by Paul Kidd
The prince walked toward them slowly, the wind whipping through his coarse black hair.
"I require forty warships in twenty days. That is all."
The dockside guildmasters wrung their hands; already their crews were working like men possessed. Svarezi kept their wives and children under guard within his walls-to "remove the distractions they might offer to proper work."
The master of Sumbria's caulker's guild crept forward by a pace.
"Sire-the numbers required-it is far too-"
"It is what I have ordered." Svarezi placed a hand on the man's shoulder and walked with him to the battlements. "In twenty days, we will have a fleet." The cold eyes met level with the guildsman's own.
"We will have a fleet."
"S-sire, it is too much. You require too many hulls!"
"Then use river barges as a base." Svarezi turned aside without a care. "Commandeer them from Sumbrian docks… or take them from puny Kirenzia…wherever seems convenient."
Behind the old guildsman, his colleagues paled. One man stole forward with sweat starting from his brow.
"But the sea and river trade, sire! The barges are essential to bring produce to the cities! How will the harvest be brought in once summer-"
"Harvest is harvest; now is now." Svarezi never even spared the man a glance. "By harvest time, we will have the loot of whole cities to buy the goods we need."
Walking his underlings to the wall overlooking the port, Svarezi gazed over the dockyard and its pathetic scattering of half-built battle craft.
"I will draft three thousand peasants as your labor force; in winter, no one needs to till a field."
"We will lose men, sire. The land grows cold."
"Yes-we will lose at least half-but we will have a fleet in twenty days."
Svarezi pushed the old man forward; with a detached expression, he watched him fall, screaming, onto the rocks a hundred feet below.
"I believe you can be motivated into far, far greater speed."
Without a glance behind him, Svarezi marched into the lower stable rooms and gazed about the cluttered aerie floor.
The lean black hippogriff Shaatra had found herself a prime position. Sleek flanks gleaming, she turned around and around widening her nest; twigs and straw had been bound together with painstaking skill, and the bottom had been lined with astonishing flame-red plumes. Crooning softly to herself in age-old songs, the hippogriff prepared the cradle for her first-ever clutch of young.
Svarezi took one look at the nest, strode across the floor and kicked the little structure to the winds.
"Not you! I have need of you. Find another year for warming shells."
The warlord crushed tufts of fine black down beneath his heel as he snarled out for the grooms.
"Keep this beast out in the cold! And don't let it stare at the accursed stallions!"
Shaatra stood gaping in numb horror at the ruins of her nest. With a piercing scream of pure despair, she flung herself on Svarezi's unguarded back. Her beak tore sparks from the human's armor, spraying blood across the walls. With a vengeful, sobbing cry she whirled about to gouge him with her claws.
Bleeding great sheets of blood all down his back, Svarezi unhurriedly linked his armored hands. He swiveled heavily as the hippogriff came on, and crashed his fists clean across her brow.
The bird screamed and staggered, her head snapping sideways in shock. Svarezi struck her again and then again, hammering down blows until the beast collapsed at his feet. Careless of his wounds, he reached for a training staff and beat the creature methodically up and down its hide, crashing blows into the moaning animal as it weakly tried to crawl aside.
Finally, he left Shaatra to her pain. Tossing aside the bloody staff, he turned to the grooms.
"I care nothing for their love. Only for their fear." He met the staring eyes of his underlings with a blank, cold expression. "Life is nothing but a contest of unremitting power."
With that, the warlord of Sumbria and Colletro left the tower. Behind him, Shaatra whimpered and reached out for a fallen fragment of her nest. Black talons closed upon a crumpled orange plume, and the hippogriff wept silent, bitter tears.
Safely ensconced inside a massive wooden bath, Lorenzo lifted up one gleaming leg and soaped thoroughly down along the line of hairs. He stretched tired muscles, wriggled up his clean pink toes, then lounged back to let the hot water spread its soft, delicious spell.
A bath at last. Battles survived, struggles overcome, now rest at a long, hard journey's end. Lorenzo smiled; Lorenzo sighed; Lorenzo luxuriously rolled his head and came face-to-face with a pair of brilliant hazel eyes.
