The Fall of Lostport

by R. J. Vickers

  To this day, he was half-convinced that if he had just made more time for his wife, he could have saved her from such heartbreak. If he had listened to her sorrow instead of brushing it off, he could have kept her here. Instead he had ordered her to return to Whitland, where she would be safe and happy once again.

  By all the gods, why would she return now?

  Faolan did not realize he was crying until he felt something warm drip from his chin. He could not face Katrien. Not like this, crippled and slobbering.

  Faolan dug his fists into his forehead. Oh, my dear sweet Katrien. I thought I had lost you forever. You will hate the man I have become. It would be better to die than to see the disappointment on her face—at his decaying flesh, at his weakness, at the mess his kingdom had become.

  He did not sleep that night. In the morning, Harrow returned with Mylo, both bleary-eyed and yawning. Something was going on without his knowledge—it was Laina’s doing, it had to be.

  “I heard the news, Milord,” Mylo said, beaming. “Couldn’t believe it! I never would’ve thought I’d see that pretty face again. Your wife is made of tougher stuff than I guessed.”

  Faolan grunted. “Would you do me a favor and just kill me now? A quick knife to the throat, or a dram of poison, if you don’t mind. I can’t face her. She’ll hate me. I’m an ugly old wretch. Maybe she just came back to finish me off. That’s an idea.”

  “Nonsense,” Harrow said, sitting heavily on Faolan’s bed. “You’ve aged much better than most folk.”

  Faolan shook his head. “I can’t even walk, Harrow! Give me a pair of new legs, and send those blasted Whitlanders home, and then I can greet my wife properly.”

  “I’m sure you can stand,” Harrow said. “Here, I won’t even help you. Just get on those feet, exactly like you’ve been doing since you were in nappies. You’re not an old man yet. You just have to mend.”

  If only the town healer could hear Harrow—the man would put his advisor in chains! Shaking his head, Faolan gripped the headboard and raised himself laboriously to his feet. It was less unerring this time; his head was not spinning quite so much, and the room was bright enough that he could focus on the door. He released the headboard with great reluctance and took one, two, three steps to the door. He gripped the door handle as though it was a life-raft and pulled himself forward to lean on the door-jamb.

  “That was disgraceful,” he said. “I’m lucky you were the only ones to see that.”

  “She’s a sweet thing, your Katrien,” Mylo said. “She would never shame you.”

  Harrow took Faolan by the elbow. “Now, let’s get you back into bed before that healer skins me alive.”

  * * *

  “I can smell the sea,” Amadi said. She had been very quiet for the past two days, hardly speaking even to Kurjan, her eyes trained on the river ahead. Katrien wondered if her future had finally sunk in—Lostport would be Amadi’s home now, unless she chose to leave Katrien behind.

  Katrien took a deep breath of the restless air and caught the smell of salt. More than anything, that scent could evoke her dearest memories of Lostport. Rowing along the shore by the light of the full moon, when she and Faolan were newly wed and the whole world seemed a bit brighter. Plucking fragrant oranges and plums before the approaching monsoon ripped the fruit from its branches. Walking along the beach in loose skirts, marveling at the precious stones Faolan dug from the sand.

  “We will arrive before nightfall,” the barge-master said. “Lucky, that. There’s a storm brewing to the south.”

  Katrien gripped her skirts. “Will our followers be stranded?”

  The barge-master gave her a sideways shrug. “We’ll advise them on the safest course of action. We can’t stop them from taking the ferries, but we can keep them as safe as possible.”

  “What’s it like?” Amadi asked. “Lostport, I mean. It’s not all jungle, is it?”

  Katrien rose and joined her at the front of the boat. She could feel the motion more acutely from here, the front of the ferry soaring and dropping over each wavelet. “Lostport is beautiful. More than any city in Whitland, I would say.”

  Amadi stared at her, something like desperation in her eyes, bare toes trailing in the water.

