A Crown Imperiled

  Brendan said, ‘I’ll need someone to row while I look.’

  Balwin said, ‘Old Pevy’s youngest son’s serving in the city muster. His brother’s do the diving, while he and his dad row. His boat is still in their shed. I’ll go fetch the lad for you. His name is Evard, but everyone calls him Ned.’

  ‘I’ll meet you down by the main gate,’ said Brendan. He nodded to his brother and Bethany, then impulsively kissed Lily hard on the mouth.

  She nearly reeled from this unexpected display of affection and said, ‘My!’ Her cheeks flushed as she watched the young noble walk swiftly away.

  Bethany’s eyes were wide and Martin tried very hard not to laugh aloud. After a moment Bethany said, ‘Well, I think he just let you know how he feels about things.’

  Lily lowered her head slightly and tried to hide a grin as she quickly glanced around. ‘I wonder if George saw that?’

  Bethany’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really?’

  Lily said, ‘I like them both.’

  Martin laughed. ‘Should we somehow survive all this, Brendan will some day be Baron of Carse.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Bethany, looking over her shoulder at Martin, who was standing behind her.

  Glancing down at the gate, where Brendan was meeting a young, thick-necked boy in an ill-fitting tunic of the city watch, Martin said, ‘Hal will need me in Crydee more than in Carse, most likely to command the Jonril garrison. As you have no brothers, it will be up to Hal with the Prince of Krondor’s permission, to install someone in Carse many many years from now, when your father’s gone.’

  Bethany’s expression turned anxious. ‘I wish I knew how he was.’

  Trying to keep the tone light, Martin pressed on. ‘So, it’s the nephew of a minor functionary in Yabon or a baron.’

  Lily said, ‘Oh, they are both very sweet.’

  Martin laughed. ‘Follow your heart, then, Lily my darling. Just be gentle with whoever’s heart you break.’

  Lily looked concerned.

  ‘Assuming we all survive this coming war and my brother doesn’t manage to go out and drown himself,’ added Martin.

  All eyes turned to follow Brendan and the Pevy boy.

  Brendan and Ned Pevy hurried along on the soot-covered stones of the street before the wall, all that was left of the foulborough. The Keshian raiders had been effective in ensuring everything above the tideline from the wall to the end of the longest dock had been burned to cinders. What few frames and beams had been left upright after the fire had crumbled in the first thunder storm to hit the city after the raid, leaving the entire area reeking of wet charcoal.

  Ned led Brendan down to the north-east corner of the stone wharf and then up a small street lined by charred houses. These were still relatively intact: as they were not directly before the city gates, the Keshian raiders had ignored them. Only the spreading fire had been a threat.

  ‘Pa kept our boat up here,’ said Ned, pointing to a shed behind one of the buildings. ‘Ma’ll have a fit when she sees what those Keshians did to her house.’

  Trudging up the small gravel path that ran between the Pevy home and the next one, Ned glanced at the back yard. ‘Don’t know how the garden’s going to go with all this smoke and ash.’ He shrugged as if it was of no importance.

  He stopped at the entrance to the shed and pulled aside the bar, opening a single wooden door. On two saw-horses rested an overturned rowing boat. Ned moved to the rear and Brendan followed. Brendan knew what to do without being told. He lowered the bucket he carried and turned around and picked up the small boat by the gunwale and when Ned said ‘up’ he lifted with his right hand and put it on his shoulder, then put his left hand on it and when Ned again said ‘up’ again he lifted, grabbed the other gunwale with his right and hoisted the boat overhead. The two oars rattled under the seats as the two young men lifted.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Ya,’ came the answer.

  ‘Walk,’ said Brendan leading the way.

  The boat was small enough, about twelve feet long. It was a fair hike to the water’s edge, past the burned-out piers, and Brendan was thankful they didn’t have a bigger boat to carry. A small rowing boat would get around the mess in the harbour, but even something as shallow draught as a longboat or captain’s gig would need to be hauled all the way down the sandy beach a half-mile farther along. The two young men moved to the water’s edge. Brendan swung around to present the boat sideways on to the water and they lowered the boat into the bay.

