The most dangerous point?

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Disclaimer:

The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended.
This story is copyright © 2023 Julia Phillips. All rights reserved.

It uses some of the associated characters and situations that arise from the world called ‘Anmar’ created by Penny Lane, whose stories
are also copyright © 2010 - 2023 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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As Simbran was talking to Count Olva on the jetty where the Spirit of Bibek was tied up, Volod noticed that the ship’s Steward, Namba, was talking animatedly with Delith, the ship’s cook and quartermaster. He sketched a bow to the Margrave and the Count, not wishing to intrude upon their conversation, and hastened over to the two other men.

“There is a problem?”

It was Delith who answered: “Not really, Captain! Just a minor delay. When it became obvious that we would not be casting off so early as Namba and I anticipated, then I took the opportunity to create an extra order for stuffs that I have discovered are not in my galley. We could have departed without them, but I thought ’twould be best if I got them whilst we were still in some form of civilisation as I deem we shall have some stops that are far more crude on our way later.”

“Indeed, that is most likely!” said the Captain with a smile. “But why the animation between the two of you?”

“I too had the same thought,” replied Namba. “So I too sent off for some last minute little things. I had not realised that Delith had sent the same man on his task, so the man is delayed in returning. He had promised to be here a quarter bell hence.”

“I cannot believe the delays we have had this morn,” sighed Volod. “Why, with but scant exaggeration, ’tis nigh on time for our midday meal and here we are still tied up to a Faniri wooden pile! If the Margrave decides to eat before leaving then no doubt we shall also have to have a nap.”

But Simbran came over then, having taken his leave of Olva. He laughed as he heard Volod’s last words. “Have no fear, Captain. We are free to sail now.”

“Just two last-minute stores orders to arrive, Your Grace, then we can make our way. I shall order the men to raise the sails but keep them furled for now; we shall extend the outboard oars into their ports as soon as the stores arrive and we can make an orderly departure with minimum fuss. The ship is pointing directly at the harbour exit and no other craft is in our way at the moment.”

“Very good! May I step aboard?”

The Captain flushed. “Of course, Your Grace! Forgive me!” He stepped exaggeratedly to one side and swept an arm as if to usher his ruler onboard.

Simbran just laughed and skipped lightly onto the now cleared deck.

Twick Joot issued a few curt orders and three of the waiting Blades stepped aboard as well, whilst the rest made a semi-circle around the embarkment point.

Volod turned to Lagref who was also stood on the waiting deck. “Are all the men aboard, Number Two?”

“Aye. Indeed so, Captain.”

“Break out the sails upon the masts, but leave them furled for now. Then have Joliv and Temasp attend each of our mooring ropes and have the oarsmen in position for our departure.”

“Aye aye, sir. Break out furled sails, then hands to mooring ropes and oarsmen to positions.” All the men involved needed no further instruction and it all seemed very professional to the watchers ashore.

The timing could not have been better for the sails were dealt with just as the stores they were waiting for arrived on a handcart. The three boxes were swiftly loaded onto the Spirit by the dockworker who had been despatched to get them. They were left, as had become the norm, upon the upper deck for Namba and Delith to deal with later.

The Captain nodded to the Twick who then ordered his men to climb aboard. They were soon all stood easy in the centre of the deck, in two files.

At that juncture, Captain Volod held aloft a bright red flag in his left hand and looked towards the controlling tower for the port. Almost immediately, a green flag was waved from there which response was acknowledged by Volod waving his flag from side to side.

Dropping his flag, Volod called: “Crew of the Spirit of Bibek, riverside oars ready, jettyside oars push us gently away. Let go forward, let go aft.”

A chorus of “Aye, aye”s replied.

The ship eased away from the jetty which caused Volod to loudly approve of the oar handling. He strode over to the steering sweep at the stern.

“Lagref, take the stem look-out for now, please. Joliv and Temasp, break out the sails. I deem we can use them all today with this wind.”

“Aye aye,” shouted each of the men so ordered.

The sails filled with a general bang and the Spirit seemed to jump eagerly forward once again towards the mighty River Sirrel.

… … …

Nearly three bells later, Volod and Temasp, with Matent and Maerni (who were two of the oarsmen) and two of the Blades (Harill and Keefle) were idling on the upper deck, forming what Volod had named the ‘emergency crew’. If the ship should happen to slip its moorings here, then at least there were just sufficient men aboard who could sail or row her back.

Everyone else was on the island feeling dozy after an excellent repast produced by Delith from very ordinary ingredients. The cook was flushed from the praises sent his way. That meal break in perfect weather on a deserted island was an occasion that had lifted everyone’s spirits.

The Spirit herself was gently bobbing on the sparkling waters immediately downstream from a sizeable island, the upstream end of which was raised enough to have some permanent vegetation growing thickly there. Two sturdy ropes held the bow of the ship against the island sufficiently closely for a steeply angled plank to stretch down onto the muddy sand, this gangway being enhanced with several horizontal strips of wood to create a firmer footing. This had proven to be most beneficial as the equipment and stores had been carried down onto the island and would no doubt be equally so when all the stuff had to be carried back aboard.

