Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (47 page)

“You know,” Jan interjected, spitting out flecks of pastry as he spoke, “we could just have sent a bloody pigeon and saved ourselves a journey.”

Captain Brandt shook his head slowly. “This is too important to take such risks. Birds can be shot down, their messages intercepted. They could be killed by a hawk. Even if they get to where they’re meant to be, there’s no telling if their message finds the right person. It could just as easily be found by one who wants to cover up the truth.” He glanced at Caspian. “The emperor needs to hear it told to his face.”

Jan smirked. “You’re lucky the old man is up top. The way you talk about Old Bones, anyone would take you for a royalist.”

The captain’s face reddened, but he said nothing. He merely glared at the young crewman until the smile left his face and he looked away, abashed. “I’m no imperialist,” he said at last. “But it’s what needs to be done. The Order has wormed its way into favour. I’ve heard that almost no decision is taken now without the Archon’s approval. The emperor needs to hear what he has done, and hopefully the land will be rid of their influence. I wouldn’t give a stream of piss in a monsoon for the emperor, but his decisions affect tens of thousands. It’s for those that we undertook this voyage.”

“And don’t forget the riches, cap’n,” said Jan, his eyes glittering with avarice.

“Riches?” Dorric’s head turned from side to side as he looked at them both questioningly. “What riches is that, then?”

“Basic’ly saving the emperor’s life, ain’t we?” Jan’s weasel face split into a grin. “Carrying him word that his trusted advisor is planning to do him in. Saving the common man might be good enough for the cap’n, but I won’t be happy until I’ve got a fat golden reward in my purse.”

“Riches.” Dorric sighed happily. “How much will we get, d’you think?”

Jan speared a lump of meat on the end of his fork, and waved it airily as he spoke. “How much is the life of the high and mighty emperor worth, Dor? Quite a bit, I’d say. We’ll prob’ly need to clear extra space in the hold for all the chests of riches the prefect will shower on us when we reach Bloodstone.”

“As long as it’s enough to stand the lads a few rounds in the ‘Maid, that’s enough for me,” Dorric said firmly.

Jan laughed. “Might even be enough to
buy
that ale-soaked pile of matchwood. Not that you should, Dor. You’d drink yourself into the ground inside a month, you old sot.”

Dorric didn’t seem upset by the barb. “What about you, Sten? What will you do with your share of the reward?”

The big sailor looked up from his plate, which up until then had occupied all his attention. He stared into space thoughtfully for a few moments, as if carefully considering the question. Then he shrugged and turned back once again to his food.

Jan’s eyes rolled. “Too chatty you are, Sten. That’s your problem.”

The sailors continued to argue good-naturedly about what they would do with the proceeds they would receive for bringing word of the Archon’s possible betrayal. Caspian poked at the food on his plate, letting their words wash over him. He’d lost his appetite. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked quietly, speaking aloud what had been bothering him. “What if the emperor knows already?”

“Then the situation is more dire than we thought.” Captain Brandt took another bite of meat and pastry. His own appetite was apparently unaffected. “But I think not. What happened to your fellows up on that blasted rock didn’t feel like imperial decree. The Archon was acting alone and covering his tracks so that others wouldn’t find out, I’d stake my life on it.”

They talked a while longer, about less important matters. Jan and Dorric were already planning their return to Westcove... a journey that it seemed he would not be making. Sten made solid progress through his meal, the only one of those sat at the table to clear both his plate and bowl. The mix of meat, pastry and the thick, oaty stew had been too much for Caspian, who picked at both before pushing his chair back and excusing himself.

He made his way back to the upper deck. The stars were still out, twinkling in the night’s sky. The sounds of merriment drifted up to him from below, but he didn’t regret his decision to leave the crew’s gathering early. He was tolerated by them, to varying degrees, but would never truly be one of them. For their part, the crew of the
Havørn
were always slightly guarded whenever he was around. He didn’t blame them, not truly. Despite hailing from Westcove he was still an outsider; a member of the Order who were viewed with deep suspicion by most of those in the north – and after recent events he could not even say they were wrong.

