“What are you doing with that pipe?” he demanded of the first mate.
“Smoking it?” the man said, confused.
“Smoking during balloon operations is strictly against regulations. Where is Captain Giardi?” Captain Salassi looked with open distaste at the card game.
“Asleep, I assume.”
Wordlessly, the captain moved toward the officer now exiting the balloon. The men inside were slim by Syriot standards, and the officer especially so. A short white-haired mustachioed man with an amiable smile was the first to hop out of the balloon’s wicker basket.
“Are you Captain Salassi?”
“I am indeed.”
“Splendid, I almost thought we weren’t going to find you. I am Major Ribaldi of the Signal Corps, attached to General Eben’s command. The army has finally pushed off from Tamani, but we’ve spotted native forces massing around the river. We will need you to resume operations immediately.”
Captain Salassi snapped a brisk salute. “I apologize; I did not notice your rank, sir.”
Major Ribaldi smiled genially. “Well, we are a rather new branch. I used to be an artillerist, you know. The aeronaut insignia still takes some getting used to, even for myself.” His eyes scanned the deck. “Where are the other captains?”
“They are resting, sir,” Captain Salassi said, knowing that Captain Rumuel was likely drinking in his ship’s hold and Captain Giardi was sleeping off another drinking bout. It was astonishing how quickly some men could sink in a week without the guiding hand of the navy and a proper command structure.
A chair creaked behind Captain Salassi as Bekhar stood up.
“But,” Captain Salassi began smoothly, “Captain Bekhar of the First Colonial Guards is here with us.”
“Gods,” the major muttered. “I heard about him but I thought that was a bad joke. Is it true he’s a pirate?”
Captain Salassi shrugged. “I have not seen him engage in unwarranted acts of piracy,” he said tactfully. “General Eben had made it clear rallying local support was paramount,” the captain added. Bekhar smiled blandly in the background, assuming correctly that he was being discussed.
“Yes, speaking of which, have you bought off the local chieftain?”
“I’ve sent a crew with my translator to see it done. He’s a good man, for a Jade Sea Islander. A reliable sort. I expect them back at any minute now, actually.”
“Yes, well.” The major sniffed. “The general had hoped I could fetch the translator for him and I was meaning to talk to the rest of your… sleeping captains.” The major glared at the sky. “But I really am completely out of time. It looks like we’ll have to do a night landing as it is.” Bekhar could catch a slight glimpse of fear, quickly masked.
“We expect to have a general engagement with the enemy tomorrow,” the major said in a brisk tone. “They seem to be moving their troops towards the east bank of the Irragonda River. General Eben needs your force to launch a pre-dawn attack on the fort and proceed further upriver to shell the fishing village and any other enemy positions. At that point myself or another balloon unit will rendezvous to further direct your fire.”
Captain Salassi nodded, taking this in. “I take it General Eben explained to you the dragon ship present by the fort. Along with the regiment of soldiers.”
“General Eben mentioned there were suspected forces present. And that the assessment came from unreliable intelligence.” Major Ribaldi looked directly at Bekhar for a moment, then back to Captain Salassi. “He also mentioned that these reports were why you were reinforced and that if you could not be relied on to take the fort, he would court-martial you personally. He was specific on this point.”
Captain Salassi kept his face blank. “Consider it done, sir.”
“Good. Oh, also… it’s probably nothing, but I sighted something peculiar this afternoon while operating near enemy lines. The enemy in your area appear to be using a few rather large animals as beasts of burden. We received a few shots and had to retire, but if you happen to capture one of their animals, I’m sure the general would like to have a look.”
The captain nodded. “Plenty of room in the hold, sir.”
“Now I’m sorry I have to leave so abruptly, but we really need to reach friendly lines before night sets completely. I expect you will do your duty out there and start this battle off on the right foot. That is to say, right up their ass before they’re awake.” The major moved forward to shake Captain Salassi’s hand, and, unexpectedly, Bekhar’s.
“Welcome to the Syriot Navy, Captain Bekhar,” the major said with a trace of amusement.
