“Thank you.” Lowren spurred his horse into the opening and as the others kicked up their horses, the way was fully open and there was no stopping them now. “I resemble that remark.”
“Ride!” Lowren’s heels slapped against hard, warm, surging horse-flesh.
The moon was well up above the horizon, the gravel of the road a white ribbon winding its way down the hillside, following the contours and exposed to the full fire from the battlements in case of war or siege.
Just ride.
“Well, that seemed to go very well.” Garvin held up a skin bottle of the local red, a bit resinous, very dry and with enough alcohol in it to take the top of the head off if one overindulged even the slightest. “Quite an adventure, I must say.”
Their voices went and came echoing back off the stone walls and abutments. It was a naked feeling, and yet there was this rush of intense and rather pleasurable juices inside. With a fairly sure-footed mount, Kann risked a quick look up, knowing there must be men watching them go from the top of the battlements. He thought he caught the gleam of a helmet here and there as they patrolled on their rounds.
It was best not to think about it too much.
“I’ll take that.” Kann had worked up a powerful thirst over the preceding couple of hours.
He removed the stopper, drank greedily, and showed no signs of passing it on.
The warm golden lights of the town lay below, and as yet, there was no alarm raised behind them. It would seem that their ten minutes must be up by now.
The paper was a simple travel order, ostensibly signed by Captain Nyron, who had gone off duty earlier. It had been carefully forged for the eventuality. It was unusual not to get a document properly stamped, as it really should have gone on with the riders. It would take a while for them to figure that out. In the meantime, as soon as the riders got to the bottom of the castle’s approach road, they took the left fork, thundered over the long stone bridge built at great expense decades previously. Cantering through the cobbled streets, they came to an intersection and headed for the northwest road, leading deeper into the hinterlands. Their real destination was the coast and the marshes.
The horses would be turned loose, to run free and eventually, some might be caught and find new masters.
Lowren was quiet when they slowed the horses to a walk. Having circled back two hundred seventy degrees from their original course, they had hours ahead of them. There was time to think, and it was all he could do to hope.
A ship lying up there for just such a purpose would take them away. Hopefully it would still be there.
“Do you feel that?”
Lowren licked a finger tip and held it up to the wind.
“Southwest.”
There were nods and murmurs from the riders. The moon was up, but for much of the time, the road lay under trees. There was a sense of urgency and yet they must pick their way carefully. So far, their maps and travel notes from their spies had been fairly good.
The hours passed and the pain began.
“Dawn is not far off, Sire.” Kann was slumping in the saddle.
Although his eyes were tired he was in pretty good shape.
“Yes. And with a bit of luck—”
They might be home, or near enough as made no difference, in two or three days of clear sailing.
***
Dawn was breaking and the sky to the east was a salmon-colored glow. They had her all ready to go, having heard them coming for the last half mile or so.
They kept their voices low, but so far the boat had remained undiscovered. With their minimal draft and long, lean lines, the Lemni ships were ideal warships, although limited as to cargo-carrying capacity. Run up in the reeds, her shape obscured with rotten old fishing nets, her mast just one more dead tree along the coastline.
“Goodbye, oh, useless one.” Garvin slapped the animal on the rump and it turned its head to give him a loving look.
Bought for a couple of pieces, a temporary acquisition only, the thing hadn’t eaten so well nor had such an attentive rider in years. It stretched its neck forward for one more pat on the nose.
“Ah…go on with you.” Garvin turned, and parted the reeds. “Find yourself a lady friend.”
He crashed through the marsh, feet buried in stinking black muck. He felt badly for the damned horse for some reason, but it wasn’t his fault. He’d bought the thing a few more months or even years of life. Otherwise it would have ended up in the boneyard in pretty short order.
“Come along, come along.”
“Yes, yes.” Encumbered with the weight of sword and scabbard, his buckler on his shoulder, keeping his bow and quiver well clear of the water was no easy task.
He hit sand underfoot, which was a lot harder at least, and then the side of the boat loomed above him.
Willing hands relieved him of his burden and Garvin felt strong hands grab his wrists.
“Wait a minute.”
The hands let go and Garvin moved further out to where the gunwales were lower to the water.
He caught the edge and hauled himself up. Bibbs was there to grab his belt, and with one final heave Garvin was aboard, albeit half on his head.
“Argh.”
“Ah. Yes, you prefer the land, don’t you.”
Bibbs stood there grinning.
Lowren leaned hard on the oar he had set into the bottom.
“Come on lads. All hands.” Kann wasn’t one to be denied, and Garvin and Bibbs pulled oars from their swiveling rests and moved as far back as they could. Pushing hard, the men leaned into it, with the small crew of dedicated sailors raising the boom and pushing on a few more oars.
The air seemed almost completely still.
The ship let go with a lurch.
“Forwards, boys.” Lowren kept pushing but as soon as the other three moved forwards, the bow went down ever so slightly and she was finally free of the sand under her stern.
A quick bit of footwork prevented him from falling flat on his face as she went into the deeper water.
