Llyniel turned disbelieving eyes to Handir who was cradling his hand, but there was no time to see to it. “He’s blocking the door!” she shouted, grabbing a nearby water pitcher as she made for the other side of the unconscious pirate. They needed to drag him out, but she could hear another running towards the open door.
She stood and swung the pitcher madly before her. A yelp and then the body swerved and ducked under the arcing jug. Fel’annár’s hood flew off, and Llyniel’s eyes widened.
“Bugger!” she cried as she watched him drag the pirate away and close the door. With the table firmly wedged under the door handle, he turned to Handir and Llyniel, pulling his hood back up.
“Take the chest to the back—hide it and stay there, both of you!”
They weren’t going to argue. They pushed it beyond the beds, into the furthest corner and then crouched in the shadows. They jumped at the sound of crashing glass, and Handir peered out from around the curtain.
“They’re getting in!”
One pirate had driven the pommel of his sword through a window in the parlour and kicked what remained of the glass out of his way. Making to duck inside, he came face to face with Fel’annár, who brought his foot up and kicked him in the chest, sending him reeling. Another two charged at the now broken window, but there was something about them, in the set of their bodies, the way they held their blades.
Not pirates.
Fel’annár swung his shortsword upwards as he moved sideways, slicing through a leather harness. His opponent fought well, but Fel’annár pivoted, feigned left and ran his sword through his attacker’s chest and then ducked under the arcing sword of his companion. Standing once more, they fought but Fel’annár was too quick. In three blows, the other warrior lay dead.
He turned, startled at how close Llyniel and Handir were to the window. Too close. Perhaps they had thought to help him.
“Back!” he shouted, and then reeled to one side as something smashed into his head. Llyniel screamed, and Fel’annár rolled over the floor, bringing his feet upwards and tripping his strapping opponent before he could skewer him. His attacker crashed to the floor beside him and Fel’annár sunk his knife through leather, into his heart.
Something shattered, and Fel’annár turned, saw the broken pottery in Llyniel’s hands. A pirate’s head was poking through the window, but he slowly sank to the ledge below, coming to hang over it, unconscious. Handir kicked him away.
“Shit,” muttered Fel’annár, and staggered to one side to avoid the mad onslaught of another roaring pirate, desperate for the chest and the jewels he thought were inside. They turned to face each other. Fel’annár ducked a punch, blocked another with his forearm and smashed his fist into the face before him. Not hard enough, and before he could swing another, the pirate bunched his fists into his tunic, turning him and slamming him into the wall. Air rushed from his lungs, but still, he turned and smashed his forehead into the pirate’s nose. The pressure was gone, and Fel’annár kicked him in the stomach, leaving him gasping for air on all fours. Then Handir brought a washbowl down onto his head with a hollow thunk.
Gor’sadén, Pan’assár and Tensári stumbled through the half-blocked door, skidding to a halt over shards of glass. The commanders’ eyes flicked from Fel’annár to Llyniel to Handir, who stood with the half-ruined bowl still in his hands.
Fel’annár’s head was smarting, hands stinging from cuts and bruises, but Handir’s face and Llyniel’s gleaming eyes suddenly struck him as funny. Fel’annár chuckled. Llyniel snorted, and Handir smiled as he dropped the bowl and walked towards his brother. Fel’annár’s chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh and Llyniel was off, her deep peels setting Handir off. Throwing back his head, the prince laughed as he had not done for decades, and one hand came up to Fel’annár’s shoulder. He, in turn, laid his hand on Llyniel’s. The circle of laughing elves stood amidst broken glass, splintered wood and groaning pirates.
And mercenaries.
Idernon barrelled into the room, the rest of The Company behind him, eyes wide until they frowned and raised their eyebrows at the unlikely scene. Idernon searched the dead and wounded bodies, straining his memory.
“I recognise this one. He was swabbing the decks, and yet now he wears vambraces.” He wandered to another, a curved blade at his side. “And this one was cleaning the chains. A strange pastime for one who wields a scimitar.”
“Mercenaries,” declared Pan’assár.
Replacing his hood, Pan’assár bent and retrieved one of Fel’annár’s throwing knives. Offering it to him hilt first, his heavy gaze lingered on Gor’sadén’s Disciple. He nodded slowly, and then turned on his heels. “We leave. Now. Hoods up. Carodel, Galdith, get the chest. Galadan, lead us to the boats. There may be more where these came from. We need to get out of here. Fast.”
Moments later, they were striding past the mariners as they pushed dead pirates over the side and saw to their own. Llyniel’s eyes lingered on the wounded, on those she knew would die if they were not treated soon. But Pan’assár was leading them on, oblivious to everything save the safety of their group, the integrity of Handir’s chest and Or’Talán’s diary.
They climbed down the rope ladders one by one, carefully avoiding the areas where pig fat had smeared over the hull. As they rowed to shore, Fel’annár broke the tense silence.
“There must have been too few of them. They took advantage of the attack to try and finish the job. Do you think they were the same mercenaries that followed us along the cliffs?”
“It seems likely,” said Pan’assár. “But they are surely not from the same group that attacked us on the river. That tells us there is more than one group after us. Port Helia will be riddled with them. A busy street, a crowded tavern, a drunkard with a knife … we must find the quickest way around it. Still, perhaps those pirates were a blessing in disguise. Whatever danger awaits us at Port Helia, it will be before us, not behind. We can use that to our advantage.”
As night fell, their small boat approached the torch-lit piers of Port Helia. This was Ea Uaré, and the soldiers they met would be under Pan’assár’s command. He would be easily recognised, his presence a guarantee of Prince Handir’s return, of Fel’annár’s presence in the Forest. They had to keep their anonymity and find a safe place to rest, see to their wounds and trace out the path ahead. Find horses.
The commander threw a thick rope to a boy who stood on the peer. Grabbing it deftly, he made a knot and held out his hand. Once on shore, the commander placed a coin in his hand and watched as he ran to the next post to receive another boat that was coming to shore.
“Stay alert and silent,” he murmured—but no sooner had they started on the path down the pier, than three warriors appeared before them.
“State your purpose and destination.”
Ramien and Galdith carefully deposited the chest on the ground.
“We are merchants, seeking a place to stay,” said Pan’assár.