Stormed Fortress

Stormed Fortress Read Free Page B

Book: Stormed Fortress Read Free
Author: Janny Wurts
Tags: Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Speculative Fiction
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assumed his post in the bow and pronounced the craft ready to board.
    Since danger was unlikely to change the granite set to the Lord Commander ' s intent, the galley ' s master stepped back, his face creased with concern under the glow of the deck-lamp. ' Fare safely, then, and may the Light ' s blessing guard you until your return. '
    Sulfin Evend snapped off a nod, then strode to embrace the poised jaws of his fate.
    Settled in the boat, he claimed a seat in the stern, where his anxious, hatchet-nosed equerry awaited, clutching his hobnailed boots. ' I ' ve brought your cloak, ' the servant added with diffidence. ' The night wind has a bite. '
    The Light ' s Lord Commander clapped the man ' s shoulder as thanks, while the reluctant rowers threaded their looms into the rowlocks, and slashed into black water with the launching stroke. The prow of the boat knifed into the darkness, towards the restless thread of cream surf and the stark shore of Sanpashir.
    A landing through snags of rock and tumbling breakers taxed the seamanship of the men, accustomed to harbour-side docks, and the light chop behind sheltered jetties. When the craft reached the strand, the keel jarred against the obsidian sands, tossed like a chip in a mill-race. Sulfin Evend leaped the thwart, boots clutched to his chest, his cloak left behind in the white-knuckled grasp of the servant. Soaked to the waist, and buffeted by cold combers necklaced with foam, he helped steady the boat, shouting against the thundering waves that he would require no escort.
    Since the craft would upset if the men stalled for argument, the coxswain shrilled orders for the oarsmen to change seat and reverse stroke back to the flagship.
    Sulfin Evend strode free of the clawing surf. Barefoot and chilled, stumbling in the ebb currents, he stepped onto the wet sand under the vertical crags of the cliff head. Here, the clammy sea-breeze smelled of flint. The forbidding summit reared above, punch-cut against pre-dawn stars. Except for the wind and the tide, nothing spoke. The night of the dark moon cloaked the rock-face in secretive shadow. All civilized movement seemed far removed from this vista of primal wildness.
    Or so Sulfin Evend was wont to presume, until he arrived at the weathered rock above the shingle. He had little chance to stamp on his dry boots. A male warrior issued a challenge out of the night. His speech was in dialect, most likely a fierce demand that the stranger stand forth and declare himself.
    Sulfin Evend lost the last hope he had to soften his moment of reckoning. Answer, and he would be tagged by his town-bred, Hanshire accent. Stand silent, or try to run, and his infringing presence must provoke a lethal reaction. Never mentioning the fact that his Alliance rank as Lysaer ' s first commander, and his birth as the son of a mayor, marked him out as an enemy.
    ' I come on a mission of peace, ' he announced, and gave nothing else but his name.
    No sound attended the flurry of movement arisen out of the shadows. Eight men stepped forth, clad in loose, desert robes, with blow-tubes and darts at the ready. Sulfin Evend ' s blood ran chill at the sight. No routine patrol, this many warriors suggested the uncanny thought that his arrival had been expected.
    The man at the fore changed tongue and addressed him again, clipped as sparks hammered off hot steel. ' Whom do you serve with your heart? Whose loyalty binds your body? Whose cause rules your mind? '
    Sulfin Evend clamped his jaw. A year ago, he could have given the query an honourable, direct answer. Then, his oath to Avenor and Lysaer had not yet been flawed by the shoals of moral conflict. His hesitation drew the eyes of the dartmen, measuring him with cruel calculation.
    Courage could not stem the blank well of his terror. Yet he answered with truth. ' Heart, body, and mind, I ' m blood-bound to the land though the ache of that weighs like a shackle. '
    The leading desert-man arched his brows in surprise. '

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