They nodded silently.
“Then we will make our way to the nearest fishing village and grab ourselves a ship. But, don’t worry! They are bound to have some valuables, and I am not a greedy man. Much of what they have will be available to the crew. In fact, I believe I can spare a silver coin for whoever will transport the chest. Any volunteers?”
They were quiet for a moment, exchanging glances with each other.
“Can we share the coin with someone else?” asked one of the pirates.
“An excellent idea. Who wants to share the coin with Deodan?”
One pirate waved his hand wildly, then two others joined in.
“Excellent!” proclaimed Bekhar. “You four can share duties. We will split the coin in fourths once we reach the fishing village.” Bekhar turned to the other pirates. “Now I’m not lecturing you for not volunteering,” he said with a heavy air of disappointment, “But you must understand that if you intend to keep with us, you must clear a path through the jungle and watch for any trouble. Understand?”
The pirates nodded, looking vaguely embarrassed.
“Good. Now, let’s move out.”
Bekhar hefted his glaive, following his scouts, and trailed by the laboring pirates cursing over the weight. He was not a greedy man. Though he could use more crew, a few ships, plunder, maybe a secluded port…
Chapter Seventeen
Assault of the Raven Guards
Vermilies was bushed. The long day was drawing to an end and he was looking forward to getting some sleep. So when the summons to headquarters came he half-expected to be shown to his new quarters. Some noble’s mansion perhaps, or a merchant’s house. Or even, he thought with a yawn, a simple peasant hovel would do.
Yet his hopes were soon dashed. The headquarters was still bustling with activity and as Vermilies passed a crate was wheeled and deposited outside by a gang of Jade Sea Islander laborers. Without a pause they moved their creaking cart back to the docks, where they must have been unloading the flagship. I suppose I’m better off than my crate-hauling compatriots. The benefits of an academy education.
Vermilies came up short as he approached and blinked as if that would clarify the scene. There were trolls at the door. Real trolls, like the ones in storybooks, and yet not at all like that. They were too alive and in this place they just seemed commonplace. They wore Syriot uniforms though they were absurdly large versions that could have doubled as tents, and on their heads were black feathered caps. In the dark they might be mistaken for statues. In the fading light they looked the very stuff of nightmares.
Vermilies forced himself to approach. I just took a castle, after all. This is no big deal.
“Evening, gentlemen.”
One of the guards raised a colossal hand to stop him. Vermilies stopped, needing no further encouragement. In silence, the troll opened the door and squeezed through, his hat almost falling off as it hit the roof. The troll shut the door and was inside for some time.
Vermilies eyed the second troll as he waited. Up close he realized the second troll was no gentleman at all. The troll sniffed the air, the curved saber in her hand looking like a tiny eating knife by comparison, her skin gray and spotted with what appeared to be lichen. A leather bandolier was wrapped around her from which dangled a dozen balls of black metal.
The door cracked open and the horned head of the first troll popped out. His imperturbable face stared at the translator. A massive arm emerged and he waved the translator inside before stepping back, his feathered cap crammed against the wooden ceiling.
They were in a requisitioned house beside the docks that could have been used by a merchant. What was this house like in the morning, I wonder? Did he kiss his wife and kids before going off to work? And now there are hulking trolls inside, and the general, and… is that Galdea?
He blinked. A Jade Sea Islander who had attended the Academy looked up, brushing her hair aside as she noticed Vermilies, and then gave him a brief wave. Beside her General Eben busied about on a field stool and desk. The general brushed some papers aside and looked up at Vermilies.
“Ah yes, the Islander who assisted Captain Salassi. My men have use of a translator.”
Vermilies approached with a smile, arm extended for a handshake.
“Enbo Vermilies, sir. I don't believe we've been formally introduced.”
The general frowned at the translator’s hand.
“Don’t get familiar, boy. I didn’t conquer your islands just to treat you lot like equals. Galdea here will brief you.”
