Chapter 3

"I cannot stay here a moment longer. I have to get back to my ship!" muttered the Stalyan midshipman, Berry, who was getting more and more agitated by the minute. He'd been locked up with Runt and Dallow for a whole day now, in the cells far below the city of Chatter's Reach, and as the temporary captain of the Intrepid he was desperate to resume his command. The last he'd seen of the ship, she was being repaired in a nearby cove, and by now he expected the repairs would be almost complete.

Then, without warning, Berry came to a halt in the middle of the grotty cell, sending dirty straw flying. "Why haven't the crew sent a party to break us out?" he demanded.

Runt shrugged. His own loyal companions usually abandoned him at the drop of a hat, and he didn't see why Berry's crew should put themselves out to rescue the man.

Dallow, to his credit, tried to reassure his superior. "Perhaps they don't know where we are? Or maybe they're planning an assault to rescue us?"

"Planning a rescue, my big hairy bells," said Berry sourly. "They've broken out the grog, and now they're having a gigantic piff-up on the beach." He crossed to the door, grabbed the bars and rattled them for all he was worth. "I swear, when I get out of this cell…"

What he would have done, should this miracle have occurred, was never revealed, for at that moment Runt heard footsteps. It sounded like quite a party, and he quickly took cover behind the much taller humans. Halflings were known for their cowardice as much as for their animal cunning, and Runt wasn't one to stand tall and face down an enemy. Indeed, most looked down on him.

"Stand away from the door!" shouted a guard, giving the timbers a hefty kick to drive home the point.

Berry and Dallow obeyed, reluctantly, and Runt was pushed ever-closer to the overflowing slops bucket.

A face appeared in the barred window, and, once satisfied, the guard used his keys in the lock. The door swung open, and Runt heard Berry mutter an oath as five men poured in. The human still had a pistol tucked into his boot, but it had only a single shot and was useless against so many.

Then Runt noticed something different about the newcomers. Two were typical guards, with scruffy uniforms and five-o'clock shadows, but the other three wore long black robes, leather gloves and scarlet face masks with curved slits for eye-holes. He'd never seen the like, and he couldn't help noticing the two guards looked extremely nervous.

Normally Runt would have lightened the mood with a jolly quip about the strange figures and their fancy dress, but this time he stayed quiet and hidden.

"These are they?" demanded one of the figures. The voice was muffled, but clearly female.

"Y-yes, monitor."

"Prepare them for transportation. Shackles and leg irons, and chain the two of them together."

"Begging your pardon, monitor, but there are three."

One of the robed figures slid to the right, almost floating over the filthy straw littering the stone floor. Their feet barely moved, and before Runt could duck out of sight he was transfixed by a pair of eyes, gleaming at him through the holes in the scarlet mask. "Not three," said the monitor. "I make it two and a half."

"A-as you say," murmured the guard, and he offered a shaky salute. "If you don't mind, though —"

"Yes?"

"Lord Chylde wants us to interrogate the prisoners. He won't be happy if you—"

Like lightning, one of the monitor's gloved hands shot out, fingers extended. The jab caught the guard completely unawares, hitting him in the throat and knocking him back against the wall. He slid to the floor, gagging and clasping at his throat, his face rapidly turning red.

"Do you object as well?" asked the monitor calmly, turning to the second guard.

"No, do whatever you want with them," said the guard quickly. "They're all yours, trust me."

"Has anyone spoken to these prisoners? Quickly now!"

"Only Sur Cumfrence."

The masked figures exchanged a glance. "Better send a message," said the female one.

Another reached into his robes and took out a small tube. He passed it to the third monitor, then took out a tiny square of parchment and wrote a few lines on it with painstaking care. Runt expected them to attach the message to a squirrel, but instead the third monitor unrolled the tube, revealing a small bat with folded wings. He held the creature steady while the second monitor attached the tiny message, and then released it with a gentle throw.

The bat collided with the guard, briefly tangling in his hair while the man hopped around waving his arms wildly. It finally got free, bounced off Berry's chest, flitted over Runt's head and slammed into the wall. It fluttered once or twice, then fell into the slops bucket with a resounding splash.

There was a lengthy silence. "We'll send another message later," said the female monitor, and the others nodded in agreement.

Then they all stood by silently while the one remaining guard chained the prisoners together. Runt's small wrists and ankles proved a problem, until the guard hit upon the idea of using a set of shackles designed for wayward children. When he was done, the lead monitor beckoned at the prisoners, and they fell into line silently, following their new captors out of the dungeons. They saw no other guards on the way out, and Runt wondered whether the whole lot had been murdered, for he wouldn't put anything past these cloaked terrors.

Soon afterwards, they were all seated in a horse-drawn carriage with blacked-out shutters on the outside, shutters that effectively hid the occupants from view. They also left the occupants in total darkness, since they were extremely well-fitted.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Runt, throwing his voice so it appeared Dallow had spoken.

"There will be no talking," said the monitor. She knocked on the roof of the carriage, which lurched into motion, and Runt had no choice but to sit in the pitch darkness, biding his time.

— ♦ —

It was now forty-eight hours since Queen Therstie had given the order to raise her armies, and twenty-four hours since she'd been carried to the top of a watch tower from which to inspect her massed troops.

Unfortunately, the result had been bitterly disappointing. There hadn't been time to gather an actual mass of troops, and so she'd been presented with twelve men… most unarmed, and none of them trained in the art of swordplay, defensive manoeuvres, or even strenuous debating.

