Fable: Edge of the World (6 page)

“No such luck, I fear,” Ben said. “Allow me to introduce Captain Jack Timmins. He’s head of His Majesty’s guards.”

Thorpe saluted smartly, and Timmins returned it. “We know
one another,” Timmins said. He grinned and extended a hand. “Good to hear you’ve rejoined us, Thorpe. We’ll need good soldiers like yourself.”

“Knew I wouldn’t be seeing you otherwise, Timmins,” said Thorpe. Ben raised a blond eyebrow and shrugged.

“Well,” he said, “since we’re all such jolly pals, shall we discuss this over a drink?”

The small tavern that serviced the town was much cheerier and less riddled with bullet holes than Ben remembered it. They were served tankards of frothy ale “on the house” from the barkeep Ben last remembered as holding a sword in his hand and hacking at the Half-breeds. They clinked their mugs, raised a toast to “soldiers and all who value them,” and took a drink.

Ben got right down to business. All four of them had looked horrors right in the eye as they fought them. There was no need for softening. Russell and Thorpe listened gravely as Ben explained what Shan had told them and what the plan was.

“So you’re looking for recruits,” said Thorpe finally.

“Aye, as many as you can spare,” said Timmins. “Ben tells me you all stood together to defend your town.”

“That’s because it was our town,” said Russell. Ben was surprised. The anxious-to-please youth he remembered was no more. Russell was still amiable, but he certainly had grown up. “And if threat comes to it, we’ll defend it.”

“Russell,” said Ben, “by the time anything nasty gets to Blackholm, you might not be
able
to defend against it.”

“Who says anything will even come here?” asked Thorpe. “All I’ve heard is the ravings of a young Samarkandian boy. He might have imagined it all.”

“Then he must have read my memoirs,” snapped Ben, “because he certainly manages to accurately describe something I’ve fought firsthand!”

“Something we both have done,” said Timmins.

Ben had had enough of this. He leaned forward. “Look. Are you in or are you out?”

They were silent for a moment. Then Russell said slowly, “Ben, you came and helped defend our town when you had absolutely no stake in doing so. I can’t rightfully say that now, when you’re asking our help, we won’t give it to you. Thorpe?”

Thorpe nodded slowly. “Just so as we’re clear—we’re not sending every strong-limbed youth in the village to Samarkand.”

“That was never the idea,” said Timmins. “Certainly, some need to stay behind in case the darkness encroaches here. But,” he added, “the greater the force that can be brought to bear where the darkness is strong, the more chance to prevent anything from happening in Albion at all.”

Thorpe grunted. “We’ll send as many as we can spare,” he said grudgingly. “Though your young monarch better be right about this.”

Ben had no response to that, so he simply drank.

The king was proud of his people. Once recruitment got under way, they came to Bowerstone for their assignments on horse, in cart or caravan, or on foot. Some of them had weapons to contribute, or food stores. Others had nothing but the clothes on their backs, a few coppers in their purses, and a willingness to serve.

The monarch kept expecting Reaver to show up any minute now, offering some new spit-polished weaponry in exchange for something degrading and cruel. But he didn’t, though Reaver Industries—sans child labor these days—was going great guns, as the turn of phrase went.

Both the King and Queen of Albion were no strangers to the
men and women willing to fight. They moved regularly among the tent cities that sprang up around Bowerstone proper, making sure the recruits were as comfortable as possible and keeping up their spirits. Ben undertook training the most raw of them, while Timmins worked on getting an entire army up, running, and on Kalin’s ships.

Sabine had departed for home but left Boulder behind to escort young Shan back to Mistpeak when the boy was ready to leave. Shan had agreed to stay on, to give the king as much information as he could about his homeland. He kept to himself at first, but eventually became a fixture in the castle. The servants felt very protective of him; everyone knew what he had undergone. Shan moved at the king’s side at meetings, and even went with him to help recruit more soldiers. Laylah especially had taken him under her wing. With her kindness, the king’s appreciation, and the quiet acceptance of his presence, Shan had begun to come out of his shell.

And six weeks after Shan had stood trembling before the King of Albion warning of the darkness that had infiltrated Samarkand, the fleet was ready to sail.

