Landfall

by Victor Serrano

  The Syriot soldiers ahead of him pulled into an alley to regroup and avoid musket fire. The naval captain entered, announcing that he was taking temporary command of Powluk’s troops. Vermilies took the opportunity to peek around the corner of the wooden house they had been sheltering behind while the Syriots decided on their next course of action. A few civilians had joined the last of the straggling defenders in their retreat into the castle, and now the gate was closing behind them. The castle walls were built of sturdy stone though they could be reduced to rubble with proper siege cannons.

  During the assault, Vermilies had blocked out the distant sounds of the navy’s cannonade, but now he could see the shells hitting the seaward side of the castle wall. The walls were crumbling in parts, but the castle was built on a hill and would be very difficult to assault. If the Syriot Empire wanted to take the castle, it would probably assault it from here, at the South Gate, after ferrying over more troops through the docks. Vermilies squatted down in relative comfort, resolving to wait out the hours it would take for a large assault party to be formed. The South Gate could not be effectively targeted from anywhere but the harbor so they would likely need to unload their cannons. That could take days.

  As Vermilies waited, a volley from the sloop impacted on the wall above the gate, causing minimal damage but a great deal of consternation. Along the wall Vermilies could just make out a group of laborers wheeling a bronze cannon over to face the sloop. The naval officer came over next to Vermilies, staring at the distant cannon in annoyance, then went back into the alleyway to address a marine.

  “Tell the Hellfire to get out of the harbor and rejoin the fleet, before that cannon begins firing. Let General Eben know that we have taken the docks and the market square. We will move back to form a perimeter around the beachhead.”

  The marine gave a sharp salute and sprinted back to the docks. The officer turned to address the cluster of men. They had all left their packs aboard their ships but sported muskets, powder and shot in bandoliers, and hanging on their belts were sheathed knives and the spiked weapons Vermilies had heard called bayonets.

  “Alright, I want those of you from Powluk’s company to guard the western side of the road, from this boulevard out to the sea. Hellfire men, we will circle around the market and secure the eastern and southern entrances to the docks. It will be a while before the transports unload, but the rest of Powluk’s men will be over shortly. Just hold the line for now.”

  The soldiery moved to take their assigned positions around the ruins of the market. The naval captain moved to the center of the square, climbing a pile of rubble to survey his defensive semi-circle. From within his heavy jacket he produced a bronze looking glass and scanned the distant walls of the castle. Vermilies came close after a minute.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced, Captain. My name is Enbo Vermilies, of the Jade Sea Occupied Territories,” said the translator, bowing slightly.

  “Occupied Territories,” mused the naval captain, still looking through his glass. “I thought they were all Imperial by now.”

  “A few stalwarts remain to contest the issue.”

  “I see. My name is Captain Ebric Salassi. I realize you were assigned to our esteemed former Captain Powluk, and will probably need to report to fleet command. However, there is a matter in which I hope you can be of some assistance.”

  “Certainly, sir. You are the commanding officer here, although I assume an admiral will be along momentarily to further muddy the waters.”

  Captain Salassi removed his looking glass, closing it and putting it away in an inner pocket. He turned to Vermilies and regarded him with a wan smile.

  “I’m sure one will. However, we need to seize the initiative. Due to Powluk’s… aggressive instincts, we are likely heavily outnumbered until the ground forces arrive. Given the situation, I would like you to request the surrender of Tamani Castle.”

  Vermilies blinked. Why am I always assigned to the crazy ones? Can’t I translate for a garrison commander on a beach?

  “As you say, Captain… we are indeed outnumbered. Surely the enemy understands that.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure that they do. Do you not see how they scurry about along the walls? I believe the enemy has been thoroughly caught off guard, and I would like them to stay that way. As you say, the ground forces will be along momentarily. If there is any chance to save the time and lives it would take to assault the castle, I believe we should take it.”

