Well, these monsters are no concern of ours.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Return to Tamani
Vermilies looked at the Tamani docks sourly as the Hellfire neared the busy port. The docks had not improved much since his last visit, though there was a good deal less musketry, and several laborers were clearing debris under the stern gaze of a Syriot officer. The ship pulled up close, under the expert direction of Captain Salassi and his helmsman, and a rope was thrown out to one of the laborers. The Hellfire brought itself along the docks, and once it was moored Captain Salassi strode out, followed by several marines as well as Captain Bekhar and his pirate crew.
Vermilies weaved his way through the muttering pirates, reaching Captain Salassi as he was speaking with the local Syriot officer.
“He’s in the castle, just up the hill,” said the officer, a sharp-eyed man with a thin mustache and peaked cap, who cast a wary look at the pirates. “Who are these people?”
“The beginnings of a colonial militia. The general did mention there was a need for auxiliaries.”
“Ah. Well, we’re having a hell of a time keeping order. I’m a staff officer but the general has me down here keeping an eye on the port. The sooner we can get a native police force here the better. I’m glad you found some a few good men.”
“Yeah…” this time it was Captain Salassi’s turn to look at Bekhar doubtfully. “I wouldn’t call them good men. They’re really more of the privateer sort. Anyway, good luck here.”
The captain began making his way through the docks, trailed by the marines, and glanced up to see the distant pagoda of the castle they had captured. Vermilies winced as an elbow bounced off his rib and turned to see Bekhar looking at him questioningly.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re heading to the castle,” Vermilies responded, rubbing where he had been elbowed. That stings. He could have just asked.
Bekhar nodded, as if lost in thought. “I haven’t been to Tamani before,” he said in his thick accent. “Lajos has though. It’s too far north for raiding.”
Vermilies didn’t care enough to respond, and hurried to catch up with Captain Salassi, who smiled as he noticed him.
“Just like old times, eh, Mr. Vermilies?”
“Right. Maybe we’ll get our long-deserved reward.”
Captain Salassi laughed. “Right.”
Tamani looked quite a bit different this time. The market stalls had mostly been removed, and some were back in business. A fruit stand was doing a lively trade, and a fishmonger strolled by with a basket of wriggling fish as his wife belted out prices from a stall that sported a plentiful stock. The marketplace had some traffic, but it still seemed barren in relation to its size. At least that was some form of progress.
The party followed the same path that led to the castle. Turning the corner, Vermilies could see the open gate with the flag of the Syriot Empire flying proudly. However, the alleyways seemed to contain even more trash than he had remembered, along with a pungent smell that hadn’t been present before. A few stray dogs wandered through the alleys, one looking at the group and whining for attention.
Ignoring the dog and the buzzing flies that haunted the road, they continued their way along the cobbled steps toward Tamani castle. Over the gate stood a few men in the blue of the Syriot Empire. Bekhar swatted at a mosquito as Captain Salassi answered the hailing cry of the guards. It took another minute for the sturdy demon gate to swing open, but the captain lost no time in ascending the stairs to reach the Syriot guards on duty.
“Where is General Eben?”
“Stay down there. You have no-”
“Hold, guardsman.” A voice called out. The translator recognized it as General Eben, who was striding over with his customary expression of disapproval.
“Captain Salassi. Your ship was ordered to pacify and subjugate the coastline and Irragonda River. So what in the hell are you doing here?”
“Sir!” Captain Salassi delivered a textbook salute. “The coastline has been fully pacified and subjugated. No enemy ships remain at sea. We followed the Irragonda River all the way towards a military fort, and we turned back to report the position.”
The general was staring at Bekhar and his men with a combination of disgust and apprehension.
“This is Captain Bekhar and the First Colonial Guards, sir. Or the… officers of the eventual Guards.”
“Is he. I did ask for some native auxiliaries so I suppose I should have expected this. They aren’t some sort of local nobility, are they?”