“Yes sir,” said Bekhar.
“Hmm,” the major addressed Salassi wryly. “He seems brighter than most of our officers, anyway.”
Behind him the soldiers of the Aeronautics Corps were already relighting the balloon’s flame, nervously looking up at the sky and the steadily inflating canvas. With a final nod, the major stepped back into the wicker platform as it once again rose into the sky.
Bekhar scratched at his stubbly cheek, wishing that the translator was around, loathsome though he was. Behind him the Garendar’s first mate was folding his cards together, his unlit pipe having been swiftly holstered at the first appearance of a major’s pips. Some diligent souls still kept up with current Imperial insignia.
Captain Salassi looked over and snapped at the first mate to wake Captain Giardi. The first mate bowed, suddenly humble, and headed for the captain’s cabin. He looked at Bekhar and the pirate guessed his intent.
“I go tell Captain Rumuel we going,” Bekhar said.
“Thank you, Captain Bekhar.”
Grinning, Bekhar placed his newly issued captain’s hat on the nearby table and shrugged off his coat, then took off at a run towards the side of the ship, planting a foot on the railing and diving into the water. He surfaced and began swimming towards the nearby ship with steady strokes.
Captain Salassi watched in amusement. I’ve never seen a captain quite like him. Behind him Captain Giardi approached, a wet cloth held to the side of his head, staggering slightly. Salassi turned, looking into his red-rimmed eyes and drooping nose. I’ve seen far too many like him. Are they this bad on the continent, or do they just send the dregs of the officer corps across the sea? Salassi had served aboard ships since he was just a young ensign and memories of his past life in the Syriot Empire faded with every year.
“Captain Giardi. General Eben has just sent us new orders. We are to launch an immediate attack on the river fort and make our way towards the fishing village by first light. A general engagement is expected tomorrow.”
Captain Giardi blinked. “A night attack? To… tonight?” He groaned as he pressed the wet cloth deeper into his head.
“Yes,” Captain Salassi said with thinly veiled contempt. “We will sail in a tight V-formation. Hellfire will take the lead, Saint Garendar’s Gift will stay on the right flank. We will sail down the west bank and keep our fire focused and accurate. If possible, I will have marines from the Hellfire land on the island to set fire to the port and tower. Keep an eye on the Hellfire’s course and stay in formation.”
Captain Giardi attempted to nod before thinking better of it. “Right. Well, finally some action. Hurrah,” he added with an unconvincing wince. “We will make ready.”
Emerging from the water, Bekhar hauled himself hand by hand up the webbing on the second sloop in the little flotilla, attracting some attention from idle deckhands. Bekhar made his way into the smoky hold of the Kraken’s Grasp, demanding the attention of the captain as he went along.
Eventually the captain and crew noticed the bedraggled shouting pirate and sprang to carry out their various duties. Satisfied, Bekhar dove in once more and swam to the Hellfire, pulling himself rapidly up the rungs. He smirked down at Captain Salassi, just arriving from Saint Garendar’s Gift in his raft, looking as poker-faced as ever. Making for the hold, Bekhar noticed Lajos rounding the deck puffing on a pipe.
“Ho,
Captain! Gone for a swim? Did you see the balloon?”
“Yes! Lajos, grab the men. We’re attacking the dragon tonight!”
“Oh, tonight? Well, it’s probably best to do it at night,” Lajos replied, somewhat doubtfully.
“Yes! And what better night than tonight?”
“Yesterday!”
Bekhar thought for a moment. “Yesterday would have been good too,” he agreed. “Now get the men ready.”
Captain Salassi was already aboard, yelling orders at the crew. Bekhar wandered over to the stern of the Hellfire, staring off into the beach where a single raft sat, and the jungle carpeted beyond. He stared at it intently for several minutes as the anchor was pulled and sails fitted. Finally, he saw a few figures emerge. Bekhar grinned for a moment, and then left the stern to seek out Captain Salassi, who was addressing a squad of his marines. The captain noticed him and beckoned him over. In front of the captain were several glass kerosene lanterns.
