The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “I can't work miracles, Klöss,” the man said firmly. “I've done the best I could with what I was given and if that's not good enough for you or your uncle, you need to find another wright.”

  “Is that a threat, Gareth?” Klöss said, his eyes turning flat and hard. “You'd walk out on me and on this?”

  “No. I'm just saying you need to tell Frostbeard to be more realistic.”

  “You can tell him yourself,” Klöss snapped. “He'll be here in a few hours.”

  “He's coming here?” The old man's face paled visibly.

  “Yes, so I hope you can understand why I might be a little short.” Klöss ran a hand through his hair and swore under his breath.

  “Children, please. Can't you play nicely?” Ylsriss said, cheerfully, drawing dark looks from both of them and smiling a sunny smile back.

  Klöss sucked air in through his teeth as he turned back to the old shipwright. “Alright,” he breathed out explosively. “Tell me what we do have.”

  It was nearing sunset as the ship came into sight. Klöss stood on the end of the docks with Ylsriss beside him. Gareth stood slightly behind them as they waited. The reaver was still some distance away, but the man stood in the prow was still recognisable over the water. The years pressed down upon him but Frostbeard stood tall, resplendent in his leathers and shining breastplate, his blue cloak streaming out behind him.

  “Bloody old poser,” muttered Verig behind him and Klöss had to fight to keep from laughing as the reaver came in to dock.

  The old raider leapt onto the dock before the first hawser had been tied, and grabbed Klöss up in a rough embrace. “You're getting more of your uncle's good looks the older you get, my boy,” Aiden laughed as he stepped back to look at him. “You've a lovely collection of sticks on this beach, Klöss.” He waved expansively towards the shipyard. “I have to tell you though, I was hoping for some ships.”

  Klöss gave a sick smile and ushered his uncle towards the camp. “Let's go somewhere we can talk.”

  Klöss's quarters were nothing extravagant. Other men in his position might have insisted on grander accommodation, but the log cabin he shared with Ylsriss was simple, at best. It consisted of just a living area and a bedroom, and the main room was taken up by a long, wooden table, which was half-covered in maps and parchments. He ushered the seamaster inside and quickly filled a tankard with strong honey mead, passing it to him before getting one for himself.

  “I don't think I know you, do I?” Aiden said, looking curiously at Ylsriss, as he sat back in a wooden chair at the table. She stared in shock at the white-bearded man and then at Klöss.

  “You didn't tell him?” she asked, through clenched teeth.

  “I've been a little busy, Ylsriss” Klöss said.

  “Obviously,” Aiden said, looking admiringly at Ylsriss and then pointedly at her swelling midriff.

  “I'm Ylsriss,” she said, with a warm smile, before Klöss could make introductions. “Your nephew has told me a great deal about you. It's interesting to finally see the man. It brings a different side to the stories you hear in taverns and the like.”

  “And you frequent taverns a lot, do you?” Aiden replied, with a grin.

  “Not so as much as I'd like,” she replied. unabashed.

  Aiden laughed uproariously. “You've picked a fine one here, Klöss,” he grinned and raised his tankard to Ylsriss in mock salute.

  “What makes you think he picked me?” Ylsriss said with a wicked smile. Aiden's eyes widened and he lurched from the table as he fought to keep from spraying his mouthful across the room. Klöss groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

  Aiden walked across to the window as he chuckled, wiping mead from his beard. He stared in silence out of the window for a moment. When he turned back to the table, all traces of humour had gone. The man that walked back to the table was not the friendly uncle, laughing and flirting with Ylsriss. This man was all business, and his eyes were ice as he sat again.

  “Send your woman away, Klöss. We need to talk.” His voice was flat. Hard. Klöss felt Ylsriss stiffen beside him, but she stood without a word and walked quickly to the door. Aiden waited until she had closed it behind her before he began.

  “So. You're behind, that much is obvious. How bad is it?” His voice was level, calm. The lack of emotion was even more disturbing than if he'd been slamming his fist on the table and screaming into Klöss's face.

