The Call (16 page)

“Do you remember what we discussed?” Serdra asked, loudly enough to be heard over Hnut's wheezing and hoofbeats.

“I am Rakel Palme, you are Olga Vikus. We are cousins from Rapids searching for passage to the north to fetch inheritance from our grandfather Josef Palme. The inheritance is mostly money, but also some silver ornaments we mean to sell in Amerstan City. We are as armed as we are out of fear of thieves, I am sixteen, you are twenty five. We mean to hurry the task and be back home before a war starts in earnest. And you suffer from incontinence.”

“We didn't discuss that last one.”

“No, but if I say it out loud to someone who asks you'll have to play along.”

They followed the road over a small ridge and the Kalman Channel came into view. It stretched into the open sea some distance to the south, and farther north than the eye could see, into the Inner Sea.

And there was the capital itself, a few kilometres to the northeast. An enormous collection of houses of wood and stone, much, much bigger than Rapids. How often had she dreamt of coming here?

Serdra pulled on the reins and brought Hnut to a stop.

“What are you-”

“Let us trade places. You talk to the guards. Is my headscarf in order?”

“Yes, there's nothing visible.”

Katja sat into the front of the saddle and patted the horse a bit while Serdra arranged herself. The poor beast was exhausted.

The camp around the city walls turned out to be even bigger than it had seemed from a distance. Hundreds of reserves awaited further instructions. They passed a group standing in a perfect line before an officer as they practised lunges. Another one was practising grapples.

Yet another group was clearly resting, and the men traded rhymes about the abnormal sex lives of Kossus men, to great mirth.

“When was the last war again?” Serdra asked.

“Eleven years ago,” Katja answered. She'd always taken great interest in those stories. “It was by accounts a very narrow victory. If it hadn't been for support from Amerstan the Coast would have fallen.”

“And do your countrymen still nag about accepting Amerstan rule back in the day?”

Katja smiled sardonically.

“Well, some of the old people. They do need something to complain about. I think whining keeps their hearts going.”

The stone walls towered over them and men in the red and yellow uniforms of Baldur's City guards stood by the gate and watched the traffic with spears in hand.

“Congratulations Katja, you have reached the end of Baldur's Road,” Serdra said and Katja felt a surge of satisfaction.

“The man sure liked naming things after himself,” she replied.

The gate was made from dark, thick wood and clearly designed to withstand savage attacks. Katja also saw faded carvings on it; some sort of rodents, it seemed, but the passing of time had worn them badly.

“It looks like Baldur's Gate has seen better days.”

“Sure, but it was impressive in its time.”

The guards greeted them, asked their names and Katja did most of the talking. They took a quick peek into their luggage and then motioned them to continue.

--------------------

It was the smell which bothered Thorir the most. Not the fever and accompanying shivering or the gnawing pain in the thigh which moved ever further up, but that sickly sweet smell of the pus. It was the smell of a slow, miserable death nothing could halt. It was too late for amputation. He could do nothing except wait for the delirium, which would only end in death.

Or so the doctor had thought.

Thorir pulled the corner of his blanket to his face yet again and dried the cold sweat. Then he stretched a heavy arm out of the bed and clamped trembling fingers around the water pitcher which stood on a stool. He gathered his strength and moved the spout to his lips. More water went into his face than his mouth, but at least he managed to quench his thirst.

His strength ran out when he tried to put the pitcher back on the stool, and it clattered on the floor.

This is a wretched end!
he thought bitterly. He had worked for years to earn the respect of his compatriots. Not just anyone would have been sent to Longwater. Finding out the truth had been
vital
and if the task had been completed neatly he and Hannes would have been held in high esteem.

Instead he was now confined to bed like a feeble old man while his blood turned to poison.

I deserved better!

He could at least take comfort in one thing, and perhaps his name would be esteemed after all. Just in a rather different way.

It was a sign of the sickness that Thorir didn't hear the footsteps until just before the door opened and his cousin Mugi walked in.

