The Fox-Catcher Spider
“Report,” directed the young Captain of the City Guardsmen, Zyphos K’ron, as he rejoined the group. Alec, a Guardsmen Engineer, looked up from the mechanics of the Fish Hook arming device and shook his head. “This one is gone too, Cap’n. They did a real job of it.”
“Total?” Zyphos asked.
“That’s five beyond fixin’ and a further ten we could get workin’ if we had the time. We were able to get two working again but jus’ ‘bout, and we found a gang o’ kerns tryin’ to break another one. They got Kal and Jak before we put ’em down. The good news is, none of ’em have got near the hooks for the estuary or the North Dock. They are still in perfect working order, and well-guarded.”
Zyphos did a quick calculation – just under half of the Fish Hooks in the sea were out of action. “The Big Man is not going to like this,” he said. “And the bastards are as good as on the beach. Forget this one, try to see what you can do for those that are less damaged. We don’t know how much time we have, but if we can sink or stop at least one ship it will be worth the effort. Don’t be reckless though. If the place is being overrun, get back to Dock Garrison.”
“Sir,” the engineers said.
Zyphos left the building and scanned the sea. “By Oln’s balls, they are getting close,” he uttered to himself. He could see the four tower-ships with their ammunition skiffs, escorted by three warships per pair, making the final turn toward the coast. Even from this distance he could tell they were larger than anything he had ever seen on the water.
His father had told him stories from his homeland of Katiz about the giant palace boats the ancient kings would use to show their wealth and power, and how they were more spectacular and held more marble, gold and silver than many of the land palaces of other regions. Some were said to have had entire gardens on them with caged beasts and birds. He had never understood how something so large could stay afloat, but he could no longer say for certain that the tales were exaggerations.
The other men left the building, moving on to repair the next Fish Hook mechanism. When one of them paused to look out across the sea, the others followed suit and stopped to stare.
“They are just boats. Fix the hooks so we can sink them,” called Zyphos, an edge to his voice. The men moved off as fast as they could.
Admittedly, humongous, shit-your-breeches, monster boats, full of weapons of searing, flaming death and destruction, Zyphos mused with a smile. He continued to scan the horizon. Where in Hel are our ships, anyway? Five will not be enough to get anywhere near them.
Zyphos was then surprised by what he could only assume was something launched from the top of each of the four tower-ships, toward the shore. As he watched, the captain could see the projectiles were going to land far short of the shore or wharfs. As they splashed down with high fountains of water and a deep thump, he knew the enemy had just displayed the incredible range and ability of the tower-ships for their benefit. Calculating once again, Zyphos was sure these weapons could target anywhere within the city, even past it, when they got to shore. He was no longer smiling.
Aessha save us, nothing will survive this.
As the enemy fleet came over the horizon and the horns and bells sounded an attack on the city, most of the rioters realised they could be facing an invading army and had hurried to their homes and families to gather what possessions they could carry from the city. The fear of being slaughtered by foreign soldiers was a more powerful motivator than the opportunity for lawlessness. The riot had quietened and all but stopped, except in areas where smaller groups had continued to burn buildings and tackle the City Guard.
Much to the first commander’s relief, the fires had stopped, having run out of fuel when they reached the Dock Wall. Most of the warehouses, shops and taverns at the Southern Docks had burned to the ground, except those closest to the river.
In the courtyard of the Dock Garrison, the first commander received reports on the situation from his commanders and captains. Despite the easing of the riot, the news had not been good. A dozen of his men would never fight again, another thirty or so had suffered broken bones or other serious injuries, and eleven Guardsmen had been killed. That did not include the House Shield soldiers who had been the target of the attack at the docks.
There had been several clashes between the rioters and the private guards of some of the wealthier merchants as they attempted to flee the city by boat or carriage. This only added to the count. Hrókar knew the private guards would have been ordered to give no quarter to anyone who interfered with their employer. The number of dead townspeople was still unknown but had been estimated by Hrókar to be over eighty, with another two hundred or so arrested.
When the others had finished their reports, the Commander of the Fifth Garrison, Orken, had arrived and asked to speak with Hrókar alone.
“First Commander Hrókar, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that Baron Feylan Radsvinn was slain at the Great Watch House earlier today,” the heavy-set man began as he stroked his long grey beard. “Reports say he was thrown from the roof of the lighthouse, although no one seems to know why he was there. The accounts vary, but all stated a cougari returned his body to the estate with a member of the House Shield and one of our men. Some were convinced the cougari was responsible, but they were unable to apprehend him because he used magic to move unnaturally fast and confuse their minds.”
