The Starfall Knight (11 page)

Captain Marzell nodded.

They drew near to the tent village which was surrounded by tall, spiked barricades and a shallow ditch.  Alessa noted the red-tabarded soldiers keeping watch at regular intervals, armed with swords, polearms and bows.  Their armour varied between metal plates and chainmail but no one looked out of place in the combat gear.  A small squad of soldiers jogged past in cloth shirts and sweating profusely.  They did not bear weapons apart from a stick-like device strapped over their backs.  Alessa could make nothing of it apart from a wooden handle and a metalic cylinder.  A group of soldiers in leather armour and green tabards wandered nearby.

Marzell led them past the barricades towards one of the larger marquees.  A few merchants had set up stalls along the main thoroughfare of the adhoc community.  As far as Alessa could tell, most of the people were visitors who had come to see the new arrivals.  Alessa guessed that they had encountered moon worshippers before as few paid them any mind.

“What town is this called?” Vantanis asked.

“It has no name yet,” Captain Marzell said with a smile.  “It was originally our camp to meet your aerock.  I daresay it will be struck once you cast off.”

“Everything is so organised.”

“Is it?”  Marzell shrugged.  “I can name ten military and civil violations walking down this path.”

Alessa pointed at a young couple haggling with a cheese-monger.  “What is that, Captain Marzell?  What are those little stones?”

“They are our currency,” Marzell replied.  “They contain andonite chips.  Grey slate coins have the smallest chips.  Ten small slates equal one large slate but quartz is the next true denomination – it progresses from white quartz, brown, pink, then red.  Ten red quartz equal one marble chip.  Needless to say, I’ve never seen a marble coin.”

“You must have a robust Council to use currency,” Alessa said.  She had only ever read of the theory of money and currency – on Sirinis, debt was handled much more directly.

“Yes, I suppose so.  We are fortunate.”  Marzell halted outside a marquee.  “This is our guest quarters.  You’ll find the accomodation is basic but it should be adequate for your needs.  For now, I must ask that you are accompanied by one of my soldiers around this village.  We mean no disrespect but our protocols are not without reason.”

“Of course,” Vantanis said.  “We understand the need for security.”

“I expect, however,” Marzell continued, “that you will be invited to a welcoming feast shortly.  It is our tradition.”

“That would be lovely,” Alessa said, sharing a glance with her father.

“Indeed,” Vantanis said.  “Thank you.”

Alessa peeled off the itchy robe and cocked her arm.

“Don’t!” Vantanis said.  “Give that to me.”

“I wasn’t going to throw it.”

“No, because you’re giving it to me.”

Alessa handed over the robe, adjusted her tunic and they continued onto Tarius’ cabin.  With the first shipment of water and basic foodstuffs complete, Alessa already saw the desperation fading from the Tarians.  She wasn’t sure she could say the same about the other factions but she knew that Tarius would force them to pay a high price.

“Did you eat your fill?” Vantanis asked, his tone low so that only Alessa could hear him.

“Yes, father.  They have so much.  It’s a wonder they aren’t all fat.”

“Gluttony seems to run counter to their way of life.”  Vantanis nodded at a pair of thrashers patrolling the road.  “I know it seems like a paradise but we must be wary.”

“Of course.”  Alessa wondered about the Centarans and their excess of food and drink and good cheer.  Perhaps it was all a fa
ç
ade, not unlike the one that they had presented in turn.  She could not shake the feeling, however, that Centara was much like the cities and nations that she had read in her father’s books – places of civilised society.  For Aer’s sake, they did not need barter for they had a monetary system and formal government.

Alessa and her father reached Tarius’ cabin and Grunos waved them inside before turning his attention back to a roasted chicken leg.  Vantanis opened the front door and led the way into the sitting room adorned with souvenirs of past conquests.

Imperator Tarius turned from the street-side windows and said, “Please, sit.”

Alessa sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs while her father did the same.  Tarius sighed.  “It feels strange that I won’t be adding to my collection of trophies.”  He ran a finger along a battered shield with peeling azure paint.  “At least, not yet.”

“Your instincts are correct, Tarius,” Vantanis said.  “We would have trouble even against the single company stationed at the anchor-point.”

“How so?”  Tarius stepped to a side-table and poured out three measures of a dark liquor into three cups.  A new acquisition from the day’s trading, Alessa guessed.

