“Bah, empty words.” Pieter waved a disgusted hand to sweep away her statement. “Who are you to dictate to me? Your only claim to your lands is the child in your belly. Your family sold you to Freyton, hoping the title would rub off on you. Women should never be nobles, they lack the intelligence for statecraft and the only thing you did to become a duchess was to promise to open your legs. You stupid woman! I declare the Pact abolished, now where does that leave you?”
The chamber fell quiet for a moment with nothing but the furious scratchings of the pens at work behind Pieter to break the silence.
Pieter let his words sink in for a few breaths, smiling down at Selena. “Gomen,” he snapped. “Take these traitors to Chaldragne. Let them sit in the darkness and listen to the howls of the lost for a time.”
Gomen snapped his heels together and gave a curt bow before turning to Selena and Salisbourne and his men. “Take them.”
Salisbourne shook off the kingsworn that grasped his arm. “Take your hands off me, man,” he snapped, outraged.
Selena stood cold and silent, reality sitting bitter in her mouth as the men surrounded them. The double doors swung open at their approach and then Gomen froze. Troops in an array of colours flooded into the throne room. Reds, greens and greys, mixed in with Salisbourne’s blues, and her own blue and green. Behind them Jantson and Rhenkin stood with others she couldn’t name.
Protect the king!” Gomen shouted out as he drew his sword and rushed back towards the throne. Papers flew as the scribes rushed from their long benches and fled towards the doors at the other end of the chamber. It hung there as both groups watched each other warily, then a sword lashed out and the room descended into chaos.
Selena found herself bundled across the room and behind the lines as swords crashed through steel and flesh and the floor ran with blood.
She wrestled free of Salisbourne’s grip. “No!” she cried out, spotting Captain Coulson amongst the men. “Coulson, stand your men down.” She looked about wildly and forced her way through to Jantson and Rhenkin, “Stop this. Stop it now.” They looked at her blankly. “This is the moment, right now, don’t you see? We can either do this according to law and the Pact and hold this country together or we can sink into years of civil war and the Bjornmen will sit back and watch as we destroy ourselves. Call your men back!”
The doors the scribes had fled through at the far end of the throne room crashed open and more kingsworn flooded in, surrounding the king and forming a line of gold and steel that stretched across the room.
“Major Gomen,” Selena called out into the silence that hung between them. “King Pieter has violated Abaram’s Pact by ignoring calls for aid against the Bjornmen invasion. I have called a Council of Lords, the first in centuries, to hold him to account for his actions. It was knowing this that he ordered you to arrest us. Our men will stand down. I call upon you to honour your oath. Protect Anlan. Protect the crown as I call the king to account.”
Gomen glanced at Pieter, and then back to Selena.
“Bjornmen.” Pieter’s mouth twisted in disdain. “There are no Bjornmen. Your attempts to have me send forces east, to leave lands here defenceless against your treason, they end here.” He looked left and right along the line of household guards facing his kingsworn. “You are all good men. Loyalty is a fine thing but you have been taken in by these traitors. A pardon to any man who lays down his sword, the gallows for those who do not.”
The first sword clattered loud upon the stones and with it Selena’s hopes died.
“Get her out of here,” she heard someone saying, Salisbourne perhaps? It didn’t matter. She stumbled along as her own men bundled her through the palace, forming up tight around her and Salisbourne. Dimly she was aware of Jantson further behind her and the crash of fighting. Not all of their men had laid down their weapons apparently. It didn’t matter though, they were outmatched. They were done.
The steps to the palace bristled with spears and swords held ready as she passed through. The bulk of their forces had yet to enter the palace and as Raysh passed through the grand entrance she frowned. The kingsworn were an elite force, even outnumbered they should have torn through her men. How was it they had managed to escape, much less form up on the steps? Why weren’t they pursuing? For that matter where were Pieter's regular troops. The order should have been given by now.