The steady wind had carried the smoke from the cooking fires away from the men and had also kept them cool as the sun blazed from overhead in a clear blue sky. Simbran idly wondered if he could be quite so content later in the year when the temperature would have been most uncomfortable.

Now that the pans had cooled sufficiently to be loaded back aboard – as Lagref had reminded them: “Hot metal and wood should be kept apart; fires are started with less provocation, and we don’t want to burn our boat beneath us!” – Delith, Joliv, Namba and Lagref himself started packing the ship’s belongings together. Four of the nine remaining Blades (Heen, Wennes, Fergos and Jonees) picked up a chest each to deliver to the foot of the gangplank. Twick Joot called Bokes and Graden to him to brief them on their next task when aboard.

Darob it was who called the warning, but it was too late. Only he, Lonnid and Colha were in any position to immediately react to the sudden bursting of a force of ten men out of the vegetation, which force swiftly surrounded the men on the barer part of the island. The Twick and his guardsmen were disarmed very quickly and thus left the Margrave totally unprotected except for the two senior officers standing next to him.

Volod reacted well by immediately making two men draw up the gangplank, thus making it difficult for these marauders to climb aboard the Spirit. He was, however, all too aware that the defenders of the ship would be extremely vulnerable to any crossbows the attackers might have. He could only watch on in frustration as the leader of this band demanded to know who was in charge of the men he had now captured.

The indignation in the Margrave’s voice was blatantly obvious to all as he responded. “And who are you to question the progress of the Margrave of Faral?”

The leader actually took half a step back and looked uncomfortable. But he could not be seen to be diminished in any way in front of his men, so he responded by sneers and ultra-sarcasm. “Oh, the little man with the big voice, eh? I wouldn’t know a margrave if it was at home. What is one of those?”

“I am the ruler of the country of Faralmark. I am underway from my home to Palarand. You interfere with us at your peril, whoever you …”

He was interrupted by an obviously coded bugle call series.

“Shiba-bubufu,” swore the scruffy leader. “There must be a patrol boat nearing! Yes, look there, downstream on the other side. Back lads, as quick as you can. We’ll leave these wastrels alone. You and you, grab what swords you can for they are of better quality than ours and then dash back to our boat whereupon we shall outrun those wretched patrollers. Quick now.” So saying, he turned and ran for the bushes.

The Margrave’s armsmen knew they needed to keep their swords so they immediately took measures to hinder the two designated thieves whilst avoiding serious injury to themselves. They were sufficiently effective that the raiders ran off with but four of the swords. That small action cost the defenders two minor scratches that drew blood.

And then things changed.

Lonnid and Colha had hidden themselves in the fringes of the bushes as soon as the pirates had charged; Lonnid now emerged and skewered the surprised leader, who was looking behind him to make sure his men were following, even before he had a chance to shout. Two more of the raiders fell to the swords of these two armsmen; the remaining seven, in two small bands, one of five and then the two designated sword-stealers, shuddered to a halt in total confusion.

The pause gave time for Twick Joot to issue orders without waiting for any of his senior officers, who were smart enough to remain silent lest they sowed more confusion. The Blades swiftly ran to re-arm themselves, regroup and to advance menacingly upon the hapless raiders. Knowing they now faced a superior force, both better trained and better armed, they soon threw down their arms and begged for mercy.

This was then a major problem for the Margrave.

His agile brain had realised that there was little to no extra space aboard the Spirit for prisoners, certainly not for this many. They also had yet to deal with the vessel that had brought these raiders to this isle. He discounted immediately any thought of slaughtering the miscreants, but would he have to delay his trip to stand guard over them, whilst the Spirit went in search of some local authorities?

Whatever he decided, the captives would have to be controlled and he nodded his approval as Captain of the Field Woltass detailed one of the Blades to run to the Spirit to get some spare rope from the stores with which to hobble the men. He then started discussions with the senior men, examining every way they could think of as to how to continue.

Some moments later, as the conversation went round in circles yet again, a small shout drew his attention to the bushes from which a bleeding Darob had suddenly appeared. Simbran strode over to the wounded man, flanked by his two senior commanders.

“Report, Blade!”

“Their boat is departed, Sirs! They had two gangplank guards stationed, one of whom spotted me in my hiding place in the bushes and crept up on me. I was fortunate in that I saw him just as he attacked me, a rustle somehow alerted me. His sword shattered on mine and I then managed to kill him with a single thrust. The officer on board shouted that he dare not hold place any longer, and they must needs depart. The other guard scrambled aboard, dragging the gangway with him. And off they went, with some difficulty for they were shorthanded.”

“Did you see any other vessel?”

“Yes, Sirs. There was a vessel approaching from downstream, beating up against the current. The bandits attempted to flee and this new vessel gave chase.”

