Read Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) Online
Authors: Angela Holder
Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) (69 page)
Just as she’d done with Tenorran.
Even while she’d been married to his father, he’d seen his mother only rarely. She’d turned him over to nurses and nannies to raise. That was typical of aristocratic Ramunnan families—most of his friends and fellow officers had been raised the same way. But at least they’d known they were valued. He’d become aware very early that to his mother he was less than nothing. Between her rule of Ramunna and her obsession with bearing a daughter, there was no room in her life for her one living child. When she’d thrown his father out in the hope that some other man could give her the daughter she craved, she’d taken it for granted Shorren would take their son with him.
So if Commander Kesolla thought he could curry favor with the Matriarch by favoring Tenorran, he was sadly mistaken. She’d never notice. If someone called it to her attention, she wouldn’t care. He doubted she knew which ship he served on, or was aware that the
Sinvanna
was one of those she’d sent to wreak vengeance on the wizards of Tevenar.
He read the final line of the document, written in letters twice as big as all the rest.
I swear before the Mother to be bound by these covenants. If I break them, may she cast my soul from her presence to wander homeless forever.
All right, then. Tenorran slapped the paper onto the desk and picked up the waiting quill. This opportunity was far too good to pass up. He would seize it, and he would meet and exceed all Commander Kesolla’s expectations. He would keep the Armada’s secret as well as he kept his own. He would devote himself to learning everything they taught him, and rise through the ranks as quickly as they could promote him. If the Mother willed it, someday he would earn a post as admiral. He would win power and authority by his own efforts, not as a gift from his mother.
He dipped the pen in the inkwell and inscribed his name in big, bold, letters. He looked up to find Captain Noshorre watching with a pleased expression. Tenorran nodded sharply to his superior, and the captain gave an answering nod.
Noshorre rose and went to the door. Opening it, he called, “Kesolla, you have a new protégé.”
Commander Kesolla must have been waiting in the next cabin, because he appeared immediately. He was in his sixties, grizzled and weatherbeaten, face and hands marked by scattered burn scars. He nodded approvingly at Tenorran. “Lieutenant Fovarre. Welcome to Secrets. I’m ready to begin your initiation.”
Tenorran looked to Captain Noshorre. “I’m due to stand watch in an hour.”
Noshorre waved that off. “Commander Kesolla wants you for the rest of the day. I’ll take care of changing the roster. You’ll continue with your normal duties, but from now on Secrets training will be included in your schedule. Your first responsibility is to Commander Kesolla. If his orders interfere with your other assignments, send word to me or the duty officer and we’ll take care of it.”
Commander Kesolla said, “First things first. Give me your off hand, Lieutenant.”
Tenorran obediently extended his right arm toward the commander. Kesolla pushed up Tenorran’s sleeve and buckled a leather sheath around his forearm. The small dagger it held rested on the back of Tenorran’s wrist, where the pommel with its single diamond protruded slightly from the sleeve Kesolla pulled down over it. That subtle symbol was the only insignia Secrets officers wore.
Kesolla met his eyes gravely. “Lieutenant Fovarre, this is the sign of our brotherhood. Never take it off. Wear it day and night, waking and sleeping, when you bathe and when you piss and when you make love. When you die, you’ll be buried with it still on your arm. Once each day draw the dagger, inspect it to make sure it remains clean and sharp, tend it as necessary, and return it to its sheath. The only other reason you may draw it is to carry out your final duty.” He touched two fingers to the hilt of his own dagger.
Tenorran copied the solemn gesture. “I understand, sir.”
Kesolla saluted Captain Noshorre and turned to leave. Tenorran saluted in turn and followed him from the office. He flexed his wrist. The dagger’s sheath was well designed; it didn’t hamper his movement at all. He could almost forget it was there, and the deadly vow it represented.
Instead of going forward as Tenorran had expected, Kesolla led him back and down, to a small locked room deep in the stern of the ship.
Kesolla turned to him and eyed him critically. “Curious?”
“No, sir,” Tenorran answered, although of course he was burning with curiosity.
