Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  Mekhmet was much more relaxed. He did have bouts of nerves, which manifested in sudden bursts of energy that had him rushing about demanding to see charts and maps, or having lengthy discussions with quartermasters about supplies. But otherwise he seemed quite content to wait in the sumptuous rooms they’d been assigned.

  But by far the happiest was Maggiore, who spent his time tidying up his rough field notes or talking to any Lusu troopers who spoke the language of the Desert Kingdom. Sharley was almost envious of the little scholar; all he needed to keep him content was a supply of paper and ink, and someone to interview.

  On the evening of the third day, a Venezzian official arrived and told them that the fleet was almost ready to sail. Only the last horse transport needed to be loaded with the mounts of Prince Mekhmet’s and Queen Ketshaka’s personal bodyguards. These were the elite of the elite amongst the cavalry, and once they were on board the fleet could begin its expedition on the next high tide.

  Sharley felt sick. Here it was! The moment he’d been working towards for weeks. Not till the last ship had left the harbour would he believe he was actually on his way home with a relieving army!

  They all hurried down to the quayside, the atmosphere alive with a strange tumble and contradiction of emotions: fear, excitement, elation, and good oldfashioned worry all buzzed through their heads. But in Sharley, fear had the upper hand. What would happen if they hit another storm? Could they defend themselves against pirates – and, worse, against the fleets of the Corsairs and Zephyrs, the Empire’s sea-going allies? Would their food and water supplies last out? And what if they were becalmed?

  So much could go wrong! Sharley’s leg obviously thought so too, because it suddenly gave way and he fell sprawling on the flagstones of the harbour.

  “Hah! A good omen,” said Ketshaka, grabbing him by the collar and setting him on his feet.

  “Is it? Why?” asked Sharley, climbing to his feet and hurrying on.

  “If you fall on the way to a war, it means you won’t fall in battle. The palace Wise Woman once told me this, and she’s never wrong.”

  Sharley grinned gratefully, and then slithered to a halt as they reached the quayside. A huge horse-transporter was being slowly manoeuvred to dock gently against the timbers of the harbour. The ship was truly enormous – over sixty metres long, and about fifteen wide. Halfway up its cliff-like side, wide twin doors opened ponderously to reveal a dark, cavernous entrance, from which a long gangplank was lowered. Without waiting to be asked, Sharley and Mekhmet ran up the gangway and stood gazing into the interior of the ship.

  Inside, it was deeply dark, despite the lanterns that hung at intervals from the tree-thick timbers along the length of the hold. But as their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they could make out incredibly narrow stalls lining each side of a central walkway. The boys looked at each other, and stepped inside. They found that each stall had a canvas sling inside that would cradle a horse’s belly and keep it steady on its legs in the event of rough weather. The entire effect was one of a dungeon especially designed for horses.

  “We’re asking too much of them, Mekhmet,” said Sharley in a horrified whisper.

  “I know. But it has been done many times before. The crews will be experienced horsemen; they’ll know how to keep the horses calm and well, and we can only pray for quiet weather and a swift passage,” Mekhmet answered, with more confidence than he felt.

  Continuing their exploration, they found a long ramp that led down to a lower deck, where the conditions were even worse. At least the animals on the upper deck had a chance of seeing daylight through the grids of the hatchways, but down here there was only lamplight.

  “Suleiman will be on the upper deck, and under a hatch,” said Sharley fiercely.

  Already the cavalry was approaching, each horse or zebra led by its rider who murmured and whispered to his or her mount, so that there seemed to be a gentle, calming wind blowing around the harbour. The Princes stood aside as the animals were walked slowly up the ramp, some of them whickering nervously and one or two rearing as they approached the wide, open doorway into the dark. The vast majority of them passed inside, trusting their riders and allowing themselves to be led to the stalls. But some reared wildly, screaming and striking out with their battle-trained hooves as they panicked and fought to get away.