“What... did the wanderer say?” Thorir gasped. He hated how difficult it was to speak. It made it seem like his mind was more hazy than it really was.

Mugi put the pitcher up on the chair.

“Vajan has the news,” he said. “It has been decided to expedite the plan.”

“It will take... more than speed... if all is to go smoothly.”

“Yes.” Mugi watched him with sympathy Thorir didn't care for. “Are you sure-”

“Can you... perform
Lojhan
, or not?” he asked as harshly as he could. Still, Mugi's unease pleased him. It strengthened his hope that the Brotherhood would remember his final deed.

Mugi sighed.

“We are gathering people. It shouldn't be a problem.” He hesitated. “Thorir, are you sure you want to do this? You are sick, and-”

“Yes, I am sick.” He gazed sternly at his cousin. “But the fever hasn't robbed me of my wits. Not yet. I know what I am... am doing.”

He again dried his face with the blanket. He was thirsty again.

“I want revenge. And I mean... to have it, no matter the cost. We will...
all
... have it. And perhaps I'll manage to... outdo that foreign bastard while I'm at it. There are worse... ends than that.”

Mugi nodded, and Thorir felt he saw more respect in that one motion than ever before. His cousin then took the pitcher and went to refill it.

Revenge
.

Chapter
10.

The bustle was equal parts fascinating and bizarre. It wasn't long before Katja had passed more people than had lived in all of Rapids, which was rather overwhelming. People's demeanour was also rather different from what she was accustomed to. Greetings between people were surprisingly rare, and ones she did see were quick and unemotional. Guardsmen were stationed at every major street. Beggars sat in the busier streets with their begging signs around their necks. Most were crippled, aged or sick.

Perhaps the looming war was partially to blame, but when Katja walked alone towards the harbour, through streets where endless chatter and footsteps echoed between ancient stone walls it was as if she'd stepped into a world she simply didn't know.

Again
.

Serdra had gone straight to an inn she knew from the old days, rented a room and left the horse in the stable while they went out into the city. The woman had gone to find the Shades the carpenter had told them of and sent Katja to see about getting a ship passage north. She said it would probably be valuable to speak directly to Maron about the matters of the Inner Sea area, assuming they had the time.

Seeing the harbour area was interesting. Baldur's City had after all once been the easternmost outpost of the Jukiala union, and the harbour was one of the oldest parts of the city. It had also always been one of the most important ports in the Inner Sea area. Time and uncountable feet and wagon wheels had marked the houses, paving stones and the watchtower which dominated the area and had clearly been added to multiple times. This place had a history, and Katja allowed herself to close her eyes for a few moments and try to imagine it.

The ships were arranged by the docks depending on size and home port. Katja didn't recognize the flags except those belonging to Baldur's Coast and Amerstan but saw five others at a glance. Katja's love of this place got even stronger.

From here one could go anywhere
, she thought.
North along the channel or out onto the sea itself. Jump from port to port and see the entire world from a deck.

Her childhood dreams of travel had taken various forms, and this was one of them. But they had work to do, so she held back a childish urge to run from ship to ship and ask about each crew's home and started tending to her task. A dry, middle-aged accountant who walked around the docks along with a servant explained to her that all ships had been barred from leaving for now.

“Why in the world?” she asked and the man was clearly annoyed at being kept from fussing over registering arrivals and numbers. He'd probably heard no few complaints from captains and merchants.

“That is a state matter, girl. Argue with the governor if you feel he has wronged you.”

He walked off.

“Well, do you know how long this will last?” she asked.

“'Yes. Until the governor withdraws the order.”

She made a face towards his back and looked around, at a loss as to what to do. This had to have something to do with the war, right? Unless they'd gotten wind of a major smuggling operation. This at least explained why there were so many soldiers around the harbour and why the sailors looked rather sour.

Serdra had meant to meet up again at the inn where they would decide the next step in light of fresh information.

Well, I have to bring information beside 'We can't get north'.

