“You told me that the afhem seemed brash, proud,” Wardric stated.
“He is bent on revenge for the wars their fathers lost.”
“Then he won’t sit idly after he learns of the Caleef’s imprisonment.”
“No,” Torsten said. “He’ll seek to destroy the seat of Liam.” He looked to Pi, who remained attentive. “I understand the choice you made in light of their attacks, my King, but you have to understand how so many of them view their Caleef. You are the Word of Iam. For many of them, he remains a living god.”
“Then they must be shown the error of their ways,” Pi said. “There is only one true God.”
Torsten nodded, smiled. It wasn’t long ago that the boy had been cursed by his uncle with thoughts of the Buried Goddess, yet now he sounded like a true king of the Glass.
“We will do everything in our power to prepare,” Torsten continued. “Muskigo will have two choices.” He stretched across the table and tapped two Eyes of Iam. “He can head straight north and take Fort Marimount.”
“It is a mighty fortress, Your Grace,” Wardric explained. “Half-built by the ancient dwarves themselves.”
"And it’s all that stands between him and a full-scale invasion of Yarrington. If he takes it, they can dig in and reinforce themselves. With your edict against the Shesaitju enacted, they won’t be difficult to find.”
“You did not approve of my decision, did you?” Pi stopped him.
“Your Grace?”
“You can be completely honest with me without fear of hanging, Sir Unger.”
Torsten drew a deep breath. He’d never known what it was like to serve someone he didn’t have to walk on eggshells around. “I would have appeased and distracted the Caleef with finery while we first handled Muskigo. Then reprimanded Sidar Rakun for such loose control of his people.”
“Feigned complacency before striking like a snake in the weeds? Careful, tricks are the craft of the fallen gods.”
Torsten’s brow raised. Pi was smirking now, and Torsten realized it was the first time he’d ever seen the boy do it. He didn’t sound like he was only twelve, and just like in the Throne Room, he barely looked it.
“That is true, Your Grace,” Torsten said. “But Liam taught us to learn from our enemies in defense of the faithful. First, we win, and then, beg Iam for forgiveness.”
“Then I do apologize for my reaction, Sir Unger.”
“You need never apologize to me, Your Grace. The Black Sands had to be dealt with, one way or another.” Torsten’s gaze jumped between the young King and the map a few times before he was able to gather his thoughts.
“Marimount would be option one,” Torsten continued, “or turn his army along the bay and sail for Winde Port.”
Wardric nodded in agreement, running his finger along the river running north from the trade port. “It’s not as defensible as the Fort, but the winters aren’t so harsh there, and it would allow him easier access to Eastern and Western Pantego.”
“It’s exactly halfway between here and Latiapur, and it would provide him with a port to the West.”
“A strategic location, sure, but they’d sacrifice a lot of men taking a city so far from Yarrington when they could close the distance better at Marimount. You said it yourself, the afhem was brash and confident.”
“Brash, confident, and willing to have his men train in the wet and the cold until they could be called ready.”
Wardric scratched his chin. “We don’t possess the men to properly reinforce both potential targets.”
“We don’t have the men to meet Muskigo’s army in open battle at all. Our legions in the East must remain to ensure a similar situation doesn’t evolve in the Panping Region—Governor Nantby has already begun building defenses against such an attack, however unlikely. In the North, they defend against Drav Cra marauders who don’t believe in allegiance. In the Northeast, we continue to honor contracts with the dwarven King, Cragrock, assisting with the grimuar scourge and to secure the borders with the Breklians.”
“You just named our only forces with any experience in battle. We’ve been sitting on our fat asses ever since Liam got sick.” Wardric laughed a mirthless laugh.
“It’s time to consider a conscription. Bolster our numbers.”
Torsten could see Pi listening, but the boy remained quiet.
“More untested men to join an army that hadn’t been tested in a decade?”
“Muskigo’s men are angry, loyal, and worthy, but only a small percentage of them probably ever served as mercenaries, and none of them are used to our winters. If he cuts a straight line for Yarrington, we should be able to defend Fort Marimount against whatever he throws at us.”
