Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3) (15 page)

“
Slaayde,” said Theta,
speaking for the first time since entering the room, “I need you to
order your men to assemble for questioning.”

Slaayde pulled himself up
straighter. “My men,” said Slaayde in an even tone, but loud enough
for his men in the hallway to hear, “fought bravely.” He paused to
catch his breath before continuing. “Not a man amongst the crew
of
The Falcon
was
ever in league with those Fen creatures.
The Black Falcon
has the bravest and
best crew that sails these ways, and let no man say any different.
If any do, I will cut their damn heads off myself. I will not have
my crew’s loyalties questioned by my passengers or any
other.”

Nods and grunts of agreement came from the
lurking crewmen.

“
Laddie, one of your men
was right behind me and Theta, and then he turned into that thing
what Theta fought and killed on the bridge.”

“
Did you see this
transformation? Did you see it happen with your own
eyes?”

Ob narrowed his eyes.

“
Did you see it, Eotrus?
Or you?” he said, looking to Theta.

“
No,” said
Claradon.

Theta didn’t respond or react in any way
save to stare at Slaayde.

“
I say
that those two Fen creatures swam to
The
Falcon
from the bog and climbed up the
side onto my deck. One skulked up behind my man while he was
distracted by the battle below and killed him, turning him to dust,
and then came for you.”

“
There’s no dust up
there,” said Ob.

“
So? It scattered in the
breeze or in the battle or was knocked overboard, or washed away by
the rain. That’s what happened and I will hear no more of it. My
men—one and all—are loyal and true to me and to Lomion. We will
speak no more of this. And we will see no more of those
creatures—they’re things of the Fens and travel not beyond its
borders. We’ve left them well behind.”

Claradon made to protest further, but Ob
grabbed his arm. “Let’s drop it, boy,” he said quietly.

***

“
I don’t understand what
went on in there,” said Claradon as he sat on the couch in the
Captain’s Den. “Is Slaayde an idiot? Even if he doesn’t believe his
missing men transformed into the Einheriar, he must see the value
in questioning the crew. If there are other spies or traitors
aboard, next time we may not get off so easy. We need to route them
out.”

Ob lounged back in a big
leather chair, ale mug in hand. “Old White Hair knows all that as
good as we do. Slaayde is hurt bad and that makes him afraid.
Afraid his men will turn on him, and that he’ll lose his pretty
little ship. That’s why he won’t back us, least not until he’s up
and about and can stand up for himself.”

“
So to not take a chance
on jeopardizing his command, he’s willing to risk his ship and all
our lives?”

“
Yep, that’s about the
size of it. Most men would do the same. I suppose he figures the
odds of another turncoat or doppelganger is small, so he’ll take
his chances.”

“
So what do we do?” said
Claradon, looking toward Theta. The big knight sat silently in
another leather chair, an inscrutable expression on his
face.

“
What do you think we
should do, boy?” said Ob.

Claradon looked uncertain,
and paused, thinking. “I think we should take a friendly and
unannounced tour of the ship. Inspect for damage, shake some hands,
see how everyone i’s holding up after that battle, and all the
while I’ll keep the Amulet of Escandell close, looking for any sign
that it reacts when I pass any crewman. If I get a hit, we will
know who to watch.”

“
A good plan, Lord
Eotrus,” said Ob.

Claradon smiled. “Thank you, Castellan.”

“
Careful to whom you
extend your hand, Eotrus,” said Theta, “or it might not come
back.”

“
What do you mean?” said
Claradon.

“
Have you forgotten that
last night, half the crew, led by the First Mate, wanted to throw
Dolan and the wizard in the river? If they had, things wouldn’t
have ended there, and they knew it. Leaguers or not, we’ve enemies
amongst us and we need to be wary.”

“
The big guy has got a
point,” said Ob. “That First Mate, Na-poo-poo, or whatever his name
is, needs close watching.”

