by Tony Roberts
Outside the recent rains had left some small puddles and they walked round these to the mounted archer school. The riders were practicing galloping and loosing off arrows. The ground was churned up in a long straight line, about five men’s length in width. The senior captain, Loriz Hammarfell, a young, tall man with a mop of shaggy hair the colour of straw, bowed as he caught sight of the prince. He left the other men taking notes of the accuracy of the shots and met them by the entryway. “Welcome, sire. Have you come to check on how we are progressing?”
“Not exactly, Hammarfell. Shall we talk indoors?”
They were led to a small cluttered office. There was a lack of wall hangings. The unit had not yet bloodied itself. Jorqel and Hammarfell sat while Gavan and the two guards remained standing. “Sire?” the LIMM officer spoke, slightly nervous about the formal attitude of his visitors.
“Captain, prepare the men for a journey. All of them. We are leaving Lodria and crossing by sea to Romos. Your unit will be renamed the Romos Imperial Mounted Militia.”
“That’s great news, sire. The RIMM? It might attract a few comments, sire.”
“Let them. Our task is to take the town, destroy the pirates, and arrest the Duras helping them. I want them to hang. We shall end this matter once and for all. You and your men are to accompany me in this mission.”
“We shall not let you down, sire.”
“Of course not. I have complete faith in you. Get supplies and equipment ready for ten days’ time. We must sail then. I want no slackness, you understand?”
That done, Jorqel returned to Slenna and stood for a moment, looking around the bustling streets. So much had been done in the few years he’d been there, and the town now looked to be once more a vibrant, busy centre of trade and population. So many had left during the bad years, now they were returning, plus more. It had been impossible to know just how many people had gone. The censuses that were held every so often could only register those living in the towns, villages and cities. Many went un-registered; those wandering in the countryside, some living in remote places, vagrants, vagabonds, homeless. The list went on.
Jorqel felt he had done enough. Slenna would carry on growing, thanks to his efforts, and the castellan would ensure his wishes were followed. Now he had to take the next step in rebuilding Kastania’s greatness. Romos had to be regained now before Venn stepped in, and the shipping lanes to Zipria had to be restored, and that could only be achieved with the destruction of the pirates.
The ships would gather in Efsia or in the vicinity and they would embark in ten days. Supplies were now being taken down the road to the port. It wasn’t big enough to handle everything at once, so ships would moor, load up, then sail out to the coast beyond and anchor. Jorqel just hoped that no storm would hit – another like the one that had killed Fostan would destroy his plans.
He made his way back to his offices. Sannia was there, looking tired. “Morning, my love,” he greeted her. “Merza being a handful?”
“Some,” Sannia admitted. “She’s teething. Nurse is taking care of her.”
Jorqel sat next to her. “I’ve made my plans for the invasion of Romos. In ten days we go.”
“So soon?”
“I’m afraid so. The weather is still good and I have no idea how long it’ll hold out. We’ve got Admiral Drakan’s two ships to transport the men, and cargo ships from Aconia are coming down in the next few days to load up the equines. Supplies for the army are being loaded up in Efsia, and Kiros Louk on Romos says he can only guarantee being in his post for another ten or fifteen days before they rotate. It has to be in ten days.”
“Why then?”
“Tides. In ten days the tides are at their highest and the moons are dark. After that they pull the wrong way and it gets lighter at night and we could be seen. Then we’re deep into autumn and the weather just isn’t reliable. I don’t want to go the same way as poor Admiral Fostan.”
“No, of course not! Have they replaced the poor man yet?”
“Another Drakan – or is it Dragan? They sound so similar. It’ll get confusing.”
“Must be the name – they’ll have to change the name of one of them!”
Jorqel grunted. “I intend taking Romos very quickly. Kiros has his orders. Once he has carried out his part, the pirates will have no option but to meet us in battle. Against the RIMM, they should be easy targets.”
Sannia frowned. “The RIMM?”
