“Where’s Kurjan?” Amadi sniffed, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “I don’t know where he went.” Her whole body shook, whether from cold or misery, Katrien could not tell.
“Don’t give up hope yet,” Katrien urged. “We must gather everyone to Faolan’s home and take stock of who has gone missing.”
With help from Katrien’s followers, the villagers limped or were carried up the hill to Faolan’s manor. The housekeeper was already waiting for them, front doors flung wide, and she accompanied Nort and Barrik in clearing out space in every bedroom. The most gravely injured townsfolk were lain gently on beds in Laina and Faolan’s rooms, as well as in the spare room, and some of the younger boys were given space in the servants’ quarters.
Before long, a new string of arrivals appeared at the top of the hill—these were the elderly women and children who had escaped the fighting and hid in the forest. There were more of them than Katrien had expected, near two hundred, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief as she watched them rejoin their families among the fighters.
Yet many of them searched the house in vain. A tight knot of children passed from room to room, wide-eyed and desperate, only to return to the main hall alone. Three of the children were sobbing, and one ran off and disappeared into the garden. The eldest of the group, a girl with mud streaked through her hair, held the hands of the two youngest children and stared sightlessly at the wall. At last the entire population of Lostport was gathered in the house and on the lawn, clustered in tight groups as though through solidarity alone they could right the wrongs that had been done. Once everyone was accounted for, Katrien caught Faolan’s eye and threaded her way through the crowd until she stood by his side. She grasped his hand fiercely, trying not to betray her hopelessness.
“How is this possible?” Faolan asked quietly, watching Katrien’s followers tending to the Lostporters. “Who are these people?”
“I did not tell you the circumstances of my departure from Whitland,” Katrien said delicately. Even now she would not reveal the brutal treatment she had received. “I was placed under house arrest, and thought myself in danger of assassination. King Luistan was frightened that I had been acting as an informant and revealing his schemes. Only then did I realize he had planned more than simply sending aid to Lostport.” She looked over at Amadi and Tenori, who were passing around blankets to the oldest of the townsfolk who had been a part of the fight. “I fled Whitland, intending to make for Lostport with all haste, but on the way I met a group of incredible people in the Twin Cities who showed me how terrible Whitland’s power had grown.”
She caught Tenori’s eye for a moment and quickly looked away.
“They were Varrilans living in the Twin Cities, men and women who had spent a lifetime in Dardensfell and who were now threatened daily by the Whitish soldiers. They wanted to do something to stop Whitland, but they were powerless in the Twin Cities. So I gathered together everyone who wished to overthrow the oppressive military presence, Varrilans and Dardens and even a few from farther afield, and brought them down to Lostport. I hoped that with their help we could throw off Whitland’s influence.”
“Why haven’t you told me this?” Faolan looked hurt.
“I didn’t wish to give you false hope. I thought my followers would be stranded in Ferrydown when the rains came, and I knew it would be too late for them to help.”
“You were born a queen, milady,” Faolan said. He took Katrien’s hand and kissed it tenderly, eyes locked on hers. “Will you join me in the long, painful journey to rebuild Lostport?”
“I would be honored,” Katrien said. “I am yours to command, my king.”
Faolan chuckled. “I believe you have more followers than I have people. You might be the one doing the commanding around here.”
Katrien shrugged, trying not to smile.
As the villagers gathered themselves into a more orderly assemblage, a pair of men approached Katrien and Faolan.
“Your majesties?” said the older of the two, a man with a bushy beard just beginning to flush grey. “Most of us would be happy to sleep on the lawn, unless it rains tonight, but we’d go back down to the village if you wanted.”
“Could we have a word with Lady Laina?” the second man asked.
“I don’t know where she’s gone,” Faolan said heavily. “When she returns, I will send her straight to you.”
The man’s shoulders sagged. “We only wanted to thank her. All of our valuables are hidden away safe in the forest. If we hadn’t listened to her, we’d bloody well be broke now.”
