Deed of Empire, page 27
“Certainly.” Voln bowed like a courtier and backed a discreet distance away.
Frissan talked to the others for a few moments in Eidannian, then turned to The Black Duke. “And what do you think, Uncle?”
He sighed. “It matters not what I think. We need to go with him.”
“No!” Stigerd hissed. “His kind are treacherous. Even their own families won’t have them.”
“Exactly why we should go.”
Fridale held up his hand to Stigerd. “Please explain, Uncle.”
“He threw you a baited line and you thought you could just nibble a bit and escape if you wanted. But you should have ignored the bait completely and swam away.”
“Speak plain, Waldish!” Stigerd growled.
“Stand down, Oathkeeper!” Fridale snapped.
The Black Duke wasn’t sure of the wisdom of shouting at an enraged Frozen Lander thrice your size, but it had the desired effect. Stigerd subsided. “I am sorry, Lord.”
Fridale turned back to The Black Duke. “But please do speak plainly, Uncle.”
“As soon as you said we would consider his offer, you confirmed his suspicions: that we are not who we say we are, that we are traveling far, and we wish to remain unnoticed. And to a man like that, he will assume that means that we are transporting something of great value. Which, I might remind you, we are. So even if we now say no, he will still act in some way. Ambush or extortion, most likely.”
Fridale stood in thought for a moment. “I am sorry for putting us in this situation,” he said.
“You are very young, Nephew. I am not.” He grinned at the boy. “And I have a great deal of experience with ambush and extortion and who to practice it on.”
“But knowing he means us harm, why do we want to go with him.”
“Has anyone but Stigerd been in a ship battle? I wager Voln and his crew have been in plenty. If we try to cross the river, he will have us.”
“Then we should leave. Head back to the ferry.”
“Yes, but…” The Black Duke bit his lip. “If I am wrong, or we pay him a good price and convince him that trying to get more would be more trouble than it’s worth, he will cut weeks off our travel.”
“I still think we should walk back.”
“I haven’t finished,” The Black Duke said. “If I were him, and you said no to my offer, I’d have someone follow you and see which way you were going. Then I’d sail ahead and ambush you. At least on his boat, they’d have to fight three or four abreast and couldn’t surround us.” He put his hand on Fridale’s shoulder. “Sometimes there’s no good answer. You just have to go forward and fight your way through it.”
Fridale looked up at his uncle for a moment, the rain on his facing looking like tears, though his face was stern. Then he nodded. Spoke to the others who looked to The Black Duke and nodded, as well. Even Stigerd saw the logic of it, though he was still clearly simmering with anger.
I see, The Black Duke thought. They’ll look to the boy when they want to know where to go, but come to a fight and suddenly they’re all looking at me. He was bitter for only a moment before it came to him that was how it had worked with Good Fortune and his band of warriors. I don’t recall a single one of them asking me about anything but fighting. For anything else they went to Good Fortune. He was suddenly hit with a longing for that man like a mace to the chest. If he were here, he might find an answer better than putting our head right into the trap we know is there. But The Black Duke saw no other way. It is our best chance of surviving, I am sure of it, he thought, though secretly, he had doubts. A lot of doubts. But he locked them away deep, along with his heartache over Good Fortune, his homesickness for the high forests of the Wald, and his lingering doubt that Cresni or any god whatsoever actually cared what happened to him or the boy.
He steeled himself as Fridale motioned Voln to return.
This is the fight now. This man. This journey. Nothing else need concern me.
Voln smiled and Fridale returned it. Then they began to haggle as though they were old friends discussing the price of po-ta-toes. When they finished, Voln turned to leave, but The Black Duke stopped him.
“One more thing,” he said. “We leave now.”
“The river can be dangerous at night,” Voln said. He looked up into the pounding rain. “Especially in this weather.”
“Now.”
Voln raised a single eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. “Very well.”
