by Duncan Lay
Half the fine glasses in their cabin had been reduced to shards by the first night and sleep was impossible. Yet Feray had clung to the hope that dawn would bring relief from these huge seas and howling winds.
It only brought a new terror.
The waves seemed to be coming from all directions now, corkscrewing the ship through the water. They were now struggling to get up some of the waves, the ship tilting sharply to the skies and then after bursting through the crest, pointing downwards and picking up speed as if they were destined to plunge to the sea floor without stopping. If that was not bad enough, they were also being hit by waves from the side. First they would lean to the left, far enough over that they could see the foaming waves through the side windows of their cabin, then they swung all the way back over. All the while, the waves shook the ship, like a dog would shake a rat to death.
The combined motion was too much for the boys’ stomachs and the resultant smell was enough to make Feray want to vomit. But, luckily, she had not eaten anything and there was nothing to bring up, beyond the sour taste of fear.
Clothes, toys, possessions and objects flew or rolled around the cabin, breaking themselves or other things.
The two body slaves, who usually helped the boys dress, wailed with fear from their adjoining tiny cabin. She ignored them. If she had the energy, she might have offered them a scrap of comfort. But she did not have the strength to even do that.
They had no idea of the passage of time and nothing with which to mark it. The sand had not been pouring straight through the hourglass due to the crazy motion of the ship and then, sometime during the night, the hourglass had been smashed anyway. The sand was now a fine coat across the cabin floor. They did not know when dawn was, and the sky certainly did not change and they had no idea when they should be praying. Not that it mattered, because they were praying all the time.
To Feray’s fevered brain, it seemed as though this was now the whole world. Memories of warm afternoons and gentle breezes had been washed away by this tempest of storm and sea.
Each time when she told herself that, surely, this was the worst, it seemed to find a new torture to inflict on them.
The cabin stank of vomit and fear and, suddenly, she had enough. She could not bear to die in here, dragged down to the bottom of the sea.
“Come! We are going up on deck!” she shouted at the boys.
They turned terrified eyes on her, looking even more scared than when Fallon had held them at knifepoint.
“If we are going to die here, we shall go out staring the storm in the face and not waiting for it to claim us!”
They did not seem convinced but she clambered and slithered across the floor to where their clothes hung in a cupboard. Half of them were now on the floor and the rest hung on grimly, their wooden hangers often threatening to come off the rails and be hurled around the cabin. She grabbed three cloaks and three belts and scrabbled back to her boys, where she dressed them in their warmest cloaks, oiled leather on the outside, warm fur inside, then used the belts to fasten them to her.
“What is the third one for?” Asil shouted.
“To hang on to the ship. Now come, gather your courage. Do not show anyone that you feel fear, for you are Princes of Kotterman and the heirs to the Elephant Throne.”
She was not sure they would understand but it was still important. For herself, she was terrified, but making the decision to go out into the storm made it easier. She would face death on her own terms and if Aroaril willed it, they would all go to meet him together. She remembered fleeing from the Fearpriests under Aidan’s castle and having to cross a floor covered with the bodies of rotting children. Nothing could be worse than that and she used that to give her strength.
With Asil and Orhan hanging on to her, she lunged for the door as the ship leaned that way and the three of them thudded into the wood. Panting, she hauled the door open as the ship rocked back and then they were in the dark passageway. Usually this was lit by lanterns, or at least by sunlight streaming in from above. But there was no light here and the three of them staggered down, bouncing from wall to wall as the ship surged. Orhan slipped as the ship tried to climb up a wave but the belt stopped him going too far and Feray hauled him up and they kept going. The closer they came to the hatchway, the more they could hear the wind howling, while the hatch itself was almost closed, just the occasional snatch of rain coming in showed where the corner was not quite fastened.
Feray made sure they both had their hoods up and then hauled her sons up the ladder and shoved open the hatch with her shoulder when she got to the top. Instantly the full force of the wind and rain hit them, battering them and almost driving them back down the ladder. It flipped the hoods of their cloaks down in a heartbeat. The force of the rain on her head was almost painful, rushing into her eyes and drumming incessantly on her head. She lifted Asil out onto the deck, making sure his hands were clutching the rim of the hatch opening, then climbed out herself and dragged Orhan out.
The three of them lay on the deck, Feray to get her breath back, the boys obviously because standing up was impossible without her. Out here, the cold sucked the breath from their lungs and had their teeth chattering, despite the warm cloaks she had put around them. Pulling up the hood of the cloaks was impossible in the wind while, out here, the motion of the ship was even more extreme.
Holding tight to her son’s hands, Feray got to her knees and began to crawl across the deck to where the occasional flash of lightning revealed a huddle of figures around the ship’s wheel on the aft deck.
The rain tried to drive them into the deck, while the violent motion of the ship alternately helped and hindered their progress. Waves rushed across the deck, coming ever closer to them. One enormous one sent a torrent of water across their boots and tumbled Asil and Orhan over. The belts did their job, pulling both boys up as soon as they were knocked over and she hauled them up, slithered through the last of the white water and made the stairs up to the aft deck.
