The Crown of blood

III

The rattle and thud of chains and manacles hitting the deck sounded across the landship. Anglhan sighed deeply and tilted his head back, letting the light rain patter onto his face. Having regained his composure, he looked at the group of surly men in front of him. Behind them, the dawn sun was just lighting the pale roofs of Carlangh.

"You're meant to be debtors," he said, slowly and purposefully. "You all look too well-fed as it is. If anyone comes aboard and sees that you're not shackled, we'll be found out for sure." He turned to Barias, who stood beside him, a grin splitting his bearded face.

"He's right, lads," rumbled the chieftain. "It'll be just for a few days."

"I swore I'd never wear one of these again!" said one of the men, holding up the ankle bindings. "Why don't you put it on?"

"I've got to go with the captain, see?" Barias replied with a shrug. "Make sure everything goes down proper."

With more grumbling and muted protests, the rebels filed belowdecks. The click of locks continued for some time before Furlthia reappeared. He handed the bunch of keys to Barias.

"Like we agreed," said the mate, with a sideways glance at his captain. "You can set them free anytime you like."

Barias took the keys and stuffed them into a pouch at his belt with a nod.

"All right," he said. "Let's get moving."

Furlthia bellowed a few commands down the hatch and the landship slowly got underway. The rising sun revealed the plains of Salphoria; an expanse of grasslands stretching from the mountains to coldwards all the way to the distant horizon. Herds of cattle roamed the grassland, watched over by groups of men with long spears and bows, with small boys running around the beasts with thin rods.

Ahead Carlangh rose out of the grass, on the gentle slopes of a broad hill. The river Briensis meandered hotwards down the mountains, watering the plains, before turning duskwards just before it reached the hill of Carlangh. Around the town a wide swathe of grass had been cleared in generations past, replaced by rows of cereal. It was harvest time and large numbers of women were already working in the fields, reaping the crop and piling it onto the back of carts drawn by laughing bands of children. A small procession was already making its way towards the town and the landship joined the back of the harvest parade.

The outer town consisted of a few dozen roundhouses built from mud bricks around wooden frames. It was little different from any other Salphorian farming town, save for one feature; at the brow of the hill stood a wooden fort. Its wall of sharpened logs, carried some distance from the forests in the foothills to coldwards, followed the contours of the hill in a rough circle, broken at even intervals by six towers. It covered an area far larger than the group of buildings outside its wall, which had spread out of the protective enclosure in past years because the growing population could no longer be contained.

This was the most dawnward extent of Salphoria proper. Though the king had an historical claim to the Free Country, he had signed an agreement early in his reign with the king of Askhor to grant Magilnada and its territories a neutral status. To all intents, Carlangh guarded the border of Salphoria. This had attracted families to make new homes here, marrying into the Carlanghians or simply bringing everything they had to the town. The expected boom in trade from Carlangh's new status never came, leaving the people scratching an existence out of the grassy plains while trade continued to go dawnwards through Magilnada, never coming within a day's travel of the old fort.

Rather than pass through the town, the crop wagons circled around the hill, following a winding track into the fort on the far side. Anglhan ordered the landship to do the same. As they approached, the captain saw a large number of armed men gathering on the rampart behind the sharpened logs of the wall. There were some nervous whispers from those rebels still on deck.

"Relax," Anglhan told them. He winked at Barias. "We're just here for a bit of trading. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Get the water butts out of the hold," said Furlthia. "We might as well fill up from the river while the captain does his business."

In this way the majority of the rebels were kept busy while the landship entered the Carlangh fort. A group of warriors waited in the square just inside the gate. They wore brightly striped woollen trousers and padded jerkins sewn with rings of bronze for protection, and pointed helms popular amongst the Salphorian tribes, decorated with crests of boar hair. All were armed with long spears and bronze-edged bucklers. They were headed by a broad-shouldered chieftain marked out by the bearskin cloak he wore.

"Probably fucked the bear too," Furlthia whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Fighting back a laugh, Anglhan raised a hand in greeting to Meaghran.

"Hello, friend! The spirits' blessings upon you!" he called out, but received nothing save a blank stare in return. The captain looked at Barias and Furlthia. "Wait here until I signal for you."

Anglhan clambered over the side and lowered himself to the ground as the landship came to a creaking halt. He hurried across the packed dirt of the square, palm still raised. Reluctantly, Meaghran raised his palm in return.

"You're the last person I expected to see out here," the commander said gruffly, before remembering his manners. "The spirits' blessings on you too."

Anglhan looked around at the fortified town, noting the patched canvas roofs on the granary stores, the frayed hems on the tunics of the guards and the sun-whitened wood of the buildings.

"Prospering as ever, I see," said Anglhan.

"Very funny," said Meaghran. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you've got a proposal I can't afford to ignore."

"The spirits themselves must have brought you my thoughts in the night, Commander. The very words I was thinking."

"All right," Meaghran said with a sigh. He gestured with his head for Anglhan to follow. "Come on; let's go to my rooms and discuss it."

The captain turned and waved for Furlthia and Barias.

"Who are they?" Meaghran asked as the pair shimmied down the ropes hanging down the landship's hull.

"My first mate and my storemaster," Anglhan replied quickly. Carlangh's commander eyed Barias with suspicion but said nothing.

