1633880583 (F) (45 page)

“We will have words, Deadfall,” said Gaunt. “But I suspect that you haven’t come here for a chat.”

“We’re inviting you to one,” Joy said. She seemed well, but Gaunt noted that her hands were concealed by black gloves. “Princess Corinna wants you at a council, Persimmon and Imago. The Runewalkers Nan and Freidar too.”

Gaunt squinted at Nan, and at Freidar, who’d come walking up to his wife. “You two are more prominent than I realized,” Gaunt said.

“Well, likewise,” Nan replied.

Captain Nonyemeko said, “For two days I have exchanged messenger birds with the princess. We seek cordial relations with your countries. Eshe is the one who suggested the four of you discuss recent events with Princess Corinna.”

“Will you join us?” Gaunt asked.

Eshe shook her head. “We must remain neutral. This is a war council.”

“That’s right,” Joy said, her face rueful.

Erik Glint coughed. “To which
I’m
pointedly not invited.”

Freidar said, “Old friend, the Lardermen made their names breaking a Soderland blockade. I’m sure the royal family hasn’t forgotten.”

“Well, I hope they haven’t forgotten I’m a Kantening,” Glint said. “There’s still some fight in my crew, and there are other Lardermen ships about. Remind them.”

Nan squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll tell them. They’re in need of allies, it would seem.”

Snow Pine said, “You’re not kidding.” She turned to the Kpalamaa crew. “Captain Nonyemeko? We’re to show you this. A messenger brought it today.” She held out a scroll. The elderly captain claimed it with a nod, untied and unrolled it. Scowling, she showed it to Eshe.

“It is worse than I thought,” Eshe said. “This hour should not have come for many years.”

“But what does it say?” Gaunt asked.

Eshe handed the scroll to Gaunt. “Read it to all, Persimmon. You have a good voice.”

The letter was written in fully adequate, even graceful, Kantentongue, though it bore a signature chop in the manner of Qiangguo. Gaunt fumbled a bit with the vocabulary, but the meaning was clear.

“‘From the greatest of Kings, master of the four directions, the Grand Khan. By way of his representative, his chief wife the Lady Jewelwolf. To Corinna Olafsdatter of the Soderland Kantenings, she who fled our hospitality. You should consider the fates of other lands and submit. Word will have reached you of our conquest of the vastest empire under Heaven, and of our purification of the world’s disorders. We have overrun nine times nine nations, massacring multitudes. The terror of our forces is inescapable. Where will you run? On what road? Our horses and sabercats are swift, our sky-craft tireless, our arrowheads piercing, our swords like lightning, our hearts as mountain rock, and our forces as many as the flakes of snow burying your lands. We do not fear warring in winter. Castles will not slow us. Armies will not halt us. Your foemen the Spydbanen foamreavers now serve us, your neighbor the Gull-Jarl has already submitted to us, and your rivals of the Five Fjords have pledged not to interfere with us. Your ancient enemies the trolls march with us. Your prayers to your Swan will not harm us. We are not stirred by weeping nor moved by wailing. Only those who submit to our protection will be safe. Reply swiftly before we kindle the fires of war. Only catastrophe awaits those who resist us. We will burn your churches and parade the weakness of your goddess and then we will slay your children and your old folk in one heap. At present Soderland and its vassals Garmstad and Ostoland are the only realms against which we must march.’”

There was silence after she read this, leavened only by the lapping of waves against
Anansi
and the shouts and bustle of the harbor.

From a height Svanstad had the shape of a lumpy crystal, bounded by turreted stone walls, with a harbor enclosed by two arms of the wall. Outside the walls the buildings were predominantly of wood, but inside they were of stone. Prominent among the latter was a palace of orange rock. Unlike the city walls, this building seemed like an oversized home masquerading as a citadel. Clearly the royals of Soderland counted on the city walls defending them, not their palace.

They landed upon a balcony and passed through wide doors into a library that was also a sitting room. Most days, Gaunt would have been drawn to the many volumes displayed on three walls, not to the people in the middle. But not today.

“Haytham! Good to find you again! Inventing new flying machines for the Kantenings?”