  ‘Done this before, have ya?’ said Ned with a grin.

  ‘Once or twice,’ said Brendan.

  ‘I’ll run and fetch that bucket, if you don’t mind,’ said Ned.

  Brendan nodded. ‘I want to take a quick look around to make sure we’re not totally mad doing this.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Ned as he turned and scurried off back up the street to his house. Brendan found a piling that still rose above the street by two feet and stepped on it. He could see the frothing bubbles about three hundred yards from his current position. He couldn’t be sure but it looked as if the affected area was bigger and more agitated than before.

  Ned returned with the viewing bucket and they got into the small boat, Brendan in the bow and the salvager’s son rowing. ‘Right to the bubbles,’ said Brendan.

  Soon they were squarely in the middle of the bubbling water and Brendan put the bucket into the water, pressing it down hard to stop it flipping over, and looked down.

  At first he couldn’t make out anything except the bubbles striking the crystal in the bottom of the bucket. ‘Stick your face in a bit,’ said Ned. ‘It’ll help get your eyes adjusted.’

  Taking the experienced salvager’s advice, Brendan found that it was just big enough to accommodate his face and leaning in actually helped him keep the bucket in place. For a few moments the darkness below and the froth of bubbles confused his vision, but soon he began to see shapes and movement.

  As his eyes adjusted he began to make out creatures busily scurrying across the bottom of the sea floor, perhaps a hundred feet below the boat. They were frog-like, man-sized, with large shoulders and narrow lower bodies, long legs and arms. The light was too dim and the distance too great for more detail, but just the sight of them made Brendan’s hair stand up on his neck and arms.

  The creatures were churning up the sea bed. There was no tunnel of magic or bubble leaking air, but there was something buried under the mud of the ocean floor and they were clearing it away. Like ants swarming, they were constantly moving across an increasingly larger opening. The churning of the sea bed was releasing bubbles adhering to the surface of whatever was under the mud they were moving, and the rising bubbles further confused Brendan’s view.

  He caught glimpses of a shape beneath the tireless creatures and wondered what it was. He thought for a moment it might be an ancient statue of heroic proportion or a monument of some kind, for it was massive and only part of it had been uncovered.

  Brendan lifted his head from the bucket and scanned the distant shore to the west, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. Where had these creatures come from? Was this part of some Keshian plan to take the city? He looked back into the bucket. Far below, for a moment, he thought he could make out a contour then it was obscured by a swirling cloud of silt. It diminished as more of the creatures hauled away mud, gripping it in large ridged fins at the end of their arms, like elongated fingers with webbing between. Brendan calculated how long they had been aware of these bubbles in the city, and decided these creatures had been working for several hours, possibly from late afternoon or early evening the day before. He peered deeper into the gloom.

  The shape was a giant statue, he decided, for the contour of it appeared to be a face of some sort. Not human, but Brendan had been told about statues in Kesh with animal heads, ancient gods of the desert people.

  Then he saw something move, not among the workers, but as if the head of the statue had turned slightly. He tried moving
the bucket but the bubbles obscured his vision.

  Then they cleared and he could now make out the ridge of an eye and a cheekbone, the bridge of a nose and part of the nose itself.

  Then the eye opened and a globe of fiery red stared at Brendan.

  Suddenly the creatures that were clearing away the bottom mud stopped their activity and looked up at the boat. Brendan jerked his head up and shouted, ‘Back to shore! Closest landing place!’

  The urgency of the command wasn’t lost on the Pevy boy, who immediately put his back into pulling on the oars and the rowing boat nearly leapt forward. Brendan stood up, and the young salvager turned soldier shouted, ‘Sit down . . . ah, sir! You’ll turn us over.’

  Brendan ignored the request and drew his sword. ‘Whatever happens, don’t go in the water!’ He set his feet as best he could in the now wildly bobbing boat, attempting to keep his balance. The first creature reached the surface mere yards behind the boat and stuck its head out of the water.

