‘How long does it take?’
‘It’s not an easy voyage, my lord. You have to sail all the way around the Avakaba Coast, a long way south, where the waters are treacherous, before sailing back up into the Lantinen Sea. The length of the voyage depends on the winds, but it has been done in four days in the past.’
‘The Avakaba Coast?’
‘You know them as the Lippers.’
‘Well, thank you for the information. I am Farred, by the way,’ he said offering a hand.
The Caladri took it. ‘Captain Sebo,’ he said, then gave a twitch of a smile. ‘Maybe we will make this voyage together.’
‘Maybe so,’ said Farred with a smile.
‘If so, I recommend my ship,’ said Sebo. ‘It would be an honour to have you as a guest with us.’
‘It would be an honour to sail with you,’ replied Farred, now feeling somewhat better about Caladri hospitality.
It would be two more days before the final decision was taken; though as the harbour in Mizky continued to fill with warships, it was plain to see which way it was going. The Sea Caladri would sail a fleet to the Lantinen Sea. Their goals, Hajna explained to him, were somewhat limited: to open up transport across the Lantinen. If that meant conflict with Kharovia they were prepared for it, but they would not be seeking out Kharovian ships, declaring war, or anything of that sort.
Once Hajna had passed on a summary of what was happening, she explained that she would be sailing back to her homeland that very day. She had been away for some time, and she was concerned that her husband, the new king, needed her support.
Farred walked with the Blood Caladri down to the harbour, for Marika and Vida would of course be returning with their mistress. Theirs was a small, sleek ship, which could skim atop the waves and take them swiftly north along the Itainen coast. He said his farewells, receiving a hug from Marika and Vida, then left them to it.
Now you really are alone, he told himself.
On a whim, and with nothing better to do, he walked along the seafront to look at the warships. He wondered whether he could spot Captain Sebo’s ship, that he had named Red Serpent. It was busy here, as sailors readied the vessels for the voyage, bringing aboard supplies to keep the big oarsmen fed, weapons should they be needed, and goods for trade. The ships came in different sizes, but the largest were far longer than any he had seen elsewhere. They were also more high-sided than the typical construction in Magnia; altogether, they were an impressive sight. Farred walked along one pier then the next, until he saw a ship painted scarlet red, with the body and head of a great snake on the prow of the vessel.
‘So, destination Magnia!’ came a voice, and there was Captain Sebo, peering down at him from the deck of the ship.
‘She’s a beauty!’ said Farred. It wasn’t the biggest of the ships, but it certainly looked fine, and praising a captain’s ship is like praising a mother’s child: an obvious compliment, but one that always works nonetheless.
‘Come aboard!’ the captain shouted, indicating the gangplank that was resting on the wooden pier.
Farred made his way up the plank carefully, wary of slipping. Once he reached the top he saw that it was a significant drop down to the deck.
‘There,’ said Sebo, indicating a raised platform that had been built along the side of the ship.
Farred stepped from the plank onto the platform, then onto the deck. He looked at the platform.
‘For fighting?’
‘Yes, it gives us quite a height advantage over most other ships. Fill that platform with archers and you can win most encounters without risking life or limb. Come Farred, let me show you around.’
Sebo showed Farred the deck, which had two masts, with sails that would be unfurled when the captain wanted to catch the wind. There were many other features of the ship he showed Farred, who only half followed what he was being told.
Sebo then showed him below deck. This was where the oarsmen were located, in rows of seats with one oar each, which exited through a hole on either the port or starboard side. The conditions looked cramped even without the seats filled. At the fore of the ship Sebo had a small cabin and at the rear was storage, mainly for food and drink. This was a fighting ship and there was no room to carry large quantities of goods: that required a ship of a different design.
They returned to the deck.
‘Will you be travelling with us, then?’ Sebo asked.
It was the only offer Farred had, so he was pleased to accept it.