“And if he heads northeast to Winde port?”
“Then I pray to Iam we can overwhelm him with numbers. The King’s miracle has the people in good spirits after all the foulness that preceded. If we issue a call now and focus on a chance for vengeance for the villages Muskigo slaughtered, we should have success.”
“It’s winter, and grain stores throughout the region are low. People might eagerly take up the sword knowing they’ll get their bellies filled in the legion.”
“Then it is decided?” Torsten asked. “I’ll have scouts watch for the first sign of movement from Muskigo’s forces so we can reinforce his target. Galleys will be sent out into Trader's Bay in case he does move by water. Perhaps they can slow down his much larger fleet to buy us time. Frederick Holgrass will issue a conscription edict from here to Westvale, and then again to Hornsheim.
“Holgrass the new Master of Rolls?” Wardric asked.
Torsten sighed, they were all new. “Yes. All men of proper age and health will be beckoned to the call of their king. Are you in agreement, Your Grace?”
Torsten and Wardric both turned their attention back to Pi, but found that he no longer stood at the table. He was sunken back into his chair, half-asleep. He nodded his head listlessly but said nothing.
“It’s settled then,” Torsten said. “I’ll bring word to the Royal Council and have the proclamation prepared immediately.”
Wardric nodded in agreement. Torsten, however, couldn’t stop staring at the young king who looked so dejected.
Now he sees how many more lives might be lost in war because he was too eager.
Oleander never learned from or admitted her mistakes, but Liam never forgot his. He used that knowledge to crush his enemies. It was then that Torsten realized he may have underestimated Pi, that there may have been even more of Liam the Conqueror in him than he’d ever imagined.
VI
THE THIEF
Whitney pulled the wagon over at the edge of Winder's Wharf and took in the sight. Like the rest of Winde Port, nothing in the place matched. It stretched the whole of the peninsula, from a stone platform carved into the low bluffs to the north down to creaking wooden planks atop the sandy, southern beachfront. Canals branched off at random intervals like fingers stretching out into the city. They alternated with paved roadways, making it simple to ferry supplies. The locals even traversed them with gondolas during warmer months when they weren’t frozen over.
Ships of all sizes, from every corner of Pantego, moored in the harbor. He even spotted a Breklian corsair vessel, its fanning sails like a stack of daggers from his angle. Brekliodad was one of the few places the Glass Kingdom’s influence didn’t reach, yet here they were in Winde Port.
Everything looked as it had the last time he’d visited, except one new addition: three Glass Kingdom warships floating out in the bay, keeping watch.
“So, which one should we steal?” Whitney asked.
Sora snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What? We just stole the caravan and that was easy enough. A ship can’t be much harder. My eye’s on that one.” He gestured to the small, agile ship from Brekliodad.
“You can’t sail a ship with two people.”
“Says the woman who can summon fire.”
�
��How about for once we just pay for something? It’s not like we can’t get the autlas.” She looked back into the wagon at all their stolen goods. “If we sell it all we could probably buy a small ship. If you let us sell that yigging crown, we could probably get a galley and a crew.”
“Don’t even look at it.” Whitney lunged forward and reached under one of their horses. He had the crown pinned under its stomach using the strap from the saddle. He removed it, wrapped it in a silk blanket, and stuffed it into a fold in his clothing. The points poked into his ribs but he didn’t care.
“What do you even plan on doing with that thing?” Sora asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll know it when the time comes.”
“Well, I still say we sell off all of this stuff and get out of here before those monsters we stole it from come back.”
“You know, you’re no fun at all. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stolen a ship.”
“Oh boy, here we go. Please, Whitney, oh glorious and grandmaster thief, tell me the story I know you’ll tell me no matter what.” Sora folded her arms across her chest.
“Many moons ago I found myself first mate to Grisham ‘Gold Grin’ Gale, king of the pirates and master of the seas. But he knew as well as I did that he wouldn’t even have a ship had it not been for me.”
“And where is this ship now?”