Though Haytham smiled and embraced her, there was a troubled cast to his eyes. “I have broken faith with the Karvaks, for yes, I am indeed building vessels for Corinna. But there is very little time.”

A regal-looking, fierce-eyed woman in blue spoke up. “Ah, the far-traveled Persimmon Gaunt. Please don’t curtsey, it looks painful.”

“An honor, Princess Corinna,” Gaunt said.

“If you say so. Greetings, and to you too, Imago Bone. Nan and Freidar, I know your reputation, welcome.” She gestured to a long, crowded table. “Please join this council, all of you. Others will be arriving, but I cannot wait . . . ah, Deadfall . . . I’m uncertain of the protocol for magic carpets.”

Deadfall silently flew up to a wall and hung itself over the portrait of a king, hanging there in defiance of gravity.

“How amusing,” snapped a man wearing a stiff-looking blue outfit, studded with medals, sounding rather unamused. “Do sit, all of you,” he said, setting an example. “It’s New Year’s Day, by the Eldshore calendar, a good time for plans, I suppose. And I want to have the army in position by the Seventh.” He gave a negligent, impatient wave. “Oh, and I’m Prince Ragnar, how do you do.”

Corinna scanned the faces at the table. “Each of you has information valuable to me. Lord Klarvik and Lord Stormhamn, you are both critical to any defense.” She nodded at a youngish man, tall, thin, and bald, with a cold bland stare, and an old man, short and possessed of a fierce gaze framed by white hair and beard. Corinna continued, “And Ivar Garm here is Lord Mayor of Garmstad, where it seems the blow will fall.”

“Thanks to Soderland’s distractions,” muttered a black-haired man wearing a byrnie with a bejeweled golden necklace hung round it.

“Voice your grudges on the ride north,” snapped Prince Ragnar.

“Oh, I shall,” said Ivar Garm.

“Last of our happy band,” Corinna said, “we have a special guest, Jokull Loftsson, known as the uncrowned king of Oxiland. He has led many chieftains here to help us.”

An elderly man in a black robe and cloak, with a red woolen cap portraying horses and volcanoes, simply nodded. Yet he peered intently at Gaunt’s face, and Bone’s, in a way she didn’t much like.

“Have we offended in some way?” Gaunt asked.

Slowly, Loftsson shook his head. “You remind me of someone. Go on, Corinna.”

Corinna said quickly, “These travelers are caught up in all this. So too is Malin Jorgensdatter of Ostoland.” Here she nodded to the willowy, dark-haired young woman who seemed intent on staring at everything in the room besides the people in it. “We are expecting Master Walking Stick for his advice on tactics, and Squire Everartson as a representative of the common people—”

“
That
will be entertaining,” said Ragnar, sounding just as entertained as he’d sounded amused at Deadfall.

“—and our grandfather Hakon, the Retired King.”

“So, is the impending fire and woe going to drag him out of retirement?” said Ivar Garm.

Prince Ragnar said, “My half-sister is in charge, as ever. We are glad to have Grandfather’s advice. Now, Corinna, introduce these others.”

The princess introduced the companions of
Al-Saqr
as a merchant company, which Gaunt found appropriate. She also introduced Nan and Freidar as if everyone seated should know them by reputation, and no one demurred.

This done, Corinna said, “We’ll wait no longer.” She pounded the table, an act of precise fury. “Invaders dare come to Kantenjord,” she said. “I have seen with my own eyes their tents, their flying vessels, their horses and fighting beasts. I have seen the mustering of the Trollberg and Jotuncrown. I’ve heard the ranting of Skrymir Hollowheart himself. The battle of our generation has arrived.”

And she described these matters in detail, aided by the others around the table. Gaunt had sympathy for Corinna, for events were drawn like a noose around the princess’s neck.

Meanwhile an elderly man entered the room. He moved slowly and with great care. He accepted the help of Prince Ragnar and sat at the table’s head.

“Granddaughter,” said the newcomer, after he’d listened for a time, “if it were not you saying this, I could scarce believe it. A band of
herdsmen
rides out of the East to topple our kingdoms? Flying out of the air? And even if they have managed to cow our primitive heathen cousins and the feckless Five Fjords, this is
Soderland
, the high kingdom!”

