A Blight of Blackwings

by Kevin Hearne

  That made them stop. This must be one of the many codes and laws about mercenary behavior that Fintan had alluded to earlier. I hadn’t known that revealing their employer was a requirement and realized immediately afterward that they had been counting on Brynts not to know that.

  “Our employer is Pern du Skölyn,” one said, and I gasped.

  “I know that name,” I said to Fintan in a low voice. “He’s a merchant. Well connected.”

  “And he sent you to take food from that ship?” he asked the mercenary.

  “Yes.”

  “I would seek a better class of employer, gentlemen.”

  “Will that be all, Master Bard?” the soldier asked with a sneer.

  Fintan nodded and they went on their way, because we could not prevent them from completing their task. I wondered if they had caused the commotion or if they were only a part of a larger problem. The crowd still seemed unruly, even dangerous, but not completely out of control yet. The few mariners who’d arrived before us were pushing their way to the ship, and once they got there they could level their halberds and create some space and prevent full-scale looting. It could still turn out okay, with no real damage done except for some bruises and contusions.

  There’s a moment in such fraught situations, a cusp, a precipice on which we dangle or weave or sway over the abyss, in which we might fall and also might not. And then, whether because of the wind, a poor sense of balance, or an actual push, someone falls in. And then everyone dives after them. That is a mob.

  Something happened near the front to push everyone into the abyss. It rippled out in our direction, a wave of rage that turned an anxious jostling into a frenzied free-for-all, and I wasn’t armed. I hadn’t worn my rapier since the Nentian ambassador, Jasindur Torghala, was kicked out of Pelemyn.

  Fintan and I were still outside the press, and wading into it didn’t seem advisable, since it was now a churn of fists, elbows, and booted feet.

  The clank of armor turned my head. A phalanx of Brynt soldiers armed with swords and shields approached, lines tight, well drilled, with Mynstad du Möcher trotting beside them. I tugged on Fintan’s sleeve, pulling him back. “We do not want to be in their path. And there’s somebody who might be able to use your talents.”

  “Mynstad!” I called as she approached. “Mynstad, I have the bard here. He can broadcast your voice.”

  She turned her head, saw that I indeed had the bard, and gestured with a shrug of her shield. “Follow me.”

  Fintan and I fell in behind her as the phalanx spread itself on the periphery, putting the mob between them and the edge of the dock.

  Once the soldiers had set themselves into a wall of shields, she raised her sword, shouted, “Push!” and then told Fintan to broadcast. The wall of shields surged forward, slamming into the rioters as she spoke. “This is the mynstad of the garrison. Disperse immediately or get dunked into the sea.”

  I realized that was precisely the plan. The pressure of the shields was pushing the rioters off the dock into the ocean shallows. It didn’t hurt them—much—and took them out of the fight. After a few of them fell off and splashed into the ocean, and many more realized they’d be next and they had no real ability to win against that wall of shields, the mob lost interest in fighting for whatever reason got them started.

  We stayed next to the mynstad as the shield wall pushed forward and people escaped to either side, the mynstad content to let them go. The real prize, if there was one to be had, would be closer to the ship’s gangplank or wherever they were off-loading cargo. And the prize, such as it was, turned out to be more Raelech mercenaries with bags of food. But these hadn’t managed to fight past the rioters, and now they faced the garrison.

  “Lay down your arms and those stolen goods and disperse,” Mynstad du Möcher said.

  “Get out of our way,” the leader of the mercenaries said.

  The mynstad snorted, and her voice rang out for everyone to hear at the docks, thanks to Fintan. “I have a rapid in my ranks, sir. He’ll pull the water from your brain on my command. This is not a fight you can win. Your choices are to walk away or be dropped where you stand. You might be hungry, but I hope you’re not that hungry.”

  The mercenary gripped his stave and pressed his lips together, frustrated. He looked like he wanted a way out but for some reason couldn’t see one. “We can’t do that.”

  “Mynstad, if I may speak to him as a Raelech?” Fintan said. “They’re not viewing this situation through the same glass as you.”

  “Be my guest. But if they endanger my troops, they’re going to die.”

  “Understood.”

  Fintan stepped through the shield wall with permission and greeted the mercenaries. While he was away, I whispered quickly to the mynstad, “How’s Nara?”

  She flicked her eyes to me. “Out of town at the moment.”

  That was all I had time for or could plausibly ask without revealing that I knew where she was and why—though I didn’t know why she hadn’t returned yet with Gondel Vedd. What was going on in Fornyd?

  “…tell me your employer, as mandated by law,” Fintan said as I paid attention to him. The reply was unintelligible, but I heard Fintan respond, “You may or may not be aware of further laws regarding the resigning of your commission and how you may do so without penalty. If your employer has given you an unlawful order—a fact to which the mynstad and I will attest—you can not only resign immediately but be entitled to any pay you are owed for the rest of the month.”

  “If we do that we’ll never work again!” the mercenary shouted.

  “If you die now, you will also never work again,” Fintan pointed out. “And as I said, the mynstad and I will attest that you resigned for just cause.”