As he walked to the boat, The Black Duke turned to Stigerd and Fridale. “Quickly now. Lose the disguises and arm yourselves. I want them to know the price they’ll pay if they betray us. No more than three of us asleep at any time, and no weapon more than a hairsbreadth from your hand.”
They stripped out of their farmer’s clothes and strapped on their arms. The Black Duke wrapped his frock around the chest, though he wasn’t sure how much it concealed what it was.
No matter, he thought, any tiny bit of uncertainty we can sow in that man’s mind is worth it.
Within minutes they were on board. Voln tried to spread them out amongst the rower’s benches, but The Black Duke insisted they stay in a group up at the front of the boat. The prow ramped upward to give them a slight height advantage, and it was the narrowest part of the boat so they would face no more than three warriors at a time. He had the chest placed in front and sat down on it facing the rear of the boat. Unsheathed his sword. Let the crew see the three feet of Balaki steel and wonder at the strength of a man who could wander the Wald with a fortune at his hip. Though Balaki steel was famous for keeping its edge, he got out oil and a whetstone and sharpened it while Voln and his men untied from the dock and pushed away. The wind had died with the sun and they left the sail furled, though the rain maintained a sullen downpour. Six men took to the oars, three a side, just enough to give the ship steering way with the current. Voln stood in the back, manning the long tiller attached to the side. By the look on the crews’ faces, The Black Duke decided that Voln hadn’t lied when he said the river was dangerous in the dark.
“Everyone rest up,” he said to Fridale. “Nothing will happen till morning at the earliest. I’ll keep watch.”
Fridale nodded and most lay down or leaned against the sides. All kept their weapons to hand. Stigerd came and sat on the chest next to The Black Duke. “I’ll stay up with you for a bit, Waldish.”
He was about to send the Frissan off to rest, but realized that far from lulling Voln into thinking they trusted him, Stigerd lacking suspicion all of a sudden would have the opposite effect. So he let Stigerd stay and quizzed him on what jobs the sailors did and how the sail worked and what all the rope was for and a host of other questions to get him more familiar with what he thought was likely to be his next battlefield. Though Stigerd had lived inland his whole life, he’d used the many trips back to visit family in Frissum as opportunities to learn the seafaring ways that had made his people such a terror in the past. There wasn’t a job on the boat he wasn’t well versed in, not a piece of equipment he didn’t know the function of. Eventually, The Black Duke ran out of questions and they sat in silence passing a wineskin between them and watching the sailors work. With the moon high in the night sky that was finally clear of clouds and rain, he woke Javon and Jacou for a watch and turned in. He didn’t feel tired, but wanted to be well rested for whatever tomorrow would bring. The boat rocked him to sleep in moments.
He woke with the sun rising bright behind him. Another point for getting this done now, he thought. He was more certain than ever that Voln planned to betray them and only the long night of fighting the river in the dark had prevented an attack. They’ll come in the evening with the sun behind them. I’ll not give them the chance.
He didn’t have to wake anyone else; Renatta and Fridale were breakfasting and the others were rising with The Black Duke.
“Up,” he said quietly. They all knew that word.
He looked down the length of the boat. Voln had given up the tiller sometime in the night and now slept in the middle of the boat with nearly half the crew. The wind had risen and the sail run up, so the men at the rowing benches had broken out game boards and knucklebones to play or gamble as was their wont. Only a few crewmen were looking toward The Black Duke, and not too intently, just noting the movement and going back to their tasks.
“Ready?” he asked, and all gave surreptitious assent.
He was just about to give voice to the order to attack when Fridale said, “Uncle, wait.”
Foolish boy! “Better to pick the time of battle than have it chosen for you,” he hissed. “And battle is coming.”
He turned away, but before he could unsheathe his blade, Fridale jumped in front of him and shouted, “Voln!”
The captain came awake to his name being called and his sleeping crew came awake with him. And just like that what should have been a surprise attack on a dozen sleeping men and a dozen distracted ones turned into a pitched battle where they were outmanned four to one. The Black Duke drew his sword anyway because he still had the high ground and the sun at his back and at least he would die in battle. But Fridale put his hand on his shoulder.
