Rise Of Empire (20 page)

“Your horses and gear will be taken to Finlin’s windmill by morning,” Price told them as he rapidly led them out through
the rear of the patio. His long gangly legs gave him the appearance of a wayward scarecrow fleeing across a field. Noticing Arista had trouble keeping up, he paused for her to catch her breath. “However, you three will be leaving by boat down the Bernum tonight.”

“There’ll be a watch on the Langdon and the South Bridge,” Royce reminded him.

“Armed with crossbows and hot pitch, I imagine,” Price replied, grinning. His face looked even more skull-like in the darkness. “But no worries, arrangements have been made.”

The Bernum started as a series of tiny creeks that cascaded from Amber Heights and the Senon Uplands. They converged, creating a swift-flowing river that cut through a limestone canyon, forming a deep gorge. Eventually it spilled over Amber Falls. The drop took the fight out of the water, and from there on the river flowed calmly through the remaining ravine that divided the city. This put Colnora at the navigable headwater of the Bernum—the last stop for goods coming up the river, and a gateway for anyone traveling to Dagastan Bay.

After Arista had regained her breath, Price resumed rushing them along at a storm’s pace. They ducked under a narrow ivy-covered archway and passed through a wooden gate, which brought them to the rear of the estate. A short stone wall, only a little above waist high, guarded the drop to the river gorge. Looking down, she could see only darkness, but across the expanse she could make out points of light and the silhouette of buildings. Price directed them to an opening and the start of a long wooden staircase.

“Our neighbor, Bocant, the pork mogul, has his six-oxen hoist,” Price said, motioning to the next mansion over. Arista could just make out a series of cables and pulleys connected to a large metal box. Two lanterns, one hung at the top and another at the bottom, revealed the extent of the drop, which
appeared to be more than a hundred feet. “But we have to make do with our more traditional, albeit more dangerous, route. Try not to fall. The steps are steep and it’s a long way down.”

The stairs were indeed frightening—a plummeting zigzag of planks and weathered beams bolted to the cliff’s face. It looked like a diabolical puzzle of wood and rusting metal, which quaked and groaned the moment they stepped on it. Arista was certain she felt it sway. Memories of a tower collapsing while she clutched on to Royce flooded back to her. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handrail with a sweaty palm and descended, sandwiched between Royce and Hadrian.

A narrow dock sat at the bottom and a shallow-draft rowboat banged dully against it with the river’s swells. A lantern mounted on the bow illuminated the area with a yellow flicker.

“Put that damn light out, you fools!” Price snapped at the two men readying the craft.

A quick hand snuffed out the lantern and Arista’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight. From previous trips to Colnora, she knew that the river was as congested as Main Street on Hospitality Row during the day, but in the dark it lay empty, the vast array of watercraft bobbing at various piers.

When the last of the supplies were aboard, Price returned their weapons. Hadrian strapped his on and Royce’s white-bladed dagger disappeared into the folds of his cloak. “In you go,” Price told them, putting one foot on the gunwale to steady the boat. A stocky, shirtless boatman stood in the center of the skiff and directed them to their seats.

“Which one of ya might be handy with a tiller?” he asked.

“Etcher,” Price said, “why don’t you take the tiller?”

“I’m no good with a boat,” the wiry youth with a thin mustache and goatee replied as he adjusted the lay of the gear.

“I’ll take the rudder,” Hadrian said.

“And grateful I am to you, sir,” the boatman greeted him cheerily. “Name’s Wally … You shouldn’t need to use it much. I can steer fine with just the oars, but in the current it’s sometimes best not ta paddle a’tall. All ya needs to do is keep her in the center of the river.”

Hadrian nodded. “I can do that.”

“But of course you can, sir.”

Royce held Arista’s hand as she stepped aboard and found a seat beside Hadrian on a shelf of worn planking. Royce followed her and took up position near the bow next to Etcher.