“What?” Faolan frowned at him. “Laina never spoke to me of this.” He shot Katrien a look of irritation, as though he suspected her of conspiring with Laina.
“It was when you were sick, Milord,” the young man said. “She wanted to do something to help us, and she didn’t think we’d be much use against the Whitish.” He shrugged. “She was dead right.”
Faolan’s jaw tightened. “How very decent of her.”
“We will pass on your thanks as soon as Laina returns,” Katrien said. “Now, I believe we can hunt down a bit of spare bedding. If someone is willing to collect blankets and tents from town, we might be able to find enough shelter for everyone. I would hardly like to take our chances with the rain. Besides, the ground is soaked! You would freeze if you slept out here.”
When the two men left, Katrien and Faolan turned to each other.
“Laina doesn’t know a thing about ruling,” Faolan said.
“But she has a good heart. And she gave these people a better chance at recovering their lives than either of us could have managed.”
Faolan shook his head. “She won’t listen. She never has. No matter how grave her responsibility, she will not stop running off and taking matters into her own hands. She will kill herself before long, if she’s not already dead.”
“Faolan! How could you?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I have not been myself lately. Everything is going wrong, and most of it is my fault.”
Katrien took his shoulders and forced him to look at her. “No. Whatever decisions you had made, King Luistan would have countered them by the sheer force of his military presence. This isn’t over yet. We must deal with the builders stranded at Port Emerald, and this time the power lies with us.”
At dawn the next morning, Katrien gathered nearly half of her followers and led the solemn procession down to the docks. She had spent most of the night convincing Faolan to agree to her plan; still terrified that Laina had met some ill fate, he wanted to kill the entire crew of Whitish builders. But Katrien knew that nothing good would come of yet more death and ruin. Kurjan was gone, lost to the waves, and Amadi had withdrawn into herself.
Four of the remaining captains had gone ahead to ready the four largest ships in Lostport, which greeted Katrien and her followers with billowing sails half-raised. Katrien had asked for volunteers only, and forbade any Varrilans from joining her in her mission. If the Whitish builders saw shiploads of Varrilans descending on them, they would assume the worst and attack with their full strength.
“Perfect wind for sailing,” one of the captains said, giving Katrien a quick bow as she stepped aboard his ship. “D’you know how many builders will be waiting for us?”
“Faolan wasn’t certain,” Katrien said. “Though he said there could easily be ten thousand still in Port Emerald.”
The captain whistled. “They might do better to wait for the floods to clear! It’ll take us days to get that many men back to Lostport.”
“We will do our best,” Katrien said. “Have you loaded the supplies?”
“There wasn’t much, but I’ve got a bit.”
She nodded. “I think they will be willing to negotiate terms. If the first supply ship made it through the storm, they will have been dependent on our generosity for some days now.”
As the last of her followers stepped aboard the ship, the gangplanks were raised and the anchors d
rawn up. Katrien caught sight of Amadi standing at the prow of the largest ship—she had not noticed the girl join her ranks, and she was frightened by how pale and lost Amadi appeared.
Tenori joined her at the rail as their ship cut through the grey waters toward the open sea. From here they had an uninterrupted view of the steep mountains guarding the fjords; Katrien had never come out so far before, had never realized this claustrophobic little kingdom was in truth so vast.
“Is it what you expected?” Tenori asked.
“Hardly.” Katrien ground her toe against the side of the boat. “It is exactly as I remembered, yet everything has changed. I don’t know whether I should laugh or weep.”
“This kingdom wouldn’t have survived without you,” Tenori said. “It is yours now, whether you would embrace it or not.”
Katrien frowned at the waves far below. “I wish we were still on the road. Everything was so simple back then.”
“So do I,” Tenori muttered. When Katrien looked at him, he had turned away.