***

“
Ob and I talked to each
man in the crew,” said Claradon as he leaned against the ship’s
rail. Theta stood beside him. “You were right. It seems a lot of
them don’t care for us. The amulet went warm around any number of
them. I was starting to think that they’re all
Leaguers.”

“
They’re afraid of you—of
us,” said Theta. “That’s what you were picking up. Or—maybe they
are all Leaguers.”

Claradon perked up. “You’re kidding,
right?”

“
Let’s just watch our
steps,” said Theta. “I suggest you go nowhere alone on this ship.
Keep at least one of your own knights at your side at all
times.”

VIII

DOVER

“
A man makes his own fate.”

—
Angle Theta

South of the Fens, the
river returned to its normal aspect, its waters wide, deep, and
greenish blue. A place of quiet and calm, jumping fish, buzzing
dragonflies, healthy breezes, and clear cool water. For some
time,
The Black Falcon
made its way south, untroubled, with as much speed as
Slaayde’s crew could muster, oar, sail, and rudder.

They sailed past the
Dalassian Hills, named for the dwarven clan that abided deep within
its rolling, rocky expanse. Then came a land of green fields and
light woodland dotted with sleepy villages of white roofs, sturdy
walls, and stone palisades, scattered along the western riverbank.
The eastern bank remained bleak and barren, as if the Fens’ fell
influence extended even there. They passed the idyllic Linden
Forest, and the gray fortress of Dor Linden, ruled by House
Mirtise.

Along the way, the crew implemented repairs
as best they could, on the move and with limited supplies. Sturdy
pine deck-boards hauled up from the hold replaced those damaged by
the Einheriar. The crew cobbled together a serviceable temporary
rail up on the bridge deck for safety, and they reinforced the
repairs below the waterline where the saboteur had drilled his
holes.

After some days, Slaayde appeared on deck,
looking weak and leaning on a cane. He grew stronger though each
day; the color returned to his cheeks and the spark to his step,
but his hair remained ghost white, root to end, until the end of
his days.

During the journey
south,
The Falcon
passed a number of ships headed upriver, and asked each
of
The White Rose
. Always a day behind were they, sometimes two. They could
gain nothing on their quarry.

Farther south, they passed
the Tornwood, a vast, foreboding woodland that ruled both banks of
the Hudsar for untold miles. Trees tall and old, the Tornwood long
rumored to house a secret elven enclave—though no man in living
memory had seen its sights.

***

The City of Dover lived at
a fork in the river that marked the southeastern border of the
Kingdom of Lomion. The Hudsar’s main course continued due south for
many days to the City of Tragoss Mor on the shores of the Azure
Sea. The smaller eastern fork became the Emerald River and flowed
southeast to Minoc-by-the-Sea, also on the Azure, but many miles
east of Tragoss Mor.

Dover, home to untold thousands, was the
largest city in the kingdom south of Lomion City, and was located
on the Hudsar’s western bank. Its place at the borderlands of
Lomion and the wilds beyond created its militant aspect. Walls
sixty feet tall surrounded the inner city and a second wall of
forty feet in height encircled the outer. Guard towers dotted the
wall.

Dover kept a standing army of size to defend
the border. A fleet of vessels, merchant and military, filled its
port. Most of the knightly orders kept Chapterhouses here, and some
held great power and influence.

The fortress of Dor Valadon stood on a small
island that separated the two great rivers. Massive walls of stone,
forty feet tall, and many feet thick, joined stone towers of twice
that height, and ruled the river’s fork. Men-at-arms and knights
stalked the battlements.

Connecting Dor Valadon and
Dover was one of the great wonders of the known world—a bridge, a
stone arch, massive and strong, rose high above the river, and
spanned clear across the Hudsar at its narrowest point. The masts
of even the tallest ships could pass easily under the magnificent
arch, even in high tide. Ages ago, the Dalassian dwarves, renowned
masons and craftsman, were engaged by the King of Lomion to
construct the bridge. Legend says seven hundred dwarves labored
night and day for seven years to build the wondrous structure,
which stood defiantly against wind and storm, time and troubles,
down through the long years.

