sails were moving towards the shore instead of after them.

Denys kept the flagship behind the slower vessels. The merchants were already spreading too far apart; he sent a signal forward, and the nearest shortened sail. Jon waited for him to finish before asking about the prizes.

"Two from the eastern fight," Denys said. "Both western hulls. That makes four brought away. The leaking one stays with Rolo."

Jon looked along the line. Four ships he had not owned when they came to Bloodstone. One carried men who had been chained that morning, pulling beside others who had bargained for their passage. The rough new steering oar aboard Brus's galley dipped, rose, and dipped again. She was slow. She was theirs.

Denys returned the note Hugin had carried to his ship. Alasdair brought it to Jon. Jon read it properly at last. Vhalar under guard. The new captives embarked. Moreo's portable silver and coin taken; the heavier furnishings left. Two more dead beyond the hills, five more unable to fight.

From the second galley ahead, Corwyn looked back towards Jon. He lifted his crab shield, then lowered it quickly, favouring his wrist. Jon raised his good hand in answer. Brus's ship held nearby, keeping the pair together. A bound figure sat beneath her after rail between two black shields, one leg stretched stiffly before him.

Vhalar lifted his head.

Vhalar looked from Jon to the wounded men along the rail, then back to Jon. His mouth moved, but the words did not carry. Jon held his gaze until the distance between their ships widened.

"His wounds get looked at," he told Alasdair. "Two guards with him. No knives within reach, no talking to the rowers."

Alasdair nodded. "I'll send a boat across once we're clear."

Jon looked towards the three blue banners following them. "Tell Goro he can come alone to discuss the ransom. His ships keep their distance." He folded the report and put it away.

Hewyn found him there with the count from the lane. Four dead, eight more unable to fight. All brought off. His voice was hoarse; he swallowed and began again when Jon missed the last words.

Near the mast, sailors were spreading a blanket over the soldier who had taken the sword in his belly. They had laid his helmet beside him. A few paces farther on, Arthur sat with his shield across his knees while someone loosened the straps from his injured shoulder. He looked up at Jon, started to rise, and stopped when Jon shook his head.

Garon was asleep against a coil of rope. His mouth hung open. Jon stepped around his legs and leaned against the rail.

The coin chests were aboard. The books too, and the plate that had waited behind the wounded. There would be iron bought with that silver, more ships repaired, men trained and paid. He could see the work already. He wanted to begin it. The wanting survived the blood upon the deck, and for a moment he was ashamed of how fiercely it survived.

Hewyn came back carrying the sword of the household man they had found beside the stone store. Jon held the scabbard while Hewyn slid the blade home, then took the weapon so Hewyn could wrap the man's other things. Jon had promised to send those belongings home. He could still keep that promise.

Behind Goro's three galleys, no red sail had cleared the point.

"Course for Dragonstone?" Denys asked.

Jon passed Hewyn the sheathed sword. "Keep the slow ships with us."

"I will."

"Then Dragonstone."