03 - God King (16 page)

“But still,” pressed Vergoossen, “what if they aren’t lying?”

“Of course they’re lying,” snapped Marius, rounding on his aide. “It’s the
oldest trick in the book for fly-by-nights and thieves. Listen, Vergoossen, one
of two things has happened here. Either they’ve stolen their master’s cargo and
transferred it to another ship, which we’ll see in a few days with false papers
of lading or they have come here claiming they had to ditch their cargo to
outrun some pirates so they don’t have to pay the berthing tax. Then they’ll
miraculously find a hugely lucrative trade deal when they get ashore. Either
way, I won’t stand for it. I’ll have them locked in the tower for trying to
cheat Marius of Jutonsryk.”

His lesson in tax evasion dispensed, Marius marched towards the merchantman,
noting how high it was riding in the water. Its holds were empty, that was for
sure, but he’d wager they’d been empty long before the sailors had come within
spitting distance of the city.

The Sergeant of Lancers turned as he heard Marius approach. He gave a formal
salute and placed his clenched fist against his chest before bowing curtly.

“My lord,” he said. “Sergeant Alwin. We detained these men when the Master of
Taxes informed us they refused to pay the berthing fee.”

Marius scanned the sailors, a grimy bunch of men with colourful complexions
and dark hair to a man. He counted around a hundred men on the quayside or
clustering the rails of the ship. They looked desperate to get onto dry land,
and many threw furtive glances over their shoulders out to sea.

“Is this all of them?” asked Marius.

Alwin nodded. “A couple of them may have gotten into the city before we
arrived, but looks like there’s more or less a full ship’s complement here.”

That seemed about right, and Marius looked for the sailor in the least grubby
clothes, the one that likely captained this vessel. His eyes immediately fixed
on a man with skin like tanned leather and a mane of slick black hair. His
manner was agitated, but from the looks the others were giving him, it was clear
he was in command.

“You,” said Marius, beckoning the man through the line of lancers. “You speak
Reikspiel?”

The man nodded and gratefully pushed through the lancers towards Marius. Two
of his personal bodyguard quickly searched the man for weapons, taking a pair of
daggers and a gunwale spike from his belt.

“I am Count Marius of Jutonsryk, lord of this city. What is your name?” said
Marius, careful to enunciate each word carefully.

“My name is Captain Leotas Raul, and I speak Reikspiel very well.”

“Good, then we won’t have any misunderstandings,” said Marius. “This is your
ship, yes?”

“It is,” said Raul, his voice prideful and yet melancholy. “
Myrmidia’s
Spear,
sole surviving ship of Magister Fiorento’s fleet.”

“Yes, well I’m sure he will be overjoyed to hear that his last ship is soon
to be impounded,” said Marius.

Before Raul could react to Marius’ dire pronouncement, the count of
Jutonsryk said, “Tell me, Captain Raul, what do you think of my harbour? Is it
adequate for your magnificent ship?”

Raul looked confused, and Marius said, “Would you like me to repeat the
question?”

“No,” said Raul, a hard look entering his eyes. “That will not be necessary.”

“Well? Are my docks fit to berth your ship?”

“These are very fine docks, Count Marius,” answered Raul coldly.

“Good, so why don’t you tell me why you’ve taken the liberty of berthing in
my perfectly good harbour and yet refuse to pay the berthing fee.”

“We have no cargo,” replied Raul. “No cargo means nothing to tax.”

“Oh there is always something to tax, Captain Raul,” Marius assured him. “But
if you have no cargo, then you have come a long way for nothing. Magister
Fiorento must be a wealthy man indeed to despatch ships with no cargo all this
way.”

“We did not come here with empty holds, my lord,” said Raul. “We were forced
to abandon our cargo.”

“So tell me, what manner of cargo were you carrying before you abandoned it?”

“A thousand bales of embroidered cloth,” answered Raul. “Dyes and oils from
the warmer climates of the southern islands.”

“I see, and you threw these overboard because…”

“We were attacked by black ships with crimson sails of ragged cloth and
crewed by dead men. Sailors from the depths of the ocean risen from the sea to
hunt the living.”

“Very poetic,” commented Marius. “Of course, you realise I don’t believe a
word of it?”

“I speak no lies,” hissed Raul, and Marius smiled at his conviction.

