He has not been idle, Justine thought, eyeing the multitude of dockhands as the trading cog pulled into the dock. Yet there are no warships, except… At the far end, close against the cavern wall, a great war galley was moored. All but one. I fear for what that means.
The thunder of the gangplank lowering broke her thoughts, and a swarthy guard with a hand firmly grasped on the pommel of his sword stepped forth, addressing the Seeker’s captain. “Boris, you were expected some days ago.”
“A delay,” the captain answered, his face still and settled. “Master Irwin will be glad for it.”
“That will be for him to decide,” the guard answered gruffly. “You have the ore?”
“More than Master Irwin thought, but that is not what should concern him.” Boris slapped a hand on Justine’s shoulder; she glared at him, but he hardly seemed to notice. “Here be the treasure of my trip.”
The guard’s eyes bulged. Justine leaned over but could not place the plain, dirtied face of the man. “So he shall,” the guard said. “Come down, lady knight.”
Justine muttered thanks to Boris, who grinned dervishly, before shouldering past him and down the gangplank. The guard wrenched his head and made for a tunnel in the back right. She followed.
Some of the dockhands gaped and smiled at her, but not before a guard shouted at them to keep moving. None she recognized by their faces, but they had the look of Trechtians. Irwin told me the truth, at least, for how he gained his strength.
The cavern lay cool and damp; droplets of water fell from above, causing her to side-step a few puddles. Grunts, groans, and orders seemed to fade to muffled cries as a labyrinth of narrow tunnels opened. The guard led her towards the second from the far right.
Torches bathed the walls in an orange glower, casting long shadows. Side chambers were stacked with crates and barrels, but no one stood inside them. Justine brushed her hand over the God Stone.
The guard looked back, eyeing Justine momentarily and offered the briefest of smiles. Unnerving as it was, she did not move her hand. “You have aught on your mind, guardsman?”
The man scoffed. “I will forgive that slight, if you weren’t fool enough to tell Boris who you are.”
Justine bristled. “And you are?”
“Irwin warned me you were stubborn, Justine Duvan.”
“I asked—”
“My name is Gerad. I count myself upon Master Irwin’s own guard. Did you tell that oaf who you are?”
Gritting her teeth, she cursed the manners of mercenaries. “He guessed I was a knight sent on an errand.”
“That will bode well for him,” Gerad said, before laughing raucously. “If, of course, I can trust you.” He turned on the spot, meeting Justine’s eyes. “You do have wonderful, trustworthy eyes.”
She shoved him away. “Mind your eyes, Gerad, if you would like to keep them.”
“Your sex is always so feisty,” he said, before pointing towards a door where two guardsmen stood, eyes towards the far wall. “One command and you would not be so feisty, now would you?”
The God Stone surged, but Justine pulled her hand away; she had no time for this. “Order them and see how you fare.”
“Open the fucking door,” Gerad cried out, and the nearest guard pushed it open. “I pray your wandering was worth it.”
She shouldered past Gerad and the two guardsmen.
The chamber was wide and unfurnished, but for a long table at the back: a map lay spread across it, and two men moved wooden pieces. They both looked up at Justine’s footsteps. Irwin stood at his full height in a finely pressed black doublet hemmed in burgundy, smiling ear to ear. The other man stood at Irwin’s shoulder, arms bulging with muscles, armoured in chain mail from head to foot, and the pommel of a claymore peeked over his shoulder. He did not smile; he simply frowned.
“Ah Justine Duvan,” Irwin sang out, rubbing his beringed fingers and bounding towards her. “So good to see you hale and whole.”
Justine pushed him away when he neared, a harmed expression creasing his face once more. Will you ever learn… “You have your own guard?”
“Gerad is one of many in my service,” Irwin said, trying to find his smile once more. He motioned towards the table. “Come, come, this concerns you.”
“And your burly friend?” she asked, hooking her thumb towards the man.
“Mach Kaneer,” Irwin said frantically. “You recall my story about him, yes?”
