by Simon Brown
‘How can you tell?’ Poloma asked.
‘Old-world design,’ Kadburn said. ‘Carvel-built. All the boats made here in Kydan are clinker-built, plank over plank, and I’m told by your people that all the ships they’ve ever seen are the same, except for those from the old world. They’re almost all carvel-built, where the planks are placed edge to edge; at least all the larger seagoing ships are made that way. Which means that vessel is either from Hamilay or Rivald, and I don’t expect Rivald’s Safety Council or whatever it calls itself would send any merchants here. Not now at any rate.’
‘Imperial ensign,’ Galys muttered, the glass to her eye. ‘Flying from the stern jack. This ship is on the empress’s business.’
Poloma breathed deeply. ‘Well, we’ve been expecting it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Galys said lightly. ‘It’s carrying an emissary, that’s all. I don’t see longgons on the deck, or soldiers.’
‘What do we do if there is a Kevleren aboard?’ Kadburn asked.
Poloma saw Galys’s hands tighten around the glass. ‘Prefect?’
‘I’m not letting a Kevleren ever set foot in Kydan again.’
‘Maddyn was a Kevleren,’ Kadburn reminded him.
‘Maddyn’s dead,’ Poloma said flatly. ‘Can you move any of the longgons to this side of the Citadel wall without making too much of a fuss?’
‘It will be a fuss,’ Kadburn replied, ‘but we’ll do it without anyone on that ship noticing.’
‘And I want the militia ready to move,’ Poloma went on. ‘But hidden. In side streets, rooftops, behind the Assembly.’
‘What about the regulars?’ Galys asked.
‘No. Whoever comes knows you arrived in Kydan with Hamilayan-trained troops. Let’s show them, out in the open. And the dragoons.’
‘But we only have Maddyn’s old household guards, and only half the dragoons,’ Kadburn said. ‘What about all the others?’
‘Casualties,’ Galys suggested. ‘Not completely a lie. We have gone through two battles in less than a year.’
‘And we want Hamilay to underestimate our strength, just in case,’ Poloma added. He stroked his chin in thought. ‘I wish I knew who was on the ship. I met many of Lerena’s court during my stay in Omeralt.’
‘We’ll know soon,’ Galys said. ‘The ship’s close enough now for me to make out the name. Saoa.’
*
Strategos Werin Reed closely studied the city of Kydan as the Saoa drew close. From descriptions in the imperial library and archive at Omeralt, descriptions given by merchants and by Poloma Maivara during his time in exile, he knew roughly what to expect. The Citadel was no surprise, not the arch of the Long Bridge, which he could just make out above the low skyline of the main settlement on the middle island. That was Herris, he remembered. What was new, then, was the wall and new structures on the northern island, Karhay, obviously where the bulk of the colonists had settled, and the feverish work going on even now on the southern island, Kayned. Well, it seemed obvious the expedition led by General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren had been a success, although judging by the wall on Karhay it had not gone smoothly. Nevertheless, the empress would be pleased and, more importantly, the man to whom he owed his chief allegiance, Chancellor Malus Mycom, would also be pleased. After all, the chancellor had been one of the chief instigators of this expedition. Reed did not know all the details behind the operation, but he was a strategos after all and soon after being given his current assignment he had been able quickly to piece together what he thought was a comprehensive picture of the politicking and manoeuvring in Lerena’s court to get the expedition organised and on its way and aboard the fleetest ship in Somah’s harbour. All important background information for the work ahead.
He wondered where Saoa might dock; there was nothing here like the great wharves and ports of the old world. Still, that was the captain’s problem, not his. Reed’s problems started once he made landfall. On the face of it, his task was straightforward: deliver Lerena’s felicitations to General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren and ask for a report on the colony’s progress to take back to the empress. However, the chancellor had stressed to Reed the importance of observing everything from Maddyn’s attitude to the New Land, Hamilay and his own family, down to the numbers of colonists in relation to the number of Kydans; the degree to which Kydan had been made subject to the colony; the kind and complexity of the administration Maddyn had put in place; the kind, amount and value of tradable resources; the kind, amount and value of taxable resources . . .