She pulled free of Salisbourne’s hand, standing taller and looking around them.
“Selena, really, my dear, we must move,” Salisbourne told her but she shook her head. Something was wrong here. Either that or something was terribly right. She looked towards the entrance to the palace, and then behind her to the palace gates. Kingsworn and regular troops should have been flooding through both by now.
A flutter of movement caught her eye as she backed away from the steps and she looked up to the roof of the palace. The king's standard twisted in the breeze as it fell, cut free from the flagpole that now stood empty. A section of ragged black cloth was hoisted up the pole as she watched, unfurling as the wind tugged at it and set it to flapping in the wind. The cloth would have been almost impossible to see in the darkness of night. The answer came to her unbidden. It was the flag of the Hidden King.
She closed her eyes tight against the sight, and then the sound of a horn rang. It was deep, so deep as to rumble rather than sound brassy, and the sound spread across Celstwin, leaving a shocked silence in its wake. The horn had not sounded in a hundred years. Celstwin was under attack.
***
The ships pushed their way through the early morning fog, the slow steady strokes of the oars driving them onward as they followed the wake of the smaller boats running ahead of them and sounding the channel.
Fires from the ruined forts lit the skies behind them, the flames lending an orange glow to the fog. Keiron pressed his knuckles to the wooden rail and looked to his left at the water as it was split by the prow of the galley reaver. The channel had been plotted three times already but it never hurt to be sure. Even knowing this he chafed at the delay.
A quiet voice came from behind him. “We should be coming up on the last of their forts in another few minutes, Shipmaster.”
He grunted and then spoke without turning. “Good, make sure the weaponsmaster knows and is standing ready. I want them dealt with as quickly as possible. We’re too bunched up here for my liking.” He listened to the receding footsteps before shaking his head. “Damn you, Klöss. This should be your expedition. I’m too old for this.”
“Set them to burn, Keiron. Make them pay,” the sealord had told him. It sounded easy enough at the time, made sense, too, in a vengeful way. War is all about perception. The Anlish needed to know that they weren’t going to let them come in and wipe out their villages without some kind of payback.
“There’s names for those that talk to themselves,” came the voice from behind him.
Keiron glanced back at the oarsmaster with a smile. “I’ve been called lots of things in my time, Harald.”
The old man joined him at the rail. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve earned most of those names twice over too.”
“You’re no innocent virgin yourself,” Keiron grunted. He pulled his helm free and scratched at his scalp through the thick grey hair.
Harald gave him a sidelong glance and stared back down at the water before turning to face him. “What are you thinking?”
Keiron snorted a laugh. “That I’m too old for this. This whole plan of Frostbeard’s, it’s a young man’s game.”
Harald smiled. “You’re probably right but we’re here now. The last gasp of old men and you’re younger than me. I can’t let you feel your age, not while I still have oarsmen to shout at.”
The grizzled old man grunted at that and looked around at the sky behind them. “Sun’s thinking about coming up. We’re going to be backlit.”
“By the time they see us it’ll be too late.” Harald said, undecided whether he was reassuring the oarsmaster or himself. “
I still can’t believe these little forts are all they’ve got defending the river.”
“You heard the sealord the same as I did,” Keiron grunted. “These people, they don’t ride the waves. If it doesn’t come over land they don’t worry about it.”
Harald shook his head. “It’s a strange thing.”
Keiron looked to the catapult perched high in the prow, and then to the others on their platforms either side of the deck. Everything seemed to be in order. The weaponsmaster knew his craft, but then Keiron would never have made shipmaster if he’d left everyone to do their jobs.
“You’re right,” he admitted, looking back to Harald. “It’s a strange thing but no stranger than turning horses into beasts of war. You might as well use a bull or a cow.”
Harald nodded, missing the humour. “I’d better get back. Relgan will have them all rowing backwards if I leave him too long.”