  “I'd say we're going to hit two in every three, Seamaster,” Klöss said firmly, refusing to let himself be cowed.

  “Two in three,” the old man muttered. “Both ships and men?” He grunted as Klöss nodded and gazed across the room to the small window in silence.

  “You assured me you could handle this task, Klöss,” he said, in a quiet voice. “I passed over several men in favour of you, because you sought me out and pursued it. You made it clear that you wanted this.”

  “I did,” Klöss said, simply.

  “I sent you here with the best men I could offer you. You had engineers, carpenters and shipwrights. I even sent you Verig.” His voice was still low and even. “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

  “You asked for the impossible, Shipmaster.” Klöss said, fighting to maintain his calm. “To establish this camp, work on the ships and get the men trained in the time you allowed was simply not possible. I needed either more men or more time, and you've given me neither.” He grabbed the bench below the level of the table and squeezed, trying to hold his temper in check.

  “I sent you reports, Frostbeard. Hell, I sent you letters directly with the supply ships, explaining what the issues were. You never replied, not once.”

  Aiden sat silently, his eyes locked on Klöss's face. The only sign of emotion was a slight twitching of his lip, as Klöss's voice began to rise.

  “You knew I was falling behind and still you ignored my messages. Damn it, old man, you've set me up to fail!” He slammed his hand down onto the table at the last, three months of frustration forced into a single blow. Klöss sat slowly. He hadn't even realised he had stood until he'd found himself leaning over the table. His heart was racing and his chest heaved. He forced himself to meet Frostbeard's eyes, waiting for the tirade. The man's gaze dropped to the table, and the reports and piles of parchment, then a dry chuckle slipped past his lips.

  Klöss looked on in confusion, as the old man's shoulders shook and tears began to roll down his cheeks. Eventually, as Frostbeard began to pound on the table, he snapped.

  “What?” Klöss roared. “What is so damned funny about all of this?”

  “Two in three,” Aiden wheezed. “You've managed two in three.” He grabbed up his mead and took a drink, clearing his throat. “I never expected anybody could achieve more than one in two!”

  “What?” Klöss frowned, confusion plain on his scarred face. “You expected me to fail? Well, why the hell didn't you send more men?”

  “You've got it all wrong, Klöss, you haven't failed. You've performed better than I could ever have hoped.” He laughed as the confusion on Klöss's face deepened. “I knew you'd strive for this. You chased me for a good two months, badgering me for this command. I knew you were hungry for it.” He smiled a cold smile. “So I decided to see just how far you could go when pushed.”

  “You mean...” He cut off as understanding dawned.

  “You probably passed what I expected you to achieve a month ago,” Frostbeard admitted.

  “You miserable old bastard!” Klöss breathed.

  “Well, yes,” the old seamaster admitted. “Frostbeard isn't the only thing I've been called over the years.” He grinned again. This time, Klöss managed to crack a smile himself.

  “Why don't you run and find that woman of yours.” Aiden suggested. “I owe her an apology for being so rude and it looks like we have a few things to celebrate. Drag Verig out of the training halls as well, if you've a mind to.”

  ***

  Klöss was breaking his fast on cheese a
nd the remnants of the last night's chicken when Aiden thumped on his door. The sun was just barely over the horizon and the sea had that silvery sheen it gets in the early morning light. He opened the door quietly, so as not to wake Ylsriss, and saw his uncle on the step. Despite the early hour, the man looked fresh and had clearly been awake for some time.

  “It's time to talk about the next steps,” Aiden said, not bothering with a greeting. Klöss glanced into the cabin without thinking and Aiden nodded in understanding. “Get your cloak, we'll go for a walk.”

  The shipyards were quiet, the only sounds the mournful calls of sea birds and the crunching of the pebbles under their feet.

  “I've still not forgiven you,” Klöss said, as they stopped beside the hull of a ship.