Vantanis said, “If everything they said was true, and we have no reason to believe they are lying –”

“Unlike us,” Alessa interjected.

“Unlike us,” Vantanis acknowledged.  “Their military is well-trained and well-equipped.  Their weapons are made of steel and finely crafted.  Their armour too.”

Tarius handed a cup of the liquor to Alessa and Vantanis.  Alessa sniffed the cup and a sharp, sweet scent spiked into her nose.  Rum!

Tarius leaned against the mantelpiece and said, “Shiny things do not make a fighting man.”

“No,” Vantanis said, “but I saw the eyes of their captain.  These people have seen combat.”  He sipped the rum.  “They have andonite rifles.”

Tarius did not say anything for a moment.  He licked his lips, his gaze crossing between Alessa and Vantanis.  “Truly?”

“Yes,” Vantanis said.  “They don’t let them out of their sight, even during exercise and bathing.”

“They’re not stupid.”

“Or careless.”

“How many?” Tarius asked.

“A single squad of around fifteen,” Vantanis said.  He swished the rum in his cup.  “If these Centarans are as self-sustaining as they claim to be, then they must have another ten companies.  So, at least a hundred andonite rifles.”

“Now they would be worth adding to my collection.”

Emboldened by the warmth of the rum in her belly, Alessa said, “What, exactly, is so special about these ryfels?”

“Rifles,” Vantanis corrected.

“I’ve never heard of them before.”

“No?”  Tarius thought for a moment.  “I suppose not.  You’ve never been involved in a raid.  Vantanis, explain to her while I pour.”

Vantanis put down his cup and gestured as he spoke, “Imagine a frying pan with a nice fat piece of pork.  And the heat causes the fat and oil to spit out of the pan.  It leaps at times, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Now, imagine the force of that captured and made larger, say to fire an arrow or a stone from a slingshot.  But all you need to do is point and shoot.”

“I see,” Alessa said.  “A weapon that can hold off our people.”

“Yes,” Vantanis said, leaning back.  “Even if I could draw Sirinis close enough to Centara, the lands do not line up perfectly.  We could cross ten at a time, perhaps twenty.  A single squad of andonite riflemen would have no trouble picking us off.”

Tarius returned with refilled cups.  “And to say nothing of their archers and swordsmen.  But tell me more of this arrangement.  Only four of you at a time are allowed on Centara?”

“Yes, Tarius.  We had to give them that if we were to secure against their visiting us.”

“You don’t think our religious vows are enough to stop them?”

“Perhaps, but they have their rules and we have our own.  We should not press them at this early stage.  A mutual agreement goes a long way to engendering trust.”

Tarius nodded.  “Agreed.  Now, these rifles.”

“Yes?”

“I want them.”

“They will not trade for them, I’m sure.”

Tarius snorted.  “Then, we will take them.”

“They will not allow that either.”

“That’s where Alessa comes in.”

At this, Alessa leaned forward and put her cup down.  “What do you need me to do?”

“I want those rifles.”

“How?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination.”  Tarius sipped his rum.

Alessa pursed her lips and nodded.

“There was a young lad at the landing,” Vantanis said.  “He had a green tabard over leather armour.  I’m not sure what that means but he had his eye on you.”

“I noticed him.”

“Good,” Vantanis said.

“Use your charms,” Tarius added.

Alessa said, “Wouldn’t it be suspicious that a Sister of the Moons would seduce a man?”

“We’ve positioned ourselves as representatives,” Vantanis said.  “We’re not necessarily as devout as the others here, like Tarius.”

The faction leader barked out a laugh.  “Speaking of which, we need to prepare for Nasius, Dene and the others.”

“Those buzzing gnats.”

Alessa phased out of the continuing conversation as her father and Tarius discussed the approach to ripping off the Sirinese outside their territory.  She shouldn’t have felt the stab of ice in her gut as the thought of seducing the young Centaran ran through her mind – moons, she had done worse for Leonus’ protection but that was before seeing what life was like on Centara.  And as much as Tarius wanted the weapons called rifles, Alessa wanted a new beginning away from Sirinis.

Devan knocked on the solid oak door.

“Enter.”

