The animals—horses, donkeys, and oxen—were led onto land and given water and food. What ammunition, weaponry, and supplies had survived last night’s attack had been prepped for travel on wagons, which would be drawn by the oxen. Shan sought out the king and showed him where they were on the map.
“We came ashore too far to the west,” he said. “The main port city, Fairwinds, is about seven miles east.”
The king stroked his chin, thinking. “I rather think we should avoid Fairwinds if we can. Those ships crewed with hollow men most likely sailed from there.”
Ben and Kalin had come up while they were talking and listened attentively. “Agreed,” said Kalin firmly. “My people only have sketchy maps, but that is the closest port—and the main one. It is likely that it is under the Empress’s control—or else everyone there is dead.”
“Either way, sounds like a highlight to miss,” said Ben. “What about it, Shan? Can we pick up the Great Trade Road a bit farther north?”
Shan looked uncomfortable. “It will require a detour of about twenty miles through difficult terrain,” he said. “I do not know if the siege weapons can cross it.”
“Lovely,” said Ben. “Towns ruled by an evil Empress or dying in the desert.”
“We will not die,” said Kalin. “But we may need to leave weapons behind if they cannot cross.”
“Well, I don’t like either choice,” the king said. “But I think the one that gives us the best chance is the desert crossing. I’ve no desire to become a hollow man myself.”
Everyone was forced to concede he had a valid point. There were several horses that had been intended for riding; now the noble beasts would be pressed into service as mere pack animals, and all of the would-be riders, including the king—he would not ask of his soldiers what he himself would be unwilling to do—would have to walk. At least until they hit the Great Trade Road.
The king made a point of shaking the hand of every captain and thanking him or her personally for aid rendered. “Sail for Aurora as soon as you can. When you arrive, get word to Albion that we have arrived safely,” the king said. “I have faith in our victory, but it won’t be for at least several months. Return for us in four. Hopefully, we’ll all be sitting here, playing Keystone while we wait for you.” There were a few chuckles and smiles at the image. He grinned reassuringly. “I will be able to send up some magical activity that you can spot a fair distance from the shore.”
He hesitated. He disliked what he needed to say next—not out of fear for himself but because he knew even mentioning the possibility would dampen morale. Still—the words had to be spoken. “If for some reason I am not able to be present, we have a few flare guns. And if we’re pathetic enough that we don’t even have that … look for a large fire on the beach.”
This time, the smiles were forced. The king, however, kept up his own good cheer. “Off with you lot, then.”
He clapped Captain Samur on the back, then deliberately turned from the departing ships to his troops. His snow-white horse, Winter, bearing not the ruler of a land but instead several sacks of dried beans, gave the king an annoyed look and whickered.
“I know, it’s a terrible indignity,” the king said, and stroked the horse’s pink muzzle. Privately, the king had misgivings about bringing the animal. Shan had confirmed that horses, donkeys, and oxen were not uncommon in Samarkand. Some of them even survived the desert, he said, in an effort to sound encouraging. Better would be the exotic-sounding desert pack animals Shan called “camels,” which, they all hoped, could be purchased along the way.
The ships were already the size of toy boats against the horizon. Soon, they would be out of sight altogether. The king looked northeast, where the nearly white hue of sand gave way to the gray and brown smudges that indicated rocks. He felt he should be saying or doing something of great portent—delivering a rousing speech while galloping among his men, Winter’s mane flying. But Winter was essentially little more than a pack mule, the king on, literally, equal footing with the lowest-ranking foot soldier, and his voice wouldn’t carry if he just walked.
Actions, then. “Right,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Eight
Page was in a sour mood. She sat in a corner of the Cock in the Crown tavern, morosely downing an ale. The king had only been gone a month, and it seemed to her that his queen and his captain of guards were at each other’s throats on a regular basis.
It had been a lot to put on an inexperienced young girl. Even Timmins acknowledged that. And honestly, other than the nearly constant clashing between a queen and a captain who both had extremely strong personalities, Queen Laylah had been doing an admirable job. The populace was loyal to their king, and cheerfully so—but they adored Laylah; if he had their respect, she had their love. Unlike the king, Laylah was not of royal blood—she was one of them, and the few who had expressed doubts about her being a “foreigner” seemed to have changed their tune. Laylah had a knack for striking the perfect balance between accessible and majestic. Perhaps it was that she was always willing to give a petitioner her ear in the throne room, and her manner of settling disputes probably produced better results even than her husband’s. Perhaps it was that she paid visits to some of the smaller towns and hamlets, ready to exclaim over their local improvements and snuggle their babies.
The very things that so endeared her to her people seemed to drive the captain of her guards mad. Of course, it was a security nightmare, and the queen—despite rigorous training with both Page and Timmins—was still barely able to parry four out of five blows.
A soft nudge at her knee snapped Page to attention. She peered beneath the table, ready to punch whoever was trying to get under her skirts, then chuckled as she saw warm brown eyes, a lolling tongue, and a furry black-and-white face.
“Hallo, Rex,” she said fondly, scratching behind his ears. “Your mistress sent you to fetch me, eh?”
