Jyuth had not left the place particularly tidy when they had moved in. He must have packed in a hurry, for there were clothes and books and papers strewn over the sedan and table. She missed the old man and his strange ways, the various schemes he dragged her into, and even his everyday messes. It did not look much better right now—though instead of Jyuth’s great purple robes there were dresses of varying colors draped over every available surface.
“Petra!” she groaned, deflated. Once again, she would have to clean up after her sister.
Alana set to work just as a young girl in the grey uniform of a palace maid appeared in the door, freshly laundered bed sheets cradled in her arms. They looked at each other, two sparrows suddenly aware of each other.
“Er, I was just coming to clean up ma’am,” said the girl.
“That’s alright. I can manage. You can go,” said Alana. She saw the crestfallen look on the girl’s face, probably assuming that she was going to be in trouble with Bertha, the tyrant-under-the-stairs. Alana smiled to put her at ease. “Why don’t you go and find a book and a quiet place to read?”
The maid looked even more confused as she put down the linens and backed out of the door.
“Don’t back up. Press forward!” said Dolph as he flicked his rapier at her face.
Alana deflected the strike with her parrying dagger and shifted her footing to strike with her blade. He dodged to the side and circled around her, the point of his sword tracing tiny circles in the air. His hair was slicked back, a slight sheen visible on his forehead from the afternoon sun. In contrast, Alana felt like she was drowning in her own salty sweat.
Ting. Ting. Ting.
He attacked again and she parried the rapid succession of strikes with blade and dagger, looking for an opportunity to press her own advantage. Weeks of practice with first Florian and, since his departure, with Dolph, and she was able to hold her own in these contests with blunted blades. Alana had wanted to be trained on how to defend herself as soon as the election was over, but Neenahwi had forbidden it, saying that she was still too weak. And she probably had been; the attack by Win and the injury inflicted by Mareth’s assassin, all within a couple of weeks, had hit her hard. But she refused to be a victim again. As soon as Neenahwi had left with her brother for a trip up-country, she had dived into the training.
Alana dodged Dolph’s last strike instead of catching it on a blade, feeling the whistle of wind as it slid by her, and lunged for the stomach of Mareth’s former bodyguard. He twisted to the side and the blade tip missed its mark, but his sword arm was on the wrong side of him now and it took a fraction of a second for him to reset his stance.
She noticed these things now. To start with she had been happy to be able to fend off Florian’s attacks, surprised that her life as a maid had prepared her well for swordplay. She was stronger than Florian had expected—years of fetching, carrying and cleaning building up wiry muscles—and she had the stamina of someone who had to be on their feet eighteen hours a day to be able to earn a few meager coins to survive. She could also use her left hand quite well for the parrying dagger; in fact she had been writing with her left hand as a child before that ‘bad habit’ was beaten out by her school teacher.
Florian had then poured a big bucket of water on her sense of achievement. “You can’t afford to just defend. All it will take is one moment of bad luck and you’ll be skewered. Don’t be afraid. Fight!”
Don’t be afraid. Easy for him to say. Fear, or more accurately awareness of danger, is what had kept her alive in this city. Kept her out of being dragged away for some twisted soul’s amusement. But she’d overcome at least some of that fear, some of that hesitation, during the election, hadn’t she? And the past two months of daily training had been slowly fortifying her confidence in her own abilities.
Dolph shuffled his feet back to the ready stance that she had been taught. But she was already moving, striking with the parrying dagger toward his thigh. He knocked the blade downwards effortlessly, a smile on his face turning to a frown as the tip of the rapier pressed into his shoulder. Alana had followed up her first attack with a high strike from the rapier that he had completely missed.
“Where did you learn that? We’ve only been working on using the knife for parrying,” asked Dolph.
Alana stood up straight, relaxing after her success and the exertions of the past hour. “No-one. I just thought I would try it. It’s like…” Her voice trailed off as she was momentarily aware of how foolish what she was about to say would sound.
