“What is this city?” Cagle asked. “This Washougle.”
Huir’s face reddened further, this time from anger.
“Washougle is home to traitors and thieves. It is in defense from them that we built the wall and fortified the harbor. They raid and steal from us, stripping the land and penning us inside our city like animals. We are unable to farm our fields. We are unable even to hunt among the dunes or in the far forests or grasslands. They nip at us like jackals.”
While he spoke, Cagle took the man’s appearance in.
Huir was short and powerfully built, with thick wrists and callous-covered hands. His head was shaved bare, though a stubble of black hairs made a ring around the lower third of his scalp. His armor was a gray leather in the fashion of the other men Cagle had fought, but there were three white shark’s teeth, each as large as a thumb, sewn in a row over his left breast.
“Do they have food, then?” Cagle asked.
Huir’s face darkened further. “They have all they steal from us,” he said. His mouth twisted into a sneer.
“What about Irid?” Meagera asked.
“What about it?”
“Why is it scratched over in red here?” She tapped the map once again.
“It is lost to us. The Karoon have destroyed it,” Huir said. “It was their coming that ended Iridia’s greatness. Like the dogs from Washougle, they steal and take from the land, offering nothing in return.”
“The map seems to say over a million people lived there. They are all gone?” Cagle asked.
“I do not know what this word ‘million’ means, but no one escaped the Karoon. They hold Irid still, and no one goes there. In my father’s day, we sent men there to spy out the capital. My uncle was among them. None returned.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Cagle saw Olinia enter, still in her guardsman form. “My Lords,” she said, voice pitched low, “Captain Pal Turas is ready to set sail. He asked me to inform you.”
“Thank you. That will be all,” Cagle said. He took up his cloak and draped it over his shoulders. This close to the water, the air was chill and damp.
The sun was painfully bright, and he squinted against it. He heard the steady crashing of the waves against the shore and over everything lay the heavy scent of salt. He felt the beginnings of another headache.
He realized that he hadn’t felt this bad since he was twelve and Olinia had stolen a bottle of apple wine from their father’s study. Both of them had been miserable the following morning even before father found them out.
Leading his little group, Cagle marched down the long, creaking docks to the Sea Foam, the ship Pal Turas had chosen as his flagship. All told, they’d found eight ships deemed seaworthy enough to make the voyage. Even with so few, they were only half-loaded. Yesterday, a riot had broken out when they’d started transferring the grain aboard. The sight of so much food leaving when the people here still starved sent the residents raving mad. The guards had killed two men after they’d tried stealing a few meal’s worth of wheat.
Cagle hated himself for that. He hated that he had become little more than a glorified bandit. Was this his duty? Was this what he’d been sent for? He could see little difference between himself and the hated Fleure.
The Fleure. Have we truly fallen so low? No, I am only taking half their food. The Fleure left us with nothing but a plague. They took everything and poisoned the rest.
But half of almost nothing wouldn’t go very far. Half wouldn’t bring back those two dead men, whose only crime had been trying to feed their families.
Headache worsening, he climbed up the gangway to board the Sea Foam. He could see nothing that distinguished it from the other ships in the harbor, but Pal Turas had claimed it almost immediately. Instead of food, though, the Captain would be carrying fifty armed soldiers in his hold. The pirate—or sea monster—that tried to take the Foam would be in for a rude awakening.
“What do you think?” Pal Turas said when they reached the deck.
“I still don’t know why you chose this ship,” Cagle said. “There are half a dozen here that seem better. That clipper would make better time.”
“First of all, that’s a schooner, not a clipper,” Pal Turas said, eying Cagle slyly. “Second, the Foam’s draft is shallower by three feet, and that means sailing where the schooner wouldn’t dare. She’s also got more sail and being narrower as well that will translate into a lot of extra speed.”
Cagle nodded. Who am I to argue with a sailor. “I’ve something for you. A sealed letter to be opened once you’re at sea.” Cagle handed him the scroll he and his father had both signed. “There are a few final instructions from my father in there.”
“I understand,” Pal Turas said without hesitating. He tucked the scroll inside his shirt.
“I wish you luck, Captain. I don’t think I need to remind you what’s riding on this,” Cagle said. He offered his hand, and Pal Turas took it.
“You know, I must confess I had doubts about this mission. Doubts about you.” Pal Turas paused to watch the water. “The young prodigy, that’s what they call you. I heard all about your exploits in the war. The boy hero who turned his friends and classmates into soldiers. The young man who broke the blockade of Monport and shattered the Fleure.”
Cagle sighed. “In the Academy up north they called me Warlord. It was meant as an insult, and I took it as such.” He paused, watching a pair of men loading barrels of freshwater into the hold. Their feet were bare against the planks. Better grip that way, he expected.
“I did no more than what was necessary, what had to be done. The responsibility was mine. If we were captured or failed, the Fleure would have executed us. There was nothing to lose and also...everything. So we fought with the tools we had. Most of my friends are lying in the swamps or in shallow, unmarked graves. Most times we didn’t have any shovels or time to bury them proper.”
