by Kal Spriggs
He shook his head at that. “They're a mob, little better than a riot.”
“Indeed,” Siara said, “But wise leaders know how to turn that sort of support towards something productive. Coxswain Jenkins mentioned many of those gathered were refugees as well as merchant sailors who had no ships to sail on and tradesmen whose businesses were faltering because of the siege and blockade. I would think that motivating them would get them back to work and improve their conditions.”
She saw him nod somewhat reluctantly at that, “It's true, I suppose. It's not something I thought of myself...” He shook his head then, “But honoring me is beyond foolish. There were many brave sailors and Marines who could be honored.”
“There are many heroes, but few stand out as much as you,” Siara said. “I remember our earlier conversations, where I asked if you would be appointed as their Duke.”
She saw his face go wooden, “I'll repeat, as I did before. I do not seek that position and if given any choice, I would not take it. I am a military man, not a politician.”
“But you may not have a choice, Admiral,” she said earnestly. “Who here has the kind of backing that we saw today at the docks? Who has the bloodline, which is so important to all of you here in the south? Who else could be trusted to keep the good of Boir first and foremost in their minds?” From what she had seen so far and what she had heard on ship, there was no doubt about that. The men aboard ship had been dismissive of most of the nobility. Few of them had direct experience with them, but all had stories about this one or that one. She had been privy to the meetings and reports about Admiral Hennings, the Earl of Trelhaven, so she knew that as the news came out, it would be another blow to the nobility.
She saw him look away, “It doesn't matter. They would not, could not select me for that. And as I said, I would refuse it.” There was a pain in his voice, one that seemed to mingle shame and something else and she wondered what he had not said.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. She spent that time in careful consideration. She would have to change his mind. She had seen what happened when good men stood aside and let ambitious men rule. Her lands were ripe with chaos and war, infighting on a level that meant that only family was trusted and even then, only so far.
Siara saw a greatness in him, one that shone through in every action he took. She had seen it in the way his sailors and Marines responded to his orders. She had seen it in the consideration and kindness he showed to even Armen slave women. She would bring him around... else she feared he would see all he had fought for destroyed. Siara would not allow that to happen. Not for any care she felt for Boir, but because she did not wish to see pain in his ice blue eyes.
***
Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken
The Citadel, Boirton, Duchy of Boir
2nd of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Christoffer yawned as he straightened from his chair. He had dismissed Siara earlier and he grimaced as he considered the stillness of the Citadel. It was almost certainly well past midnight, and he should be abed, yet he felt too keyed up to sleep.
He heard a scrap of conversation from the next room and he frowned and moved to the door. He opened, it, surprised to see the outer room well lit. He saw that someone had brought a table in from elsewhere, set almost against the door. The earthblood, Brussels, had his chair set against it, his back to the door. Also seated around the table he saw Siara, Nikolas, and Jenkins, cards in their hands. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, Siara threw down her cards, “I'm done.”
Jenkins gave a snort as he pulled the coins in from the center of the table.
Christoffer stepped into the room, “Poker?” he asked. Gambling was illegal aboard ship and officially frowned upon by regulations, but they were off duty, technically, and this was the first he had seen of Jenkins and Brussels when they weren't engaged in protecting him. It was interesting to see more of them than that. I think I had half convinced myself that they were some kind of Iron Wizard automatons that operated only to inconvenience me and provide protection from imaginary assassins, he thought with a slight smile.
Brussels and Jenkins looked up. Jenkins gave him a gap-toothed smile, “Sorry, my lord, I hope we didn't wake you, just getting some fun in.”
Christoffer shook his head, “I wasn't asleep. Got room for one more?”
Jenkins looked suddenly uncomfortable, “Ah, sir, it's not really an officer's game...”
“Let me guess,” Christoffer glanced at the way they'd dealt the cards, “Sailor's sweetheart?”
Nikolas coughed lightly, “I think they called it something a little less... delicate.”
“Sailor's squeeze,” Siara said with an arched eyebrow.
