“Mistress Nevaeh, I assume what you hold is this ‘phone’ device Randwick has told me so much about?” Charleroi called brightly from the saddle, dragging on her reins ever-so-slightly to bring her mount around toward Nev’s direction. “I should very much like to see this fantastical machine in greater detail…”
“It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty,” Nev replied quickly, recognising a royal command well enough when she heard one and lowering the phone once more as Godfrey approached with her horse.
“Perhaps at a more opportune time, Ma’am…” Randwick suggested as Nev proceeded to lift herself into the saddle, Godfrey holding the beast steady for her then slinging her sports bag across behind her and tying it down with the saddle strings on either side. “We’ve had reports of Blackwatch scouts on the Burnii Road south of Bolivar and it’s only a matter of time before they march on Cadle.”
“Of course, of course…” She conceded with a nod, acceding to his advice. “I’d have you ride with me this morning, mistress, if Master Godfrey has no objections…?”
“N – no, Your Majesty… none at all… of course…” He blustered awkwardly, both of them reddening slightly as he quickly mounted his own horse.
“Excellent… it’s settled then! Sir William: if you’d do the honours…?”
“Ma’am…” he replied instantly, bowing his head and raising a hand to his hat brim in salute before trotting his horse past Randwick’s to take the head of the line. “Company…!” He bellowed, lifting himself off the saddle and standing in the stirrups as he turned to call the rest of his men. “Move out… scouting formation! Duclos to point! For Huon…!”
“For Huon…!” The entire troop of guardsmen echoed loudly in chorus, one of them – presumably Duclos –urging his mount forward and galloping ahead, out through the open main gates with lance lowered and ready. Another trooper fell in beside William, the pair leading the rest of the group out in twos with the remaining two guardsmen bringing up the rear, leading the pack horses.
“For Huon…! For Huon…!” Trumpets blared from somewhere up on the battlements, giving fanfare to their departure, and all around the crowd chanted that call, echoing the guardsmen and adding their cheers as the royal party rode out.
“Far to go, Master Randwick…?” Godfrey asked as the troop wound its way northward along the main trail leading away from the fortress at Peaceful Lake.
“Eight miles to the Bolivar Road, give or take,” the old man answered after a moment’s thought, “and you saw on the way in how it winds through those mountains. Better part of two hours’ ride, but it’s after we reach Bolivar that I’m worried about…”
“Blackwatch…”
“Aye, lad… Blackwatch, right enough… Sixteen miles more of up hill and down dale before we reach the Burnii Crossroads to the west – another four hours during which time we’re heading into danger rather than away. No reports of those black-shirted bastards that far south yet, but their scouts have been spotted as far down as Parra and Hampshire and that’s already too close for my liking. They’re sure to be marching on Cadle by now and it’ll be hard luck for us if they make the crossroads in force before we can pass through.”
“Can we go around – push through the scrub instead, maybe…?”
“Aye, we can…” he conceded with a nod, eyes never leaving the road ahead, “but the forests there are as thick as anything you’ll come across, and taking that route would cost us hours we don’t have. I know its springtime now across The Osterlands, but you’d know as well as any how cold it gets down even then, and it’s been a very cold winter this year. We get caught in the bush overnight and it’ll be light a fire or die sure enough, and the light and the smoke from that would be seen for miles on a clear night…”
“And then south from the crossroads…?”
“Aye, south indeed: I’d hope to make Zeehn by nightfall – William has family there and we’ll be well be looked after well – but Renison would do at a pinch… don’t really care so long as we’ve somewhere safe and warm for the night. On to Strahn again at first light: I’m hoping we’ll have a ship waiting when we arrive…”
“‘Hoping…?” Godfrey queried, not sure the old man sounded all that confident.
