by John Marco
All these things Admiral Nicabar considered as he walked across the battlement on his way to his meeting. Casarhoon’s warm sun played across his face and a gentle breeze caressed him, as warm as the fingers of a woman. For Nicabar, who was continuously cold from the drugs, Casarhoon was a dream. The temperature never dipped below balmy comfort, nor did the winds ever blow too fiercely. As he walked Nicabar wondered if he might retire here someday and bask in its warmth forever. He paused for a moment on the wall, staring out over the sea. Not far ahead, the Fearless bobbed at anchor, surrounded by a dozen smaller warships. Black City had come to the rendezvous, as had the cruiser Angel of Death. Both flanked the giant dreadnought, dwarfed by her. Their combined firepower was half that of the Fearless alone, yet they were no less beautiful to Nicabar. A long time ago, this was why he had become a sailor. Casarhoon was exotic and fierce and made his blood rush, and the sight of so many warships put a powerful spring into his step. He was Admiral of the Black Fleet – this fleet.
It was smaller than he’d hoped, though. The Shark hadn’t come, nor had Intruder or Notorious. Nicabar supposed they simply hadn’t been able to get away. The orders he had given for this rendezvous had been flexible, for he knew that Liss was still on the move and he couldn’t leave all of Nar unprotected. He had done that once, and the results had been disastrous. Liss had gained ground during his exile on Crote, and it had taken all of the past year to win back waters that were supposed to be their own. Nicabar had hoped for at least two dozen ships to reach Casarhoon. Sadly, he had barely half that many – not enough to take on Liss. Plus there were rumblings. Nicabar had reached Casarhoon over a week ago, and as his fellow captains arrived they did so with suspicion. They had guessed at his goals, and none of them seemed to be supporting him. They were saying he was too ambitious, whispering that the drug had warped him. None of them shared his zeal for conquering Liss, and that disappointed Nicabar. Today, he hoped to change their minds.
They must listen, he told himself, gazing out over the little armada. He was very high up on the wall and the air was heady. A nervous flutter moved through him and he crushed it instantly. Now was no time to be anxious. His captains were waiting. They had gathered in the council chamber at his order, and Nicabar knew convincing them would be difficult, especially since he had no real plan.
Someone was coming toward him. Nicabar glimpsed the figure from the corner of his eye, expecting it to be one of Prince Galto’s soldiers. The prince had graciously granted use of the fortress for Nicabar’s secret summit, and his dark-skinned troops were everywhere. But it wasn’t a Casarhian that greeted the admiral. It was Blasco, Nicabar’s captain. The officer stopped a few paces from his superior, squinting in the sunlight.
‘Admiral? The others are ready. They’re waiting for you, as ordered.’
Nicabar didn’t answer right away. The meager turnout had put his plans in peril. He couldn’t attack Liss now, that’s what they would say. They would try to take away his only chance at victory. L’Rago of the Infamous would probably agree with him, and that gave him some ease, but Gark from Black City and Amado of the Angel would oppose him. He needed a consensus, and he didn’t know how to get it.
‘Admiral?’ pressed Blasco. ‘Shall I tell them you’re on your way?’
Nicabar squared his soldiers. ‘Yes. I’ll be there in a moment.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Blasco turned and strode off toward the council chamber. Nicabar licked dry lips. A moment was all he needed, so he took a breath, held it for a moment, then followed Blasco, fixing his face with confidence. Brashness was what his captains expected of him. He wanted to fill the room with it.
