by Kal Spriggs
“It is something we've considered,” Lord Erich said with a glance at the empty seat at the center of the table. “But that can wait.” He looked around at the group, “while we examine this treasure you have returned home, please, give us your appraisal of our strategic position. We've all read your reports, Admiral, but we'd like to hear your words as well.”
Christoffer nodded, though he felt a level of tension in what had not been spoken of yet. “Of course, my Lord. Before I do, might I ask what censure I will receive for my failures?”
“Your failures?” Lady Diana asked sharply, “What are you talking about?”
“The loss of the Northern Fleet, my failure to defend Port Riss, the loss of so many sailors and Marines under my command,” Christoffer said, his voice hoarse. Again he felt the losses sharply and he stood a bit straighter as he awaited the punishment to come. I deserve this, he thought, and it will be a relief to have it done with.
“Admiral Tarken,” Lord Erich said sharply. “You and the sailors and Marines under you recovered from the single greatest military disaster in our history since the mad reign of Emperor Dalton. Without your service and that of the Ubelfurst, we all very well might be dead or worse. You can't know how desperate things became here under the siege or how news of your victories turned morale around. We would not be standing here having this conversation if you weren't one of the finest military leaders we have.”
Christoffer shook his head, surprised at the statement, “I...” He shrugged his shoulders, “I turned things around, yes, but I could not have...”
“We can argue this later,” Lord Schilt said gruffly. The old soldier rubbed at his leg under the table and Christoffer remembered he had once had a military career of his own, until he took an arrow to the knee. “Suffice it to say, Admiral, you'll face no punishment from us for your service. Indeed, you forget that the reward for good work is more work! Now tell us your appraisal of the situation”
Christoffer snorted at that, but he gave the older man a nod. “Very well.” He took a breath to compose himself, “The Armen have withdrawn. From what Wizard-Captain Gunther has seen, they pulled out in a series of waves. I think it likely they did this to form a rear-guard and also to allow them to restock their supplies at their raid camps without overwhelming their logistics.”
He saw a few of the council nod, but others seemed confused, so he continued, “Their raid camps act as hubs, drawing in food, supplies, slaves, and loot. The Armen stockpile those camps for their return voyage, but they probably cannot resupply the huge force we saw here all at once. They haven't the systems or infrastructure for it. If you stuffed ten thousand Armen into one of their raid camps, it would take them weeks to resolve it and they'd probably waste most of the supplies, while the next camp up the coast would have a surplus.”
“They're moving in smaller groups so that they don't starve themselves,” Lady Diana said. The Baroness waved a hand impatiently, “Continue.”
“Those smaller groups will be vulnerable, which would allow us to hit them as they withdraw, perhaps to rescue some of our captured people and certainly to bleed our enemy a bit as they retreat,” Christoffer said. He paused. “On the negative side, there is the potential for any pursuit to become engaged by several groups and overwhelmed.”
“To our south,” Christoffer shrugged, “I've already put into motion the plan to secure the Ryft and prevent Admiral Hennings from bringing his ships into the Boir Sea. That will secure the south and allow us to hold our lands and even reopen some of our trade lanes with our current forces. Even if Admiral Hennings intentions prove to be honorable...”
“Not likely, that,” Lord Schilt grimaced.
“...then we would be better, I think, having Lady Katarina in possession of the Ryftguard rather than Hector,” Christoffer finished. “She, at least, has proven herself to be both a capable ally and someone whose word I trust. As I said before, it was she who recovered the Ducal Blade from Southwatch and she turned it over without any request in return.”
“She has also,” another man at the table said, “sworn an oath of loyalty to the High Kings.”
His comment was met with silence and Christoffer saw discomfort on several of the council member's faces. For himself, he had thought little of the oath, though he had passed the information along in his reports. Many noblemen had claimed to want to restore the High Kingdom before, but that was no more likely than for his murdered children to return from the dead. “I'm sorry, my Lord, I'm not certain we have been introduced, who are you?”