  “I imagine you'll get over it in time,” Aiden replied, smiling slightly as he patted the thick beams. “Besides, it worked. You'd never have got these results if I'd told you the real targets.”

  Klöss grunted, unconvinced.

  “Do you remember your first raid?” the old man asked, suddenly.

  “It's not something I'm likely to forget,” Klöss replied. “It was a bloodbath. We lost fifty men or more on that reaving. The soldiers came from nowhere.”

  “Not nowhere,” Aiden corrected. “They were warned.”

  “Warned by who?” Klöss asked, sharply. “Who could have known we were coming?”

  “We've been reaving those lands for twenty years, since I first found them. We've never run into anything close to that level of defence,” Aiden said, a faraway look in his eyes. “We can't continue in the face of that. There hasn't been a proper reaving in the Farmed Lands for two years now.”

  “So that's why?”

  “That's why we need the fleet. We're not going to raid, we're going to take the lands ourselves. But you're no fool, Klöss, you knew that.”

  Klöss nodded. “It's obvious you planned something on a large scale. The landers alone…”

  “We were caught with our britches down on that raid of yours. We'd never had to face more of a defence than a handful of farmers with pitchforks, so why would we expect beacons? We can't let that happen again,” Aiden said, as he met Klöss's eyes.

  “So what are you saying?” Klöss asked, scratching his beard.

  “We need to scout the landing area and the lands surrounding it.” Aiden admitted.

  “Scout?” Klöss turned to face him, his eyes wide. “It's a damned long way to send a small party like that. Getting through the Vorstelv alone means you'd need a larger ship.”

  “I know. We'd need to send a galley reaver. That's not the worst of it, either.”

  “Tell me,” Klöss said, with a resigned sigh.

  “A reaver couldn't sit at anchor waiting for a team to return. It'd be seen.” Aiden said. “It couldn't sit further out either. There's too much risk of a fishing boat or something passing, and it'd need too many supplies.”

  “So what would it do?”

  “It would need to go through the Vorstelv, leave the scouts and then return.” Aiden looked out over the bay.

  “Leave them there?” Klöss was aghast. There was something about the prospect of being cut off in a foreign land that repelled him at the deepest level.

  “And then return for them in a month or two, yes,” Aiden said.

  “Who were you thinking of?” Klöss knelt and picked up a handful of stones and walked towards the distant surf.

  “I was hoping you might have a few ideas,” Aiden called, as he watched the younger man walk off.

  Klöss turned to face the seamaster, walking backwards over the pebbles. “No, you weren't. You were hoping I'd volunteer.”

  “Well, would you really trust it to anyone else?” Aiden said, with a grin.

  “Ylsriss would kill me, you realise.” Klöss warned, as he turned and threw a stone out into the surf.

  “One of the reasons I've never married,” the old man laughed, following his nephew. “Look, I'm not going to force you to go. We could pick someone else.”

  “I can sense a but..?” Klöss leaned into the next throw, whipping it out, skimming the stone across the waves.

  “Well, there are very few I'd trust with this, Klöss. You, Verig. A handful of others.” Aiden came to stand beside the man. They watched as the small waves broke over the shingle.

  “So you plan to send us all,” Klöss finished for him. He paused and threw the rest of the stones into the surf. “When?”

  “In a week or so. For now, continue to prepare the troops and ships. We need to be ready in three months. A month after you get back, I want to be ready to sail.”

  ***

  “You're doing what?” Ylsriss said, folding her arms over the sheet she had wrapped around herself.

  “It's the only way, Ylsriss,” Klöss explained. “We have to scout the landing site if there is to be any chance of success.”

  “I understand that, you fool.” She climbed out of the bed and stormed into the small kitchen. “What I don't understand is why it has to be you.”

  “There are only a few people that he trusts to get the job done properly.” Klöss stood and followed her across the small cabin. He reached out and grasped her shoulder gently, but she jerked herself away.

  “Don't touch me!” she hissed, and moved away from him to face the wall.

