by Ahimsa Kerp
The bailiffs filed out. Chancellor Bennson and the Earl’s squire moved to stand respectfully behind the Earl. Basilides looked to the Earl to see if he meant for him to leave too, but the Earl did not look his way.
When the bailiffs were all gone, Sturm Galkmeer, Lord Chancellor of Fairnlin, entered the pavilion. He was a tall man, with long blonde hair and angular features. His nose was sharp, his cheekbones high, and his lips slanted downward in a perpetual sneer. His thighs bulged within his trousers, and Basilides was reminded of how much lower body strength it took to command a horse while wielding a long-spear and shield. Sturm Galkmeer was a man who was built to be master of horses. He bowed his head to the Earl.
“My apologies for the harsh words that were said in my pavilion, Lord Verk.”
The Earl said nothing.
“I presume you can see the position I’m in,” Lord Galkmeer went on. “Until I take my rightful spot on the throne, I haven’t the power to take command of our armies in the manner necessary to take Hairng.”
“If you’d listened to me and sent a small force on Hairng instead of mustering the entire realm first you could have taken Hairng unguarded and ridden yourself of Borkyr Ernmund and the Dowager Queen both. As it is, Audwin will beat us back to Hairng. The Lord Marshall hasn’t enough troops to keep him distracted, nor Baardol.”
“Well, I am listening to you now, Lord Verk,” Lord Galkmeer said. “It’s still my desire to take Hairng before Audwin Ernmund returns with his forces, but I am not hopeful, as you say, and I know that when we meet in battle, even with our superior numbers, I will need more unity; I will need a commander who can direct the whole of our forces.”
“What is it you’re getting at?” the Earl asked. “Cut to it, already.”
“Lord Palne wishes to have command.”
“The bastard!”
Lord Galkmeer raised his hands. “I know, I know. I’ve promised him nothing, however. As much as it cost me to get him on our side and get his troops this far, I’ve not given him control yet.”
“What is it you’ve done, Sturm?” the Earl rumbled.
“I’ve told him the same thing I’m telling you. There are two northern lordlings impeding our advance on Hairng. I’m beseeching the two of you to each destroy one of them. The first of you to do so and reach Hairng will command the full might of our forces.”
“Damnit, Sturm, who cares about two rat-spearing lordlings? This isn’t some game!”
Lord Galkmeer moved in close to the Earl. “No, that is exactly what it is, my lord. And that’s why I’ve rigged it.”
“What?”
“I want you commanding my forces when we get to Hairng, Lord Verk. I know as well as you do that you are second to none in battle, but perhaps Bryndon Thrand himself, and as you say Thrand is likely lost to us. I want you in command when Audwin Ernmund bends his knee to me. I want you to be the new Lord Marshall when I’m king.”
The Earl narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean to accomplish this?”
“Lord Palne is set to march to Baldairn Motte. With these rains, it’ll take him nearly a week to get there with his army, and he’s an imbecile besides. Even with his superior numbers he won’t be able to overwhelm this lordling, Baldurn, within ten days or more. You, on the other hand, are charged to subdue Lord Ryndor. Most of his men are already with Audwin Ernmund and he has only ten men-at-arms to hold his lands, if that. More importantly, his lands border the River Ordan, my lord.”
“How does that help me?”
“Spring has come early. The River Ordan is riding high with snowmelt. If you sail upriver, you can reach Lord Ryndor’s hamlet in no more than three days. Even with a small force of ten men, say, you can take Ryndor unawares and be waiting at Hairng before Palne even reaches Baldurn. Command of our forces will be yours. Unequivocally. Palne will follow your orders, as will I. You will have the honor and glory of defeating Audwin Ernmund, you will have your daughter as the queen, and you’ll have your seat as Lord Marshall.”
“And while I’m gone on this fool’s errand, I’m to—what?—relinquish control of the bulk of my forces to you? To Palne?”
“You may give command to whoever you wish. I assumed you would choose your own Chancellor Bennson, but Palne, myself, and every other lord will honor whomever you choose.”
The Earl glared at him. “You realize how this looks—sending your two mightiest generals off on fools’ errands?”
