“What exactly did you contribute?” Aiden asked of his old friend, as he sat at the foot of Sayana’s bed, the only free space left in the small cabin.
“I guarded the princess with my very life, I’ll have you know,” Pace informed him. “Took down a sneaky bugger who managed to get through the front line somehow.”
“What did you do, sneeze on him?” Aiden inquired, drawing a laugh from Criosa that dispelled her pensive mood.
“I stabbed the bastard, like I always do,” Pacian growled, coughing briefly. “Managed to keep from sniffling and coughing long enough for him to think I wasn’t hiding in the doorway.”
“And I’m grateful you were there,” Criosa said, patting him on the leg.
“Say, couldn’t you cure me of this cold?” Pacian asked Nellise.
“I’ve spent the last hour tending to the wounded men of this vessel, and I am spent,” Nellise explained patiently. “A common cold combined with exhaustion wasn’t precisely a high priority Pacian, and a day or two of rest and reflection will have you back on your feet, ready to annoy us all with your endless quips.”
“Reflection? On what?”
“On stabbing Commander Black in the throat with a knife, after he had surrendered,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, that,” Pacian mumbled. “We didn’t actually see him die, you know, so it’s possible he pulled through.”
“Yeah, people get stabbed in the throat and keep living all the time,” Aiden remarked sarcastically. “I’m with Nel on this one. Get some rest and try to think about how you might avoid killing helpless people in the future.”
“So, it’s nothing to do with being tired then, you’re just out to punish me,” Pacian muttered.
“It’s a little of both,” Nellise clarified, giving him an unremitting gaze that made him squirm. The sound of someone knocking on the cabin door could be heard.
“Aiden, would you mind?” Criosa asked him politely. Upon opening the door, he saw Travis, the captain’s steward, standing there with a platter of sausages and buttered bread, and a small bowl of apples.
“The captain sends his compliments, Your Highness,” Travis said, “and hopes you and your entourage will enjoy this meal.” He brought in the food and placed it on the small table, and was about to remove the pot of stew when a puppy-like whimper came from Sayana’s mouth, prompting laughter from all present, except the momentarily confused steward who eventually figured out the strange noise was a signal for him to leave the remaining stew for her to finish off.
“You know, that almost sounded like a joke,” Pacian observed. “Could it be that you’re developing a sense of humour?”
“Why is that funny?” she asked, somewhat confused. “I observed wolf pups in the mountains do that to get more food,” she explained, leaning forward to grab the pot and continuing to eat.
“Oh, well, I guess that makes sense,” Nellise said awkwardly, exchanging a quick glance with Aiden, who had nothing to offer on the interesting revelation. “Alright, I think that’s just about enough conversation for now,” the cleric continued, standing up and smoothing her robe. “I think it would be appropriate for Pacian to return to his own cabin, so Aiden, if you would be so kind as to help him up?” He complied, helping his grumbling friend out of bed and across the hallway, where he was deposited onto the lower bunk to promptly fall asleep.
“He doesn’t let anything worry him, does he?” Criosa whispered from the doorway, peering inside. “He’s been through a war, witnessed death, and been responsible for some of it with his own hands, yet he sleeps like a babe.”
“Don’t be jealous, Your Highness,” Aiden replied in an equally quiet voice as he moved back towards the door. “Pace has a twisted sense of morality that lets him do those things with a clear conscience, but he paid a heavy price to get it.”
“Perhaps, though I am still envious,” she said pensively. “Anyway, Nellise and I were going to take a stroll around the ship for some fresh air and to personally thank the crew. I would ask you to join us, but I can see the fatigue in your eyes so I shall let you rest.”
“I appreciate that, Highness,” Aiden said, inclining his head slightly. “Perhaps we’ll talk later.” She smiled and nodded, then quietly closed the door. Thankful he didn’t have to hold himself together any longer, he clambered up onto the top bunk and finally lay back to unwind from the difficult morning.
Aiden had hoped to sleep for a while, but despite the hectic morning, his body was convinced it was daytime and he should be active instead of lying about in bed. Still, his mind drifted as he listened to the sounds of the sea, only rarely interrupted by the shouts of sailors, or the thumping of feet on the deck above.
After a while he reached into his pack and took out the small metal cube they’d gone to such lengths to retrieve from the ruins of the ancient dwarven city of Ferrumgaard. Aiden lay back on his bed, holding the cube above him as he pondered what it was all about. On an impulse, he touched the cube to the shard of the orb that hung around his neck, but it yielded no result.
According to the old book where he’d first learned about the cube, there was definitely more to it than he was seeing but it was being an obstinate little relic, refusing to yield any of its secrets. Feeling stymied by the strange mystery once more, he despondently dropped the cube back into his pack and pushed all thoughts of it from his mind.
* * *
They spent the remainder of the day below deck, making good use of the time to catch up on rest. Their safe arrival in Fairloch was in the hands of the crew, and there was nothing more for Aiden and his companions to do except wait. Travis continued to serve them meals on request, and Aiden slept well that night, his dreams undisturbed by strange imagery for once, although Pacian’s heavy snoring did wake him on more than one occasion.