“Very good, Darob! Go and report to the Cook, let him arrange some bandaging.”

The Margrave nodded his agreement and then resumed his discussions with the two seniors.

“I suppose that helps, somewhat. I was going to await that patrol vessel. But what I suggest we now do, is that we lightly bind the prisoners so they cannot disturb our departure, and we simply sail away, reporting our actions to either the patrol vessel should we encounter it, or to whoever is in charge at wherever we select to overnight. The prisoners will thus be rescued by either the authorities, or by their companions should they evade any pursuit.”

Volod had come to join the men and interjected at this point: “Your Grace! Over there on the right bank of the river is a small riverport, named Tysoe. ’Twould delay us but briefly, if we put in there to make our report. And, with no criticism intended, that is a Pakmal village used often by those of us who float, so they are used to strangers a’calling. They – and I cannot believe I am actually saying this about Pakmal – are likely to be more efficient than any secluded village over there in the remote southern wilds of recently-occupied Upper Fanir.”

“Ruefully, I must acknowledge your point, Captain.”

“What about the bodies, Your Grace?” asked Senior Captain Hannar.

“The prisoners will be able to loose their bonds quite quickly, so I deem we can leave that task to them. We’ll leave them with firelighting abilities to allow them to cook something whilst they attend their fate. Maybe, they might construct a pyre!”

And so it transpired. The prisoners were fully informed, not just abandoned, and some of them actually expressed gratitude for the clemency with which they were treated.

As it happened, they didn’t need to stop at the riverport. They crossed the path of another boat that was heading there, so they passed on the messages to this other vessel and continued on their way.

… … …

“Why ’tis what always used to be called the Yodak river, Your Grace – a constructed name that was used to show the demarcation between Yod and Pakmal. That entire side valley was divided between the two nations and provides each with the easiest access to their respective upland areas. However, it was a very early victim of Yodan aggression and aggrandizement, so they renamed it to be the ‘Yodan Waterway’ and took over control of the entire thing, not keeping to just their side of the stream all the way up there. Mayhap soon we can return to the old name once more.”

A few nods showed Volod the general agreement from the senior men present. Simbran hid a satisfied grin. He was already aware of the naming changes and the recent history of Yodan expansionism. He was, however, intrigued enough at the view to see the side river tumble down into the Sirrel, to actually lay eyes on it rather than read about it all on a sheet of parchment.

… … …

“Fanegada, Your Grace. I have used their facilities several times and would describe them as crude but not totally lacking in a degree of comfort.”

“Very well, then. We shall attempt to find a comfortable night there.”

The steersman adjusted the course of the Spirit and all gathered together to make out what they could of the riverport they were now approaching. All were a little anxious for it was almost in Yod and indeed had until recently been under the yoke of Yodans. Perchance, there were still Yodans there. Caution would have to be their watchword, even though they were under the supposed protection of their large orange and yellow Faral flag.

They had finally arrived in a stretch of the river with Yod on the right bank and Yodan-recently-occupied Upper Fanir to their left. Borne swiftly by the current, with the aid of the wind in its sails hanging from the two masts (and the bowsprit), the Spirit had made remarkably good progress towards their ultimate destination, still many marks distant. But they were aware that they had reached a zone of great danger, against which many voices had warned them.

“Remember all, all that we discussed whilst sailing this afternoon. Never assume that we are alone, never assume that we shall be left in peace. Always have at least two Blades on alert for intruders. As a ruler of a country not at war, we should be left to have free passage. But there is no guarantee that we shall indeed be afforded such courtesy. Captain Volod has performed superbly to manage to get us this far …”

“’Twas the current and the very unusual winds today and yesterday, Your Grace! I confess that I never before expected to be able to reach Faralan in so much less than two day’s sailing from Bibek, especially after our somewhat delayed start! And we have made a far swifter passage today after our somewhat extended stop for luncheon.”

“That’s as maybe, I was impressed by the way we have sped along the water, even if it did upset a few other ships that we used the central track of the speediest current. Those two ponderous galleys that attempted to stop us were deftly evaded, I congratulate you, Captain.”

Volod was unused to receiving compliments, especially in full sight and vision of a vessel’s entire complement, so he didn’t know how to respond. He just blushed and gave a salute to the Margrave without actually saying anything more.

With some relief, he returned to concentrate upon his duties of guiding the vessel to the shore.

… … …

“Volod!”

“Your Grace?”

So began the next decision-making confabulation.

“Where do you feel we could replenish our stores now we have given most of them away?”

“If I might answer you in a roundabout way, at least at first, Your Grace?”

Simbran waved a somewhat impatient hand so Volod hurried on. “We shall soonish come to a divide in the river, where the Sirrel parts to sweep past what has always been called Lower Fanir Island. The two branches created by this are known by the names of the two larger villages or towns that stand near this bifurcation. To the left, where the shorter waterway starts, we would enter the Brio Branch. Along there, at first, the river passes between the two Fanirs, Upper to our left and Lower, which is of course the island, to our right. We would there be, at least theoretically, away from Yod.

