Declan occasionally wondered about that larger world away from his home village. He could see the occasional ship pass by if he was outside the smithy, and sometimes wondered where it was from.
This village, in the small area known as the Covenant, bridging North and South Tembria, was Declan’s world. The rest of Garn consisted of five smaller continents. The two closest, Alastor and Enast, were populated by barbarians and warlords, some self-proclaimed kings, gathered in city-states and holdfasts, but they were considered unworthy of mention by civilized men. Only traders and outlaws risked travelling there. Or that was what he had been told as a boy by those who stopped to have horses shod, or their wheel band or yoke repaired, and took a moment to speak to a curious boy. One man had actually claimed to have travelled to Alastor, where he met men who had been to the other side of the world.
All that was known of the other three continents was their names; their locations were often contested by mapmakers, and they were reputed to be home to monsters, malignant spirits, practitioners of the darkest magic, and a multitude of horrors and wonders. Declan had always doubted those claims. He had met enough travellers and overheard enough boasting at the little inn in Oncon to know stories grew with time and ale.
But he only knew Oncon.
Declan thought it wasn’t a bad place to live. He enjoyed the weather, for the seasons along the shores of the Narrows were clement: summers warm, winters mild. There was always ample food and ale. The sea breeze picked up, as it did this time of day, and Declan drank in its cool freshness; he realised he was tired to his bones and parched.
Taking a drink from the bucket, Declan looked up to see Edvalt watching him. Just loud enough to be heard, the old smith softly asked, ‘What do you see, boy?’
Declan smiled. ‘Home.’
Edvalt nodded. ‘Aye, and not a bad one as such things go.’ He put his hand on Declan’s shoulder. ‘When you came here, you travelled with a family that wasn’t your own. They apprenticed you to me in exchange for repairing their wagon …’ His voice fell away. ‘It took only one glance to see their story was true, for you were a large boy, with eager eyes, and their children were all small, frightened things.’ He chuckled. ‘Mila was so angry that I’d taken in a lad who would be no help to us for years, for you were so young. Yet from the start you sought to earn your keep, struggling to haul the big coal scuttle, or bravely holding the fractious horses while I shod them.
‘But you won her over, lad.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You’re the best I’ve trained, Declan, and if I had a son of my own, I would want him to be like you. Should you wish to start out on your own, I understand, but if you’ve a mind to agree, I would be pleased for you to take this forge as your own.’
‘You’ve a lot of good years left, Edvalt, and I don’t know if … I don’t know.’ Declan hesitated. He wasn’t entirely sure how Edvalt’s offer made him feel. ‘I’ve been of a mind to set out and find my own way, settle down with a good woman, start my own family.’
‘Not a bad choice. Think on it. For today I pronounce you a master smith and my equal.’
‘Never that, master.’
Edvalt’s eyes showed his feelings, but being a man of few words, he could only put his hand on the young man’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly before he turned and headed into his home.
Declan remained alone for a while, as fatigue and emotion threatened to overwhelm him. Then after a few minutes, he followed Edvalt into the house.
• CHAPTER THREE •
Dangerous Discovery
Dockworkers hauled the ship into its berth in the north dock of the city of Sandura. Seven men pulled on a thick hawser, while two youngsters quickly arranged the wooden fenders between its hull and the dock, so that the tidal motion of the sea wouldn’t damage the ship as it rubbed against the stone. It had arrived in port on the morning tide, but by the time a harbour boat with a hawser had rowed out and tossed lines to the crew in the prow, it was nearing noon.
Hatu finished reefing the sails and slid down a rope to the railing, jumped over it, and made for the sailors’ deck, where his go-bag was stored. The deck crew made fast everything that needed to be tied down, while Hatu and the rest of the aloft crew headed belowdecks.
As Hatu wended his way through the clutter of sailors to his hammock, he saw many of the men removing leather neck thongs and untying small objects from their belt loops. He recognised them as various icons of Othan, goddess of the sea and weather, and realised the crew were hiding them in various spots on the sailors’ deck. Hatu understood that meant they were now somewhere the Church of the One held sway and to be seen with any item associated with an old god could land a man on top of a heretic’s pyre.
On reaching the main deck, Hatu spied Master Bodai. Seeing the boy, he motioned for him to come stand at his side. When the youngster reached the man playing the part of a mendicant friar, Bodai said, ‘We wait.’ He leaned on a shoulder-high walking stick, almost a battle staff but not as conspicuous, though Hatu was certain Master Bodai could employ it as such with lethal effect should the occasion warrant.
It took Hatu a moment to realise that the play had begun; as one of the most important masters in Coaltachin, Bodai would usually be first off the ship, but here, as an impoverished monk, he would be among the last passengers to leave.
When the passenger before them had departed, Bodai put his hand on Hatu’s shoulder. ‘Be ready,’ he instructed.
Hatu nodded. He had questions but knew they would keep until a more private moment; until then, he would simply follow instructions and Brother Bodai’s lead. Hatu fell into step behind Bodai, moving last onto the gangplank, keeping his head down, and attempting to look the part of an inconsequential servant.
