by John Marco
"Aramoor doesn't have a navy at all, does it?" the first officer asked.
"Nope. Not a single ship. At least not while I was living there. No telling what the Gayles have done to Aramoor."
"I can't imagine fighting a war without ships," Marus remarked. "We'd be lost without our schooners."
"Aramoor isn't like Liss," said Richius. "It's just land. No canals; nothing like that." He lowered his spoon and decided to change the course of the conversation. "Tell me more about the canals, Marus. They're everywhere?"
"Everywhere," said Marus. "We get everywhere by boat. All the land is built on, and everything is tall. We make use of what little land we have."
"Amazing," said Richius. "It's very different from Nar, isn't it?"
The Lissen's eyes flicked up toward Richius. "Very different."
"I meant no offense, friend. Just an observation. I'm looking forward to seeing the Hundred Isles. I've never even known anyone who's seen Liss, besides all you. Prakna was the first Lissen I'd ever met." Richius leaned back, gauging Marus' mood. "He's a strange one, isn't he?"
"Who? Prakna?"
"Yes. He's very distant. Very . . ." Richius struggled with the word. "Moody."
"Prakna has a lot on his mind."
"I know. But I've hardly seen him since coming aboard. Lord, he spends more time in his cabin than I do. What's wrong with him, Marus?"
"Richius," cautioned Marus. "You're asking too many questions."
Richius smiled. "I think I have that right, don't you?"
"Maybe." Marus lowered his gaze evasively. "But Prakna's a complex man. He's seen a lot, done a lot. I'm not going to be able to explain him to you over a bowl of soup."
"You've known him a long time, though, haven't you? I can tell. You're friends. You've probably been through some tough times together, what with the war and all." Richius sipped slowly at his soup. "Prakna told me he's married."
Marus nodded.
"What about his children?"
The question made Marus freeze. "What about them?"
"Prakna told me he lost two boys in the war against Nar. Is that true?"
Very slowly Marus dropped his spoon into the bowl, then shoved the half-eaten soup aside to stare at Richius. Richius knew by the look in his eyes that he'd crossed an invisible line.
"Richius, let me give you a warning. Don't ever ask anyone onboard about Prakna again. Don't ask about his wife, and don't ever ask about his children. Do you understand me?"
"Marus, I understand." Richius shoved his own bowl aside. "But this vengeance of Prakna's is making him wild."
Marus' sad expression deepened. "There were bad times in Liss, Richius. For ten years. You know all about the war, but I don't think you know how devastated the isles were. Still are, really. There were a lot of men killed in the war with Nar. Young men, like you. It's true about Prakna. He lost two boys in the war. And I . . ." His voice crumbled, forcing him to look away. "I lost one boy. My only son."
The awful revelation struck Richius. He slid his hand across the table and touched the Lissen's fingertips, trying to apologize.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm a fool for asking. I should have known."
Embarrassed, Marus waved the remark away. "No," he said. "Look at me, crying like some woman! It was a long time ago. For both of us. But I don't know. Perhaps I've dealt with it a little better than Prakna. It's destroyed a part of him."
"I'm sure it has," said Richius. He remembered Sabrina, his first wife, and the indescribable horror of finding her head in a box. That one moment had set his life on fire, had etched itself forever in his brain.
Men weren't supposed to forget such loss, not if they had hearts. "It was rude of me to ask you this," he said finally. "I didn't know. If I had, well . . ."
"They were good boys," recalled Marus. "They all served together on the Fire Bird, just as soon as they were old enough. Prakna didn't want both his sons serving on the same vessel. Turns out he was right about that. The Fire Bird went down in minutes."
"How?" Richius asked.
"The Fearless," replied Marus. "You know that ship?"
"God, yes. That's Nicabar's ship." Richius shook his head. "I've got unhappy memories about that fellow, let me tell you. I met him once in Nar City."
Marus' eyes widened. "Really? What was he like?"
"Big as a house and hard as rock. I'll never forget his face as long as I live, or what he said to me."
"Why? What did he say?"
Richius reconsidered the conversation. "Marus, I shouldn't tell you. It would only make you mad."
