by P J Berman
They exited the courtyard and Shappa spent the next half hour or so showing Vaezona around the Alyredd’s house. She noticed that he made sure to only show her the rooms that would be relevant to her tasks. Mostly he planned to use her for carrying and fetching things and maybe for passing on messages if she proved herself to be loyal.
Her heart sank with resignation when he opened the door to the last room and she saw that these were his sleeping quarters. Yes, she thought he was very good looking, but she didn’t want to be used in this way.
‘This is where you will be spending much of your time. I will expect you to be at my beck and call. Every night, unless instructed otherwise, you will wait outside with the guard in case I need you. When the first guard’s watch finishes and he or she is replaced, then you may go to your sleeping quarters, which I will arrange to be made ready for you, and you will be awoken if I call for anything else.’
Vaezona’s heart rose again. She may still have to fulfil the duty of being his sexual partner at some point, but at least it wasn’t looking like he was going to force himself on her. She had no idea what to say apart from ‘Yes, your Majesty.’
There was a knock on the door. As they both turned, they saw a messenger standing there.
‘Your Majesty, dinner is served. Our good Queen requests your presence.’
‘Ah, I must have taken more time than I thought. I shall be there presently.’
He turned back to Vaezona.
‘Stay here while I am away. I will have some food sent up for you. You will need your energy for your work.’
‘Thank you, your Majesty,’ Vaezona replied dutifully with a bow.
Shappa shut the door behind him as he left and Vaezona suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable as she heard him turn the key. The room seemed darker now, despite the fact that it was only early evening and it was still light outside.
Vaezona was just having a further look around the room when she jumped at the sound of another a key in the door.
Finally some food, she thought, calming herself and realising how hungry she was. But when the door opened, it wasn’t a servant who walked through. Her fear rose again as she saw that it was somebody wearing a long, thick, hooded black cloak, which revealed nothing of the person underneath, save for a glimpse of a white mask with a twisted grin and a hooked nose. Shocked by this new development, Vaezona drew back, unable to speak. As it was not yet officially night time, there was no guard on the door to intervene. Vaezona wanted to scream, but for some reason, she didn’t dare. The demonic visitor shut the door.
‘Come to me,’ the hooded figure said, beckoning with a hand covered by a grubby black glove and using a voice that was so fake that Vaezona wasn’t even sure whether it was male or female.
She was too petrified to refuse and so, gingerly, she walked towards the figure, who leaned strangely in order to keep the hood in place, with only the mask showing. As soon as Vaezona was close enough, the intruder shot out both hands and deftly pulled the shoulders of her loose fitting dress and let it drop down, held up only by the tighter fitting cut of its waist, exposing her breasts and causing a sharp clinking sound as a piece of jewellery, previously hidden, fell to the floor. Startled, Vaezona let out a squeal as she pathetically fumbled with the dress, trying to cover herself again.
It was only then that she realised that the intruder had no interest in her naked flesh, but was looking at the object that had fallen to the floor; the one that Vaezona had been given by Jostan, which the hooded figure had picked up and now held as if to marvel at it. Vaezona took the opportunity to quickly redress herself.
‘Ah, King Lissoll’s ring. I’m sure he’d be sickened to know that it is now being used against his daughter.’ The masked entity laughed a low, hollow cackle. ‘I suspected you might be carrying this. I thought you looked different when I saw you before. Most prisoners look either terrified or just resigned to their fate when being passed between captors. You didn’t – until now that is. You’re here at King Jostan’s order, aren’t you? You looked far too willing to be here on your arrival. It was as if you wanted to be here, which of course, I suppose you do, in a way. But you’ll have to add a bit more sullenness in the future to make yourself believable.’
Vaezona understood now. Jostan had told her that the other spy would probably keep their identity hidden. The ring was handed back to her. She looked at it and still, even now, could not quite believe what was in her possession.
