Grand Vizier of Krar

by W. John Tucker

“Almost all Quolowans are now inside the city,” Questan replied. “What appear to be suburbs outside the city walls are actually enemy camps. The camp on the west of the lake is for the army engaged in stopping reinforcements reaching the city from the rivers or from Port Fandabbin, also to build craft to attack Quolow across the lake. The camp just south of the city is matched by another camp to the north. The valley is a no-man’s land because the enemy are easy targets there and fear being trapped, so they camp on the higher ground eastward. In the last war, many were swept away when we channelled waters from the lake into the valley.”

  “There’s a caravan of wagons, pack horses and cavalry moving along the track below,” Memwin whispered as her eyes adjusted to the confusing rocky terrain closer to hand. The caravan was half a mile away, moving north.

  “That’s why I brought us up here with that thicket behind us, so we are not seen against the skyline,” Questan explained. “Quoosh has identified that caravan as the one we are looking for. The kidnappers must have joined it last night or earlier today.”

  “What do we do now?” Memwin asked.

  “We watch it to see where it goes. That is all we can do for now. I don’t want us to be captured as well.”

  “You must not be captured as they will know you from the last war,” Memwin proposed, “but I’m just a poor little peasant girl, good only for helping with chores in the kitchen.”

  Questan looked sharply at Memwin. Were these the words of a lonely child who had been ignored too often by the adults around her? Or did they suggest something else: a frighteningly perceptive young duchess planning war games of her own? Had she been much older he would suspect a plot, but what was he to think about Memwin?

  “Nonetheless, Memwin, if anyone did recognise you it would be very dangerous for you, and for the Free Alliance. If we are caught you must run away with Quoosh and let me deal with the enemy. At the very least the enemy would demand concessions from Proequa for your ransom. In the worst case your life could be in danger. I have no ransom value any more. You must promise me that you will not be captured.”

  “I won’t be captured, Questan,” Memwin solemnly assured him. Of course she would try not to be captured.

  Two hours later the circus caravan they were tracking stopped and set up camp. Now beyond the reach of Free Alliance patrols, it had no need to travel by night.

  Questan crept near the camp. It was guarded by a company of cavalrymen and surrounded by portable barricades. Tents had been set up between the wagons and these were also guarded. No captives could be seen. Although these precautions were probably to prevent captives escaping they also made infiltration impracticable. Even if Questan had a large force to attack the camp, the captives might be slain before they could be rescued. All he could do now was to wait until morning and then follow the caravan as far as the ferry on Quolow River, the river that ran from the Arctequa Backbone in the east to the lake, now just a few leagues ahead. Once the caravan crossed the river he would watch which way it turned. If it went straight ahead, it would be heading for the camp east of Quolow. If it turned left and followed river to the lake, it would be heading for the camp south of Quolow. Meanwhile, Questan would follow the river downstream for about ten miles, the last three or four being through marshes, until it reached the lake. From there he would take Memwin to safety in the city via a secret submarine entrance and seek help for Blansnette. At least, that was his plan.

  60

  Polnet River – 4th & 5th November

  Through the night and next day the six canoeists were swept more than twenty leagues downstream until the river was deflected by a huge granite ridge. At that point the river turned a very tight quarter circle toward Lake Quolow, still eighteen leagues away to the north.

  They had seen no enemies but occasionally came across longboats crewed by Quolowan archers patrolling the river. Zeep was known to all the soldiers, at least by reputation, and only needed to vouch for the others. On one occasion, however, a longboat carried a Quolowan general who recognised Arnapa. He told the officer in charge of the boat, “Let them pass. Ask no questions.” He nodded respectfully to Arnapa and she smiled in return.

  Eight leagues beyond the sharp river bend they came across a flotilla of Quolowan longboats. This was where the river passed through the broad valley between the ends of two mountain ranges.

