Stolen Crown
Page 18
And in the Mithgarian year 5E1999, the fourteenth year of the Usurper’s reign, the fifteenth year of Reyer’s life, toward these islands, and to go beyond, a unified fleet of ancient enemies set sail from the island of Kell.
They did not then know what awaited them at one of the tiniest of these dots in the water. . . .
• • •
“WHAT DID SHE TELL YOU, Alric?”
Alric looked at Reyer and shook his head.
“She’s sweet on you, you know,” said Reyer.
Alric nodded, yet remained mute, and though he could not see her, his gaze yet dwelled in the direction of the girl in the village of Sjøen, now beyond the horizon.
Gretta looked to the left and then to the right, and she turned to Silverleaf and said, “Fjordlanders and Jutes in the same fleet. But they are ancient enemies. Why those two, when Fjordlanders alone are mighty enough to protect Reyer and Alric? Besides, we of Jord have long been allied with Fjordland. Our ancestors are a common link. And so I would favor the ships of Fjordland alone to protect us.”
Reyer shook his head and smiled, and he said, “Mother Gretta, don’t you think that a Fjordland fleet sailing in the waters of the Ryngar Arm wouldn’t be considered a threat by Jute?”
“You have learned your lessons well,” said Conal, nodding his approval. “Yet it goes deeper than that, all thanks to Silverleaf as well as Lord Aarnson of Thol.”
“Goes deeper?” Gretta cocked an eyebrow.
“Aye. You see, by showing that we have joined these two in common cause to seat Reyer and overthrow the Usurper, then all lesser dissensions between other realms will remain in abeyance until those deeds are done.”
“Then they will be yours to solve, Reyer,” said Alric, breaking into laughter.
Reyer scowled at Alric and then turned to Conal. “You mean they will go back to war with one another, enemies again? —Fjordland and Jute, I mean.”
“Most likely,” said Conal. “The enmity between them is entrenched. They trust one another not.”
At the tiller Silverleaf said, “That’s why the Jutes sail on the starboard and the Fjordlanders on the larboard.”
Now it was Alric who frowned. “I see not why.”
“Trust,” said Silverleaf. “The Jutes sail on the right hand because that’s where Jute will lie once we gain the north Ryngar channel.”
“Ah, yes,” said Reyer, “for that puts the Jutland ships between their own realm and the ships of the Fjordlanders.”
“In case of treachery?” asked Alric. “But they escort the High King—or at least the High King to be—and an act of treachery would cast the Fjordlanders into disfavor.”
Silverleaf smiled. “As I said, ’tis a matter of trust.”
“Well, at least they are united behind Reyer,” said Conal.
“For the nonce,” said Silverleaf, then he burst into laughter.
• • •
NORTHWESTERLY THEY SAILED, northwesterly, a fleet of Dragonships surrounding a sloop, to fare beyond the Isle of Kell and into the uncertain waters ’tween the Weston Ocean and the Northern Sea. The day was sunny, and the wind brisk, and the King’s ship and its convoy clipped through the gentle waves, and they came to a point where, on this day, the view aft was one of a mist concealing what lay beyond. It was the mystery of Kell, reborn—that which hid the isle from prying eyes—though all sailors of worth knew the isle lay beyond.
“What is it, Driu?” asked Reyer.
“What is what, Reyer?”
“That—that fog, that mist. When I look forward, it is not there, but looking aft it is. And we did not sail through any of it, or any that I could see.”
Driu smiled. “I think it was made just for you, Reyer, on this most auspicious of days. And whoever is responsible, I know not.”
“For me, you say?”
“Aye, for you are the High King, and they do it in your honor.”
“Long past,” said Silverleaf, “it kept the isle hidden. Mage-made, god-made, or other, none knows, I think. Yet resurrected it is this day, for you are on the first leg of your investment journey, and whoever is responsible made it in your honor.”
“’Tis not Mage-made,” said Driu, “no ordinary illusion, though an illusion it is. Yet those of us of Magekind do not understand how ’tis done.
“Hidden Ones?” asked Alric.
“Mayhap,” said the Seeress. “Mayhap the Children of the Sea.”
“Children of the Sea?” said Gretta. “But I thought they are naught but a fable.”
“Nay,” said Driu. “They are quite real and are the Hidden Ones of the Sea. Seldom do they show themselves to mortals or aught others, though now and again one might get a glimpse.”
“Their magic
“It is,” replied Driu. “Yet we know not whether they are responsible for the concealment of Kell.”
“It’s not on any map,” said Conal. “It seems that pilots cannot bring themselves to place it thereon.”
“Indeed,” said Driu, and the King’s ship and convoy sailed onward.
• • •
GIVEN BRAW WESTERLY WINDS, the swift sloop and the even swifter Dragonships took but three days to come to the northern extent of the Gellian Isles ere turning easterly to round the reach of that realm. Another three days they went toward the dawn before turning a bit southerly to head in the general direction of the upper channel of the bight known as the Ryngar Arm of the Weston Ocean, flanked by the shores of Thol to the north and those of Jute to the south.
