Chapter 10

Sailing master Tinch opened his mouth to yell at a group of laggardly sailors, but before the words came he heard the distant bang of a pistol shot. Wheeling around, he scanned the hillsides, then raised his glass and trained it on a puff of white smoke.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

His scout, Findlay, was standing over a body, and from the uniform it appeared to be one of their hated enemy, the Methusians. What were they doing here? thought Tinch. And more importantly, how big was their force? He lowered the glass, lost in thought, then came to a decision. Captain Berry and Dallow had yet to return, but the ship was a sitting duck heeled over on the shore, and his first priority was to retreat to safety. "'Ware enemy!" he yelled, and was instantly the centre of attention. "Put to sea, put to sea!"

The crew swung into action with practiced ease, abandoning tools and materials as they ran for the Intrepid. Men and women dangling over the side, fixing shot holes, were pulled unceremoniously up onto the deck, while dozens of others swarmed up the ratlines and netting.

Tinch signalled to a rating who'd been waiting at the stern, overlooking a boat which rode the waves with a dozen oarsmen at the ready. The gesture was repeated, and there was a shout of 'Heave, heave!' as the men and women in the boat applied themselves.

Tinch felt the deck move, ever so slightly, and he raised his glass to see what was happening with the scout. He managed to focus on the man, who was running full-tilt down the hillside, trying to reach the Intrepid before she put to sea. Then Tinch raised the glass, until he saw the crest of the hill. Two dozen men and women were charging over the brow of the hill, some of them in Methusian uniform, and Tinch smiled to himself as he saw the pitifully small force. "Belay that order!" he yelled, lowering the glass to address the crew. "Cease hauling, and break out the weapons. We've got company, but they're not going to trouble us any."

Still smiling, he raised the glass to watch the Methusians. They were running fast, but something in their manner was wrong. They weren't brandishing weapons as they chased the lone scout down the hill. In fact, they didn't seem to have any weapons, and none of them appeared to be looking down the hill at all. Most were looking over their shoulders, apart from a quick glance ahead now and then to make sure they weren't about to run into a rock or a bush.

They were halfway down the hill now, and Tinch heard the crack of pistol shots as his crew opened fire. The range was extreme, and they were more likely to hit their own scout than the enemy, but Tinch had more on his mind than friendly fire. The Methusians were behaving like a flock of sheep with a dozen wolves snapping at their heels, and he was trying to spot the wolves.

Then, as he surveyed the brow of the hill once more, he saw exactly what they were running from. There was a flash of silvery light as a huge army broke over the hilltop in a flowing wave. There were hundreds of them, squat, sturdy-looking fighters with metal helms, bushy beards, broad shields and big double-headed axes. They came down the hill like a hairy, chainmail-clad steamroller, flattening bushes and leaving a churned-up swathe of vegetation in their wake.

"Belay the last order!" shouted Tinch desperately. "Put to sea, put to sea!"

By now the rest of his crew had spotted the vast force streaming down the hillside, and they needed no extra bidding. There was another cry of 'heave, heave!' as the crew in the cutter pulled on their oars, and everyone still on the beach came scrambling over the ship's rails.

"Load and run out!" shouted Tinch. "Gun captains, to your weapons. Gun crews, work those cannon like you've never worked them before!" He raised his glass to see Findlay, the scout, practically flying over the sand. Right behind him were the Methusians, looking terrified and exhausted, and behind them came the squat bearded warriors, hundreds of them. He had no idea where they'd come from, or why they were attacking, and he was tempted to cut swathes right through them with the Intrepid's guns. Instead, he decided to err on the side of caution. If this fierce army was intent on attacking Methusians, then they might turn out to be allies of Stalya, and so he decided to keep them at arms length until he could sort everything out.

"Sight on the hillside!" he bellowed at the gun captains. "Aim high, do not fire directly at them! And wait for my word!"

Meanwhile, the ship was still stuck on the beach, despite the frantic efforts of the rowers, and the gun crews were busy hammering wedges under the wheels of their cannon to get the elevation.

"Fire!" shouted Tinch, the second they were ready, and there was a moment of chaos and madness as the guns went off. Smoke swirled across the deck, and a ripple of rapid-fire booms echoed around the cove. When the smoke cleared, the rampaging army had stopped dead, and were staring at the ship in surprise and astonishment. Just behind them, a broad swathe of hillside looked like a ploughed field where the broadside had torn up the ground. Many of the stocky troops were eying the damage, then turned and brandished their axes at the ship, yelling and cursing at the top of their voices.

