The Crown of blood

I

The pealing of a warning horn ripped Anglhan from his sleep. He surged out of his bunk, head crashing against the roof beams of his cabin. Rubbing his head, he stumbled to the door, dressed only in his long shirt.

Outside, the landship reverberated with footsteps as the crew boiled up from their quarters below decks. Three large lanterns hung from the bow, mast and stern, their yellow glare spilling across the deck. Anglhan blinked in the light, still dazed by the blow to his head. Furlthia hurried past and Anglhan grabbed him by the arm.

"Where?" the captain demanded.

Furlthia pointed towards the hills ahead, where a lone flare burned with a stuttering white flame.

"Prepare to defend the ship," said Anglhan. His second-incommand replied with a pointed look as the crew busied themselves around the spear throwers and handed out axes and swords from the chests beside each hatchway. "Right. Sorry."

Anglhan ducked back into his cabin and hastily pulled on his trousers, pulling the belt tightly into his soft gut. His head still throbbed and he snatched up the half-empty jar of beer on the table and took a long swig. Smacking his lips, he pulled on his boots and grabbed the curved sword that hung above his cot before hurrying back outside.

"Where's Pak'ka?" he demanded.

The first mate nodded towards the bow of the landship. The Nemurians were putting on their armour; huge vests of grey metal scales that hung to their knees. They donned coifs of the same, reinforced along the top with a thick studded band. Anglhan wondered again at so much iron, calculating its worth; Pak'ka's armour alone would be enough to buy land and livestock for a small farm. Any thought of acquiring that wealth vanished as the huge creature straightened, his right hand hefting a spear twice as tall as the ship master, the other holding a long, triangular shield. There was many a corpse that had tried to steal from a Nemurian.

The landship's axles creaked and the vessel listed to the side as the Nemurians approached along the starboard rail.

"The wind carries the news," Pak'ka said quietly. "Four dozens of men. Where shall we fight?"

"Four dozen?" said Furlthia. "That does not seem so many."

Anglhan doubted the accuracy of the Nemurian's assertion but decided against remarking on it. He considered his options; his crew were paid whether they fought or not, while the Nemurians were promised extra for actual fighting. There was no need to use them unless he had to.

"Stay aboard for the while, and we'll wait to see what happens," Anglhan told the mercenaries. "I'm sure the outrunners and spear throwers will see them off."

They waited, the still night air disturbed by the mutterings of the crew and the creak of the landship's timbers. Clouds covered the sky, hiding the stars, the light of the moon a fuzzy glow to aft. The flare had guttered and died and the only light was the haze surrounding the landship.

They waited some more. Anglhan was about to return to his cabin, thinking that the raising of the alarm had scared off the brigands. A hushed call stopped him and he looked to the masthead to see the lookouts pointing over the starboard bow. Three figures came dashing into the lantern light: outrunners.

Anglhan and Furlthia hurried to the rail and called down to the men.

"Rosion and Dabbis are dead," announced the closest, a young man named Rigan. "The bastards snuck up on them and took them by surprise. Colthiun sounded the alarm, but we haven't seen him since."

"Where?" growled Furlthia. Rigan pointed coldwards, towards the hills. "There's a narrow stream cuts down towards the valley. I think they must have crept along the defile and got behind our line."

"Any idea how many of them?" asked Anglhan, still wondering whether he would have to employ the Nemurians' services.

Rigan shook his head and looked to his two comrades. Both shrugged.

"You can count, can't you?" rasped Anglhan.

"Yes, but we're not owls!" argued Murlthin, another youth Anglhan had recently brought on board.

"Or perhaps you didn't stick around long enough to see them," said Anglhan, his grip tightening on the rail. "Get back out there and do your job!"

The three exchanged nervous glances and headed back into the night.

"And split up!" Furlthia called after them. "You can cover more ground."

Anglhan crossed to the larboard side, seeking some sign from the rest of the outrunners. There was no sound or movement in the darkness. As he peered into the gloom, something hissed through the air, missing his ear by a finger's breadth. He hurled himself to the deck.

"Slingers!" he bawled, instinctively covering his head with his hands and pulling his knees up to his chest.

The crewmen at the spear throwers began to shout to one another, demanding to know where the enemy were. A few paces from Anglhan, one fell to the deck with a cry, blood pouring from his nose, a gash between his eyes. Another span to his knees clutching at his elbow as more stones whirred out of the darkness.

"More light!" bellowed Furlthia as the crew ducked and took cover behind the bulwark and mast. The mate growled a wordless curse as the crew continued to take shelter. He jumped down into the bowels of the landship and emerged a moment later carrying one of the beam lanterns from below. With a grunt, he spun on his heel and hurled it out into the night.

Flaming oil spilled across the rocky ground as the lantern burst. The puddle of flames showed little, but now the crew had seen what to do, they organised themselves quickly, passing up more lamps from below to throw around the landship. By the flickering light, men could be seen skirting from rock to bush, slings in their hands. One stood up, swinging the sling about his head. The spear thrower crew at the bow reacted quickly, pulling the lever of their machine. With a slap of twisted ropes hitting wood, the thrower hurled its bolt towards the slinger, punching into his shoulder. The impact nearly severed his arm and flung him backwards out of the light. The crack of other shots sounded around Anglhan as he pushed himself to his knees and peered over the rail.

