by Rob Bayliss
“I have heard the bridge is the ancient wonder of the Summerlands. I would dearly love to see it,” Karla said, smiling. Now is the time to make the first cast into the river and see what rises to the bait. “Perhaps one day you would show me your homelands?”
“Me?” Tuan stuttered. “I … of course. It would be an honour, Karla.”
“You were born in Oakenbridge, Tuan?”
“Not far from it. I was born in the village of Flintmeet, in the foothills near the Little Tusk, to the North West of Oakenbridge. My father held some lands as a ceorl, owing militia duty and taxes to the thegn of Flintmeet.”
Karla sighed inwardly, disappointed. This Tuan was truly low born then, and her father wanted her to “befriend” him? Still, she must continue with this charade for the betterment of the Khanate. She kept her smile fixed. “You are to inherit your father’s lands when he passes then, Tuan?”
Tuan looked down at the gravelled path below his horse’s hooves. “Those will pass to my elder brother, Tullik. He will be the thegn’s bondsman and has received training and weapons. I served briefly with the thegn, hunting game in the uplands for him. When the Empire’s muster was announced, the thegn was instructed to supply two men to the Lord of Oakenbridge.”
“So you were asked to represent Flintmeet for the muster?”
“Not asked as such. Names of the young men of Flintmeet were put forward, but once my name was mentioned, I knew there was no escape from the muster. Fortunately the thegn is an honourable man and realised the loss my family would surely endure,” Tuan said glumly. “I have two sisters; each will require a dowry when the time comes. The thegn offered my father recompense for my recruitment to the banners. It was an offer our family could ill afford to refuse, and neither could I, although it would mean leaving the Summerlands.”
“Surely you didn’t have to go? You could have stayed and been granted some of your father’s lands?” Karla said, shocked.
“There was barely enough land for my father to feed us all. To split the lands between my brother and myself would have been folly. Besides, I have always known my life lay beyond the confines of Flintmeet, even of the lands of the Gewichas, but in leaving I prove my loyalty to my family and people ….”
Tuan’s voice trailed off, remembering happy times as a child, climbing the rocky crags, fighting with stick swords with his brother, learning field craft with his father and the long, age-old stories he had heard from his grandmother. She had always talked to him of the Flint Fathers, despite his mother telling her to cease and that such talk was now dangerous. Yet he had listened eagerly, fascinated by the old days before the conquest by Taleel. Had she known of the destiny of Tuan Blackstone? His grandmother always said that she had known a Flinter in her youth.
“You were to be sent away to the Emperor’s army, to fight in a distant war, possibly never to return?” Karla raised her eyebrows disbelievingly. He is driven by loyalty this one, to his family, to his people, even to his friends and their fool’s errand. “You know that your family sold you, for a few grubby coins?”
Tuan’s mouth opened and closed. He was unsure how to reply. What she said was not without a germ of truth. His family had been compensated, but what of him? He coughed and spoke, finding his tongue once more. “Our thegn needed to find warriors to send to the Earl of Oakenbridge for the muster. If it had not been me, it would have been someone else.”
Karla’s eyes narrowed, looking deep into Tuan’s. “Well, that is fine for the Lord of Oakenbridge then. His position in the Empire’s Northern Holdings remains secure as he fulfils his promises and obligations to the Emperor, while you are sent off to fight and bleed for an unknown cause, for an Empire you hate.”
Tuan was once again speechless, having no answer to counter her reasoning.
She saw the doubt that she had planted in his heart and pressed on. Water it, encourage his doubts to grow. Break his ties of loyalty and the deed is done!
Karla continued. “Of course you have your friends to rely upon and your errand that awaits you, journeying into the dangerous unknown, far from the Summerlands so as to find Tamzine’s lover. All very noble I’m sure. And if you find him and return to Northport, you become cannon fodder for the Empire once more.”
Tuan’s mind was a whirl. He hadn’t thought of what lay beyond their immediate quest. All she said was true, he could not deny any of it, but what of his honour? He would have been lost to the shadow without his commander. Klesh had been right. Where was this leading? His thoughts were brought to the present when he felt Karla’s soft-gloved hand suddenly rest on his thigh, felt his lust for her grow.
