The Iron Palace (22 page)

If Froan’s men were oblivious of their stench, he wasn’t. He told them to rinse the fish slime from their clothes and bodies in the bog, and they obeyed. Afterward, he had them collect what dried, brown reeds they could find among the clumps growing in the water. These were placed in the boat’s stern until there was a substantial pile. When that was done, there was nothing else to do except wait for nightfall.

The night was overcast, so there wasn’t even starlight to illuminate the way. Froan and his men slowly drifted downstream in perfect silence. Telk used an oar as a rudder to ensure the boat hugged the river’s edge. The fens were only a black expanse of shadow without definition, and the Turgen was scarcely brighter. The murk hid them, but it also hid the war boat. Froan stared into the dark to make sure that they didn’t float past their target unaware.

Only Froan was anxious; his men had no qualms about
the work ahead. He was certain of that; for he had used his dark powers to replace what ever fears they had with blind obedience and rabid hatred. The only tension they felt came from waiting for a chance to kill. Froan almost envied their lack of inner conflict. While he was mostly eager to commence the night’s bloody business, a part of him was appalled by the prospect. Though he tried, he couldn’t wholly banish that feeling. So it remained, a nagging thorn he couldn’t pull.

A dark shape loomed in the distance, clearing Froan’s thoughts of everything except the task at hand. He signaled Telk to guide their boat toward the shadowy form on the water. Afterward, Froan made his way to the stern, where the jug of lamp oil lay beside the pile of reeds. He uncorked it and poured the oil on the dry stalks. Then he made his way toward the bow and briefly opened the door of the dark lantern a crack to ensure its flame was lit.

By that time, the dark shape had resolved into the silhouette of the war boat. It was anchored so that its bow pointed upriver, and since Froan wanted to board it near the stern, they would have to drift alongside the length of the boat. As the enemy vessel loomed ever larger, Froan was half expecting to hear the watch cry a warning from aloft. Telk guided their little craft past the war boat’s pair of anchor ropes until he reached the bow. Then he steered so that they floated within touching distance of the hull. Just before they reached the stern, Froan gave the signal for Serpent and Eel to raise boarding poles with hooked ends designed to fit over a boat’s rail. When the hooks grabbed hold, the fishing boat stopped drifting.

The rope boarding ladder stretching between the two poles resembled a large mesh. It was wide enough for two men to climb it at once. The pirates clambered up the ladder in pairs and dropped over the rail barefoot so as to make as little noise as possible. Froan was the last to grab onto the ladder, and still no alarm had been sounded. As soon as he stepped off the fishing boat, it began to drift away.
Froan watched it float downriver, unable to ascend the rope ladder because he held the dark lantern in one hand. He remained hanging from the ladder until the fishing boat was nearly past the war boat’s stern. Then he opened the dark lantern to expose its flame and tossed it onto the oil-soaked reeds. That done, Froan climbed up to the deck of the enemy vessel.

As instructed, Froan’s men stood pressed against the outer wall of the lower stern cabin. Froan joined them there, and as he did, a pillar of flame erupted from the fishing boat. Froan couldn’t see it from where he stood, for the stern shielded him from its light. The flame did illuminate the masts, and Froan saw the two men on watch stare at it in puzzlement. The diversion allowed him and Chopper to ascend the wooden ladder to the captain’s cabin unnoticed. Meanwhile, the other pirates burst into the quarters directly below.

Chopper entered the captain’s cabin in a frenzied state, swinging his ax even before he spotted someone to kill. The only illumination came from three small windows in the cabin’s rear. Ruddy light from the burning fishing boat shone on a man rising from a bunk. That effort was interrupted by Chopper’s ax. It partly severed the man’s neck with the first blow and finished the job with the second one. The head tumbled to the floor and rolled toward a wall. When Chopper bent down to retrieve it, he spied a cabin boy cowering in the corner and split the lad’s skull without a moment’s hesitation. Lifting the severed head by the hair, he handed it to Froan. “Here ye are, Shadow. Ah suppose ’twas the captain’s.”

“Good work,” said Froan. “We’re done here.” As he moved toward the cabin door and the small deck outside, an aura of terror preceded him. The two violent deaths just moments before had fed the power he felt flowing from him. Froan projected its force more by instinct than conscious effort. In fact, he didn’t have a clear idea what the
force was, but its effects were readily apparent. As soon as he stepped onto the deck, the men on watch were paralyzed. One had been sounding an alarm by banging a cylindrical bell, which fell silent the instant Froan appeared. Beacons had been lit to illuminate the deck, and by their light, Froan could see that the men’s faces were slack with terror.

