The Fall of Lostport

by R. J. Vickers

  “I shared the road with a pair of Darden performers at one time,” Swick said quietly. “It was one of the most memorable times of my life. It seems that news has spread throughout the kingdom of this royal project. No entertainer is going to miss out on the chance to stand directly in the path of a large chunk of money.”

  “But the city doesn’t even exist yet!” Laina said. “Who will be paying them?”

  Jairus gripped the straps of his pack, relieving the weight on his shoulders. “Ever since we arrived in Lostport, we have seen hundreds of builders pass through each day. Men of every race, some old, most young. The men will be bored and restless living out in the jungle for spans on end. They will welcome any diversion.”

  Swick nodded. “Indeed, the entire population of Darden whores seems to have descended upon Lostport.”

  Laina shifted uncomfortably on Feather.

  “Don’t worry, my lady,” Swick said. “We won’t allow you anywhere near such women of ill repute.”

  Suddenly Jairus ran ahead and knelt beside a narrow stream that threaded across the path. “There is steam rising from here! It must drain from a hot spring farther up.”

  Laina drew in a breath. Could it be the same hot spring? Long ago, when she had barely seen fourteen summers, she and Conard had delved deeper into the forest than ever before, wading through a river—often ducking or even crawling beneath low-hanging branches—as it climbed gently up from the ocean. At one place the water had begun to flow warm, and they followed the steaming tributary up a steep slope until it ended in a small hot spring beneath the trees. Conard had somehow coaxed Laina to remove most of her clothes, there in the growing darkness of evening, and he had even dared to latch his fingers into her hair and kiss her.

  Laina’s cheeks grew warm at the memory. Had Conard ever loved her? She wished he had not abandoned her so suddenly. If she could see him one last time, she would be able to guess the truth of his affections. She touched her hair, remembering the fierce grip of his adolescent curiosity. He was a part of her that would never return, a piece tied to childhood and innocence and freedom. All of that had disappeared now.

  “You know this place,” Jairus guessed. His dark eyes were too intelligent. “You are not like me, I think. I wanted my freedom so I could leave my home behind. You want freedom to become even more closely bound to your own land.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Laina asked.

  “No. I envy you.”

  Chapter 6

  L aina could not tell whether the sun had gone down when they finally reached the campground. The shadows had slunk up from the ground and begun slowly engulfing the trees, until there was nothing but grey darkness saturated with the smell of damp earth.

  “A fire!” Harrow called to the rear of the group.

  Laina straightened her back, just now catching the acrid scent of smoldering wood. A glow emerged from behind two wide trees, and as she rounded the bend, she caught sight of a sea of colorful tents. Many were nestled together on the cleared swath of ground closest to the road, with barely room to walk between them, but others were crammed between trees, their canvas roofs bowed to pass beneath branches, their sides squashed like a peach about to burst open.

  When Laina rounded the outer wall of tents, she realized that the entire clearing was not quite as full as she had imagined. Rather, the tents formed several tiers of circles around a cleared patch of dirt in the middle that had seen heavy use. Above, silk streamers and painted ropes dipped between tree branches, giving the empty space the impression that it sat beneath a tent canopy itself. One of the tents looked more like a wagon that had unbolted its side—a wooden frame supported a wall of rich multicolored silks that could have been a miniature stage.

  “Where are we supposed to set up camp?” Laina’s father asked irritably. He turned in a circle, one fist digging into the small of his back.

  “You’re the king,” Harrow said slyly. “You may have forgotten how to give orders, but these people haven’t forgotten how to obey.” He turned and raised his voice. “Oi! On behalf of His Majesty, King Faolan of Lostport, we order you to clear a space for these royal tents.”

  A hundred heads suddenly emerged from behind trees and inside tents. Most looked foreign; those wearing subdued, practical clothes were clearly construction workers, while the mobs of flagrantly-dressed newcomers had to be entertainers. One of the heads peering from behind the wagon-stage belonged to a dark-featured, beautiful young woman with long hair that she was using to cover her bare chest. Laina quickly averted her eyes. When the woman’s head disappeared, two men strode purposefully around the wagon and bowed to Laina’s father.

  “Your majesty. You may have the place of honor.” At a fluttering gesture of the man’s wrist, three others sprang forward, stretching a wide, sturdy cloth across the circle of dirt. “You and your attendants may rest easy. We are happy to serve you.”

  A series of chairs followed the cloth; Laina alit from Feather and perched on one of these, where she was joined by Swick, Jairus, and the other four members of the royal party. Her legs and hips ached from the saddle, but she could not stretch them out properly with so many others watching.

  Meanwhile, disregarding her father’s protests, Nort and Barrik began directing the gypsies in assembling the enormous tent the royal party had packed.

  “Fetch my quill,” Swick ordered Jairus, claiming the chair beside Laina.

  “Can you map the forest just from having walked it?” Laina asked.

  Swick laughed. “That’s impossible. Mountains in Dardensfell, perhaps, since you can see them from a distance and get a good idea of the scale. Here, we could have been wandering in circles for all the forest has let on.”

  When Jairus joined them, a bundle of quills and parchments in hand, Swick’s smile grew.

