Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands

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Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands Page 8

by Dave Duncan


  I am ship lord of Gray Goose, and that

  lets me do anything."

  "I am Gerard of Waygarth, Your Grace."

  Aeled beamed, displaying many fine large teeth.

  "Gerard of Waygarth is a pretty name. Tell

  me more about Gerard of Waygarth, Gerard of

  Waygarth, because all I know of Gerard of

  Waygarth is that he slew my brother."

  That last information helped not at all. "I am

  twenty-three, unmarried. I have no family,

  no estates. I earn my bread as a gentleman

  scholar, doing minor tasks for the College of

  Heralds."

  The tanist laughed. "Gerard of Waygarth, you

  are in really serious trouble, you know? Killing one

  of my brothers was bad enough. That puts you in

  blood feud country, even if he was only a

  half brother and I have more of those than I need.

  What is really worrisome is that he was one of

  my thegns. I usually kill seven men for every one

  of mine who falls. You should not have done it, Gerard

  of Waygarth, you really shouldn't! Now tell me

  what you can do to make it up to me."

  Was this a serious negotiation, or was the Bael

  just taunting a man he intended to kill in some

  especially horrible way?

  "Nothing," Gerard croaked. "I mean, what

  could possibly console you for a brother's death?"

  The coppery eyebrows soared high. "Oh,

  lots of things. I told you twelve hundred

  gold pieces is a thegn's wergild. I might

  settle for tapestries. Bags of jewels.

  Or a dozen beautiful virgins. Be inventive!

  And quick about it."

  "Ransom, you mean?"

  "Blood money. If you cannot pay the wergild,

  then you will be wite`edeow."

  That was no term Gerard had ever met in the

  college archives. "Meaning?"

  Aeled sighed. "A guilty man sold

  into slavery so the money may go to the dead man's

  family."

  "You are trying to scare me." And succeeding

  marvelously.

  "I am trying to save you, Gerard. We must

  find a way for you to pay off your debt."

  "I told you. I'm only a poor

  artist-clerk. I can paint portraits for you or

  inscribe your family tree in a fair hand."

  "Provided I don't burn out your brains

  by enthralling you, you mean?"

  "I suppose so."

  Aeled shook his head. "Not enough, Gerard of

  Waygarth. Not nearly enough."

  Gerard tried to think.

  That was a mistake, because the fact that he

  was trying to think implied that he had something to think

  about. Spray hissed across his face as

  Groeggos lowered her stern and raised her prow

  to the next swell.

  Aeled turned to look over his crew and then

  bellowed, "Steorere? To`edbeorht!" A

  man the size of a bull rose on his hind legs

  and came to take the oar. The captain showed him where

  to keep the shadow of the mast, then laid a hand on

  Gerard's shoulder to urge him over to the other side

  of the deck. Gerard could no more have resisted that hand

  than he could have thrown the steersman overboard.

  He gripped the gunwale and waited to discover if

  the tanist was about to throw him overboard. He would

  not put anything past this soft-spoken, smiling

  killer.

  "Do not think I do not mourn Waerferh`ed,"

  Aeled said. "It was not easy for him, because his mother was

  a thrall. The thrall-born are rarely smarter

  than jellyfish. But Waerferh`ed had the run

  of the palace, and I always liked him and spoke

  to him. I helped him. When his beard grew in I

  loaned him a heriot--war gear--and found him a

  place among my werod. He was trying hard and

  learning to be brave. He would have been a good

  thegn. You killed him."

  Perhaps it was time Gerard learned to be brave.

  "What of all the men you killed in Ambleport?"

  "What of them?" The pirate's green eyes

  widened. "Had they done as they were told they would still

  be breathing."

  "Given up their children without a fight?"

  Aeled shook his head sadly. "It is ours

  or theirs. Baelmark is a small, poor land,

  Gerard. We cannot raise enough crops to feed our

  families, and weeks go by when the fishing fleet

  cannot put to sea. We must earn our bread

  by trade, and slaves are the most profitable

  cargo. Do you think there are no Chivian slavers

  in the world? I assure you that there are! It is

  true you do not market people openly in Chivial itself

  or enthrall them openly, but there are peasants

  tied to the land, yes? If you had enough money and

  wanted an ever-willing bed partner, some elementary

  in Grandon would sell you a pretty thrall,

  surely? These captives will be well fed,

  highly valued, and they will never worry about anything

  ever again. There are worse fates."

  To emphasize that point, he laid a hand over

  Gerard's on the rail. A rower's hand was

  twice the size of an artist's. "You know why I

  speak Chivian so well?"

  "I suppose your mother was a slave?"

  "Ah, you are a clever man, Gerard. Do you

  understand how we Baels choose our kings?"