Jorqel explained. He continued. “I will send for you and Merza to join me once I have secured the town. We shall remain on the island until I am satisfied it is capable of defending itself.”
“But the Venn are just across the sea. What if they invade?”
Jorqel grunted. “They could as easily land here, but yes, I agree Romos would be a more likely target. I want to get there first, and outflank them. Cratia will have to be taken by the empire sooner or later if we are to prevail in this war. First, though, we must make our towns and cities strong so the Venn will have to use lengthy sieges to get anywhere. You remember how this place looked not so long ago – I will do a similar rebuilding scheme to Romos.”
“You will be careful, won’t you, Jorqel? I don’t want Merza growing up not knowing who her father was.”
“Sannia,” Jorqel stroked her face gently. “I have no intention in being reckless or stupid. I am no Duras.”
She shook her head slightly. “Your obsession with the Duras is clouding your judgement, Jorqel. This vendetta you have could be the end of you!”
“It will not. I have vowed to extinguish that odious family and by the gods I will. Every day they survive is an insult to you, me and all true Kastanians. They will never be forgiven, and the sooner I put them all to death the better for us all, believe me.”
Sannia fretted nonetheless. She would worry until word reached her that Romos was secure and Jorqel was safe.
Efsia was bustling with more work than it had ever seen before. The small port was overwhelmed. There were but two jetties and only two ships could be loaded up at any one time. Wagons rumbled down the Slenna road and deposited piles of supplies by the dockside, and bands of sweating men hauled them aboard the ships, small shallow-draughted vessels. When a ship was full it would cast off, sail out of the harbour and anchor in the nearest spot close to the shoreline, but not too close, as it was rocky along the Lodrian coast. Another ship would come in and dock, and the process would be repeated.
The day before the date of sailing, the port echoed to the sound of multiple hooves as the mounted archers arrived, led by Loriz Hammarfall, and dismounted. Eight ships with a deeper draught lined up, ready to take their forty beasts and ten men. The men would look after the equines, tend them, feed them, muck them out and so on. The remaining hundred and sixty would embark on the big imperial warships along with Jorqel and his men and their equines.
Loriz fussed and kept on walking to and fro, anxious everything was in order and where it should be. Piles of dung rose by the jetties, to be trampled into flatness or kicked into the water. Some found its way to the soil beyond the village. Such fertilizer was not to be overlooked.
Planks of sawn wood were loaded into the flatter vessels along with the food and supplies, and they drifted away out into the sea beyond and anchored. It seemed the entire Aester Sea was full of ships. Jorqel arrived the day prior to sailing and turned the business of berthing the men and his equines over to Gavan. Loriz saluted the prince. “All is safely stowed, sire.”
“Good. I don’t want to hang around here any longer than necessary; the weather is supposed to remain fair for the next day or two but after that nobody knows. I also want us away before someone decides to pass on our activities to the Duras.”
Loriz looked sceptical. “Who in Kastan would do such a thing, sire?”
Jorqel growled. “You wouldn’t believe the number of fools and traitors who would dearly love to see a Duras victory. How many profited when they were running the empire? All of those are not capt
ive or have fled. Most are still at large and waiting for the moment to undermine our efforts.”
“They should be hanged, sire.”
Jorqel smiled mirthlessly. “Some are men in prominent positions still; we cannot do without them for the moment, but they like it not one bit working for us. The only way to settle this matter is to completely wipe the Duras out. This campaign is to do just that, and bring Romos back into the imperial fold.”
“I understand, sire. With your permission, I shall join my men aboard.”
Jorqel waved him away, and watched as the equines were prodded along the gangplanks and onto the warships. A sling and boom device was used to lower them into the holds, much to the animals’ disgust. It would take all day to load them aboard the two warships now moored along the jetties. All the other ships were out at sea.