  Sharley watched all of this in growing apprehension. What would happen if Suleiman refused to board the transporter? Obviously nothing would stop him, Sharley, from returning to the Icemark, and he could always be given another horse to ride when they reached dry land again. But Suleiman was his friend. He was an integral part of the new and swiftly established legend that was the “Shadow of the Storm”. It would be horrendous to leave the Desert Kingdom without him – and, even worse, such a catastrophe would be seen as the most dreadful omen by the entire army. Suleiman had to go with him; there was no other way Prince Charlemagne could return to the Icemark.

  The boys had now retreated to the quayside, and watched as the loading operation continued. After what seemed like hours, the last zebra was led inside and the huge doors in the side of the transporter swung ponderously shut. Amidst the shouts and cries of the stevedores, the ropes were released from the bollards and the massive ship began to ease itself away from the quayside.

  “But what about Suleiman?” Sharley cried out in panic.

  “Our horses will be coming with us on board our ship,” Mekhmet explained.

  “But how?” Sharley asked in bewilderment. “We’re not sailing on a transporter.”

  But before the Crown Prince could answer, a familiar figure rolled across the quayside and bowed low before them.

  “Greetings to you, your Highnesseses and Eminenceses. I have the great and most enormous pleasure of transporting your good and Royal personages across the sea to the fair land of the Icemark, place of my birth and home of good Nancy, my wife, and mother of nine children, most of whom, I’m reliably informed, have been fathered by myself.”

  Sharley stared at the strange apparition, his fears and worries forgotten for a moment as he took in the vision of the wind-burned Captain, still in his enormous tarred seaboots, ragged trousers and looped earrings. This was the man who’d brought him safely to the Southern Continent through the most terrifying storm ever.

  “Captain Sigurdson! We’re sailing with you?”

  “Indeed you are, Your Young Royalness! And might I add that in the weeks since last I was honoured to set my rough old eyes on your good Eminent self, you’ve grown and filled out and now look as fearsome a warrior as I ever did see in all of my travels on the oceans and seas of this entire wide world.”

  Sharley blushed with pleasure. “Well, thank you, Captain Sigurdson. Erm . . . you look well yourself.”

  “And what, may I ask, if I may make so bold, has happened to your bad leg? When I left you at Venezzia, you hopped and hobbled like a boy with a limb made from wormy old wood. But now you just limp like a man with a bit of a cramp that’s knotted his muscles after too long a sit!”

  “I’ve been training,” Sharley explained in a quiet voice. If Cressida had been there she’d have haughtily reprimanded the Captain for being “familiar”, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Captain Sigurdson was beyond the usual social conventions.

  The old sea-dog then noticed Queen Ketshaka as she slowly walked forward to join them. Falling to one knee the captain bowed his head, and even swept off his greasy old hat in a clumsy gesture of courtliness.

  “May I offer my services to you, Your Enormousness?” He looked up slowly and appreciatively. “I may truly say that I have never before looked upon such a beautiful personage as Your Good Royal Self, Your Greatest of Majesties! I am your humblest servant to do with as you will!”

  Ketshaka’s granite face beamed. “You may stand before me, Captain!” she boomed graciously. “I accept your generous tribute right gladly. If our journey over the seas were to take a decade of lifetimes, it would seem short in yo
ur good company.”

  “Were I to sail from now until the Crack of Doom, it would seem but a second, enlightened by your Good and Abundant Royal Self!”

  Maggie coughed quietly into the charged silence that followed. “If I might interrupt such courtly politeness, could I suggest we board the Captain’s ship?”

  “Ah yes!” Captain Sigurdson said, as though he’d only just remembered why he was there. “The good ship Horizon is waiting to receive Your Royal Highnesses just as soon as she’s docked and you’re all ready.”

  “Apparently we’re taking our horses on board with us, Captain. Is that right?” asked Sharley, anxious to confirm exactly how Suleiman would be travelling.

  “Aye, that’s right, My Royal Hearty! We’ve built a stall or two on the main deck, and they even have flagstoned floors to stop the piss and poop spoiling them. All pegged in and neat they are, and with roofs and doors to keep out the gales.”