“On the other hand, the branch that would take us to the right is known as the Wadek Branch. This branch passes between Lower Fanir, the island, and Yod itself which, as you know, lies to our right even now.

“Now the island was a very early casualty of the war and was rapidly absorbed into the Yodan conglomerate, as was the entirety of Lower Fanir and then most of Upper Fanir. After our experiences last night, then I must hesitate to suggest that we will not have a great deal of flexibility of choice of supplies if we maintain our course along the Brio Branch.

“Despite the distaste we must have for the Yodans and their methods, I must confess that we shall likely have better supplies, indeed a far better choice of supplies, if we then keep to the right and go down the longer Wadek Branch.

“But you have indicated all along we wish to descend the Valley as swiftly as we might, so I must therefore ask for a decision from you as to our route. Once that is established, then I can better answer your question about our stores.”

The Margrave acknowledged Volod’s words and turned to his advisors, one of whom carried a chart showing the twists and turns of the Sirrel in this region. They had all been shocked and depressed by what they found in Fanegada; Captain Volod had told them that the place was a fishing and riverport with agreeable welcomes, basic but nourishing food and particularly amiable chats.

What they had found was a near-derelict fishing village, with plant life already encroaching at the edges and a population of ageing men and women with but a few young and bewildered children. Most of the fishers’ boats had been damaged, several to the point of ruin, and, wickedly, all the able-bodied men and women had been rounded up and marched away to Maker knows where. There was no-one left behind strong enough to work sufficiently hard to keep adequate quantities of food coming in and a general air of despair and resignation had overtaken them all.

The passengers and crew of the Spirit had all been shocked and angry at the callousness so starkly illuminated in front of them. Far from Volod’s reported agreeable welcome, the pathetic desperation and begging welcome they had received was so strongly moving. The visitors had done what they could to provide some limited succour and all had at long last, after bells of toil, overnighted aboard their Hooray Boat.

“Yes, gentlemen, I fully understand that someone should be here to work with, help and support them. But I, as the leader of a foreign nation, must also look at a much wider viewpoint. You are all gathered here for one task, which is to assist me to get to Palarand, help me once there and ease our passage back to Faralmark. Before we departed Bibek, after many discussions, we pared down the personnel requirements to that which we considered to be the barest of bare minima.

“We must be clear-headed about all this. We have not just happened to stumble upon the only village in such desperate straits, so if I were to leave someone here, and it would have to be at least two of you, then do the same thing at the next village and so on, then my mission shall never be completed. And that could have serious repercussions for the entire nation, if what I gather from messages I have received is even halfway true. I am sorry, but we MUST forge on. And we must have ALL of you.

“However, I promise we shall inform some authorities of the situations we have encountered. If necessary we shall return to Faralan to make certain someone there is in the know.

“Now, we are all extremely tired if not exhausted, let us now regain some strength through sleep and consider it all in the morning.”

And so it came to pass that the entire company, many with heavy hearts made more onerous by the desperate pleading from the villagers, decided they must continue downstream all together.

As they departed in the morning, they promised to somehow arrange help and assistance.

Fortunately, once back on the river, they soon encountered a barge destined for Faralan so they forcibly passed on the urgent messages onto the vessel that was now making its way upstream with a noticeably added urgency. The encounter helped many of the company feel a degree or two better.

For the next bell, they travelled on in almost total silence, each turning over in their minds the cruelty to which they were now witnesses.

“Volod!”

“Your Grace?”

“Would it disturb you too much from your duties here, if I and a couple of others were to engage you in conversation and decision making?”

“No Your Grace. I shall be able to cope adequately.”

“Our immediate journey, have you …”

“Ah! I have many thoughts about that and was waiting for you to bring it up.”

“And there are also other questions we have.”

“And they are, Your Grace?”

“Where do you feel we could replenish our stores now we have given most of them away?”

“If I might answer you in a roundabout way, at least at first, Your Grace?”

And so the discussions started.

“… so I feel, with the wind and the current helping us, we should have just the one night in Yod or in Yodan-held lands. I deem I can pilot us as far as Ferenis but once there we would need to engage a more experienced pilot. And Ferenis Town is on the far side of Ferenis so we have no chance of making it there without an intervening overnight.

“Considering everything, I deem we should keep our involvement with Yod as short as possible so would recommend we take the Brio Branch and we should, just about, be able to reach Rufen, which is in Lower Fanir and is the opposite slip to that of the Yod City ferry. I would aim for that being tonight’s stop. Then the next day we would be clear of Yod. We could replenish in Rufen, I am sure, but maybe we should do a swift stop in Brio itself to cover our own basics, so we have a ‘just in case’.”

The Margrave looked at all those gathered with him, each of whom nodded their agreement.

And so was the decision to take the Brio Branch taken.

