“What the devil are they doing?” Gylain asked, seeing the foremost ships chasing after Lionel and de Garcia. “Why do they attack without orders?”
“They are bad soldiers who do not act without orders,” replied Lyndon.
“But they are worse soldiers who act foolishly. The harbor is chained, or at least blockaded.”
“Lionel passed safely.”
“Perhaps; we will see.”
As Gylain spoke, the fleet came to a sudden halt. As if by magic – for in the distance the cause could not be seen – the ships were torn apart and buried beneath the waves.
“So it is,” Gylain said coldly, “The fools! They cannot be punished now; yet can you ever punish a fool?”
“How is this?” and Lyndon joined Gylain at the bow, looking over the scene. “This is devilry indeed, as I have heard about William Stuart.”
“De Casanova, your telescope,” and Gylain eyed the situation for a moment, following the chain along its length. “There is indeed a chain, but its ends are held far from the ground with pulleys. Thus, it can be raised or lowered. I had forgotten William in his absence, but I am pleased by his return. For the rebels are no longer mere woodsman and I enjoy the chase. Montague, bring me a dozen men and the longboat. As for the siege, it is yours, Lyndon.”
“And the land is yours. You cannot desert in the battle’s preface, Gylain, for we need your strong will to break them.”
“You will have it: they have made the chain adjustable, and so we will adjust it. When it is lowered beyond danger, take the bay and rendezvous with the ground troops. I will flash my blade in the sun three times in swift succession when the deed is done.” As he finished, Montague returned with a dozen of the Elite Guard and a load of equipment and supplies. He began loading the longboat; before Gylain finished speaking he was at its side. He waved to Lyndon, and was off.
The longboat was built in proportion to the ship it served, large: it was thirty feet long, though it had nothing below deck. A mast stood near either end, but they folded on two steel bars: one as an axis, the second as a lock. The masts were then down and the sails with them. The boat was powered only by oars and thus made discreet amidst the fleet. By this time the fleet had seen the chain and fallen back to formation. Thus, the longboat was near the coast, and in a moment they beached themselves on the far side of Thunder Bay.
“Do not be afraid, men,” Gylain said as he disembarked, “For if death comes, it is predestined; and if life goes, it is foreordained. Therefore, courage.”
With that, Gylain started forward, with Montague beside him and the men following two abreast. The beach was of a fine, white sand, and stretched twenty feet before the trees. Yet the canopy overhead covered the sand and left it in a twilight shade; it also blocked the rain. The short, innocent grass of the forest began where the sand ended. With it came the air of the forest. Within a moment they reached the guard post: a short platform built only high enough to suspend it from the wild animals. It was covered by a log roof but its sides were left open. The men within saw nothing but the gathering fleets and growing storm.
“Montague, take six men and circle to the far side. I will attack, and when they turn their attentions to us, you will take their rear. Hurry, there is little time.”
“Of course,” and Montague, gesturing to the men, went around to the other side.
Gylain waited a moment, then drew his sword and rushed the platform. He did not yell and the rebels in the guard post were soaked in surprise. Gylain did not allow them to recover. The first – a tall, lank man – jumped up, but had no sword. Gylain ran him through, then left him to his wound. The others were treated in the same manner, and by the time Montague arrived there were no survivors.
“They fight like peasants,” Montague said.
“Perhaps, but their commander is not to be found. He must have left for the fleet, but that is just as well; for it is easier to die on sea than on land.”
They walked as they spoke. The forest opened into the clearing in which the boulder had fallen, the chain still attached. The platform was less than fifty feet from the ground, but those above did not notice them, as they did not need a watch.
“We will unfasten the chain, but first we must move this boulder,” and Gylain pointed to where the boulder had rolled over onto the chain it held down.
He began to cradle it back and forth, using its added momentum to push it forward. The others joined him, but still it took a moment: a deep hole was dug into the ground for the boulder to rest in and they had to force it out. At last, it rolled clear. But the chain is not all that was freed: in the deep hole beneath the boulder, a mysterious figure growled at them.
“I have you now!” the darkness cried.
“By the blades of the Titans!” and Montague leapt back.
There, stooped in the hole, was Erwin Meredith. He was on his feet in an instant and flew from the hole like his sword from its sheath.
“Step back there, Gylain, or I will strike you down!”
Meredith lifted his sword and dropped it on Gylain with a powerful side stroke. The latter could not riposte, but partially blocked it and partially fell back.
“A worthy adversary,” Gylain laughed, “And one whom I have long desired to meet again. We enjoyed each other in our youth. May old age find us as willing comrades.” Gylain drove forward with a circling thrust at his opponent’s midsection. The monk turned it away with the cross-handle of his sword, then brought the long portion down and pushed Gylain’s blade to the ground.
“Our friendship ended with your treachery, but you are unworthy of my hate if you do not jest. I meet you only with the sword, and where you once felt my affections you will now only feel my wrath!” He thrust at Gylain, but the other batted his sword to the side with his powerful wrist.
“Montague,” Gylain said, “Step back, for this fight is my own. Unfasten the chain, if you must do something, but leave Meredith to me.”
Gylain gave Meredith a sharp stroke. His old enemy parried it. He struck again from the left, and again it was parried. Gylain came forward with a succession of blows. Each was turned aside. The sun, happening to pass through the darkness for an instant, hit on his sword as he did. It flashed three times. At length, Gylain slipped as he came and his right side was left undefended. Meredith jumped to the right and struck at Gylain as he passed. The latter, however, was too quick to be taken so easily. He dropped to his feet, letting the blade pass harmlessly overhead. They both reeled from their exertions and missed a beat to regain their footing.
“Look,” one of the soldiers cried, “The fleet begins the attack!”
There, not two hundred yards from them, the fleet chased the wind toward the rebel lines. But the chain remained. Montague was working hard to unfasten its latch, as it was no longer pinned beneath the boulder. The links were two feet wide: as a barrier to ships it was unbreakable. But its strength was only valid if it was secured to the land. The latch, itself, was composed of several screws and four bolts that kept the final two links together.
As Montague worked, the soldiers above were aroused by the commotion and came to the edge. At first, they marveled at seeing Meredith alive; but their love of him reminded them of their duty. They could not shoot Gylain, as he was too near to Meredith; but Montague and the others were open targets. The arrows began to buzz about their heads and one of the guards fell at once with an arrow through his neck.
The fleet drew nearer to the chain.
“Hold your shields around me,” Montague ordered the guards.
They obeyed. Yet in protecting him, they left themselves vulnerable. One by one they were shot by the rangers in the tree; one by one they began to fall.
The foremost of the fleet reached the chain. It was dashed aside like the waves it rode.
Yet at that moment the chain was unfastened from the boulder. The weight of the chain beyond the fulcrum was a continuous pressure on it, and, when it was released, the chain dashed into the air. It shot over the platform, ripping out its fasteners and tearing away the foundations of the platform. It shook, then completely gave way and tumbled to the ground. The rangers were dead before they hit. Thus, with the pressure released, the chain sank harmlessly into the harbor.
Meanwhile, Gylain and Meredith still fought.
“You will not survive this fight, old friend,” Gylain spoke steadily.