Every single ship was guarded by at least two men. Her war sword caused a few looks, but no-one objected to her walking to the boarding ramp and talking to the crew.

She picked the ships where the crew was still at work above deck, in the hope that greater numbers would mean more information.

Her first pick turned out to be all the way from the Blue Isles. Those crewmen who had light skin were already quite tanned, and all talked with a harsh accent Katja had never heard before.

The governor's order had come four days before, and opinions were divided on the reason. They knew little about this fresh tension between Kossus and Amerstan, but the ship's cooper said he'd heard soldiers say something about spying. They knew nothing about when the ban would be lifted, but meant to go straight back home when the moment came.

“You are new in town, young lady,” a stranger's voice said.

Katja looked down. It was yet another beggar sitting in the roadside. He was younger than most of them but no less filthy and his clothes were heavily patched rags. According to his sign his name was Jamon and he was crippled.

“Yes, I know,” she said. There were quite a lot of crowns and even some bits of food in his bowl. He didn't need alms from a woman with little to spare.

Jamon smiled at that.

“Yes, but given your expression you don't know where to find what you need.”

“Am I so transparent?” Katja asked.

“For those who pay attention, yes.”

“And what do I need?”

“Well
that
you'll have to tell me yourself. If I am to help you.”

Katja tried to recall the proverb about the eyes of those at the bottom. One of her grandfathers had been very fond of it. How had it gone again?

“My cousin and I need to get north,” she said after thinking a bit. “Why aren't the ships being allowed to leave?”

Jamon just smiled companionably and held out his bowl.

Katja groaned inwardly and took a palm-sized piece of bread from her things and let it drop into the bowl. Jamon bowed his head.

“May your kindness be heard of in the next world.” He clearly said it many times a day.

Katja crossed her arms and gave him an impatient look.

“There was word that agents from Kossus meant to smuggle themselves into the city on a ship. The lieutenant governor ordered all ships be stopped and searched thoroughly and not let out of the harbour without his permission.”

“One doesn't fit an army into one merchant vessel,” Katja pointed out.

Jamon shrugged.

“Eh, sabotage doesn't take an army. Nor does the murder of a leader.”

Katja scratched the back of her head. She and Serdra probably wouldn't get anything out of finding the lieutenant governor and saying they needed to fetch inheritance.

She amused herself for a moment by imagining Serdra say 'Pleeeaaase' in a girlish voice but then turned her attention back to the beggar.

“Do you know anything about how long this will last? I want to get north before the war starts.”

“It may have started already, given what one hears. But to answer you no-one seems to know anything. The lieutenant governor is busy managing war preparations and arguing with the other ministers and doesn't seem to take the time for anything else.”

“The lieutenant governor? What about governor Jirik?”

“You've been walking around with your fingers in your ears I see,” Jamon said and laughed a bit. “Governor Jirik, long may he live, has taken ill. Lieutenant governor Leroi took his place, but isn't as respected by the ministers.”

“And they're embroiled in conflict while the country is headed for war?” Katja asked appalled.

“War is just the time for conflict,” Jamon said with a weary smile.

“True,” Katja muttered. She had never given any thought to politics. The sheriff's men had visited her village now and then to collect taxes and issue decrees, but chancellors and governors had no other effects on her life.

But then she had grown up in times of peace. If Kossus defeated Amerstan they would almost certainly head south after that to take the Coast. So the decisions of rulers suddenly mattered to her.

She vacillated for a moment.

“Do you know anything about the war?” Katja asked hesitantly. Not much news reached Brown Slope, but by accounts Kossus had been doing a lot of military build-up in recent years.

“Only what soldiers whisper between them when they think no-one can hear,” Jamon said quietly and looked around a bit. “An invasion of Amerstan is expected within the month, and the chancellor doesn't have a large enough fleet to meet them on the sea. He is calling all available reserves north to the eastern shore to strengthen defences.”

“Literally all?” Katja asked. She had a few relatives in the reserves.