Captain Salassi chuckled humorlessly. “Just Captain Bekhar here, sir. He aims to worm his way into what passes for high society here. That level of initiative shows why he’s in command.”
“I see. Can the barbarian speak?”
“He’s been learning a few phrases here and there, sir. ‘Attack,’ and all that.”
“Attack,” echoed Captain Bekhar.
“Attack, huh?” General Eben interjected. “It sounds like he has the right idea. However, I’ve been informed by the Aeronautics Corps that the fishing village along the bank of the Irragonda has not yet been taken. It seems to me like you’ve been doing more retreating lately.”
“Ah. Well, sir, we came up to a river fort defended with a heavy gunboat and a ship with a regiment of Hangyul swordsmen.”
“A regiment.” The general repeated. “I take it you stood there and counted them?”
“Well… Captain Bekhar told me it had a regiment. They had fought in a previous engagement.”
“Previous to…”
“Previous to his enlistment, sir.”
“Ah. So, Captain Bekhar here,” the general gestured at him with thinly veiled contempt, “or Citizen Bekhar as it were, noticed this regiment prior to his patriotic enlistment as a captain. These are your own words, you realize this, Captain Salassi.”
“Mr. Vermilies was translating, sir.”
Vermilies had been staring at the ground and realized he was now the center of attention. “Ah, yes. Yes, Captain Bekhar stated the ship had a regiment of Hangyul swordsmen present in the hold. His words on this issue seem reliable.”
General Eben stared at him for several seconds and then looked back at Captain Salassi. “Take your ship to the island just off Tamani. The navy can spare a couple other shallow-draft boats; a sloop and a flat-decked transport ship. I’m giving you command, Captain, and I expect a fantastically successful mission. Now, I want you to go back up the Irragonda River and find a good place to anchor near the river fort that gave you so much trouble.”
The general looked back at Vermilies. “This is where you come in, translator. I understand that Lord Palani Shinzen is reluctant to engage in combat with the military forces of the Empire of Syriot. This is satisfactory to me, but I would like to more formally reassure him of our intentions by investing him as Governor of Shinzen province, along with a substantial gift of gold and silver - which you will find in the hold of the transport ship. The Saint Garendar’s Gift, I believe it is called. In exchange, I would like him to remain neutral during the coming conflict. The bulk of the Hangyul army has retreated to the far east and is currently gathering strength. Now that the land around Tamani is secure and the large troop ships have unloaded, we will seek out and destroy the Hangyul and Kintari forces. Shinzen must remain neutral.”
“Very good, sir. And if I can entice Lord Shinzen to attack the Emperor’s forces?”
“In that case, he would find himself very secure in his new position. You are not authorized to make any further concessions, however. If our gold will not suffice our lead most certainly will.”
“Understood, sir.”
General Eben paused, smoothing his uniform, as behind him a pair of troll Raven Guards approached. Between them was Sergeant Major Stradny, fresh blood on his uniform, jaw set grimly. The general peered over at the new arrivals, raising a hand to halt them, and looked back at Captain Salassi.
“Now, Captain Salassi.
You are in command for this expedition, but you will not outrank the other captains. Both you and Mr. Vermilies were mentioned in dispatches during the taking of Tamani. It is within my power to promote you to commodore. However, I will not tolerate another failure. Understood?”
The captain saluted. “Perfectly, sir.”
“Keep an eye out for balloons, I will have one sent when we need the village taken. Dismissed.”
Captain Salassi, Bekhar, and Vermilies stepped away, the captain already marching back to the docked Hellfire. Sailing for days, and not even a moment of rest, thought Vermilies, scowling at the bustling marketplace. He couldn’t summon much enthusiasm for attacking the fort again, much less tramping through the jungle to pay off a local chieftain. And so he dithered a moment, glancing back as the Raven Guard commander continued his somber report.
“Never mind the losses,” General Eben snapped, his booming voice carrying over the distance. “Khrao Feranti’s citadel has finally fallen? Was Lord Prasert among the living?”
