by Ben Galley
‘I say we take no chances,’ Eyrum growled.
Elessi took a while to answer. Hereni saw the sharp angle of her jaw.
‘No. We leave it alone,’ she replied. ‘Like I said, there’s been too much death already. This is no time for petty revenge, as much as I want it.’
Orders bounded down the aftcastle and spread through the bookship as an echo. Lanterns were hooded and unhooded to tell the rest of the armada to give the Arka a wide berth and no trouble. Sailors, mages, and soldiers gathered at the railings and in the rigging to watch the warship draw closer. The Vanguard approached on its port side, the Revenge on its starboard.
Hereni stood with Bull at the bulwark. He had an arrow nocked on his bow, likely for the same reason the veins of Hereni’s hand glowed. They stood ready, just like the rest of the armada.
They were close enough now to look their old enemy in the face. Their decks were as crowded as the Rogue’s Armada. Archers sat in the crow’s nests of their masts, bows also drawn and waiting.
The Vanguard and Revenge were drawing level with the ship now. Hereni could make out its name on its hull: the Essen’s Jewel.
So large were the bookships in comparison, it must have seemed to the Arka as though a canyon had swallowed them. Over the crash of waves, Hereni could hear yelling. A fight had seemingly broken out aboard the Jewel’s aftcastle. The ship careened to starboard, looking close to ramming the Revenge before it came swinging back to port in an over-correction. Whatever had happened aboard the Jewel, it resulted in several men being thrown into the sea.
‘Somebody stop that man!’ came a dire shout from the Arka decks. It was followed not moments later by a heavy snap of ballista ropes. An iron bolt as tall as a Hereni burst from one of the Jewel’s open ports. It struck a lucky hit, glancing inside one of the Vanguard’s ports and eliciting a round of screams from the decks far below.
Admiral Roiks aboard the Revenge abandoned his patience and ordered a volley from ballistae and mage alike. Fireballs and bolts peppered the Essen Jewel’s starboard side. It began to list within seconds.
‘Hold!’ cried Lerel and Elessi, but the orders came too late. The Arka were now firing in sheer panic and desperation. Arrows peppered the bookships’ decks. One dug into the bulwark next to Bull’s arm, and he did not hesitate to fire back. Neither did the Vanguard officers below. A burst of fire and lightning exploded from the ship’s ports. Hereni watched a man that looked like the captain skewered against his deck by a ballista bolt.
Cheers were soon rising up from the bookships as the Jewel was dealt a final blow by Towerdawn himself. Raining fire upon the ship, he broke the crow’s nest from the ship’s mainmast to add insult to injury. As the armada left the Arka in its churning wake, the Essen’s Jewel was already tipping stern up.
‘The stupid fools!’ Elessi was cursing them. The silver curls of her hair were sodden. The aching of her heart swelled as she watched sailors thrash in the water. ‘We would’ve let them live.’
‘They had no way of knowing,’ Hereni replied.
Elessi’s face had hardened. She swiftly hoisted her hood and aimed for belowdecks. ‘Let me know when we reach Krauslung!’
Three hours later, Hereni did precisely that.
The cabin was still full of gloom, but the blinds had stayed open. Elessi had put on fresh clothes and furs. Her silver hair was tangled by salt, and with her stubbornly red eyes, she looked decidedly witch-like. All she needed was a few finches hopping across her desk and she would be one of Wyved’s witches.
‘Is it time?’
Hereni nodded. ‘We’re in the Bay of Rós. Rain’s cleared somewhat. You can see Krauslung mountains.’
‘Have you ever been to the city?’
‘Me? Once. On a mission with Farden before Kserak. Didn’t like it much. Too crowded.’
‘You should’ve seen it when Durnus and Farden’s uncle Tyrfing were in charge. Not perfect, mind you, still a city with far too many people crowded into it. Tends to drive folk a bit mad without them knowin’, or so I saw. But it was as close as it’s ever been to peace.’
‘Reckon we can take it back to those days?’
‘Here’s hopin’ that’s possible, girl. Frown all you want, Captain. Until you’re my age and grey as an Albion winter, then you’ll still be a girl to me.’
‘You sounded like Farden, is all.’