So, they're probably not allies then, thought Tinch.

Meanwhile, Findlay made the beach, threw himself into the waves and waded towards the netting someone lowered for him. Ten paces behind were the Methusians, and as his crew took up arms to repel them, Tinch cupped his hands to his mouth. "Let them board. In this, they are our allies!"

Instead of fighting the Methusians off, the Stalyan crew helped them on board the Intrepid, where the group of two dozen crew and officers stood bent double, hands on knees, panting hard to recover their breath.

Meanwhile, the big army was advancing once more, but slower this time. They were getting close, and as Tinch studied them through his spyglass he noticed they were barely five feet tall, but almost the same in width. Their beards came down to their belts, if not longer, and with a shock he remembered a picture from a book of fairy tales his nanny used to read to him. "Dwarves?" he murmured. "Can they really be dwarves?" Then he snapped out of the memory, and gestured to the gun captains. "A second broadside. Over their heads, if you please!"

The cannons roared, and shot howled over the massed ranks of dwarves before slamming into the hillside. The dwarven army faltered, then proceeded with their slow, steady march.

Then, just as Tinch was about to order the next broadside, he felt the deck levelling off. The Intrepid had been shaken loose by the cannon fire! The ship began to move, slipping backwards into the bay, and when the dwarves realised what was happening they let out an angry roar and charged.

"Hold your fire!" shouted Tinch, as he saw several of the crew raising pistols.

The gap between ship and shore widened, and the dwarves could only stand on the beach, shaking their weapons, as the Intrepid headed for the very middle of the bay. Once there, Tinch ordered the anchor be dropped, and then he took a deep breath. "Bring the Methusian leader to the captain's quarters," he told the bosun. "I will get to the bottom of this, one way or the other."

"What about the enemy army? They might swim out to us."

"Not in that armour." Tinch thought for a moment. "If they make the attempt, fire the bow chaser over their heads. They'll get the message. But whatever you do, don't fire into them."

"But… who are they? I mean… what are they?"

"That's what I'm about to find out," said Tinch grimly, and he left for the captain's cabin.

— ♦ —

Tiera and Spadell strode side by side through the woods, while Thonn walked some distance ahead of them. They were all following a narrow path through the trees, barely more than a track, and it was overgrown with bushes and low-hanging branches.

"We should have brought a machete," muttered Tiera.

"Sure. A wooden machete for wooden branches," said Spadell. "Perfect." He glanced at her. "Why did you come to Bark lands? I thought you'd be lying low in the sticks somewhere."

"This place is the sticks. D'you know they don't have so much as a metal pin in the whole place? It's madness!"

"A lot of inhabitants died in the great lightning storm," said Spadell mildly. "They felt it was divine retribution, so it sort of make sense not having metal around."

"But that was centuries ago! Anyway, the high priest of Chatter's Reach died when a meteorite smashed into his tower, and you don't see the Mollisters going around banning bricks and stones. Or meteorites, for that matter."

"You might as well ban the sun, or the moon."

"Don't suggest that to the locals. By all accounts, the Bark King is mad enough to try it."

They walked in silence for a while, before Tiera broached a delicate subject. "So… why did you come to the Bark Kingdom?"

"I took leave of my job."

"Yes, you told me. But why come here?"

Spadell kept his gaze on the path. "I was looking for something."

"Have you found it?" asked Tiera lightly.

"I don't know yet."

"Well, it's good to see you."

"You too," said Spadell, and a smile transformed his rugged face.

Half an hour later they emerged from the woods, where Thonn was waiting for them to catch up. When they reached him, the three of them started walking across a field of wheat. Ahead was a small neat cottage, and Tiera saw a tall, willowy woman watching them from the front door. The woman had a longbow in one hand, while the other hand rested on her hip, just near the quiver full of arrows at her belt. "That's far enough," the woman called out. "Who are you, and what is your business?"

Tiera raised her hands. "We mean no harm. We seek a young man called Tyniwon."

The woman lowered her bow a fraction. "Why?"

"He's been implicated in the death of King Larch."