  "No." Why did that matter? Gerard did not

  dare try to pull his hand free--he was afraid the

  other's might tighten and crumple his to paste. The

  last three days had left him far too weak

  to match wits with this glib monster. He could not

  even meet those inhumanly bright green eyes. It

  was no help that his last encounter with the thug had left

  him unable to stand straight even yet, and nausea still

  throbbed in his gut. He felt horribly

  vulnerable.

  "You Chivians are satisfied to take the first

  male in the royal litter. We Baels insist

  on a man who is not only cyneboren but also

  cynewyr`ede. That means he must be of royal

  birth--we have several royal families, not just

  one. He must also be cynewyr`ede, worthy to be

  king."

  "And how is that decided? By this month's civil

  war?"

  "That is decided by the witan and sometimes

  by personal combat."

  "Your family is royal, I assume?"

  The tanist's hand tightened over Gerard's.

  "I am a Cattering! We Catterings are the

  most kingly, because we descend from Catter,

  discoverer and first king of Baelmark. We have given

  Baelmark more kings than any other family.

  Times are out of joint when a Cattering does not

  rule in Baelmark."

  "As now, I assume?"

  Aeled smiled. He removed his hand and patted

  Gerard on the shoulder as he might have comforted a

  horse. "A clever man! You see the problem.

  My father fell in the Gevilian War when all his

  sons were very young. The witenagemot elected a

  Tholing; and the present king is a Nyrping, which is

  even worse. To be true to my manhood and my

  forefathers, I must w
in the throne back for the

  Catterings. You will assist me. This is how you will

  pay wergild for poor Waerferh`ed."

  "You are crazy! I am a penniless clerk.

  How can I possibly help?"

  "You will think of a way. I will help you

  concentrate." With no visible effort, the ship lord

  picked Gerard up and dropped him

  overboard.

  The world was green agony and icy cold. Gerard

  struggled violently and blew bubbles. Moments

  before he was about to drown, daylight brightened and he was

  slammed face first against the planks of the ship's

  side as the water dropped away, leaving him

  hanging head downward. He managed to gulp in

  air and was plunged again back into bottomless

  ocean, battered and rolled along the hull by the

  current. The iron band around his right ankle must be

  Aeled's fingers.

  Four waves later, he was hauled back

  aboard--half aboard, because he was left doubled

  over the rail, draining water and blood back

  into the ocean. His nose would never be the same again,

  and the rest of his face seemed to be full of

  splinters or barnacles. He had ripped his

  hands and arms on the timbers.

  The tanist leaned a heavy arm on him to help

  expel the water. "I can keep this up all the

  way home, Gerard of Waygarth. Can you?"

  "My father owns some land," Gerard mumbled, "but

  only two hides and a half share in a

  watermill."

  "Gerard, Gerard! You stay in the best room in

  the inn. You wear gentlemen's clothes--or they were

  gentlemen's clothes, no one wants them now. You

  have been taught the rapier. Your hands are soft as

  butter and your skin pale as cream. Your leather

  box is full of scrolls in strange scripts

  and many colors that must be very potent spells.

  Most men in your position would be bragging how rich

  they are, not how poor. Think more, Gerard!"

  His struggles had no effect whatsoever. Again

  he went overboard, dangling there for another dozen

  waves. The kid must have an arm like an anchor

  chain and probably could keep it up all day, as

  he said, for he did not sound at all winded the

  next time he let the water drain out of his

  victim's ears.

  "Any ideas yet, Gerard?"

  Gerard croaked, "Two hundred crowns?"

  Aeled chuckled appreciatively and ducked

  him again, but now he held him lower, so he did not

  always get his head out in the troughs, and when he

  hauled him up to question he did not even give him

  time to stop choking and spewing. "No progress?

  Well, keep trying. Concentrate!" Down again.

  Gerard realized that the thug was quite prepared

  to continue this torture until he got

  what he wanted or his victim died, which was

  becoming more probable with every ghastly minute. One more

  death would be nothing on his conscience and he might be

  doing all this just to entertain his crew anyway. No

  man could be expected to endure both repeated

  drowning and the constant battering. When he was about to be

  sent down for the fifth or sixth dunking, Gerard

  flailed his hands wildly and managed to make

  croaking noises between spasms of vomiting

  seawater.

  "You have thought of something already?" Aeled inquired.

  Gerard nodded vigorously. "Arrrh arrrh

  arrrh!" He was left hanging there upside down

  to drain, but it was several minutes before he had

  coughed enough ocean out of his lungs for him to croak

  anything intelligible. "I'm King Taisson's

  cousin."

  The Bael flipped him inboard and hugged him like

  a long-lost brother, drenched though he was.

  "Dear Gerard! Why didn't you say so at the

  beginning?"

  Nothing was too good for the King of Chivial's

  cousin. A band of slavers stripped him, toweled

  him till he glowed, dressed him in dry wool

  garments. A villainous-looking thegn with a

  delicate touch packed his battered nose to stop

  the bleeding, rubbed salve on his scrapes,

  bandaged his hands. The ship lord himself wrapped the

  prisoner in soft blankets and emptied half a

  bottle of fine brandy into him. That brought the day

  to a peaceful close.

