Soldiers of the Crown

by Stephen L. Nowland

  He could only imagine the shock Nellise had to endure when, after spending most of her twenty years devoted to peace and healing, she was confronted with the ugly savagery of their warriors up close. Aiden had kept an eye on her ever since, out of concern for her health but also to monitor for any further changes in her demeanour. A priestess of peace who decided to carry a crossbow and wear heavy armour was something of a contradiction, to say the least.

  Voices drifting through the mist from ahead caught Aiden’s attention, the sharp calls and shouts of men being ordered about on board the Redoubtable. The fog thinned and the full majesty of the ship was there to behold, with many of her crew rushing around on the deck as they prepared to receive a member of the royal family.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Lieutenant Masterson declared in a tight voice, “there is your transportation to the capital — His Majesty’s Ship, Redoubtable.” The vessel loomed over the longboat closing in on the right side of the ship, or “starboard”, as Aiden understood it. Why the sea-going members of society had insisted on creating their own terminology for “left” and “right” was beyond him, though he had a feeling it was related to job security.

  “It’s much bigger than I thought it’d be,” Aiden remarked, truly impressed with the immensity of the vessel before them. It wasn’t so much its length as her height — the front and rear, or “bow” and “stern” sections, towered over the longboat, and three masts disappeared into the fog above them. Aiden was concerned when he noticed the forward mast was broken in half, with only splintered and cracked wood remaining.

  As they pulled closer, more signs of her recent actions in the west became evident on the hull. Scorch marks rippled across the wooden superstructure. Cracked and broken planks could be seen in various places, only a few of which showed signs of repair. Despite all of this damage, the executive officer still spoke of the ship with pride.

  “She’s one of our new carracks, over two hundred tons, and counts eighty of His Majesty’s finest sailors as her crew,” Masterson explained for their benefit. “You’ll have to excuse her condition, Highness. We’ve just returned from action against the Tulsone fleet, and I regret to say Redoubtable isn’t in the finest shape she’s ever been.”

  “Her appearance is of little concern to me provided she stays afloat, Lieutenant,” Criosa offered in blunt assessment.

  “I appreciate your candour, Highness,” Masterson commented dryly, seeming to take mild offence at her comment. If he had anything further to say on the subject, he kept it to himself as their longboat pulled alongside.

  Wooden steps with handholds were bolted to the side of the hull, allowing the crew and passengers of the longboat easy access to the ship. Criosa climbed aboard first, followed by the other two ladies, to whom the lieutenant showed the highest courtesy.

  “After you, gentlemen,” Masterson said after the way was clear. Aiden allowed Pacian to climb up first and then followed until he emerged onto the main deck of the Redoubtable, where he saw the entire crew lined up before him. The entire complement was made up of men of a wide spread of ages. They wore simple clothing, consisting of loose tunics and pants cinched at the waist with rope. They appeared lean but fit, were all barefoot, and their unshaven faces were tanned from long days working in the sun.

  In front of the ship’s company stood a man of middle age and proud bearing, wearing the gold bars of a naval captain on the lapels of his blue longcoat. His sharp eyes surveyed all before him from beneath the brim of his hat.

  “Captain, may I present Her Highness Princess Criosa Roebec, and her entourage,” Masterson announced after he had boarded the ship. “Your Highness, this is Captain Sir Denholm Sherrard, commander of His Majesty’s Ship, Redoubtable.”

  “Your Highness, it is a singular honour to have you aboard my vessel,” the captain said, addressing Criosa directly and bowing slightly as he spoke. “I daresay this is an improvident time for you to grace us with your presence, but my crew and I shall do our utmost to provide a smooth and rapid journey to the capital.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Criosa replied formally, “though I am certain that providence, in fact, brought you to the aid of Culdeny at its darkest hour. All who dwell within her walls owe you a debt of gratitude for your timely intervention.”