‘You miss him?’
‘As if I’ve lost a father all over again.’
Elessi shut the inkweld on the desk and covered it with a cloth. ‘No news is good news, Durnus used to tell me.’
‘And how long does it take until it stops being true?’
‘We’ll see,’ said the woman with a sigh. She stumbled against the table, enough to make Hereni dart to help her.
‘I’m all right. Just tired, is all.’
‘Have you eaten today? Yesterday, even?’
‘Somewhat.’
A horn blew across the armada, deep and sonorous in a way that Hereni could feel it in her gut. ‘Looks like it’s time.’
Elessi leaned on her arm more than expected. Because of her fierce nature and sharp tongue, Hereni often forgot Elessi’s age. This was the first time she had witnessed the woman wearing her years. She had not dealt a single blow, but the war had ravaged her all the same.
High on the aftcastle, the rain had been reduced to a resentful spitting. Ahead of them, the Bay of Rós was largely empty of ships. Smaller faerings and fishing skiffs were hauling in their crab pots and nets, eager to flee back to harbour at the sight of the Rogue’s Armada rounding the headline. Now in a line, the fifteen Scalussen ships plied the deep, black waters silently, as if their captains and admirals savoured the coastline. After all, it had been decades since a Scalussen ship had sailed the Bay of Rós free of challenge.
The ocean swell died here. The water broke beneath the iron keel of the Vanguard like a sheet of glass. Every soul had squeezed onto deck. Some had never seen the bay and Krauslung before. Many others stared upon a home they had left behind long ago, and had been promised ever since.
The black mountains of the Emaneska mainland stood bold and steep against the sea. Sharp islands caused the ships to take a wide arcing course towards the Port of Rós, Krauslung’s mighty harbour. With minor vessels scattering before the Vanguard, they rounded a cliff to finally look upon the city.
In the deep valley between the twin mountains of Ursufel and Hardja, Krauslung sprawled. Hereni had forgotten how large the Arka capital had grown. The complicated mess of white marble and granite shone in the afternoon light. The mighty Arkathedral, propped against the eastern wall of the valley, took on a golden shine at its layered peak. Buildings clambered over each other to prove their worth. Pillars of smoke and steam drifted up to the clouded sky in their scores. Beyond the city, the land stretched up to Manesmark, where smog hung over sharp rooftops of pine and slate. Hereni could smell the char of its factories and smiths. Ravens and vuleguls wheeled high above as if the city was a corpse on its way to dying. It certainly would explain the silence. Not even the gulls and rimelings squealed.
Hereni remembered a constant roar to the city of Krauslung, noon and night. If it wasn’t the constant marching or fighting of soldiers, it was the fighting, the whoring, and the drunken songs of countless ale-sodden reprobates drinking away the sorrows of Malvus’ rule. On that day, there was a silence to the capital, as if cotton clogged the mage’s ears.
‘Hear that?’ Hereni asked.
Elessi looked confused. ‘What?’
‘Exactly.’ Hereni snuck a look at the sharp scars that marred Elessi’s neck. ‘Any daemons?’
‘None that I can feel.’
They soon realised the cause of the stillness. As they sailed closer to the city, they saw how crowded the port was. Not just the boats, arranged as a thick barricade made of mast and hull, but every inch of deck, flagstone, walkway and jetty was taken up by people. The entire population of Krauslung, what was left of it, st
ood in silent welcome for the Rogue’s Armada. There were no flags or pennants flying. No horns blaring. No applause or cheers for the returning victors. To Hereni, it looked more like a battle line.
‘What are they doing?’ Lerel hollered. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud.
‘Something is wrong,’ Elessi whispered, eyes widening. She slapped her hand on the railing. ‘Stop the ship, Admiral.’
Elessi’s boots drummed upon the stairs and deck. Hereni followed as dutifully as a guard. The crowds of Scalussen parted for them while Lerel called for the sails to be furled and the mages to halt their wind spells. At the bow they found Peryn, Wyved the High Crone, and Ko-Tergo standing waiting. Their faces were blank, their lips pursed. The witches’ sparrows were silent.
‘So this is our prize?’ the yetin asked. ‘Krauslung at last?’
‘It is indeed.’