"Are you bounty hunters?" demanded the woman coldly.

"No! Tyniwon is a Mollister, and a half-brother to Queen Therstie. We've been charged with getting Tyniwon to safety." Tiera gestured at the neat cottage. "If he's hiding in there, and the people of Branche learn about it, a mob will descend on your farm and raze it to the ground."

"I'd like to see them try," said a male voice, and Tiera turned to see a second person nearby. He was wearing a hooded cloak, and his hands were gripping the handle of a long, sharp scythe. The tool looked more like a weapon than a farm implement, and he looked ready to use it.

Also, Tiera couldn't help noticing the shiny metal blade. "Sir, if we take Tyniwon back to Mollister lands now, we can avoid bloodshed."

"You're too late," said the man, shrugging. "He left yesterday with Wiltred and my daughter."

"South, to the royal palace?" asked Tiera hopefully.

"East, to the land of the elves."

The three travellers gaped at him. "Of all places, why there?" demanded Tiera. "The elves will execute him for sure!"

"Does this answer your question?" Slowly, the man drew his hood back, revealing long blonde hair and pointed ears. "I am Treeborne, of the river people, and my daughter Allyance travels with the humans. With her, they should be safe."

"Should be?"

"The elves will not harm Allyance, and she will vouch for Tyniwon and Wiltred." He smiled. "My daughter usually gets her own way."

Tiera looked at Spadell. "Should we follow them, do you think?"

"I wouldn't," said the elf. "You'll be cut down by elven archers before you get within a hundred yards of the border."

"If we hurry, could we catch them up?"

Treeborne shook his head. "Not a chance, I'm afraid. They're long gone."

"Then we return to Branche," said Tiera, "for it seems our quest is already complete."

"Can we offer you food before your return journey?"

Tiera smiled. "That's very kind of you, and much appreciated."

"Come then. Willowmere and I will make you welcome."

— ♦ —

As he sat on his rough wooden throne in his draughty wooden throne room, King Kah was beginning to realise that being crowned ruler of the Barks wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He'd expected a bit of pomp and ceremony and a lot of feasting, but unfortunately the lifestyle of a Bark royal seemed to be the other way round. So far he'd greeted dozens of nobles and lesser lords, shaking hands until his wrist ached, and he'd barely eaten a cracker all day.

Now, instead of lunch, he was supposed to oversee three cases. No, he corrected himself, the Three Cases, with capitals suitably emphasised. According to Starlow, the chief courtier, he was supposed to sit in judgement on these things every day. However, thanks to the previous king's unexpected disappearance, the Three Cases hadn't been heard for some days now, and instead of pushing them all back, some genius had decided to clear the backlog by holding all the outstanding Cases on the same day.

"I can't deal with this lot unless I get some food," complained Sur Kah, as he riffled through the thick stack of parchment.

"The Three Cases are heard from midday," said Starlow. "That is the custom."

"They haven't been heard at all recently."

"Nevertheless, the defendants await your pleasure."

"Can't they await a bit longer, while I get a sandwich?"

"That would not be proper," intoned Starlow.

"But I'm the king! You don't want me to starve, do you? I mean, just imagine the stain on your character if you lost two regents in a week."

Starlow looked down his nose. "Being king involves certain sacrifices."

"Really?" Kah gave him a look. "Can I start by offering you to the great god Zephyr?"

Starlow ignored the barb, and he turned to the guards at the far end of the throne room. At his signal, they opened the big double doors.

"Don't I even get a piece of fruit?" asked King Kah plaintively. "I could murder a banana."

It was too late, though, because the court recorders filed in with their parchment, quills and writing boards. They formed two lines, and then the first petitioner entered. It was an elderly man, and he shuffled along with the help of a cane. Slowly, he made his way to the foot of the throne, where he bowed deeply, his bones creaking as he did so. "Your Majesty."

King Kah glanced at his paperwork. "I see here you've applied to get married."

"Yes, sir."

"Aren't you leaving things a bit late?"

"I applied forty years ago, Sire. I been queuing for a license ever since."

"Why?"

"Because that's how long it takes," said the old man. "The town hall… they're understaffed, and their procedures are inefficient, and—"

"Yes, yes, I get the idea." King Kah read the next bit of the parchment. "Says here you're suing them."

