by Daniel Casey
Riv couldn’t have imagined this path. The greatest imposter was a native traitor. He had forged documents captaining a false ship manned by foreign soldiers disguised as domestic sailors ferrying domestic soldiers who were truly foreign combatants. This tactic, it was madness.
“Captain.” Before Riv stood a Silvincian commander garbed in pristine armor.
“Yes, Riv Bloodtangle of the Kopis.” Riv handed his charter vellum over to the commander.
Reading the vellum, the commander glanced up at Riv, “Kopis? So you’ve been doing our resupply run for some time now?”
Riv nodded, “More than a few times certainly.”
“Then you’re familiar with our requirements.” The commander asserted.
“I am.” Riv said warily, not quite sure what the commander was getting at. “Have they changed?”
“Recently.” The commander nodded and gestured at one of his subordinates to assist with the disembarking of the Spires soldiers.
“They I may not be familiar.”
The commander didn’t look at Riv but seemed to be casually taking in the ship, “This ship, this crew and yourself, are now conscripted into the Silvincian navy for the foreseeable future.”
Riv blinked stunned, “What?”
“You are now an official part of The Blockade and you will join the force of conscripts that will defend it from any potential threats.” The commander cocked his head toward the open sea where in the distance the black Lappalan fleet could be seen.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to protest, we have…” Riv began.
The commander waved him into silence dismissively, “You’ll get to make your petition to the admiral. Lucky you. Your ship has been noticed.” The commander smirked. “Follow the ensign here.”
The commander turned away before Riv could respond and before him a youthful ensign stood sheepishly waiting. “Go on then.” Riv said shooing the boy onwards.
He could see now as he was led along the great chain of ships that were locked together to form The Blockade, his ship wasn’t the only one detained. Some he recognized like the Red Tide belonging to the only Adrenine captain Riv had ever met, Iko Synx (it always struck him as odd that the Adrenines were brilliant shipbuilders but were rarely among the captains or crew); the Albion, a gigantic slow heap of a cargo ship; smuggler Anton Bevic’s Sturm; the twin trimarans named for and helmed by the twin Nica sisters Alois and Eudocia; and the Helion, the long frigate of his nephew Asa’s friend Evan Novak. There were maybe four or five more ships he didn’t recognize. Whoever the admiral was, he had moved quickly. Riv hadn’t thought the woman’s plan practical but so far, everything she had said would happen had.
“I’ll take it from here ensign.” A well-dressed man put out his hand stopping the boy dead in his tracks. He wasn’t a soldier and had a queer aura of command and service. “You are Captain Bloodtangle, I take it.” He asked.
Riv nodded and held out his hand, “I am, you can call me Riv.”
The man didn’t acknowledge the gesture and turned on his heel the moment after he said his name. “The Admiral will see you. When you are dismissed, I shall take you to your cabin.”
“I didn’t catch your name.” Riv said as the man led him down a narrow hall below deck. The man didn’t say anything until they reached a door. As he opened it, he said in a whisper, “Best not to argue.”
Riv entered the room and the door closed immediately behind him. Before him hunched over a long table rummaging through several documents stood a mature man draped in a long purple cape. He wasn’t balding but his hair was cut close to the scalp, not grey but silver. His face was red with several tiny purple veins peppering his cheeks and nose. Next to this man, who must have been the navy’s admiral, was another commander, young and well-built with a face that didn’t look like it knew how to grow a beard.
The admiral looked up and held out his hand, “Ah, Captain Bloodtangle.”
“Yes,” Riv shook the admiral’s hand, “I’m here about my ship.”
“Of course you are.” The admiral turned away. “This is commander Moxley; he’ll be leaving for Ardavass soon to inform the Spires about this situation with the Lappalan fleet.”
“Lappalan fleet?”
“Certainly you saw it coming up on The Blockade.” Moxley said.
“The ships out at sea? I assumed they were Silvincian.”