It was quite heavy for its size and was of course made of gold. On its face it had a carving of a warrior King, presumably the God Vitrinnolf, carrying his sword. It may have been King Lissoll’s but before that, it had reputedly been passed down from one King to the next since the founding of Bennvika itself. As Vaezona had learned when she worshipped the Gods at the temple growing up, this ring was part of a pair. Bennvika had originally been born out of the marriage between Lomatteva, the Queen of Hazgorata and Vitrinnolf, the King of Kriganheim, when they were yet mortals. At the wedding ceremony, they had exchanged rings. This one had supposedly been given to Vitrinnolf by Lomatteva. Both of them had become the mightiest of Gods after their deaths. Clearly Jostan had no belief in myths and simply wished to symbolically insult the Alfwyns.
The one that Lomatteva had received from her new husband showed a woman, also with a sword. There were many different opinions on what the pair symbolised and many thought the rings didn’t date back as far as that anyway. In fact, Vaezona remembered her uncle Naivard telling her that the Hentani felt that, just as in the case of their claim about Amulet of Hazgorata, the rings were actually of Hentani origin, stolen from them in one of their many wars with Bennvika and that the man and woman shown on them are not Vitrinnolf and Lomatteva, but deities of their own and that any similarities were mere coincidence.
The true Bennvikan belief, on the other hand, Naivard had told her, was that whether it be the images on the rings, or on the Amulet of Hazgorata, or on the standard of the province of Hazgorata, which had always been linked to the House of Aethelgard even at Bennvika’s founding, the result was still the same. They believed that the woman was always Lomatteva and the man was always Vitrinnolf. That had been drummed into Vaezona and every other Bennvikan child from an early age.
‘Hey. Are you listening?’ the spy hissed, snapping Vaezona back to the present. She was amazed at how quickly she had relaxed after finding out that they were on the same side.
‘Sorry. Yes, I was just wondering why it’s necessary for you to hide your identity even from me.’
‘Attention to detail. I will reveal my face to you only when I deem the time to be right, Vaezona.’
‘How do you know my name? I never told you.’
She saw the spy tense slightly under the cloak and her fear rose again.
‘Do not ask questions!’
‘I’m sorry. I guess you’ve been watching me. But I must know who you are, otherwise, how will I know where to find you?’
‘All you need to know is that you must follow my instructions to the letter and that I will be watching you.’ Usually, that last phrase might fill one with warm confidence, but under the circumstances, it gave Vaezona a cold chill.
‘Now,’ said the spy with haste. ‘We must be quick before I am missed. Here’s what I need you to do.’
NETTSCAFORD, RILANA
Far beyond the Eternamic Ocean, in the great Empire of Rilana, Captain Voyran Attington lay on his bed, his mind ruled by one astounding thought. The undertaking that he and his crew were to begin that day could change the world forever, or at least, his country’s future.
Since the beginning of time, it had been believed that the ocean to the north was too vast to cross. It had been assumed that it was the edge of the world and that any ship’s Captain foolhardy enough to sail to near it would end up falling off into an endless abyss. Small wonder then, that many had been dissuaded from testing this assumption.
But then, ten years previously, a naval vessel, captained
by the now legendary Janissada Attington, Voyran’s own mother, had been blown off course. As a result, they had ended up further north than any Rilanian had been for centuries. While attempting to head for home, they had stumbled upon what appeared to be a small merchant vessel. It was in distress and the crew were picked up by the Rilanian ship.
It had quickly become apparent that the sailors whom they had saved, some, but by no means all of whom were far lighter in complexion than the Rilanians, spoke a language that neither Janissada nor any of her crew recognised. It was clear too that none of the newcomers understood Rilanian either. More awkward still, there seemed to be no other language that was common to both factions.
Significantly though, many of the newcomers had sounded like they were saying the word ‘Bennvika’ while pointing to each other and then to the north. It had seemed that this was the name of the land from which they hailed and which lay in that direction.