  “One could say that arriving here, just as a monster from our darkest nightmares descended upon the town is anything but ‘timely’, but your point is well taken,” the captain remarked smoothly. “I can see from your dishevelled state that you and your people have suffered through much these last few hours, so it behoves me to end this formal nonsense and permit you to rest. For the duration of this journey, I am willing to surrender my personal cabin to you and the ladies, should you wish it.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it, Captain,” Criosa said, smiling at the offer. “Though you are gracious for offering, you and your crew have been at war for months and I wouldn’t dare impose upon you.”

  “A gentleman could do no less,” Sherrard said, inclining his head. “I will however, insist upon assigning my personal steward to your service for the duration. Mister Masterson, please arrange suitable quarters for the princess and the other two ladies, and post a guard outside their door. No member of the crew is to be allowed access without my express permission, and none of the ladies are to leave the confines of their cabin without an escort.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Masterson replied, touching his hat brim in salute. “Your Highness, if you and the ladies would be so kind as to follow me?”

  “Wait, we’re going to share a room?” Sayana asked hesitantly, and the expression on Nellise’s face indicated she was a tad overwhelmed at the prospect of living with a member of the royal family.

  “Indeed,” Masterson answered, oblivious to any concerns she might have. Criosa was more perceptive and moved to reassure her immediately.

  “Well, we can’t have you staying with the men, now can we?” she pointed out with a smile. “Don’t worry, we’re going to have a lovely time, we can talk and get to know each other, and above all clean ourselves up a bit. We’re all in a bit of a state, really. Come along!”

  Masterson gave her a nod of understanding and led them away, heading through a nearby door to disappear into the ship. Sayana gave Nellise an uncertain look just before the door closed.

  “Mister Wainwright, is it?” the captain asked of Aiden. “I am told that you were largely responsible for the safe conduct of Her Highness through a war zone, is this correct?”

  “You make it sound more dangerous than it was,” Aiden remarked modestly.

  “War is always dangerous, sir, and you would do well to remember that,” Sherrard bristled. “Nevertheless, the reports I hear speak of remarkable bravery on the part of you and your companions, and I wanted to thank you personally for your courage. I would speak with you further of these and other matters, after you have taken your rest.”

  “As you wish,” Aiden agreed and with a simple nod of his head, the captain permitted him to continue into the ship.

  “Woulfe, these two gentlemen look like they’re about to topple onto my deck,” the captain said to a sailor nearby. “See them to appropriate accommodation before this occurs, if you please.”

  “Very good, sir,” the sailor named Woulfe answered while touching his forehead with one hand. His long dark hair was held back by a bandana tied around his head and his skin was deeply tanned. He gestured towards the same door the others had ventured through, and the two young men slowly trudged after him.

  “All hands, prepare to make sail,” Sir Denholm barked to his crew as the door closed, and the stampede of bare feet could be heard echoing through the wooden structure as the men scrambled to comply.

  The interior of the ship was cramped, filled with narrow passageways and low-hanging beams. The stomping of feet on the deck above was quite audible, soon mixed with the flutter of sails and the creak of rigging as the ship got underway. The salty sea air outside had been r
efreshing, but down here the faint stench of people living in close quarters covered it almost completely.

  “This will be your berth for the trip,” the sailor named Woulfe said without ceremony, stepping aside to allow Aiden to peer into the room. “It used to belong to two midshipmen, but they won’t be using it anymore.” The room was barely big enough for two men, with a bunk bed on the left wall and a footlocker at the base of the tiny porthole.

  “Have they been assigned better accommodation?” Aiden inquired, suspecting he already knew the answer.

  “No, they were killed in our last action a week ago, along with seventeen others,” Woulfe explained sombrely. “So in a way, they’ve got the best room of all, if you believe in the afterlife. Of course, one of them was a right bastard, so I suspect he finds himself in a much hotter place. Make yourselves at home, lads.”

  “Thanks,” Aiden replied dryly, following Pacian into the room while the sailor returned to his duties, less than thrilled at the prospect of sleeping in a room recently vacated by dead crew. More to the point, the simple bed was hard and unyielding, just what Aiden didn’t need after a bruising and arduous battle.

