The Jongurian Mission

The Jongurian Mission Page 1

by Greg Strandberg

The loud roar of cannons filled the air again and drowned out the sounds of the weather for a moment. Both ships had fired this time. Two of the shots landed harmlessly in the water behind them while another went sailing far overhead to their right. The last fared better, blowing through the rigging and snapping lines before burying itself into the mainmast with a large shower of splinters. Trey dropped the bundle he was carrying and threw his hands up to his face. Blood could be seen seeping through his fingers.

  THE

  JONGURIAN MISSION

  Greg Strandberg

  Big Sky Words, Missoula

  Copyright © 2012 by Big Sky Words

  Cover Artwork: Joe Shawcross

  Map Artwork: M. Nires

  Written in China

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Connect with Greg Strandberg

  www.bigskywords.com

  Fiction

  The Jongurian Mission

  Trouble in Jonguria

  The Jongurian Resolution

  The Warring States

  The State of Chu

  The State of Qin

  Tarot Card Killer

  Black Walnut

  Room 223

  The Hirelings

  Wake Up, Detroit

  Ale Quest

  Nine Amusing Tales

  G.I. JOE: The Dreadnoks

  G.I. JOE: JOE Team-13

  G.I. JOE: After Infinity

  G.I. JOE: To Its Knees

  Florida Sinkholes

  Bring Back Our Girls

  Lightning

  Fire

  Dulce Base

  Colter’s Winter

  Non-Fiction

  Tribes and Trappers: A History of Montana, Volume One

  Write Now! 20 Simple Strategies for Successful Writing

  English Rocks! 101 ESL Games, Activities, and Lesson Plans

  Tarot: The Mystery and the Mystique

  Write to the Top: A How To For Website Content Writing and Increasing Website Traffic

  English Last: True Accounts of Teaching in China

  Ten Minute Tarot

  Priests and Prospectors: A History of Montana, Volume Two

  Sell Your Book: 75 eBook Promotion Sites That Increase Amazon Sales

  Design Your Book: 75 eBook Cover Design Sites That Increase Amazon Sales

  Visit My Site, Bitch! Unconventional SEO Tactics for 2014

  Please Say Something! 25 Proven Ways to Get Through an Hour of ESL Teaching

  Tour Your Book: 50 eBook Promotion Sites That Increase Amazon Sales

  Teaching Abroad: Making the Move To and From ESL Teaching

  Teaching English: 101 ESL PowerPoint Ideas That Get Students Talking

  Teaching English: 10 Proven Ways to Make Shy Students Talk Now

  Bilingual Teaching: Making Your Students Ready for America Fast

  SEO & 80s Movies: An Old School Approach to SEO and Content Marketing

  Braves and Businessmen: A History of Montana, Volume Three

  Fun English: 10 Fast and Easy ESL Games

  From Heaven to Earth: Ancient Chinese History, 8500 – 1046 BC

  Google+ for Authors and Bloggers

  Hustlers and Homesteaders: A History of Montana, Volume Four

  Keeping Sane: English Teaching Strategies for ESL Teachers

  How to Write: Tons of Tips, Tactics and Tirades on Writing

  Stand Out: Your 2015 SEO, Social Media and Content Marketing Guidebook

  Table of Contents

  Maps

  Introduction

  1; 2; 3

  4; 5; 6

  7; 8; 9

  10; 11; 12

  13; 14; 15

  16; 17; 18

  19; 20; 21

  22; 23; 24

  25

  Conclusion

  About the Author

  Trouble in Jonguria Preview

  Introduction

  The wind and waves threatened to overturn the small boat for what seemed the hundredth time. Even in the dark, black clouds could be seen overhead, their billowy forms swelling large and ominously. The nearly full moon was completely blocked out by their presence, and if it wasn’t for the continuous lightning flashes, the men in the boat wouldn’t have been able to see at all. As it was, the lightning cast the island they were rowing to in an eerie silhouette, and with each new flash they could see that their efforts at the oars were pulling them closer to their goal.

  Leisu Tsao sat on the prow of the boat and looked ahead. He didn’t like traveling on water, but if his master bid him, he obliged willingly and without complaint. The voyage here had been anything but uneventful. What should have taken just a few days stretched into more than a week when this storm bore down on them two days into their journey. The seas were usually unmerciful this time of year, but to Leisu it seemed that this storm had a particular vengeance. Perhaps it knew of their objective and disagreed, he’d pondered several days before while watching the dark clouds loom over the horizon to block out the sun. After all, if their goal succeeded the balance of nature would irrevocably be upset; their plan would embroil two continents of men, and men had a way of destroying everything around them when they were troubled.

  “Pull,” the man directly behind Leisu yelled to the four oarsmen in the boat.

  Leisu smiled. Ko Qian was as dutiful as ever, even on this unwanted mission, and in such horrid weather.

  “Pull, I said,” Ko yelled again, louder this time.

  It seemed to Leisu that the prodding of the men was working; they were getting closer to the shore. What would they find there? Leisu had been skeptical of his master’s plan at first, doubting if the man they were looking for would even still be alive after this long. It had been more than five years now since he’d been exiled to this desolate island that had barely enough to survive on. While numerous species of plants somehow managed to thrive here, none were edible. Whatever animals called this place home were nothing more than small rodents. A man could live on those for some time, but five years? Leisu doubted that very much. No, when they were done searching the island, probably late on the morrow judging by how terrible the weather was, he expected all they would have found was a ragged skeleton with a few tattered remnants of clothing still covering the sun-bleached bones. While his master had no doubts that the man known as the ‘False King’ in the West was still alive and well and just waiting for an opportunity to get off this rock, Leisu wasn’t so sure.

  Grandon Fray had gambled everything during the final years of the East-West War that had embroiled Adjuria and Jonguria. Frustrated as much by the ten-year stalemate as the rest of his countrymen, and with no end to the war in sight, Grandon had decided to do something about it, whereas the other nobles merely sat back and waited for something to happen. First he had convinced his king that a grand offensive against the Jongurians was needed in the most unlikely of places: the Isthmus. It seemed farfetched at the time, and was laughable now, but Leisu had come to realize that it was necessary for the man’s plan. When the offensive failed, as it was bound to do, he had done the unthinkable: he killed a king, or at least had had the job done for him. Having removed the only obstacle that he saw for peace, Grandon led the rest of the Adjurian nobles in forming a council to govern the country, much to the frustration and useless protests of the rightful young heir to Adjuria and his mother. From there he’d managed to negotiate an end to the war with Jonguria, setting the stage for a peace agreement. Peace came, rather too quickly Leisu thought, and the Adjurian forces began withdrawing from Jongur
ia.

  While Jonguria descended into chaos following the war, Adjuria was able to keep itself together. Grandon cemented his role as the leading noble on the royal council and then managed to have himself named king. He ruled for a few years, but his policies were disastrous and drove the country apart. Who knows, Leisu thought as he got closer to the island, maybe that was all a part of his plan too.

  It wasn’t long before some of the other provinces had their fill of Grandon Fray and decided that a boy for a king couldn’t be any worse than this usurper. A brief Civil War broke out, Grandon’s forces were defeated, and the rightful king was put back on the throne. For all of his troubles at ending the war and bringing peace to his country Grandon was exiled to the rock that would forevermore be called Desolatia Island.

  Several more bolts of lightning lit up the night sky. The boat was close now, just a few minutes away from the shore. Perhaps it’d be better if Grandon was dead, Leisu thought to himself as the boat neared the rocky beach. The man seemed to bring turmoil to whatever he undertook, and there was more than enough of that in Jonguria at the moment. Did his master really think that more would allow him to increase his control? It wasn’t the first time Leisu thought it was odd that his master, a man who would not tolerate failure, was seeking the aid of a man whose failure had divided a nation against itself and resulted in his own downfall. But then Jonguria was already divided against itself, Leisu thought. There were those that supported the emperor, whose numbers seemed to lessen everyday, and those that supported the rebels, whose numbers increased. His master was the leader of the rebels in the southwest, and if his current plans were carried out, he’d soon be the rebel leader of the entire country. Not for the first time since setting out did Leisu again wonder how Grandon Fray could possibly help bring that about.

  A few large waves pushed the boat the last few feet forward and they could feel the wooden hull scrape against the rocky shore. The rowers jumped out and pushed the boat further up the beach to a more secure resting place, and then Ko and Leisu jumped out into the white surf. Leisu looked over at Ko and nodded.

  “Get out the supplies and find a dry place to put up the tent,” Ko yelled.

  Two of the oarsmen jumped back into the boat and began to throw down large bags to the other two, who then threw them further up onto the dry beach. Leisu walked forward to observe the land. From what he could see between lighting flashes, the land looked like it could support a man indefinitely. But he knew better. The lush green foliage was useless to men and the rocky cliffs that seemed to rise straight up hundreds of feet from the island’s center were a haven for poisonous snakes, spiders, and other vile creatures. Five years, Leisu thought once again, there could be no way.

  A large flash of lighting lit up the sky and the immediate thunder behind it caused him to jump. He felt foolish. What was there to be scared of? This island was as desolate as its name implied. Another flash came and he thought that he saw something ahead of him. He narrowed his eyes into the darkness. It was not until the sky was lit up again, however, that his suspicions were confirmed: there was someone, or something, moving toward him. He called back at Ko, who in turn yelled at the oarsmen. All gathered behind Leisu, their daggers drawn. Another flash of light came and they could all see a man walking toward them. Could it really be? Leisu thought.

  Ko called for one of the men to light a lantern. Its faint glow illuminated a small circle around them, but it was the lighting that really lit up the land. Another flash came and showed the man no more than fifty feet away. A minute later they could hear the unmistakable sound of footfalls scraping sand and rock together. And then a man stepped into their small arc of light. He had long grey hair going white at the temples with a matching beard that filled his entire face and crowded out the rest of his features. He was well-tanned and frail, his ragged clothing tattered and torn and hanging off him like a sail. He was above-average height for an Adjurian, and stood a head taller than any of the Jongurians, even Leisu, who prided himself on his imposing height.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” the man said as he entered the light. His voice was strong and commanding, even if his appearance was not. Leisu immediately sensed the power of the man, and respected him for it. Somehow, against all odds, he’d survived where any lesser man would’ve perished.

  “Oh?” Leisu replied.

  “Yes, I’ve been watching your progress for more than a day now,” the man said.

  “Grandon Fray,” Leisu stated more than asked, and the man gave a slight nod.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” he asked mockingly.

  Usually Leisu wouldn’t have allowed that tone with anyone, but then he had to remember that he was in the presence of a king; even one who had had his predecessor killed to steal the throne, started a Civil War, and then been banished from his country. Men like that were used to taking whatever tone they wanted with whomever they wanted. In their own eyes all were beneath them.

  “No, I think not,” Leisu replied to Grandon’s question.

  “You’re Jongurian,” he said looking them over. “I expected that my own countrymen would be the ones to free me from my prison,” he lifted his arms to indicate the land around him, “but I’ll not pass up any chance to get off this rock.”

  “Good to hear,” Leisu nodded, “we’ve come a long way to find you.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Perhaps we should get off this beach first,” Leisu suggested.

  “I’ve walked this beach for five years now,” Grandon replied, “it won’t kill you to stand upon it for a few minutes more.”

  Leisu gave the man a long look. Five years of exile had done nothing to temper his manners. He still acted much the king, but then Leisu figured that he was still a king: of all of the barren majesty this landscape could produce. He held his temper in check and explained to the man the reason for their presence.

  “We’ve come from Jonguria at the behest of my master Zhou Lao, the man who holds the southwest of the country.” Leisu waited for Grandon to ask a few questions at that declaration, but he remained quiet, so he continued. “He wants to expand his power and influence throughout the rest of the country, and eventually challenge the emperor’s precarious position. He thinks that you might be able to help him with that plan,” Leisu finished, looking at the disheveled Adjurian.

  Grandon shook his head. “I don’t see what that has to do with me at all.”

  “Your nephew does.”

  “My nephew?” Grandon replied questioningly. For the first time he took his eyes off them and looked into the distance. “Jossen? What could he possibly have in this?”

  “Jossen Fray is himself trying to cement his own power in Adjuria. But while we struggle against an emperor and have been for years, your nephew is just beginning his bid to wrest the throne from his king. He believes that an unstable Jonguria will help him achieve that goal, and when my master takes over the country, your nephew will have a strong ally.”

  “I see,” Grandon replied, but Leisu doubted that he really did. He himself didn’t see the entire scope of the plan that his master was unveiling, and he assumed that he never would. Many things would remain a mystery to him as these great events unfolded, and Leisu would be remembered in his nation’s history for helping to bring them about. This night on Desolatia Island’s stormy beach was just one of many that he’d leave his mark on.

  “Well,” Leisu replied after a few moments of silence. “Would you like to come with us or stay on your island? The choice is yours.”

  Grandon looked up at them for a few moments, and then without speaking walked past them and climbed into the boat. Leisu smiled. It had begun.

  ONE

  The sun blazed brightly in the afternoon sky and the spring weather felt more like summer. Birds sang in the trees, butterflies flitted among the grass, and crickets chirped in the distance.

  Bryn was thoroughly enjoying himself. This was an immense change from the drudger
y of his life back home. A life on the road! It was what he’d always dreamed of, and now he was actually living it. Traveling far from home, out amidst the world, with adventure looming over the crest of every hill, what more could he possibly want?

  Well, to start with, it would be nice if his clothes weren’t sticking to him because of the heat. The way the saddle was rubbing him wrong on the backside he could also do without. The slight breeze swirling the dust from the road into his eyes and mouth was another nuisance. Not to mention the sheer boredom of it all.

  In the adventure tales the heroes never spent hours moving down dusty roads in the sweltering heat. They set off toward their destination, and were instantly there, fresh as the morning breeze, and ready to take on the world. Bryn was just ready for a bath.

  “What’s that look I see in your eye, boy?” Halam asked. “Not homesick already, I hope. We’ve been gone but half a day.”

  Halam was taller than Bryn by a hand, and also a bit wider around the waist, no doubt from the amount of time he sat at his desk, with papers strewn before him. His arms were still thick from years in the field with his brother growing up – Bryn’s uncle Trun back home on the farm outside Eston – but he lacked the sun-baked lines which his brother possessed from doing that work still. His short brown hair, balding on top, with the finely-trimmed beard of the same color covering his face, was just as Bryn remembered when he’d last seen him as a young boy, although it was now going grey around the chin and sides. His lips were parted in a wide smile as he looked down on Bryn.

  “No, it’s not that Uncle Halam,” Bryn replied, “it’s just that I thought getting away from home and traveling the world would be more exciting, more adventurous, you know, like in the stories.”

  “Ha, my boy,” Halam laughed, “it’s never like the stories in my experience. The thing to remember is that the travel part is never more than a means of getting from one point to another; there’s never any fun in it. Just be thankful we’ve got a horse under us, and aren’t walking this road like many we’ve seen this day.”

  “Oh, yes sir, I’m thankful for that,” Bryn answered as he looked down at his shoes. The well-worn pair he’d had for more than two years weren’t up to the task of walking from Plowdon to Culdovia, that’s for sure.

  At above-average height, with short-cropped brown hair and a slight build, though well-muscled from countless hours of exertion in the outdoors, Bryn Fellows could at the same instant strike both an imposing figure, but also one of quiet composure. He was still quite young, only fourteen now, but a lifetime of struggling against both the elements thrown at him by nature and those by men’s demands had given him an outlook and wisdom beyond his years. Still, he was young, and therefore exhibited many of the characteristics and traits common to all young men: quick-to-actions not thought through, disdain for authority, and a sense that the world held no knowledge which his mind didn’t already possess.

  But to think, he was actually traveling the King’s Road, on his way to Baden, the capital city of Adjuria; him, Bryn Fellows, who’d never been more than three miles from Eston before! What would the boys back home say?

  Usually at this time of day Bryn would be in those fields working the land, threshing the grain, plowing, bundling, and constantly moving under the hot sun. He was still moving under the hot sun, but in a new direction and toward a much larger task.

  Halam had woken Bryn early that morning, well before the sun was up.

  “You’ll be accompanying me to Baden after all, lad,” his uncle had told him. “Now pack what clothes you have and meet me outside.”

  With sleep still in his eyes, Bryn had collected what possessions he had, which wasn’t much. An extra pair of breeches and a spare shirt were the only other clothes he owned beside the pair he was wearing. He’d taken a water skin from the stove and filled it with water from the well, and also grabbed some bread and cheese, plus two small apples. Looking around for anything else to take, Bryn had been struck by how little there was in the house between him and his uncle Trun. As he headed for the door, he grabbed a copy of a well-worn book on the history of eastern Adjuria, and stuffed it into his shabby travel pack. He took one last look at the sparse lodgings which he’d called home for his whole life and then headed out the door.

  Halam had been tightening the saddle straps on his horse, Juniper, while making last minute checks of his travel pouches. Trun had been up and limping over from the barn with a fresh flask of milk in his hand. He’d stopped next to Halam, handing him the flask, and the two spoke a few words to each other before Trun began limping toward the house.

  “Well, it’s about time you was up, lad,” Trun had said, “sun’s near ready to stick her head over that horizon and bless us with what looks to be a beautiful day for traveling.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bryn had replied, “but I thought you were against me going to Baden with Uncle Halam. Last night you–”

  “Don’t you be worrying about what was said last night, now,” Trun had cut in, “me and your uncle talked late last night while you was asleep, and we decided that it would be in your best interests to take this trip to the capital.”

  “But what about the farm? Who will help you with the planting? And I’ve got a couple days to go still on clearing that field of stones before I can begin plowing it.”

  “Don’t you worry about any of that, now, you hear Bryn? I’ll make do just fine without you. I expect when you return in the fall there’ll be scant work to keep you busy,” Trun had said with a smile on his weathered face.

  “Uncle Trun, I don’t know, I mean–”

  “Don’t know what, boy,” Halam had cut in, walking up and putting his hands on Bryn’s shoulders. You heard your uncle, lad. He wants you to go to Baden. Do you have a problem with that now?”

  Bryn had stared dumbfounded back and forth between his two uncles, at a loss for what to say in the face of this sudden change of heart from his uncle. Out of nowhere the day before Uncle Halam had come riding back into their lives. While it was true he was the royal representative for the province of Tillatia down in the capital of Baden, it was also true he hadn’t been back on the farm in years. And then to just appear and say you wanted to take your nephew down to some royal council set to happen in the capital? The whole thing had rubbed Trun the wrong way, there was no two ways about it. Just last night he’d been set on keeping Bryn on the farm, however, and now he wanted nothing more than to get rid of him it seemed. Obviously the two brothers had worked out their differences while Bryn had slept.

  “Well, I…” Bryn had began. “I mean…”

  He’d stopped, his mouth hanging open, unable to fathom what to say.

  “Ha, lad,” Halam had laughed, come on over here and let me give you a hand up on Juniper here. Halam had strode over to his horse and, grabbing hold of the saddle, effortlessly pulled himself up and onto the horse’s back. He’d stuck his arm out, wiggling his fingers and motioning to Bryn. Bryn had taken Halam’s hand, and with a pull of his uncle’s arm made felt weightless as he was lifted from the ground and onto the horse, just in front of his uncle in the saddle.

  “You be careful out there, Bryn,” Trun had told his nephew. “It’s a mean place, the world you’re about to enter, so you keep your eyes open and don’t do anything foolish. Listen to what your uncle tells you, and you’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, sir, I will sir,” Bryn had replied. He felt his eyes mist up as he looked down on his uncle, the only family he’d really had all these years. “I’ll see you in time for the harvest this fall, Uncle Trun.”

  “Aye, lad, aye,” Trun had said, shifting on his feet.

  A few moments had passed before Halam tightened up the reins and turned Juniper toward the road. Then he’d kicked his boots into Juniper’s sides. The horse had taken a few quick steps before bolting away from the house. They turned onto the road and galloped off toward the distant horizon, the rising sun at their backs.

  TWO

  Bindao
sweltered in the southern Jonguria heat. The city occupied a flat plain right on the Apsalar Ocean, an area known for its humidity. Anyone walking up the steep hills that led from the bustling dock district would quickly have their clothes plastered to them with sweat. Not all residents of the city seemed affected by the heat, however, including three men with an emblem of a snake in mid-strike on their left breast. All in the city knew what that emblem meant: the rebel warlord, Zhou Lao.

  The men stood outside a rickety, two-storey building, just another in a long stretch that rose up along a narrow lane. Inside a staircase set just opposite of the entryway led up to the second floor. Down the hallway was a simple office, with a desk and a few chairs. In one of those chairs sat Zhou.

  He had broad shoulders and a thick neck. The body under his close-fitting tunic and shirt were obviously well-muscled. His black hair was tied in a neat top-knot and allowed to cascade down to the back of his neck. The most noticeable feature about him, however, was the long scar that ran from the top of his forehead and all the way through the left eyebrow, shearing it in two, and then into and behind a large eye-patch that covered the Jongurian’s left eye. Zhou had fitted his eye-patch with a large emerald which nearly matched his right eye in both color and shape. It was an intimidating look, and Zhou knew it. He could see it now in the man’s face that sat in front of him.

  “That’s all I was told,” the Jongurian said, a trader that plied the waters of the Apsalar Ocean, moving up and down the Isthmus. The land bridge between the two continents of Jonguria and Adjuria was supposed to be off limits to traders, and even fishermen from both nations, but those rules were rarely enforced anymore, hadn’t been since the Adjurian economic troubles began.

  “Then you weren’t told enough,” Zhou said. He stared at the man with that one good eye, as well as the emerald eye that shone perfectly in the arc of sunlight slanting in from the window.

  The trader shifted in his chair nervously, swallowed the knot in his throat. Zhou watched the display and sighed, then rose up from the table and headed to the window to look upon the docks down the hill.

  “A trade conference, you say?”

  “That’s right,” the trader said, sitting up a bit straighter. “All the provinces are to send members, to talk about their problems, to talk about–”

  “Trade,” Zhou said, quickly cutting the man off. He looked over his shoulder and saw the man sink back down in his chair while giving a nod.

  “Yes, trade…trade with Jonguria, the first time in years. It’s what you’ve been talking about, what you’ve been sending letters to Regidia for and–”

  Zhou turned from the window with one motion and reached to his belt with another. The dagger that’d been there was sailing through the air one moment and then the next sticking from the trader’s shoulder, right into and a bit through the chair he was sitting in.

  “Aaahhh!” he shouted, reaching for the knife.

  “Leave it!” Zhou said sharply, moving up to the man. “Leave it or I’ll put another in your other arm.”

  That got the man to stop reaching for it, though his hand was awful close. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his face was grimacing in pain.

  “You’re never to talk about those letters, never!” Zhou said, coming up to stand in front of the trader. He crossed his arms and looked down at the man, like he would a child that’d misbehaved.

  “Yes…yes…I’m sorry…” the man said, gasping in pain. The dagger had stuck into the muscle of his shoulder, and each breath shot pangs of agony through him.

  “Who else have you let your tongue slip to?” Zhou asked. He crouched down a bit, put his hands on his knees, and got right in the trader’s face. He’d never liked the man, never liked him much at all. Now he was just trying to figure out if there was still a use for him.

  “Please…I’ve told no one…not a soul…I swear.”

  “And you’ll never tell anyone, will you?” Zhou asked. “Or would you rather end up floating face-down in the harbor tonight?”

  “I’ll not tell a soul, I swear…I swear!” the man said. That emerald eye was just inches from his, and he smile on the rebel warlord’s face was making him nervous.

  “No…no you won’t,” Zhou said.

  In one swift motion the warlord whipped one leg over the trader’s legs and then squatted down over his lap. His left hand shot out and grasped hold of the man’s jaw while his right hand reached down for another dagger from his belt. The trader’s eyes went wide as he realized what was happening, and he began to kick and thrash about. The warlord was holding him down firm, however.

  “Don’t worry…this will take…just a moment,” Zhou said as he pried the man’s mouth open with his two hands. The trader was resisting so Zhou simply gave the dagger embedded in his shoulder a good punch.

  “Aaahhh!”

  “That’s better!” Zhou laughed, then grabbed hold of the man’s tongue and in one swift motion had it cut off and in the palm of his hand. Blood shot out across the office before the trader could get his hands over his mouth. The commotion drew the attention of two guards in the hallway, and they threw the door open.

  “Please escort the captain back to his ship,” Zhou said as he ripped the dagger from the man’s shoulder and headed back to his own chair to wipe it clean.

  The trader moaned all the way down the hall, but you’d never know it from the laughter drowning it out. Zhou had found a use for the man after all – he’d serve as an example.

  THREE

  By the middle of the next week Halam and Bryn were well south of Tillatia, having gone down most of the King’s Road toward the capital city of Baden. Halam informed Bryn that they’d see the hills increase in size while the fields grew smaller. Houses would begin to frequent the sides of the road more often as they approached the smaller outlying towns of the capital. It was the capital of both Culdovia and the nation of Adjuria, and something Bryn still couldn’t believe he was going to see.

