Rocky Crag
Copyright© 2016 by Gina Marie Wylie
Chapter 2
Keir Tragon walked through the carnage he’d wrought, stopping at the entrance to the royal apartments.
One of his underofficers bowed low before him. “My lord.” The underofficer gestured forward. “This way.”
“I know the way,” Keir spoke with arrogant disdain. They’d built a model of this place; years of intelligence work going into it.
He walked the last few feet to the royal apartments and saw the woman’s body inside. “Take the head,” he ordered as he’d ordered three times before; men moved with alacrity to obey their lord.
The underofficer gestured at one of the inner doors. “My lord, we found no one else in the apartments.” He waved at an interior door. “That door, however, was locked from the inside. There was no one in the room. We’ve searched for secret passages, but without success.”
Keir walked to the door and into the room.
The room was a mess. His men had not been gentle with their search. Thorough, but not gentle. The room of a girl, no doubt.
With no secret passage, he went at once to the windows.
“They are latched from the inside,” the underofficer reported.
Keir opened one of the windows and looked out over courtyards and gardens. A narrow ledge ... it would suffice. He closed the window again, saying nothing. He went to the next, and then smiled slightly when he opened it. Indeed so, this latch was different from the other. It was beveled. He pulled the window shut, and the spring-loaded latch slid home as the window locked into place.
“This suffices,” Keir told the man, attentive to his least whim.
He turned to the under-officer. “Have this head and those of the others staked in front of the palace gate, far enough off so that they won’t be roasted by the fire.”
“We did not find either of the daughters,” the under-officer said, wanting to be clear.
“Find the body of a blonde girl, eighteen or nineteen, and take the head. Hack her face, four or five times. Stake the head with the others.” He waved to one of his guards. “Give the order, fire the palace. Everyone back to the ships.”
Speed had been a necessity for the deed, speed and power. Now, the raiders would vanish out to sea, leaving fear and panic in their wake. With luck, one of the daughters survived; with great luck, they both had. Best of luck: the one survivor would be the younger, the one who did not want to rule. That all in the Land knew did not want to rule.
But, the deed was sufficient. Destroying this place would leave a mark on the Land that would not be soon forgotten. And each and every time these fat, spineless worms thought about it, they would fear the Shastri. Quite sufficient!
Lord Tragon walked out to the main gate, ignoring the mounds of bodies. A good many of his men died here, more even, than Keir would have imagined. The soldiers of the Land had fought well, even if they were weak, unprepared, and mostly unarmed. Even some of the women had fought, and that had been a small surprise. Yes, the stories of the S’Harris included brave women who fought alongside their men, but who would have credited that it was true? Not Shastri! Shastri women stayed at home, having babies as good Shastri women should!
One of the ship officers came running up. “Lord, a small ship has escaped the bay! Lord Shalakien has sent Captain Vulmir and Sea Wind in pursuit.”
Keir looked at the naval officer with mild distaste. The men of the sea held small respect for those who didn’t follow their calling ... that and they were notional. “I hope this Captain Vulmir is aware of my instructions. A strong pursuit ... that fails. It had better fail.”
The ship officer nodded. “Those were our instructions, Lord. Lord Shalakien messaged a reminder to Captain Vulmir as he made sail.”
Keir looked back at the palace, at the pyre he had made. He watched for a few seconds, then turned back to the ship officer. “Tell Shalakien to ready his ship to follow this Captain Vulmir. We are finished here.”
Keir waved at the two dozen ships anchored off the Sea Gate. “The rest are to return home at once. Tan’da’drek must not learn that there is hardly anything between them and their heart’s greatest desire.”
The other nodded, moved away, calling a signalman.
Later, in mid-afternoon, Keir went on the flagship’s deck. Men went about their incomprehensible tasks, keeping the ship on course.
Shalakien, the naval commander of the raid, was on his bridge, standing impassive, staring forward. He saw Keir and waved him over. “Vulmir is about an hour or so ahead of us, six miles.”
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