Kieron nodded and grasped the man's wrist tight. He didn’t say the word, wishing luck before a battle was as good as calling for your own death. He turned without a word and made his way forward to the prow.
The fort was just becoming visible as he arrived, emerging from the bend on the river with torches burning bright against the remaining tendrils of fog.
“Take them as soon as you’re ready,” he told the weaponsmaster who stood bent low and speaking to the men at the carefully tended fire. “The others will follow us.”
“As you say, Shipmaster.” The old man nodded up at him.
Another old one, Keiron thought. I’ve filled this boat with grandfathers who’ve never sired sons. He stepped to the side, giving the men room to do their work, and watched as the long pole bearing the red flag was raised high. Moments later the catapult lurched, throwing itself forward against the thick ropes holding it in position. A trail of smoke streaked across the sky, joined by two others as the crews on the weapons platforms joined in. Two missed, one into the river itself and another exploding on the bank, spreading a pool of fire that belched black smoke high. The last firepot flew true and exploded at the entrance to the stone fort. Even from this distance Kieron could hear the screams, and as the reavers behind and to either side of his vessel began their own attack he knew the fort was doomed. A single horseman managed to escape, dragging the terrified creature from its stable and somehow calming it enough to let him mount before he galloped away from the fleet. The warning wouldn’t help them. These people were like baby birds fallen from the nest. Against the galley reavers they were helpless and exposed. He nodded once at the weaponsmaster, thanks for a job well done, and quickly.
The fleet had been split into three parties long ago, with the other two raiding towns on the coast to both the north and south of this river. Keiron’s own fleet now numbered sixty vessels, spread out behind him and arranged into groups of three that sailed in a V formation.
The muffled drumbeat drove the oarsmen onwards. Spray flew up from the prow as the wind picked up, driving the waves of the river against them. Keiron climbed up onto the catapult platform, grabbing a line that led up to the mast and the furled sails as he planted a foot on the rail itself and leant forward, eyeing the horizon hungrily.
The city was huge. He’d been told by the men from the scout boats who’d sounded the channel that it was massive but it was one thing to hear and another thing to see it. It filled the valley in a way that Hesk never could. Where Hesk was cramped and clung to every available surface this city sprawled, stretching out with languorous abandon away from the river.
Bridges spanned the river that ran through the centre of the city. Some were high, arched affairs, resting on thick stone supports that thrust down through the water. Others were low, simple stone structures. He’d been warned but, again, it was another thing to see it. They’d never penetrate to the city centre unless they destroyed the low bridges that blocked their path.
“Signal the fleet,” he said to the man behind him. He nodded to the weaponsmaster. From this point on the man would be largely in control of the reaver.
The fleet spread out, the gaps between the groupings growing larger still. As the first buildings inside the walls came within range the catapults lurched, hurling the smoking pots into the buildings close to the banks. Flames were already belching high from some of them by the time the second group of ships came into range and began their own barrage.
The fleet pushed deeper into the city, bringing destruction with it. As they passed under the first high bridge a deep, brassy horn sounded again and again, the sound mixing with the screams of panic and the Bjornmen set the place to burn.
Keiron hunched low behind the wall of shields clustered around the prow as they approached the first bridge. The defenders had been slow to gather themselves and the river was too wide for arrows to reach them from the banks with any accuracy unless the ships came close to the shore. The high bridge was a perfect platform for them and the arrows were flying in volleys, arcing high into the air before falling in a deadly hail. He swore to himself and shouted over to the weaponsmaster. “Give them something to worry about.”
The bridge was an easy target and the three firepots exploded within seconds of each other, engulfing the stone bridge in flames. The archers had scattered as soon as they saw them launch but the screams were enough to tell Keiron it had worked well enough.
Warehouses and docks waited beyond the bridge and the fleet rushed in like wolves among sheep. The air was thick with smoke and the almost constant sound of the catapult’s barrage.
