Fatemarked Origins (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

  “How do we do that?” Verner blurted out. When every head turned in his direction, he said, “I mean, I was on the streets during the last battle. At best, we traded the Crimeans man for man from start to finish. Another result like that and we will have no one left to fight.”

  “My point exactly,” Tomas said, nodding in Verner’s direction. “I was too hasty to underestimate our enemy the last time. We cannot afford another mistake. I want ideas—anything and everything. Nothing will be laughed at, no matter how outlandish.”

  There was a moment of silence as the men around the table considered the situation. Verner noticed his mother slip through the rear entrance, sliding into a chair nearby. Her eyes met his, and she nodded, a thin smile rising to her lips.

  Verner’s mouth went dry. Did she really expect him to speak up during a council meeting full of men twice his age, men who had fought in numerous battles against the natives to the south? Some of these men had even seen Crimea, whereas he’d seen nothing beyond the walls of Knight’s End.

  “Catapults and great harpoons,” one man said. Jordan Goldburn, the captain of the guard. He was a barrel-chested mongrel with a face only a mother could love. His curly hair was beginning to thin at the front, and he was constantly compensating by flopping the rest of his hair over the spot. “Rip holes in a few of their bows from a distance and they’ll think twice about docking in the bay.”

  Harper Forager, the keeper of the coin, said, “It’s possible. But construction would need to begin immediately and would require most of the castle’s purse. Since the interruption in trade, profits have been on the decline.”

  Verner wanted to shout, They’ll just make landfall somewhere else! but the words stuck in his throat.

  As it turned out, others had the same thought, and the idea was soon shot down. Other ideas began popping up from other members of the council, everything from meeting them ship for ship in the bay to allowing them to dock before lighting their ships on fire and using the sea as a barricade to retreat.

  Every idea had numerous negatives, and soon the discussion had become a heated argument. Tomas’s head was in his hands as he watched Grim shout at Forager while Corscott called Goldburn a ‘bloody fool of the highest order.’

  Verner glanced at where his mother had been sitting, but she was gone. He had several ideas, but at this point was afraid to say anything for fear of the council’s wrath.

  Finally, Tomas grunted. “Enough!” he said, pounding the table once more. “Arguing is wasting what little time we have. Break for a meal and we’ll reconvene in an hour. Each of you bring your top idea and then we’ll take a vote. The idea with the highest votes will be carried out immediately.”

  Grumbling, the men pushed back their chairs and left, until it was only Tomas and Verner left.

  “Father?” Verner said.

  “Mmm?” His father looked surprised anyone was still there. “Oh. Yes. Do you favor any of the ideas put forth thus far?”

  “I—I think…”

  “You’re right. They’re all ridiculous. At best we’ll earn a slim victory, but it will cost us dearly. Maybe I am too old for this. Perhaps I should step down and let the people choose their own leader. After all, it was the king who chose me.”

  “No!” Verner said.

  His father looked amused at the vehemence of his response. “During the battle you didn’t think I was fit to lead, or have you forgotten so quickly?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean, I don’t think you’re unfit, Father. Just that you and all these other men are…”

  “Stubborn? Old turtles with our heads in our shells?”

  “I was going to say uncreative.”

  That drew a wry smile. “I didn’t hear any ideas from you.”

  Verner blew out a breath. “I know. I was afraid I would be shunned.”

  “Just like you were afraid to fight before the battle?”

  “Yes! Exactly. I have no experience. Who am I to advise the council on military action?”

  Tomas stood, rounding the table. “That’s not the point I was trying to make. You did fight. That’s what I was saying.”

  Verner shook his head. “As soon as Mother gave me the option to hide behind the castle walls, I took it. I was a coward.”

  He looked up at his father, expecting to see shame in the man’s eyes. He was surprised to see an amused gleam instead. “You don’t know your mother as well as I do. She didn’t give you the option to make you look like a coward. She just knows something that most men don’t: Bravery isn’t fighting when you have no choice; bravery is when you have a choice and choose to fight anyway. She gave you that option, and you made the courageous choice.”

