“I merely make suggestions, Nachia. Same as I always have.”
The gesture she made was universally accepted as a rude one. Merros managed not to laugh out loud. It was possible that both of them were trying too hard to get along, but he rather liked it. The camaraderie, forced or not, was closer to feeling natural than the stony silence that had held sway over the palace since the murders.
“What do you want to do about the black ships in Roathes, General Dulver?” The sorcerer, advisor to the Empire, looked his way as if he might be asking about the weather.
“Well, I suppose we could send a few of the Sa’ba Taalor to handle the matter.” His response was automatic, offered in a dry voice and completely inappropriate. It was the sort of thing he should have saved for when he was speaking to Wollis March.
Both the future Empress and the sorcerer who technically ruled the land until her ascendency looked at him for a long moment in complete silence, and then the wizard started laughing out loud, his face reddening as he let loose with a raucous cackle. Nachia joined in only a moment later.
And when they were done he sighed and shook his head. “I suppose I should send troops that way. Just to ensure that if there really is a problem it gets handled quickly.”
“You doubt the existence of the black ships?” Nachia’s voice was low and curious. He sensed no hostility. She merely wanted an honest answer from him.
“I do. Mostly because King Marsfel has already proven himself to be untrustworthy.” The man had lied, and repeatedly, in an effort to gain financial assistance from the Empire. He had apparently made a practice of it as his father had before him.
“True enough, but the claims aren’t only coming from him. They are coming from a dozen different sources.”
“And yet these black ships that are supposed to be running around in the Corinta near Marsfel’s shores have made no move to attack. They are simply out there sunning themselves like lizards.” Merros shrugged. “I have made no secret of my dislike for the king. That has not changed my decision one smattering. I don’t think we can afford to send too many forces to chase after phantoms when we are very likely at war with the Sa’ba Taalor.”
“No very likely to it. They aren’t welcome here and if they show themselves, I’ll expect you and your soldiers to cut them down.” Nachia’s voice held a sharp edge.
“We have a company of two hundred men missing in pursuit of them. I expect we’ll hear from them all too soon, Majesty.”
Desh raised one eyebrow and said nothing.
Nachia sighed. “So we wait on the ships then?”
Merros lowered his head rather than stare at her. “I’ll do exactly as you tell me, Majesty, but I would suggest waiting. We have seen no sign that the ships mean harm and even with a dozen reports we’ve little proof that they even exist.”
“I’ll defer to you, Merros. I’ll trust in your judgment. Now, tell me what happens with the city’s defenses.”
“They’ve been finished, Majesty. The gates are back in working order, the areas where the walls needed repairs have been mended and the structures that had taken root along outside of the wall have been taken down.”
“Taken down?”
“Yes, milady. Several buildings had gone up using the outer wall as a support. They weren’t supposed to do that to begin with, but when they did it was easy to see how they might be used by the Sa’ba Taalor to allow their mounts to climb over the wall.”
Nachia contemplated the great beasts that the enemy rode and then nodded her head. “Are we safe from attacks without those structures?”
“Safer, I suppose. I honestly don’t know how well those things can scale a wall, but I know they made it out of the Blasted Lands without having to resort to the Temmis Pass, and we have never managed that on horses.”
She nodded her head again. For a moment there was silence and then Desh spoke up again. “Onto the next matter at hand. Regarding the defense of the Imperial Roads….”
It was going to be another long day, Merros supposed, but at least it seemed they were able to move on a bit. There was much to do and it seemed they would have very little time to get anything accomplished.
He had no idea.
Chapter Five
It seemed help would be a long time coming.
Marsfel looked out at the dark waters of the bay and sighed softly to himself. No one to blame, really, but himself. He had angered the Empire’s military commander. What could he possibly expect after that?
There were no stars to see. The clouds had blacked them out again. He knew that the Great Star was in the sky, as bright as ever, but he could not see even that light through the ash and the heavy foulness that tainted the air.
The rains had come done throughout the day and painted the sands with gray and black patterns of soot. Every building within sight of his palace was black now, and even the trees were darker in color than they should have been.
The only light outside of a few torches came from the fire raging in the distant ocean and in the lightning that sometimes stabbed the waters where the new island covered over the remains of the Guntha.
The Guntha had never been friends. They had been enemies for most of his life and occasionally they had been allies when all parties felt there was some use in their alliance. No matter what they had been, however, they had always been a part of his world and now they were gone.
Much, he suspected, as his kingdom was soon to be gone.
Even if the black ships never came in to attack, the fish were gone and the stores of supplies were wearing thin. A lot of his people had left their homes and fled to the north, seeking aid from the Emperor or at least a place to stay where the air did not stink of death. The erupting mountain in the ocean was not going away and the cloud of filth that belched from it was not leaving either.
It seemed likely to him that they had the right idea. It might well be time to move on soon. His needs were few, but keeping his family and his people safe definitely qualified as something the king wanted to accomplish in his lifetime. And for the first time since he had taken residence on the throne, he had doubts that he could accomplish that task to his satisfaction.