  There was a certain amount of sense to it, Vermilies allowed. But what about my life? Approaching a gate alone, demanding a surrender, bluffing furiously?

  Against his will, he felt a certain excited tingle at the prospect, not even muted by the fight at the docks. After all, he had pushed for admittance into the Jade Sea Academy against his family’s objections. He had studied languages with every expectation of being assigned to one of the Syriot Empire’s conquering forces. So why baulk now?

  “If they do not open their gate and hand over their weapons within two hours, they will face an immediate assault and risk the loss of women and children within the castle walls,” Captain Salassi said, and it took a moment for Vermilies to realize he was naming the terms. The translator nodded.

  “If they submit to tributary protection in line with the terms of the Jade Sea Occupied Territories, their castle will not be stormed and they will not lose their property rights. Those are the terms the Empire desires.”

  Vermilies scratched his nose, looking at the distant castle walls. That’s a long walk to make alone. How accurate is their musketry?

  “I’ll tell them.”

  “I will let the higher-ups know that we’re giving them two hours. It seems the bombardment has ceased, anyway.”

  They both looked out to the sea, behind the recent wreckage of the market and port. Vermilies could make out another ferry heading to the port, this time consisting only of Powluk’s soldiers in their blue uniforms. The Hellfire had disappeared from view, either on the other side of the island or mixed with the fleet.

  Vermilies took a deep breath and headed down the main boulevard toward the South Gate. A shot hit a tile roof nearby, and Vermilies sucked his breath in. He paused a moment, then continued forward, his arms raised.

  “Don’t shoot! I’ve come to nego-”

  Another round thudded into a wooden house along the boulevard. Vermilies gritted his teeth and continued his slow trek, arms raised high.

  Not much farther. Not much farther.

  Chapter Twelve

  Distant Thunder

  Banisu had left the secret naval encampment deep in thought many hours ago. What a strange-looking ship - but it must be quite fearsome. I wish I could have seen them fire the cannons. Banisu was carried along in his palanquin, eyeing the dirt road below him and the bobbing calves of the retainers in front. The rutted path was too small for his oxen carriage, but Banisu wouldn’t have minded walking. Of course, Abbot Cibu would never have allowed that.

  Banisu could just make out the Abbot’s bald head at the front of the procession. The Abbot kept a firm and unyielding pace and they hadn’t stopped to rest for some time. Banisu stretched from within the cramped palanquin.

  Somewhere in the distance came the clap of thunder. Banisu pushed the silk curtains aside and peeked out at the sky in some confusion. Strange for it to be raining at this time of year. The weather seemed as clear as ever, wisps of clouds floating along in the calm, blue sky. And yet the thunder repeated, and Banisu began to realize that it must be cannon fire. Could they be testing the ship? Banisu reflected with a mix of excitement and disappointment that he was missing the show. But a few seconds later, he realized it couldn’t have come from that direction. The sound was much farther to the north, around Tamani. And it was much louder than our cannons…

  At the head of the procession, Abbot Cibu came to an abrupt halt. “We’ll rest here,” he announced, his calm voice carrying through the grassy hills. Banisu’s retainers set the pa
lanquin down gratefully, and a few servants wandered off the path to sit under the dappled shade of a nearby tree. Banisu watched them with idle jealousy.

  An armored officer brusquely shouldered his way through the servants still milling about on the trail and jogged his way up to Abbot Cibu. Banisu followed the man’s passage with his eyes and noted that the old monk was now discussing something with a few guardsmen. The guards around him also now had a wary look as they frowned into the distance, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. I should be there, Banisu realized. He quickly slipped on his sandals, hopped out of the palanquin, and padded his way up the path.

  “Emperor,” one of the retainers said quietly, moving forward as if to stop him, but Banisu ignored the man. The abbot noticed Banisu’s approach and raised a stern face towards him.

  “Emperor, it would be best if you remained in the palanquin for the duration of the trip.”