“It’s no fool’s errand, my lord. It’s politics. Both Ryndor and Baldurn need be defeated before we move on Hairng, regardless. I’m merely accomplishing two goals at once. The northern lordlings die and you become Lord Marshall of our combined armies. Palne won’t relinquish control any other way.”
The Earl turned to his chancellor. “Bennson?”
“The greatest risk would be upon you, my lord,” Bennson replied. “I can command the troops and march them to Hairng with little trouble.”
“And you?” the Earl asked his squire.
“If we choose to go by river to Ryndor, we will not be able to take horses, my lord, but we have a score of warriors in your personal guard that are sure to outman whatever small force Ryndor has left.”
The Earl was silent for a moment. “What say you, leech?”
Basilides stood. He had been listening from the corner, thinking no one realized he was there. “I would recommend against leaving the main force, my lord. Traveling in such a small group, you will not be able to bring your pavilion, nor most of the amenities needed to properly care for your lung ailment. The physical exertion of a forced march, however short it may be, combined with the rain—I’m afraid you might be stricken by a lung infection, my lord.”
The Earl pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Basilides had assumed that the Earl’s illness was well known, but it occurred to him now—seeing how angry the Earl suddenly appeared—that the Earl might have kept it a secret, not wishing his competitors and potential enemies to have any knowledge of his weakness.
“If you are unfit for such travel, I understand,” Lord Galkmeer said. “There are other southern lords who are not so…venerable as yourself.”
“My lord,” Basilides offered. “I have no concern that your lung ailment will hinder your ability to slay this lordling the Lord Chancellor speaks of. I am merely thinking of your long-term health, as is my nature. In all likelihood you will suffer no illness. In any case, I will be at your side to do whatever I can to help.”
The Earl lowered his eyes and Basilides watched silently, realizing the position he had put the Earl in.
“Alright, I’ll do it, Sturm,” the Earl finally said.
Lord Galkmeer smiled. “Excellent.”
“How am I to find this Ryndor and make my way to Hairng, though? Palne has the Stone Road to follow at least. Am I to divine my way there, to pray to the Passions and hope they’ll lead me to Ryndor and Hairng?”
“Ah, that’s the stoutest part of my plan, my lord,” Lord Galkmeer said, walking to the pavilion entrance and opening the flaps for two men to enter. “Lord Verk, may I introduce you to my good cousin and your own bannerman, Lord Melden Klaye of Sunspar. He is my most favored of cousins.”
Lord Klaye bowed. “My lord, it is a great honor to finally meet you and help in this matter. Together we will be an indomitable force, I think. Everild here is my servant. Everild, my dear fellow, why don’t you tell the Earl of Gaulang where it is you’re from.”
Everild stepped forward and bowed to the Earl. “My lord, though I was born in Gaulang and am loyal to the south, I was warded to the hamlet of Lord Ryndor.”
“He knows the land like the back of his hand,” Lord Klaye said. “He can lead us to Ryndor’s keep from the River Ordan by way of Gildan’s Sprite and from there to Hairng. It would be our greatest pleasure to serve you in this way, my lord, and bring great honor to Gaulang and Sunspar, both.”
Lyrie was awakened by the return of Lord Klaye and Everild. She pretended to still be asleep with the hope that Lord Klaye
might let her be for the night. Sleeping on the ground was by no means luxurious, but it was a welcome relief after her ordeal on the ship, and she wanted nothing more than to stay curled up beneath her flimsy bed sheet.
The camp noises from outside had mostly subsided, but the sounds of fires crackling and a few drunken soldiers singing in the distance carried on the night air.
“It’s all coming to fruition,” Lord Klaye whispered, removing his boots and doublet. “The old fool has no idea what’s coming.”
“Much of the work is still to be done,” Everild whispered back. “And what are we going to do with her?”
Lord Klaye flipped the bed sheet off of Lyrie and opened the front of her sleeping gown to expose her breasts. “She’s coming with us, of course.”
Lyrie, her ruse of feigning sleep ruined, looked up from Lord Klaye to Everild. Everild kept his eyes firmly on Lord Klaye, even as Lord Klaye tauntingly massaged Lyrie’s breasts.