… … …

“What the …?”

“A problem, Volod?”

“Potentially, Your Grace! In all my years, I have never seen it like this. So many craft all bobbing about in the same place! Please allow me to study this and think on it.”

The Margrave nodded as Volod issued his orders: “Temasp, go and relieve Lagref and keep a sharp eye out as our forward watchman. Send Lagref here that he might relieve me so I can ascend the foremast to get a better view.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

The others talked amongst themselves whilst Volod was aloft, all trying to make sense of the seeming chaos in front of them, a chaos which was approaching quite rapidly. Senior Captain Hannar made a suggestion which Volod not only confirmed but also elaborated upon when he returned to the group about a quarter bell after he left them.

“I saw many men on both banks. On the undeveloped left bank which is still in Upper Fanir, and also there on the right bank in Brio itself. And it looks like the men are being ferried to Brio, with some urgency. Which is then understandable as to why Brio harbour is almost impossibly crammed with vessels of all sizes. However, I don’t really understand it all, for Brio is on an island that Yod control already so why would they move their arm… OH! Of course, these are the men RETREATING from Upper Fanir!”

Hannar added: “Indeed so. And the littoral narrows considerably at the border between Upper and Lower Fanir, so they probably have a large choke-point there. And that is not much further along the left bank.”

There was a general chorus of “Ah!” and the men were about to launch into further discussion when there was a shocking interruption from a bevy of boats not too far ahead of them. There was an obvious command boat directing traffic which was surrounded by several smaller ones. The incident started when one of the smaller boats began shouting up at the command one. Tempers frayed and the voices got louder and shriller.

Suddenly, two men stepped forward on the command boat. One was holding a shortish piece of metal which looked like a pipe, but with a slightly flared out end. It looked to be just a little longer than the man’s forearm. They watched in fascination as the man raised the pipe and nestled it into his shoulder, using a previously unseen shaped wooden rest. He directed the other end of the pipe towards the argumentative boat which reacted strongly by trying to back away. Some of the men aboard it leapt overboard and tried to swim. The man with the pipe nodded and his partner stepped forward holding what looked like a length of cord which he dangled near the pipe man’s face.

A huge roaring bang and a sudden cloud of smoke enveloped the pipeman, but the watchers from the Spirit of Bibek were horrified by events on the smaller boat. They stood, appalled, as they saw several men were flung backwards bloodily and a part of the boat disappeared entirely. The river rushed into the vessel and, within mere heartbeats, the boat sank beneath the hungry waters.

A stunned silence descended.

… … …

“I must formally complain and shall do so as soon as I am able, Boat Leader.”

“I care not! You are now in Yod …”

“Incorrect. Lower Fanir!”

A grimace of annoyance was plastered on the Yodan’s face as he continued without acknowledging the interruption “… and are therefore subject to Yodan law. We shall search your vessel and ensure you are not spies. We have no proof that you are, as you claim, a leader of an entire country in the Great River Valley and shall therefore examine what we like, when we like. Your vessel is hereby impounded and you all shall be held awaiting trial. This is why I have had you brought here. As the chief witness against you, then the trial shall be whenever I have time to attend. I am unimpressed with your recalcitrance and shall make sure the court becomes aware of your obstructive behaviour. Now form up in a li…”

“What’s going on here?”

The Boat Leader swung round with an angry look on his face; a look that swiftly disappeared as he recognised the man striding towards them, but nevertheless with an obvious limp. He stiffened to a very precise attention as he saluted: “Port Director, good afternoon!” He also acknowledged the man beside the Port Director. “Under Officer Tang!”.

“Ah! ’Tis you, Horrian! I have been looking for you to investigate the discharge of a Thunder Pipe earlier. From your boat, I gather?” began the Port Director.

“Yes, sir. I had given orders to a ferry vessel that they chose to disobey. The helmsman of the bo…”

“Yes. Yes.” He waved a hand to interrupt the flow of words. “I have heard the story from other witnesses. Now tell me what this latest episode with you is, and why you are not at your post afloat doing your duty.”

“I have arrested these men, Sir, for being spies. I am about to put them in chains. They have concocted a fantastical story about being the leader of an upriver land named Fartlemark or some sort like that. The little man there, at the front, appears to be the ringleader. Some are undoubtedly the crewmen of their ship, which as you may see when we return to the water’s edge, is of an unusual construction. But they then are guilty of facilitating spies, and are therefore also the enemy.”

The Port Director turned to Simbran and announced: “I am Port Director Lambian Felomihunter. Who are you?”

“We are a delegation from Faralmark heading to Palarand for private discussions with King Robanar and with Queen Terys and carrying private messages for the Queen from her family in Stirmond.

“I myself am the leader of my country; you would do well to remember that we are not at war with each other.” The unspoken word ‘Yet’ was nevertheless loud enough for everyone to hear. Simbran continued: “My title is Margrave, and as such, by treaty and by convention, I am entitled to a free passage along the river with neither let nor hindrance. My status is indicated by my standard flying at the stem of my State Boat. You may address me as ‘Your Grace’.