  “Of course, my student has been doing his best to prove the contrary. Twice he has drawn near-perfect maps of long stretches of country he had never seen before. And one was even forested.”

  Jairus ducked his chin. “Are you trying to tell me you would be disappointed if I failed to draw you my impressions of today’s walk?”

  “Laina, you can join us as well!” Swick said. “Each of us maps the stretch of forest we believe we walked through today. The least accurate artist has to buy a night’s worth of drinks when we return to the Seal’s Roost.”

  It was an unfair contest, Laina thought, accepting a quill and curling sheet of parchment. She had wandered up the river several times before, and was familiar with the location of Port Emerald if she sailed along the coast. Knowing the locations of the notable mountains, and the indented coastline where this valley must inevitably end, she could guess at the blank spaces of the map.

  Just as she was about to tell Swick as much, Prince Ronnick decided to sit delicately in the empty chair to Laina’s left.

  “Did you realize this road is six leagues from end to end?” Prince Ronnick asked.

  Laina gave him a flat stare. It looked suspiciously as though her father had suggested he entertain her, and he had obeyed without any idea of what he ought to say.

  “It took nearly four hundred men laboring fourteen hours a day to build this road in such a short time. The king said he was forced to pay double the usual rates.”

  “Fascinating,” Laina said drily.

  “Here’s a real bit of juicy gossip,” Swick said quietly. He leaned over and whispered in Laina’s ear. “We heard on the road that your father was begging the Twin Cities to send their criminals over. Lostport could have turned into a pirate city!”

  “And what would happen after Port Emerald was finished?” Jairus muttered. “Would he pack the criminals home again, or just execute them?”

  Laina shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’ll be managing one of the landscaping divisions,” Prince Ronnick added, oblivious to the exchange that had just passed.

  “I know very little about my father’s political dealings,” Laina whispered, leaning ov
er Swick to meet Jairus’s eyes. “I was not allowed to hear him meet with foreign ambassadors, and I was not told why he turned his attention so suddenly to this port. I know he has been planning something of the like for years, but why the urgency? Why is Port Emerald a matter of such high concern that he was willing to beg criminals to provide labor for its construction?”

  “Forgive Jairus,” Swick said. “He’s a bit of an anarchist.”

  “No, he’s right,” Laina said. “We shouldn’t accept everything simply because it comes from a royal tongue. I can’t afford to accept anything mindlessly. I must raise a son fit to rule Lostport.” But only if I find someone to marry, she amended silently. Her father did not trust a woman’s judgment, no matter how brilliant it could be in comparison with a slow-thinking partner like Prince Ronnick. If she had no other men to choose from, could she bite her tongue and marry him? I think not, said a niggling voice at the back of her head.

  “You appear to be deep in thought,” Swick said. “But this is a night for festivities! Perhaps we should save the mapping competition for another day. Put aside your parchment and enjoy the camp.”

  As true night engulfed the forest and small lanterns began to wink into life among the trees, the camp assumed the atmosphere of a festival. Small groups of builders were already wending their way between tents, clearly in search of a familiar pleasure, be it food served by the steaming bowlful from enormous cauldrons, entertainment in the form of performances or music, or female company. Strains of music from knee-harps, flutes, and fiddles rose alongside the campfire smoke, and platters of charred yams made their rounds through the royal party.

  Somewhere along the way, Jairus slipped off into the darkness, leaving his seat to be filled by a somewhat inebriated Barrik. Laina wondered if Jairus had seen one of his countrymen, or had decided to pursue the scantily-clad female performers; she thought the latter unlikely.

  “Wanna dance?” Barrik leaned behind Swick and groped at Laina’s shoulder.

  “You’re funny,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Barrik flexed his muscles. “That’s what I’m here for, m’lady. Just us and—”

  “The lady said no,” Swick interjected abruptly.

  Laina let out her breath. She didn’t like the way Barrik was looking at her.

  “If you’re getting restless, go find someone in the tents,” Swick said. “Make yourself scarce.”

  “Aww, c’mon, I was only joking,” Barrik drawled. He reached around Swick’s chair once again, this time groping for Laina’s hair.

  Just as Laina was about to call for her father, Nort materialized and gripped Barrik by the collar. “Get up,” he snapped. “You’re a mess.” With an apologetic look at Laina, he dragged Barrik to his feet and away from Laina.

  “Thank you,” Laina told Swick. “You don’t have to stay and keep me company, you know. Go enjoy yourself.”

  Swick laughed. “I’m an old man, Lady Laina. It is an excellent pleasure simply to rest my feet and enjoy the intellectual stimulation of conversing with you.” He raised his glass with a wink. “You know, it would not be impossible for you to visit my homeland someday. Unless you marry straightaway, that is.”

  Laina smiled, gazing off at the track of campfire smoke as it curled between branches. She liked the idea of travel. Her mother had journeyed all the way from Whitland to Lostport for her marriage, after all, and done the reverse just a few years later. Laina had never crossed beyond the borders of her own land.

  Her thoughts turned to Doran, who she missed more than she had thought possible. She hoped he was safe at sea. How hard it must be for him to face the ocean again after what happened to him the last time he sailed. Perhaps she could visit him in Chelt someday.

