The Iron Palace

by Morgan Howell

  Froan slipped off his boots and experienced lying on bed linens and a feather mattress for the first time in his life. At home, he had slept on a bed made of bundled reeds, never imagining such softness existed. He savored the sensation of a comfortable bed almost as much as having others perform his bidding. Froan drifted off to sleep to the sounds of rapid oar strokes, shouted orders, and hurried footsteps on deck. Somehow, he found them calming.

  A knock on the cabin door awoke Froan. Then he heard Captain Wuulf’s voice. “Sire, we’re at the island. The pirates’ beached boat lies in view.”

  Froan was smiling as he pulled on his boots. The sun had just risen, but when he opened his door, Froan found the main deck teaming with men. Most were engaged in launching the two assault boats, which had been stored on deck. Froan paused to watch the men work, impressed by their precision.

  The long rowboats were designed to ferry troops from ship to shore. Four rowers could transport a dozen armored soldiers at a time. Five trips would provide him with more than sufficient men to accomplish his ends. Froan thought of the humiliations he had endured, and it sweetened the prospect of revenge. He intended to savor every moment.

  Returning to his cabin, Froan donned the late captain’s chain mail tunic. It had sleeves that ended at the elbow and the mail extended slightly below his knee. It fit him well, but the helm was too small for his head. Froan also strapped on the captain’s sword, which had a utilitarian hilt but a keen, well-forged blade. The sword belt also had a dagger in a fine leather scabbard. Froan used only the latter, preferring his own dagger. To him, it was more than a weapon: it was a token of his future.

  Froan tied the black cloak over the chain mail, and thus outfitted for the morning’s enterprise, he stepped back onto the raised deck. By then, the assault boats were returning for more men. The first wave of soldiers was already on the island, where they had secured the pirate vessel. Now Bloodbeard can’t escape, thought Froan. Knowing the pirates’ habits, Froan doubted Bloodbeard or his crew would get a chance to try.

  Froan arrived on the fifth boat trip along with Telk, Chopper, and the others. All the former pirates had been outfitted with leather chest armor and a leather helmet, both reinforced with iron plates. When Froan came ashore, Captain Wuulf greeted him. “No sign of the enemy, sire, other than his boat. It still has supplies aboard.”

  “I expect the camp will be equally disorganized,” said Froan. “When we reach it, most likely all will be asleep.”

  “So I should stick to last night’s plan?”

  “Yes,” said Froan. “Move quietly, and wait for my signal.”

  The hideout had been used several winters before, and Eel remembered the route to it. He led Froan and his companions down the path, but the soldiers held back awhile before following. The woods were so dense that Froan couldn’t see much of what lay ahead. Nonetheless, the trail was easy to follow, for the pirates had made no effort to hide it. When the ground began to rise, the men encountered the carcasses of goats and sheep hanging from tree limbs. The fact that Bloodbeard had slaughtered all the livestock seemed a sign of a hasty relocation.

  Froan and his men moved farther up the trail until the trees suddenly gave way to a clearing that contained a small pond. The pirates’ new hideaway lay within that open space. No shelters had been erected; goods and sleepers were scattered haphazardly about the trampled ground. The only person awake was the woman who was bearing Bloodbeard’s child. She was helping herself to something from a pot when she spied Froan and his men. Dropping her bowl, she hurried over to Bloodbeard and frantically shook him awake.

  Bloodbeard sat up and dumbly stared at Froan, who watched his enemy’s face grow pale. “Captain, you look like you’re gazing at a spirit.”

  “Mayhap Ah am, fer ye look different, Shadow.”

  Froan smiled. “I am different.”

  Bloodbeard flashed an uneasy smile. “Wake up, everyone!” he said in a boisterous voice. “Wake up! Our Shadow’s returned.” Then he leaned over and gently shook what seemed a bundle of rags beside him. He spoke to the bundle in an equally gentle tone. “Moli, dear. ’Tis morn and yer man’s come back.”

  The bundle moved, transforming into a woman who gazed at Froan with slit eyes masked in purple. Moli’s face was too swollen for him to read her expression, but when she spoke, he heard hope in her voice. “Shadow, is it truly ye? Ah can’t see so good.”