  “Only because you encouraged me.”

  “Just as you encouraged me. Our deeds are no less honorable because we needed some help along the way. Now forget about all those old, squabbling men. How do you advise me?”

  Once more, he noticed his mother. This time she was partly hidden in a shadow near the rear entrance, just listening to their conversation. He remembered what she’d told him before the last battle. You beat your father in five moves.

  Yes, he thought. I have a mind for strategy, and not just in some stupid game.

  He opened his mouth and told his father his ideas. When he’d finished, Tomas just stared at him, his expression unreadable.

  I’ve gone too far, Verner thought. I’ve put the ‘ridicule’ in ridiculous, the ‘out’ in outlandish, the fool in—

  His father’s face changed in an instant, his eyes lighting up. “My boy, I think you’re brilliant,” he said. “I shall put it to a vote at once.”

  The vote was unanimous. Verner’s strategy would be enacted with urgency. Knight’s End’s independence was the prize. The meeting ending with much back-slapping and an air of excitement. Verner felt more confident than he’d ever felt in his life. To think, the fate of their new nation would be relying on ghost ships and wine barrels.

  Shrouded in darkness, stuffed between the hard, wooden slats of an empty wine barrel, Verner felt anything but confident. I’m a foolish fool, he thought. No, worse than that. A foolhardy foolish fool with a fool head full of foolish ideas. What was I thinking?

  Similar doubts had been creeping in over the last two days, as preparations had been made to carry out his plan. Now, as his scheme was about to be hatched, they’d come to a head.

  The fate of a new nation was at stake, and he was hiding in a wine barrel?

  He swallowed the fumes of fermented grapes, trying to breathe. Trying not to panic. “This will work,” he whispered to himself. “This might work.” This won’t work.

  Shut up, Head! he wanted to shout, but clamped his lips shut. Part of the plan relied on absolute silence.

  A sound caught the edge of his hearing.

  A creak, perhaps the tightening of a wooden board, or the winching of a rope pulled tight. There were no shouts or war cries, no whisper-like zips of arrows being fired into the city, no stomping feet. No, the first Crimean ship to arrive came on padded feet and muffled lips.

  Perhaps the Crimeans believed the first battle had taken all the fight out of Knight’s End, and that the city would resist no longer.

  Let them think us defeated, Verner thought, the faintest glimmer of hope blinking through the miasma of fear and self-doubt that had taken up residence in his mind.

  Louder sounds arose now, splashes of anchors and the grunts of men tying off ropes. The metallic sound of armor, shield and sword, and the thud of boots on the wooden docks.

  “What in the high seas?” someone muttered.

  Verner held his breath. Part one of his plan was about to begin, and if it failed it was likely the rest would fall apart like a poorly constructed chair sat upon by a man of great girth.

  “Wine barrels and white flags of surrender,” another man said, chuckling. “We bring soldiers, and they face us with an army of the finest wine in the western world!” The white flags had been his father�
�s idea. Tomas had latched onto the plan with both hands, helping to add details to make the ruse more believable.

  There were more chuckles, alongside the sound of swords being sheathed.

  “Remain on your guard,” a gruff voice said. “This doesn’t smell right.”

  “Smells of strawberries and plums to me, Cap’n,” someone responded, snorting at his own joke. The vineyards surrounding Knight’s End were famous for the fruity flavors of the wine they produced.

  “More like a trap,” the captain said, his boots clopping closer. “Gimme something to pry one open with.”

  Verner’s held breath tightened his chest further and his heart began to race. It’s over. They’ll find us and we’ll be killed before we can even draw our weap—

  There was a creak and muffled sound and then—

  “Wine,” the captain said. A series of creaks and clatters followed. “Just wine,” he said once more.