The grand turret of the council chamber overlooked the ocean. At its entrance stood two Casarhian soldiers, their dark skin glistening as if oiled. They stepped aside dutifully as Nicabar approached. For the duration of his visit, Nicabar would be their lord and master. Gorgotor Fortress had a commander, but he was a relatively low-ranking man compared to the Admiral of the Black Fleet, and he wasn’t from the Naren capital. Prince Galto himself was in his palace at Fa, far removed from the fortress and the secret meeting. So Nicabar essentially had the fortress to himself, and he liked the gravity that gave him. When he walked past the soldiers, he entered a round chamber filled with men in uniforms. The room smelled of tobacco and wine, and he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. Voices hushed as he stepped inside, and Nicabar saw a host of familiar faces staring at him over a gigantic table of carved ash. Most sat back comfortably with crystal goblets in their hands, sampling the fine wines Prince Galto had provided for the summit, and others sucked on pipes, appreciating Casarhoon’s legendary tobacco. They were captains, mostly, and their lieutenants sat with them or stood nearby, and all of them paused when Nicabar entered. The admiral stopped a few paces into the room, frowning at them. Realizing they had offended him, they all hurried to stand.
‘Admiral Nicabar,’ announced Captain Blasco. A chorus of polite applause followed. Captain L’Rago of the Infamous led the acclaim, clapping louder than anyone. He was a young man for such a high rank and reminded the admiral a bit of Blair Kasrin, except that L’Rago wasn’t squeamish. His men called him the Executioner, an apt title for the captain who had butchered more Lissens than Nicabar himself.
Nicabar didn’t smile at their applause, but merely lifted up a hand to silence them. ‘Be seated,’ he commanded. One by one the Naren captains took their seats. A handful of slaves drifted through the room pouring wine and lighting pipes. They were all women, a touch Nicabar himself had ordered. He had hoped the dark-skinned beauties would put his officers in a compliant mood. And Nicabar himself had an eye for the breed. He whose skin was pale loved their caramel flesh and hair. As he strode across the room toward the head of the table, he smiled at a particularly comely girl, noting her for later.
Captain Blasco showed Nicabar to his chair, the largest and most splendid in the room. There was a goblet of wine already poured for him, and an unlit pipe. There was also a map behind his seat, pinned to the wall like a tapestry. It showed Casarhoon and its proximity to Liss, with little painted pins to show the various ship movements. The pin for the Fearless was big and black. Nicabar noted the map with satisfaction, then sat down. He steepled his hands on the table and offered his captains a small smile.
‘It is a pleasure to see you all again,’ he told them. ‘I’ve missed you. Thank you for coming.’
Captain Gark of the dreadnought Black City, who had been the last to arrive, tapped his hand approvingly on the table. ‘You honor us by your summons, Admiral,’ he said. ‘Do not thank us for doing our duty.’
You’re a sly one, Gark, thought Nicabar. The first to speak favor was always the first to speak ill. Nicabar cast Gark a warm grin.
‘You had the longest trip, my friend,’ he said. ‘Tell me – how was the journey?’
‘Well enough,’ replied Gark. ‘I welcome the warm seas. Casarhoon is a good place for a rendezvous, no matter the reason.’
The other captains laughed. Captain Kelara of the Unstoppable even raised his glass in tribute. A few of his fellows drank to the toast, but Nicabar never touched his wine.
‘And Karva?’ he asked Gark. ‘How goes your mission there? What word of Liss in those waters?’
Gark shifted uncomfortably. ‘Spotty sightings, mostly. The Lissens haven’t been sailing that far north lately. I think they’re concentrating around Crote.’
‘Just so,’ said Nicabar. ‘Thank you for making my point, Gark. The Lissens are concentrating around Crote, that’s what all intelligence has indicated. Even now I am weeks from Nar City, and it is the same as when I left – Lissens around Crote, massing for an invasion that will never come. And isn’t that just perfect?’
When no one answered, L’Rago spoke. ‘It’s a golden opportunity. We must seize it.’
The captains around the table began averting their eyes. A low murmur bubbled up. Kelara of the cruiser Unstoppable, who had only recen
tly been promoted, shook his head slightly at the statement, but he did not look away from Nicabar.
‘Kelara?’ probed Nicabar. ‘Speak freely.’
‘Is that it, Admiral?’ asked the captain. He was a stout man, just older than L’Rago but with none of his ruthlessness or guile. Nicabar had expected him to be direct. ‘Is that why you’ve summoned us here?’
