Yet the treaty of Molon was always there, like some scab unwilling to heal. Every so often some war drunk king of the Isle would threaten and bluster and denounce the kings of Cathan as mere usurpers. Sometimes they would send ships and men. More often than not they would fail, but they would still burn the land and kill the people. Yet, in the end Cathan always threw them out. It was the Merovel Kings of the Golden Isle that claimed the throne of Cathan now. Madness! For these Isler’s were not even of the blood of the Balikris Kings who ruled their land when the treaty was signed. But it was never about the treaty that was just a tall tale to tell the soldiers, and the widowed wives. Cathan was rich and strategically placed for access to the continent. His homeland was a serious rival for trade across the grey sea, and there was your answer for war.
Renick had called a War Council earlier today, to discuss the threat of war. The war chiefs and lords sat in the council chamber and listened solemnly as the new king spoke.
‘They have a small part of their fleet already taking on supplies in Brevi. From there they will pick up the Honourable Company in a week or so,’ he said.
Melkar, the Horse Marshall, had spat in anger at that news, and the rest of the war council murmured in outrage. Brevi was an Islinor port, the Holy Empire had always resented the religion of the Cathan people and their freedom from the Prelate. Brenrick merely smiled at the lords before him and told them of the intelligence he had received from his agents.
‘Islinor does not wish to lose its own men in the war, but they are prepared to allow the rest of the Golden Isle fleet to dock at Brevi in the New Year,’ continued the King.
Melkar cursed and said, ‘So they have hired the Honourable Company, that’s grim news. Do you have any good news?’
‘Aye, we have some.’ He turned to the council and spoke to the War chiefs' directly. ‘My agents tell me the Honourable Company are not what they were. They took a beating in some southern realm not six months ago. Their numbers are depleted, and I hear that their commander has lost his stomach for war. The largest part of his army is made up of levies. Peasants and tradesman raised by their lord to fight. Most just given a cheap spear and a few hours of training. Remember the Concord has not supported this war, and you will see few knights of the calibre of Ryder and his ilk.’
The all liked the sound of this better. The Cathan were a people apart, they still clung to the old ways. There was no Concord here, and each lord was expected to keep a contingent of professional warriors. These men were well trained and well equipped. All men of an age were expected to train for war at least three weeks out of every year. He knew the Cathan army would be comprised of professional, dedicated men fighting for their freedom, not some vacant eyed peasant given a pot helm and a cheap weapon to fight for a war they knew nothing of.
‘We can estimate,’ said Renick. ‘We will face no more than six thousand men.’
‘Why fight them on our lands,’ he said, ‘our fleet could trap them in the bay, and we could prevent them from landing, send them back cowed,’ said Uleic the Wolven in contempt.
The King nodded, his slate grey eyes briefly making contact with Brenrick’s own, as if to say, ‘Let me take this, brother.’
‘Wise words Uleic,’ said the King with no hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘And were we facing Islinor or any other, I would agree. Yet we have an opportunity here. One that we may not get again. If we prevent a landing we will be safe, true enough, but how many of Perriswood’s ships will make it back to the Golden Isles? Too many perhaps.’
Brenrick had to admire his brother, he was always able to capture men’s attention with ease; leaning forward as he spoke his lords all leaned in closer to hear their King out.
‘Merric is riding a knife’s edge,’ he said. ‘If he lands and takes the city he will be hailed a conquering hero by his own nation. My father always said “Much is forgiven in victory.” Wise words. His people would rally around him and the Concord of Lords could be easily ignored or, if that is the King’s aim, swept aside. If he fails, then he loses everything. The Concord will be stronger for his defeat, and they will make him pay for his failure and try to neuter him. They will spend decades fighting for power amongst themselves, and it will be decades before they look to us again.’
The War Chiefs nodded in agreement.
‘The King of the Golden Isle may survive a defeat, if his army returns home,’ Renick continued, not letting their attention waver.