The general grabbed his military cap and a musket leaning against the wall and strode out. His barking could be heard outside.
“That was stupid of you, Vermilies,” Galdea said, smoothing her uniform down as she stood. Cold as ever, that Galdea. “You should know your place.”
Vermilies shrugged. “Only met a couple Syriot officers so far. So you’re working with the general?”
“Head of intelligence,” she said with a proud smile. “Where else would they send the Academy's top graduate?” Her smile faded. “Though I see you are here as well.”
“Hey, I was also among the…” Vermilies paused. He hadn't been one of the top students, not by a long shot, though his ability with languages had been enough to secure a diploma in the end.
“Graduates,” he finished lamely.
“I heard your last commanding officer was killed. Not a great start.”
“That's hardly my fault. The man was a vainglorious bastard wanting to get right in the thick of things.”
“Oh? Then you'll know how to get along with the next one,” Galdea said breezily as she strode out of the house. “Sergeant Major Stradny!”
As Vermilies exited he saw that a growing crowd of troll soldiers was forming, their buckles and weapons gleaming in the fading light, General Eben saying a few words to them.
A tiny figure detached itself from the crowd and approached the Islanders, leather boots echoing on the rough cobblestone.
“Stick close to him,” Galdea said in a low voice. “He commands the Raven Guard; General Eben’s personal detachment of vestertraulvolk and tonight they’re on the hunt for prisoners and noble captives who haven’t yet fled Tamani.”
Vermilies gave a wan smile. “Hungry, are they?”
“Oh yes. Don’t slow them down or they might eat you.”
Their commander was a Sergeant Major Stradny, and while he looked small among the trolls, by the time he approached the sergeant major was glowering down, at least a head taller than the Jade Sea Islanders. The Syriot was bald and hairless, his face a mass of white scars and ear a twisted hunk of gristle, and gave the impression of being some sort of angry mushroom with epaulets.
“You’re the translator?”
The man’s voice was a harsh rasp.
“Yes sir. Enbo Vermilies.” He didn’t offer a hand this time and the sergeant major just gave him a curt nod.
“You’re with us. My trolls don’t leave a lot of wounded and the ones that are tend to bleed out soon. Be quick with your questions.”
He walked away a few paces as the general returned, flanked by two troll bodyguards, one of them hauling a bloodied local with him. The general tossed something aside and wiped his knife on a pinkish white cloth. Vermilies stared at the object on the cobblestones. It was a finger.
“This one was a guardsman,” the general said to Galdea. “Thought to slip away and hide in a nearby house. Finish with him and the ones we’ve chained in the tent before I return. I want that list of potential threats filled and I don't care if anyone is breathing at the end.”
“Yes sir.”
“It may be some time before I return. The Knights of Serraca are disembarking. Make sure they keep to their lodgings and above all, make sure to keep their horses hidden.”
“Yes sir.”
The general sighed as he strapped on a jeweled scimitar, its sides scored with thin trails.
“We need a local force. As you’re tor
turing try and identify potential recruits.”
“Yes sir.” Galdea hesitated. “The survivors may bear some resentment.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care about their resentment as long as they fear and obey us.” He paused and squeezed Galdea’s ear. “Just like you Islanders, eh?” He waggled her face about.
“Yes sir.”
The general released it and strode out.
“Sergeant Major, are you ready to move out?”
“Yes sir.”
Vermilies jogged to keep up to the brisk pace set by the troll grenadiers as they weaved their way through the fallen city of Tamani. They passed by Syriot troops requisitioning supplies and garrisoning houses until they slowed as they reached the East Gate. A Syriot officer saluted, a dozen Syriot musketeers marveling at the troll grenadiers as they passed by.
“We pulled back once we met resistance at the estate, sir. As per our orders.”
General Eben pointed to a mansion in the distance, the outlines just visible outside Tamani itself, and Vermilies squinting past the massive troll shoulders in front of him to make out the details.