The mood was somber at the last meal before the dawn departure of the fleet. The king had invited his friends to dine with him at the royal table. The food was delicious, but as he chewed and swallowed, washing the bite of roast pheasant down with wine, the king realized he wasn’t really tasting it. Which was quite a shame; the rations they would be forced to eat at sea and likely upon their arrival in Samarkand wouldn’t be nearly so tasty.

There was idle conversation, about weather, popular theater, and fashion; and finally the king put down his knife and fork.

“We’re all dancing around the fact that the fleet departs on the morrow. This is our last chance to be together. If anyone has
any doubts, or comments, or ideas, or incredibly brilliant last-minute plans on how to whip the darkness good and proper and be home before spring, now’s the time, ladies and gentlemen.”

“My men are ready,” said Timmins. “I daresay a few of them will be nursing headaches tomorrow, but they’ll be there. We’ve got plenty of equipment, ammunition, and stout hearts.”

The king glanced at Ben and realized from Finn’s expression that he, too, was thinking of the terrifying shadows they had fought. “I’d say when it comes right down to it, the last one’s the most important,” the king said.

“I would agree,” said Ben. “I’ve been drilling them daily. They know what they’re doing. And they know why they’re doing it.”

“Page?”

“I stand ready to help Her Majesty manage the kingdom in your absence,” said Page. “And I have eyes and ears in many places. We’ll hear quickly if there’s any disturbance in Albion while you’re gone.”

He nodded and squeezed his wife’s hand. She was, not unexpectedly, taking this harder than any of them. But he was proud of how well she was bearing up. To his surprise, she cleared her throat.

“I will be coordinating with Jasper, Page, and Captain Timmins, and getting regular updates from them,” she said. “Page and Captain Timmins have also offered to help train me to defend myself, should the need arise. Our allies such as Sabine and others in distant places are to send me reports once every two weeks. I intend to continue to make myself visible to the public, to keep up morale. And if there are any hints of threats to Albion, I will act on them swiftly.”

He smiled at her. “Well,” he said, “it sounds like my kingdom won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“
I
will,” she said for his ears only, and he kissed her hand.

“The ships stand ready,” said Kalin. “The Auroran people are eager to repay Albion for its aid. You will have many who know this enemy and are more than willing to die to see it brought down.”

“There will be loss of life,” said the king. “But I pray it will be kept to a minimum.”

“Sire? May I speak?” The king turned to Shan, surprised.

“Of course, please, go right ahead.”

The young man swallowed hard. “I lost my family to the Shadows and the darkness. I have no wish for my whole country to fall—or yours. If you truly believe my presence can make a difference … I will come with you.”

The king was deeply moved. “Shan—you are the only one among us who knows your country. We are all operating on legends, folktales, and accounts in history books older than Jasper is. What do you think?”

He smiled resignedly. “I think I could be of help.”

“Good lad. Now, let’s all finish this dessert because we certainly won’t be getting berry pies where we’re going.”

The King and Queen of Albion sat astride beautiful white horses. Rex, an expert at evading horses’ hooves, trotted along beside them, tongue lolling and tail wagging. The king wore his regalia, the cut and style of the tunic and trousers marking them as a military ensemble. The queen, in honor of the name of her homeland, wore a gown in shades of rose, gold, and light blue. The day was cold, but clear and bright, and the winter sunlight caught the glitter of their golden crowns.

The crowds thronged the streets of Bowerstone, cheering, tossing confetti and flowers, their faces shining with hope and
devotion to their leader. The king returned their smiles, exuding an air of confidence he did not quite feel.

Behind the royal couple rode Ben, Page, Timmins, and Shan. They, too, were greeted with adulation and approval. Finn seemed to revel in the attention, catching the odd thrown rose now and then, inhaling, and smiling at the lady who had tossed it to him. Page and Timmins, however, did not seem quite as comfortable with being, quite literally, on parade; indeed, Page’s horse seemed uncomfortable with her on his back as well.

They rode to the docks and dismounted. The horses were led onto the waiting ships while the king, Rex following, moved to a dais and podium that had been set up the previous night. He waved for the cheering to die down, then began to address his subjects.

