Master of furies, p.3
Master of Furies, page 3
‘Hatu explained what he could. He doesn’t understand it either and from what I see, I’m not sure that Bodai does.’ Hava took a breath and gave Catharian a look that communicated this discussion was over. ‘Now, I will see the ship is secure, then clean up, and prise my husband out of Bodai’s grasp!’
Catharian laughed. ‘I wish you luck.’
Her brow furrowed.
‘Both of you,’ he quickly added. ‘But mostly Bodai.’
She chuckled. ‘I’ll be gentle.’
They parted company. Catharian set off to his room to start a list of supplies they needed, and Hava turned back towards the Queen of Storms, to make sure everything was as it should be before letting the crew leave.
HATU STOOD ATOP A LADDER, on the highest rung, as Bodai held it steady. Hatu stretched as far as he could to reach the leather-bound tome on the second to top shelf, using the tips of his fingers to jiggle it a bit. ‘Heavy,’ he said as he tried to breathe calmly and evenly. He’d been trained to ignore heights and potentially dangerous falls since childhood, but the ladder was not the sturdiest he’d climbed, and the floor below was stone. Silently, he thought he’d have to get Bodai to fetch hold of a taller, stronger ladder if they were ever going to reach the top shelf.
‘Can you get it?’ asked Bodai.
‘I think so,’ said Hatushaly, as he tipped the heavy volume upwards. He wanted to know what every book, scroll, manuscript, folio, or scrap of notes contained, who had written them, and whether they were worthwhile to study.
Bodai had mentioned that even though he had come to the Sanctuary years ago, he really had little idea what was in this vast library – many of its volumes were in languages he couldn’t recognize, let alone understand.
Given his age and physique, he had not attempted to reach the books situated on the top two shelves of the main cases that lined the walls of half a dozen rooms. Even Hatu had considered this a challenge but had found a ladder and had been undertaking the task of getting down as many as he could over the last few days.
He took a deep breath and trusted Bodai to keep a firm grip on the ladder as he attempted to stretch himself as much as possible. He pushed up slightly and the book moved a bit towards him but mostly to the right. He pushed up again on the right side of the book and it moved, again a little towards him, but mostly to the left. Alternating such pushes brought the big book almost within his grasp. Hatu repeated the motion until the book was overhanging far enough that he could feel it teeter and he made ready to grab it.
‘Hey!’ Hava shouted from the door.
Hatu’s head jerked around, and he felt the ladder twist as Bodai was also startled by the unexpected call. He started tilting backwards and knew the ladder was going to fall. He had jumped off too many roofs to hesitate. He launched himself away from the ladder, tucked and rolled, coming to rest on the floor with a bruised shoulder.
Bodai half-hopped, half-slid sideways to avoid both the ladder and Hatu landing on him, almost toppled backwards, but caught himself with an outstretched hand grasping the nearest shelf.
As the ladder struck the stone floor, Hava let out a bark of laughter at the effect of her greeting.
Hatu threw her a questioning look, finally registering the fact that his wife had suddenly appeared and broken his concentration. He had just started to rise when the large book he had been trying to retrieve began to slide over the edge.
‘Oh, no!’ shouted Bodai as he saw the massive volume start to fall from the bookcase.
Without thought, Hatu reached out, though the gesture was pointless: he was still on his knees, many yards away from where the book would land.
Suddenly, the book stopped falling.
Hava and Bodai both regarded the hovering book, their eyes widening in astonishment. They looked as one at Hatu who knelt on the stone floor, his right arm outstretched, his palm up and trembling slightly as if holding a weight. His eyes were also wide, and as he lowered his arm the book also slowly descended. When the back of his hand touched the stones, the book suddenly dropped half an inch, and they all heard the thud.
Hava said in a subdued voice, ‘How did you do that?’
As Bodai moved to inspect the book, Hatu rocked back onto his heels, as if kneeling in prayer. He whispered, ‘I have no idea.’
