Century of the Soldier: The Collected Monarchies of God (Volume Two) (75 page)

"Not at all. Hebrion, whether you choose to admit it or no, is in your debt, as is the King. And you helped a friend of mine at one time, which sets me in your debt also."

"The world would be a better place if I had not bothered."

"Perhaps." There was a pause. At last Hawkwood said quietly:

"He was my friend too."

The light had gone, and now the cabin was in darkness save for a slight phosphorescence from the water beyond the stern-windows.

"I am not the man I was, Golophin," Hawkwood whispered. "I am become afraid of the sea."

"We are none of us what we were, but you are still the master-mariner who brought his ship back from the greatest voyage in recorded history. It is not the sea you fear, Richard, but the things you found dwelling on the other side of it. Those things are here, now; you are one of a select few who have encountered them and lived. Hebrion has need of you."

A strangled laugh. "I am a withered stick for Hebrion to lean on, to be sure. What service had you and the King in mind - Royal Doorkeeper, or Master of the Royal Rowboat, perhaps?"

"We want you to design ships for the Hebrian navy, along the lines of the
Osprey
here. Fast, weatherly ships which can carry many guns. New sail-plans and new yards."

Hawkwood was speechless for a while. "Why now?" he asked at last. "What has happened?"

"Yesterday the Archmage Aruan, whom you and I know, was proclaimed Vicar-General of the Inceptine Order here in Normannia. His first act in office was to announce the creation of a new Military Order. Though it is not generally known, I have been able to find out that this new body is to be composed entirely of mages and shifters. He calls them the Hounds of God."

"Saint in Heaven."

"What we want you to do, Captain, is to help prepare Hebrion for war."

"What war is that?"

"One which is to be fought very soon; not this year, perhaps, but within the next few. A battle for mastery of this continent. No man will be unaffected by it, nor will any man be able to ignore it."

"Unless he drinks himself to death first."

Golophin nodded sombrely. "There is that."

"So I am to help you prepare for some great struggle with the warlocks and werewolves of the world. And in return -"

"In return you will attain a high position in the navy, and at court, I promise you."

"What of Murad? He won't like my... elevation."

"Murad will do as he's told."

"And his wife?"

"What of her?"

"Nothing. No matter. I will do it, Golophin. For this I'll crawl out of that bottle."

The wizard's grin shone in the gloom of the cabin. "I knew you would. How very fortunate that Grobus offered so paltry a price today. We will have need of the
Gabrian Osprey
. She is to be the prototype for a new fleet."

"You knew of that - you had a hand -"

"Damn right."

Nothing changes,
Hawkwood thought.
The nobility have sudden need of you, so they pluck you out of the gutter, peer at the disappointed little life they pinch twisting between their fingers, and set it down on their great gaming board where it can be put to use. Well, this pawn has its own rules.

"It's dark as pitch in here. Let me light a lantern." Hawkwood fumbled for his tinderbox and after striking flint and steel a dozen times was able to coax into life a ship's lantern which still had some oil in its well. The thick glass was cracked, but that was of no moment. Its yellow kindly light illuminated the creviced features of the wizard opposite and blacked out the sea astern.

"So may I expect you at the gate of Admiral's Tower tomorrow morning?" Golophin asked. Hawkwood nodded assent.

"Excellent." The mage tossed a small doeskin bag on the table that clinked heavily. "An advance on your wages. You might want to outfit yourself with a new wardrobe. Quarters will be arranged in the Tower."

"Will be arranged, or have been arranged?"

Golophin rose and donned his hat. "Until tomorrow then, Captain," and he held out a hand.

Hawkwood shook it, rising in turn. His face was a stiff mask. Golophin turned to go, and then halted. "It is no bad thing when personal inclination and the dictates of policy go together, Captain. We need you, it is true, but I for one am glad to have you besides. The court is full of well-bred snakes. The King has need of one or two honest men around him too."

He left, stooping as he entered the companionway. Hawkwood listened to him stride forward to the waist, and then there was that scrabbling seagull on deck again, and then silence.

L
ATER, HE LAY
on his oars a cable's length from the
Osprey
and watched her burn. Somehow the ship reclaimed some of her old beauty as the flames swept up from her decks and roared bright and blazing into the night sky. The fire reflected wet and shining from his eyes and he sat watching until she had burned down to the waterline and the sea began rushing in to quench the inferno. A hissing of steam, and then a murmuring gurgle as what was left of her hull turned over and sank beneath the waves. Hawkwood wiped his face in the choppy darkness.

He'd build their damn navy, and jump through whatever hoops they put in front of him - it was a way of surviving, after all. But his brave ship would never become a mere blueprint in some naval surveyor's office.

He picked up his oars, and began the long haul back to shore.

Part One

The
F
ALL
of
H
EBRION

He uncovers the deeps out of darkness,

and brings great darkness to light.

He makes nations great, and he destroys them;

He enlarges nations, and leads them away.

He takes away understanding from the chiefs

of the people of the earth,

And makes them wander in a pathless waste.