“When did you order the supplies brought down?” Royce asked Price, who still stood with his foot on the rail.

“Before returning to pick you up at The Regal Fox. I like to stay ahead of things.” He winked. “Duster, you might remember Etcher here from the Langdon Bridge last time you were in Colnora. Don’t hold that against him. Etcher volunteered to get you safely to the mills when no one else cared for the idea. Now off you go.” Price untied the bowline and shoved them out into the black water.

“Stow those lines, Mr. Etcher, sir,” Wally said as he waited until they cleared the dock to lock the two long oars into place. With each stroke, the oars creaked quietly, and the skiff glided into the river’s current.

The boatman sat backward as he pulled on the oars. Little effort was required as the current propelled them downstream. Wally pulled on one side or the other, correcting their course as needed. Occasionally he stroked both together, to keep them moving slightly faster than the water’s flow.

“Blast,” Wally cursed softly.

“What is it?” Hadrian asked.

“The lantern went out on the Bocant dock. I use it to steer by. Just my luck, any other night they leave it on. They use
that hoisting contraption to unload boats. Sometimes the barges are late rounding the point, and in the darkness that lantern is their marker. They never know when the barges will arrive, so they usually just leave it on all night and—oh wait, it’s back. Must have just blown out or something.”

“Quiet down,” Etcher whispered from the bow. “This is no pleasure cruise. You’re being paid to row, not be a river guide.”

Royce peered into their dark wake. “Is it normal for small boats to be on the river at night?”

“Not unless you’re smuggling,” Wally said in a coy tone that made Arista wonder if he had firsthand experience.

“If you don’t keep your traps shut, someone will notice us,” Etcher growled.

“Too late,” Royce replied.

“What’s that?”

“Behind us, there’s at least one boat following.”

Arista looked but could see nothing except the line the moon drew on the black surface of the water.

“You’ve got a fine pair of eyes, you do,” Wally said.

“You’re the one that saw them,” Royce replied. “The light on the dock didn’t go out. The other boat blocked it when they passed in your line of sight.”

“How many?” Hadrian asked.

“Six, and they’re in a wherry.”

“They’ll be able to catch us, then, won’t they?” Arista questioned.

Hadrian nodded. “They race wherries down the Galewyr and here on the Bernum for prize money. No one races skiffs.”

Despite this, Wally stroked noticeably harder, which, combined with the current, moved the skiff along at a brisk pace, raising a breeze in their faces.

“Langdon Bridge approaching,” Etcher announced.

Arista saw it towering above them as they rushed toward it.
Massive pillars of stone blocks formed the arches supporting the bridge, whose broad span straddled the river eight stories above. She could barely make out the curved heads of the decorative swan-shaped streetlamps that lit the bridge, creating a line of lights against the starry sky.

“There are men up there,” Royce said, “and Price wasn’t kidding about them having crossbows.”

Wally glanced over his shoulder and peered up at the bridge before regarding Royce curiously. “What are ya, part owl?”

“Stop paddling and shut up!” Etcher ordered, and Wally pulled his oars out of the water.

They floated silently, propelled by the river’s current. In the swan lights, the men on the span soon became visible, even to Arista. A dark boat on a black river would be hard, but not impossible, to spot. The skiff started to rotate sideways as the current pushed the stern. A nod from Wally prompted Hadrian to compensate with the tiller and the boat straightened.

Light exploded into the night sky. A bright orange-and-yellow glow spilled onto the bridge from somewhere on the left bank. A warehouse was on fire. It burst into flame, spewing sparks skyward like a cyclone of fireflies. Silhouetted figures ran the length of the bridge and harsh shouts cut the stillness of the night.

“Now paddle!” Etcher ordered, and Wally put his back into it.

Arista used the opportunity to glance aft and now she also saw the wherry, illuminated by the fire from above. The approaching boat was a good fifteen feet in length and she guessed barely four feet across. Four men sat in two side-by-side pairs, each manning an oar. Besides the oarsmen, there were a man sitting in the stern and another at the bow with a grappling hook.

