Soldiers of the Crown

by Stephen L. Nowland

  SOLDIERS OF THE CROWN

  _____________________________________

  AIELUND SAGA : Book 2

  STEPHEN L. NOWLAND

  Smashwords edition

  Copyright 2012-2019 Stephen Louis Nowland

  2019 Final Edition

  Map Illustration by Cornelia Yoder

  http://www.corneliayoder.com

  The Author asserts the moral right to be

  identified as the author of this work.

  Prelude

  Through calm coastal waters the bow of the HMS Redoubtable cut as she limped along under light sail. The cold winter sun wasn't yet above the horizon and a thick fog was settling in, shrouding the wounded ship in an eerie pale glow. Faint lights of a city materialized through the mist ahead, ghostly dots of light that added to the unearthly scene as the ship's crew went about their work.

  Life in the navy was hard at the best of times, but for at least one of their number, moments like these made it all worthwhile. Even as Ronan Woulfe idly coiled rope in his calloused hands, his green eyes took in the view and felt a stirring in his usually taciturn soul, though he'd never admit it to his shipmates.

  Ronan was a wiry man in his twenties, fit and strong from running up and down the length of the ship, and his thick, dark hair was held back by a cloth bandanna. His bare feet were just as calloused as his hands, and his plain tunic and pants bore signs of being stitched back together after bearing the brunt of enemy swords.

  Like the rest of the crew, Ronan was weary of long days taking up the slack of crew lost in the war, not unlike the ship itself. He warily looked at the remains of the foremast, splintered and broken after being destroyed in battle only a few days earlier. Scorch marks were visible at regular intervals across the deck, the remains of fiery arrows and ballista bolts from their enemies in the west. Only the mainsail was deployed, for the damage was severe enough that the captain didn't feel she could handle the strain of full sails, and thus the ship had been forced to leave the campaign and limp back to safer waters.

  “Don't worry,” came the voice of the executive officer, Lieutenant Masterson, a man only a few years older than Ronan who had the connections to ensure a long career as an officer lay before him. “Old 'doughty will hold together a little while longer.”

  “She's tougher than she looks, Mister Masterson,” Ronan agreed, turning to regard the young officer with a stoic gaze. “It's the crew I'm concerned about. Double shifts for a whole week straight has taken it's toll.”

  “The captain is well aware of this,” Masterson answered crisply, his sharp features as cold and distant as always. “Wartime doesn't always afford us the luxury of rest, but I will make a case for a few days of shore leave.”

  “It'd be appreciated sir,” Ronan offered with a respectful nod.

  “Reef the mainsail and drop anchor,” Masterson called to the crew, sending three men aloft to carry out his order as he strode across the deck to observe. Ronan noticed the captain pacing back and forth on the ship's bridge. He wore his wide-brimmed plumed hat and blue longcoat, both of which appeared cleaned and pressed in spite of the challenges they'd endured of late.

  “Well at least he's keeping up appearances,” a gruff old sailor named Owen remarked to Ronan once Masterson had moved away. “Wouldn't want to break the illusion that shit doesn't stick to officers.”

  “One of the perks of the job,” Ronan answered with a shrug. “Just remember mate, he was on the front line with a cutlass in his hand just like the rest of us.”

  “Did you just defend a nobleman?” Owen grunted in surprise, though he wasn't as surprised as Ronan himself.

  “I guess I did. This job is messing with my head.”

  “Class traitor,” Owen chuckled, giving Ronan a friendly shove for his troubles.

  “If you only knew,” Ronan muttered under his breath as Owen went back to his duties. Ronan did likewise, but he'd learned to make it look like he was working harder than he actually was, so long as he wasn't under direct observation. He'd joined the navy to get out of trouble back on the streets of the capital Fairloch, only to find himself on the front line of a war. He glanced back up at the bridge to see Masterson speaking quietly with the captain, and immediately after their discussion the captain placed both hands firmly on the rail before him and addressed the crew.

