“So, how is he doing then?” Rhaven asked, eyeing the glass in Aiden's hand sourly.
“Quite well, actually, despite his age,” the old Seamaster replied.
“He's too young,” muttered Rhaven.
Aiden smiled broadly, the expression at odds with his fierce face. “That's not what Verig says.”
“Verig? Is that whoremonger still with you?”
“He says the lad has a natural talent. One of the best he's seen.”
“I'd wager he doesn't say that to Klöss though,” Rhaven said, a smile cracking his face for the first time in what felt like days.
“Gods, no!” Aiden laughed. “The seas would boil dry before he paid a compliment. You know that!”
“I'd worried that the other lads... well, you know how it was with us.” Rhaven said, softly.
“I'm not saying he's having the easiest ride of it,” Aiden admitted. “He had his oar messed with the other day. A lad cut an edge into the handle for him, made a mess of his hand.” Rhaven sat up at that and drew a breath to speak, but stopped as Aiden held a hand up. “He's fine, it'll heal. Besides, you won't believe what the little bastard did!”
“What?” Rhaven said, his expression darkening.
“He only snuck out of the damned compound in the middle of the night to go and get proof.”
“What?” Rhaven blurted. “How did he get out?”
“He chimney-climbed the wall behind the eastern storehouse,” Aiden laughed.
“What, you mean...”
“Yes! Right where we used to sneak out to go to the tavern.” Aiden pounded the arm of the chair with laughter. “They even used the same place to tie the rope. Honestly, I had to talk to the boy and it was all I could do to keep my face straight!” He watched, as Rhaven convulsed with laughter and drained his glass.
Rhaven waved his brother over to the cabinet. “Bring back the bottle,” he said with a grin.
Aiden turned with a serious expression on his face as he examined the bottle. “Listen, there is something I need to talk to you about.”
“I knew this wasn't simply a social call,” Rhaven said, as his eyes narrowed. “What do you want this time?”
“What do you know about the reaving lands?” Aiden asked, curious. “I mean, really know?”
“What do you mean?” Rhaven replied. “I know the same as everyone and better than most. It's where we go to raid. The Islands, the Storm Coast, Dern and now your route to the Farmed Lands.”
“It's the Farmed Lands I was talking about, really.” Aiden explained. “Most have stopped bothering with anything else these days.”
“Well then, not much. You know full well I never made it there before...” He looked meaningfully at his leg.
“Hmm, I suppose that's true.” Aiden grunted. “Well, they've started resisting. Not enough for it to matter but it's strange behaviour. We always thought of them as ignorant peasants, but maybe there is something more to it.”
“Like what?” Rhaven said.
“I don't know. I'm starting to question just how far those lands stretch though,” Aiden replied. “I assume you've heard about Kieron's fleet?” He raised his eyebrows as Rhaven shook his head. “He's done a better job of keeping things quiet than I thought, then. Well, he limped back into the Stormport about a week ago. Only sixteen reavers out of thirty, and most of them were full of dead and dying.”
“What the hell happened?” Rhaven demanded, his whiskey forgotten.
“He won't tell me all the details, but apparently he'd lined up raids on five villages that he'd hit a few years back. Anyway, a bell was ringing as they landed and they thought nothing of it. They hit their first village hard and were loading up the haulers when they were attacked.” He grimaced and refilled his glass hurriedly. “Not just twenty farmers with pitchforks, either. I'm talking five hundred men, armed, trained and half of them on horses.”
“Lords of Blood, Sea and Sky!” Rhaven breathed “Those that got away were lucky to have lived.” Aiden said, looking down into his glass and swirling the whiskey.
“So, what's your point?” Rhaven said, as he took a deep swallow.
“My point is that we don't know how many of the bastards there are or how big this land is.” Aiden said. “Why are we sat huddled on this damned rock when the sodding land of plenty is right there?”
“Now you sound like a New Dayer,” Rhaven laughed. “Shake off your shackles of mindless tradition,” he intoned. “What do you want to do? Trade with them?”
