Doom's Break (19 page)

When they were well out to sea, the
Sea Wasp
drew the frigate on. The larger ship, designed for speed, gradually began to gain. The
Sea Wasp
turned north again and shifted the contest to one of sailing into the wind, tacking sharply back and forth while the headlands of Dronned receded, and they coursed out into the upper part of Dronned Bay.

The clouds were soon overhead and, with nightfall, came a sudden onset of heavy rain. The frigate kept up the pursuit, gaining slowly but steadily through the waning light. Then the squall broke out of the north and swept over them. In minutes, the seas rose, and soon there was spray sheeting across the bow. They quickly lost sight of their pursuer in the general murk.

Soon the darkness became absolute, and they were reduced to steering by guesswork. Mentu turned westward, out into the broader sea, determined at the very least not to end up on a leeshore with the cliffs of Dronned awaiting them. The winds continued to gust fiercely, and after midnight they backed farther into the east. By dawn, the storm was behind them, and the wind was coming from the south and east, much less forcefully.

The
Sea Wasp
had come through the night unscathed, with her sails close-hauled. They saw no sign of the frigate. Mentu turned them back toward land. He hoped to pick out the Dronned headlands shortly.

Instead he caught sight of Cormorant Rock, the headland on the northern end of Dristen Bay. They had been blown farther north than he'd expected. Blue Hill and Bear Hill rose up ahead, with cliffs curving in and out around their bases. Beyond Bear Hill the Dristen estuary opened into the sea.

After adjusting course, they began to sail close to the wind, working their way southward. Suddenly Thru felt his heart freeze in his chest.

Inland, a thick pillar of black smoke was rising into the sky.

"Sail ho, to the south, three ships," called Juf from the upper crosstrees.

Mentu hurried up to study the situation. Thru, manning the tiller, kept his eyes pinned on the smoke, which was still rising from the far side of Bear Hill. Alas, only Warkeen village lay in that direction.

"It doesn't look good," said Mentu after climbing down from the crosstrees. "There's a big four-master and two three-masters, one of which might be the frigate that chased us yesterday."

The
Sea Wasp
changed course, running in toward the shore but just out of sight of the big ships anchored in the Dristen estuary.

Thru was torn. On the one hand, the message he carried was possibly vital and meant for the general himself in Dronned. On the other hand, his family, the village, all lay just over Bear Hill. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

"Mentu, my friend, take this to General Toshak. Tell him that I'm sorry, but I had to go ashore and see if I could help."

"I will go with you," said Janbur. "Our people do evil here, and I must help you stop them."

"Evil indeed, my friend, for I have seen the results of a raid like this. I can only pray that the villagers kept up the watch during the storm last night. But I will go alone. Mentu needs both of you to run the
Sea Wasp
, and there's no point in two of us being taken captive or killed."

Mentu and then Juf tried to change his mind. The risk was great. What could he hope to achieve? But they knew they were arguing in vain: Thru would not be kept from seeing what had happened at his village. So they set him ashore on the beach at the northern side of Bear Hill and watched him climb the back path that led inland along Lupin Stream. Janbur wondered aloud if they would ever see their friend Thru Gillo again. Then they turned the
Sea Wasp
back out to sea and set sail for Dronned.

Admiral Heuze hadn't been on land in months, preferring his own realm aboard the
Anvil
to the recognized empire in exile of Aeswiren ashore. The hulking grey sheds, the untidy sprawl of shacks and shops on the muddy streets, everything was so flimsy and careless that it upset him. The bustle in the streets was too untidy for his sailor's eye, used to a tightly run ship. And, strangest of all, was the sight of a few of the monkey folk moving freely among the people. The world had turned upside down.

The Emperor's peace was absolute, however. Seven men had been hanged over the winter for killing mots, usually in the course of a robbery. There was a great hunger in the colony for the finery made by the natives. On this island—now called Mauste, the native name widely used by the men—there had existed a long tradition in cloth making. Everyone wanted to wear the warm twisted wool and bushfiber coats and trousers. Admiral Heuze disliked the practice and did his best to discourage it aboard the fleet. But ashore? Monkey-made clothing was universally worn now.

