The Ravens of Carrid Tower

by David c Black

  "And stay away from the evening girls."

  "The who?"

  "Working girls Bo, understand?"

  "Oh... I..."

  "Stop putting ideas in the lad’s head, Gomes."

  "Thanks for the advice anyway. Anything else I should know?"

  The men looked at one another again as if considering the question.

  "Aye, but not here. Have time for a drink?" Ranon said.

  "It's midday?" Bo replied looking outside to the bustling street.

  "You're right, time's running out. Let's go." Gomes responded.

  "But..."

  "No buts lad. Stories to tell, lessons to learn and ale to be drunk."

  "Finished your food?" Phondock asked.

  "Er..."

  "Good, Ranon’s got his wagon."

  Bo, Gomes and Phondock sat in the back while Ranon jumped up to the driver’s bench and encouraged the two horses push out into the traffic.

  "Anywhere around here would be a good place to live, not as busy as the centre and plenty to eat."

  "It looks nice." Bo said, observing the buildings brightly painted in every shade imaginable becoming larger and more opulent as they journeyed deeper into the city. Almost all the houses had been constructed with fired clay bricks and exposed black teak timbers. Bo noticed the overhanging roofs, covered in tapered wooden tiles stretching out over the road. In the distance he could get a sense of how densely structures were packed together.

  Like a sea.

  After a few minutes, Bo asked, "where's Ranon' guest house?"

  "There." Gomes said pointing to a narrow three-storey building. It stood in the shadow of the two larger properties either side. Both looked new with freshly painted white bricks and large paned windows. Bo assumed they were owned by the same person as each had an identical curved wooded balcony with gold highlighting beautifully carved balusters. By contrast Ranon's guest house between them looked half abandoned. Black mould had almost completed its occupation of the upper floor exterior and a lopsided shutter hung precariously over an open door.

  "We keep telling him to sell, he's sitting on a fortune.

  “It just needs a bit of paint.” Ranon said defensively.

  “It needs knocking down.” Gomes said seriously. “You should accept Finek’s offer.”

  "I like it as it is. When I’m dead, she can sell it" With a tone that ended the conversation.

  Bo kept an eye on the shutter while he entered the guest house and followed his new friends up to the main living area on the second floor. It was filled a with ill matching furniture standing on a patchwork of deteriorating rugs. Book cases lined the walls, some half covered with cotton sheets. The air smelled stale and musty so he chose a chair near the open window which bent discouragingly as it took his weight.

  "Where are the guests?" Bo asked.

  "There aren't any." Gomes said laughing to himself.

  "He scares them away." Phondock added.

  "I do not."

  "Sits in here after we've left, bottle in hand wearing nothing more than pants."

  "Only once."

  "Every night we heard, not just that either. Touching..."

  "Enough!" Ranon barked. "Bo grab a chair lad, any you like." He walked to a cupboard in the corner and started collecting glasses. "Tell him then Gomes."

  "Right. Er... What?"

  "About the King."

  "Yes. Well..."

  "You can do whatever you like in this city Bo. It's cheap, beautiful women, relaxed pace of life. But you must never talk to the locals about the king. They worship him like a god and the slightest comment, heard in a negative light by the wrong ears..."

  "Or an enemy’s ears" Ranon said.

  "Exactly, anyone. They can report it Bo and the City Guard will be round quicker than you can dress."

  "That bad?"

  "Yes. Not like we have back home. No democracy or anything like that here. He's the law. The soldiers, the city guard, everyone works for him."

  "I see."

  "Just watch what you say, especially when drunk and you'll be fine."

  "Have any Carrideans been arrested?"

  "No but I’ve seen two from Dror disappear and a woman from Riam."

  "Could have been anything."

  "You know what they did."

  "Aye."

  "Anyway lad, that's the main thing.” Gomes continued. “Do your business out of sight as much as possible. They are wonderful people the Taleese. If you're in a bind they will help at a moment’s notice. Aren't they Phondock?"

  "Aye, kind people."

  "But they are jealous too Bo. Don't stand on a Taleese man’s toe when you set up shop. What are you planning?" Gomes asked.

  "I have a buyer in Carrid for silk and maybe some other textiles."

  "So just buy it here and export home?"

  "Pretty much."

  "You’ll be fine then. Just keep your plans on the quiet and when you do start making some coin don’t throw it around. It's a safe town really, but you stand out."

  "And the ex-pats are worth watching too." Ranon said.

  "That's true. No shortage of sharks there." Phondock agreed.

  "Thank you for the advice. I've done this before though, I was in the leather trade."

  "He'll be alright this one, Ranon." Phondock said from the chair.

  "Aye, I can see that. You're a polite young man Bo." Ranon said handing the boy a drink.

  "Thank you."

  "Just be careful."

  "I will." he said taking a sip, anxiety rising again in his chest.

  Laxis said the same. Be careful of what?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Drorea

  The Princess raised her eyes as they approached the walls of Fort Kadacia. They had passed no pickets and could see now that wicket gate to the left of them had been left wide open.

  Totally unguarded.

  "They might have known we were coming." The Prince said catching a glimpse of his sisters rising fury.