He opened it and marched into Marshal Romaine’s office.  Set in a small structure at the back of the ranger barracks on the lower tier of the city, the room was little more than a desk, a set of shelves laden with tomes and Romaine’s equipment locker.

“So formal?”  Romaine gestured to a chair opposite her desk and ran a hand through her short, dark hair.  “You’ve been spending too much time amongst the army.”

Devan sat with a wry smile.  “Sorry.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“I didn’t know you needed him.”

“He’s your captain,” Romaine said.  She leaned back in her wicker chair.  “No matter.  What can I do for you, Devan?”

“I saw the knight’s journal, ma’am.”

“As well as getting close and personal in the amphitheatre, if I recall.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

Romaine nodded.  “Continue.”

“There were illustrations and patterns in the journal, ma’am,” Devan said.  “I spoke with Benton and we remember them.”

“You’ve seen them before?”

“Yes.  They were similar, almost identical, to the tattoos of the marauders who attacked Verovel ten years ago.”

Romaine did not reply at first.  She reached for her mug, peered into it and set it down on the desk with a hollow thump.  “It’s a horrific tale, Devan – I hear it from Jarrell all too often.  He takes it as some sort of history lesson.”

Devan nodded.  “He was a stalwart of Verovel.  Everyone counted on him and we survived.  Some of us.”

“But,” Romaine said, “even if what you say is true, Devan, the knight is clearly a relic.  Long dead.”

“I know.  But if it’s from that aerock, I want to know more.  They killed my parents, ma’am.  They killed or enslaved half of Verovel.”

“You have my sympathies, Devan – you and your brother.  But what do you want from me?”

Devan leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk.  “Give me leave to return to Verovel.”

“There’s nothing there, Devan.  It’s been left fallow.”

“No, Marshal.  The town is still standing – I know, no one lives in it but it’s still there.  We didn’t bring everything to Centara.”

“What do you hope to find?”

“Some records or journals of the attack,” Devan said.  “And if the knight is Sirinese, then we might know more about them.  For Verovel’s sake and the dead we left behind.”

Romaine stood and refilled her mug from a small cask of wine.  She silently offered another cup to Devan but he shook his head and murmured, “No, thanks.”

“Can’t this wait until your next shift off?”

Devan shook his head and ignored the roiling in his gut that reflected his swirling thoughts.  “I can’t rest not knowing.  I promise that once it’s done, I’ll put it all behind me.”

“I can give you a couple days,” Romaine said.  “But you must do something in return.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

“Truth be told, Devan, you’re not particularly popular amongst your fellow rangers nor the army.”  Romaine took a swig of wine, her lips staining red.  “Hard to live down a failure like missing an entire aerock during sentry duty.”

Devan rocked back in his chair, his chest constricting with the memory.  “I was a teenager.”

“Still, you had eyes.  But they were closed, weren’t they?  Or simply looking in the wrong direction?”

“What do you want me to say?” Devan asked, straining against every desire to yell at his superior.

“You failed Verovel,” Romaine said.  “You were the one responsible for the destruction of your home.  Moons above, if Verovel hadn’t happened upon Centara in the following days, who knows what would’ve happened?  Anarchy?  Cannibalism?”

Devan started from his chair.  His face flushed.  Romaine leaned over the desk, plonking her drink down.  “Oh, do you want to strike me?”

“How dare you speak of Verovel!  You have no idea what happened!”

“No, I don’t,” Romaine said.  She pointed at the chair.  “Sit.”

Devan composed himself and forced his breathing down.  “You provoked me!”

“These are the things that others say about you, Devan,” Romaine said.  “Even some of the Councillors.  No one will forget the fate of Verovel, thanks to people like Jarrell, and in the retelling, your mistakes live on too.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No.”  Romaine shrugged.  “If you’re looking for fairness, find a tournament of archery and a good referee.  If you take leave and return to Verovel, you’ll have to endure it all again.  People will ask questions of me and your brother.  They will ask about you.”

“I can handle it.”

“I expect so.”

“What of the favour in return for leave, ma’am?”

Romaine sat in her chair again.  “These moon worshippers irk me, Devan.”

“They’re a lot more annoying than Brother Julan, it seems.”

Romaine chuckled.  “So I hear, yes.”  She steepled her fingers together.  “I will grant you leave.  More than two days, I think.”