Andalon Awakens

by T B Phillips

  Campton Shol watched as the boy king left The Room and a voice from behind him echoed his own thoughts.

  “He will be much easier to control than his mother was.”

  “No doubt about that.” Shol turned to look directly at the large Falconer. “Kestrel, I need you to do something.”

  The specter bowed and answered. “Of course, anything for the Astian Council.”

  “I need you to travel to Diaph and root out the outlaws from the forest. I’ve sent several Falconers, but we’ve already lost two in the raids on our caravans to Fjorik. They captured a caravan carrying census documents. If those were to fall into the wrong hands, it would have damaging consequences.”

  “At once, my lord.” A look crossed Kestrel’s face and he inquired. “What about the lost Falconer in Weston?”

  “Yes. That’s a problem and the Summer Oracle will already know about our failure. I expect that we will be hearing directly from the council very soon.”

  Kestrel pressed, “I’d like to be part of the solution in Weston. The fire emote has considerable powers, far greater than any awakened since the experiments were abandoned.”

  Shol nodded his agreement and added, “Once we get the mess in the forest cleared up, then I’ll send you to Weston. But right now, I need you in Diaph.”

  Kestrel bowed deeply and left through his secret entrance.

  Shol straightened his robes, then left the room to rejoin the newly proclaimed king and his council.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Captain Alec Pogue descended the stairwell into the lower dungeons of The Cove. He had been informed the prisoner had awakened and was eager to question him. Alec hated the dungeons, and had the subject not been so important he would not have come personally. It was a miracle that the man had survived at all, much less recovering from a punctured lung. The man was very lucky that Lord Nevra had dispatched a surgeon as quickly as he did.

  The jailer met Alec on the lowest level and led him down two rows of cells, each occupied with Artema Horn’s loyalists. Nevra had insisted on keeping these men alive, hoping that they would eventually be as useful to him as much as they were to Horn. Pogue doubted that possibility, based on how violently they had fought against Nevra’s men. Even the stories that blamed Kernigan for the attack on Horn would not be enough to turn their allegiances.

  The jailer finally reached the cell and addressed Pogue. “Captain, I’ll be right outside the door in case you need me. The man’s weak and recovering from injuries, but he’s dangerous, I assure you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be fine.” Shrugging, the jailer turned the key in the door and swung it open. As Alec entered, he saw the man lying on a straw bed in the corner. That was unusual, since most men didn’t even get a blanket in the dungeons. He really was a special prisoner.

  The man shifted his weight, raising up to a sitting position and holding his side as he did. His stitches must still bother him, Pogue thought. He hoped that they weren’t infected, given the importance of the man. After he was fully sitting up, the prisoner addressed the captain. “To what do I owe this pleasure, to meet with the captain of the guard?”

  “Hello, Amash. I hope that you’ve been treated well.”

  Amash winced from the pain as he answered. “I have been. I assume my identity has been discovered, Captain? I shouldn’t be treated this well, given my lowly position in the guild.”

  “That’s correct, my old friend. I’m sorry, but I had to tell Nevra who you really are. You were dying on that pier, and I needed his authorization to dispatch a surgeon. This was the only way.”

  “Why are you doing all of this for me? You know that I fought against Nevra’s men. You know that I’m loyal to Horn.”

  “It isn’t about Horn or Nevra, Amash. You’re close friends with Braen Braston. Didn’t you help Kernigan escape with his crew?”

  “I am and I did, Alec.” Amash narrowed his eyes. He liked Captain Pogue, but he disagreed with his allegiance. “I won’t give them up. Even if I knew where they went, I wouldn’t give them up.”

  “I know. I also know you don’t know their whereabouts.” He sighed. “No one does.” The captain shifted his weight, something heavy on his mind and bothering him. “What if I told you that Artema Horn was alive? That the coup was arranged by him so he could go into retirement?”