A few soldiers had emerged from belowdecks, and they were similarly affected. Serpent rushed up to one who stood passively as he was cut down. Serpent would have slaughtered the other soldiers as well, but Froan stopped him with a single word. The soldiers were a resource that he didn’t want to waste.

Eel, Telk, and Gouger emerged from the cabins below, each with a captive. Froan called to them. “Bring the officers to me.” As his men obeyed, Froan turned his attention back to subduing the soldiers that continued to clamber up from belowdecks. Although it required no physical effort on his part, nonetheless he found it draining to terrorize so many at once. Froan was surprised to encounter limits to his powers.
Further slaughter will probably heighten them
, he thought,
but I need these men
.

A solution quickly came to him, for he was thinking as a seasoned veteran, not a lad who had spent his life milking goats. The tactics he had employed that night—the use of diversion and targeting the enemy’s command—had come naturally to him, as if planning assaults were second nature. He recalled that his father’s spirit had spoken of a patrimony, and he assumed his martial instincts were part of it. At the moment, he felt very much the leader. It was a good feeling. It made it easier for him to ignore his impression that he wasn’t fully in charge of himself, regardless of how he dominated others.

Telk, Gouger, and Toad forced the captive officers up the ladder, then held them fast. Froan regarded each of his prisoners but didn’t use his powers to terrorize them. Upon finishing his inspection, he spoke to all three. Holding up the
severed head, he said, “This captain’s no use to me. I need a new one. Who wants the job?”

When none of the officers replied, Froan walked over to the oldest one. “Will you serve me?”

“I won’t serve a brigand,” replied the man.

Froan calmly slit the man’s throat and watched him die before regarding the two remaining officers. “Do both of you feel the same way?”

“I’ll fight for pay,” replied one officer, “but not out of fear.” He was a wiry man with a hard and battered face that was missing an eye. A black stone was fitted into its socket.

“I like that answer. What’s your name?”

“Wuulf.”

“Well, Wuulf, we should talk,” said Froan. He gestured to the late captain’s quarters. “We’ll do it in my cabin.”

As the two headed for the cabin, Froan inquired if there was a means to light it.

“Aye,” replied Wuulf, “the captain had an oil lamp. Would ye like it lit?”

“Yes.”

Wuulf called down to the deck for a flame, and soon a soldier climbed the ladder with a rush candle clamped in his teeth. “Light the oil lamp,” said Wuulf.

“Then stay a moment,” added Froan.

The solder entered the cabin and lit the wick of a brass lamp that was suspended by a chain affixed to the ceiling. Its light revealed a well-ordered chamber marred by two grisly corpses. Froan glanced about the chamber in amazement, for he had never seen anything so elegant or finely crafted. Telk’s home, considered one of the grandest in the fens, paled in comparison. Froan forced himself to tear his gaze from all the built-in furnishings and fix it on the soldier who had brought the candle. After giving the man a penetrating look, he spoke to him in a cold, compelling voice. “Hold your hand in the flame.”

The soldier obeyed without hesitation, and as the flesh
of his palm began to blister, Froan turned to Wuulf. “Look in that man’s eyes. Do you see any pain?”

“Nay.”

“What
do
you see?”

“Nothing. I think ye’ve driven him mad.”

Froan dismissed the soldier, then turned to Wuulf who was regarding him with a look of awe. “I can make you obey me just like that soldier obeyed me. But, as you saw, that obedience comes with a price. I’d rather have you serve me willingly.”

“Aye, a fearless idiot makes a poor captain.”

“I thought you’d see my problem.”

“But why would I tie my fate to yers?”

“Because I’m destined to be a great lord. I’ve seen but seventeen winters and have only six men, but I’ve managed to take your ship.”

Wuulf smiled ruefully. “Aye, ye did at that.”

“I’ll turn the oarsmen into my fearless and obedient horde, but I want willing soldiers to form the core of my army.”

“Yer army? Ye aim high.”

“I do. And high I’ll rise. So will those who serve me.”

Wuulf bowed his head. “Sire, I’m yer man.”

“You may call me Shadow.”

“From what I’ve seen tonight, I think ’twill be ‘Lord Shadow’ afore long.”