Seeing the folk clothed by the monkeys, but living in these shacks and the hulking tenement sheds, it was hard for even the admiral to avoid the comparison with the monkey cities. Heuze had seen them himself; indeed he'd burned a couple. He knew how strangely lovely the little cities were, with their centuries-old architecture, parks, monuments, tree-lined avenues, and open central squares. Now his own people appeared like barbarian vagabonds, living in rude structures and increasingly dependent on the monkeys for clothes and utensils. It left Heuze smoldering with frustration and anger.

But the rule of Aeswiren was popular with the people. They were eating better, staying warmer, and working toward the goal of returning to Shasht. Just about everyone wanted that more than anything. The land of the monkey folk was better left to its original inhabitants. The conquering spirit had gone out of the colony.

And now, he thought, a crisis was upon them. The news he carried had the potential to change everything.

Aeswiren had built a modest, two-story, block house with eighteen rooms, part fortress, part administrative center. The Emperor lived in a single room, just like everyone else in the colony. His room was a bit more lavish than anyone else's, but it was a far cry from the imperial luxury of Shasht. By this, Aeswiren assured his people that he was dedicated to the cause of returning home.

Heuze was ushered past the guards who recognized his peg-legged limp the moment he entered the hallway. Aeswiren only used the throne for large formal meetings. Most of the time he was to be found in his office, a small, cozy room decorated with woven mats and rugs given him by native weavers. Aeswiren was said to be especially fond of the brightly colored mats depicting lifelike scenes. It was an art form unknown in Shasht and taken to a very high level.

Heuze studied a piece titled "Mots at Prayer" on the wall. It was new, done by someone with considerable flair. Heuze bought and sold his share of these kinds of pieces, and he could see that this one was especially valuable. Even though he shuddered at the thought of cooperating with the monkeys, he knew that these works were of astonishing quality. If pressed, as by his friend and confidant Filek Biswas, he would cheerfully admit the inconsistency of his position.

He recalled a recent conversation. "Damn it, Biswas, first I was told that they were fornicating monkeys. I've killed as many of them as I possibly could. Now I'm told that they're not monkeys but natives, and that I have to be nice to them? Well, all I can say is that that's asking a lot."

Nothing Filek could say could break the admiral's front on the issue.

The doors opened into the inner sanctum. The Emperor, dressed informally in a grey tunic and slippers, was dictating to his favorite scribe, Simona of the Gsekk. The admiral was waved to a seat while Aeswiren finished dictating a letter to the King of Sulmo. Simona copied it and then set it in the packet with the others that were due to leave that evening aboard the frigate
Cloud
.

The Emperor clapped his hands. Almost immediately a pot of hot tea was brought in by an orderly. Cups were poured.

"Well, Admiral, I have heard the outlines of this news. What more do you have for me?"

"The count is now thirty-one major ships, Lord, including as many as eight frigates."

"Eight?"

"Yes, Lord, they must have stripped the harbors of Shasht."

"They've done that, Admiral, and they've stripped the treasury, too. The first fleet cost five years' revenue but still left just enough to keep the Empire stable. This new fleet has gone far beyond that." Aeswiren moodily pounded his fist into his palm and continued, "They have come to force our hand. It isn't the way I wanted it, but so be it. We have some advantages. This is our ground, we have experience here, and we are allied with the natives. With only thirty-one ships they cannot have much beyond twenty thousand men. With the natives, we can match that."

Heuze felt a rising tension. He found the thought of fighting alongside the monkeys blasphemous. He almost missed the days when they obeyed the priests and their harsh views concerning the natives. Now, the priests were reduced to lives as simple men of the cloth, taking care of the poor and conducting the new style of services that Aeswiren had decreed for them. There were no more Red Tops and Gold Tops. Their days of terrorizing the public were over.

"With roughly equal numbers, I know we shall give them a very hot reception," the Emperor concluded.

Heuze had to agree. Aeswiren had brought the elan back to the army. What had been a beaten force, riven by cynicism, was now reforged, unified and rededicated. Once again they drilled with the wondrous precision with which the men of Shasht had always drilled. Their weapons were ready, polished, practiced. Indeed Aeswiren had added new weapons, including an array of catapults of various sizes. The men were ready to take on anyone.