“Ah,” Jenkins grinned, “One name's as good as another.” His missing teeth and crooked nose made him look more the pirate than any kind of respectable sailor.
“Well,” Christoffer said with a smile, “Deal me in.”
He pulled up a chair and gave Brussels a raised eyebrow, “Not worried about anyone coming in the door?”
To his surprise, the big man spoke, his voice seemed to come from somewhere deep, like a subterranean cavern, “They'll not budge me, they'd have to chop the door through to get in. By then, Jenkins and I will be ready for them.”
Christoffer nodded, though he was surprised by Brussels words. Not only was he better spoken than most earthblood, he had met, but he had clearly contemplated the situation with more thought than most guards might. Certainly, Christoffer thought it would be difficult to shift the man's bulk, much less his chair and the table.
Jenkins gave Brussels a sharp glance that Christoffer didn't miss as he dealt the cards. Christoffer stared at his hand for a moment. “What's the wager?”
“We're playing coppers, sir,” Jenkins said uncomfortably.
“Coppers?” Christoffer asked. “Interesting.”
Nikolas grimaced, “I've seen them play silver wagers once and Jenkins walked off with half a month's pay.”
“Interesting,” Christoffer said. He smiled slightly, “Naturally you wouldn't have played aboard ship, that being against regulation.”
“Of course not, sir,” Jenkins said, his voice the very note of innocence. “We played some of Lady Katarina's men, at the Ryft Watch.” He frowned then, “That old man of theirs, Arren, took all those winnings back with a single game, though.” His sour tone suggested that it had been a considerable win, indeed.
“You are simply angry,” Siara said, “because you couldn't cheat him.”
Jenkins scowled at her, “What do you mean by that?”
Brussels chuckled, his deep, rumbling voice like an earthquake, “She saw through our act just like the old man, Jenkins, it doesn't matter.”
Christoffer's eyes narrowed at that. It made sense, he supposed, to use an earthblood as the straight man in some kind of poker game. Christoffer knew his skills lay elsewhere, but the lack of expression on the big Earthblood and the prejudices against them would make most underestimate his intelligence.
Jenkin's scowl just grew darker. He glared down at his cards, “Wish I was cheating.” He threw down his cards and glared over at Brussels, “You sure are talkative, tonight.”
“So,” Christoffer said lightly, “Any missus Jenkins?”
Jenkins looked over and flushed, “Ah, no sir, I've never been able to keep a woman around when I go back out to sea. I've a sister, runs a tavern, other than that, no family.”
Christoffer looked over at Brussels. “What about you, Brussels, wife and children?”
The big Earthblood nodded, his rough, pebbly-skinned face showed no emotion. “A wife and eight children. Eldest two are already apprenticed.” There was obvious pride in his deep voice, the pride of a man who loved his family and worked hard to support them.
“Eight,” Christoffer nodded, “That's a big family.”
Brussels hesitated, “We've adopted a couple of them, good kids, but their parents couldn't
provide for them. I earn more in the service, so we took them in.”
“That's good of you,” Christoffer said. “Hard to find work outside the navy, for Earthblood, I understand.”
“Good work to be had,” Brussels said, “just hard work. Most trades that don't require muscle don't seem to welcome my people.” He shrugged, “Those that do, well, they don't always want an Earthblood in charge, but they'll pay well enough anyway.”
Christoffer just nodded at that. He knew well enough that there was some prejudice in regards to the mageborn. Most earthbloods were viewed as sub-par or below average intelligence. Certainly most lived short lives, often reaching maturity after only three cycles and living ten or fifteen cycles. While many simply accepted that as the way things were, Christoffer had encountered enough Earthblood to know that some were sharper than they looked. Though few, he thought with regret, live more than a few cycles over twenty. From what he understood, it was hard on their bodies, being so big and growing to maturity so fast. That was one reason that most Earthblood hated sorcerers so much. Most of the other common Mageborn bloodlines weren't so afflicted, but that didn't stop them from hating their creators.
