“He will,” said Doethan. “And I’m sure you can get a ride on Rocky’s back. It’s the least we can do for your hospitality.”
“Speaking of that,” said the innkeeper. She smiled at Doethan and quoted a sum for the rooms and meals.
“I’ll be back with payment for you soon,” said Doethan. “First, I have to go to Brendinas to find powdered magestone, then I have to help save the kingdom.”
“Powdered magestone?” asked the cook. Her hair looked almost as tousled as Doethan’s. “Why would you need to go to Brendinas for powdered magestones when we have a whole quarry full of the stuff just west of here?”
Doethan smacked the heel of his palm against the center of his forehead.
“Blast me for a fool,” he said. “If I light our path, can you show me the way?”
“We’d be glad to,” said the cook and the innkeeper simultaneously.
“Can I have a piggyback ride?” said one of the children to Doethan.
“No, me,” said the other.
“How would you like to ride on a flying disk instead?” asked Doethan.
“Can we, can we, huh, mothers?” asked the children in pleading, high-pitched tones.
“So long as you do everything the wizard says,” said the innkeeper.
“And don’t go too high,” said the cook.
“I’ll take good care of them and stay just two feet off the ground,” said Doethan. “Let’s go!”
Chapter 46
Quintillius and Bjarni
The borrowed boat holding Quintillius, Mafuta, Felix, and the five guards was nearly silent as it moved downriver toward the Bifurlanders’ fleet. Felix, who had grown up with boats on the north shore of Insula Longa, the huge fish-shaped island that stretched over a hundred miles from Nova Eboracum to the coast of Tamloch, guided the pull-stone. Behind him were the guard captain, who was nearly as tall as Quintillius, and a second guard of equal height.
Quintillius knew the guard captain would select himself. That was to be expected, as was the other guard the captain had selected. They were both excellent in individual combat as well as the tight formations that had made Roma’s legions feared in the lands of the west and across the Ocean.
The two tall guards were inspecting the edges of their swords in the light from the glowing sphere floating above Mafuta, who was seated with the governor-general in the middle of the boat.
“You missed a spot, lad,” said the guard captain, pointing out a small scratch in the other guard’s blade.
“Yes, sir,” said the second guard. He applied his whetstone to the offending scratch until it was gone.
Quintillius smiled at Mafuta and the middle-aged wizard frowned at him. Quintillius was a provincial governor now, not a legionnaire. There was a certain dignitas to be maintained, which would always be a struggle for Quin. She knew he wanted to jump into the guards’ conversation, but decided against it after her silent admonishment.
Mafuta could hear the two little people, the Parvi, talking quietly in their own language behind her. They were a married couple and Mafuta recognized enough words to know they were trying to determine their odds of escaping the Bifurlanders’ flagship alive. She wished she was confident enough of the outcome of tonight’s adventure to reassure them—and herself.
Deena stood on the thwart across the rear of the boat, practicing with her longsword and round shield. Her anatomically correct, or perhaps exaggerated breastplate was only painted to look like bronze. It was good steel underneath. Mafuta admired the younger woman and understood her armor as an excellent tactic to distract her opponents. There was no arguing with the martial skills she demonstrated with each practice attack and block.
Mafuta looked south along the length of the Brenavon. The older wizard didn’t need to create distance, night-seeing lenses to make out the Bifurland flagship. It was lit with three dozen torches and easy to spot, anchored in the center of the river with hundreds of other torch-lit dragonships stretched out behind it. She made the glowing ball above her head brighter. They weren’t trying to sneak up on the Bifurlanders—this was a prearranged meeting.
“Bring us around to their starboard side,” Quintillius instructed Felix. “They’ve dropped a net we can climb to get on board.” Quin turned to Mafuta, who carried more than a few extra pounds under her purple robes. “Climbing a net won’t be a problem for you, ’Futa, will it?”
She tapped the flying disk strapped between her shoulders.
“No problem at all, Quin.”
The governor-general laughed. “Of course,” he said. “I’m a fool. I hope I retain more of my wits when I negotiate with King Bjarni.”
