Railroad Rising: The Blackpowder Rebellion

by J. P. Wagner

  “A small bag of silver? Is that how you value the life of your king, then?”

  Yakor did not hesitate for a moment, “No, Highness, never that! Only that if you reward him too well he’ll be insufferable on the trail.”

  Bornival stared for a moment, then roared with laughter, “I see. That would hardly do, would it? On the other hand, I can offer no reward at all until we get back to town, and then only providing no one has plundered my baggage.”

  #

  The rescue party had brought along several spare horses and Carrtog noted with satisfaction that Yakor had brought along his own horse as well. They had horses enough for those who were fit to ride, but the few horses they did have didn’t solve the problem of transporting the wounded.

  In the end, they decided on sleds and began to gather pieces of wood of varying lengths to put together several makeshift sleds with which to transport the wounded soldiers. Carrtog cautioned the party against attempting to take anything from the Grove of Battle. His warnings amounted to vague suggestions of possible ill luck. Most of those present were fortunately willing to take his word for it; after all, his magic had created the Grove.

  For himself, Carrtog knew little more than that, that the taking of wood from a Battle Grove was reputed to bring ill luck, particularly if the one who had taken the wood was also the one who had produced the Grove. He wasn’t absolutely certain if the bad luck would follow if the one who produced the Grove merely stood by while others of his company did the taking, but he preferred not to risk the chance.

  As he watched and thought, he wondered if there were some means of cleansing the wood from a Battle Grove to make it usable for other tasks: another matter to be brought up with someone more knowledgeable than he about battle magic.

  While the men set to work on the sleds, the leaders of the rescuing party — there were at least two — assured themselves that the king was still alive. Then moments later, a tug-of-war of commands broke out between the two commanders, one short and squat, one tall and lean.

  The short one began the argument by shouting, “Divlan, get yourself back to town and tell them that His Majesty is alive and well!”

  The tall one shouted, “Divlan! Hold on there! Neddivar, you’ve got a faster horse. You go back and tell the town that His Majesty is alive, but wounded, and much of his party dead!”

  The shorter one glowered at the other, then burst out, “Look here, Penllucos, I’m the mayor! I’m in charge!”

  Penllucos snorted. “And I’m the commander of the town militia, Mayor Ffulgos.” The title and name came out as an insult. “In a military situation, I’m in charge.”

  The mayor subsided, but the militia commander’s victory only seemed to whet his appetite. Penllucos, apparently seeing Carrtog as the person in charge of the king’s forces, urged his horse over to stand in front of him. The mayor pushed his own horse to follow so as to force his own inclusion.

  “You don’t appear to be one of the king’s Gentlemen; how is it you’ve taken charge of them?”

  “I’m Carrtog, third son of Gwahalad, son of Dlestan of Tsingallik.” Carrtog waved the bone ring on his left hand. “My ring warned me of trouble, but when I came to warn the king, the riot broke out before I could do more than speak a few words. Being there in the midst of things, I did what I could in the king’s defense. After the glider crashed, it turned out that Captain Gwailants had already died, and I had already started giving orders. The remaining Gentlemen were just as well pleased for me to continue doing so, and when His Majesty recovered consciousness, he decided to let matters stand as they were.”

  He made no mention of the fact that, being a son of a lord, he sounded like a lord; in some sense, the soldiers had deferred to him naturally.

  “Probably for the best, then,” declared Penllucos, and Mayor Ffulgos muttered what sounded like an agreement shortly after.

  They moved off to argue over the contents of the message that would be sent to the town with the courier and Carrtog left them to their discussion, thinking the mayor might have cause to win this one; the townsfolk were, after all, his people.

  He wondered then just how loyal the respective commanders were to the king. The militia commander would certainly have been vetted by the king, most likely even the previous king, and would very likely be dependably loyal with reliable military ability. Among the other ranks, though, it would be almost certain that a number of less dependable men would have slipped in.

  As for the mayor, he was also very likely loyal, but many of the men under him might well just be looking for the most effective time to turn their coats.

  Their enemy had not had far to come to find them after the crash; it made him wonder if the town was as safe as they were all wishing. Carrtog set the thought aside. They would need to get to the town before they could worry over it.

  The building of the sleds took a bit of time, but when they were finally complete, they began loading up their people.

  That meant loading their dead as well; they had neither the tools nor the manpower to dig proper graves in the frozen ground, and no one was willing to leave them for creatures of the wild to scavenge.

  As Carrtog supervised the loading, he found himself occasionally watching the princess’ lady-in-waiting, who was staying close enough to her mistress to offer help when needed, but appeared to be doing her best not to hover annoyingly. The two of them appeared to enjoy a close rapport, despite the pains of their wounds and the stress of the situation in which they found themselves. (That same pain and stress was probably behind a lot of her initial negative attitude. It might be nice to try to change her mind.) Carrtog shook his head. No, despite all the jokes with Yakor, a lady-in-waiting to the princess was only slightly less beyond the reach of a landless third son than the princess herself.