“Just there? That’s fine, lieutenant. Hold the gate tonight. We will be back soon.”
The column of troll grenadiers started up again, and it was just a few short minutes before they came across signs of battle. Vermilies noted a few bloodstains and discarded swords where wounded or dead must have been dragged back. A musket shot halted the advance, and the trolls began to encircle the mansion, keeping a wary distance. As Vermilies waited in the trailing end of the column he peered around to look for survivors. He didn’t see any.
Then a volley of musketry erupted from the mansion’s windows, trolls seeking cover behind a low ditch, though they still looked like small hills blossoming into gray clouds as they fired their heavy blunderbusses at the mansion. Vermilies spotted Sergeant Major Stradny issuing orders to a band of trolls who hurried off to flank the mansion. Vermilies joined the Sergeant Major, who was pouring powder down his blunderbuss’s flared muzzle beside General Eben.
General Eben was an older man yet his motions were fluid and precise as he scrambled over the ditch and behind a tree. He popped around and fired at the house. Stradny finished loading several metal balls, then looked pained as he noticed the general’s advanced position and hurried up to join him. Vermilies cursed as he joined the trolls bounding forward closer and closer to the mansion, where a musket shot erupted from one of the second-story windows.
“Gods, it feels good to fire in earnest,” General Eben said. “Sergeant Major, position your men as you may. I want that house taken.”
Stradny nodded, hefting his blunderbuss. “Allow me, sir.”
He pointed at three nearby trolls and spoke heatedly to them. Vermilies, all but unnoticed, took in the scene. The wailing screams, the thick smell of soot and powder, the smell of the jungle at dusk. And General Eben, inhaling deeply, smiling for the first time that Vermilies had ever noticed.
The scarred Sergeant Major appeared to be going off some internal clock, and nodded his huge plumed hat as if to himself. He grasped one of the grenades by his belt and flung it into the house. Flashes glinted off of two other grenades that bounced their way into a window and a door, and then the thunking sounds of explosions could be heard.
From within came a piercing scream, as the Raven Guard charged forth, sabers and blunderbusses raised. Whether caught up in the excitement or according to his own plan, General Eben ran after them. Vermilies took a moment to glance around at the sudden emptiness around him, aside from native faces peeking at him from outside the perimeter. He cursed and trailed after the Syriots.
Low rumbling booms sounded from within the house as Vermilies stepped in, almost stumbling on a groaning man who clutched at his own shattered chest as he lay on the floor. Vermilies quickly looked away and trailed behind a cluster of trolls. The assault had lasted barely a minute and already it was over, the sergeant major pulling his saber out of the chest of an armored Hangyul soldier who sank to the ground. Vermilies tried to shut out the soft whimpering sounds of the dying man, though he couldn't help but mentally translate the dying man's plea to his mother.
“Just wait, you bastards,” another one of the fallen guards said, sobbing as he bled out on the bamboo floor. “Our Emperor knows great magic. He will… ugh… fling you back into the sea.”
Vermilies knelt beside him, trying to ignore the mess of torn armor and flesh. “I heard your Emperor is just a boy.”
He waited for a reply before realizing he wouldn't be getting one. Vermilies rose to his feet, wiping the dust off his knees, and saw that his knee had been speckled with blood. He raised one hand and looked at it in the dim flickering light.
Blood on my hands already.
“Translator!”
Two trolls were hauling a struggling nobleman between them, a sandal falling as the nobleman kicked impotently several paces in the air, his embroidered tunic smeared with gunpowder and blood. The trolls flung him to the ground in front of General Eben. The nobleman got back up to his feet and gave General Eben an imperious glare as he stood before him.
“Tell him to kneel.”
Vermilies gave the curt command. The nobleman sniffed and then reeled off a quick dismissal.
