The rowboats were barely visible in the darkness. Phosphorus shone from the water as a couple of jellyfish swam past them along the channel.
Was there something in the water that had scared them?
Torch light illuminated the four people standing by the boats, three men and one female. One of the men stood out among the others. He was in his fifties, tall, slender and possessed so elegant features one had to look again to make sure there was nothing effiminite about him. His face was narrow and fair-skinned. His nose was narrow and aquiline. Brown pair of eyes gleamed under ginger eyebrows. Only mouth broke those classic features: in the left corner of his mouth there was an ugly scar that kept his mouth in a constant unnatural smile. He had tried to cover it the best he could with an elegant ginger beard and mustache surrounding his mouth.
His name was Percy Alroyd.
But in here he was better known by the name Ernil – Prince.
The man to his right was of typical Ost Forod stock – small, wiry and pock-marked, and carried a long knife-scar on his forehead. He was known as Rycroft the Wretched. On Ernil’s left side stood an average-sized young man with moist lips, leather armor and the gleaming eyes of a lust killer. Silvery studs of a frightening whip stuck out from his shining bootleg.
The woman was called Avice Twynam.
She looked rather apathetic, staring at the tips of her boots. Silver and chrystal silverware shone on a damask tablecloth spread on the sand. They had had a nightly picnic at the beach – their last before departure. The remains of their meal dried up on the plates.
Ernil lifted a glimmering goblet of wine.
”Let us drink a toast to you, my darling”, he said, revealing his teeth as he looked at Avice. ”You have become the light of my life here – my most precious treasure.”
The woman lifted her goblet and touched it’s brim with her bloodless lips, but didn’t even taste the wine.
Ernil pushed his hand under his cloak. He pulled out a flat case.
”My beloved”, he said with a smile, ”here’s a little gift for my brave warrior princess.”
Their eyes met. As if hypnotized she took the case, looked at it and put it in her pouch.
”Aren’t you going to open it?”
Ernil crossed his arms. His gleaming, almost animalistic eyes drilled onto the woman.
She dug up the case again and opened it.
A green pearl necklace shimmered on a white velvet. Every small gem shone with all colors of a rainbow, but the green – from the lightest spring green to the darkest tone – was the most fascinating color.
Emeralds.
”Let me put it on for you.” Ernil walked behind the woman. He took the case from her petrified hands and put the necklace on her. Ernil was tall – extraordinarily tall. His slender fair hands and agile body denoted unusual strength.
Avice felt the touch of his fingers on her skin. She shivered almost inconspicuously.
The young man, possessed with sharp, twisted instincts of a pervert, noticed her reaction. He said:
”What’s the matter – don’t you like it? Perhaps she would prefer a necklace made out of our enemies’ ears. How would you like that, Avice?” He let out a shrill, repulsive chuckle – like a warg’s giggle.
Bottomless hatred and loathing flashed in Avice’s eyes.
The young man noticed it and laughed again – satisfied by the reaction he had managed to bring about.
”Stop teasing her, Graham”, Ernil said. ”It’s no wonder poor Avice is upset.” His eyes were like glued on Avice’s heaving bosom. Again she felt shivers – like she could feel his eyes crawling on her skin. She looked down at her boots again.
The young man – Graham Hinchcliffe – emptied his goblet. He looked at the moon.
”They should be here already”, he said.
”And we will leave this place at dawn”, said Ernil. ”Rycroft, is the cargo ready? I want to leave this island early in the dawn.”
The pock-marked man smiled with his broken teeth.
”It is ready, Master. Only an hour to load it to the boats.”
”Good”, said Ernil, looking at the moon. ”It’s well past midnight. We have time to have a couple more goblets of wine before Idella and Jabe get back.” He sat down and reached for the carafe of wine. ”More wine? Graham? Avice? I’m sorry that I did not ask you first, my darling.”
”No thank you, Percy.”
”Are you ill?” Penetrating brown eyes drilled into her.
”No.”
”Then what’s the matter with you?”
”Can you stop with the interrogation already!” the woman snapped. ”Don’t you get it that I… that I…” She clammed up and bit her lower lip.”
”My goodness gracious!” Graham Hinchcliffe giggled.
”Shut up, Graham”, Ernil said. His eyes looked normal again.
”I beg your pardon, Avice. Of course I understand. If you want to retreat to your chambers and have a lie down, please do.”
Avice responded: ”Thank you, but I will stay right here.”
Ernil smiled. He knew she was afraid of being alone with her thoughts. She was aware of it, and was anguished by the fear she felt for Ernil’s sharp intellect and supernatural instincts.
”It’s closer to hour after midnight”, said Graham Hinchcliffe. ”Why aren’t they here yet?”