  “It’s me, Moli. I’m here to keep my promise.”

  “Take her, Shadow,” said Bloodbeard as he groped for his sword. “She’s yers. As Ah promised, all’s forgiven.”

  “She’s not yours to give,” replied Froan. “Neither is forgiveness. You must speak to Mud and Snapper first.”

  “Should Ah?” said Bloodbeard, clearly puzzled by the last statement. Then he found his sword and grasped its hilt, “Well, mayhap Ah will.”

  “I’ll call them,” replied Froan. Then he shouted, “Mud! Snapper!” As the echo of his cry died away, the woods filled with the sound of many feet running through the undergrowth. Bloodbeard sprang up, unsheathed sword in hand, and most of his men followed his example. Froan drew his sword in self-defense, as did his companions. It proved unnecessary, for just then, the soldiers poured out of the woods. They quickly assembled into a wall of armed and armored men.

  “You’d be wise to drop your sword, Captain,” said Froan. “Tell your men to do the same.”

  “Ah think Ah’d rather go down fightin’,” answered Bloodbeard.

  “Why, Captain, I didn’t come to fight. I’ve only come for Moli. This needn’t get ugly. Just toss your weapon down.”

  Bloodbeard gazed at the force arrayed against him, and still he hesitated before throwing down his sword.

  “Have the others do it, too,” said Froan.

  “Weapons down,” said Bloodbeard with a sigh.

  When all the pirates were disarmed, Froan said, “Come, Moli. You’re free of him forever.” She had started to hobble toward Froan, when he suddenly said, “Wait! The captain struck you, didn’t he?”

  Moli nodded.

  “Well, I think it’s only fair that you hit him back.” Upon those words, two burly soldiers rushed forward, grabbed Bloodbeard, and pinioned his arms behind him. Froan permitted himself the slightest of smiles as the captain struggled in their grasp. “Why, Captain, surely you don’t fear a woman’s blow.” He strode over to grasp Moli’s hand. Raising it to his lips, he softly kissed her fingertips. “Such a dainty hand.” He kissed it again and then frowned. “Too dainty, mayhap. It lacks the weight of a man’s fist.”

  Froan nodded to the men who held the pirate captain, and they forced him to his knees. Then they bent him backward until he lay flat and facing upward. While that was being done, the line of soldiers parted to permit the passage of two of their fellows who struggled to carry a huge rock. It was approximately the size and shape of a man’s torso. Lugging the rock to where the captain lay, they held it above his head.

  Froan’s smile broadened. “Yes, this makes things fairer. Moli, touch the stone to deliver the captain’s blow.”

  Moli hobbled to where the two soldiers strained to keep the rock raised to shoulder height. Bloodbeard lay perfectly still beneath it, resigned to what would happen next. Moli, extended a hand. As soon as her fingertips brushed the rough stone, it was released. Mingled with a dull thump was a sound reminiscent of a cracking nutshell. The pregnant woman shrieked and began to sob. Froan tenderly grasped Moli’s arm to lead her away. As he did, he nodded to Captain Wuulf.

  Moli could move only slowly. Even so, Froan was halfway to a waiting boat before the massacre began. It was remarkably quiet. A few women screamed and a child bawled, but only briefly. The men died silently. Froan barely heard the killings, but he felt them. Each death brought a surge of energy. The sensation was so unique that he would have had difficulty describing it. It certainly wasn’t warm, though it lacked the discomfort of a chill. It felt a little like the effect of drink without its bef
uddlement or like eating when he was starving, except he never became sated. Whether he could describe the sensation or not, Froan knew that he grew stronger each time he felt it.

  “Shadow,” said Moli, “what are those soldiers doin’?”

  “Making those who hurt you pay, just as I promised.”

  “But Ah heard a woman screamin’ and a babe cry. They never hurt me. Neither did most o’ tha men.”

  “And they won’t be harmed,” said Froan, speaking his first lie to her. “The soldiers are killing only those who deserve it.”

  When the pair reached the riverbank, men helped Moli into one of the assault boats and then rowed her and Froan to the war boat. Moli squinted at the looming vessel, then asked, “Where are they taking us?”

