And in the very center of the courtyard stood a tall slender structure, mayhap some seventy feet high, window slits up its length, arrow slits up its length as well.
“There it is,” said Chevell, “Caralos’s aerie. From there he surveys his kingdom. ’Tis at the top where he keeps his charts and plots his raids.”
“Then that’s where we are bound,” said Celeste.
“Oui,” said Roel. “But first we need get over the outer wall and then the inner one and into the courtyard.”
“ ’Tis a good plan you have laid out, Chevalier,” said Chevell.
“Let us hope it all goes well,” replied Roel, “but like any plan of combat, it all falls apart the instant it begins.” They lay for long moments, watching the town come alive in the oncoming dusk, lantern glow or mayhap candlelight shining in nearly every house and building, songs drifting upslope. Finally, Roel slid a bit backwards and said, “One of the first rules of combat: take rest when you may.”
“I’ll keep first watch,” said Chevell. “I’ll wake you in four candlemarks.”
“What of me?” asked Celeste. “Which watch is mine?”
“Third,” grunted Roel.
Four days past new and on its way to setting, a crescent moon hung low above the sundown horizon when Chevell awakened Roel, and by the time he awakened Celeste the moon had long disappeared, and all was dark but for the stars, though a few windows in town as well as the bastion yet glowed yellow, including a lantern-lit window at the top of Caralos’s tower.
Celeste yawned and asked, “What is the count?”
“Two candlemarks after mid of night,” said Roel, now stepping back to the ridge and peering starwise.
Celeste slowly shook her head. “Ah, you trickster, you’ve cheated me out of my watch, for Armond and the crew are to-”
“My love, waken Chevell,” said Roel. “I see the shadow of Armond’s arrival.”
And even as Chevell and Celeste came to the ridge,
’round the shoulder of the cove in the glimmering starlight came the dark shape of the sloop under full sail, dark blots in tow-dinghies, the trio knew.
“Quick,” snapped Roel, “our gear.”
Down the back of the ridge they darted, to snatch up rope and grapnels and weaponry and other such. And by the time they reached the crest again, the sloop was blazing in flames as amid the pirate fleet it sailed.
From somewhere below there came the clanging of an alarm gong, and on the fortress walls, horns blew.
“Fire ship! Fire ship!” came the repeated cry. And in the light of the burning sloop, dinghies rowed for the outlying craft, and men from the Eagle threw torches aboard other dhows, with wads of oil-soaked brush following.
The entire bay now came alight with blazing flame, the center of the fleet afire as the raging unmanned sloop crashed in among the corsairs.
Pirates ran down to the docks, cursing, raving, weapons in hand. They were met by volleys of arrows from the archers aboard the dinghies.
And as alarms rang and horns sounded- chnk! — the tines of a padded grapnel hooked onto the ten-foot-high outer wall at the rear of the fortress.
Up onto this beringing bulwark clambered a trio of dark shadows, their faces smudged with black streaks.
Down the other side they scrambled, leaving a rope in place in case of need, for none patrolled this wall, and discovery of the line unlikely. Across the killing ground they slipped, nought but wraiths in the dark. They sped to one corner of the fortress, for there free-climbing would be easiest. And up they clambered, Roel in the lead, Celeste coming last.
Up the rough stonework they scaled, passing by arrow slits in the wall, darkness and silence within. Up they clambered and up, now and again slowed by a bit of smooth work. Finally, they neared the top, where Roel in the lead motioned the others to stillness, and they all clung to the stone without moving, for running footsteps clattered nigh. Cursing voices grew louder, along with the thud of boot. Lantern light shone brighter and brighter, and with their hearts hammering ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 143
in their throats, the trio pressed themselves against the stone, as all ’round the darkness faded. Directly above on the wall the glow passed, and then sped beyond, voices and light fading as the pirates loped onward.
Celeste exhaled, noting for the first time that she had been holding her breath. When the patrol was but a distant scuffle, upward Roel climbed, to slip over the parapet and onto the walkway above. Looking left and right as he slid Coeur d’Acier from its sheath across his back, he turned about to motion the others up, to find Chevell hoisting Celeste onto the banquette. They cast their cloak hoods far over their heads, for they would not have any see just who they were, strangers within the hold. Chevell drew a cutlass, and Celeste whipped the bow from her back and nocked an arrow.
Chevell took the lead, and down a spiral stair within the fortress wall he led them: one storey, two storeys, three storeys, and more. Five in all he descended, and out into the courtyard they passed, the place a turmoil of men and horses, some shouting commands as massive gates were opened.
Ignoring the pirates, across the courtyard they dashed, merely three more rovers amid others running.
To the central tower they sped, and Chevell led them in through doors flung wide.
Now up a spiral stair they scrambled, the flight turning deasil, ever rightward, the stair giving advantage to right-handed defenders against right-handed foe. Past doors and chambers and arrow slits they wound, seven flights in all, passing through trapdoors flung back as to each storey they came.
Finally they reached the top, and Chevell led them into the chamber therein. A large, swarthy man stood at an open casement, peering out at the flaming chaos in his harbor below. Behind him a cloth map lay open on a table.
To one side in the shadows of the chamber stood someone else, dark and nearly invisible.
The large, swarthy man turned when the trio entered the room. Momentarily he frowned, his pitted face twisted in puzzlement.
“Caralos,” said Chevell, casting back his hood.
The man’s dark eyes widened in recognition and then he spat, “Chevell.”
“The day has come,” said Chevell, raising his cutlass.
As Caralos sprang to take a like cutlass from the wall, Celeste drew her arrow to the full.
“Nay,” barked Chevell. “He is mine.” Even as Caralos took the weapon in hand, the person in the shadows started toward the table, where lay the map.
“Non,” gritted Roel, raising Coeur d’Acier and moving between the chart and the shadowed being. And then Roel gasped, “You!” And as Roel sprang forward, the man in the black cloak whirled ’round and ’round, red limning flashing in his gyres. “Yah!” shouted Roel, Coeur d’Acier slicing through the air, to meet nothing whatsoever, for the being had vanished, even as Celeste’s arrow shattered against the stone chamber wall beyond where the man had been but an instant before.
Cursing, Roel slashed at the shadows, but his blade clove only darkness.
Chang! Bronze clanging on bronze, back and forth lunged Chevell and Caralos, swords stroking and counterstroking, parrying and riposting and drawing apart.
They closed and hammered at one another, and Chevell jumped inward and smashed Caralos with the bronze basket hilt of his cutlass. Caralos staggered back, but then lunged forward again. And in that moment, Chevell spitted him through. Caralos stood an instant, his eyes wide in wonder as he gaped down at the blade.
And then he fell dead, even as Chevell jerked his weapon free.
“You’re bleeding,” said Celeste.
“He got me across the forehead,” said Chevell, blood running down.
Celeste quickly examined the cut. “A slight flesh wound; it looks worse than it is.”