Kesolla snorted. “You’re a pretty good liar, son.” He gestured toward the door. “Our first secret. Most people believe that the heart of the mystery we guard lies in the Secrets room in the bow. That’s on purpose. The weapon is located there, but it’s not where we keep the true Secret. That lies here. The rest is only metal, something any smith could forge.”
He pulled a ring of identical looking keys from his belt, selected one, inserted it into the lowest of three keyholes, and turned it. He repeated the process for the topmost keyhole, then the middle. “Insert the wrong key, or in the wrong order, and the mechanism triggers. You’ve got ten minutes to repeat the process correctly. After that time, or after five wrong attempts, a device inside strikes a spark.” He raised an eyebrow at Tenorran and pushed the door open a crack. “It’s been twenty years since we lost a ship to a Secrets officer’s error. In that time, this arrangement has kept the Secret out of Marvannan hands more than a dozen times. Most recently three years ago.” He gave Tenorran a significant look.
Tenorran gulped and nodded. So that’s what had happened to Father’s ship. He’d always wondered why the Marvannans had sunk it instead of capturing it and trying to discover the Secret. Now it was clear they’d tried and failed.
He knew, as did everyone who’d seen it used, that the Secret produced violent explosions. But he’d never seen the Secret itself, and had no idea what form it might take.
Kesolla waved casually at the walls. “There are similar devices embedded in the walls, ceiling, and floor, in case enemies try to cut through.” He adjusted the lantern he held until only a few tiny openings admitted faint beams of light. “Do these precautions strike you as extreme?”
Tenorran knew better than to try to dissemble again. “Yes, sir.”
A smile answered his honesty, but it quickly faded. “This is the first thing a Secrets officer must learn. The Secret is more important than anything. The Armada only retains its supremacy while no other country possesses this weapon. We sacrifice anything to protect it. Our lives, the ship, a battle, even a war. If Ramunna itself falls, we destroy all traces the Secret ever existed.”
“I understand, sir.” Tenorran forced the words past a dry throat.
Kesolla pushed the door open. He stepped inside, Tenorran close at his heels.
The room was packed floor to ceiling with hundreds of barrels. Kesolla carefully shut the door behind them, relocked it, and hung the lantern on a hook in the center of the ceiling. He turned to a worktable beside the door, beckoning Tenorran to stand beside him. “This is where we store the secret and prepare it for use. You’ll learn how to perform all the steps in time, but for now, watch.”
Kesolla took a square piece of linen cloth from a bin and spread it flat. He lifted a barrel onto the workbench and released clamps that held the lid in place. After lifting off the lid and setting it aside, he selected a long-handled wooden scoop from a selection of tools hanging from hooks on the wall. Tenorran thought it looked like something a baker would use to measure flour.
With a conspiratorial glance at Tenorran, Kesolla dipped the scoop into the barrel. When he drew it out, it was full of a dark, grainy powder. Kesolla chose a wooden tool shaped like a flat-bladed knife and used it to scrape the excess powder back into the barrel so the scoopful was perfectly level. With measured, certain movements he poured the powder into a neat pile in the center of the linen square.
“Here it is, son. The Secret we’re sworn to keep. It doesn’t look like much, but this is what allows the Armada to rule the seas. This is what’s kept Ramunna free of Marvannan domination for the last fifty years. Go ahead, get a good look. You can touch it if you want.” Kesolla demonstrated, dipping a finger into the powder and rubbing a few grains between the tips of finger and thumb.
Tenorran gingerly copied him. The powder felt like coarse sand, each grain a distinct little dark grey sphere. “It burns?”
“That it does. Suddenly and violently. Pack enough of it into a confined space and touch it with a flame, and it explodes.”
So this was the source of the thunderclaps that shook the ship every time the secret weapon discharged its deadly projectiles. He rubbed it meditatively between his fingers a moment more, then followed Kesolla’s example as he dropped the grains back onto the pile, wiped his fingers on the cloth, then rinsed off the last grey smudges in a barrel of water beside the worktable.