Mach extended his right arm, and Justine took it, trying to hide her grimace. “I do. Irwin has said much about you.”
“Too much, if he does not change in the presence of women,” Mach replied, releasing her arm. “And I have heard tell of you, Justine Duvan.”
“I trust you will believe only half of it,” she said slyly, offering the mercenary a brief smile.
“A year free from the order and the knightly arrogance all but shed,” Mach said bluntly, still frowning. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Irritated, Justine turned to Irwin. “Your guard and your captain? Who else did you tell, pray?”
“Neither you nor Amerie made it out to be a secret, so I saw no harm.”
No, you just want to know, and fear I will not tell you. “I did not find the cloaked man.”
“A pity,” Mach grunted. “You will want to see this.” He pointed to the coast, north-east of where Dale stood. There were many ships of assorted colours clustered together. “We had a bird with the arrival of the dawn: it began two mornings past.”
Justine saw it suddenly: the black ships far outnumbered the blue and red, closing in on the shore. No. I, my promise. Amerie. “I must return without delay.”
“I had not forgotten your word to that sweet knight,” Irwin tittered, forefinger just under his mouth. “But I would know how you came here, and, you should learn what we know.”
“I do not have time for that.”
Mach’s frown deepened, and Irwin spoke quickly. “Lest you have forgotten, my dear Justine, that is my—well, Mach’s fleet, truth be told—that now stands between Lord Theodore and your people. Do not forget.”
Justine sighed. She knew that Irwin was not for wrong, much as she did not want to acknowledge it. “One of your trading cogs found me. The Seeker. Captain Boris.”
“He was late by days,” Mach grunted, staring at Justine all the while. She felt him weighing her. “Not that it matters anymore, not with the good master’s command. We had to sail when the bastard did.”
“Yes, yes,” Irwin tittered. “We will learn what Boris knows and—”
“He did not know who I was,” Justine blurted, wanting nothing more than to move beyond this.
“Ah,” Irwin said quickly. “If Boris tells the truth, Gerad will not have the morning he may have hoped for.”
Justine did not have the stomach for this, whatever the implication. “And what do you know?”
“Mach,” Irwin insisted. “Do tell her. It is your fleet and your men.”
Mach stared at her; she felt his eyes bore into her, and thought there was a sadness, if the man could possibly feel that. “The fleet will not hold,” he said.
“To tear the bandage off so quickly,” Irwin tittered.
Justine slammed down upon the table. “Then why are we still debating?”
“It is a question that I have asked,” Mach grunted. “And I have yet to see the boon.”
“My people will die,” Justine shouted, not caring what the mercenary implied. “What would you have me do?”
“I would listen first,” Mach said, slamming down on the table in turn, sending the wooden pieces flying. “King Adrian has made more enemies since you fled, and Lord Arthur does not assuage these fears. Nearly half the court nobles have left, bringing with them their retainers, and most importantly, coin. Lord Theodore buys loyalties with bottomless coffers.
“As I have told Master Irwin.” Mach glared at the trader. “Coin he does not lack, but it is not enough to tempt many of those who h
ave grown displeased in Lord Theodore’s burgeoning imperium. We are out-manned and out-matched.”
Justine withdrew the God Stone; its Light surging, the darkness of the chamber receding. She gave herself to it, and the bastard sword glimmered in her hand. Mach grunted, withdrawing his two-handed claymore.
“Put your steel away, Mach,” Irwin said dismissively, crossing his arms. “I do believe the lady knight is making a point, yes?” Mach did not sheath his steel.
“This is what my father died for,” Justine proffered, fighting back the tears. “Lord Theodore stole it from the king before we fled. The dead knights and lords, the rivers of blood, all for this trinket. It is all he thinks about, and what he must have promised the nobles.”
“It is as I told you, Mach, but you did not heed my words,” Irwin said, smiling. “Will you heed hers?”
The mercenary sheathed his sword, still frowning, the Light reflecting in his cold eyes. “What is it?”