Of course, lacking in manpower and with provisions running low, Janissada had been in no mood to pursue any reckless plans to explore the lands to the north straight away and she had ordered her crew to head for home, taking the ‘Bennvikans’ with her. That was how the crew of a merchant ship, as far as history could tell, had become the first Bennvikans to lay eyes on Nettscaford, capital city of Rilana.
Of course, the wise Janissada had seen the opportunity in this straight away. Voyran remembered the day the ship had landed. No sooner had the ship docked than sailors had been sent into the city shouting ‘Come and see the natives of unknown lands north of the great ocean’.
Voyran had been sixteen at the time and his father, an esteemed politician in the Rilanian senate, had insisted that Voyran come to welcome his illustrious mother home from another voyage. He had been to many of these events over the years, but as they had ridden to the port, the sound of the sailors shouting about their discoveries piqued his interest. It had done the same for others too and when they had arrived, Voyran had found the scene rather amusing in a way.
Looking somewhat out of place in a busy port, dressed in their fur coats, flamboyant dresses, expensive silk jackets, leather shoes and powder blue, ponytailed wigs, the rich had arrived in force to inspect the dirty, plainly dressed, primitive-looking newcomers. Their physique was quite different and their complexions varied greatly. While a few were as dark as he was, others were like nothing Voyran had ever seen. His own dark skin declared his noble blood to all and in Rilana, anything less than that showed you were descended from the common peoples, yet these pale newcomers among the Bennvikans looked most strange to his eye. He would later learn that the Bennvikans who looked more like himself mostly had their roots in another Kingdom, named Gilbaya.
The Rilanian nobility had shouted at the Bennvikans and spoken to them slowly as if that would make them suddenly understand their language. When they didn’t respond, they just laughed at them. Voyran, on the other hand, could see the potential in this. There were lands to the north, ripe for exploration. The idea had obsessed him, as it had gone on to do for years since then.
Eventually, the Bennvikans had come to the attention of the already ageing Empress Hozekeada IV, who had presided over a largely peaceful and prosperous reign. The Bennvikans had been formally presented to her, but all that had followed was that the Bennvikans had been forced to learn Rilanian, so that information could be gained about their homeland. In fact, a full five years after their arrival, it had seemed to Voyran that there were no plans to actually find and explore Bennvika, or any of the other nations the newcomers had spoken of, like Gilbaya, Medrodor, Etrovansia and Verusantium.
He yearned to see these places. So, aged twenty-one and newly promoted to Captain, a frustrated Voyran had personally beseeched the Empress to let him be the one to lead the first expedition. To his surprise, she had accepted, though it had taken a further five years for a crew to be formed that was brave enough and ambitious enough to follow him. A specially adapted ship, capable of reaching the northern lands, had also been required to be designed and built. Now it was ready and waiting in the port and the production of a fleet of others was well underway. Now though, the first ship was all that was required. Everything was ready. The day had finally arrived.
Voyran lifted his muscular frame from his bed, leaving his two female playmates to sleep off last night’s hangover. They would be ushered out by his servants in his absence. As far as he was concerned, sex was all the preparation a sailor needed.
Dressing quickly he put on his blue uniform, complete with its dark blazer, blue shin-length trousers, long pull-up white socks, black shoes, and golden shoulder pads. Finally, he covered his short black hair with a wig of powdered azure and a large blue Captain’s hat. He left the house and made his way to the port.
Heading away from the large, old, stone public buildings and temples and the more recent tile-roofed houses, he moved through the crowds and stepped on to the long wooden pier, at the end of which lay their ship. She had been named the Ibbezron, after the Rilanian deity, Ibbez, the Goddess of adventure and fortune.
She was a 104 gun ‘lead-rate’ class ship-of-the-battle-line. Looking striking with her black and gold horizontally striped paint on her broadsides, she featured three huge masts and was bristling with cannon; something the Bennvikans had not seen before coming to this country, Voyran’s mother had said. Further in the distance, dwarfed by the Ibbezron, lay the group of four ore-propelled tugs that would tow the giant ship out of the harbour.
As soon as he had boarded the vessel, he saw his first mate, Emostocran Latlund.