  Verner slowly released his breath, his heart slowing, though not completely.

  “Well I say we break out some flagons and celebrate our victory. In the name of the king!” the jokester soldier said.

  “It’s probably poisoned,” the captain said. “We’ll take some prisoners and have them test each barrel before we partake.”

  “That’s why you’re the cap’n.” More chuckles. Conversations began in earnest, the hushed silence broken as the Crimeans started to truly believe they’d won without bloodshed.

  “What now?”

  “First we search the ships. They may appear to be derelict, but thoroughness will be rewarded.”

  There were grumbles and groans, but feet thudded along, past where Tomas and the other five-hundred soldiers were hidden. He prayed they wouldn’t check any more wine barrels—they’d only filled the first three rows with real wine.

  “You three,” the captain said, “signal the other ships to make landfall, and then remain behind to notify the captains of the situation upon arrival. Have them wait for our return before marching on the city.”

  A chorus of Yes, cap’ns answered. Verner was surprised to learn only one ship had laid anchor thus far. For some reason, he’d expected them all to arrive at once. Perhaps when their spyglasses showed an empty dock and white flags the Crimeans had decided to send one ship ahead to scout.

  The footsteps faded away. Verner suspected the search of the “derelict” ships wouldn’t be as thorough as the captain desired, though it wouldn’t matter anyways. They wouldn’t find anything more than some broken bottles and other scattered debris across the decks. Below decks they’d find unmade beds and dirty clothes. They would believe the ships were riding low in the water because they were no longer seaworthy, full of holes and other damage beneath the surface of the bay.

  Not because there were thousands of enemy soldiers hiding in each ship’s belly beneath the lowest decks, ready to spring from hidden trapdoors the moment the signal was given.

  Ghost ships and wine barrels, Verner thought, smiling grimly. Whether it ended in victory or defeat, the bards would sing of this night for centuries to come.

  Meanwhile, a muted argument had broken out. “Cap’n won’t even know we’ve drunk any,” one man said.

  “He will because I’ll tell him.”

  “You’re a damned traitor.”

  “And you’re a damned lush.”

  “Shut it, both of you. We’ll each have a sip. That’s all.”

  Feet scuffled closer to where Verner was hiding. Oh shite.

  “What are you doing? These ones are already open.”

  “And I prefer the strawberry kind. See the markings? This is the good stuff.”

  Double shite. Verner cursed his stupidity and lack of foresight. He should’ve put a variety of barrels of real wine at the front. Instead he’d just randomly chosen. He tried to remember what markings were on his barrel. They might’ve been strawberries, but he couldn’t be certain. Not that it mattered—if any of the barrels containing men were opened, the ruse would be up.

  His lid rattled above him. The lids of the barrels containing soldiers weren’t even secured, else they wouldn’t be able to escape their hiding places with speed. “This one’s already open,” the man said. “Hope it’s still fresh.”

  “You fool, the best wine is aged.”

  “I’m not a fool!”

  Verner stared at the lid, which had tilted, one end opening to the night-dark sky, where a sliver of moonlight spilled through. His sword was already out, pointed upwards, and as soon as he saw the pale contours of the face peeking inside, he shoved the blade with all his might.

  The soldier never had a chance. He didn’t even make a sound, other than the thump of his body as it hit the dock.

  “What the—”

  The confused cry of one of the other soldiers was cut off, and as Verner rose from his crouch, pushing the lid aside but catching it before it could fall, he saw two more bodies slump to the wooden deck.

  A dozen of the hidden soldiers had emerged at the same time, and two of them had been close enough to the enemy to kill them before they could raise an alarm.

  Their eyes met Verner’s, and they seemed to ask What now? like Verner was the leader. In truth, he was, at least as far as the plan went. Once the true fighting started, the regular captains would resume command. “We need to get rid of the bodies,” he whispered. “And hide the blood.”

