“Captain Jaral and Officer Ghassan of the ‘Wind of God’ yes?”
“Sir.” They both replied in the affirmative. The Lord of Calphoris, ex-Imperial provincial governor and the most powerful man south of the sea was a surprisingly small and mousy nondescript man in an ordinary, plain tunic and breeches. He scratched his chin and fixed the two of them with the most piercing gaze Ghassan had ever seen. Those emerald eyes seemed to have weighed up Ghassan’s worth in a glance. This, despite his ordinary appearance, was an exceptionally intelligent man.
“I have important news to impart to you, gentlemen. Please… stand at ease.”
As the two sailors relaxed a little, though not enough to appear insolent, the Lord leaned back and stretched.
“You have been in port for three days. I believe…” he fished around among his papers, found one and ran his gaze down it. “Of sixty two militia craft in varying sizes, the ‘Wind of God’ is the only one currently in port and the ‘Shadu’s Arrow’, which we are not expecting for several days, will be the next.”
He smiled as he leaned back.
“It is good to see the navy so active, though I might prefer a few vessels close enough to afford protection to the city.” He shrugged.
“Did either of you see an unusual vessel arrive this morning?”
The captain nodded.
“There was a fast northern courier bearing a flag I didn’t recognise, sir. A raven, a dog and a cat or some such. Looked a lot like the old Imperial flag. A new lord in contact, sir?”
The Lord smiled.
“It was actually a raven, a wolf and a lion; silver on black. If you had looked carefully, you would have seen the crown between them also.”
Again, those piercing eyes weighed the two men up.
“News, as I said; brought on a courier ship from the north. Important news that directly affects myself, you and your crew, and indirectly everyone in Calphoris. But for now I want the flow of this news restricted. I need you to remain collected and deal with this professionally, yes?”
The two men frowned and nodded, uncertain of what was happening around them. The Lord breathed in and out several times and then straightened.
“There has been something of a development in the interminable power struggles of the central provinces, gentlemen. A week ago, give or take a day or two, lord Avitus of Velutio met the infamous general Caerdin in battle somewhere near the capital. It would appear that, although the general himself did not survive the battle, his liege lord has been crowned Emperor; the first in two decades to dare claim the title.”
The surprise was evident on the sailors’ faces and the Lord of Calphoris smiled quietly.
“According to my dispatches, this Darius, as he is called, has received overwhelming support from the northern and central provinces. The Imperial government is being reconstituted and commissioners sent to all Imperial territories to aid the transition of power as soon as things are settled at Velutio and on Isera.”
He sighed sadly.
“There are a number of lords both here in the south and along the eastern coast that will be unwilling to accept the mastery of a new Emperor and may well declare independence. I, on the other hand, am more than satisfied to return to my original role as governor of Calphoris if the commissioners will allow it, and I believe they will. By declaring for the new Emperor, it is entirely possible that I have made enemies for us of several of the more powerful lords in the southern provinces. Do you see why I bring this to your attention?”
Captain Jaral tapped his lip.
“With respect, my Lord…”
“Governor or ‘your Excellency’ will do nicely, I think.”
“Excellency, what does this mean for the militia? Are we to be disbanded, maintained, or integrated into new forces?”
The governor shrugged.
“I have only the bare bones of the matter at the moment, captain. I cannot imagine that men of talent and experience will be wasted. I am sure there will at the very least be a place for you. But let me come to the heart of the matter; the reason I sent for you, then.”
“Sir?”
The governor sank back into his chair once more, glancing briefly at the two old men who continued to work at their ledgers without looking up.
“Until we have further instructions from the Imperial council, I must do what I feel is prudent for Calphoris. As you are aware, I have allowed the naval branch of the militia to operate very loosely, under the authority of each individual captain, reporting only to the militia commander at Calphoris. Commander Pharus has always steadfastly maintained that such was the only way to operate an effective militia navy.”
“Yessir.”
“For now, however, I need someone to coordinate naval activity, to plan strategies and to dispatch the various militia vessels appropriately to new assignments as they return to port. It may be weeks, or even more than a month before we receive any further instructions from the capital and we have cities to the east who may declare against the Emperor and a growing and turbulent situation to the west.”
Ghassan frowned.
“Excellency, Pelasia has been quiet for years.”
The governor sighed, his expression inscrutable.
“That brings me to the rest of the news in the dispatches, gentlemen. It would appear that the scion of the last true royal house of Pelasia, Prince Ashar Parishid, took the field alongside the new Emperor and General Caerdin and defeated the de facto ruler, the satrap of Siszthad, in that same engagement.”
The young first officer blinked in surprise.
“Sir? Pelasians fighting in the central Imperial provinces?”
“Yes,” the governor shrugged. “It does seem odd, doesn’t it? In the days of the old Empire, Pelasian units were a standard auxiliary force in the military, but never whole armies of them becoming tied up in Imperial politics. Still, it is not difficult to see how, with the fractured Empire and the usurped throne of Pelasia, there could be sympathies among aligned factions.”