  She and Swick remained in their seats near the fire until late at night, enjoying the atmosphere and occasionally exchanging a few comfortable words. Laina had nearly drifted off to sleep when she heard the rustle of angry footsteps behind her. She blinked and straightened, her eyelids heavy.

  It was Jairus, and he looked furious.

  “What happened?” Laina asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Jairus stamped past Laina and threw himself into the chair at her left. “Your father is about to finance Whitland’s war against Varrival. He wants to buy Lostport’s freedom at the expense of my people’s lives!”

  “He’s what?” Laina snapped.

  “The king told me he wants the jewels harvested at Port Emerald to go into the hands of the king of Whitland, who will use them for the sole purpose of mustering an army to crush Varrival.”

  “Why would Father try for our independence?” Laina asked. “We depend on Whitland for nearly everything. Most of the population of Lostport is still made up of ungoverned prospectors living however they choose.”

  Jairus slumped forward, arms crossed protectively over his chest. “You will have to ask him that yourself,” he said darkly. “I do not think he wishes to speak to me again.”

  Laina did not know what to say. Her father wanted to help Whitland? That would offend everything his land valued—dogged independence, insubordination, and disdain for religion. How could Lostport’s liberty be worth another land’s devastation?

  “Maybe you heard him wrong,” Laina suggested weakly. “I’m sure he could never…”

  Jairus shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should not have been so offensive. He is your father, after all.”

  “And even though he is my father and king, he can be wrong.” Laina sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I’ll speak to him later. Perhaps he could be persuaded to change his mind.”

  She was no longer in the mood for celebrating the night. She retreated to a tent before long, unwilling to talk to anyone else. As she lay in the semidarkness, watching the firelight outside cast flickering shapes across the canvas, Laina wondered how well she really knew her father.

  * * *

  Voices were shouting below. Katrien hugged her dressing gown closer about her shoulders and shifted the curtains so she could peek at the commotion in the courtyard. It was barely dawn, and everything was still cast in a steely haze.

  Katrien recognized at least two of the men below as belonging to her own household, but the others were unmistakably members of the Whitland military. They were dressed all in white, down to their immaculate gloves, and stood out like specters against the dark cobbles.

  “Where is the lady of the house?” a Whitland soldier shouted. “Summon her to the yard. We must have a word with her.”

  Katrien thought about retreating to her cellar and hiding, but she did not want to be rooted out like a piece of vermin, still in her dressing gown and unkempt from a restless night’s sleep. Instead, she roused her lady-in-waiting and began dressing herself, choosing a formal, conservative dress of muted crimson.

  “You’re a dear, Amadi. Now wait upstairs. I don’t want you mixed up with these dangerous militants.”

  The lady-in-waiting curtseyed, eyes locked on the still-curtained window.

  Katrien did not see any members of her household as she made her way down the curving grand staircase into the entrance hall. Most would still be abed, if they were lucky enough to have slept through the shouting.

  Pausing with one hand on the front door, Katrien put a hand to her chest and felt her heart racing. She took a deep breath, stilled her expression, and emerged into the courtyard.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked sharply, striding toward the four soldiers who appeared to be harassing her stable-hand. “You have no right to trespass on my grounds and abuse my servants.”

  The guards turned to her; the stable-hand took advantage of his reprieve to slink back into a shadowed corner.

  “You may not leave the house until authorized to do so.”

  “On what grounds do you make this claim?” Katrien said coldly.

  “You are hereby placed under house arrest, which is not to be lifted until your husband renounces his intent to separate from Whitland.”


  Katrien drew herself up to her full height. “I have not spoken to my husband in years. His business is no concern of mine. Leave me in peace, or I will take the story of your groundless interfering to the king.”

  “Oh, but we are here on High King Luistan’s command.”

  Another guard stepped forward, his red face uncomfortably close to Katrien’s. “We received word on good authority that you recently received—and replied to—a letter from your husband. With whom you claim to have severed all ties. Your insubordination has become a concern of High King Luistan; your very presence here could give your husband the reach he needs to cripple Whitland.”

  Katrien narrowed her eyes at the guard. She refused to back down, refused to let on that she was intimidated. “What power does Lostport have over Whitland? Lostport is an isolated, impoverished outpost of civilization. It has no power among the Kinship Thrones.” She gave the guard an icy smile. “Unless Whitland is far weaker and more vulnerable than it would let on.”

  The first guard slapped Katrien directly on the cheekbone. It stung; reflexively she retreated, allowing that the guards had her cornered.

  “Two city guards will be stationed at your gates henceforth. You and your staff may not leave the grounds; if you need anything, you must request it to be brought in. We will monitor any visitations that we deem allowable, and inspect any letters or goods leaving the house.”

  Katrien swallowed. She would not show any sign of dismay. “Now you must remove yourselves from my courtyard. Your guards will remain at the gates, not within my grounds, or I will register a complaint with my father’s sector.”

  She put a hand on the shoulder of her footman, beckoning the stable-hand to return from the corner he’d slunk into, and together they returned to the house.