Ko-Tergo sniffed the salt air. ‘I preferred the snow.’
‘So did I,’ muttered Elessi. She took a deep breath and patted Hereni’s arm. ‘I can take it from here.’
Hereni hoped the general was right.
CHAPTER 5
THE VULTURE
Beware the Goddess of Reflection, for she will show you everything you want to see, and everything you don’t.
EASTEREALM PROVERB
Elessi climbed as high on the bowsprit as the stairs and railing allowed. The bookship still drifted under momentum and power of the water mages. Her gaze scanned the crowds. The bulk of them were a featureless mass at that distance. She could only see the faces of those piled upon the ship barricade, or on the towering lighthouses that marked the harbour entrance. It was between them that the Autumn’s Vanguard came to a halt.
A lone boat emerged from the barricade. It had no sail nor mast, just a simple longboat lined with men working oars. A single figure stood on its bow in mimicry of Elessi.
It took some time for the longboat to cross the gap of water. The silence grew deafening as she spent every moment trying to identify the man. It was not Malvus. Too plainly dressed. Not General Toskig. Too short. It was Eyrum’s Siren eyes that recognised it first. He called the name out like a curse.
‘It’s Loki.’
‘What?’ Elessi whirled, performing a complete circle before she turned back. She felt needles across her brow. Even the name put a cold breath on her nape. ‘Here?’
She had only met the god in passing, more than twenty years before. Despite such time, his likeliness had stuck in her mind like a splinter.
Elessi saw Loki now: that smug air that forever ruled his face, the shade of his dirty flaxen hair, the leather coat that reached his knees. There were some differences. A sword hung at his side. Fine silver mail shone on his chest and forearms.
Elessi raised her chin to watch the longboat draw close. In the shadow of the Vanguard, it stopped. It was small comfort that Loki had to crane his head to meet her eyes. Elessi’s head was still spinning. She had expected a city in mourning, perhaps in turmoil. Not a city of organisation and simmering calm that had already chosen its new leader. Elessi gripped the railing to stay the tremble in her legs. They were already too late.
Loki called out to her. ‘General Elessi of Scalussen, originally of Leath. Our paths cross once again, as I expected!’
‘And much as I’d hoped they wouldn’t, here we are.’
The little god examined who else stared down at him. ‘I see Admiral Lerel. General Eyrum. Queen Nerilan and the Old Dragon. Strange, I had expected King Farden to be standing on the bow of that ship. Or Undermage Modren, perhaps. Am I to assume they have all perished?’
The bones in Elessi’s hands crunched as she gripped the railing. Her reply was quiet, barely restrained. ‘They are elsewhere.’
Loki’s golden eyes were ashine. ‘Is that so?’ The god roamed the broad bow of his boat. He began their duel of words, raising his voice so that it echoed across the waters like the stirring beat of a war drum. ‘How many there are of you, compared to the few survivors of the Arka that have returned to their homes!’ he crowed. ‘Those that do are barely alive. Dead in the eyes. Wounded in their souls. Have you come to drown Krauslung in blood as you have the north? Have you come to finish us off for good?’
Loki might not have had a Book on his back, but he weaved spells with his voice just fine. His rhetoric worked its subtle magick. A low and dissenting moan spread throughout the port. Angry cries came from the lighthouses and wallowing boats nearby.
‘Murderers!’
‘Traitors!’
‘Down with the Outlaw King and his kind!’
Even from the mouths of strangers, the words cut her deep. Elessi shouted as loudly as she could muster. She pleaded with clasped hands, hoping they could make out the shock and insult on her face.
‘People of Krauslung! Whatever this man has told you is a lie. Every word that comes from his mouth is a lie! He wouldn’t know how to tell the truth if his miserable existence depended on it.’
Her words were not well received. Krauslung decried her. Amongst the masses, somebody screamed, shrill enough to reach her ears.
‘He has come to save us!’
Loki held up his hands for quiet as stamping feet and voices momentarily gave Krauslung back its old roar.
Elessi felt the heat in her cheeks. Not embarrassment but rage. Inwick and Modren had not died purely for Loki’s gain. How dare this creature claim what they’d won with death and toil?