  The mercenaries took time to discuss their options, and the mynstad let them have it. She kept her eyes moving, spotting rioters climbing out of the ocean and running away, drenched and salty, and also keeping an eye on anyone who looked like they might want to come forward. The rioters had all cleared away, so she shouted, “Flanks!” and the soldiers on either end moved to close them off and prevent anyone else from approaching the ship.

  Seeing this, the mercenaries announced that they resigned their commission for moral objections and laid down their weapons and food. And then the investigation began: How did their employer—another well-connected rich merchant—know about this ship coming in and what it carried? By the time we had to go to the wall for the afternoon’s tales, the mynstad was accompanying constables with a rapid to arrest not only the named merchants but some others as well.

  The first one, Pern du Skölyn, had been in the Wellspring when the shipment was mentioned. It was supposed to supply the resettlement efforts in Möllerud and Göfyrd, with some left over for the city. It had been prepaid by the government, and the merchants probably thought that the government could afford to let some of it go. But I was fairly certain the pelenaut would not see it that way.

  Föstyr showed up at the wall to confirm that and asked the bard to broadcast him. The lung named the two rich men who’d attempted to pull off a little heist and who probably would have gotten away with it if, ironically, the rioters hadn’t also wanted a piece of the pie. In fact, they had been getting away with it for a while; the mercenaries for both men confirmed that this was not the first such skimming operation that they’d run. Föstyr assured everyone the two rich men would be living on bread and water for the foreseeable future, but for everyone’s information: “All incoming ships will be guarded by garrison troops from now on, their cargoes distributed to markets and restaurateurs and the refugee kitchen. It will be under guard at all times to make sure we get everyone fed during this lean time. We are expecting the first catch from the new fishing operation we have set up off the coast of Bean to arrive soon. And I will add that the resettlement ships to Möllerud and Göfyrd will be sai
ling fully stocked; if you wish to leave with them, see the resettlement ministry.”

  That, I thought, was the compassionate use of power. The rich men who’d been using their wealth to steal from the rest of us were punished; the rioters were pushed into the ocean shallows but not pursued beyond that. There was an understanding that people were hungry and Rölly was going to use his forces to make sure people got fed.

  After the lung departed, Fintan sang a hungry song. “A bit of bother down at the docks today. Lots of folks might be feeling some pangs. This song’s for everyone with a growling stomach.” A speedy strum coupled with percussive slaps on the side of his lute distinguished this one.

  Gimme something yummy

  For my chummy rummy tummy

  Gimme something really yummy for my tum

  If I don’t get a cow like now

  Then I will steal your mama’s chow

  Hey, is that grilled squid and crackers? I want some!

  Oh, ho, I probably gotta go

  Meet this old fish head I know

  He’s not too bright but I can’t say he’s dumb

  ’Cause he’s got a side of bacon

  And it’s yummy sounds I’m makin’

  For stealing it would be the best outcome

  “We begin today with a problem Brynlön faced that you may not have been aware of.” Fintan took the seeming of Second Könstad Tallynd du Böll.

  Sometimes when I am floating in the Peles Ocean, I feel weightless, both literally and figuratively. There is a relaxation to be found there that can’t be found on land, an easing of the shoulders, tension floating away with the currents.

  And sometimes I feel like something out there is sizing me up for dinner—which is only proper. We only eat until we ourselves are eaten someday. Water is both life and death for humans: It is the fullness of our experience, embodied by the lord Bryn.

  Though I couldn’t remember precisely when I started, except that it was after the invasion, I’d been praying underwater by the pelenaut’s coral beds. There, amongst the myriad life, the colorful fish and the anemones, the nudibranchs and crustaceans, the rays and eels and longarms, I bore witness to the bounty of the lord Bryn and had the temerity to ask for more.

  My words rose to the surface in little bubbles of air: “Please, Lord Bryn, give us another tidal mariner.” For we’d had none since Culland du Raffert. No rapids either. Only hygienists had emerged from Bryn’s Lung—which we did need very much, to deal with the toxins given off by the dead in the river cities and to keep disease under control in Pelemyn and Survivor Field, since we were filled beyond capacity—but not a single member of the blessed that could help defend against further attacks.

  Could that mean there would be no further attacks? That thought comforted me somewhat—that we were getting what we needed and we didn’t need any power right now, we just needed to recover.

  But I worried that Culland du Raffert had angered Bryn with his decision to cleanse Göfyrd with a single, massive act of dry direction, pulling in most of the bay’s water and drowning a city all at once.

  Perhaps—well, almost certainly—the resultant backwash had done enormous damage to the bay. Not to mention all the dead bodies that were no doubt floating around there. I hadn’t been down to investigate; it was quite likely dangerous to visit, not unlike the feeding frenzy underneath the Seven-Year Ship when we’d found it.

  I conferred with Könstad du Lallend on the problem—which was a thing that I did regularly now. He came over to help me work through the charcuterie and cheese in my gift baskets. I’d never get through it all, and I thought it would be best to donate their contents to the people on Survivor Field soon.

  “Have you heard about the blessed in other countries?” I asked him. “Are their seekings continuing as before, or have they changed?”

