The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion (13 page)

It was the fifth day of the siege.  Tallun rose from his rope rack on the Necromancer.  He called for food and drink.  It was delivered by a youngster of sixteen summers who sat it down, then tugged his forelock before scurrying out.

Tallun ate the cold fowl and watered spirits without really tasting it.  He was in a dark mood and had been since he’d arrived at this port.  He had expected a different attitude from these landsmen.  The threat of executing their captured crewmen had fallen flat.  Their attitude had been that their citizens were volunteers, and no concessions would be made to spare them.

He shrugged on his coat and wrapped his sash about his waist.  His broad-bladed sword was buckled on.  The last garment he grabbed as he left his cabin was his hat.  It was a grand affair festooned with feathers and the silver pin that was shaped like a ship under sail.  It signified his status as a Captain with fewer than ten ships under his command.  Those with ten or more, such as Captain Fauwler, wore a gold device.  Seeing the gold emblem on his fellow captain was a source of constant irritation.

Coming out on deck, he smelled the brine and felt the gentle roll of the ship in the protected waters of the harbor.  Sea birds screeched and scolded above him.  He looked out over the other ships nearby.  There had been so many crowded into the harbor that some were forced to stay at sea.  The others had set anchors at fore and aft to prevent changing tides from swinging them into others. 

Bonn nodded to him as he crossed to the side rail.  He already had the Jacob’s ladder down and a boat waiting.  Tallun left Bonn in charge of the ship.  Pirates are restless by nature, and inactivity was difficult for them.  For that reason they would need a strong hand on the ship while the captain was on land.  Bonn was more than up to the task.  He would create work for them to take their minds off of the boredom and lack of action.

The boat rocked and yawed as it was rowed ashore by four of Tallun’s crew.  They reached one of dozens of piers that projected out from the high wooden wharves.  The docks and piers had been constructed by the people of the town for the purpose of loading and offloading trade goods and supplies from the other coastal kingdoms.  They worked just as well for staging the equipment needed for a siege.

Tallun had begun the siege by using a favorite tactic of his.  He sent out men to locate and capture several local inhabitants who had been foolish enough to stay near to the redoubt.  He had marched them up to the stronghold, stripped them and threatened their death unless the gates were lowered.  The snide little military commander had told him that any action taken would be on his head and his alone.  The self-impressed little cur even loudly called for the attention of Tallun’s men to observe his action and decide for themselves if such a man was worth their loyalty. 

Tallun had been furious and pulled his sword inviting the commander, this Jo-Dal, to meet him in battle, sword to sword.  He was only comfortable doing this because he knew the man would have to be a fool to leave the protective walls.  He had been taken by surprise when the man agreed saying he would lower a rope for Tallun to climb and meet him man to man.  He also guaranteed his safety should Tallun prevail.  The pirate had seen no way to save face in front of his gathered crewmen without actually accepting his terms.  He had been tempted.  Being exposed as a coward before his men was dangerous for a captain.  Then he’d looked closely at the young commander.  He saw his eyes, the way they did not cut away or drop.  He saw eagerness in them.  The pup
wanted
the contest.  Tallun was fairly good at fencing, and this Jo-Dal may or may not have been his better.  This man’s eyes told him that he was convinced he was.  Tallun had lived this long as a pirate by knowing when to bluster and when to retreat.  The confidence of this man told him it was a time to retreat.

Tallun knew that his refusal to go and meet the youngster in combat had cost him.  There was talk behind his back, so much so that he had kept the men who were ashore away from the ships, lest the story spread. 

The entire affair had incensed him to the point that he ordered the captives beheaded.  When the deed had been done, the military commander shouted down to him. 

“I see that you are more comfortable facing bound and unarmed men.  Well, actually you are comfortable having others face them in your stead.”

Tallun had no answer for the man except to look up at him impotently, the blood in his veins turning to ice water.

And now he stood here, staring up at the defensive walls and smoldering with anger.  A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped, grabbing at his sword.  There were some snickers from the men.  He saw that it was Captain Fauwler.