  See you are passive. It should be me ready to explode. And yet…

  They didn’t know. It wasn't until the antlers of the beasts at the front of the train crossed into the gatehouse that a voice rang out. "The Prince is eeeer!"

  Citalley watched the camp spring to life. Men previously hidden from sight jumped up and ran down to the central square, brushing themselves off and patting down hair. They had been sleeping.

  The Captain marched ahead of the royals and began shouting at the assembling men to form a line and stand to attention. After at least five minutes all the garrison’s soldiers had made their way out from the buildings, wagons beds and in some cases roofs, surrounding the practice ground in the centre of the fort. Citalley looked at each of the ruffled soldiers, red eyed from heavy drinking the night before.

  Probably this morning too.

  A sergeant ran out from one of the barrack houses, approaching the party in visible panic.

  "Sir, we thought you weren't coming back until next week." He said looking uncertainly between the officer and the scowling Prince and Princess beside him. The Captain grabbed the man by the leather straps over his shoulders and dragged him out of earshot. The sergeant was clearly on the receiving end of an angry, yet whispered, verbal assault.

  "Captain, bring that man here."

  "Yes, sir."

  The Captain pushed him towards the Prince and he half tripped before standing in front of the pair.

  "This is the man you left in charge?"

  "He is, highness."

  "He's drunk. They all look drunk. This is a disgrace Captain."

  "Yes, sir"

  "And the wicket gate? Wide open? No guards anywhere. Sergeant can you explain that to me?"

  "We, err. Sir, we weren't expecting no trouble."

  "I can see that. Is that normal for you then? Betting the fort and the lives of your men on your... feelings. Do you have some special insight soldier? Are we wasting such a talent by having you out here an
d not sitting in the Palace advising the Queen and her Council?”

  The soldier knew better than to answer that, leaving Citalley to continue his rebuke. "Leave the fort undefended because you don't expect trouble? Here. So far from anywhere that if trouble was on its way, you wouldn't know about it until it rode through that open passage!" Citalley shouted, anger finally rising within him.

  "Yes sir, I’m sorry your highness."

  "How many soldiers?"

  "Soldiers?"

  "Here right now. How many?”

  "A hundred and fifty-two."

  "And on patrol?"

  "Er... none, your highness."

  "Why not?"

  The Sergeant flushed a deeper shade of crimson. Before he could reply the Prince cut him off.

  "Captain! I’m not happy at all."

  "Understandable, sir. I’ll discipline the men."

  "No."

  "Sir?"

  "You share the blame here."

  "Me?” Tielli said defensively before quickly correcting himself. “Yes, I’m sorry... I."

  "Save it!" The Prince snapped. "I want you and the other officers in my office in one hour."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Where are my quarters?"

  "This way, your highness."

  When they reached the small office inside what Citalley assumed was once a church, he dismissed the officer and slammed the door shut behind his sister.

  “One hundred and fifty-two. That’s just a company.”

  “What did you expect, to be general of the army?”

  A bell later Captain Tielli and two other men appeared at the door. “Good. Come in.” The Prince said, pointing to the rug in the centre of the room while absently searching for a quill in the desk. Unseen by any, his sister flashed a glance at Citalley, unsure about what she had just witnessed.

  “What are the garrison’s standing orders?” The Prince said, once again with unusual directness.

  The two lieutenants seemed to step back without moving an inch leaving Tielli to answer. “Watch the roads and chase bandits, sir. The two towns under the fort’s jurisdiction have their own guard. We don’t have much cause to go there often.”

  “Why only one company garrisoned? There’s bunks for five.”

  “That’s Palace business, highness. There’s not much trouble in these parts though, one company is enough I’d say.”

  She’s put me in the middle of nowhere. This isn’t to learn some sort of lesson… this is to get rid of me.

  “As I can tell from your complete lack of readiness. I could have the company decimated for that. You understand that, right?”

  “Yes, highness.” They all voiced, the soldiers fear of that particular punishment evident in each wide eye.

  “Tell me about drill training.”

  “Sir?”

  “How many times a week?”

  “We, err...”

  “From what I have seen so far, this has to be one of the most pathetic companies in the entire army. The entire continent for that matter. You’re not fit to carry that steel.” The assembled men remained quiet, not wanting to accidentally, and most likely, escalate the situation. “Tomorrow morning at dawn I want the men assembled for full inspection. I want every boot and button polished to a shine, Captain. Understood?”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  “Good. And tonight, you will make it make it clear to them that things around here have changed with a fast march up to that ridge and back.”

  “Sir, it’s almost nightfall.”

  “Then you had better get moving.”

  “I’ll tell them now.” The Captain said reluctantly.

  “Good. Of course I’ll be expecting you three to be at the head of the pack the whole time.”

  The officers left with grim faces avoiding eye contact with either royals. “What was that?” Dalia asked her brother, paying him unusual attention.

  “A Prince, I guess.”

  “Don’t get carried away now, brother.”