  One of the things Banisu most enjoyed about leaving his guarded temple was the fact that Abbot Cibu would have to use honorifics among the common folk. It was a polite formality that was dropped at the mountain monastery, where all novitiates were considered equals under the tutelage of the monks. It was always “Banisu do this” or “boy do that.” Banisu wasn’t about to let his time outside the monastery go to waste.

  “It seems my officers are concerned about something. I would know their thoughts.”

  Abbot Cibu didn’t bother hiding his irritation but remained silent.

  If the guardsmen themselves were annoyed at the interruption, they certainly didn’t show it. Most averted their eyes, as was fitting when in the presence of the Emperor. They were a combination of two forces, the Kintari guards from the mountain monastery bearing halberds and long swords. After crossing into Hangyul territory another honor guard had joined them, swordsmen in black lacquer wearing long sloping helmets tied to their chins with string, and the soldiers of the two clans kept a wary distance between each other.

  One of the Hangyul guardsmen turned to face him but kept his eyes lowered in respect. From his bearing and the deference the other Hangyul soldiers paid him it was clear he was in charge.

  “The noise we just heard, Emperor. It sounded like a great deal of cannon fire in the direction of Tamani. I was just requesting permission to investigate.”

  “Out of the question,” Abbot Cibu said. “You and your men are charged with keeping the Emperor safe. We shall take him back to the monastery by last light.”

  “I understand. However, my men could remain. I could journey alone.”

  “Your place is here,” Abbot Cibu said in a firm voice, as if that settled things.

  “Perhaps the Tamani guard is practicing artillery drills,” Banisu broke in. Now that would be something to see…

  The Abbot looked at him as if noticing a talking bug, and several of the guardsmen smirked, before quickly hiding their expressions.

  “Ah… Emperor, I am the commander of the Tamani guard,” the Hangyul officer said delicately. “Commander Jenisutane. I assure you, we are not doing artillery drills. Besides, we do not have the ordnance to make such noises.”

  As if to underscore his point, another round of distant cannons burst out.

  “I really should be there…” he said worriedly. “This could be a pirate attack. Or worse.”

  “We’ll sort this out later,” the abbot said with his customary insufferable calmness. “And if it is an attack, it is all the more important that you remain here.” He stared at Banisu. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to the Emperor.”

  In the silence, another voice broke in. “If I may, sirs.” All eyes moved to a middle-aged Kintari retainer. “Before we left, I heard that Prince Sharnipur’s Elephant Company was sighted just east of the Kintari border. I believe they are grazing along the borderlands. Perhaps a runner could be dispatched to hire them, should the need arise.”

  “Patience,” the abbot said in that same calm tone.

  “The Prince of the Wastes!” Banisu squeaked abruptly. He had heard all the stories of the legendary exile and devoured any tale he could get. In his secluded corner of the world the most he could hear of the outside world came to him as reports of the man’s deeds and derring-do. And so near to the Three Clans! Why… perhaps he could be invited to dinner… what would he eat? Banisu twisted his mouth as he puzzled this. Do they eat soup in the Veldtland?

  “Emperor,” the abbot broke into his thoughts. “Perhaps you could retire to the palanquin. It is not your responsibility to concern yourself with practical matters. Commander Jenisutane, could you escort the emperor back?”

  “Yes, Abbot,” the guardsman said, approaching the Emperor to guide him back. His hand extended, and then he hesitated, unaware of the correct protocol.

  “Mm. Yes,” Banisu said, his thoughts still drifting. He turned away and headed back, the relieved commander following closely behind.

  “The metaphysical!”

  Banisu blinked and turned. Apparently Abbot Cibu hadn’t yet finished.

  “That should be your focus. I am looking forward to your thoughts on the Lotus Prince when we return.” The abbot nodded slightly and turned, almost as if dismissing a courtier. Banisu winced. The lengthy scroll on the Saga of the Lotus Prince had been left almost untouched in his palanquin.

