Except for Velander, the mood of the girls instantly lightened. Even as they carried the bodies away, they were discussing the relative merits of various cosmetics, fashions, and local youths.
After breakfast Terikel ordered Aspiring Latelle to continue her ordeal that day, then she set off for Port Wayside. The governor was informed of Serionese’s accident and death, and of Terikel’s appointment. Going on to the docks, she found Laron supervising work on the Shadowmoon, which was progressing well.
“I have the silver circlet,” she announced as she took him aside.
“I had no doubt that you would succeed.”
“Did you keep Justiva’s fire alight?”
“That is between me and my conscience. Congratulations on your election.”
“Thank you for telling me about Justiva’s background, and for suggesting the trick with the iron case.”
“It offended my chivalric principals,” he mumbled between clenched teeth. “Still, you did appear to have pure motives. Well, now that I have fallen from chivalric grace and become a murderer, what next?”
“Serionese killed herself; you—and I—merely provided her with a very dangerous temptation. As to what is next, Banzalo sails on the next tide, and thereafter the ban on ships leaving Helion without his permission will be lifted.”
“Splendid. The Shadowmoon will sail west with the following tide, then loop back to the east.”
“Before you sail, I have a last request to make of you.”
“Yes?”
“I must send Worthy Justiva to Torea with Banzalo. Aspiring Latelle is next in seniority, but I am not sure of her loyalties. Velander could cause trouble if she forced a vote over anything.”
“Why not send Velander with Banzalo?”
“And let her have the governor’s ear? Not likely. Can you take her away on the Shadowmoon?”
“As passenger or provisions?” Laron asked without emotion.
“As a passenger, unless she becomes really obnoxious. Just keep her away until I can get the others through their ordeals and build their loyalty to me.”
Later that morning the nobility, military elite, and civilian leaders of the island met in the newly declared administrative palace. It was a villa of blackstone, three floors high, with a roof of imported terra-cotta tiles, and had been built around a courtyard. This featured a small fountain in which lampfish swam languidly, and a dozen marble nudes that had suddenly become the greatest collection of Torean sculpture in the world. One of the wings flanking the courtyard contained a dining hall, which was the largest single room on the island. It had been hurriedly fitted with a lectern, improvised throne, benches, and scribes’ tables, while the musicians’ gallery above the double doors had been furnished with seats for observers.
A Ruling Governance was announced for Helion, comprising Admiral Chanclar, the five landowner nobles, Banzalo, and one other, surprising member. As the Elder of Helion’s Metrologans, Terikel was considered sufficiently important to be on the Governance. The Governance’s first act was to pronounce Baeberan Banzalo to be emperor of Torea, as he was the highest-ranking Vidarian noble still alive. Terikel dutifully copied down the appointment’s wording and terms, as none of the island’s scribes were experienced in court protocol.
In his first address, Banzalo caused a considerable stir by reporting that Warsovran was still alive. One of his merchant shipmasters had just returned from the Ebaros Sea and had learned a great deal there.
“He will return here,” said the master of the merchants’ guild on Helion. “We must flee for Acrema.”
“He has no interest in us,” Banzalo replied. “We are causing no trouble for the rulers of Lemtas and Acrema, and much of his war fleet is made up of galleys that do not sail well in the rough waters of midocean. Remember, they only managed to maintain the blockade here for a few days.”
“Then we are safe?” ventured the master merchant.
“As safe as anyone can be. He will hire his fleet out to some Acreman monarch and end his days as a mercenary. In the meantime, privateers and adventurers all around the Placidian Ocean are preparing to sail for Torea.”
“That is hardly surprising,” said Terikel. “There is a dead continent for the taking, and it is littered with melted gold and silver.”
“Vidaria’s gold and silver!” Banzalo insisted gruffly.
“Legally speaking, it belongs to whomever can salvage it,” Terikel pointed out from the scribe’s bench. “Morally speaking, whoever can prove prior ownership or can establish a defendable claim is the owner.”
