Medalon

chivalry where I come from.” He slapped Tarja’s shoulder companionably, almost knocking him down. “You are kind to worry, but we were heading south anyway. We only make this trek once a year. By next year they will have forgotten about us.”

“You don’t have to help,” Tarja assured him. “We can do it on our own.”

“What? You, the young hothead, and the old man?” Drendik said, highly amused at the idea. “I admire your courage, rebel, but not your common sense.”

“Just thought I’d offer.”

“That’s settled then,” Drendik announced, glancing at the rapidly setting sun again. “Aber! Reef that mainsail! At this rate we’ll sail straight past them!”

They sailed on as darkness settled over the river and the nighttime chorus of insects struck up their evening song. The Maera’s Daughter slipped silently through the water on the very edge of the current. Tarja glanced up at the main mast, where Aber was perched precariously, watching for the telltale lanterns. Ghari and Gazil were in the bow, watching for any sign that would betray the presence of the Kariens. Tarja stood with Padric and Drendik, who skillfully kept the riverboat hovering between the still waters of the river’s edge and the powerful current in the center. They sailed on in the darkness for hours, in the same state of nervous anticipation, until Tarja was certain they had either passed the Karien boat, or Drendik was wrong in assuming they would stop for the night.

A low whistle from Aber caused them all to look up. The sailor pointed to the western bank, and Tarja quickly followed his arm. Almost too faint to make out, several small pinpoints of light twinkled in the darkness.

Drendik wrenched the wheel of the boat around toward the western bank, and Tarja cringed as she creaked in complaint. Aber and Gazil raced to set the gaff sail as Drendik cut sharply across the current, angling toward the opposite bank. They were running without lights, but Tarja was certain someone on board must see them as the current took them closer and closer. The bulk of the top-heavy Karien ship took shape in the darkness. Maera’s Daughter seemed tiny in comparison. Drendik eased the little boat into the bank and Tarja felt it bump gently against reeds. A small splash sounded as Gazil dropped the anchor and Aber scurried down the mast in the darkness. The men gathered on the deck and looked at Tarja expectantly.

“Can you all swim?” he asked, as it suddenly occurred to him that his grand rescue would fall rather short of the mark if his small band of heroes drowned before they got to the Karien ship. A series of nods reassured him his plan was workable, and he quietly issued his orders. Aber and Ghari were to take the bow, Gazil and Padric the stern, leaving the midships for Drendik and Tarja. It was likely that R’shiel was being held below decks so Tarja and Drendik would make their way below while the others took care of any resistance above. The men nodded silently in the darkness, not questioning his orders.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

“You have forgotten something,” Drendik reminded him. “The priest.”

“What about the priest?” Padric asked. His eyes looked haunted in the darkness, as if he bore some terrible guilt.

“Kill the priest,” Tarja said. “If we do nothing else, we kill the priest.”

Drendik and the Fardohnyans nodded in agreement. Padric seemed equally content. Only Ghari glanced at Tarja with a doubtful look. Tarja shrugged, as if to tell the young man that he had no idea why it was so important to kill the priest but that the Harshini and the Fardohnyans both thought the world would be a better place without him.

The water was icy as Tarja slipped into the shallows next to Maera’s Daughter and gently pushed out into the river. With a borrowed Fardohnyan sword strapped to his back and a viciously barbed Fardohnyan dagger between his teeth, Tarja swam toward the bulk of the Karien vessel. He could make out the bobbing heads of his companions as they moved toward the ship. The length of rope he carried over his shoulder was quickly becoming soaked, and he could feel it weighing him down as the river deepened near the hull of the bigger vessel. He looked up at the deck as he unhooked the rope, wondering how he could get enough swing up to hook the rope over the railing, which towered over him. A soft whistle caught his attention and he turned. As if sensing his dilemma, Aber held up the grappling hook attached to his own rope and began circling it overhead, letting a little more of the rope out with each revolution. Finally, he flung the rope up, letting the momentum of the swing and the weight of the hook carry the rope upward. It landed with a clatter on the deck and wrapped itself around a carved upright. With a silent nod, Tarja thanked the boy for his demonstration and followed suit. He winced at the sound of the hook scraping across the deck, but it seemed to attract no attention from above. Tarja tugged on the rope to assure himself that it would hold and began to pull himself up, hand over hand, onto the deck.

The main deck was deserted, which worried Tarja, as he hauled himself over the railing and dropped into a low, dripping crouch. He grasped the dagger in his left hand. He saw Drendik climb over the starboard rail and glance around, his beard dripping, a curious shrug greeting the absence of any guards.

Tarja pointed to the large carved door amidships, below the poop deck. With a nod, they moved silently toward it. Tarja glanced around again before trying the gilt handle. He cried out as a white-hot bolt of pain tore through his arm, leaving it numb to the shoulder. Almost as soon as he triggered the magical alarm, the deck came to life as a dozen or more armed Kariens emerged from their hiding places. A flare of light split the night from the poop deck. The small band of invaders backed up nervously, staring up at the specter of the Karien priest who stood on the poop deck clutching a blazing staff in one hand and holding R’shiel by the hair with the other.

“Is this what you have come for?” the priest crowed, jerking R’shiel’s head back. In an instant, any lingering doubt Tarja had about the fate of the priest vanished. “Drop your weapons!”

Reluctantly, the Fardohnyans and the rebels did as they were bid. The Karien sailors rushed forward to herd the would-be pirates together as Tarja stared up at R’shiel. There were no marks on her that he could see, but she looked dazed and limp. Blinded by the magical light from the staff, it was more than likely that she did not know who her erstwhile rescuers were.

As they were gathered together, Tarja realized that Padric had not been apprehended. He was to have taken the poop deck with Gazil. Was he dead already, or had the priest revealed his presence before the old man could haul himself aboard?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, a yell came from the poop deck as Padric ran at the priest, his sword held high, aimed squarely at the priest’s exposed back. The priest turned and threw R’shiel aside as he raised his arm to ward off the attack. Almost casually, the Karien Envoy stepped forward and ran the old man through.

Tarja and his companions did not waste time grieving for him. The startled priest dropped the staff and the boat was suddenly plunged into darkness. They dived for their weapons as the Kariens milled in confusion. Tarja tripped on the pile of discarded weapons. He found a sword, scooped it up with his left hand and ran it into the shadow that appeared before him, relieved that he had not run through one of his own men by mistake, when the man screamed a Karien curse. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he ran toward the companionway, his only thought to get to R’shiel before the priest could retrieve his staff and light the boat again. By the time he reached the poop deck, his eyes were accustomed to the dim starlight, although his sword arm still hung uselessly by his side, numbed from the magical blast. The priest was on his hands and knees, feeling about for the staff that lay just out of his reach. The Envoy was standing at the head of the companionway on the far side of the deck, fighting off a determined attack from the Fardohnyan captain. R’shiel lay near the fallen staff.

“R’shiel!”

She ignored the priest for a moment and turned toward him. As Elfron reached for the staff, she suddenly seemed to come alive. She kicked it away from him and scrambled to her feet. A Karien sailor behind him distracted Tarja for a moment. He turned, banging the railing painfully with his useless right hand and kicked the man in the face, throwing him backward into two more Kariens who were trying to follow him up the companionway. When he turned back, a blinding light split the night again, but it was R’shiel who held the staff, not the priest.

Screaming, she grimly clung to the staff, as if holding it caused excruciating pain. The priest screeched an