by David Rice
Egrant looked sideways and smirked. “That’s right,” he spoke up. “Instead of five men, let Major Poll be joined by any and all who volunteer to bring in the former Duke Arundy of the
Highlands and Port Lornen.”
The troops made brief sounds of surprise and their expressions hardened.
Major Poll frowned. Egrant was changing the terms. “Five or more, step forward now,” he commanded.
Baron Egrant cleared his throat. “Volunteers only. The remainder will travel with me to garrison the future Queen at Eastfork.”
More brief grunts from the troops.
Major Poll’s temper coloured his cheeks. He was expecting a much larger number for such an important adventure. “Volunteers for the apprehension of a despicable traitor to the
King, step forward now.”
For a long moment, no one moved.
“May I, Your Grace? Major?” the sergeant prompted.
“Yes,” Poll snipped. “Immediately.”
“By all means, Sergeant,” Egrant chuckled.
The sergeant whirled his horse and faced the troops. “By the love of the One, if ye lazy bastards disgrace this regiment for one more heartbeat, I’ll flog you all for practice.” Then his voice mellowed towards sweet patience, “Now ye heard Your Grace. Volunteers are required. And I have a few of ye in mind.”
The corporal commanding the foot soldiers took one pace forward and stood to attention. Then two of the mounted troopers looked at one another, shrugged, and nudged their mounts a few steps ahead.
The sergeant raised an eyebrow and glared. “Why ye yellow sods,” he swore under his breath.
Before the sergeant could let rip with another motivational tirade, or the young Major further embarrass himself with a whining complaint, Baron Egrant smiled and stepped forward. “You three will do fine. Fetch another horse for the corporal and join the Major at the gate. Best wishes to all of you.”
Egrant acknowledged the Sergeant’s crisp salute and walked away without so much as a nod to Major Poll.
Transfixed with silent fury, the young major sat atop his horse and shook.
“Permission to dismiss the platoon, sir?” the sergeant called out.
“I was promised five!” Poll yelled. “Give me five, Sergeant. Five. Right now.”
The Sergeant’s expression steeled itself. “I beg yer sir’s pardon, but the Regiment has its orders from the Baron himself. I dare not disobey the chain of command. Sir.”
Poll did not issue the order for dismissal and did not wait for the sergeant’s salute. Instead, he spun his horse around and trotted to the gate to stare at the foothills. “I’ll gather more in Hillsedge,” he mumbled to himself. “And be sure I’ll report you all for discipline when this is done.”
The sergeant waited a respectable time before slowly turning his mount to face the troops again. “Fine. Tomorrow be ready for a ride to Eastfork, and be sober this time. Dismissed.”
Those not joining Major Poll wasted no time hooting for joy and racing back to the barracks for a second round of shut eye.
XL
The Evalyn enjoyed a smooth sail north along the coast of the Highlands. The spring was fully upon the realm. The cliff face sparkled where the sun hit quartz embedded in the granite, flickered like lightning where streams emptied their melt water through crevaces into the sea below, and danced with the swooping and soaring of birds rediscovering their wings.
As his ship cut through the green waters, Captain Engram found himself smiling and instantly corrected himself. A happy captain brings ill luck, the saying went, and with good reason. An open sea and a fresh crew were the two most fickle entities to be found in the world.
Engram turned to his First Mate, a seasoned young fisherman named Taylar, and pointed west. “The Raelyn’s mouth is always clogged with logs and ice in spring. Best nudge ourselves seaward and curve,” he indicated his wishes with a motion of his hand, “so we can approach
Splintjack from the northwest.”
“Aye, Captain,” Taylar responded. “Be nasty to ram a deadhead, that’s fer sure, but good gold in salvaging them that’s got away.”
Engram grunted, “Another time and another boat, I think.” Taylar laughed. “Aye, Captain. Mebbe I’ll look into what’s fer hire in Splintjack and try me luck.”Engram grinned. Taylar wasn’t stupid, and he had a work ethic. He liked this kid.
“Let me know when we are heading into the harbour,” Engram instructed as he stepped lightly down the stairs to the main deck.
“Aye, Captain. Should be a few bells past noon.”
Engram crossed to the quarters where his passengers had squirreled themselves away for the entire trip. The servant, Ashak, was a polite and muscular fellow with a nimble scimitar at his waist. His companion, the Rajalan Seer Grash-houk was opal-eyed and always smiling. Engram wished his own dreams were half as enticing as the seer’s must be. He stepped inside carefully. Ashak looked up from his crosslegged position on the floor. Grash-houk sat in his hammock, grinning, as the ocean rocked him gently. Engram shook his head as he remembered the first time the Rajala had boarded his ship. Thankfully, these two brought no sparkweaving nonsense, no conflicting egos, and no surprises. Engram chastised himself once more. Always expect surprises, the voice in his head grumbled.
“We will be docking in Splintjack mid-afternoon. You sure that’s all you need? Just to be dropped off?”
“Yes, Captain,” Grash-houk stated pleasantly. “We will be travelling from there.”