“Vidaria is now a settled kingdom,” Banzalo declared. “As the provisional regent of the restored empire of Greater Vidaria, I lay claim to all ruins and territory encompassed by Torea’s coastline. I intend to establish five cities within the month.”
“Using the Torean nationals on Helion, you have the followers to found a few hamlets, none of which will contain more than two hundred women,” said Terikel. “There are eleven thousand marines and sailors in your fleet. This suggests a certain imbalance in the population.”
“Those marines and sailors will use the gold from Torea to buy wives from the slave markets of Lemtas and Acrema. Five or six wives for every man! In a generation the population will be over a hundred thousand. With Torea’s melted gold we can also buy ships, timber, tools, and weapons. The estuaries of the rivers can be dredged for silt, and crops planted on their banks. Sea cabbage and fish will be as plentiful as ever. Why, the folk of the Vidarian empire will eat better than we do here.”
“Then why are you here?” asked the master merchant.
Banzalo shot him a glare. Everyone knew him too well here; the islanders barely knew the meaning of deference to rank. That had to change. What he knew he needed was an unfamiliar frontier, a place where people were insecure and frightened. Somewhere they would look to a leader who was all that stood between them and catastrophe.
“This very afternoon I intend to sail with the bulk of my fleet for the ruins of Port Kosamic in Vidaria. There I shall be crowned by the admiral of my fleet, and there I shall build a new city, Port Banzalo.”
This resulted in a buzz of surprise and conjecture among the members of the Ruling Govenance. The map of Torea was pushed around the table.
“Are we to understand that you will leave Helion undefended?” asked Terikel.
“Helion needs no defense, but at this very moment looters from every port fringing the Placidian Ocean are sailing south to rob my gold in Torea. Torea needs defense. If anyone on Helion is worried about Warsovran coming here, they can come to Torea with the rest of us.”
The ambassador from North Scalticar cleared his throat and gestured for attention.
“My homeland has a tenth the area of your new empire—”
“Restored empire.”
“Whatever. My point is that North Scalticar has nine million souls to praise its gods, tend its crops, serve its king, build its ships, and defend its borders. You have a few thousand at most. How are you going to defend what you have?”
Banzalo reached out and drew the map across to himself. “The new settlement of Port Banzalo will blockade and defend the mouth of the Temellier River. Once I am crowned on my homeland’s soil, my first act as emperor will be to also blockade the ruins of Gironal, where I shall build a fort and establish another Vidarian port. The tributary systems that feed the Dioran and Temellier Rivers are slow, wide, and easily navigable. They provide access to nearly the whole of inland Torea. Whoever controls them, controls the continent. There is no forage for those traveling by horse, and no game for those on foot, so invading looters must travel inland on the rivers or not at all. Besides, Gironal was the mightiest merchant port in all of Torea. Nearly a quarter of the gold on the continent was within its walls when the fire-circles burned it. By ruling Gironal, I rule Torea’s wealth.”
“Until you are robbed,” Terikel pointed out.
Banzalo frowned as he turned on her. “For someone
who hopes to head the principal religion in Greater Vidaria, you are showing precious little respect for your future monarch,” he warned.
Terikel had been expecting such a retort, and was not deterred. “I was not questioning your motives, Regent Banzalo. I was pointing out that you will be hard-put to defend your claim to such a rich prize as Gironal, against the swarms of ships drawn to its wealth. Your deepwater traders will have heavy work ahead of them.”
“Wealth can buy power and recruit friends. Other ships will be despatched to Lemtas to buy boatbuilding timber. Such materials will soon be precious beyond valuing on the seared, glassy coasts of Vidaria.”
“What is left of Vidaria is a bleak and precarious place,” said Terikel. “I have seen it. There are many places on other continents where Vidarians could live and prosper better.”
“Vidarians have a just and sacred duty to rebuild the homeland. You are now Vidarian, Worthy Sister.”
“But Vidaria is as dead as gnawed bones in a campfire’s ashes.”