"Tell me," Marus insisted. "I want to know."
"All right. This was almost two years ago, when Nar was still attacking Liss, trying to make the isles surrender. Nicabar had some new ships the war labs had designed for him. He was eager to try them out against Liss. I think he was embarrassed that he hadn't been able to conquer you yet."
"Damn right," sneered Marus. "He tried for a decade, but we never lost. What else did he say?"
"He said he was going back to Liss for the last time, that you were ready to fall."
"And?"
"That he was going to feed every Lissen child to the sharks in your canals. He said he was going to turn Liss' canals red with blood. And he said he was going to drown your sailors. He thought that was very funny."
There was a stony silence between the men. Richius forced himself to look at Marus. A pall settled across Marus' face as all the memories of his past flooded in. They were on the same violent path now, the Lissens and Richius. All of their lives had been damaged by the Empire, warped into an all-consuming vendetta. Dyana was wrong, Richius decided suddenly. He did belong with these people.
"Admiral Danar Nicabar is a monster without peer," said Marus at last. "That's why Prakna has changed. That's why we must fight against Nar."
Richius gave his friend a bleak smile. "You must be a very strong people to endure the things you have, Marus. It will be my honor to lead your army. I'll do my best for you, I promise."
"I know you will, boy," said Marus. "Now eat. And rest up. We'll be in Liss in just a few days. You'll need your strength for the work ahead."
They returned their attention to their food, eating in contemplative silence. As Richius sipped at his soup he thought about Liss and its brave people, a race that had been audacious enough to stand against Nar and declare itself free. He would help these people, he determined. With all his might he would make an army of them, and someday he would return to Falindar triumphant and prove to Dyana that his trust in Prakna hadn't been misplaced.
On a morning light with snowfall and speckled with silver clouds, the crew of the Prince sighted the Hundred Isles of Liss. It was a long-craved homecoming, and across the flagship's deck the emotions were palpable as men and boys hung from the rigging, forgetting their work, and stared in silence at their magnificent islands. Fleet Commander Prakna stood on the Prince's forecastle, his long coat stirring in the breeze, his face set with a melancholy smile. To his left stood Marus. To his right stood Richius, who leaned out over the railing as far as he could, desperate for his first sight of Liss.
There were, he realized quickly, at least a hundred isles. Some were tiny, some seemed to rival Aramoor in size, and he could see the wide canals winding through them, full of sails and paddle vessels. In the distance were towers and spiraling structures of brass and stone, and wooden aqueducts that meandered high above the ground. Liss was white and serene in the snow, but she was also vast and troubled-looking, and Richius could see the damaged harbors on her shores, the jagged scars of a decade-long war. For every intact building there was another in decay, missing a top or balancing precariously on a cracked foundation. The hull of a giant vessel reached out from the depths, its pitted keel black and broken, its cracked masts peeking through the surface like the fingers of a drowning man.
But the Hundred Isles were more than their tattered shores, and past the harbors where the ruins stood, Richius saw cities on the horizo
n, great untouched arches and free-standing stonework, the beautiful labor of patient artisans. Liss looked ancient, as if it predated Nar and mankind itself, and the vision of so many lovely things screamed her history across the ocean, beckoning her sons home.
Fleet Commander Prakna clasped his hands and lowered his head in silent prayer, and Marus and the others joined him. For a brief time, the Prince of Liss fell silent save for the endless rush of the wind and water. Richius dropped his eyes in deference to the prayer. He was not a religious man, not after the things he'd seen, but he had respect for these men, and so he maintained his silence. When Prakna was done with his meditation, he turned to Richius and pointed at his homeland.
"Liss," he said softly. "My home. Now yours, Richius. At least for a while."
"It's beautiful," Richius acknowledged. "I never thought it would be so big."
"Oh, you're only seeing a bit of it. We're too far off yet. Wait, my friend. Just wait."