  The range they had seen in the distance behind Hillside Inn earlier that day was the North Plupo Range which terminated ten leagues to their right. Those mountains seemed to be bathed in a bluish haze suggesting the presence of the eucalyptus which grew far more thickly on the mountain slopes than it did in the lowlands nearby.

  The other range began less than three leagues to their left and rolled away into the west where steppe turned to desert. These mountains reached between five hundred and a thousand fathomes in height, as measured above the surrounding plain, and they seemed very much higher and more imposing than the distant North Plupo Range. However, the nearer mountains were now in deep shadow, except where the light of the late afternoon sun touched flame red upon some of the higher slopes.

  “Those mountains to our left look unlike anything I have seen before,” Bonmar remarked as the three canoes came together. He spoke for Pelembras and the twins as well as himself. “It is as though they are burning wherever the sunlight falls on them.”

  “They are called the Chay-Enn Mountains and they are almost completely barren,” Arnapa explained. “The appearance of fire is just the colour of the rock when the sun is low in the sky. The rocks there have many colours from yellow to deep red, often in broad bands. There are a few secret places where food, water or shelter can be found, but the mountains are otherwise as barren as the desert beyond. It’s just as well that the desert people who patrol the mountains support the Free Alliance. In the last war many of our warriors were able to find refuge there and carry on a guerrilla war against the enemy. That is now becoming more important as the enemy advances down Southport River toward Port Fandabbin.”

  “Have you been in the Chay-Enn Mountains, Arnapa?” Aransette asked. She had seen many strange places since arriving in Arctequa but none as weird to her as mountains without any trees at all.

  “Several times, yet not so many that I could find my way around those mountains again without a guide,” Arnapa replied. “There are beacon stations there, so someone in Port Fandabbin or Quolow must know how to reach them.”

  The commander of the flotilla recognised Zeep and Arnapa. He told them they had reached the limit of Free Alliance control, the front line. Only enemy troops would be guarding the river further downstream.

  “We are searching for one of our party who was kidnapped by three enemy marauders at Hillside Inn,” Arnapa declared.

  The commander explained his position. “As you see, we have camps here on either side of the river from which we send patrols. Our orders are to resist enemy intrusions, but we can’t stop every small incursion.”

  “We understand,” Arnapa conceded, “but have you received any reports of incursions in the last few days?”

  “There was a report of a circus caravan seen travelling toward Quolow. It was very well guarded and already inside enemy territory when our patrol spotted it.” At this, Arnapa looked around at her comrades. They all nodded.

  “Your camps only seem to be big enough for a few thousand soldiers,” Bonmar remarked. “If the enemy forces are as great as I have heard, why don’t they just sweep through here?”

  “Most of our soldiers are out on patrol and come back to camp only to report,” the commander replied, “yet it is true that the enemy could sweep through here if he wished. He did just that in the last war and it did not serve him well. It took troops away from where he most needed them, in the sieges of Quolow and Port Fandabbin, and delayed him long enough for Duke Fandabbin to gain the upper hand. If he does try to drive south in great force, we would melt away to our mountain valleys, secret paths, caves and waterways to pursue a guerr
illa campaign. However, I am confident that, this time, the enemy will send only token forces against us until he has taken Quolow.”

  “Nonetheless, we must continue downstream to save our friend,” Arnapa insisted.

  “You of all people know the risks, Arnapa. However, I know better than to question the urgency and importance of any mission of yours. Canoeing is the only way of moving around on the river at night without certainty of capture. Utukin, the enemy general in this region, still has too few river craft to control the waters as he would like. So far, we have been able to evade his patrols at night and send messengers to Quolow. You should travel in this manner.”

  After the commander had equipped them with three canoes of superior design and better repair than the ones they had been using, they set off again downstream as soon as night fell.

  For the first league they made good speed, enjoying the superior comfort and manoeuvrability of their new canoes. However, they came to an abrupt halt when the moon, near full, appeared from behind the cloud and revealed a long, low obstruction no more than two stadia in front of them. Even as they had been conversing with the Quolowan commander, an enemy force had been setting up its own blockade across the river downstream.