“Captain Bekhar,” Captain Salassi said slowly, knowing Bekhar had trouble with the language, “I want you to land on the island and attack the fort, burning it with these.” He pointed at the lanterns. “These men will go with you,” said Captain Salassi, still adjusting to the idea of having his troops serve under a native. But he had asked his sergeants in private and they didn’t have a problem with the plan, which settled the matter.
“One minute, Captain,” Bekhar interrupted. “Translator is here.”
“No, I… I’m afraid we may have to leave him.”
“No,” Bekhar pointed behind him. “Now translator is here. Like baby.”
They stared at him blankly until they began hearing a few agitated squawks. Captain Salassi rushed to the stern, seeing Vermilies and four unfortunate sailors who had been posted with him emerge from the jungle and hop frantically through the muddy beach, as they noticed the ships beginning to leave.
“Mr. Vermilies!” Captain Salassi called out. “You’re right on time!”
Through the distance the crews could hear his scattered pleas to wait, mixed with threats and babblings about ingratitude.
“See?” Bekhar looked to the marines. “Like baby!”
His pirate crew were straggling up from the hold, a few looking curiously over the railing.
“Helmsman, hold here for now. We’ll set off when Mr. Vermilies and his guard come aboard. Now, Captain Bekhar! I’ll have Vermilies explain for you once he calms down, but the general idea is to land your men and these marines and set fire to the port and tower with these. Do you understand?”
“Fire, yes. Sounds good.”
Vermilies came aboard, limbs worn with the effort of lugging a chest through the jungle for hours. He saw a band of pirates illuminated in the glow of several lanterns, Bekhar staring at them in simple curiosity like a mosaic of mankind’s first discovery of fire. Well, at least we’re leaving.
“Back to Tamani, then?” Vermilies addressed Captain Salassi as he pulled off his right boot, mud and water from his wet sock seeping onto the deck. “Clan Shinzen is in our pocket so I believe our work here is finished. Gods, I’m bushed. It’ll be good to see a city again.”
The Hellfire began to move off into the blackness, trailed by the two other ships. Captain Salassi gave one of his trademark enigmatic smiles.
“I’m not sure how to break this to you, Mr. Vermilies, but…”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Staring into the Fire
Banisu sat in somber silence on his camp stool, alone inside his massive pavilion, and set the Saga of the Lotus Prince down with a sigh. He had been staring at it for several minutes down but had just been thinking of the day’s events and what was to come. Banisu leaned back, the stool tilting at a precarious angle, studying the silken ceiling as his thoughts wandered.
The real question was gaining control of the Empire.
His thoughts drifted again towards his father, burned alive in his own palace. The story was he had gone mad with the Reverie, sacrificing some of his most loyal retainers and burning his own palace in a fiery inferno. They said at the end even his eyes had changed color. But who knew how much of that was true and how much the official story? Uncle Prasert seemed to think it had something to do with this strange spice. But… would my father really do that?
Banisu knew the family name had less credibility after two failed rebellions and a crazed self-immolation. Still, the peasants would understand no family was perfect. But the aristocrats…
He leaned back even further in the stool; the legs straining to keep him upright. The regent government couldn’t kill him, right? Banisu felt the same sickening knot in his stomach that he had felt since he had impulsively forced the Lord Marshal to leave Luo Sareng and fight the enemy in open battle. That was what armies were for, after all. And emperors could do that. He had made the right decision… hadn’t he?
The soft tread of boots and sudden silence of the Northerners got Banisu’s attention, and he looked up into the scarred face of Thane Eigar.
“Emperor, the Eastern mercenary is back in camp.”
At the far end of the camp he saw movement in the fading sunlight, elephants being cleaned or led away to gorge themselves in the jungle and pavilions being erected.
“Shall I fetch him?”
He frowned. The rules of propriety dictated that the prince should report to him. Dignity and curiosity warred within him.
“I’ll speak with him.”