  The frog-like face scanned around, seeing Brendan and Ned a few yards away. It fixed large, bulbous yellow eyes on them. Then, with a gurgling cry, it dived under the water and sped towards the stern of the boat.

  Brendan was stunned by how fast the brute could move underwater. He could make out more of their forms undulating just below the surface as they chased after the boat.

  The first frog-being reached the boat and two green scaled, webbed hands with long green talons reached up to grab the gunwales. Brendan slashed down and chopped off several fingers as the creature started to pull itself upward. The cry of pain was more a watery gurgle than anything else and the frog-beast released its grip and fell back below the surface.

  The next creature didn’t bother trying to crawl aboard: rather it leapt up out of the water, like a dolphin dancing on its tail, and fell towards Brendan.

  The youngest brother of the new Duke of Crydee was hardly a battle-tested warrior, but he had seen enough in the last few weeks to test a veteran, and he knew that no matter what he faced, his worst choice was to panic.

  Brendan measured his target and swung hard, knocking aside the creature as the blade dug deep into one of its shoulders. He almost lost his balance as the creature was flung to the right and he leaned left.

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Ned, almost dropping his oars.

  ‘Row!’ commanded Brendan as another creature leapt from the water. Brendan sliced sideways, removing the frog head from the creature’s shoulders, while trying to fend off the falling body with his left arm.

  The thing’s corpse was only half Brendan’s size, but it was enough of an impact to knock Brendan backwards. Reaching out with his left arm to break his fall, he slammed into the bottom of the boat, causing it to rock dangerously. Ned attempted to keep it upright and still row furiously.

  Another creature appeared over Brendan, who instinctively stuck up his sword, allowing the creature to impale himself on the point. It flopped frantically for a moment, making horrible gurgling, croaking sounds. The thing stank of decaying fish and ocean mud and Brendan could not get his free hand any purchase on the creature’s slippery skin as he tried to get it off him.

  A brief shadow told Brendan another of the things was leaping into the boat, and he felt the boat wobble and then heard the heavy thud of wood accompanied by a gurgling cry of pain followed by a splash. Brendan brought his knees up and then pushed with his free hand and knees and the now-dead creature atop of him rolled to his left.

  Now two more of the sea dwellers were attempting to grip the gunwales. They might not be able to come aboard in sufficient numbers to swarm the two humans, but Brendan had no doubt he and Ned would be dead men within minutes of hitting the water.

  Ned had been barking his knuckles with his oar, smashing the frog creatures hard enough that they released the boat. He pulled his oar out of the way as Brendan returned to dealing with their foes, slashing down and removing fingers. The creatures released their hold on the boat. Ned lowered the oar and put it back in the oarlock and again started rowing.

  Brendan saw more ripples in the water attempting to overtake them, and got ready for another assault. The creatures came to within striking distance, but as Brendan readied himself, the two frog-like beings just turned and headed off in the opposite direction.

  After waiting a moment, Brendan put up his sword. ‘I guess they were more interested in chasing us away than catching us.’

  ‘What were those things?’ said Ned.

  Brendan looked back and saw that the stocky youth was pale and wide eyed, and still rowing as if they were being chased.

  ‘I don’t know.’ As they approached the shore, Brendan pointed to the bow behind Ned and added, ‘We’re getting into the ground swell. Slow down a bit.’

  With a grin that bordered on the panic-stricken, Ned said, ‘Been doing this all my life, sir. Don’t even think about it. I’ll have us in safely.’ The rapidity of his speech and his ashen face testified to just how frightened he was, yet he kept his head and rowed quickly to shore.

  Someone at the city gate had been watching closely for as they pulled the boat up on the beach, six riders reined in before Brendan, all Crydee veterans. Brendan motioned to a young soldier near his own age. ‘William, help young Ned here take the boat back to its shed.’ William jumped down from the saddle and handed his reins to Brendan. To Ned, the youngest conDoin son said, ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ned his face splitting to a smile for a brief second, then his eyes turned to where they had been beset by the water creatures and his expression turned grim again.