  “Lostport is a small town, nothing you could get lost in, but there are still inns and taverns and general stores and even a fine restaurant. There are flowers everywhere, in the trees and up the hills and along the roads. Every neglected space is bursting with life. And the mountains—oh, Amadi, when you see the fjords, you’ll know that nothing us humans build could ever rival those.”

  Amadi glanced at Kurjan, who gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Maybe I’ll like it there,” she said dubiously. “At least I won’t be so boring now that I’ve seen most of the world.” She shot Kurjan a look of playful challenge.

  “It’s not how much of the world you see,” he said. “It’s how much you take in. You would’ve learned nothing if you had sailed comfortably the entire way south.”

  “Too right you are,” Katrien said.

  That final day stretched on forever. Katrien was so anxious she could not settle; she longed for a distraction, though there was none to be found. Even Tenori tapped his feet restlessly against the barge rail, straightening sharply from time to time as though he had seen something.

  “There will be a rather lot of Whitlanders there, don’t you think?” he asked Katrien at one point.

  She nodded. “That is the whole point of this endeavor, is it not?”

  “Humph. I just feel as though I’m walking headfirst into a pit of snakes.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Kurjan said. “Katrien’s husband will protect us.”

  Tenori crossed his arms. “You only say that because you haven’t seen the Whitish at their most venomous.”

  “Katrien’s Whitish,” Kurjan pointed out. “You shouldn’t offend her.”

  “I know exactly how venomous the Whitish can be,” Katrien said firmly. She did not wish this conversation to continue—bored and seeking distraction, her companions could easily pick a fight just when it was most critical they remain calm.

  As they rounded the bend, the cliff gave way on the left, and—

  There it was. The ocean.

  A heartbeat after Katrien spotted the glimmer of afternoon sunlight reflecting off the sea, Amadi gave a shriek. “Look! There!”

  “Welcome home, your majesty,” the barge-master said. He got to his feet and gave Katrien a bow, face lit up with pride.

  “I can’t wait to see the fjords,” Kurjan said, grinning.

  They were whisked through the river’s mouth and out to sea just as the sun touched the horizon.

  “Give me a hand, if you don’t mind,” the barge-master said, indicating a stack of short oars that had gone unnoticed before now. Everyone took an oar except Katrien and Tenori, who crossed to the front of the ferry to keep an eye on the shore. They were fast approaching the pier, where six sailing vessels and a river barge were already moored, and as they drew up alongside a towering three-masted ship, Katrien could make out the familiar shop-fronts of Lostport. It was such a giddy, unreal sensation, this long-awaited homecoming. Everything seemed so familiar and yet so foreign, as though she recognized snatches of a dream.

  With a jolt, they nudged against the steps of the pier. The barge-master threw a rope over a metal bolt and held the ferry in place while Katrien, Tenori, Amadi, and Kurjan clambered out. The warriors helped the barge-master secure the ferry before following.

  “Will you stay the night?” Katrien asked the barge-master. “I’m sure King Faolan would be happy to give you a bed.”

  “I would be most grateful,” he said.

  Amadi clutched Kurjan’s hand and dragged him ahead, staring wide-eyed at the town. Katrien held back, uncertain. Though it was not yet dark, the town looked far quieter than she remembered. The houses were locked, the curtains drawn, and she could see no one about aside from two white-uniformed Whitish pa
trolling the main street.

  “Has something happened?” she whispered to Tenori.

  “It’s as I expected,” he said. “No one feels comfortable with this many soldiers around. Whether they’re enforcing a curfew or not, I would be surprised if anyone voluntarily left their homes past sundown.”

  To Katrien’s dismay, the soldiers turned at the end of the street and noticed Katrien and her companions. With a shout, they came running back toward the pier; before they reached the waterfront, nearly fifteen more had materialized from the forest.

  “Who goes there?” the first soldier shouted.

  “Visitors,” Katrien said firmly. “This town is not under military control, unless it has become so in the past day. My companions and I are free to come and go as we please. I am a citizen of Lostport, returning home after many years away.”

  “Show yourselves,” the soldier barked.

  Tenori, Amadi, and Kurjan stepped out from behind Katrien, flanking her as though they could protect her.