As patiently as he could, Richius waited as the Lissen flagship chewed up the waves, eager as her crew to get home. Signalmen along the deck flashed their colored flags toward the islands, summoning a small armada of single-masted boats to come out and greet them. Groups of children were gathering on the shores, waving across the sea to their heroes, and the men of the Prince waved back and shouted happily at the throngs, while Prakna folded his arms over his chest and let a smile conquer his face. Richius let Marus point all these things out to him. The first officer was buoyant, jubilant to be home, and all his knowledge about Liss and its sights spilled out of him in a jumble of facts and folklore. As they drifted closer and the great ship slowed, Richius could see the beautiful ruins marring the harbors and the dead ship rising from the murky bottom. In the far-off towers he saw colors he never knew existed, a rainbow of light glowing from a million panes of mirrored glass. Magnificent docks with gargantuan mooring posts stood along the shores, conspicuously empty of schooners, while overhead giant sea birds drifted, great gulls with impossible wing spans and bright orange bills. Behind the islands, the sun was breaking through the snowy morning, setting Liss aflame, and the flakes from the sky twinkled as they fell, blanketing the world in virgin white.
"See the cat boats?" Marus asked. "They'll escort us in."
"Cat boats?" asked Richius. He saw the boats, but not the meaning.
"That's what they're called, because of their rigging. A cat-rigged boat has one mast, put far forward in the hull. We use the cat boats to get around the islands. Usually we don't use the sails, though. They don't work in the canals."
Richius watched as the small fleet of boats began circling the Prince. Sailors in the boats waved at the comrades aboard the flagship, blowing boatswain pipes and ringing bells. Liss loomed ever larger as they neared a docking port, obviously built to accommodate ships like the Prince. As they drew closer to land, Prakna began giving orders to his crew to prepare for docking. The men set to the task, drawing ropes and trimming sails and steering the flagship toward port. The cat boats gave the Prince a wide berth as they paralleled her. On shore, the children and women who had gathered to greet them chatted amongst themselves, their faces glowing. There were very few men in the crowd. Richius squinted to study the assembly, counting only a handful of old men among them.
War, he reasoned bitterly. What will this place be like?
And what sort of army could he make of old men? His eyes shifted back to the ruins around him, the broken shipyards and falling walls, and he remembered how Nar had bombarded these people for ten years, trying and failing to drown them. He looked at the children and the pretty women, most of them thin and slightly built, and he wondered how they had endured so much. His own father had handed Aramoor over to Nar years ago, fearing such a plight. Since then Aramoor had flourished, without the destruction of war. But Aramoor wasn't free. It wasn't even ruled by the Vantran bloodline anymore. Despite the ruins around him, Richius was sure Liss had made the truly courageous choice--to fight.
The Prince eased toward the dock, slow and smooth, and the cat boats drifted alongside. A handful of sailors on the dock readied mooring lines as Prakna and Marus guided the flagship to a gentle docking. Chains rattled and pulleys unspooled as the crew hurried to secure the Prince. Men jumped from the deck onto the dock to catch the ropes and pull the Prince into place. Inch by groaning inch the Prince lurched forward, until at last it ground against the dock and jolted to an abrupt halt. Prakna and Marus exchanged congratulatory grins.
"Welcome to Liss, Richius Vantran," said the fleet commander boldly. "These people are all here to see you, too, you know."
A gangplank descended. Prakna led Marus and Richius off the ship, into the waiting throng. Richius felt the unusual sensation of steady earth beneath him and nearly toppled over, but Marus' arm was there to catch him.
"You'll get used to it," the officer whispered.
Richius wasn't so sure. He held on to Marus as he descended. All at once a wave of children pressed around him, their golden heads bobbing at his waist. They looked up at him with astonishment, tugging at his coat and grabbing for his hands. Prakna and Marus were swarmed too, but the sight of the Naren had the crowd entranced. The women on the docks, too proper to crowd around him, pointed at Richius with a mixture of fascination and fear. A little girl grabbed his fingers and squeezed, trying to pull him down to her. Richius stooped to smile at her. She was lovely, and when he looked at her she jumped back with a delighted laugh.
"Hello there," he said.
"Naren," she declared knowingly. "You're the Jackal."
"No," corrected Richius mildly. "Richius." He pointed to himself to stress the name. "Call me Richius."