“She can’t come with us, my lord. We’ll be on foot; she won’t be able to keep up. Plus with so few soldiers, how will you keep her hidden?”
“If I remember correctly, Everild, I’m the one giving orders, not you.”
“Yes, my lord, but—”
“She’s more robust than you know. She’ll keep up. She can be my nephew from Sunspar and we’ll bring a small tent so we can be together at night at least. She can carry the tent herself.”
He pushed up the hem of Lyrie’s gown to feel between her legs and she had to fight the urge to pull away from him. His dealings with her had long ago surpassed what was decent with a respected whore, but he had never before humiliated her as he was now, treating her like an animal to impress Everild.
“My lord,” Lyrie said calmly. “I am a whore, and I’m glad to pleasure you, but I am not a slave to be dragged around—”
He smacked her across the face. “You’ll be a dead whore if you don’t do as I say.”
Her mouth hung agape in shock. As rough as their sexual encounters sometimes were, he’d never before threatened her with violence.
He shoved her back onto the ground and yanked away her small clothes while pushing her gown up to her waist. She closed her eyes and lay there motionless, determined not to cry nor make any effort to please him.
“My lord,” Everild said. His voice was strained. “What if the Earl finds out? You’ve already defied his orders once by sneaking her on the ship. He’ll not be pleased.”
“Then I’ll kill him and be done with it.”
“The Earl will have a dozen of his best men-at-arms with him. My lord, this whore is a distraction to you. We must be wary if this is to succeed.”
Lord Klaye pulled away his breeches and thrust himself into Lyrie. Everild looked away. Lyrie just laid there.
“A distraction?” Lord Klaye asked. “Am I distracted right now, Everild? I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I’m the one who has put this all together, am I not? Even while forning my whore?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You want to make the decision, Everild? Fine. In the morning the choice is yours. Either bring her along or slit her throat, because she’s not staying behind to speak what she knows.”
Lord Klaye gritted his teeth as he neared climax.
“You wouldn’t let me kill her if I wanted to,” Everild said beneath his breath and ducked out of the tent.
The sun was yet to peek above the eastern horizon when Alwyn knocked at the door and stuck his head into Terryll’s cabin.
“What is it?”
“A ship is approaching, Cap’n.”
Terryll grabbed his cloak and followed Alwyn out onto deck in the early morning light.
“It’s The Valor of Gaulang if my eyes are right,” Alwyn said.
“It is indeed. It’s the Earl. Prepare to be boarded, lads.”
The crew unlashed Black Zefferus’s wooden camels and hung them over the port rail to keep the two ships from grinding on each other when moored together and then waited as The Valor of Gaulang approached. She dropped sail thirty fathoms out and the helmsman coasted her in. At seven fathoms out, her crew tossed the heaving line. Terryll’s men grabbed it, hauled it in, and within minutes the two crews had the ships lashed together.
The Valor of Gaulang towered above Black Zefferus in the water, and even with Black Zefferus’s stern castle aligned with The Valor of Gaulang’s lower main deck, Toli Verk, Chancellor Bennson, and Captain Elver had to climb down six feet of rope ladder.
Terryll bowed his head once they were all situated on deck. “Welcome to Black Zefferus, Lord Verk. How may she be of service to you?”
“Thank you, Captain. Lord Palne has given grievance to me that you spoke harshly with his harbormaster the other day.”
Terryll bowed his head again. “With all due respect, he forgot himself, my lord. A captain is king on his ship, and until there’s a king in the realm, the only person that’s giving me orders is you.”
“Very good, Captain,” the Earl said. “The next time this harbormaster or anyone else bothers you, I suggest you use that curtelaxe of yours to remind him who’s in charge on board.”
Terryll grinned and his crew laughed. “Aye. I will at that.”
The Earl smiled back and sized up Black Zefferus. “This is a fine ship. Captain Elver tells me it is the only ship in the fleet with a shallow enough draft to traverse the River Ordan.”
Alwyn groaned and Terryll shot him a black look before responding to the Earl. “Well, she’s not a river boat, but she doesn’t ride deep in the water and she’s highly maneuverable, so if it’s your wish for us to help ferry the Lord Chancellor’s troops across the river, we can do our best. I’ll tell you now, though, we can’t hold more than—”
“I’m not asking you to turn your ship into a ferry for Sturm Galkmeer. I’ve got something much more important in mind for Black Zefferus.”