  Chapter 4

  The railway had been built to generally follow the main road to Tenerack, with differences, such as the fact that the railway could not turn as sharply as the road, nor could it climb so steep a grade. The rebels’ glider had not, fortunately, gone far off the railway line before crashing, so that the rescue party from the city had been able to see the smoke of the campfires from the road. On the other hand, the rebels had also been able to see those fires when they came looking for their glider.

  Another result of the railway being built along the road was that, once the king’s party had gotten on the road, they were able to make fair time getting to Tenerack. That was in spite of the burden of the homemade sleighs and their passengers.

  As a result of the courier having gone back to town ahead of the main party, there was a small crowd out to greet them when they arrived.

  Carrtog, having willingly let the militia commander take command, rode back beside Yakor among the rest.

  “What d’you think, Yakor? Are the townspeople right to seem as nervous as a bunch of cats at a hounds’ parley?”

  Yakor shrugged. “Don’t ask me; you’re the one who’s been hobnobbing with royalty. If you don’t know what he’s likely to do, how would I? I will say they’re probably safe for the moment; there aren’t enough left of the king’s troops for him to dare trying any out-right destruction. I would suggest they keep a careful watch a month or so down the road. If they spot a royal army coming this way, they should start evacuating. Or fortifying, whichever they decide is best.”

  “Sounds right. If anyone is fool enough to press him on his intentions, he’ll likely say whatever he has to say to get out of town safely. He can’t ignore outright rebellion and attacks against his person, and particularly not in a part of his realm that was just recently added by conquest. It’s going to be a long while before the city of Tenerack gets any more royal favors, and the next royal army it sees will supply itself from the locality while it hunts down rebels.”

  Yakor frowned. “Best you don’t talk to the townspeople. If you point out all those
facts to them, they might decide they’re best off to slaughter the lot of us and then deal with the king’s successor.”

  Carrtog shrugged. “Most of them aren’t stupid; they’ll be able to think of things like that for themselves. If we’re lucky, though, they’ll try to mollify the king rather than deal with his heir when he comes up with blood in his eye. Perhaps the two of us should quietly drift off into the night to be safe.”

  “Says the youngster who jumped into the middle of an uprising shouting Tsingallik for the king.”

  “What should I shout jumping in among the king’s Gentlemen, and me, dressed as a wandering mercenary, not known as the most-trustworthy of people? But you’re right Yakor, here now just as in that moment, I don’t think I’d find myself easy to live with if I abandoned the king when he needed me.”

  Yakor grinned broadly. “Strange, nearly the exact words I’d expected to hear from you.”

  Carrtog smiled in return. “Well, the king has promised me a reward, and our purses aren’t quite so heavy I can turn that down on the grounds that I was just doing my duty.”

  #

  The chief men of Tenerack found quarters for the king’s party in some of the local inns, while the wounded were placed under the care of healers, mostly old women — sometimes men — with a knowledge of healing herbs and bone-setting.

  Carrtog and Yakor took advantage of the opportunity to get themselves cleaned up and paid a few copper coins to have their clothing washed by a local laundress. Yakor was a little concerned. As they were walking back to their lodgings, he asked, “You don’t think it’s a bit of a risk leaving our clothing with the laundress? If we have to run during the night, we’ll be leaving it behind.”

  “But if we go about looking all confident that we won’t have to leave in a hurry, any prospective enemies will find themselves wondering what we know that they don’t.”

  “Or perhaps take us for a pair of overconfident idiots.”

  Carrtog grinned briefly. “Well, yes, in the best of plans there is some risk.”

  “’In the best of plans?’ If this is your best plan, Gods preserve us from your worst!”

  “Maintain your self-confidence, Yakor. None of my plans has killed us yet.”

  “Yet! I fail to find that reassuring.”

  As they came in the door, one of the king’s Gentlermen approached them, one whose wounds still allowed him to get around.”Sirs, the king is at table, and he asks you to join him.”

  “Certainly,” Carrtog responded. “Lead the way.”

  The king was at table in the city’s highest-quality inn, though all the dishes were painted pottery, nothing of gold or silver. The rag wrapped around the king’s temples had been replaced by a clean white cloth, and he looked up as Carrtog and Yakor came in.

  He snapped his fingers, and one of his Gentlemen, who was serving as temporary butler for lack of any other available servants, bawled out, “Two more place settings, quickly!”

  Two place settings were produced and the two of them were directed to seats of prominence, Carrtog next to the king, and Yakor next to him.

  When this was done, the king spoke to Carrtog. “A good evening to you gentlemen. I appreciate the risks you have taken for me, but unfortunately the risks are not yet done.”

  “Yes, Highness, I can appreciate that fact,” Carrtog answered. Yakor stayed quiet, but cast a glance at his master.

  The king carried on. “With uprising going on in the neighborhood, we dare not stay here long; indeed, my intention is to depart tomorrow for Comgwiddiog. There is a small garrison there who will be happy to see us safely to the capital. I would be grateful if you would accompany us; counting all who are fit to travel with us, we are too few. It will be a risky business travelling through this country, even adding the two of you.”

  He gave Carrtog a long look, and Yakor a look only a little briefer.

  “Of course, Your Majesty, we will be ready to march as soon as you need us.”