The man stood and Christoffer saw that he had the broad shoulders of a fighting man, along with the thick wrists of a swordsman. A fine tracery of scars covered his hands and pale lines of scars were visible on his face as well. “The apology is mine, I should have liked to introduce myself earlier but I had no desire to interrupt the Council's proceedings, Lord Admiral Tarken.” He braced to attention and gave an odd, but crisp salute, with his clenched fist pressed against his chest over his heart, “I am Sir Harald, Knight of the Order of King Gordon and their Master of Arms. It is my sincere pleasure to meet you.”
“I'm sorry, you're what now?” Christoffer said, taken aback. The Order of King Gordon was a militant order dedicated to the spirit of the High Kings, literally to the founding High King Gordon. As far as he knew, they had a chapter house here in Boirton, but Grand Duke Becket had barely tolerated them and kept them under a number of restrictions. For that matter, most of the council had viewed the Order's stated goals as bordering on treason. They had, after all, a stated purpose of restoring the High Kingdom.
Christoffer himself had little opinion on them besides the fact that he had found their goals somewhat far-fetched. Still, they were known to do good works and they had stopped any number of Noric and Armen raids along the borders of Boir. Still, he had no idea how they now had a member upon the Duke's Council.
“The Order assisted in the defense of Boirton,” Lord Erick said. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with the explanation, which was easy enough to understand given Grand Duke Becket's stance upon the Order and their stated goals.
“Assisted?” Lord Schilt snapped. “They were instrumental. We would have lost the walls in the initial attacks if not for Sir Harald and the men he led in our defense.” The old soldier gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment to the knight. “The populace is appropriately grateful and we felt it would be a good idea to allow Sir Harald a voice on the council in return for his service.”
“A say, but not a vote,” Lord VanEggar, the Lord Chamberlain, said his voice flat. Little wonder at that, Christoffer thought, his lands include those that once were property of the High Kings, which his ancestors seized after the Sundering in the name of Boir. The wiry little man's authority as the Lord Chamberlain extended over management of the Citadel in its entirety and Christoffer was a bit surprised to see that he still held the position, after what must have been a massive failure that allowed Armen raiders into the fortress.
“Well, since I seem to have side-tracked the discussion, might I have the opportunity to inspect the Ducal Blade?” Sir Harald asked. Now that Christoffer paid attention, he noticed that the knight's chair was several feet away from the last member of the council, a physical gap to match the difference in philosophies and goals. The sword had stopped there at the last member, Jeroen Kurth, the minister of finance.
Jeroen, known to be a miser about everything, reluctantly extended the sword, sheath first, to Sir Harald. The knight took it, tenderly, as if afraid he would damage the weapon. Since it had survived so long, Christoffer thought that unlikely. Even so, he respected the gesture.
Sir Harald unsheathed the blade and examined it in detail. “I would say impressive craftsmanship, but that would be condescending in the extreme.” He shook his head, “If any here doubted it, you may rest assured. It bears all the marks and signs of being the true blade. I vouch for it in my honor as a Knight.”
Clearly that assurance wasn't entirely wel
come by all on the council. The sour expressions from Lord VanEggar and a few others made it plain that they would have been perfectly happy without the return of Boir's Ducal Blade. Sir Harald turned to Christoffer, “Might I ask you to draw it, my Lord?”
Christoffer held up one hand, “I think the sword's reaction to me is not of consequence.”
“I disagree,” Lord Schilt said. “I think it best that we resolve that detail, in the view of all the council so that they see it with their own eyes.” The old soldier had an odd note to his voice, almost as if his words carried some extra weight.
Christoffer glanced at Lord Erich, who had been Grand Duke Becket's chief adviser and it was clear that he ran the Council until they selected a new Duke. The blonde-haired man gave Christoffer a nod, “We need to see this, Admiral.” There was the faintest tone of resignation in his voice, almost as if he didn't want to see it himself.
