Retribution

by Benjamin J Boswell

  The trick was to dangle the carrot in front of the Warlords—in this case herself—without letting any of them get too close to snatch it away. Yvonne had grown very adept at achieving that balance and felt confident of her ability to accomplish her goal. She had also trained in hand-to-hand combat and with various weapons since early childhood, and had become very proficient. She could take care of herself if any of the Warlords decided to take a more direct approach. She may not like the role she currently played and knew that she would eventually be given to one of them, but anything was better than the civil wars of her childhood. Her father had done that much for her at least.

  Yvonne folder her arms across her breastplate. She hated her father. And she loved him. He had taught her the way he had been taught. Maybe he was a little harder on her than he would have been on a son in her place, but she was stronger now because of it. Yvonne knew there was a better way and would have preferred to learn these lessons differently, but she was a Madrausan after all.

  She looked out into the sky surrounding her ship. Hers wasn’t the only ship heading north. She examined the fleet of ships accompanying her and grinned. It was a hungry grin, she knew, because this fleet was going to supplement the one already forming in Dunai to begin an offensive against the Hadiqan’s, their mortal enemies. Yvonne understood that Madrausan’s tended to be driven by conquest and war, but it was well known that Hadiq oftentimes helped instigate the civil wars between the different Madrausan Warlord’s, and for that, she would never forgive them.

  Despite the mild temperatures, she shivered as a particularly vivid memory surfaced in her mind. It had been a fall morning, much like this one. She had been eight years old at the time and practicing her fighting skills with another boy whose father—like her own—was also sworn to serve the current Warlord of Coorg. They were sparring in the practice ground inside the walls of the keep. Jinesh, the boy, had landed a nasty blow on her cheek and she could already feel the bruise forming, but the hit hadn’t diminish her happiness in the least because her mother had received a message from her father that he and the Coorgian Warlord had just secured a major alliance with the neighboring province of Hassan. The letter assured her mother that this alliance would give Coorg undisputed rule in southern Madraus and no one would dare oppose them. And besides, Yvonne had returned the boy’s blow with equal ferocity and even now had Jinesh in a headlock that would not be easy to break.

  The booming of cannon’s outside the walls of the keep that morning was the first sign that something had gone terribly wrong. Yvonne had let go of Jinesh and they had run to find her mother as the Hassanian ships bombarded the Keep and Hassanian warriors landed, pillaged, and killed everyone in sight. Yvonne had watched as a big Hassanian man impaled Jinesh on a spear while he was trying to protect her. His body was quickly thrown to the side and discarded as if he meant nothing to them—as if he meant nothing to her. His killers then made her watch as they first ravished and then killed her mother. It shouldn’t have surprised her—it was the Madrausan way. These things had been a part of her life as long as she could remember. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone die. None of those prior experiences had helped her this time, however, and what happened to her during that raid had impacted her deeply. The only reason she had survived was that the men were still busy with her mother when the call to return to their ships came. She had taken that opportunity to gouge the eyes of the man holding her and slip away and hide until the big ships left.

  When her father had returned to Coorg that evening, he had beaten her mercilessly in his grief. Yvonne told herself it was because she had survived and her mother had not. Her father had left then with the Coorgian Warlord and a fleet of ship’s to get revenge for the attack. That was the Madrausan way too, an endless cycle of revenge. And so the Hadiqan’s had attained their goal, the civil wars continued, and Yvonne had lain in a straw bed beneath a leaky tent for several days afterward, recovering from both the physical and mental wounds she had received at the hands of her father and the Hassanians, even as the fires in the Keep still burned. It had hardened her, yes, but it had also made her vulnerable.

  Her father told her later that Hassan had been manipulated by Hadiqan agents to betray them. The Hadiqan’s, her father said, were fearful that Hassan and Coorg together would become too powerful and destabilize the region. All of that was a lie to make the Hadiqan’s feel better about themselves, of course. The region was already—and had been—in a state of civil war since long before Yvonne had been born.