Banisu hitched up his regal gown and began walking through the camp, trailed by the thane. Banter and chatter floated through the air as he made his way to the far side of the encampment. The harsh joking of the Northern mercenaries, the accented tones of Kintari noblemen and the far more gruff tones of the common soldiers, the strange Veldt languages as he passed through the Eastern skirmishers, and as he approached the center of the Elephant Corps Banisu heard the drawl of the veteran Gutharan warriors.
The Prince of the Wastes and his chief officers and guards were gathered around a blazing campfire. Banisu felt himself drawn to the fire and as he strode up the thane trailed behind him like a guard dog. The prince cast a suspicious glance at the thane but said nothing. The chatter of the Gutharans died down somewhat but they just looked at Banisu more in mild curiosity than in any sort of respect. Banisu felt a sudden discomfort at being surrounded by these armed strangers.
“You are welcome to my food, Emperor,” Prince Sharnipur said. An aroma of spices wafted up and Banisu’s mouth watered. The prince looked at the thane for a moment. “And you as well, Northerner,” he added grudgingly.
“I do not like your Eastern spices,” Thane Eigar said. “They reek.”
The prince frowned. “You’d prefer stewed seal blubber?”
The thane smiled for the first time that Banisu had ever noticed. “Oh, if only. If only.”
“Huh.” The prince had taken the ladle from one of his guards and filled a small wooden bowl which he passed to Banisu. “I am told some men kill for spice. Were I to campaign again in the far North I would be one of them. A man cannot live on rabbits and reindeer alone.”
A memory tugged at Banisu. “Have you heard of red kava?”
“I have not. Though perhaps it is called something else in the East. More importantly, you should know that there is no sign of Lord Shinzen’s men. I’ve sent scouts into the jungle and they have yet to return. They are normally more prompt. I have serious concerns about the Shinzen forces tomorrow, and I think it is possible the fishing village may be in enemy hands.”
Arrayed around the campfire the Prince Sharnipur’s mercenaries had fallen silent as they watched their leader. Some were officers of the Veldtlands, the open savannah that those in the Three Clans dismissed as the Wastes, but most were older outcasts and exiled nobles from the distant kingdom of Guthara. Banisu had heard rumors of the purge following the old king’s death and the treacherous journey Prince Sharnipur had made out to the Wastes. These were his boon companions, those nobles and loyal guardsmen
who had stayed true to the prince in the years since his exile.
“That is impossible,” Banisu said, recalling the information he had picked up earlier from the frosty Lord Marshal. “There is a river fort a farsang downstream of the fishing village with a full regiment of Hangyul soldiers. As well as…” Well, it was technically a military secret, but it hardly mattered now. “… a very advanced ship. No, the village is secure.”
“Alright,” Prince Sharnipur said, though it was clear he was still skeptical. I suppose betrayal by your own brother will lead to a certain degree of paranoia. “In that case we will likely be out of the action tomorrow.” He stretched and leaned back. “So the Lord Marshal can lead us to greatness.”
Banisu snorted. “The man is a buffoon. I had to threaten him in order to get the army going.”
“Indeed,” said the prince, studying him with a blank expression. “I’m sure he did not like that one bit.”
“Well, it’s my empire to protect.”
“I suppose that is the emperor’s duty.”
Banisu thought for a second back to their previous discussion. “You were a king, once…”
“I was never a king.”
“Well, your father died, and you were next in line for the succession. Why didn’t you fight for your kingdom?”
The prince was silent for a long time, looking into the fire. His fellow Gutharan exiles bristled, and did a poor job of feigning interest in their meals.
“I didn’t want to kill my brother,” the Prince of the Wastes said after a long moment.
“That’s it? That’s the reason?”
“I think it’s a good reason.”
“But a kingdom was at stake!”
“The kingdom was fine. It would only be at stake if I contested the issue.”
“But you were the elder! You lost your estates! How could you allow that to happen?”
“Yes, I was groomed to be king. I lost the estates,” Prince Sharnipur said, and the bitterness in his voice made it clear it was still raw despite the years of exile. Or because of them.
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