"Holy Ishtishia!"
He crammed himself beneath the scanty cover of a floating sponge and turned lobster pink from head to toe. Beside him, Miliana settled herself on a folded towel and made wet rings upon the polished floor with two steaming cups of tea.
With her long hair wound up beneath a towel, and wearing a thick white bathrobe, Miliana seemed softly serene. Smiling calmly behind twinkling spectacles, she passed Lorenzo a steaming drink and balanced it firmly on the edge of the tub.
Lorenzo's eyes appeared across the rim like a mouse peering from its burrow.
"Miliana, what are you doing?"
"Oh, it's just equal time." The girl seemed utterly at ease. With a warm yawn she patted the tall sides of the tub. "You've seen me in my bath. I simply thought I might return the compliment."
"But I had the door locked!"
"Your sister gave me the key." Made tired by warmth and steam, Miliana adjusted her spectacles. "An odd girl. Actually, I think I like her."
Caught in the warm fog that just preceded bedtime, Miliana sat and sipped her tea. Comforted by the shelter of oaken planks, Lorenzo emerged to lean across the edges of his tub. He accepted Miliana's gift of tea, propped himself up on his elbows, and fondly gazed at her through a haze of steam.
"You seem quiet."
"I feel quiet." Miliana, damp and glowing from her own time in her bath, looked up at Lorenzo and creased a sweetly anxious brow.
"Lorenzo… am I too foul-tempered?"
Her companion fumbled a dripping hand across the tub; Miliana caught the fingers in her own and gave a squeeze. Lorenzo reached across to push a damp curl back from Miliana's face.
"No. I'd say that you're just foul-tempered enough."
"I suppose so." Miliana flexed her fingers in Lorenzo's grasp. "It's just that-back home-I've evaded, snarled, and schemed. But until you came along, no one's ever really been worth arguing with before."
From the pocket of her robe, Miliana pulled a borrowed coin-a half-ducat piece from Sumbria. Her father's face had been stamped across the electrum disk-a face that still showed its habitually cold stare.
Miliana held the coin before the mask of her spectacles.
"I try to think of all those funny little plazas-those fountains and streets we both walked through-as they were. Not how they must be now, all broken down by Svarezi's men.
"I like your home, Lorenzo. I don't want what happened to Sumbria to happen here."
"We'll fight it." Lorenzo looked quietly at Miliana's wistful face. "We'll win. Hey, you're a real princess, remember?"
For an answer, Miliana shifted the coin and stared into her father's face.
"He's really dead, isn't he." The girl looked softly at the portrait with its blank, unseeing eyes. "I loved that city, and now it's gone.
"And do you know what he'd have expected me to do about it?"
"What?"
"Absolutely nothing. The man scarcely knew I was alive."
Miliana's fist closed over the coin and clenched, slowly squeezing it until her knuckles turned white.
"We'll show him…"
Lorenzo gripped Miliana's free hand, changing her bitterness into a wan little smile.
"Yes. We'll show him."
They kissed softly, lips touching as each wound fingers into the other's hair. Resting forehead to forehead, they c
lung together in silence, companionship, and steam.
Finally, the girl rose, kissed Lorenzo's fingers, and wandered to the door.
She halted and looked back at him, her face soft and fond behind the panels of her spectacles.
"Argue with you tomorrow?"
Lorenzo smiled.
"Tomorrow."
Moving out into the hall, Miliana closed the door behind her and wandered quietly into her borrowed bedroom. A candle burned warm and yellow beside the bed, while Tekoriikii sat in a nest of straw happily reading the pages of a picture book. Miliana stroked his crest fondly as she passed, then sank onto the bed.
She lay curled on her side, staring at the little disk of gray metal in her palm. The warm scent of straw and bird spread its spell across the bedroom, and Miliana's coin hung heavy in her hand.
Minutes later, it slipped onto the covers, off the bed, and rolled across the wood floor. Craning his neck up across the bed, Tekoriikii watched his friend for a long, quiet while, then softly drew the blankets up across her freckled arms.
