The Crown of blood

I

The clanking of chains from the debtors' cranks filled the sweaty confines of the landship's hull. The planks vibrated and rumbled with the grinding of the wheels beneath. Stripped to the waist, shackled men bent their backs to the turn shafts with metronomic regularity, stooping and heaving to the steady banging of the drivemaster's drum. Skins of many hues glistened in the yellow light from the three lanterns swaying upon the hull beams. All eighty of the labouring men had closecropped hair to prevent the spread of mites and other parasites, and their chests, cheeks and chins were clean shaven for the same reason.

Grimaces of pain were writ upon the faces of the newcomers; the old hands stared stolidly at the backs of the debtor in front with expressions of detached determination. They worked with hands bound with leather thongs, gripping wooden shafts smoothed to a polish by a generation of internees, on benches eroded into dipping shallows by countless buttocks.

Anglhan Periusis walked along the narrow aisle between the two rows of his workers, checking hands and feet for blisters, examining joints for inflammation. Behind him his second-incommand, Furlthia Miadnas, ladled water to the perspiring prisoners. Even with the hatches open it was sweltering in the bowels of the landship and Anglhan regularly dabbed at his forehead and fatty jowls with a sweat-soaked rag.

"Only four more days, Gelthius," Anglhan said, patting a grizzled debtor on the shoulder. "I bet you thought the day would never come."

"Never did, right enough," the man replied, puffing between the words as he continued to push and pull at the turncrank. "Fourteen years, right enough."

"I'll be dropping you off in Magilnada," the ship master said, hooking his fingers into the belt holding up his baggy trousers. "It's a day earlier than I should, by rights, but we're heading all the way to Carantathi after that and I wouldn't abandon you at least a day's walk from civilisation."

"Magilnada?" wheezed Gelthius. "Free Country, that is. Take me forever to work my way back to Landensi."

"You're welcome to join the deck crew at full pay, until we head back towards the central plains," Anglhan offered. "An experienced hand like yourself, that doesn't go unrewarded."

"I might do that," said Gelthius.

"Just let me know in the next day or two and I'll make the arrangements one way or the other," Anglhan said with a warm smile.

"Right enough," said Gelthius.

Anglhan continued the inspection of his detainees, marking off another day's service in his ledger for each of the debtors. He noticed that three of them would be finished paying their way before they reached Carantathi. He would have to transfer them to another debt guardian in Magilnada, or come up with some other form of arrangement so that they did not labour longer than was allowed.

"Everything seems in order," he said to Furlthia, who nodded in agreement.

"This new lot are as fit as a rat catcher's dogs," Furlthia said. "That was a good deal; don't usually get so many last this long."

"Aye, Byrantas earnt his commission this time," said Anglhan as he stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder leading up to the main deck.

The fresh breeze that swept over Anglhan as his head popped through the hatch caused him to stop and savour the air for a moment. A not-so-subtle cough from Furlthia goaded him into action once more and he heaved his portly frame the remaining few rungs onto the upper deck. The wind was freshening, tugging at his scarlet tunic, tousling his mop of blond and grey hair.

With a quick eye, Anglhan checked that all was brisk and ready; crew stood by the spear throwers along each side of the hull; the lines of the single square sail were taut and the canvas full. Atop the mast four men stood upon the crow's-nest, eyes shielded against the low sun. Casting his gaze further afield, the captain could see the dust from his outrunners spread out around the landship. Should danger approach they would light warning flares and sound their curhorns.

From the foredeck a large shape ambled towards Anglhan. It was Pak'ka, one of the Nemurians. He stood half as tall again as Anglhan, and almost as broad. He was covered with thick grey scales, darkening to black around his flat face and surprisingly delicate, long-fingered hands. His back and shoulders were patterned with pale orange stripes that faded away halfway down his knobbly spine. His loins were concealed behind a heavy skirt of studded leather, split at the back to allow his tail to move freely; the appendage was adorned with silver bands and ended in a knobbly club-like growth that thumped. The Nemurian's green eyes caught the sun with a flash as he bent down in front of Anglhan. Pak'ka's slit-like nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath.