Reed hoped his stay would be short – he already missed his family and his university rooms, and even if the Saoa turned around right now would not get back to the old world for several tendays – but knew whatever the length he was going to be extremely busy.
There were shouts from the lookout on his platform atop the mainmast. The captain shouted orders. The mainsails were reefed and the bow pointed to the channel between Karhay and Herris. As they got closer, Reed noticed a reception committee gathering in the long hollow in the middle of Herris spanned by the Long Bridge. The Saddle, Reed recalled. He could not yet make out which one among the group was Maddyn, but Reed had only seen the general twice before and then only briefly. Undoubtedly he would be the first to greet him when he disembarked. He could already picture Maddyn in the uniform of the Hamilayan army, his Beloved by his side. Now what was his name again? Kadburn Axkevleren, that was right. ‘A man thoroughly committed to the general’s welfare, as are all Beloved,’ the chancellor had told him, ‘but more intelligent than most and more dangerous because of it; skilled with the scramasax by all accounts, so don’t insult his honour, or that of his master.’
Reed had been secretly offended by the last bit of advice; he was a strategos, not a soldier, and made it a practice to be polite to everyone, even servants.
Who else could he expect to be there? Poloma Malvara himself, of course, returned from exile, perhaps in nominal command of any natives that stayed in the city. Malvara was known to be intelligent, joyless, something of a dreamer, a good learner who had quickly adapted to life at court. Maddyn’s woman, Alway Selford, for whom the general had given up so much – Reed knew almost nothing about her, except she was a commoner; even the chancellor had nothing else to say about her. Maddyn and Alway would have a child by now, assuming disease had not taken it. He wondered idly if it was a boy or a girl, although the gender was unimportant as far as the empress was concerned. If alive, the child would be the first born between a Kevleren and a non-Kevleren for at least two hundred years, and the long-term implications of that were imponderable, even for a strategos. Such a thing had not been expected, had not even been predicted. The Kevlerens had always kept a tight and often very callous rein on their own family’s breeding.
Maddyn had also taken with him three professionals, all with a good reputation back in Hamilay. Commander Gos Linsedd, a soldier and leader of known record. A good fighter but rumoured to be lazy with administration, so better in the field than behind the desk. Grammarian Kitayra Albyn, an academic of wide renown. Chancellor Mycom told Reed that Albyn’s knowledge of the Sefid may have been greater than most Kevlerens, although of course she could never Wield as she was not a member of that family. Mycom had also confided that he thought the empress was glad Albyn was gone from Omeralt; indeed, gone from the old world altogether. And lastly, a fellow strategos, Galys Valera, the only one of the expedition of whom Reed had personal knowledge. They had met several times at the university and had even taught a few classes together. He remembered her being sombre, dour even, but brilliant in her own, often erratic way. At one point, early in her career, she had even fought on the frontier against Rivald soldiers and was widely respected for her experience and insights. Reed would be glad of the chance to renew their acquaintance, and hoped to get a great deal of intelligence from her about the New Land, especially Kydan itself.
The Saoa had its sweeps out and was manoeuvring close to the Saddle. Reed heard the anc
hor let go, the long rattling as the chain dropped out, the sudden halt as the anchor found the delta bed. The last sails were reefed and the sweeps used to swing the ship close enough to catch hawsers thrown from the land. Then a gangplank swung across to Saoa and was tied down. The captain, an overweight, gouty man called Oble, with hardly any chin and prominent eyes, joined Reed.
‘Well, Strategos, are we ready to disembark?’
‘No disrespect to your ship, Captain, but I can hardly wait. I have forgotten what it is like to have firm ground underfoot.’
‘Take my word for it, sir, a day or two after being on land again, you’ll miss having a deck underfoot.’
‘I have no doubt,’ Reed replied, doubting entirely. He would go to sea one more time, to return to his home, but never again. He was born for mountains and fields and cities, not great heaving masses of water filled with slimy, scaly, brine-breathing fish.