“It is why I wandered,” Justine admitted grudgingly. “But I only found more questions. What I do know is that Lord Theodore will not stop until he has it once more.”
Mach turned to Irwin. “I waited for a ruddy sword?!”
“Do you not feel it, Mach?” Irwin said, smiling ear to ear. “The gods own power within reach? Lord Theodore may breach Justine’s shores, but against that.” Irwin paused, his eyes flickering. “He shall only find death.”
“My fleet will be a ruin!” Mach screamed, turning to Irwin. “I remained here upon your orders, and the hope you offer me is a sword, yet not one that I may wield? If I order my Reaver manned, who will stand to stop me. You? Her?”
“Their sacrifice—”
“Spare me your prattling!” Mach boomed, his face red. “What good will your coffers be whence the imperium holds dominion over every sea?”
Desperation rules us all, Justine thought. Little would satisfy the mercenary, but: “Order a retreat.”
Irwin gaped, and Mach rounded on her. “A retreat?”
“Send the bird,” Justine insisted; she knew it the only way to mete out her promise to Amerie, to defend Dale’s walls. “I will break our accord; I just ask that you take me to a hidden harbour south of my city. Then flee, flank them, or whore—it matters not to me.”
“Justine,” Irwin muttered, wringing his hands. “You do not mean to—”
“I do, Irwin,” she replied harshly; the harmed expression crossed the trader’s face once more. “I will ask no others to die for me.” The God Stone returned to her hand, its Light dull and dormant, and she dropped it in the satchel.
“We leave at once,” Mach said, making for the door.
“Do not walk out on me, Mach Kaneer!” Irwin wailed.
The burly frame of the mercenary turned, eyes afire. “It is our friendship that stays my hand, no other. If you had half a mind, you would set sail far to the south.”
“Mach!”
The mercenary left.
“Justine,” Irwin plead with wounded eyes. “I do not understand, our accord, you must—”
Justine backhanded Irwin; he crumpled in a heap, nursing the wound on his cheek. She looked down at him, wanting to pummel him once more. “No,” she said, to herself more than to the trader. “You are a snivelling worm who sees naught but his own gain. Lord Theodore and you share a heart, if not a mind.”
“Justine!”
Ignoring his plea, she went for the door, but before opening it, said, “Set foot in Dale and you will drown in a river of blood.”
Emerging from the chamber, she saw Mach leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed. The door guards were gone, and not a footstep echoed. “You had choice words for him too?” The mercenary did not wait for an answer before walking down the tunnel.
Justine matched Mach’s strides, though he did not look to her. “Why trust me so readily?”
Mach laughed. “I like you.”
Half smiling, she giggled.
“I know who you are, what you are, and were,” the mercenary said unprompted. “I may think you a bloody fool for pursuing knighthood, but you are honour bound, as I am.”
“Honour bound?” Justine asked, thinking the notion absurd.
“Is your opinion on mercenaries so low?” He offered a brief, fading smile. “I may take on a contract from any sod who has coin to pay, but there are lines I shall not cross. Children and whores. Before I arranged a contract with the Guild, some vapid noble desired vengeance on some back-water middle house on the other side of Trecht—heads of children, tarred and fettered on the walls. Shoved my sword through his gut before the words were out of his mouth.”
“I would not know of it,” Justine offered, not sure what to say. Mercenaries were notorious liars.
“Pray that you never do.”
The tunnel opened; Justine saw far more guards than when she entered. Most had cornered dock workers, holding them at sword point; others shouted at the rest, who were loading the war galley at the far end.
“There, my Reaver,” Mach said, pointing at the war galley that Justine saw as she entered. It was long with three tall masts, banded with a single black stripe. “It will take some hours yet before we can cast off, but she be the fastest galley you ever laid eyes upon.”
The dockhands to her left quavered, and she heard a sickening thud as a guard broke the nose of a tall man who protested. “How many are yours?”