“It’s like what, Alana?” coaxed Dolph, keeping his eyes on her as they both returned their training blades to the rack at the side of the gravel training field.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” Dolph nodded. “Well, it’s like catching mice.” Dolph’s eyes widened, so Alana hurried on. “The other maids, they get a pan or a bucket and try to catch the mouse. But it’s always gone before they bring it down. They move too fast. So I would use two saucepans. One would come down straight at the mouse, and of course it would run away, but then I’d have the other pan to hit where I thought the mouse would go. It would work most of the time.”
Dolph laughed.
“Hey, you promised you wouldn’t laugh.”
“I’m sorry, Alana. I’m not laughing at you. That’s just a very good story. I’ve known many good fencers take years to understand that they want to be the cat and not the mouse.” He paused for a second, obviously thinking. “Doesn’t the kitchen have cats to catch the mice?”
“Oh, yes. But they’re lazy. They’d rather lie by the hearth.” Alana smiled.
“Hah. See, cats are smart. I’d rather do that than fight, any day.” Dolph chuckled as he patted her on the shoulder. “Well, good work today. I think you’re already better than Mareth with these toothpicks.”
“Ah, Mareth! I have a meeting with him at four o’clock and I need to get cleaned up.” She leaned in and gave Dolph a hug. The smell of him flooded her nose, the combination of leather and sweat, but it wasn’t off-putting. “Thank you. Same time again tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here. It’s the highlight of my day.”
Alana waved and ran back to her apartment and the waiting bath.
Chapter 4
A Kiss For An Old Man
“If it wasn’t for Neenahwi, we would have suffered much greater losses. The patrol led by Captain Bennett has been lost. Only The Spaniel, a third-class ship, made it back to Redpool. More of these fireships, I’m afraid.”
Neenahwi lounged in a soft sedan chair, grateful to be back on dry land and hopefully some time to rest and re-center herself. Crews was reporting to Uthridge and Governor Darrail of Redpool, all seated in similar chairs around an unnecessarily roaring fire in the governor’s mansion. A few others from Uthridge’s regiment were stood nearby, including her brother and Trypp, none of them apparently qualifying for a seat.
Uthridge twirled his moustache as he listened intently to the events of their past two weeks on the Sapphire Sea. “Tell me more about these fireships.”
“I haven’t seen their like before.” Crews leaned forward in his seat as his hands traced the images he attempted to describe. “They have an armored deck without rails, and a figurehead of a dragon that shoots a flammable and sticky liquid. The head does not move but whatever contraption is inside can turn to some extent. It was pointed out to me that their design appears to be modeled after the Draco-Turtle. I think we finally have our answer about who was behind the pirate raid.”
Uthridge nodded, his moustache narrowing to a point between his fingers.
“From a nautical standpoint,” said Crews, “they are actually somewhat crude in their design. One fixed sail, with more than two score banks of oarsmen. I don’t think they would be any use out on the Arz Sea or the ocean beyond.”
“They aren’t leaving the Sapphire Sea then?”
“I believe not, Lord Marshall.” Though Crews and Uthridge were officially of an equal rank, it was obviou
s to Neenahwi that the Lord Admiral deferred to the experience of the older man.
“Well I am glad you were there, Neenahwi. I would hate for us to have lost another Lord Admiral. Anything else to add?” Uthridge asked of her.
“Not much, Uncle. I wish I could have understood what those ships were about when I scouted them. I could have given fair warning to the Admiral.” She paused before shooting one of her lesser glares at Crews. “Or that we had sunk the captured ship and left…” Neenahwi still bristled at the thought that if Crews had followed her suggestion, if he had been more ruthless, then over half a thousand good men and women of Edland would still be alive.
Crews did not take the bait. They had already spent many hours arguing over how things should have gone. Her exertions and the use of the demon stone had left her incensed, long after the remaining Pyrfew ships had disengaged and fled. She had berated him on the deck of his own flagship, in front of his crew, before he had convinced her to join him in his quarters to continue the conversation in private. Then he had given as good as he received. Even though they were behind closed doors, she was sure that their disagreement was still audible to the rest of the ship, if not most of the Sapphire Sea.