He turned and peered up at the land that rose beyond the limits of the port. The rocky slopes were dotted with scrub before it rose sheer for the last hundred paces or so to jagged peaks. The coastal strip here was very narrow, but beyond the peaks the land dropped again to a plateau which was suitable for grazing. The hills here were the beginning of the mountain chain that stretched westwards into Kaprenia and Amria. Hard country, killing country. One day, Jorqel mused, one day he would lead an army there to re-take it.
For now, Romos. He clumped up the plank, hard on the heels of two men guiding one of the more reluctant beasts aboard, and made his way to the bridge, set atop the stern castle. Admiral Drakan, the hard-faced, bearded man now in charge of the navy, greeted him. “Good weather, sire.”
“Yes, the gods favour us. Once the equines are aboard, you may cast off and head out into the sea. Everything else is ready and aboard.”
Drakan grunted. “Your plans are bold, sire, but dangerous. If the tide changes suddenly or a squall blows up, we could face disaster.”
“Admiral, I have no other choice; we cannot land elsewhere. We must do it at night to avoid being seen from the island, and we’ll be making enough noise and using enough light to be seen and heard for leagues. Therefore it must be where I’ve designated.”
“And offload in one night? That is madness. There is no way that can be done, sire.”
“Get your two warships emptied first, then the others can do so with your vessels on guard. The garrison will have to march out to face us and by the time they get to the landing spot it’ll be too late. Besides, I have a man on the inside and he’s going to give the pirates plenty to think about.”
Drakan bowed. Jorqel went to the prow at the other end of the ship and watched as the last of the animals was lifted up and dumped into the hold. It was a tight fit but they all got in, and the animals were stabled closely packed. The voyage would only take a day or so, and it was short enough not to cause any excessive distress.
As the day faded, the two warships cast off and oars guided them out of the harbour. Once beyond the wooden arms of the harbour, the oars were shipped and the sails raised. Drakan set a course due east, straight out into the Aester Sea. The other warship took up the rearward position and waited as the merchant and cargo vessels got under way, wallowing and rolling even in the relatively calm waters. Jorqel pitied the men on board those; they would be throwing their guts up.
Oil lamps were lit on the prows and sterns and as the sea became dark, a mass of lights moved across the black waters silently. Orders had been given. No shouting or calling. The winds blew softly, enough to give the ships momentum, and they left Efsia behind, the lights of the port growing smaller and fainter as they went, the dying dull red of the setting sun tainting the sky above the jagged peaks behind it.
Drakan went to his cabin and Jorqel joined him for a drink. A map was spread on the table in the middle of the room. It was of the Aester Sea. “I’ve sailed these waters for twenty years,” Drakan announced, “and have learned to respect the waters around Romos. Normally I’d give it a wide berth, but you’ve chosen the one spot at this time of the season that we can get close to.”
Jorqel sipped a fierce spirit, a distillation of a berry that grew in Epatam called Hakal. It was notorious. Jorqel would only drink this one small glass. He had no wish to be intoxicated the following day.
Drakan threw his down his throat, sighed in pleasure, then jabbed a stubby forefinger at the south-eastern tip of the island. “The sand there is shallow, shaped like a dagger. It drops steeply away on either side, but directly in line with the beach one can walk for quite some way. The waters there are consequently calmer.”
“Which is why I’m using the shallow-draught vessels, Admiral.”
“Of course. My men know what to do. It’s a bold and imaginative scheme and you have my admiration. I just trust the pirates stay away; I won’t be able to tackle five or six enemy vessels.”
“Don’t worry, the pirate fleet won’t leave harbour,” Jorqel said.
Drakan looked at the prince. He decided to say nothing; clearly there was some sort of plan going on which he was not privy to. He bowed. “We shall be off the tip of the island about this time tomorrow. I shall send us wide into the sea tonight, and by dawn we should be out of sight of any land. Then we shall turn and head directly for Romos.”
“Good. I shall retire now. If anything happens of note come rouse me, otherwise, I shall see you tomorrow.”
Drakan nodded.