‘Perhaps they turn that somehow into a victory. The bards will say that “the King’s men returned defeated but glorious and unbowed.” But will he survive the complete destruction of his army? Followed by a complete destruction of his fleet? No Brothers,’ said Renick. ‘He will not. We know that they plan to land on the beaches before the Crescent Bay. I say we let them. Let them beach their heavy ships on our shores. Then we cut them off from the sea and their ships will be all the easier to burn. This will be a land battle and we will win it.’
The men murmured in agreement as the King leaned back in his chair. He looked to Brenrick and said. ‘Tell them my plan, general.’
Brenrick rose and pulled a map out of the sleeve of his richly embroidered cassock. He spread the map out across the table. The lords all recognised it as a detailed chart of the wide Crescent Bay that the City of Cathan overlooked. He looked around the eager faces of the War Chiefs and after gathering his thoughts he began, ‘The Golden Isle fleet do not plan to assault the city directly. They know that we will simply raise the chains over the harbour entrance and catch them with our Wolfships. They will land on the southern tip of the crescent. The beaches are wide and the sand is firm. When they enter the bay, we will have a small company of Wolfships that will attack them; they will allow themselves to be run off by the Golden Isle fleet.’
There were unhappy murmurings from the lords, for they were all brave men and none wanted to run in the face of the enemy. The King put his hand up to still the conversation, and said, ‘Brothers, we are not running. We are using what our father used to call the stubborn bit between his ears.’ The men laughed at that. Wise words thought Brenrick. Nodding to his brother in thanks, Renick went on, ‘It is a classic feint. I believe their general Perriswood will fall for it. He boasts to his wife and his whores that he will drive us into the sea. His sees us a heathen savage and thinks we will not use our wits to fight him. Let him think what he may. For his stupidity and lack of experience are useful to us. Our main fleet will be waiting out of sight around the northern tip of the Crescent. Alaf, you have that command.’ There was murmur of agreement from the lords. Alaf was a good fleet commander, one of the best.
‘Uleic, you have the Wolfships that will feint. It rest on your skills to make it look real. Remember, to pull your ships back. Let them think you run. Once the fleet engages properly you will have your fun.’
Uleic gave him a huge evil grin. Brenrick continued. ‘Remember we must let them land their troops on our beach. They will be hurrying and poorly formed as their men struggle with arms and armour. They will need to beach most of the ships carrying their troops. Once they have beached their ships and begun unloading they will be at their most vulnerable. He looked at the men around him and smiled a cold smile. ‘The Golden Isle men will have no choice but to try to get off the beach towards the dunes to their west, their only clear way out. We will be waiting for them in the dunes. Behind them their fleet will be burning.’
The king looked at his men and said. ‘Perriswood is no Lord Tobin. His plans are as clear as fresh water and even his king speaks openly of them. He wishes to establish a camp on the beach and lay siege to our city. He believes that we will pull most of our men into the city to defend it. He is wrong.’
The lords looked at one another. Many nodded, others looked doubtful. Magnar Greybeard was the first to raise concerns, ‘What if Perriswood manages to hold us off? We risk much on one attack,’
Brenrick cleared his throat to get their attention, ‘If the worst happens. Wha
t then? Perriswood will be stuck on a beach, with battle sore, exhausted army, his supplies and ships at the bottom of the sea? Where will he go? If he attempts to march his army south towards Islinor then we will harry him all the way. If he goes west he goes deeper into our lands and he will not be able to fight his way through those valleys or travel across our fjords. If he tries to assault the city our walls are high, and larger, better armed and commanded forces could not take or city in the past.’ The King nodded in agreement and said, ‘I have no doubts, my Lords. Perriswood has been sent on a fool’s mission for a King desperate to increase his power and earn the love of his people. This man’s folly is our opportunity.’