The Village of Yord on the river’s eastern
bank, opposite Dover, surrounded by a tall stone palisade, stood at
the headwaters of the Emerald River. Private homes and longhouses
of carved logs, skillfully crafted, dominated Yord, a sleepy town
separated from the bustle of Dover by the river which was its
lifeblood. A ferry system carried passengers and goods between
Yord, Dor Valadon, and Dover proper.

The Black Falcon
put to port at Dover’s longest and tallest pier,
for Slaayde needed to procure timber and repair materials for the
ship, and Theta wanted to visit a smithy to affect repairs to his
sword.

As soon as
The Falcon
’s gangway was
down, Theta, Dolan, Artol, Tanch, and Ob disembarked.
Uncharacteristically, Theta wore no armor save his cuirass, though
his sword belt held his scimitar, and he carried his shield over
his shoulder. Dolan, also unarmored, carried Theta’s ruined
falchion. Artol, however, was armed and armored to the teeth. The
harbormaster gave them directions to what he claimed was the best
smithy in town.

A burly young man pounded at a sword while a
youth worked the bellows. They stopped their work as the five
approached and exchanged greetings.

“
We’ve a sword that’s
broke,” said Dolan.

An older man, lean, lined, and solid muscle
emerged from within the smithy. He looked the group up and
down.

“
Come in on a
ship?”

“
Aye,”
said Dolan. “
The Black Falcon
out of Lomion.”

“
Not a ship known for
carrying passengers.”

“
We’re—”

“
It’s a fast ship and we
had no time to waste,” said Theta. “We need the use of your forge
to repair a sword.”

“
Nobody uses my forge but
me and my sons. Let’s see this sword of yours.”

Dolan placed the blade on a table and
unwrapped it.

“
Dead gods, what a ruin.”
He picked the blade up and studied it. “Thor’s hammer, this is like
no steel I’ve ever seen.” His sons looked on, gawking. The smith
slowly passed his calloused fingers over the symbols etched along
the blade. “Not even the dwarves could make this. Where did you
find her?”

“
It’s been in my family
for generations.”

“
A shame. I’ve never seen
damage like this before. Does this steel have a low melting point?
Was it in a fire?”

Theta looked pointedly at Dolan, who removed
a money purse from his belt and counted out ten silver stars. “We
need your forge, Mr. Smith. We’ve no time for talk.”

“
I’m as good as any smith
south of Lomion City, save for the dwarves, but I couldn’t do this
blade justice. In a few days maybe I could make it serviceable, but
I would never be able to fully restore it.”

“
We’ll fix it ourselves,”
said Dolan. He handed the smith the coins, and then walked to the
forge and put on a pair of heavy gloves.

“
Do you know what you’re
doing?”

“
Just watch.” Dolan took
out the arrowheads that he had recovered from the remains of the
Einheriar and placed them beside the forge.

“
You’re gonna add their
metal to your sword?” said Ob quietly to Theta. “Smart
move.”

“
They’re almost pure
ranal. They will make the sword invulnerable to the touch of
Nifleheim.” Theta unlatched his cuirass, laid it and his shield
beside the forge, and prepared to assist Dolan in his
labors.

“
How long will this take?”
said Ob. “Every minute we’re here, Korrgonn gets farther away. If
we’re to save Jude—”

“
There’s no use catching
them if we don’t have the right tools to deal with them when we do.
I need this sword. We’ll be swift. Dolan is a master at
this.”

“
I don’t know half what
you do, boss,” said Dolan.

“
Fine, forge away,” said
Ob. “Tanch and I are gonna poke around for a bit. No sense all of
us watching you two sweat.”

The two watched for some minutes as men,
women, even families with children, filed into a large stone
building.