He threw down his own cards, “I've nothing,” he said, genially, and watched as Nikolas raked in the pot. “Any plans, for any of you, while we're here in town?”
Jenkins grinned, “Well, I know a few pretty ladies down on Blue Street that won't mind some company...” His leer made it very clear that it was the brothels he'd head to when he got the time. “But I'll also visit my sister and give her my extra pay. She's run the tavern since her husband died. Hard on her, but she's a good sort.”
Nikolas looked up, “I've a few things to order for you, my Lord, but nothing other than that.” The steward shrugged, “I've little interest in wasting my money at the brothels and bars like this lout, and no family.” Christoffer nodded at that, Nikolas had come aboard ship as a boy, one of the orphans given homes to work aboard ship as runners and messengers. That was how they'd met, and Christoffer felt a bit of regret as he saw how old his steward looked. He's not going to be able to serve many more cycles, Christoffer thought sadly, I'll need to see about setting him up in comfort, he's a good man who deserves some time for himself.
Brussels shrugged, “I'll see my wife, if I get time. If not, she'll understand. Same for my kids.” He paused and his voice took on a musing tone, “They're all growing fast, though, last time I came back I nearly didn't recognize the older ones. Not long and they'll be starting families of their own.”
“That's good,” Christoffer said. He thought of his own children. His eldest son Gustav had never married, though Christoffer suspected that he'd had a few women in his life, he had never discussed it with him. His daughter, Amelia, had shied away from social events, in part because of their family's heritage, he knew, but he also suspected that his other son's disgrace had a part to play. And thank my ancestors that Xavien never had any children, he thought darkly.
“Well,” Nikolas said, counting through his winnings, “I think I'm off to bed. Don't forget, my Lord, we've got several meetings with various members of the Council in the morning and the fitting for your uniform in the afternoon.”
Christoffer grimaced at that. He didn't want to think about how little sleep he would manage even if he went to bed now. “Right, thank you, Nikolas.” He looked at the others, “I should be to bed. Thank you for the game.” He stepped back from the table and hid a smile at the relief he saw in Jenkin's face. Clearly, he thought, hanging out with an officer isn't his idea of a good time.
***
Captain Elias Wachter
Boirton, Duchy of Boir
2nd of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Captain Elias paused on the doorstep to his house, for just a moment afraid of what he might find upon finally coming home after two days in port and no word from his family. Still, he was not one to allow fear to rule him, so he stepped forward and unlocked the door with a firm reminder to himself that, once the prize money came in, perhaps he could afford a servant to mind the place.
“Elias?” he heard his wife's voice and restrained a sigh of relief. It wasn't unusual for her to wait for his arrival at home, but he had feared for her safety even so.
“Yes, love, I'm home,” he answered. A moment later she rushed into the foyer and before he could say another word, her arms clasped him tight and drew him into an embrace.
He froze for a moment, still in uniform and having kept his bearing for so long as an officer that it felt almost alien to hold her in his arms again. Yet then he felt her tremble against him and felt the slight sobs as she cried and his arms went tight around her. “I was so worried,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest. He would probably have tear streaks on the breast of his uniform... but he didn't care. “First there was no news at all and then the news of disaster...”
“I'm sorry,” he said as he held her.
She wasn't some noblewoman, tall and slim and prim and proper, she was short, pudgy from her love of cooking, and with rosy cheeks that warmed his heart as she brought her face out of his chest. “Oh, don't you apologize,” she said. “I'm the daughter of a knight and the wife of an officer, I know how these things go... but still, it was a terrible worry I had until I finally heard the news that the Ubelfurst had survived... and not one letter from you, either!” She scolded him and waggled a finger in his face. “I'd not embarrass myself or you at the dock, but it was hard to wait for your return.”
Elias nodded, “Hard for me, as well, my love.” He paused, “Has there been any news of Alfanz?” His older son's assignment as a midshipman to the Southern Fleet had come only weeks before he himself had shipped out.