The big warrior stared at Commander Orken, blinking several times before closing his eyes. He slowly rubbed the index finger and thumb of his right hand against his eyes until he reached the bridge of his nose. When Hrókar opened his eyes, he tugged lightly on his bearded chin. “We need to ensure the safety of the baron’s children and the council,” he said. “I have sent two squads to the estate. They should be able to help if the house still stands. It was reported the house was set ablaze. I also need to speak with Sub-Commander Valravn of the Watchmen. He can tell me where the rest of the council are. Send some Guardsm–”
“There is something else you need to need to know,” Orken interrupted, shifting his weight. “It would seem, as part of the same plot, the armaments have been stolen from the tower. Perhaps it was what the baron was trying to prevent. By the time my men broke down the door of the tower, there was nothing left but broken weapons racks and a few loose arrows. There were three dead Shielders to add to the tragedy.”
Hrókar felt his heart beat faster and his chest tighten. Frustration and anger bubbled for a moment before he stopped himself. Experience had taught him a wise warrior will more often beat a stronger opponent. “We have no choice,” said Hrókar. “It is time to concentrate on getting all remaining people out of the city. We will pull the men back beyond the Dock Wall, take everyone off the other walls, bringing their arrows with them. Arrange for anyone able to fight to report to the Isul Street Granary. The women and children are to leave by the Southern Gates. Order it, then return to the North Dock. I will need to inform the baron…” Hrókar paused, giving a slight shake of his head, “…the new baron, of what is happening.”
A loud thud, like a bang of a distant drum, drew the commanders’ attention to the waterside. The pair hurried to the stairs of the Dock Garrison wall and bounded up the steps. The tower-ships were clear to see. The noise had come from something fired from the trebuchet of one nearest the shore. A tall fountain of spume reached its arc and fell back to the water.
“By Oln’s Fist, will any of us survive?” Hrókar asked the ageing Fifth Garrison Commander, looking toward the tower-ships. “We just saw the range of those things and I’m sure it was the point. Nowhere in the city will be safe if they get much closer. We need to move with haste.”
The curved silver needle pierced the skin with deliberate delicacy and teased through the other side of the wound, the expert hand causing a thin catgut thread to pull the torn flesh together. The patient grunted in pain. He sat in an upholstered and cushioned chair placed by the large windows of the room which overlooked the extensive, well-kept grounds and part of the city. The demesne itself stood on one of the several hills within the city walls and gave a beautiful view of the Temple of Oln and the built-up streets surrounding it. Most of the walls of the room were covered by bookshelves weighed down by numerous tomes and cumbersome volumes of medicinal manuals, herb lore and natural histories.
The rest of the walls held display cases containing large insects, from beetles the size of a fist to an enormous yellow- and red-striped spider with legs which extended as far as a man’s outstretched arms, this one in an ornate display case. A bronze plate at the top of the case had the words ‘Fox-catcher Spider’ engraved into it.
“It is a remarkable looking creature. Is it poisonous?” asked Rullo, attempting to keep his mind off the pain, as he had refused any substances to dull his senses.
“Hmm? Oh, him, not as bad as you would think,” said Túlfarr Skyne, Chancellor of the Seven Pillars University and Dean of the School of Healing. “Same as a hornet sting, really. It uses the strength in its front two legs to overpower and kill all manner of small animals, including foxes, hence the name. You can see how the front legs have developed dagger-sharp spines which are so thin they pierce the organs of their prey. Now stay still.”
The fresh blood was again washed away with a clear medicinal spirit, causing a diluted, pale mixture of blood and alcohol to stream down the side of Rullo’s face and neck under his armour, adding to his discomfort. “It would have been more efficient to cauterise the wounds,” Túlfarr said, when he saw Rullo’s face twist in pain again.
“What…and let you near me with a red-hot iron?” returned Rullo with a weak smile over his tightened jaw. “These wounds were caused by cougari claws, and who knows what manner of filth is under the fingernails of those animals. You know as well as I that wounds like these need to be cleaned before they fester.”
“Yes, I do. Stop moving. Unless you want these last few stitches to be crooked.”
Rullo fell silent and bore the pain as the left side of his face and head continued to be sutured where the cougari had raked its claws across it. Most of the damage had been caused to his left ear and his forehead above his left eye. Túlfarr snipped the catgut of the final stitch and covered the wounds with honey and heated animal fat.
“Well?” asked Rullo.
When he had finished, the physician stepped back to examine his work. He had done everything he could to prevent the wounds from festering, managed to save the ear and had closed each of the gashes. He had sheared all of Rullo’s hair from around the wounds. The stitches were even spaced and level, some of his finest work of this kind. “It is done,” he declared. “And what else is done?”