Shivering with an unexpected chill the next morning, Aiden climbed down from his bunk and put on an extra layer of clothing. He started to climb back into bed, when he happened to glance out of the porthole and was struck by a sense of foreboding. Early morning light was filtering through a leaden sky onto the grey seas, and Aiden found himself staring out at a bleak scene in the distance.
Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air near the horizon, and occasional flashes of lightning could be seen, briefly illuminating a distant island. No details could be seen this far away, but a feeling of dread welled up for no discernable reason. Uncertainty plaguing his thoughts, Aiden left the cabin and headed upstairs, emerging onto the main deck to get a better look.
There was noticeable tension amongst the crew as they worked hard to nurse the damaged ship along its way, the men obviously feeling the same sense of foreboding that had prompted Aiden to investigate further. Moving to the rail, Aiden saw Criosa and Nellise looking out over the water, heavy cloaks keeping the ladies warm against the bitter chill.
“I was about to say ‘good morning, Aiden’,” Nellise greeted him in a quiet voice, “but that would seem to contradict what lies before us.”
“I’ve seen bad weather before,” Aiden remarked, “but for some reason, looking at that island sends a shiver up my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature.”
“It’s called the Isle of the Dead,” Criosa explained solemnly. “The wrecks of dozens of ships are littered along its coast; their crews having been thrown off course by the bad weather that frequently plagues this region.” Turning to look around at the crew, Aiden could see a few of them taking a minute to doff their hats and stare solemnly at the graveyard of sailors.
“We’re fortunate to have sailed through this area in fair weather,” Ronan mentioned, working nearby. “I’ve been through here a few times in rough seas and I count my blessings that I haven’t met my end on that bloody island.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Simons added, looking around furtively. “Some say that there’s a necromancer on that island, who’s slowly building an army of the dead. And when enough sailors have died on its shores, they’
ll march across the sea and destroy the world.”
“Some people will believe anything,” Ronan remarked dryly. “I wouldn’t pay much attention to such ravings, ladies.”
“Perish the thought,” Nellise agreed, unperturbed as always by the mention of the occult. “But I think I have seen enough of that grim place, and shall return to my cabin for the remainder of the voyage. Your Highness,” she finished, inclining her head slightly as she headed down below.
“Rather formal, isn’t she?” Criosa asked of Aiden as he leaned against the rail next to her, trying to appear casual about it, but feeling self-conscious nonetheless.
“Yes, how dare she be so formal when addressing royalty,” he drawled.
“That’s not what I mean,” Criosa continued, arching one eyebrow slightly. “We’ve shared some close moments since we came aboard, and she’s still distant. I know why, of course,” she added hastily, “but… she’s keeping me at arm’s length.”
“It’s quite understandable,” Aiden said. “Given time, I’m sure she’ll recover well enough.” Criosa looked like she wanted to say more, but remained silent. It was a slightly awkward moment between the two, although the princess carried herself with more aplomb than Aiden did. The long silence was eventually interrupted by Sir Denholm, who was making his morning inspection of the ship.
“God has seen fit to bless us with fair winds this day,” he remarked, looking up at the grey skies with an expert eye. “If the weather holds, we shall see Fairloch before nightfall.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Criosa responded, “it will be lovely to be back home again.”
“I suspect, Highness, that you may find your home a little less hospitable than you remember it,” Sir Denholm cautioned. “Your life is at stake, and forces plot against you and your father. Were I in command of your personal security, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight until the crisis had been resolved.”
“You don’t think I’ll be confined to the castle, do you?” the princess asked, her attention now fully focused on the captain.
“It is not my place to speculate on the policies of my counterparts,” Sir Denholm replied hesitantly. “Given the situation, I would deem it a possibility, and a sensible one at that.”
“That sounded remarkably similar to speculation,” Aiden commented, a half-smile on his lips.
“I fail to see the resemblance,” the captain said without a hint of a smile on his face. “You strike me as having a little too much free time, Mister Wainwright. Woulfe, stop smirking like a buffoon and have Mister Wainwright assist you in scrubbing down the deck.”
“I’m happy to assist, Captain,” Aiden answered, though menial work wasn’t his favourite thing in the world.
“Carry on, then,” Sherrard ordered. Criosa had watched the proceedings with a straight face, although her eyes were dancing with mischievous glee before the captain, noticing this, ushered her downstairs to prevent her presence distracting the crew.
Aiden spent the next few hours washing down the decks and generally assisting Ronan in the smaller duties that occupied his time. Despite the hard work, Aiden actually seemed to enjoy it, for it took his mind off other matters for a while.
The weather continued to remain mild, despite the lightning that danced on the horizon, and the battered ship made good progress as they passed along the southern edge of the small chain of islands known as the Stepping Stones. After a light lunch of biscuits and dried beef, Aiden found himself with spare time to stand on the rail and look out over the sea.
The chill in the air became more acute as they approached the coast, and even at this distance it was plain that the ground was covered in a blanket of snow. Captain Sherrard, buried deep in his longcoat, corrected their course from his place on the bridge as the ship ploughed onward, aiming for a narrow channel of water in the midst of an inlet.