"Nothing to report." Like all of his kind, Pak'ka spoke in with a slight lisp. His voice was quiet and measured.

"Let's hope it stays that way," said Anglhan. Pak'ka's cracked lips wrinkled back to reveal two rows of small, flat teeth in an attempt at a smile.

"We hope, but the rocks are unhappy," said Pak'ka. With this baffling proclamation, the Nemurian turned heavily and rejoined his warriors basking in the sun by the starboard rail.

The lookouts and guards were a necessary precaution these days, with the number of brigands and escaped slaves hiding out in the Altes Hills growing every year. Anglhan had heard tales from fellow debt guardians, of outlaws growing bolder and more organised with each passing season. Three landships had been lost since the turn of the growing season and Anglhan was not prepared to take any chances; he had brought on the Nemurian mercenaries and doubled his outunners for this long voyage to the coast.

"Dusk or dawn," said Furlthia.

"What's that?" said Anglhan, turning his attention back to the first mate.

"Raiders usually strike at dusk or dawn, out of the sun," said Furlthia.

"The king should send an army into the hills and clear them out," said Anglhan with a shake of the head. "I pay tithes for safe roads and freedom to trade."

"It's a brave king who sends an army into the Altes," countered Furlthia. "The expense and risk doesn't match up to the complaints of a few caravan masters and landship captains."

"The Askhans would do it," Anglhan said as he turned towards the quarterdeck, running his experienced gaze across the ropes and beams of the landship's workings. The road was rutted and the whole vessel sagged and swayed as it rumbled along the uneven stones. Despite the movement the mast and braces were sound, the wood and ropes creaking softly.

"You'd want the Askhans here, wouldn't you?" said Furlthia. "You wouldn't keep Aegenuis on the throne for a moment, given the choice."

"It's nothing against the man personally, it's a matter of trade, is all," explained Anglhan as he mounted the steps up to the quarterdeck. "In fact, if we became a protectorate there's no reason he couldn't stay on in some capacity. I've travelled a bit in Ersua and never seen trouble. Good prices too; their economy is far more stable. They don't have a king who fritters away half a year's taxes on statues, for a start."

"The tribal chiefs would never stand for it," said Furlthia. "You want to be ruled from Askh, foreigners making decisions? Not me and not them. If the Askhans do come here next, I'll be leaving you and joining the army."

"Then you'll be dead," snapped Anglhan as he took up his position in the shade of the broad sail. "Nobody fights Askhor and wins."

The captain's expression softened.

"Anyway, I'd miss you," he said. "Good mates are hard to come by and I would not see a friend march off on a hopeless cause."

"You think the Askhans would allow you to keep your trade?" Furlthia persisted. "They don't have slavery, you know. Not of their own people."

"Neither do I," said Anglhan. "I've told you before. Don't get squeamish about it. These men work off their debts. They earn money. Okay, so it all goes to me, but that's not the same as the field serfs or the slaves in the Labroghia mines, is it? They knew the risks when they got into debt."

"Do you think the Askhans will see it that way?"

"Like I said, I've never had any problems when I've been there, debtors and all," said Anglhan. "Of Askhor and Salphoria, which has rebels hiding out in the hills attacking people, eh? I tell you, it won't be more than a season or two before some clever bastard gets them organised and attacks Magilnada, and I don't see the garrison holding out until the king decides to do something about it. Say this about the Askhans, they're brutal but they get the job done.

"It's the Crown of the Blood, you see, and that book of theirs. They know what they want to do and just do it. King Aegenuis, on the other hand, has overturned half the things his father brought in, and no doubt that halfwit son of his, Medorian, will do the same again when he finally knifes his father in the back and takes over. Stability, Furlthia, stability."

The mate said nothing and turned away to look over the starboard side of the landship. The purple hills of the Altes rose higher and higher to duskwards, the sun settling down behind them. Night would come quickly.

"We best rotate the watch," Furlthia said.

"Aye, do that for me," said his captain, casting another wary glance across the hills. "I'll be in my cabin."