All three silently absorbed what they had just witnessed. At last, Hatu stood up and dusted himself off, saying, ‘So, you’re back!’ He smiled broadly and moved towards Hava, who hesitated for a moment, before stepping into her husband’s embrace.
She gave him a quick kiss and a brief but strong hug, then said, ‘So, is this what you’re doing while I’m at sea, floating books in the air?’
He chuckled, but with echoes of concern as much as humour. ‘No. I’ve never done anything like that before.’
Bodai shook his head. ‘At least you didn’t burn the library down.’
Hava shot a dark look at her husband’s old, stout teacher, indicating that she didn’t find this remark humorous. Her conversation just a few minutes earlier with Catharian had reminded her of the risk Hatu posed to himself and others.
Bodai shrugged and held up his hands a little, as if acknowledging it was an inappropriate jest. ‘Nothing like what you’re thinking about, but we have had …’
‘Sometimes we get a spark or a bit of smoke, here and there,’ said Hatu, trying to keep his tone light.
Changing the subject, Bodai asked Hava, ‘How was your voyage?’
‘Captured another ship and rescued … I guess about fifty? Maybe more.’
Bodai nodded. ‘We will make room and find work for them.’
‘Some want to go home,’ said Hava.
‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Right now, I expect you two would rather be alone.’ He made a shooing motion with his hand and said, ‘Hatu, we will resume our work in the morning.’
‘I’ll be here first thing,’ Hatushaly replied.
‘Not too early,’ added Hava, in an emphatic tone.
Bodai held up his hands, a gesture of surrender. ‘I will not object,’ he said. He watched as they departed, and took a last look around the library, which was slowly becoming as it had been intended, a place of study and scholarship. He sighed. Yes, it was coming along, he thought, but there was still so much more to do.
AS BOGARTIS’S COMPANY CRESTED THE small ridge, they came in sight of the coast. Below them waited the port of Toranda. They had travelled here from Marquenet. Off in the distance to the southwest, he could see the coastline curving towards the setting sun and vanishing in the distance. Beyond the town lay what was known as the Endless Depths. Obviously, they were not endless, thought Declan, as somewhere on a distant shore lived the raiders who had killed his wife and friends.
‘Looks fine,’ said Bogartis.
Declan nodded, feeling a tinge of relief that he was sure the others in the company shared. No one had known how far-ranging the attack on the coast had been. A few messages carried by pigeon had reached the baron just before Bogartis’s company had departed on this mission.
Port Calos lay a smouldering ruin, as did the larger towns along the coast from there to Baron Dumarch’s small garrison at the north headlands. They were still awaiting word from other gallopers who had been sent to the more distant coastal towns.
The attack that had killed the baron’s family had come from the south. Bogartis and Declan had seen the carnage, as those attempting to flee to Ilcomen had frantically tried to turn back to Marquensas only to be overrun and butchered by raiders.
The baron’s brother, Balven, had suspected that the southern ports, in Ilcomen, would also be in ruins, and that left Toranda as the most likely port to secure a large enough ship for Bogartis’s mission.
As they rode down the hillside to the port city, Declan could see several ships anchored at a short distance offshore. He was relieved that Balven had been correct in his conjecture.
A short while later they topped a small rise and could see the town in more detail. Barges and boats were shuttling between the ships and the port. The closer they got, the more it became evident that ships were loading, as the smaller crafts were returning to the city empty.
When they reached the gate two guards lowered their pikes in a warning gesture as a third moved towards Bogartis and Declan. ‘What’s your business?’ he demanded.
‘Baron’s orders,’ said Bogartis, reaching into his tunic and pulling out the pass bearing both the baron’s seal and Balven’s signature. He handed it down.
The soldier who received it merely glanced at the seal, and with obvious relief handed it back. Declan assumed that meant he couldn’t read but did recognize the seal.
‘You all that’s guarding this town?’ asked Bogartis.