On the dock, they were just steps away from the gangplank when two men approached, a soldier with the yellow and red badge of Sandura on his tunic, and another wearing a large black badge with a solid white circle at its centre: the sign of the One.
It was the servant of the Church of the One who spoke. ‘Who are you, traveller?’
‘Brother Chasper, late of Turana, an island of Lanobly.’
‘Brother?’ he replied. ‘You wear no vestment or badge.’
The newly named Chasper smiled broadly and said, ‘I am a mendicant friar of the Order of the Harbinger. This is my beggar boy, Venley.’
A look of confusion crossed the soldier’s face and the officer of the Church looked annoyed. ‘We expected an episkopos of your order and his retinue …’ He left the sentence unfinished and made a general circular motion encompassing the itinerant monk.
‘The episkopos hasn’t arrived?’ said Bodai, feigning alarm. ‘I was supposed to join him, to then carry news …’ He gave a sigh that Hatu, now named Venley, thought a hit too theatrical.
It worked, however, as the church official waved them towards the city and said, ‘Go down the main boulevard, across the small plaza, and take the northern street on the other side, two crossings, then west again until you see the burned-out building that was once your order’s temple.’ He almost spat the last word, for all buildings of the One were called churches. The followers of Tathan had been among the first to modify their doctrine to integrate themselves into the Church of the One, claiming the god of purity had been only a prophet, the Harbinger of the One. Many in the church viewed the followers of Tathan as only slightly better than heretics.
Bodai nodded, bowed slightly, and then pushed Hatu’s shoulder in the direction the man had indicated.
When they were safely away, Bodai said, ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’
Hatu glanced at his master and waited for a moment to see if the question had been rhetorical or if the old man actually sought his opinion. Finally, he nodded agreement.
‘What do you judge from that?’ asked Bodai.
Hatu thought about that question for a moment, then said, ‘They’re looking for someone, or they’re worried about strangers, perhaps both. The manner in which they qu
estioned you, brother, makes me think that the Church of the One is concerned about something, and that the king is supporting them.’ He shrugged.
Bodai nodded once. ‘Look around, what do you see?’
Hatu did a quick survey of the long street. When they neared the plaza, he said, ‘It’s a beautiful day.’
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Bodai. ‘The weather here is often overcast and dark, cloudy, or raining, but today, sunshine. What else?’
As they entered the small plaza, Hatushaly looked around, taking a moment to appraise their surroundings, then said, ‘This is far from a happy place.’ Rather than busy market stalls, which he would have expected to see in any city he visited, only a few people moved around a small, well-kept, but otherwise unremarkable fountain in the centre of the plaza.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Bodai as he paused before the water, reached in, and made a show of rubbing his face and neck.
Hatu followed his example and leaned over the water to freshen up before he replied, ‘No one lingers here. There are no sellers, despite this being a wonderful market, so someone – the king?’ he speculated. ‘Or someone important has decided to keep this plaza free of merchants.’ Hatu splashed a little water on his own face, glancing around as he wiped it with his hands. ‘They don’t want people gathering here. There are three armed men in identical garb: the city guard? For a place this size, with so few people, there are too many soldiers. They watch. People passing near to them avert their eyes. We saw the same behaviour on the streets from the docks.’
‘Enough,’ whispered Bodai, shaking his hands as if ridding them of excess water. ‘Come along.’
Hatu followed the counterfeit monk through the streets as instructed by the church official. They found the site of the former Temple of Tathan, now a skeleton of burned timbers and an altar charred black. Rain and wind had scoured the abandoned building of ash and cinders, and they could walk across the stone floor without turning their sandalled feet black.
‘Some time ago,’ said Bodai softly, ‘the king of this dolorous nation embraced the Church of the One. All other gods and goddesses were pronounced lesser and demonic beings, and in their enthusiasm to rid the city of the evil places of worship, the king’s soldiers got a little carried away. They failed to remember that this order had contrived a narrative, a wonderful story that named Tathan the Pure a prophetic being, a heavenly messenger who proclaimed the coming of the One.’
The false monk knocked on a still-upright timber with his staff. ‘Hmmm, with some good craftsmen, this place might be restored sooner than I thought.’ As if musing to himself, he muttered, ‘Scrape off this char, see how much good timber is left …’
After studying the burned timber, Bodai came out of his reverie. ‘Now, as I was saying, this king was the first monarch of stature to elevate the Church of the One above all others, and by seizing this opportunity Lodavico Sentarzi, ruler of Sandura’ – he lowered his voice – ‘known widely as “the King of Sorrows”, not only gained a new title, “His Most Holy Majesty”, which he seems to find most agreeable, but gave the Church of the One an official base from which to operate, a home, as it were. Word reached us some months ago that the ancient city of Sandura’ – he gestured to their surroundings – ‘was now being called “the Holy City”, which also seems to please Lodavico.
‘You will learn that some places are often very important,’ Bodai continued. He found a relatively clean piece of masonry, a support for an interior wall now missing, and sat. He motioned for Hatu to sit at his side. ‘The obvious places are defensible positions along routes others wish to take or occupy, or advantageous sites from which to launch assaults. Being near a good water supply and fertile land, a tidy harbour, or other natural features often persuaded people to choose a place to build a city, or rather they did in ages past; we do not see a lot of cities being built now, do we?’