“Then, please, elaborate,” said Marius, knowing even a skilled liar would
often trip themselves up in the details of an over-elaborate farrago.

“As we rounded the Reik headland from the south a noxious fog arose from the
sea and a host of crimson-sailed vessels moved to intercept us. Not a breath of
wind stirred their sails, yet they came on at speed, as though all the fiends of
the deep pulled their rotted hulks through the waters. More appeared around the
northern headland, trapping us between them, two hundred vessels at least.”

“Two hundred?” laughed Marius. “Now I know you are lying. There are, I’ll
grant you, a few corsairs who raid the shorelines of the far Reik, but none with
so large a fleet.”

“These were no corsairs,” insisted Raul. “As their ships drew nearer we
smelled the stench of rotten, waterlogged timbers and saw the decaying flesh of
the skeletal crewmen aboard each vessel. We tried to outrun them, but they were
too fast, and our sister ship,
Shield of Glory,
was overtaken. A hundred
dead warriors swarmed her decks, and they tore the living apart to eat their
flesh. Though our fellow brothers of the sea were being devoured, not a man
aboard ship dared turn to help them.
Golden Goddess
tried to evade, but
she was too heavy, and more of the ships of the damned cut her off. She too was
lost with all souls.”

“But you escaped,” said Marius.

“No sooner had I seen how many ships opposed us than I knew we were too
heavily laden to escape. I ordered our cargo ditched, but even then we only
barely made it through the line of mouldering hulks.”

“These ships of the dead did not pursue you? How convenient.”

“They did not,” said Raul. “But they are still out there, this I swear on the
life of my mother. They are out there and no more ships will come to your city.
And while they lurk in the fog, none shall leave.”

Marius had heard enough and shook his head. “A fanciful tale, Captain Raul,
but one I am disinclined to believe.”

He turned to Sergeant Alwin. “Impound the ship and lock these men up in the
Old Town gaol. Vergoossen, draft a letter to Magister Fiorento and tell him that
if he wants his ship and crew released then he’ll need to pay their fines and
taxes. Be sure to inform him of the increasing levy of fines the longer he
leaves them here.”

“As you wish, my lord,” said Vergoossen.

Marius turned and walked away as the lancers began rounding up the protesting
sailors.

“Dead corsairs, indeed,” he said. “Ridiculous.”

The five chariots thundered over the rugged flatlands to the south of Three
Hills, the horses running at battle pace as Maedbh let them stretch their
muscles. Asoborn beasts needed to have their head now and again. The training
fields allowed the youngsters to get a feel for the beasts and how the chariot
behaved, but there was nothing like riding tall at battle pace to get the heart
pounding and the blood racing.

Two chariots sped along either side of her, each with an Asoborn youth at the
reins. Not one was over thirteen years of age, but they worked the reins like
veterans. The ground here was dotted with thin copses, unexpected slopes and
random patches of rocks, but so far they had steered around them without losing
valuable speed. Ahead, the Worlds Edge Mountains soared to the sky and a black
line of thunderheads rolled like a giant wave crashing over the distant peaks to
the far south.

Looking at those clouds gave Maedbh a shiver of dread, though they would be
long back at Three Hills before any storm broke. She returned her attention to
the ground before her chariot as they rolled over a rough patch of earth and the
wheel spun in the air for a moment. The chariot wobbled, but Maedbh brought it
back level without effort.

“Careful, mother!” squealed Ulrike with frightened delight.

“Are you still secure?” called Maedbh, sparing a quick glance over her
shoulder.

“
Yes,
mother! Of course I am!”

Ulrike had her right ankle braced against the side armour, her left against
an angled ridge of wood Wolfgart had crafted to compensate for her narrower
stance. Her knees weren’t locked, her legs flexible and her posture loose; the
perfect position for a charioteer spear-bearer. Maedbh smiled, seeing the same
fierce determination in her young features she saw in herself. And, if she was
honest, she saw in Wolfgart.

Thinking of her estranged husband brought a lump to her throat. She missed
him, and it rankled that she felt like that. An Asoborn woman needed no man to
complete her, she was a fiery warrior princess with the winter fire of Ulric
flowing in her veins. Maedbh knew all that was true, but she knew there was no
shame in wanting to be part of a union that had created so beautiful a life as
their daughter.