  “What?” His voice was incredulous. “You knew this was going to happen, Ylsriss. There's a war coming! You know that better than most.”

  “That's different,” her voice was strange, tight.

  “How is it different?”

  “I don't know!” She spun round and he was shocked to see tears on her cheeks. In the years he'd known her, she'd always been the fierce, controlled woman who had once held him down with a knife to his throat. He'd never seen her lose control, seen emotion like this.

  “Are you crying?” he asked, regretting it instantly.

  “Of course I'm crying, you great damned idiot,” she snapped. “You've gone and gotten me with child, and now I cry all the time. You needn't think I'm crying about you!”

  “Oh.” He didn't know how to respond to that and was suddenly acutely aware of his nakedness. For some reason, being naked in the kitchen with a woman in tears seemed very wrong.

  “Klöss, yesterday I cried because I dropped butter.” She threw her arms in the air, pulling the sheet tight against her body.

  “I'll be back before you get used to having me gone,” he said, rubbing her arms.

  “What makes you think I want you back?” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “You get in the way and mess up the place.”

  “Is that how it is?” he said, playfully.

  “Just because you're naked in the kitchen doesn't mean you can charm me, rich boy.” She stepped back away from his growing smile. “You just keep your distance, I've learned what happens when you get too close.” She gestured towards her stomach through the sheet.

  “You weren't complaining at the time,” he said with a smile.

  “You just keep telling yourself that,” she shot back. “When do you leave?”

  “In a few days.” He moved back to the bed and pulled back the furs. The cabin was definitely too cold to be naked in for long. “Time enough to get provisions, and make plans with Verig and Tristan.”

  “Verig and Tristan,” she muttered. “At least you should stay in one piece, provided you can avoid the ale barrel. Who else are you taking?”

  “I'm not sure. That's why I need to talk to Verig,” he admitted.

  “So why are you still here, then?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Well,” he replied, drawing the word out and shooting a less than subtle glance at the bed. “I was hoping that…” He left it hanging.

  “Oh no, rich boy!” she smiled sweetly. “You're far too busy for that. You have planning to do. Off you go now.” She made shooing motions towards the door, then grabbed his clothes from the floor and tossed them at his chest.

  *** />
  The small boat cut through the waves in the darkness. The night held just the barest sliver of moon, and the light it shed was only just enough to turn the darkness from pitch-black, despite the faint reflection in the water. Klöss hauled at his oar, reaching forward to tap the back of the man in front, before leaning back into the next stroke. He was gratified to feel the tap on his own back was less than a second out from his own motion. Rowing at night was difficult and rowing in silence made it worse, but it could be managed.

  The surf was a silvery line in the distance, the moonlight catching the white foam as it hit the beach. The cliffs, oddly, didn't reflect the faint light and appeared as a dark wall in the night. The boat finally crunched softly into the small pebbles and he leapt out with the others to haul the ship up out of the waves.

  They'd scouted the coast carefully, in a small boat dressed with nets and fishing gear, several times over the last few days, before picking this beach. Working as silently as possible, they carried the boat up to the cliffs, pressing it hard up against the rock face, and covering it with a tarpaulin, sand and bushes. It would never pass close inspection and it was doubly hard to be sure that it was well-concealed in the dark, but the boat would be hidden from a casual glance.

  The six men took up their packs and weapons, and Klöss led them along the base of the cliffs towards the path they had spotted days earlier. He stopped at the top of the path and motioned the men closer, hunkering down and speaking softly. “You all know the plan and our purpose. We will meet here on the second full moon. Work to avoid any contact but also make sure no word of our presence survives. If it comes to it, remember no one must be taken alive.” The men nodded in the gloom and split into two groups of three, one heading north over the clifftop, the other inland to the west.

  Klöss, Verig and Tristan travelled through the darkness, until they found a tight copse of beech trees to make camp in.

  “We'll rest here for a few hours and then move on,” Klöss said, sighing as he sank down to the dirt.