Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  “Damn it, Henry had no proof!” Alan said angrily. “How could I start an international incident over Henry having a bad feeling in his gut?”

  He flung the king’s letter onto the desk. Phillip retrieved it and slid it back into his pocket.

  “What did the Guundarans tell the governor?”

  “That they had suffered damage in a wizard storm. I have kept a watch on them since and I believe Henry was right. The damage was superficial, designed for show. Although…” Alan frowned and fell silent, thinking.

  “What is it?” Phillip asked.

  “Something doesn’t make sense. The warships in the harbor are directly under the guns of the shore batteries. Our cannons will pound them to kindling the moment they open fire. The Guundarans would first have to silence the batteries. They must be planning to send a raiding party.”

  Phillip sat forward in his chair. “They don’t have to go to all that bother. What forces are manning the batteries? Freyan army? Mercenaries…?”

  Alan stared at Phillip in sudden, awful understanding. “Mercenaries,” he said grimly. “Guundaran mercenaries.”

  “They attack at midnight, catch everyone in their beds, slit their throats and the shore batteries are theirs,” said Phillip. “Where is the Aligoes Fleet?”

  “Sornhagen,” said Alan.

  “Good God!” Phillip was shocked. “What are they doing in Sornhagen?”

  “Chasing their own tails, apparently,” said Alan bitterly.

  He gave a brief thought to what might have happened if he had done as Henry had asked, disobeyed his orders and returned to Haever. Wellinsport would have fallen without a shot fired. If he survived, which seemed unlikely given the odds, he would remind Henry of that. He might have come for the wrong reason, but he was in the right place.

  “How long ago did the fleet leave?” Phillip was asking. “I have my griffin stabled nearby. I can carry a message to Admiral Tower.”

  “I will send one of my midshipmen,” said Alan. “You need to find Henry, give him the king’s letter.”

  “His Lordship will undoubtedly shoot me before I get a word out,” Phillip predicted.

  “Henry won’t shoot. His arm is in a sling,” said Alan, adding with a grin, “Mr. Sloan will be happy to oblige, however. Henry must have sailed to Nydrian’s Cove. You remember that place. We used to hide out there in the Rose Hawks days.”

  “I remember a burned-out ghost town,” said Phillip, sounding dubious. “What is Henry doing in that godforsaken part of the island?”

  “Looking for a Wall of Frozen Fog,” said Alan. “It’s a long story. I’ll send you in the Terrapin’s pinnace. Henry is traveling in Kate’s old ship, the Barwich Rose, which you know, so you shouldn’t have trouble finding it. Mr. Sloan said the plan was to spend the day searching for this wall, then return to the cove. You can meet up with him there. I’ll dispatch messengers to the governor and the forts. We might be too late, but we have to try. You should leave now if you want to reach the cove by afternoon.”

  “Captain, sir,” said a midshipman, opening the door. “Lookout reports two Guundaran warships sailing this way.”

  Alan and Phillip hurried up onto the deck. Alan ordered the crew to have his pinnace ready to sail. He first trained his spyglass on the batteries. He could not see anything amiss, but he probably wouldn’t until the Guundarans lowered the Freyan flag and triumphantly raised their own.

  He next trained the glass on the two approaching vessels.

  “The King of Guundar and the Hoffnagle. Sixty-eight guns in each,” said Alan. He snapped the glass shut. “Henry always said I had the devil’s own luck. Looks like the devil has come to collect his due.”

  FORTY-TWO

  The Rose left the pool of liquid Breath at around noon to sail back to Nydrian’s Cove. Henry remained in the captain’s cabin, working with Mr. Sloan to estimate the worth of the pool, which they both judged was far larger than the pool in Braffa.

  Henry had long dreamed of this day, without truly believing his dream would ever come to pass. Simon’s discovery would save Freya from financial ruin, transform his nation from a pauper to a prince among nations, place her upon an equal footing with her rivals, Rosia and Estara. Henry should have been jubilant. Instead he had never felt so downhearted.

  “I fear we have gone to all this trouble only to enrich that bastard, Ullr, Mr. Sloan. Guundar will seize the well and claim it for their own.”