Her face went dark and she shook her head. “No, not a thing. But we've heard all sorts of rumors, both in town and among the other officer's wives.” Her gaze went to the doorway to the dining room, “Greta, no need to hang back.” His daughter rushed out, her pigtails flying as she tackled him in an embrace. He stumbled back a bit, surprised at how she'd grown. His wife spoke before he could say anything to his daughter though, “Gervais is here, he heard you were back and wanted a word with you. I told him it could wait until dinner.”
He felt something loosen in his chest at the mention of his younger son. Things had been a bit tense since his decision to follow his father-in-law's footsteps to become a knight of the Order of King Gordon. Elias hadn't fully approved, in part because he felt his son's skills would be better put to use in the Navy. Still, they hadn't fought about it, only discussed it. Sometimes those discussions might have become a bit heated, he privately admitted.
“Father,” Gervais said from the doorway. “It is good to see you.” He was taller than Elias remembered, almost as tall as his grandfather. He also wore his knightly garb and Elias's eyes went up at the star embroidered on his surcoat.
“You as well, though it looks as if you've been promoted.” Elias stepped forward and clasped hands with him, “Congratulations, son.”
“Thank you,” Gervais flushed a bit.
Marie cleared her throat and nodded at the dining room and both men quickly moved into the dining room. She scowled at them both until they took their seats and began to fill their plates. “Gervais was promoted because he was in the thick of fighting during the siege, he killed over two dozen Armen when they tried to storm the Canal Gate.” She said it quite calmly as she speared roast potatoes and put them on her plate.
“Truly? You were in the thick of it then,” Elias said. He had heard the dispatches from the Admiralty about the various assaults during the siege and they had mentioned several vicious battles at the Canal Gate.
Gervais shrugged uncomfortably, “Mother exaggerates a bit. I merely did my part.”
They began to eat and Elias didn't miss the way that his younger son cleaned his plate with speed and efficiency. Clearly he had learned to eat quickly, the better to return to duty. He felt more than a bit of pride to realize that his so
n had become a proper man... if not quite in the fashion he might have wished.
His daughter seemed a bit more withdrawn than usual and Elias reminded himself to spend more time with her... and to ensure he encouraged her to follow her own dreams. He knew it was easy for many Naval officers to become distant from their children, but he didn't want that to become the case with himself.
As his wife finished her plate, she sighed, “All right then, the pair of you, talk business.”
Elias gave her a gentle smile. For all her insistence upon having a proper dinner, he knew she was curious as to what had drawn her son here on business. Marie was the son of a Knight of King Gordon, she was also the wife of a Navy officer and the mother of two men, each of whom had chosen one of those paths. She wanted to know what might put her husband and sons in danger. A glance at Greta showed a serious expression, a sign that she knew what was to be discussed was important but not to be spoken of outside the house. I have a wonderful family, he thought fondly.
“Father,” Gervias said, “I wanted to get some measure of what kind of man Admiral Tarken might be... there's been some talk amongst our ranks and then I was asked by Sir Harald to talk with you directly.”
Elias sat back. “I see. This is Restorationist business then?” The Restorationist movement had always been strong in Boir. Restorationists hoped to one day restore the High Kingdom and many of them traced their heritage to those who had served the High Kings. Many of the old bloodlines had roots in the Grand Duchy. Elias's father had raised him on stories of their ancestors who had served upon the Grand Duke's Ducal Guard. The ranks of those who had died on the Plains of Sorrow at the side of High King Haden and Grand Duke Gustav had included more than one Wachter. Elias, for all his loyalty to Boir also believed that the Grand Duchy needed to be a part of a greater whole and that the Five Duchies could not survive without being united again under the High Kings.
At his son's nod, he sighed a bit, “I say this both as a Naval Officer and as a Restorationist. I have served under many officers and with many men. Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken is a fine man, to be well respected for his accomplishments, and to be commended for his loyalty.”