  Amash let out a laugh that hurt his ribcage. “Then I’d say that you’re full of shit.”

  Pogue didn’t flinch. He just stared into Amash’s eyes. “It’s true, my friend. He was onboard She Wolf when she left the harbor, and only a skeleton crew was onboard Wench’s Daughter. Artema arranged the entire affair so that Stefan would appear the hero and take over the helm of The Cove.”

  “Holy hell. You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Amash laughed again, ribs hurting on that one side. “What of Braen? Did the two of them sail off into the sunset of retirement together?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.” Pogue was taking a risk with the next piece of information. “Braston was to be sold to his brother in the north. Artema turned him over.”

  “You’re shitting me?”

  “No. I’m not. Look, I know that you two were friends, but things have changed in our world in just a very short time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Esterling Queen is dead. The word on the water is that Braen chopped off her head.”

  “Cheeky bastard. What else?”

  “Your father’s dead, and your sister opened the gates to the allow the Pescari into Weston. Mate, your city is overrun with a hundred thousand savages and your sister orchestrated it.”

  “I’m sure that Sarai had a good reason for doing what she did. What does all of that have to do with me?”

  “Nevra is going to ransom you to the new king, Marcus Esterling. He thinks the boy will want to use you to retake the city once he puts down his brother’s resistance. Or your presence might make your sister and her humanitarian allies come to their senses. Either way, you’re valuable.”

  Amash laughed. “Valuable. That word hasn’t been attributed to me since I left the university. My asshole father disowned me. I’m dead to everyone in that city, Alec.”

  “Maybe, but you’re valuable to us.”

  The prisoner grew silent and stared at the floor, taking all of the information in and mulling it over. Finally, he lifted his head and looked into the eyes of his old friend. “Alec. You know that Nevra’s a poor choice to lead The Cove.”

  “I’m loyal to him, Amash.”

  “Yes, but he’s only loyal to himself. Don’t forget that when I first arrived you had me attached to his personal guard.”

  “I remember.”

  “I saw a side of him I wish I hadn’t. Even though I was living among a den of pirates, that bastard made my skin crawl.”

  Pogue ended the conversation. He rapped on the door and asked, “Are you sure that Braen didn’t tell you where they’re going?”

  “Not a word, mate.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  The door opened and Pogue turned to leave. Amash lifted his eyes toward the door and asked, “Alec?”

  Without turning, the captain paused. “Yes?”

  The prisoner squinted against the light pouring in from the open door. “How can you back him? Nevra, I mean.”

  “He is the rightful leader. It’s what Artema wanted.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “I… I have to be, Amash.”

  “Follow the ledgers, Alec. They speak volumes and you should listen.” The door shut behind the captain and the tiny cell went entirely black. Left alone in the dark, the son of Abraham Horslei wept silently for his dead father and his sister, alone in the world.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The moonless night sky
loomed over the mouth of the Logan River. Although some stars peeked through the high clouds, a fierce winter storm closed from the north and threatened rage on the forest’s southern edge. The wind still blew from the south but would shift as the storm neared. If high tide did not arrive soon, Eusari would scrap the mission.

  She Wolf waited patiently at anchor in the mouth of the river. Her captain stood on deck watching the sky. A storm is brewing that may drive the city defenders inside, she noticed. At the very least she hoped it would divert their attention during the attack. Anxiety consumed Eusari. She and Shon had spent the past few days training their teams for the mission, but she wanted more time. So much could go wrong, and lack of precision threatened survival.

  Her wolf companion stood at her side. She had tried to leave the animal in Estowen’s landing, but it had raced up the brow and leaped aboard, much to the dismay of the crew. She absent-mindedly scratched its head as she rehearsed the raid in her mind.

  “You need a name, boy.” The beast met her eyes as she spoke, letting out a low whine sounding more like a dog than a wolf. “Yeah. No time for that now. We’ll decide later.”