At the top of the tower she'd given Lord Varnish, the spymaster, an ultimatum. Gather a proper army by the very next day, or face the consequences. And now, as two soldiers made a chair for her with their arms and prepared to carry her to the top of the tower, she was hoping army 2.0 would be a significant upgrade on the pathetic effort of the previous day.

The men struggled up flight after flight of stairs, before eventually bending low so their queen might alight. She stepped down, straightened her dress, gave the larger and stronger of the two guards a warm smile, then turned to face Lord Varnish.

The spymaster was a portly man, bald of head, soft of speech and really bloody dangerous. He was feared by all who knew him, and many believed him to be the true power behind the throne. However, he was content to operate in the shadows, so Queen Therstie felt safe enough as she approached the open window cut into the wall of the tower. One push from Lord Varnish and she'd be done for, but she knew he could have her killed privately any time, so there was little point worrying about standing directly in front of him, at an open window, ten stories up. "Well, Varnish? How went the recruiting?"

"It went well indeed, Your Majesty," said Lord Varnish smoothly. He was wearing the tailored Coat of his office, crafted from satin with a purple epaulette at the shoulder, and he was near-invisible in the shadows.

Therstie glanced out the window, and smiled. "Now that's a proper army," she muttered, as she saw the neat rows of men and woman standing patiently below. Each carried a sword and shield, and sported metal helms with raised visors. It was an impressive sight, and she turned to Varnish with soaring spirits. "Well done, that man!" she enthused. "With an army such as this, the kingdom of the Barks is already in our grasp."

"Ah yes, the Barks." Varnish paused. "I have news from that quarter, Your Majesty."

"Does it concern my dear brother, Tyniwon? Has Sur Loyne found him already?"

"No, Your Highness, this news does not concern your half-brother. Instead, it seems the Barks have lost their ruler, King Larch."

"Well that's pretty careless of them," said Queen Therstie. "Whenever I lose something I check down the back of the sofa. Have they done that, do you think?"

"I'm sure they have, Your Majesty."

"Oh well. Time for another King I suppose."

"Indeed, my queen. They have appointed King Kah in his absence."

"Kah?" Therstie frowned. "Don't I have a knight of that name? A boring little man, always going around spouting famous dates and other such nonsense."

"Sur Kah. Yes, it is he who has been crowned king, due to some accident of genealogy. And, as I'm sure you've already realised, this alters our relationship with the Barks."

"Oh yes, it changes everything." The queen paused. "Elaborate, will you?"

"With one of our own knights ruling the kingdom, it's as though we have already annexed their lands."

Therstie gazed down at her army. "Couldn't you have told me this before I paid for that lot?"

"I could, but you will need the army for a more pressing matter." Varnish looked serious. "I've had reports of incursions along the coast. Large ships have put ashore, Your Majesty."

"Ships from where?"

"I don't yet know. I await further reports."

"And you learned this just now?"

"Indeed."

Therstie frowned. Varnish seemed to gather news so quickly! Everyone else relied on messenger squirrels or horseback riders, but he seemed to have a secret method of communication which outstripped them all, giving him a huge advantage. Still, at least he was on her side… for now at least. "So what do you advise?"

"Send the army to Chatter's Reach, and from there to the mouth of the river Otirian. Find these ships, capture or destroy them, and take their crews for interrogation."

"Are you sure they're ships? I mean, I've heard legends, but—"

"An eyewitness reports ships with masts as tall as a bell tower, and hulls the size of three houses laid end-to-end. It seems they're armed with cannon… that is, huge guns which can hurl iron balls a league or more, smashing through rock and flesh alike."

Therstie looked down at her army. Against such might, their swords and shields seemed a little… underwhelming. But still, they had Zephyr the wind god on their side, and they fought under the Mollister banner. How could they possibly lose? "All right, tell them to march to Chatter's Reach, and from there to the coast. And if they lose the battle, tell them I'll have the survivors executed in public."

Varnish bowed low. "Losing is not an option, Your Majesty."

"Tell me, who will lead the army to victory?"

"Sur Wendah and Sur Rysis, ma'am."

"The coward and the leper?" Therstie frowned. "Are you trying to lose?"

"Sur Rysis is an able commander, Your Majesty, and he assures me it's just a rash. As for Sur Wendah, he does what he's told. They will bring us a noble victory, I'm sure of it."

"If your confidence was a weapon, we'd have won already." Therstie snapped her fingers. "You two. Ground floor, if you please."

The guards approached, and soon after they began the long and arduous trek downstairs, carrying the queen between them.

— ♦ —

After the queen left, Varnish remained in the tower a little longer. Messages from the coast told him that two or three officers from one of the invading ships had been captured, but he hadn't felt it necessary to reveal such to the queen. Even now, the men were on their way to the palace, and he was planning on having a private session with them the minute they arrived.

He was excited at the prospect.

The huge warships told him there was a new power in play, for the vessels must have travelled from a hitherto unsuspected land beyond the horizon. All of a sudden, his machinations in the Old Kingdom seemed like the fumbles of an inexperienced lover, and Varnish felt a hunger deep within as he thought of the vast new horizon which had just opened its arms and legs to him. Why, just think of all the nations just waiting to be misled, lied to, and controlled from the shadows!

And who better to control them than he, Lord Varnish, the Mollister spymaster?