“So do I,” said Mafuta. Both of them laughed to break the tension.
Bifurland warriors—not in armor—were waiting at the bottom of the netting to assist the visitors in ascending. None of the Roma needed their assistance, however. The Parvi climbed the net as fast and sure as squirrels up a tree with their long-tubed weapons strapped across their backs. The two tall warriors didn’t have as far to go to reach the deck and made it up the nets with ease, carrying their full kits, including their six-foot-high scutums.
Deena decided to show off and swung herself up the knitted ropes using only her hands, not her feet. She winked at the two Bifurland warriors there to assist and did a handstand on the ship’s railing before landing on her feet on the deck.
Quintillius, with some coaching from Mafuta, ascended with one foot on each wizard’s flying disk. He stood tall as the disks rose several feet above the railing before descending to land near the mainmast. King Bjarni and Queen Signý stepped forward to meet Quintillius. No handshakes were exchanged, but three small nods were given, followed by three slight smiles.
“I’m pleased you decided to keep our bargain,” said King Bjarni, “though I’ve always wanted to test my soldiers’ skills against your legions.”
“You’ll have to settle for testing your skill against mine,” said Quintillius. Felix had been correct. He was a foot taller than Bjarni and his forearms were much longer as well.
“May the better man win,” said Mafuta.
“And the better realm,” responded Queen Signý. She turned to Quintillius. “Does your lady wife know of your wager?”
“I’ve kept her apprised of the situation,” said Quintillius.
Signý touched her husband’s arm. “That means Laetícia doesn’t know.”
“What of that is your concern?” asked Quintillius, frowning.
“I just want to ensure you live long enough to hold up your end of the bargain,” said Queen Signý.
Mafuta chuckled and answered. “Laetícia may threaten to kill him if he loses, Your Majesty, but I doubt she’ll carry out her threat.”
“Are we talking about the same Laetícia?” asked Queen Signý. “That’s not her reputation.”
“I assure you, she has a deep affection for her husband,” said Mafuta. “She wouldn’t kill him.”
“Wouldn’t kill him lightly,” said Signý. “I’ve read books on Imperial history.”
“And I’ve read accounts of your sagas, good queen,” said Mafuta. “Both our peoples aren’t strangers to familial violence.”
“True,” said King Bjarni. “Quintillius has a reputation as a man of his word, or else I wouldn’t have accepted his offer. It’s a simple-enough deal. A certain piece of land wagered against support from our fleet, though sometimes I wonder if it might not be wiser to let Tamloch defeat you and strike a bargain with them instead.”
“They’d never offer you what I’ve proposed,” said Quintillius. “It’s excellent farmland, close to the sea.”
“Yes, yes,” said the king. “I’ve already determined which of my thains will receive it.”
“Don’t count your chickens before…” began Queen Signý.
“You mean ducks, in this case,” said King Bjarni. “I hear the land is question is teeming with them.”
“It is,” said Quintillius.
“My wizards assure me they have a solution to that logistical challenge,” said Quintillius. He moved to put a hand on Mafuta’s shoulder, but she leaned away to avoid it. She had her own dignitas to preserve.
The three Bifurlander wizards in gold robes moved forward and whispered to Bjarni and Signý. Mafuta assumed they were telling their monarchs they’d be able to copy the magics once they’d seen them performed, just as Mafuta had learned them from Fercha and Doethan.
The three gold wizards withdrew a few paces. They were all women, Mafuta observed. At least she thought she saw women’s faces under their hoods.
“Shall we get on with the contest?” asked Quintillius.
King Bjarni didn’t reply at first. He looked over the five guards in the governor-general’s retinue, especially Deena and the Parvi. Then he turned around to review two dozen of his own warriors crowded behind him on the deck.
“If I’m not going to have the pleasure of testing my army against yours,” said the king, “I’d like to be entertained by seeing how your guards fare in combat against an equal number of my warriors.”
“With what stakes?” asked Quintillius. “It can’t affect the outcome of our competition.”