Talking was pointless, for the wind snatched words away before they could be even formed but she hung onto the rails grimly while the boys hung onto her for their lives. Slowly they clambered up, making the deck above their cabin, where a giant figure rushed over to help.
“What are you doing out here?” Gokmen roared, his enormous voice barely able to compete with the wind.
“We will not die in there! We will face the storm!” Feray screamed back at him, her lips almost pressing against his ear.
It was impossible to see his face but he said no more, merely helping her fasten the belts to the ship’s rail, so they could stare out into the storm and watch the waves advancing on them, towering above the bow and crunching over the top, forcing the ship to fight to bring its nose up each time.
Feray’s fingers were almost numb with the cold but she fastened them tightly about her sons’ shoulders. Now she was here, it was tempting to remember how warm and dry it had been in the cabin below but she could not stand to be back there. It was harder to fight the thought she should not have risked this voyage, that she should have instead tried to find somewhere safe to stay the winter in Gaelland. But she told herself that was foolishness. Gaelland was either controlled by Fallon, who would imprison her with Kemal to protect himself from the Kottermanis, or run by Swane, who would sacrifice her to Zorva. Either way, they would die. If not on an altar to Zorva then when Kemal’s brothers took Gaelland for the Emperor. No, this was the only way any of them could survive. Although making it to dawn seemed like it would be a miracle.
Each time they reared up over a wave or crashed back down into a trough, she felt her stomach being sucked up towards her throat, and the faint cries of her sons, which just reached her ears before being whipped away by the wind, said that they felt the same.
“Do what you will! We shall never give in!” she screamed into the wind, knowing it was but a gesture, for nobody could hear them.
Then they reared up over another enormous wave, w
hich broke across the bow and sent saltwater coursing down the length of the ship. And Feray saw a strange light ahead.
For a few moments her tired and battered brain wondered if the last wave had actually sunk them and she was seeing Aroaril himself in the afterlife. She clutched her sons’ hands and thanked Aroaril that they would at least all be together there. But surely in Aroaril’s realm it would not still be pouring with rain?
Then the ship went over the next wave, still huge but far smaller than the rest, and she saw it clearer. It was the sun, breaking over the horizon.
Her first thought was they were sailing due east and obviously in the wrong direction, then that was swamped with relief, a wave of it as huge as any the ship had battled.
“The sun! Look!” She let go of Asil’s hand and pointed.
Even as she did so, the wind and rain began to die back, the wind reducing to gusts, the rain to something they could recognize. Even the motion of the ship changed, riding easier on the sea. As they went over each wave, the ship stopped pitching around so violently.
She turned her face upwards, to let the now-gentle rain wash the salt off her face and lips.
“Ana, are we alive?” Asil asked.
The wind relaxed, to something that was barely stirring their hair and the ship slowed down, the scrap of sail that remained on its mast barely enough to keep it moving now the storm was gone.
“Yes, we are,” she said with a smile, feeling as though her salt- and wind-battered face would crack.
Now they were rocking gently on what was still a choppy sea but a millpond compared to what they had gone through. From the lower decks, battered and sick-looking sailors dragged themselves into the sunlight to see what was happening. Behind them, she could hear Gokmen and Gemici and the sailors on the tiller, quietly marvelling that they were still alive.
Overhead, the sun broke through the last of the clouds and bathed Feray and her boys with its rays.
There was a shout from below and the sailors, who had been staring at the clearing sea and sky with bewilderment, turned to look at her. Next moment they had fallen to their knees, bowing their heads to her.
“You did it, Highness,” Gokmen said, his usually powerful voice reduced to a hoarse rumble. “You were the one who broke the storm.”
Feray was about to explain that was impossible but thought better of it. After all, having these men think she and her sons were blessed by Aroaril could not hurt.
“I doubted what we were doing, but Aroaril has shown us that we are doing His work in helping you,” Gemici added, coming to stand by her side.
“Three cheers for the Princess Feray!” Gokmen cried.
This time the sailors needed no prompting and their celebrations were almost hysterical in their relief.
“Command us, Highness, we are yours,” Gemici said.
Feray put her hands on her sons’ shoulders and composed her face.
“Then let us get the sails up and this ship turned around. We need to get back to Kotterman as fast as we can,” she said.
CHAPTER 10
Fallon had thought his problems had ended with Kemal’s defeat. But there was more to do than ever. He had men scouring the city for recruits for his new army, one big enough to defeat a Kottermani invasion. But that had to be put aside while he secured enough food to last the city through the winter, before the merchants sold it to Swane or smuggled it out and they were left with nothing. Of course, the merchants were outraged. And with every warehouse that he confiscated, replacing the merchants’ private guards with his own battle-hardened men, the fury grew.
“You cannot just take our goods! That is stealing!” went the common refrain.