They followed Meaghran across the square. He led them into a low building under the rampart of the wall, still swathed in shadow. Inside were two sparsely furnished rooms. In the first were a few guards who sat on the floor, eating from bowls and chatting. Meaghran ignored them and carried on through to the next room. The floor was covered with scattered straw, which to Meaghran's credit was fresh. He gestured to some low wooden stools and the four of them sat down.

"You came from dawnwards," said Meaghran. "Just been to Magilnada, yes?"

"I have," said Anglhan.

"Any news?"

"Nothing remarkable. The usual stuff. Prices are up, trade is down."

Meaghran nodded with little enthusiasm.

"Same here. The town's bigger than ever, the harvests better than ever, but you try getting a half-decent price… Someone's making money somewhere, but the spirits take me if I can work out who it is."

"I'm avoiding grain at the moment," Anglhan said. "Like you say, it's a bad market."

Meaghran stretched out his long legs and folded his arms.

"If it's not grain you're after, why are you here?"

Anglhan coughed twice and spat to one side.

"Sorry, my throat's a little dry."

"I see," Meaghran said with a smile. "That's how it is?"

He bellowed out of the door for someone to fetch beer and cups. A soldier returned shortly carrying a tray of jugs and mugs.

"Don't you have a slave for that sort of thing?" asked Barias. Anglhan's heart skipped a beat but he kept a smile on his face.

"Had to sell them all," confessed Meaghran as he poured the amber-coloured beer. "Too many families now to have folk standing idle while we feed extra mouths."

Anglhan raised his mug in toast before Barias could say anything else.

"With the blessings of the spirits, I think my coming here may solve your problems," he announced. "Well, some of them."

They all drank from their mugs, signalling that business could start in earnest.

"Weapons," Anglhan said, seeing no reason to delay. Meaghran's eyebrows rose in surprise. Anglhan plunged on. "I wasn't being entirely honest when I said there was no news from Magilnada. Rumour has it that rebels have been gathering in the mountains."

Barias shifted next to Anglhan, but he ignored the chieftain and continued.

"Speculation, there's nothing like it for good business. I would guess that you've got a few things in your armoury doing nothing but getting in the way. I could help you clear some space."

"You want to buy weapons from me? Who are you going to sell them to? I'm sure as the sky is blue that Gerlhan can equip his troops just fine."

"You're right, my friend. But the good citizens of Magilnada, they're not all that confident in their militia. And the freeholders in the farms outside the walls, well, they are getting very nervous."

"They're not really mine to sell," said Meaghran, without much conviction. "They were given to Carlangh by the king, to defend his lands."

"You're not selling them for yourself," said Anglhan, his voice as slick as oil. "You'll just be holding the money until you find someone to take it to Carantathi."

Meaghran looked at Anglhan for a long time and shook his head.

"No, it's too dangerous. You wouldn't pay what I would ask for, to cover the risk."

"I am happy to negotiate."

"No," said Meaghran. He stood up and offered a hand to Anglhan. "I'm sorry, but it'd be my skin on the line."

Anglhan took a small tin wafer from his belt and put it into the commander's hand.

"I really didn't want to do this," said the landship captain. "I'm happy to pay the price you name."

Meaghran looked at the token in his hand. It was no bigger than his thumb, stamped with three things: the seal of the king, a sum of money, and a name. On seeing the last, Meaghran's face flushed red.

"My son?" he snarled. "You've bought my son's debts?"

Meaghran lunged for Anglhan, grabbing the front of his jerkin. Barias hooked an arm around the commander's waist and hauled him away, the pair of them falling into the straw. Furlthia leapt up, putting himself in front of Anglhan.

"Calm down!" said Anglhan.

Meaghran tried to wrestle Barias aside but the chieftain shifted his weight, pinning down one of the commander's arms with a knee. Meaghran spat and threw the debt token at Anglhan.

"You filthy slavefucker! You dirty, lying bastard!"

Anglhan stood very still, his expression calm.

"I am doing you a favour, you stupid arse," he said slowly.

"Taking my son into slavery? What did the stupid prick do? I can't believe it!"

Anglhan stooped and picked the token out of the straw. He held it up between two fingers.

"It doesn't matter," Anglhan said. "Something to do with wool trade with the Fetea. Your son is in a cell in Labrias. I saw his token and bought it before anybody else could. I thought being a prisoner for the moment was better for him than the alternatives. If it wasn't for me, he'd be mining copper, panning salt or worse. You can have him back if you sell me what I want. Take this token to Labrias and the Fetea will hand your lad over without a problem."

The debt guardian picked up Meaghran's mug from the floor, dropped the tin token inside and filled it with beer. He proffered it towards the commander. Meaghran's shoulders sagged and he sank back into the straw with a groan.

"That stupid little shit. I knew it was a bad idea to send him away, but his mother insisted." He banged a fist against his forehead. "Shit."

Anglhan nodded Barias aside and helped Meaghran to his feet. The commander straightened his cloak and dusted down his trousers with sweeps of his hands. When he was done, he sat back on his stool, glaring at Anglhan.

"So what is it you want?"

"Why don't we have a look in your armoury and see what you have," replied Anglhan as he handed over the mug of beer.