She and Wolfgart were too alike, that was what she loved about him, and,
perversely, was also the problem. Like two bulls in a pen, they locked horns
every day to establish dominance, though surely there was no need. She regretted
her harsh words to him, but like arrows of fire, they could not be taken back
and had struck where they would do the most damage. Maedbh knew herself well
enough to know that pride was but a facet of stubbornness, a quality both she
and Wolfgart possessed in abundance.

It wasn’t in her nature to back down, and yet Ulrike needed a father. She had
cried when Maedbh told her that Wolfgart had returned to Reikdorf. Part of her
hated him for leaving without saying goodbye, but she recognised that any such
farewell would have resulted in a bitter quarrel, and couldn’t blame him for
wanting to avoid such a confrontation.

“Mother!” cried Ulrike, and Maedbh cursed as she wheeled the chariot away
from a scattered tumble of rocks in a dry riverbed. Her attention wasn’t on what
she was doing, and that was dangerous. Many a careless charioteer had run
themselves into rocks or trees through their inattention, and such inglorious
fates were amongst the most shameful among the Asoborns.

She pushed Wolfgart from her mind and fixed her attention on her wild ride,
weaving a deft path through a sparsely wooded forest in the shadow of a long
ridge that ran from east to west. The chariots formed a line in her wake,
smoothly changing formation in response to her manoeuvres, and she smiled at the
youths’ deft touch on the reins.

The horses were breathing hard, their flanks lathered with sweat and Maedbh
drew them in, gradually slowing them until they were gently trotting. The horses
came to a standstill and Maedbh coiled the reins through the loop of iron fixed
to the chariot’s wooden frame. She was sweating, her limbs pleasurably sore from
their ride.

“Why are we stopping?” asked Ulrike. “I like going that fast!”

“The horses need to rest, my dear,” said Maedbh. “They’ve had a hard morning.
Think how tired you are after you’ve run around the training ground five times.
These horses have done that and more.”

“They need to rest then.”

“Yes, my dear, they do,” said Maedbh. “We all do. See to the horses, and I’ll
fix you some food once you’re finished.”

“Can’t I have food first?”

“No, always see to your horses as soon as you stop,” instructed Maedbh. “You
can go without food for a little while, but your horses may need to ride fast at
a moment’s notice, so be sure they’re watered and rubbed down before you see to
yourself.”

Ulrike nodded reluctantly, but began expertly brushing the sweat from the
horses’ heaving sides. The chariots had halted in such a way as to form a rough
circle, a perfect defensive formation and one that allowed each rider to set off
without fear of hitting another. Maedbh watched the others follow Ulrike’s lead,
rubbing their horses down with handfuls of straw before allowing them to drink
from a trickling stream of clear water.

Satisfied the horses were being looked after, Maedbh stepped down from the
chariot and sat on its base, untying a bundle of black bread and cheese from an
internal pannier. She broke the bread and set out a portion for her and Ulrike,
enjoying this chance to get out in the wilds. Any Asoborn warrior preferred the
wind in their hair and the sight of open horizons to the feel of enclosing walls
and buildings of stone. Though Three Hills was far from oppressive, Maedbh still
relished the chance to explore the far reaches of Freya’s lands, to ride the
wild woods and race along the open flatlands beyond the hills.

“That was well done, my beauties,” said Maedbh, as the others led their
horses back to the chariots. They didn’t hobble the horses, but let them roam
freely, knowing they would come with a whistle. They beamed at her pride,
knowing that as charioteer to Queen Freya, her praise was not given lightly.

As they gathered around her, Maedbh offered instructional tips, helpful
pointers and the occasional admonishment to her charioteers. Each had performed
well, but there was always room for improvement, and nobody could afford to rest
on their laurels.

“You’re leaning left when you crack the reins, Osgud,” she said, angling her
hand as she spoke. “It makes the horse pull away from the line, and you need to
keep your spacing close when you’re riding in close to the enemy. And Daegal,
follow through with your spear thrusts, but remember to twist the blade at the
extent of your thrust, otherwise it will be torn from your grasp. Ulrike, you
need to watch your balance, always keep your back foot braced or you’ll be
thrown out if the wheels strike a rock or hit a dip in the ground.”