  “Good, good! And we have not forgotten the service you have already been to us. There will be a suitable reward for the both of you when we reach the capital. Now let us eat, gentlemen. Afterward, we will call all our people together to discuss matters. It will save a lot of tedious repetition.”

  It will also save us from repeating several painful and embarrassing admissions, Carrtog thought, but did not say.

  The rest of the conversation revolved around the benefits the royal railway would bring to the area, and how he, Bornival, would not allow a band of rebellious ingrates to thwart him.

  “Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty,” Carrtog said, “but certain aspects of this particular attack speak to a higher degree of planning, indeed, to sabotage in the Royal Iron-works. The attack was poorly carried-out, for certain, but it is striking that they even attempted such a complex attack.”

  The king scowled. “It sounds as though you admire this pack of rebels and bandits.”

  Carrtog smiled. “It does us no good to falsely denigrate an enemy. Best realize that they may well be as brave and intelligent as ourselves, and be ready to fight them, whatever they try.”

  The king continued to frown, but he waved his hand in dismissal. Carrtog got the impression that he felt it better not to say anything that would cut back on his already tiny force.

  Yakor waited until he felt they were far enough out of earshot of anyone, royal or local, before he muttered, “We won’t be taking the wounded with us.”

  “No,” Carrtog replied. “I believe the rationale is to get the king out of danger, at all costs.”

  “I might feel better about that if he’d admitted it, but he talked all around the matter. It sounded as though he had a guilty conscience about it, but he didn’t want to confess to it.”

  Carrtog glanced around. “The whole thing is a bit of a mess. To be sure, he wanted to gain favor among the local people, but he’d have been better to send some royal relative to declare the railway open. What he’s done is to stir up a rebellion that’s going to be hellish difficult to put down.”

  #

  Early in the morning, one of the King’s Gentlemen knocked on their door. “Are you awake? The king summons us to meet in the stables at sunrise.”

  “We’re awake,” Yakor answered, though they had just barely been wakened by the knocking. “We’ll be down in a moment.”

  It was still dark, but the stables were all a-bustle. Several horses were already saddled and bridled, and King Bornival was holding himself upright, looking almost noble despite his wounds. He was standing on his own but near enough to one of the posts of the horse-stall that he could lean on it if necessary.

  Private Harrad approached the two. “We’ve been getting dark looks from many of the populace, sirs, so His Majesty has decided to leave early.”

  Carrtog nodded. “I see. And has he given any order as to where amidst the party he wants us to ride?”

  “His Majesty feels you would be best used riding forward to scout the way to Comgwiddiog since you wear no uniform. If you spot any large bodies of armed men along the way, you and your man are to return immediately.”

  Carrtog nodded in agreement. His ring had been intermittently signaling him during the night and evening, so he already had some notion that trouble was on the way.

  “His majesty further orders that we should all walk, leading our horses, until we are out of the town at least.”

  Carrtog nodded. “Leading the horses seems the best course to take to try to avoid the greater numbers of the enemy considering how few we are. If we’re leading them, we can try to keep them from making too much noise.”

  “Good, then,” Private Harrad said. “I will take my report to the king.”

  When Private Harrad had gotten sufficiently far away, Yakor muttered “Not a word about the poor wounded buggers we’re leaving for the rebels to slaugh
ter.”

  “You were perhaps expecting a speech expressing his royal gratitude that their deaths allow him a better chance to escape unnoticed?”

  “Some small reference to their sacrifice would have been nice.”

  Carrtog smiled bitterly. “That might have required something close to an admission of the poorly-thought-out and even-less-well-executed nature of the plan. He might even find himself blaming himself for the whole fiasco. A king can’t allow that, can he?”

  #

  The streets of Tenerack were quiet as they led their horses through. Carrtog’s nerves were on edge, expecting at any moment to hear a challenge from the darkness.

  Yakor spoke quietly. “You worry so hard, lad, one can near enough hear you.”

  He looked over at Yakor, walking quietly and easily beside him. He composed his mind then, and concentrated on moving quietly. They kept to uncobbled side-streets and alleys as much as possible, to avoid the distinctive sound of horse-shoes on stone. No one had thought, until much too late, of getting rags to wrap the horses’ feet against the sound.

  They were near the city’s edge when Yakor spoke again. He pointed with his chin towards their left, where the houses had become sparse. “That gowk skulking at the base of that branched willow down there; he isn’t as well hidden as he thinks.”

  “Will you take him or should I?”

  “I’d do it myself, but I think you need the practice.”

  “I do, do I?” Carrtog responded.

  “You do. Remember, you won’t always have me handy to take care of nuisances like this.”

  Carrtog twisted his face in a grimace. “You think I love all these fellows!”

  “Not that you love them or any such nonsense, but you have a hard time putting things out of your mind, such as their widows and orphaned children. Think instead about what could happen to us, to you and me and the king and the princess’ lady-in-waiting.”

  “All right, all right, no need to beat me over the head with it.” Carrtog stepped into the saddle and urged his horse on along a path that led somewhere behind the fellow in the willows, all the way looking down as if he were following a track, though by no means was there light enough to find footprints from horseback.