He stretched and tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“The problem we have now is that Siszthad was not alone in his coup in Pelasia. There are other noblemen who will be taking this news rather badly and, depending upon how Prince Ashar and the new Imperial government handle matters, we could see increased activity at the edge of our waters, or even assaults on our shipping or outposts.”
Ghassan shook his head in disbelief.
“Satrap Ma’ahd is basically in control of Pelasia right now and I would say he’s too careful to launch a war on us when there’s trouble coming back at him from overseas.”
The governor nodded.
“In fairness, young man, regardless of Siszthad’s title, I think you will find it’s been Ma’ahd that has controlled Pelasia for years and, while he may be concentrating on the potential return of Prince Ashar, M’Dahz is one of his power bases and his main shipyard these days, so he may feel the need to make his presence felt on our border, regardless.”
He shrugged.
“Until we receive further word from Velutio, I want you, Jaral, to coordinate the fleet. As soon as you leave here, go and see the commander Pharus and he will make arrangements for staff, banners and documents of authority to be delivered to you. I need you to make sure we still have an effective presence against pirates, and to put some ships to patrol in the east as you see fit, but make sure you have enough of a force to deal with any Pelasian threat.”
The governor smiled and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially.
“And don’t go spreading the word about the new Emperor beyond those who need to know yet. I’ve made no official announcement and don’t intend to until I’ve slept upon it. As far as most folk are concerned until further notice, this is a mere reorganisation of the militia. Let’s not start a panic or a riot with unconfirmed rumours, eh?”
“Also,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s give it a few days and make sure this Darius is still
in power with his head on his shoulders once the dust settles.”
The captain saluted.
“Sir, I’m not the most senior captain in the fleet, you understand?”
“You are, however, two things:” the governor smiled. “The most renowned and popular captain and first officer in my navy, with a fearsome reputation, and the only one currently in port. Now get to work, Jaral.”
“Of course, Excellency.”
The captain turned on his heel and strode from the room, Ghassan hurrying to catch up, still shaking his head in amazement.
“Captain, what does this mean for M’Dahz? Do you think the Prince Ashar will be leading an army or a fleet back from the north to retake Pelasia? If he does, what will happen to my town?”
“Calm yourself Ghassan. I realise that you’ve always wanted to go back to M’Dahz and personally behead that sack of shit satrap but, whatever may happen to the town, Ma’ahd has been living at Akkad for years now, controlling the throne. He may be beyond even your reach there.”
Ghassan nodded glumly and Jaral gave him a fatherly smile as they left the hall’s foyer and the doors were closed behind them.
“We’ll have to head back to the ship as soon as we’re done here and inform them of the change in status and orders. Then I’ll have to look for somewhere appropriate in the port to set up a headquarters; we can have staff and equipment sent to the ship in the meantime.”
“I presume, sir, that the crew will have a few days’ shore leave until the other vessels have all arrived and you’ve set their orders and are free to come back out?”
Jaral laughed.
“Hardly, Ghassan. I’m going to be a little busy from now on and, from what the governor said, we’ll need to get the ships out and patrolling as fast as possible. I’ll need to be on top of the situation at all times, with reports from every ship that comes in, changing the groupings and position of the navy as required. Gods, I may even need to put in a request to construct or buy more vessels.”
“But…”
“Ghassan, you’re more than capable of captaining the ship and you know it. Just make sure you follow the orders I give you and don’t go off on one of your personal crusades to hunt down Ma’ahd or your brother. There’s other things to be done right now.”
Ghassan shook his head.
“I’m not sure how the crew will take it, sir.”
Jaral smiled.
“I think you’ll find they’ve been expecting it for some time.”
In which events take a surprising turn
Things had been unsettled for some time in the palace. Asima had made the most of the last three years, but had been continually beset by difficulties. The satrap of Siszthad had taken no interest in the harem, finding his entertainment in less reputable directions. As a result, things had become static among the women. With no master or husband, the women were not required to leave their harem, were even forbidden to do so. In this stilted, lifeless situation, Asima had taken to playing games with her fellow inmates, turning them against one another and watching the resulting mayhem with interest.
Causing discomfort among her rivals was her only diversion, though, and even that had begun to pall after a few months. After all, she was at the pinnacle as it was, and playing the game repeatedly when you’d already won was no fun at all.
She had wondered whether, given Siszthad’s notorious preferences, one of the other two important satraps would come to the harem to take a woman, but they had not done so. On one of the rare occasions, half a year ago, when a guard had come to the building on a chore and had shown a little humanity to the women, Asima had quizzed him about the three satraps.
She had been surprised initially to learn that Siszthad had led an army across the sea to track down Prince Ashar and strike a deal with the Lord of Velutio. It had seemed strange for the little piggy hedonist to embark solo on such an impressive military campaign, but then it would have been the other two pushing him into it, and Asima was sure they considered their figurehead King to be thoroughly expendable.