  The guardsman’s hand gently touched Banisu’s shoulder, and the boy emperor proceeded through the stretching mass of servants, who cleared the narrow path in semi-dignified haste. Banisu stepped back into the palanquin, wedging himself into a corner and fishing out the discarded scroll. Beside the palanquin, the guardsman sighed softly.

  “I should be there…”

  At the front of the procession, the abbot’s voice boomed out. “Let us now proceed.”

  Banisu heard the grunts of the nearby retainers and palanquin bearers, but his thoughts were on other things. The Prince of the Wastes… the distant rumbling. And, Banisu thought guiltily, the abbot’s near-certain disappointment when he found out he had been neglecting his studies.

  Again.

  The winding procession made its way through the hills and into the lower shaded riverlands of central Hangyul, on the route to the secluded mountain monastery where Banisu had spent the majority of his thirteen years. The steady, gentle rocking of the palanquin, the fading sounds of thunder, and the dry verbiage of the Saga of the Lotus Prince all served to lull Banisu into slumber.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tamani Castle

  Vermilies wiped the sweat off his brow as he came ever closer to the gate of Tamani Castle. It was the dry season, and the sun shone down upon the cobblestones that lined the boulevard to the castle, but that was far from his only concern. Still, at least the shooting had stopped. When Vermilies judged he was close enough, he took a deep breath and called out in the Standard Dialect of the Three Clans.

  “I am an emissary! Do not shoot! I have come to discuss terms!”

  Vermilies continued ever farther, his feet light on the cobblestones and his body tensed to spring away. Not that it would do me any good. There were no more shots, but it seemed some discussion was going on above the South Gate. Vermilies raised a hand to cover his eyes and squinted at the figured below the pagoda. Armored men were arguing and pointing below. Pointing at me.

  The cannon fire had long ago ceased, and any wind had long since died down, which made the discussion distressingly audible to Vermilies as he approached the gate.

  “We should just shoot him,” one of the guards said.

  “No… go get Governor Tarude. He can decide.” A second guardsman looked at Vermilies. “That’s close enough!” he shouted down, light glinting off his black lacquer helmet. “Just wait there!”

  “Alright!”

  Vermilies looked seaward as he waited, but buildings obstructed his view of the Syriot fleet. They must have been bobbing in the harbor, offloading men onto the nearby island and perhaps a few following the example of the Hellfire and reaching the port of Tam
ani itself. Vermilies caught the glimpse of a scared child’s eyes peeking out of a window. He gave a weak smile, and the child ducked its head away. Yes, best to stay inside.

  Up close, Vermilies noted that the gate bore the carved impression of a huge scowling demon head. He admired the carving as he waited. It was perhaps a local deity, one of the dozens the polytheistic inhabitants of both these lands and the Jade Sea Islands would worship in exchange for protection.

  Protection that I think will not be granted.

  After several tense minutes, Vermilies noticed a portly bureaucrat had emerged on the ramparts. He leaned over to look down, more weary than angry, providing a sad contrast to the demon gate below.

  “What do you want, barbarian dog? Why have you attacked us?”

  Vermilies cleared his throat. “I have come to discuss the terms of your surrender. Allow me to enter.”

  The guards arrayed across the ramparts sputtered and grumbled in shock and outrage, a few glaring down at his insolence, two or three muskets now aimed directly at him. However, the governor merely eyed him in silence for a long moment.

  “I will open the gate for you alone,” the governor said. “Come inside and we will discuss this situation.”

  The guards along the ramparts shifted in surprise, but held their tongues. Several heads disappeared from the wall, and after a brief wait the stout wooden gate creaked open a few paces. Vermilies eased through the gate and came out the other side facing a row of spears held by grim-faced guardsmen in conical helmets and black cuirasses. He held his arms up innocently, but did not show his fear.

  “Where is Governor Tarude?”