“It doesn’t have to be like this, Tuan,” she whispered hoarsely and seductively as her hand stroked his leg. She was aware of his youthful arousal. He wanted her, she knew. “You could find a home in the Khanate Tuan. We are Summerlanders with power. My father would reward you well. Pledge your power to my father and who knows what could be yours.” She leant over in her saddle, her hand straying to his groin and his hardening manhood, making Tuan gasp in surprise. “Think on my words, Tuan of the Gewichas.”
She smiled at him as she used her heels to urge her mount forward to join her father, who was riding next to her mother’s covered wagon. Tuan returned her smile, but his face fell as she rode away from him. He pulled his horse onto the verge to await his companions. It was as they had warned him. The Khan wanted the power of the Sun Shard for the Khanate. He felt himself straining uncomfortably against his breeches. She was good, that was certain. Her power of glamour was strong; he had almost wanted to yield to it. He reached to his tunic and felt the shard underneath it. What if he could weave a spell of glamour of his own? A smile grew upon his face as a seed of a plan grew in his mind. They were not that dissimilar, Princess Karla and himself. True, the thegn of Flintmeet had sent him from his family, but the Khan dangled the promise of his daughter’s affections as a sweet entrapment to bend others to his will; such is the art of wielding power over others.
He urged his horse back in the column as his companions drew close and all the time the Skycrags drew ever nearer.
Chapter 12
Inside the cage the rat nibbled at the biscuit that had been left for it. Under the glow of the cabin’s swinging lantern hanging over the table, it paused in its meal to regard the two humans that watched it intensely. They sat on stools before the table, as the ship rolled gently.
“Just concentrate, Morcan; feel the fire inside you, gathering in your hands and throat. Say the words and mean them.”
Morcan Tavili cleared his mind, trying to ignore the inquisitor beside him and continued envisioning the mounting heat and bright flame. He felt it surge from the pit of his innermost being, flowing to his fingertips. All it required were the words of power. “Sondat ar rabicoum,” he commanded. He felt a gathering heat on his palms. The temperature climbed, he felt it glow hot red to orange, as if each of his breaths were bellows, pushing air through blazing charcoal. He needed to push to white heat, but it became unbearable. He gasped in pain and shook his hands to cool them.
The rat went back to nibbling the biscuit it held in its front paws.
He sucked in his breath in disappointment, and sat upright. “I felt the heat then, but I drew back from burning myself.” Morcan shook his head.
Braebec Conziva laughed at his acolyte’s momentary discomfort. “You were doing well, Morcan, but think. You are well trained in metal craft, are you not?”
“Yes, Braebec, I excelled in the iron tutor’s classes.”
“And would you ever pour molten metal without wearing thick gauntlets?” the inquisitor asked, his eyes glinting intently.
“Not if I wished to keep my fingers.”
Brabec sat upright. His hands swept away his black hair with its distinctive streak of silver from his eyes before he held them, palms upward, in front of him. “As you draw forth your soulfire and build the fire before you, remember to visualise that your hands are kept cool, pro
tected from the heat … don your gauntlets before playing with fire, Morcan!”
Morcan smiled and nodded, once more turning his attention to the trapped rodent on the table. His concentration was broken by a rap at the cabin door.
“One moment.” The inquisitor rose swiftly from his stool and opened the door. On the other side, the earnest face of Captain Horvine was revealed, commander of the Windsprite.
Horvine nodded his grey, close-cropped head in acknowledgement. “My Lord Conziva, we are approaching the haven of Northport. We will pass the fists shortly.”
The inquisitor smiled. It had been a fast crossing of the Mid Sea to the Cheama; the pride that Captain Horvine had in the speed of the Windsprite was no mere boast. The Windsprite had ridden the churning winter waves like a dancer, skipping through deep troughs and climbing towering walls of water that had threatened to smash it to matchwood. Morcan had thought a watery grave awaited them all when they had left the Midsea Archipeligo behind and been welcomed to the Cheama by a fierce winter storm. The young alchemist’s feeling of doom had been shared by the inquisitor himself at times during their voyage. Especially when Horvine stood grasping the wheel, laughing and screaming obscenities, as the tempest and salt spray soaked him to the skin.