‘Everything’s ready, Captain,’ said Emostocran. The wrinkled old sailor’s thin face was emotionless and his tone consummately professional.
‘I hope she is too,’ Voyran said, nodding towards a pale-skinned young woman in Navy uniform standing on the deck. She was looking around the place in a way that made her appear rather nervous. She was a Bennvikan and would be their interpreter and guide for the duration of the voyage. Despite that fact that she was some way older than Voyran, perhaps thirty-five years of age, he couldn’t deny her beauty, with her dark hair and luscious curves. Her apparent nervousness just added to her appeal.
‘She hasn’t seen her homeland in ten years, sir,’ Emostocran replied. ‘I hope for our sake that she hasn’t become too comfortable in our language. In all this time she’s only been able to talk to her husband in their own.’
‘Well at least it’ll be good to have him out of the equation,’ was all Voyran could say in reply.
Quickly he climbed the steps towards the poop deck and turned to address the crew who stood expectantly, filling the ship’s upper level.
‘Gather round. Gather round,’ he called. ‘We go to investigate, not to plunder.’
The sailors laughed at his irony. Most had served under him before and knew his habits well. Only the Bennvikan looked unamused.
‘I jest of course. Yet one thing that is not to be underestimated is the importance and magnitude of what we are to undertake this day. Today Rilana stretches its long arms north and sets out to pull the lands there into its rich and warm embrace. Today, the world changes. Today, we become world shapers. For Rilana.’
He thrust his sword in the air. In the midst of the cheers all around him, he got the voyage under way.
‘All crew to their positions,’ Voyran ordered.
With that cue, the experienced Emostocran took up the instructions.
‘Up anchor!’ he bellowed. ‘Make ready. Prepare for the tow. Cast off.’
It was enough to set the pulse racing. Seeing the waving of the orange flag by a sailor on the Ibbezron’s bow, the four tugs responded to the signal in unison, heaving forward to take up the strain. The ship began to move, picking up speed and gliding clear of the port on the shimmering waves.
‘Ready the sail. Break the tow,’ Emostocran ordered. The orange flag was waved again and each rope was released from its tug and was pulled back aboard the ship, which was now moving freely und
er its own momentum.
‘Drop the sail,’ Emostocran barked.
This was always an exhilarating part of any voyage for Voyran; feeling the wind running through his fingers as the ship powered forward under her mighty sails, cutting through the waves and striding out to sea as dolphins came alongside the ship’s hull, jumping and diving as they went. But this time all that was surely as nothing compared with what was to come if the mission was successful.
After an hour or so, with the ship now at her cruising speed, he turned to take one last look at the shoreline of Rilana; one last sight of the city of Nettscaford before it disappeared over the horizon. Usually, he knew where he was going. Even though it was often somewhere he’d never been before, he often knew someone who had. Therefore the questions in his head tended to be very basic. How much money would he make? Would the wine be good? And most of all, what would the women there be like?
But this time, for once, there was a more poignant thought that distracted his mind temporarily from these things; how much would the world have changed by the time he returned?
Chapter 14
THE FOREST OF USTAHERTA, USTENNA, BENNVIKA
Haggard expressions adorned the faces of Jostan’s troops as they took in the terrible sight around them. They had made good progress south in the past few days and it would not be long until they would emerge from the Forest of Ustaherta’s southern reaches and swing southeast towards the Defroni’s territory, where they would link up with their allies before marching to destroy the last independent Hentani villages.
But that was until they came upon the remains of a cart barely hours after passing the corpses of a handful of soldiers. Jostan, wearing black robes on this day, had immediately put two and two together and worked out that it must have been the one that had been transporting Silrith to her exile. Incensed, he was now even more interested to see what Aetrun would be able to glean from his visit to Yathrud. Privately he still held on to some hope that they had simply been attacked by common bandits and that she had been sold into slavery, but the troubling fact was that somehow the discrepancy between the position of the corpses and the wreckage of the cart didn’t quite add up.