Outside a barrage of lightning danced through the clouds in the distance. The flares were bright enough to let him see the ships in the water.
They were next to the shore, close enough to let him see them clearly in the brief light of the storm.
“Turrae!” he bellowed his assistant’s name and as always the man responded in moments, slipping through the door as if he had been standing just outside and waiting for hours for the first call of his king.
“How may I help you, my Lord?”
“The ships, Turrae! They are at the shore. They are so much closer than they were before. Sound the horns and light the signal fires. It is time!”
The man stared at him with wide eyes in the near darkness of the room. For just one moment the fear was clear on his assistant’s face. Then it vanished, replaced by his usual calm. “Of course, King Marsfel.” Turrae vanished from sight and Marsfel stalked across his room, his hands fluttering nervously as he reached for his weapons. He had armor, but despite having worn in several times for the fittings, he really didn’t much know how to put it on, not without help. And there wasn't time. The ships were too close and his daughters had to be protected. His kingdom needed defending. He would not stand by and wait for the enemy to come to him. Not here, not now when so much was at stake.
The Ghurnae blade was long and curved, heavy with one sharp edge and a jagged point that could gut a man with ease. He had been trained with them since he was a child and while he was heavier than he had been before taking the throne, Marsfel remembered well the lessons he’d had. He slid the sword and hilt over his shoulder and took two long daggers as well. The set was matched and had been presented to him many years ago by his father when he came of age. They were well tended and well used over the years.
Marsfel was many things
and while a few would disagree with his personal assessment, he was capable as a leader and as a fighter alike.
Still, his hands shook and his heart raced.
By the time he left his personal chambers the call had gone out. Several of the watch still called out on the great bone horns and as he strode toward the front entrance of the keep the way was lit by two of the great signal fires. His soldiers would come.
He would lead them into battle and they would live or die together. Turrae stepped next to him, carrying his own Ghurnae blade and daggers. A small shield was strapped across his back, but otherwise there was no armor.
The guards were a different matter. They always wore their armor; it was a part of their duty. They stepped with him, falling into loose formation. At another time he might have demanded a closer step, a better pacing, but that was not a consideration. They would fight.
Fires lighted the paved road leading toward the shoreline, and as he progressed, the mercenaries he had hired to bolster his soldiers came forward, most of them riding horses. He hadn’t thought about that. Hadn’t considered having the horses readied.
Marsfel shook his head and swallowed harshly, his throat a tight, dry lump. He hadn’t thought of so many things. He’d known this was coming and yet he was ill prepared.
The leader of the mercenaries stared at him. He couldn’t think of the man’s name. Turrae mumbled, “Jepphers” under his breath and Marsfel could have kissed him.
“Captain Jepphers. It is time.”
“Do you lead this fight yourself, Majesty? Or do I lead with my soldiers?”
A damned good question. The mercenaries were there to fight for him.
“Lead the way, Captain, and we shall follow.” He shook his head. “I have no horses.”
Jepphers nodded his head. He could see the man was well aware of the situation and that he was also keeping his tongue. The captain had brought a good number of mercenaries with him. Turrae could have said exactly how many, but Marsfel couldn’t hope to guess.
Jepphers blew a loud whistling note between two fingers and his hired men turned their attention to him and followed as he led them in a charge toward the beach and the ships that had settled near the shore.
The winds were harsh and hot and the clouds over the waters were as dark as a sinner’s thoughts. The ships that had seemed large before were enormous as he and his troops marched up the road toward the beach. The waves crashed against the vessels, which rocked in the waters and occasionally groaned a soft protest.
He saw the mercenaries riding hard and felt a grim satisfaction in his choice to hire them. He’d hoped for help from the Empire, but prepared for whatever might come his way. The sword felt good in his hand and despite his fears, he believed he was prepared to defend his people and his kingdom.
How many people could the ships hold? Marsfel had no notion. The boats his people used were much smaller and even the largest would be dwarfed by the black shapes. They seemed nearly impossible and he couldn’t see them well enough in the rough weather to determine much beyond their size.
Turrae coughed into his hand and shivered as the winds picked up. The air was warm and his condition had nothing to do with the breeze. “They are so damned large….” It was the only time Marsfel had ever heard the man curse.
He was trying to find the right encouraging words when the flurry of arrows rose from the ships and plummeted toward the approaching riders. Had he wondered how many people could hide on the vast structures? It was hard to say with any certainty but most definitely enough to kill fifty men with the first volley. The arrows rose silently and dropped in graceful arcs. They stopped in the bodies of mercenaries and horses alike, some peppering the shoreline, but most landing in flesh and crippling or killing.
The soldiers were far enough ahead that it took a moment to hear their screams. But he could see them as they fell, some dropping to the ground and others clinging to their horses even as their mounts collapsed or bucked and tried to escape the unexpected pain.