  “Varrilans!” the second soldier yelled. “They’ve come to destroy us!”

  The Whitish soldiers converged on Katrien’s party, surrounding them and holding swords to Tenori and Kurjan’s throats.

  “Don’t you lay a finger on those men,” Katrien warned.

  “Filth.” One of the soldiers spat at Tenori’s boot. “Come to slit our throats as we sleep.”

  “Damn you,” Kurjan snapped. He tried to shove his way through the circle of soldiers, but the men were too fast for him. One soldier grabbed his shoulder while the other stabbed his sword deep into Kurjan’s gut.

  Amadi screamed.

  Kurjan grunted dully and fell to his knees. Katrien couldn’t be sure in the growing dark, but she thought that was a puddle of blood dripping from his midsection. She wanted to help, yet shock had immobilized her. She clutched Tenori’s arm, her legs shaking, while Amadi and the warriors supported Kurjan and pushed the Whitish soldiers back. Now that the first blood had been spilled, the soldiers looked much less sure of themselves.

  Taking advantage of the lull, Katrien straightened. “Get out of here,” she said coldly. Her voice sounded much stronger than she felt. “If you know what is good for you, get out of my sight immediately.”

  The soldiers looked around at each other for a moment. When one of the Darden warriors drew his sword and feinted at a young Whitish soldier, the entire group scattered.

  “Nine plagues!” Katrien hissed. “What is going on here?”

  “Kurjan’s going to die!” Amadi wailed.

  “Not if we see to him straight away,” one of the warriors said. “It’s not a mortal wound.”

  Groaning, Kurjan raised his head and looked around blearily until he found Amadi. “I’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt much.”

  “Hah!” Amadi said shrilly. “Get him to a medic right now. Now!”

  Tenori looked down the street, clearly searching for a healer’s shop.

  “Not here,” Katrien said. “I hardly know what has happened to this town. He won’t be safe down here. We have to take him up to the manor. My husband has a healer who can look after him.” If the man was still there. For all she knew, the healer had moved away or died.

  Feeling utterly useless, Katrien led the way to the end of town, the two warriors carrying Kurjan between them and Amadi holding his head. The hill to Faolan’s manor looked steeper than she remembered; now that they were here, she wished she had agreed to find the town medic.

  “Very carefully,” she said. “It is a long climb. The king’s house is at the top.”

  Night had truly fallen by the time they reached the grassy lawn outside Faolan’s manor. The clouds had drawn closer about Lostport, shrouding the stars, and a light mist began to fall. Katrien could make out the hulking outline of Faolan’s manor, though she could not tell whether anyone was posted outside. She hoped no Whitish soldiers were lurking nearby.

  As they drew close, Katrien realized there were two young men standing guard by the door—Lostporters, by the look of them, and armed more thoroughly than anyone she had ever seen in these parts. Katrien took the lead, expecting to be stopped and questioned before she reached the front step.

  “This is not quite how I imagined returning,” she said, by way of greeting. “As it happens, my young companion is gravely injured and needs immediate attention.”

  The taller of the two guards dropped to one knee. “Your majesty. Welcome home.”

  “You knew I was coming?” Katrien stepped back as the second guard drew open the double doors, releasing a flood of light onto the lawn. When Katrien glanced back and saw the extent of Kurjan’s wound, she wobbled slightly, fighting a ripple of nausea.

  “A boatman from Ferrymead brought word yesterday,” the tall guard said, rising. “We’ve been cleaning and tidying as much as we can since then.”

  “Thank you,” Katrien said. “I will be sure to greet everyone in due time. Is the healer still in residence?”

  “There’s a new healer,” the tall guard said. “He lives in town, but he’s been up here for the past quarter looking after King Faolan.”

  Katrien’s chest tightened. Was it that bad? She could not seek answers now, though. “Come, Amadi, Tenori. Let us find a bed for Kurjan.” Heart pounding, she led the way into the familiar entrance hall.

