by N M Zoltack
But the poor didn't have carriages or even horses. They would be stuck in their houses, if they even had houses. The former servant wasn't certain what would happen—if the Vincanans would burn everything in their path, leaving a devastating trail in their wake—but someone had to worry about the peasants.
Dimly, he considered the royal council. Was there a member who cared about the peasants? If so, Ulric hadn’t seen any signs of anyone tending to the peasants, and he wasn’t about to allow anyone to be forgotten. The war would claim many soldiers, warriors, knights, and guards. Hopefully, none or at least very few peasants would be caught up in the mess.
In the weeks—had been it been weeks already since his escape? Ulric could hardly believe he had been undiscovered for this long, and now, he would be braving the open vastness of Atlan to save as many as he could. The chances he would be caught would be greatly increased, but he did not care. During his incarceration, he had come to terms with dying, knowing and recognizing everyone’s mortality, especially his own. He would die, and if he could save people, he would.
Throughout his freedom, Ulric had discovered where a group of urchins hid. They appeared to have banded together, and they trusted no one. No adults ever spoke with them, and they were as autonomous as anyone could hope to be.
Naturally, Ulric knew that getting them to listen to him would be difficult, but they ranged in age from three or so to thirteen, and he wasn’t about to allow them to be stuck out here on their own. Westward, toward the Olacic Mountains would be best, Ulric figured.
He stood a head-and-a-half taller than the others, and so many eyes peered at Ulric from inside the land cave the urchin lived in. They scampered to and from in shifts, trying to scavenge for food, bringing back any spoils to the cave for them all to share. In a way, it would be heartwarming to consider how the children had banded together, but they were vicious. He had seen them in action, saw how they hunted animals, and Ulric had even heard rumors that they had killed an eaten one of their own who had tried to hide food from the rest.
“I have bad news,” Ulric called. “It’s not safe for you here.”
A few of the eyes blinked, but some just stared at him, the inside of the land cave too dark for Ulric to see more than the eyes. It made for an unnerving sight.
“I know you don’t know who I am, that I’m not one of you, but trust me… Vincanans are coming. They’re ready for war. They will hurt and even kill anyone in their way, even you, even kids. I know where you will be safe, at least for now, but only if you leave now.”
Not one of the eyes blinked. Unnerving was an understatement.
Ulric sighed and grabbed the pouch he had fashioned from one of the animals he had killed and skinned. Inside was some fresh meat that he had just procured earlier that day.
Some of the eyes widened, but others narrowed. They didn’t trust him.
Ulric opened the pouch and removed some of the meat. “Go ahead. This is for you. Just listen to me. Go west, as far west as you can go. Stop once you can see the mountains, or even climb over them. See the pyramid in Olac. I’ve never seen it myself, but I hear it’s beautiful.”
A girl, one of the older ones, exited the land cave but stood by its mouth. "Why should we trust you?"
“I want to save your lives,” he said, desperation causing him to speak swifter, louder.
“Or maybe you want to poison us. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to kill us.” She glanced behind and nodded toward the eyes that appeared to be floating in the darkness.
She was strong despite being scrawny, and she had four visible scars and perhaps more beneath her clothing. This girl was one who had lived for far too much already.
Ulric shrugged and took a bite from the meat in his hand. He grimaced. “I prefer it to be heated versus cold, but I did cook it already. And no, no coughing, no insides bleeding, no poison. Nothing at all. I want to save your lives,” he repeated. “I have no desire for any of you to die. That’s what I want to prevent.”
The girl stared at him coldly.
Ulric sighed and returned the meat to the pouch. He tossed the pouch toward her feet.
“Head west as far as you can,” he said, and he walked away.
I can only help those who will allow me to help them.
It was a phrase that Ulric had to tell himself several more times throughout the day. He did convince many poor families to try their luck heading west, and he found another group of kids that seemed a lot more frightened than the urchins, Ulric took it upon himself to find them a hiding spot all the way to the east, where the River Zim emptied into the Vast Waters. It was well past nightfall by the time he returned to the spot he had been hiding.
Not a few minutes later, just as he was dozing off, he realized he was not alone. His eyes popped open, and he saw eyes from all around peering at him.
“We do not want to go west,” a familiar voice said.
The girl from earlier.
Ulric groaned and sat up. “I took some other kids to a hiding spot eastward, near the Vast Waters. I don’t see any reason for the Vincanans to head that way.”
“Water is good,” she said. “You will take us in the morning.”
“If you head due east—”
“Why did you take the other children but not us?”
“I didn’t think the others could make it by themselves,” he said honestly.
“You feared we would throw a knife into your back,” she said. By the light of the stars, he could just see her lift her chin.
“I’m not afraid. I’ll take you in the morning.”
But he didn't. He took them now, and upon his return, he managed to find a few spots where children and even families could hide that were closer to the city. The chances of discovery were higher, but he had weighed his options. It would be better to try to hide as many as possible even if they were not as far away as possible then to only save more completely a precious few.