  “The captain will notice his three men are missing,” another man hissed back. Captain Corscott. The serious man had challenged Verner’s scheme a dozen times already.

  “But he won’t know what happened to them. It’s the only chance.”

  Grudgingly, Corscott nodded, and grabbed five other men—two per corpse—to dispose of the bodies and move their barrels to cover the pools of blood. Verner gestured to any of the men who’d emerged from their barrels to get back down and pull their lids after them. Then he watched as the corpses were carried onto the very ship they’d come from, and dumped unceremoniously over the wooden railing.

  “You don’t think they’ll go back on the ship?” Verner asked.

  “No reason to,” Corscott said. “Unless they’re trying to retreat, in which case our plan worked.”

  Verner was glad to hear him say ‘our’ plan this time. For the last two days, the experienced captain had been calling it ‘Verner’s plan’ despite having voted for it at the council meeting. Verner nodded and said, “Back in the barrels. Let’s hope it does work.”

  Once more, darkness surrounded Verner, his cramped muscles screaming. Just a little longer… he thought.

  More sounds approached, similar to before but in greater number. The other twenty-three ships made quite a ruckus, especially because many of them wouldn’t find space along the docks. They would have to anchor further out, and then come ashore via smaller boats.

  Soon, however, it was clear there were hundreds, if not thousands, of the enemy all around them. Boots stomped, captains shouted orders. Several men wondered aloud why no one from the previous ship had stayed back to tell them what was going on. There were plenty of comments about the open wine barrels, but any notions of partaking were quickly shut down by those in authority. That caused plenty of grumbles and curses.

  Verner’s back was on fire. He didn’t know how much longer his body would accept being in this position. Just a little longer… he thought again, wondering if it would become his mantra.

  Eventually, when the pins and needles in his legs had given way to numbness, a familiar voice cut through the din. “Nice of you to come ashore,” the first captain, the suspicious one, said.

  “Nice of you to leave a welcoming party for us to tell us what the hell is going on,” someone else answered.

  “I did. Three men.”

  “Well, if they’re here, they did a shite job. They haven’t told anyone anything!”

  The captain cursed. “After this is over, I’ll find a suitable punishment. But now, we have work to do. We searched the ships—all abando
ned. It appears the surrender is real. We should march on the gates and demand that the Lord Protector, Tomas Gäric, be handed over. Without their leader, we shall have nothing to fear from Knight’s End.”

  There was general agreement, and then the sound of marching troops, a sound that seemed to last for an eternity, thousands of boots moving together, accompanied by the clinking of armor.

  As the final footfalls began to fade away, Verner’s heart started beating faster once again. Once there was complete silence—save for the occasional creaking timber or lapping wave—he counted to one-hundred, slowly, just to be certain. Then he pushed out from his barrel, a cool breeze wafting across his sweat-lined skin. First he looked up the incline that led to the city. The last of the enemy soldiers were just now rounding the edge of the city walls, making for the main gate. Shadows against stone, they might’ve been weary travelers seeking sanctuary.

  Satisfied that they were safe, he offered the agreed upon birdcall, and soon lids were sliding away from barrels and men were climbing out, flexing their knees and elbows, trying to get feeling back to their extremities.

  Verner did the same, and then walked along the docks, using the same birdcall as he passed each of their own ships. More soldiers began to emerge, climbing across gangways and spilling onto the dock, offering grim smiles and salutes as they passed him. When he reached the end, he turned and joined the throng, allowing himself one gaze across the bay, which was full of sleek, silent enemy ships, their shadows invading the twinkle of starlight across the water.

  When he reached the shore, the captains were already barking out orders, setting up archers, each of whom fitted their bowstrings with arrows, which were then painted with oil and set alight. They flew through the air, but would be seen by none but those atop the castle ramparts. The walls of Knight’s End would hide the rest from their enemy. One by one, the enemy warships caught fire, and were soon floating infernos, the smoke pouring from prow and sail, mast and deck.