“The messages I carry are as sacrosanct as any conveyed by the Valley Messenger Service and I shall report each and every violation with a view to getting all of Yod’s message privileges revoked.

“I demand that our vessel is released immediately into our care and we are allowed to progress as soon as we are all aboard and have checked that your uncouth louts have done no damage, nor broken any seals.” Simbran allowed his simmering anger to show as he stood in front of the Port Director and folded his arms across his chest.

“You see, Director, this is an obvious pack of bluster and lies. We do not recognise his standard on his unusual boat, nor the colours these men are wearing. Why, even a …” Horrian again trailed off into silence, this time as both Lambian and Under Officer Tang twisted their heads around to glare at him. Simbran, Woltass and Hannar felt a little jolt of hope; maybe these two officers DID recognise their colours.

The Port Director was about to speak further when yet another voice called out. “I am Senior Army Captain Hannar of the Faralmark Forces. I recognise you, Director Lambian. We have met, albeit briefly. You have grown your beard considerably since then and your limp is now more pronounced.

“I was part of a Faral delegation to Pakmal for some trade talks and you were there with a Yodan delegation for some other unspecified purpose. You at least must recognise our colours and sashes. To assist your memory,” he added swiftly, “I am forced to admit that this was a while before Yod started invading neighbouring countries, and neither of our ranks were quite so exalted back then.” There was no disguising the lack of approval in his voice.

Lambian flushed slightly at the implied criticism but at least he took notice of the words. “I regret my memory does not extend to recognising you in person, Captain. However, I recognise the occasion.” He turned to his assistant: “Tang, fetch a squad of your own and then meet us at the gangplank to this foreign vessel. In the meantime, we shall have to put a cease to the what now appears to be an illegal inspection; at least until we discover the truth of the matter.

“Horrian, gather your entire squad and crew and meet me on the wharfside by the so-claimed Faral boat, even if some of them are currently onboard it. Get them out immediately.”

“Yes Sir!” both his juniors replied in unintentional unison.

“All you who claim to come from Faralmark, follow me back to your craft.”

The Faral contingent all looked at each other. Simbran called out: “Back to the ship, everyone, in an orderly and quiet fashion! For the moment, control any anger.”

Woltass looked at the Margrave quizzically. Simbran whispered to him: “They are on a knife edge. Any excuse could trigger a bloodbath or incarceration. We desire neither. We must be extremely careful. But they now know that we are ALL angry.”

And so the large group retraced their footsteps to the wharfside where Port Director Lambian gathered all about him. He held up a hand for silence, which he was granted, even as he impatiently waited for Boat Leader Horrian to noisily gather his entire squad together at the designated location. Soon, all persons were gathered as he had commanded.

At long last, he spoke: “Look round - all of you; first at the foreign boat here moored. The wind is strong enough to stir the large standard flying at its prow. We can see the yellow and orange colours that match the uniforms and the sashes of the men who were travelling upon her. This is a first indication of the truth of their claims.

“And I can confirm Captain Honnar’s, or whatever his name is, statement that I do recognise the colours of Faralmark. My memory is also still accurate enough to remember that the leader of this country is entitled ‘Margrave’. A second indication.” His voice harshened. “And yet you, Horrian, have decided to ignore the evidence that abounds before your very eyes and have jumped to a baseless conclusion. As a result of which, you have declared these men to be enemies and spies. Your impulsive nature has nearly brought your country to a war with another land.

“It would appear that you were over-hasty earlier too and as a result have destroyed an entire ferry and several of our soldiers retiring from the front for some rest.

“The Ascendancy of Yod is fighting battles to bring our values of implacable efficiency and clear superiority to all the other poorer nations in this valley of the mighty Sirrel. It is incumbent upon us all to plainly demonstrate our unwavering dedication to examining all the factors before making decisions. Tang!”

“Yes Sir!”

“Take your squad and place all the members of Horrian’s group in chains.” A collective gasp of worried surprise rose from Horrian’s men. “They must learn to be less impulsive. A few months rowing on a galley will get the message home. Then send someone to find a replacement crew to operate Horrian’s vessel. We still require some form of control out there on the water.”

A very surprised Tang said: “Aye, aye, Sir!” and, using hand gestures and nods, he watched as his men bound those of Horrian, amidst a cacophony of pleas for mercy and the like. A single man of the new squad was despatched to arrange for the replacement crew.

“Return their weapons to them immediately. I shall invite each man amongst the ones so-far designated as foreigners to inspect his weaponry to guard against any … accidental … substitution.”

There was a general melee as this was performed, with a certain amount of reluctance in some cases. Two of the Blades complained that their swords had been changed for inferior ones, so much shouting ensued. This went on for a little while until the Port Director’s patience ran out. All disputes were suddenly resolved once his angry face was observed and his angry tones were heard.