Despite his exhaustion, Ulric pressed on. He knew the way to the royal armory. Since he was already a wanted man, he felt no guilt at all stealing a few weapons and then returned for a few more treks. The people who refused to hide needed to be armed.
Tenoch would be ready once the Vincanans reached the shore. Ulric would do his part to ensure that was the case for even those the crown might overlook.
42
Sir Edmund Hill
The sight amplified by Tatum’s potions were such that it took two full days before Edmund could see those ships with the aid of his lens. It wasn’t sure which amazed him more—how potent her spells were or how many ships he saw. They covered the entire horizon, and the sight of their red sails caused his stomach to churn. Even the crest of Vincana demonstrated their war-like nature given that it was two crossed spears behind a golden shield. So unlike the far more peaceful crest of Tenoch—olive branches crossed above the throne.
War had come, and with it, Edmund was more than willing to do his part.
Swiftly, Edmund raced up the beach that slowly turned to gravel. He had brought along a horse today, unlike most mornings, and he was most grateful for the foresight. He jumped on board and urged his horse onward, galloping straight for the castle. Although he had not returned to Atlan Castle since he had been knighted, the guards recognized his attire if not his face, and they allowed him through without question.
Edmund handed his reins over to a boy he hoped was a stable hand and rushed inside the castle. There, he hesitated, uncertain where to go, who to address. Queen Rosalynne? Queen Sabine? One of their advisors?
Queen Sabine, flowing blond hair trailing behind her, was walking toward him. “If you think that wise.”
“I do. It’s not the best of options, but then—” Constable Emerson Fenne drew up short. “Sir Edmund Hill. Are you here to make a report?”
“The Vincanan are close enough to be visible through a lens without any enchantments,” Edmund said, trying to ignore that the man who commanded the knights kne
w him by name. To his knowledge, the man had never directly interacted with Edmund before this very moment.
“Which means we have how long before they reach the shore?” Queen Sabine directed her question to the constable, ignoring Edmund entirely.
Even so, Edmund was the one to answer. “Tomorrow, early, very early, unless…”
The queen shifted to stare at him, her gaze penetrating. He shivered as she lifted an already-arched eyebrow.
“I think we should have ships out on the water. Immediately,” Edmund said, blathering. “I know it would make things a lot more difficult for the archers, but we could move the barrels up higher, on the upper ridges of the beach or even hide them among the scattered trees along the route the Vincanans would take toward the castle. Not that they’ll get far, of course. We’ll stop them—”
“Is that not what we were just discussing?” the queen coolly asked the constable.
“Yes. It’s unfortunate that the privateers are too widespread and that none had been able to return to the mainland to defend her, but we do have a few privateers who are not currently on ships, as well as ones who had retired who can be pressed into service. Unfortunately—”
“I would very much like to be on one of those ships,” Edmund said in a rush.
The constable laughed, but the sound lacked any mirth. “We will need a great deal more than one guard to help man the ships. I appreciate your willingness. Your enthusiasm will not go unnoticed.” He clasped Edmund’s shoulder. “What I need now from you is to gather as many of your fellow guards and bring them to the shore. I will meet you there shortly.”
“Right away.”
Edmund rushed off. His heart pounded in his chest but more from excitement than fear. The very notion of being able to fight and defend his homeland gave him such a thrill. When he had found the other guards and shared with them the news of their assignment, they all cheered. Being sent to board ships as the first line of defense was something the young Edmund had never even dreamed up, but now, Edmund could not be happier. He needed nothing else at this moment save for the chance to prove that he deserved his shield.
After the battle, perhaps he might deserve something more.
If he survived.
43
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The sea had been calm enough, almost as if the Fates wished for the Vincanans to have a safe journey across the Ember Sea to reach Tenoch. The Ember Sea was so named because at dawn and at dusk, the water had an appearance of being set on fire. It was a beautiful, even majestic sight, ethereal in its glory. It called to mind the dragons, and Marcellus wondered if their flames had appeared as such. Then again, those on the receiving end of the fiery breath most likely would not stop and stare in wonder at the flames before they were consumed.
Would the dragons sanction this war? Perhaps, perhaps not, but the wheels had started to turn perhaps even before Marcellus had first ventured to the continent of Tenoch. At one time, Jankin had been a ruthless leader during his conquest, and the Vincanans had been, for the most part, merely biding their time to rise up and reclaim their continent as their own.
Only his father, the king, wanted much more than that. Marcellus would be pleased enough for the southern land to rule and govern over itself, a separate nation once more. Dragoona was perhaps too large of a world for all of the lands to be united under one ruler. Even the dragons three had been unable to maintain peace throughout all of the lands.
Flavius Calvus, the commander of the Vincanan army, stood behind the helm of the ship Vixen. Marcellus had guided the wheel throughout most of the night, when the waters had been slightly rougher than they were now. He could just make out the shore in the distance, and he grinned, intent on asking the commander to allow him to take over the wheel once more when a loud shout came from the crow’s nest.
“Inbound ships in the distance on the starboard side!”
