“Celeste, Princesse de la Foret de Printemps.”
“Princess of the Springwood?”
“Oui. Now again I say, release me so that I might tend my consort.”
“Tell me something few know of your pere,” said the captain.
Does this man know my sire? “Thief,” said Celeste.
“Release her, Lieutenant.”
Set free, Celeste turned in the direction of the groan, and in the darkness she could just make out the shape of something or someone-presumably Roel-lying on the deck, with someone kneeling at hand.
As she made her way toward the supine figure, the lieutenant said, “My Lord Captain, with those screams, surely we move not in secret any longer.”
“Mayhap not,” replied the captain. “Nevertheless we will hew to our course.”
“But, Captain, the men grow ever more fearful, for should we cross over the bound-”
“I know, Lieutenant. We could crash the ship into a mountainside, or burn in a fiery flow, or plummet over an escarpment, or any number of other terrible disasters. Yet heed, if we are to overtake the corsairs, spring upon them unawares, then this is the best course. ’Tis a trick I learned from my freebooter days. Helmsman, just make certain the very ebon wall remains immediately on our port beam. That blackness is the midpoint we dare not cross.”
“Aye, aye, my lord,” replied another voice, the helmsman, no doubt.
Even as Celeste dropped to her knees beside Roel, for surely it was him, he groaned awake. “Wha- Oh, my jaw.”
“Keep your voice low, beloved,” said Celeste.
“Celeste?”
“Oui.” She removed Coeur d’Acier from his grip and took his hand in hers and squeezed.
“I think my chin slammed into the edge of my very own shield,” said Roel. “Where are we?” Celeste looked about, her eyes now fully adjusted to the dimness. She could just make out the dark-on-dark silhouettes of railings and the helm and men and masts and sails and rigging. To the immediate port side there loomed a pitch-black wall. “On the stern of a ship, cheri.”
“A ship?” Roel struggled to a sitting position. He freed his shield arm. “What ship?”
The man-or was he a lad? — kneeling at Roel’s side said, “The Sea Eagle, my lord, my lady. Three-masted and full rigged, she’s the fastest in the king’s fleet.” From the tenor of his voice, Celeste decided he was a youth.
“What are we doing on a king’s ship?” asked Roel.
“At the moment, chasing corsairs,” said Celeste.
“Corsairs?”
“Pirates.”
“I know what corsairs are, my love,” said Roel.
“Rather, I was wondering how we got here. Have I missed an episode in my life?”
Celeste smiled. “Non, Roel. When we ran through the border, we fell onto this ship.”
“Oi, now, I’d say Lady Fortune must have been smiling on you two,” said the lad. “I mean, what are the chances that we’d even be here, faring through this perilous dark, and the chances that you’d come running through the black bound just as we sailed underneath?
Aye, Lady Fortune indeed.”
“More likely ’twas the Fates instead,” said Celeste.
“Otherwise we would have been swimming, as are the Goblins and Ogres and Trolls who were after us, assuming they can swim.”
“What of the warband?” asked Roel. “Did they plunge into the sea as well?”
Shock slammed into the pit of Celeste’s stomach, tears following. “Oh, Roel, you don’t suppose-?” Roel embraced her. “We can only hope they did not.” And as he held her, the ship sped on through darkness, with a stygian wall immediately abeam, and the only sounds were that of the hull racing through water, the wind in canvas, and rigging creaking under the strain.
But then from somewhere in the distance to the forequarter starboard, there came the call of someone shouting orders.
A shadowy figure stepped nigh and knelt and said,
“My lady, I ween you should go to the safety below, for we are about to o’erhaul the corsairs, and battle will soon be upon us.”
“Captain,” said Celeste, recognizing his voice, “have you any spare arrows? I am quite good with a bow.” She stood and slipped the weapon from her back, then added, “And where is my long-knife? I will need it should battle become hand-to-hand.”
Roel clambered to his feet and took up his sword and shield from the deck. “I can help.”
The captain rose and said, “Well, now, I am not certain I should allow Valeray’s daughter to be put in jeopardy.”
Celeste started to protest, but Roel said, “Captain, you cannot win this argument. Believe me, I have tried.
Besides, she is indeed quite good with the bow.”
“All right, but this I say, Princess: we will board the corsair, but you need stay on my ship, for from here your arrows will reach the foe, but their swords will not reach you.”
“Agreed,” said Celeste.
Within moments, Celeste had resheathed her long-knife and had buckled over her shoulder a baldric holding a sheaf of arrows. The shafts were a bit lengthy for her draw, but there wasn’t time to trim them. “Better long than short,” she said, upon testing one in her bow.
As they sailed on through the shadow, Celeste said,
“Captain, might I have your name?”
“Oui, my lady. I am Vicomte Chevell of Mizon.”
“Mizon? Why, that’s where we were bound when we were beset by the Goblins and Ogres and Trolls.”
“Ah, I see,” said Chevell. “You had business there?”
“Oui,” said Celeste. “We wanted to look at the map that purports to show the way to the Changeling realm.”
“Sacre Mithras!” blurted Chevell. “It is that very map we pursue.”
“What? The map is on the corsairs’ ship?”
“Perhaps; perhaps not. In the mid of night, the crews of three corsairs raided Port Mizon. Of the things they took, the chart was among them. We have already captured one of the ships, and our sister craft, the Swift Mallard, now bears the treasure from that vessel and escorts it and the raiders back to port to face the king’s justice. Me, I would just have soon hanged them all and been done with it. Regardless, we did not find the map on that craft; if it is there, it is well hidden. There are yet two of the raiders’ ships to overtake, one of which we believe has the chart.”
“Oh, no,” groaned Celeste. “We need that map to get to the Changeling realm.”
“My lady, you cannot be seriously thinking of going to-”
Beyond the shadow and directly starboard, someone shouted another command.
“Lieutenant Armond,” said Chevell, “ready the men.
As before, you will lead the boarding party.”
“Aye, my lord,” replied the lieutenant, and he moved toward the bow.
“Cherie,” said Roel, “I will go with them. As for you, ply your bow well, and stay safe aboard the Eagle. ” Celeste’s own heart was racing in fear for Roel, but she said nought as she fiercely embraced him and kissed him deeply.
They stepped apart, and Roel followed Armond.
Chevell said, “Bosun, ’tis into battle we go; pipe the sails two points to the starboard. Helmsman, follow suit.” Aye, aye, they both said, and as the bosun blew the command, the helmsman turned the wheel, and the ship began swinging rightward even as the crew haled the halyards about, yardarms swinging, sails turning to catch the best of the wind.
And out from the shadowlight came the Sea Eagle running in full, and less than a furlong to the starboard sailed a three-masted dhow, shock and alarm on the faces of the corsair crew.
“Ready grapnels,” cried Lieutenant Armond, a tall, black-haired man.
The corsairs scrambled: some to take up weapons, others to swing booms and tiller to head their ship away, and still others to jitter about to no purpose whatsoever in spite of their captain’s shouts.
Yet the Sea Eagle swooped down upon its prey, for it had the advantage of speed and surprise, as well as a ready crew.