Swordmistress of Chaos by Robert Holdstock, Angus Wells Read Free Book Online

the Ishkarian shield. The sailor had no such padding, and the thing caught him below his ribs, between the curve of the bones and his navel. It sank in and came out bloody, and he screamed, dropping his cutlass, doubling over in pain. Raven swung the metal up in a great curving blow the cleaved through his neck and lower jaw so that the spat blood and died with his gaze still fixed in surprise on the slender figure of his nemesis.
    Over the deck Spellbinder had finished his opponent with a flailing, double-handed blow that took the man’s head from his shoulders in crimson disarray.
    Then the boat was theirs and they took their horses on board and cast off for Lyand. And above them, high in the clear sky, a faint, black shape whirled and tumbled on the air currents. And Raven saw it and laughed, throwing her head back and yelling her satisfaction to the heavens.
    They sailed for five days, moving north and east around the coast. The horses grew restless on the low deck, even though the sea was calm and there were no squalls to mar their passage, and the men became equally unrestful as they passed landfalls ignored by Argor.
    Finally, though, they reached Ghrom, a tiny seaport nestling in a cliff-hung cove betwixt Sara and Lyand. Sara they had passed by night, slipping by the watch-ships under cover of darkness, to fetch up in a lonely bay that sheltered them through the sunlit hours until darkness allowed escape from the Lyand vessels. They hung to the rocky short with the waves’ wash dangerous in their ears, until Ghorm hove in sigh and Argor called a landfall.
    Few there were who were not grateful for that, for not many wore sea-legs beneath their boots and mail, and the sailing had been a hard thing for Argor’s men.
    The outlaw leader was as used to a ship’s deck as he was to a saddle, or a Xand’s back, and Spellbinder seemed at east on the rolling plants of the vessel. Raven was, at first, queasy, though she assumed her sea-legs faster than most, and easier. But even so, she was grateful to feel solid land beneath her boots when she stepped ashore at Ghorm.
    The harbour was owned by a local war-lord called Titus, who welcomed them to his wooden-walled enclave as a nervous man welcomes those he feels too strong to refuse. Argor accepted the hospitality, even though he left a quart of his men on board the ship, and a second quarter spread out around the welcome-hall. Those who entered kept their weapons close by their sides, and they drank and ate with their left hands so far as it was possible. For the most part, the feasting went quietly. Titus of Ghorm boasted no more than a scanty guard of seventy men, and those subdued in the presence of the rievers, who numbered, in the hall thirty. The food was middling good, roasted meats and succulent vegetables washed down with rich Saran wine, and by the time they set to picking over the cheeses Argor and Titus were huddled in conversation like two merchants planning joint purchase. There was much secretive muttering, and slapping of backs, and finally Argor held out one beefy paw with a broad smile gleaming through his beard. Titus gripped the hand, lifting his goblet to seal whatever bargain they had struck, and Argor beamed, pleased with himself.
    Later, he took Spellbinder and Raven aside to explain his arrangement. In return for a tithe of the profits, Titus would store the looted merchandise in Ghorm and arrange a meeting with the relevant citizens of Lyand. It would mean a small loss, but was infinitely safer than Argor, or any of the others, attempting to approach Lyand directly: the city had a long memory and a short temper where the outlaws were concerned.
    Satisfied, they settled down to sleep on the straw provided by their new partner.
    Bread and mean, accompanied by wine and mugs of steaming, bitter chafa, were brought in the morning. Argor planned to rest up in Ghorm until their deal was concluded, then take the merchantman up the coast in search of fresh