“No, no, merely as a preliminary,” said the king. “Fights before the main fight, so to speak.”
Quintillius glanced down at Mafuta. She nodded her head almost imperceptibly.
“Very well,” he said. Quintillius addressed his guards. “Are you willing to show our hosts why Roma’s legions deserve respect?”
All five pounded their hearts with their right fists. Deena made an echoing clang when her bronze-plated steel vambrace hit her breastplate.
“Ave Quintillius! Ave Imperator!” they shouted.
Quintillius smiled warmly. Someday, he hoped he would be the emperor.
“There’s not enough room on deck for five against five,” said King Bjarni. “Shall we do two pairs, and then the woman armed like an Athican against one of my warriors in single combat?”
The guard captain signified his assent and Quintillius approved. King Bjarni signaled a pair of his warriors to step forward. His trio of wizards created glowing spheres that made the deck of the flagship as bright as daylight. The first two Bifurlander warriors were almost as tall as the men from Occidens Province. One carried a double-bladed axe, the other a sword. Both held round shields in their off-hands.
Instead of the two tall legionnaires the Bifurlanders were expecting, only the guard captain stepped forward, protected by his raised rectangular scutum. Quintillius could practically read the warriors’ minds—two against one would make this easier. They approached to engage the guard captain, but when they were a dozen paces away, he lowered his shield a few inches, revealing one of the Parvi with a blow gun. Two quick darts hit exposed skin on upper arms. Soon, both axeman and swordsman were asleep on the deck.
King Bjarni clapped his delight as their bodies were removed.
“I love it,” he said. “They shouldn’t have underestimated you.”
The guard captain and his Parvi comrade, now sitting on his shoulder, bowed and stepped back, leaving the younger tall legionnaire and the other Parvi, the first one’s wife, to fight King Bjarni’s next pair of champions. They both knew it wouldn’t be as easy this time, without the element of surprise.
The king spoke to one of his thains, then selected an odd-looking pair of warriors. One was of medium height with long arms carrying two spears, with half a dozen more strapped to his back. The other was a short, wide man with a short sword and a whip on his belt. He held two captured Roma scutums, each taller than he was. The shields had spikes in their centers.
Quintillius caught Mafuta’s eye and an unspoken concern flashed between them. The Bifurlanders had a trick of their own planned, he was sure.
The short Bifurlander anchored the bottoms of both shields against the deck and inched forward toward the legionnaire and the Parvi. His companion crouched behind him until they were within ten paces of the Roma guards. Then the crouching Bifurlander rose and hurled a spear at the top of the tall legionnaire’s scutum. It’s point pierced the reinforced wood of the shield and the Parvi hiding behind it cried out and denigrated the ancestry of the spear-thrower.
The tall Roma guardsman rushed toward the pair of Bifurlanders, hoping to knock over the braced shields and flip the short warrior on his back. Instead, the short warrior allowed his comrade to hold the shields while he stuck his head out near the bottom of the right-hand shield and twisted the end of his whip around the tall legionnaire’s exposed ankles. The guardsman fell forward, propelled by his own momentum, and fell on the injured Parvi, pinning her between his body and his scutum.
The two Bifurland warriors stepped forward and held both Roma down with their boots and the bottoms of their shields.
“Nicely done,” said Quintillius, complimenting the Bifurlanders, just as Bjarni had admired his men’s victory earlier.
He turned to his guard captain. “Remember that trick with the whip,” he told him.
The guard captain just grinned. Other legionnaires would buy him drinks for a month to hear him tell the story. Quintillius assumed he was already figuring out how to work it into future training sessions.
The two Bifurlanders helped the legionnaire and the Parvi back to their feet. All four shook hands—there were no hard feelings. The Parvi was bleeding from a scratch on her side and Mafuta signaled to Felix that he should help heal her.
Now it was Deena’s turn to show her skill at arms. Her success or failure would determine which side had the psychological advantage when Bjarni and Quintillius began their contest.