  Of course, Yvonne didn’t really know if what her father said about the Hadiqan’s was true—he often lied to manipulate her, and—he claimed—to teach her. She had obtained information from other sources later, however, and there was at least a kernel of truth to what her father had said. Enough for her to justify the coming war with Hadiq and the bloodshed that would follow in her mind anyway.

  What she did not agree with, however, was her father’s raids on Ardmorr, and his plan to invade. The Hadiqan’s had prevented the initial invasion from taking place, but they had also pulled their fleets from other areas that Madraus could now concentrate on. That was a part of her father’s strategies that was currently working, but Yvonne was afraid that attacking Ardmorr was a little like poking a sleeping bear.

  While Ardmorr and the Northern Kingdom’s were much smaller than Madraus or Hadiq, they were also very advanced economically, culturally, and with their military technology. Yvonne believed that attacking Hadiq directly and leaving Ardmorr and the Northern Kingdom’s out of it would have been their best option. Her father hadn’t agreed, however, and now his initial plans for distracting Hadiq by assassinating the King had been thwarted by a young Ardmorran girl. Yvonne couldn’t help but smile at the thought. She had told him it was a bad idea…

  Chapter 9

  Geoffrey and the Monarchs

  Esther stood at the bow of her ship, staring down at the city of Lancaster as they approached its parameter, her long lehenga skirt and shoulder length hair blowing in the cool wind. Najafi was as good as his word and it was just after noon the next day when the city had come into view over the horizon. Looking over the city, she realized that Geoffrey was right—it was beautiful with its remarkable spandrel bridges, large towers, thick walls, and rounded arches, doorways, and windows. Approaching from the south as they were, the city was the shape of an inverted crescent, or backward ‘C’, its top and bottom points touching the ocean on the north and south sides. Just like Hadiq, Lancaster was ringed with airships where they had come to dock at the outskirts.

  “Remarkable, isn’t it?”

  Esther jumped when she heard the voice behind her and her hand went instinctively to her dagger. She recognized the voice, however, and turned to see Geoffrey standing a few feet away, his sandy hair blowing in the wind.

  “You startled me,” she said, smiling.

  He walked up to stand next to her, placing his hand on the railing and gazed down at the city below. Seeing him standing there sent a familiar rush of excitement up her spine, dampened somewhat by the pang of regret at losing her chance to be closer to him. She couldn’t help but reach out and settle her hand on top of his. He looked over at her, his face impassive. Putting on this unreadable mask let her know that he must be hurting as well.

  “When I first met you,” he said, turning back to look down at his beloved city below, “I could picture you here, in Lancaster, studying at the University, attending balls at the Duke of Manchester’s mansion.” He looked over at her again. “It’s hard to picture that now. You look very much the Hadiqan Queen that you are.”

  His words stung. She wasn’t sure what he meant by them and she pulled her hand back.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said quickly, turning to face her, his mask slipping momentarily as a look of concern slipped through. “I meant no offense. I…I just wish you could have had those experiences, and that I could have shown it to you.”

  A feeling of�
�well…Esther wasn’t sure what feeling it was, but it welled up within her fast and powerful, and she felt like wrapping her arms around him and kissing him as they’d done on their way to Al Farnaka—a time that now seemed so long ago. But it had been mildly inappropriate then, and would be criminally inappropriate now, so she smiled instead and a single emotional laugh escaped her lips. She sobered, pushing the emotions down and looked into Geoffrey’s grey eyes. “Show me.”

  Geoffrey stood there a moment, gazing back into her eyes, his face again an unreadable mask, then he turned back toward the city. “There,” he said, pointing to a group of buildings dominated by a large structure with a massive cone shaped roof. It had both round and square secondary towers and many windows and doors with semi-circular shaped tops. “That’s the University of Lancaster. The garden cloister is magnificent, and a wonderful place to squander time simply enjoying nature’s beauty.” He stared at her a moment. Suddenly, she understood that he was referring to her, and she blushed, looking down.