"That is so, Your Majesty."

"But you finally got your marriage license. Isn't that what you were waiting for?"

"Indeed, but when I told my beloved, she said she'd changed her mind."

"Well, I don't see a problem," said Kah, with an airy wave. "Go ahead and sue them, and I hope you win."

Starlow leaned over and whispered in his ear. "If he wins, everyone will sue us and the kingdom will be ruined."

King Kah pursed his lips. "You may sue them," he said at last. "But first you need a court license."

"What's a court license?" demanded the old man.

"It's a license to go to court. You can pick one up at the town hall on your way out. Next!"

"But Your Majesty—"

"Next, I said!"

Two guards bundled the old man out, and the next Case was presented.

"You did what with a what?" demanded Sur Kah, as he read the charges. "Is that even possible?"

"Oh yes, Your Majesty," said the accused. "See, what you do is you take a handful of—"

"Guilty! Next!"

A heavy, balding man was ushered in. "Ashtag Marnay, Your Majesty," announced a courtier.

"Ah. The moneylender."

"Yes, Your Highness," said the man, with a bow.

King Kah frowned at the paperwork. "Says here you were caught in possession of gold."

There were several gasps, but King Kah was unmoved. He'd handled plenty of gold in his previous life as a knight, and he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Still, the law was the law. "Is is true?"

"Yes Sire, but I was set up. The gold was planted on me."

"That's a new one." Despite the hunger gnawing at his insides, the king was curious. "How did it happen?"

"This young woman, an assassin she was, she came to see me wanting to exchange this filthy, unclean gold for real money. She were armed with a steel dagger, too."

There was another round of gasps. "Lightning is coming!" muttered someone.

"She killed my two best friends, she did, right in front of me. And after she left, I found the gold in my pocket. She must have left it there."

"So she murdered two people, then paid you in gold… without you realising?"

Ashtag thought for a bit. "Yes, that's it."

"Were there any witnesses?"

"Annie was there. She'll vouch for me."

"And this young woman? The assassin?"

"Said her name was Tara. Dunno if that was real."

King Kah turned to Starlow. "Why isn't the young woman here? She ought to be tried for murder."

"We couldn't find her, Your Majesty."

"You realise what this means?" demanded Kah.

"Yes," said Starlow patiently. "It means we were unable to locate her."

"Not that, you fool! There's a foreign assassin loose in the city, with a steel dagger and gold coins. And can anyone think of an important person who vanished recently? Someone who may have been… assassinated?" King Kah tapped his wooden crown. "Your previous king, say?"

Starlow's jaw dropped. "You mean this young woman might have been responsible for King Larch's disappearance?"

"Might have been?" demanded Kah. "How much evidence do you need?"

"We will find her immediately," declared Starlow, and he gestured to one of the guards. "You there. Send men to seal the city gates, then have every building in the city turned upside-down. This woman must be found!"

"Yessir!" cried the guard, and he dashed off to pass the order.

"Sire… what about me?" said Ashtag hesitantly.

"Oh yes." King Kah gestured. "I hereby confiscate your gold. You are free to go."

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" said Ashtag, so grateful he bowed until his nose touched the floor. Then he hurried out before his luck changed.

Starlow cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, handling metal is sure to anger the gods."

"I'll take the risk."

"You're putting your subjects in danger, Sire."

"It's only gold, man."

"It's metal," said Starlow obstinately. "For centuries we have avoided the cursed material, and there has not been a single lightning strike in all that time."

"What, none?" said King Kah, in surprise.

"None, Sire. But if you handle this gold…"

The crowd chanted in unison. "Lightning is coming!"

"Very well," said King Kah heavily, for he knew when he was defeated. "Dispose of the gold, then."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. We will throw it into the sea, as is our custom."

The King made a mental note to have the location marked on a map, then gestured to the remaining guards. "Show's over for the day. Clear the throne room, dismiss all the other Cases and raise the alarm."

The guards obeyed with gusto, using wooden staves to round everyone up and push them outside.

"Right," said King Kah, when the chamber had been cleared. "While they're all busy, I'm having a break." He got up, setting aside the rest of the Cases, and before Starlow could object he made a beeline for a small door at the rear of the throne room. He had a pretty good idea where the kitchens were, and he intended to find some lunch if it was the last thing he ever did.