“Well, just about. People are at any rate worried there won't be enough left to maintain law and order.

It just keeps getting better.

Bells rang in the afternoon somewhere in the distance. Jamon looked towards the sound and his eyes lit up.

“Uh, if you really want to know more this may be your chance. An announcer will read out public proclamations after a few moments.”

“Oh? Where?”

Jamon clumsily got to his feet and staggered a few steps until he could look around a certain building. The walk reminded Katja of a duck. There clearly was something wrong with his knees.

“You can glimpse the town hall over there. There is a platform just south of it. Just follow the broadest street with all of the lamp fittings.”

“Thank you!” Katja said and ran off.

The street the beggar had pointed out was slightly less busy and she could pass and dart by people without trouble. Some were startled and threw invectives after her as she shot through a narrow opening between them, but she didn't care.

Soon she went through a gate and into the area outside the town hall.

It was a big, ugly lump of rock which had originally been built as a fort against Vegraine hordes and revenant armies. The added structures within the defensive wall and administrative buildings outside of it had been built with far more thought of aesthetics. A sign of the times, people said, but the fact was that if a foreign army attacked the city, the ugly old lump would once again be the last line of defence. Though the city folk were now far too numerous for all to fit inside.

The announcer was easily identified by his orange cloak and hat. He stood on top of an old wooden platform in front of a large audience.

“... will be brought before a judge today,” he said in a clear, resonant voice. “And I remind you all of the curfew. All honest citizens are to stay indoors after the ringing in of night, unless to report crimes or suspicious behaviour. And here end the day's announcements.”

Damn it!

The orange man stepped down from the platform and into the crowd. Katja tried to follow him, but the audience now started to go their separate ways and it was harder to get through this mass of people than the streets. She earned a few more outraged cries as she made her way to the middle of the square and then finally spotted the announcer as he was let through the town hall's gate. It was shut behind him.

“Shit and shame.”

She turned to nearby people.

“What did I miss?” People either didn't hear her through the noise or just ignored her. “Hello? What did he say? I just arrived here. Hello?”

“Only what one has been hearing lately.” A man around thirty had stopped next to her.

“And what would that be?” She was on the verge of saying she'd just come from the west but then remembered she'd better keep it to herself in light of the events of Longwater.

“More soldiers to the north, stricter security measures, some arrests for minor violations and an ongoing port ban.”

“Did he predict how long it would last?”

“Nope,” the man said and smiled a bit. “That orange only says what the higher-ups allow him to.”

Kajta looked back at the gate. It was her understanding that men in power didn't make a habit of addressing just any person who came knocking.

“Are you on one of the merchant ships?” he asked conversationally.

“I need to
get
on a ship,” she said. “To the north. Just when will they have searched away their suspicions?”

The man grinned as if he'd heard a dark joke.

“Impossible to say. One can always rely on authority being suspicious enough to get into its own way.”

“Just authority in general?” she said and managed to smile a bit.

“Everywhere,” the man responded and was clearly amused. “I've travel widely and seen much. It's the same all over. People lucky enough to get into power or live a long time are invariably confident they know better than the rest of us. A girl your age must have experienced as much.”

“Oh indeed,” Katja said with exaggerated emphasis and was herself amused. It was a nice change to talk to someone other than Serdra.

“ 'Stand up straighter',” she said pretentiously and wagged in rhythm to the words. “ 'Watch your language.' 'You will agree with me when you mature.' 'Show respect'. 'Stop hitting him'.”

The man raised his eyebrows at that last one.

“I'm unusual,” Katja said and grinned.

“It sounds that way.”

“At least it's fun to see people's faces when their wisdom is revealed to be overstated.”

A gleam came into the man's eyes. He seemed to reliving a good memory.

“That is true.”

He wasn't very tall, but had a strong build with a torn ear and a broken nose. His eyes were intelligent and he spoke with a slight accent. It wasn't hard to believe he had indeed travelled widely and seen much.