Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (48 page)

Beyond the harbour were a cluster of square, stone buildings, from which spewed a steady stream of dock workers carrying out different errands. Looming above everything, taller even than the crow’s nest of the tallest frigate, was a gigantic stone gatehouse. On either side of the harbour were steep escarpments, with a narrow channel between running uphill towards Bloodstone Keep. The gate had been built across this expanse, as tall as the cliffs themselves. The great portcullis at its centre was open currently, admitting a number of ox-drawn wagons, that had apparently been loaded with goods from the docked ships. The passage through the gate was so wide that two of these wagons could have passed through side-by-side, and still have room for a third between. On top of the gate, Caspian caught sight of soldiers patrolling the battlements.

Any lingering doubts he might have held about the militaristic nature of the port were dispelled when he looked at the pier to which they were moored. A platoon of armoured soldiers stood there, their chainmail no less polished that the plate of their commanding officer. Each wore a white tabard adorned with the imperial bull’s head sigil.

The knight regarded Caspian without emotion. “This is the boy you mentioned?” he asked, his question directed at the captain.

“Not so much a boy as a young man, but yes. This is Brother Caspian,” Captain Brandt replied, even though he was aware that Caspian as yet had no right to that title.

“Perhaps a skinny whelp such as this one can be called a man within the Order, but the Legion is not so lenient.” The blue eyes glanced in his direction again. He felt the crew, the captain in particular, bristle at the knight’s manner, but they made no move. Caspian felt himself shrink beneath the knight’s withering gaze. “You say he has information of importance to the emperor?”

“That’s right.” Captain Brandt’s tone was guarded.

The knight grinned broadly. “For a ship’s captain your sense of direction leaves much to be desired. I’m afraid you’ve a long way to go still before you reach Ehrenburg.”

The captain’s jaw clenched. “If we must sail on, we will,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I had thought to bring the boy’s story to the commander here. Then, perhaps the Legion can escort him the rest of the way. It is half the time over land to the capital than by sea.”

The knight made no reply. He strolled across the deck, stopping before each crewman and looking searchingly at each one as if memorising their faces. When he reached Caspian, his eyes glittered with bemusement. “We thought you were pirates, you know,” he said, turning away and strolling back towards the captain. “It’s very rare to see a barbarian ship this far south, particularly such a
small
one as this.” He laughed. “No offence intended captain. It is merely that most would not even think to attempt such a journey into unfamiliar waters.”

“We would not have done so had our message been less important,” Captain Brandt replied.

“Indeed.” The knight regarded the captain for a moment. “Tell me your message, and I’ll decide whether it is worth taking further.”

Captain Brandt shook his head firmly. “We must speak to your commander, or we will sail on to Ehrenburg. But not before we send a bird to the commander telling him about your refusal to let us see him. What is your name again?”

Anger flashed across the young knight’s face. “General Vitrian is busy in discussions with his war council and cannot be disturbed. Prefect Lugen is available however. He is in charge of this port and has the authority to escalate any issues to the general that he deems worthy. I trust this is acceptable.”

The captain hesitated. Clearly he was not prepared for such an eventuality. “Very well,” he said at last. “Take us to the prefect.”

As the crew began to move, the knight held up a hand. “Your men are to remain here, captain. Don’t worry, I will leave my troop behind to make sure they are looked after. You are to come alone.” His gaze flicked towards Caspian again. “Apart from the boy, of course.”

With that, he turned from them and strode across the
Havørn’s
gangplank onto the pier. The captain turned to Caspian, and gestured for him to follow. Concern was etched onto his face, and Caspian felt his own worries grow. Obviously, their first meeting with the Legion at Bloodstone had not gone as expected.

With a last glance towards the crew, Caspian followed the knight and Captain Brandt down the gangplank. Dorric and Jan appeared nervous, while Nikolaj glared at the Legion soldiers on the dock. Sten stood, stoic and immobile as ever, his face impassive.