  ‘I know,’ Brendan said. Then he mounted and without another word signalled for his escort to follow him back to the city gate.

  Martin listened to Brendan’s report in the privacy of the mayor’s office, which he had commandeered as his command centre. The mayor, Captain Bolton, and the two senior sergeants, Ruther and Magwin, all listened, along with Harbourmaster Balwin and Ned Pevy. Martin knew just outside the door Bethany and Lily were fuming at being excluded, but he had decided the room was crowded enough. And, he honestly had no idea how they’d handle this revelation. He had come to that conclusion before he heard the report, based on just seeing how deeply his brother held his own fear in check, and now that he was hearing what Brendan had seen, he was glad he had made that choice.

  Martin turned to Balwin. ‘Have you ever heard of creatures like this before?’

  The old man barked a laugh. ‘You’re a sea coast man, young lord! Do you think such a thing could be seen of, spoken of by any man, drunk or sober, and not have the tale retold in every sailor’s hiring hall, chandlery, or ale house from here to the Sunset Islands?’ The old sailor added, ‘I’ve heard of many things, from great serpents that can swallow a ship whole to a whale the size of a mountain, ships caught in a calm devoured by wood-eatin’ fish, an island out in the endless sea with a volcano that spews gold . . . I’ve heard all the tales an old sailor can hear, but unless those things your brother saw were buxom beauties from the waste up with fish tales, mermaids of lore, then no, nothing remotely like it. Certainly no frog-headed fish men, whatever they were.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And nothing sleeping under the mud with no demon red eye.’

  Martin said, ‘Whatever it is, we need a magician and a powerful one.’

  ‘Magician?’ said Brendan.

  ‘Those are no natural creatures uncovering that thing I’ll warrant, some Keshian spell-caster has somehow . . . I don’t know, wished the monster up. Or found it asleep and is waking it up . . .’ He looked at the mayor and Captain Bolton. ‘You certain there are no magic-users in the city?’

  The mayor looked almost apologetic. ‘We have had a few mountebanks and tricksters come through, and witch-women with their charms and love potions. We encourage them to move along quickly.’

  Brendan said, ‘So you’re not hospitable?’

  The mayor said, ‘You must understand. We are as busy a trading port as any on the Bitter Sea.
We are the gateway to Yabon, and anything heading up to there or LaMut comes through here, and likewise anything leaving the duchy comes through here. Such traffic means lots of sailors and lots of gold.’

  ‘Which means lots of predators,’ said Martin.

  ‘Well, if it’s widely known that you have no love for magic-users, perhaps they just don’t announce their craft,’ suggested Brendan.

  Martin nodded. ‘Head to that inn where travellers are being housed and start sniffing around for anyone who might help.’ He turned to Bolton. ‘Get a small patrol and if you hear any rumours about witch-women or sorcerers in huts or caves in the surrounding countryside, go investigate. Check all the outlying villages if any are still occupied, and inquire there.’ He glanced away, as if through the walls he might glimpse the still-roiling water in the harbour off in the distance. ‘I need to know what it is I’m fighting. If this is some beast the Keshians plan on turning against us . . .’ His voice lowered and only his brother could detect his fear. ‘I need to know what’s out there.’

  • CHAPTER EIGHT •

  Assault

  THE INN WAS PACKED.

  Brendan could barely get through the door as he entered and made his way through the press of bodies. As soon as he returned to Martin he was going to suggest they open another building, perhaps one of the nearby stores, and house some people there. This one was fit for a brawl at a moment’s notice given how crowded it was. Moreover, with nothing else to do, most of those in the commons were just drinking, and a room full of unhappy drunks was a recipe for disaster.

  How to begin? thought Brendan. He couldn’t just stand up on the table and ask if there was a magician in the room. He moved slowly through the press, trying not to jostle anyone holding a drink while he scanned faces. Almost everyone he spied was obvious in their calling: teamsters from the north, traders from the Free Cities. One fellow caught his eye until he realized he was the storyteller-minstrel who had tried to convince the mayor to let him sing for his supper at the mayor’s house until Martin had him escorted down here.