The admiral shook his head, “No, they are not and we do not yet know their intentions.”
“Which is why Admiral Lesur has decided to detain and conscript the ships of the privateers that have been servicing our supply needs.” Moxley added.
“Ships and crews.” Riv said.
“And captains.” Lesur smiled at Riv, “Your ship is rather well known.”
“I wouldn’t think it is spoken of too poorly, sir.” Riv shrugged.
Lesur laughed, “But you haven’t always been the captain.” Lesur turned to Moxley, “Who was it?”
“Salda, sir.”
“Right, Asa Salda. He was the captain until very recently.”
Riv wasn’t comfortable yet talking about Asa but he did his best to hide it, “I’ve lived my entire adult life on the Kopis. Asa was my nephew, and I served him as his first mate.”
“Where is your nephew now?” Moxley asked.
“Dead.” Riv said flatly looking the admiral in the eyes. “On our last contract, he picked a bug from the soldiers we were ferrying back to Anhra. He died at sea, so I took over.”
“My condolences.” Moxley said rather robotically.
“Seems we owe you then.” Lesur said as he turned his attention back to the pile of papers on the table.
“Pardon?” Riv asked.
“No, not quite that.” Lesur shook his head.
“I’m sorry, what admiral?”
“We know your ship was the primary mover of black trade goods. We know that you or, more likely, your captain was responsible for breeching our siege and conducting business with the Rikonese.” Lesur spoke matter-of-factly.
“Sir, we didn’t…” Lesur held up his hand for Riv to stop talking.
“We knew what was going on and we permitted it because it was necessary to keep the men sated.” Lesur assured him. “And whatever dealings you had with the Rikonese must have been minor because they were few and far between and our surveillance never recorded any real boon to their forces.”
“Captain Salda did what he thought was best for his crew.” Riv asserted.
Lesur waved Riv’s explanation away, “I don’t care. I really don’t care. I just wanted to let you know, we know about you.”
“Which is why the admiral has decided that you will be put in command of the conscript strike group.” Moxley said.
Riv shook his head, “I don’t understand.”
Lesur pulled up a frail looking sheet of paper, onionskin thin, and held it out to Riv. “You are now a commissioned officer, Commander Bloodtangle.”
Riv took the paper and held it gingerly. He read the long flowing script that was his commission. “What if I don’t…”
“Don’t want the commission?” Lesur finished his sentence for him. “Well, in that case I still keep your ship and your crew but put you in irons and send you along with Commander Moxley here. He’ll see to it that you are tried for treason in Ardavass and, most likely, executed.”
Riv’s face betrayed no emotion, “Well, I wouldn’t want that.”
Lesur’s tone changed taking on a sharper edge, “And if you fail to serve me adequately or if you try to undermine my authority I’ll keel your body at every ship that makes up this siege chain.” Lesur scowled at Riv, “Do you understand?”
Riv nodded and the admiral turned away departing the room through a door at the far end. Moxley stepped forward rubbing his chin.
“He wants you for this because he believes you can best handle the conscripts.”
Riv was still looking after the admiral, “Aye. I gathered as much.”
/> “He also respects anything bold enough to venture to break The Blockade.”
“Again, we did what we had to.”
“But he appreciates you more for removing an unfit captain.” Moxley seemed to whisper this last bit. Riv snapped his head to look at him squarely.
“What did you say?”
Moxley turned away, “None of our men were ill. We always check our marines before the leave to make sure they are as healthy as possible. We do it to ensure that there’s no interruption in our labor. If the kyrios began to think that serving at The Blockade was actually dangerous or that the soldiers came back diseased, then we’d the resource that has allowed us to stay the course.”
“So you think I lied.”
Moxley nodded and chuckled, “I know you did so does he. But we also knew that Salda was a less than savory character and, no offense meant, rather duplicitous. Everyone knows that you were the force that kept the Kopis successful. Salda would’ve gotten himself killed years ago were it not for you.”