“More than a hope…” Randwick grunted, almost allowing himself a grin. “I’ve a friend who’s been waiting for us the better part of a week now. S’posed to meet him at Sternley three nights ago but Harald and his cursed lot ruined all that. Instructions were, if we didn’t show he was to make for Strahn and wait for my signal. Can’t expect him to wait forever, but we’ve a few more days before we need to worry, I think.”
“And assuming all goes to plan, where then…?”
“Workin’ on it….” He replied cryptically, not ready to give too much away just yet despite sensing instinctively the boy could be trusted. “Safest direction right now is west, but only if y’ can slip past the Blackships that’ll be guaranteed to be swarming all over the Deepwater right now. Hard to tell what the reception’ll be at the other end either: Croweda might not be particularly fond of Harald but they’ll not be stupid enough to cross him by helping us – particularly now he’s got these damned cannon as leverage.”
“A lot of unknowns, master…” Godfrey observed, trying to sound optimistic but not really managing.
“Aye, lad… more than I’d like and that’s the honest truth, but it’s all we’ve got right now and I need to make sure the queen’s safe before we even begin to think about anything else. Another thing…” he added, turning his head at locking eyes with Godfrey for the first time. “Y’ can lose that ‘Master Randwick’ business now. No one’s called me by ‘Foucault’ since I were in junior school, but y’ can just use ‘Randwick’ or kinsman if you’re at a loss for anything better: you fought hard beside me at Stewpot and you’ve earned that right, sure enough. Kinsman…?” He added, bringing his mount close in and extending his arm with a nod of encouragement.
“Kinsman…!” Godfrey acknowledged eventually, initially reluctant but urged on by the older man’s sincerity as he turned and leaned over in the saddle to accept the offered hand in offered friendship. “Well met…”
“Well met indeed…!”
It’s a fine blade you carry, Mistress Nevaeh…” Charleroi observed as the pair of them rode together, a few metres behind the other two. “Master Randwick tells me it’s of a design similar to those used by the Sun Empire in the north, but of a quality he’s never before seen.”
“It’s definitely a special one, Your Majesty…” Nev agreed with a nod, trying not to cringe too much over the queen’s use of her full name. “It was given to me as a gift from my sensei – the man who taught me how to use it. The blade’s almost seven hundred years old.”
“A fine blade indeed then… and you use it well: I saw that clearly enough at Stewpot Road. Randwick hasn’t told me much about who you are – I suspect he doesn’t know all that much himself – but what little he has said suggests you’re not from here… not from anywhere around here…”
“Not even close, Your Highness…” she answered with a wry smile, not bothering to explain how much of an understatement that was.
“Please… I know it’s not ‘proper’ in public to call me by name, but at least use ‘ma’am’ or ‘milady’ instead… it seems ridiculous for you to have to keep saying ‘Your Majesty’ of ‘Your Highness’ every second sentence, especially considering what we’ve already been through together…”
“I – of course… Ma’am…” Nev stammered, not about to think about how ridiculous it sounded to use that term to address a girl almost a year her junior. “You saved me once or twice during the battle too…” she added, recalling the image of Charleroi standing atop the log barricade, firing a succession of deadly-accurate arrows into the Blackwatch clustered about Nev as she’d slashed this way and that with her katana. “You really know how to shoot!”
“I’ve Randwick to thank for that…” Charleroi repli
ed with a smile, both forced to raise their voices over the clatter of hooves and the clank and jangle of armoured troopers riding. “I spent sixteen years locked up in that castle, and it was either learn things like archery with him or needlepoint and crochet with one of my handmaidens… not a difficult choice to make, all things considered…”
“Wow…” Nev chuckled to herself, finding vague amusement in a joke no one else was likely to understand. “Nerds must’ve been scary before computers!”