  Arnapa and Zeep led the others in a sharp turn and paddled for the eastern shore where the bank rose two fathomes sheer from the water’s edge and concealed them from any sentry who might be watching from the near shore. If anyone had been above them on the bank he would have had to crawl to the edge and look down, risking a landslide as he did so.

  “This is where I can help,” Pelembras whispered as he leaned across to Arnapa. “Let me find a way up this bank and I will approach the enemy camp from land, introduce myself and call you all through. I know the right banter for a Kraran shipwright and I can make a good effort at their accent.”

  “We don’t have much choice,” Arnapa agreed whilst acknowledging the danger Pelembras was walking into. She signalled the others to let their canoes drift slowly downstream until the bank was low enough for Pelembras to scramble ashore. Just a few minutes passed before they heard him speaking enthusiastically to someone in the common maritime language, albeit with an odd accent, almost a dialect.

  “Greetings from Krarisca, my friends! I am Master Shipwright Pelembras, sent by the Great One to oversee the building of a river navy to assist your brave mission here in Arctequa.”

  “Greetings, Lord Pelembras,” a man was heard to say respectfully. The voice was youthful and the accent suggested to Arnapa that he came from the region of Port Cankrar. “This is our front line so you will forgive me if I seek my centurion’s orders before I let you pass. Please stay here with my colleagues until I return. I will not be long.”

  Arnapa signalled for the canoeists to drift slowly downstream until they came level with the place from which the voices had seemed to come. Fortunately, although the bank was now low, there were bushes and reeds at the river’s edge. In the dark of night these protected them from view by sentries onshore as well as those in the row of longboats that stretched across the river just one hundred paces downstream.

  Arnapa saw the silhouettes of three large soldiers standing together a few paces from the short, thickset form of Pelembras. His teeth caught the moonlight as he momentarily grinned at the soldiers. Pelembras was quite capable of assuming the stern, arrogant look of a senior officer, but he was now adopting the non-threatening pose of an enthusiastic tradesman concerned only with technical matters.

  The young soldier returned with his centurion and one other. It was the lieutenant general in command of the blockade.

  After formal introductions, the general said enquiringly, “Pelembras is an Akrinan name and you speak with a slight Akrinan accent.” The general’s accent was ruling clique Kraran.

  “The Great One honoured me by sending me to Akrin as a spy to learn the secrets of their shipwrights. My grandfather was Akrinan and I knew the Akrinan ways and customs from my childhood visits there,” Pelembras explained, proudly pushing his chest out and drawing back his shoulders so convincingly that even Arnapa fleetingly wondered if the man might be a double agent and would shortly expose them all.

  “That makes sense,” the general conceded, still slightly suspicious. “Although the Akrinans are our allies, their tall prince keeps his forces separate from the rest of us, so we are never quite sure what they are up to. So, you come to build river craft for us, Master Shipwright Pelembras?” Arnapa was relieved to hear that the news of Akrin’s change of sides had not yet reached this outpost.

  “The Great One has indeed sent me to organise the building of a river navy to help capture Quolow and then break through the Dabbinan blockade on Southport River,” Pelembras declared.

  “That rings true,” the general acknowledged. “We are sorely lacking in river craft. I was wondering when the Great One would send us help. But why do you come alone without entourage?”

  “I’m not alone. My followers and I were to come ashore with the army at Western Point in the Duchy of Proequa. However, the tide of war did not favour us. We were almost captured but I managed to escape with one assistant and four spies. We have travelled north, all the while pretending to be refugees returning home to Quolow.” Arnapa smiled as she listened and silently complimented Pelembras on how he used the events at Western Point to explain his present predicament.

  “How did you pass the Quolowan patrols and blockade just one league upstream?” probed the general.