Kesolla gathered the cloth around the powder and secured it with a length of twine. The resulting bundle was about the size of a man’s fist. After carefully returning all the tools and materials to their places, Kesolla hefted it. “We’re done here for the moment. Follow me.”
He retrieved the lantern and unlocked another door in the corner of the room. This one led to a narrow dark corridor that ran along the curved hull of the ship, all the way from the stern to the bow. At the end a steep stair led upward. Kesolla unlocked another door and led Tenorran into a room somewhat larger than the first. This one was wedge-shaped and lit by a number of narrow slits high up that admitted faint sunlight. In the center a huge horizontal iron cylinder rested on a wheeled wooden structure.
Tenorran caught his breath. He’d seen the tip of the long tube protruding through the hatch in the hull. But he’d never realized the whole weapon was so large.
A dozen Secrets officers were waiting. They saluted the commander and greeted Tenorran when Kesolla introduced him. Kesolla displayed the bundle of powder. “Let’s show Lieutenant Fovarre how it’s done.”
Tenorran pressed his back to the wall while the men went through a smooth, obviously well-rehearsed ritual. One swabbed out the tube with a damp mop on a long handle. Kesolla placed the bundle of powder at the mouth of the tube, and another man shoved it deep inside with a similar tool, this one ending in a flat disk. Next a crumpled wad of rags was pushed in, and finally one of the officers took an iron sphere the size of Tenorran’s head from a neat pile next to the weapon and fitted it into the tube. Several men helped pound it into place against the powder and rags.
“Everything must be packed tight,” Kesolla explained. “We’re using solid shot for this exercise, but we’ve got explosive shot also, with some of the Secret inside a hollow shell, as well as scatter shot for use against infantry.” He rang a large bell mounted next to the weapon. Tenorran was familiar with the signal that indicated to the rest of the ship’s crew that this discharge of the weapon was a drill, not the herald of an enemy attack.
One of the officers turned a crank to open the shutters covering a small square hatch in the ship’s hull. Five men on each side rolled the massive tube forward until its tip protruded from the hatch. Kesolla beckoned Tenorran close to the rear of the weapon. He pulled a metal flask from inside his coat, uncorked it, and poured a small amount of the powder into a depression in the rear of the tube.
One of the officers brought forward a long coil of white rope that smoldered at one end. Kesolla straightened, took a visual inventory of each of the officers and their positions, and nodded. “You might want to cover your ears, son.”
Tenorran felt ridiculous putting his hands over his ears like a frightened child, but the rest of the officers were doing it, so he copied their gesture. Kesolla said, “Fire.” The officer touched the glowing end of the rope to the little pool of powder.
The powder sparked, releasing a puff of smoke. A moment later a wall of sound hit Tenorran like a blow. A brilliant flash and billows of grey smoke burst from the mouth of the tube. The weapon hurtled backwards and crashed into the rear of its wooden cradle. A metallic, ashy smell filled the room.
Kesolla pointed out the hatch. Far out at sea, a plume of water splashed into the air. “You’ve seen what a ball can do to an enemy ship.”
Tenorran nodded. They’d been at peace with Marvanna the whole time he’d served in the Armada, but occasionally a Marvannan ship would try to sneak past the blockade and there would be a skirmish. The weapon could blow gaping holes in a ship’s side.
“Word is the Tevenarans have no navy to speak of, nor land troops either.” Kesolla said. “I expect the fight to be disappointingly short. They can’t have seen anything like the Secret before. I’ll be surprised if we get five shots off before they panic and surrender.”
The other officers agreed with a mixture of grumbling and laughter. They set to work cleaning the weapon to prepare it for its next use.
Tenorran watched what they were doing and listened to Kesolla’s explanations, but his mind was far away. He pictured a city full of unsuspecting civilians rushing from their homes as fire and destruction rained from the sky.
He hoped the Tevenarans would be intelligent enough to surrender before too much damage was done.
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Copyright © 2016 by Angela Holder
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