“We are taking Vidaria back from the grasp of Death, just as we won it back from Warsovran!” Banzalo thundered. “I declare free passage for all Vidarians who would return to Torea’s shores! Farmers and militiamen are especially welcome. Land will be granted in freehold. Come back and claim the homeland we rescued from Warsovran.”
“You did not take it back from Warsovran,” cried Terikel, slapping the armrest of her chair with exasperation. “His own enchanted weapon, Silverdeath, got out of control and destroyed the entire continent.”
“Rhetoric, details, trivia! Our homeland is there for the taking, and so is the gold that will be used to rebuild it. The Imperial Vidarian fleet will sail for the capital of Port Banzalo at once. I have decided to leave the two galleys and six of the twin-masted war schooners to keep order here, at Helion. Further, I declare the whole of Torea as a protectorate of the Vidarian empire. As the only properly constituted kingdom on Torea it is Vidaria’s duty to maintain order, and all ships and people of other kingdoms sailing for Torean waters must pay a levy for the upkeep of my navy. Will you return to Torean soil to establish the Metrologans, Worthy Elder?”
“I have already agreed to send one of my new priestesses to supervise the building of a shrine.”
“So you will not return to your native soil.”
“Soil? There is no Torean soil. There is only glass that was once sand and soil—oh, and lava—there is a lot of lava.”
The thought crossed Banzalo’s mind, that if he walked out now, the next gathering he would preside over would be his coronation, on the shores of Torea. There he would have respect, deference, and real authority. Without another word Banzalo stood up and strode out of the chamber, resplendent in his yellow-and-blue Vidarian half-jacket and red cloak with the new Vidarian imperial arms hurriedly embroidered on the back. A retinue of brightly dressed officers, minor nobles, and attendants streamed after him like a tail behind the brilliant head of a comet.
That went rather well, thought Terikel as she sat alone in the chamber. The young Elder had deliberately made a highly visible stand against Banzalo. It was clearly stupid, because Banzalo would regard both her and the Metrologans with disfavor. Terikel could think strategically as well as tactically, however, and she could also do that somewhat better than Banzalo.
The meeting broke up soon after Banzalo left. Word of the deliberations spread quickly, and many of those on the island felt it would be better to return to Torea. At least there would be a proper military force to defend them.
Several dozen of the island’s farm laborers gathered on the docks with their worldly possessions soon after the regent’s court had ended. Free passage to Torea! Here was a chance to become nobles, with more land than they had ever set eyes upon, let alone dreamed of owning. Two brothers struggled along the streets of Port Wayside with several sacks of tools, seeds, and other supplies dangling from the pole between them. Their wives and children trailed after them with their own sacks.
“We’ll have houses built of stone by the time ye come after us,” Prosus called back to the others as they approached the docks.
“But why can’t we come with ye now?” asked his wife.
“‘Tis a matter of space an’ needs. The regent wants farmers and militiamen, an’ in Crasfi and I, he gets both. Next ship as has space, ye’ll be sent on.”
“But how to pay?” whined Crasfi’s wife.
“There’s nowt to pay, only what food as is like ter feed you an’ the brood,” Crasfi explained, slowly and laboriously. “We’s explained it, wer’n yer ears open? Farmers is vally-ble in Torea, like gold. They wants us, they needs us.”
“Aye, we gets free passage when there’s space. Crasfi an’ I will claim land grants near the port, where we can sell ter all who comes ashore. We’s got ter be first ter do that, an’ we’re got ter claim berth on a ship early ter be first.”
True enough, they found several deepwater traders admitting passengers for free passage to Torea. Prosus and Crasfi went aboard to claim hammock space while their children ran home for more sacks of food, and their wives stood guard over their tools on the wharf.
“So, Winte, d’ye fancy yourself as a lord’s wife?” asked Prosus’ wife, Heldey.
“Ah, ‘tis a lot of servants ter be orderin’ abaht,” she grizzled in reply.
“But a great rise for a girl. Big house, servants, aye, and grand robes ter impress the other nobles.”