  Bryn couldn’t remember how many times he’d dreamed of seeing the capital of Adjuria. Often while growing up he’d lie awake at night imagining being in the city, amongst its masses of people, its overflowing marketplaces, and in view of its royal palaces. He knew so much about Baden from books he’d read and from stories he’d been told by his uncle Trun: the population over the years, the amount of trade passing through in any given year, the various districts of the city and the people who called them home. Yet he knew that those descriptions couldn’t compare to actually being there in person, to actually walking those streets.

  As Halam had said, houses began to crowd into the road as the sun moved from burning their necks to stinging their eyes. The road began to widen, and where once there were nothing but rolling fields, there were now hills. The road climbed and dipped amongst them, and soon there were crowds of people thronging the road, many more people than Bryn had seen anywhere at one time before, even during harvest days in Eston. Finally as the sky began to grow darker with passing minute, they headed over one final hill. The King’s Wood and Baltika Forest both fell back to reveal a large valley of rich green grasses. And there before them lay what could only be the city of Baden.

  She was set like an immensity upon the land, fields surrounding her and roads leading from all directions. Bryn gaped open-mouthed at the sheer size of the city. It took up acres and acres of land. Fields were scattered out from the city, farmers busily working them. Peasants milled about on the final section of the King’s Road leading into Baden from the north, carrying materials in and out of the city, talking amongst themselves, and going about their business. Countless wagons and people on horseback moved to and from the city gates, three of which Bryn could see set into the immense city walls, which towered over the flat ground around them. There were no fields to be tended directly outside of the city walls, just flat grassland in all directions before the walls.

  Those walls were erected around the entirty of the city. Built hundreds of years earl
ier from stone cut and chiseled from the Montino Mountains and transported downriver on immense barges, the walls were the tallest structures that Bryn had ever seen. Unlike the walls they’d seen in the other cities, the walls of Baden didn’t stretch along straight. Instead they were made up of segments, each no more than twenty-five feet in length, and set at a different angle than the segments next to it, giving the city the appearance of having hundreds of different sides. Guard towers rose from the walls at each of these changes in direction, their turrets made from the same stone as the walls, a flag fluttering atop each.

  Well inside of the walls, moving toward the center of the city, roofs began to push upward into the sky, reaching, and then surpassing, the heights of the walls built to protect them. Up and up they rose as they approached the city’s center, where what could only be the royal palace jutting up into the sky above them. Built over several generations reaching back hundreds of years into the past, well before the walls were a shadow of their current glory, the Culdovian kings built there palace on some low hills surrounded by the choicest farm land for leagues. Begun as a defensive castle in a time when danger could come from anywhere at anytime, the palace had grown over the years to include several more buildings erected around the original castle keep. Great spires were built to reach ever higher, providing views of the surrounding countryside, as well as any possible threat of danger. Now, however, the palace held only a commanding view over the city that grew around it, keeping a protective eye over the lives of thousands, any threats from outside being things of the past.

  The King’s Lake could be seen in the distance, the city touching its southeastern edge. The lake was teaming with boats of all sizes, many with sails but some with oars. Most were smaller fishing craft, some hauling in or throwing out nets; others with lines cast from long poles firmly attached to their decks and railing; many heading toward the docks to unload their catch or going back out for a chance at more. The docks were not clearly visible from the hill, but they appeared to be a bustle of activity, people running every which way in a made dash to carry out their commercial activities.

  On the western side of the city another road led outward over the fields and into the Baltika Forest. Bryn was told earlier when he’d asked about the city that this was the Western Road, which led to the Regidian capital of Atros, before pushing on to Hedling, over the vast Klamath Plain of Equinia and Oschem to Tullin; then up to Warren on the edge of the Shefflin Mountains, the most western city in Adjuria. Before the King’s Road reached the large city gate, another road branched off to head eastward. This was the Eastern Road, stretching to Pardun in Duldovia, then skirting around the Duldovian Sea before plunging southeast toward the Ithmian garrison city of Fadurk. Way off in the distance the King’s Road continued south away from the city to Portinia.

  Three gates led into the city: the South Gate, leading further on down the King’s Road, the West Gate to Warren, and the North Gate, which lay open before them. Two immense turrets rose up on the walls where the gate’s opening was, larger than the towers spaced out elsewhere on the wall. A walkway stretched between them over the open space of the gate, which itself was comprised of two thick wooden doors, currently opened inward into the city. A portcullis rose above the doors and became lost in the stone walkway above the gate.

  “One journey ends…another begins,” Halam said as they sat in their saddles staring down on the city they’d traveled hundreds of leagues to see.

  “Well, lad, welcome to the capital of Culdovia,” Halam said over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

  Bryn had a hard time putting what he saw into words. Every description of the city he’d heard or read didn’t do justice to the sight before him. Finally he was able to utter just one word.

  “Amazing!”

  “Aye,” Rodden laughed, “that she is lad, that she is.”

  Bryn turned to the older man and gave a nod. Rodden was his uncle Halam’s associate in Plowdon, the capital city of Tillatia. They’d stopped there a few days after leaving Eston, and Rodden had joined them. The man was tall, taller than Halam by a hand or more when he was standing tall and straight. His hair was blonde but going to grey and cut very short, so that it stood up straight on top of his head. His arms and legs were long and wiry and he was also very thin, possessing none of the muscles of Halam, nor the large belly. He was dressed in a tight-fitting brown linen doublet with long sleeves, and matching leggings. Bryn liked him, liked his easy manner and the stories he’d told of the land. Their journey down the King’s Road, skirting the Montino Mountains, had been dull beyond belief. The only redeeming value of it was the history of the area that Bryn had learned from Rodden. He could tell why his uncle wanted the man’s expertise at the upcoming trade conference.

  Bryn turned his gaze from the city to Rodden, an inquiring look on his face. Rodden turned his eyes to Bryn.

  “I mean, lad, that we’ve a much more difficult and perhaps even dangerous journey ahead of us now.” He looked from Bryn back to the city below. “The royal council will hold all kinds of machinations and pitfalls, scheming and maneuvering, intrigues and politicking. Isn’t that right, Halam?”

  Halam too was staring down at the city, but he shifted in his saddle at Rodden’s question. “Aye, that it is.” He paused, blowing out his breath, before continuing. “It will be a trying few days, maybe longer, as we try to move forward amicably toward renewing trade with Jonguria. I’ve a mind that most of the provinces favor it, so what I’m seeing as the problem is reconciling the conflicting attitudes the different provinces have toward each other.”

  Bryn thought a few moments as Halam went silent, then spoke up.

  “But Uncle Halam, if all of the provinces agree that they want to trade with Jonguria once again, then what’s the problem? It seems to me that there’s really no need for a conference at all if that’s the prevailing attitude.”

  Rodden chuckled. “I wish it were that easy, lad, I truly do. You see, Bryn, the thing is, most of the provinces are still nursing their wounded pride from the Civil War. Sure, they all agree about renewing trade with Jonguria, they need it, but they don’t want any of their neighbors to have better deals than they do, especially those they fought against not too long ago.” He too blew out his breath in a sigh of exasperation. “No, it will be a contentious conference, to say the least, with lots of old animosities and grudges brought back up to the surface. I’ll be happy to see it end.”

  “Aye,” Halam agreed as he heeled his horse on down the final stretch of road before the gates, Rodden following close behind.

  Bryn waited a few moments, thinking about what the two men had said. He’d seen a lot over the past week, more of Adjuria than he thought he ever would. Now he’d see the inner workings of the government, a prospect which somehow seemed equally dull and exciting at the same time. His journey through the lands of his country was coming to an end, but his journey into the hearts and minds of his countrymen was just now beginning. Bryn dug his heels into his horse and together they sauntered down the hill toward the capital.

  Halam led the way through the North Gate and along the cobbled streets of the city. Lots of people milled about the gate: sellers unable to get a stall in the market district were hawking goods from distant provinces; peasants from the surrounding countryside sold fruits and vegetables; citizens browsed for goods or waited on others; beggars begged. They made their way through the busy marketplace before heading down one of the narrow, tree-lined avenues leading further into the city. Buildings rose up two- and three-storeys high on either side of them, most containing shops on the ground floor. They sold foodstuffs, household items, and artisan’s crafts, with living spaces for the owners and other citizens on the upper floors.

  Halam led them through the winding streets, making turns here and there without any clear idea of where he was going, as far as Bryn could tell, the streets becoming narrower as they progressed. The horse’s hooves rang on the rounded cobbles as they
rounded another corner, and Bryn was certain that they’d gone in at least three circles already when a wide square opened before them. Tall buildings, some with domes, rose around the area. This square was completely different from the one they saw at the gate. There were no vendors yelling from stands set up, and fewer people moved about. Something else was different which Bryn couldn’t quite put his foot on, and then it hit him: this part of the city was actually quiet, something they’d not encountered since coming through the gate.

  “This is the government district,” Halam said as they through the streets a ways.

  After a time they came upon another city wall, made in much the same fashion as that which surrounded the city, but smaller in size. This time the gates held doors made from strong steel and covered with large metal rivets for added support. Several guards stood about manning the gate, watching passersby, and inquiring as to the business and intentions of anyone wishing to pass through. They were garbed in resplendent white uniforms of metal greaved-leggings and well-spun white tunics under shiny breastplates that bore the sigil of Culdovia, a diving eagle with talons bared. As they approached the guards tensed up.

  “Ho, there,” called Halam to the nearest man. “We’ve need to enter the government district. We’re here on business concerning the trade conference.”

  “Is that right,” the guard responded, looking all three up and down. “A little late, aren’t ye?” he asked, a questioning look on his face.

  “The conference hasn’t convened, has it?” Halam responded, concern in his voice.

  “Not if you count eating the city’s larders bare and draining the royal wine cellar ‘convening’,” the guard replied. “The council is set to officially get to business tomorrow morning.”

  Halam and Rodden looked at each other in surprise. “I had no idea that they would begin this early,” Rodden said. “I thought we still had a few days to ascertain the makeup of the council and judge the representatives.”

  “Well, now we’ve got one night to observe them in their revelry,” Halam said with disgust.

  “I’ll be seeing your papers then if you’re wanting to pass,” said the guard. Halam withdrew a few sheets of paper from his breast pocket and handed them to the guard, who quickly put his head down into them, squinting at the words.

  “Aye, alright,” he said after a few moments, handing the papers back up. “You can go through.” He signaled to the other guards behind him who stepped out from in front of the gate.

  They rode through the gate, and were surrounded by buildings of a much finer design and build than those outside the inner city walls. Large trees lined the avenues, and flowers sprouted from well-tended plots spaced between the buildings. It was much cleaner and much more quiet than the busy streets in the outer part of the city.

  They rode down the main avenue for a ways, and then turned off onto a side street, stopping in front of a two-story building which looked like a home. No lights were on inside, however. Halam dismounted and went up the few steps to knock on the door. After a time he knocked again, but there was no answer.

  “It would seem that Orin is with the rest of the council members,” he said as he climbed back onto Juniper.

  “They must be in the palace feast hall,” Rodden surmised.

  They rode back to the main avenue, and all the way down it, coming to a large palace. The building was resplendent in parapets and towers, and covered in a bright white sheen. Whether paint, varnish, or some kind of gilt enamel Bryn couldn’t tell, but the whole structure seemed to glow. A large company of guards patrolled the grounds around the palace, and again they were stopped, but ushered to continue on after Halam had shown his papers. They came to a side entrance, where they dismounted and handed their horses over to one of the guards before climbing a long flight of stone steps leading to a wide set of double doors fitted with ornate knobs and fittings.

  Several guards lined the entranceway. Large swords hung ready at their belts in scabbards with fancy gold and red scrollwork etched down their length. Their faces were shielded by helmets of the same type of steel which made up their breastplates and leggings, and they did quite a good job of concealing any attempt at reading their faces. White cloaks covered them from head to foot, completing their majestic, yet domineering demeanor.

  One of the guards came toward them as they climbed the steps to the doors. He approached Halam, who was in the lead.

  “What is your business at the palace,” the guard said in a gruff, no-nonsense voice.

  “We’re here for the trade conference,” Halam replied in a stern, authoritative voice, his shoulders thrown back and his chest stuck out. “We’re the representatives from Tillatia.”

  The guard looked them over for a few moments, taking a few extra moments to size up Bryn. Their clothes were rumpled and travel-stained from the several days they’d been on the road. Bryn thought that if he were a guard at such a grand palace, he’d be hesitant to let them in. Finally the guard spoke.

  “Do you have any identification papers?”

  “Of course,” Halam said, reaching once again into his breast pocket and taking out the same sheets of paper as before and handing them to the guard.

  The guard didn’t take his eyes off of Halam as he took the papers and motioned behind him. Another man dressed just the same came down the steps and took the papers from where the guard held them over his shoulder, and began to look them over.

  “Both representatives from the Tillatian trade office,” said the second guard. “The boy is not listed.” He looked up, handing the papers back to the first guard.

  “My nephew, from a farm in Eston,” Halam said, pointing toward Bryn. “I thought this would be a good opportunity for him to get off the farm and see his country, learn how his government works.”

  “A noble idea,” a voice called down loudly from atop the steps. Another man was coming toward them now, but he was not decked out in the armor and accoutrements of the other two guards. He wore a fancy white leather jerkin with the Culdovian seal, but no cloak or steel leggings. He too had a sword strapped to his belt, but it was shorter and the scabbard was less ornate, containing another copy of the provincial seal.

  “I’ve always thought that educating the country’s youth about their government was a fine idea, and one that should be done more often. I’m glad that I’m not alone in that opinion.” The man extended his hand to Halam. “Connor Morn, the Captain of the Guards. And you must be Halam Fiske.”

  “Aye, that I am,” Halam said, a bit surprised at the man’s familiarity.

  Connor shook Halam’s hand, and then extended his to Rodden. “And Rodden Stor, I presume, also of the trade office in Tillatia.”

  “That is correct, sir. I’m impressed at your knowledge of two humble government servants,” Rodden said as he shook Connor’s hand.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be much of a Captain of the Guards if I didn’t know of all the people that come and go from the royal palace, now would I?” Connor said with a slight smile. “Besides, with the trade conference set to begin tomorrow, there are all sorts of new people here, and as you can see, security has been tightened.” He held up his hand and motioned around him at the guards lining the entranceway.

  “So the conference begins tomorrow then?” Halam stated more than asked.

  “Yes, you two are the last delegates to arrive. I’m a bit surprised, seeing as how you’re just to the north of us. The delegation from Sheffield arrived more than a week ago,” he said, arching up his brows in a questioning manner. “But I suppose if you took it upon yourself to travel to Eston to pick up your nephew for an education, I can see why you would be late.”

  Connor looked over at Bryn for the first time since he’d spoken. “And who might you be now, young man?” he asked as he walked over to stand in front of Bryn, looking him up and down. “Come to learn about trade, have you now?”

  “Yes sir,” Bryn said in as strong of a voice as he could manage, which h
e suspected came out much meeker than he intended. “My name is Bryn Fellows, sir, and I promise that you’ll have no trouble out of me.”

  “Ha!” Connor laughed, throwing his head back. “I wish all of our guests this week were as so forthright as you, and stuck to their word as well. No Bryn Fellows, I think that we’ll not have much trouble out of you,” he said, turning back toward the two guards still standing on the landing.

  “I’ll escort these three to the banquet hall myself, Jur,” he said to the first guard that had spoken to them.”

  “Yes sir.” Both guards headed back to the top of the stairs to stand alongside the doors.

  Connor began to head up the steps toward the doors, and the three fell in step behind him. The guards atop the steps threw open the doors ahead of them, and as they walked through Bryn’s mouth fell open. An immense hallway lay before them, stretching for hundreds of feet. The ceilings rose high above them and were painted with large hunting scenes. The walls held giant tapestries interspersed with large portraits of noble looking men in fine clothing who could only be previous members of the royal family. Large sconces enameled with gold inlay lined the walls between the paintings and tapestries, their flickering torch flames illuminating the greatness of the corridor before them. A richly worked rug of red and gold nearly covered the entirety of the floor, tapering off only toward the walls, where beautifully smooth tiles reflected the light of the torches above them.

  They headed halfway down the long hallway, and then turned onto another, this one equally impressive and ornamented just as thoroughly as the entranceway. Two large wooden doors with steel studs stood at the end, two guards holding a vigil by their sides. As they got nearer Bryn could hear the muffled sounds of voices coming from behind the doors, as well as music and singing. When Connor got near, the guards threw open the doors, and Bryn was flooded with aromas that immediately set his mouth to watering.

  Inside was a sight he’d never seen. Before them stood an immense hall, the ceiling half again as high as the hallway they had walked down. On it were painted huge frescos of lords and ladies decked out in fanciful dress in scenes that had them hunting, attending court, and frolicking in all their grandeur. The floors were made of huge stone slabs chiseled down to a smooth, even surface. The walls were covered in tapestries from floor to ceiling, displaying the seals from all fourteen provinces of Adjuria in a myriad of colors, with the same type of sconces holding torches as he had seen in the hallway. Huge candelabras were suspended by mighty chains from the ceiling and reached down to within twenty feet of the floor. A large raised dais, empty at the moment, took up the far wall opposite the doors they had come through, a throne set in its center. It was high-backed, and had a golden shine which reflected the torch light. It seemed to be made entirely of gold, but Bryn could not believe such a thing possible. It must be a gilt finishing, with perhaps some tracings of gold, he thought. Still, it was spectacular, and he couldn’t wait to see the man who sat in it. The great hall itself was filled with tables and benches, and contained a few hundred people, although there was no way that Bryn could count them, as they were constantly moving about.

  The tables contained a wide variety of dishes to feed the people. There were platters of roast fowls and braised beef; plates overflowing with vegetables and fruits; bread piled so high that the topmost loaves had tumbled down to fall on the floor.

  The people were loud and boisterous, and primarily men, although some women could be spotted here and there. Large groups congregated around a few tables in the center, talking loudly; with smaller groups of people at the tables set on the sides of the hall speaking quietly amongst themselves or simply sitting back and taking in the atmosphere.

  Serving men and women scurried about the hall, dodging drunken revelers as they tried to carry trays piled high with dirty plates to one of the side doors out of the hall, or fresh trays of food and drink into it. They rarely made it to their intended destination without half of the contents they carried being picked off by the hungry and thirsty crowd.

  Many dogs lay about on the floor. Some were eating scraps from the tables, others blatantly reaching right up to the plates on the tables when there was no one around to stop them. Quite a few lay sprawled out, their bellies filled to capacity and their only desire being sleep. None fought over food; there was more than enough to feed the whole city, by the look of it.

  All three stood amazed by the sight before them; this didn’t look like a group of people set to decide critical issues of trade for their provinces. It looked like a group of drunken sailors come ashore for the first time in months and set on letting loose. As they watched, a serving girl did her best to maneuver through the crowded center of the hall toward a table that remarkably thought itself in need of more food and drink. Her best was not good enough, for she was grabbed by the arm and spun about by a rather loud and obnoxious man who took her for a few spins around the floor near where the minstrels played. Another did her best to get back to the kitchens with a tray of dirty dishes. She succeeded, but only after being fondled and groped by half-a-dozen men who loudly backslapped each other on their achievement.

  “Gentleman,” Connor said, viewing their looks of open-mouthed surprise with a smile on his face, “I give you the opening feast of the trade conference.” He turned on his heels and headed back toward the door, pausing to look over his shoulder at them one more time. “Do enjoy yourselves, now,” he said with a smirk, and then was through the doors, which quickly closed behind him.

  FOUR

  The three turned their gazes from Connor’s exit back to the hall, still taken aback. Several minstrels with lutes, pipes, and a harp were now into a bawdy drinking song favored by the lower classes. Several of the more inebriated guests joined in with their voices, creating a rather discordant melody that was thankfully partially drowned out by the mixed sound of numerous conversations taking place at once.

  Rodden turned to look at Halam, who was still wide-eyed at the sight before him. “This resembles a harvest feast more than a trade conference,” he said.

  “Aye, that it does,” Halam said, not taking his eyes from the room. A small dog dropped the hunk of meat it was chewing on and began to chase a court jester around some tables, fastening its teeth on the lower hem of the jester’s tunic, much to the laughter of the men who saw. “I find it hard to believe that on the morrow we’ll be sitting around the negotiating table with many of these men.”

  “I find it hard to believe many of them’ll be able to get out of their beds come the morrow,” Rodden answered.

  Halam scanned the hall, his eyes narrowing as he searched among its occupants.

  “Do you see anybody that looks familiar?” he asked. “Orrin should be around here somewhere, although I think this scene is beyond even his threshold for debauchery.”

  Rodden put his hands on his hips and cast his gaze out into the crowd. Bryn thought that it must be incredibly difficult to track down one person in this room; people were constantly moving from their tables to the center of the room to talk or dance or grab more to drink, and then moving back again. All of the servants hustling about the crowd didn’t help matters either. Perhaps Rodden could pick out a familiar face better than Bryn; after all, he knew no one here.

  Rodden’s face lit up in recognition. “Orin,” he shouted toward a far corner of the room, his arm waving above him. “Orin Dale!”

  Bryn looked in the direction he was waving. A small group of men stood clustered around a table covered in empty plates and glasses. One man seemed to perk up at Rodden’s shouting, and began to look around him. After a few moments he looked in their direction and spotted Rodden. His face broke into a smile and he waved his arm, moving out of the group he was with and toward them.

  Bryn judged the man to be in his mid-sixties. He was shorter than average, and wore a light cotton shirt under a burgundy tunic with matching pants, his belt doing more to hold his bulging stomach in than keep his tight trousers on. He
had stark white hair, but was near bald on top, just a fringe of hair around the side and back of his head. He made up for this with large bushy sideburns and eyebrows, and a substantial amount of hair coming from his nose and ears, but other than that was clean shaven.

  He ambled over to them, and held out his hand as he approached.

  “Good to see you, Rodden” the man said, his wrinkled face becoming more so as he broke into a wide smile. “I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t make it.”

  They shook hands and Rodden gave him a familiar slap on the back. “Well, we’re here now, and it looks as though we haven’t missed much.”

  “Just the usual letting off of steam before the important decisions are made,” he said with a chuckle, moving over to Halam. “My good, man, how are you?”

  “Quite well, Orin,” Halam answered, “and you?”

  “Oh, the usual aches and pains of a body getting beyond its use, but my mind’s as sharp and quick as ever. It’s good to see you.” His smile turned to a look of concern as he looked over Halam’s dusty clothes. “I trust the journey was not too arduous now, was it?”

  “No, not at all. We would have arrived sooner in the week, but I wanted to make a side trip first,” Halam said, motioning toward Bryn.

  The man turned his attention to Bryn for the first time since coming over, a quizzical look on his face, though it quickly changed to a reassuring smile as he came over and offered his hand.

  “Orin Dale,” he said, “Royal Representative to the Province of Tillatia.”

  “Hello sir,” Bryn stammered, “my name is Bryn Fellows, from Eston, sir.” He pointed toward Halam. “Halam is my uncle.”

  “Of course, of course,” Orin shook his head knowingly. “Your uncle mentioned a short time back that he was thinking of bringing you along. So tell me, how was your journey here? First time out of Tillatia, I imagine?”

  “Yes sir, it is. First time out of Eston in fact,” Bryn said, blushing a little and looking down a moment. “The journey was quite good. I’ve always wanted to see what Adjuria looks like.”

  “Well, there’s still a lot out there for you to see, lad.”

  Orin turned his attention back to Halam and Rodden. “So gentleman, what do you think?” he asked, holding his arms out toward the room before them.

  “Seems more of a circus than a trade delegation to me,” Halam said.

  “Oh no, sir. Many of these men are just unwinding and forgetting their concerns before the serious business begins. You forget that you’ve just arrived. Most have been in the city discussing matters privately amongst themselves for several days now. The Sheffield delegation arrived more than a week ago, in fact.”

  The sound of a dozen plates and glasses shattering on the floor from the middle of the hall caught their attention. A serving girl had gone down, either from dodging an unwanted hand on her bottom or slipping on the copious amounts of spilled ale and wine which covered the floor.

  “Unwinding?” Halam said with an arched eyebrow and a bit of disgust in his voice.”

  Orin let out a loud laugh. “Come now Halam, don’t worry. Many of the men in the hall tonight aren’t those that’ll be sitting around the table discussing trade with you for the next several days. Most of these people are members of the various provinces’ entourages.” He let out an audible sigh before continuing. “An ungodly amount of people have accompanied the various provincial delegations into the city. Scribes and pages, knights and squires, advisors and servants; for each provincial representative it seems there are a dozen official men to support and help him make his decisions, and for each of them another dozen to mend clothes, cook the meals, see to the horses, and heaven knows what else. Not that we don’t have more than enough men and women in the palace to do all of that ourselves, mind you, but they couldn’t reduce their perceived importance by coming to the capital unescorted.”