It had taken them three days to search for any survivors of The Orca and The Falcon, and then haul back the captured Pyrfew vessel to Redpool. Uthridge had met them at the dock and dragged them up to this meeting without so much as a welcome embrace.
“I’m afraid that I don’t have much better news,” announced Uthridge. The Governor squirmed in his seat, his hand worrying at his brow. Governor Darrail had been appointed by the last king some years ago, after Redpool had last been liberated from Pyrfew. One of the better appointments for possible personal enrichment in times of peace; the prospect of war was something he did not appear to be looking forward to. “Sergeant Morris and Motega. Can you provide your reports please?”
Neenahwi looked up at Motega, standing close to her adopted uncle, her brother had been spending as much time surveying the ceiling as actively listening to the conversation. She caught his attention and gave him a little smile; she had not had time for a proper reunion yet, just a few words snatched on the walk up to the city from the harbor. Trypp stood next to him, his brow furrowed as he had been following along. At Trypp’s side was Major Chatterwick, the commander of the local battalion and to his left was a man she did not recognize, and he spoke first.
“The border forts have been reclaimed from the forest,” said the man who must be Sergeant Morris. The wrinkles and lines around his eyes, along with his completely grey hair, gave evidence of his years; he could even be as old as Uthridge. But he wore it well. This was a hard man, the thin lined scars on his face showing his experience better than a parade of medals. “We saw two of the old stone forts, with new palisades and plenty of men. Two more wooden garrisons, newly constructed. Probably a hundred or so men in each from what we could see, but they could hold a lot more. There were no patrols or guards in Edland territory. Didn’t seem like they were concerned about visitors, sir.”
Uthridge nodded. “Motega?”
That’s when she realized there was something wrong. Something missing. A great big hulking shadow behind her brother was absent.
“Where’s Florian?” she interrupted.
Her brother nodded toward her and gave a wan smile, “He’s resting. He got speared in the gut, but we think he’s going to be alright. You can see him after this.”
“Yes, yes,” said Darrail. “I’m sure we’re all very concerned. Can we get back to the matter in hand?” Neenahwi really did not like this man, but she held her tongue and she could see Motega’s jaw clench as he did similarly.
“Please continue,” said Uthridge, ignoring the governor’s outburst, though Neenahwi knew that her Uncle would have been genuinely concerned, as he would be for each and every one of his men.
“As you know already, sir, it’s a similarly shitty story, I’m afraid. Traitor’s Keep is reoccupied and we saw two other newly constructed fortifications. Plenty of men with sharp spears.” Motega aimed those last words at the governor, but the old man had returned his anxious gaze to what was stuck beneath his fingernails. “And they are using eagles to hunt down any messenger birds.”
“You’re all up to date now,” Uthridge said to the Governor and Admiral Crews. “As I feared, we’re at war and we didn’t even know it. The Lord Protector sent us here for three things. Establish Pyrfew’s intentions and, if necessary, bulwark the defenses of Redpool. Find out what this new fleet of theirs is doing. And find a new governor.”
Darriel didn’t even look up at the notice of his impending replacement, though Neenahwi was certain he heard. It was difficult for her to argue with her Uncle’s interpretation of the situation. They were likely at war, and Redpool once again seemed to be a target. But why did Pyrfew want Redpool? Was it just because it was so close to the mouth of the Sapphire Sea, or was there something else? Like Jyuth had intimated? It didn’t sit right that Llewdon just wanted the city for tactical reasons. He was playing a different game. That much was apparent from her visions in the woods. But she did not know what the game was, much less the pieces on the board, and the gaps in her understanding were beginning to gnaw at her.
“I think we’ve established Pyrfew’s intentions,” said Uthridge. “And we need to be wary of the new fleet. Admiral Crews, have we heard of any Edland merchant vessels being harassed?”