They followed the knight through the harbour, his steel boots clattering as he marched across the stone cobbles. Not once did he look behind to make sure they were still with him; doubtless he didn’t care whether they reached the prefect or not.

Caspian looked around as they hurried behind the crimson-cloaked figure. The port was a hive of activity, with dock workers scurrying back and forth with crates, boxes and other items. Wagons rolled off towards the giant gate when they were filled, and others were unloaded at the piers, their goods loaded onto the frigates by large wooden cranes. These were powered by great treadmills containing yet more oxen. Squads of soldiers patrolled up and down, while a wooden watchtower at the end of their pier was manned by bored-looking archers and arbalesters.

They eventually found themselves outside one of the square, stone buildings he had noticed earlier upon emerging from the
Havørn’s
cabin. A metal plaque affixed to the wall beside the door declared it to be the harbourmaster’s office. “Go inside and take the stairs,” the knight said gruffly. “You’ll find the prefect up there.”

Beyond the door they were confronted with another. From within, Caspian heard the sound of people hard at work, the nature of which he could not guess. But to their right, a flight of stairs led upwards. The captain went first, Caspian following close behind. Yet another door faced them at the top of the stairs. This time, Captain Brandt knocked. After they heard a muffled invitation to enter, he pushed it open and walked through.

The top floor of the building was taken up by a single room. It appeared to be a combination of office, living area and bedroom. Crumpled clothes and stacks of dirty plates were scattered liberally across the latter two. A quarter of the room was equally messy, yet here it was composed of piles of papers; books stacked higgledy-piggledy on top of one another and other work-related clutter. A man sat at a desk facing them, scribbling feverishly at a sheet of paper in front of him. He looked up as they entered and jumped to his feet.

“Hello, hello, what have we here?” he cried, scuttling over to them. He shook both their hands and stood waiting, an earnest expression on his face.

“Are you Prefect Lugen?” the captain asked, uncertainly.

“I have that honour,” the man replied, with a high-pitched laugh that was curiously at-odds with his bulky frame. In many ways, he was a reflection of the room he inhabited. His tunic was blotched with various stains, both old and new, and the few remaining strands of hair that clung to his scalp stood up in disarray.

“The officer that met our ship at the dock suggested that we come and speak with you,” the captain went on. “It is a matter of great importance to the emperor.”

“Really?” The prefect blinked in surprise. “Come, be seated.” They followed him back to his desk, where he indicated a pair of chairs nearby. When they were settled, he turned to them again. “Now, tell me everything. As Lieutenant Sturben no doubt told you, I have the ear of the general, who has a direct line to the Golden Throne and the emperor himself.” He beamed at them. “It’s so nice to have people come through the proper channels, oh yes indeed.”

“It’s probably best if the lad tells it himself.”

Captain Brandt smiled at Caspian, and nodded encouragingly. The prefect’s brown eyes fell upon him as well, and Caspian swallowed nervously. Then, haltingly at first, he began to tell the story of what had happened the day of the Archon’s visit to the Crag. Leaving out no detail that he was aware of, he spoke of the Archon’s arrival, of Cole’s bout against the giant manservant, of the feast in the Great Hall and the slaughter that followed. By the time he was telling the prefect of how he hid from the Archon’s guards and concealed himself in the keep’s cellars until the crew of the
Havørn
arrived and discovered him, he was speaking more confidently.

The prefect’s eyes grew wider as Caspian’s tale continued. By the end, his expression was alarmed. “I can see why you came to us with this,” he said when Caspian had finished his tale. “Troubling news indeed, oh my yes.” The Prefect’s pudgy fingers fluttered nervously across the surface of his desk. It was then that Caspian noticed the ring he wore. It was a solid gold band, on which was set a large green stone.

“The Archon should pay for his crimes,” Captain Brandt said. “But there’s more. I believe he’s plotting something, perhaps even preparing to move against the emperor himself.”