- Job ch. 12, v. 23-24

One

14
TH
F
ORIALON,
Y
EAR OF THE
S
AINT
567

T
HE KNOT OF
riders pummelled along the sea-cliffs in a billow of tawny dust. Young men on tall horses, they came to a thundering halt scant inches from the edge and sat their snorting mounts, laughing and slapping dust from their clothes. The sun, bright as a cymbal, beat down on the sky-blue sea far below and made the glitter of the horizon too bright for the eye to bear. It caused the sere mountains behind the riders to ripple and shimmer like a vision.

Cantering up to join the horsemen came another, but this was an older man, his dress sombre, and his beard gunmetal grey. His mount came to a sober halt and he wiped sweat from his temples.

"You'll break your damn fool necks if you're not careful. Don't you know the rock is rotten there at the edge?"

Most of the younger men eased their horses away from the fearsome drop sheepishly, but one remained in place, a broad-shouldered youth with pale blue eyes and hair black as a raven's feather. His mount was a handsome grey gelding that stood prick-eared and attentive between his knees.

"Bevan, where would I be without you? I suppose mother told you to follow us."

"She did, small wonder. Now get away from the edge, Bleyn. Make an old man happy."

Bleyn smiled and backed the grey from the brink of the sea-cliff one yard, two. Then he dismounted in a motion as easy as the flow of water, patted the neck of the sweating horse and slapped dust from his riding leathers. On foot he was shorter than one would have guessed, with a powerfully built torso set square on a pair of stout legs. The physique of a longshoreman, topped by the incongruously fine-boned face of an aristocrat.

"We came to see if we could catch a glimpse of the fleet," he said, somewhat contrite.

"Then look to the headland there - Grios Point. They'll be coming into view any time now, with this breeze. They weighed anchor in the middle of the night."

The other riders dismounted also, hobbled their horses and unhooked wineskins from their saddles.

"What's it all about anyway, Bevan?" one of them asked. "Stuck out here in the provinces, we're always the last to know."

"It's a huge pirate fleet, I hear," another said. "Up from the Macassars looking for blood and plunder."

"I don't know about pirates," Bevan said slowly, "but I do know that your father, Bleyn, had to call up all the retainers on the estate and tear off to Abrusio with them in tow. It's a general levy, and we haven't seen one of those in... oh, sixteen, seventeen years, now."

"He's not my father," Bleyn said quickly, his fine-boned face flushing dark.

Bevan looked at him. "Now listen -"

"There they are!" one of the others shouted excitedly. "Just coming round the point."

They all stared, silent now. The cicadas clicked endlessly in the heat around them, but there was a breeze off the barren mountains at their backs.

Around the rocky headland, over a league away. Coming into view was what resembled a flock of far-off birds perched on the waves. It was the brightness of the sails that was striking at first; the heavy swell partially hid their hulls. Tall men o' war with the scarlet pennants of Hebrion snapping from their mainmasts. Twelve, fifteen, twenty great ships in line of battle, smashing aside the waves and forging out to sea with the wind on their starboard beam and their sails bright as a swan's wing.

"It's the entire western fleet," Bevan murmured. "Now what in the world?"

He turned to Bleyn, who was shading his eyes with one hand and peering intently seawards.

"They're beautiful," the young man said, awed. "They truly are."

"Ten thousand men you're looking at there, lad. The greatest navy in the world. Your - Lord Murad will be aboard, and no doubt half the Galiapeno retainers, puking their guts out, I'll be bound."

"Lucky bastards," Bleyn breathed. "And here we are like a bunch of widows at a ball, watching them go."

"What is it all for - is it a war we haven't heard of?" one of the others asked, perplexed.

"Damned if I know," Bevan rasped. "It's something big, to draw out the entire fleet like that."

"Maybe it's the Himerians and the Knights Militant, come invading at last," one of the younger ones squeaked.

"They'd come through the Hebros passes, fool. They've no ships worth speaking of."

"The Sea-Merduks, then."

"We've been at peace with them these forty years or more."

"Well, there's something out there. You don't send a fleet out to sea for the fun of it."

"Mother will know," Bleyn said abruptly. He turned and remounted the tall grey in one fluid movement. "I'm going home. Bevan - you stay with this lot - you'll slow me down." The gelding pranced like a sprightly ghost below him, snorting.

"Now you just wait a moment -" Bevan began, but he was already gone, leaving only a zephyr of dust behind.

L
ADY
J
EMILLA WAS
a striking woman with hair still as dark as her son's. Only in bright sunlight could the grey be seen threading it through, like silver veining the face of a mine. She had been a famous beauty in her youth, and it was rumoured that the King himself had at one time honoured her with his attentions; but she was now the dutiful well-bred wife of Hebrion's High Chamberlain, Lord Murad of Galiapeno, and had been for almost fifteen years. The colourful escapades that had enlivened her youth were now all but forgotten at court, and Bleyn knew nothing of them.

Murad's fiefdom, tucked away on the Galapen Peninsula south-west of Abrusio, was something of a backwater, and the high manse which had housed his family for generations was an austere fortress-like edifice built out of cold Hebros stone. In the heat of high summer it still retained an echo of winter chill and there was a low fire burning in the cavernous hearth of Jemilla's apartments. She was running over the household's accounts at her desk, whilst beside her an open window afforded a view of the sun-baked olive-groves of her husband's estates like some brightly-lit fragment of a sunnier world.