The wind began to drop off as the Redoubtable sauntered through the channel, and Aiden’s breath began to mist in the air before him. In the distance, a large fort could be seen atop a hill to the north of the inlet, vigilantly watching the entrance.
Shortly thereafter, Criosa and the others appeared on deck, even Sayana and Pacian, who both looked somewhat improved from their extended rest.
“Are you finished with your work already?” Criosa teased. “I was bringing your friends along to see your new vocation for themselves.”
“Sorry to disappoint you all,” Aiden sighed theatrically. “It turns out that I’m just too damned efficient.”
“Plus, I did most of the work,” Ronan added laconically from near the rail.
“Your Highness, perhaps you and your entourage would care to join me on the bridge for the final leg?” Captain Sherrard called down to them. “We should be arriving at Fairloch within the hour, if my calculations are correct. We are passing through the ‘fair loch’ of her namesake, ‘loch’ being the Olde Aielish word for ‘lake’, of course,” he added for Sayana’s benefit, who seemed to be confused by the description.
“But we just came through an inlet,” Aiden pointed out. “Lakes are surrounded by land, are they not?”
“Yes, it’s not actually a lake, in the general sense of the word,” Criosa explained. “It’s really more of a bay with a narrow entrance, so I’m not sure why they called it that, to be honest.”
“I can answer that one,” Nellise chimed in. “When the first explorers arrived at the site of what is now the city of Fairloch, they saw what appeared to be a lake — or ‘loch’ in Olde Aielish — fed by a small river from the east, and failed to explore to the coastline until the name ‘Fairloch’ had been established for many months. By then, everyone was used to it.”
“Fair loch,” the captain muttered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “The irony of it is that you can rarely see the damned thing for the fog. Helm, two points to starboard.” The helmsman repeated the order and turned the tiller a little to the right. Looking around, Aiden could see that there was indeed a layer of fog forming over the surface of the water, shrouding their vision as it grew in thickness.
Despite their reduced vision, the distant sounds of the city rang clearly over the calm waters — the incessant chatter of thousands of people, the clatter of wheels upon cobblestone streets and, of course, the curious aroma that came with it.
“I hope this place is more exciting than it smells,” Pacian remarked dryly. “Because it smells as exciting as taking a sh—”
“Mister Savidge, watch your tongue, if you please!” Sir Denholm barked. “There are ladies present, so comport yourself appropriately or I shall have you confined to your cabin while we dock.” Pacian nodded, and then bravely glared at the back of the captain’s head when he wasn’t looking.
After performing some slight course adjustments, the ship dropped anchor within sight of the shore. Fairloch’s tall buildings loomed above the fog, lining the horizon around them like grey watchmen over the sea.
“Home at last,” Sir Denholm sighed, then turned to address their small group. “When you leave the confines of the Redoubtable, you leave my particular sphere of authority. I have concerns about the safety of the princess once you are ashore, for it has become clear that the reach of our enemies is considerable. My crew and I are under strict orders to repair the ship as quickly as possible and return to the front lines near Tulsone, so I charge you, Mister Wainwright, and your companions to see Her Highness safely to the castle, stopping for nothing and nobody.”
“You really think there’s going to be danger here, in the capital?” Nellise asked dubiously.
“We cannot rule anything out at this juncture,” Sir Denholm replied crisply. “Though the people of the city are generally fair-minded, there are more nefarious elements that may be involved with whoever is attempting to waylay our dear princess. Our adversary isn’t short on funds, and could well have bought half the scoundrels in this city to do his bidding — both those on the street, and those with influence in the upper echelons of power.”
“He will?” Aiden asked in surprise, as they all turned to see Ronan nearby, paused halfway through coiling up some rope.
“I will?”
“There’s nobody else who understands the streets of Fairloch better than you,” Captain Sherrard stated. Aiden wasn’t sure why this was the case, though had a feeling he was about to find out.
“That’s just a rumour,” Ronan replied. “I’m just as clueless as the next man.”
“Don’t play coy with me, sir,” the captain said, coldly. “I’m well aware of your past, Nighthawk. I would be a poor excuse for a captain if I didn’t know everything about the men under my command.”
“‘Nighthawk?’” Aiden repeated, looking curiously at the sailor, who seemed to be ready to leap over the side of the ship at a moment’s notice.
“I thought I’d covered that up good and proper,” Ronan muttered, turning pale under his tanned skin. “No one’s called me Nighthawk in a long time.”
“I’m not bringing this up to hurt you, Ronan,” the captain assured him. “But these are dangerous times, and men of your unique talents are rare indeed. They will have need of you, and frankly, I order you to go with them.”
“Oh, well, when you put it that way,” Ronan replied sarcastically. “Look, I joined the service to get away from all that, Captain, and I ain’t exactly eager to face my demons.”
“We all do what we must, Ronan. If you co-operate, I’ll do my utmost to see that you are fully pardoned for your chequered past.”
‘I will see to it, Captain,” Criosa added, having remained a silent witness to this conversation until now. “Ronan, you have my word that your slate will be cleared. If you have some way of helping us, please do so — for the sake of the Kingdom.”
Soldiers of the Crown Page 6