  He would have proceeded with his gloomy predictions, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Akiel thrust his head inside.

  “Olaf says to tell you that we are within sight of Nydrian’s Cove, sir, and that another boat has anchored there.”

  “Guundaran?” Henry asked, alarmed.

  Akiel shook his head. “Olaf thinks it’s a ship’s boat from the Terrapin.”

  “I’m not taking any chances. I will hide this chart,” said Henry. “Go with Akiel, Mr. Sloan. Remind the crew that they are not to breathe a word of our discovery to anyone.”

  Mr. Sloan accompanied Akiel above deck, leaving Henry to swiftly roll up the chart and look for a place to hide it. He stashed it in a cubby hole already filled with other charts, and strolled up on the deck.

  “What is going on, Mr. Sloan?”

  “Olaf was right: the pinnace is from the Terrapin, my lord,” Mr. Sloan reported. “Captain Northrop’s own.”

  “Alan would not send his pinnace unless the matter was urgent,” said Henry. “I fear this bodes ill, Mr. Sloan.”

  Dusk was falling, but he could see the pinnace tied up at the dock. The crew had remained on board the boat, while a man on the dock paced back and forth. Henry could only see him in silhouette against the backdrop of a flaming red sky.

  “I don’t recognize him,” said Henry. “Although something about the way the fellow walks does seem familiar, Mr. Sloan.”

  “It should, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan, whose eyesight was better than that of his employer. “Unless I am much mistaken, that is His Grace, Phillip Masterson, the Duke of Upper and Lower Milton.”

  “By God, you are right, Mr. Sloan.” Henry scowled and started to reach for his pistol, only to be painfully reminded that his arm was in a sling. “What the devil is he doing here?”

  “I would say we are about to find out, my lord.”

  A crewman aboard the pinnace alerted Phillip to the Rose’s approach. He turned to face them and, sighting Henry, gave him a tentative smile and a wave, while the Terrapin’s crew stood ready to catch the lines that would tether the Rose to the pier.

  “Once we dock, Mr. Sloan, please be so good as to take His Grace into custody.”

  “I would be glad to do so, my lord, but I would be remiss in my duties if I did not remind Your Lordship that His Grace is the king’s best friend. He is in a ship’s boat belonging to the Terrapin and he knew where to find us. It is logical to assume that Captain Northrop sent him.”

  Henry glowered. “Logic be damned. He betrayed me. Hold him at gunpoint until I learn his business.”

  “With pleasure, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.

  The crew of the Rose lowered the gangplank. Once it was down, Mr. Sloan and Henry left the Rose and advanced to meet Phillip, who remained on the wharf. Mr. Sloan had drawn his pistol and was holding it in plain view. Phillip glanced at the pistol and gave a faint smile.

  “I promise you will not need your weapon, Mr. Sloan. I am not armed. I come with one message from His Majesty, the king, and another from Alan. He sent me to inform you that two more Guundaran warships have entered the channel.”

  “Five warships! What the devil is Ullr plotting?” Henry muttered.

  “I have the answer, my lord,” said Phillip. “To put it succinctly, King Ullr is planning to seize Wellinsport, ambush the Terrapin, and invade Freya during the Hallen Day celebration.”

  The shadow of the mountain engulfed the boat, flowing over the dock as the sun set and casting a dark pall over Henry.

  “I have a le
tter from His Majesty,” Phillip continued. “If I may—”

  He reached into the inner pocket of his coat. Mr. Sloan raised his pistol.

  “Careful, Your Grace,” said Mr. Sloan.

  Phillip slowly drew out the letter and handed it to Mr. Sloan, who conveyed it to Henry. He recognized the royal insignia.

  “The seal is broken,” he observed.

  “I allowed Alan to read the letter, my lord,” said Phillip. “He needed to know.”

  “Come on board the Rose,” said Henry. “We can talk there. I believe you know Olaf?”

  “Indeed, I do,” said Phillip, boarding the Rose and shaking hands with Olaf.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen our Katydid, have you, Master Pip?” Olaf asked.