“Stigerd,” he said, “open the chest.”
Stigerd obeyed while The Black Duke locked eyes with Voln, who was looking at him curiously.
He must be as curious as I am about what is happening.
Fridale dug around in the chest, filling a small sack with coins. When he was done, he nodded to Stigerd. “Leave it open,” he said. “Let them see what this is all about.”
Stigerd obeyed silently, though even he looked a little doubtful now. The Black Duke did not stay silent.
“You foolish child, you’ve chosen a watery grave for us all.”
Fridale smiled up into his uncle’s fury. “We won’t die here today, Uncle. We won’t even fight.” That was not what The Black Duke expected and he was stunned enough that when Fridale told him to sheathe his sword, he did so without comment. “Come with me,” Fridale said, and picked his way carefully toward the middle of the ship and Voln.
The Black Duke turned to Stigerd. “If any of them draw steel, slaughter them. We will have victory or we will meet again at the warrior’s table.” Stigerd nodded. Satisfied that maybe at least one of this band hadn’t lost their mind, The Black Duke followed his suicidal nephew to the middle of the boat.
Fridale stood in front of Voln, The Black Duke just behind him. Tactically, the situation was hopeless. He couldn’t hope to kill more than a few men before being overwhelmed himself.
I’ll have to make sure to make Voln one of those few. See if this rabble will fight on without him.
Fridale handed the bag of coins to Voln. “Here is the first half of your payment. I believe that is customary in these types of arrangements. In our hurry to leave, we seem to have forgotten that part.”
Of course, he forgot, The Black Duke thought. He intends to take all of it after we’re dead.
Voln took the coins. “An oversight,” he agreed.
“My uncle thought it was because you intended to kill us and take all we had anyway.”
Voln smiled wide, but it was about as convincing as a wolf’s grin. “I assure you, that was the furthest thing from my mind.”
“You give me a lie, but I will trade you a truth for it: you will never get what is in that chest.”
Voln blinked. Looked around at his two-dozen men. Looked pointedly up at the mere six guarding the chest.
“I don’t know, boy,” he said, all sign of the cheerful ferryman gone. “I think the odds are in my favor.”
Here is the real Voln. Pure hunter and not a drop of tradesman in him. Even as he respected him the more for it, The Black Duke balanced on the balls of his feet, timing the light sway of the boat, and envisioning a smooth draw that ended with his blade in Voln’s neck.
“If I’d wanted a fight,” Fridale said, still sounding confident, “we would have attacked at dawn, with the sun at our backs and half your men asleep.”
Voln blinked at that and shot a brief look at The Black Duke who gave him his own wolfish grin. The young Frissan didn’t seem shaken exactly. But he was not so sure of himself as he was a moment ago. Still, he had the respect of his crew to think of.
“I grow tired of words, Little Chief. Say your piece and let the men get on with the red work this day holds.”
“Very well,” Fridale answered firmly. “Then I will say this. I have instructed my men that if there’s any sign of trouble, the very first thing they are to do is throw that chest overboard. Throw it over with the top open so all that treasure spreads over a mile of riverbed and sinks into the mud. No matter what happens after that—and I can assure you that my uncle alone will kill at least a quarter of your men, and most likely you—no one will get what’s in that chest.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” Voln said, for the first time sounding like the very young man he was. He seemed to realize it, too, because he said no more.
“Make sure to have your men engrave that on the stone they bury you under,” Fridale said. “But it matters not, because we will not be fighting this day or any other day on our journey. You are being paid well for a service, and I expect it to be done. You will take us to Three Bridges and we will pay you the rest. In any other scenario, you get nothing more than our blades.”
And with that the boy turned and marched back to the front of the ship, Voln and The Black Duke both watching him with mouths agape.
Voln finally broke the silence. “That’s your nephew, Waldish?”