“King Hakon,” said Jokull Loftsson, the uncrowned king of Oxiland, “I have seen their airships for myself. I’ve witnessed their warriors in battle. I would rather face five Kantening berserkers than two Karvak archers.”

Haytham cleared his throat. “Great King. I am Haytham ibn Zakwan, inventor of the airships the Karvaks employ. It is my sad duty to confirm these tales. The Karvaks are the terror of the East.” He surveyed all the faces at the table. “And I think it likely you will face a full tumen of them—ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand?” Prince Ragnar scoffed, clearly voicing the opinions of the other Kantening men. “I don’t mean to suggest there’s no threat, inventor. Far from it. But how do you come by that mad number?”

Haytham blinked at the angry men, but his voice was steady. “Weeks ago I saw a fleet of Karvak balloons on the continent, at Loomsberg. The passage from there to here is not so very long, by air. And I know the Karvaks; they do nothing halfway. They will have brought a large force.”

“He’s right,” Snow Pine said. “I’m from Qiangguo. I grew up with tales of the Karvaks. Underestimating them is suicide.”

Mad Katta scratched his chin. “Pardon my interruption. Matters of war are not my specialty; I am more of a baker. But something nags at me. What about horses? A Karvak would feel limbless without a horse.”

“Horse thieves,” Gaunt said, suddenly remembering. “We heard talk of horse thieves in Gullvik Town. If the Karvaks have been planning this for months . . .”

“Yes,” mused Ivar Garm, fingering one of the gold bands around his arm. “Garmstad’s been plagued by these thieves as well. You think this is the work of the nomads?”

Katta said, “It
is
the Karvak method to scout the lands they mean to invade, and to use local resources as much as possible.”

“Well, what of it?” said bearded old Lord Stormhamn. “So they are many. So they are clever. Whatever their numbers, we will never surrender!”

“Indeed,” said his young, bald neighbor Lord Klarvik. They glanced at each other as though surprised to be in agreement about anything.

“Aye,” Jokull said. “Death comes to us all, and it will not come to me as a Karvak subject. I have come hither because my heart told me a fight was in the offing. My heart is rarely wrong. I will have blood-debt for the loss of my wife.” His gaze flicked to Gaunt and Bone in a way that made Gaunt feel cold, though she knew not why. Jokull said, “But that is a tale for another time. So the odds are poor. Let us speak of how to best gamble our lives.”

“Well said,” put in Bone.

“Aye,” said Ivar Garm. “Ragnar and I have been discussing this very matter. Now, it seems to us we’ve still an advantage in ships of the sea, if not the air. I think the Karvaks will send a land force through Garmsmaw Pass. That’s where we have to meet them, where the high terrain can even the—”

“What fantasy is this?”

The new speaker who strode into the chamber seemed almost as out of place as Gaunt’s companions. He was a blond, muscular man with a noble’s bearing, yet his clothing was rustic. Underneath his bearskin cloak he wore a thin sword and a hand-axe.

Princess Corinna said, “I welcome your opinion, Squire Everartson, but—”

“Your Highness, you are welcome to call me simply ‘Everart,’ as the
common
folk do. I like to keep things down to earth. But your advisors’ fancies seem to have flown to the clouds! Far Eastern nomads with flying machines? For years I’ve heard many excuses why ordinary folk’s concerns cannot be addressed. Negotiations with the Eldshore! Madling dragons! Lardermen! And now it’s
mysterious nomads
? What will you conjure next time? I await it with bated breath.”

“Why,” sighed Retired King Hakon, “do we tolerate this man?”

“Because he has a peasant army at his fingertips?” said Prince Ragnar.

“Because he has valuable things to say,” Corinna said, tapping the table. “But it will be
more
valuable, Everart, if you will see reality. All those dangers you listed are real. As is this one!”

“And after them, there will be more,” Everart said, “and still more. Oh, there is fire behind the smoke, I’m sure, but there is considerably more smoke. A pack of barbarians, primitives who drink fermented mare’s milk, will not topple the mighty walls of Svanstad.”