  Next day Gerard was one raw bruise from

  knees to ears, but the pirates treated him like a

  valued senile invalid, a rich grandfather who had

  not yet made his will. They kept him aft, under a

  canopy far from the other prisoners, and pampered

  him as much as was possible in the middle of the ocean.

  A freckle-faced talkative youngster named

  Brimbearn tended him all day long, changing his

  dressings, swilling beer into him, feeding him

  by popping morsels of hard bread and pickled fish

  in his mouth.

  "I goodly speak Chivian," Brimbearn

  explained, "because my mother was Chivian.

  Never she was thrall-made. Thrall-wrought?

  Enthralled! Thank you. Likewise not was Aeled

  Tanist's mother. Thrall mothers raise stupid

  childs." He leered. "I like woman with fight in

  her."

  That was probably just an innocent joke, but

  Gerard dared not ask for details. He wondered

  what Charlotte would think if she could see him

  now.

  Young Brimbearn went on to claim that he,

  too, was a Cattering, although from a minor branch

  of the family that had produced no kings for so long

  that it could no longer be considered royal. He

  worshiped Aeled as a paragon of thegnhood who

  gathered more loot with fewer losses than any other

  raider currently active. He also shared it

  fairly, worked as hard as anyone, avoided

  fights when he could but fought like a hurricane when

  he must. He was already being compared to legendary

  heroes like Wulfstan, Smeawine, or even

  Bearskinboots. He had won his place as

  tanist the previous fall and was sure to challenge

  for the earldom itself very shortly. "Not good is,"

  Brimbearn admitted, "when earl and tanist from

  same family not sprung."

  "I can see that," Gerard remarked. However

  perilous his own present state, it probably

  compared favorably to that of an earl with a

  designated successor like Aeled waiting in the

  shadows. The constant scratch of knives being

  sharpened must grow hard on the nerves eventually.

  His efforts to learn more about the election of kings

  foundered on Brimbearn's lack of interest. The

  kid was not stupid. Despite his youth, he had

  visited half the countries of Eurania and many

  far-off lands Gerard had never even heard of. He

  spoke with apparent truth of brown people and yellow

  people, of seeing palaces of ivory, whales longer

  than Groeggos, single stone buildings bigger

  than all Ambleport, monstrous land animals with

  tusks and humps. He obviously had a very

  shrewd knowledge of trade go
ods and markets. When it

  came to politics, though, his only concern was

  to back Aeled Fyrlafing to the hilt, whether

  figuratively or otherwise.

  He spoke eagerly enough about the ship lord himself.

  Although Aeled had mentioned having many half

  brothers, it seemed that they were all thrall-born,

  like the late Waerferh`ed, and such men were regarded

  with contempt. They could never be considered

  throne-worthy, so the political ambitions of the

  Cattering family depended on Aeled and his one

  full brother, Cynewulf, surviving sons of the

  late King Fyrlaf by a Chivian captive who

  had not been enthralled. That made her a loet,

  a slave--well above thralls, but below ceorl

  commoners.

  "Aeled is king-worthy?" Gerard could not

  imagine anyone better qualified to rule a

  nation of gangsters and brigands.

  "Aeled is especially throne-worthy,"

  Brimbearn agreed. "Fyrlaf King married was

  when he was born. A fine lady, Maud

  Queen, much honored still. You go her see in

  Waro`edburh. Most throne-worthy! Men fight

  to join Aeled's werod and win booty and

  honor."

  "So Aeled is legitimate, but he has an

  older brother who isn't. Must a man be born

  in wedlock to be throne-worthy?"

  Brimbearn looked puzzled. "That is no

  matter," he muttered. "It is Cynewulf

  himself that ..." He glanced around uneasily to see

  who might be listening, then changed the subject.

  Several times the tanist came and sat beside his

  prisoner. Like his crew, he seemed to spend most

  of his off-duty time talking and combing out his hair.

  He offered his captive more of the excellent brandy

  but took no offense when it was refused. He

  chatted pleasantly, apologizing when his

  Chivian failed him, which was rarely. No topic

  seemed to be off limits.

  "There are more than a thousand islands in

  Baelmark," he explained. "Most are only

  rocks awash at high tide or stacks the

  gulls and terns use. About two score are

  inhabited. Fyrsieg is the largest. Three

  shires share Fyrsieg--Catterstow,

  Eastrice, and Graetears. Catterstow is the

  richest of all shires in Baelmark and

  Waro`edburh the biggest town."

  "And who is earl of Catterstow these days?"

  "Ceolmund Ceollafing." Aeled smiled

  without explaining what was funny.

  "Not a Cattering?"

  "His family is not even royal!" The

  scorn would have melted bronze.

  "Am I right in assuming, Your Highness,

 

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