Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands

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