XX
Kindred Spirits
Strahn… a remote hamlet of a few hundred people on the wild, west coast of Huon where rather than the great fishing fleets of the north, it was logging ships usually at anchor in her sheltered port; the great forest pines and hardwoods growing there being greatly prized for construction and shipbuilding alike. The town lay at the northern end of Mockery Inlet, a long, shallow body of water that opened out onto the Southern Sea through a treacherously narrow mouth known locally as the Devil’s Doorway, ten kilometres south-west of Strahn. Navigating that entrance during rough seas or weather was tantamount to suicide, yet such was the attraction of a hold filled with fine hardwood logs that dozens of vessels made that very voyage every year, sailing in from right across The Osterlands.
Some would never return, but there were riches to be made for those who did and there was always a surplus of cocky captains and plucky crews ready to try. It was for that reason in particular that Randwick and the rest had struck out south-west from Cadle as Harald had continued to solidify his beachhead at Burnii and amassed his forces in preparation for the long march that would precede any assault upon that great mountain fortress.
Ocean Breeze had been the main reason Randwick had decided to head for the wilderness of Huon’s west coast in the first place. Ismail Farouk had waited another two days at Sternley before finally deciding to cut and run for safer harbours further south as news of the invasion began to spread. A Blackwater gunboat had sailed into the bay without warning on the evening of that second day and proceeded to shell the docks for a solid half-hour, destroying most of the structures there and leaving that part of town burning furiously.
The ship had escaped damage but the writing was surely on the wall so far as Farouk was concerned and they’d put out to sea by first light, sailing hard for The Takers, an archipelago of rocky islands that lay off the north-western tip of Huon, before turning southward once more for the relative safety of colder climes. The ‘Breeze had finally rowed its way through the Devil’s Doorway two days later, taking advantage of a few hours’ dead calm to sneak through that narrow causeway into Mockery Inlet.
By contrast, the journey south by land had been remarkably uneventful. The royal escort had ridden hard from the fortress that first day, pushing westward along the Belvoir Road past streams of refugees from all walks of life, most of them also from Cadle and the surrounding countryside. By noon they’d reached the Burnii Crossroads; an unremarkable enough intersection surrounded by thick, forested woodland that to everyone’s surprise and relief still remained free of enemy forces.
After a short break at a nearby reservoir to water the horses, the troupe was back on the road again, this time turning south along the Merchant’s Town High Road, a narrow carriageway of hard-packed earth and broken patches of tarred surface that wound its way between mountain ranges even more arduous than those they’d left behind. The stream of displaced refugees continued to grow, bolstered by hundreds more coming south from Burnii itself. News had already spread of the king’s death and the slow-moving crowds were abuzz with excitement as the queen and her entourage passed by, although it would’ve been fair to say there were also many shocked by the fact that Charleroi and another unidentified young woman were clearly travelling without visards as protection against the danger of Keepsakes.
Well aware of the reaction that situation was likely to stir up, Randwick remained alert and watchful as a hawk as they’d rode on, and he found himself repeatedly casting a careful eye on William whenever the young officer wasn’t likely to notice. The boy had been quite vocal in his opposition when the queen had first declared she’d most definitely not be wearing any kind of mask during the journey, and although he’d since kept his mouth shut throughout the ride, the old man nevertheless had a growing suspicion that it was weighing heavily on the guard-captain’s mind. Randwick also suspected that hadn’t been helped as a number of women of common and noble birth, having noted the queen’s lack of visard and the alleged involvement of The Brotherhood in Harald’s invasion, had also decided to toss aside their own blindfolds.
Randwick been happy to lose most of the evacuees near the Roseberry Crossing, another otherwise nondescript crossroads where their journey once more turned west toward Zeehn while most of the refugees continued on southward along the high road, making for the safer communities of Glen Anarchy or Arthur’s Port on the far south coast: the lesser the crowds, the lesser the danger of awkward questions or of running across some Blackwatch assassin hidden amongst them.