  “I left her in Haever only a few days ago, Olaf,” said Phillip. “She and Dalgren are well. She knew I was coming to the Aligoes and said that if I saw you, I was to give you her love and tell you that she would write soon.”

  Olaf shook his head. “Donkeys will fly before Katydid writes anyone a letter. But thank you, Master Pip.”

  Mr. Sloan lighted a lantern and Henry read the letter in the cabin of the Rose. He read it through twice to make certain he understood. The missive was brief and to the point.

  “How did His Majesty uncover this plot?” Henry asked.

  Phillip smiled. “You remember the portrait of King Godfrey, my lord.”

  Henry did indeed remember the portrait. King Godfrey had ordered Henry to devise a means for him to spy on his guests in the palace and Henry had conceived the idea of the painting.

  He had made use of it himself on numerous occasions in the service of both Godfrey and, later, Queen Mary. He smiled, remembering how she had not permitted him to spy on her guests and insisted that the portrait be removed.

  Then came the day the griffins belonging to a Travian count had defeated hers in a race. The queen’s trainer had suspected the count was mixing a magical potion into the food and Mary had ordered Henry to find out if that was true. He had made use of the painting to discover that she was right and Mary had banished the count and his griffins. After that, she had reluctantly agreed that the portrait could stay, though she had often grumbled about it.

  “Put away the pistol, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry. “My apologies for not trusting you, Your Grace, although I believe you would agree that you gave me just cause.”

  “Indeed, my lord, my one regret in aligning myself with Thomas was the knowledge that you and Queen Mary would believe me to be a traitor.”

  “If it is any comfort, Your Grace, Queen Mary never lost faith in you,” said Henry. “She made Thomas her heir based primarily on your highly favorable recommendation.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Phillip. “That means a great deal to me. What is the plan?”

  Henry wondered that himself. His primary concern was the safety of the chart marking the location of the pool. He had to make certain that Simon received it in case something happened to him. Henry considered sending Phillip to Simon, but he abandoned that as being too dangerous. Smythe would have his soldiers searching the country for Phillip and he did not dare risk having the chart fall into the wrong hands. For the same reason, he could not send Mr. Sloan or go himself.

  Phillip’s mention of Kate gave Henry an idea. He went up on deck to speak to Akiel and Olaf. Night had fallen. Olaf had invited the pinnace’s crew on board the Rose to share a bottle of Calvados and the latest news. The sailors scrambled to their feet when Henry appeared on deck. He motioned them to be seated.

  “I have a great favor to ask of you, Olaf,” said Henry, motioning him to the stern, where they could speak in private. “Mr. Sloan has recorded the location of the pool of liquid Breath on this chart. I need you to take it to the Parrot and keep it safe. I will send Mr. Sloan to retrieve it once I am convinced all is well in Freya.”

  “Rest assured I will take good care of the map, my lord,” Olaf stated, accepting the chart.

  “Thank you, Olaf. Mr. Sloan, transfer the rifles and pistols from the Rose to the pinnace.”

  Mr. Sloan transferred the rifles and pistols to the Rose, along with several bull’s-eye lanterns and other supplies he thought might be necessary. He and Phillip assisted Olaf and Akiel to cast off the lines, and the Rose sailed out into the Breath.

  Henry watched the ship until her lights were lost to sight in the darkness and hoped that his dreams for his country were not disappearing along with it.

  He turned to Phillip. “How did you travel, Your Grace?”

  “Griffin-back, my lord,” Phillip said. “I left the beast at a hostelry in Wellinsport to await my return.”

  “Excellent. I would like you to go to Rosia. I would rather swallow poison than to beg King Renaud for help, but we need troops, ships, whatever he can provide to repel this invasion. He and the Countess de Marjolaine put Thomas on the throne. The least they can do is help him hold onto it.”

  “The countess has no love for me, but she does love Thomas,” said Phillip. “I will do as you ask, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” said Henry. “We will transport you to Wellinsport in the pinnace. Mr. Sloan and I will proceed from there to the Terrapin.”

  “You could find yourself in the midst of a heated battle, my lord,” Phillip warned. “Alan has no intention of allowing the Guundarans to succeed in their plan to take Wellinsport or the Terrapin.”