“Do not worry your head off Justine,” the mercenary bellowed. “Most are mine, save for a handful that Irwin chose for himself. Most would not make me sweat in the yard, all but Gerad. Tough bastard, but the sod has enough sense to not show his face.”
The screams seemed to echo louder the closer she got to the Reaver. It is not right, but this is their way. The mercenary way. I cannot interfere.
A woman wailed, pleading for mercy and imploring that her friend had not meant the words. Justine asked Mach the first thought that entered her mind. “I did not like the look of Gerad. Is he Trechtian?”
“He is; a poor scum, so you would not have met him.” Justine let that slide and the mercenary went on. “He had his own band, small, taking on contracts from the Guild that none of the masters wanted anyone else to know about. Poor sods that could not pay back loans and such. There is blood on Gerad’s hands, and not a bit of mercy.”
A man screamed, begging for his life, but was suddenly silenced by bones cracking and deafening wails. Neither do you, Mach Kaneer.
The Reaver swayed in the port; dockworkers cleared a path for Mach, and Justine followed the mercenary up the gangplank. The guards on the Reaver brandished their steel, glaring at her. She wanted to speak up but thought better of it.
“Jorgius!” Mach shouted, pointing to the aft of the galley. A dishevelled man turned from a pile he was sifting through on the Reaver’s bridge.
“Captain!” the man replied, pressing down on his black hair, though his efforts accomplished little. “We sail at last?”
“Aye,” Mach said sternly, shoving Justine forward. “She will show us where to go.”
Deeply unsettled by Mach’s familiarity, she simply said, “Your map.”
“Ah yes, over here,” he near mumbled, pointing to a short table with a plain map upon it. “An arrangement, captain, or—”
“Address her, Jorgius, or you’ll likely have to fuck without balls.”
Justine could not help but smile.
“Ah, my lady, uh—”
“Justine.”
“Oh, Justine Duvan! Oh, yes, lady knight, where shall we sail?”
“Your fleet is engaged here, just up the eastern coast.” She pointed to where she recalled the wooden ships to be, a little further from a hamlet that the priests had established. Then she traced her finger southwards, hooking about the coast south of Dale. “Here. It is rocky, the waves can be fierce, but there is a harbour.”
Jorgius rubbed his hands together and put on a pair of large lensed spectacles. “There, my lady knight? Little stands there
but—”
“I assure you a harbour is there, Jorgius,” Justine said, smiling slightly. The masons had much to revel about if the navigator was not bluffing.
“Captain?”
“What did I say about addressing her, Jorgius?” Mach replied, but the mirth in his voice could not be hidden.
“Of course, captain, and Justine, yes, we shall make for it, soon as Reaver can leave port. Hours, they tell me? Yes, yes. Fast, even for us. Captain has been ready for this, I think. Any who, we should arrive there in two days, yes, two days, if the wind holds.”
“One day I will have a navigator who keeps his mouth shut,” Mach said brusquely. “Blood and coin await, if you can stop endearing yourself to the knight.”
“At once, captain. At once.” Jorgius bowed slightly before running off to the side and shouting orders below.”
“You will want to retire?” Mach asked, and Justine nodded her head. “Come below decks.”
Mach led Justine from the bridge and down a set of stairs that creaked and groaned. Lit lanterns were swaying slightly on the way down, though the plain, narrow hall was empty.
The mercenary pushed open a door to a side chamber. It was windowless with a bunk and armoire upon opposite walls, short, stout, and worn with use.
“Meals are served one deck below,” Mach said, still standing in the doorway. “Though do not leave without steel.”
Justine did not need to be reminded of that. “My thanks, Captain Mach Kaneer.”
The mercenary smiled, large and toothy. “I should be the one offering thanks. Guard duty ill suited me and my crew. Whatever comes of this, we shall rent flesh and wade through blood. Pleasant rest.” He closed the door and left.
Justine listened intently for the fading footsteps of the mercenary before pushing the lock tightly. I do not trust him, but what choice do I have? She sighed and sat down on the bed.
The Prelude to Darkness Page 18