“For seven years, I have striven to bring peace and prosperity to Albion,” he said, his clear tenor voice carrying. “To an extent, I have succeeded—thanks to the hard work and faith of you, my people. Now, a threat looms, both perhaps in Albion and in a far-distant land. Benjamin Finn and thousands of trained soldiers, along with engines of war and weapons aplenty, will be sailing to Samarkand to meet the enemy in its own lair. Know that I have the utmost faith in my lady wife, Queen Laylah, to lead you as well as I should. She will be advised by Page, whom many of you know as a woman whose passion for justice and equality helped make our revolution successful, and Captain Jack Timmins, whose military expertise is without peer and whose loyalty and insight is beyond question. You may do better with these three than you did under my solo rule!”

Friendly laughter rippled through the crowd. The king let it linger for a moment, then sobered.

“I will do everything in my power to stop this evil, and to protect Albion and all those who dwell here. With your support, we
embark today on the noblest of crusades. And we will return victorious!”

Enthusiastic cheering went up. He waved and stepped back, then glanced down at Rex. His gut twisted when he realized that he couldn’t take his old friend—literally,
old
friend. He had been warned that Samarkand had freezing nights and scalding days. Rex was over a decade old, of an age where he liked warm fires and soft pillows. To take him into so harsh an environment would be wrong. Rex had earned a comfortable retirement.

“I’m sorry,” the king said. “You’ll have to stay behind.”

Rex lifted his black ears, his brown eyes soulful, and whimpered. The king patted his head.

“Stay, Rex. Stay with me,” came a soft voice. It belonged to Laylah. The king rose and regarded her. She looked every inch a true queen, calm and confident, but he saw tears she refused to shed filling her eyes. Impulsively he swept her into his arms and gave her a deep, loving kiss. He heard Timmins clearing his throat, Ben saying, “Yes!” and the crowd going wild. The exotic love affair of their king and the beautiful maiden of Aurora had been very popular, and it seemed that they would willingly support being ruled by Queen Laylah. Reluctantly he let her go.

“Look after Rex, and he’ll look after you,” he said.

“I know. We’ll take care of one another.”

Softly, he whispered, “My only regret is not being with you.”

“As is mine, my husband and king,” she replied quietly. “But all will be well, and we will be together soon.”

He tore himself away from her, waved to the crowd, and trotted up the gangplank. He did not look back; he was too afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

To the dark-skinned Captain Samur, he said, “Let us set sail. The sooner we depart, the sooner we can return.”

“Aye-aye, Your Majesty.”

Behind him on the dock, Rex let out a long, mournful howl.

On the pier, standing by the podium, Queen Laylah watched the fleet depart. She placed her left hand on her heart and folded the right one over it, feeling the reassuring hardness of her wedding ring.

Beloved … I will do my best to prove your faith in me. Only … come home. Please come home
.

“A
few m-more days like the last six and I’ll be so w-wet I’ll be able to
live
in the water,” muttered Ben. The king said nothing, but he shared his friend’s sentiment. The first storm had come upon them barely a few hours into the journey, and storms had been virtually unceasing since then. The swells had been so intense that the ships’ cooks feared to prepare meals with fire, and so for the last four days, no one—not even the king—had had anything hot, not even so much as a cup of tea. Then again, with all the pitching of the ships, no one had had much of an appetite. Even the king had found himself in the undignified position of hanging over the railing with a stomach rolling as violently as the ship itself. More than once.

“I thought you l-liked adventure,” the king said. It was not particularly cold in the dank, fetid hold, but being constantly wet made one constantly chilled.

“Adventure? Certainly. T-torture? Not quite so much,” said Ben.

They and a few others were huddled belowdecks, staying only marginally drier than the crew who were bombarded by
crashing waves and pouring rain. The only one who seemed completely stoic under the adverse conditions was young Shan. Considering that the young man had already faced his greatest fear—returning to Samarkand—to aid them, the monarch supposed that anything else might seem a stroll in the gardens to him. The phrase made him think of the Gardens of Pleasure that had once been open to all citizens of Samarkand. He turned to Shan.