“Pull.” The quiet orders of the captain floated on the grey and misty air.
The boom went up, the sail came down, and then the captain scuttled the length of the ship. Oars were dropped back into the swivels and all available hands dropped into their benches. They began a comfortable stroke.
“Steady.”
“Aye, sir.”
Lowren grinned. What an incredible moment, the captain and the helmsman quietly conferring, the first brilliant sliver of the morning sun on the horizon, a good ship and a dozen or so men that knew what they were doing. Boys went along, tying off the corners of the sail, waiting to see how it took. The breeze caught her and the boom swiveled slightly. She was making way on her own.
It didn’t get much better than this.
“Lowren.”
“Aye, captain?”
“Have your men stow those oars please, and you will find food and refreshments in the locker.”
Lowren nodded.
He might be King, but a ship could only have one master.
“Aye, sir.” He nodded happily as the bow began to go up and down and then came around to the north as the helmsman leaned into his work.
They had escaped. The shore was still and silent, only calls of birds to say there was land there at all. They were halfway down a long shallow bay, sheltered from the wind at first. The low hills to their rear dropped further away and the bay widened out. The waves were bigger ahead, with just a hint of spray coming off about every third one.
The ship heeled, the sail bellied out and then the waves began to slap and splash over the bow on the starboard quarter. A series of vee-shaped streamers of white foam came off the bow as she shouldered the waves aside, and she had a discernable wake now. Parts of the ship creaked and groaned, and a sailor walked up and down, leaning carefully against her motion, and studying the level in the port side bilges as the water sloshed back and forth under the duckboards.
“She
looks good, sir.”
The captain gave him a quick wave of acknowledgement. He put his hand on the helmsman’s shoulder.
“Ten degrees to port, please.”
“Aye, sir. Ten degrees to port, thank you.”
“All righty, man, good fellow, steady her up.”
She wasn’t rolling quite so hard now, thought Lowren.
“Aye, sir. Steady her up, and thank you very much, sir.”
The captain was aware of Lowren watching them.
“To Lemnia we go, sire. Three days hence, if the winds and the waves hold fair.” By the captain’s reckoning, they might make it early on the evening of the second day, but it was wise not to make too many promises when the weather could turn at any moment.
If they had to row into a strong wind, using all available hands, it could take a week, perhaps even longer if a big storm came along and they had to run her ashore.
“Thank you, Captain Rollo. And how did you find the wait?”
“Boring and tedious, sire. More than anything.” Days of nothing but suspense, and keeping a sharp eye and voices low. “And how about you?”
“I think we did very well, to bring our message and come away again unscathed—or un-scourged. Only time will tell.” There was nothing else to report, apparently.
“We came away with our skins intact. That is the main thing, sire.”
It’s not like they needed, or even wanted to know. Most were content just to live, and to serve, and to have a place. It was more than some men had, after all.
A quiet rumble of humor went through the boys on overhearing this interplay. Even now, they were keeping their voices down. The land was barely a mile away. The mouth of the Great River was right there, a few miles off the port bow. It was only a matter of time before sails loomed on the horizon.
Being with the men was a kind of reward in itself. There were times when it was possible to forget his position, to just be one of them, and Lowren treasured those moments. He stood, hand on the gunwale, and then sank, surprisingly tired all of a sudden, onto one of the rowing benches beside him.
The land, still dark under those trees, was silent and inscrutable behind them. The marsh was perfect cover, although you couldn’t use it too often. Unsuitable for farming or grazing, too wet for commercially-valuable trees to grow, it was a refuge for felons, escaped slaves, and the occasional poacher. Smugglers would know of such places, and they were lucky that none had come along at an inopportune time. Since neither party would want to draw attention to itself, the results of such a meeting would be incalculable. It would mostly depend on whether the other party felt itself stronger or weaker, thought Lowren—and that had been all they had to go on. They would be thieves, pirates and smugglers after all.
The captain and crew of the good ship Cygnus hadn’t seen anyone in the three days they had been there. The creek wasn’t navigable, and the mouth was obscured by bulrushes and waterweeds.
Yet it was only three miles from the mouth of the Great River and barely twelve or thirteen miles from the capital city.
Lowren wondered if Eleanora had sent troops after them—if so, there hadn’t been any signs of it. Leaving the castle, the party had galloped off by the northwest road, then after going through the town, they had circled through the hills and farm fields, and then headed southeast to the coast.
He would hear more about that later from certain resources in place at her court and in the town itself.
Spying on even your most friendly neighbors was nothing new, and he must assume she knew something about his kingdom as well. Any number of magicians, merchants, peddlers, musicians and dancers traveled back and forth. Ships of both nations traded far up and down the coast. Aside from their cargos and their trade, the news and talk they brought from afar was worth its weight in gold. For a few pieces, they might take extra special care in using their eyes, ears and noses—sometimes serving more than one distant master. This often worked out pretty well for all concerned, although it was a fine balancing act for the asset in question.