Without quite knowing why, Caspian found himself strolling towards the rear of the ship. He climbed the steps leading to the quarterdeck, and leaned over a rail close to where Nikolaj stood at the ship’s wheel. He stared gloomily out across the dark water.

“It’s more usual to celebrate reaching the end of a long voyage, boy, yet you look as like to throw yourself into the waves.”

When the first-mate spoke, Caspian was so startled he almost leapt over the rail. It was the first time he’d ever spoken to him directly. “I was just thinking... about our journey. About tomorrow.”

“Ah.” Nikolaj continued to stare into the night ahead of the ship, though Caspian had no idea how much he was able to see. “I suppose that the journey’s only really half-done, isn’t it, for yourself?”

A cold certainty took hold of Caspian’s mind then. “You knew, didn’t you? All of you? I’m the only one that didn’t guess at what would happen, and I’m the one who’s to be dragged in front of the emperor.” He felt like a fool.

“We guessed, boy. We can’t know what the future holds, for any of us. But what did you think would happen? That you’d tell a jumped-up Legion grunt that the emperor’s trusted counsellor is a murderer and a fraud and that would be the end of it?”

“I... I don’t know.” A petulant voice that Caspian had not heard for a long time rose up within him then. “You could have left me there. I wish you had!” he cried.

Nikolaj turned to face him, with pity in his eyes. “To do what, boy? Scrape an existence in the cellars of that fort of dead men, living in the dark like a rat? To be at the mercy of the Fisher Lords, whenever it entered their heads to find out why the Crag had fallen silent?”

“Better that than face the emperor.” Caspian shivered. He told himself that it was just from the cold winter air. “
He’ll
be there as well, when I’m standing before the Golden Throne, did any of you think of that? What do you think my life will be worth when the Archon finds out that one of us survived?”

“It’s the captain’s hope that when you tell your tale, the Archon’s influence at court will be broken and you receive the emperor’s protection.” His distaste at mentioning the land’s ruler was evident from his tone.

“Or he could convince the emperor that I’m lying, or mad, and I’ll be taken away and never heard from again.”

The first mate grunted. “There are no easy choices in this world, if there were there would
be
no choice. Do you think we made the decision to sail this far south, at this time of year, lightly? There were no guarantees any of us would live to see our destination, nor any that we’ll see home again. You say that you’re heading into danger, and you’re right, but the same is true for all the rest of us as well.”

“At least you’ll have each other,” said Caspian despondently.

Nikolaj sighed. “He would go with you, you know,” he said quietly. “The captain, I mean. He thinks of you as a son. You and that other one we picked up. If the skipper has one failing, it’s that he becomes too attached to the waifs and strays of this world. Not that surprising though, after...” He fell silent and turned his attention back to the sea ahead.

Caspian wondered what he had been going to say, but something about the older man’s tone told him it would not be wise to probe further. After a few moments, the first mate spoke again. “I won’t lie to you, boy, everything you fear may come to pass. But if it does, there is naught any of us could do even if we were by your side. It changes nothing. The captain believes that we’re caught up in something bigger than any of us, and that your story needs to be told. It’s not our place to question him.”

Caspian was being selfish, he knew. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost sight of why I agreed to do this to begin with. My Brothers deserved better than what happened to them. I don’t care about the Empire, not really. It never gave me anything. But those that died... if telling my tale will help their souls rest easier, I will do it.”

Nikolaj turned to him again, with a sad smile. “Go get some sleep, lad,” he said kindly. “‘Tis always darkest before the dawn, so they say. Perhaps things will not seem so hopeless when you wake.”

Caspian nodded wearily. He was exhausted, he realised. Fatigue clung to him like a suit of heavy armour, weighing him down. He left the quarterdeck and made his way down to the cabin. Inside was pitch-black, but by now he knew the layout of the room so well he found the captain’s desk without difficulty.