After rounding the skirts of Mount Taleon, they drew up to the mouth of an inlet where the harsh waves stilled and the mountainsides were embroidered with silver waterfalls. Only once they had passed into the protected waters of the inlet did Katrien realize how far back the fjord stretched. She could not see the end, nor could she see which mountains cradled the faraway Port Emerald. The captain drew their boat closer to the mountains, the ocean depths still fathomless even as they passed so near to the rocky cliffs that Katrien could feel the mist from a waterfall scatter across her cheeks. She lifted her head to the spray, eyes closed, and imagined the pure water could wash away the memory of every villager whose body had been given to the sea.
“There it is,” Tenori said, his voice nearly muffled beneath the churning roar of the waterfall.
Katrien opened her eyes and saw a rough pier guarded by a makeshift hut on each side. Above that, she saw the edge of a white stone city rising up the mountainside, its walls gleaming in the sun.
But something was not right. As they rounded the mountainside and came in full view of Port Emerald, Katrien realized that a wide brown streak ran straight through the place where the city should have been. Had the builders neglected to work on that section? No—closer still, she could see that buildings were torn in half, stairways hanging into the empty space. A vast mudslide had torn the city in two, taking away every foundation and every building in its path.
Tenori cursed in Varrilan and strode to the front of the ship. Katrien gripped the rail, unable to believe what she saw. As much hatred and anger as this port had inspired in her followers, it would have been stunning. The remaining buildings were elegant and airy, the windows arched in the style of Chelt, the roofs a charming shade of green.
So much toil and expense had been poured into this gem of a city.
And it had all gone to waste.
Closer still, Katrien could make out thousands of figures standing on the beach, clustered so close they had hidden the sand. Their white uniforms had been streaked with mud until the color was nearly unrecognizable, and several were jostling to gain a better vantage point. A cacophony of voices rose above the crowd, most indistinguishable, though Katrien picked up a few cries for mercy mixed with shouts of hatred toward Lostport.
The other three ships slowed, lowering their sails, while the captain of Katrien’s ship took the lead and glided smoothly up to the end of the pier. As a pair of men jumped down to secure the boat to the pier, one of the Whitish men from the beach paced down to the end of the pier and bowed to the captain.
“Do you speak on behalf of these men?” Katrien asked.
“I do.” The man bowed again. “My name is Captain Drail, and I am—that is to say, I was—the building director for this project.” His mouth tightened. The crowd had gone quiet.
“I am Queen Katrien, wife of King Faolan, returned at last to Lostport,” Katrien said. Unlike Lostporters, Whitlanders were conditioned to show respect only to those who had the title to warrant it. “We have come to make a deal with you. If you agree to leave Lostport, abandon your war with Varrival, and return to Whitland, we will transport you safely back to our town. If not, we will eliminate you.” She gave him a harsh look. “You are outnumbered and stranded. Will you take our offer, or would you prefer to cling to your pride and perish?”
Captain Drail did not even stop to consider her words. “We have no strength to fight,” he said. “Your supplies have saved us, but there isn’t nearly enough for our numbers. Besides, we’ve already lost half our men to the rockslide, and a few more chasing after some fool’s dream of riches hidden in the hills. We will happily surrender, if you free us from this cursed place.”
“Very good,” Katrien said. “If you are willing to remain behind until the last of your men have been evacuated, you should organize your builders. We can take two hundred men on our first trip, and five hundred on each trip thereafter. Any injured builders should come first.”
With a second bow, Captain Drail turned and marched off the pier. He must have given orders to his men as soon as he reached the shore, because the crowd descended into chaos. A pair of stretchers appeared from the trees, their bearers parting the crowd with shouts and much shoving, while a group of what must have been higher-ranking soldiers began forcing men away from the water’s edge to allow the first two hundred passengers to congregate.