The captain glanced around the deck to see who else was hurt, but his attention was drawn by an unexpected space; the sort of space that should have been filled by five Nemurians.

"Where'd they go?" he demanded, surging to his feet. "Where's my fucking muscle gone?"

The crew exchanged dumbfounded glances, until one of the lads at the tiller called out.

"They slipped over the side when the first slingstones were coming in."

"Shit-eating, dog-fucking mercenaries." Anglhan continued to curse as he prowled up and down the deck, oblivious to the sling bullets whirring past him.

"Captain! Look!" Anglhan turned at Furlthia's shout to see his second-in-command pointing over the rail towards the brigands' position. Larger shapes moved in the gloom and a moment later he heard a hoarse shriek. Something sailed out of the darkness and slapped heavily against the steep side of the landship. Anglhan ran to the rail and looked down. He saw the mangled remnants of an arm in the dancing firelight.

More cries of dismay sounded from the rebels, along with the wet crunch of weapons cutting flesh and breaking bone. By the dimming light of the burning oil, Anglhan saw one of the bandits crawling along the ground, blood pouring from his gut. A massive shadow loomed up behind him. The Nemurian — a green-crested beast even larger than Pak'ka — slammed a punchdagger into the back of the man with an audible crack of vertebrae. The slinger fell to the dust, arms and legs twitching. The inhuman warrior brought its broad foot down onto the man's head, pulping it with a single stamp.

"Take some alive if you can!" Furlthia called out. Pak'ka lumbered out of the night and raised his axe in acknowledgement. He hissed something in his own tongue and disappeared from view. More panicked shouts and sounds of grievous wounds quickly followed.

"Get down there and help them," shouted Anglhan, grabbing the nearest crewman to shove him towards the side of the ship. Those men not crewing the spear throwers clambered over the side and down the rope ladders. As the first pair advanced cautiously towards the guttering patches of oil, Pak'ka and his warriors emerged. Each of the five carried a man; three hung limply, two struggled weakly against the powerful grips of their captors. Pak'ka shook his prisoner to quell his moving, thrashing him from side to side for a moment like a child having a tantrum at a doll. The brigand fell limp, clutched his head and moaned loudly.

Ropes were passed down and the crewmen on the ground quickly bound the captives hand and foot, and tied them to one another around their waists. While the brigands were being secured, Anglhan heaved himself through the gap in the rail and carefully lowered himself down the rope ladder. Puffing from the short exertion, he strutted up to the prisoners, who were pushed to their knees, surrounded by sword-poking crewmen and the silent bulk of the Nemurians.

He kicked the closest in the ribs. The prisoner fell to the side, the rope around his waist pulling at the man to his right.

"Attack me?" yelled Anglhan. He grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him upright. "You piss-drinking sons of boar farts! Who do you think you are fucking with?"

The brigand turned his head to the side and spat dust from his mouth. He looked up at Anglhan, mirroring the captain's contempt.

"We are soldiers in the army of Aroisius the Free. These are his lands."

"Really?" Anglhan's laugh was short and filled with scorn. "Here's me thinking this was the Free Country, not land of any man. And you are soldiers? Pathetic, that's what you are. Fifty men are not an army. Which one of you is this Aroisius bastard?"

The prisoners laughed and shook their heads as Anglhan glared at them.

"We are just the vanguard of Aroisius the Free. He has many thousands of followers, and soon he will be lord of Magilnada!" one of the men announced. "If you do not wish to join him, you would be wise to leave his lands in the morning."

"Ah, so you're rebels, eh? Not just petty bandits?"

"Aye, that is right. We fight to free Magilnada from the corrupt rule of that overfed swine, Aegenuis."

There were jeers and laughs from the crew but Anglhan said nothing. He walked back to the ship and laboriously hauled himself back up to the deck. Furlthia was waiting for him at the top.

"Should we just slit their throats and have done with it?" the mate asked.

"No," said Anglhan. He looked back at the prisoners and ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought. "No need to make more enemies than necessary."

"They're rebels, Anglhan. They'd kill us as soon as look at us. Most of them are escaped slaves, and they don't take kindly to our trade."

"Always debtors, Furlthia, not slaves." Anglhan headed towards his cabin, motioning for Furlthia to follow him. When they were both inside, the captain closed the door and spoke quietly.

"What if they're telling the truth?" He found the remnants of his beer and finished it off. "What if this Aroisius is ready to make a claim for Magilnada?"

"A fool's hope if ever I heard one. I don't care if he's got ten thousand men, no inbred mountain boy can take the city. The sooner we get there and out of here, the better."

Anglhan flopped down onto his cot with a frown.

"Maybe you're right."

"But?"

"But where there's war, there's profit. If nothing else, it wouldn't hurt to find out more." He came to a decision and nodded to himself. "Yes, bring the prisoners on board. Don't rough them up. Give them something to eat and drink. We'll get to the bottom of this in the morning."

Furlthia's expression plainly showed that he did not agree with this course of action.

"If they prove to be useless, we'll hand them over to the king's men in Magilnada, no harm done," said Anglhan. "It's only a few more mouths to feed for another day or two. There might even be a reward."

A sly, hesitant smile spread across Furlthia's face.

"And if there's a reward for this lot, there could be a much bigger one for Aroisius, right?"

Anglhan beamed and clapped his hands.

"Now you're thinking like a man of trade, Furlthia! I might yet make something out of you."