The dark-skinned nomadic satrap apparently already had a harem of wives he had brought with him from the desert as he ‘despised’ the softer, lighter women of the coastal regions.
And as for Ma’ahd? According to the guard, Ma’ahd simply had no time for them. He was busy effectively ruling the country and planning expansion, and that left few hours for frivolities.
Life had become dull, but still Asima kept herself alert; on the edge. When things were quiet, in her experience, it was almost always a prelude to busier times. And, indeed, it would appear that busier times were arriving. This morning, one of the younger girls who was so far below Asima on the ladder that she felt almost friendly toward her had come with news that the palace was a hive of activity.
Asima, of course, had been blissfully unaware of this. Her apartment looking out over the sea meant that the only activity she ever witnessed in the palace were the guards patrolling the walls far below. The younger girls, though, desperate for excitement, had taken to hanging around the window that Asima and Yasmin used to frequent and others that were more readily accessible these days.
She had listened half-heartedly for a moment, reasoning that what the girl thought of as a ‘hive of activity’ could be anything, but it had appeared she was correct. The stables had apparently been emptied, the horses, camels and carts of the palace loaded up.
Asima had frowned and gone to her window. Sure enough, the guard had been changed. The common arrangement, to which she was now very accustomed, called for two guards to each stretch of wall, passing one another as they patrolled, with one more in each tower and more on duty below and out of sight. Now, however, there was one guard alone patrolling the two stretches of wall and three towers visible from her window.
That was why she now found herself standing like a sneaky child at the narrow window of the kitchens close to the harem’s main gate, watching as the guard were paraded back and forth, kitted out for a campaign. Whatever Ma’ahd and his crony were up to, it would appear that it would take them out of Akkad and that could be dangerous for him. Even in such seclusion as the women now suffered, the mood of the populace was common knowledge. The ruling triumvirate was not popular, it seemed. Hardly a surprise, particularly given the respect that had been accorded the God-King Amashir.
Asima frowned as her eyes strayed from the marching soldiers to the heavily-laden carts being marshalled in the gravel area between the public palace and the mausoleum. What in the name of sanity were they taking that weighed so many carts so far down?
Her frown deepened as two servants left the public palace, carrying something large under a sack-cloth covering toward one of the carts. As she watched in interest, one of them got their feet tangled in the cloth and it slide from their burden. The large, filigree gilded shutters that protected the God-King’s reliquary flashed in the sunlight.
Asima growled. Ma’ahd wasn’t going on campaign; he was simply leaving and taking whatever he wished with him. She scoured the grounds for more signs of the satrap’s greed and suddenly spotted the man himself with one of his officers striding toward the main door not ten feet from this very window. Holding her breath, she ducked back out of sight. The two were deep in conversation as they approached, but their voices were low and quiet. Asima strained to hear as the two men stopped outside the closed door.
“Will they leave the building, sire?”
“They’ll have to, Siva. See to it. Let’s make this quick. The storm approaches”
Asima frowned for a moment. Storm? It was a perfect day. There…
She adjusted her thinking to the likelihood of a metaphorical storm. Something so huge was about to happen that Ma’ahd and his men were leaving Akkad and raping it of anything valuable. She allowed herself a small crooked smile. Ashar… that had to mean prince Ashar. He was coming back for his throne.
Her smile slid a little. Things might be bad right now with that unpleasant pig on the
throne and the two most callous satraps in the Kingdom running things, but at least they had no opinion of her either way. Ashar, on the other hand, had never made any secret of the fact that he distrusted and disliked her. It would appear that she was about to be delivered from an uncaring captor by one who actively disliked her. What sort of choice was that? Moreover, where were they being taken? Ma’ahd and his ally held no interest in the women of the harem.
As the great doors of the harem rattled and creaked open, Asima’s heart lurched and the colour drained from her face as she became sure of their fate. Ma’ahd was raping the city but had no interest in the women, so they would not take the girls with them. But he would leave nothing for Ashar. In the brutal world in which these satraps lived, a retreating soldier left nothing for the enemy.
The women would be killed, probably along with the servants of the palace. Then, very likely, the whole complex would be put to the torch, and maybe even the city, so that when Ashar arrived there was nothing but soot and wreckage awaiting him.
She realised she was growling gently. Her hand closed on something and she looked down in surprise. She had grasped one of the cleavers hanging from the rack above the heavy wooden bench. Now why had she done that? If she’d believed in Gods or fate, or indeed anything but her own will, she might have put that down to some hidden influence.
Smiling coldly, she walked quietly along the wall of the kitchens, parallel with the entrance corridor of the Harem; a foot-thick wall all that separated her from the two men. She approached the kitchen door with a little trepidation and paused, listening. This portal led back out into the central courtyard of the harem beside the entrance passage. She heard Ma’ahd and his man stop nearby; heard the satrap clear his throat and begin to address the harem in a clear voice.
“Women of the royal bedchamber! We no longer have any need of you and the time has come for you to escape this prison. You are to be set free.”
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