“Horrian!” then shouted Lambian above the tumult. “You are to kneel in front of the Margrave and beg his forgiveness.”

Horrian looked at him, completely shocked.

“Do it!” shouted Lambian commandingly.

The Boat Leader slowly moved and began to lower himself to his knees in front of Simbran, very obviously reluctant to do so. It was plain that he just did not, ever, beg for forgiveness. He was in fact angry with the Margrave for causing this situation, for he knew that he himself had done no wrong. In fact, that fool of a Port Director has been the one who had over-reacted and blown this all out of proportion.

Finally, his inbuilt sense of obedience meant he was on his knees albeit with a defiant look upon his face.

Lambian then said: “It is clear to me, Horrian, that you have been promoted all the way up to your personal level of incompetence. Now let me hear you ask for forgiveness. Nice and loud so that all here gathered may hear your utterances.” He unsheathed his sword to add to his threat.

Horrian, still defiantly, looked at Simbran, a real challenge in his eyes. He shut his mouth demonstrably. He would NOT apologise to this man. His face became even more surly as Lambian impatiently added: “Disobedience is an offence against the State!”

Which surly look swiftly disappeared when Lambian swung his sword and cut deep into the Boat Leader’s exposed neck.

… … …

Nearly all the men aboard the Spirit had helped clean the ship before they took their hurried departure. Several had vomited at the spectacle which had made such a mockery of the much-vaunted “rigorous Yodan efficiency” as Lambian had required four or five increasingly hectic swings to finally decapitate the kneeling Boat Leader.

Even Under Officer Tang, who had by now been assigned to the Spirit until it was out of ‘Yodan waters’, had eventually emptied his guts at the brutality. He was accompanied by two taciturn armsmen and they all were to share a cramped space aboard the vessel allocated to them with a marked lack of grace by Namba. They had been ordered to accompany the Margrave on his passage through the so-called ‘Yodan waters’ to prevent a recurrence of the events that had so delayed and angered Simbran and his companions.

Shock had helped many of the company control themselves whilst ashore, but, once they had regained the familiar ‘territory’ of the Hooray boat, then relaxation meant that many of them were violently, loudly and stinkingly ill. The stench was such that even the three Yodans joined in. Namba was outraged as his hitherto orderly domain was so sullied and privately thanked the Maker for keeping the mess outside of any of the accommodation spaces. He went and fetched buckets of water with which to swill down the upper decks and the sides of the hull, the physical chore helping him to partially forget the recently observed horrors, but ’twas only to a slight extent.

Not that he did the scrubbing himself. He decided that those who made the mess should be the ones responsible for that. His grossly affronted air and his self-imposed busyness was sufficient to hold himself immune from succumbing to the general malaise.

Simbran, Woltass and Hannar had managed to control themselves sufficiently to give no visual clue to others of their inner turmoil, and Volod held back out of sheer determination not to be seen to be so disadvantaged. Lagref also just managed to control himself, but his fight against it was obvious to all.

Surprisingly rapidly, the Spirit was returned to its usual clean state.

Volod barked out orders to the crew who were pleased to have something to do, something to take their minds off the revolting spectacle they had all witnessed. Only after he had started, did Volod realise that, strictly speaking, he should have obtained Simbran’s permission. But the latter just waved a hand in obvious agreement. Everyone wanted to be away from this brutal place. Oars were unshipped and made ready, sails were hoisted and soon deployed, lines were cast off, dragged aboard and coiled. The ship itself seemed eager to leap away from that dark and perturbatory wharfside.

Simbran stood stock still at the rail that ran along the side of the deck. Staying rigidly in place, his eyes were locked on those of Lambian, who gazed back almost unblinkingly, demonstrating not the slightest degree of remorse, despite his clothing still being liberally blood-spattered. Both men were glad to be granted an ever-increasing distance apart, their contrastingly different views and thought processes were never going to align. Neither would ever be able to understand the other, should they ever meet again.

The vessel had departed even as the evening shadows were beginning to draw in, leaving even without replenishing any of their stores. All the Farals aboard just wanted to get away. On the water, so many various craft were about that it was almost a battle to thread their way out of Brio port and to regain the relatively peaceful Sirrel; they left many disgruntled water-goers in their wake.

… … ...

“You men are an unwelcome necessity. You have no authority on this vessel. Your job is to ease our passage when we inevitably encounter more of your overly officious countrymen. You should be aware that Captain Volod there is in charge of this ship; his word is paramount. If he says something, issues an order, you obey it immediately and with neither hesitation nor querying. I myself, the leader of his nation, am subject to his discipline; I am aware that I am not clever enough to know all the details as to why he may say we need to do something, but I am also aware that he may be trying to save our lives in a dangerous situation, or mayhap attempting to save our floating home.

“Anyone, Faral or …” at this point he put his face close to Tang’s to add emphasis to his words, “… Yodan who disobeys in any way, shape or form, will be immediately put ashore and abandoned. Do I make myself clear?”