A second volley of arrows rose and fell, missing more targets as the animals bolted and took a number of fighters with them. But the respite was brief. When Marsfel looked to the ships he saw silhouettes in the shape of archers moving to the edges of the vessels, bracing themselves and taking careful aim. Several riders tried to break away, but the assault seemed nearly endless and most died with arrows in the backs of their heads or lower.
He had meant to lead his men into glorious battle. He’d told himself that this would be an easy thing, a certainty, really, because so much was at stake, but as the men he’d hired to fight for him were cut down by archers, he felt his courage blowing away with the ashes in the wind.
How could this be? How could this happen?
Turrae said something, but Marsfel did not hear him. The sound of the dying and wounded was too close and too loud.
Turrae screamed this time and struck him on the shoulder roughly to get his attention. Part of him wanted to turn and lash out at the man but he resisted.
His assistant’s voice rang clearly enough. “They’re coming! They are leaving the ships!”
The shadows were dropping from the side of the ships into the rough, shallow waters. He knew they must surely be on ropes but he couldn’t see the lines and as a result it looked more like man-sized spiders scaling down the sides of the great vessels than anything else. The notion sent shivers through his body.
The forms nearly flowed down the sides of the boats and into the turbulent waters, but they did not hesitate to move toward the shore, swimming, walking or carried by the waves he could not say. He could only see them coming, see the odd gray glow of light where their eyes should have been and wonder if the Guntha who claimed demons pursued them had been telling the truth.
He had seen the Sa’ba Taalor, had seen their odd eyes in the daylight and in a well-lit room, but this was different. The light seemed stronger and it unsettled him.
He wanted to run. Oh, how he wanted to leave as quickly as he could, because the shapes coming toward him were fast, and even moving through the water they were intimidating.
Kings are not allowed to be afraid.
“Come then! Let’s kill a few enemies!” Marsfel roared the words and moved, sweeping the heavy Ghurnae sword in a few wide arcs to test the feel of the weapon. His men followed. He could feel them moving with him and that knowledge gave him strength. A king leads. That is what a king must do.
The ashes in the wind whipped through the air and stung at his eyes but Marsfel did not care. It was time to teach these fools a lesson. Time to show the Empire that he was a king to be respected.
Before he knew it he was running, charging on thick legs and driving toward the surf, a feral grin pulling at his lips. He was a king! He was a warrior!
The woman who met with him wore leather and carried two thin swords. Her hair was wrapped and pulled away from her brow by a thick blue length of cloth.
Marsfel swept his blade toward her head. It would make a fine prize to show his enemies when this was over.
His hand fell away from his body. The sword he carried flipped through the air with his hand and landed in the sand and surf.
The woman crouched and whipped one of the swords at his knees and fire ripped through his legs where metal met flesh.
Marsfel could not keep his stance. He fell forward and landed on his good left arm and his bleeding right stump.
The pain was immediate and ripped away all hints of confidence he had sported.
She stood over him and for the first time he saw the face of the demon that had crippled him with ease. The Sa’ba Taalor had worn veils. This creature did not. The eyes were fine. The nose long and elegant despite a heavy scar that ran from below the left eye and down to the right cheekbone.
But below the nose? Oh, truly, there must be demons in this universe!
“What are you?”
Rather than answer his question the demon spoke, her words carrying the odd echoing
sibilance he’d heard from the Sa’ba Taalor before. “You are King Marsfell of Roathes?” Her eyes regarded him coldly and her twin blades glimmered.
Turrae tried to come to his aid. The man ran silently, but his words broke that silence. “I am Marsfel,” Turrae hissed.
Marsfel looked to his second. The man came in proper stance, his sword held before him to guard against possible strokes, the heavy tip at the right level to easily gut a foolish opponent.
The woman was not a fool. Her arms moved, the left sword struck against Turrae’s blade and sent that deadly tip to the side. She stepped closer, close enough to let Marsfel count the heavy laces on her boot, and then her right sword drove through Turrae’s mouth and opened the side of his face all the way back to his left ear. The left sword whickered through the air a second time and cleaved into his neck from the other side. When she stepped back only a trail of gristle kept Turrae’s head from falling completely away from his body.
She looked back to the king. “You are Marsfel?”
His mind wanted to lie. His heart would not allow it.
“Aye. I am Marsfel, I am the king.”
Her voice remained calm through the exchange. Around her, beside her and to her flanks more of the demons came out of the waters and attacked the people who ran with Marsfel. They did not leave survivors. His men were brave at first and then they were afraid. It seemed they did not fight humans. Nothing should have been as savage as the things that came ashore and killed.
“I am Donaie Swarl, Chosen of the Forge of Wheklam and King in Lead. This is my fleet. Do you surrender your lands to me?”
“Will you show my people mercy if I surrender?”
“I will offer the same mercy I gave the Guntha if you do not.” Her hand gestured to the waters behind her, where the column of flame and ash and smoke continued to roar into the skies.
“Spare the people in my palace then, and I will surrender.”
The Blasted Lands Page 8