“Be calm, Brother,” the man said, jumping backwards and feigning alarm.  “I have been asked to find you, and bring you to a meeting of Captains.”

Tallun was furious at the man’s attempt at humor, but he kept his response under control.  “Meeting of Captains?  I am the leader of this flotilla.  It is I, and I alone who has the authority to call such a meeting.”

Fauwler spoke while flicking imaginary specks from his spotless red jacket.  The lack of respect was pushing Tallun’s patience to its limits.  The man should be relating to him with deference as one of lower rank to a superior.

“Yes, well…” Fauwler said, “…we couldn’t find you this morning.  Obviously, we would have sought your permission first.”  He was now holding his hand over his brow and posing as if he was observing an interesting sight seaward.

“Of course,” Tallun said.  “Where and when is this meeting to take place?”

“Oh…it has already begun, Captain.  We are at the large inn on the north side of the wharf.”

Once again Tallun was forced to swallow his anger and simply follow the other Captain to the meeting place.  Initiating a meeting of Captains was a violation of protocol, but there was really not much to be done about it.  Pirates were notorious for ignoring protocol.  They approached a large structure located out on a major wharf.  It had exterior walls of sawn corral covered with bits of green here and there where shore vegetation grew.  It was also splashed with the white droppings of the sea birds.  As they entered, Tallun heard the sound of arguments within.  When the door opened, the smell of spilt spirits and unwashed bodies wafted out.

Tallun entered and let his eyes adjust to the dim interior.  All twelve of the other committed owner-captains were gathered.  He and Fauwler made a total of fourteen captains with one hundred and seven ships.  Between them they commanded forty seven hundred men.

The voices softened. 

Tallun looked around himself.  Despite the breach in protocol, none seemed contrite. 

“Fellow Captains,” Tallun said while whipping off his cape in what he imagined was a dramatic fashion.  “I’m glad you’re all here.  In fact, I had planned to call a meeting today.”  He thought he detected some lowered voices doubting his pronouncement, but he proceeded as if he’d heard nothing.  “I assume you wish to discuss our progress thus far.”

“We do, indeed, Captain.”  The voice came from Captain Jile.  Jile was one of the older captains of the group.  He commanded only nine vessels, but he was one of the boldest and most respected among them.  He had once owned over forty ships, but these days kept his fleet small.  When asked why, he always had the same answer; small fleet, small problems.  He was on the far side of sixty summers, and his hair had gone a brilliant white, but his waist was trim, his arms were thick, and his chin was strong.  “Actually it is the lack of progress that we are here to discuss.”

Tallun tried to stifle his nervous swallow but was betrayed by his Adam’s apple.

Jile continued.  “We’ve been here for five days.  We have raided the surrounding areas and have found plenty of treasure.  We have enough cattle to sink a barquentine and tons of tools, raw ores, some excellent weapons and thousands of barrels of spirits.”

Tallun frowned.  “And your point, Jile?”

The old captain smiled and looked out over the gathered men.  “My point?  My point is that your venture has been a success.  We can leave here infinitely richer than we were when we arrived.  We’ve lost only one man, Popn, and it is most likely that he drank himself to death.  Let us raise anchor on the evening tide and go home.”

The inn erupted into shouts of agreement, and sloshing mugs were raised in favor of the position.  Tallun looked over at Fauwler.  He was leaning against a wall with an infuriating smile upon his face.  In his gut, Tallun was certain that this was his doing.  He raised both hands and shouted for silence.  The voices finally ebbed.

‘Captains,” Tallun said, “I understand your emotions on this matter.  I am loathe to leave this rich purse unopened.”  He raised a hand to point in the direction of the stronghold.  “Inside those walls is the real treasure.  Think about it my friends.  If we have found that much outside of the walls, what are they protecting within?  Gold?  Silver?  Gems?  We should not be fooled by their obvious ploy of planting goods for us to find.  They expect us to quickly stuff our pockets then scamper off as they laugh at our foolishness.  I, for one, am not fooled.”

Voices rose again.  There appeared to be an even distribution of approval and rejection to his words.  Fauwler stepped forward.  It irritated Tallun that he commanded silence with nothing more than his presence.

