by Dave Duncan
that--"
"Not "highness," Gerard! You Chivians have
too many foolish titles. I am not high. I
am shorter than you are, if somewhat wider and
deeper. We address our king as "lord" and
nobles as ealdras. You call me ealdor."
The big mouth spread in an appealing grin. "Come
to think of it, that means "old one" and I am
younger than you."
"Yes, ealdor."
"And I have prettier hair." Mockery danced
in the green eyes.
"Yes, ealdor, very beautiful hair. If
times are out of joint when the King of Baelmark is
not a Cattering, the entire universe is out of
joint when even the Earl of Catterstow isn't?"
Aeled grinned bloodcurdlingly. "I knew
right away you were a clever man, Gerard! A king's
cousin! You are royally born!"
Gerard shivered and decided to get it over with.
"Far from it. My great-grandmother was a sister of
Queen Enid, the wife of Everard IV. That
makes me a third cousin of King Taisson, but
I have no royal blood in me. I've never
been presented at court. If you demand ransom
for me, he'll have to ask the College of
Heralds who I am. My father isn't even a
baronet, let alone a noble. I wasn't lying
about the two hides of land. In your terms I'm
barely a thegn--born free, of the class that owns
land but is not noble. What do you call that?"
He expected an outburst of maniacal
Bael fury, but the tanist just laughed. "You
wore a sword! No ceorl would rush into danger
as you did. Only a true thegn would have the
courage to slay honest Baels going quietly
about their business, and now tell me to my face that
he lied to me. You were not lying. You were trying to find
a way to pay off your debt. I can see you
haven't solved all the difficulties yet, but
I'm sure you will." He patted his prisoner's
shoulder comfortingly.
"No! I can't help you. I'm useless to you.
Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"
The raider shook his head, swinging his copper
tresses. "I'm not going to kill you, Gerard.
I'm not even going to enthrall you, because then you would be
just another biddable body. You must be able to think
to make me king."
In order to think, a man needed information.
Gerard set to work to learn more of Baelish
society. He found it extraordinarily
complex, combining many class distinctions with a system
of rewarding ability that was completely alien to his
Chivian experience. A sharp line was drawn between
the free and the slaves, as he had expected, but
there was an even more important distinction between
commoners and the warrior class. Young
Brimbearn's distinguished ancestry had
qualified him to bear arms, but he had still
required permission from his earl before he could
actually do so and be trained in the use of
weaponry. Aeled had given him a berth on
Groeggos, but he had been required to prove
himself to his shipmates. It had been they who
voted him into the fyrd, the fighting men of
Catterstow, and thus made him a fully
qualified thegn.
Aeled's rank of ship lord seemed to depend in
various measure on noble birth, family wealth,
and the approval of his crew. The men served him
voluntarily because of his skills as trader,
sailor, and fighter. In fact a werod was a
private war band, as willing to swing swords as
oars, and in Aeled's case comprised the crews of
all four ships. His rank of tanist somehow
depended on the approval of the entire fyrd, as
did that of the earl himself.
So far so good, but this was a much-simplified
picture. If Baels selected all their
leaders by such absurd popularity contests, then the
system for choosing a king must be even more
complicated.
"Look, Chivian! Wake up!" Powerful
hands shook Gerard awake.
He made bewildered noises.
"Look! You must see!" Without even
unwrapping his blankets, Brimbearn dragged
him out from under the awning and stood him upright, too
excited to be considerate of his bruises.
"See? Light!"
Dawn had not yet come, and Groeggos
battled over high waves in a stormy night.
As his warm covers fell away and exposed him
to the sea wind, Gerard shivered hard enough to shake out
his teeth. When the ship crested, he made out
three lanterns shining at mastheads, so the rest
of the flotilla was still in close formation
behind; and after four days of almost continuously rough
weather that must surely be a miracle of
seamanship.
"Wrong way!" the Bael protested.
"Missed it. Wait."
Many of the sailors were on their feet and
chattering, excited about something. As the ship raised
its stern to slide down into the next trough, Gerard
looked where Brimbearn was aiming him and made out
a reddish glow, about where the horizon ought to be.
"Cwicnoll!" the boy crowed. "Aeled brought
us right home! Straight to the door! What other
navigator could do that? No Chivian, yes?"
"What's burning? Signal beacons?"
Before Brimbearn had stopped laughing at this
display of ignorance, the salt-scented wind brought
Aeled's voice out of the darkness. "The mountain.
Cwicnoll is the mountain of Catterstow,
Gerard. Don't let it frighten you.
