On the Black Wind to Baldairn Motte

Part 18.

It was raining gently and with the cloud cover it was nearly as dark outside as below deck. Lyrie hurried to the railing and dropped her britches to piss into the river water below. As she sat there, hanging over the rail, she saw that all of the sailors were sleeping up on the stern castle deck and that one of them was standing watch, looking right at her. Her heart skipped a beat for a moment—unless he thought her to be shitting over the side, he would know she was a girl—but then she decided she didn't care if he knew. He was Terryll's man, and if she wasn't mistaken, it was Terryll's first mate and he probably already knew.

Either way, Lord Klaye was oblivious to the sailors and merely stood by bleary-eyed watching Lyrie finish pissing. "Go below," he said when she was done.

"You don't want me to wait for you?"

"I have to shit. I don't need you watching me."

Lyrie moved away and he watched her only for a moment before dropping his trousers and pulling himself up onto the ship rail. Lyrie glanced back once to make sure he wasn't paying attention, then climbed down the ladder to the aft cabins instead of the cargo hold. At the bottom of the steps she stopped to listen for signs that she had roused anyone. There were only the sounds of the boat rocking, though, so she grabbed the door latch to Terryll's cabin and pushed it open as slowly as she could manage. When it was open enough for her to squeeze through she slipped inside and turned to let the door close in the same manner, but suddenly found a dagger at her throat.

Lyrie froze. "It's me."

"Ordryn's Cunny," Terryll whispered, lowering the dagger. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, but I had to get away from him."

Terryll grabbed her and held her close, his heart still thumping at having been awoken so abruptly. "I know, Lyrie, but you should've stayed put. The Earl means to leave you onboard with me when we reach Gildan's Sprite, and then we'll all be safe and clear. Until then, you have to play this game of theirs, pretending to be his nephew. The Earl needs Klaye to lead him somewhere."

"It's a trap, Terryll. He's going to betray the Earl."

"What?"

"I'm not sure how, but he's arranged something with Sturm Galkmeer."

Terryll gritted his teeth. "That filthy blackspur. We have to warn the Earl. Do they know you've snuck away?"

"Everild is sleeping, and Lord Klaye is shitting—"

A shout rang out from up on deck.

Terryll pushed Lyrie aside with a curse, and rushed out the door. "Stay there!" he yelled at her, and then he was on deck with two lunges up the ladder, just in time to see Everild standing over Alwyn's prostrate form, about to strike with his massive mace.

"No!" Terryll yelled.

Everild paused a moment, long enough for Terryll to push him aside and kneel over his first mate. "Alwyn. Alwyn!" Alwyn's eyes were open but unfocused. The side of his head was caved in and blood oozed out onto Terryll's hands. "What happened?"

Lord Klaye stepped forward to stand beside Everild. "The rat-spear tried to slit my throat and push me overboard."

"Move aside," Everild told Terryll. "He will die for his treachery." Terryll ignored him. "What did you do, Alwyn?"

Alwyn still could not see, but he focused on Terryll's voice.

"Sorry, Cap'n...just wanted, to kill...little bardache...didn't hear other one sneaking up behind."