Cagle looked out into the sea and saw the ghosts of his friends reflected between the shallow, rolling waves. Prideful Ska with his stiff neck and longbow, Kiffan and the heavy hammer he’d wielded, little Berlane, the youngest of them, with her metal staff and easy smile. She’d survived against all odds only to fall on their final mission. He should have made her stay behind.
Her and a hundred others, all dead while he lived. He had been their leader. It should have been him dying in her place.
Pal Turas interrupted his thoughts. “Whatever I may have thought, whatever doubts I may have had, you have erased them, my lad,” the Captain said. He looked out at the throng of hungry Iridin gathered along the docks. “I know this was a devil of a choice, but you’ve done the right thing here. This will feed thousands back home; it will make a real difference.”
“It isn’t enough,” Cagle said. “We’ll need eight times as much before it matters.”
“Regardless, it’s a start. Many of our people will be glad to see this cargo, meager as it is. I’m sure you’ll find the rest.”
In parting, he and Cagle shook hands.
“Swift journey, Captain,” Cagle said as he retreated down the plank.
From the docks, he and every citizen of Crow’s Bay watched until the last ship passed over the blue horizon. When it was gone he turned and looked over the gathered crowd. For every mouth he fed in his homeland he condemned another here. Furthermore, for better or worse, he ruled these people now. He was directly responsible for their welfare. They were victims just like his own countrymen in Kartha. He had to find a way to feed them. He had to find a way for them to survive.
CHAPTER 7
Plows and Swords
“I want to move people out of the city,” Cagle said.
“What?” Zethul replied. The dwarf’s eyes radiated incredulity.
“I want to move most of these people out of the city,” Cagle repea
ted.
He’d gathered his council together in the home he’d taken for himself. The Guild Hall made a better mess hall for his soldiers than meeting place, and he couldn’t get the image of the Shipping Guild killing themselves from his mind. Vlan and Meagera sat on one side of the great room, Zethul and Felnasen and Creighten on the other. They had ripped out the wall over the front door just to allow the Yoghen inside. At the room’s back, forgotten by all but himself, stood a pair of guards. Still shapeshifted, Olinia was one of these. He needed his sister’s support, and the only way to make sure she stayed informed was to keep her included in these gatherings. For this portion of their council, Sansaba and Huir joined them.
It was the two Iridin that he watched now.
“I plan on reclaiming the fields and planting crops outside the city,” he said. “I will not leave those farms abandoned and lying fallow, not while so many inside the walls are starving and hungry. We will help Crow’s Bay reclaim its lands. Then the city can feed itself, and if need be, we will ship surplus grain to Kartha the following harvest.”
“What about raiders?” Meagera said. “Huir says Washougle sends soldiers here every spring to take whatever they can.”
“We will defend the farms,” Cagle answered. “We’ve an army that’s eating these people’s food, and we took a portion of it already. We have a duty to protect them.”
Cagle studied Huir closer now. The man’s eyes narrowed. There was hope there, hope and guarded trust. If I can follow through, I can win him over and gain a true ally.
“Vlan and Meagera, are you ready to travel?” Cagle asked, moving on to the next piece of business.
“We are,” Vlan said. The mage merely nodded.
“Good. I expect to be moving in a week. We will leave two Fists of soldiers behind, and I want those men to organize the defenders of Crow’s Bay into a fighting force. Felnasen has selected a commander for them,” Cagle said.
“Fist Avitas will remain here,” Felnasen said, nodding.
“Huir will be bringing four thousand of his best men along with us,” Cagle continued. “They will help us in our task.”
They will also provide hostages should the city rebel. The idea of needing hostages seemed ridiculous. Since he’d taken the city there had been no rebellion, nor even the threat of one. For too long, the people of Crow’s Bay had had their every move dictated by the Shipping Guild. They were tamed. Docile. Even after he had shipped away most of their grain there had been no real protests, only the two desperate men he’d seen killed. Are they all merely waiting to die?
“And what is our task?” Zethul asked.
“Our task remains unchanged. We have sent a morsel of food back to our families, a mouthful and no more,” Cagle started. “We are going to march on Washougle. Sansaba has been there. She assures me they have at least some food. Their army is not strong. They have fields and granaries, and if we take the fight to them then they can hardly raid here.”
Huir’s eyes were alight now. Clearly, he relished the thought of putting his longtime enemies to the sword.
He will need to be watched. I won’t allow him to loot the city.
“If Washougle has food, then why do they raid here?” Meagera asked.
“Same as any other thief. They want more. More wealth, more power, more strength.” Cagle had prepared for this question. His eyes darted to his sister, then flashed back. She gave him a thin smile. Olinia had told him that question would come. She even predicted Meagera as the one to ask it. “If, as I too suspect, there is not enough food in Washougle, our task doesn’t change. The city sits too close to Crow’s Bay to be ignored. We can’t allow them to cut our supply line home, and I will not allow these fertile lands to go unused while so many here and back at home starve.”
“A good plan,” Zethul said. He pulled on his pipe and it flared orange. “We’ll need supplies for our march, though, and the granaries are dangerously low.”
“We take only the bare minimum. We will live off the land. Reeve is organizing and training hunting parties as we speak. They will travel ahead of the army, scouting and keeping us in meat.”