W
HEN
F
ROAN
stepped outside his new cabin, the deck below was filled with soldiers. They appeared subdued, but when he gazed at them in the flickering light of the watch beacons, he sensed they were growing restive. Although Froan had felt his power increase when he cut the officer’s throat, he was glad that he had no need to use it on the men before him. Instead, he turned to his new captain.

Wuulf knew exactly what to do. “Comrades!” he called out. “Captain Grute is slain, and so’s Lieutenant Smite. I’m captain now. And I’ve good news! We’re no longer the Merchants Guild’s men!

“From now on, we’ll soldier for a new master, not stingy merchants. No more will we shed our blood for coppers. Instead, we’ll serve an openhanded master. A master destined to rise high, and who’ll raise us with him. Already, ye’ve sensed his power. Those who opposed him lie dead, and this vessel’s his. Only fools fight such a man. Wisdom lies in fighting for him. Are ye wise, comrades?”

“Aye!” shouted the soldiers.

“Shout it so the guild can hear ye.”

“Aye!” shouted the soldiers louder than before.

“Then meet yer captain’s master … and yers—Shadow.”

Froan stepped forward. Unlike his men, he still had his boots, and he had donned the late captain’s cloak. It was black, and in the ruddy firelight, it blended with Froan’s dark hair to give him the appearance of a shadow. But it was
Froan’s aura of menace that created the greatest impression. It bypassed the eyes and went straight to the gut. Froan sensed it in the men’s faces—the mixture of fear and awe that marked respect for a dangerous man.

Then Froan addressed them. “The pirates you sought have slipped your grasp. But not mine. This coming morn, you’ll plunder the plunderers. All they possess will be shared among you, for I desire naught except to save a woman.” He turned to Captain Wuulf. “This will seem a child’s game. Bring who you need to my cabin, and we’ll make plans for it.”

Captain Wuulf immediately demonstrated the advantages of military discipline. Used to Bloodbeard’s capricious style of leadership, Froan was impressed by Wuulf’s efficiency. The new captain began by having the sergeants report to the captain’s deck. There he ordered one to form a detail to remove the bodies from the captain’s cabin and clean it. He told another to outfit Froan’s men and find accommodations for them. Finally, he ordered all the sergeants to report for battle orders after the council concluded.

The council met as soon as the cabin was prepared. Captain Wuulf brought three additional men to meet with Froan. One was the other surviving officer, an ensign named Tarbon. He was a rough-looking and boxy man of thirty-odd winters who was completely bald. The boat’s pi lot and the oar master completed the council. When Froan described the pirates’ new hideout, the pilot said he knew the island. After Froan said that he wanted a quick attack, the pi lot and the oar master estimated a dawn arrival if they weighed anchor immediately and rowed at quickstroke speed. Then Froan told Wuulf and Tarbon what he wanted to do once the hideaway was reached. The officers soon departed to implement his orders, leaving Froan to settle into his new accommodations.

Froan slipped off his boots and experienced lying on bed linens and a feather mattress for the first time in his life. At
home, he had slept on a bed made of bundled reeds, never imagining such softness existed. He savored the sensation of a comfortable bed almost as much as having others perform his bidding. Froan drifted off to sleep to the sounds of rapid oar strokes, shouted orders, and hurried footsteps on deck. Somehow, he found them calming.

A knock on the cabin door awoke Froan. Then he heard Captain Wuulf’s voice. “Sire, we’re at the island. The pirates’ beached boat lies in view.”

Froan was smiling as he pulled on his boots. The sun had just risen, but when he opened his door, Froan found the main deck teaming with men. Most were engaged in launching the two assault boats, which had been stored on deck. Froan paused to watch the men work, impressed by their precision.

The long rowboats were designed to ferry troops from ship to shore. Four rowers could transport a dozen armored soldiers at a time. Five trips would provide him with more than sufficient men to accomplish his ends. Froan thought of the humiliations he had endured, and it sweetened the prospect of revenge. He intended to savor every moment.

Returning to his cabin, Froan donned the late captain’s chain mail tunic. It had sleeves that ended at the elbow and the mail extended slightly below his knee. It fit him well, but the helm was too small for his head. Froan also strapped on the captain’s sword, which had a utilitarian hilt but a keen, well-forged blade. The sword belt also had a dagger in a fine leather scabbard. Froan used only the latter, preferring his own dagger. To him, it was more than a weapon: it was a token of his future.