  Henry smiled. “I’ve been in heated battles before. Besides, Alan owes me an apology. It will be worth risking my life to hear it.”

  Henry was not about to admit it, but the truth was, he didn’t want words of anger to perhaps be the last words he spoke to his friend. The Terrapin was, in a way, as much his ship as it was Alan’s; a ship protected by magically enhanced metal plates had been Henry’s idea. He would not allow that bastard Ullr to get his hands on it.

  “Mr. Sloan and I will join you in the pinnace, Your Grace. What is the fastest route back to Wellinsport?”

  “On the advice of the helmsman, we traveled overland, following the Indigo Road,” said Phillip. “Since the pinnace does not require the amount of lift a large ship such as the Terrapin requires, we did not need to rely on the Breath.”

  “Tell the helmsman to convey us back the same way,” said Henry.

  Phillip relayed the message to the helmsman, then he and Henry and Mr. Sloan found seats.

  Intended to be used to ferry men and supplies to shore, the pinnace was twenty-eight feet long with a six-foot beam and a single mast with one sail and two balloons. Three small lift tanks provided lift. A ballast tank insured stability. The small boat was equipped with two airscrews, making it fast and maneuverable.

  The pinnace set sail, gliding over land in the dark, heading south. The moon would not rise until after midnight, which was about six hours away. The sky was cloudless, for a change. When the moon did rise, it would be a winter moon: full and bright.

  The pinnace made good time, assisted by a tail wind that helped push them along. Phillip fell asleep sitting up, his head slumped on his chest. Mr. Sloan checked the weapons with the aid of a dark lantern to make certain none had suffered damage from the magical fumes of the pool.

  Henry sat in gloomy contemplation of a future that looked to him very bleak and hopeless. He started thinking about his broken shoulder again, with the result that the pain returned and he wished he had thought to ask Mr. Sloan to bring along one of Olaf’s bottles of Calvados. He eventually dozed off, waking when Mr. Sloan touched his arm.

  “The lights of Wellinsport are in sight, my lord.”

  At this point in their journey, the Indigo Road ran almost straight down the side of the mountain. From their higher elevation, Henry could see the lights of the city shining far below, forming a bright crescent around the Deep Breath harbor, which was pitch black by contrast.

  Phillip woke up at the news, grimaced, and stood to work out the kinks in his back. He yawned and ran his hand through his hair, then start
ed to sit back down. He suddenly snapped to alertness.

  “That sounded like cannon fire,” he said.

  Henry had also heard the dull, flat boom, which was followed by another and yet another.

  “The Guundaran warships must have opened fire on the batteries,” said Henry.

  “I don’t think so, my lord,” said Phillip gravely. “That’s not cannon fire. Those are rockets.”

  Three fiery trails soared into the sky, reached their zenith and then plunged straight down.

  “The warships are not attacking the batteries, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “They are shelling the city.”

  They heard more booms and watched as a great many more fiery trails blazed into the sky.

  “I cannot believe even Ullr would commit such an atrocity,” Henry said, appalled. “No civilized nation makes war on innocent civilians!”

  People in Wellinsport would be home with their families, putting children to bed, writing letters, reading books. Or they would be out on the town, enjoying performances in the theaters and opera houses, losing money in the gambling dens, sharing drinks with comrades in the taverns. They would be doing the things they did every night and suddenly their lives would change—or come to a sudden and brutal end.

  He waited for the shore batteries in Fort Godfrey and Fort Alfred to open fire on the enemy ships, hoping against hope that he’d been wrong about the Guundaran mercenaries seizing control. Nothing happened. The guns remained silent.

  “As I feared,” said Henry grimly. “The forts have fallen without a shot being fired. Damn it, we must do something to stop this outrage!”

  “Captain Northrop will deal with them, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.

  “Not even Alan can take on five warships!” Henry retorted, despairing as he watched more fiery trails soar into the heavens.

  “Never underestimate Alan, my lord,” said Phillip. “As you always say, he has the devil’s own luck.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” Mr. Sloan interrupted. “The helmsman wants to know if we still want to sail to the Terrapin—”

  “Yes, certainly—”