  Rodden snorted. “We had no trouble in that area.”

  “The only exception I’ve seen so far, and the government thanks you for it,” Orin said with a smile. “Now gentleman, you must be tired and hungry after such a long journey. Let us retire to one of the far tables and see you are properly fed and watered. I can fill you in on some of the discussions I’ve heard over the past week, and what the likely intentions are of the various members. Come.” He motioned them toward an empty table at the side of the room, far enough away from the boisterous crowds in the center of the hall that they could have a quiet conversation.

  Halam and Rodden took one side of the table while Orin and Bryn took the other. They sat down on the rough wooden benches which Bryn thought seemed very out of place in such an extravagantly decorated hall. Then again, judging from the antics of many of the men, he no doubt guessed that most of these benches had to be replaced after such feasts, either stained or damaged beyond repair. Orin waved at a passing serving girl, and a short time later they had large plates of roast fowl, steaming vegetables, and an assortment of fruits in front of them. To wash it down they had a choice between dark red wine or foaming mugs of ale. They quickly set to their meals. Even though all three had eaten a hardy meal at the inn a short time earlier, the days on the road had caused their appetites to return quickly. Orin sat back and let them eat, content to take sips from a large glass of wine. He’d eaten more than enough earlier in the day at the lunch feast, he explained, patting his swollen belly. In fact, he said, many of the men in the hall were still here from the lunch feast, and probably had no idea that they were now well into dinner. There were no windows in the immense hall, it being set in the middle of the palace, so there was no way to tell time, which Bryn thought the men didn’t show much concern for anyway.

  Their meals finished and washed down with ale, the three sat back to savor the best meal they’d had since setting out nearly a week before. It was the best meal Bryn had eaten since last autumn’s feast day in Eston, in fact. They each took a glass of wine from a passing serving girl and watched the room around them.

  That’s when the political talk started. Bryn listened with interest at first, but he was quickly lost in the nuances that only Rodden, Orin, and his Uncle Halam seemed to understand. He started to focus more on the crowd around him, and then after a short time he must have dozed-off completely, for Rodden was shaking him awake.

  “Probably time to call it a night, eh?” he asked with a smile.

  Bryn nodded up at him with sleepy eyes, and soon they were leaving the crowded hall. A guard escorted them back to their rooms, and Bryn thought he’d fall asleep on the way.

  After a short stroll, seemingly shorter than when they’d first made the trek, they were at their rooms, their saddlebags waiting for them.

  They each found which bed had their possessions, and put everything in order. Rodden went to wash up at the washstand, while Halam took out a few shirts to hang in the dressing closet. Bryn had nothing important to hang, but washed up when Rodden was done. Halam grabbed the poker next to the fireplace and adjusted the logs so that the light in the room diminished to a faint glow.

  “We should get some sleep,” he said, “we’ve got an important day before us and it’s already late.”

  “Aye,” Rodden agreed as he stripped of his tunic and pants and began to adjust his bed.

  Bryn did the same, putting his shoes under the bed and taking off his travel-stained clothing. He hoped that he would be able to find a time to wash them over the next few days. It would be quite uncomfortable to ride back to Tillatia with them still dirty. If nothing else, he figured he could find a good stream or river to clean them in on the way back. The three said goodnight and lay down in their beds, which Bryn found too soft after a week on the road, but in a few moments all was forgiven as he fell asleep.

  FIVE

  The guards standing at the entrance to the great hall threw the doors open upon their approach, and the smell of breakfast assaulted their senses. The scene was markedly different from the night before. While previously Bryn had estima
ted the number of people to be around three hundred, this morning it seemed there was double that. Every single table and bench was full, and it looked as though even more had been brought in from other areas of the palace to accommodate the large numbers. There were no minstrels playing this morning, nor any shouts coming from the center of the hall, which was now occupied by tables full of men breaking their fasts and talking quietly. A low hum of voices hung over the hall, a big difference from the laughing and shouting of the dinner feast.

  The same serving girls scurried busily about, depositing fresh trays of food onto the tables and taking the empty plates and glasses back to the kitchens. Bryn’s mouth watered at the sight and smell of food. There were piles of crisp bacon and mountains of still-sizzling sausages; fried potatoes and eggs cooked in every way imaginable; loaves of wheat, rye, and sweet breads spread out on each table; and large plates of strawberries, bananas, apples, oranges, and grapes overflowing around them.

  A hand shot up from one of the tables and waved frantically at them as they stood by the entrance. Rodden squinted, then smiled.

  “There’s Orin,” he said, pointing.”

  They did the best they could to shuffle between the small amounts of space between benches of hungry men devouring their morning meal. Orin was in the near-center of the hall. As they approached he patted a few men on the back who were sitting at the table, and they grabbed their trays and moved.

  “Good morning, how’re you feeling today?” Orin asked, a large smile lighting up his face.

  “Very good, thank you,” Rodden said as they approached, clasping Orin by the hand. “And you?”

  “Oh, I could’ve done with a bit more sleep, but other than that I feel quite good.”

  “I imagine that not everyone here this morning can say the same,” Halam said as he took Orin’s offered hand.”

  “No, no indeed,” Orin replied with a laugh. “I’ve heard quite a few grumblings about headaches from too much wine last night, and quite a few more about the early hour.”

  “Well, they’ve never done a hard day’s work on a farm, then,” Bryn said as he made it through the crunch of benches to stand beside them.

  “No, I imagine most of these men wouldn’t know the difference between a plow and a pole-axe,” Orin said with a smile as he clasped Bryn’s hand. “Now, please, take a seat and dig into this wonderful food that’s been prepared for us this morning.

  It didn’t take any prodding from Orin. Despite the fact Bryn had stuffed himself the night before on all the fine foods the palace had to offer, a hunger rumbled in his belly. Maybe it was the lack of food on the journey to Baden, or that he’d never eaten like this at home. It could also just have been that he was hungry, and a bit nervous as to what the day held for him.

  Rodden and Halam seemed equally hungry themselves, and took bacon and sausages from the platters in the center of the table, tore off large chunks of hot bread, and grabbed handfuls of fruit. Once again, Orin just sat back and watched them eat.

  “Not hungry again this morning, Orin?” Rodden asked, seeing the older man watching them eat with a smile of satisfaction on his face.

  “Oh, I got here early, before this hall was half-full, and had my fill then. No, I’ll be fine until lunch, and will probably be hungry quite a bit before.”

  “I hope that when I’m your age I’ll be able to stay up all night and get up before everyone else,” Halam said through bites of sausage and bread.

  “You mean to say that I’m not younger than you?” Orin said with a quizzical look of dismay on his face.

  Halam tossed the crust of his bread at Orin, who easily batted it to the floor, laughing as he did so. “No, gentlemen, you know how I relish conversations–”

  “Gossip more like it,” Rodden cut him off.

  “Well, be that as it may,” Orin said with a sideways glance that told Rodden he was correct, “someone has to take the pulse of the various delegations that are in the palace.”

  “And how does that pulse sound today?” Halam asked.

  “Right now, very steady. But I have a feeling that it could quicken considerably as the morning progresses.” He waited a few moments while Halam and Rodden looked up from their plates to study his face for clues as to what he might mean. “Tempers may flare up when the delegates start talking of trade. After all, this was a contentious topic before the war.”

  “But that was more than twenty years ago,” Rodden scoffed, “surely there’s few who even remember some of the squabbles that occurred back then over such mundane things as freight weights and expected delivery times. You’d think that two wars would have made people realize that there’re more important things than squabbles over trade.”

  “Let us hope so,” Orin replied. “Nearly five years, however, have passed in which there’s been peace without trade. In that time many of the provinces have come to remember what they had before the wars. They look back on that time with nostalgia, but also in many cases with a sense of having been wronged. It’s those good times we hope to coax into the memories of the delegates today, and the bad which we want to do our best to keep out of sight and out of mind.”

  Quite a few of the men around them were getting up from the tables and moving toward the main entrance to the hall as well as to the side doors. Serving girls did the best they could to dart between them to clean up the empty plates as the men moved. It was evident that more men were leaving now than were coming in.

  “Well,” Orin said, looking around, “it looks like many have a mind to get this conference underway.”

  “So where exactly is the map room?” Halam asked as he dipped the last of his bread into the grease and juices on his plate. “This whole palace seems like a maze to me, and the lack of windows sure doesn’t help any.”

  “It can be reached from the main entrance to the hall we’re in now, or the side entrance over there,” Orin answered, pointing toward the twin doors on their right, opposite those that led to the kitchens. “There’ll be guards to show the way, but I think you could just as easily find it by following the steady stream of people that are now leaving.”

  “They can’t all be going to the conference,” Bryn said. “I thought you said each delegate was only allowed a couple of advisors.”

  “Yes, that’s right, Bryn,” Orin answered him. “But I’m sure that many of these men will be close by, in adjoining halls or in the hallways, talking to their counterparts from the other provinces, soaking up as much information, whether true or false, to supply to their superiors. We’re now playing an information game, Bryn; knowledge is power, and he who has the most will come out the winner.”

  “Well, shall we then begin to play this game ourselves?” Rodden asked, pushing his empty plate away from him and getting up from the table. “I’ve been thinking of this conference for weeks now, preparing reports and compiling figures until my eyes have ached; I’m ready to get in that hall and get it over with.”

  “Well, by all means then, let us proceed and make Tillatia proud,” Orin said in a gruff, authoritative voice that could be heard over the clatter of plates and chatter of small talk from the nearby tables; a voice that was more mockery than seriousness. “We’ll show these people what trade is all about.” Several people at the nearby tables chuckled, and a few raised their glasses. Rodden and Orin shared a laugh while Bryn smiled widely beside them, but Halam didn’t look impressed. He was all business this morning, and his serious mood quickly rubbed off on the others. Orin and Rodden straightened themselves up and headed toward the side doors leading out of the great hall and into the hallways, Bryn and Halam close behind.

  As before, there was a guard to meet them, but it was clear that all they had to do was follow the other people heading in the same direction, so they told him they could find the map room themselves.

  After walking for a few minutes they came to an ornate set of double doors at the end of one hallway. There were two large hauberks set on the wall above the d
oors, their metal gleaming in the torchlight at this end of the palace. Several guards stood well in front of the doors as they passed through. The room they walked into was large and rectangular. Bryn could tell immediately why it was called ‘the map room.’ Every inch of space on the walls was covered by one map or another.

  “Oh my,” Rodden said as they entered, his mouth falling open at the sight of so many maps crowding for space along the walls.

  “When they said map room, boy, they weren’t kidding!” Halam said, equally in awe over the overwhelming types and sizes of maps.

  Many of the people who’d entered the room before them were circling around, staring up at all the sights they’d for the most part only heard or read about. Bryn, Halam, and Rodden unknowingly joined the clusters of people wandering the room with their heads staring upward.

  There were maps of Pelios as far as the world was known. They showed detailed descriptions of the terrains of Adjuria and Jonguria, as well as the oceans and seas that surrounded them, and were divided between the two longest walls based on country.

  Several maps were devoted entirely to cities, and Bryn could see Baden, Pardun, Atros, Fadurk, Dockside, and Bargoes displayed prominently at eye level. Further up toward the ceiling were maps of the King’s Wood, the Baltika Forest, and the Tirana Forest. Near the ceiling on the far wall opposite the entrance was a good-sized map showing The Vast, the desert which took up all of southern Oschem. Next to it was a map showing details of the entire Klamath Plain stretching the length of Adjuria. Nearby hung a map with various routes through the Montino Mountains, and another showing the same for the Barrier Mountains in Ithmia. A rather non-descript map highlighted the terrain of the Isthmus, or lack thereof, for it was rather barren and desolate, much like the stories he’d read and heard about the place. One that Bryn found particularly interesting was a map showing the full extent of The Waste, the icy tundra that covered more than half of the three northern-most provinces. Much like the two desert maps, this one was also quite empty, and Bryn could almost feel a chill creep into his bones just by looking at it.

  On the other long wall were maps that Bryn had a hard time recognizing. These were the maps of Jonguria, and except for a few of the names, they were completely unknown to him. The four great eastern cities of Fujing, Bidong, Xi’lao, and Bindao were all shown in exquisite detail. Next to them was a map showing Waigo nestled among the Xishan Mountains. The Dashao Desert was given a particularly large map, even though there were few terrain features to highlight. Another was devoted entirely to the immensity of the Bailochia Forest and close to it was another showing the wildly fluctuating terrains of northern Loajing with tundra, plains, desert, and grasslands all taking up space. A map labeled as southern Pudong showed the Shannan Mountains as well as the Shanbu Jungle. Bryn had never seen a jungle before; none existed in Adjuria, and he thought it would be quite a sight to see. A portion of the wall was given over to a group of maps which showed the five islands of Jonguria. The three largest were, Shanfeng, with its jungles and mountains; Jiebing, covered entirely with forest; and Senlin, desolate on the coasts, but forested on the interior. The two smaller islands, Yanshide and Nanbo, were given just small spaces. The three lakes of Jonguria, Pulong, Kumou, and Shuiyan, took up less area than the entirety of the Duldovian Sea, Bryn thought as he looked at the map.

  The room seemed to have every map imaginable; there was even one detailing the far-off island of Desolatia, where Grandon Fray had been exiled following the Civil War. Even the ceiling was covered with a huge map of Pelios, showing the entirety of both continents, as well as the seas and oceans.

  Only after they’d circled the room and were once again standing in front of the entrance did they feel a little foolish at being swept away by the sights of the room.

  “Really quite amazing,” Rodden laughed, “I could spend all day in a room like this just staring at the maps, lost in thought.”

  “Me too,” Bryn agreed, still looking with wide-eyes at all the room had to offer.

  “Well, we’ll be in the room all day, but it won’t be for the purpose of staring at maps,” Halam said, his awe at the initial sight of the room now replaced with determination at the task ahead of them.

  “Let’s take our seats,” Orin suggested, pointing toward the table.

  It was easy to forget that the room held anything but maps when first entering. The center of the room was taken up with a massive oaken table which must have come from deep in the forests to be so long and wide without a break in the wood. There were fifteen high-backed chairs with deep-red cushioning set into the table, fourteen evenly spaced on each side, with one at the table’s head opposite the entrance. Behind it stood the only window in the room, a large plate-glass affair which took up more space than some of the maps, and stretched nearly to the ceiling, casting the early morning sun down onto the table below. Several other chairs were placed behind the fourteen on the sides and head of the table, and Bryn figured these must be for the various advisors and counselors that the delegates had brought along. It felt odd to think of himself in that capacity; what could he possibly advise his worldly uncle on anyway? Perhaps there’d be other people simply observing the proceedings in some of the other chairs. But no, Bryn thought, this was too important of a conference for anyone without a purpose to take up space. So what is my purpose, then, he thought?

  Orin led them down the right side of the table. He stopped near the middle of the table at a spot that contained a piece of paper labeled “Tillatia.”

  “Here you are, sir,” he said to Halam as he motioned for him to take the high-backed chair at the table. “Make us proud,” he added with a smile.

  Most of the other delegates were seated now, with a few people standing beside the empty chairs still talking. The guards at the doors closed the two doors and stood beside them, their heads held at attention. With that action the few remaining people quickly took their appointed seats, and a hush fell over the room. The only empty chairs now were those at the head of the table. A few quite mumblings could be heard around the room. Bryn looked up at Orin seated next to him. As if reading his thoughts he bent down to whisper into Bryn’s ear.

  “The king,” was all he said.

  As if on cue, a small side door set into a space on the long wall behind them toward the window opened and a young man entered the room and headed for the chair, with two men and a woman trailing behind him. The delegates and advisors around the table rose from their chairs at his entrance into the room.

  He looked little older than Bryn, with wavy blonde hair and above-average height. Long cheekbones framed his face, ending in a square jaw and a prominent chin. His nose and mouth were small, and he was clean-shaven. Bryn judged him to be quite handsome, and thought that he must have a hard time keeping the ladies away. He was dressed in a light blue cotton shirt and brown pants with a dark brown leather jerkin. Strapped to his belt was a simple-looking dagger in a leather sheath with the seal of Culdovia on it. He possessed a strong, muscular build and strode with a purposeful gait. Reaching his chair, he turned to acknowledge the delegates standing around him with his eyes before taking his seat, the rest of the room doing so as well.

  The woman who took one of the chairs directly behind the king must have been his mother, Bryn thought. She too had long wavy blonde hair, and her facial features were very similar to the king’s. She was quite beautiful and still very young, not twice the age of the king, in Bryn’s opinion.

  Beside her were seated two older men. One was rather stern looking, with a wrinkled face and gray hair, a long scar down his left cheek from the eye to the chin, which caused his mouth to slant downward on that side in a perpetual frown. The other was a bit younger, with dark hair showing signs of grey at the temples, and a calmer visage. As the delegates seated themselves, he rose to speak.

  “Gentleman,” he began, addressing the hall stretched out before him, “thank you for coming to this conference on trade held in Baden by the
grace of his majesty, King Waldon. My name is Tullin Atow and I am counselor to the king. I have a few short words for you, and then we can begin introductions and get the conference started. The delegates all clapped for a few moments while the king looked a little restless.

  “This conference,” the man continued, “is being held on the express recommendations and planning of the delegate from Culdovia, Pader Brun.”

  He motioned toward the far end of the table, opposite Bryn. The man rose at his name, and the delegates again clapped. He was in his early-forties, tall, but looked to have recently put on some weight. He had a square jaw with ruddy cheeks, and a thin mustache that he kept close-trimmed to his upper lip and which was the same dirty blonde color of his hair. He was wearing loose cotton pants and shirt of a matching light blue tone. He sat down, and Tullin continued.

  “As well as the delegate from Duldovia, Willem Pritt,” Tullin said. The man that Orin had pointed out the night before rose to acknowledge Tullin and the clapping from the delegates. He seemed to be wearing the same clothing as the previous evening, which made Bryn feel good. At least he wasn’t the only one in the hall who packed light.

  “These two men did much to present the idea to the king and royal council of renewing trade relations with Jonguria,” Tullin said after Pritt sat back down. “Our purpose here over the next several days is that issue. Many of you have differing opinions as to the best course of action to take with our neighbor to the east. I assure you that we’ll listen to all opinions and discuss each in a civilized fashion befitting the dignity of this setting.”

  Several delegates murmured their support, and a few clapped their hands.

  “It is important to remember,” the man continued as he began to circle the table of delegates, “that we have not yet sent any emissaries to Jonguria with our thoughts on this issue. We thought it best to ascertain the views of the provinces first. When, and if, we successfully conclude our meeting here, delegates will be selected to travel to Jonguria to present our proposals to the proper authorities. Let us hope that we can once again have a healthy and vibrant trade between our two nations.”

  The delegates all applauded at that last remark and Tullin smiled before continuing on.

  “Gentleman, the room that we are in was not chosen by accident,” he said, raising his arms to showcase the great maps around them. “It was chosen not just for its size in accommodating all of you, but to make you think as well about the immensity of size and variation between the two nations of Pelios. For the longest time our world was at peace, but only recently was it stricken with war, first with a foreign power, and then here at home amongst ourselves. Yet peace has returned once again, and with it the chance to renew old friendships soured by the scourge of war. Gentleman,” Tullin continued, putting his hands down on the center of the table, “let us put away our past differences and forge a common path toward the future, one which holds the promise of prosperity for all Adjurians.”

  The room erupted into clapping and a few hoots and howls from those seated behind the delegates.

  “Well, we’re off to quite the raucous start,” Orin said over his shoulder to Bryn and Rodden. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  Tullin walked back to stand near the king. “Now, I know that many of you are acquainted with your fellow delegates.” He paused to look at the seated faces around the room. “Perhaps you live in neighboring provinces, or have common positions within those governments. Maybe you fought alongside each other in Jonguria, or against one another on returning home. Be that as it my,” he said with a wave of his hand to stifle some discontented murmurs caused by his last remark, “many of the faces in the room may be unknown to some, many, or all of you. For that reason, let us go around the room and present the delegates of the conference.”

  Once again he began to walk around the table as he spoke. “Besides the two honorable men from the two provinces I’ve already mentioned, we’re delighted to have the following delegates.” He was nearly behind Bryn when he raised his voice for all to hear. “Representing the interests of Regidia is Jossen Fray.”

  The man across the table from Bryn and next to Pader Brun of Culdovia rose and bowed to some scattered clapping from the delegates along his side of the table, but quite a few grumblings of displeasure and a large deal of silence from Bryn’s side of the table. The man was in his early fifties and had a squeaky, high-pitched voice that all heard as he acknowledged the room. He was short, with a sneering mouth that looked deceptive and cunning when he smiled. His nose and eyes were small, and his hair was jet-black, as was the goatee that framed his mouth. His clothing was of a fine cut, made from leather and wool and nearly all black except for a dark-orange trim. A dirk was fastened with an ornate hilt to his belt, the sheath bearing three large oak trees, the seal of Regidia.

  Bryn remembered the bad mood that Halam had been put into when he learned from Rodden that Jossen would be representing Regidia at the conference. He couldn’t see his uncle’s face now, but he imagined that his teeth were firmly clenched together and that his fists were balled tight under the table. He wouldn’t let any of his anger show, he was much too dignified for that, but to have a man he so obviously disliked, if not downright hated, seated across from him surely caused his blood to boil. Bryn made a mental note to question Orin later about the history between his uncle and Fray.

  When Jossen had taken his seat Tullin continued.

  “From the dusty plains of Equinia comes Dolth Hane.”

  More people on Bryn’s side of the table clapped for Hane than did for Fray. He must be liked more for some reason, but then he didn’t play a large part in bringing about the Civil War as Fray had done, Bryn remembered as his eyes wandered up to the map of Desolatia Island high on the wall across the hall. What would it be like to live out your days alone in exile on that place? he thought.

  Dolth stood and gave a low boy to his peers seated around the table, and they in turned clapped for him. Of medium height with blonde hair cut close to his head and looking to be in his early thirties, Dolth was surely one of the youngest delegates to the convention. He wore snug leather pants and coat, both dark brown in color. The seal of Equinia, a horse running across the plains, was displayed prominently on the right breast of his coat. If that wasn’t enough to remind everyone where he came from, the horse whip on his belt surely was.

  Bryn chuckled a little when he first saw it, and nudged Orin.

  “Careful, he knows how to use it just as easily on men as he does on beasts,” Orin said with a smile.

  “From the shores of the Bargoes Lake in Allidia,” Tullin continued when Dolth was seated, “Klyne Surin.”

  Klyne stood up and nodded his head to those gathered around the table. The applause that accompanied his name dimmed when he stood, and whispers could be heard in the hall. His dark brown shirt was cut short and sowed together just above the elbow where his right arm ended in a stump. Klyne himself didn’t appear to mind the whispers which were directed at his missing arm; he actually seemed to bask in them. Bryn nudged Orin and asked what had happened.

  “Klyne was wounded, some thought mortally, during the charge he led on the second day at Baden,” Orin said. “He was still in delirium when they took his arm off, and most were sure he wouldn’t make it through the night. But his will to live was stronger than any thought, so here he stands.”

  He couldn’t have been much older than forty, Bryn thought as he looked at the youthful features of the man who stood smiling as the room whispered. He was tall with straight brown hair kept combed back. Muscles could be seen bulging from beneath his brown clothing. Obviously his lack of an arm didn’t hinder his ability to stay in shape, something which the majority of the hall probably couldn’t achieve with four arms. Secured to his belt was a small hatchet in a leather sheath which bore the Allidian seal of a large pine tree towering over a lake. When the whispers died down, Klyne resumed his seat, and Tullin continued with the introductions.
r />   “From the far western regions of Adjuria comes the delegate from Hotham, Fryst Bahn.”

  Fryst rose and smiled, turning completely around so the whole room could get a look at him. Bryn immediately liked the man, with his easy smile that invited camaraderie. He was in his early-forties, Bryn judged, and had long dark brown hair tied in a ponytail which hung half-way down his back. His clothing looked worn and shabby, and was made from rough homespun wool. It appeared that Fryst went to some pains to try and clean his garments before the conference; there were some stains, partly rubbed away, showing here and there on his light brown pants and shirt. Instead of a weapon like many of the others had at their belts, Fryst had a small mining pick, the odd accoutrement only adding to Bryn’s interest in the man. It appeared that most in the hall felt the same way, for the applause seemed to go on longer for him than it did for any of the previous delegates.

  Orin leaned down to whisper in Bryn’s ear.

  “Nearly everyone likes Fryst,” he said. “He’s always backed the common man, and knows work, having put his time in down in the mines. When he fought against the allies at Baden, it was said that he purposely held his troops back since he didn’t agree with the usurper cause, but couldn’t stand against his province. As a result Hotham suffered the fewest losses during those three bloody days.”