Christoffer felt his lips pinch in disapproval, but he nodded.
To his surprise, Sir Harald came down off the platform and walked up to him directly. He offered Christoffer the blade, extended hilt first. Christoffer gave a slight sigh and then drew the blade.
As had happened before, the blade didn't react for a long moment as Christoffer brought it up to stare at it. He felt a moment of relief, somewhat hopeful that the last time had been something of a fluke. Then, as before, it flashed with a bright blue light. As his dazzled eyes recovered, he saw that it continued to shine with light, bright as the daylight coming in the broad windows that ringed the top of the chamber.
“Well, that answers the question,” Lord Schilt said, obviously pleased with himself.
***
Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken
Christoffer did a double-take as he found that his steward, Nikolas, awaited him in the hallway, along with Siara Pall. To continue his surprises, Coxswain Jenkins and Carpenter's Mate Brussels also stood waiting. Jenkins was a tall, tanned man whose features showed the marks of combat and brawls from his crooked nose and cheerful gap-toothed grin to a lurid scar that ran down one arm. Brussels, his counterpart, was an Earthblood mageborn, the product of a sorcerer meddling with either him or one of his ancestors in the womb. His dark, pebbly skin was rough and showed no signs of scars. His broad, expressionless face could have been carved from stone. Christoffer saw that the two big men had truncheons hanging from their belts and he would be surprised if Jenkins didn't have a dagger or two hidden on his person. “What are you doing here?”
“Admiral,” Nikolas said with a pleased smile, “Captain Elias thought that you might want a proper escort, so Coxswain Jenkins and Carpenter's Mate Brussels volunteered.” He gestured at where Siara Pall stood and Christoffer saw that she had changed into a rather plain gray wool dress rather than a sailor's uniform. “As you know, a man of your rank is allowed a civilian scribe to assist with reports as well as a personal nurse to watch over your health. Miss Pall took her discharge and informed me that she wished to apply for those jobs. I told her that it would be best that she accompany me, since that would allow her to apply in person.”
Christoffer opened his mouth, half to argue at Jenkins and Brussel's presence, half to protest that he didn't need a scribe, much less a nurse. Still, it wasn't worth the time to argue, especially not right outside the Council's chambers. He just shook his head. “Very well, we're headed for the Admiralty.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Nikolas replied. “I called for a carriage, it should await us at the south gate.” He turned and Christoffer followed him. The small parade did not passed unnoticed as they wound their ways through the corridors of the Citadel. As always, the fortress gave Christoffer a sense of claustrophobia. He felt his shoulders hunch a bit as he stooped to avoid yet another low doorway. The fortress had stood since ancient times, gradually enlarged and improved with each generation. The massive pile of stone had a grim feature, even from the inside. Christoffer knew that some of the rooms and many of the halls had luxurious features from thick pile carpets to heated floors to wooden paneling and even flush toilets and more. Still, even those didn't change the overall feel of the place. The Citadel was designed to be a fortress, a place of last resort, and all the decorative features in the world couldn't change that.
The maze of corridors, myriad defensive positions, gates, and checkpoints showed the Citadel's true purpose wherever one looked. Not that the defensive features saved Duke Becket or my daughter, he thought bitterly. He had yet to hear just how the assassins had slipped through the fortress's defenses so easily... and he did not discount the possibility that they might do so again. Something else to discuss with the Admiralty, he noted, especially since it seems that Lord VanEggar escaped punishment for that lapse.
They finally came out at the south gate. Unlike the massive, ornate East Gate, the South Gate, or Garden Gate, opened up into a broad, manicured garden. It had been his daughter's favorite location, he remembered, and he fought back the tears that threatened to well up at that thought.
A carriage indeed awaited and Nikolas opened the doors and dropped the ladder, even as Brussels moved to the back stoop and Jenkins hopped up next to the driver. Christoffer restrained another sigh and took the steps up. It seemed that Captain Elias still feared that assassins lurked in waiting for him. At this point, he knew that arguing with the two men would be largely pointless. He would literally need to call upon guards or Marines to remove the two men and that would make him look foolish.