“Gods, no!” Aiden laughed. “What have we got that they'd trade for? No. I want to invade the bastards,” and his face split with a long cold smile.
“So why come to me with this?” Rhaven asked after a long silence.
“Because I need you to take it to the merchant's council,” Aiden replied. “If we can take enough land, then this will create new towns and villages. Whole new areas of opportunity will open up.”
“Why not simply take it to the Thane?”
“Because he's a puppet, Rhaven,” Aiden spat. “He's a puppet who hasn't much more sense than the marionette he reminds me of.”
“Unless you happened to be the one holding the strings?”
“Which I am not.” Aiden said, wearily.
“I thought you were the great favourite?” Rhaven asked, curiously. “You certainly used to be.”
“Ah, that's because Frostbeard, the discoverer of new lands, was of use,” the old man said with a wry smile. “I distracted the people of these islands, Rhaven. I brought in luxuries we'd not seen in a generation, and filled young minds with the thoughts of great deeds in far-off lands. It was useful, and it kept them from realising the truth.”
“The truth?” Rhaven prompted, setting his foot back down onto the floor and holding his glass between his legs as he leant forwards.
“The truth,” Aiden repeated, his voice heavy and quiet. “The truth is that these islands are dying. We soak the seas in blood each year for nothing.”
“How do you mean?”
“We are dying as a people, Rhaven,” Aiden said sadly. “We do a wonderful job of pretending otherwise. We muddle along, fishing and farming where we can, supplementing this with the reavings, but it's not enough. Too many people in too small a place and simply not enough food to go around. Take a walk around the docks some morning and look. I mean really look. There are three times as many beggars as there ever used to be.”
“And you think this plan of yours is the answer?”
“It's an answer,” Aiden said, with heat. “It's better than sitting here with our head under our wing like a sleeping bird. We have to do something.”
“You'll need to give me a more complete plan than this, Aiden,” Rhaven said in exasperation. “These are serious people. I can't go in there with a half-hatched scheme.”
“So you'll do it?” Aiden asked, a sudden light shining in his ice blue eyes.
“Yes, I'll do it, fool that I am! If not for you, then for Klöss.” Rhaven sighed. “If you're lucky, we can take it to the First of Merchants. What about the Sea Lord, though? You know you'll need to get them both on side for this to go anywhere?”
Aiden nodded. “The Sea Lord is as worried as I am. He's been convinced for years that it's only a matter of time before some sea captain in the Farmed Lands figures out the trick of the Vorstelv and finds us.”
“I never took him for a coward.”
“He's not scared, Rhaven. Don't underestimate him. He just thinks that the time of reavings will eventually come to an end.”
“Fine. I'll see what I can do.” He fixed Aiden with a steely glare. “But you look after my boy, Aiden. I hold you responsible for him.”
***
They stood in lines, silent as he walked in. For some of them, he was a figure out of legend come to life and, though they'd all seen him more than once, he was something quite different when dressed in furs, armour, and cloak. He had a breastplate worked onto his leathers, with golden scrollwork
and elaborate etching. A man could have been forgiven for thinking he was a self-indulgent old man, until he stood before him and really looked at him. He would easily measure six foot in his bare feet and his frame was undiminished by his age. His ice-blue eyes were fierce as they stared from above his grey and white beard, and they missed nothing as he walked slowly down the line.
Klöss stood with the others, dressed for raid in full leathers and furs. His helmet felt heavy upon his brow and his shield hung loose from one arm, as the morning breeze stroked his cheek. The sun was just starting to rise and long shadows stretched across the docks. They all knew why they were here. It had been explained to them all the night before by the school's Masters. They were to participate in their first reaving. Admittedly, they would be surrounded by seasoned men with many years of experience but this did little to diminish the thrill. Not only was it to be their first reaving, they would be crossing the Frozen Sea, travelling directly through the Vorstelv, the icy current that passed through the centre of the seas.