  “I won’t.” Citalley replied, but she had already left the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Isle of Echovia

  Even Rawlin's imagination couldn't have envisaged the absurd normality at the heart of the pirate’s world. Business boomed on the streets of Ren, a small fortress city on the island of Echovia. Markets and traders hawked their wares like any other, a pair of priests walked the street, caps being tipped in their direction. Uniformed men patrolled the markets and harbours delivering sanctions on anyone who found themselves breaking Komet’s rules. A town guard in everything but name, which of course they would never be able to bring themselves to call it that.

  If you ignore the rough edges it’s a remarkable flourishing of order and civilisation.

  Since landing on the island Kirim hadn't had much to do, except keep up appearances in the taverns while he figured a way out of the docklands and up to the Palace without raising too much notice.

  Palace... Bah! They're all the same, aren't they in the end. Get successful for long enough as a rebel tyrant and you'll start claiming the box you sit on is a throne. The slaves were no different when they revolted. Rallied millions under a banner of freedom only to copy the regimes of their old masters. Perhaps the only difference between this place and Carrid or any other nation is just time. Time to make enough rules and eradicate the particularly unruly.

  Kirim was no philosopher, but he was right about one thing. Put humans together for long enough and what emerges will surprise no one. A brain or two surrounded by mailed fists and advocates. Everyone else can lift and labour.

  This place will be the same, if it hangs on long enough.

  The assassin wasn't confident in the mission. None of the agents had been when Rawlin relayed Yarrian's orders. He could see Dokra was going to have a hard time taking the settlement if their soft option failed.

  Komet could contest every inch. They're armed to the teeth and provisioned until winter’s end. We're not.

  He had a mind to send word recommending they call the assault off. Bring back twice the ships and men in the spring.

  Siege equipment too, they didn't take enough. Not that they would listen anyway.

  The spy recognised with no small amount of professional annoyance that the drunk idiot may not have been the wisest character to adopt. It made getting recruited easier but barred him from getting any further up the town.

  Someone more respectable would have been harder to trust. Not that it would have mattered, they've taken all sorts. Too many.

  The city was abuzz with rumour of secret Carridean plans to take the island. The pirates, confident to the point of invulnerability after so many seasons of easy spoils, relished the arrival of the republican navy. Their leader had steered them right so far and would do so again. At least most in the taverns would agree.

  "Kirim." A voice called from behind.

  "What?" He said impatiently, turning to see who had shouted over. He recognised Figly’s voice but pretended not to, squinting his bloodshot eyes in the direction of the nuisance holding him up.

  "We're going."

  "Ay?"

  "Words come down from the Captain, they’re sending a fleet out and the Sotto is one of them."

  "But? When?" Kirim said with genuine surprise.

  "Tonight, they don't want anyone watching to see the ships leave. Bad weather's coming."

  "Why leave at all?"

  "Komet is setting a trap for Carrid at Gable Rock."

  "Shit." Kirim cursed, while supressing a growing rage. "Well, I don't wanna go."

  This is a disaster.

  "You don't have a choice in the matter Kirim! None of us want to go out there, but we have to."

  "Urghh, I never signed up for this. On deck, on shore, on bloody deck again."

  "Yes, you did sailor. Now get your kit, Captain wants everyone on deck before sundown. If you're late... well god help you."

  "Fine." Kirim snapped. "But, I’m having a dr
ink first."

  "Just be there. I’m not joking, if you’re not on deck for the count they will send a search party. You’ll be chained to an oar bench."

  Kirim walked off mimicking the man's last words "Just be there Kirim, just do it Kirim..." Then let loose a hacking cough before clearing his throat again of phlegm and spitting the disgusting yellow jelly out onto the floor. "Bastard."

  When Figly was out of sight, he made a sharp turn away from the taverns, into an alley that connected to a more residential district he had been quartered in.

  I can't leave now.

  He quickened his pace running through the options open to him. Setting off with the fleet at this stage would be mission failure. Plain and simple. Missing the count on deck in a few bells would have him being hunted down.

  I could feign sickness... No that won't work.

  He was relieved to find the bunkhouse he had been assigned empty and climbed the stairs to his room. With his sack packed on the bedding, he withdrew the weapons rolled together in leather that had been leaning beside the wall and took out two long knives before tightening the strap back up.

  From a hidden pocket in his boot he removed a tiny roll of parchment and half a fingers length of charcoal pencil, scribbling hurried words.

  If I can even find him in time. Damn.

  Back in the cold Kirim followed the darkest, least populated alleys to a set of crossroads a league from shore. He had kept his distance from the other Naru agents until now and feared that by a stroke of foul luck, they all may have been ordered out with the fleet as well.

  The first tavern he entered, redeveloping his drunken stagger, had no familiar faces. Neither did the second. Finally, he found him at the back of smoky inn, playing cards with five other equally dishevelled men.

  Only one thing for it.

  "You!" Kirim shouted, pointing at the man as he approached through the busy tap room. The calm bar room’s natural din ceased, and all heads turned to see the cause of the disturbance.

  When the men with his agent realised their friend was the subject of the drunk’s attention they began to stand, a few hands inching towards pummels.

  "You owe me money, ya bastard!"

  The agent, unprepared for his boss’s impromptu piece of theatre looked taken aback for a moment before finding his wits.