‘L’Rago has read my mind, I’m afraid,’ admitted Nicabar. ‘Why else would I have called this summit? We have an opportunity to make a difference. I think we should take it.’
‘Exactly what opportunity would that be, Admiral?’ challenged Kelara.
‘Liss, Captain,’ said Nicabar plainly. ‘That’s the only reason we’re here.’
He rose from his seat and pointed out the Hundred Isles on the map, determined to make his point. He traced his fingers along the map, showing them Liss and Casarhoon, and indicating the concentration of Lissen schooners around Crote. This was their weakness, Nicabar explained, a gaffe that had left their homeland more vulnerable than it had been in years. Casarhoon had been relatively quiet, Nicabar reminded them. He told them how the Fearless had not encountered a single Lissen vessel when she’d arrived in these waters. To Nicabar, that meant only one thing.
‘The Hundred Isles are weak,’ he said. ‘Unprotected, except for their land troops, and we all know how few of them they have. Their harbors are still probably in disrepair, and their gun emplacements have most likely been stripped to outfit their schooners.’
‘How can you know?’ asked one of the officers. This time it was Amado, commander of the Angel of Death. When he spoke he emitted a peculiar whistle through his teeth, and the sound of it made his protest all the more annoying. Amado was a fine tactician but too conservative. It had lost him more than one battle against Liss. ‘We don’t have any reliable intelligence about Liss anymore, not since the Roshann have been so busy on the mainland. And Biagio hasn’t been forthcoming.’
The invocation of his old friend’s name made Nicabar bristle. He’d been thinking a lot about Biagio lately.
‘We don’t need the Roshann to tell us what is so obvious,’ Nicabar said. ‘We’ve all seen the patterns. Crote is where the Lissens have concentrated their forces. They’ve been expecting an invasion, thinking we’re going to retake Biagio’s island for him. Well, we’re not going to do that. I’m not going to let this chance slip away.’
‘All right,’ challenged Gark. ‘You want to invade Liss.’ He looked around the table wryly. ‘Do you see enough captains here to make your plan work, sir? There are a dozen ships at anchor outside.’
‘And only four of them are dreadnoughts,’ added Amado.
‘One of those is the Fearless,’ Nicabar reminded them.
Gark smiled. ‘Forgive me, Admiral, but I’m curious to know how we’re supposed to do this. Please tell us your strategy.’
Before Nicabar could answer, L’Rago jumped into the fray like a loyal dog. ‘Haven’t you been listening, Gark? Liss is weak. If we pick the right spot, we can hammer ourselves a foothold.’
‘And then what?’ Gark retorted. ‘We don’t have the manpower to sustain a landing, or the ships for a blockade.’
L’Rago shook his head disgustedly. ‘You’re a coward, Gark.’
‘You dare say that?’ Gark’s pasty face reddened. ‘I’m the only one looking out for us. I want assurances, but you’re too eager to start killing again.’
‘Friends . . .’ Nicabar put up both hands. ‘Please stop. Remember who you are. You are the cream; you have risen to the top. And now you are all here, on the brink of glory. How can I make you see that?’
‘Very simply,’ said Captain Feliks. His vessel was the Colossus, one of the three other dreadnoughts that had come to join the Fearless. The Colossus had been the largest ship in the fleet before the Fearless was constructed, and that made her one of the oldest. Nicabar was glad Feliks had made the rendezvous, but he wondered about the warship’s viability. She had been a ship of the line for a long time, maybe too long, and there had been talk of her retirement before the recent flare-ups with Liss. Still, Feliks was a thoughtful man and wouldn’t jump to conclusions.
‘Tell me, my friend,’ urged Nicabar. ‘I value your council. What can I do to prove myself to you?’
The old captain glowed at his admiral’s deference. ‘Just tell us how to succeed,’ he said. ‘We all know you. You’re a great man. None of us question your abilities. Tell us your plan, and we will follow it.’