“He says that his honor as a nobleman prevents him from kneeling to all but the Emperor hims-”
The general punched the man’s stomach with his right fist. The nobleman collapsed to his knees and then started to rise before thinking better of it. Instead he gasped, breathing in and out, and spat on the soot-stained bamboo mats below him.
“Now then,” the general said, folding his hands behind him. “He has two options. Cooperate and live or resist and die.” He waited as Vermilies translated but the nobleman still said nothing. “Sergeant Major. Grab this man here,” the general said, pointing at a younger man, “and take him outside. Fire one shot. Then bundle him back for interrogation.”
“Yes sir.”
Huge hands drug the younger man away as a troll grenadier snatched him off the ground as if he were weightless. The sergeant major followed through a splintered door, blunderbuss in hand, and they rounded the corner. Vermilies looked at the pained look on the older nobleman.
“You really should talk,” Vermilies said in the silence. He looked around as the moment dragged on, the nobleman obstinate, jaw clenched and face stern. Behind him, Vermilies watched with a mix of horror and fascination as one troll forced her fingers into a gash on her right arm. The troll pulled a metal ball out, dropping it on the floor. A few trolls nearby rumbled in what Vermilies took to be amusement.
A single shot rang out and the nobleman closed his eyes and grimaced. His chest heaved, once, as if he had choked off a wail. Yet still he was silent. Vermilies frowned and looked away.
Large chunks of the eastern wall had been shattered by grenades and the last rays of dusk illuminated a ridgeline. Part of the ceiling slumped to the ground, masonry skittering along the bloody floor, but the trolls paid it little attention. General Eben was peeking through it as the sergeant major returned.
“What's over that next rise? The closest town of any importance, I mean.”
“Khrao Feranti, sir,” Stradny said. “I believe Lord Prasert holds that town. He was a younger brother to the former Emperor.”
“Is that right…” General Eben stared into the distance with a peculiar eagerness, as if on the verge of ordering an advance of just his bodyguard unit. Then he sighed, and the moment passed. He turned to face Sergeant Major Stradny, flanked by several hulking trolls of the Raven Guard.
“Pull your men out. We'll establish a perimeter for the night and continue unloading tomorrow. Oh, and you there, boy.” The general smiled thinly at Vermilies. “Bring the nobleman over to Galdea. She has a certain way of getting people to talk.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cowardice
Banisu awoke in the pre-dawn gloom, the usual hour for a novitiate of a mo
untain monastery. He sat up in his bed, bumping his head on a low ceiling, and began his day with a series of very unmonk-like curses. After a while he rubbed his eyes and came to the realization that he was not in his normal bedchamber. Further reflection provided another insight. He was not at the monastery at all.
His belongings had been left near his bed, and some scouting in the darkness revealed a pitcher of water. Banisu muttered to himself as he rubbed tooth powder on his teeth and freshened up. By the time he ventured out he realized that he was in his uncle’s castle in Khrao Feranti, midway between Tamani and the mountain monastery. Banisu had perked up at the thought of visiting with his uncle Prasert, but when he opened the door to the adjoining hall he found Abbot Cibu deep in discussion with the Tamani Guard Captain, the two of them seated at a table with a map and several scrolls spread out.
Commander Jenisutane, was it?
It was aggravating how alert the abbot was. It seemed as though he never slept. Perhaps he didn’t, and is an immortal sent to torment me. That would explain why he knows the Saga of the Lotus Prince so well. Banisu couldn’t help but smile slightly as he padded into the room.
“Good morning, Abbot Cibu.”
Abbot Cibu fixed him with his customary disapproving look. “Good morning, Emperor. I see you have awakened. Commander Jenisutane and I are in discussions about the current situation we find ourselves in. He sent runners last evening.”
The abbot scratched his face, and Banisu was surprised to notice the beginnings of white stubble on his cheeks. Not an immortal, then.
“The reports so far are… puzzling.”
“What’s going on in Tamani?” Banisu asked, taking a seat. The two older men exchanged glances. Abbot Cibu coughed.
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