A number of small boats, filled with Anlish archers firing flaming arrows, had been launched but they were quickly destroyed or driven off. As they came within range of the next bridge Keiron called for the catapults to be loaded with stone. Where the last bridge had been tall and graceful, this was a low, squat structure.
Flaming arrows arced high from the bridge and the bank as the reaver drifted too close to the shore and Keiron swore as he watched them come, crouching low behind the shields. A shout, too late to be any use, was the only warning Keiron had as a catapult on the bank hurled a hail of rocks from the edge of the bridge. The stones, none larger than a man’s fist, churned the water to foam beside the reaver. They’d missed but the next shot would have them, Keiron knew. The speed with which the catapult had been moved into position and the shot calculated told him enough. These men were not without skill.
A shout back at the oarsmaster had the galley reaver moving backwards sluggishly as the men struggled with the awkward stroke. If not for the current of the river helping them it would have been a futile effort. The galley reaver was simply too large to be moved on a simple stern stroke. The massive stone crashed into the water, sending it skyward only to patter down onto the deck. Keiron opened his mouth to give the order but the weapons crews were already moving, turning the catapults on their platforms to line up the shot. Fire exploded on the bank, too far away to cause the enemy weapon any damage but close enough to force the men to abandon their shot and try and move the engine.
Screams and a crash turned his head and Keiron saw the reaver on their left engulfed in flames. Another barrage of rocks smashed into it as he watched, and tore through wood and flesh alike. The boat was doomed and Keiron silently praised their steersman for edging it to the side of the river, as much as he fought the guilty relief it had been them and not his reaver.
He glanced behind them at the galley reavers drawing closer and swore. If they bunched up here they were as good as dead.
“Weaponsmaster, get that bridge down,” he roared and within minutes the first barrage of stone began. The rocks had been gathered from the mouth of the river and carefully hoarded. The barrage increased as other reavers came within range and the bridge began to crumble under the onslaught.
A section of the bridge crashed down, sending spray skyward but Keiron already knew this was no good. The gap was nowhere near wide enough and who knew how the stones now lay beneath the waterline.
A trail of smoke from the firepot co
ursed across the sky, joined by others, and all going the wrong direction. Screams from the reavers behind him told him all he needed to know and, as he looked around at the flames belching from the city on both sides of the river, he nodded. “Enough,” he said to himself.
“Oarsmaster, get the men ready.” He called, turning to the flagman before the oarsmaster started bellowing orders. “Signal the withdrawal, get those reavers moving.”
The signal passed down from ship to ship and the ungainly vessels began to turn, moving sluggishly in the close quarters. The Anlish catapults hurled flagstones, that had been lifted from the streets, out at the turning ships as their archers raked those close enough with flaming arrows. Keiron saw first one reaver, then two more, slow and drift aimlessly as the onslaught took its toll.
There was little he could do but huddle behind the shields and watch as the oarsmen bent to their task. The steersman knew his business and picked a delicate path between the burning wrecks. Injured men, too badly wounded to reach the water, still writhed in the embrace of the flames on the decks and the howls of agony cut deeper than any blade.
***
“The price was rather high but I dare say his Majesty will be forced to change his tune about the Bjornmen now, eh?” Rentrew smiled at Selena but the grin faded in the face of her icy stare.
“Rather high?” she said. “Look around you,. Look at the smoke and ashes. If you listen closely you can still hear them clearing the wreckage! Celstwin was in flames, Rentrew. Oh, not the marble clad villas, or not many of them anyway. No, the only people in Celstwin who live in wooden homes are those in the warrens. The poor, the unsightly. The price of changing his majesty’s tune has been paid in blood. Again.”
“Now, Selena,” Salisbourne began gently. “I’m sure Rentrew didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” She sighed. “I’m sure it didn’t even occur to him that the wood behind that smoke was somebody’s home or the body smouldering in the ashes was somebody’s mother.” She looked up at both of them but the concern in their eyes reached no further than her.
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