  Despite its status as a royal residence, Faolan’s manor was smaller than Katrien’s estate back in Whitland. Yet after nearly two spans of traveling hard, it seemed the grandest place she had ever seen. Her shoes clicked on the marble tiles, the straps still tight and uncomfortable after ten days barefoot on the ferry, and her eyes were slow to adjust to the gleam cast by a row of dazzling lamps.

  There he was. Faolan sat in his chair at the far end of the hall, the chair he used as a throne, and Katrien had never seen his face brightened by such a triumphant smile. As Katrien quickened her pace, Faolan opened his arms to receive her. For a moment she thought he would not stand—was he paralyzed just like his son?—but when Katrien reached the end of the hall, Faolan rose shakily and enfolded her in a desperate embrace.

  It had been so long since Katrien had been held. With Faolan’s arms tight around her, she could not tell whose tears were dampening her cheeks.

  “You look more beautiful than ever,” Faolan whispered, his lips against her ear.

  Katrien blinked back tears and kissed his cheek lightly, feeling the rough stubble beneath her lips. “And you haven’t aged a day.” Hands on his shoulders, she stepped back and composed herself. “My companion is injured. Could we give him the spare bedroom?”

  “Someone is staying there at the moment, but—”

  “It’s fine.” This was from a young Varrilan man with keen eyes and a sour disposition. “I am happy to move out. This man clearly needs the room more than me.”

  At Faolan’s nod, the two warriors carried Kurjan to the spare bedroom and sent one of the guards in search of the healer. Katrien was left more or less alone with Faolan. After all this time, she hardly knew what to say.

  “I had no idea, until yesterday, that you were close,” Faolan said at last, resuming his seat. “I have been unwell. Things have been going badly, I’m afraid.”

  Katrien squeezed his hand. “I doubt we can do anything to help Kurjan now. May I join you for dinner? I have much to tell you. Where is our daughter?”

  Faolan glanced at the door. “I haven’t kept as tight a rein on Laina as I should have. I believe she is visiting a friend in town, but to be completely truthful, I have no idea where she is. She didn’t hear the news of your approach, or she would be here to greet you now.”

  Katrien held out her arm, and Faolan leaned his weight on her as he stood once more and walked slowly to the dining hall. The aroma of roasting meat filled the room, accompanied by a muffled chorus of crackling logs and knives chopping in the kitchen.

  “Is Mylo still here?” Katrien asked, settling into her customary seat at Faolan’s right hand. He drew his chair away
from the table so he could face her directly, his features still caught somewhere between shock and overwhelming joy.

  “Of course.” Faolan took both of Katrien’s hands in his own, his grip as strong as ever. “Mylo won’t leave until the day he dies, and nor will Harrow.”

  “Oh!” Katrien remembered sitting in on long council meetings with Faolan’s adviser, wishing to be involved in affairs yet too uncertain of herself to contribute any useful suggestions. “Has Harrow settled down at last?”

  Faolan chuckled. “You’d be surprised. He has two young children now, and he’s very much devoted to his wife.”

  Once dinner had arrived and Katrien had embraced Mylo and exclaimed over his unsurpassable cooking, she and Faolan turned to the matters that each had been longing to ask—what had come to pass in the years since they had last been together. Twenty-two years had elapsed, so long it could have been a lifetime. Katrien had been eighteen when she first arrived in Lostport, naïve and unprepared for the world she had been thrust into, and she was twenty-two when she returned to Whitland. Laina was twenty-two now; Katrien was curious to see whether her daughter had come to resemble her in any manner.

  “I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving, you know,” Katrien said, unable to meet Faolan’s eyes.

  He took her chin in his hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I never blamed you. Do you remember what it was like back then? You were miserable. If I hadn’t found you that day…” He drew in a heavy breath. “When I first proposed marriage to you, I thought I could make you happy here. I thought you would be overjoyed to be elevated from an heiress to a queen. But my power and wealth are nothing compared to the lowest of noblemen in Whitland.”

  “I was foolish to think that mattered,” Katrien said. “I’ve learned much since leaving you. Now I know the world is a harsh, uncaring place, and I should have been grateful for your love back when it could have been enough.”