"So, Admiral, where are these twenty-three ships and eight frigates?"

"Most of them are at sail in the northern bay, Lord. Twenty ships now keep station eighty miles off the coast of Flem. Some of the locals' fishing boats have been taken by the frigates. Their crews have perished, as far as we can tell."

"Alas that it should be so. I hope we can make our enemy pay in blood for all that he has shed."

"Yes, Lord," Heuze murmured.

Aeswiren unrolled a map across the table. "So," he mused aloud as he studied it. "It is just as General Toshak expected. Our enemy makes his first thrust at the mots in the North."

The Old One clearly hoped that by gaining a quick victory over the mots, he might avoid a fight with Aeswiren. He would expect that Aeswiren's army would not fight if the mots were already destroyed.

"It may be so, Lord, but so far only two ships have gone in close and landed forces. All advantage from surprise has been surrendered."

"Two ships only?" Aeswiren continued to study the map. "Where?"

"The estuary of the river called Dristen by the, er, natives."

"And what are they doing there?"

"They sent ashore a party of men with horses. They burned part of the village and then went inland. The last report put them well beyond contact with the ships."

Heuze thought this behavior bizarre. The monkeys would soon mobilize an army. This small raiding force would probably never see the ocean again, even if they were all mounted. The mots would find ways to kill them. They were very resourceful in that way.

The admiral studied the map. A piece of monkey work, it was beautifully done. The terrain was painted in green and brown, the rivers and sea in blue. He could see the rivers crawling across the green toward the snow-capped peaks of the mountains that cut the Land away from the dry plains of the east.

Aeswiren was just as puzzled as the admiral. "Cavalry, eh? Well, I had expected that. But why land a small force there? Why give up the element of surprise?"

Heuze knew that if he was in command of this new fleet, he would have put ashore his entire army. They would need at least that to be secure. The damned monkeys were hellishly good at fighting in the woods. Once you moved inland, you were at risk of being cut off and surrounded.

"I have wondered about that since the first news was brought in, Lord. They have the benefit of all the letters we sent back describing the place. They know the dangers. It's not a scouting mission, not with two ships' complement. Nor is it secret. They burned several houses in that village."

Aeswiren scratched his chin and studied the map. "Well, Admiral, we will move at once to embark the army, but"—Aeswiren tapped the map—"we won't sail quite yet."

Heuze nodded. A little caution might be called for in this situation. "Yes, Lord."

Thru moved at a steady trot, keeping to the deer trails on the ridgeline. Over his shoulder he carried the bow and the quiver he'd taken from the abandoned Geliver house in the village. He kept moving, running on raw willpower. His constant travel for Toshak had hardened him to marching, but to keep up this jogging pace for hour after hour was a test of endurance.

Ahead and far below, the riders pressed on up the narrow road that ran beside the river Dristen. Thru had counted at least eighty riders, and with them were a dozen captives, mots and mors taken somewhere on the road below Juno village. These poor folk were tied, back to back, and placed over horses at the end of the line.

Among the captives Thru had identified a handful from Warkeen, mostly older folk like Disha Mux and lanky old Moon Chapin, but he had also seen the pretty face of Iallia Tramine, the mor he had loved in his youth.

He'd had the chance to identify them when the raiders stopped at Juno village to water the horses. Thru had caught up, and from the hill above he'd used the spyglass Mentu had given him. The captives were taken in a group to the pump and forced to drink like animals from the trough. Then they were dragged out of sight again.

The men were Shasht soldiers. Thru knew the type very well. They wore steel helmets and leather armor. They carried spears over their shoulders and swords at their belts. A few, with green ribbons on their coats and no armor plate, carried long bows.

Thru understood what he was seeing. Mentu had long before explained to him the concept of cavalry. He had seen horses in Shasht and even driven a team of them hitched to a wagon at one point during his epic escape. He could see that these men had a professional, skilled manner with the horse animals. Such men would be deadly foes to a battlefield, able to move quickly across the terrain, strike, and then withdraw before any counterattack could be made.