  “From the large province of Oschem,” Tullin went on,” I present to you Andor Flin.”

  Andor was slow to rise from his chair, the extra pounds from today’s breakfast perhaps weighing him down. The room clapped for him as they did for the others presented so far, and Andor gave a few halfhearted waves around the room before sinking back into his chair. He wore different clothing from the night before, Bryn noticed, still the same well-tailored yet ill-fitting light tan coat and breaches heavily accented in green. There were sizeable bags under his eyes, probably from staying in the hall drinking and carousing well after most had left.

  “From the steely edge of Adjuria comes the delegate from Shefflin,” Tullin said, proceeding down to the end of that side of the table, his introductions seeming to become more fanciful and pun-filled as he went along, “Jocko More.”

  Bryn thought that the applause was less for Jocko than the other delegates, and noticed that many of those seated across the table who’d already been introduced were clapping less. It could be that they had some issues with Shefflin, he thought, but then the reason occurred to him. The five provinces that joined together to begin the Civil War were all seated together across the table from Bryn. Whoever had done the seating arrangements must have overlooked this obvious detail, or else had a sick sense of humor.

  Jocko stood and flashed a smile of incredibly white teeth to the hall, in no way taken aback by the lack of applause from his side. Bryn judged the man to be in his mid-thirties. He was trim and athletic in his black pants and doublet, his muscular arms evident under his dark purple jerkin. His jet black hair was oiled to a considerable sheen and swept back over his head. His nose was small and his large mouth and white teeth were considerably accented by his dark black mustache, the ends of which were waxed into sharp points. A longsword was strapped to his belt, and Bryn noticed the pommel was etched with an anvil over an orange flame, the seal of Shefflin. Jocko yelled out his thanks to the hall before sitting back down.

  Tullin moved down and around the table so that he was now standing opposite the king and next to Pader Brun from Culdovia.

  “From the cold reaches of Adjuria’s north comes Iago Cryst of Mercentia,” he said loudly to the hall.

  The man Tullin pointed out stood to the clapping of the delegates. He was by far the tallest of the men that’d been introduced thus far, Bryn realized as he looked at the large man. He was in his early-fifties, and was in amazing shape for his age. Not an ounce of fat could be seen from beneath his white cotton shirt and brown studded-leather jerkin; the only protrusions were deep chords of muscles along his arms and legs. Even his neck was heavily muscled. Iago’s eyes were deep blue, his nose and mouth prominent. A large scar ran straight down the length of his left cheek, while another crossed diagonally along his right. His right eyebrow was split in two by yet another scar running from below his eye to his forehead. He didn’t smile or do anything to acknowledge the applause of the crowd, merely stood with a straight back and his arms at his sides with his palms resting on the pommel of the ornate ivory hilt of the longsword fastened at his belt. A sword and shield insignia could be seen on the weapon’s sheath, the seal of Mercentia.

  Tullin moved to stand behind Jossen Fray as he introduced the delegate seated next to Halam.

  “From the high impenetrable reaches of Adjuria comes our next delegate, Whent Auro of Montino.”

  Whent took his time getting up, and Bryn could see why. The man had to be in his late-sixties judging by the wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. He was remarkably slim for his age, of medium height, and still possessed a full head of rich grey hair. His small green eyes looked tired, and his round mouth and nose were obscured by the beard that covered much of his face. Whent’s thick wool coat matched the color of his hair, trimmed with some type of fur Bryn didn’t recognize. On his belt was a dagger with the seal of Montino, an ice-capped mountain.

  No sooner did Whent stand up than he sat back down, and Tullin moved further down the opposite side of the table, causing Bryn’s excitement to rise; his uncle was the next delegate to be introduced!

  “From the verdant hills and fields of Tillatia comes our next delegate,” Tullin intoned in his deep voice, “Halam Fiske.”

  The clapping that accompanied Halam’s name was quite loud, and even the delegates seated across the table from him seemed to have a favorable opinion of the delegate from Tillatia. Bryn looked down the table to see what Jossen Fray’s reaction was, but the man showed no sign of any problems and clapped along with the rest.

  Halam rose and gave a few short bows to the delegates seated around the table and to the men seated behind him. He met Bryn’s eyes and gave a small smile before turning around and resuming his seat.

  Tullin was now standing directly across the table from where Bryn was seated behind Halam.

  “From the verdant hills and fields of Fallownia,” he said with a smile as a few chuckles could be heard around the hall, “Millen Fron.”

  “Millen stood to the smattering of applause, turning in a circle to nod to all assembled in the room. Looking to be in his early-forties, Millen had short brown hair, a large mouth and nose, and penetrating green eyes. He had a small beard which covered only his chin. His breaches were light grey, as was his cotton coat which he wore over a beige cotton shirt. Unlike many of the other delegates, Millen didn’t have a weapon at his belt, and Bryn couldn’t detect the seal of Fallownia, which he knew to be a wavy field of grain.

  There were only two delegates left to introduce, and Tullin wasted no time in getting to them.

  “From the southern-most province of Adjuria comes our next delegate, Edgyn Thron of Portinia,” his voice rang out loudly.

  Edgyn seemed to be in his late-fifties and wore sailor’s pants of light brown with a loose-fitting white shirt. Like Jocko before him, Edgyn was quick to smile, and his white teeth gleamed out at the others in the hall as he turned in each direction, bowing to all. His hair was dark and combed back over his head, but without the overabundance of oil Bryn had seen some of the other men wear. He had a small nose and his large mouth was framed by a dark goatee. A simple cutlass hung from his belt, and nowhere on his simple attire could Bryn find the seal of Portinia, a ship anchored at dock. When the clapping subsided, Edgyn sat back down and Tullin once again stood at the end of the table near the king.

  “And last but certainly not least, from the Barrier Mountains that protect Adjuria, comes the delegate from Ithmia, Palen Biln,” Tullin intoned.

  The man that Tullin introduced was tall and looked serious as he stood, neither waving or bowing to the room, nor turning completely for those behind to get
a good look at him. Bryn judged him to be in his early-fifties, and from his vantage he could tell that Palen had short-cropped blonde hair and was clean shaven. His face was rather gaunt with a small nose and mouth, and deep-set grey eyes. He looked to be the type of man who smiled little and expected those around him to do the same. Bryn could tell from pictures he had seen in books that Palen wore the garrison uniform of Fadurk; dark-brown leather pants and coat, with a light green heavy woolen shirt underneath, and the insignia of Ithmia prominently displayed on the breast, a single castle tower on yellow sand, water on each side. A longsword, so different from the weapons the other delegates carried in that it was neither elegant nor ornate, hung from his belt. It looked to Bryn to be a sword that had seen battle, unlike the ceremonial blades that many in the hall carried. The clapping for Palen was the loudest heard yet, and continued on for a few moments after he’d resumed his seat.

  With the lengthy process of introducing all of the delegates now complete, some restless chatter began to be heard in the room. Tullin paid it no mind as he walked over to stand next to the king.

  “And now, esteemed guests, let me introduce one final member of our conference, the King of Adjuria, Rowan Waldon.”

  All in the room stood to applaud the king, who rose from his chair to give a few quick bows to those at the table, before motioning for everyone to resume their seats.

  “Esteemed guests,” he said to the people in the room, his deep voice ringing around the hall, “I thank you for coming to Baden for this conference. Some of you have traveled very far to be with us here, while others have come from nearby. Many of you had to leave your work in the fields or the mines of your provinces, while nearly all of you had to depart from your families.”

  He paused, and Bryn saw that some of the people in the room were nodding their assent at his words.

  “It is my sincere wish,” the king continued, “that we can complete our business here in a swift, yet thorough, manner, so that you may return to your duties as soon as possible. I know that this is a great inconvenience for many of you, but rest assured that it’s of the utmost necessity to your country that we decide here over the coming days a substantial trade policy with Jonguria. It has been ten years now since the East-West War has ended, and twenty since trade between the two countries flourished. The fortunes of all of Adjuria have diminished with the absence of trade, and we are here now to put the matter right. I urge you to keep in mind the many small families, hard-working shop owners, and the many folks toiling day-in and day-out in the fields and mines, lakes and rivers, and mountains and oceans of Adjuria. For them, let us put aside whatever differences we might have, and work toward the common purpose of making the lives of all Adjurians better through our actions here in this hall.”

  He took his seat to the vigorous applause of those in the room. All seemed impressed with his words, and while Bryn had a hard time imagining a man barely older than himself sitting in the tall chair at the head of the table as being king, after hearing his words Bryn had no doubt that he was qualified for the position he held.

  The room erupted in chatter as the delegates resumed their seats, and Orin leaned over to Rodden and Bryn.

  “He may not look it, but that young man has what it takes to be a king,” he said, a large smile on his face.

  “Yes, it’s one thing to see him,” Rodden agreed, “and quite another to hear him talk.”

  “Let’s hope that the hall heeds his advice and works toward a common policy that everyone can agree on,” Orin said. “While I’ve no doubt there’re some here that’d like to extend this conference as long as possible so as live off the hospitality of the palace for as long as possible, it would in no way serve the interests of Adjuria. No, what we need is quick action and a sound policy.”

  “Yes,” Rodden said, “and let us not forget that we’ve still got to present that policy to Jonguria and have them agree with it, if anything we do here is to have any significance.”

  SIX

  The Jade Princess bobbed in the surf, and Grandon put his arm up to get a better look. The sun was shining down unmercifully on this small rock in the Apsalar Ocean, and he couldn’t help but think of Desolatia Island. Five years he’d spent there, but the past five days he’d spent on the boat, crammed in with the Jongurians, almost seemed longer than that.

  The ‘False King,’ as he’d come to be known in his native country of Adjuria, put down his arm and turned away from the ship. He’d requested to come along with the small landing party, a few Jongurians in a rowboat heading out for water. Leisu had been adamant that the small island had no name, but Grandon wasn’t so sure of that. He didn’t trust the Jongurians, and the wily leader of the crew he was with rubbed him the wrong way. He was glad the man had stayed behind on the ship, though he’d sent his subordinate along, the man named Ko. Grandon chuckled inwardly to himself. Might as well call the man ‘Can’t Talk,’ he thought. Since boarding the ship he’d heard him say two words, if that.

  He couldn’t say the same for the rest of the crew. The men chatted all the time, and laughed too. It was all in Jongurian, of course, so Grandon just assumed they were chatting about him, laughing at his expense. It’d put his hackles up for the past few days, and caused his temper to flare several times. The first was the first full day on the boat. Grandon hadn’t been around another person in five years, and he quickly set to snapping at people. The crew hadn’t responded too well to that, and one surly member in particular had made it his mission in life to get under the Adjurian’s skin. The man’s name was Bochi and on the third full day out he and the other men had been scrubbing the deck. Grandon had come out of his small bunkroom for some air and Bochi had purposefully tripped him up and sent him over the railing. Without his fast hands, Grandon was sure he’d have fallen into the shark-infested waters below. Grandon couldn’t prove that the man had tripped him up, though the look on his face and the way he’d tried not to smile told the Adjurian all he’d needed to know.

  That was probably why Leisu sent Ko with them, Grandon thought as they continued onward toward the small island – Bochi would be heading to the island as well.

  The place was a small affair, with a few scraggly trees clinging to the rocks for life. The whole place was a mile across, if even that, and probably half as much wide. But it held water, and right there in the middle of the place. The men walked forward, several making slower progress as they rolled the empty water barrels forward. The island was small and in a few minutes they were within sight of a small pool of water, really nothing more than a collected bit of rainwater in a shallow depression in the rocks. They walked on and then sat down to wait. The men with the barrels finally made it, and then set about filling them. Grandon soon grew bored watching them, and started to walk over a bluff.

  “Stay close,” he heard someone call out behind him, and looked back to see Ko looking his way. With a nod he continued on.

  The island was a giant rock, Grandon quickly realized, and little more. Over the bluff was more rock, all the way to the far shore in the distance. The place got a lot of storms, that was clear from all the driftwood washed up, even here in the near-center of the island. Grandon walked over to some of that driftwood, and looking back toward the bluff and the men he couldn’t see on the other side of it, he got an idea. Sticking his finger into his mouth and then the air, he gauged the wind and set to work. Gathering together many of the larger logs, he set about raising them up so that some were standing, propped up by some of the smaller. In a matter of minutes he had what he wanted.

  Coming back over the bluff a few minutes later, Grandon saw that the men were nearly done with filling the barrels. He headed down to the pool, toward where Bochi was standing and watching. There he waited, and judged the wind. It would only be another few moments, and then–

  There was a series of bangs from the other side of the bluff. The sound drew the men’s eyes, and Ko and another few rushed over a bluff to get a look. That was al
l that Grandon needed.

  He rushed over the ten yards separating him from Bochi. The Jongurian had been looking toward the sound as well, and didn’t detect the movement until it was too late. Grandon barreled into the man and they both went down into the pool of water.

  Grandon knew the splash would draw the men’s eyes back their way, and that he only had a few seconds. He immediately shot his hands up to Bochi’s throat and grasped hold. He pushed the Jongurian’s head down into the water just as the man’s own hands shot out and grabbed hold of his. The two thrashed in the water, and Grandon had to act. Drowning a man took time, he knew from experience, and already Ko and the other men were rushing back down the hill. Besides that, the–

  Grandon’s thoughts were cutoff as he was struck in the back of the head. Another Jongurian was there and had just hit him, with his fist it felt like. Grandon knew they wouldn’t kill him, but the next blow might be a stick or something else that could really do harm, knock him out even. Not wasting another second, he reached down and grabbed hold of the dagger at Bochi’s belt. With one swift motion he extended his arm backward in a throw that sent the blade flying at the man behind him. Grandon didn’t look to see if it found its mark, he didn’t have to – the ‘ugh’ and then the small splash was all he needed to hear to know the man had been hit in the gut or the chest and was now down. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Grandon–

  “Stop!”

  Grandon looked up to see Ko standing on the edge of the pool, the other two men he’d rushed away with now at his side. One of them held his crossbow, nocked and pointing Grandon’s way. The Adjurian smiled, and slowly released his grip on Bochi’s throat.

  The Jongurian shot upward and gasped for air, then his eyes locked onto Grandon and he began to lunge for the man.

  “Stop!” Ko shouted again, and nodded at one of the men beside him. That man rushed forward and grabbed hold of Bochi, pulled him back.

  “Enough of this!” Ko shouted. Grandon was surprised to hear the man say so much, and surprised to hear him speaking in Adjurian. He quickly realized that Bochi understood the words as well.

  “I will not have you men fighting!” Ko continued. “I will not have–”

  Whatever Ko was going to say was cutoff as Grandon lunged forward and shot the flat of his hand forward at Bochi’s throat. There was a sickening ‘crack’ and then Bochi was grasping at his throat with both hands, desperately trying to breath through his broken windpipe. His eyes grew larger as he realized he couldn’t and he looked to the other men for help. Grandon stepped back and crossed his arms and took on a smug look, while Ko only looked at him, a burning anger in his eyes. A moment later, Bochi fell to his knees on the ground, then toppled over onto the rocky island, dead.

  “Leisu will not be happy to hear this,” Ko said after a few tense moments where the men looked from him to Grandon and back again.

  Grandon shrugged. “I guess he’ll have to take me back to Desolatia,” he said, then started back toward the rowboat.

  Behind him Ko frowned. Already this was becoming a mistake.

  SEVEN

  The talk of trade echoed off the map room walls as the morning progressed. The delegates rose one-after-another to present their province’s needs and wants in regard to trade. The presentations were civil and the reception courteous. It seemed as though the delegates had taken the king’s speech to heart, and that the conference wouldn’t degenerate into a giant shouting match as many had predicted. The problems and prospects of Culdovia and Portinia were heard, and it seemed whatever worries the delegates may have entertained had proven baseless. This notion was quickly dispelled, however, when Jocko More was given the chance to highlight the needs and desires of Shefflin.

  From there the first argument ensued, about the quality of steel used in daggers. Most of the provinces could care less, but it was just the thing needed for old animosities to come boiling to the fore. Things quickly degenerated from there, and lunch was seen as just a short reprieve in the hostilities.

  The afternoon proceeded much the same way as the morning had. Andor Flin got into a heated argument with Fryst Bahn over the quality of minerals produced in Oschem compared to Hotham, which seemed to drag on for hours. In reality it lasted a mere fraction of that before Tullin rose to suggest that they move to another issue, much to the relief of all present, including, Bryn thought, the two delegates themselves.

  Next came an attempt by Willem Pritt to usher into the proceedings some of the same conciliatory tones that had been heard that morning between Tillatia and Fallownia. He began by discussing Duldovia’s vast wealth of products which came from the Duldovian Sea, and how in the past this often undercut the lesser products, in quantity – but by no means quality, he was quick to point out – of those coming from Allidia. Sensing some type of challenge, Klyne Surin rose from his chair to challenge Pritt’s words. For the next several minutes the two shouted across the table at one another; Klyne arguing that the Bargoes Lake produced goods just as good, if not better, than those coming from the Duldovian Sea, with Willem simply trying to assure everyone that he’d in no way tried to make that claim in the first place. In the end they both sat down flustered and frustrated.

  After that exchange Jossen Fray had a chance to speak. He began by suggesting that the delegates work in closer harmony with one another, but this quickly turned into a diatribe against the delegates sitting across the table from him. It ended when he began to speak of the superiority of the Regidian wood products, whereupon Klyne had to rise for a second time to defend the perceived sleight to Allidia’s honor and her substantial wood products industry. Again the hall grew silent after Tullin called for a halt to the discussion and both men sat down red-faced and angry. At that point it was suggested by the king that they call a halt for the day and reconvene in the morning. No one found any fault with those remarks, the first time such had occurred all afternoon, and the delegates happily rose to leave the map room.

  The great hall was as packed for dinner by the time they arrived, even more so than it had been for breakfast and lunch, Bryn thought as he looked around upon coming through the double doors. The revelers from the night before had obviously slept off their headaches and were ready to partake again, filling the tables to near-capacity. They looked around to try and locate Millen, Pader, and Orin, but it was nearly impossible to pin down three individuals with so many people moving about. After a few more fruitless minutes of scanning the hall, Halam decided it’d be best to head to a far table that had quite a few empty benches and let the others come to them.

  They seated themselves and a serving woman brought over three glasses and a flagon of wine, as well as a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit.

  “What opposition do you think there’ll be when we present our plan to the whole conference?” Rodden asked Halam as he filled their glasses with wine.

  “Well,” Halam said after taking a sip, “first we need to secure enough support. Without the agreement of eight delegates, I don’t think there’s any point in presenting the plan.”

  “Not even to let the whole conference know that a plan is in the works?” Bryn asked.

  “I’d much rather keep it a bit quiet. I don’t think there’ll be support from the provinces that fought against the crown,” Halam replied.

  “But what of Equinia?” Rodden asked between bites of cheese. “I thought that it was a sure thing we could count on their support.”

  “There are no sure things when it comes to negotiations like this,” Halam replied. “We could have eight delegates with us after this evening and present the plan to the whole conference tomorrow morning, only to find that half of them have decided to renege on their previous commitment and leave us hanging in the wind.”

  “We’ll have to make sure that we have their firm commitment then,” Rodden replied.

  Just then Orin came to their table and sat down, waving to a serving girl to bring another glass of wine.

 
; “So how did your conversation with Hane go?” Halam asked eagerly.

  “It was none too difficult convincing him,” Orin replied as he reached for the bread and cheese. “When I made it clear to him that by supporting our policy the surplus livestock of Equinia would be bought right up, he couldn’t come along fast enough.”

  “It was as simple as that?” Rodden asked skeptically.

  “It was as simple as that. I told Dolth that this would mean a central authority in Baden would have more power over trade,” Orin went on, his arms now gesturing in front of him as he told the story. “He didn’t seem to mind so long as Equinia was given a fair price for her livestock, something which has not always been the case before. No,” Orin finished, “I think we can count on Equinia’s support.”

  “Great,” Halam replied. “With Mercentia with us we have the support of five provinces.”

  “So Iago agreed then?” Orin asked.

  “He came along. He was a little reticent when he realized that Mercentia would lose some say over the matter to the government in Baden, but in the end it was the chance to look better than Shefflin that convinced him.”

  “Ha,” Orin laughed, “I should’ve known it’d be that easy.”

  A serving woman came over to their table, a large platter of beefsteaks in her arms. She set the dish down, and waved to a nearby girl to bring plates, knives, and forks to the table, while she grabbed the empty wine flagon and headed back toward the kitchens.

  “Ah, I could eat a cow, and I see they’ve brought me one,” Rodden said, not waiting for the girl to finish laying down plates before he grabbed the large serving knife from the platter and began cutting one large steak into smaller pieces. The others waited until they had plates in front of them, then they too jumped upon the steaks.

  “Save one for me,” Millen said as he came over to the table and sat down next to Bryn. “I never thought that negotiating trade deals could work up such an appetite.”

  “Aye, that it can,” Halam replied between bites of steak. “So, did everything go well with Edgyn?”

  “Perfectly,” Millen said as he stuck his fork into a rather large steak and dropped it onto the plate in front of him. “I think if you told Edgyn that the Jongurians were taking over the country with our deal he would agree to it, so long as it meant Portinian ships could ship goods once again.”

  “That easy?” Orin asked?

  “Too easy,” Millen said as he busily cut up his steak into smaller pieces. “He was just waiting for some type of coalition of delegates to form, he told me, so that a deal could be pushed through the council. The way things were going this afternoon, he was beginning to give up hope of ever seeing that happen. So you can imagine his relief when I knocked on his door and presented my plan. He happily went right along with it.”

  “Splendid news!” Orin said.

  “And how about you two?” Millen asked between mouthfuls of steak. “Did you manage to persuade Dolth and Iago?”

  “We did,” Halam replied.

  “Dolth was easy, but Iago took a little more convincing,” Orin explained, looking to Halam for confirmation.

  “Aye, that he did,” Halam said. “But in the end I managed it.”

  The talk around the table ceased as the men gave all of their attention over to finishing their steaks. The serving woman came back with another flagon of wine, and Bryn took the liberty of filling the glasses. They leaned back with their drinks, satisfied with how far they’d come with their plans since the afternoon.

  “Gentleman,” a voice said behind them, “may I join you.” They turned in their seats to see Willem Pritt.

  “By all means,” Rodden replied, moving over to make room on the bench.

  “Pader told me of your plan to form a majority of delegates to present a unified trade policy before the conference,” Willem said once he had taken a seat.

  “Yes, right now we have the support of Tillatia, Fallownia, Culdovia, Mercentia, Equinia, and Portinia” Halam explained. “And we’d like to add Duldovia to that list as well.”

  “I’d like to hear more of what exactly you plan to present to the conference first,” Willem responded.

  The men looked around the table at one another, not sure who should proceed with the explanation. Halam put down his cup and sat up straight, locking eyes with Willem.

  “We plan to tell them that by supporting our policy all of the provinces will see their excess goods traded to Jonguria for them,” he said. “We plan to carry this out by giving the government in Baden more power to negotiate trade with Jonguria, thus removing that burden from the individual provinces.”

  Willem shifted a little on his bench. “Many of the provinces won’t take kindly to giving up more power to the king. They remember all too well fighting a war just a few years ago to take power away from him.”

  “I understand that,” Halam replied, “but it’s obvious to many of us that the provinces can’t agree on a trade deal that wouldn’t undercut each other just like in the past. It’s specifically because they did everything in their power to profit over their neighbors once before that we’re seeing all of these arguments”

  “Yes, I understand that,” Willem said, “but I don’t think that’s enough to convince many.”

  “If you join us we’ll only need one more province to have a firm majority,” Rodden said.

  “A majority is one thing, but you must remember it leaves in its wake a minority; a minority which is often disgruntled at losing out to those it thinks opposed to its interests. Creating a minority of province’s that don’t like the trade policy could lead to the type of problems the policy is trying to alleviate.”

  “If we could have all of the provinces agree with us on this policy, I would be grateful,” Halam said, “but I just don’t see that as happening.” He took a sip of wine before continuing. “Who knows, by now the word must be out that several provinces are working on a deal; maybe we’ll have a majority larger than just eight provinces.”

  “What I’m afraid will happen is that the provinces that fought with Regidia against the crown won’t go along with the plan, and then they’ll just become further alienated from the rest of the provinces.” He let out a sigh before going on. “I’m not sure if Adjuria can afford to have those provinces seething with resentment once again.”

  “I agree with what you say in that regard, Willem,” Halam said passionately, “but I just don’t think it’s fair to Adjuria to let this opportunity to unite the provinces under a trade deal slip through our fingers just because we’re afraid a few people won’t like it.”

  Adjuria cannot afford to be divided against itself once again!” Willem said forcefully.

  “Gentleman, gentleman, please,” Orin cut in as Halam and Willem sat back, letting their rising tempers cool. “We all want what’s best for Adjuria, ther’s no doubt about that. Some of us just have different views on how to bring it about is all.”

