Margol’s eldest son, Harmon, openly expressed disdain for his father’s lack of will in facing down the boyermen. Margol passed off the clash to his son’s youth and lack of experience about ruling the clan. His wife had arranged a family breakfast, in hopes of preventing a further breach between father and son. She had counseled the latter to understand the demands of being the hetman.
“Thank you for coming, Harmon, and I’m happy to see you, Marlina.” Harmon’s wife was in the mid-term of her third pregnancy. Both women wanted to prevent any larger rift and had worked on their husbands.
“It’s been too long, what with our hardheads arguing constantly,” said Marlina. “I have Harmon’s promise to be good for this morning.”
“The same with his father.”
Both men merely grunted, eyeing each other cautiously. The foursome sat, and servants brought in the morning meal. Hetman Swavebroke had just buttered a roll, when his second son burst through the dining room door. Margol’s wife frowned. She had left firm instructions the meal should be uninterrupted. Oblivious to her disfavor, her younger son addressed his father.
“A rider from the harbor, Father! He says the sea is full of Narthani ships, and they’re headed directly at Shullick!”
Margol blanched. Harmon reddened, glared at his father, and was about to say something, when his wife put a hand on his arm. “Not now, Harmon. It’s not the time.”
Harmon took a deep breath and rose from his seat. “Father, we need to get to the harbor immediately to see what’s happening.”
“Yes . . . yes . . . maybe the sighting is wrong, or the Narthani are just passing.”
Harmon didn’t counter. His expression conveyed his opinion.
Fifteen minutes later, the hetman and his son stood on a promontory overlooking the Shullick harbor. At sea, within two miles of the city, what appeared to the Swavebroke hetman to be an endless number of Narthani ships under half sail pointed directly at the clan capital. Boyerman Hargo and boyermen of the neighboring districts stood flanking them. The three boyermen had arrived shortly before Margol—Hargo from his residence and the other two boyermen from where they stayed while visiting the city. The latter boyermen had supported their hetman’s preparation proposals, and both had expressed dissatisfaction with their hetman’s unwillingness to confront Hargo, who now shifted uneasily on his feet, as if about to run.
Margol remained calm. He had never been a decisive hetman like his father and grandfather. When necessary, he made decisions, even if not timely ones or as firmly as he wished. He had told himself that times had been different when he became hetman, while within himself the truth always lurked below the surface. His uncertainties and feelings of inadequacy had caused his vacillations in the face of decisions. Until now. He saw only one path forward.
“Hetman,” said one of the other boyerman, “alerts have gone out. Fighting men from all of Swavebroke will head this way, as soon as they get the word and can get here. We’ll do what we can to stop the Narthani at the shore, but you need to call on the other clans for help.”
“No, Sers,” replied Margol. “Look at the number of ships. The ocean floor is deep on this part of the coast. Their ships will come within a hundred yards of the shore or even right to the piers, and their cannon will control everything within range. They’ll land men, probably cannon, and even horses under the protection of the ships. We can’t possibly gather enough men to stop them before they land. Any defense has to be out of ship cannon range. The most important thing is to save the people. Send word out immediately for everyone to head inland. Without a plan for how to get people out of the city, we’ll have to do the best we can.”
Margol accompanied his last words with a deadeye look at Boyerman Hargo, who stood stone-faced under the implied reprimand.
“Ring all abbey bells continuously,” the hetman said to all of the men. “Spread word for people to gather only what they can carry. All other districts that can get men here should gather at St. Wilf’s and help move the people and provide protection, if the Narthani try to pursue us inland. I doubt that they brought enough horses to stop the evacuation, but they might harass and try to slow movement enough for their men on foot to catch up. Your men’s task is to keep that from happening.”
“But Shullick, Father,” said Harmon. “Where will we stand to defend the city and with what men?”
Margol’s calmness surprised him more than anyone else. “If they land the numbers of men and cannon I suspect they will, there’s nothing we can do to stop them from taking the city. Remember Moreland City and what they did to the charge at their line.”
“But we defeated them,” argued Hargo.
“Yozef Kolsko stated to us that the Narthani weren’t defeated, they simply turned back. And although he didn’t say it outright, I believe he wanted to caution us that only mistakes by Moreland and Eywell, and the Narthani being too confident, saved us. As chaotic as our defense is bound to be, do you really think we can stop thousands of Narthani?”
“But the city,” blurted a desperate Hargo. “We can’t let them take the city! They could destroy it!”
“You should have thought of that before opposing plans for its defense,” Margol hissed, all forbearance and deference to the city’s boyerman gone.
“Time is wasting,” said Margol. “Pass the word quickly to leave the city. If they’re coming ashore, we don’t have more than an hour before the first Narthani are on Swavebroke land.”
He turned to face Boyerman Hargo. “Boyerman, gather all your district’s fighting men in the city central square. By the time they gather, we’ll know more of the Narthani’s exact intentions and then can plan to delay them long enough for most of the people to escape.”
Hargo paled but didn’t give a rejoinder, only nodded and issued orders to his aides. The other two boyermen left to help spread the evacuation order and send word to their own districts.