The girl lay calm and quiet. Tekoriikii gently snuffed the candle, tucked his head beneath one wing, and sank into a contented world of sleep.
14
Winter on the shores of the Akanamere came in hard and strong. For the tiny city-state of Zutria, it was a welcome time of unprecedented harvest. For days on end, wild storms and winds would lash against the coast; the fishing fleets would shelter in the city's fine stone harbor while the crews kept the cold at bay with fried fish and hot spiced ale.
As the wind dropped-as it always did after three or four full days of violent blow-the city folk, farmers, and fishermen spread out from Zutria's walls. In the predictable calms, the bait fish swarmed in dense clouds along the shore, bringing a fabulous bounty that was netted in by wading men. Their wives and children worked the rocky beaches, raking tons of wrack into reeking piles to be carted off as fertilizer for the city fields. Zutria-poor, independent, and proud-made the most of every passing moment of the year.
And every year, just before the high midwinter's feast, the storms would hammer hard along the bay. Spectacular sheets of spray flung high across the city walls, driving sentries into shelter and sending everyone indoors.
As the night wore on, the wild winds dropped away. Fishermen gathered in each other's houses, waiting for the first watery light of dawn; as the horizon lit with ghost-gray fingers, the city emptied itself out through the gates and wandered merrily down to the shore.
In the predawn light, the freshwater sea became one vast, shimmering expanse of black. Here and there a wave cap glittered, caught by the sunlight leaking eastward across the headlands far beyond. The fishermen scanned the lightless surface, then spread out to begin the day's affairs.
There were nets to work and catches to be made. Friendly nixies, lured up from their cool green homes far below the lake, would drive away the greedy pike in return for dried beef and squeeze bulbs filled with wine. Men blew the horns to summon up their allies from below as the first nets were walked, hissing, slowly out into the waves.
The nets moved onward, then faltered as their handlers stared out across the lake.
Lit pink by the winter sun, tiny shapes lined the water out beside the headlands; low, sleek hulls which flickered in and out of sight behind the restless swells.
Zutria's citizens gathered on the beach to stare, all shading eyes against the sudden flash of dawn as daylight flooded out across the Akanamere.
The tiny slivers arrowed fast across the bay, and finally the shapes stood out sharp and clear. They were battle galleys; fast-rowed warships flying a strange new banner of purest black.
From Zutria's walls came the sound of trumpets, bells, and drums. Windlasses creaked as a boom made of chained logs and metal spines was raised up to block the harbor entrance. With the city safe behind its walls, and her port protected by engines, spells, and booms, Zutria stood immune from any mischief the attacking ships might do. The fisherfolk gathered on the shores to watch the fun, wondering what the invading fleet would do to vent its rage.
The fleet of galleys might have belonged to Sumbria, the nearest city down the coast, were it not for their black flags and clear hostility. The lean little shapes formed a swarm about a giant barge that ponderously beat into the bay. With its huge oars rippling like a water insect's limbs, the barge settled itself before Zutria's harbor mouth, just out of ballista range.
The barge backed water, the world fell into an expectant hush-and suddenly the air flickered to a blinding bolt of light.
A shaft of searing heat stabbed out from the barge. The seawall exploded like a bomb, slumping stones into the water with a hiss of scalding steam. The crash of breaking masonry sent shock waves through the air, while violet afterimages hung like wraiths before the eyes of shocked defenders.
The giant barge shifted; black figures swarmed across an armored box mounted at the bow, and the deadly light beam stabbed across the bay once more. It raked across the harbor guard towers, cutting through stonework in a searing blast of noise. Seconds later, Zutria stood open and exposed.
With insolent ease, the light beam scored across the waves, boiling water and sending up titanic gouts of steam. It snipped the boom chains clean in two like a princess opening new public baths with a pair of golden shears, and the black galleys surged forward in a triumphant, screaming wave.
Water elementals clashed as defending mages tried to hold the storm tide back; crushed aside by superior sorceries, the Zutrian spells swiftly flickered out and died. Within minutes, the attacking warships had driven hard ashore, spilling armored men into the streets.