  “Gales? Are you expecting bad weather again?” said Sharley, imagining the pure horror of a horse-transporter in a storm.

  “Just a figure of speech, My Little Kingling! My old weather nose has never sniffed so promising a trip. We should have a sea like a glassy lake all the way home to the Icemark!”

  “With your undoubted skills, Captain Sigurdson, I’m sure our journey will be as gently rocked as a snooze in a hammock,” boomed Ketshaka, her face beaming.

  “For your greater comfort, My Most Abundant of Ladies, I would wrestle the sea nymphs and fight a war with the Brewer of Storms his wind-ravaged self!”

  Ketshaka would have tittered girlishly if that had been at all possible for someone of her stature. Instead, she chuckled in a voice that sounded like a landslide of boulders tumbling down a wooden hill.

  The Horizon had now manoeuvred to the harbourside and was preparing to dock. A cascade of ropes flew through the air and were caught by stevedores, who then leaned into them heavily, drawing the ship to bump gently against the timbers of the quay.

  “LOWER THE GANGPLANK, AND PREPARE THE ANIMAL STALLS!” Sigurdson bawled in a voice that made Sharley’s ears ring.

  As the crew scurried to follow his orders a strangely cool and refreshing movement of air began to flow over the harbour, and from the town came a great upsurge of voices raised in wonder. Sharley and his party turned to watch as a beautiful blue light moved down through the streets, accompanied by sweetly singing voices.

  Holding his breath, Sharley watched as the light slowly descended through the town and crossed the quayside. Soon he could make out the transparent forms of the Blessed Women moving like flowing water towards him.

  When they were just a few yards away they stopped, and a single figure stepped forward. Sharley immediately recognised her as the Blessed Woman who had spoken to him in the desert, and he fell to his knees. Smiling radiantly, she signalled that he should stand.

  “Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Shadow of the Storm, it has been our duty and our delight to protect you while you dwelt within the borders of the Desert Kingdom, but now you will leave our shores and cross the wide seas to your northern home. Be now told that you have the favour of the One; take comfort in knowing that all that comes to pass is the will of the One, and meant to be. Remember too that though we may not be by your side, in your greatest danger we will answer your needs even across the oceans of the world. The power of the One has no limit and recognises no distances or borders. Go now with our blessings, Prince of the North, and know that you will remain in our hearts for all eternity.”

  She salaamed deeply and Sharley fell to his knees again, completely unable to speak.

  The Blessed Women then withdrew, flowing away from the harbourside and back through the town, singing as they went.

  Sigurdson was the first to recover from the deep sense of peace and wonder that had settled on his Royal passengers and crew.

  “LOOK LIVELY!” he bawled to the sailors. “PREPARE TO RECEIVE HONOURED GUESTS!”

  Sharley and his party were then escorted aboard by the Captain, where they were received by twin ranks of sailors and a blast on the bosun’s whistle.

  Still in a state of pleasurable shock, Sharley limped to the seaward hull of the ship and looked out over the harbour. He was always more aware of his gammy leg whenever anything stressful or exciting was about to happen, and as he looked out over the waters, he realised that he was about to embark upon a journey that would have equal measures of both. As far as the eye could see there were galleons and transporters, barges and merchantmen, supply vessels and galleys of almost every size and description. The fleet spilled beyond the harbour wall and stood out to sea, waiting at anchor for the order to sail. He’d already heard some sailors saying that they’d never been part of so big a fleet before, and others had said it was probably the biggest that had ever been gathered. An exaggeration, perhaps, but as he looked out over the forest of masts, peopled with scurrying sailors and festooned with fluttering flags, it all looked like a huge, wooden, floating city just waiting for him to give the order that would take them over the sea to the Icemark.

  The responsibility was overwhelming and he almost panicked. Then he thought of the Blessed Women, and of his mother besieged in Frostmarris, and he forced himself to stand upright.

  “Captain Sigurdson, give the order to cast off!”