Vermilies hurried away, joining Salassi and Bekhar as they weaved their way through the dockyard market. Captain Salassi glanced over.
“And so we’re back at it again. I already gave the men an hour of leave while I reported with the General. I wasn’t expecting to leave so soon, but we might as well let them have a bit of fun. We’ll take the ferry over to meet the other captains.”
He nodded with his peaked cap at a ferry tied up along the jetty, a man wearing a loose tunic and rice farmer’s hat slowly sitting up and leaving his shade.
◆◆◆
The ferrywoman paused from overseeing the construction of the new barges to squint into the distance.
“Gamon, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Who’s that coming over?”
The young carpenter paused, setting his saw aside. He had been trimming the edges of the wooden beams for the island’s new barge with his brother. The Syriots had arrived, and it appeared at least some of them would be staying on the island for some time. Grandmother Liu’s ferry had been requisitioned, but since the taking of Tamani local islanders were being employed to transport the new arrivals back and forth. That had been the ferrywoman’s job, but now she had to look after her people. Besides, she had to admit, her rowing wasn’t what it used to be.
“A couple Syriot bluecoats,” he announced after a minute. “And someone else. Oh, and Hengul’s doing the rowing.”
Hengul had been a farmer before the invasion, but he had turned over the crops to his daughters. He seemed eager enough to row for the Syriots, and the ferrywoman made sure he split his coin with her.
“Alright. Get back to it, then.”
“Yes, Grandmother Liu,” Gamon replied, frowning at a splintering timber.
The ferrywoman eyed the Syriot vessels docked nearby, a mostly flat-decked ship and a sloop with a heavy load of cannons. The ferrywoman had seen a Jutland battleship before, a hulking behemoth with two decks of oars below two decks of bronze cannon, but this squat ship almost seemed to have the same amount of firepower. She could only guess at the amount of cannons the Syriot battleships had; her closest glimpse had been during the assault. The large ships that had remained were docked in the western harbor of the island, under heavy guard.
Well, at least they had kept their men in check.
The Syriots seemed content to let the islanders live in peace and carry on with their normal activities as long as they controlled the ports and sea lanes. For at least a week there had been a steady stream of Syriots unloading in the western harbor, tramping across the island and creating their own trail to the ferry, and standing silently while the ferrywoman’s new workers shuttled them across. That stream had died down some time ago, but there were still the occasional Syriot messengers traveling back and forth, and the previously hesitant traders both on the island and Tamani were resuming their usual trade.
One of the Syriots emerged from the transport ship a hundred spans away, looking at the approaching ferry. The ferrywoman guessed this one was the captain, a man wearing a three-pointed hat, with a glittering curved sword pommel protruding from the right side of his belt. The islanders had seen curiously little of their new neighbors, who had docked in the island’s small fishing cove four days ago. Hengul had rafted them over to Tamani once, bringing them back around mid-day the following day looking sick and bleary-eyed. That had been the only time the ferrywoman had seen the captain. The day afterward, the men aboard both the ships had spent a full day inspecting and mending sails, and cleaned the deck as well as dove in the shallow harbor to scrape off their hulls. Today, apparently, was a day of rest and drinking, as far as the ferrywoman could tell.
But now a couple other Syriots were staring curiously at them as Hengul docked nearby. The ferrywoman squinted. Unless her eyesight was leaving her entirely, one of the men in a patchwork of brown and blue was no Syriot at all, and carried a gigantic halberd of some sort. Another man in green robes had been sitting on the ferry but stood up as Hengul and a few others brought it to shore.
The ferrywoman blinked in surprise. That was the translator that had arrived the day of the invasion. The Jade Sea Islander recognized her as well, hopping onto the mud and walking up with a smile.
“Hello, Grandmother. Have you been well?” the Islander asked, his emerald robes now spotted with dirt, and boots clearly muddied. His face looked haggard, but he seemed otherwise in good spirits. Behind him, a naval officer and the thuggish-looking sort in piecemeal clothing walked toward the transport ship.