  The six men around the table sat without speaking for a few moments before Bryn decided to break the silence.

  “When uncle Trun and I ride into Eston for harvest days, we hear the views of the farmers and townsfolk,” he began slowly, unsure whether it was a good time to speak or not. “Many of the people agree that it’s better for them to have a greater say in their affairs than the king in Culdovia, who doesn’t know a thing about what problems face Tillatia. They seem happy to have more power now, following the Civil War. But I don’t really see how having more power has made their lives any better.”

  He paused and looked into the men’s faces around the table before continuing. “Having more power in Tillatia than in Culdovia has not increased the price of grain that the farmers get each harvest time, nor has it driven down the cost of buying new livestock every few seasons. More power hasn’t helped put up new fencing or decreased the time or expense of moving goods from field to town to city,” he went on, feeling more confident as the others around the table perked up at his words. “I
think the only thing that will address those issues is trade. Ever since I’ve been a little boy I’ve heard the people around Eston complain of how much worse things are since they can’t trade their goods to Jonguria anymore. Before the war there were twice as many markets for Tillatian grain, and we have a chance to make that happen again. I think it’s more important for the small farmers of Tillatia and others like them around the country to benefit from trade, than it is for the men sitting around this hall to complain about government power.”

  He leaned back, finished with his speech, which proved much longer than anything he’d intended to say when he began. The others glanced from him to their wine, knowing that what he said was true; and for the first time since the conference began, they felt truly foolish for squabbling over the issues they thought were important when what truly mattered had just come from the mouth of a young boy.

  “Well said, Bryn,” Halam quietly said from across the table.

  “Yes, Bryn, you really have a way with putting the truth forth,” Orin added, while Rodden tousled his hair, bringing a smile to his face.

  “The boy does seem to sense what is important here,” Willem admitted, looking back up at Halam. “The arguments over power seem petty when put into the perspective of struggling families all around Adjuria.”

  “Aye, that it does,” Halam agreed. “So are you with us than? Will you stand by us when we’re ready to present our policy to the conference?”

  “You can count on my support,” Willem said, rising from the table. He and Halam shook hands, and then he turned to join the other Duldovians.

  “So now we are seven,” Rodden said as they watched Willem go.

  “Are we still planning to talk with Whent and Palen about joining us?” Millen asked.

  “Those two still seem the most likely to me, but also the most difficult,” Orin said as he looked at each man around the table. “Montino has always prided itself on staying out of the affairs of the rest of the provinces, while Ithmia doesn’t trade anything, producing just what she needs to maintain the garrison at Fadurk. Both will be tough to convince.”

  “We’ve got to try,” Halam replied. “After all, we only need one, though both would be better.”

  The talk ceased as they collected their thoughts, going over the various possibilities they could present to the other provinces in a bid to have them join. The hall was beginning to empty once again, the delegates and their various advisors heading back to their rooms to discuss whatever plans they’d present to the conference in the morning.

  The serving women were busy moving about the room, clearing the tables of empty plates and glasses when someone walked up to their table.

  “Good evening gentleman,” a high-pitched voice said from behind them.

  They all looked up. It was the delegate from Regidia, Jossen Fray. He stood before their table with the help of a cane in his left hand. His beady dark eyes seemed to bore into them as his small mouth twisted up into a sneering smile. Bryn looked from the man to his uncle, and he saw Halam’s jaw clench tight. Finally, he thought. Ever since the moment on the road from Plowdon he’d wondered what the relationship between these two men was like, and now he was about to find out firsthand.

  “Jossen,” Halam replied simply to the greeting, turning his body back toward the table after doing so. Bryn thought that Jossen’s smile twisted upward ever more at Halam’s response.

  “I’ve heard that you’ve begun gathering delegates in support of a policy which aims to give more power to the government in Baden,” Jossen said to the men, although he was really directing the question to Halam.

  “You’ve heard right,” Rodden responded. “Would you care to lend your support?”

  Jossen’s smile widened even further. “Oh no, not at all. You see, my purpose in coming over was just to confirm what I’ve already heard, and to tell you that I don’t think it’s such a good idea to give more power to a government which has in the past proved incapable of holding onto it.”

  “You mean incapable of keeping power-hungry provinces from storming in and taking that power by force!” Halam nearly shouted as he turned on the bench to face Jossen once again.

  “Come now Halam, that isn’t what I meant at all,” Jossen replied, showing no signs that Halam’s sudden anger had flustered him.

  “Then what did you mean?” Millen asked.

  “I simply think that the authority to trade with whom and on what terms is a right the provinces need to keep for themselves. There’s no telling what may happen if that’s taken away and given over to some bureaucrats here in Baden.”

  “We’ve already got the support of half the delegates to the conference,” Orin explained. “I think that shows that many agree it is time to try a new approach.”

  “And I disagree,” Jossen replied.

  “That’s fine,” Halam said in a controlled tone. “If you think that you can come up with a better policy, then present it to the conference.”

  “I plan to do just that. Now, gentleman, it’s growing late. I bid you good evening.”

  Jossen turned around to walk away, leaning heavily on his cane in the process.

  He left them wondering what he meant. What plan could Jossen have for Adjuria that a majority of the provinces would go along with? Many still didn’t trust the Regidians; the memory of the Civil War that they started was still too fresh in the minds of the people. To go along with a trade policy put forth by them, however good it may sound, would seem to most as joining with the enemy.

  Halam was obviously upset by the encounter, Bryn realized as he looked across the table at his uncle. He frowned into his cup of wine before throwing the last of it back in one massive gulp, then rose from the table.

  “Gentleman,” Halam said, his voice a mixture of tiredness and exasperation, “it’s been a long day, and tomorrow will prove to be even longer, I’ve a feeling. I think I’ll turn in early.” He turned to walk away, the others hastily saying their goodnights to his back.

  “Jossen’s appearance seems to have upset him,” Millen said to the others after Halam had left the hall.

  “Yes, that it would seem,” Orin replied before taking a sip from his wine.

  “I wonder what plan he could possibly have,” Rodden said as much to himself as to the other three. “I just don’t see the whole of Adjuria supporting a plan the Regidians have such a large stake in.”

  “Nor do I,” Orin replied. “It could be that he’s bluffing, trying to unnerve us before tomorrow. He no doubt knows by now that we’ve got a near majority supporting our proposal to increase the government’s power over trade, and we know that Jossen’s never liked the government in Baden. He may just be trying to scare us.”

  “Or maybe he’s speaking the truth, and has a policy worthy of the conference, perhaps one that could gain more support than ours,” Millen said. “After all, it wasn’t too difficult to convince Portinia to go along with our plan; I think that Edgyn would go along with any plan that had a chance of success.”

  “That would nearly ruin our chances,” Orin said. “For Jossen to come over and state his intentions tonight tells me that he already has support for his plan, perhaps as much as we do.”

  “He most likely has the support of the three provinces that backed him in his bid for the crown five years ago,” Rodden said.

  “If Oschem, Hotham, and Allidia are indeed with him,” Orin replied, “then they’ll put the pressure on Equinia to join as well. They’ve always stuck together before, I see no reason for them to stop doing so now.”

  “But I thought that you convinced Dolth Hane to support us,” Bryn said to Orin.

  “Aye, Bryn, he said he would support us, but that was earlier this evening. In the time since then he could have been approached by any number of Jossen’s supporters and felt the pressure to switch. Perhaps they made him some kind of deal or simply reminded him of whom his friends have historically been. No,” Orin said, leaning back on the bench wi
th his arms folded in front of him on the table,” I suspect that we’ve already lost the support of Equinia.”

  “Well that’s just great,” Rodden said loudly. “That means that they have five votes before the conference while our seven have been reduced to six.”

  “What’s more,” Millen said, “we cannot be so sure that Mercentia will stick with us either. Iago was very tough to convince earlier by the way that Halam told it. Perhaps Jossen will pull him away from us as well.”

  “That’s a possibility we must consider,” Orin agreed. “It would be best if we already thought of Jossen as having six votes, since whichever way Mercentia goes, you can be sure that Shefflin will go the other.”

  “So all we really can be sure of is that we have four votes then.” Rodden sighed. “Tillatia, Fallownia, Culdovia, and Duldovia,” he counted off on his fingers, “that puts us in the minority.

  The table fell silent as they brooded on the prospect of having come so close to working out a deal only to have it wither while within their grasp. Millen finished his wine and rose from the table.

  “Well, I don’t see what else can be done this night. We did well gathering votes earlier. It’d do as all good to remember that nothing has changed so far that we know of. Let’ not jump to conclusions and wait to see what tomorrow brings.” He gave them a reassuring smile before heading toward the doors.

  “I suppose he’s right,” Rodden begrudgingly said, “but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Nor I Rodden, nor I,” Orin replied.

  “Well, sleep does sound like a good escape from the doubts now crowding my mind,” Rodden said, smiling as he rose. “Bryn, are you ready to call it a night?”

  Bryn looked from Rodden to Orin, thinking. So much had happened in just the past several minutes that his mind was racing with thoughts. Even if he went back to the room with Rodden, he didn’t think that his mind would slow enough for him to sleep; and lying awake with questions he couldn’t answer wasn’t an appealing prospect.

  “No, I think I’ll stay just a little longer, if that’s alright with you sir,” Bryn replied, looking to Orin for an answer.

  “Aye, that’s just fine with me Bryn,” Orin replied.

  “Well then, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” they both said as they watched Rodden head off toward the hallway. The hall was now filled with only those who were intent on drinking more wine and carousing, their usefulness to the conference diminished now that the delegates were separated from most of their retinues during the day.

  “Orin,” Bryn said a few minutes after Rodden had left and a serving girl had refilled their cups, “what can you tell me about Jossen Fray?”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Well,” Bryn began, “it seems to me that he and my uncle don’t really like each other.”

  Orin laughed. “That’s quite the understatement, my boy.”

  “After we left Plowdon on the way here,” Bryn continued, “Halam learned that Jossen Fray would represent Regidia at the conference. For the next couple of days his mood was so bad that he’d barely speak. I figured there must have been something in their pasts that caused this kind of reaction.” He paused for a moment. “Rodden mentioned that they served together in Bindao during the war with Jonguria, and then met one another on the battlefield here at Baden.”

  Orin looked from Bryn to his wine. He sat still for a few moments before speaking.

  “Jossen and Halam were friends during the time that they spent together in the hell that was the besieged city of Bindao. Halam had been sent to the city shortly after he joined the Adjurian army. The city had fallen early in the war to our forces and by the time Halam arrived it had already been retaken by the Jongurians to fall yet one more time to the Adjurians. It was a bloody mess is what it was,” Orin said with a sigh, drinking from his cup and looking at Bryn.

  “Jossen had been a commander from early on,” he continued, “and had played a key part in seeing the city fall the first time. It was through no fault of his that the city was retaken; two armies had marched south from the Jongurian heartland to retake the city and they both met up for a joint attack which had no chance of being repulsed. Jossen knew this and made the decision to pull out many of his troops and have them board ships on the coast. Boy, did the wrath of his superiors come down swiftly on him when they learned of this after the city had been retaken. But to Jossen their reprimands fell on deaf ears, for no more than a fortnight after the city was retaken did he summon his forces from the ships to launch another siege. This one proved much bloodier than the first, as there were now twice as many defenders than before. But Jossen dug in, and with the help of reinforcements, he was once again able to capture the city.”

  “After that the stalemate set in and nothing would happen for the rest of the war. The soldiers didn’t know that, however, so they dug in, expecting the Jongurians to try and retake the city again. The Jongurians led assaults of course, but none had the force or determination that their first successful push achieved. Years of boredom set in for both sides, worse for the Adjurians, as they were in a foreign land far from their friends and families and anything they knew. It was into this situation that Halam was sent.”

  Orin paused then to drink his wine and flag down a serving girl for another cup.

  “Somehow an unlikely friendship developed between the commander of the city’s forces and a young farmer from Tillatia,” he continued. “I’m not sure how it happened, but Halam was subsequently promoted through the ranks because of it, and was soon leading charges against the sporadic Jongurian assaults. He was promoted yet again when Jossen suddenly announced he was resigning from command of the Adjurian army and heading back to Regidia. He gave no reason and hastily left.”

  “Halam served out his time in Bindao and after hearing of the disastrous Breakout Campaign on the Isthmus and the subsequent peace treaty, was sent back home to Tillatia. Because of the high rank he’d attained and the influential friends in the army he’d made, your uncle was given an important government post in Plowdon. It wasn’t long, however, before the Regidian’s seized the crown and the Civil War started. When Halam learned that Jossen was a leading player in this treasonous turn of events he was shocked. This was not the brave and courageous Jossen he’d met and befriended at Bindao, but some other person in the guise of his friend. Events, however, moved swiftly, and Halam found himself leading the Tillatian-wing of the allied armies at Baden.”

  Orin paused for a few minutes to stare into his wine, and Bryn dared not interrupt his thoughts. He’d never heard the details of the story that Orin was telling him now. He knew that his uncle had served at Bindao and fought at Baden, but that was the extent of it. These elements he was hearing now were new and exciting, but also unsettling. He waited for Orin to continue.

  “The first day of the Battle of Baden went poorly for the allies,” Orin explained. “They were nearly driven from the field and it looked to many observers that perhaps the Regidian’s claims to the throne were justified. After all, the royal family had done little to assure success in the war with Jonguria. Now they couldn’t even keep the army from defeat against a threat to their very existence. While the usurpers toasted their success on the battlefield and looked forward to finishing off whatever opposition remained the next day, the allies planned late into the night.”

  “The second day proved a complete reverse from the first. Once again the usurpers took the field first and charged, and it looked to all that a repeat of the previous days performance was all but assured. It was not in the cards, however. The allies rallied and pushed back, driving the usurpers back. Horses were shot out from under men by the archers on the hills and most of the fighting on the field took place hand-to-hand, the earth quickly becoming slick and red with spilled blood. The battle went on all day and into the evening, and by the time the sun went down it was clear the allied army had inflicted the same defeat upon
the usurpers that they’d experience the day before. By the third day it was obvious that the usurper army was a shadow of what it had been on the first, and with Willem Pritt’s successful charge to begin the day, their hopes at retaining the power that they’d come to enjoy vanished on the blood-soaked fields of Baden.”

  Orin sat back, his story finished. “It was a different time then, Bryn. People were different; more idealistic and hopeful. Then the war came and a mood of pessimism set in which still retains a strong hold on much of the country. Those were hard years, and while we may no longer be fighting with swords, the battle of words still rages on.”

  A serving girl came to refill Orin’s cup once again, but he shooed her away with a wave of his hand.

  “Well, Bryn, I think it would be best if the two of us returned to our beds for the night.”

  Bryn nodded and he and Orin rose from the table and headed toward the doors. Once in the hallway, a guard approached to lead the way, but Orin waved him off just as he had done with the serving girl. “I know the way,” he said, and gestured for Bryn to start down the hallway. How anyone could have memorized the maze of hallways which led to the rooms was beyond Bryn, but then he’d come to learn that Orin was a man of strong wits and a keen intellect whose outward humorousness belied a shrewd and resourceful intellect.

  As they took turn after turn on the way to their rooms, Bryn decided to ask the question he’d wanted answered since he’d first seen Jossen approach their table.

  “Orin,” he began, “how did Jossen get that limp? Was it during the Battle of Baden, or earlier in Bindao?”

  “A good question, Bryn,” Orin responded. “No, he didn’t receive his wounds at Bindao. Many men made it home safely from that campaign.” They walked on in silence for a few moments while Orin thought. “It was during the second day at Baden that he was injured. The particulars are not well known except to Jossen and your uncle. They both met on the battlefield that day, and when they came off of it Halam did so at a walk while Jossen had to be carried on a stretcher.” They stopped in the middle of the hallway. “That would be a question that only two men know the answer to,” Orin finished before pointing toward a door. “Well, here we are. I believe these are the Tillatian delegation’s quarters.” How Orin could tell one door from another, or even one hallway from another was beyond Bryn, but all he could do was say goodnight as Orin quickly turned and began walking back the direction they’d come.

  Inside the room both Rodden and Halam were already asleep and the fire was burning low, giving off just enough light for Bryn to wash his face and undress before lying down. His thoughts settled on the delegates sitting around the table in the map room and the various ways they might vote before sleep finally took him.

  EIGHT

  By the next afternoon the men were sitting around a table in the great hall staring into the dishes in front of them. The main course this afternoon was spit boar from the King’s Wood. Several had been hunted down the day before and now graced the tables of the men crowding about the noisy hall. Myriad conversations sounded all around them, but the men whose support lay with the Tillatian trade policy remained quiet.

  Things had not gone good that morning, and it looked like the votes needed for the Tillatians would not be had. The men, of course, didn’t want to say anything because of that. Finally Bryn decided to break the silence.

  “We can’t be certain that Jossen did any better gathering a majority than we did,” he quietly said.

  After a few moments of silence Rodden looked across the table at him. “No Bryn, we can’t.”

  Finally after sitting for what seemed an eternity to them, the others began to arrive. First came Orin, and none to happy by the look of him. Next was Millen, who appeared satisfied, followed by Pader, who did not. Halam and Willem were the last to arrive, both walking over together to sit down. When it appeared that none were eager to report their morning’s results first, Rodden went ahead and asked.

  “Were you able to pull Whent down off that fence,” he asked of Pader.

  Pader rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh. “He wouldn’t budge.” Pader reached for the flagon of ale and a cup set in the center of the table and poured as he continued. “I tried to tell him that by not supporting Jossen’s plan he may as well support ours, but the man wouldn’t listen. He kept saying that Montino had no need to insert herself into the affairs of the provinces, like he was part of some separate country. I tried to argue that the profits for the minerals mined from the Montino Mountains would only be greater under our plan, but it didn’t seem to concern him. He only waved his hand and said it wasn’t of importance.”

  “With Whent and Palen remaining on the sidelines,” Rodden pointed out, “that means there’ll only be twelve delegates voting.”

  “So we’ll only need to have seven votes for a majority,” Bryn quickly pointed out.

  “Alas, Bryn, it won’t be that easy,” Orin replied, looking up from his cup of wine for the first time since sitting down. “The majority will come from those delegates present, whether they vote or not; we’ll still need to have eight votes for our plan to pass.”

  “Were you successful in keeping Dolth with us?” Pader asked.

  Orin took a long swallow from his cup before speaking. “No, the man’s decided to follow the Regidians once again.”

  “No!” Halam said loudly.

  “But he just assured us we had his support only a few hours ago,” Millen said.

  “Aye, that he did,” Orin replied. “Something changed his way of thinking in that span of time, however, for now he believes that Jossen’s plan will do more to benefit Equinia than ours. Nothing I could say would convince him otherwise; his mind was already made up.”

  “So we’re down to six now,” Pader said, looking over at Millen. “Is that correct?”

  “We still have Edgyn,” Millen responded, to smiles and sighs of relief from the table. “While he said that Jossen’s deal has its appeal, he was quick to add that he’d given his support to us first, and that as a man of his word, he intended to stay with us. Portinia will side with Tillatia in this fight.”

  “That’s certainly good to hear,” Halam said. “Iago said much the same.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Willem said.

  “Jossen’s plan had its appeal, he told me, but he remembered the rancor of yesterday and didn’t think that dividing the country into two trading zones would stop the disputes between the provinces.” Halam paused a moment, looking down at the table before looking at the men again. “Mercentia will stay with us.”

  Their eyes turned next to Willem at the far end of the table. He looked down, folding his hands in front of him, then looked up again.

  “I wish I could bring good news,” he began, “but I wasn’t able to convince Jocko to go along with us. He knew that Iago supported us, and he said that he couldn’t go along with a plan that Mercentia was a part of; the people of Shefflin would never forgive him. I tried to convince him that Jossen’s plan would do nothing to ease the battle that Shefflin and Mercentia face on the open market, as they would still be part of the same trading zone under the Regidians’ plan. This didn’t seem to concern him,” he said, looking around the table. “And when I tried one last attempt to appeal to his sense of honor by bringing up Shefflin’s role in fighting against the Regidians during the Civil War, he only laughed, saying that was in the past.” He shook his head a few times after finishing and stared back down at his hands.

  “Well,” Orin said, “some men just can’t be convinced no matter what.”

  “What else do we know of Jossen’s support?” Rodden asked.

  “Before I came to the hall I inquired about that,” Pader said. “He had Oschem, Hotham, and Allidia with him.” He stopped, looking over at Orin and Willem. “We can put Equinia in that category now, as well as Shefflin, giving him six votes, the same as us.”

  “So we’re still pretty much deadlocked, then,” Halam said. “So lon
g as none of us goes over to him, and none of his supporters comes over to us, then neither plan will pass and the conference will be a failure.”

  “The hopes of both plans therefore reside with Whent and Palen,” Pader said. “There must be some way to bring them over to our side.”

  “We’ve tried,” Halam said, his frustration bringing an edge to his voice. “And we know that Jossen tried. Neither will budge. They’re useless!”

  Quiet descended on the table then as the men stared at the boar in front of them, uncut and with the large red apple still stuck in its mouth. None of the men had much of an appetite this afternoon. The hall began to empty as people headed back to the map room for the afternoon’s discussions and the vote on the two plans.

  “I’m just not that hungry this afternoon,” Halam said, “I think I’ll head back to the conference table and hope that some development occurs that brings us success.” He gave a half-hearted smile as he said the last, then rose from the table and headed toward the doors.

  “Some development,” Pader said. “Yes, that would be good but I don’t see one on the horizon.” He stood and paused to look around the men at the table. “I hate to say it, gentleman, but we may have to go along with Jossen’s plan. I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said quickly as the others began to voice their protests, “but we have to do what’s best for Adjuria, and leaving this conference without a trade deal isn’t it. Let us hope that Halam’s wish comes true, but I deal in realities, gentleman, and the reality is that we did our best, but it just wasn’t good enough.” He too headed for the doors, leaving the others at the table shocked and downhearted by his sudden confession.

  “He may be right,” Willem said to the shock of the others. “I don’t like Jossen anymore than the rest of you, but his plan would bring trade back to a country which badly needs it.” He too rose from the table to leave. “If we don’t have the votes after the first few attempts,” he said looking at Millen, “then I think it best that we give our support over to the Regidian plan. We need a trade deal, and one that passes the conference with the support of as many of the delegates as possible will do much to heal the wounds of this country.” He looked at each in turn before leaving the table.

  “Well, this has been a very depressing lunch,” Orin said as he finished his cup of wine. “I thought the boar had it bad, but now I realize that we’re the ones who have been spitted.”

  “All hope is not yet lost,” Millen chimed in. “Anything can happen in that conference room this afternoon. Perhaps when confronted with a deadlock, one of the delegates of Jossen’s will come over to us. And I know it’s farfetched, but Whent or Palen could still change their minds. The worst thing we can do is to think that all’s lost when we’ve come so far.”

  Orin and Rodden gave him a reassuring smile, but both Millen and Bryn knew that there was no real hope behind them.

  “Well,” Millen said after a few moments, “I guess I’ll go back to the hall as well.”

  “I see no point in sitting here staring at this pig any longer. I’ll go with you,” Orin replied, and Rodden said the same. “Bryn, are you coming?”

  “I’ll stay just a few more minutes,” Bryn said. “I’d like to have a little more of this fruit first.”

  Rodden smiled. “We’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”

  The three headed toward the door and Bryn was left alone at the table with only the boar to keep him company. In truth, he had no desire for any more fruit; that was simply an excuse to stay in the hall for a while longer. He had spotted Palen sitting alone at a table across the room, and although he was nothing of a diplomat like the others who he’d just been sitting with, he figured it couldn’ hurt to plead their case one more time to the delegate from Ithmia.

  Palen was finishing off the last of his lunch when Bryn approached his table. An empty plate sat in front of him, the juices from the boar shining red from the torchlight on the wall overhead. Palen was soaking them up in a heel of bread, and Bryn was about to clear his throat to draw the man’s attention when Palen spoke.

  “You’re a long way from Tillatia, young man,” Palen said, still looking down at his plate as he wiped it with bread. “And I see that your entourage has already headed back to the map room. So pray tell, sir, what are you still doing here?” He looked up at Bryn, his light-grey eyes seeming to bore into him as he waited for an answer.

  Bryn took a deep breath as he steadied himself and gathered his thoughts. What could he possibly say to this man whose life was devoted to protecting the welfare and ensuring the safety of the citizens of Adjuria? How could he, a mere peasant from Eston, hope to do what his uncle and everyone who supported him could not? Finally, after what seemed an eternity to Bryn, he found the words.

  “I’ve come to ask for your support for my uncle’s trade policy,” Bryn managed to say, his eyes locked on the plate resting on the table.

  “I’ve already been asked to support your uncle’s plan as well as Jossen’s,” Palen replied, sticking the dripping bread into his mouth, “and I’ll give you the same answer that I told the others: no.”