He stood over it for a moment, his fingertips brushing loose pages. His work was nearly completed. Trawling through the letters, which had no discernable order, had been a gruelling task, but there were only a few more remaining. He’d also read most of Elder Tobias’ journals. He could spend his last night aboard the
Havørn
finishing those pages that remained, but the truth was that he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm required. He had no idea what the captain had been hoping he would find, but no doubt he would be disappointed.
So few answers
.

Instead, he turned away and rolled gratefully onto his cot-bed. The mattress was hard and lumpy in places, but neither bothered him. Comfort had not been a priority for those living at the Crag.

He lay there for some time. Despite his tiredness, he could not fall asleep at first. His mind was racing with thoughts of what the coming days would bring, the events of the voyage and what had happened to him prior to meeting the
Havørn’s
crew.

Eventually, though, sleep took hold of him. His dreams were as unsettled as his waking thoughts had been. He was back in the Great Hall, the night of the Archon’s feast. All around him, the other novices and Brothers lay dead at their benches, their glazed eyes staring at him accusingly. He tried to run, but the Archon leaped, grinning, from his seat on the dais and began to chase him. In his hand was an enormous sword, burning with green fire. Caspian ran, opening the door to the hall onto a long corridor. All the doors he ran past were wide open, revealing their occupants; faces from his past. In one, his mother clung to his father’s trouser cuffs, begging him, tears streaming down her cheeks. A succession of novices, faces contorted with scorn, throwing jeers out towards him as he raced past. Another saw Jan standing in the doorway, regarding his flight with a familiar sneer. All the time, the Archon was at his heels, swinging his burning blade so close Caspian could feel the heat of it through the clothes on his back. 

Caspian awoke with a start. Daylight was flooding the cabin when he opened his eyes. With a groan, he rubbed his face. If anything, he was more tired now than he had been when he went to bed the night before.

Just then, the sound of muffled voices came to him through the cabin door. He pulled himself upright and strained to listen. By the sound of it, the captain was speaking to the crew. Then another voice spoke, one he didn’t recognise. Alarmed, Caspian jumped to his feet.

As he did so, he realised the ship felt different. He was not an experienced seaman, he would be the first to admit. But you couldn’t spend weeks on board a ship and not become accustomed to the way that it moved on the water.
Bloodstone!
Whatever fate had in store for him here, it was undeniably exciting to have reached their destination at last.

Hurriedly, he pulled his robes over his head, before creeping to the cabin door. After opening it a crack, he saw all the crew standing upon the deck. From the way they stood, he could tell they were wary. Captain Brandt stood towards the port side, with his back to Caspian. He seemed deep in conversation with somebody else, but Caspian could not see who.

He was about to ease the door closed again, when another figure stepped into his vision. It was a knight, dressed from head to foot in steel plate armour. Most of his face was hidden beneath a red-plumed helmet, but the visor had been lifted to reveal a pair of blue eyes and young features. The armour had been polished to a high shine, and glinted brightly in the sunlight. He also wore a blood-red cloak, which was fastened at each shoulder with a clasp in the likeness of a bull’s head. The mark of the Imperial Legion.

As he strolled into view, the soldier’s head turned towards the cabin door. He pointed at Caspian and said something to Captain Brandt. The captain turned, saw Caspian and smiled, gesturing for him to join them on the deck.

Sheepishly, Caspian emerged from the cabin. As he did so, he gave an involuntary gasp. The
Havørn
was moored at the edge of a great harbour. On their starboard side, half a dozen long wooden piers stretched into the sea, alongside which sat several enormous war frigates, swaying gently as waves lapped at their sides. Caspian had never before seen their like; each one towered above their ship like a mountain, the sailors that climbed about their rigging barely larger than specks. The main mast of the nearest frigate alone was taller than the
Havørn
was long.