  CHAPTER 32

  The Vampires were exhausted. Bellorum’s rebuilt Sky Navy had been attacking every night for more than a week, and despite Their Vampiric Majesties’ brilliant defence of the skies, some of the bombers had got through. But so far the damage to Frostmarris had been minimal. In one district a row of houses had been flattened, and in another, incendiary devices had destroyed several shops. Overall the defence strategy was working; Archimedo Archimedes’ new water supplies and the firefighting housecarles and werewolves had kept damage to a minimum. But even so, everyone was expecting things to get worse – much worse.

  The Vampires had identified dozens of new squadron insignia on the wasp-fighters, and the same was true for the bombers, which meant that Bellorum had already replaced his damaged ships with new fleets. Certainly the Sky Navy’s attacking waves were hitting much harder again, but Their Vampiric Majesties were convinced the enemy hadn’t revealed their true strength yet.

  “Bellorum’s holding back for some reason,” the King told Thirrin when she visited the Vampires’ caves. “We know he has the capability to launch a truly spectacular attack on the city. The Snowy Owl spies report a hugely enlarged Sky Navy base at Learton, with thousands of ground crew. But the wasp-fighters were too vigilant, so they couldn’t get close enough to get an accurate number for the galleons.”

  “You could try a raid,” said Thirrin. “Destroy them on the ground.”

  “We’ve considered it, and even sent out a squadron to check out defences. But only one made it back. The cost would be too high, and Frostmarris would be left defenceless.”

  Thirrin nodded in disappointment. “Then Bellorum still calls the tune.”

  “As ever,” said the Vampire Queen. “Still, it didn’t stop us winning last time.”

  “No, but I’d like to fight a battle with that particular gentleman just once, when I wasn’t on the defensive, or outnumbered, or on the very brink of being beaten. Victory, if we get it at all, is always ‘snatched from the jaws of defeat’, as the saying goes.”

  The Vampire King refilled her wine glass. “My dear Thirrin, accept victory wherever and however you can get it. Especially when fighting the Empire. Every other country they’ve invaded has succumbed in a matter of weeks, sometimes even days. I don’t think you realise just how far your legend has spread throughout the known world. You’re a beacon of hope for every suppressed and enslaved nation and individual. You’re an icon, my dear – enjoy it.”

  “Well, even if that is true, it doesn’t help us here, does it? I’d sooner be unknown and living in peace, than famous and at war. Or even just unknown but with a few thousand mo
re soldiers would do.”

  The King settled back into his throne and sipped at his wine. “I wouldn’t be too certain that your fame isn’t helping us here, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, grasping at any morsel of hope.

  “Just rumours, dear heart, only whispers of rebellion in the Empire, and perhaps even action on the Imperial southern borders.”

  “Do you have details?” she asked eagerly.

  “I’m afraid not. Bellorum’s got us blockaded as tight as a drum by land, sea and air. It’s impossible to verify anything. Still, the rumours are persistent. Species migrating north have heard tales, and they talk to the Snowy Owls. But our feathery allies do tend to be greedy and eat the messengers before they have time to say too much.”

  “The werewolves haven’t said anything.”

  “Well, they wouldn’t, sweeting,” said the Vampire Queen. “The Wolf-folk don’t eat anything smaller than a red deer, and the larger animals would never make it through Imperial lines with any news. Venison and the like is very popular on the tables of the Empire and they seem to have killed most of the deer already. No, these whispers come from the smaller beasts, the rats and mice, and more importantly, the birds.”

  Thirrin fell silent as she mulled over the information. “Perhaps Oskan could apply his Eye and find something out,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t think the Witchfather’s Gift of Far-Seeing reaches far enough to ascertain what exactly is happening in the southern parts of the Empire,” said Her Vampiric Majesty, diplomatically suppressing a shudder at the very mention of Oskan’s name.

  “No, perhaps not. Though maybe . . . maybe Medea could help.”

  The Vampire King spluttered wine all over his delicately embroidered waistcoat, then spent a good five minutes having his back patted by his Queen while he coughed uncontrollably.