Marcellus grinned. He had almost been disappointed that no ships had been spotted earlier to greet them. The queens couldn’t be foolish enough to realize that war wasn’t inevitable, but had they truly believed their knights could best the might of Vincanans soldiers and warriors on the ground? He was glad to see they weren’t that ignorant. Otherwise, the fight would have been over before it began. Marcellus had every bit of faith he and his men and women would be able to handle all so-called Tenoch Proper had to offer by means of their defenses.
Flavius laughed and shook his head, his short blond hair fluttering slightly in the breeze. “From the looks of it, they aren’t even the privateers on those ships,” he said. “This will be too easy.”
“They spread themselves too thin,” Marcellus said.
“Indeed. Will you be taking the lead in this naval battle, or shall I?”
Marcellus grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I will for now, but once I board an enemy vessel, Vixen will be all yours.”
“I shall enjoy destroying their ships,” Flavius said with grim determination.
“Would it not be better to commandeer some?” Marcellus pointed out mildly.
“One or two,” the Vincanan military leader conceded. “But anything we requisition can be reclaimed.”
“That should not be the case,” Marcellus said dryly. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Ready the cannons!”
The soldiers had already moved toward the cannons in anticipation of this order the moment the shout had sounded about the enemy. With deliberate movements and well-coordinated efforts, the cannons were loaded within minutes. The powder had already been brought up, and there was no need for wad to be added for extra padding and ensuring maximum pressure behind the cannonball. As far as Marcellus knew, once upon a time, cannonballs were not precisely sized to fit into the barrel of the cannon, thus requiring the need for the wad, but Vincanan shipmasters had determined the precise sizing as well as perfected the method to replicate that exact size each and every cannonball they made. The cannonball was rammed deep into the barrel, all the way.
Marcellus grinned, eyeing the new twenty-four-pounder cannon that had been mounted to Vixen just before they had departed Vincana. This vessel was the only one to have a cannon of that size.
He lifted his fist into the arm and watched as the men by each cannon shoved a pick through the touch hole to rupture the bag of powder. With a drop of his arm, men rallied to shove the cannons poking out the gun port.
For years now, with smaller cannons, Marcellus had acted as gun captain, working with crews to perfect accuracy. Larger cannons were not always as accurate, but once their balls connected with a ship, even one blow could sink her. There was much and more that had to be taken into account—the ship and its roll, yaw, and pitch, the enemy ship and its movement, the waves, the wind.
Again, Marcellus lifted his fist. A different man moved into position, striking his slow match. The moment Marcellus shouted, “Now!”, the men ignited the powder with their slow matches, the sticks long enough that they could stand a good distance from the cannons, not that they should fear any of the cannons misfiring.
The ship rocked violently as the cannonballs shot forth violently from the cannons, the barrels on their wheels rolling backward from the force of the explosion. Swiftly, other men rushed forward to clean out the barrel of the gun in preparation for fresh powder and a new cannonball.
Marcellus eyed the enemy ships. Two had large holes in their hulls, one of which was already sinking. Men jumped overboard, and the scent of burning wood and even flesh seared Marcellus' nostrils.
One ship, though, had plotted a course straight for them, straight on, at an angle where none of their cannons could dare to broach her.
“Turn her about!” Marcellus called, even as he withdrew his sword. The ship in question was moving far too swiftly, far too close already, that the chances of them turning enough to fire on her before she rammed into them was highly unlikely.
Still, Flavius complied even as Marcellus rallied every member of the crew not
tethered to a position on the gun-firing squads.
“Grab a rope,” he called. “Be ready to board the vessel should she come too close. Board her before she connects with the Vixen!”
Marcellus watched and waited, tension growing in the tautness of his muscles as he waited for the ship to approach. The figurehead, that of a dragon’s head, had been painted and carved with great precision and care, something he admired. If they could claim this vessel, that would be a boon.
All around him, cannons fired, not just from his ship but from the enemies, and he winced as a cannonball ripped through the hull of one of the other ships in his fleet. None of the Valkyrie were on that ship, but several were with him. Horatia Ramagi had insisted on him having many with him, especially since he refused to have her on his ship. There had been much discussion as to whether or not Horatia would come or Aurelia Lupus in her steed, but in the end, Marcellus had believed it unlikely that Tenoch would be able to launch an attack on Vincana while they were attacking its capital. Once he voiced that opinion, Horatia refused to stay behind.
“My female warriors, even the ones who are not Valkyries, are more than capable of keeping our homeland safe for us.”
He whole-heartedly agreed.
Marcellus’s palm burned from gripping his rope so tightly. He judged the distance, the wind, and backed up and then backed up even more. “Ready, men, women?” he called.
The breeze was much stronger now, carrying his words. His curly hair rustled in the wind, his clothes flapping, and he grinned. As much as he was uncertain about being Prince of Vincana or possibly Vincana Proper in the future, he lived for his kingdom, and the chance to lead his warriors into battle excited and thrilled him.
“Ready!” his troop returned.
“Board that ship!”
Marcellus raced forward, jumped onto the railing, and then leapt into the air once more. The wind whipped about him even more, and the sensation of flying through the air only served to increase his excitement. He released the rope, his arm already swinging, his sword clashing against another’s.