‘A liar, you call me? Blood does not lie, Elessi!’
Elessi hated the way her name sounded in his mouth.
Loki pressed on. ‘Where are our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers? Where are they? Murdered by you, is where!’
‘They are lying right next to our own soldiers! It was Malvus who sent them to the deaths, not us. He’s the one who took your parents and children from you. We fought for the same peace you now preach and defended ourselves as anyone would.’
‘You play wounded when it was you who lit the north on fire. It was your Forever King that almost consumed us all in flame. Look around you. Look at the ash on our rooftops. How the waters have risen already.’
Now that Elessi looked, she saw the marks of the war in the north all around her. What she thought was granite was actually grey ash streaking the buildings. Some of the lower piers and boardwalks were awash with detritus and bilge from high tides.
‘Farden is no saviour. Neither are you. Even though you sail into this port as victors, come to claim your spoils,’ Loki dictated.
‘We haven’t come here to fight, but to return to Krauslung in peace as we’ve wanted for years.’
Loki scoffed. ‘Really?’
‘Truly!’
‘How is it, then, that during your voyage here you destroyed a defenceless Arka ship, simply trying to return home from war? Where is the peace in that!’
‘I…’ Elessi could not lie. Even if she had been able, her silence was already damning. The blood drained from her face. ‘They attacked us!’
A torrent of boos and curses assailed her.
‘A single ship attacked an armada like yours? With your ironclads, your dragons, and your and mages?’ Loki bared a reptilian smile. ‘Come now, you embarrass yourself, Elessi.’
More cries rang out from Krauslung.
‘We are prepared to defend our city, whatever it takes,’ said Loki. ‘If you must conquer us as well, then I invite you to try. We turned away the daemons, and we will do the same to you. Krauslung no longer bows to any emperor or king. Especially not to a traitor Forever King. He is the true liar. Where is he, I wonder? Why does he send you instead, Elessi? Tell me he didn’t perish in those flames…?’
Cheers of defiance now. Elessi saw weapons in the hands of the crowds.
‘You foul worm. Farden was right about you. Malvus was a petty criminal compared to the evil in your heart.’
Silence reigned. Loki’s smile spread like butter over toast. He held his hands wide. ‘We have traded enough words. Atta
ck us, if you dare.’
Elessi wanted nothing else to do with the god. She turned to the others. Hereni, standing with hands glowing and face a storm. Eyrum, eyes narrowed as if he were measuring the distance he’d have to throw his axe into Loki’s face. Wyved the High Crone and Ko-Tergo swapped glances. Elessi could imagine their thoughts. They were likely echoes of hers: all this effort. All this death. All this way for nothing.
Queen Nerilan hissed between lips of gold scales. The steel of her glaive somehow shone even in the overcast ceiling of clouds. ‘I say we take them,’ she growled. ‘They’ll soon cower if the Arkathedral burns with dragonfire.’
‘We cannot let old grudges rule us, my Queen,’ Eyrum said with a bowed head. ‘The old war between Arka and Nelska is long dead. We need not start it again.’
‘Finish it, General. Finish all of this,’ Nerilan corrected, and Eyrum said no more.
‘We’d only prove Loki right, and that seems like the most dangerous thing in the world right now,’ Elessi confessed. ‘There won’t be a Krauslung left if we fight. And think who Malvus would’ve left behind? The young and the old and the sick is who. You really want to burn them alive? Is that winnin’ to you? Damn it if that blasted god hasn’t got a point. We would be the murderers after all, and I won’t ’ave that. That’s not Modren’s or Farden’s legacy.’
‘Or Mithrid’s,’ muttered Bull.
‘Then what, Elessi?’ Lerel spoke up. Arms crossed against her leather admiral’s tunic.
Elessi looked down at her strange council and tried desperately to produce a coherent thought.
‘We can’t possibly surrender to Loki,’ scoffed Hereni, eliciting similar reactions in Ko-Tergo and Wyved.
‘I’ve no intention of doin’ any such thing,’ protested Elessi.
‘Then what?’ Lerel’s voice rose higher.
‘We should kill him,’ Nerilan suggested. ‘Drag him from that city like a wyrm from a hole and make an example of him. End his lies and tricks.’