Typical for them, Garvin and Bibbs had dragged a spare sail and some canvas covers out onto the duckboards ahead of the mast. After their long night in the saddle, the tension of their slightly-ambiguous position in the castle, and the sheer physical exhaustion of the last few days, they had one thing on their mind and that was sleep.
“Sails on the horizon, sir.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Chapter Five
It was a Council-of-War in everything but name. Some of her ministers hadn’t been in the same room together for quite some time. Quiet reigned here, surrounded by heavily-framed walnut panels, and the tall windows that let in a bit of light even on the darkest winter days.
Weeks or even months had passed since the last big crisis.
What had seemed important enough at the time, had faded into insignificance. But this was different.
Nobles who had laughed and politely applauded at the presentation of Lowren, the barbarian king, were at a total loss as to how to react, and so they reacted badly.
“This is an outrage.” Hermoslaus was her Attorney General.
Having been badly shamed by the Lowren incident, including the hijacking by subterfuge of his shipment of prisoners, Hermoslaus was all for declaring war—on the Lemni. While she was sure it was more for show than anything, it took some time to sooth his ruffled feathers. Taez was somewhere off in the wings awaiting his fate as well.
Let him wait, she decided. When in doubt, do nothing—let him wait for a long time.
Let him be grateful, she thought. Let him think that Lowren somehow displeased and disappointed me, and that he had escaped in the night. Let him tremble for his head, which was in no real danger, and let others seem him tremble
Her first order of business had been to state publicly that certain staff were being punished, and that others were on probation. The official statement gave no names, and no further details. Some of the troops, once they freed themselves and reported their assault and abduction, had been reassigned to training duties. Others here in the palace were expecting momentary transfer to remote frontier outposts. They could talk all they wanted, and some versions of the story would get around. They needed a certain amount of window dressing, and the punishment of long-serving and fairly senior officers was fairly convincing. The only oddity was that Nyron had been promoted and given a field command of raw troops. He had been ordered to whip them into shape. Forty miles from Windermere, Nandadere was a garrison town and about as provincial as the dark side of the moon in cultural terms. On the face of it, Nyron had been punished for something.
It sent a mixed message and that was good sometimes. Let the enemy ponder on that one.
“I commend your spirit, Lord Hermoslaus. The real threat is not from Lowren, who simply doesn’t have the forces, but the Great Khan, who does. And we have too much to recommend us as targets for his aggression…” She nodded at the Minister of Commerce who winced slightly.
What were positives yesterday were liabilities today—Windermere had a thriving economy and a grain surplus ten years running. Her granaries were full, although prices were a bit low, but in the event of war the price would go up. Wheat and other grains were the kingdom’s real wealth. Windermere’s population had almost doubled in thirty years due to enlightened policies and special immigration incentives to skilled candidates.
“Lord Pell.”
“Ah, yes. Majesty.” She and Theodelinda had explained the problem and what Lowren had told them as best they could recall.
It had been a long session. As to his alleged presentation and subsequent absence, rumors were already going about that he had disappointed her in the boudoir and been put to death. Those rumors would last a few days and be replaced by other rumors. The next set of rumors would be even more outlandish…and so it would go. The important thing was that no one had seen him since, and that the Queen and her party weren’t talking.
“Well. He’s
right on pretty much every point.” The kingdom lay at the hub of a network of trade routes that radiated outwards like the spokes of a wheel. “Our own production of meat, grain and other foodstuffs is considerable. Our kingdom is relatively wealthy. And yet Lowren spoke of ships and naval stores. In addition to other things.”
Many other things.
He pursed his lips.
“Well, we have all that, of course.” The Minister detailed how jack pines were used for masts and linen for sails.
Flax, hemp and other fibers went into rope. He quoted a few figures.
Windermere exported quite a lot of rope, as it turned out. A goodly proportion was in fact purchased by the Horde on a yearly basis.
Windermere’s forges and smithies produced all sorts of hardware, including chandler’s stores. The manufactories could be quickly adapted to more warlike activities such as weapons or for equipping a fleet relatively quickly. But what seemed like a positive was again just bait for the Khan. The conclusion seemed inescapable. They were an inviting target.
The kingdom was heavily forested, with tall pines for masts, plenty of oaks for timbers and frames, and lots of smaller trees which provided staves to make barrels for shipment of wet goods. Wine and oil were a source of portable and easily-transferrable wealth, and stored well for long periods. There were a score of smaller industries, hides, beeswax and honey, dried fish, lamp oil and bitumen for the caulking of warships.
The kingdom had a surplus of certain commodities, a situation which was vital to trade. Even their armories were productive and well-stocked. They had bows and the seasoned staves to make more, more than they had the manpower to utilize. They had one-point-two million arrows and crossbow quarrels, and three thousand crossbows, their components ready for immediate assembly. All of it was properly stored and accounted-for. Normally this would equip their own militia and hastily-levied reserves. This weaponry would be a windfall to one such as the Khan. Swords, pikes and bows were the stuff land armies were made of. Like any modern army, the Khan would be equipping hordes of auxiliaries as well—as many as he possibly could.
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