Three great galley reavers rocked gently by the docks, like they were eager to be loosed their hawser, and plough through the seas. Beyond them, two huge haulers sat at anchor, their crews already aboard and the great red sails furled for the moment.
Frostbeard spoke quietly to each of the Masters. It seemed to Klöss that his eyes sought him out for just a moment, before he turned to address the group.
“This will be your first reaving,” he said. His voice was deep and sonorous as it flowed over the docks. “An easy task to test the skills you have developed here under your Masters. This reaving will determine who of you will man my reavers, and who is better suited to work my haulers, but I expect you all to work as you were trained. We work together and anyone who thinks they work better alone will be given the honour of swimming home.” He paused and let that sink in for a moment. “You all know your jobs and you'll get no flowery speeches from me. I am no Lord. I am your seamaster. Do your jobs and earn your places. To your ships!” He ended with a roar, which was taken up by the men as they ran to the reavers, and thundered up the gangplanks.
Klöss followed Tristan onto the ship and then down into the hold to stow his weapons and shield, before making his way to the oarpit. This was a deep-water ship and he'd not need arms or armour until they landed. He made his way to his bench and checked the oar carefully before looking around and taking in the huge vessel. It wasn't his first time on a galley reaver, as they'd trained on them several times over the past three months, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that all he'd really learned was how much there was left to learn. Rowing was rowing, when you got right down to it, but the galley reaver had a hundred ropes snaking this way and that. They led to the sails, and down this mast and that, tied off to rings set in the hull or twined round themselves. He couldn't even begin to understand them but knew enough to stay well away from them, and to mind the sailmen and the Sailmaster.
He waited in his bench and took in the vastness of the vessel. The galley reavers were four times the size of a standard reaver and had been created at Frostbeard's insistence, after he'd discovered the Farmed Lands. Able to hold more than a hundred and fifty oarsmen, and bearing mighty sails, they dwarfed anything else in the harbour, save the massive haulers. Where a standard reaver had little space below the deck, barely enough room for hammocks to be slung in three shifts, the galley reavers had a complete hold. They sat low in the water, with evil-looking rams attached to the prow and extending down below the waterline. Archers' platforms sat high on each side of the deck, and large ballistae were mounted in the prow and stern. They were far more a weapon of war than the standard reaver.
Klöss watched, as the oarsmaster and Shipmaster spoke briefly with the Steersman and Sailmaster, and then made their way to the prow. The Steersman walked to the rear of the massive reaver. The drummer struck two hard blows on the drum, signalling them to make ready, and Klöss took up the oar, noting again that it was far thicker than those on the standard reavers. With a quick grin at Tristan, who sat behind him, he focused all his attention on the oarsmaster and saw him nod to both Steersman and Drummer as he called for the first stroke.
The huge galley reavers moved ponderously away from the docks and towards the channel leading out of the harbour. The drummer held them to an easy rhythm and, in less than half an hour, they had cleared the narrow channel. They took up a position in the choppy swells whilst they waited for the haulers to come up behind the three evil-looking ships. Once they were in place, the drums signalled again and they began the row in earnest, out to deeper waters.
The sails were hoisted after the first hour and oarsmen divided into three shifts. Once the reavers caught a good wind, the oars would be of little use anyway, as they would only slow the ship down, but until then they would split the duty. Months of training had hardened Klöss's muscles and given him strong powerful shoulders, but he had no desire to row for the whole three weeks it would take them to sail to the Farmed Lands.
The first day was a mixture of excitement at being aboard the galley reaver and actually being part of a reaving, combined with hours of rowing. The oars were slightly larger around than any others they had used for any real length of time and Klöss found they made his hands ache. It was odd, the pain in his hands seemed worse than the pain in his arms and back.
When they weren't rowing, they were expected to be out of the way, so he found himself spending many hours below decks, drilling with his sword, eating the rough fare that was served up in the ship's galley or lounging in his hammock.