“Really?” The prefect looked startled. “Oh dear, that is unfortunate news. What makes you think this?”

“Why travel the length of the empire to murder a group of men, fellows of your own Order, unless it was to hide something of great importance, or to find something. Both, even.” He grimaced. “With my own eyes I saw him performing sorcery of some kind.”

“Dear oh dear,” the prefect moaned again. “His Excellency will not be pleased to hear this, no not at all. He is of the faith himself, and holds the Archon in very high regard. Still,” he sighed, “if what you say is true then he must know of it. Do you have anything to back up your claims? Any documents, perhaps?”

The captain coughed. “We have with us letters and journals written by the Elder of the Crag, their contents confirm much of what we have told you.” Caspian glanced at him in surprise. He had not yet spoken to Captain Brandt about the contents of the letters, and indeed those he had seen did nothing to back up his story.

“You have them here, with you?” An odd tone had entered the prefect’s voice, which made Caspian uncomfortable.

“No, on our ship.”

“Ah, that is good.” He stood up. “I think our course then is clear. Caspian should remain here, as the general will most certainly want to hear what he has to say. Let us return to your ship together, captain, and we’ll get you and your crew on your way as soon as possible. Yes, yes, without delay.”

The three of them left the building together, and made their way back across the harbour. As they emerged from the harbourmaster’s building, the knight fell in step behind them.

The sun was high overhead by the time they made it back to their dock, the bright light glinting on the armour of the soldiers standing in formation in front of the
Havørn.
Caspian smiled sadly when he saw the ship. It had been his home for many weeks, and it was an odd feeling that this was probably the last time he would see either it or its crew. They all stood there upon its deck, roughly where he had left them earlier that morning. Relief flooded their faces when they saw the captain.

They stopped in front of the gangplank. “That is where the papers are, is it?” the prefect asked, pointing towards the cabin door.

“Aye, the lad has spent the last few weeks organising them and putting them in order, all the better for the emperor to read the truth for himself,” Captain Brandt replied.

“Wonderful,” the prefect beamed at them again. “A shame to see such hard work wasted, but what else are we to do?”

“What-”

Caspian watched on dumbly as the prefect raised a pudgy hand. The ring he had noticed before sparkled in the sunlight.

The first arrow caught Jan in the throat. The young crewman crumpled to the ground, his eyes bulging from his face as he clawed at the wooden shaft protruding from his neck. Caspian felt his legs give way beneath him and he collapsed onto the wooden deck. He gave a strangled cry as two more arrows were loosed in quick succession from the watchtower behind. Feathers sprouted from the chests of Nikolaj and Dorric. The latter’s open, honest face was locked in a dumbfounded expression as blood bloomed on his shirt around the wound.

Caspian was dimly aware of angry shouts behind him, the captain, and the loud slap of metal connecting with flesh. Another arrow was loosed, thudding into Sten’s muscular shoulder. The big sailor gave an agonised roar and pitched backwards off the ship, landing with a splash in the water below.

Caspian looked up from the ground, where he had landed in a heap, and saw the young knight gazing down at him with a sneer on his face. He gave another signal and more shafts were loosed at the
Havørn.
These arrows burned bright with flame, and soon the fire had spread across the ship’s deck and was licking up the mast. The bodies of the crewmen lay still as the flames reached them. They were gone already.

He began to sob, unable to hold back a tidal wave of emotion. He felt the tears rolling down his face as the ship burned before his eyes. The knight was shouting instructions, and soldiers were already hacking at the mooring rope with their swords, and heaving the stricken ship out into the bay. His tears did not stop as he and an unconscious Captain Brandt were hauled to their feet, nor as they were roughly dragged towards the enormous stone gate that led to Bloodstone Keep. Dockworkers turned to watch them as they were hauled past, their faces blank. Even through the mist in his eyes, Caspian noticed that many of them wore crystal pendants upon their chests.