“Thank you, Captain. We will be on deck shortly.”
“Very good, my Lord Conziva,” Horvine said, eager to get back on deck and ensure he delivered his seminary cargo safely.
Braebec closed the door behind him as the captain turned and stomped away. “Now then, Morcan, time for one more attempt before….”
The inquisitor’s words died on his lips as he saw the eager young alchemist had started ahead of him. A ball of white-hot flame gathered before Morcan Tavili’s palms. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he concentrated on dispelling the heat from burning him. The inquisitor looked on approvingly.
“That’s it, feel it build. Feel the words of flame in your throat; speak them as the flame roars.”
“Sondat ar rabicoum!” The words seemed to crackle and hiss as the young alchemist uttered them. The ball of flame shot towards the cage and disappeared.
The rat dropped the crumb it held. Its mouth fell open, revealing a burning white light inside. Its eyes took on the same dazzling whiteness, before all went dark and the cabin returned to its lantern-lit gloom. As the alchemist’s eyes adjusted to the change they saw that the unfortunate wee beast now lay dead in the cage.
Braebec chuckled, “As you see, Morcan, in your hands you can command life and death, shaping elements and existence as you would metal. Steel makes swords but also ploughshares. A maker has responsibility, he must be tempered. His hands can shape the fates of others.”
Morcan nodded in understanding as he stared at his hands, in awe at the power he had in them.
Braebec smiled, remembering when he had first learned such spellcraft. “You have learned well, Morcan. Some take years to light but a match with that alchemic spell, a skill you have acquired in weeks. I fear that in the coming years it is a skill you will need all too often. Speaking of which, let us go up on deck so you can view your new posting as we sail into Northport haven.”
Morcan stood up. Northport? Yes this would be his new home. The seminary and Cyria were in the past. A new life awaited him in the Northern Holdings, the Summerlands. He felt nervous; he would occupy the vacant post of alchemist and serve General Broud, the renowned hero of the Cheama. The realisation that he would soon be parted from his travel companion also worried him; he had learned so much from the inquisitor. The Grand Mage had instructed him to accompany the inquisitor in his investigation of events in the Northern Holdings, to learn the ways of the enemy and their shadowcraft. But what if the inquisitor refused his company? Immersed deeply in his thoughts, Morcan followed Braebec out onto the deck of the Windsprite.
The sky was grey with low-hanging cloud as Captain Horvine brought his vessel around the southern arm of Northport haven. It was Morcan Tavili’s first glimpse of his new home; the Imperial provincial capital of the north. To one who had spent years in Taleel, it seemed hard to believe that this was the seat of government for the huge swathe of territory that was the Northern Holdings. Whereas Taleel was vast and proud, enough to dominate the whole Bay of Flames, Northport, the city on the Cheama Sea, seemed small and humble in comparison, although her walls seemed imposing enough. They extended from the city’s edge into the sea, creating a fortified breakwater surrounding the docks and haven. Marking the southernmost point between the high breakwater and city wall, atop a wide cliff edge, was the brooding fortress of the Master’s Keep. Ancient even before the Imperial conquest, it looked like a huge, sprawling living thing of stone. Its hard edges were weather beaten by hard rain and savage salt sea. Around its ancient stone heart, annexes, wings and curtain walls had been added in an almost chaotic manner. Above its battlements a tall, needle-like tower looked out to sea.
Morcan shivered at the sight of it. For reasons unknown to him, this place caused an unease deep within his soul.
Captain Horvine lowered the Windsprite’s sails and, using the spring-driven paddles, swung out to starboard before turning full about and heading for the towering fists that marked the entrance to the haven. Cannon roared atop the northern fist, both in welcome to and notice of the approaching ship flying the colours of Taleel. They passed through the entrance, under the watchful eyes of guardsmen who paced along the arms of the breakwaters.