At one point, Page had left a glove behind at Bowerstone Castle. In the king’s absence, Laylah had trained Rex to find Page whenever the queen desired her company by giving Rex Page’s scent from her forgotten glove. Page didn’t mind—it was much more practical than taking a guard off duty to find her, and much faster. She also knew that there was no point in ignoring the canine summons. Rex, it seemed, had endless patience. She plunked down some coins and headed for the castle.
She found the queen in the weapons room. Looking wan and tired, Laylah turned and smiled as Barrows announced Page.
“Not sleeping well?” Page asked, concerned.
“Is it that obvious?”
“To someone who knows you, yes,” Page said.
“It’s funny,” Laylah said. “We were not some old married couple, but—I find it odd now not to awaken next to him.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Page said. It was true, in a way—she had not let anyone get close enough to her for the innocent intimacy of growing accustomed to waking beside him. But there was someone she, too, missed.
“And—I have troubling dreams,” Laylah admitted. She turned away from Page, making a show of selecting a weapon.
“That’s not unexpected either,” Page said. “Your husband’s gone off to war to fight the thing that terrorized your youth. Naturally you’re going to worry.”
Laylah turned large brown eyes to her. “Then … dreaming about the Shadows is normal?”
“We can have Timmins step up inspections of various towns if you like, but yes, I believe it is in your situation.” She went to her friend and placed her hands on Laylah’s shoulders. “The king has a great army and has fought this darkness and triumphed before.”
The queen smiled tremulously. “Yes, of course. It was he who banished it from my own homeland. It’s just my silly fears.”
“There, you see? Nothing to worry about. Besides, you have Rex here to protect you.” The dog, hearing his name, whuffed happily.
“A single bullet will dispose of Rex,” came a voi
ce. The queen flinched. “And of you, Your Majesty, far more efficiently than any Shadow that might make its way into your bedchamber at four in the morning.”
A hardness replaced the unhappiness in Laylah’s eyes. “You know, Captain,” she said—he was always “Captain” now, never “Jack” or “Timmins”—“I believe you enjoy frightening me.”
“I wonder that myself,” said Page.
“Fear is an excellent motivator,” said Timmins, “if properly utilized. It is not my intent to terrify you out of your wits, Madame, but to incite you to face your fears head-on. Jasper can help you with knowledge; the fellow has a vast store in his head and in that Sanctuary, wherever it is. Page and I can train you to fight more substantial foes. How is your shooting coming?”
“Very well, actually,” Laylah said. She lifted her chin almost defiantly.
“I’d be happy to see that,” said Timmins. “Come, let’s ride to the training-quarter area and you can show me.”
The queen had wanted to train where the soldiers did, near the barracks. Both Page and Timmins had refused. “It would destroy morale for those left behind to see how poor a shot their queen is,” had been Timmins’s exact words.
The comment had wounded Laylah, and even Page had given Timmins a dirty look. He had meant nothing by it—it was a simple fact as far as he was concerned. He disliked “coddling” Laylah, as he termed it.
“It’s not so much coddling as it is … gentle guidance,” Page had said. “She improves by leaps and bounds when I spar with her. You make her nervous.”
A special training area outside Bowerstone had been constructed. The area had been enclosed with timber and no one was allowed to approach within a certain radius without clearance, and never when actual practice was going on. There, Laylah was able to fire as erratically as she needed to, striking only dummy targets made of straw.
Laylah was taciturn as they made their way there, and continued not to speak even when Page and Timmins addressed comments or questions to her. Growing annoyed with her silence, Timmins said, “Right then. Choose your weapon and ammunition.” Laylah selected a pistol, not elegant but one that shot true, and gathered the lead ball, small powder sack, and a few of the cut pieces of cloth that were placed beside it on a bench. She turned to Timmins, still not speaking.
“As always, you have five minutes.” He withdrew a gold pocket watch, flipped it open, and waited.
“Begin.”
Swiftly and efficiently, Laylah cocked the hammer halfway. She poured a small amount of gunpowder down the barrel, wrapped the bullet in the piece of cloth, and using the small ramrod attached to the pistol, pushed it firmly in place. She filled the pan with powder, snapped the frizzen in place, fully cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger.
She hit the dummy in the shoulder.
With impressive speed she repeated the motions. Each time, her shots were better. The last one was dead in the dummy’s chest.
“Time.”
Laylah lowered the smoking pistol. “Well?” she said, breaking her silence.
“You got off thirteen shots in five minutes,” said Timmins. “Better than a raw recruit, but not as fast as your husband.”
“Perhaps when I have trained with a pistol for fifteen years, I too shall be able to fire twenty shots a minute,” Laylah said icily.
“Your aim’s getting better,” said Timmins, as he if hadn’t heard her. “But this weapon doesn’t have much range. Work on your speed rather than your accuracy. If you can fire and reload fast enough, you’ll be close enough to drop someone regardless. Now, show me what you can do with the rifle.”
Page wanted to smack both of them. Why couldn’t Laylah understand that the reason Timmins kept pushing her so hard was because he wanted to make sure she stayed safe? And why did Timmins have to treat an inexperienced young woman like he did his soldiers? Page held her tongue until shooting practice was over, then as Timmins was about to make his final acerbic comments, she interrupted him.