Fallon was proud of the way he refused to lose his temper at them. He reckoned Cavan would be proud of the way he was handling it. Although that thought always brought a pang. It would be so much easier if Cavan could give the orders and he could just carry them out. “You will be paid for them in the spring,” he promised, wishing he had managed to seize the gold that the various Guilds had hoarded. If he could but give these merchants a few coins, they would be happier. But he needed every remaining coin he could get, to arm the new army he was building. The Kottermanis had thoughtfully provided them with plenty of weapons, shields and armor but much of it was damaged or unsuitable and he had every blacksmith he could find working to fix it or convert it, or repair the many swords and spears his own men had lost in the battle, to say nothing of damaged crossbow bolts. All of this was skilled work and these men needed paying if they were to work at the necessary speed.
A few of the merchants took this news philosophically but most raged on, forcing Fallon to give them a taste of reality.
“There is nobody else to complain to. The nobles are gone and I would not listen to them even if they were here,” he told them. “And the people need the food you have here.”
Either his words or the expression on his face convinced almost all of them. But there were a couple who signaled to their guards to defend their property.
That did not go anywhere. The merchant saw a pack of young boys led by a peasant trying to take his goods but the dozen or so guards at each warehouse instead saw hard-faced soldiers, led by a grim warrior and stepped away.
Fallon was partly disappointed that none of them were tempted to fight but mainly relieved. Because it meant he could swear them into his new army. He certainly could not leave them in the city to cause trouble. By themselves they were nothing much but, as his fights with the Guild Bashers had shown, if enough joined together then he could have a problem.
Most of them were not happy about learning they were about to become soldiers. They were invited to go and see Brendan. Then they took one look at the big smith – and his bloody hammer – and decided they would love to fight for Berry.
Fallon enjoyed that. He knew Nola had asked Brendan to put aside the hammer, but it was seemingly part of him now and even his love for his wife and daughters had not persuaded him to put down the weapon. Fallon was grateful the smith had kept the hammer, for it was fearsome and had a reputation that made his own men braver while striking fear into others’ hearts.
He went through the warehouse district methodically, concentrating the food supplies in a group of warehouses, to make them easier to guard and also easier for the food to be distributed. Once he was sure it was safe and no merchants or their guards were going to make trouble, he let Bridgit and some of the other women come in, to make a proper count of the food.
Brendan, Devlin and more than a hundred of his best men were staying there to make sure there would be no trouble. Kerrin had also turned up, crossbow at the ready, although he kept trying to hide from Bridgit, much to the amusement of Fallon’s men.
“Are you going to stay with mam or come with me?” he asked his son.
Kerrin rolled his eyes. “Count sacks of flour or show your new army how to use a crossbow? What do you think?”
“Well, the sacks of flour have it then,” Fallon said with a wink.
As he marched through the city he felt happier about the day’s work. True, they had not seized the Guilds’ money, but they had secured the city’s food and picked up perhaps two hundred new recruits at the same time, which would be a valuable addition to his new army.
Gallagher and Bran joined him, the fisherman and black-bearded guardsman reporting how they had taken control of the slaughterhouse district, as well as the market areas.
“We’ll have it all by nightfall,” Gallagher said.
“That will only be half the job though. The merchants will have plenty more hidden away throughout the city, ready to sell when things get colder,” Fallon predicted. “Tomorrow I want you out with squads and comb through the city. We have to get as much as we can if we are going to make it fair for all. We have to reckon that what we have now must last us for a good five moons, until the first new crops start to come in.”
“We’re not going to be popular,” Gallagher warned. “Have
you noticed something different?”
Fallon looked his friend up and down. “I don’t know. A new tunic?” he hazarded.
“No!” the fisherman snorted. “Nobody is out cheering us.”
Fallon looked around the streets. A few children were running alongside, waving, while now and again someone would give a bit of a cheer or clap their hands. But the rest simply went about their business.
“A few days ago we couldn’t walk a mile without a mob forming to applaud us. Soon they’ll be shouting at us, sure as eggs.”
“They’ve just got bored with cheering,” Fallon said with a shake of the head. “They still appreciate what we have done. And when they realize that we are making sure everyone gets enough to eat this winter, they will cheer us.”
“And what about this new army?” Bran pointed at the mob of former warehouse guards ambling along, the threat of armed soldiers behind them the only thing keeping them from running off. “Might be better to only take those that want to fight for us.”
“We need them all and it’ll be better to have them where we can keep an eye on them,” Fallon replied.
The black-bearded officer said nothing but his silence spoke volumes.
Fallon left it there. These men might look like a rabble now but eventually, when they were split up and surrounded by his original recruits, they would add some backbone to his army. All of them were big and tough, used to wielding fist, knife and shillelagh. Surely it would not take much to turn them into soldiers. And when the other choice was bowing to Zorva and sacrificing children, they would fight. Anyone would fight.
*
“They’re no good in a fight,” Casey said.
Fallon looked over the ruins of the makeshift shieldwall and sighed. His former recruits, who had fought through night and day and rain and blood in Berry’s streets, were shouting instructions at the mass of new men, but they might as well have been trying to get cows to juggle. He watched Brasso, the hero of the battle of Berry, demonstrating to sullen men how to use a shield and shook his head at the sight.