Another two days passed before the coast of Thol rode up o’er the horizon, and they spent a sevenday ashore in the city of Frihavn enjoying themselves—bathing, resting, eating, drinking, exercising the horses—all making the most of their freedom from the confines of the boats. Even the Jutes and the Fjordlanders did not squabble overmuch, for they, too, were glad to be aland again.
Under the command of Riessa, the Dylvana though were ever vigilant in their warding of Reyer, and seldom did anyone get near without thorough scrutiny.
Even so, the Tholians seemed overjoyed to have King Valen’s heir in their midst, and they gladly hosted the fleet.
Driu, though, seemed discomfited, for her runes showed peril lay in their near future, yet what it might be, she could not scry. Yet, as she had explained in the past, seeking to see into the future is a chancy thing at best, and the further one tries to look, the less certain the results. Besides, peril is simply a part of being a High King, Reyer’s life no exception. Not that she shrugged it off, for every day she told Conal and Reyer and the others just what her runes revealed.
In the dawning of the eighth day, again the ships were laden with the animals and people and new supplies, making ready for the journey ahead. And on the evening tide they set sail once more.
• • •
“THIS IS THE DAY,” said Driu, looking up from the rune stones. “Ships ahead. Lying in wait.”
Silverleaf raised an argent horn to his lips and sounded a complex call. The Dragonships carrying animals and passengers and supplies fell to the rear, while the Dragonships bearing warriors of Jute and Fjordland and Kell, including Dylvana, surged to the fore.
A tiny isle came into view.
“A dark cast lies upon Øysmå,” added Driu.
“Øysmå?”
“’Tis the name of the small island yon, Reyer,” said Silverleaf, pointing.
Reyer, at the tiller, and Alric, at the sheets—both lads having learned much from Silverleaf during eight days asea—shaded their eyes from the morning sun and peered eastward at the craggy but green dot of land lying to the fore.
“Star
board, Reyer,” commanded Silverleaf. “Quarter to the wind. Alric, make ready with the sheets.”
Alric’s mouth dropped agape, and he said, “What?” even as Reyer echoed Alric’s “what.”
“You both heard him,” growled Conal. “Quarter to the wind.”
Reyer shook his head. “But then we’ll miss—”
“Exactly so,” said Silverleaf.
“We will not expose the future High King to any battle,” said Driu.
“Nor my Alric,” said Gretta. Then a distressed look came over her face and she added, “At least not yet.”
Even as Reyer swung the tiller hard over and Alric tightened the sheets to trim, Reyer said, “But we’ve already been in combat.”
“Not at sea and not a full battle; ’twas a land skirmish instead,” said Conal.
“Skirmish, battle?” shot back Alric. “We are blooded, no matter what name.”
“Even so,” said Silverleaf.
With the lads yet fuming, the sloop came to the new heading, and but for the warrior-laden ships now ahead, the full of the remaining fleet turned with them.
They watched as the Dragonboats, flying flags of the High King, neared the small isle, and ’round the shoulder and into view sailed six Albaner barks—each three-masted and square-rigged.
Fire flew from the decks of the larger craft, most to splash ineffectually into the brine. Yet one burst upon the sail of a Fjordland boat, and the canvas flared with flame. Instead of fighting the fire with water, some of the men cut the sail free to cast it into the sea while others shipped oars from the trestles and out through the oar ports and began swiftly rowing toward the ship that had set it ablaze.
And still more fire arced toward the Dragonboats, and wooden wales were set aflame and men as well. Some, so stricken, leapt into the sea to quench the blaze, while other warriors poured water on the fiercely burning gobs of tarry substance clinging to the ships.
And the Dragonboats closed with the foe, while arrows winged from craft to ship and vice versa, the Dylvana shafts flying long and true, while those of the barks fell short. Soon the Dragonships—some afire, others not—drew alongside the Albaner barks, Jutes on one side, Fjordlanders opposite. Grapnels flew as Elven arrows met those from Alban. Albaner crews chopped frantically at the hook lines, but Elven shafts drove them arear. Shouting bloodthirsty cries, battle-hardened veterans swarmed up the ropes and over the rails, for this was their kind of war. Even as cutlasses and falchions met the boarders’ embossed shields, axes hewed and Albaners fell slain or maimed, as did fighters of the yet-uncrowned High King.
Fiercely raged the struggle, yet bark after bark fell to the ferocious Dragonship warriors. And during the shipboard battle, two of the Fjordland craft went down aflame, while one of the Jutland ships was burnt beyond salvage.
At last the fighting came to an end, and all ships turned toward the shores of Øysmå, the prisoners of the Fjordlanders and the Jutes sailing their barks toward the beaches. Some of the Dragonships paused to take up their comrades who had gone into the sea, several Dylvana among them.
• • •
“DEAD? They’re all dead?”
Conal nodded. “Yes, Reyer, all the islanders were slaughtered.”
“None survived?”
“None,” said Conal. “The Albaners, they butchered all—all the women and children, babes and oldsters, the halt and the lame, as well as the hale and fit.”