  “The cloister is surrounded by beautiful twisted columns of white marble,” his voice continued. When Esther looked up again, he was pointing to a long bridge spanning a wide river that fed the city before it ran into the ocean. “That is the bridge of Vekkjo where you can walk along and buy anything that Lancaster has to offer from shops built right along the bridge itself.” His arm shifted left and he pointed at another structure. “That is the church of Saint Patrick. Its arcade has some of the most massive columns in the city, topped with the most distinctive capitals.” He pointed to another area of the city. “And that, of course, is the King’s palace.” It was a tall structure with several, large, centrally situated towers.

  “It’s not as beautiful as yours,” he turned to her and smiled, “but the original was supposedly built by the Paxians, and the current one was rebuilt according to artwork found after it was destroyed during the plague years.”

  Esther heard footsteps behind her and for just an instant, fear sent its icy tendrils through her, much stronger than it had when Geoffrey’s voice had startled her. The footsteps had triggered a memory of being assaulted aboard the Ngozi and her hand dropped to grip the hilt of her dagger again. She quickly forced the emotion back down, telling herself that it was just memory. She turned to see Najafi walking across the forecastle towards them and relief quickly melted the icy tendrils of fear. It had been only momentary both times, but she was tired of feeling afraid every time she heard a noise behind her.

  “Your Majesty,” Najafi said, “We just received word from the Ardmorrans that the Retribution is cleared to enter Lancaster air space and proceed to the Palace grounds where we can set down in the landing area. Our escorts and the Admiral’s battle squadron are requested to set down outside the city in landing area H1. I recommend we invite Admiral Marsena aboard now. He can take his cutter back to his ship tonight.”

  Esther nodded. “I agree. Go ahead and pass on the message to Admiral Marsena and request that he come aboard as soon as he is able.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, turning to leave.

  Esther sighed. Things were about to get interesting again.

  - - -

  Mr. Najafi and the crew expertly maneuvered the Retribution to the designated location in the Palace’s landing area, the keel masts now raised up parallel with the bottom of the ship. Crewmen dropped mooring ropes overboard—two fore, four amidship, and two aft—and the Ardmorran ground crew below grabbed and attached the ropes to bollard moorings. They pulled until the Retribution descended to float just a few feet off the ground, snug in its moorings which the ground crew were even now tying off.

  “That was skillfully done, Lieutenant Najafi,” said Admiral Marsena, standing next to Esther. He turned to her. “You have a highly skilled crew, Your Majesty.”

  The man still irritated her, but she appreciated his recognition of the skill of her crew and the praise that he gave them. “I will be sure to pass on your appreciation, My Lord,” she replied, tugging gently on the dupatta scarf draped over her head.

  Instead of wearing the ceremonial shalwar kameez she had worn during her audience with the Admiral after the battle, she had decided to swap out the shalwar trousers for a beautiful white lehenga skirt with gold embroidery. Another difference was the cloak she had draped over her shoulders and across her chest to keep out autumn’s chill. The city’s location on the coast kept snowfall to a minimum and it was much too early in the year for that, but the air was still cold for this time of day. Cloud cover was moving in overhead and she suspected that it would rain later.

  Marigold had again adorned her with makeup and gold paint, and her spangled crown sat upon her head, her dupatta pulled back slightly to avoid covering it. Admiral Marsena and all of her officers wore their dress whites.

  Esther looked over at those who had come to greet them. She recognized the symbol of the King himself on one of the carriages and a flutter of uncertainty combined with the sickness of pregnancy to make her feel suddenly nauseous. She reached up and slipped her hand under her cloak to hold the conical seashell fastened to the necklace that lay against her chest.

  “Are you alright, Esther,” Marigold said, “You look a little pale.”

  Esther turned her head to look at her friend, dropping her hand back to her side. Marigold was also wearing generously applied makeup and gold paint, and a somewhat conservative Ardmorran style dress—by Marigold’s standards anyway. Her whole entourage looked resplendent.