  Pacian didn’t seem to care. He clambered onto the top bunk, collapsed upon the mattress with a sigh and was asleep within moments. Aiden dropped his armour to the floor and laid his sore, tired body down to rest, drifting off minutes later.

  He tossed and turned for some time, his unfamiliarity with the sounds and movements of the ship conspiring to keep him from rest. Images of the recent battles he’d been involved with flashing through his mind, none of them pleasant.

  Faces of men he had killed, barely noticed in the frenzy of the fight now seemed to be etched into stark relief. Aiden felt he had done the right thing when he fought the enemies of the Kingdom, whether it was rogue savages or mercenaries, but looking back, they were also people, and he didn’t find killing sat well with him in the quiet of the aftermath.

  Chapter One

  Aiden woke with the sun’s blinding light streaming in through the porthole near his head. He took a deep breath to chase away the fleeting images from an indistinct nightmare he’d been having. This was something he’d had a lot of practice at, as he’d been plagued by a repeating nightmare about the Battle of Fort Highmarch, which had actually happened over a century ago.

  The origin of the nightmare had turned out to be magical in origin, a memory shared through a shard of crystal that hung around his neck. The crystal sphere it had once been part of, the one he had broken years ago was, in fact, one of a set of arcane relics which allowed communication between individuals who possessed them. In this case, the other sphere was being held by a dragon named Salinder in the Aether, a strange realm existing beyond that which could be seen or heard.

  The crystals linked them together, although since Aiden’s was broken, the communication seemed limited to dreams. Thankfully, those shared memories had subsided of late, leaving Aiden to deal with only regular horrible memories.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Pacian groaning from the top bunk, combined with the creaking boards of the ship. The Redoubtable swayed back and forth as she ploughed through the waters of the Culdeny Straits, pushed onward by a strong westerly wind.

  It was a new experience for them both, having been raised near the woods of Coldstream and the farmlands of Bracksfordshire. Aiden’s head swam, his sense of balance thrown off by the ship’s constant movement and Pacian moaned again just as Aiden was about to drop off into a light sleep. Aiden threw off his covers in exasperation and slowly rose to his feet, being careful to keep a steadying hold of the wooden bedpost.

  “If you’re going to be seasick, can’t you at least do it quietly?” he complained to Pacian.

  “Leave me alone, I’m dying,” his old friend croaked. A particularly large wave crashed into the side of the Redoubtable at that moment, causing the deck to lurch and sending Pacian careening onto the floor. As it turned out, this was a fortuitous turn of events, as it placed him within easy distance of the porthole which he set about making use of in the noisiest way possible.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Aiden offered in consolation to his suffering friend. Aiden grabbed his clothes and boots and then stepped outside, closing the door to the sounds of Pacian attempting to turn himself inside out.

  Aiden dressed himself while thumping into the walls of the narrow corridor half a dozen times. He made his way down the hall in need of fresh air after the foul aromas of his cabin, when he heard the sounds of sobbing coming from a door nearby.

  His ears pricked up at the sound of a woman crying and he couldn’t help but take a closer look. The royal marine stationed outside the door was wearing a red longcoat with a white tunic and hose underneath, and armed with a cutlass. Although the man had been told not to permit the crew access, he recognised Aiden as one of the princess’s entourage and allowed him to pass.

  Aiden turned the handle and pushed inwards, peering around the edge to see Criosa holding Nellise in a comforting embrace as the cleric was wracked with tears. Sayana was behind them, her head sticking out of the porthole making the now familiar — and unpleasant — sounds of illness.

  “Is everything alright in here?” Aiden asked out of courtesy. Criosa snapped her gaze onto the door and glared at him in a manner which strongly hinted he shouldn’t be there. Aiden quickly retreated, closing the door softly behind him.

  “I think the ladies are indisposed at this time,” Aiden informed the guard sheepishly. “I’ll return to check on them later.”