This was met with approval by the lords and War Chiefs. For hours they talked about the details of the plan. Who would lead the horseman? How many archers would they hide in the dunes? They debated the details until it was time to prepare for the funeral pyre. After the Lords had left the chamber only Brenrick and his brother remained. For a moment he saw Renick’s face cloud over.
‘You are concerned, Ren?’ he asked. The King nodded and said, ‘Men will die on our beaches Bren, men no different from our own.’
He was confused by this sudden emotion from his brother, and when confused Brenrick always fell back on reason. ‘They came to conquer. We would live in peace, but they force us to defend ourselves. What choice do we have?’ he argued.
For a moment there was a flash of anger in his brother’s eyes. ‘You always have a logical answer, brother.’ The King’s sudden fury had taken him aback, but as always when it came to him his own brother Renick’s anger quickly evaporated and was replaced by a smile. ‘No, I’m sorry. It is your way. That is all. If truth be told you are right, Bren. We need to give the Golden Isles a bloody nose.’
‘It will also make other nations fear us more,’ said Brenrick.
‘Aye, and that also makes me sad, brother,’ the King answered. Then without another word he walked out of the council hall, leaving his brother confounded by his sudden change of mood.’
Now, as they stood on the headland watching the pyre beginning to collapse under the heat of the flames, he could not help but look out into the blackness beyond. His eyes searched out across the Grey Sea. Out there lay the Golden Isle. They were separated by only a few miles of salt water. They would come soon, he knew. The Isler’s planned to attack early next year. It appeared their King fancied himself a fine military commander. It would appear that we will have to disavow him of that illusion, he thought, just as his father had disavowed King William Merovel twenty years before when they had sent his army home humbled, but unlearned back to the Isle. Cathan would never be enslaved again, they would remain free, at any cost.
The Viscount’s Son
The carrack lurched heavily as it punched through the broiling waves of the Grey Sea. The Weaver was but one ship in the Golden Isle fleet that was now risking the harsh wintry sea to press its claim to the Cathan Throne. They had already lost three ships, one to the bottom of the sea, the other two blown off course, but so far luck had held, and the majority of the ships, were still within sight of each other.
Cursing, Aran Ryder stumbled on the sea slickened deck as The Weaver rode up yet another high wave. Desperately he grabbed hold of the thick wooden rail of the ship and prayed for the strength to hold on. Around him men groaned and vomited as the ship fought against the violent waves, and rain lashed down upon the crew and the soldiers tightly packed on the decks.
This was his first time at sea, and he hated it. The ship was too crowded, and it made so much damn noise, the creaking wood, the dull slap of the sodden sails, the crew shouting to each other as they worked hard to keep the ship on its course. The sea itself seemed to want to crush the little carrack to pieces upon the rocky headland of the Crescent Bay. Looking up, Aran saw the sweeping grey cliffs that thrust out from the sea like staunch guardians before a gate.
Ever since Aran was a boy he had dreamt of war and glory; dreamt of being a proud addition to his family’s ancient history. Now he was beginning to have doubts about those sentiments. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was terrified. His fear rotted in his belly and made him feel sick with the guilt of it. He was a noble of the Golden Isles, a knight of the Ryder family. He knew he should be an example to the peasants and the mercenaries that surrounded him. His father had always told him about fear, how it was not your enemy on a battlefield, and that it could keep you alive by keeping you focused. He didn’t believe his father now; he didn’t feel focused, just afraid. Beneath his heavy armour he was shaking, and he felt as pathetic as an animal cub.
It was too late, to go back. His King had called, and unlike his father, he would answer the call. Father had, predictably, been furious, and with good reason. Lord Malcolm Ryder was First Minister of the Concord and had called the King’s war illegal, and he had also denounced the market tax the King had raised to help pay for it as an abomination. The twelve families of the Concord had refused to lend men and arms to the task. Yet the very man who denounced the King’s war, now found his own son had taken the King’s oath. It had been difficult for him to go against his father, but Aran knew he was doing the right thing. Father had sent a letter demanding Aran’s return to Hardingstone, and remembered the reply he sent. Bitter words, etched in black ink. He regretted them now, as the reality of battle approached.