  Although he was nervous and felt out of his element, Bryn pushed on. “Why won’t you support one plan or the other?”

  “Ithmia does no trade with the rest of Adjuria, nor did we do so with Jonguria before the war,” the man explained. “We produce all our own goods and guard the Isthmus against any threat to the country, as we’ve done for countless generations. We’ve found over the years that it’s best to remain out of the political affairs of the provinces. Too many times we’ve seen nothing but heartache and despair for those who wade into those waters.”

  “I can understand that you protect the provinces from threats outside her borders,” Bryn said, “but what about threats from within? Right now, when the country is not trading with Jonguria, the people are suffering. The country is in a rut because there are not enough markets for the goods that’re produced here at home, and people’s livelihoods are threatened. By sitting back and watching from your towers,” Bryn said, pointing at the Ithmian insignia on the breast of Palen’s uniform, “the country you talk so much about protecting is under assault from forces far more numerous and deadly than any enemy army. Your indifference is doing more to hurt Adjuria than your sword could ever hope to achieve in its protection.”

  He finished, surprised that he’d just lectured the highest-ranking member of Fadurk’s garrison, and the delegate most looked-up to and admired at the conference. Shamed at his outburst, Bryn turned quickly on his heels and ran toward the doors and away from the shocked Palen.

  He burst through the double doors and into the hallway, nearly knocking over a serving girl in his haste to exit the great hall. He stood breathing heavily for a few moments before a guard approached.

  “Are you alright, lad?” the man asked.

  Bryn nodded quickly. “Yes, thank you sir, I’m fine. Can you show me the way to the map room please?”

  “Right this way, if you’ll just follow me,” the guard replied, turning to walk down the hall. Bryn followed close behind and after the usual twists and turns which he still couldn’t follow he was ushered into the nearly full conference room. Most of the delegates and their advisors were already present and talking together around the room. Bryn spotted Orin and Rodden in their usual spots and crossed the room to join them.

  “Get your fill of fruit, then lad?” Orin asked as Bryn sat down.

  Bryn’s brows furrowed down, unsure what Orin was talking about, before realizing the reason he’d given for staying in the great hall.

  “Yes sir,” he quickly said. “We don’t have so many different varieties of fruit back home.”

  “Aye, that’s right,” Orin said absently. “Best to sample as many as you can before heading back.”

  Bryn thought he heard a bit of sadness in Orin’s voice, but his attention was suddenly drawn toward the doors where Palen was entering the room. He strode to his seat just a few
chairs down from where Bryn was sitting, paying no attention to him or any of the others in the room as he sat down and stared in front of him, waiting for the afternoon proceedings to get underway. Bryn gave a sigh of relief. After his outburst, he thought it a strong possibility that Palen would charge into the room and beat him senseless where he sat. He wished he’d never had the fool notion of speaking to Palen in the first place. What possibly convinced him that he could make the man see their dilemma any clearer than Halam had? What an idiot I am, Bryn thought to himself. It would be better for everyone involved the sooner he was back in Eston clearing fields and mending fences.

  As had happened before, when it appeared that all of the delegates were present, a guard knocked on the small rear door and the king strode through to take his seat at the table, his advisors close behind. Tullin rose to address the crowd and get things underway.

  “Gentlemen,” he began as usual, “I hope lunch was to your satisfaction and that while you filled your stomachs with food you also filled your minds with thoughts on the two policies presented this morning. To reiterate, we have a policy presented by Jossen Fray from Regidia which would divide Adjuria into northern and southern trading zones, with goods being shipped from each to markets in Jonguria. The hope is that this will decrease the competition between provinces with similar goods by diverting them to markets where they cannot compete.”

  “The second policy is presented by Halam Fiske of Tillatia and would take away the authority of the provinces to trade with Jonguria independently, instead giving that power to a government council here in Baden. The aim of this policy is to have the government negotiate trade deals with Jonguria on behalf of the provinces. The hope is that this will create more profits for the provinces while decreasing any bad feelings produced from the provinces acting independently, and often in their own self-interests.”

  After presenting the two plans in terms more succinct than the two delegates had done earlier, Bryn thought, Tullin continued.

  “It’s now time to vote on these two proposals. A majority of the delegates seated at the table will be required for one or the other plan to pass and become policy. Voting will be quite simple; if you agree with the policy and want to support it, simply raise your arm up and be counted. We will continue voting until either policy has a majority, or until it is clear that neither policy has a chance of acquiring a majority of votes, at which point we will adjourn.” He looked around at all the delegates and advisors in the hall, letting his words sink in. It was clear what he was saying, Bryn thought. If neither of these two plans obtained a majority of votes, the conference would end in failure.

  “Since the policy of Regidia was presented first this morning, we will vote on it first. All of those in favor of the Regidian policy, please show your hands.”

  All of the arms across the table from Bryn went up except one, that of Pader Brun. As was expected, Shefflin, Oschem, Hotham, Allidia, and Regidia all voted for the plan, with Dolth Hane of Equinia throwing his support behind it as well. After a few moments, Tullin spoke.

  “Six votes for the Regidian policy,” his voice rang out, “not enough for a majority.” Mumblings rose from around the table as he continued. “We will now vote on the policy of Tillatia. All of those in favor of the Tillatian policy, please show your hands.”

  Halam’s arm shot up first, followed by Willem’s, Millen’s, Edgyn’s, Iago’s, and from the other side of the table, Pader’s. As expected, Whent and Palen did not participate in the voting.

  “Six votes for the Tillatian policy,” Tullin recorded, “not enough for a majority.” The mumblings around the table were louder this time, and Bryn noticed that quite a few of those supporting the Regidian policy across the table were smiling to each other, certain that they’d succeeded.

  “We will have another vote,” Tullin said. Let us wait a few minutes so that the delegates have some time to consider changing their vote. Across the table it was almost as if the Regidian plan had already passed. The men were laughing and congratulating themselves. On the other side of the table the mood was somber, and the delegates looked from one to the other for any sign of what to do. Bryn remembered Pader’s words during lunch. If it looked like Halam’s plan had no chance of success, he would change his vote in the interests of Adjuria. Looking at the Culdovian delegate staring down at his lap, the weight of the world seeming to weigh on the man’s shoulders it looked like that was about to occur, Bryn thought.

  “Gentleman,” Tullin’s voice called out, bringing the hall back to order. “Once again we will vote. Please show your hands if you support the Regidian policy.”

  Again, all the hands across the table went up. Bryn looked eagerly at Pader, but his arm remained at his side, as did all of those on his uncle’s side of the table.

  “Six votes for the Regidian policy, unchanged,” Tullin called out. He waited a few moments as the anticipation in the hall built. It seemed to Bryn that many in the hall were now expecting one or more of the delegates who had supported Halam to switch their votes in favor of Jossen. The hall fell deathly quiet.

  “Please show your hands if you support the Tillatian policy,” Tullin called out, his voice seeming to echo off the maps on the walls.

  Again, Halam was the first to put up his arm, and he did so with a strength that hid any doubts he may have privately held concerning the outcome. As before, all of the undeclared delegates but Whent and Palen joined him, with Pader putting up his hand across the table as well. Halam looked to each side of him, but it was clear that no other votes would be forthcoming.

  “Six votes for the Tillatian policy, unch–”

  “Wait,” a deep voice called out, interrupting Tullin. The whole room looked down the table at Palen, who slowly raised his arm up into the air. A collective gasp was heard from the room, as most couldn’ believe that the Ithmian would support either plan.

  “Seven votes for the Tillatian policy, one vote more than the previous ballot,” Tullin said loudly, “but still not a majority.”

  Behind Tullin, the king coughed loudly into his hand, drawing the hall’s attention. When Tullin turned around, the king too raised his arm up into the air, to a gasp even louder than that received for Palen’s unexpected vote.

  “Eight votes for the Tillatian policy,” Tullin called out. “With a clear majority of votes, the Tillatian policy passes the conference.”

  The hall erupted into chaos as those around Halam rose up to clap him on the back and celebrate their amazing success, while across the table the delegates and their advisors shouted at Tullin and anyone else that they’d been robbed, that the king was not a delegate and therefore had no right to vote, and anything else that would reverse the results. Jossen simply sat in his chair, that sneering smile on his face as he looked across the table at Halam.

  NINE

  Bryn still couldn’t get over it. Here he was, a mere peasant farmer from Eston, sharing a sumptuous meal with the King of Adjuria, Rowan Waldon. Well, it wasn’t just him; his Uncle Halam and some of the other delegates had also been invited to dine with the king that evening.

  “Gentleman,” the king began, “I think you all know each other quite well by now,” he said, gesturing toward them, and they all smiled their acknowledgement. “My advisor Tullin introduced himself to the conference,” Tullin gave a nod of his head to the other men, “but I don’t think that my other advisor has been properly introduced.”

  The man seated in the last chair rose. He appeared just as stern-looking as he had at the conference, Bryn thought, and his face still had that perpetual frown from the large scar stretching from eye to chin on his left cheek. He was old; probably the oldest man in the room, judging from his wrinkled face and grey hair slowly fading to white. His dark-brown eyes looked each of them up and down; measuring, judging.

  “Gentleman, I would like you to meet Mito Durin.” The men all nodded their heads toward Mito, before the king went on. “Mito advised my father as king and now
I’m lucky to have him do the same for me. I trust his council and I think his views may be rather helpful for us tonight as we discuss how we will go about renewing trade with Jonguria.”

  The king took his seat and four serving women and two men came into the room from the main entrance, carrying trays of food before them. The main course was pheasant, shot down in the King’s Wood earlier that day, with roasted potatoes and a thick red cranberry sauce. Two large plates of fruit were set on each end for the guests to sample; the selection included apples, oranges, melons, and berries. A plate containing an assortment of nuts was placed in the center of the table, and next came a tray with several kinds of olives and pickled cucumbers. Loaves of bread and wheels of cheese appeared, followed lastly by two large flagons of wine and two of ale. When the food was laid down, the men set before each guest a plate, knife, and fork while the women placed a cup and filled it with ale or wine as dictated. With everything laid out before them the serving women left the hall, leaving the two serving men to take up position against the walls in case they were needed.

  “I’ll certainly miss the hospitality of the palace,” Rodden said as he grabbed a handful of olives and began popping them into his mouth.

  “Aye, that’s for sure,” Iago agreed while piling his plate high with pheasant and potatoes. “We’re not used to such royal fare back at the academy in Nicosia, just thin oat gruel and horseflesh.” The men around the table laughed.

  “How is the academy these days, Iago,” Rowan asked while slicing an apple with his knife.

  Iago straightened in his seat. “Our training continues smoothly, your grace, and we continue to adhere to the ancient codes of battle.” He paused, looking at the plates of food on the table. “The demand for our services has fallen off substantially since the war ended, as you can imagine, but we make do.”

  “Tell me Edgyn,” Tullin said, changing the subject, “is the fleet of ships at Dockside up to the task of supplying Jonguria with our goods once again?”

  Edgyn was a few moments in answering while he finished his mouthful of pheasant and took a sip of wine. “Yes, sir, I believe we’re more than up to the task. It’s true that many of our transport ships have been tied up for these many years past, but they’re all seaworthy and can be trusted to move any and all goods safely to their destinations.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Tullin replied to the man next to him as he reached for his cup of wine. “And what of your own ship, the…”

  “The Comely Maiden,” Edgyn finished for him. “She’s in fine shape, indeed. While I’ve not taken her on any runs to Jonguria since the war ended, I do keep her sea legs in shape by moving goods from Dockside to Shefflin and even up north into Tillatia from time to time. Many find it much cheaper to send their goods by ship when the alternative is a journey twice as long by the kingdom’s roads.”

  “The Comely Maiden?” Willem asked. “That wasn’t the same ship that you used during the war, was it?”

  “Only the closing days of it,” Edgyn responded. “For the first seven years I sailed the Apsalar Princess, but on a mission to supply the troops in Bindao three Jongurian ships soon appeared off my bow. I was able to outmaneuver them for a while until a storm came up, at which point I thought it best to turn back toward home to fight another day. They did’t feel the same way, unfortunately, and I soon found myself run aground off the Barrier Mountains. Instead of letting the Jongurians have the cargo we lit the ship up and used the inferno to hide our escape.” He paused to take a drink of wine. “I’ll tell you though, we sure were lucky to make it past the Isthmus before we had to scuttle her. As it was, the walk back to dockside was a long one, but it could have been much worse.”

  “And that was the only trouble you ran into during the war?” Pader asked.

  “Aye, the only worth mentioning, anyway. I caught and boarded more than my share of ships, but that was the only time the Jongurians got the better of me.”

  “Did anything similar happen to you, Willem?” Rowan asked the Duldovian.

  “Nothing near as exciting, your highness,” Willem replied. “While Edgyn was supplying Bindao in the south, I did the same for the Baishur River area in the north. I fought my share of battles, for sure, but I was lucky and made it through the war unscathed. You must remember that my ship was much smaller than Edgyn’s, and while not able to carry as many soldiers or supplies, she was fast on her feet and able to outrun most pursuers. You see, the Sea Nymph was intended for the gentler waters of the Duldovian Sea, not the terrible northern storms that the Ipsalar Ocean will throw at you in winter.”

  “You managed to get her back to the Sea, then?” Orin asked as he sliced off a good-sized chunk of cheese.

  “It took some doing, but I managed to bring her back home, although I was forced to wait two full seasons for the Plains River to flow high enough for me to sail her back up it.”

  “And how is the Apsalar Ocean to sail this time of year?” Tullin asked Edgyn.

  “It’s as calm as any mountain lake in Montino,” Edgyn answered. “If you want to sail, this is the best time of year for an uneventful voyage. The winds aren’t as harsh as in the winter months, but the seas are calmer, making the voyage, while not as fast, much more pleasant.”

  “That is good to hear,” the king said from his seat at the head of the table. “I think most of the men around the table will praise the calm seas; it’ll make their voyage to Jonguria that much more pleasant.”

  Rowan sat back in his chair, a slight smile on his face, as the other men looked around at one another questioningly, unsure of what was just said.

  “Excuse me, your grace,” Rodden stammered after a few moments, “but did I hear you correctly? Did you just say that most of us will be sailing to Jonguria?”

  “That I did, Rodden,” Rowan replied, his smile now a little larger at the obvious discomfort this had caused around the table.

  “But your grace,” Millen said anxiously, “My place is in the fields of Fallownia, seeing that the seeds are planted and the harvest brought in. I’ve only been on two boats in my life, both to the Baishur River, and neither of those trips are fond memories.”

  Several of the men chuckled despite themselves at Millen’s obvious discomfort.

  “Millen, I don’t think that Fallownia will cease to function properly if you’re absent for a few weeks on important government business for the king himself,” Tullin assured him from across the table.

  “But…” Millen managed, trying to think of some rebuttal but coming up short.

  “I know that most of you expected to head back to your provinces following the trade conference,” Rowan said loudly to the men, his voice echoing off the high wall of the hall, “but there’s more work to be done now that we have a policy in place.” He paused to see that he had everyone’s attention; satisfied, he continued. “While we’ve taken the first step by bringing the provinces to an agreement, we’ve still to notify the Jongurians of our intentions to open up trade. The only way to do this is to sail a ship to a port on the coast or trudge across the Isthmus to Waigo. Now,” the king paused, looking at the Millen, “I think most of you will agree that taking a ship is far more preferable to braving the Isthmus.”

  Bryn looked over at Palen to see if he reacted in any way to the king’s words about walking across the Isthmus, but Palen was like stone as he listened to his ruler give his speech.

  “But why us, your highness?” Halam asked. “Surely there are men more acquainted with Jonguria and better able to report our desire to renew trade.”

  “We’ve not traded with Jonguria for more than twenty years, Halam,” Rowan responded. “In the past the provinces oversaw trade on their own, and many of the men whose role it was to carry that out are no longer capable, whether from age, death, or some other circumstance. We’ve looked around the country for such men, but have found them to be lacking in all regard to the purpose.” He looked around the table at the men seated, many still wary about th
e words pouring from their king’s mouth. “I understand that many of you are reticent and feel unequal to the task I set before you. But I believe you’re just the men that the situation calls for. You all somehow managed, against great odds, to push a trade policy through this conference; and all of you hold positions dealing with trade within your own provinces. Gentlemen, there is no one better qualified in Adjuria than yourselves to convince the Jongurians to come to the table.”

  “Will all of us be going then?” Orin asked after the king’s words had sunk in for a few moments.

  “Not you, Orin,” Rowan replied. “You sit on the royal council, and we will need you there to represent Tillatia for government business to carry on.” He looked down the table at Palen. “That goes for you as well, Palen. You’re much too important to the garrison at Fadurk for you engage in this business.” Palen gave a simple nod, and the king looked over the other men around the table. “Besides Orin and Palen, the rest of you will be expected to go.”

  “You can’t expect Bryn to go, he’s just a boy,” Halam said.

  “I do expect Bryn to go,” Rowan replied. “He was instrumental in ensuring the passage of the provincial trade policy.”

  Halam, as well as most of the other men around the table, looked surprised. “What did Bryn have to do with its passage?” he asked, unsure exactly what the king was implying.

  “Why, Halam,” Tullin answered, “he did what neither you, Jossen, or any of the other delegates and their advisors were capable of doing: he convinced Palen to support you.”

  “What…I…” Halam couldn’t seem to find any words to say to that, and he looked around speechless at the other delegates, although they too shared his surprise.

  “Before the final voting took place, Bryn took it upon himself to approach Palen in the great hall and try what many other men in loftier positions had already attempted to do: convince Ithmia to go against years of tradition and get into provincial politics,” Tullin explained. “In the end it was the lecture from a Tillatian farmboy that accomplished what promises and platitudes could not.”

  Halam looked from Bryn to Palen and back again. “Is this true, Bryn? Did you lecture Palen?” He said the last in a quiet tone, as if he’d be struck down for saying such a vile thing.

  Bryn looked from Palen to his uncle to the king, before settling his gaze on Halam and answering.

  “It’s true, Uncle Halam. I thought it was worth a try earlier today at lunch to talk with Palen one more time. I honestly didn’t expect anything to come from it, and was ashamed with myself afterward for taking such a tone with a delegate.” He looked down the table at Palen who returned his gaze. “I’m sorry sir.”

  Palen laughed, and the men around the table were caught off guard almost as much as they were by Bryn’s sudden admission. “Your words held a truth my ears have needed to hear for a long time,” Palen replied, “and they reminded me of another man who questioned my judgment in the past: your father, Shep.”

  “You knew my father?” Bryn blurted out, surprised.

  “Aye lad, we got to know one another quite well when we braved the Isthmus together during the war,” Palen replied.

  Bryn stared down at his plate, at a loss for words, before the king continued.

  “And without Palen’s vote, I wouldn’t have been able to offer mine,” Rowan explained. “There had to be a near-majority for me to exert my power as king, and only by casting the deciding vote was I ready to lend my support.”

  “So if that one extra vote had gone to Jossen…” Orin began, looking at the king.

  “Then it would be Jossen and his supporters sitting at this table tonight instead of you,” Rowan finished for him.

  “No matter what his role may have been,” Halam said, ignoring the latest exchange, “the southern shores of Jonguria are no place for Bryn.”

  “Much has changed since the days when you fought at Bindao,” Tullin replied, “and I doubt that Bryn will be in any greater danger than the rest of you.”

  “So you expect danger, then?” Iago asked.

  “Not at all,” Mito said from the end of the table. It was the first any of the men had heard him speak, and his voice was strong and authoritative, a sharp contrast from his aged appearance. “We do, however, know that there is trouble in Jonguria. The emperor’s hold on the country has weakened since the war ended, and rebel groups have risen up in different areas. We don’t think this will be anything to worry about during your trip to Nanbo Island, however.”.

  Many of the men shifted in their chairs uncomfortably at Mito’s words. None of them knew what the political situation of Jonguria was, but the fact that there was a fair amount of instability in the country only increased their concerns about the task at hand.

  “What we expect is that the Jongurians will be happy to renew trade with us and that this first mission will simply be an opportunity to get things moving,” Rowan said from the head of the table. “It will simply be a short while longer before things return to where they were before the war, once our intentions are known to the emperor.”

  “You mean that we hope it’s that simple?” Rodden asked.

  “I don’t see why it shouldn’t be,” Rowan replied.

  The table grew silent as the men pondered this latest development in a day fraught with such. Bryn most of all was taken aback. Not only did the king, and now the rest of the delegates, know of his exchange with Palen, but they actually praised him for it. He couldn’t believe it. And now they wanted him to accompany an exhibition to Jonguria? It was more than he ever thought possible while reading of the distant land on cold winter nights huddled close to the fire on the farm in Eston. But most of all he thought of the father he never knew and Palen,the man who had fought with him during the war.

  TEN

  It was the morning after their dinner with the king, and the members of the ‘Jongurian Mission,’ as their trade delegation had come to be called, stood at the entrance to the palace. A smile came to Bryn’s face as he saw the Captain of the Guards approach. It only seemed right to him that the man that’d shown them into the palace should show them out.

  “Good morning, sirs,” Connor Morn said with a smile as the men approached, “good to see you made it through the conference unscathed.” He still wore the same fancy white leather jerkin as when they’d arrived, the Culdovian seal displayed prominently on it. The longsword strapped to his belt swayed as he walked up to them and offered his hand to each. He smiled and looked Bryn in the eyes when his turn came, the shake firm and strong.

  “Good to see you again, Connor,” Willem replied. “I trust we weren’t too much for you over the past few days?”

  “You weren’t, but some of the men who accompanied the other delegates got a little out of hand at times. I’ve told them before many times that stopping the flow of wine at a reasonable hour would do much to ensure the security of the palace.”

  They all laughed at that, and Connor turned to lead them out the doors and into the bright sun of the palace courtyard.

  “I’ll see that you make it without incident to the docks and the boat that’ll take you south,” Connor said in a more serious tone as they headed down the high steps and away from the palace.

  Instead of taking the same way that Bryn, Halam, and Rodden had three days earlier when they’d entered the palace grounds, Connor took them on what appeared to be a tour of the royal gardens. They passed well-tended rows of flowers evenly spaced along the stone walkways. Deep shades of purple, red, and orange were interspersed with lighter shades of white, pink, and yellow as they walked. Many varieties of small trees grew from square plots of soil while fountains bubbled nearby. Larger trees overhead cast shadows downward, and it seemed at times they were walking through a peaceful forest and not the home of the king.

  “This route is much shorter than taking the city streets,” Connor said over his shoulder as they made their way through the foliage, “and much better to look at as well.”

/>   After a time the walls that marked the boundary between the palace grounds and the rest of the government district appeared before them, and they walked through a small gate tended by a single guard who straightened as they passed through. Outside they found themselves on a quiet tree-lined street amid two- and three-storey buildings. Eventually the quiet gave way to the bustle of people and the sound of voices. Soon they could glimpse sails between the buildings and even the light of the sun reflecting off patches of water in the distance. After a final turn the group found themselves on a wide avenue which led down to a busy series of docks set next to a massive body of water.

  Sparkling blue waters stretched along the horizon for as far as Bryn could see. Countless boats dotted the lake’s surface. Many had fishing nets trailing behind them from large wooden scaffolds erected on their sterns, while others had long poles attached to their railings with lines stretching down into the water. Most of the boats had sails of all shapes and sizes; some were small and triangular while others were large and square. Most of the sails were a drab, sun-faded tan color, almost white. Some were more bluish, while one boat sported a bright red sail. Many had patches sewn into them so that it was uncommon to see a boat with a completely solid colored set of sails. One small boat he saw contained so many patches of different colors that it looked like some wild checkerboard dreamed up by a crazed artisan.

  The boats that didn’t have sails instead sported oars. These were few and found only on the smallest of boats. Most were two-oared row boats, which contained just a single man and a pole and sometimes a net. A few were longer and had several oars stretching out into the water on each side. Bryn saw one longboat with eight oars on each side and thought that the men must take the boat to the edge of the horizon and back each day, their arms were so muscled.

  As the lake neared the land it ran into the docks: a large wharf with a series of wooden piers and landings stretching out into the water. The piers stood high above the water and were erected with large wooden pilings which extended out into the lake. The docks ran as far as Bryn could see on either side of him, interrupted only by buildings which came down right to the waters edge where the two battled for space. Countless vendors were set up along the avenue leading down to the water and their shouts filled the air as they yelled out the names of fish and prices.

  “Deep lake bass, three coppers; southern pike, one silver; lake sturgeon, two silvers; rock fish, three bits; river eels, a copper apiece,” their voices rang out. Their small stands were crowded with buckets and large bowls containing their wares.