It was mid-afternoon by then and although civilian traffic had thinned out, the escort’s ranks had swelled with an influx of additional troops, both mounted and on foot. The shattered remnants of a number of Huon military units had withdrawn from Burnii among the fleeing crowds and many of these had gravitated toward William and the guardsmen as they came through. By the time they reached Zeehn at dusk on that first day, their modest troupe of nine had grown to a small company of foot soldiers and mounted cavalry from at least half-a-dozen different units, all tired and hungry but nevertheless somewhat invigorated by the presence of their new queen and incensed by the news of Baal’s betrayal and Phaesus’ assassination.
William’s family were dairy farmers, and he’d been welcomed with open arms and much emotion from his parents as he’d led the troupe up the rutted dirt track leading past the main farmhouse. Nev and Charleroi had been taken into their home (the fuss made over their son’s arrival had quickly paled into insignificance as the queen had made her presence known), and the rest of the company had been provided with food and drink aplenty as a makeshift camp had been set up in the large field out front of the residence.
The bivouac that night was loud and raucous and filled with alcohol and song as the men of Huon – just as soldiers elsewhere were doing in that universe or any other – gathered together to rekindle old friendships and forge new ones, all the while making the most of one precious moment of peace and quiet to celebrate the fact that whatever the new day might bring, right at that moment they were very much alive and very prepared to make the most of it. The royal party heard little of the celebrations however, all of them exhausted from a hard day’s ride and in any case still recovering from the dramatic events of the preceding few days.
They were ready to move out again by first light, many nursing hangovers and wincing at the blinding brilliance of the morning sun as sergeants-at-arms moved this way and that, screaming orders at all and sundry with an intensity that bordered on mania. Two dozen cavalrymen waited patiently in paired columns to one side as close to eighty more foot-soldiers hastily formed themselves into ranks of ten, sounding off in preparation for morning inspection.
It as mid-morning as the long lines of marching soldiers finally tromped down the last hill into Strahn, the entire town lining the main street to welcome them with Queen Charleroi at their head. There was some scattered cheering and the occasional waving of royal pennants, but for the most part the mood was one of subdued apprehension. News of the invasion had already reached the town with the first of the refugees that had begun to appear over the last few days, and the arrival of the new queen heading away from the enemy with a rag-tag collection of dirty and bedraggled troops didn’t instil a great deal of confidence.
A small fort stood at the water’s edge on the other side of town, positioned on a small, rocky peninsula at the centre of the ‘Y-shaped’ section at the northern end of the inlet where it split off into two separate, far smaller bod
ies of water. With a three-storey ‘tower’ barely tall enough for a platoon of coast-watchers to look out across the water over its two-metre stone walls, the barracks buildings within were far too small to accommodate over a hundred men, although some rooms were naturally cleared for the queen and her personal entourage. The rest of the company pitched camp that afternoon in the middle of a large, open expanse of foreshore outside the fort’s main gates, their tents for the most part within a short walk of a narrow, sandy beach that opened out onto the cold, dark waters of Mockery Inlet.
The bay itself, although narrow-sided to the east and west, stretched away for many kilometres to the south, the distant shorelines little more than a vague, black-green line beyond the morning haze hanging over the water. The town itself had seemed relatively plain and as ‘normal’ as any such village might presumably be in a world she’d only arrived in a week ago. There were the same rudimentary stone and mud brick houses that were found everywhere else on the island, although the hard-packed earthen streets seemed substantially cleaner than she’d seen in Burnii or on the mainland.
Villagers made their way back and forth, going about their business in side streets and back alleys beyond the small crowd that had gathered to watch the procession roll in. Carts and hand-trolleys carrying wares and supplies squeaked and rattled up and down between the buildings, and near the centre of town was the ubiquitous temple of The Brotherhood, looking as church-like in general design as anything she’d seen back home. The only difference in this particular case however was that the insignia of the brotherhood – an unmistakable blue diamond obviously intended to represent the image of a Shard Crystal – had been torn down from above the front entrance and now lay smashed and abandoned on the street outside. It seemed that news of De Lisle’s betrayal had preceded them and had been received with as much outrage and condemnation there as it had at Cadle.
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