Spells rang out. Here and there a fire bloomed, yet the invasion happened so swiftly that Zutrian soldiers scarcely had time to resist. The fishermen stood blinking as the black banners broke out above the rooftops of their homes.
Watching from the rocks beside the bay, a row of nixies stared in silence at the menacing black barge. Thin, aquatic faces swapped blank looks of shock and alarm.
Surfacing amidst her people, a pink-haired princess gazed at the city, then stared at the black-armored figure striding up through the ruined harbor walls. Lithe as a dolphin, the girl reared high up on thrashing flippers and stared at the Sun Cannon floating in the bay.
With a frantic splash, the nixies plunged back down out of view, speeding clean white wakes toward the distant south.
Toward the peaceful shores of Lomatra.
Winter had not mellowed moods in the fair city of Lomatra. Not only had the wet weather brought its usual spate of colds, coughs, and running noses, but it had also brought a staggering influx of refugees from Sumbria. Retainers from the households of Mannicci, Toporello, and several smaller families had joined hundreds of commoners who had run for better climes. They had crowded themselves one and all into the Lomatran city streets, where Miliana had them housed in a deserted barracks hall.
Enforced proximity between noble and common folk went unnoticed in a general gratitude for shelter from the bitter winter storms. The refugees brought tales of woe from home-wild stories of growing armies, ruthless taxes, and rapine. Although the Lomatran commoners listened to the stories in disquiet and alarm, their nobles decided that it was all merely a ploy to avoid paying rent and taking jobs.
Until the day the first official messages from Prince Ugo Svarezi arrived.
Using her pointy hat to help hold an old cloak spread against the rain, Miliana sheltered Lorenzo and Tekoriikii as they scuttled past her into the Lomatran city hall. Miliana shook out her cloak, careful not to stain her one and only decent gown. Lorenzo's allowance would only spread so far, though Tekoriikii's gullet provided an erratic, but illegal income. Dusting off her brand new hat-tall, blue, and sharpened like a needle-the princess ducked beneath the lintel and strode on into the hall.
Lomatra's Prince Rosso was a small, mouselike man who had been elected by his peers mostly because he never argued with their plans. He commanded less votes t
han any other man in Lomatra's Blade Council, and the Utrellis were his main supporters. Lorenzo's father had succeeded in arranging his match with Sumbria's princess simply because his powerless family had made the perfect candidate of compromise. Most of the other families had considered a few hundred troops contributed to the Mannicci bride-price a small cost, particularly if it kept their more powerful rivals from enjoying the advantage a union with the Manniccis would provide. The added power of the Utrellis would hardly be noticed.
Standing alone inside the hall, dwarfed by the wooden benches which soared giddily up the walls, Lomatra's prince seemed nervous, short, and really rather tired. The huge crowds of spectators that the day's meeting had drawn were utterly unprecedented; over three hundred nobles, merchants, Sumbrian refugees, and common folk had crammed into the gallery. Self-consciously pulling at the collar of his breastplate, Prince Rosso rapped upon the council table and tried to make himself heard.
"Um… the meeting can come to order. If you like…" The little man removed and polished spectacles at least as big as Miliana's own. "I'd like to make a short speech, if I may."
Lomatra sported only eleven Blade Captains, all evenly balanced, more or less, as to numbers of both votes and men. The armored figures crashed themselves into their seats, drowning out their ruler's voice as he unfolded a damp sheet of parchment and began to read.
"Um… we have received a message-well, an ultimatum really-from the new prince of Colletro, Sumbria, and Zutria. He offers us the chance…" The prince nervously adjusted his spectacles. "Well-demands, really-that we combine our Blade Council with his own-"
"And a fine opportunity, too!" A fat warrior in armor that looked to be tailored to fit a beer barrel slammed his sword against the table, bringing his prince's speech to a halt. "We should get in now, while there's still time to dominate their policy!"
A surge of violent protest bellowed from the galleries; Sumbrian and Lomatran commoners leapt to their feet and roared disagreement, echoed by the meek voice of their prince in the hall below.
"Um… well, I do rather think we'll be absorbed by Svarezi, rather than the other way around…"