The young woman in Athican armor stood eagerly waiting for her Bifurlander opponent to appear. Queen Signý, not King Bjarni, was making the selection. Deena’s eyes went wide inside her helm when a young woman wearing only a loincloth walked out to stand at the other side of the deck. Her body was lithe and strong, and her small breasts were a contrast to the ones on Deena’s breastplate. She carried two metal rods in her hands. Each had a leather strap riveted to one end. A coiled rope hung from the wide belt that supported her loincloth.
“Wonderful!” shouted Deena. “I love your kit. I’ve always wanted to fight a bull-dancer. I had no idea there was anyone interested in that style in Bifurland.”
Her opponent bowed slightly then stretched up on the balls of her bare feet and spun toward Deena. The near-naked woman was faster than the Roma, whose breastplate, helm, and armored limbs slowed her down. Deena ducked, but the other woman still managed to land blows on the side of Deena’s helmet and her right shoulder.
“Get her, Ríga,” shouted one of the women standing behind the queen.
Deena turned to keep Ríga in front of her. She had her sword and shield up, ready to block as Ríga raced across the deck, jumped above the point of the sword, and whacked Deena on the back of the helmet as she descended.
Bull dancing, thought Deena as she shook her head to clear. How wonderful! And my sword substitutes for horns…
Aesthetic admiration for Ríga’s form aside, Deena knew she’d have to work hard and smart to earn victory. The next time Ríga danced in to attack, Deena threw her shield, not at where her opponent was, but where she expected her to be. The heavy disk caught Ríga in the ribs and knocked her to her knees. Deena closed quickly to end the fight with a stroke using the flat of her blade, but Ríga caught her behind the knee with a blow from one of her metal rods.
Now both women were on their knees, but Deena thought she still had the advantage. She leaned her torso against Ríga’s, the weight of her breastplate pushing Ríga backwards. Deena used the vambraces on her forearms to block blows from Ríga’s rods and keep pushing her over. Ríga’s back was at a forty-five degree angle to the deck and Deena was confident
the bout would soon be over.
Ríga had a different idea, however. She pulled the coil of rope from her hip and looped it over Deena’s neck. The loop tightened as Deena pushed Ríga farther down. Deena was gasping while Ríga’s shoulders were getting nearer and nearer to touching the deck.
Without air, Deena was weakening. Acting on reflex and training, she pulled a tab at her right wrist and a blade snapped out along one edge of her vambrace. Deena cut the ends of the rope Ríga was pulling and was suddenly able to draw in a deep breath. Re-energized, Deena pushed Ríga’s shoulders all the way to the deck planks and put the sharp edge of her vambrace against Ríga’s throat.
“Do you yield?” Deena asked.
“I yield,” said Ríga. “Well fought.”
“Thank you,” said Deena as she stood up and retracted the blade on her vambrace. She helped Ríga rise.
“I would have done better not to get so close to you,” said Ríga.
“You would have done better to remember that shields are distance weapons, not just tools for close defense,” said Deena.
“Let me get you a mug of mead,” said Ríga as Deena retrieved her shield and the two women pushed through the crowd behind Bjarni and Signý.
“I think I’d prefer wine, if you have it,” said Deena, excitement making her voice loud. “It’s more Athican.”
“Wine it is,” said Ríga. “You can tell me more about how you made your armor.”
Quintillius, Mafuta, Bjarni and Signý’s eyes tracked the two women as they left. Signý covered her mouth to hide her grin, but the other three didn’t bother. Mafuta considered it a major plus that the two former opponents were now on their way to being friends.
“Ready?” asked King Bjarni. He waved to a pair of soldiers and a sturdy table and two stools were positioned near the mainmast. The table had a pair of thick pegs coming up from opposite corners.
“I am,” said Quintillius.
The night was cool, but he still took off his toga and linen tunic, leaving him wearing not much more than Ríga. He was pleased to overhear admiring comments from Bifurlanders, men and women alike, over his chiseled muscles and smooth chest. He was in excellent shape for a man close to forty and kept up a diligent daily program of martial conditioning. He removed three rings and gave them to Mafuta for safekeeping, then sat on one of the stools and waited.
The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2) Page 27