“Timmins, thank you. Laylah, it’s a nice clear day—we haven’t had one for a while. Shall we take one of our little walks? And yes, Timmins, I’ve my own pistol,” she added, forestalling Timmins’s protest.
“Madame?” Timmins turned to Laylah.
“Er, yes, that sounds lovely,” said Laylah, drawing her fur cloak about her. Timmins bowed, nodded curtly to Page, and strode off.
They headed back toward Bowerstone Castle, walking through softly fallen snow and enjoying the rare sight of blue sky above. “We should see if any of the villages need more blankets,” said Laylah, mindful of how her own comfortable boots sank in the snow.
“You have a big heart, Laylah,”
“I simply know what suffering can do,” said Laylah. “I would ease it where I can.”
“And … you know that’s rather how Captain Timmins feels, don’t you?”
Laylah stared at Page as if her friend had just suggested that she grow wings and flap about. “What?”
“You don’t like seeing people suffer because you don’t want any harm to come to them. Timmins doesn’t like seeing you not able to defend yourself because he’s worried he won’t have taught you the skills you need if something bad happens to you.”
“I see. So he’s afraid it will reflect badly on him if the queen dies during his watch.”
“It’s not like that,” Page replied. “He likes you. Everyone does. Your being comfortable with weapons—it’s his way of giving you a blanket against the cold.”
Laylah laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. “He certainly has a strange way of showing it. I know you’re always sticking up for him, but to be honest with you, if we were not at war, I’d dismiss him from his position.”
Page stopped in her tracks. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very. You know I do not put on airs, Page. But he does not speak to me as one should his queen. He speaks to me like—like—”
“A recruit,” said Page.
“Yes!”
“Why does that surprise you? His whole family was military. He’s rough, but then so am I.”
“Oh no, Page, you are warm and kind!”
“If Ben were here, he’d dispute that,” said Page. “Just … look. We’ll work extra hard. The more he sees you improving, the more reassured he’ll be.”
“I care not about ‘reassuring’ Captain Jack Timmins,” said Laylah, “but the idea of his finally ceasing to badger me is most appealing.”
Page didn’t mention Timmins any more after that, but she was deeply troubled. She herself didn’t have to personally like someone in order to work with them, and she feared Laylah was taking this far too personally. One day, if they couldn’t find a way to cooperate, they would clash, and one of them would want to be the winner.
And that would mean that Albion would be the loser.
“I hate this place,” said Ben. Despite precautions—Shan had advised them all to cover their heads and faces as much as possible—Ben’s fair skin had burned and peeled twice now. He took a long drink of tepid water as he walked. “No offense there, Shan,” he added quickly, realizing how the youth might take the comment. “But I’m not well suited to this sort of climate.”
“Do not worry, Mr. Finn,” Shan said. “No one is suited to this, not even native Samarkandians. That’s why no one lives here.”
Ben grinned. “Lad’s got a point,” he said, and toasted Shan with his waterskin.
The “long cut,” as the king called it, that avoided Fairwinds Port had cost them dearly. None of the larger siege engines had made it, even when a dozen oxen strained to pull them over the rough terrain. Four horses broke their legs and had to be mercifully put down. The going was so slow that they went through their water supply much quicker than they had planned. But now, at last, they were on the Great Trade Road and making better progress.
Of course, they were sitting ducks, traveling on the only, and quite exposed, road. “Before the Empress came,” Shan had said, “the E
mperor had soldiers patrolling the road to protect against sand furies and other brigands.”
“And now,” Kalin said, “any such officials would mean trouble, not aid, for us.” The king sent scouts ahead and also had some bring up the rear, just in case of an ambush. Thus far, nothing had happened.
“We will need to make a detour,” Shan said. “The water supply is getting low.”
“We’ve still got several days’ worth,” the king said. The sun beat down mercilessly. He tried to ignore it and think cool thoughts. “Can’t we make it to the major oasis town, what was it—Tree something?” It was the first oasis town they would come to along the Great Trade Road.
Shan looked uneasy. “Speak freely, child,” Kalin said kindly. “His Majesty would rather hear bad news ahead of time than be surprised by it later.”
“I don’t shoot messengers,” the king said, “especially not when one’s our guide.”
Shan nodded. “Then—speaking freely—I do not think it is worth the risk to go all the way to Sweetwater Trees without stopping. We have lost more days than we bargained for already.” They halted while he unrolled the map. “To the west, this road will take us to Sky Blue Lake. It is the dry season, so it will not be full, but we should be able to water and rest the horses and oxen and refill our supplies. The lake is also a stop for the nomads who wander this area, and we could negotiate with them for their horses and sheep. It is only a day out of our way.”
The king looked around at his army, making an unbiased assessment. They were already severely rationing the water. Progress had slowed due to weariness and thirst—of animals and the men. He made his decision.
“We will divert to Sky Blue Lake,” he said. “We will take an extra day to rest both man and beast.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Ben said. “Good call. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but everyone stinks.”
Fable: Edge of the World Page 7