“Aye?”
“I need you to take me and fifteen of my men twelve leagues up river, Captain Payce. I’ve been assured that with the spring runoff the water is riding high so we won’t have to worry about running aground and with this offshore wind, Captain Elver estimates we can make nearly ten leagues a day.”
Terryll raised one eyebrow as he weighed the prospect. “High rivers do lessen the risk of running aground, but it also means a swifter current and all sorts of flotsam rushing downstream that can punch holes in our hull. The offshore breeze is not like to hold more than a few leagues inland. With enough of a breeze, and if the river is wide enough, we can tack up-stream, but if the wind dies we have to paddle and that slows us to three, four leagues a day with a full crew, and with fifteen of your men aboard, and all their equipment, I wouldn’t want more than a skeleton crew for fear of riding too low in the water.”
“My men will paddle. I myself will be the coxswain if need be. Can you do it? It’s imperative we get twelve leagues upstream by this time two days from now.”
“It will be tight, my lord. We’ll have to set forth immediately. I’ll need to trim my crew, offload everything onboard that’s unnecessary.”
“Chancellor Bennson will arrange a warehouse in North Port for your cargo and accommodations for whatever men you leave behind. You will be handsomely rewarded if we succeed in this, Captain Payce.”
“Very well, my lord. Let’s be off to port then and ready ourselves. We’re wasting daylight.”
The docks of North Port were nearly empty, and Terryll’s booming voice carried across the water. “Yardarms for lateen sails on all masts! All barrels of ale and wine go. Leave one barrel of water in the cargo hold for the Earl’s men. We’ll replenish the scuttlebutt from the river for ourselves. Offload the secondary anchor, any extra chain, square sails, and all personal items that aren’t on your back. We want as much freeboard as we can manage. Timms, Bemus, Evander, Langnorne, Dayton…you’ve earned three days of shore leave. Your only duty is to stay here in North Port and keep yourselves sober enough to make sure no one steals our belongings. Doub
le wages if you can manage it. Those of you staying onboard get triple wages, but you’re gonna have to work, men. Mount the oarlocks and be ready to row. Let’s move. The Earl returns within the hour.”
Alwyn picked up where Terryll left off and set the men to working with gruff orders. When everyone was moving, he climbed the stern castle stairs to stand beside Terryll and look over the now quiet harbor.
“This is no easy task the Earl has given us, Cap’n.”
“No, it’s not, mate,” Terryll conceded. “There’s nothing for it, though. If I’d refused the Earl’s bidding, he would have seized our ship and gone up river without us, and the Passions know we’d never see her again. We’ll do as we’re told, and if all works well, Lord Verk will reward us for our efforts. In any case, we’ll get him upstream, be done with him, and sail off to the south islands for a long vacation. I’m paying for dark-teated whores all around.”
“You’re a good cap’n,” Alwyn said, clapping Terryll on the back. “The men aren’t happy about off-loading the ale, but you’re a good cap’n nonetheless.”
Lyrie struggled to hold up the weight of her pack as she made her way to the docks with Lord Klaye and Everild. Even though it held only her own knapsack and the smallest of Lord Klaye’s tents—bundled as tightly as Everild could manage—the pack was nearly half the size and weight of her.
“Keep up, nephew, or Everild will have to stick a knife in your throat,” Lord Klaye remarked with a grin.
Lyrie ignored him and quickened her pace. She had contemplated running off in the night after he had gone to sleep, but there was no place for her to go. The townspeople of North Port were gone or in hiding, and her only other option was to become a proper camp whore, which did not appeal to her. So, she had put the boy’s clothes on again and went along with Lord Klaye and Everild, intent on escaping whenever the first opportunity arose.
The three of them wound their way back through the hovels and warehouses of North Port towards the docks. The rain had subsided, but the streets were still a muddy mess. Fifteen thousand or more troops had offloaded in the port and walked the muddy roads and left them a quagmire. When they finally reached the docks and approached the ship that would take them upriver, the Earl of Gaulang stood waiting for them with his squire and a leech at his side.