  Storefronts all along the wide avenue leading down to the docks displayed items for use on the lake or goods taken from it. Nets and fishing poles were the main items, with stores selling those exclusively. Connor led them through the masses of people going about their business, most giving way willingly when they spotted the white tunic and royal insignia he wore. They threaded their way around the vendors’ stands and in front of the storefronts down to the larger piers. The buildings became less crowded together as the avenue led downhill and became wider as it neared the water. Soon the buildings receded entirely and the stone cobbles gave way to wooden planks as they approached the water, the thump of their boots echoing as they stepped onto the boards. They climbed a set of rickety wooden stairs and were atop the wharf, a massive wooden structure stretching hundreds of feet in either direction and a dozen more into the lake. From the wharf the large piers stretched outward like fingers from a massive hand, except this hand had twice the normal amount of fingers.

  Bryn hurried his pace so that he was walking close behind Connor.

  “How many boats does the King’s Lake contain?” he asked as they headed down the giant wharf.

  “Well, lad, let’s see,” Connor said, thinking for a moment. “It changes all the time. Boats are taken off the lake for repairs or are scrapped altogether. Many sail right out of the lake and into the river, bound for Dockside, while others fight against the river’s strong current to come into the lake. Much depends on the season as well; violent winter storms and raging thundershowers can quickly capsize both smaller and larger boats, sending both to a watery grave.” He smiled down at Bryn as he said the last before continuing. “If I had to put a number on it, I’d say that there’re no less than five hundred different boats on the lake at any given time.”

  “Five hundred!” Rodden gasped. “I didn’t think there were that many in all the oceans surrounding Adjuria!”

  “We’ve more than twice that number year-round on the Duldovian Sea,” Willem pointed out. “But then we’re more than twice the size of the King’s Lake.”

  “Fishing is one of the principle industries of Culdovia,” Pader said as they continued further down the wharf. “Not only does a large portion of Baden’s population eat the lake’s bounty each day, but much of Regidia, Montino, and Equinia as well.” He looked over at Edgyn. “Even some of our catch reaches Portinia where the lake’s southern edge meets the border.”

  “Nonsense,” Edgyn scoffed.

  Pader only smiled before continuing. “And it’s not only seafood that the lake produces. While you can’t see them here, most of the lakes shores are covered in an assortment of shells. From these the people produce jewelry, buttons, combs, and many other items which find their way all over the provinces.”

  Connor turned onto one of the long piers stretching out from the wharf. Large boats were tied up all alongside of it, their masts towering high above them. Some were long and had two large masts and a dozen sails, while others were smaller, sprouting just one mast and a few sails. They were each painted different colors, with a lighter tone for the majority of the craft and darker for the trimming.

  The Laughing Lady was painted yellow and had a single mast with sails that could be let down on its front or rear. Lake Dancer was blue with two masts and a large bowsprit extending from her prow. Two men sat smoking pipes on her railing and watched silently as they passed by. The King’s Cousin was a grey vessel with one mast that also had oars fastened to the inside railings. River Wisp was green and had a small mast set near the front of the ship instead of the center, which was taken up by an enormous cabin that covered the whole deck. Men sat on top of it mending nets and sewing sail.

  When they began to get near the end of the pier Bryn knew they must be close to the boat which would take them to Dockside. They passed the Baden’s Bounty, The Sea Horse, and Queen’s Delight before Connor came to a halt in front of the final boat on the pier. The name painted on the side of the bow proclaimed her as the The Silent Bard, and she was painted a dark brown and possessed a single tall mast with two square sails furled-up, their edges gently flapping in the wind. A small cabin was set in the middle of the boat just ahead of the mast and a large steering-wheel sat in front of that on the boat’s bow. There was no fancy ornamentation or long bowsprit as there were on some of the other boats; this one seemed built for one purpose only, and that was sailing the lake and bringing up fish. Several long oars were tied up and fastened to the inside railings like Bryn had seen on some of the other boats, with large metal rings spaced out to serve as oarlocks. Several tall fishing poles were strapped to the outside walls of the cabin, as well as a few handled fishing nets. Larger fishing nets were coiled and bunched up on the stern deck.

  Connor turned to face them. “Well gentlemen, this is the boat that will take you down to Dockside. She’s not much to look at, but she’s fast and reliable and’ll see you safely on your way.” He turned back toward the boat and put his hands to his mouth. “Del,” he shouted at the boat, “Del, get yourself on deck, you’re needed.”

  They heard some sounds from inside the cabin and after a few moments the door swung open and a short squat man emerged. He wore the dark blue boot-coverall combination that Bryn had seen in the storefronts leading to the docks, with a grey cotton shirt underneath showing numerous stains. His face sported a half-week’s worth of stubbly beard of dark grey with patches of white around
the chin and ears. His grey hair was bunched up under a dirty blue cap which was pulled down close to his small brown eyes. His nose was crooked and looked to have been broken half-a-dozen times, and a pipe smoked from between his thick, chapped lips.

  “So this be the lot that I’m to take down to Dockside, eh?” the man asked as he crossed his arms over his chest and placed his hands in his armpits as he stood staring at them.

  Bryn was surprised that the king would hire this man and this boat to take them to Portinia. He had been expecting a grand vessel with many sails and clean, well-dressed men who reflected the grandeur of the crown. Instead they had a dirty old sailor with nearly the worst boat he’d seen on the pier.

  “Yes, these are the men that will be accompanying you to Dockside. Have their possessions arrived yet?” Connor asked.

  “Aye, they came early this morning, as did the extra provisions.”

  “Good, so you’re all set to sail.”

  A moment later another man came to stand beside Del. He was one of the tallest men that Bryn had seen, with dark brown hair that hung down shaggily around his face. A half-week’s worth of beard of the same dark brown showed up in patches around his mouth and cheeks, which were long and drawn. He wore the same boots and coveralls that Del wore, although they were slightly cleaner. He carried a large box in his arms with spools of tangled fishing line and netting sticking out.

  “Me son, Cren,” Del said and the, “yes, we can be on our way now.” He approached the mast and began to untie the ropes that would let down the sail.

  “Well, gentlemen, good luck and peace be with you,” Connor said from the pier. He gave them a slight bow and then turned and walked back the way they’d come.

  There wasn’t much for them to do besides get in the way, so Halam, Rodden, and Millen went into the cabin to look around, while Pader and Iago took up spots on the back of the boat. Willem and Edgyn spoke a few words to Del, and were soon assisting him and Cren in letting down the sails and pushing the boat away from the pier with the oars that were tied to the railings. Bryn decided that he would climb to the top of the cabin to sit and watch as they headed out onto the lake.

  The early morning sunshine was giving way to clouds and a brisk wind was picking up as they floated out into the lake. Soon the two sails were full and they were heading south toward the King’s River somewhere off in the distance. Bryn was able to get a much better idea of the enormity of the docks running along the lake when they got out further. They must have stretched half-a-league or more along the water’s edge before giving way to more buildings and eventually the city wall. Baden became smaller and smaller the further they pushed out into the lake, and soon it was little more than a distant dot on the landscape.

  There was still no sign of the lake’s edge in front of them, but to the west Bryn could just make out the shoreline, no more than a hazy smudge of color battling with the horizon for appearance. The boats around them became fewer the further they sailed out into the lake. Most were happy to stay closer to the city to do their fishing. Some of the larger boats with two masts were pushing south with them, perhaps heading to good fishing spots they knew in the middle of the lake. Soon all other boats were distant dots on the horizon and there was nothing more for Bryn to see around him but the blue-black water of the lake. He decided to climb down from atop the cabin and see how the other men were faring.

  Del had both hands on the steering wheel in front of the cabin while Edgyn stood next to him, no doubt talking about sailing. Cren had unfurled a large net at the back of the boat and was busily at work mending tears in it. Pader, Willem, and Iago must have gone into the cabin and Bryn opened the door to head inside.

  It was dark when Bryn entered, but his eyes soon adjusted. The two small windows opposite the door that looked out onto the bow did little to let in light, but one of the men had lit a small lantern which now hung from the ceiling, swaying with the motion of the ship. Two small bunks were built against each wall one atop the other, but they seemed little more than converted shelves. The large box that Cren had carried onto the boat earlier was sitting at the foot of one of the bunks, and many more like it were scattered around the small cabin. Fastened to the middle of the floor was a table with two benches where Halam, Rodden, Millen, and Pader sat. Willem and Iago were both seated on the lower of the two bunks along the walls. When Bryn entered Rodden was speaking.

  “It’s enough that we just make our presence known,” he was saying.

  “You think that’ll be enough?” Millen said from across the table.

  “I don’t see why not,” Rodden replied. “Right now, they have no idea that we’re coming and therefore there’ll be no way they can agree to anything. They need approval from the emperor for anything to get done.”

  “That’s right, Iago said from his spot on the bunk. “Even if there are imperial representatives still living in Weiling, I doubt very much that they’ll have any authority to officially renew relations.”

  “That’s no reason for them not to give us approval to return to Adjuria with permission to trade, though,” Willem said.

  “It might be,” Halam answered. “They could tell us to sail home and come back when they are ready to hear us.”

  “I see no reason why we couldn’t then bring trade goods on that return voyage,” Millen said. “It doesn’t make any sense to keep sailing back and forth to talk about trading when we could be doing it.”

  “I agree,” Halam said, “but the Jongurians can be prickly about these things. It’s best to see what they say when we get to Weiling and take it from there.”

  The discussion continued, but Bryn was becoming bored so headed back outside. Cren was still mending the net, but now Edgyn was steering the boat while Del walked around glumly inspecting the peeling paint all along the boat. When he saw Bryn exit the cabin he came up to him, saw he was bored, and soon had him outfitted with a fishing pole to kill time.

  Bryn wondered if he would even have a chance of catching anything with the sails full and the boat moving at a steady clip across the lake. He’d never been on a boat before and this was a lot different than tying twine to some branches back home, so he had no real idea about the fish or the time it would take for the boat to reach the river, and then Dockside. He leaned up against the railing and looked out at the lake. This was pretty easy work, he figured, being a fisherman, but boring. There wasn’t much to see or do, and he realized now why Cren was so quick to grab up the netting and start mending. Still, he reminded himself, he was a long way from the fields of Eston, and the work he had there wasn’t anymore interesting than this.

  The sails remained full well into the afternoon and Bryn couldn’t see the shore on their right or even the small dot that had been Baden on the horizon behind them. Water and clouds were all he could see in every direction, and occasionally another boat would dot the distant horizon in front of them. It was quiet too; the only sounds were the water slapping against the sides of the boat and the sails rustling in the wind. He’d given up on catching anything after more than an hour had passed, but glancing down at the pole still fixed to the railing did relieve his boredom somewhat. After a while Willem came out of the cabin and walked over to him.

  “So how’s sailing treating you, Bryn?” he asked as he grabbed the fishing pole, let some line out, gave it a few tugs, then put it back into the metal holder.

  Bryn looked around him at the empty horizon. “Well, to tell you the truth sir, it’s a bit boring.”

  Willem gave a deep laugh. “You can say that again! There sure isn’t much to do when you get out onto the water and there’s nothing around you.”

  “So how can you do it in Duldovia all the time?” Bryn asked.

  Willem folded his arms and leaned forward onto the railing as he stared out at the lake rushing by behind them. “Well, Bryn, when you’re raised up working on the water your whole life, it just becomes a part of you. It’s probably much like you and farming in Tillatia, I’d
imagine. You get up each day and do it, knowing that’s your place in the world.”

  Bryn thought that wasn’t much of an answer, but instead asked if Willem would like to bait his own pole and try his hand at fishing. Surely he would have better luck than Bryn, being an old hand at it.

  “No, no, I’m fine. I’ve done enough fishing in the Sea to the point that it’s not much fun anymore.”

  “Does the Duldovian Sea have different fish than the King’s Lake?” Bryn asked.

  “Some, but not many,” Willem answered. “Since the Sea is larger, we do have some bigger fish, but most are the same.” He straightened up and looked over at Bryn. “You know, they say that thousands of years ago the King’s Lake was part of the Duldovian Sea, and that both took up twice the area they do now, stretching from the base of the Montinos all the way to the Barrier Mountains.”

  “Really, what happened that caused them to break apart and become smaller?”

  “Land changes, it’s like a living thing itself, just with a much longer lifespan. I don’t think anyone knows for sure, but if you walk around the Klamath Plain looking at rocks, you can see some with seashells imprinted on them, so we know it’s true.”

  “I’ve often thought that Adjuria and Jonguria was one continent before as well,” Bryn said.

  “More than likely,” Willem replied.

  A few minutes passed where they both stared out at the horizon. Finally Bryn got up the nerve to ask Willem a question he’d been wondering about for the past few days.

  “Willem,” he began a little nervously, “they say that you could have claimed the throne as your own after the Battle of Baden. Why didn’t you?”

  Willem continued to stare out at the lake as if he hadn’t heard the question, then let out a loud sigh. “We’d just fought against the Regidians and their allies, and we called them the usurpers. I didn’t want that name applied to me.” He checked the fishing line, flicking the switch to let out a little more line, then put it back again. “Sixty years ago when Duldovia was still a part of Culdovia my grandfather had cast his lot with the Regidians in their first attempt to take the throne when the king died. They managed to hold it until they made the mistake of invading Montino and bringing all of Adjuria to war. I’ve always thought that if he would’ve remained loyal to the Culdovian line like the other nobles then that war would never have occurred. You see, he was one of the most powerful and well-regarded of the nobles, but after the province was split in two his status was stripped away and my family was left with nothing. It took us many years to climb our way back up, and I’ve always vowed I’d never let those mistakes happen again.”

  Just then the pole shuddered and Willem and Bryn both looked at it in surprise.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, grab the pole Bryn!” Willem yelled.

  Bryn did just that, taking a firm grip with both hands on the thick butt of the pole as he slid it out of the metal holder. There was a lot of force on the other end of it, and the pole bowed under the weight of whatever fish had bit down on the line.

  “Can you reel her in?” Willem asked, excited.

  “It’s heavy, but I think I can manage,” Bryn said as he went to work reeling in the line. It was difficult and it seemed that for every few inches of line he reeled in the fish took twice as many back with it into the lake. He kept at it however, and soon the line had moved from out in the lake to right under the pole.

  “You’ve got her now,” Del said excitedly as he came up behind them with one of the long-handled nets from the cabin wall. “Just keep at her slow and steady now, lad.”

  Bryn wound and wound the spool with all his might, and soon the water under the pole was a maelstrom of splashing from the large fish fighting for its life. With just a few more turns Bryn had the fish out of the water and into the net. Del held the net down on the deck so they could get a better look at the fish thrashing about. It was large, the largest fish Bryn had ever seen. It was too big for the net even; that was obvious at it thrashed about the deck, and Cren took one of the oars from the railing and smacked it on the head a few times before it lay still.

  “Well, boy,” Del said with a smile as he bent down to take a closer look at the massive fish, “you’ve just caught the largest sturgeon I’ve ever seen.”

  “Look at the size of it,” Willem exclaimed as he stood over it. “I’d say it’s at least five feet long.”

  “Aye, at least,” Del agreed as he untangled the fish from the net and laid it out.

  The cabin door swung open and the others spilled out onto the deck.

  “My oh my,” Rodden said looking down at the lifeless fish, “what have you caught here?”

  “Not me, this was all the boy,” Del said, pointing at Bryn.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Halam said. “That’s the biggest fish I’ve ever seen.”

  “Aye,” Iago agreed.

  “We’ll be well fed tonight,” said Pader, “unless you want to wait until we get to Dockside and sell it. I’m sure she’d fetch a fancy price.”

  “That she would,” Willem agreed. “I’ve heard of fish that large being taken from the Sea, but have never seen one before.”

  They all looked up at Bryn. He still had the pole clutched in his hands and all he could do was smile back at them. “I think it would make for a fine supper,” he said.

  ELEVEN

  That night they dined on fried sturgeon and potatoes, cooked up on the small stove Del had in the cabin. There was more than enough for each man to have two large helpings with some left over. Shortly after eating they reached the King’s River. During dinner the southern shore of the lake could be seen off the bow, and a while after they could make out the river with trees and plains on either side. The boat gathered speed as it approached the river, and the swift current was easily seen. Whereas on the lake the going was slower, their movement determined solely by the wind, on the river the current pushed them along at a good pace. Small waves dotted the river’s surface, creating a continuous noise all around them. It wasn’t the thunderous roar that Bryn had heard along the Tillata River the week before, more of a low humming.

  The river was quite wide, and two boats would have no problem moving down it, with still a third probably able to squeeze in between. Occasionally a large boulder would jut out in the middle of the flow, but they could always be seen clearly by the foaming white waters churned up around them. The banks of the river rose up high on either side and then leveled off; so that it appeared they were sunk down below the surrounding countryside. On their right was verdant grassland while on their left plains stretched on endlessly.

  It began to grow dark by the time that everyone had eaten and the lake was a distant mass off the stern. Bryn decided that he’d grab his bedroll and sleep atop the cabin under the stars. Del informed them that with the river’s current pushing them faster they could expect to make good time. Everyone was satisfied by that, and with little else to see or do, most decided to call it a night. Halam, Rodden, Pader, and Iago slept in the cabin bunks, while Millen, Edgyn, and Willem joined Bryn on top of the cabin. Del and Cren took turns sleeping on the deck while the other manned the boat. Bryn stared up at the stars and listened to the hum of the river and the waves slapping against the hull as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

  He awoke the next morning with the sun shining brightly in his eyes. The other men were also waking up so they all broke their fasts on bread, cheese, and apples as well as the little amount of fish that still remained from the night before. During the night they had left the plains behind so that now grassland surrounded them on either side. The banks had lowered too, allowing them to see clearly in all directions. The river had widened with several smaller channels branching off here and there while the strong current from the night before had weakened. Instead of rocks and dirt on the riverbanks, now they could see fine yellow sand, a sure sign that the ocean was close by.

  Edgyn was standing at the railing near the bow looking ahead.
Bryn decided to go up and ask him about Dockside.

  “We must be close by now,” Bryn said.

  “Aye, not more than an hour away,” Edgyn replied. “You can tell by the amount of sand on the banks as well as the smaller channels shooting off the river. The closer we get to Dockside the more of those we’ll see.”

  “What’s Dockside like?”

  “It’s a wondrous place, Bryn.” Edgyn folded his hands together and leaned his arms on the railing. “She’s a very large city, but well spread out along the water. All these little channels we see forming off of the river,” he pointed, “well they all grow larger the closer we get to the ocean. Many are small rivers by the time we get to Dockside, and each is used by boats coming and going from the sea. The King’s River is the largest, however, and that’s where the largest of the ships debark.” He straightened up again and looked down at Bryn. “You see Bryn, Dockside isn’t actually on the Apsalar Ocean at all. The King’s River forms a delta as it approaches the sea, and there’re dozens of different routes that can be taken. The city itself is set back many leagues from the ocean, but small settlements continue to follow the rivers down to the coast, with quite a few smaller villages set up right on the beaches. Collectively they are all known as Dockside, but you’ll see in hour what I’m talking about.”

  Edgyn walked off to talk with Del about their exact destination in Dockside, leaving Bryn to wonder how the city would look. He’d seen two great cities now in little more than a week. Plowdon was large and breathtaking; the first city he’d ever truly seen. Baden was much more regal, being the seat of the royal council and the home to kings. After seeing Plowdon and the lesser cities of Coria and Lindonis, however, Bryn had grown accustomed to a city’s appearance. He wondered if Dockside would have anything new to show him. From what he’d heard and read, most of the city was raised up high off of the water, but he had a hard time picturing exactly what that would look like. At the same time he doubted that it would inspire much awe. A city was often nothing more than a mass of buildings crowded too close together with too many people crammed into them.

  As Edgyn said, the arms and channels branching off the river grew larger, becoming little rivers themselves as the King’s River widened further. If they continued on its path it would eventually taper off completely and they’d be on the ocean. The grasses grew half-as tall as a man on their banks and were so bunched together that Bryn couldn’t see the ground they sprouted from. The first sign he had that they were near the city was smoke rising into the air from numerous chimneys. Soon after that small houses began to pop up along the river and its offshoots, with small boats tied up to docks thrown together from white sun-bleached driftwood. The houses appeared more and more as they moved down the river, and soon they were lining both banks with little space between them. Bryn could see that behind the houses the channels which formed from the river stretched far off into the distance on both banks, with smaller channels sprouting from them. More houses surrounded them, giving the landscape a strange checkerboard pattern of houses separated by river and grass, then more houses, then more river and grass.

  The river was very wide now, and it wasn’t long before some large docks appeared on their left. They were actually piers raised up high above the water so that they could service large ships. And large ships there were. Bryn saw the masts long before he saw the ships, the tall wood and sails towering above everything else on the horizon. Bryn could understand now why none of the boats around Baden had been called ships. These massive vessels towered high above them. The smallest had at least one mast while the largest had two or even three towering masts with sails stretching to the tops and along the whole length of the ship.

  Smaller docks were lower in the water and able to service the boats coming from the King’s Lake and it was at one of these that Edgyn told Del to steer toward. They threw their lines out to a couple of men on the dock, and within a few minutes they were secured. Bryn grabbed his pack and eagerly jumped off of the boat and back onto land, if standing on a wooden platform swaying in the water could be called that, excited to be in Dockside, the southernmost city of Adjuria.

  The others were not quite in as much of a rush, so took their time pulling their packs out of the cabin. Del shook each of their hands and wished them well. They gave a final wave then walked along the wooden dock toward the larger wharf set further off of the river. They climbed its sturdy wooden stairs, and Bryn saw his first glimpse of exactly what Edgyn was talking about on the boat. The whole city seemed to be constructed on wooden palisades so that it could tower over the land around it. On closer inspection Bryn realized this was necessary; if built on the same level as the river, the city would have the same patchwork aspect he’d seen while on the boat. It was necessary for the city to be built wholly on wood for it to truly call itself a city.

  They were not too far off of the ground, only six to ten feet, Bryn figured. They headed into the city and onto some wide streets, Edgyn leading them.

  “We’ve got to get around some of these smaller docks meant for the King’s River,” he shouted over his shoulder as they waded through the press of people. “The larger docks that service the ocean-going ships are still further to the south of us.”

  They continued on down the crowded streets, never quite leaving the sight of the river. Buildings crowded in on each side of them, all made of wood, the same as the streets, which were nothing more than a series of interconnected boards nailed together. The whole city seemed to be one large dock, and Bryn realized that its name meant it was more than just a city that was located next to the docks: the docks were the city. Between the buildings he could see the river and beyond it the tall grasses growing from the mounds of sand which lined its banks. Tall ship’s masts towered above the buildings, none of which exceeded two storeys, and most of which were only one. It must have cost a lot to build this city, Bryn thought. He’d seen no large trees for most of the day, so the city must have gotten most of its wood from the Baltika Forest in Regidia. Surely it was not all constructed out of driftwood.

  After a time they were walking on the raised platforms which ran along the river, large ships tied to the tallest of them. Stacks of crates were seen everywhere, and these did tower over most of the buildings. Bryn had no idea what they contained, but figured that it must be something other than just fish. He remembered Edgyn explaining how many of the southern provinces bordering Portinia sent their goods overland to Dockside. From there they’d then be loaded onto ships and sent by sea to many of the northern provinces. It was cheaper and faster to send them that way than if they were sent by land, and Edgyn mentioned that since the war he often sailed to Fallownia, Shefflin, and even sometimes as far north as Tillatia to deliver goods from the south and take back goods from the north. Since the war with Jonguria, the only type of trade that occurred in Adjuria was between provinces, and Portinia had a large stake in it.

  Most of the crates were being loaded onto the ships with large wooden cranes. They walked through the bustle of crates and cranes until they came to a large ship. Edgyn said a few hasty words to one of the men standing next to it who quickly ran off. Edgyn then turned to address them all.

  “Here we are gentlemen, The Comely Maiden. She’ll see us safely to Jonguria.”

  The ship was a massive thing, with two tall masts rising high above them, its sails tied up along their lengths, while in front a large bowsprit shot out from the bow over the river underneath. There was no paint on it that Bryn could see, the dark brown wood of the trees she came from being the only color evident. A large cabin dominated the area in front of the masts. A narrow gangplank led up the few feet that separated the dock from the ship’s deck, with men carrying sacks and small crates onto the ship.

  “Come,” Edgyn said as he headed up after the men, “let me show you your home for the next week or two.”

  They followed him up and were soon standing on the deck of the ship. The wood was planed and smooth on every
spot of the deck, railings, masts, and cabin, a big difference from Del’s boat. The cabin had several windows on each side and over the door was a small set of stairs leading to the top of the cabin, which was in actuality another deck entirely. Between the two masts was a large hole cut into the deck which led down into the ship’s hold. Behind it the deck stopped and another cabin began, with two small staircases running up on both sides to a smaller deck set up at the same height as that above the forward cabin, although this one had the ship’s steering wheel set atop it.