  “Men of the Redoubtable,” Captain Sir Denholm Sherrard called from his place on the bridge, his voice loud for a man of modest height and appearance. “I have asked much of you over these last months, and too many of our comrades have paid with their lives in service of the king. Though our duty demands we return to the front as soon as possible, I am not unaware of the burden you bear. We shall remain at anchor for twenty four hours, and during this time Lieutenant Masterson will organize shifts to go ashore for some well earned relaxation.”

  At this announcement, the crew let out a cheer, and even Ronan had a rare smile on his face. Sherrard raised a hand for silence before he continued.

  “Those who remain aboard Redoubtable will conduct repairs and make her shine once more. We are in a friendly port and I will not have our reputation as the most orderly ship in the fleet sullied by her current appearance, even if each scar is well-earned.” The captain continued to speak, but Ronan was suddenly distracted by a whiff of smoke in the air. Instantly paranoid about the deadly prospect of a shipboard fire, he turned and sniffed the air to try and figure where it was coming from.

  There was no obvious sign of fire on board, but the fog surrounding them was clearly laced with smoke from somewhere. The gentle wind that had brought them to Culdeny's shore had dropped off to almost nothing, but that which remained had changed direction, wafting out from the city over the rippling sea. Ronan might have confused it for wood fires being stoked in the early morning, but for the faint sounds of shouted commands his keen hearing picked up.

  The captain, along with the entire crew had gone deathly quiet, having caught the same signs of trouble on the wind, signs the battle-weary men of the Redoubtable were all too familiar.

  “General Quarters,” Captain Sherrard ordered, breaking the stillness of the moment. Men rushed to get the ship ready to fight while the ship's marines, resplendent in their white and red uniforms, took up positions along the sides of the deck, their longbows at the ready. From the town came a distinctive crash as something large fell into town, lighting up the thick fog.

  “Was that a bloody siege engine?” Owen asked as he and Ronan hurried toward the stern.

  “Sounded like it to me,” Ronan muttered as they untied a huge ballista from the rail, freeing it up to pivot and turn in any direction required.

  Ronan expected a marine to man the ballista as was normally the case, but his sharp hearing caught the conversation between the captain and his executive officer.

  “Take a detachment of marines ashore and render assistance to whomever is in command,” Sir Denholm ordered. Masterson saluted crisply but hesitated before leaving.

  “Could the Tulsonites have moved this far east without our noticing?” he asked.

  “It is entirely possible, but we cannot wait to find out,” came the answer. “Go, and quickly.”

  “Yes sir,” Masterson replied before turning and spotting Ronan standing only a few yards away. “Woulfe, prepare the starboard longboat immediately,” he instructed as he rushed to the main deck, calling out orders to the ship's marines who snapped to attention.

  Ronan carried out the order and with Owen's help, pulled on ropes and pulleys to swing the boat over the rail and gradually lower it into the water below. By now, the noise from the shore had amplified, with the clash of weapons and armor accompanied by the screams of the wounded, joining together in a s
ymphony of horrors that sent a shiver down Ronan's spine.

  With the longboat prepared, Masterson and a dozen marines clambered down rope ladders and departed from the ship, rowing hard for the shore to provide whatever help they could.

  “Stay at your stations,” the captain instructed the remaining crew before looking directly at Ronan. “Woulfe, man the stern ballista.”

  “Sir,” Ronan answered, touching his forehead in salute and doing an outstanding job of hiding his surprise. He'd done his absolute best to keep a low profile during his time aboard ship, and to suddenly be picked for the important position made Ronan realize that the captain might have been keeping a closer eye on him than expected.

  Tense minutes passed with the not-too-distant sounds of battle echoing through the fog, a constant reminder of the struggle for the town taking place beyond the ship's ability to help. The sun was just cresting the horizon now, but in the cold conditions it would be some time before it burned away the fog, leaving them guessing as to the nature and indeed, the course of the battle.