“That’s not something I believe.” Riv asserted.
“Well, it really doesn’t matter what you believe. Your job now to obey commands.” Moxley tapped a thick looking glass paperweight on the table several times. The door that Riv had entered through opened immediately revealing the man who had ushered him in.
“Baxter,” Moxley pointed, “Will get you settled in your cabin aboard out command ship. There you’ll find your instructions. Read them over, memorize them, burn them, and give the ashes to Baxter.”
Riv realized that there was nothing to be done. He nodded to Moxley, who had already started to busy himself with the papers and maps on the table and was no longer paying attention to him, and turned to follow Baxter out. When they emerge back on deck, Riv noticed the ships adjacent to them were being pulled apart from the great siege chain. He asked Baxter what was going on but the man didn’t respond to him. Rather, Baxter seemed only to walk faster leading Riv to the edge of the ship. Looking down, Riv saw that a skiff was waiting.
“Can you at least tell me where this command ship is?” Riv asked rather annoyed.
“Obviously, Commander, it is out there.” Baxter didn’t so much point as flick his wrist toward the open sea. Riv looked out and saw a large dromon anchored. There were conscripted ships heading towards it and couple already moored alongside it.
“What’s it called?”
“Originally, it was called Vindicator but the admiral changed it to Nemesis just a few days ago.”
Riv shook his head muttering, “Well, that isn’t a good omen.”
Baxter motioned for Riv to descend to the tender, “What is?”
As the tender rowed out to meet the Nemesis, Riv marveled at just how accurate the woman had been. In the cell aboard the Lappalan flagship, she had stood over his tired broken body calmly explaining just what the future held for him. Riv had just wanted the pain to stop. He had found himself flinching uncontrollably every time she moved. He remembered her crooked smile as she commanded the torturer to get him healthy again. When he next stood before Umma Myr-Sen, healed by his torturer Rava Din, he was given the simple choice—accept his role as an embedded spy for Lappala or be executed. He had chosen to stay alive.
There was no escaping. They had broken him, healed him, and then matter-of-factly poisoned him. The brown oily substance they poured down his gullet every morning and every evening put his stomach in knots and deadened his senses. He felt detached from everything. He heard people speaking as though they were in a tunnel even though he knew they were next to him. He couldn’t tell when his dreaming ended and his waking began.
Then, after a week or so, they stopped. He began to sweat. Wave after wave of chills went through his body no matter how many blankets he wrapped around himself. Of course, they gave him whatever he demanded. Water didn’t quench his thirst. Eating only made him nauseous. He developed the shakes and his vision obscured with blinding red stars. The chills gave way to migraines, and then just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, Rave gave him a thimble of the brown liquid.
He drank it down. Almost immediately, he felt his body relax. His head stopped throbbing; his muscle and sinew eased. He felt like himself again. But it didn’t last. Within a few hours he was back to being a writhing knot on the floor of his cell. Then, again, Rava gave him a thimble and explained that he was going to have to keep taking the medicine, the papaver, for the rest of his life. A thimble in the morning, a thimble in the evening. No more, no less. They had given him enough of a supply for a month, a sandalwood box packed with an umber powder. On the tender, his finger tapped a compartment on his belt where he kept it. He had gone through a quarter of it already.
He didn’t know how or if he could get more. All he really knew, all he felt in his bones was a fear of running out of papaver. He didn’t know how long he’d be here. Since leaving the Lappalan fleet, he only parsed time from one dose of papaver to the next. They had control of the ruin that was his body. As the tender approached the Nemesis, a tiny voice in Riv’s mind kept muttering You deserve what you get.
CHAPTER 4
40th of Samhain
Arderra
It was going to be a simple job. Just before the end the month, two wagons would come into Arderra loaded with coin. It was soldier pay. Primarily for those out at The Blockade. A soldier typically made three obols a day and by the end of a month had between two and five aurei waiting for them. These wagons carried at least 50,000 aurei, which was more than enough to entice fools like Heston.