  “I haven’t heard from everyone, of course, and what information I have is out of date, but I am fairly certain that the Raelechs haven’t had their juggernauts replaced.”

  “They lost them all?”

  “No, they technically still have one—the fellow who buried the army that took down Bennelin in one massive turning of the earth. But the act aged him so much that he requires a cane and plenty of help going to the bathroom. He won’t be much help anymore. And the one who attacked Möllerud wasn’t in much better shape, I hear, when he came out of the rock, and he chose to fight on until the end instead of live that way.”

  “Nothing since then?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’ll ask at the embassy tomorrow. If the kennings are fading on us, that won’t be good.”

  “Do you think they’ll tell us? Wouldn’t they keep that information to themselves rather than admit that they have a weakness?”

  The könstad snorted. “They don’t have to fear a massive invasion from us, now, do they?”

  That turned my mood black. “No, I suppose they don’t.”

  “Sorry,” du Lallend said. “I tend not to worry about the kenning, since it’s entirely out of my control. I can’t requisition more rapids or tidal mariners any more than you can. I plan with what I have and what I can control. We need that help from Kauria—a cyclone or two at least, to help us set up watches out to sea, and that scholar fellow who can speak the enemy’s language. Intelligence gathering is more important now than having an extra rapid on the walls.”

  “The Kaurians will probably want to hold on to everything for their own defense.”

  “Probably,” the könstad said around a mouthful of cheese.

  “So you know nothing about Fornish greensleeves or Hathrim firelords?”

  “We should ask at their embassies also.”

  We did follow up on that but received the diplomatic equivalent of shrugs and a polite “Was there anything else?”

  The pelenaut, of course, was a tidal mariner also, and he would fight as necessary, except that we rather needed him for his leadership. That meant the burden of the fighting was on my shoulders and those of the other tidal mariner, at Setyrön, and we had both aged significantly because of the invasion already. I would, of course, bear that burden, but I wished I could get a sense of what else was swimming toward me in the dark.

  Three days after that conversation, Gerstad Nara du Fesset came to fetch me in the Wellspring.

  “Second Könstad, you need to come out to the lung. Something extraordinary is happening.”

  “What is it?”

  “We have two new tidal mariners and four new rapids already.”

  “You mean today?”

  “Yes. And there may be more coming.”

  I glanced at the pelenaut and he nodded to excuse me. “Go. Keep me informed,” he said.

  We exited via the Lung’s Locks, and I sleeved out to the kenning site to meet the new blessed and help train them. Mynstad du Möcher was going to be hard taxed to house and supply them all, for they indeed kept coming.

  We wound up greeting four new tidal mariners and twelve new rapids that day. It gave me such hope. And it also scared me like a bladefin frenzy. Was this embarrassment of riches intended to help us rebuild or to prepare for what was coming? I was very much afraid it was the latter. Because if it was for rebuilding, we could and should have received that help earlier.

  I made sure to return to the pelenaut’s coral reefs and thank Lord Bryn for the help. Though I didn’t know if it was my prayers he answered or our country’s need, I was grateful regardless and prayed that we would have the strength to meet whatever waves the ocean sent to our shores.

  * * *

  —

  “I’ve been asked to inform you,” Fintan said, “that the four new tidal mariners have been deployed to protect Festwyf, Göfyrd, and Möllerud from further attack. The last is here, to aid the second könstad in her dutie
s.” Fintan held aloft a sphere and said, “Next!” before dropping it and taking the seeming of Daryck du Löngren. Survivor Field cheered his appearance. It was a day of homegrown tales.

  We ran south well past dawn, until the sun was at its zenith and the trees had almost no shadows, their darker selves hidden for a wee while. I judged we were far enough away to make camp, and Gyrsön had little trouble convincing me to let him build a cookfire to roast up slices of a boar that Sören took down without fuss. We left the carcass a hundred lengths behind us so that any scavengers interested in luncheon could enjoy it away from our camp.

  Still, we set a watch, because this was the Gravewood, where not watching often turned into not breathing anymore.

  We’d just eaten and were licking the grease from our fingers when the mariner guarding the north, Galen du Pöllan, called out. “Gerstad, we have incoming! I hear clacking bones.”

  I’d just been about to give the order to break camp and move on for a few hours before settling in for the night, but I ordered bows out instead and asked Galen how many were coming.

  “I don’t know,” she responded. “Hard to see through the trees. But more than we had last time!”

  That made sense. If she heard them before she saw them, that might mean quite a few incoming.

  “They tracked us somehow,” I muttered, and wondered who had left a clue for them to follow. It might have been something that Mynstad Luren’s detail had done, but it didn’t matter now. We were gonna be shucked and slurped if we didn’t do something.

  “Mynstad, make sure someone’s watching our flanks. Everyone else, get your bows facing north—you too, Gyrsön, to the abyss with your damn pots and pans now! Galen, get back here!”

  We moved to the south side of the fire and formed up, quivers slung and bows ready. We could all hear the bones now, and flashes of white could be seen between the trunks of trees.

  “Fire at will. We have plenty of arrows and we don’t want them in close quarters.”