  A shout drew her attention when Devil Jacque announced the turn of the tide. This was the moment they awaited, when seawater backwashed into the brackish river. This change in current would last for the next hour, and a head start would help minimize rowing. The oar team rested below decks for now, but they expected to rely on them exclusively if the storm moved faster than expected. Still anxious, Eusari signaled for Pete to raise anchor. The hull caught the stream and newly pitched boards creaked under the strain as it lurched.

  “Here we go, dearie.” Shon had approached her on the rail, watching with a hint of excitement at the coming action.

  “Are the teams ready?”

  “They’re geared up and sitting below out of the cold.”

  “No. They need to be topside to acclimate. When this storm hits, I want them to barely feel it once the adrenaline kicks in.” Eusari glanced at the two longboats they’d salvaged from Estowen’s Landing. Sippen had refitted each and painted them black, ensuring low night visibility when they landed. “We have an hour to make it inland, more if the wind shifts and we’re forced to row. Have the teams blindfolded when they come topside. I want their eyes adjusted to the dark when we deploy the boats.”

  “Aye dearie.”

  “Also, Sippen packed each man’s bag with carcass bombs and some of those special primers. Make sure they know to put one in every cannon just in case.”

  “They’ll be ready. Stop fussin’ over them like they’ll screw up the night.” He went below to pass along her orders.

  Once alone, Eusari’s thoughts again turned to Braen. He killed my father. He… killed… My father. She let that thought wash over her from the inside out. He had answered without pause when Shon accused him, immediately owning the act. Why am I helping the man who killed my father? She felt she should be angry and seeking his own death. Instead I feel… I feel… What do I feel?

  She considered her feelings about Braen Braston. He was a good man who had reacted to protect his own father, by going berserk on her father and his men. That rage. He’s dangerous when he frenzies. She thought again at the way he had swung the axe on She Wolf, hacking and chopping while screaming and roaring like an animal above the cries of the mutineers.

  Eusari had killed many men, even tortured some and destroyed their manhood. But she lacked emotion when she did, always cold and devoid of any feeling. Am I any better than him? How many of my victims had families, daughters even, who mourn and seek their own revenge against me? Killing was an act to Eusari. No different than pulling a weed in the garden. I kill from the shadows. Is that why I find Braen’s method so repulsive? He kills out in the open, raw and passionately covered in the blood of those in his way. She killed with precision, intimately with eye contact like a lover’s kiss. A kiss of death.

  Eusari shook. She told herself the reaction was a shiver against the wind as She Wolf raced upriver. Deep inside, she knew that she had shuddered against her own lack of humanity. Lack of humanity, maybe, but not a lack of emotion. There is plenty of hatred, anger, shame and humiliation within Eusari Thorinson. Of that, she was well aware.

  Shon emerged with the teams. Each man donned an eyepatch under a blindfold before sitting down on the deck to wait out the remainder of the voyage. Eusari walked over to join them. She pulled out her own night vision gear, put it on, and settled down to wait. The remainder of the voyage would be one of apprehension and doubt, of that she was certain.

  Braen watched his men tie off Ice Prince. Looking around, he counted six Imperial ships in the Diaph harbor. Six was better than eight but still worse than the five that Shon had predicted. He had chosen a center berth, so Imperials surrounded them with three on each side. He looked toward the sky. The lack of moon would bode well for Eusari’s teams, but the wind was biting, turning slightly from the north. A complete shift would herald the arrival of the imminent storm.

  The harbor master had been alerted immediately upon their arrival. As predicted, the sentries were uneasy with the sudden and unscheduled arrival of a Fjorik warship after nightfall. A full squad of crossbowmen lined the pier and a contingent of armored infantry formed up near the gangplank. They were on high alert and ready for any sign of open hostility from the vessel. The fact that they had arrived alone was in his crew’s favor, but the harbor master openly displayed his irritation at being awakened and forced away from his warm hearth. Braen had his hood up to hide his face and pretended to be a deckhand, tying off lines and listening to Samani speak with the authority.