He rolled his shoulders. “Who can say? Likely at the bottom of the Torrential Sea.”
“You know you’re not old enough to have done everything you say you’ve done, right?”
“Age is but a number.” He sighed and looked at the ground. “Fine, let’s see if we can’t go charter a ship.” Whitney grabbed one of the horses by the lead and started off toward the docks.
“Charter is a strange way to say steal.”
“Nope, this time you’re right. I may be many things, but I’m not the one to try sailing a ship through the Boiling Waters. It would be tough to teach you any more all-important lessons if we’re stranded on a rock.”
“No more lessons.” Sora closed her eyes, smiled, and let out an exaggerated breath. “Almost sounds like paradise.”
Whitney ignored her and led the wagon to a tailor at the end of the docks. There wasn’t a type of trade hard to find in Winde Port. They rifled through Grint’s gang’s belongings. Mostly it was silks, but there were a few other trinkets as well. Nothing so opulent as the Glass Crown, but Sora seemed eager to add it all in as a bonus. They threw in the horses as well. The portly merchant looked like his eyes were going to bulge out of his head as he took in his haul. Whitney knew they were getting an awful deal, but it would be more than enough to catch a ride like royalty aboard the finest ship sailing east. They’d leave nothing but an empty, horseless carriage for Grint and the others to find.
When they reached the harbor, the wind and cold had hulls groaning, and that was as close to the sound of waves as there was in Trader's Bay. The water was like a sheet of glass, with portions of the coast so still, they might have been frozen. Whitney couldn’t remember the last time it got cold enough to turn the bay half-solid. It was such a harsh juxtaposition to the murky waters of the Torrential Sea bordering Yarrington where massive waves pommeled into Mount Lister and towering sea walls.
Down by the beach, along the splintering deck, stood Whitney’s favorite watering hole in all Pantego, Winder’s Dwarf. He stopped outside and looked to Sora.
“All right, if there’s anyone I trust to get us to the Panping Region in one piece, they’re in this room,” he said. “I know these people. Just stand there and look pretty and the deal will keep getting sweeter.”
Sora groaned and rubbed her temples between her index finger and thumb. “You have a strange way of complimenting a lady.”
“Oh, you’re a lady now?” Whitney then flung the door open and shouted, “Tum Tum!”
Everyone in the tavern repeated the words and slammed their tankards twice on the bar or tables. Raucous laughter followed.
“I thought we were here to charter a ship?” Sora whispered after she took a good look around the place.
Like most of Winde Port, the bar’s interior was unimpressive. But like any good tavern, it was crammed with sloppy drunks. But unlike most, Winder’s Dwarf had no need for a bard. Those slovenly, unassuming men were from every corner of Pantego, even beyond the Glass—well, except the Shesaitju, Whitney noticed. Which was fine with him, he’d always found their culture to be incredibly formal and drab.
But there were Dwarves and Panpingese, men from Brekliodad and the far north. There was even a half-giant hunched over in the back of the room with women draped all over him, though it wasn’t clear how he even got through the front door.
“No better place to strike a deal than within these walls,” Whitney said. “Plus, Tum Tum is a stand-up dwarf. Nothing like Grint. You’ll love him.”
“Tum Tum is a name?” she asked, incredulous.
Whitney parked himself on a stool furthest from the door and Tum Tum waddled over. He was so short and his belly so round that he looked like a pufferfish. His coal-black beard grew in patchy, with whiskers sticking out from his nose and ears that he never cared to trim. Grint Strongiron made all dwarves seem like thieving, backstabbing cowards, but Whitney had known Dwotratum “Tum Tum” Goodbrew for years and he was the finest dwarf there was.
“Whitney Fierstown!” Tum Tum said. “Thought ye were dead.”
“Not dead. Reborn!” Whitney exclaimed. “Whitney Blisslayer now. First of my name.”
“Yer yanking me beard.”
“Nope.” Whitney reached into his pocket and slapped down the writ given to him by Torsten himself. Tum Tum leaned up over the bar and scoured the paper. “Got the seal of the Crown and everything.”