  “We came by land. When we saw a Quolowan patrol, my assistant and I hid while my four spies went with the patrol to their camp and claimed to be Quolowans returning home. When night came they managed to steal three canoes with some supplies. Meanwhile, my assistant and I evaded the patrol and joined the others just downstream from the Quolowan camp.” Pelembras waved his arm back up the river. “It was not easy and we were lucky to get through. My assistant and I could not have done it without the trained spies who have been taught the languages and accents of western Arctequa.”

  Arnapa was impressed that Pelembras had made it all sound like an unburdening rather than an excuse.

  “Very well,” the general conceded, “the guard will go with you to fetch your colleagues. We will continue this discussion in camp.”

  “We are here,” Arnapa called, also in a Kraran accent, one she had learnt from prisoners during the last war. She signalled to the others to paddle right to the shore. Zeep rolled over the side and stood in the water waist deep to conceal her size.

  Pelembras introduced his colleagues under false names of ambiguous origin. He introduced Bonmar as his assistant. Bonmar knew as much about shipbuilding as any ordinary mariner, so he could hold a convincing conversation about it with anybody except a genuine shipwright. Pelembras was guessing that the general did not have any other shipwrights to hand; otherwise he would be building his river fleet already.

  “Two of your spies are very young, barely eighteen I should think,” the general noted. Norsnette and Aransette looked at each other. Their seventeenth birthday was not for twenty-five days. Being thought of as eighteen did not displease them at all.

  “Who better to send among the local people to discover where the best shipbuilding timbers can be found?” Pelembras said. “Older strangers would be treated with more suspicion.”

  “I see your point,” the general conceded.

  “I will not impose on you to spare soldiers to look after my canoes, so I will leave my spies here with them while my assistant and I discuss our plans with you at your camp.” Pelembras said this in a more authoritative voice than he had used before. If anything went wrong at the camp, he hoped Arnapa and Zeep would be able to get away with the twins. He guessed that the general was not really interested in the details of plans to build a river navy. Whilst he would welcome naval support, his real purpose in taking Pelembras to camp was to make sure he was not an impostor.

  For the general’s part, he was almost convinced that Pelembras was indeed se
nt by Black Knight. It all seemed to fit. However, he wanted to find some mariners in camp who could confirm that Pelembras and his assistant knew what they were talking about and were therefore more likely than not to be who they said they were.

  “What do you think of them, Centurion?” the general muttered out of Pelembras’ hearing.

  “I heard about the fiasco at Western Point just before I left Belspire, although it is not for general knowledge among the troops,” the Centurion replied. “Can we hold these people until we get word back from Belspire?”

  “Even if they are deserters, I don’t want to risk offending Black Knight by delaying the construction of the river fleet just for the sake of stopping six deserters from getting away,” the general decided. “The speed of our recent advance has put us way ahead of the Signals regiment at Belspire. It will take several days to get formal confirmation about Pelembras; an unacceptable delay. If he is a shipwright then it should be safe enough to accept the rest of his story. If I am wrong, how much harm can these six be anyway?”

  The centurion assumed that the last question was rhetorical, so he did not answer it.

  As Pelembras followed the general he could already hear Arnapa flirting with the guards. He realised that she was keeping every one of them busy with her chat. Zeep and the twins, having accents that might arouse further suspicion, were pretending to repair the canoes and ignoring the guards.

  Bonmar could not do a Kraran accent. However, he had once been briefly marooned on Ipolkem Island in the Southern Ocean, so he pretended to have come from there. Fortunately, the mariners brought into the discussion by the general were all fisher folk from Port Cankrar and had never been to Krar or Ipolkem, so they could only confirm that Bonmar seemed to know as much or more than they did about shipbuilding. Pelembras reckoned that none of his audience would be able to remember or carry out his plans, so he spoke at length about how he planned to build the river navy.

  “It is clear that this Pelembras has a great knowledge of shipbuilding,” the general confided to his centurion. “I am convinced that he is a Master Shipwright, so we might as well accept the rest of his story. Why else would a Master Shipwright be seventy leagues inland unless he has been sent by Black Knight to build our fleet? Nobody else is building ships around here.” The general then turned back to Pelembras.