  Hearing fear in Moli’s voice, Froan gently grasped her hand. “To my boat.”

  “Yer boat? Are ye a captain now?”

  “I’m greater than a captain.”

  Moli’s swollen face was barely capable of expression, yet her mouth dropped in amazement. “And Ah thought ye were goin’ ta yer death.”

  Froan smiled. “So did Bloodbeard.”

  When they reached the war boat, men helped Moli board. She was ragged and bedraggled, with a marred face that no one would describe as beautiful. Yet not a man dared show puzzlement over their master’s choice of woman. His grip over them was already too strong for that. When Froan stepped onto the deck, he told a soldier, “Bring water to my cabin. It must be fit for bathing.” The man hurried off as Froan led Moli to his new quarters. Upon entering them, she was as amazed as Froan had been. “This is yers?”

  Froan smiled. “Yes.”

  “ ’Tis like a fine house,” said Moli, running a hand over a chair of polished wood, “only smaller. My folks had nothin’ like this. We didn’t even own a chair, just benches.”

  “I’ve begun my rise. This is only the beginning.”

  They heard a knock on the door and a voice. “Sire, I have yer water.”

  Froan opened the door. A soldier stood on the deck bearing a pot of water. It steamed slightly and dried herbs floated on its surface. “Set it in the cabin,” said Froan.

  The soldier did as ordered. “I brought a bathing rag, sire.” He gave it to Froan, then departed.

  Froan gestured toward the bunk. “I’ve clothes for you.” The captain’s linen nightshirt lay upon the sheets, a long-sleeved garment that would extend halfway past Moli’s knees. “Soon you’ll have something finer, but at least this is clean and untorn.” He began to remove the tattered remnant of Moli’s blouse. “I’ll bathe you first.”

  “Oh, Shadow, ye’re so good ta me.”

  Froan kissed her softly. “No more than you deserve.”

  Disrobing Moli revealed the full extent of her injuries. Her bruises weren’t limited to her face. They covered much of her body, along with welts. Froan was even more upset by the dark purple crescents left by bites. They were all over her shoulders, upper arms, and breasts. Froan took up the rag and bathed Moli with a gentle touch, as if warm, scented water could cleanse away not only dirt but also pain. Every place that Froan washed he also kissed. He did so without passion but with the same tenderness his mother had shown him when he was a child and kisses were cures for hurts.

  Froan didn’t speak as he bathed Moli, and neither did she. Words were unnecessary. The only sounds within the cabin were the quiet ones of falling water and Froan’s muffled weeping.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  EARLY AFTERNOON found Froan on the small deck outside his cabin. Moli was dozing, and he had become restless. It felt strange to be idle while everyone else in sight was at work. Busy doing my bidding, he thought. On the island’s shore, several large fire pits had been set up to cook the pirates’ slaughtered livestock for a feast to celebrate his first triumph. When the breeze was right, Froan could smell the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat. Other soldiers were loading plunder onto the assault boats. One shipment had already been delivered. From what Froan could see, it was mostly foodstuffs and weapons.

  A short while later, Captain Wuulf returned and reported to Froan. “Sire, we’re done on the island, except for the cooking.”

  “Good,” replied Froan. “Did you find the ring?”

  “Aye,” said Wuulf, handing Froan a silver ring threaded through a bit of cord. “ ’Twas in the captain’s pocket.”

  Froan’s face softened, and he gazed at the trinket as if it were a great treasure before he tucked it away. “And the gold? Did you find it, too?”

  “Aye, sire. ’Twas a bag of coin with some gold in it.”

  “I want it distributed among the men.”

  “Sire, it would be wise to hold some back for provisions.”

  “Why? We have a war boat. We can take what ever we need.”

  “Those pirates could live off river traffic because they were but a small band. A war boat is a ponderous beast with more than eight score stomachs to fill.”

  “Don’t you have stores on board?”

  “Aye, the guild outfitted us, but with less than a moon’s worth of provisions. The soldiers get hardbread twice a day, and some salt mutton at evemeal. The officers eat a little better, and the oarsmen eat worse.”

  “I see,” said Froan.