“By Meungor’s axe it does! How in Elsewhere did ye manage a thing like that?”
“If I started that story we’d be here all night.”
“That’s for sure,” Sora mumbled.
“Let’s just say a member of the Royal Council owed me big time.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Tum Tum folded the writ up and handed it back to Whitney, then stepped onto a low stool that helped him see over the bar.
“Aye! Everyone!” he shouted. “We got ourselves a noble in the house!” More laughter rose and tankards slammed. “I suppose that means ye can pay double now?”
“You should be paying me to drink in this shoghole you call a tavern,” Whitney said.”
“Watch yer mouth. There’s a lady present.”
“Finally, someone notices,” Sora said, deciding to take a seat.
Tum Tum reached out and took her hand between his chubby fingers. “And what may I have the pleasure of callin ye, my lady?”
“Sora.”
“Blisslayer?” Tum Tum finished for her. The look on her face made him question what he said before he even finished. “You two aren’t?”
“Married? Gods no!” Whitney burst out laughing and earned a well-deserved elbow into his ribs.
“He should be so lucky,” Sora said through clenched teeth. “We’re friends from childhood, catching up on old times. Sora, with no other name and proud of it.”
“Well, any friend of Whitney the Filcher Fantastic is a friend of mine. First round’s on me.” Tum Tum opened a tap and ale poured freely into a couple of earthenware mugs.
“Afraid there’ll only be time for one round, my friend,” Whitney said. “We’re hoping to catch passage to Panping—Yaolin City, in fact—before things around here heat up any more.”
Tum Tum threw his head back and released a hearty laugh from deep in his belly. “Ye ain’t goin nowhere without a temporary trader’s license issued by the prefect. All ships be grounded, as ye can right see. Only ones leavin be those tradin essential goods and able to prove it.”
“Well then, a second round it is!” Whitney said, slapping the bar.
“That’s it?” Sora asked. “You give up?”
“If you call a night
in the best pub in Pantego ‘giving up,’ then we really need to reconsider my lessons.”
Sora slid her ale away and said, “Tum Tum, why are all ships grounded? Any word on when things might let up?”
“Just got into town I be guessin? Saw the Black Sandsmen in lock up on the way through? Rumor is there be a war brewin and the Boilin Waters ain’t safe, that there be some group of rebels waitin out there, wantin vengeance for the new king lockin up Caleef Rakun.”
“So, we’re stuck here?” Sora asked.
“As a pickaxe in mud.”
Whitney threw his mug back. Half the ale wound up dribbling down his chin. “Very simple really,” Whitney said between swigs. “Just gotta find someone with papers heading that way who wouldn’t mind a couple of fine-looking stowaways.”
“Are you confused about what simple means?” Sora asked.
“Ye might be in a bit of luck,” Tum Tum said.
“Why’s that?”
“That there’s Tayvada Bokeo. Not likely many be crazy enough to risk both the Boilin Waters and gettin shredded by a Shesaitju fleet, but he be a member of the Winde Traders Guild. And nobles always be welcome at the guild. Tayvada!” the dwarf called to him even before Whitney could respond.
A thin, Panpingese man sauntered over, smiling and shaking hands with all those he passed. His hair was the color of a Dawning midnight, and he wore it pulled back so that his pointed ears were unmistakable.
“Tum Tum, the place is lively as ever,” he said. “Good fortune to you.”
“Aye. Here’s someone I’d be wantin you to meet.” He put an ale down in front of Tayvada and continued. “Whitney Blisslayer, first of his name.”
“Ah, Mr. Blisslayer, a pleasure. Tayvada Bokeo at your service.” He bowed, then turned to Sora, took her hand, and kissed it. She seemed so stunned by what he was, she barely reacted. “And your wife? Stunning! So good to see a Lord of the Glass and a Lady of the East in matrimony together.”
“Oh, she ain’t—”
“It’s an honor to meet you as well, Lord Bokeo,” Whitney interrupted Tum Tum. He bowed low in return, sneaking a glance over at Sora. Her glower looked like it could slice through glaruium.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 42