Cwicnoll's a big softy. He's been doing
that for ten years now and never burned a homestead.
Some of the other peaks are more sporting.
Fyrndagum buried a village on
Wambseoc last year." The steering oar creaked
on its pivot.
"Boel means "fire"?"
"And mearc means a mark, or boundary, or
territory."
"So Baelmark is the "land of fire"?"
The pirate chief chuckled. "Unless it is a
corruption of bealu, which means "evil." The
march of evil?"
"What did your ancestor call it?"
"Catter? He called it Fyrland. And
he called himself Hlaford Fyrlandum, lord
of the Fire Lands. When you have helped put me on
the throne of my fathers, Gerard of Waygarth, that is
the title I will take--Hlaford
Fyrlandum!"
"I can't help you," Gerard moaned. "How can
I possibly do that?"
"You will find a way." Aeled did not mention
an alternative.
The sun rose blindingly over the edge of the world
to illuminate a landscape of rugged glory
directly ahead. Although there were other faint peaks
visible to the north and south, at this distance
Baelmark appeared to be a single mountainous
mass with Cwicnoll's smoking cone looming
gigantic above and a montage of pasture and forest
below. As Groeggos rode the whitecaps
closer, boiling white plumes of spray marched
like guards along the base of what seemed to be a
solid wall of cliff, shrouding the coast in
mist.
Swathed in a sable-trimmed cloak, Aeled
leaned against the stern post, having yielded the steering
oar to the giant To`edbeorht. Thirty-two
rowers sat ready to run out their oars, and the rest of the
werod stood at their posts, watching intently
for the ship lord's signal. The rest of the flotilla
was following in file, tracking Aeled's course
between foaming shoals as he headed to certain
destruction under the cliffs ahead.
"Gerard! Come and enjoy the scenery with me. This
will be an interesting homecoming."
Gerard obeyed, staggering over the rolling deck
and lurching against the rail. "You just want everyone
to see how frightened I am."
"A swordsman who takes on two hundred
Baels single-handed does not know the meaning of
fear."
"I do now. Does Groeggos have wings?"
Aeled smiled. His present good humor was
ominous, but his anger would be more so. "No. I
hope we shall not need them. The most direct way
into Swi@thaefen is by Eastweg, so we are going
that way. It is a good passage except in a
northerly."
Gerard checked the sun and the streamer at the
masthead. "Then it's fortunate the wind is heading
straight south." He would call it a gale, although
the sailors might not.
The ship lord cocked a red eyebrow. "Your first
voyage, is it? It has been a fine
foering. We ransomed two towns in
Isilond, rescued three Gevilian coasters
from unworthy owners, and harvested some slaves in
Chivial. I believe in spreading my blessings and
never outstaying my welcome. We lost only one
man. And we captured the King of Chivial's
cousin." Groeggos shifted uneasily in the
cross swell as the coast broke up into islets
around her. "I will make my challenge
to Ceolmund soon." He bared his big teeth
joyfully.
"Personal combat?"
The ship lord shrugged. "No. Ceolmund is
too wise to fight me himself. But I will be earl,
and then times will be not quite so out of joint." He barked
an order and activity boiled through the ship.
Nimble youngsters swarmed up the mast and stays like
squirrels while other men hauled on the lines
or ran out the oars. In seeming seconds the
sail had been brailed into a roll along the yard
and Groeggos was being rowed. The topmen came
sliding down. Aeled began beating a mallet on
the gunwale, giving the rowers the stroke. Then he
set them singing, so they could row in time.
He turned to watch the other ships copy. "It
is a pity about Waerferh`ed. were it not for losing
him I would be more confident. The older thegns may
use his death as an excuse to side against me.
On the other hand, they will be impressed if I
lead in King Taisson's cousin in chains. What
do you think, friend Gerard? Should I brag about you now
or should I keep you out of sight like the knife in
my sleeve?"
Gerard turned away from the piercing green stare.
He did not think the tanist was at all lacking in
confidence. The real question was something else.
"Well?" Aeled demanded.
"Why ask me? Why would you trust the advice
of a prisoner?"
Aeled snapped orders. Another helmsman,
even larger, jumped to To`edbeorht's aid and
together they swung the ship around a cape and into a
gloomy channel between beetling cliffs. Wind
howling through the gap made her pitch heavily and
forced Aeled to shout his reply. "Because you are my
wita in this--my wise one. Speak!"
"I think you should keep me a secret."
"Then I shall." He laughed aloud, excited
by the maelstrom his ship was now riding and the fact that
the rest of his flotilla was managing the turn after
her. "You have worked out the answer!"