The two men had not had a chance to discuss anything since Rullo had shown up at the chancellor’s rooms with a torn face and blood-covered armour. “Yes, Feylan is dead,” said Rullo.
“The boy?” Túlfarr pressed.
“Secure. We have him. Speaking of which, I have been delayed far too long by this inconvenience.”
“I will bandage it and you can be on your way,” Túlfarr said. “I would advise you to rest but you would just ignore me.”
Rullo reached out his hand to grasp Túlfarr’s forearm. “We knew this day was coming, my friend. We both know his death was necessary for thousands to live. We both have witnessed the corruption of the Temple.”
“Yes, but there are things which the heart and mind can know in different ways. Feylan would have marched the entire population of the city into the jaws of destruction, there is no doubt in my mind about it. But I am sorrowful at the truth of it.” The physician continued to bandage Rullo’s head.
“Ulrik will be more reasonable,” said Rullo, taking a quick glance into the small, mirrored surface of the silver medical instrument box. “He will see the situation for its inevitability, I am sure of it. Thank you for your expertise. If you are staying in the city, find a cellar or somewhere underground. You are welcome to join me on the ship if you wish.”
The physician picked up the jar of honey and a roll of fresh cloth bandage. “Your thanks are appreciated but I feel somewhat responsible. Had I been able to administer some poison or other last night while I examined the baron, he and your cougari assailant would not have gone to the tower. Ulrik never took his eyes from me as I worked and was examining any substance I produced. It was too risky.”
Rullo regarded the old physician for a moment, his almost ruined face throbbing with terrible pain and stinging from the alcohol and sutures. Then he smiled with the right side of his face. “There was no way any of us could have predicted these events. And do not forget Oln’s teaching: ‘few suffer more in their hearts than those who refuse to forgive themselves’. Put this behind us, as I shall. The offer of the ship still holds.”
“I will remain here,” said Túlfarr. “You should take these and make sure you tend to the wounds every day.” He handed Rullo the medical supplies. The advice sounded strange, given the current situation and the uncertainty of life or death following everyone in the city like a shadow.
“As you say,” Rullo said, pulling his stolen cloak around him and lifting its hood over his bandaged head. “Be safe. Oln’s majestic tide has risen, and it will soon wash away the foulness of the Temple. There will be a brighter future for all of His children. Pray for it.”
The chancellor found the idea of prayers reprehensible and arrogant. Any creature as powerful as a god would not concern itself with his mutterings or hopeful thoughts. Túlfarr had long abandoned his belief in any form of deity. Being forced to hold his tongue when speaking with anyone who espoused the teachings of any supernatural creatures always grated on him, as if someone had dragged his body over broken glass. As a student and then a teacher of the study of ancient civilisations, he came to the determination that there were simply too many gods, demi-gods, god-time behemoths, foretellers, spirits, anointers, god-kings and tormentors in the histories to afford any of them any credibility. Fantasies to explain the unknown to the primitive, not yet ready to comprehend the truth.
The current faiths were no better, he thought. The likes of Oln or Calgackas Soul Eater, God of the Wraiths, or the ‘Forces of Nature’, animal spirits worshiped by the cougari, were just as fantastical and just as false in his mind. The lesser known or less popular religions of Majda the Spider Queen, worshiped in Attunda; or ‘The Divine Designer’ and his ‘Workers’ exalted in Reicht; the Zadestian prophet Enirax Windruler, ‘The Dark Grandfather’; or the cult of Aessha’s Guidance growing in Katiz were placed in a similar category by the Chancellor as the flame worshippers of the Southern Tribes or death cults, blood sects, doomsayers, or even the downright insane, spewing their own version of the long established religious madness they had been taught as children.
Túlfarr had never seen the evidence of any of it and had also often wondered why such a powerful god, if there was only one, would not announce itself to all peoples of the world at once in their hearts or minds and tell them what his or her real name was.
Túlfarr reasoned such a being would not want his creations and children warring with each other over such a thing. If it were for his own amusement, it would be a sick and twisted use of divine power and knowledge. The chancellor knew well enough never to express his views for fear of reprisal, imprisonment or even execution. He had made a logical and rational choice when he had been approached by Rullo, and he welcomed any force which would loosen the vice-like grip the Temple of Oln had on the lives of the people; and although he had deliberated the benefits of replacing one version of the faith with another, he was willing to assist the side who were more rational. This prompted his offer of assistance, including verbal support at council meetings, financial donations to Rullo’s cause or, as it happened, to repair the man’s torn features.
He moved to the window and looked to the Temple of Oln in the distance, surrounded by homes. He wondered how many would die this day because of the Temple and all it represented.