  “The first cabin,” Edgyn said, pointing toward the front of the ship, “is the guest quarters. It’s spacious enough for all of us, and six bunks can be pulled out from the walls.” He turned and pointed behind them. “The aft cabin is the captain’s quarters, also spacious, but capable of accommodating only two.” He walked around the hole in the deck. “Here is the ship’s hold, which will be sealed-off with this trapdoor when we get underway,” he said, motioning toward the large metal grating that lay on the deck next to the gaping hole. “Below are all of the provisions we’ll need for the voyage, which is not that many, I have to admit.” Bryn lowered himself down so that he could peer into the dark hold. It was a cavernous space that ran the entire length of the ship and was quite deep, but was surprisingly empty, he saw. The two men who’d been carrying the sacks and crates deposited them near the ladder fastened to both decks and then climbed up it to stand on the main deck.

  “I’d much rather be sailing a ship full of crated goods like we just passed on the pier” Edgyn continued, “but I suppose that’ll not be too far off now that we’re on our way to Jonguria, eh?” He smiled at them, then looked up toward the two tall masts. “These masts each will hold two large sails, one which runs up the length of the mast to the crosstrees, and another smaller sail which unfurls above them. With all four sails out we’ll be able to move at a speed of around eight knots, although I think we’ll stick closer to five or six.”

  Bryn stared up at the two tall masts. The large one closest to the back of the ship was the tallest, and went up about fifty feet into the air, with the crosstrees, a long horizontal mast extending to both sides, jutting out at around forty feet up. The second mast, closer to the cabin at the front of the ship, only rose about forty feet above the deck, or about as high as the crosstrees of the first mast. Attached and spread down and outward from both of them were hundreds of feet of rope which secured the sails and stretched all the way down to the ship’s railings, as well as to the bow and stern. More ropes were coiled up into piles along the deck, and set on each side of the ship close to the railings were two small row boats turned on their sides. Lifeboats, Bryn judged, hoping he’d never have to trust his fate to one on the open ocean.

  The man that Edgyn had sent scurrying earlier now returned, another four men close behind. All wore tight-fitting woolen shirts and trousers of light blues and grays and were well-muscled. Surprisingly, Bryn thought, they all looked like younger versions of Edgyn, especially since most sported either a mustache or a goatee.

  “My crew,” Edgyn said as the men strolled up the gangplank. They lined up in front of the railing, the two from the hold joining them. “They’re Flint, Dilon, Fess, Trey, Jal, and Conn,” Edgyn said, pointing them out from left to right. “And this here’s my first mate, Sam.” Edgyn put his arm around the man’s shoulders and the sailor gave a grudging smile which lacked several teeth. He had dirty-blonde hair and small scar under his right eye, but other than that looked the same as the other men that Edgyn had named off. “Well, men, are we ready to shove off?”

  “Aye, captain,” they said at the same time, then began to move around the ship, each following a separate path. Some headed to the railings to untie the ship while others climbed the masts to let loose the sails. Sam took hold of the large metal grate and laid it over the opening to the hold, then headed up toward the steering wheel.

  “We’ll be getting under way then,” Edgyn said as he too headed toward the wheel. “You men can put your things in the fore cabin, then come out on deck to see Dockside slip away. We should be out of the river shortly and on a southwesterly course toward Jonguria in no time.”

  The men did as he advised, stowing their packs into the cabin. Bryn handed his to Halam so that he wouldn’t miss any part of the process now underway to see them on their way. The two top sails were unfurled now and flapping in the wind and the ship’s bow was pointed out toward the river. The wind caught and filled the sails and they picked up some speed, passing by the docks on their left as they headed down the widening river to the sea. After a while they’d left Dockside behind and only houses crowded along the banks of the river, just as they had when they entered the city. Bryn could smell the salty sea air, and then the land gave way to ocean, the waves crashing onto the sandy beaches on either side of the river. Two long rows of jagged black rocks stretched out into the waves, and they sailed straight out between them.

  “The jetty,” Willem said as he approached the railing that Bryn was leaning on. “They protect the ships from the harsh storms that kick up around here during the winter and keep them from crashing into the rocky shores when they sail back into the river.”

  When they cleared the jetty the crewmen let down the other two larger sails which quickly caught the wind. Edgyn steered them so that they were running along the coast but also away from it. The waves crashed against the ship’s hull, and it wouldn’t be long before they were out of sight of land entirely.

  The other men took up spots along the railing to watch the land go by, which was soon nothing more than a brown line on their left with ocean surrounding them in every other direction.

  TWELVE

  The storm abated and the skies cleared on the voyage from Desolatia Island. After five years of exile on a deserted island, Leisu was surprised how easily Grandon seemed to take to the sea. The heaving and rolling of the ship as it moved among the waves didn’t bother him in the slightest. He’d grown up in Regidia, the most heavily forested province of Adjuria, which had a few small rivers and streams, but nothing large enough to put a boat into. Perhaps, Leisu thought, he’d spent considerable time in the water while on the island; he would have to if he wanted to survive: most of the edible plant and animal life would cling to the rocks and shoals surrounding the island. He considered asking the man, but Grandon was content to spend the majority of his time standing at the bow of the ship and staring out at the distant horizon for hours and hours, his attention drawn away only when one of the crewmen informed him it was time to eat.

  The few times that Leisu had managed to draw Grandon out of his reveries had not produced any new insights. But how could they? The man had been gone from the world for the past five years and his knowledge of events was therefore quite limited. On their first full day at sea Leisu had tried to initiate a conversation.

  “How did you survive on that island for so long?” he’d asked that afternoon while Grandon stared off of the starboard side of the ship.

  “You mean why didn’t I die after a few weeks like everyone in Adjuria expected that I would?” Grandon had replied.

  “If that’s how you would like to look at it.”

  Grandon had given him a hard look then peered back out at the sea. “I knew that at some point I would be taken off of that island. At first I believed it would come soon. My countrymen would realize their mistake in crowning the young boy king and come rushing back to the island begging me to take the throne once again. I entertained those delusions for the first year, and then I began to think that my fellow Regidians would send a small ship to take me back to my province to live out my days in peace. For two more years I looked forward to that happening. After that I stopped looking toward the sea for my salvation. I began to construct my own boat out of the materials the island could provide. It wasn’t much. Thick wood is rather sparse on the island, as I soon found out. I quickly realized that the best I could manage would be to lash some thick branches together into a mak
eshift raft. It took me several months to get it completed to my satisfaction and equipped with enough water and food to sail.”

  Grandon had sighed and gave a slight smile before he continued with his tale.

  “I chose a clear day and at low tide pushed my little raft out into the surf. I made it out into the large breakers and was hurled back toward the shore, my raft torn to splinters by the force of the waves even at their weakest. I was utterly dejected, but all I can do is look back and laugh now. My Adjurian opponents were quite brilliant in choosing the location for me; there was no way that I was getting off that island by myself. So I put away all hopes in that regard; they would do nothing but weigh me down, I thought. I continued to live day-by-day, but deep down I suppose that I secretly still hoped, and even expected, that someone would not forget about me and that a ship would be sent.” Grandon had looked over at Leisu at that moment. “And it would seem that someone has not forgotten about me, although I’m a bit surprised that it’s a Jongurian that has sent for me. I never would have expected that.”

  “Well,” Leisu had said, straightening, “it’s as much your nephew as it is us. I don’t know all of the particulars as to his and my master’s plan concerning you, but from what I do know it was he that approached us first.”

  “Yes, Jossen always did take after me in that he could see an opportunity and grab it,” Grandon had replied. He had turned to Leisu then. “So there is nothing more that you can tell me about this plan that my nephew and your master have for me then?”

  “No, I know little of it myself, I’m afraid.” Grandon had turned back to the sea at that, but Leisu had pressed on, trying to placate him. “I’m sure that more will be made known to you when we arrive in Weiling,” he’d said.

  Grandon didn’t respond to that so Leisu had left him to his thoughts. That had been three days before and they’d said little since. Now, however, they would approach Nanbo Island and the answers that they both sought.

  After several days of nothing but blue seas all around them, Leisu was happy to see the barren rocks of Nanbo Island appear on the horizon. There wasn’t much to the island except several small fishing villages and the larger town of Weiling where the imperial trade offices were located. This was where Adjurians and Jongurians used to meet to hammer out deals acceptable to both for their various goods. Now, however, those imperial offices remained vacant and unused, and had been ever since the war and the cessation of all trade between the two countries nearly twenty years before. Leisu heard someone’s footsteps draw near on the wooden planking of the deck and turned, surprised to see Grandon coming to stand beside him.

  “What business do we have in Weiling?” Grandon asked as he put his hands on the railing and stared out at the approaching island, still far off in the distance. His long hair had been cut back and tied into a small tail at the back of his head, Leisu saw. The beard which had covered his entire face was now trimmed neatly into a small goatee, though it still did a good job of hiding the man’s nose and mouth.

  “None, really,” Leisu replied. “We’ll dock and unload some fish that was caught over the past few days and take on some extra provisions. It’s all really for show. It would be suspicious for a ship to sail past Nanbo for so long a time and then bypass it altogether when seen again.”

  “I see. So we’ll be just a few hours in port then?”

  “I don’t think it’ll take much longer.”

  “Will I be permitted to stretch my legs on shore?” Grandon asked, turning to look at Leisu.

  Leisu returned his gaze and thought for a moment. His master had been explicit that Grandon was to remain out of sight until he was safely delivered. Even taking him from the docks to Zhou’s residences in Bindao was to follow a painstaking process. Grandon was supposed to be tucked away in a crate or hidden in the back of a wagon; whatever it took to ensure that he was kept out of sight entirely. Leisu hadn’t mentioned this yet to Grandon, and was not planning to do so until they were within sight of Bindao’s harbor. It now appeared that the news could wait no longer.

  “My master was adamant that you not step foot off of this boat until we reach Bindao, and then you are to be hidden from view,” Leisu said to Grandon, returning the man’s unnerving gaze without trouble.

  Grandon was quiet for a moment, his brows bunched up in thought. “I see. And how are you to make sure that this order is carried out, may I ask, Leisu?”

  Leisu knew that Grandon only used his name when he was sure of getting his way. He’d spoken his name the first day on the ship when Grandon insisted on standing at the rail and looking out. Leisu had approached to suggest he may be more comfortable in the captain’s quarters or below deck, out of the glaring sun and gusting winds. Grandon had listened to his entreaties with his ears half-shut, then when Leisu had grown more firm in his protestations, Grandon had turned to look at him, and without even a change of expression, had turned Leisu’s blood cold.

  “Leisu,” Grandon had said, “I am sure that your master has told you many things in regard to me, and most of them were uttered with the best of intentions. But I tell you, Leisu, neither you nor your master knows me. If I want to stand at the railing and look out at the sea, then I will do so.”

  He had turned and done just that, not sparing another moment for the Jongurian. Leisu hadn’t argued with him, seeing little harm in the man’s eccentricity. Now, however, as they approached Weiling, Leisu’s orders had more weight. He steadied himself and drew in a deep breath before answering Grandon’s question.

  “Why, sir,” he calmly replied, “I have a ship full of armed me that will ensure that my orders are carried out.”

  “And you would do me harm then when I decide that your orders do not concern me?” Grandon replied.

  Leisu had to think for a moment. The only thing that his master had been more adamant about than Grandon not being spotted was that no harm was to come to him. He looked down for a moment then quickly met Grandon’s gaze again.

  “No, we wouldn’t harm you, but–”

  “Well, it’s settled then,” Grandon interrupted, “I’ll take a short stroll around the docks when we land and nothing more.” He smiled at Leisu and walked back the way he’d come, leaving the Jongurian more perplexed and frustrated than ever. He was a great warrior who’d proved himself countless times during the war with Adjuria. He’d struck down men in battle that were far greater than this puny Adjurian. But what could he do? While he would have killed any lesser man, and even some greater, for talking to him like that, there was little he could do to punish, discipline, or even scold the former king. Leisu gritted his teeth and returned to the bow to watch their progress toward the island.

  The sun was not yet halfway through the sky when they made it to Nanbo Island and turned west to reach Weiling, located on the island’s far western point. Several small fishing boats crowded around the rocky shores with nets spread out and long poles fastened to their decks, the lines cast out and trailing into the water around them. Few of the men and women looked up at their approach and even fewer seemed to show them any interest. Good, Leisu thought, there’s nothing here for them to concern themselves with. Most of these people’s lives had changed very little over the previous centuries. When war had come between the two mighty nations they were unaffected, and Leisu doubted they cared who called himself emperor in Fujing, and would little notice when their country proclaimed a new ruler in a few months time.

  It didn’t take them long to see the tall buildings of Weiling rise from the rocks ahead of them. It wasn’t so much the buildings which were tall, few were more than one storey and only a couple actually had a second storey, but the cliffs which rose high from the water. As those cliffs opened and grew inward the ship turned, heading into the small bay that took up one side of Weiling and was the reason for its existence. Their speed slowed with the raising of sails, but with the ship’s momentum and the push of the tide they were able to glide into an open spot along the nearly deser
ted docks and piers. The crewmen of the ship threw out their lines to men waiting on the docks and soon they were tied up and secure. Leisu gave the order for their goods to be unloaded and new provisions to be taken on, then looked around for Grandon. He still had some words to say to the man about his planned trip around the town.

  He found him standing on the railing overlooking the men from the pier who were securing a gangplank to the ship. Several of them looked and pointed at the Adjurian in their midst, so much so that more gawking was being carried out than any actual work. Leisu approached and barked a few quick words in Jongurian and the men scrambled back to their task. Grandon didn’t so much as turn to acknowledge his approach.

  “It’s really not much,” he said as he continued to look down at the men. “From all of the importance applied to trade over the years, I assumed that Weiling would be a bustling port city. Now here I find it’s nothing more than a few ramshackle huts dotting the waterfront.”

  Leisu grinned despite himself, but quickly regained his composure, happy for once that Grandon had a tendency to never look who he was talking to. “No, it’s not much, and never really was,” he admitted.

  “So then why build all the docks and piers?” Grandon asked. “There must be enough space for twenty or thirty ships in this small bay, and dock space for twice that.”

  “From what I’ve heard, before the war the goods from the Adjurian ships were unloaded and just as quickly reloaded onto Jongurian ships. Before the Adjurians could get out of the harbor with their return goods, we would already have our ships halfway to Bindao.”

  Grandon scoffed. “I doubt that.”

  “Trade has always been highly valued in Jonguria,” Leisu continued, unperturbed by Grandon’s disbelief. “Much of my country derived its livelihood from the goods that could be shipped to Weiling and then to Adjuria. And the goods that we received in return were highly sought after. People didn’t want to wait long for them to reach the mainland.” Leisu stretched his arms out toward the town. “That’s why you see few buildings. There was never any need for warehouses to store the goods that were brought over. The ships acted as the warehouses, and no goods were held for long in their holds.”

  “If it was so important for the goods to get to the mainland,” Grandon said, “then why even bother with Nanbo at all? Why not have the ships head directly to Bindao, or even a port city on the northern coast?”

  “I agree, but that was a decision made by an emperor long ago and carried out until the war disrupted all commerce.”

  “So why haven’t you tried to start up trade again?” Grandon asked, looking at Leisu for a change.

  “I could ask the same of you,” Leisu replied. “There have been no overtures to Jonguria since the war ended twenty years ago. And unfortunately in some things we Jongurians are a very stubborn people. Trade is one of them. We won’t come to you asking for trade, but instead wait until you’re ready to come to us.”

  Grandon laughed. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. Look around you. This town, if you can even call it that, has obviously seen better days. How it has hung on without trade for two decades is beyond me.” He straightened up and looked at Leisu. “If I were you, I’d prepare a ship for Adjuria and tell them you want, no, need, to trade again.”

  Leisu smiled at the man’s total lack of knowledge of his country. He knew that however easy that seemed to the Adjurian, it could never happen. Jonguria was too proud. She was still angry over the war’s beginning twenty years before. The Adjurians had claimed that it was a Jongurian vessel which fired the first shot at an unarmed Adjurian fishing boat, but it was as absurd a notion to Leisu now as it had been to the entire country so long ago. Most had reconciled themselves to never knowing exactly how the war had begun, but begun it had, and things had never been the same. It wouldn’t do any good to get into a conversation with this former king about that, however, so Leisu simply smiled at the man’s comment.

  Both stood at the rail watching the barrels of fish being unloaded and the crates of provisions being carried aboard for a moment before Grandon spoke again.

  “So I’d like to take my first step on Jongurian soil now, if that’s alright with you and your master.”

  “I’ve told you how my master feels about that,” Leisu replied. Having thought over the man’s words as they came into the harbor Leisu had realized that there was little he could do to control this man who’d been, and still seemed to be, so used to controlling others. He sighed and looked at Grandon, who perked up at the attention.

  “But you are right, sir. There is very little that I can do to stop you. I think it is a mistake for you to leave the ship before we reach Bindao, and the protection that city will afford you under my master’s control, but you are free now from your island prison, and thus able to do as you please.” Grandon gave a slight smile and nodded and began to move toward the gangplank before Leisu’s hand shot out to hold his arm. “But I advise you,” he continued in a hushed tone, “be careful and keep out of sight as much as you can. It wouldn’t do to have word spread that an Adjurian fitting the description of the False King Grandon Fray was spotted in Weiling.”

  “I doubt that anyone would recognize me here,” Grandon said, brushing Leisu’s hand out of the way and continuing off the ship.

  “You never know,” Leisu said quietly to himself as Grandon moved down the gangplank and onto the pier. “You never know.”

  THIRTEEN

  The voyage went fast and each day saw favorable winds and clear skies. Edgyn’s seven crewmen’s actions in handling the ship were deft and efficient, and the Comely Maiden moved through the seas with a grace and ease that saw them well away from the sight of land on their first day out of Dockside. The second and third days followed a similar routine of tedium for the men. They arose from their bunks early and had a bland breakfast of oatcakes, cheese, and small beer, then watched the crewmen at work. When they tired of this they could stare out at the sea around them. When that proved unbearable they could converse amongst themselves, but with little external stimuli on the ship, the conversations had nowhere to go and quickly fizzled out. In the end each man was left to find a comfortable place on the ship to spend alone with his thoughts.

  Bryn had taken to asking numerous questions of the crewmen right off and soon knew many aspects of the ship. Dilon told him the difference between the mainmast and the mizzenmast, Trey helped him name off all of the sails on the ship, and Conn even helped him calculate the speed of the ship using a long rope with several knots tied into it. After Fess saw him staring up into yards and rigging of the masts, he convinced Bryn to climb up to the top with him. It was slow going after he’d gone up a dozen feet and made the mistake of looking down at the swaying deck and the waves crashing about it underneath, but he’d somehow marshaled his courage and pressed on. Soon they made it to the crosstrees, and then it was just a few more feet up to the very top. Fess showed him how to twist the ropes around his hands and feet so that he’d be secure, and Bryn had found his new favorite spot on the ship. Before he headed back down to his other duties, Fess handed Bryn a small metal spyglass, telling him he could use it to see further on the horizon, maybe even spotting land if he stayed up long enough. He stayed up for hours after that watching the distant horizon through the glass before Halam finally shouted up at him to come down and eat dinner.

  On the third day they spotted land. Jal was the first to see it from his spot up in the rigging, and he called down to them on the deck.

  “Land ho!”

  They all rushed to the port side railing to have a look, but could see little at that point. Bryn climbed up the mast to have a look for himself, but it wasn’t really anything special, he decided, and soon climbed down. It was already late in the day and the sun was about to go down when the call was made, so the men resigned themselves to getting their first look at the Jongurian coast on the morrow. For many it would be their return to a land they’d only known ravaged by war
and which had changed their lives entirely.

  Dawn saw the fourth day as bright and clear as the previous three, but now instead of ocean on all sides, they had land on one. Edgyn had the ship skirting the coast half a dozen leagues out. To Bryn it looked much the same as the land they’d left behind; there were green hills and what looked to be darker green trees. He still couldn’t make out much at their distance, even when he climbed up top.

  On the fifth day they saw a large river draining into the ocean from the coast, and Edgyn informed them that they were passing the Xishui River, the first of two massive rivers which drained out of the Xishan Mountains on parallel paths through the grasslands of southern Ximen province. Bryn asked how he knew all of these different names, and Edgyn just laughed. He had several maps, both on paper and in his head, from making the voyage countless times during the war and before when he traded. On the morrow they’d pass by the mouth of the Dongshui River as they got closer to land.

  Edgyn was true to his word, and early on the sixth morning out they passed the river and prepared to step onto dry land once again. They would reach Nanbo Island sometime that afternoon and would sail into the southern port city of Weiling where in the past the Adjurian trading ships had unloaded their goods and taken on Jongurian goods for the journey back. The men were still uncertain as to how their reception would be. Over the past two days they’d spotted several large fishing boats off the southern Jongurian coast, but none had attempted to flag them down or send a message. Many had been ahead of them and could have made it back to Ximen or Pudong provinces with news of an Adjurian sailing ship off the southern coast. The men were therefore certain that news had reached Weiling as to their approach.

  The southern coast began to recede inland as they continued on their course, and in the afternoon a small speck appeared on the horizon, their first glimpse of Nanbo Island. As they got closer they saw several of the same single-masted fishing boats plying the waters off the island that they’d seen over the previous days on the southern coast. Again, none made any move to intervene on their approach to the island, and as they got closer it didn’t seem the people on the boats paid them much attention at all.

  The island grew larger as the afternoon wore on, going from a speck to a sizeable mass of land ahead of them. The island was shaped like an arrowhead whose tip pointed west, Edgyn told him, and Bryn could see the resemblance as they got closer. The sharp, rocky tip of the island tapered off on both sides and spread outward as they neared. They headed south and Bryn saw that the island was almost completely made of rock. There were some gnarled, wind-whipped trees sprouting on the few areas of dirt scattered about, but mostly it was jagged black and brown rocks. They ran right down to the sea and Bryn saw no way that a ship, or even a small boat, could possible make an approach.

  As the island widened, however, they found themselves approaching a small bay where several of the fishing boats they’d seen were anchored. The rocks still came right down to the water but there were long docks and piers constructed to lessen any danger. Wooden buildings were constructed close to the piers, but Bryn couldn’t see much of anything behind them due to their height above the ship. The rocks fell steeply into the bay, and while the docks were lashed together right on the water, the piers were supported by tall wooden pilings, some of which were at least a dozen feet tall. They led to wooden staircases set against the rocks which led up another dozen feet to the buildings. Like the piers in Dockside, wooden wheel-turned cranes stood about, derelict and abandoned from lack of use. No trees or any other signs of life besides the people on the fishing boats could be seen in the desolate landscape.

  Upon their entrance into the bay, several of the smaller fishing boats threw out oars and unfurled sails, quickly moving to get out of the larger ship’s path. Edgyn had called for the two large mainsails to be brought down and tied to the masts when they approached the island, and now it was just the smaller topsails filled with wind that guided them into port. Edgyn pointed to a spot next to the only other large ship tied up along one of the piers and they steered toward it. They made a slow approach, and several men came out onto it to assist them.

  Bryn had never seen a Jongurian before. Where the Adjurians were light of skin and had fairer complexions, these men had a darker skin tone as if they had spent considerable time in the sun. Their hair was all black and their eyes were smaller and slanted downward at the outer edges. They were smaller, having thinner arms and legs, but also less fat, and seemed shorter to Bryn than the average height of men back home, standing no taller than shoulder-height to an Adjurian.

  Five of them caught the lines thrown to them by Edgyn’s crewmen and tied up the ship to metal rings fastened to the wooden pier. Edgyn told Sam to take down the sails and inspect the ship, making sure it was in top shape for their voyage back to Adjuria. Next he walked over to the railing where the Jongurians now stood silently staring at them. He spoke a few sentences in a language Bryn couldn’t understand, and two of the men ran off toward the buildings set higher up on the rocks.

  “I’ve told them that we’re here to see an imperial representative,” Edgyn informed them all.

  “I didn’t know that you spoke Jongurian,” Rodden said.

  “It helps when you trade with them,” Edgyn smiled. “A difficult language to pick up, that’s for sure, but well worth the effort.” He looked at the other men. “How many of you can speak it?”

  “I do,” Pader answered, looking at the others.

  “I picked up some during my time in Bindao,” Halam said, “but I can’t carry on a decent conversation.”

  “How about the rest of you?” Edgyn asked, looking at Willem, Iago, and Millen.

  They all shook their heads.

  “Well, it’s no matter. One of us can carry on the negotiations while the other translates. Most of the time in the past the imperial representatives spoke Adjurian, although they may be a rusty after all these years, but then so am I.”

  One of the men that had delivered Edgyn’s message returned and motioned for them to step onto the pier. “Come,” he said in Adjurian as he waved his arm at them to step off the boat.

  Edgyn looked back at them then stepped onto the pier. The rest of the men looked at one another nervously, then Halam, Rodden and Bryn followed, the others close behind.

 

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