”Perhaps there’s been a hindrance.” Rycroft was picking on his teeth.
Graham Hinchcliffe looked at Avice. He tried to see through her. As he was staring they suddenly heard noises coming from the direction of the gate. A man in blue silk shirt staggered out of the gate, yelling:
”Sir, there’s…”
A shadow moved fast as lightning behind the tomb-robber, there was a thud – and the man slumped face down in the water.
A sizeable figure stood under the arch gate, holding out swords in two steady hands. Wet hair had slumped on her dour face under a black hood. Blood was dripping from the blades.
None of the four moved a muscle. Only Ernil glanced briefly at one of the boats, but instantly turned his gaze at the comer again, filled with focus and preoccupation.
Avice’s eyes shone with shock and terror. She moaned quietly, and her head bent backwards.
”I surely don’t need to ask who you are”, said Ernil. ”It seems my associates have underestimated you, Miss Hell Bent.”
”Hellrien, actually.”
Ernil bowed. ”I beg your pardon.”
Hellrien stepped under the arch and over the corpse, slowly approaching the four. Avice coughed and moved nervously. She was pale as a ghost. Her eyes reflected a peculiar mix of fear, disbelief and something else – something harder to define.
Hellrien didn’t look at her. She looked first at the young man and then at Ernil. Instinctively she understood these two were the most dangerous and would attempt something the first chance they got.
Ernil’s glance at the boat had indicated there were likely weapons on it. The young man was carrying a bow on his back.
She said deliberately and clearly:
”You don’t need to wait for your associates any longer. The cripple sang like a bird before he died. I have seen your stockpile, Mr. Ernil. I have seen your ’merchandise’. The game’s over!”
Ernil’s penetrating gaze seemed to drill straight through her. Hellrien could feel it almost physically. There was admiration in his eyes – and maybe even a jot of regret over the fact they had to be enemies.
”You are a Ranger, Miss Hellrien?”
”Sworn Brotherhood.”
”That doesn’t say anything to me.”
Avice made a sudden movement.
”Stand still!” Hellrien snapped.
Graham Hinchcliffe chose that moment to spur into action. White, well-groomed hand grasped the bow and arrow expertly. Hellrien picked it up. She was still too far to reach him in time to stop him. She raised her right arm and threw her sword. It had barely left her hand when she had already switched the other sword to her right hand and pointed it towards Ernil.
Graham Hinchcliffe’s head snapped backwards when the heavy sword pierced his chest. His pale eyes went dark with horror. Tongue jutted out through teeth, and he raised his arms as to defend himself, dropping the bow and arrow. Like a ragdoll he slumped over the tablecloth and the silverware flew left and right.
Avice let out a short, sharp shriek.
Ernil was halfway to the boat and his face was distorted into a bestial grimace. But when he saw Hellrien’s staring eyes and the blade in her hand, he froze still and slowly turned back to face her.
Rycroft the Wretched stood still, motionless. The pock-marks on his face had turned into the color of a liver. He was petrified.
”Hellrien”, Ernil said quietly, ”I’ve got twenty people in this estate. You will never get out alive.”
”Neither do you, Ernil”, Hellrien replied coldly. ”There’s only four of us right here. If you don’t get on that boat, I will chop your leg off. You’ve got ten seconds.”
Hellrien had considered whether she should threaten to kill Avice, but one good look at Ernil made her change her mind. The woman meant nothing to him. Nobody meant anything to him.
”Don’t worry about what you will leave behind”, Hellrien continued. ”This ruin will be teeming with Rangers in a few moments.”
It was all a bluff. Hellrien stared at Ernil. She aimed the blade towards his leg like a woodchopper.
”All right”, said Ernil. He turned his head towards Rycroft and said: ”You heard what she said. Get on the boat – both of you. We’re leaving.”
Hellrien shifted her gaze from one person to another. She knew she was in a dangerous situation. How long could she keep an eye on them all? How could she do it in a rowboat? It would take a whole day to row them in Tinnudir. What if she fell asleep?
Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill them all, right here? Could she do it?
Ernil stretched his back. He seemed to understand Hellrien’s dilemma and feel spiteful over it.
”Problems?” he asked.
Hellrien didn’t respond.
Ernil continued: ”What’s your rush to get us on that boat anyway, Hellrien? With all the Rangers you brought with you, I mean. Couldn’t we just wait until they defeated my men and then all leave together, huh?”
”It is my duty to bring you back”, Hellrien said calmly. ”You will be privileged to taste justice the way it is dispensed by the Rangers of Tinnudir – by being drowned alive in Lake Evendim.”
”Is that so”, Ernil scoffed.
Hellrien decided to order them to move a bit. She wanted to gather them together in front of the boat so she could keep an eye on them all at the same time. Just as she opened her mouth to talk it happened.