‘We are sailing first thing on the morrow, I believe?’ said Sebo.
‘I’m not sure,’ Farred admitted. ‘I haven’t really been kept informed.’
‘Ah well,’ said Sebo, looking a little embarrassed. ‘You will have to forgive my countrymen. Most of them lead a secluded life here. They don’t come into contact with foreigners. Being a sailing man of course means my life is rather different. Anyhow, I will see you first thing tomorrow. We sail for the Avakaba Coast, against the wind, so we will need an early start.’
‘I look forward to it,’ said Farred, looking about the ship. ‘I think I will enjoy the voyage.’
Farred hated it. The roll of the ship as it crested a wave and then dipped down, up and down, up and down, made him violently sick. His body seemed unable to adjust. He couldn’t stay on his feet, and any lurch of the ship made him ill. So he stood on the starboard fighting platform, hands gripping the side, head stuck over the edge in case he had anything left to throw up. He watched the south coast of Dalriya, the lands of the Sea Caladri and the Cordentines, gradually slide away as they got farther out to sea, and regretted ever having set foot on the Red Serpent. Once there was no land left to look at, he watched the other Caladri ships, bobbing in the waves alongside the Red Serpent, banks of oars pounding into the sea to keep them moving. Most were warships like Sebo’s, but they were also accompanied by the wider shaped trading vessels. Although their design made them less sleek, they sat much lower in the water, and they were able to hold their own with the warships in these conditions.
Captain Sebo approached him, his face a mix of pity and humour.
‘Middians make poor sailors, I fear.’
‘Why didn’t you make that clear before we set sail?’
‘I just wanted it confirming.’
‘Turn your fucking ship around,’ said Farred, ‘and take me to the south coast of Magnia. I’ll get off there and you can carry on.’
Sebo scrunched up his face. ‘Can’t do that, I’m afraid. It would take far too long, we’d lose contact with the rest of the fleet. Seriously, Farred, I do have a suggestion. Why don’t you try pulling an oar for a while?’
Farred looked at him, wondering if it was a jest. But no, the captain was serious.
‘What if I puke up down there? That’s not going to make me very popular.’
‘I doubt you’ve got anything left. You might find it better down there. The motion of the ship isn’t so severe.’
‘Alright. I’ll give it a try.’
Sebo led him down, then looked at his oarsmen, giving the matter a little thought, before picking one of them to give up a seat for Farred. Farred clambered clumsily into position, before grabbing hold of the oar in front of him, two handed.
‘Just follow the rhythm of the others,’ advised Sebo. ‘Concentrate on that and you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.’
It took him a while. He copied the other oarsmen, whose range of movement was small, their hands always in front of their chests. Several times he got into a rhythm and then his timing went wrong, the blade of his oar dipping too early, or in the wrong position, slapping into the water rather than pulling it. But each time he started again, and began to eradicate the errors, until he found a settled rhythm. Sebo was right. Perhaps it was because the rowing gave him something to focus on, but he felt a lot better below deck. His shoulders and back muscles began to ache, but he wasn’t going to show himself up amongst the Caladri, and he was able to push through the pai
n, his body adjusting to the demands of the motion.
It was hard to tell time below deck. Sometimes it felt like it dragged, each pull of the oar a burden. Then his mind would drift off, thinking of other things, until it was drawn back to the ship and the oar and he wondered how long he had been down there.
Eventually a group of sailors came down to replace some of the oarsmen, including Farred, and he made his way back up to the deck. He stretched out his back, enjoying the sensation after sitting for so long. He looked out to sea. He could see the other Caladri ships; some ahead, some behind. It was comforting to know that they weren’t alone in the ocean. But on the other hand, there was no land to be seen in any direction now. He didn’t like that feeling, of being surrounded by nothing but waves, not knowing where the nearest shore was.
Sebo was right. He wasn’t a sailor.
The captain approached him. ‘You did well, I hear?’