“I think they mean to board us,” Arista whispered.

“No,” Royce said. “They’re waiting.”

“For what?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t intend to find out. Give us as much distance as you can, Wally.”

“Slide over, pal. Let me give you a hand,” Hadrian told the boatman as he took up a seat beside him. “Arista, take the tiller.”

The princess replaced Hadrian, grabbing hold of the wooden handle. She had no idea what to do with it and opted for keeping it centered. Hadrian rolled up his sleeves and, bracing his feet against the toggles, took one of the oars. Royce slipped off his cloak and boots and dropped them onto the floor of the boat.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Etcher told him. “We’ve still got another bridge to clear.”

“Just make sure you get them past the South Bridge and we’ll be fine,” Royce said. “Now, gentlemen, if you could put a little distance between us.”

“On three,” Wally announced, and they began stroking together, pulling hard and fast, so that the bow noticeably rose and a wake began to froth. Caught by surprise, Etcher stumbled backward and nearly fell.

“What the blazes are—” Etcher started when Royce leapt over the gunwale and disappeared. “Damn fool. What does he expect us to do, wait for him?”

“Don’t worry about Royce,” Hadrian replied as he and Wally stroked in unison. To Arista, the wherry did seem to drop farther back but perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

“South Bridge,” Etcher whispered.

As they approached, Arista saw another fire blazing. This time it was a boat dock burning like well-aged kindling. The old South Bridge, which marked the city’s boundary, was not nearly as high as the Langdon, and Arista could easily see the guards.

“They aren’t going for it this time,” Hadrian said. “They’re staying at their posts.”

“Quiet. We might slip by,” Etcher whispered.

With oars held high, they all sat as still as statues. Arista found herself in command of the skiff as it floated along in the current. She quickly learned how the rudder affected the boat. The results felt backward to her. Pulling right made the bow swing left. Terrified of making a mistake, she concentrated on keeping the boat centered and straight. Up ahead, something odd was being lowered from the bridge. It looked like cobwebs or tree branches dangling. She was going to steer around it when she realized it stretched the entire span.

“They draped a net!” Etcher said a little too loudly.

Wally and Hadrian back paddled, but the river’s current was the victor and the skiff flowed helplessly into the fishnet. The boat rotated, pinning itself sideways. Water frothed along the length, threatening to tip them.

“Shore your boat and don’t move from it!” A shout echoed down from above.

A lantern lowered from the bridge revealed their struggles to free themselves from the mesh. Etcher, Wally, and Hadrian slashed at the netting with knives, but before they could clear it, two imperial soldiers descended and took up position on the bank. Each was armed with a crossbow.

“Stop now or we’ll kill you where you stand,” the nearest soldier ordered with a harsh, anxious voice. Hadrian nodded and the three dropped their knives.

Arista could not take her eyes off the crossbows. She knew those weapons. She had seen Essendon soldiers practicing with them in the yard. They pierced old helms placed on dummies, leaving huge holes through the heavy metal. These were close enough for her to see the sharp iron heads of the
bolts—the power to pierce armor held in check by a small trigger and pointed directly at them.

Wally and Hadrian maneuvered the boat to the bank and one by one they exited, Hadrian offering Arista his hand as she climbed out. They stood side by side, Arista and Hadrian in front, Wally and Etcher behind.

“Remove your weapons,” one of the soldiers ordered, motioning toward Hadrian. Hadrian paused, his eyes shifting between the two bowmen, before slipping off his swords. One of the soldiers approached, while the other stayed back, maintaining a clear line of sight.

“What are your names?” the foremost soldier asked.

No one answered.

The lead guard took another step forward and intently studied Arista. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look what we have here, Jus. We done caught ourselves a fine fish, we have.”

“Who is it?” Jus asked.