"No."
"But you are beginning to see its shape! This is
good!" He honored Gerard with a friendly thump on
the shoulder that almost drove him to his knees.
How could a bloodthirsty killer be so
perceptive?
were such a thing as a map of Baelmark
possible, Aeled had said, it would resemble
shattered glass. With a few outlying exceptions,
every island of the thousand lay within bowshot of
several others. Between them ran uncounted channels,
inlets, fiords, bays, harbors, straits,
roadsteads, sounds, and gulfs, all
interconnected and known collectively as
Swi@thaefen. Sheltered from waves and tempest,
those peaceful waters offered clear sailing in any
weather. The trick was to get in there.
Under the eyes of his crew, the ship lord put on
a show of nonchalance as he guided Groeggos
through the perilous maze, but Gerard was close enough
to see his concern when he watched the other ships
attempting maneuvers he had just made seem
easy. Driven by a surging tide, the flotilla
wound and twisted between towering stacks painted gray with
guano, past weed-shrouded rocks lurking in the
breakers, and under cliffs of strange columnar
structure like gigantic organ pipes.
Islets could be flat and fertile or so
precipitous that ancient cedars slumbered on
hillsides untroubled by the woodsman's ax.
Some bore farmsteadings and herds of cattle,
while always a blizzard of white seabirds
wheeled and cried overhead. Periodically Aeled
would bellow orders through a speaking trumpet to the
double line of sweating oarsmen, and several times he
had to add his muscle to the efforts of the two
giants heaving on the steering oar. His control over
his ship was incredible. He could turn her in her own
length, or move her backward as easily as
forward, or hold her in place until he found
exactly the wave he needed. Then Groeggos
would bound forward on cue, shipping her oars moments
before jagged teeth on either side could snap them off.
When death seemed merely probable instead of
imminent, he would chat calmly with his honored
passenger. "It isn't always this choppy." The
tone was disparaging, but the green eyes danced with
excitement.
"Would a sane man even try?"
Aeled took that as a compliment and loved it.
"Of course not. You see the secret of our
success, Gerard of Waygarth? You see how we
get away with our pranks?" Pranks meaning
rapine, piracy, slaving, and wanton murder
...
"Your islands are impregnable."
"Completely. At one time or another every nation
in Eurania has sent fleets against us and done
nothing but fatten the lobsters. You see how the
winds bank off the cliffs? The eddies<
br />
and shoals? You have to be born a Bael to wend these
channels." He laughed aloud. "Gevily
managed to land an army on Fyrsieg back in
my father's time, but what can an army achieve?
Burn houses? The people have already taken their
valuables elsewhere, and there are scores of other
islands that you can't get to. Meanwhile, our
navy has just ambushed yours and sunk it. Invading
Baelmark is futile."
"You're like mosquitoes. We must bleed and
bear you."
Aeled guffawed, brandishing a fist the size of a
ham. "Some mosquito! No, we are bees.
We bring honey home to the hive and we can sting."
"What happened to the Gevilian army?"
After a moment ... "A fyrdraca got
them."
Before Gerard could ask if a fyrdraca was the
sort of monster it sounded like, the ride again grew
too rough for talk. He clung grimly to the
rail, thinking bitter thoughts. He ought to hurl
himself overboard to drown or be smashed in the surf,
because it was true that there might be a way he could
help Aeled move closer to the throne, if the
system worked the way he thought it did. It would be
a fearful gamble for the Bael, but he was a gambler
through and through, a jungle predator--deadly and
irresistible, cunning and beautiful. Knowing neither
fear nor scruple, if he did become King of
Baelmark he would be a frightful foe to all the
civilized lands of Eurania; and if Gerard had
helped him gain the crown he would have betrayed
everything: honor, family, the fealty he owed his
king. Aeled denied planning to enthrall him--and it
was probably true that such a spell would render
Gerard useless for his purpose--but there were other
ways to command loyalty or even just cooperation.
Hot irons, for instance. Anyone but a coward would
leap over the side and die with honor.
He was a coward, then, because he was still aboard when
Groeggos and her three goslings emerged on the
calm waters of Swi@thaefen. Then the sail was
unfurled and the oars shipped. Roaring with an
excitement that betrayed the fear they had been
concealing, the sailors threw open the chests and
stripped in a wild blizzard of clothing.
Laughing and jeering, they donned leather breeches and
steel helmets, resuming their bare-chested fighting
guise, only now they flaunted golden torcs
and arm rings, jeweled buckles and
clasps. The hilts of their swords and daggers