Tang, obviously somewhat rattled, replied: “Yes!”

Simbran raised his eyebrows and gently said: “That would be ‘Yes, Your Grace!’ then.” The very gentleness with which he spoke added great import to his words.

Tang’s own eyebrows reached for the sky. He swallowed nervously and said: “Oh yes! Of course, Your Grace!”

Simbran then looked both intently and quizzically at the two armsmen standing either side of Tang. Neither of them spoke but hastily nodded in acknowledgement. Simbran once again noted the engrained obedience of the common Yodan soldiery.

He redirected his attention to the Under Officer. “And Captain Volod will always be addressed by any of you as ‘Sir.’” He let that thought sink in for a moment.

… … …

“Tell me more about yourselves, then. We are to be shipmates for a short while, so it makes better sense. I know all three of you would rather be elsewhere, but you are not, so let’s deal with realities and try to make the best of what you consider to be a bad job.

“Let us start with you. I know your name is Tang and that you are an Under Officer. It seemed to me that you too were shocked by Port Director Lambian’s excesses. Do you perhaps question to yourself the righteousness of his actions? And tell me, what rank does Lambian hold? Is a Port Director the equivalent of anything I might know?”

“Errrm, Your Grace.” started a stuttering Tang, almost embarrassed to be the centre of attention of so many senior ranks and also his two underlings. “A Port Director is the same rank as a Tributant. But I am aware that that might not really mean anything to you who are not of the Ascendancy. I confess I know nothing of the areas outside of our nation, save that most of all the other landsfolk live in poverty and are waiting for we of Yod to come and release them from their vile durance. And …” he said suddenly forcefully and with a certain waspishness “… their leaders deliberately keep them that way to maintain for themselves their usual luxury.”

He was about to continue when Simbran’s raised hand stopped him. The Margrave turned to the next Yodan: “And do you also believe this great pack of drivel? Your name please, armsman?”

“My name is Kaal, Your Grace. And that is in essence exactly what we have been told by our leaders.”

“Thank you, Kaal. And what about you?” he said turning to the third Yodan.

“Stawmead, Your Grace. I confirm what the other two said, but hasten to say that I do not believe it all. My byname is ‘Shoalcatcher’ and I have had to, on occasion, take refuge with my fishing boat in foreign ports or harbours. I have seen things that directly contradict the normal statements made about foreigners.”

With a meaningful sidelong glance at Tang, he continued: “I dare say nothing else, Your Grace. You have seen some of the penalties meted out for offences against the State.”

… … ...

“Your choice, you men. Come with us ashore and expand your education, but to do that you will have to hide your Yodan garb, lest the locals take offence. Think more on what Stawmead has revealed to you. Stawmead mind you, not myself nor my men. Take a little chance and trust us and I am certain you shall be surprised. This is no ruse to get you off our boat, just my attempt to show you how others in other lands regard the Yodans. I will take an oath to protect you whilst we are ashore and that we will not abandon you.”

“Heard and witnessed!”

The Sprit of Bibek had approached an open, as opposed to a hidden one, fishing hamlet, apparently much like Fanegada. They just wanted somewhere away from Brio and its horrors to pass the night. Volod had, without discussion, chosen the Lower Fanir bank.

Stawmead had leant his voice to the persuasion of the other two who were now somewhat intrigued to learn how foreigners saw them.

“Please try hard to just listen and not speak, however angry you might feel. Right then, we shall go ashore.”

And so the boat moved under oars to the crude jetty. Volod’s worries were added to as he considered whether said jetty was sturdy enough! There was maybe a bell of light left before the night creatures came out.

… … …

“The Yodans, may a pox take them all, marched off all the young men and half the young women. We have nobody with skills and/or strength enough left to catch fish, nor to repair. Just us old folk. The young children have all died off from malnutrition and none of us left have the strength to build a pyre for our dead. The few young women formed a band and strode away, saying they would search for help. Young women! Alone!” The ancient man broke down into tears. “We have nothing left. We are nothing. We have nothing to look forward to.”

… … …

A sober trio of Yodans were in earnest discussion back aboard the Spirit. None of the Faral contingent were prepared to contribute.

“But,” said Tang, “they are going to die anyway. Would you not just be prolonging their agony?”

“Yes, once we leave, who is going to feed them then?”

Stawmead frowned at Kaal, the last speaker. “That’s certainly a possibility, but who is to say that no-one else will come along in a few days? Are you going to be judge and executioner?

… … …

“Do not alter the positions of those lanterns, nor let them go out!” called Stawmead up to the men on the Hooray Boat.

The borrowed fishing boat, the best of an admittedly bad bunch, had then set out into the main river with four men aboard – Stawmead, Maerni, Heen and Kaal. The first-mentioned had been very persuasive that he could provide sufficient fish for a meal for each person that evening. And hopefully, sufficiently more for another day.

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