  Ronan glanced at Captain Sherrard who was pacing back and forth once again, no doubt feeling as powerless as any on board the ship. And then, amidst the sounds of chaos from the shore there was a noise like no other.

  Ronan had never heard a dragon before, but he had no doubt that's what he was hearing now. He tightly gripped the balista's trigger handle and looked to the captain, who had turned a paler shade after hearing that awful roar.

  “No, it cannot be,” Sherrard muttered to himself as he rushed to the rail and attempted in vain to peer through the fog. A blast of fire pierced the veil, lighting up a good portion of the town with such ferocity it silhouetted the beast in the sky. It soared above Culdeny, blasting fire indiscriminately upon buildings and defenders alike.

  “Raise the anchor!” came the captain's shouted order, surprising every sailor on the Redoubtable.

  “Captain, what are you doing?” Ronan asked, breaking protocol in the process.

  “I will not sit here helpless while a fire-breathing monster attacks His Majesty's people,” Sherrard answered with conviction.

  “We're practically becalmed here, sir,” Ronan pointed out. “Even if you wanted to beach her, 'doughty's not going anywhere in a hurry.”

  “The tide is going in, Woulfe,” Sherrard remarked, pointing to the water. “She's already stern-about, and with a little push from the tides we'll be in range to take a shot at that thing. Stand ready.”

  Ronan swallowed hard and adjusted his grip on the weapon, even as Owen returned from below with three extra bolts for the weapon. Ronan quickly slotted one into place, trying to stay focused as the distinctive sound of huge wings flapping in the air came closer and closer.

  “Hang on mate,” Ronan blurted as he looked clearly at the bolt he'd loaded. “This is one of the firespears.”

  “So?” Owen countered, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Well it's a bloody dragon isn't it? The damn thing's full of fire already. What do you think this thing's going to do to it?”

  “We used the last of our ironspears a week ago,” Owen grunted as he deposited the other bolts onto a rack. “Besides, the tip is still pointy, right?”

  “It'll have to do,” Ronan sighed in exasperation and shrugged. He began spinning the windlass with both hands, slowing drawing the huge string back into set position and the bolt dropped into place. Now adrift, the Redoubtable was slowly moving towards the shore, with the pier now visible about thirty yards astern. More blasts of fire lit up the place, closer than before as the dragon moved through the skies unchallenged.

  Ronan had experienced an eventful life, and his nerves were as steady as the next man, but he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he pivoted the huge weapon's tip towards the monstrous visage in the fog not far away.

  “Steady,” Owen instructed, noticing the slight tremor running through Ronan's hands as they waited for the right moment. When the obscured skies lit up again, the dragon was clearly visible right above the town docks. Ronan aimed and accounted for the beast's movement, then pulled the trigger. The weapon twanged with remarkable force, sending the firespear hurtling through the sky where it struck true on the dragon's left flank.

  It roared in surprise as the bolt exploded, and the crew let our a cry of success at Ronan's remarkable aim. In spite of this, the dragon was still flying and Ronan feared the had only made it angry.

  “Again!” Captain Sherrard bellowed.

  “If that was an ironspear we would have killed the damn thing in one hit,” Ronan snarled in frustration. Owen didn't answer, instead focusing his efforts on loading the ballista once again. Ronan spun the windlass as fast as he could, his heart pounding away at the thought of what dragonfire would do to his ship, should it turn its wrath in the Redoubtable's direction.

  With the weapon ready, Ronan carefully aimed once more, making certain he was allowing for the monster's speed and distance, then pulled the trigger again. The second bolt struck true, blasting its right flank which was quickly followed by a third bolt, coming from the Redoubtable's bow turret. With its size and lumbering speed, the dragon was a surprisingly easy target for the ship's heavy weaponry and after the third strike, combined with a hail of arrows coming from the town walls, the beast finally relented and flew east, away from the punishment the defenders were raining upon it.

  Another cheer went up from the crew as Ronan slumped over the ballista, fearing his heart was trying to escape from his chest.