  “I’m fine,” Esther said. Then in hushed tones, “It’s just a touch of pregnancy sickness is all.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Esther didn’t want to have to launch into a lengthy discussion. Some of her current stomach issues came from the uncertainty of how the Ardmorran monarchy was going to receive her. That the King himself had come was a very good sign, but she had no idea what her legal standing was in the eyes of Ardmorr. Was she still Ardmorran? Hadiqan? Maybe both? Esther didn’t know. Would they accept her—a farm girl from Tewksbury—as royalty, Queen of Hadiq, and official envoy of His Majesty, King Asserius? She was about to find out. Najafi, standing near the side railing on the main deck had just lifted his hand and signaled that the platform which would lower her to the ground was ready.

  Esther walked down the stairs onto the main deck and over to where Abdel stood next to the waiting platform.

  “Good luck,” he said with a nod.

  “Thanks. I’m going to need it.” She smiled back nervously, then stepped onto the platform, followed by Admiral Marsena and the rest of her entourage.

  The platform lowered them swiftly, bumping slightly as it touched the ground. Esther stepped forward off the platform and walked across the stone paved landing area to the waiting carriages. King Cedric stood with his wife, Queen Eliza and a few other members of the Ardmorran court. The Royal Guard in their red uniforms stood behind them. Esther’s own marines in their finest navy blue dress uniforms and Oluchi in his customary pheta turban flanked her small party as they approached the King and Queen.

  “Queen Esther,” the King said with a smile, stepping forward and clasping her hand in his own, “it is an honor to meet you. May I introduce my wife, Eliza?”

  Cedric and Eliza were older and had adult grandchildren, but from what she’d heard, were active both physically and mentally, and there was an intelligence behind the King’s pale blue eyes that was matched by that of his wife’s. Somehow that made Esther feel more at ease. She reached out and shook the Queen’s hand, wondering what they thought of her.

  Mac had coached her on etiquette and the proper thing to say, but now that she was in the moment, simple honesty seemed the best way to go. “The honor is mine, Your Majesties. I’d like to introduce you to Admiral Marsena, our ranking naval officer, and his Chief of Staff Commander Adil. Also with me are my own Chief of Staff, Marigold Meriwhether, my personal guard, Oluchi, my advisor, Mackay Jeffries, and the head of my marine detail, Lt. Jobias.”

  The King and Queen shook
each of their hands.

  “Queen Esther,” said King Cedric after the introductions, “Ambassador Jacoby informed us of what you did to save Port Bergen from being hit by another Madrausan raiding party, and how those actions led to Admiral Marsena’s mobilization of the whole fleet in protection of Ardmorr, and I would just like to personally thank you for saving the lives of hundreds of Ardmorran citizens. The Mayor of Lancaster has organized a parade in your honor and, if you will accept it, we would honor you with the Medal of Gallantry—the highest honor that any Ardmorran can receive. It’s never been given to a foreigner before, as it is strictly an Ardmorran medal, and even Ardmorran royalty don’t receive it because it is a medal meant for the people. You are a daughter of Ardmorr, however, and not just a foreign queen, and have earned it by your actions beginning with the raid on your hometown of Tewksbury.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and she didn’t know what to say. Before she could do anything, however, King Cedric turned to the Admiral. “And Admiral Marsena, for the dedication and sacrifice that you and your men made in the defense of Ardmorr, we would be honored to award you with the highest medal a member of a foreign service can receive—the Navy Cross. Additionally, if you and Queen Esther would provide a list of all those who you think are deserving of commendations for their efforts during the battle, we will make sure they are properly rewarded as well.”

  Admiral Marsena bowed his head. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty, and I thank you for recognizing the efforts of my Airmen.” Esther nodded her agreement.

  “Good,” Cedric said, turning back to Esther. “The Queen and I would be honored if you would ride with us back to the Palace. Mr. Oluchi is welcome to sit with the carriage driver, of course. We will give you a tour of the Palace grounds while the rest of your entourage gets things settled for you in the Palace. The Admiral can meet with our naval representatives to see to the needs of your fleet, if that is agreeable?”