‘No, there’s twenty more inside the city, but we’re spread thin, most watching the docks, in case … you know.’
Bogartis nodded. ‘Indeed.’
Declan understood. These three would have resisted had this company been raiders, but by the time help arrived, all would almost certainly be dead. Even the other twenty might not survive if confronting forty armed horsemen unless they could quickly close the gates.
The guard waved them through, and they entered the city. Toranda had existed long enough that a makeshift defensive wall had been erected over the decades. It ran as far to the south as Declan could see, bending slightly westwards and out of sight. The gate was wide, as it serviced all the wagons leaving the city with trade goods, as well as farmers, woodsmen, hunters, and other locals bringing their wares into the city to sell. Declan glanced southwards as they reached a small market square, and asked, ‘Another gate?’
Bogartis nodded. ‘Smaller, but there’s not much trade here. Why do you ask?’
‘Just want to know.’
As they turned their mounts to ride along the large road separating the docks from the town, Bogartis said, ‘Fastest way out?’
Declan nodded. ‘And fastest way in.’
Bogartis smiled. ‘You’re a quick study.’ He pointed. ‘The road out of the south gate runs to all the fishing villages along the peninsula a few miles shy of the point. There are a number of deer paths, goat trails, and shallow streams running down from the hills, and those hills are lightly forested. The southern side of those hills, all the way to the border of Ilcomen, is almost barren. Just scrub, wild goats, and a few wrecked fishing boats.’ He pointed to the west. ‘If someone was coming in from there, it would be by sea, I’m thinking.’
Declan nodded. There were no seaward defences and just sailing right into the docks would prove far easier than attempting to land somewhere else and marching overland. ‘Why did they not raid here?’
‘That’, said Bogartis, ‘is indeed the question. Why stop where they did, when they did?’ He shook his head. ‘We can only guess.’
As expected, the soldiers at the docks were doing their best to keep order in a frenzy of activity as the majority of residents were moving what they could to the ships, to flee from the prospect of attack.
Bogartis would need one of these ships, Declan judged, so as they sought stabling for the horses, he would spread the word that the assaults were apparently over. The news the raiders had left just as these ships were ready to put out should have many of these people turning around and hauling their property back to shore. He had a vague sense of amusement at the thought.
Declan was still a small village lad at heart, but the bitterness of the past few weeks had changed any sense of wonder he might once have felt at visiting a new place. His reaction to his first sight of Ilcomen or Marquenet, the awe he had felt, was less than a vague memory. This was just a place to evaluate, where best to defend should an attack come.
Beyond the issues of the moment, his purpose was simple: find anyone responsible in any way for the death of his wife and his friends.
Then end them.
A hollowness inside was all he experienced, and it had coloured his every conscious moment since he had awoken to learn that everything he loved had been taken from him. He did not speculate if revenge would fill that void. He just didn’t care. He had a purpose without expectation.
They halted at the southern end of the main street into the city, where it intersected with a broad stone road that ran between the city and the quay. The quayside was almost frantic with people hurrying all over to waiting boats and barges tied up alongside, with others lingering beyond for their opportunity to dock.
Bogartis waved over a nearby guard. ‘What is this, then?’
He was a young soldier, barely more than a boy, with a shock of dark hair that peeked out from various places under his helm, and sun-darkened skin that looked bronze with sunlight reflecting off the perspiration on his face and arms. Dark eyes regarded the company with an expression of hope. The guard asked, ‘You here from the baron?’
Bogartis nodded. He flashed the paper with the seal on it, and said, ‘Where’s everyone off to?’
‘Anywhere but here, I guess,’ said the guard. ‘It’s been like this since word arrived about the raids up the coast.’ He looked over his shoulder, then back at the captain. ‘You here to reinforce us?’
Bogartis shook his head no. ‘Order from the baron. We need a ship.’
The guard’s expression visibly changed at that answer. He almost sagged where he stood.