  “Rarely have I seen such accurate shooting, sir,” the captain congratulated Ronan, even going so far as to pat him on the back.

  “I've rarely had such motivation,” Ronan answered ruefully, accepting the gratitude of his shipmates in his stride. Owen gave him a solid handshake as the ship's anchor was dropped not far from the pier, and the true extent of the damage to the town came into focus. Culdeny was burning, and there was little the crew of the Redoubtable could do about it.

  “There's far more going on here than I thought,” Sherrard declared after a moment's consideration, “if a dragon was unleashed upon a major settlement. I'm afraid our involvement in this disaster may only have just begun.”

  Ronan nodded in agreement as he watched smoke rise in the morning sky, silently thinking that perhaps his previous career on the mean city streets hadn't been so bad after all.

  Prologue

  The longboat ploughed through calm waters off the coast of Culdeny with a dozen stout sailors at the oars, propelling them towards the dark silhouette of the HMS Redoubtable. A thick fog surrounded the tiny boat and the stench of heavy smoke wafted through the air, a legacy of the fires the townsfolk still fought following the battle recently won.

  The undermanned defences at the seaside town had barely held against the might of the Steel Tigers mercenaries who, led by the cunning warrior Robert Black, had been on the brink of victory until a group of loyal Kingdom soldiers arrived. Along with his friends, Aiden Wainwright, self-styled scholar and adventurer, found himself caught up in those events and fought the mercenaries alongside the Kingdom guard, narrowly winning the fight and escaping before the Steel Tiger’s secret weapon arrived.

  A dragon, flying almost invisibly through the morning fog above had assaulted Culdeny, hurl ing flames upon the besieged town. Fortunately, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Aiden and his companions, the town retained enough defenders to pummel the beast with arrows, while the Redoubtable pounded the dragon with heavy ballista bolts from the sea.

  Once it was finally driven away, Aiden agreed to travel to the capital city of Fairloch with Princess Criosa Roebec, who had been freed from the clutches of the Steel Tigers only hours before to pursue the perpetrators of this egregious crime. Criosa made clear that anyone hiring mercenaries to attack a town in their own Kingdom was not going to be tolerated by the Crown.

  Aiden was very much looking forward to his first time at sea, though the swaying of the longboat wasn
’t doing much for him. He sat near the front of the boat, just behind the Redoubtable’s executive officer, Lieutenant James Masterson, who wore the blue longcoat and plumed, wide-brim hat of a naval officer in the service of the king.

  Princess Criosa Roebec sat just behind Aiden and carried herself with grace and poise, not allowing the unusual situation in which she found herself to diminish her dignity. Though it was conceivable that members of the royal family travelled by sea from time to time, judging by the way she gripped the wooden seat with white-knuckled tension, Aiden suspected this was her first voyage.

  Towards the rear of the boat sat his old friend Pacian Savidge, exhausted from his efforts in their recent battle and looking a little paler than usual as the boat rocked back and forth on the sea. His blond hair was lank and dirty, and for once Pace didn’t seem to care about his poor state of grooming.

  Sayana Arai, the wild, red-haired sorceress, seemed to be in the same predicament as Pacian, having never even seen the sea before let alone travelled upon it. Although she was pale at the best of times, Sayana had the same greenish tinge as Pacian and Aiden suspected they faced a difficult voyage ahead.

  He was reminded of the reasons their other companion, the ranger Dante Colt, had for staying behind in Culdeny. Colt didn’t like ships or the prospect of travelling at sea, and looking at his increasingly miserable friends on the longboat, Aiden knew Colt would be having a good laugh at their expense if he could see them now.

  Finally, Nellise Sannemann leaned against Pacian’s back, drained from her efforts of the past week, but also the only one amongst them to have been to sea before. Born and raised in Culdeny, she had also travelled to the capital of Aielund, Fairloch, in the past. With a few days of rest, she would hopefully be feeling like her old self again, though Aiden did wonder about the lingering effects of her recent trauma at the hands of the savages in Akora, far to their south.