Oble led the way to the gangplank, but then made way for Reed, who once on land would regain his normal superiority of rank. Reed was halfway down when he noticed something was wrong. He was sure there was no General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren waiting for him. In the moment that followed his mind automatically tried to explain the absence. The general was away campaigning against restless natives, the general was sick, the general was leading an expedition exploring the inland, the general had not yet been told that a ship from Hamilay had arrived . . .
But it was not merely the apparent absence of a Kevleren that bothered Reed. It was the way the welcoming party was organised, natives obviously in the first rank, as if even had the general been present he would not have held pride of place. And then came another thought, as unwelcome as unexpected. The general might be dead. But in that case, his son or daughter would be here, held by Alway Selford and protected and shielded by Kadburn Axkevleren.
As soon as he reached dry land one of the natives walked forward, hand held out in greeting.
‘Welcome to the city of Kydan,’ the man said. ‘I am Prefect Poloma Malvara.’
The strategos took the hand, blinked in surprise. Of course he was Poloma Malvara. Reed recognised him now. But he was different. Rounder. Happier. Healthier looking. Confident and proud. None of this was feeling right. Reed resisted the urge to retreat back up the gangplank. Oble was down now, standing to the side and just behind Reed.
Poloma Malvara shook his hand again expectantly.
‘Ah,’ Reed managed to say, and then, ‘I am honoured to meet you, Prefect. I am here as a representative of Her Majesty Lerena Kevleren, Empress of Hamilay. My name is Strategos –’
‘Werin Reed!’ said a woman’s voice, and Galys Valera stepped forward, took his hand from the prefects and shook it vigorously.
Reed had lost control of the meeting almost as soon as he had disembarked. Part of him was trying desperately to figure out how to recover, while another part looked on in admiration at the strategy Galys Valera had deployed against him. Then common sense took over. Neither Galys Valera not anyone else in Kydan could possibly have known he was coming until they saw the Saoa in the bay, and even then could not possibly have known it was he on board.
‘Galys Valera!’ he cried. So what did this mean about what was happening here on the foreshores of the Saddle? ‘I was so looking forward to meeting you again!’ Which was true, and speaking the truth was always a good way to regain balance. He turned back to Poloma and asked, ‘Sir, may I ask why General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren is not here? My ship carried the imperial insignia. Has he not been told?’
The collective expression worn by the welcoming party, one of wariness and genuine sadness, told him everything he needed to know. Even Captain Oble could read that signal.
‘Something is wrong?’ Oble said in a whisper. ‘Has his highness been injured?’
‘This is not something best discussed in the open like this,’ Poloma said guardedly. ‘Please, come with us. You will have lodgings in the Citadel, if you wish them, and there we can talk in private.’
Reed was not sure he liked the idea of staying in the Citadel. A fortress could be made to keep people in as easily as keeping them out. His turn of mind surprised him. Only a short while ago he had been confident of how he would find Kydan, under the general’s sure control, a Hamilayan colony in the New Land, and yet . . .
That was it, he realised. That was what had disturbed him when he was disembarking and studying the welcoming party with such unease. The Hamilayans were not in control here.
‘I would rather stay with my ship, if that’s all right,’ Captain Oble said.
Poloma nodded. ‘Of course, whatever you wish. Would that be your preference as well, Strategos? We can as easily hold our meeting aboard Saoa, if you wish.’
Reed wanted to do exactly that, but someone who represented the empress should not hide away below a ship’s deck. ‘The Citadel will be fine.’ He forced a laugh. ‘After so long at sea, a bed that does not move under me will be a great relief.’
Everyone laughed politely along with him then. He felt he had made the right decision. And in the light of the general’s absence and the lack of any overall Hamilayan control in Kydan, Reed was, he unhesitatingly admitted to himself, completely adrift, and desperately in need of information. It was not a situation he had experienced very often as a strategos, and never before under such extreme conditions.