She noticed the situation tenth of a second before it happened – and it was too late. Graham Hinchcliff, who had been lying on the ground seemingly dead, suddenly kicked her on the shin. Hellrien aimed her sword at him. A heavy club hit her on the wrist. Her numb fingers refused to function, and the sword slipped from her grip.
Instantly the fight was on.
Ernil, Rycroft and Hinchcliffe all attacked at the same time. Hellrien kicked fiercely at Hinchcliffe who had plunged towards her from a sitting position. Her kick hit his nasal bone letting out a ghastly, hollow sound, and he flew aside. Rycroft had grabbed a long sharp steak knife and rushed at her. Hellrien threw herself on the ground and raised her leg, using it as a lever. The knife swung. Hellrien’s right fist stiffened and hit the man’s bare throat like a lightning bolt. Rycroft’s mouth opened wide, he was like paralyzed – perhaps dead. But now Ernil was too close. A hard white fist jutted on her temple. Hellrien saw stars dancing in her eyes. The next punch hit her shoulder. Her left arm stretched. Ernil reacted like a cat, spun around quickly and Hellrien’s cruel strike only grazed his side. Had it hit where it had been aimed to hit, it would have crushed the main arteries between his lungs and heart. But now, Ernil only grinned and attacked again.
Rycroft was lying on the ground, trying to crawl at the same time as Hinchcliffe was crawling on all fours towards Hellrien with a knife in his hand, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, Hellrien’s sword still jutting from his chest. Hellrien pretended to punch her opponent on the head with a left hook, but instead she grabbed his right arm and wrenched until his joint popped. She kept wrenching and was about to hurl him to the ground, but now Hinchcliffe was too close. Hellrien had to dodge when he was going to sink his blade to her groin. She let go of Ernil and kicked again. The forceful kick flung Hinchcliffe to the air so that he spun around mid-air and landed on the beach face down. Hellrien’s blade sunk in to him and came out of his back. He was dead.
A punch struck Hellrien to her cheek. The cheek ripped all the way to the bone, and she could see Ernil approaching as if through a red haze. She was punched again. Hellrien mustered up all her will-power, struck down Ernil’s blocking hand and centered all her strength behind her fist. She felt the impact all the way to her shoulder. The fist struck in the middle of Ernil’s mouth, crushing his teeth and gums. His head swung backwards – exposing his throat. Hellrien tensed her right fist. It was time for the killing blow. By the boat stood Rycroft – holding a sharp throwing knife in a throwing position. Avice, who had inexplicably stayed out of the fight so far, saw it, took a step forward and struck Hellrien on the head with a heavy club. When Ernil was back in balance, he saw Hellrien on all fours on the sand, fighting to retain her consciousness.
Avice screamed at Rycroft: ”Do not kill her!” She ran to Rycroft and grasped his hand, now holding the trembling knife on Hellrien’s throat. ”Ernil will do it, Rycroft!” she screamed.
Rycroft’s face was soaked with blood and sweat.
Ernil staggered next to the boat and sat on the gunwale. His shins were starting to bloat unnaturally and blood was streaming from his crushed mouth. His face was bruised with Hellrien’s punches.
”Don’t kill her, Rycroft”, he lisped. ”It would be too painless!” She looked at Avice, who stood next to Hellrien, holding a club in her hand. ”My warrior princess”, he said calmly. ”I will always be in your debt for this.”
The sounds came like from another world to Hellrien. She was still on all fours – supporting herself to the ground that seemed to be pitching. She was half blind with pain.
Ernil stood up. She glanced at the chaos surrounding them: Hinchcliffe on a pool of blood, a blade sticking out of his back. Rycroft barely able to stand. And the same applied to Ernil himself.
Slowly – almost gently – he lifted his leg and shoved Hellrien. She fell on her back and fainted.
Suddenly a whole bunch of men stormed at the scene through the arch gate. Ernil wasn’t sure who had called alarm in the heat of the battle – and when. But now they were finally here.
Ernil looked at them. They gathered around the beach.
”Load the cargo onto the boats and let’s take a course towards Men Erain. Clean up here and throw the dead in the lake. Tie something heavy on their feet.”
She looked at Hellrien pensively. ”Throw her in one of the boats. With the other one. I have to plan for her death carefully. And keep your eyes open. There’s a possibility a fleet of Rangers might be nearby. I want to know at once if you spot anything out of place in the horizon.”
”Yes, Master.”
The dead were picked up and carried off the scene. Three men grabbed Hellrien. Avice looked at her, and her face distorted. ”Will you excuse me, Percy?” she asked calmly. ”I feel sick.”
She wandered farther away and crouched down near the waterline.