He remembered the day Tobin had come to his home in Thornsreach, and the shame of it still burned him. The general had no doubt received his father’s written pleas ‘to talk some sense’ into his son. When the servant came, to announce Tobin’s arrival Aran had been practicing sword and buckler in the courtyard with three of his friends. For a moment he considered sending Tobin away, but in his heart he thought of the dour man as an uncle and had not the stomach for such a slight.
He looked at his friends, and they saw the doubt on his face. He had known the three men for years and they had drunk, trained and whored together. Callum, Adam and Kalin, all sons of lesser lords, all faithful friends. It was they who had finally persuaded him to get involved in the war. He had been torn between the King and his family, but it was his friends who had tipped the balance. They saw Cathan as an opportunity to raise their status, to make a name for themselves, and as their friend he felt honour bound to help them.
They waited apprehensively for the famous general to arrive. When Tobin entered the courtyard he was dressed in his customary black clothing and wore a dark, wide brimmed hat. He seemed the very opposite of the young lord and his friends for they were dressed in fashionably colourful silk shirts and trews. Tobin smiled thinly and nodded to his friends as he passed them, they returned his manners with insolent looks and swagger. Aran felt embarrassed by his friend’s behaviour and quickly walked up to Tobin greeted him with a large smile.
Normally their conversation would be cheerful and unforced, but Tobin cut through the pleasantries with, ‘Your father is angry, Aran,’ He was looking intently at the young lord, taking in the sword, buckler and the garish clothing. Tobin made no comments, but Aran felt weighed and judged under the general’s gaze.
‘I have made up my mind, I cannot sit here while others fight for the King,’ Aran said, his voice barely masking his nerves.
‘If that was a slight at your father and I, it was unworthy of you. Both of us have served more than one King,’ said Tobin, glancing at the three lords who watched the unfolding scene cautiously.
‘I have made my decision, Tobin. I will fight for the King,’ answered Aran, looking defiantly at Tobin, he was cheered to hear his friends shouting, ’Aye!’ in agreement. Cheeks reddening with shame and anger he found himself biting back,
‘Why?’ asked Tobin, with what seemed to be an amused expression on his face. ‘It is my duty!’ said Aran. ‘It’s time for me to do my duty. I’m a man now. Not a boy. Why spend years training to fight for wars, if I am never to fight?’
His words had sounded childish to his own ears, but his pride would no
t let him back down. However, part of Aran began to doubt himself, had he really been thinking when he agreed to take the King’s oath?
He swore he saw a glimmer in Tobin’s eyes, as if the man had somehow seen his doubt. The general smiled sadly and said, ‘There is an element of truth to what you say, but you should also choose what you fight for with care. The King is pursuing a dead claim, and for that you go against your father and publicly shame him? Its madness, Aran! Merric is seeking glory. What is Cathan to you or your friends?’
‘Cathan has raided our shores in the past, and stolen our trade,’ said Callum, stepping closer to the two men.
‘Raids? Two hundred years ago perhaps, as for trade, will you kills and fight over tax revenue. Or is it glory and plunder you seek?’ said Tobin.
Callum’s face flushed with anger, and he snarled at Tobin, ‘I fight for the King! I swore an oath, I will not be judged by those with no honour.’
The courtyard went still. The words cut through Aran like a knife. Recovering his wits he shouted ‘Cal. No!’ But it was too late. The challenge had been given.
To Aran’s surprise Tobin did not draw his blade or even curse his friend, though the codes of chivalry demanded it. The general merely said. ‘I understand that you spoke in anger, lad. Step back and I will ignore the slight.’ Tobin was just standing there, his hands folded across his chest watching the angry man calmly.
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