He took a seat and Nikolas and Siara sat across from him. As the carriage went into motion, he raised an eyebrow at Siara, “So, you've decided to leave the Navy?”
“I think I could be of better service as your assistant, my Lord,” she responded. “As a sailor, even as a Doctor's Assistant, I think my talents are underutilized.”
He had to nod in agreement at that. Siara possessed a number of talents. She could read and speak more languages than Christoffer, she was a talented healer, and she knew better sums than many officers. She was also hard working and extremely intelligent, which Christoffer had valued when Captain Elias had sent her to help him translate the Armen letters and messages and later when she had helped him to write up his reports.
“So, why my scribe?” Christoffer asked.
“I think you can use my help and it would allow me to accompany you wherever you go, my Lord,” she said it in such a way that made Christoffer feel distinctly uncomfortable. Taken in the wrong light, it might almost seem that she wanted to be with him for reasons strictly other than professional. There were, he well knew, officers whose scribes or nurses were nothing more than mistresses. It was not something he cared to think about just then, especially not with how she filled out the simple wool dress.
Christoffer took a breath, “I've come to appreciate your input and your advice and if you wish to continue to help, I'll not gainsay it. And, if at any time, you wish to return to your father's lands, I can certainly arrange it.”
She nodded, “Thank you, my Lord. Although, as I've said before, my father would be forced to have me killed if I returned after my disgrace of being captured.”
Christoffer winced at the reminder. Her father, Marka Pall, was a warlord among the Solak Armen, a branch of the northmen who didn't normally raid the southern lands. The Sepak had apparently leveraged an alliance, however, which had required him to give up his only daughter as a hostage. Though they hadn't touched her for fear of her father's retribution, simply by being 'captured' she was considered to have been raped and therefore a dishonor to Marka Pall.
“Well, they'd be stupid to do so,” Christoffer said impulsively. He coughed to cover his outburst and he didn't miss the slight smile on Siara's face or the twinkle in her dark eyes. He felt his stomach sink a bit at that, but he was determined not to take advantage of the woman. “I'm not certain how my fortunes have fared since my departure. In truth, my family has never been one of wealth, so I cannot say how well I can pay you. I've my pay from my Navy service and some small investm
ents in various merchant ships, some of which might well have been destroyed or captured by the Armen...”
“Money is not an issue, my Lord,” Siara said. “Captain Elias came through on Lieutenant Gunnar's offer of coin for translating. In addition to that, I've my share of the prize money coming as well as my pay for my time aboard the Ubelfurst. As long as you can provide me with supplies I need for my work, both as a healer and as a scribe, there should be little difficulty.”
“I have taken the liberty of checking the Admiral's accounts,” Nikolas said, a pleased expression on his face, “Some of those merchant ships you invested in did quite well and several banks are willing to advance some money for your prize money shares, my Lord.”
Christoffer shrugged, “Well then, that will not be an issue.” In truth, he never cared much for money. His family's connections to the nobility had always insured that he could call upon them to stay at the Citadel when he was ashore, if he really needed someplace to stay. It had suited him just fine since his wife's death, not that he had spent much time ashore even when his family had lived in a townhome. The reminder of that house and what had transpired there made him feel suddenly old and tired. Part of him wished, once again, that he had faced some punishment then, to assuage some of the guilt that he felt even now.
This always happens when I return to Boirton, he thought, I always have the past weigh upon me. He shook his head and returned his attention to the task at hand. “Nikolas,” he said to his steward, “If you'll draw up the paperwork while I meet with the Admiralty, then we can consider this finalized.”
“Excellent, my lord,” Nikolas said. His pleased smile suggested how he felt about it all... and that he thought it would be good for his Admiral to have the young woman at hand, in more ways than one. Christoffer rolled his eyes at his steward and shook his head again.