By the end of the first week, the boredom was interminable. This ended abruptly midway through the second week. Klöss woke with a chill penetrating to his bones, shivering uncontrollably in his hammock. He cursed and managed to roll himself out onto his feet, before stumbling to the galley in search of heat. He found the room crammed with men dressed in full furs, thick fur-lined gloves and heavy boots. He looked around in confusion, sleep slowing his brain, until he caught on. They had reached the Vorstelv.
He made his way to the tiny stove and huddled as close to it as he reasonably could, gratefully taking a hot mug of tea and hunching over it, as if he could leach the heat from it with his hands.
“Cold weather gear, Klöss,” came Verig's gruff voice, from deep inside a mound of fur beside him. “In the chest against the wall, by your hammock.” Klöss nodded gratefully and made his way back to his hammock, tin mug in hand. He pulled out a collection of fur and climbed into it quickly. It took a while to find boots and gloves that fitted properly. By the time he was done, he could barely bend his arms and legs, but at least he was warm.
“Hot food! Three days of this, Klöss,” Tristan enthused, by way of greeting, as he came into the galley again. Klöss grinned at him and went back to the stove to grab a large bowl of steaming porridge. As he spooned it down, he felt the warmth spread from his core and it wasn't until he stopped shivering that he realised he still had been.
The oarsmaster worked his way through the ship, rousing the shivering trainees and thrusting furs at them, before calling them all together. He didn't seem overly affected by the cold. He stood with the hood of his furs thrown back, holding his gloves in one hand as he spoke.
“This is the Vorstelv. You've heard of it, but there's no point talking about it until you get here. People just don't understand,” he began brusquely. “It's an icy current in the ocean. I can't explain it; it's just how it is. The water goes from a normal temperature to freezing within the space of three boat lengths. We will be rowing in two shifts, half on, half off. When you are not rowing, you eat and then you sleep. You do not take your furs off, even to piss. We're only just on the edges here and it's going to get a damned sight colder.”
Klöss's eyes widened in wonder and shock at the words. He could see a similar impact on the faces of the others.
“It will take three days of solid rowing and that's if we have a good wind. Ropes will freeze, sails will shatte
r and fingers, lives and the occasional cock have been lost here. I wasn't joking about the pissing.” The man spoke plainly, and there was no humour or enjoyment on his face as he spoke. The sudden change away from the veiled threats and bravado served to highlight just how serious he was.
“You will be cold. You will bloody freeze. But understand this, it can be done and you will get through it,” he said. “Keep an eye on both yourself and the man in front of you. If you stop shivering, or you start to feel warm all of a sudden, then you damned well tell me or the man closest to you. The cold tells you you're still alive. When you stop shivering, it's your body giving up.” With that he turned and strode out onto deck, as if this was all the most natural thing in the world.
Klöss was in the first shift. He ate quickly and made his way out onto the deck. His breath came in great clouds in front of him as he walked, and the deck and lines were already white with frost. He made his way to his bench and tapped the oarsman there on the shoulder. The man wasted no time. He quickly shipped the oar and climbed out of the oarpit. He didn't speak, and did nothing that would delay his passage to warmth.
Klöss sat quickly before the bench could cool and took up the oar. The gloves were thick but were well used to the girth of the oar and Klöss found they gripped it better than he had expected. He braced his feet and took up the drummer’s rhythm.
The air was cold. So cold that it hurt to breathe in. Klöss tried breathing through the edges of his thick fur hood but found it left a sheen of moisture in his short beard, which quickly froze in the icy air. In the end, he gave up and tried to lose himself in the rhythm. It wasn't so bad after a while. The act of rowing itself was keeping his body warm, though his hands felt cold, despite the gloves. He took to clenching and unclenching his fingers tight around the oar as he worked, in an effort to keep the blood flowing.
It was three days of hell, broken only by moments of terror. The frigid seas gave off mists and it was impossible to see any further than another ship length ahead most of the time. Five watchmen were posted at the prow and on the archers’ platforms, switching in and out every half hour because of the cold. Klöss wondered what they were watching for. Then the first cry came out.
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