“Not as yet.”
“Then we can only assume that for now they are concentrating on our navy. I trust for the moment we can avoid any further engagements? I think you need some time to develop a new approach to deal with this new threat.”
“That's a fair assessment,” conceded Crews, as if to his school master.
“Good. In that case we shall return to Kingshold as soon as we can. The Lord Protector’s intention is that a local should be appointed governor. In line with his philosophy of empowering the populace.” Uthridge spoke as he had been trained—without giving away his opinion. Even Neenahwi could not tell if her Uncle agreed with the political changes going on in their country. “Kingshold has sent an administrator. A man by the name of Folstencroft. He will interview prominent members of the city and come up with a recommendation. Darriel, are you even listening?”
The governor looked up, red faced. Neenahwi was uncertain whether his shame was from being called out for not paying attention, or from the thought of his replacement. She suspected that given some time to reflect, he would be happy to be away from what would be the front line of any future war. He’d likely have lined his pockets well enough while he had been in the governor’s mansion; sometimes you had to know when to take your money and run.
“I'm listening,” said the governor.
“Good. The rest of you can go. I need to speak to the governor alone. But I would like to talk to you later, Admiral, if you have time.” Crews nodded eagerly as if he was impatient to continue the conversation in more detail with someone who would actually understand what he was talking about. “And Chatterwick, wait outside.”
Neenahwi nodded along with the rest of the attendees as she rose from her seat with a groan. She was tired and needed some sleep on a bed that wasn’t constantly swaying. But first she needed to speak to her brother.
Neenahwi followed Motega and Trypp out the door and down the long hallway that led to the courtyard of the governor’s compound. Without her saying a word, they were already waiting a few discrete steps outside. Crews had joined them, but she only had eyes for her brother and he pulled her in to a tight embrace.
“It was touch and go. We were really worried,” he whispered into her hair.
She pulled back to see his face, his eyes misty with emotion. Florian was his closest friend, Trypp was too, and she knew how much they meant to her brother. They had been like brothers for these last ten years; brothers that constantly seemed to get into trouble, as brothers do.
“He’s going to be fine now
?” She felt a pang of guilt. Jyuth had said to keep her brother close, that she would need him. But he also needed her. It had seemed straight forward that they would split for just a little while so they could achieve different objectives. But now she questioned whether that was the right thing to do.
“He was treated by the best medics on Uncle Uthridge’s staff. They said he was lucky, the spear missed anything important. But he needs some time to recover. He was awake before we came here. Do you want to go and see him?”
Neenahwi nodded. “I need to speak with Uncle again, then I’ll come.”
“Good to hear the heroes of Kingshold are made of stern stuff, eh?” said Crews, clapping Motega on the shoulder. “After facing down a whole town of pirates on the back of a Draco-Turtle, it would be pretty embarrassing to go down to a few common grunts.”
“Admiral, I hope you’d know as well as anyone, that your luck can always turn when you’re facing down someone with something sharp. Sounded like things didn’t go exactly according to plan for you either?”
“Ah, well. At least I had your sister on board. She’s more exciting than a blazing barrel of rum.” Crews looked at her and winked. A surprising reaction given they had spent much of the past few weeks arguing. Was he flirting with her? “We need to get you back out there, my lady. You could sink the whole of that scummy lot, I bet.”
“I’m not sure that would be advised. Just think about how pissed off I would be after ten times the magic.”
Crews gulped and tried to laugh it off. Motega and Trypp guffawed; they were quite experienced with her baseline rages.
The door behind them opened and Governor Darriel left his own meeting room, cutting a solitary figure. The Major slipped in to the room after the governor and closed the door behind him. Neenahwi and company stepped back to the edge of the wall, freeing up the passage and looking sheepishly at the floor to avoid any mutually uncomfortable embarrassment. Darriel passed by without saying a word. Neenahwi watched him turn into a side corridor; toward his rooms, if she had to hazard a guess.
Ioth, City of Lights Page 6