Another ship approached and made berth on the opposite side of the pier, and the captain began directing the offloading of food and blankets for those who would remain behind. Just twenty men were allowed onto Katrien’s ship, numbering far fewer than her followers; orders had clearly been given to protect the queen. If she could have, she would have stayed behind to help tend to the men—in Dardensfell, that would have been expected of her. Yet she knew Faolan was right to mistrust these builders, who might or might not have sanctioned the attack on Lostport.
The sun had reached its apex by the time the first four ships were readied. As they set sail once again for the mouth of the fjord, the men on the beach shouted curses and blessings after them, many invoking Aurum, god of sunrise and hope.
It was fitting. Even after they made it safely to Lostport, they had a long, arduous journey back to Whitland ahead of them, devoid of supplies and barges. And they would have no hero’s welcome awaiting them in Whitland. They would need a hearty supply of hope to guide them home.
* * *
As soon as Conard had seen King Faolan amongst the men treading water below the shattered pier, he knew he could not remain in Lostport. He sought out Queen Katrien, knowing she would not recognize him, and learned that Laina had vanished some two days prior. She must not have returned home since Conard’s guards had thrown her from her horse. If Laina had braved the sea in an attempt to rescue him, she could not possibly have survived.
Heart pounding in equal measures of hope and fear, Conard ran down to the forest path. The bridges over Ashfall Creek were down, but he stole a plank from a half-burned house and made himself a bridge so shaky he did not trust himself to survive the return journey.
Now, after a hurried reunion with the gypsies, he was back on the road, hoping to beat the darkness. The gypsies had heard no word from Laina, which meant she was farther afield, either adrift at sea or somewhere near Port Emerald.
The road was growing more treacherous by the moment, the lengthening shadows hiding deep puddles and muddy trenches, and Conard was considering huddling in his coat to sleep when he caught a whiff of campfire smoke ahead. Whoever had chosen to spend the night on the road, they were certainly not making any effort to hide; as Conard drew nearer, he discerned the glow of embers directly in the middle of the road. Just as he opened his mouth to call a greeting, he stopped short, his foot sunk nearly to the knee in water.
“Tanner’s balls!” he cried in surprise, jumping backward.
The person at the other side of the puddle—rather, the four people—jumped to their feet. “Who goes there?�
�� one bellowed.
That voice sounded vaguely familiar. Taking a chance, Conard said, “Emerett?” If he was wrong, he could be arrested once more and dragged straight back to Lostport.
“Conard!” This time it was Ian who called out, his voice high in excitement.
“No. I can’t believe it.” The last voice belonged, unmistakably, to Laina.
Conard stumbled backward in relief. For a moment he could not speak. At last he recovered himself and said, “Can I get across this blasted puddle without a boat?”
“I tried earlier,” Quentin said. “Got up to my waist before I turned ‘round.”
“Humph.” Conard stepped into the puddle again, trying to acclimate himself to the cold. “Well, I’m more likely to survive the night sitting by your fire than huddling out here in the cold. I guess there’s no hope for it. I’ll have to swim.”
Thankfully the moon had risen high enough to cast a pale reflection across the surface of the muddy pool, so Conard could be sure he would not collide with any trees. The water spread out as far as he could see into the forest, filling a wide basin that refused to drain. Though the water was nowhere near as cold as the ocean, it was still a shock, and Conard held his breath as he took a step that plunged him from waist to chest. Goosebumps rippled up his arms, which he refused to lower into the muck.
Another step forward did not take him any deeper. Holding his arms up beside his ears, treading delicately lest he slip in the thick layer of sludge, Conard made his way forward. Once he grew accustomed to the numbing cold, the stench was the worst part of the crossing. He hoped the water would recede by morning, though he did not expect the forest to be so accommodating.
When he neared the opposite edge and the water began to slide back, first to his waist and then to his knees, he realized that Laina had one arm around Ian as if for support. She did not step forward to meet him, and did not relinquish her grip on Ian until Conard stood before her. Then she flung her arms around him, muck and all, and pulled him into a desperate embrace.
The Fall of Lostport Page 43