Jena had to hand it to him; the plan was direct and would probably be effective. Each wagon was ironclad, its reinsman hidden in a well-protected canopy with a long thin slit to see out of and narrow holes for the reins. There was no way to get at the driver unless you were in the cab with the cargo. Atop each were two bowman, on either side of the driver’s canopy sat two swordsmen, and within each, there were two more guards. At least seven in each wagon; fifteen well-armed guards. There were four of them—Heston, a mouth-breathing knuckle-dragger who only responded half the time to the name Loudon, a more svelte and smarmy version of Heston named Gregson who was obviously an ex-soldier and probably gave Heston the idea for this robbery, and Jena.
Before the wagons reached town, Heston planned to strike. Apparently, Gregson was an excellent and fast shot. He was to be perched in a treeblind off the road and tasked pick off the bowman. Once Gregson loosed, the reinsmen would strike the horses to a faster pace to escape attack. In the panic it was hoped, they wouldn’t take too much notice of the road conditions. Heston had Loudon make a twelve-foot mud slick in the road then covered it with sand and dust for camouflage.
He’d also had Loudon dig furrows on either side of the road deep enough to toss and obscure bodies. Heston and Jena were huddled in one and Loudon in the other. When the wagons came to the mud patch, they’d jolt to a stop. Heston would cut the horses loose (if they hadn’t broken free already) while Jena and Loudon eliminated the remaining bowmen and guards.
The assumption was that the interior guards and reinsmen would stay in the cab. There’d be no reason for them to come out since there was little chance of anyone breaking in. The walls of the cab were treated great oak shielded on the inside and out, top and bottom with iron paneling. Heston had acquired enough flame tar from Gregson’s less savory military friends. He planned on dousing the wagons and setting them aflame. The smoke and heat would drive them out.
When Jena had asked, what the plan was if they didn’t come out, Heston had brushed her off. Gregson had laughed, “You think rats won’t flee?”
“Soldiers aren’t rats.”
Gregson shook his head, “These aren’t proper soldiers. They’re still green yet. What do you think the Spires does with its boys when then come back from The Blockade? Shit jobs like this, where they never learn a damn thing.”
“Like yourself then.” Jena replied flatly.
“Here now,” Gregson snapped, “don�
�t you be gettin’ sassy. There’s still gonna be more of them than us.”
“I’m more than familiar with this sort of thing.” Jena paused, as she looked Gregson up and down making it clear to everyone that she had a rather low opinion of him. “Besides I’ve come out ahead with worse odds.”
“Enough of that.” Heston waved Gregson off and faced Jena, “If they don’t come out I’ll deal with it. I’ve got another treat that’ll do the job.”
“And what’s that?” Jena asked.
“Never you mind.” Gregson said. “You just better be able to make short work of those guards.”
Jena didn’t even look at Gregson and just held out her middle finger. “She’ll do.” Heston reassured.
“Aye, maybe, still think we should throw her to the Bandrans.” Gregson sneered.
“You’re welcomed to try, princess.” Jena replied bored.
“She’s not the one.” Heston slapped Gregson in the chest. “If she was, she wouldn’t be up for this job. And we’d get nothing for her anyway.”
“Well, a lot of pain. You’d get that from me though.” Jena added. Gregson scowled but she could have sworn that Loudon belched something akin to a laugh.
Now they sat squat in the furrows that Loudon had dug. Heston had with him an oily looking hessian sack. As he pulled the brush blind over them, Jena asked, “Is that your auxiliary?”
“Don’t worry about it, just do your job.”
“How much have you thought beyond this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we can’t hide the bodies. Or, at least, we could but can’t get rid of two smoldering iron wagons. And surely someone from town is going to notice the smoke and the absence of this crew.”
Heston nodded impatiently. If he had considered any of this, it didn’t show. “Well, I figure we’ll be long gone by the time they get out here. Be back in town, like nothing ever happened.”