Reeve hadn’t wanted to join in these gatherings. The hunter considered his work done, though he did offer to scout for the army. Cagle couldn’t decide why he’d stayed. Perhaps he really was a spy for Tresam. There were, Cagle suspected, spies among his troops. Tresam was no fool, and it would take him little effort in an army of this size. Reeve seemed to have no love for the Dalrones, though. He spat anytime their name was even mentioned. Perhaps they’d done him some great disservice, or maybe Reeve was only, as he claimed, “curious to see how this turns out.”
In a way, Cagle envied the man. He had no duty, no ties to bind him down. He could drift in life’s current like a leaf upon the river.
“How far is it?” Vlan asked.
“Two weeks for a caravan,” Sansaba replied.
“We will take it in three,” Cagle said. “I want the army rested and well-fed before we arrive.”
The group finished its business. Most of the remaining items were standard for a large city and, though he knew each was important, Cagle quickly grew bored with it, to his slight shame. The sewers needed repair. Several of the fishing boats needed new canvas for their sails. Huir wanted the gatehouse fortified and to put a third boat on harbor patrol. Now that the city had been conquered from that direction, they were all too aware of the vulnerabilities.
“I think that concludes our most immediate needs,” Creighten finally said. He closed a small leather journal with a satisfied smile. Cagle had been right to put him in charge of the city’s day-to-day tasks. The man was highly organized and a perfectionist to boot. No detail seemed to small to escape his notice.
“Thank you, Creighten,” Cagle said. “You are all dismissed. Guardsman,” he pinned Olinia with a look, “I have a task for you, as well. Remain behind.”
Cagle waited until the others left before speaking to his sister. “What do you think?” he said.
“You are the general. You hardly need me telling you how to run a campaign,” she said, the features of her face softening from that of a bearded man back into her own. Mouth open, she rubbed at her delicate jawline. “Creator, it feels good to be back in my own skin.”
“I would imagine,” Cagle said with a smile, then his mind returned to the situation at hand. “You were right about Meagera questioning my decision to go to Washougle.”
“She saw the wisdom in the end, though. She’s the most soft-hearted of them,” Olinia answered.
“Yes, and I need her for that very reason. I need her to be my conscience in this. I need you for that, as well.”
“I’m hardly the person for that,” Olinia said with a snort. “If anything, I’m the more practical of us. You were the one always bringing home birds with broken wings.”
“Practical?” Cagle grinned. “I recall you having a pet goat for a time, and didn’t you find it stuck in a fence with a broken leg?”
Olinia flushed. “And who’s taking on the pet goats now, hmm, brother? Leaving two thousand men here to train the city’s defenders? Not exactly our purpose.”
“We can’t afford to lose the port or we’ll be trapped until spring thaw.”
“Always so eager to shoulder the next responsibility.” Olinia shook her head. “When will you learn, baby brother?”
“When you start taking on responsibilities and thinking things through, I’ll stop having to.”
Olinia gave him a hurt look.
“I’m sorry, Nia,” Cagle apologized. He felt at the tattoo on his chest. “I haven’t been myself lately.”
Her expression softened. “You’ve taken on too much. You can’t control everything. You need to take some time for yourself. Some time to rest.”
Cagle rubbed at
his temples. His mind felt sharp but his senses almost seemed to hurt. The day had been burning bright, and every sound seemed to echo and boom. Smells nauseated him.
“Headache again?” Olinia asked.
He sighed. “Yes. Just…the pressures of it all. Managing a city, getting the grain sent south, and now having to conquer another city. It’s all a bit much.”
“Better you than me,” Olinia smiled.
“What did you think of Huir?”
“You need to watch him. Given half a chance he’ll slaughter everyone in Washougle. His father owned one of the run-down farms outside the city. Raiders from Washougle took it and tortured both him and Huir’s mother in front of the children,” Olinia said.
“And Sansaba? You still don’t trust her or Reeve?”
“I don’t.”
Her expression changed into one he knew well. Resolve. She’d made up her mind instantly after meeting Sansaba that the trader wasn’t to be trusted, though Cagle himself had no reason not to. Was it simple jealousy that Sansaba took up much of his time these days, or did she see something he’d missed?
“Still eager to see the world?” he asked.
“Always.” She smiled again.
“I need you to go ahead of the army. I want you to slip into Washougle and find out anything you can about this Man of Iron.”
“There wasn’t anything in all those?” Olinia pointed to the piles of papers they’d taken from the Shipping Guild’s secret room.
“Nothing of use. Riddles. They speak of him performing miracles. He’s some sort of savior. He is supposed to unite their country again. Hardly anything that affects us.”
“Then why are you so keen to learn about him?” Olinia’s eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a half-smile.
“Those people killed themselves when they decided I wasn’t him. Stabbed themselves, Nia. They would have been useful in managing the city. Now I’ve got Creighten doing work that they could have easily performed instead. It’s a waste. I can’t afford to be rebuilding entire cities. I have to get what Kartha needs and finish this.”
Sons of Plague: Tales of Kartha Book One Page 12