"The Jackal!" said another child in the crowd. "The Jackal of Nar!"
Richius bristled. "All right," he grumbled. "The Jackal." He gave the girl's hair another tousle and walked off, shaking his head. Marus was next to him, chuckling.
"Get used to it, Richius," he advised. "That's how they know you here."
"Oh, really? And whose fault is that?"
"It's just the stories people tell, that's all," said Marus. "It's not meant as an insult. Just like the Triin calling you Kalak."
"Yes, well, that's not such a great name, either."
Prakna led them to another vessel, one of the boats that were everywhere in the ubiquitous canal, this one green and gold with a striking figure of a two-headed fish. A collection of oars jutted from the sides of the vessel, centipede-like. Waiting for them on the dock were a pair of regally attired sailors. Their long coats also bore the same unusual crest, stitched over their breasts. Prakna approached the men, who bowed to him and smiled.
"Fleet Commander Prakna," said one of them reverently. "Welcome home, sir."
"Good to be home," said Prakna. The commander was resplendent even in his threadbare uniform. "Permission to come aboard?"
The sailor stood aside. "Gladly granted, sir."
"Where are we going?" Richius asked Marus.
"Those are the queen's own," said Marus. "They'll take us to the palace, on Haran Island."
"The queen?" blurted Richius. He looked down at his own filthy clothes. "I'm supposed to meet a queen like this?"
"Just like the rest of us. Look around, Richius. Trust me, the queen won't be offended by your clothes."
In the ruins of the shoreline the statement seemed plausible, but Richius tried to smooth down his wrinkled coat anyway. Prakna was notoriously tight-lipped, and hadn't mentioned anything about meeting the Lissen ruler. He had thought they would rest awhile, maybe start to work in the morning. Obviously their mission was more desperate than he'd thought. And having already met Arkus of Nar, an audience with the Queen of Liss only made him a little nervous. He followed Prakna and Marus onto the boat, careful not to slip on the snowy planks, and gave a final wave to the people on the dock. They were all staring at him, still. Being a hero was rather pleasant, he decided. If only Dyana and Shani could see him now.
Once they were on
board, the little boat shoved off under the power of the oarsmen and bore them through the wide canal cutting through the island. On either side the old structures of Liss rose up over them, threatening to topple onto their heads. Richius noticed the unmistakable scars of blast marks, the telltale signs of flame cannons. Many of the buildings bore gaps in their masonry where the guns of dreadnoughts had drilled fiery holes. Rubble littered the ground, and everywhere the canal streets were polluted with debris that had tumbled into the water. While Prakna and Marus talked with the sailors, Richius went to the prow of the boat for a better view. Before him, all of Liss was leisurely unfolding. The spiraling towers in the distance beckoned with an inaudible voice, and the snowflakes on the waterways brought a hush to the world. Abandoned buildings rose over him, but in the canal were other boats like their own, ferrying people and goods between the structures. Teenaged boys and girls toiled in the rubble, busy with the back-breaking work of reconstruction, pausing just long enough to notice the royal boat and offer it a weary wave.
"This isn't all of it," said Marus suddenly. He had come up behind Richius and put a hand on his shoulder. "It gets better, don't worry."
"There's so much destruction," said Richius. "I've never seen anything like it. You're a very brave people, Marus, to endure so much."
"These have been our islands since the beginning of time. We'll never give them up." The Lissen pointed to a wide inlet in the distance, now surrounded by blown-up buildings. "See that harbor? The Fearless was there. She opened fire with her guns before any schooners could get near enough to stop her. Over a thousand men and women attacked her, in boats just like this. It was hand-to-hand at times." Marus' expression dimmed. "Bloody as hell. The canal really did run red that day. That's where all this rubble came from. After the Fearless stopped firing, the whole place was in flames. It's taken a year just to rebuild this much."
"What about inland?" asked Richius. "Not so much damage?"
"No, thank God. Most of the canals are too narrow for dreadnoughts. And there's a whole system of locks and dams. Nicabar tried landing troops to invade, but they didn't know their way and were always slaughtered. We don't have any avenues to move heavy equipment, so none of the usual Naren tactics worked."