‘Well, I certainly feel better for it. How are we doing?’
‘Well enough. I expect us to make landfall in daylight. We are having to row hard against the wind on the way south. If we have any luck, and the wind stays, our journey will get much easier when we reach the Lantinen Sea.’
Sure enough, it was early evening when they approached a Lipper settlement. Sebo identified it as Chobo. It was perfectly positioned in a wide bay. There was limited docking space, and so the warships waited out at sea while the traders went in first, turning their ships around, then securing their vessels and unloading the goods they had brought to offer to the Lippers. For the rest, there was a long shallow beach which had enough space for all the ships to find a berth.
As they got into the shallows, Sebo ordered his men off, and Farred found himself jumping off the side and landing in the sea, his shoes plunging into the sandy seabed. Ropes were thrown overboard. Farred found a space on one rope, and when all the sailors had a grip, they pulled and heaved, dragging Red Serpent onto the sandy shore. Farred slipped over and fell onto his arse, hands grabbing at him to haul him back up. He wasn’t the only one to fall, though obviously the Caladri had experience on their side, not to mention their clawed feet that sank into the sand and found purchase better than his leather shoes.
Once they were out of the shallows and the ship was on firmer ground, it suddenly became much easier, and Farred found himself running backwards, the rope taught, and Red Serpent slid smoothly along the wet sand until it was secure above the high tide mark. Farred found that he had a huge grin on his face despite his wet shoes and trousers, and decided that a life on the seas wasn’t quite as hellish as he had found it to be initially, though his favourite part was getting back onto dry land.
The Lippers were already coming out to meet them at the beach, and Farred wandered over, fascinated. They were tall and broad shouldered, with dark skin just like his own. But if they resembled Middians in appearance, they sounded nothing like them. Farred could hear their strange voices talking to the Caladri traders. It was a series of meaningless noises to him—he couldn’t make out a single word.
He was surprised that the Caladri traders could talk back in the same language. They laid samples of their goods out on the beach for the Lippers to inspect: worked timber, wool, and iron implements.
Sebo walked over and stood next to him. Farred looked over to the ship and saw the captain’s men were busy putting up tents for the night.
‘What do the Lippers offer in return?’ Farred asked him.
‘They have gold, cotton, spices—many things. I am hopeful they will feed us, too. Otherwise it’s salted fish for dinner.’
‘You have learned their language?’
‘Me personally? I know a few words that come in handy. The traders know their language. The people back home do not.’
‘What did you say they call themselves?’
‘Avakaba. It means The Ones Who Left.’
‘Left where?’
Sebo shrugged. ‘That I don’t know.’
‘In Magnia we know nothing of these people. They are our neighbours, but as far as I know we don’t trade or communicate with them at all. Looking at this, that seems very foolish.’
‘It is very foolish,’ Sebo agreed. ‘And long may it continue. For the Sea Caladri take goods from the Avakaba, sail north as far as Haskany, even the Jalakh Steppe, and trade with the northerners. It makes us very rich.’
Farred nodded. He could see how.
‘You say you sometimes sail as far north as the Steppe?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I have a friend who needs to travel there. It is connected with this mission your fleet has been given.’
‘Then he would have been far better coming with you and taking a ship there. It is very dangerous to reach the Steppe by any other route.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Farred. The overland route involved marching through Haskany, under the noses of the Drobax and the Isharites. ‘Although if I had to trust anyone to do it, I would trust Gyrmund.’
8
Manoeuvres
THE DROBAX WAS STANDING a good ten feet lower down the slope from the ledge Gyrmund occupied. He adjusted his body line to the angle of the shot, pulled back the string to his ear, held for a second, then released. The arrow struck, and the beast went down.
He turned behind him, and waved Moneva and Soren on.
They didn’t have much time.
The Drobax were crawling all over the Dardelles mountain range, sent south by their masters in ominously large numbers. Gyrmund spared a brief thought for whoever this army was being sent against. But he had no time for more, because they had been spotted. If they didn’t find a secure place to hide, they were finished.