Standing alone on the promontory, Margol put an arm on his son’s shoulders. “Harmon, ride back to the house and tell your brother to get the family inland. He’s to stay with them and see your mother and sisters to safety. After you give him that word, you go to St. Wilf’s Abbey east of the city, to the gathering place for fighting men from outlying villages and the other districts. You’ll need to be in charge, but listen to the senior men and any boyermen who get there. All of you are to help move people inland and protect them as best you can, if the Narthani come after them.”
“But, Father,” said Harmon, his faced showing distress, “where will you be?” The son feared the answer.
“I’ll be with Boyerman Hargo, helping to slow the Narthani. I can’t trust him to do what will be necessary, and there’s no time to replace him without creating more chaos.”
Margol placed his hands on his heir’s shoulders. “It’s also my penitence for not being a better hetman and having the strength to do what I believed needing doing. If the worst happens, and I’m either dead or captured, you will be the hetman. If I’m dead, it will be clear, but if I’m their captive, we can’t let them use me as a hostage. You are to consider me dead. In my office at home, in the lower desk drawer of my study, there’s a sealed envelope. Inside is my declaration that in the eventuality of my incapacitation, you are to be considered the hetman. Use that as justification for assuming the hetman position. Enough of the boyermen will support you to carry the argument. I’ve already discussed this with several of them, and with Hargo likely out of the picture, there shouldn’t be serious protest.”
Harmon didn’t need elaboration to understand that Boyerman Hargo’s absence meant his father would be dead or captured.
“Harmon,” Margol choked out, pulling his son into a tight embrace, “we’ve had our disputes, but I want you to know I’ve never been disappointed in you, and anything that’s separated us has been more my fault than yours. You’ll make a better hetman than me.”
The hetman released his son and turned his back to face the harbor and the Narthan
i, as the closest ships started to furl sails. “Go now and save our clan.”
Tears streaking Harmon’s face, he mounted his horse and spurred toward the family home.
Aboard Admiral Kalcan’s Flagship
“Your first men should be ashore in a few minutes, Zulfa,” said Morfred Kalcan.
Both men stood on the admiral’s flagship’s forecastle, viewing the action. Four frigates had anchored just offshore and poured rounds and grapeshot into the neighborhoods bordering the harbor. Behind the frigates, troop carriers were a beehive of activity. The first longboats had neared the piers, and more were being unloaded, with men climbing down the sides of ships via rope netting. When the first men ashore secured the docks, more troop ships would tie directly to piers to unload.
“So far, no sign of organized resistance,” said Brigadier Aivacs Zulfa. “It’s one of those things you don’t know whether it’s good or bad. Did we surprise them so much they haven’t gotten themselves organized, or do they have unpleasant surprises we haven’t yet encountered?”
Kalcan didn’t answer for a moment, occupied with a word from his flag lieutenant, then turned back to Zulfa. “I don’t envy your men ashore. At least at sea, you see the enemy clearly and see what’s coming. I’d rather be on ship.”
Zulfa allowed himself a smile. “But then the ground doesn’t open up and swallow you if things go badly.”
Kalcan laughed. “There is that. To each his own. I’ll still stick with my ships. I’m also sure my captains will be glad to get rid of the horses. The smelly, stupid things have no business at sea. We’re lucky it was a short trip, not like the ones from home. Only half of the horses survived those voyages.”
“Don’t act too aggrieved for your sailors, and don’t tell me they didn’t enjoy the fresh meat.” Zulfa couldn’t resist a small tease. “I sometimes wonder whether some horses weren’t helped along by sailors tired of salted meat and fish.”
“I’m shocked to hear you say such a thing,” said Kalcan, and both men laughed, a last moment of humor before Zulfa left to board a longboat. He would go ashore to direct the attack. He and General Akuyun had discussed, and argued about, who should command, Zulfa or one of the colonels, probably Ketin. Zulfa’s point was that commanding the attack would take the three colonels away from their duties, while Zulfa had no direct day-to-day responsibilities once the attack force left aboard ship. Akuyun had reluctantly acceded to Zulfa’s argument.
A whistle from mid-ship drew their attention. One of Zulfa’s aides waved. It was time for the brigadier to head to shore.
Kalcan drew closer. “Don’t get yourself killed, Aivacs. Okan might put that damn Erdelin in your place. I can’t stand that ass.”
“As a favor to you, Morfred,” Zulfa whispered back, “I’ll endeavor to stay alive, although with twenty-five-hundred of our men around me, I think I’ll be safe enough.”
“Nothing is safe when the action starts, whether on land or at sea, so just stay out of the forefront and let the junior officers take the risks.”
Narthani Headquarters, Preddi City
Sadek Hizer walked up to Okan Akuyun, who stood on the roof of the headquarters building, looking over the now almost empty harbor. Most of the warships that had been anchored in the harbor or just offshore were now at Swavebroke.
“Can’t get them off your mind, huh, Okan?”
“No, Sadek. I still have trouble seeing this many of my men off into action without me, and what happened last time doesn’t help.”