“Rough town,” Engram added. “Outsiders won’t be treated well.”
Ashak moved fluidly with the motion of the ship and was on his feet in a heartbeat.
“There is nothing to fear,” he replied. He smiled and bowed. His scimitar caught a shaft of sunlight through a thick glass windowpane.
“I guess not,” Engram mumbled. “I’ll have a deckhand bring you lunch, and let you know when we’ve arrived, though you’ll probably smell it first.”
“The sea birds will tell us much,” Grash-houk responded.
“Yeah,” Engram muttered. “That’s the truth.” Engram stepped out and closed the door. He scowled as the voice in his head continued to nag him to shake off his complacency. He decided that he would check the cargo hold. At least there weren’t horses in there this time, just barrels of food and ale. And no assassins.
Inspecting the primary cargo took little time. Everything was tied down and secure. Nothing had leaked. No one had tampered with any seals. Splintjack would pay a pretty price for something other than fish and dried fruit after a long winter. Then there was the special cargo, the heavy crates Hoglee’s men had loaded at night. Engram decided to take a closer look now that he was alone. He grabbed a hooded lantern, unlocked the hatch to the lowest deck, and slipped down quietly, closing the hatch above him.
The lowest deck stung the eyes and assaulted the nostrils with a lifetime of use. It was often where they dumped salt and fish. It was also where they placed extra ballast for the ship, bars of iron and balls of lead under the floorboards and wedged along the keel. This was where Engram had dragged the crates after Hoglee’s men had left. They had been damned heavy and his curiosity was killing him to know why. Hoglee had said to keep them safe, and Engram was annoyed that it had taken until this late in the voyage to slip down to this cargo undetected.
He hung the lantern from a hook and, using a crowbar he always kept on his belt, Engram lifted the first oak plank. With a grunt, he slid it clear enough to reach the first box. The crate was also wooden and he carefully pried up the lid. Whatever was inside, it was packed in wool to keep it from shifting and breaking its container. Engram lifted the top layer carefully and gasped.
Inside the box were at least a hundred small bars of gold stamped with Lornen’s mark. Alongside the gold were bars of sparkling silver Rajalan ore, light and strong. Rare and priceless. Engram looked over his shoulder reflexively and forced himself to breath again. He was staring at a portion of G
othert’s embezzled reserve.
“Hoglee, you clever, dangerous bugger,” he whispered.
And there was a short note. It wasn’t signed but it was in Hoglee’s infamously hard to read hand, Hid one box in Splintjack, under where I like to drink. We want it to be found but not too quickly. Hold the rest until I tell you we need it again. Good fishing!
“By the Banefather himself,” Engram grumbled low, his eyes wide. “You suckered me into the middle of a scam.” And Where you like to drink? Engram searched his memories for the last time the two were in splintjack together. It had been cycles earlier, when the mills were just getting going and the taverns along the docks were full of watered-down booze and brash drunks looking for a fight over dice or women. Did he mean that hunting lodge in the hills just east of all the noise?
As quietly and as hastily as possible, he tapped the lid shut, slid the floor plank back into place, dimmed the lantern and hustled up the ladder. With a sigh of relief, he locked the hatch and exited the cargo area with no sign of anyone being the wiser.
But how was he going to hide a crate like that in a small hunting lodge? And where it could be found? Why are you doing this, Hoglee? Who could’ve put you up to such a stunt? Engram’s mind spun. Who had the power to get away with such risks in the docks? Engram gasped again. Only one person fit those descriptions. That double-dealing menace, Baron
Koppinger. “Oh, Hoglee,” Engram muttered. “What does that bastard have on you?”
***
Engram was glad he had some time to think through the next part of his plan. The Evalyn was just tying up to the wharf when the Rajalans emerged on deck. Engam wasted no time materialising by their side.
“Best weather I’ve sailed in for ages,” he smiled.
Grash-houk smiled back. “I know.”
Engram shot a confused look at Ashak.
“The Seer knows much,” the Speaker stated simply.
Engram raised an eyebrow. “He knew when to sail?”
“Yes,” Ashak we waited until your boat was ready and the time was right.
Engram paused. His voice dripped with skepticism and wonder. “He knows these things? The future?”
“Not all,” Grash-houk grinned. “The future whispers to me. I cannot demand of it.”
Engram nodded. “So, your knee gets sore when the weather is going to be rough? That sort of thing?”
Ashak smirked.
The Seer’s expression clouded over. “We were followed but they will not pursue.”
Engram shot a glance over his shoulder and suppressed a snarl. “Who? Where?”
“At sea. Our people but not our Rajdejmion. They seek, too. But they will not follow here.”
Engram looked at Ashak again. “I don’t—look, I don’t even need to understand. Thanks for the fare. I need to offload the cargo and get back to sea.”
“Of course,” Grash-houk replied. “Be wary of the storm that comes. And the ocean that will rise.”