  “Probably a wise move, sir,” the marine advised casually. “Woe betide any man who intrudes on a gathering of women uninvited.” Feeling slightly ashamed, Aiden unsteadily climbed the stairs that he thought led to the main deck, only to find himself at the door to the captain’s office.

  “Mister Wainwright, your timing is impeccable,” came the captain’s voice from within. The door was open, and the captain’s steward was presently departing with empty plates and cutlery.

  “Captain Sherrard, I was just heading up to get some air,” Aiden called, covering the fact he had become disoriented in the ship. To his addled sense of balance, it felt as though the vessel was pitching up and down in the most violent of conditions. “I didn’t realise we had sailed into such choppy weather.”

  “I don’t know to what you are referring, sir,” Sherrard replied evenly. “We are blessed with fair winds and calm seas. Please come in for a moment.” Aiden nodded, managing to get himself into the captain’s office without falling over. “I see you are yet to acquire your sea legs.”

  “It’s my first time at sea, Captain,” Aiden muttered, sitting down in a sturdy chair opposite a large desk, behind which Sir Denholm was sitting. The room was quite spacious, especially compared to the other rooms Aiden had seen down below. A few small paintings hung on the walls depicting rolling hills, and fine rugs covered the floor.

  Upon the desk were papers, charts, and the curious instruments one would use to navigate at sea. Large windows behind the desk provided ample light and Aiden realised the office was at the rear of the ship, for they looked out across the sea left in their wake.

  “You’ll get the hang of it, soon enough,” Sir Denholm assured him. He had a crisp manner and military bearing about him that alluded to his many years in the navy. Though his features were weathered in testament to his years at sea, his grey eyes were sharp and alert. “I trust you find your accommodation satisfactory?”

  “Yes, although my roommate doesn’t share my stout constitution,” Aiden remarked dryly, fully aware he was only slightly better off than Pacian.

  “Having a rough time of it is he?” the captain asked rhetorically. “Most unfortunate.”

  “How long do you think the journey to Fairloch will take us, captain?” Aiden inquired, changing the subject.

  “Under ordinary circumstances, the capital would be a scant two days sail from Culdeny,” he explained, “but since the foremast is
damaged, we are restricted by the amount of sail we can carry and thus, it may take an extra day to reach our destination. Have you stopped by to ensure the comfort of the ladies?”

  “Princess Criosa seems well and is taking care of the others who are in various degrees of distress,” Aiden replied candidly. “Considering she had been kidnapped just days ago, I find her resilience quite remarkable.”

  “She comes from a line of strong-willed men and women, so this comes as no surprise to me,” Sir Denholm said. “Can I ask, what manner of difficulties did she face out there?” Aiden explained in some detail about Criosa’s kidnapping and how he and his companions chased down the mercenaries and freed her before heading to the aid of Culdeny, at her insistence. The captain’s face was red-cheeked and he seemed about to explode by the time Aiden finished the story.

  “Damnable scoundrels sir, the lot of them,” Sir Denholm blurted, thumping his fist on the table before him. “To think that anyone would have both the audacity and paucity of morals to kidnap our beloved princess like this beggars belief. I congratulate you and your associates on stopping the wretches and saving her life.”

  “They were mere puppets, captain,” Aiden suggested. “I’m more concerned about who was pulling their strings, and why. I have a few questions, if you’ve the time, sir.”

  “There aren’t enough hours in the day for the workload of the captain of an under-crewed vessel in His Majesty’s navy,” Sir Denholm replied, gesturing at the pile of papers scattered over his desk, “but I need a break from all of this anyway. Ask away.”

  “Yes, about your crew,” Aiden suggested. “I know you’ve seen action recently and I was wondering if you could tell me some more about your part in the war.”

  “Our last engagement was in the western part of Rochfort Bay,” Sherrard answered, “where the remnants of the Tulsonite fleet had assembled to interfere with the deployment of reinforcements ashore. Ever since the war was declared, the navies of our two Kingdoms have been skirmishing back and forth, particularly around the disputed islands that lie in the waters off the north coast of Aielund.”