He jumped down the rocks, risking injury in exchange for speed. When he reached the Drobax corpse he breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, the monster had been standing outside a cave. This was their best chance of escape.
He pulled the arrow from the head of the Drobax, fitted it to his bow and peered into the dark cave. He could feel Moneva’s presence behind him and he walked forward carefully. He was wary of marching straight in when his eyes had not adjusted to the darkness, yet fearful of taking too long and being seen entering by the Drobax.
He was right to be careful. As he inched forwards, a figure ran at him out of the darkness. He released his bow on pure instinct and it took down what he could now see was a Drobax. But a second monster followed close behind and Gyrmund had no time to nock a second arrow or draw his sword, instead holding his bow as a staff.
Moneva was a blur that came past him. The Drobax adjusted the swing of its weapon from Gyrmund to Moneva, but it was a clumsy move. Moneva avoided the swinging club and stepped in, burying her sword through its neck, then shoved it to the ground, before finishing it off.
Dropping his bow, Gyrmund drew his sword and stabbed down at the first Drobax, making sure it was dead.
Once done, he turned back to the entrance of the cave.
Soren had entered behind them, and, with Onella’s Staff aloft, was concentrating on the cave entrance. The wizard turned to look at Gyrmund.
‘I am making the entrance appear like a solid wall of rock. If one of them studies it closely, or leans against it or some such, the illusion will break. That would be unlucky.’
Gyrmund looked around the cave. That would be the end of them. It was a large space, but there was no other exit. They would be trapped inside.
He spied something on one of the walls and walked over to investigate.
‘What is it?’ asked Moneva, joining him.
There was a slash mark in the wall of the cave.
Gyrmund smiled. ‘I’m just wondering. Something very sharp made this mark. And very recently, too. Soren, could you take a look?’ he asked, before looking around the floor of the cave as best he could in the dim light.
There had been a large group in here. He approached the far end of the cave. The stink was oppressive, for it had been used as a latrine. He could see what looked like d
og hairs on the floor. He turned back, to see Soren looking at the mark.
‘Clarin?’ asked the wizard.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Gyrmund. ‘It looks just like one I saw him use when we were heading to the Wilderness.’
‘Yes, it does,’ agreed Soren.
It was only yesterday that Belwynn had contacted Soren to tell them of Clarin’s miraculous re-appearance in Heractus. Many of Gyrmund’s fellow prisoners had escaped with him, including his friend Cyprian. Herin, however, had not been with them.
‘Clarin was here?’ Moneva said, incredulous.
‘It’s a sign that Clarin left for his brother,’ Soren said. ‘To tell him he was here.’
Moneva looked at Gyrmund.
‘It’s good,’ he said, allowing himself a smile.
Clarin had made it out of Samir Durg. And if the big man thought there was a chance Herin had too, then Gyrmund had to share the same hope.
Clarin found it hard to lift the spirits of his men. It was only natural that each one of them had kept close to themselves a dream, private and intimate, of what they were escaping to.
A reunion with tearful loved ones who had thought them dead? Or at the very least, a bar full of captivated listeners to their heroic stories, while the tankards of frothy beer kept on coming long into the night. But to escape and be immediately impressed into an army in the middle of a civil war? That fell a long way short of the dream.
It wasn’t as if he was able to fully explain to them why they should care about this war. The enemy was a complicated, nebulous list of names and groups to them.
The side they were on wasn’t convincing, either. Sebastian, Theron and their Knights had captured the king of Kalinth, and the king’s son was trying to free him. It was hardly a heroic cause—indeed, half the Knights of Kalinth clearly didn’t support Sebastian’s seizure of power, taking the side of the prince. They had also bungled their revolution. Theron had apparently sent the enemy army and royal guard home last summer, only for them to reappear as combatants this year.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 79