  “You are seeking ‘harbor from the storm,’ you say, on your way to Eston?” The bookish man had lost nearly all of his hair, and what remained sprouted from his head in sprigs of grey. He pushed back his spectacles to look up from his logbook. He stole a glance northward at the horizon, then pulled his coat a little tighter around his small frame. His wrinkled face soured further when he looked back toward Samani.

  “Yes.” He pointed to the royal colors flying from the mainsail, the official flag of house Braston. “As you can see, we represent the royal family of Fjorik and are traveling under the diplomatic protection of the Esterling family.”

  “Where is your writ of passage?” Samani handed the man a piece of paper that Eusari had provided before their departure. She had lifted the seal off a document from an earlier mission and forged the words that would hopefully convince the sentries to stand down. The man looked it over, holding it up to a lamplight and nodding. “You won’t mind if we look around your hold?”

  “Actually, that would violate the terms of our diplomatic protection. So yes, good sir, I would mind, and no you may not.” Samani was playing his part perfectly. Even his Fjorik accent was perfect, and with his disguise, he didn’t even resemble himself. He handed the port authority a small bag, jingling the coins briefly in the air before placing it in the ready hand of the man. “What you can do is point me toward the tavern district. I would like to give a few of my officers a break from their duties before finishing our journey at daybreak.”

  “Daybreak, eh?” The harbor master smiled at the thought of the northerners leaving at dawn and nodded. He pointed toward a row of buildings. “I can only allow you to take a few men into town. We have laws prohibiting your people from traveling in groups more than three at a time.” He pushed his spectacles back on his nose and turned to walk away, hefting the purse as he did, trying to estimate its contents. With a motion of his hand, the troops fell into formation and followed him back to the port authority building at the end of the pier.

  Samani casually walked back across the brow and stood before Braen. “That went easier than I’d hoped.”

  Braen nodded, “Perhaps too easy. Be on alert out there. Remember, we most likely have bounties on our heads, so you need to get in and out of that tavern. Don’t get
recognized. If you do, tonight’s lost.”

  Kernigan placed his hand on Braen’s shoulder. “I won’t screw this up. I believe in you, Braston. I want to see this thing through.”

  “Hurry, Sam. She Wolf should be floating by in about thirty minutes. That means you have about one full hour before the teams are in place and the attack begins. When that happens, I need you onboard Ice Prince and ready to get the hell out of here.”

  “I’ll be on time.” Samani turned and indicated for a pair of crewmen to follow him. Geir was the largest of the men, highly intelligent and one of the best fighters on the ship. His accent was thick though, and both Sam and Braen had worried that he may draw undue attention from the tavern folk. They had softened his look by dressing him in a more southern attire. Jan, the smaller of the two men, spoke almost entirely without a northern accent. He had spent part of his childhood in Eston and knew customs and courtesies better than Braen. He often accompanied his captain on more sensitive jobs, especially those that required getting past harbor security.

  The three men left the ship without much conversation. Braen knew they were wound tight with nerves and hoped that they would have luck on their side. Turning from the pier, he headed down the ladder toward the armory. Inside, Krill prepared the gunners for the impending attack. Braen signaled they could begin moving the firepower to the deck, and the one-eyed man nodded acknowledgement. He then returned dutifully and quietly to his task of preparing the ordinance. They usually did this work topside, but tonight was clandestine, and they had to keep these special rounds out of the eyes of the authorities. Braen went back up the ladder to watch for She Wolf. He was anxious and the deck provided much more room for pacing.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sam, Jan and Geir made their way down the pier, trying their best to act like northern officers out to enjoy a night of drinking. As they passed the port authority, their eyes searched the shadows for lurking followers, no doubt tracking their movements and reporting back to the harbor master. Kernigan hoped silently that he was not recognized.