“My fellow Captains,” he began.  “Tallun makes a point and a good one.  Certainly there is treasure within the walls of the stronghold.  We don’t know how much.  I suppose when all is argued out it comes to one issue.  Price.  What price are we willing to pay for the unknown riches that
may
be contained inside the stronghold?”  Fauwler took off his hat and placed it carefully on a tabletop between the accumulated puddles.

“Consider this; as the esteemed Captain Jile has pointed out, we have lost only one man.  How many are we prepared to lose for the contents of an unknown purse? Popn’s widow will cry, but as of now she will cry alone.  Do we wish to hear a hundred widows weeping?  Two hundred?  A thousand?  Has anyone here ever assaulted a hardened and well-designed stronghold defended by trained soldiers?  I have.  It is not an exercise that I am eager to repeat.”

The voices were subdued as the gathered captains discussed the matter between themselves.  Tallun felt the argument being stolen away from him.  “Captains, Captains,” he called.  “I confess I am surprised at this reaction.  Did we come all this way to go home with scraps from the tables of these Nobles?  Have we forgotten why we live the lives we do?  How many men do we command?  I have totaled the number compiled by our quartermasters.  It is in excess of forty seven hundred good men.  How many trained defenders can possibly be inside those walls?  My officers estimate anywhere from one to two thousand, with the probabilities weighted toward the lesser. 

“The stronghold remains untoppled because we’ve not yet even attempted to assault it.  We have been trying to coerce the defenders into voluntarily opening their gates to us.  It was a useful effort even if it was not successful.  If I had it to do over, I would do it again.  It cost us nothing.  The surrounding countryside can supply us for many hundreds of summers should it be necessary.  Inside the redoubt they have a finite supply of food, and it will not last them forever.  So, again, it was an understandable effort.  However, since it did not produce the result we sought, we must now change our tactics.”

“What type of change would you council Captain Tallun?” It was Jile who asked the question.  “I saw the display you directed soon after we arrived.  Four totally innocent men who were dragged from their homes and beheaded in full view of their families.”  The old privateer shook his head slowly from side to side.  “Those men were not soldiers.  They were not Nobles.  They were like us.  They toiled their lives away to earn food to feed their families.  You knew that the defenders of the stronghold were not going to open their gates for you regardless of what you did.  Yet you sliced off their heads for absolutely no purpose.  The only thing you accomplished was to convince those within the walls that surrender was a death sentence for all involved.”  The old Captain drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.  “And your demand that we be given access to their women?  What man, especially a soldier, would agree to such terms?  Congratulations Captain Tallun, you have singlehandedly removed any reason for these people to even negotiate with us.”

The inn took on an icy quiet as all in attendance looked from Tallun to Jile.  A Captain of Ships can only lead when he is respected.  That respect must come from the men he commands and the other captains with whom he must join forces in large-scale events such as this one.  Captain Jile had just challenged Tallun just as certainly as if he had slapped him across the face.  If Tallun had any chance of retaining his standing among the Captains, he would have to kill him.  However, killing Captain Jile was a task that was much easier put into words than actions.  For one thing, he had many supporters, even admirers among the men gathered at the inn. 

Tallun pretended to find the comments amusing as he laughed into a silk kerchief.  What he was really doing was observing the faces of the others and gauging how they were reacting.  Tallun thought the odds were slightly in his favor.  Though Jile was popular, the insult was a breach of the manner in which Captains were supposed to relate to each other.

Tallun was also watching Fauwler from the corner of his eye.  As a man who had participated in numerous acts of cowardice, Tallun was judging his chances of success at being able to leap forward with a short blade when Jile was not expecting it.  There were two things wrong with that idea.  One was that Jile was fully aware of Tallun’s character and what the man was capable of.  The second thing was that Fauwler had shifted his weight very slightly from leaning against the wall to now being fully balanced on both feet.  Tallun knew what that meant; he would never even clear his sheath before his throat would be cut.  There were many things that Tallun would chance in this world.  Going blade-to-blade with Captain Fauwler was not one of them.  The man was inhumanly deadly with that odd sword of his.