*
The workers on Kayned were fed a thick fish soup for most meals, made from all kinds of seafood and a local nutty-tasting grain, and while nourishing, the soup quickly became boring. To leaven the diet, the council hired a pair of hunters to shoot the local antelope, a nervous jumping creature about the size of a large dog, which made excellent eating if slowly roasted over a low fire.
After her gang had finished their shift for the day, Veira Vulper sought out the hunters. She found them resting not far from the main camp, chatting amiably to each other in Kydan, a language Veira still had difficulty with. They listened politely but with growing curiosity as she tried to explain that she wanted to see one of their arrows. When they finally understood, one of them pulled an arrow out of his sheaf and passed it to her. She looked at the flight, shook her head and made twisting notions with her hand around the three feathers. It took considerably longer to make them understand what she was after, but eventually the second hunter nodded eagerly and passed Veira a longer arrow, with a flight made from two feathers that spiralled slightly around the end of the shaft. The hunter, using signs and words, indicated that this arrow flew further than the others, but was much harder to make, and could only be done so with the feathers from a special bird; Veira thought it might have been a gosling or cygnet, but could not be sure. When she studied the flight more closely she saw that it was actually constructed from four feathers, with each spiral made from two feathers glued together. She asked him to shoot an ordinary arrow and then the special arrow. The hunter shrugged but did as she requested. The first arrow flew nearly two longyards; the special arrow beat it by almost a third again, and flew straighter. The other hunter retrieved the arrows and then had a turn himself. He had a smaller bow, and his shots did not go as far, but again the second arrow easily outdistanced the first. Veira thanked them for the demonstration and begged that they each shoot one more time. The hunters seemed to enjoy demonstrating their prowess, but this time Veira tied long, thin red threads she pulled from the hem of her dress near the head of each arrow. This time the arrows did not go nearly as far, and the hunters seemed irritated she had handicapped their shots. Veira thanked them and left, feeling she was starting to outlast her welcome. Anyway, she had seen what she had expected to see, and the confirmation excited her more than anything had in a long, long while.
*
Reed was taken to a comfortable room in the Citadel with a warm fire burning in the grate. Light food and some of the local wine was served, pleasantries observed, and then Poloma, with some help from Galys Valera and a man who was revealed as Kadburn Axkevleren, brought him up
to date with events in Kydan. When they were finished, Reed understood he was not merely adrift but hopelessly lost at sea. Not only had General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren not survived more than a few tendays after the arrival of his expedition, his consort Alway Selford and their child had not even made it across the Deepening Sea. The news that no Hamilayan Kevleren of any description, even a mewling infant, was present in the New Land was not a situation he had expected to see, and for a moment obscured the greater shock that not only were the Hamilayan colonists not in charge in Kydan, they had voluntarily – every man and woman – decided to place themselves under the authority of the native administration. When the true situation dawned on Reed, he wanted only to find some space and time alone to absorb the situation and figure out how to deal with it for the benefit of Hamilay. In the end, what surprised him most of all was the fact that none of the senior colonists seemed discontented with their lot; indeed, Reed would even go so far as to describe them as happy about the situation. True, they held senior positions in the city, positions of influence and power, but they seemed willing only to advance the cause of their new home. While Prefect Poloma Malvara and other natives were there, Reed was not game to raise this issue with either Galys Valera or Kadburn Axkevleren.
Then a short, slightly stocky woman entered the room uninvited and introduced herself to Reed without so much as a by-your-leave.
‘You must be from Hamilay, at a guess. Saw your boat anchored just off the Saddle and got curious.’
Not only was the woman obviously originally from Hamilay, but judging from her accent she was originally from Omeralt itself. The working-class sections of Omeralt. Reed overcame his shock at her presumption and said, ‘Indeed, I am from Hamilay. I am Strategos Werin Reed, on the business of Empress Lerena Kevleren herself. And who might you be?’
The woman looked at him levelly and said without any hint of irony or sarcasm, ‘I am Heriot Fleetwood, Councillor in the Assembly of Kydan.’