Declan quickly said, ‘It’s pretty quiet now from Marquenet down to here. The raiders seem to have left.’
Bogartis said, ‘Besides, by all reports, these people have nowhere else to go.’
The guard looked only a little relieved as he said to Bogartis, ‘Finding a ship is unlikely. Every captain in the city is doing the best he can to get people and their belongings away.’
Bogartis said, ‘We’ll manage.’ He smiled. ‘Pass the word the raiders have left.’ He looked around. ‘Stables?’
‘A few, but the closest is over that way,’ said the guard, pointing south and west.
Bogartis wheeled his horse to face his company. ‘Sixto, take the horses to that stable.’ He pointed to a handful of the others. ‘Go with him. The rest of you, dismount and grab your kits.’
The men quickly dismounted and Bogartis said to Sixto, ‘See what boarding will run to, and storage for the tack.’ He gave a slight bob with his head. ‘You know what to do.’
Sixto nodded and moved swiftly to take the reins of three other mounts and led the four horses south. Other men followed, and soon ten of them led forty mounts down the street, working hard to keep them under control and not let them shy at the townspeople rushing past.
Bogartis looked up and down the street, then pointed to a nearby inn. ‘Declan, you take that one.’ He indicated with his chin another inn a bit farther down the road. ‘I’ll take that one. See if you can find a broker, or captain, shipper, or whoever can give us a lead on a ship.’
Declan said, ‘I see what I can find, then come to you?’
‘Yes. And keep spreading word that the raids are over.’ Bogartis pointed to half the men and waved for them to follow.
The remainder followed Declan towards the inn. He glanced up and saw a painted sign, faded, but still visible, with a whale jumping over an anchor. ‘I assume’, he muttered, ‘this would be the Whale and Anchor.’
One of the men nearby chuckled.
As they entered the inn, they were surprised to find it almost empty. It was midday and Declan had expected there would be dockworkers eating and drinking. The barman shouted, ‘We don’t have much!’
Declan glanced to his right and then left and motioned for the men to take seats at nearby tables. Reaching the bar, he asked, ‘So what do you have?’
‘We’ve got a bit of cheese, some sausages, and perhaps enough ale for a mug or two for each of ya. Bread, fruit, vegetables, everything else has been gobbled up.’
‘People grabbing what they can?’
‘No, at least not here,’ said the barman. ‘Just we haven’t had any deliveries for nearly a week now, and we were due when all the trouble started. The local farmers have cleared out.’
Declan nodded. All the farms they had passed for the last few days had been abandoned.
‘And the two local bakers closed up and left a couple of days ago.’ The barman looked at Declan’s men. ‘Even the gamblers, thieves, and whores have fled. I’m the only one here, so you’ll have to wait a bit.’
Declan said, ‘I’ve worked in an inn before. I’ll fetch the ale while you get the food …’
‘Litwick,’ answered the barman. ‘Name’s Litwick.’
Declan moved around the bar and found stacks of mugs and began filling them from the ale tap. ‘Before you run to the kitchen, where do we find a broker or ship’s master?’
‘No broker, but the captains are usually over at the Hungry Tiger’, he nodded in the direction Bogartis had headed towards, ‘or here at the Jumping Whale.’
As Litwick vanished into the kitchen, Declan finished filling the first four mugs. ‘Jumping Whale,’ he muttered. ‘Well, I got that wrong.’
THEY HAD SECURED A SHIP, the Brigida, a trading schooner just big enough to hold the company and supplies. Forty armed men, combined with an ample purse of the baron’s gold, convinced the captain that a trip across to South Tembria was just the charter he needed, and he began refunding whatever payment he had taken to the locals who had sought passage. As Declan anticipated, once word spread that the attacks were over, people turned around and started ferrying their belongings back into town. Several men who lived here had approached both Bogartis and Declan in the inns asking if it was true and the reply that they were the baron’s men, come from Marquenet, had been greeted with relief.