  “Sire, I’m a rough sort, with a tongue unfit for flattery. I’ve made my way by selling my sword to whoever pays best, and plain talk is the only talk I know.”

  Froan smiled slightly. “And I assume I’m about to hear some.”

  “Aye. Ye have talent. The way ye handled that red-bearded fellow was a cold bit of work. I quite admired it. But an army wears down quick if ye don’t treat it proper.”

  “The men will obey me. I’ve no doubt of that.”

  “Nor do I. But starving men make poor soldiers, so pay heed to their bellies. That is, unless yer sorcery can fill them.”

  “I’m ignorant of magic.”

  “Truly? How ’bout that man who held his hand in the flame? The men fear ye. I do myself a bit.”

  Froan shrugged. “It’s just a trait of mine. I’m told it runs in my family.”

  “Some trait. Ye liken to Lord Bahl.”

  “Lord Bahl!” Froan exclaimed in an amused tone. “That old fable?”

  “Fable?”

  “Yes, like Jak Springshanks, who plucks birds from the clouds.”

  “Who said he was a fable?”

  “My mam. She told me he was a fensfolk tale, a made-up monster to frighten children.”

  “Lord Bahl’s real enough, as many folk have learned the hard way. When he was younger, ’twas thought he’d conquer all the empire. ’Tis said he had a way with men that made them reckless with their lives.”

  “So Mam lied to me.”

  “I meant no offense,” said Wuulf quickly. “Mayhap she believed her tale. Fensfolk know little of the wider world.”

  “It seems the same can be said of me. So tell me, Captain, how can I best use these men?”

  “Abandon the war boat. There’s far more plunder on land than water. Better still, it stays put. Row to Midgeport and take the town. Since ye can make the oarsmen fight for ye, send them out to spill first blood. Yer soldiers can finish what remains.”

  “Then what?”

  “Head east and seize a northern realm. Ye’ll have to pass through the Empty Lands first. They’re aptly named, but there are just enough villages to sustain a march. More settlements lie in the Western Reach, but nothing worth keeping. Beyond it lies the ruins of Lurwic, Bahl’s handiwork. But after that are Falsten, Basthem, and Walstur, all worth the plucking. Grab any one, and ye’ll be a lord. And south of them lies Argenor and even greater riches.”

  “Such a plan matches my ambition,” said Froan. “You please me, Captain.”

  “The fighting will be harder farther east, for all the nobles keep troops. But by then ye’ll be more seasoned.”

  And stronger, thought Froan. The morning’s attack had resulted in scarcely more than two dozen deaths, but
he could sense his enhanced potency. He had no doubt that when he inflamed the oarsmen and loosed them on Midgeport, the slaughter would be far greater. If I feel strong now, how will I feel after a whole town dies? It seemed likely that he would find out soon.

  After five days of wandering, Yim had begun to worry that she would never see the end of reeds. They rose higher than her head and hemmed her in on all sides. Usually she could see little farther than she could reach. When she encountered a rare stretch of open water, she gazed over it to see reeds extending to the horizon.

  Yim had arrived at the Grey Fens on horse back; leaving it on foot was far more arduous. Not only had her mount possessed the advantages of height and speed, Yim had come to believe that her steed had been faerie charmed. Although the bog had claimed him in the end, Yim had always believed that the horse had purposefully sacrificed his life for her sake. Neeg only took that shortcut because I was giving birth. Otherwise, the horse had threaded a way through the fens without mishap.

  Over the past days, Yim’s appreciation of that accomplishment had grown. Like Neeg, Yim had a talent for locating the driest ground. It involved feeling her way with bare feet and keenly observing her surroundings. But she quickly discovered that finding dry ground was not the same as finding one’s way. There were no direct routes within the Grey Fens, and firm ground often turned in the wrong direction or came to an abrupt end.

  Observing the sky kept Yim from becoming totally disoriented, but the heavens gave no clue as to how to reach her destination. Yim had wandered far enough southward that she could no longer see any hites, but she had no idea how much farther she needed to go. If I were a bird, maybe not far at all. Nevertheless, Yim feared that she might continue wandering for days. That would prove a problem. Her water skin had gone dry days ago, forcing her to drink bog water, and the pack that had been heavy with food was beginning to feel light.