Engram scowled. “Yeah. Yeah. Look, I want you to do something for me. If you wait until tonight, my crew’ll be all lit up in town, and there’s a path that skips trouble around the
taverns and heads to a quiet spot you might like.”
“Yes,” Grash-houk replied. “That aligns.”
Engram’s face wrinkled. “What does he mean?”
Ashak smirked again. “He has mentioned a large cabin in the hills.”
“What?”
“We will stay till evening and we agree to assist you.”
Engram’s head spun. “What? I didn’t even ask yet.”
Ashak laughed and put a finger to his lips. “The Seer knows where it needs to go.”
Engram fought to keep his voice low. “If Hoglee has put you up to this, I swear—”
Grash-houk looked puzzled. “This vision was mine this morning after you visited. You need not worry. All shall proceed as the One needs.”
Engram sighed. Zealots. Great. How could he trust them? Did he have a choice? They already knew. “I don’t know how and I don’t know why but you gotta keep this secret. Or people will get hurt. My friends will get hurt.”
Grash-houk and Ashak bowed. “We understand, Captain. We shall wait until the ones who sprint faster rise.”
“What is he saying now?” Engram’s mind whirled. He didn’t like being the one without answers. “The smaller moons, the twins?”
“They race faster, now, every season,” Grash-houk smiled and looked up through his milky eyes. They are the hammers of the One.
Engram grimaced. “Only the sea should enjoy giving me riddles.”
“We rest until the smallest moons rise,” the Speaker said.
Ashak bowed and guided the Seer back into the cabin.
“And perhaps we will dream of more riddles,” Grash-houk added happily as the door closed.
Engram scratched his head. So, one box would be delivered by the strange pair of Rajala to the hunting lodge, and the next morning he’d be getting back to sea as soon as his crew had stopped vomiting from the night before. The sea was the only place he felt close to being safe. Yeah, his voice nagged, Thanks, Hoglee. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan.
Engram slowly climbed the stairs towards the quarter deck. From there, he could chastise the crew until all was secure. His mind buzzed with uncertainties. The moons were speeding up, and he had thought it had just been his imagination. “How does that old coot even see those moons?” he puzzled.
XLI
Balinor returned to the small column of travellers, his horse kicking up tufts of dust and grass as it topped the rise and drove down into their midst.
Balinor wheeled his frothing horse around Arundy’s wagon while he panted his report. “I can see the gates of Thunderwall over the next hill. It’s about a league away. But there’s also a group of troops approaching from the northwest, perhaps twenty, all on horseback. It looks like they’ll get there first.”
Arundy looked back at the mix of trade folk and families with their worn down wagons and skittering sheep who had been following him faithfully since the loss of Port Lornen. They were exhausted and yet their eyes were still bright with trust. It was out of the question to fail them now.
“How far?” Arundy asked.
“A league. All uphill. Two if you stick to the bottom between ridges as it swtches back and forth.”
Arundy’s eyes darkened but he said nothing.
“A distraction might work to draw them away,” Balinor suggested.
“I know the route from here,” Alain added, “and I know the challenge that will open their gates for us if we can get there in time.”
“How is the dwarf healing?” Arundy asked.
“His wounds have closed and his fever has eased but he still sleeps deeply,” Alain said.
“It’s the shield. They both have to get to Thunderwall.”
Arundy stopped his wagon and, fighting against stiff legs, he stepped down and waved to a trooper. “I need your horse.”
“What?” Balinor drew his horse between the Duke and the approaching trooper. “No. That’s not going to happen.”
`Arundy’s eyes narrowed but his mouth curved in the hint of appreciation. “They only want me.”
Robi Tork thrust her head from the covered wagon. “And who will explain our position to the dwarf king?”
Leonara emerged from under the canvas. “Dwarf kings? We’re going to meet dwarves?”
Arundy’s shoulders softened and he turned to regard Mrs. Tork and Leonara kindly. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”
In a wink, Balinor exchanged his tired horse for the trooper’s and began to ride the opposite direction.
Arundy spun and shouted. “Wait. You can’t.”
Balinor slowed to face Arundy. “You’re needed here.”
Arundy’s face hardened and twitched as he tried to wrestle free of Balinor’s truth.
Balinor pressed on. “I recognized the uniform of the officer leading them, Yo
ur Grace. I owe him a reckoning. And I’m going to give them a distraction they won’t ignore.” Balinor begain to wheel his horse away once more.
“Don’t you dare get yourself killed, you fool,” Arundy called back.
Balinor laughed grimly. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I have a friend’s daughter to find, and I took your fastest horse.”
The group watched helplessly as Balinor trotted out of sight.
“Well,” Alain broke the silence. “Two leagues to safety. Balinor deserves our speed.”
Arundy bit his lip. “Agreed,” he said, his voice dry. He felt weary as he climbed back onto the wagon’s seat. Too many sacrifices, he thought. An image of his wife pierced the smoke of his memories, her hopeful smile and the faith that lived in her eyes filled him with a rush of emotion that washed away clinging doubts and judgement.