___
Kiros Louk scraped the dirt from under his fingernails with the point of his dagger. He lounged on a street corner, peering every so often round it at the docks. Night had fallen and the watch was on duty. Most of the dockhands had gone to their homes and the pirate crews ashore drinking or fornicating – or maybe both – leaving skeleton crews to make sure nothing untoward happened.
Kiros smiled to himself. Well, there was sure as death going to be something happening that night. His co-conspirator was late but he anticipated she might be. Perhaps Volkanos wanted some extra carnal satisfaction before falling asleep. No matter, the night was young and he had plenty of time to carry out his act against the pirate fleet. During the time he had been on the island he had come to recognise that the pirates were more interested in drinking and wenching than most other things.
Romos was under the thumb of a hated regime but the populace was leaderless; all leaders had been put to death at the time of the taking of Romos those years ago – or they had joined the pirates. What this had resulted in was a suppressed and sullen set of farmers who hoarded most of their produce and townsfolk who lived in fear of their lives and consequently took little interest in their working lives since it only benefitted the ruling elite. Kiros smiled to himself in the shadows. He loved working in areas where the rulers ruled through tyranny and fear; it made his job so much easier as the people were more inclined to co-operate with him. The more people resented the harsh rule the more the rulers cracked down, and thus the endless circle was repeated.
Eventually the downtrodden populace would willingly trade rulers for nobody could possibly be as awful as the current regime, and when one has lost hope, the glimmer of a change is grasped willingly by the wretched.
Kiros surmised that Volkanos and the Duras had no concept of how hated they were, or even if they did, they made no attempt to ease the severity of their rule. The only body that was keeping them in power was military might, and once they were gone everyone would turn on the rulers.
So, Kiros had plenty of assistance in his scheme. The girl who had been taken by Volkanos to warm his bed had been approached through an intermediary, another who had little reason to love the pirates – his father had been hanged for opposing the takeover. This intermediary worked as a cleaner in the fort and passed messages to the girl. Now she was to help him that night and had indicated her willingness even when told what her part was to be.
Eventually Kiros spotted her walking out of the fort entryway, leered at by the two guards on duty. Sloppy, slovenly individuals who would both have been left lying on the cobblestoned surface if Kiros had wished it. It s
eemed the girl was permitted to go out when she pleased.
Kiros saw her approach, having arranged to meet her at the street corner, and she hesitated a moment when she saw his shadow, fearing it was someone else, but Kiros showed his face before ducking back into the shadows. The girl joined him.
“You had any trouble in getting away?” he asked.
“No. Volkanos wanted his satisfaction with me, and now the drunken porcine is sleeping. I hate him!”
“So I believe. Are you ready? You are prepared to do this?”
The girl tossed her long hair defiantly. “Volkanos turned me into a whore; I have no qualms about using my body anymore. After being beaten each day for a whole season, you come to accept being used, if only to stop the pain.”
“Very well,” Kiros said. “You know what to do – I need the guards on that ship there distracted for a while. I will swim to the side away from the jetty and climb aboard. Once I have finished my work on board I shall take care of them, and you can return to the fort.”
“If it helps destroy these canines then I shall gladly help you.”
Kiros nodded and watched as she walked out into the half-lit dockside area, swaying her hips. She was wearing a shawl but underneath he had glimpsed she wasn’t wearing a great deal. He checked left and right and slid across the narrow gap to the water’s edge where bales of something were stacked. He was once more hidden from sight.
The ship nearby was a warship, a big one. Kiros watched as the girl reached the end of the gangplank and looked up to the deck. Two men were idly walking on the deck, bored. She made her way up to the main deck and out of sight of the spy. Without further ado, Kiros used a handy rope to climb down into the waters, which were cool, and full of objects bobbing up and down he’d rather not see what they were.
The girl reached the main deck and stood there, hands on her hips. It wasn’t long before the two guards spotted her and came over, cutlasses drawn. “Hey, you ain’t supposed to be here aboard,” one said.