As they passed between the fists Morcan saw massive chains hanging down into the water. Braebec saw the young alchemist studying them as they sailed past. “That is a huge chain that can be brought up to block the entrance to the haven in time of war, Morcan.”
Morcan looked questioningly at the inquisitor. “But how is such a massive weight raised?”
“Ah, well now,” the inquisitor answered with a smile on his face, “you are in the Summerlands now, young Tavili; welcome to the land of mammoths.”
“Mammoths?” Morcan asked in wonder. “I have heard of those beasts. Are they as huge as they say?”
“You’ll see one soon enough, Morcan,” the Inquisitor replied, “and smell them as well!” He laughed.
As they entered the harbour, the thickness of the breakwaters became apparent. Morcan saw that there were windows and gallery walkways that opened into the harbour, which bustled with the comings and goings of numerous trading vessels. Morcan saw the Master’s Keep once again. It looked even more alive within the breakwater walls, buttresses and covered stairwells hugged the cliff face, snaking down from the castle walls to the harbour, like the roots of some enormous petrified tree reaching to the water. At the bottom of the cliff was a large cave mouth lined with dressed stone, giving the keep its own access to the waters of the Cheama. The cave was dark and fearsome like a huge dark maw, only adding to the fell aspect of the ancient fortress.
“The Master’s Keep,” Braebec said. “Terrible deeds have been done in that castle over years uncounted. It is said that the tormented souls of those cast into its dark dungeons wander and scream through long forgotten passageways, carved into the cliffs deep beneath it.”
Morcan shivered once more. He could well believe such tales on seeing such a place of dread.
Captain Horvine steered the Windsprite past the Master’s Keep, through the haven and northward to the harbour. Where the city met the sea the cliffs gently sloped away. They passed the naval moorings, where sailing ships fitted out for war were being repaired. Many of them bore the scars of the recent combat they had been through late last year.
Braebec scanned the moored ships, hoping to see the queen of the Cheama Sea: Admiral Carnak’s warship, the Orca. He was fascinated to see the adaptations the admiral had made to the old-style springship to enable it to better the harpoon firing vessels of Acaross, which hid under the waves. However, much to his disappointment, of the flagship of the Cheama fleet there was no sign; instead there was an empty berth.
Braebec alerted the alchem
ist beside him. “See that spindle coming out of the sea wall there, young Tavili?”
Above the empty berth, a huge wooden axle emerged from the thick breakwater wall.
“Where is the wheel?” asked Morcan, remembering the massive wheelhouses with their teams of aurochs in the harbour at Taleel.
“It is set on a vertical plane within the wall. A tall, wide walkway traverses the inside of that sea wall,” the inquisitor said. “Instead of aurochs, a single mammoth powers the wheel.”
Morcan gasped in wonder. Truly, these mammoths must be mighty beasts.
Seeing the berth with the spindle available, Captain Horvine put the Windsprite’s engines into reverse, slowing her. He skilfully manoeuvred the vessel into the space so the spindle could fully charge her engine, ready for her departure. Some of the dockhands looked on doubtfully as the crew of the Windsprite threw them thick hemp ropes to moor her securely. Captain Horvine roared at them to comply and obey an Imperial captain on Imperial business. After such a rough winter crossing, the captain was in no mood for surliness from provincial dockhands. They dutifully hauled the Windsprite into the berth and lined the spindle up with the engine on the ship. Gangplanks were set up and after their long weeks at sea, the inquisitor led the captain and crew in giving thanks to the elements for their safe delivery.
As the sailors finished their ceremony, they heard the tramp and jingle of armoured troopers, who were marching down the wooden mooring boards towards their position. A squad of Garrison halberdiers in purple silks and polished steel breastplates and helmets approached, led by a major, as indicated by the insignia on his gorget around his neck. They came to a halt at the gangplanks. A senior dockhand exchanged words with the major, who looked suspiciously at those aboard the Windsprite as he listened. The major’s face hardened and he marched up the gangplank with purpose, followed closely by the irritated senior dockhand.