Winte glanced furtively around before replying. “Ye’ll be more like ter impress ‘em with your clothes off, trollop,” she sneered. “Like that merchant as brings ye Diomedan combs an’ hairpins, an’ that fisherman who gives ye fish for a little quick bargainin’ behind stall. Prosus will find out, you mark my words.”
“I’m a carpenter’s daughter, I married below my station,” Heldey said with a sniff. “I deserve finer things than a sodbreaker can give me.”
“Well, just you mind yerself, as our men could just make themselves more than all your merchants and fishermen.”
All the while, more and more people had been streaming down to the docks and seeking passage on the traders bound for Torea. For once it seemed that Prosus had been right, and that hard work and quick thinking might make them the founders of two great families with titles. It was what everyone on the wharf was dreaming.
Laron emerged from his locker-sized cabin to find Druskarl on the quarterdeck at the steering pole of the Shadowmoon. Miral was high in the sky, and the beacon pyre at the top of the island’s new lighthouse was visible.
“You never seem to sleep while Miral is in the sky,” Druskarl said casually, “yet tonight Miral has been up for hours and you have not.”
“While Miral is in the sky I can be awake or sleep, as I choose. When Miral is down I can be neither.”
“So what were you doing?” asked Druskarl.
“Being paranoid.”
Druskarl waited for Laron to elaborate. Laron chose not to.
“Speaking of being paranoid, I hope you have eaten,” Druskarl said as he rubbed his hands together in a parody of unease.
“Who told you about that?”
“The friend of a friend. Well, have you eaten, and were they meals that conformed with your chivalric principals?”
“Well, yes, and I do believe Port Wayside is a better place for it. Speaking of Port Wayside, I have been making inquiries there as well. You know: Who is humping who, who has plans to destroy the world for fun and profit, that sort of thing.”
“And?”
“And I found out nothing about Feran.”
“So?”
“So it continues a trend I have found in Scalticar, Acrema, and Torea as well. Before two years ago, Feran did not exist. He had no past. No parents, no home, no apprenticeship, not even a criminal record.”
“He could have changed his name. Many do.”
“I know how to trace the person even when the name dies and is reborn as something else. Nobody even like Feran ever e
xisted before 3138, when he—”
At that moment Velander emerged from below, disheveled and scowling. She took one look at the rising sun and cried out in shock.
“We’re sailing east!”
“That’s the quickest way to Torea,” said Laron.
“But the Elder ordered me to Diomeda.”
“The Elder also ordered us to sail to Torea after sailing for Diomeda. You have to watch the prepositions very carefully. Given your record of personal loyalty, you were not to be told until we were at sea.”
The remark did nothing to improve Velander’s mood.
“And why are we really going there?”
“To recover Silverdeath. We have reason to believe that it remains in Larmentel, intact. My associate Roval approached Serionese about financing an expedition earlier, but she went straight to Banzalo and revealed everything. Roval was made a guest of the governor in exceedingly well guarded lodgings, and then Banzalo dreamed up a fantastic scheme of repopulating Torea, then using Silverdeath to defend it.”
Suddenly everything fell into place for Velander: Banzalo had known all along! That was the hidden agenda for blockading the Dioran River at Gironal. To make sure nobody else could reach Larmentel’s ruins before he was ready to send an expedition to recover Silverdeath. Serionese had lied to her own priestesses and deaconesses.
“That slimy, evil, malicious betrayer—” Velander began, then she caught herself. “Did Terikel know?”
“Apparently not,” said Laron, taking the silver circlet from his robes. “Do you recognize this?”
“Gods in their moonworlds!” exclaimed Velander. “The thing from the crate.”
“It is very old, and even I did not realize that the Metrologans owned it. According to certain letters Terikel read for me from the crate, it was destined for Yvendel Si-Chella in Diomeda.”
“What? She’s a brilliant sorceress and an initiate twelve. She specializes in Etherworld studies and dimensional travel.”
Voyage of the Shadowmoon Page 17