Hatu could see it was a rhetorical question and so said nothing, merely nodding his understanding and agreement.
‘Other important places are symbolic: sites where great battles were undertaken, so we remember the victors’ heroics or lament the loss of the vanquished. Or the holy places.’ He motioned out of the burned doorway, and Hatu looked up at the high plateau barely visible above the rooftop of the building across the street. ‘Up there,’ continued Bodai, ‘the Church is constructing their most holy place: a cathedral, the grandest of their churches and the seat of an episkopos. Only this cathedral will be the home of many episkopos, their entire ruling council.’ He sighed theatrically, sounding, in Hatu’s opinion, far too amused, and said, ‘And they’re building it right next to His Most Holy Majesty’s palace.’
Hatu looked confused. ‘But—’
‘That compromises the defensible position of Lodavico’s castle, I know.’ Bodai waved his hand around, indicating the entire city. ‘His castle is now a citadel given how much his capital has grown since his forefathers built the fortress. Should an army knock at its gates, the addition of the cathedral will hardly matter. He will have already lost the war.’ He smiled at Hatu. ‘But it’s good to see that you pay attention when your preceptors speak about military history. Unlike that rock-headed friend of yours.’
Hatu tried not to smile, for he knew Bodai was speaking of Donte. Being the grandson of one of the seven masters on the Council had often saved Donte from receiving the more severe punishments he deserved. Any other student would have been sent away for several of his infractions, and certainly for the number of rules Hatu’s friend had broken over the years.
As a boy, Donte had been merely fractious, but as he grew older, his behaviour turned to a near-constant defiance. Hatu judged that within a few years Donte could be a crew captain, or perhaps a gang captain, or even dead, but he doubted his friend would rise to his father’s and grandfather’s status. He might have a chance if he learned to curb his impulses, but Hatu doubted Donte would ever become a master.
Students who were sent away from the schools when they were little, returned to their parents, were apprenticed to crafts in the town, or sent to work on farms or in fishing villages. But after a certain age, when certain secrets had been learned … Hatu didn’t care to think about it but had made the assumption that those students were discreetly murdered.
That was the curse of the chosen: to be selected to train as a sicari and potentially become a member of the Quelli Nascosti, the secret army of Coaltachin, meant that after a certain point you would know too much to be allowed to leave. Hatu sensed that he, Hava, and Donte were close to that point. While certain intricacies about the inner workings of the army were still kept from students of their age and experience, Hatu had observed enough to extrapolate how the Coaltachin nation might be organized, and little of what he had been told of late had come as a surprise, which had bolstered his confidence. Remembering the conversation he shared with his friends after being scolded by the gang boss Hilsbek, Hatu realised that they had perhaps already passed that point. Hatu was uncertain, for he had little more than speculation to go on. There was an old saying about what happened within powerful families when someone like a Donte failed to rise: ‘Those who know don’t talk, and those who talk don’t know.’
For the deepest secret of the Kingdom of Night was that, beyond its islands, it represented the largest, most extensive criminal empire on Garn. Coaltachin was not a kingdom, as there was no king, but it was ruled by a council of seven masters, each of whom controlled a ‘family’. Within these families were the regimes who directed many gangs across many cities.
Council titles usually passed from family member to family member – unless a family was displaced by another, more powerful family, often at the cost of bloodshed and the creation of factions; this organization had been formed to settle such disputes and, most important of all, to protect an ancient way of life. Master Zusara was the final arbiter for issues that the Council was unable to settle, and while masters might contest with one another, all united against outsiders.
Criminal activity provided the island nation with the bulk of its wealth, but the agents sent around the world to work on behalf of distant rulers, or affluent merchants, provided the most vital commodities: they uncovered critical economic and political intelligence before anyone else; they produced significant riches, for the services of the island nation did not come cheaply; but their most important commodity of all was information, and their most potent weapon was fear. Those above who were crew bosses and regime bosses were sicari. Not only the best fighters, they had to be smart enough to command criminals and maintain effective control over their gangs.
Above the sicari were the nocusara. The term meant ‘invisible’, ‘hidden’, or ‘unseen’ and was reserved for only the most skilled sicari, those who achieved the highest level of training and trust. They were the legendary ghost warriors: the assassins, spies, and agents of the Kingdom of Night who could enter any building, no matter how well guarded, and take the life of any ruler. They were the agents who diverted information and gained some nobles power over their rivals. Most of their reputation was due to clever planning, theatrical tricks, and selecting agents who were suited and trained for specific tasks. While not supernatural beings, the nocusara were among the finest-trained assassins and warriors on Garn, the very best of the sicari.
The Kingdom of Night relied on its reputation, well earned by the Quelli Nascosti and their sicari, but for the most part it was a nation of thugs, bandits, confidence tricksters, thieves, and smugglers. Practically none of the significant criminal activity across the eastern half of North Tembria or the northeast quadrant of South Tembria, or even in the Ten Thousand Islands, was undertaken without Coaltachin’s notice or participation. And none of it occurred without their tacit approval.
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