The familiar nervousness squirmed in Nicabar again. The truth was he didn’t have a plan, not anymore. He had expected far more ships to arrive for the rendezvous, enough for a blockade perhaps, or to take and hold one of the Lissen islands. Since only a dozen ships had shown, neither option was feasible now. Nor had Nicabar found his secret waterway – the one goal that eluded him for a decade. He decided to be honest with his captains.
‘I don’t have a plan, Feliks,’ he said carefully. ‘Not anymore. I called this meeting because I don’t want this chance to slip away. Eventually, Queen Jelena will realize we’re not going to attack Crote. She’ll fortify Liss again, and we won’t be able to stop her.’ Absently he drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Liss is our greatest challenge. We might never get a chance like this again.’
‘I agree,’ said L’Rago. His smile sharpened. ‘Liss has embarrassed us long enough. It’s time we took the battle to them, instead of just defending ourselves. I for one will gladly sail for the Hundred Isles, alone if I have to.’
Captain Amado rolled his eyes. ‘You go ahead and do that, L’Rago, and the Lissens will take the Infamous apart.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ said L’Rago. ‘Unlike you.’
‘Let me correct you, boy,’ snapped Amado. ‘It isn’t fear you’re seeing, it’s common sense. Not all of us have your gift for idiocy.’
‘And not all of us have the same desire for revenge,’ said Gark. ‘Forgive me, Admiral, but I must say this. This plan of yours is . . .’ He searched for the right word.
‘What?’ demanded Nicabar.
Gark settled on a safe description. ‘Unsound.’
‘Non-existent, even,’ said Amado.
‘Let me explain,’ Nicabar interrupted, sure that he was losing them. ‘I admit, there are fewer ships than I would have liked. But we still have an opportunity here.’
‘Admiral, please,’ Gark implored. ‘May I speak freely?’
‘Go ahead.’
The captain of the Black City leaned forward. ‘In all honesty, this is your obsession, not ours. L’Rago agrees with you because he is young and stupid, but the rest of us can’t possibly go along with this. You’re proposing to attack Liss with only a handful of ships—’
‘We can get more,’ rumbled Nicabar. ‘I can order it.’
‘Yes, you can. But how many more? If you recall all the ships you need for an invasion, you’ll leave the Empire vulnerable. You’ll attack Liss only to lose part of Dahaar, or maybe even the harbors of the capital. And all because you have a vendetta.’
‘It’s not just my vendetta,’ said Nicabar. ‘It’s yours as well. Or at least it should be.’ He glanced around at the frightened faces. ‘Can any of you tell me that you don’t owe Liss a thousand deaths? Or are you all like Gark here, willing to swallow the shame of the last twelve years? Twelve years! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
‘Of course it does,’ said Feliks. ‘But maybe not as much as it does to you.’ Feliks’ tone was non-judgmental, even warm. He had a longstanding friendship with Nicabar and was always willing to use it in arguments. ‘Sir, some of us have been talking. We’re concerned.’
‘About what?’
‘About you, and your obsession with Liss. It’s not healthy for you to be so fixated on them. We’re at war with them, true. But that doesn’t mean we have to take every risk. That’s vengeance, Admiral, not tactics.’
Nicabar could barely believe it. The gall was astonishing, even from an old mate l
ike Feliks. The admiral looked around the table and saw a dozen sheepish faces silently agreeing with the captain. Only L’Rago looked disgusted. Nicabar leaned back in his chair.
‘I can order it,’ he said simply. ‘If I say invade, then invade you shall.’
Feliks nodded. ‘That is true. But I don’t think you would ever be so unwise, my friend. This idea of yours is folly. You don’t even have a plan . . .’
‘But Liss is weak . . .’
‘I know,’ said Feliks. ‘But this is not the time. Later, perhaps, when we’ve secured the waters around the Empire, then you can bring in more ships. We can blockade Liss again, and you can talk to Biagio about providing troops.’