“They must have taken the islanders unawares,” said Alric.
“Aye, lad, they did at that,” said Captain Alfdan. “They sailed under false colors. We found these on their ships.” The Fjordlander held up a flag of a white falcon on a blue field.
“Wellen,” said Alric. “That’s a Wellener banner.”
“I suspect the people of Øysmå welcomed the Albaners with open arms, not knowing ’twas a serpent they greeted,” said Alfdan.
“Damn Albaners,” spat Durgan.
They sat in the common hall of the village situated on the shores of a small cove. The Dragonships had been beached and unladed of animals and crew and others. The barks were moored in the little bay, and the sloop was tied to one of the fishing docks.
As they had entered the town, they had come across weeks-old corpses—sword-hacked and gull-stripped and crab-eaten—lying in the streets. Silverleaf had dispatched warriors to look for any survivors . . . yet there were none.
Conal turned to Silverleaf. “What else do we know?”
“Twelve Fjordlanders, nine Jutes, and three Dylvana are slain—”
Shock registered upon Reyer’s face. “Riessa?”
“She lives. ’Twas Dyel, Fener, and Varin who fell.”
Even in relief over the news that Riessa had survived, still tears slid down Reyer’s cheeks, and he looked to Mother Gretta, but she too wept. All others fell mute, for to know that ageless lives had been quenched seemed sorrow beyond relief.
Finally Silverleaf took a deep breath and said, “We also have wounded—twenty-one of the Jutes and but eight of the Fjordlanders. Yet some of these cannot go on . . . or, rather, they will have to be left at the next isle for the Confederacy to succor back to health.”
“What of the Albaners?” asked Conal.
“One hundred and twenty-three survivors, thirty-one of which are walking wounded,” said Alfdan. “We and the Jutes took mercy on the severely injured Albaners and put them out of their misery. Three of the captains survived, along with a few of the officers.”
Reyer finally shook out of the depths of his misery and asked, “What know we of the mission they were on?”
“Most of the Albaners were following the orders of their captains,” said Alfdan. “The officers, though, knew the full of the mission, and that was to slay thee, sire. They were acting under the command of one of the captains, and he was following the directive of King Malak—”
“Arkov’s lackey,” said Gretta. “I imagine he has designs for Amani to be Arkov’s mate.”
“Amani?” asked Durgan.
“His youngest daughter,” said Gretta.
“And this Malak is . . . ?” asked Durgan.
“King of Alban,” said Reyer.
“Ah.”
Conal turned to Reyer and said, “Sire, ’tis time for your first judgment.”
Reyer frowned. “Judgment?”
“Aye. What to do with the Albaners.”
“Oh,” said Reyer, paling slightly.
“Kill them all,” said Gretta. “They would have slain the full of us—Alric, you, the rest, all.”
Alric looked at Conal. “What has been done in the past?”
But it was Reyer who answered. “Those who swear fealty to the High King are spared. But those behind the plot, or those who know the full of it, that is another matter.”
• • •
GRIM-FACED AND FLANKED BY HIS WARRIORS, at the docks Reyer stood upon a wooden platform before the assembled Albaners, and the standard of the High King was held by Durgan at Reyer’s side. Arrayed directly before the stand were Riessa and the captains of the Dragonships; though smaller than the men, she seemed no less in stature. And a chill wind blew from the sea, swirling flag and cloak alike, and silence reigned, but for the sough of the ocean and the sigh of the curling air.
Finally, Reyer took a deep breath and called out:
“You have slain Our liegemen, immortal Elves among them.
“You have sided with the foul Usurper and have sought to take the life of Us, the rightful heir of Valen.
“And you have committed unforgivable deeds upon the peoples of this isle.
“Hear Us now, for this is Our judgment.
“Because they commanded you to do these heinous deeds, your officers are to be hanged by the neck until dead and their corpses left for the birds to pick.
“The re
mainder of you will see to the burial of the townsfolk you slew.
“Under the command of Our warriors, you will sail your ships to the next isle for the verdict of the Confederacy, for the citizens you slew were of that domain, and, by right, they will determine your fate.
“Any who are spared will swear fealty unto Us, to ever be at Our command.”
Reyer then raised his right hand, his fist clenched, and Durgan stamped the butt of the standard to the platform.
“So do We say,” said Reyer.
Again Durgan struck the standard.
“So do We say,” repeated Reyer.
Once more the standard stamped.
“So do We say,” said Reyer, a third and final time, and he lowered his right arm and unclenched his fist.
• • •
A FULL SEVENDAY PASSED ALTOGETHER ere the fleet got under way again, this time sailing with six barks trailing after.
The Albaner officers had been executed, the townsfolk had been properly buried, the Fjordland and Jute dead had been solemnly burnt upon a common pyre, as had the slain Dylvana, their spirits sung into the sky.
It took but half a day for the ships to reach the next isle of the Confederacy—Øygrøn, its name. Another four days were spent being feted thereon by Überbergermeister Karlton.