“Yes, I have been well enough.”
“Have the local authorities been treating your people well?”
"Yes, as well as can be expected. They have been leaving us alone, mainly." She paused. "Thank you for asking, young man. I am glad I could trust you."
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Should you be following them?” She pointed a finger at the two arrivals, now speaking with the other captain.
“Oh, I imagine they’ll want me soon enough, Grandmother, but they won’t need my translating services just yet.”
“Hm, no, I imagine they wouldn’t. Who is that brute though? Is he another foreign servant like you?”
The translator grimaced slightly. “I wouldn’t quite go that far. I suppose he is something of the sort.”
“Ah.” The ferrywoman trailed off, and they stood in silence for a moment.
“Regardless, Grandmother, I am glad to see your people were safe. They are… not so very bad, these Syriots. Eh?” He gave a somewhat conspiratorial smile.
“No,” replied the ferrywoman, thinking of the religious executions and the benign neglect of two seemingly distant powers. Who was the emperor of the Three Clans supposed to be anyhow? Some child of the last crazed emperor and one of his courtesans?
“No… I suppose they aren’t so different after all.”
Chapter Thirty
The Army on the Move
Emperor Banisu sat in relative comfort in the ornately designed howdah that sat atop his stately imperial elephant, the ancient Ivory Throne, and he practiced his meditative rituals as the great elephant lumbered forward. Ahead of him Abbot Cibu rode on the younger Karuden, the albino daughter of Ivory Throne, a white elephant selected to eventually take the old beast’s place. Typical for Abbot Cibu to ride on a royal mount, thought the Emperor, watching through half-lidded eyes. Though of course there was nothing he could do about it. Thane Eigar Trollborn kept pace to the Emperor’s right, long blond hair tightly braided and resting on his mailed armor, a rare sight in the humidity of the Three Clans.
The thane and his forty warriors had been the most recent addition to the Emperor’s forces. Banisu had to argue his case with the clan leaders for some time. Fortunately, their need to retain their own veteran troops was enough for them to endure the sting of pride at seeing foreign mercenaries guarding the Emperor.
And besides, the Lord Marshal would doubtless have spies in any unit tasked with guarding me. Spies an
d, perhaps, assassins. As it is the clan leaders insisted on Kintari guards and handlers for Ivory Throne.
Banisu was not about to let the opportunity this invasion presented to go to waste. This war was his best chance of truly becoming an emperor even if he had to gain his throne with foreign mercenaries such as the Trollborn and the Prince of the Wastes.
Reciting from remembered scripture, the Emperor shifted his gaze to the left, peeking over the extravagant teak and gold-ornamented howdah. A red-haired archer spat as he walked, muttering something indecipherable to himself. Like the rest of the Trollborn he was clad in mail, but he didn’t have a shield with him. The Emperor observed him for a moment and then closed his eyes once more. They’re a strange-looking people.
The Northerners had crossed the mountain passes at a fortunate time. There had been some sort of dynastic dispute in the frozen tundra and Thane Eigar had the worst of it. According to the gruff warrior they had wandered south through the barren steppes, looking for work as a mercenary band with any who would have them. A month ago, Lord Marshal Feruke Hangyul likely would have had them hunted down and killed, but instead they had been in the border town of Luo Sareng when a messenger had reached the local governor about the invasion.
Emperor Banisu leaned back in the rocking howdah and reflected on what to do about Abbot Cibu and the Lord Marshal. Banisu was still 14, but he understood dynastic politics well enough. There would have to be some dagger work behind the scenes once the war had ended, and possibly before. Banisu meant to be more than an emperor in name alone, and for that he needed allies. The Prince of the Wastes and Thane Eigar were just mercenaries, resented by the populace and with no reason to help the Emperor. He would need more useful tools. General Samuso Kintari seemed amenable enough, and might be brought over with the promise of becoming Lord Marshal… but all of that hinged on the result of the upcoming battle.
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