The Black Duke nodded. “Indeed he is.”
“Huh. He doesn’t walk strange at all.”
The Black Duke stared down at the young captain. “Why would he?”
Voln grinned, a true one this time, pure joy. “Because the balls on him must be huge!”
They laughed uproariously and The Black Duke suspected they’d have no trouble from Voln or his crew the rest of the journey. Then the wind shifted and the sail needed to be turned. Voln shouted and the sailors hopped to their tasks. With no more to be said and no opportunity to say it anyway, The Black Duke made his way back up front to where Fridale quietly savored his victory with his men.
24.
Egil — The Hysan Sea
* * *
Despite Egil’s inauspicious introduction to Odsmun’s crew, it wasn’t more than a few days before they were all friends. Though an infantryman by trade, you don’t grow up on an island without learning about boats. He was a keen sailor—if a bit rusty—and was as strong as any of the Frissans on the oars, which they really weren’t expecting. After they warmed to him, they apologized profusely for staring at Idoyu. Frodir, a wiry young man with an untamable shock of red hair and a wide gap between his two front teeth, explained.
“You truly caught us out. This is our first trip south and we indeed hadn’t ever seen a man so dark. We thought him perhaps burnt.”
Egi laughed at that and explained about the many different shades and types of men one could encounter on the mainland. “And though they look different and speak strangely, they are just like other men: large and small, brave and cowardly, smart or stupid depending on their nature. And Idoyu is the finest man I’ve ever met. And no matter that we are different colors, he is my brother.”
They thought that was the finest of sentiments and immediately decided they must toast brave Idoyu, brother to their new friend. Egil thought that a nice gesture on their part, though in the next week of travel, he found that there was very little that the rowdy crew of Frissans wouldn’t toast to. He had no problem with that, either, and matched them drink for drink, which endeared him to them even more.
“They’ve never met an outlander,” Odsmun told him. “And they’ve been told their whole lives that you would be small and meek and unable to contest them in any of the manly skills of drinking, fighting, and feats of strength.”
“Well, I am glad to disabuse them of that notion,” Egil said. “Though in truth, I am a rather large example of my kind.”
Odsmun himself was a poor cousin of a large trading family. Unable to buy into the greater voyages, he earned his keep on training forays with first time seafarers. None but Odsmun and the pilot, Ingrir, were much older than Egil.
“Late summer, after the storm season is past but before the autumn winds start up, I usually run a load of these pups down to Three Bridges and back. Take them home to their fathers knowing which end of the mast to tie the sail to.” He shrugged. “Beats begging coins on the shore.”
They drank to not being beggars, though Egil said he might end up one after his business on Forfils was done. “Tough to get work as a swordsman when you’ve got no sword.”
“I might be able to help you there,” Odsmun said. “Frodir!” he called out. “Fetch up the arms box!” Frodir hopped up from the rowing bench he and several other boys had turned into a gaming table and went astern to crouch into the small cargo hold. “I’m a sailor. Never been a fighter. Never needed to be. I take boys through safe water to safe ports and back again. But that won’t be the same for a lot of these boys. Not all trading is in safe waters, and—you’ll not have heard it from me—but not all traders actually pay for the goods they come home with.”
Frodir came back on deck dragging a long wooden box. Odsmun stood and went to him, motioning Egil to follow. “We’ve got a box full of weapons here. None great, mind you, but they’re all serviceable. You train these boys up for the rest of the journey and I’ll give you one. Not the best, of course, but not the worst, neither.”
Egil didn’t have to think. “Agreed.”
Odsmun pulled a ring of keys from his belt, chose one, and unlocked the box. “And nothing fancy. I want them to learn what works in an actual battle. Have you been in a battle?”
“Several.”
“Did you win them all?”
That question threw Egil for a moment. He wasn’t sure if Odsmun was being rude or just wanted to know what kind of expert he was hiring. He didn’t end up answering, as he hesitated long enough for Odsmun to guess it.