“I wouldn’t foresee anything going wrong,” said Hizer. “Well . . . at least not too wrong. The other clans won’t have a chance to come to Swavebroke’s aid before we reach our objectives. The men will burn Shullick to the ground and be gone within a couple of days, well before help arrives—if it does at all.”
“Intellectually, I know that,” said Akuyun. “Still, part of me can’t help but wonder what can go wrong this time? And then there’s the three strike teams. Whatever happened is over. We won’t know the results until the sloops return with the men we sent out. Realistically, we can only hope half of them come back.”
Hizer understood Akuyun’s feelings, having many of the same, in both this situation and many others he’d experienced.
“It’s part of reality, Okan, as you well know. Men will be lost, if we are to advance the Empire. All men like you and me can do is be sure any sacrifice we ask or danger we send men into is justified. In this case, we judged the strikes on the hetmen and on Swavebroke to be worth the risks, in order to tie down the clans until we get word back from Narthon.”
“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you, Sadek, but as you know, I’ve never been totally convinced that stirring up the clans like this is the best action. Oh, I understand the reasoning, and it all sounds fine, but it still depends on the clans doing what we expect them to do. That didn’t work out so well for us at Moreland City. Part of me wondered whether we might be better off ignoring the clans and hoping they sit back and do nothing. However, the other part of me worried about giving them time to gather themselves to attack us directly here, and the opinions of the rest of you finally swayed me to approve the attacks. I just hope we . . . I suppose, I mean I . . . made the right decision.”
Semaphore Station, Near Keelan/Moreland Border
Amyl Lewton had managed this semaphore station ever since its construction. He knew how lucky he was to hold the position. Besides paying well, the station lay only five miles from his home in Amurth, the most northern settlement of Keelan Province large enough to be called a town, and the horseback ride let him enjoy time alone, without being so long as to take too much time from work or family.
Normally, he enjoyed the work. He wouldn’t admit, even to his wife, his voyeuristic attachment to reading other people’s messages, and he made a great show of repeatedly reminding his three assistants to maintain the confidentiality of whatever information passed through their hands.
The messages usually tended to contain topics of consequence; otherwise, they wouldn’t be sent over semaphore: announcements of meetings such as conclaves, relatives informing of the death of a family member, hetmen discussing issues from the mundane to the critical concerning Caedellium’s future, and, only a few months ago, messages about the Narthani invasion of Moreland Province.
However, the first message heading north from Caernford this morning had been a shock unlike any other he’d received. The Narthani had tried to assassinate Culich Keelan! The hetman had survived, but there had been deaths, though details weren’t given in the alert sent out to all other clans. A message from Caernford had also alerted that a line south of the city was out of operation, and no messages could be passed on to Mittack Province until the line operated again. The message didn’t mention the cause of the disruption, but Lewton assumed it was related to the attack on the hetman.
The station had just passed on the alert, along both lines heading northwest and northeast from Keelan. The northwest line went first to Moreland City, where it branched to Stent and Orosz, and from there to northern clans. The northeast line went to Hewell and from there toward the Adris, Pawell, Bevans, and Nyvaks clans.
Lewton’s assistants manned the panels. As soon as the alert message went out, the assistants used mounted telescopes to scan the northern adjacent stations for inbound messages. Only seconds had passed since the panels had been turned black to signal no more outgoing messages, when the assistant watching northwest shouted, “Incoming message!”
Seconds later, the northeast assistant yelled, “One here, too! Just coming in.”
It took time to read the panel settings via telescope on the adjacent stations’ panels and then acknowledge reception in response. Lewton waited for the assistants to complete reception. Ten minutes passed.
“Holy shit!” came an exclamation.
Lewton jumped out of his chair in the office and raced to the stairwell leading to the array sets on the roof. He had reached halfway upstairs when he heard another a
ssistant shout in confusion, “What the hell is happening?!”
CHAPTER 34: RETALIATION
Caernford
The only people in the Kolsko house who slept the night of the attack were two babies and a toddler. Aeneas and Morwena never left their mothers’ arms, while Anarynd and Teena Kales alternately held Dwyna, who remained unaware her mother lay dead in one of the bedrooms, along with Norlin and the three guards. Anid’s body lay in another bedroom, attended by Breda and Maera. None of the adults or Mared Keelan slept. A swarm of medicants treated the injured, the most serious of whom were Culich, Carnigan, and Ceinwyn. All would recover, though the hetman would live without his lower left leg, and Ceinwyn would carry a great scar on one side of her face from her chin up to just under her eye and back to her ear. Carnigan tried to insist a hole or two wasn’t something to slow him down, but Gwyned and then Yozef ruled otherwise, and he allowed himself to be seated in a chair. He flatly refused to lie down, because he took that as a sign of a serious injury.
The sun was half an hour from appearing above the eastern hills before the Kolsko grounds began to clear. More than two hundred armed men had come to the house at various times during the night, in addition to medicants, Vortig Luwis and Pedr Kennrick, St. Tomo’s abbot, Keelan relatives, and citizens living near the house or farther way. Two hours before dawn, Kennrick had taken charge of the chaos, thanked others for their concern, and, if they weren’t essential, sent them home.
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 46