Fable: Edge of the World (7 page)

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” he said. “I keep thinking the weather will clear, but it seems to like it all dark and thundery. Perhaps this would be as good a time as any to talk about our plans.”

Shan nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Shan got to his feet, unhooked one of the swaying lanterns from the ceiling, and made his unsteady way to a table in the center of the room. The king and Ben joined him. Ben lifted the lantern and shone it over the map, everyone being mindful both of the fire and the dampness. The king saw other soldiers sitting in various corners.

“Come forward,” he said. “I may be the general of this army, but it’s you who’ll be fighting alongside me.”

He saw awkward but pleased smiles as a few of them moved to sit on the benches and peer at the map.

It was simple, as such things went. Shan had informed them some time ago that their “classic” maps in the Bowerstone Castle library were terribly inaccurate and had drawn them a new one. It lacked the artfulness displayed by the professional mapmakers, but to the king, it was much more valuable.

“Over here, to the west, is your Dweller town of Mistpeak,” Shan said. “These are the Blade Mountains that … that I crossed.” A shadow passed over his face for a moment, but he continued. “The mountains embrace Samarkand on three sides—west, north, and east. The south is the shoreline of our
country. We will make landfall at Fairwinds, a very wealthy port, then follow the main trade route as directly as possible to Zahadar, which is here.” He tapped the northeast corner of the map. The king saw the Great Trade Road begin at the center of the shoreline, then arc away to the west before swinging back to the northeast.

“That’s a pretty roundabout way to go,” said one of the men, then added quickly, “Your Majesty.”

“So I said as well,” the king replied. “But we’ll never be able to get engines of war, or horses, or so many soldiers to Zahadar without a decent road. Or water,” he added, “or places to stop for resupplying.”

“Over here, and here,” said Shan, “is only desert. Here is Sweetwater Trees, the first oasis village we will come to. We can rest here and resupply. Close by, there once was a great city. In the course of three days and nights, it was completely covered by a sandstorm. Very few people escaped. Its name is no longer spoken. We call it, ‘Asur-keh-la,’ which in our ancient tongue means ‘The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns.’ ”

“
That
will help tourism,” said Ben.

“Well, er, we’ll make sure we steer well clear of it,” the king said.

Shan nodded, not noticing Ben’s sarcasm. “Elsewhere along the Great Trade Road, there are a few other small villages and places where we can find water. But one place we should be sure we go to is this. It is the ‘Cave of a Thousand Guardians.’ I was only there once, as a child, but it was very beautiful. The statues of all of Samarkand’s Heroes are there, and it is a serene and healing place. Plus, there is an underground spring that has never run dry.” His brown eyes regarded the king solemnly. “You will notice, Majesty, that our path is based largely on where we can find water.”

The king nodded. “Go on.”

“These spots are where we can find oasis towns. And all along the road, if we are lucky, we will encounter nomads who will be able to sell us food and other necessities.”

“Well,” said Ben, “this doesn’t sound as bad as I feared.”

Shan turned to him. “Mr. Finn, what I tell you, I tell you from memory. From before the Empress rose to power and the darkness came. This,” he said, indicating a place on the map close to the Blade Mountains, “is my village, Sammah. This, I know recently. The rest of Samarkand …” He shook his head. “Majesty, I cannot tell you if any nomads are left to walk the roads. I cannot tell you if the oasis towns have not been swallowed by the black storms of the desert. I cannot tell you that the Empress’s army won’t be waiting for us right on the shore.”

“Then what bloody use are you to us?” The bellow came from one of the soldiers, who had been growing increasingly distressed by Shan’s words. He reached across the table and grabbed Shan by the shirt. “We’ve heard the stories … how you claim to have been ‘released’ by the Shadows to come warn us. Well, maybe you are one of them!”

“Let him go!” ordered the king. The soldier did so, reluctantly. Shan’s face had gone pale. “Do you think this had not occurred to me? This boy is under my protection. And if I hear that any harm befalls him, or there are any disrespectful words or actions directed at him, rest assured I will deal with that. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nodded, chastised.

“Now,” said the king, “what’s that mark, over there?

The sword glittered as it descended. Swiftly, clumsily, Laylah brought her own sword up just in time. The blades clashed,
sending a shower of sparks. Her arm trembling, sweat dotting her brow, Laylah leaped back, then made a desperate feint to the left. Her opponent anticipated the move and easily blocked the queen’s blow. With a swift, almost lazy movement, the blade twisted. Laylah’s sword flew out of her hand, clattering to the floor. As her opponent’s sword descended in a merciless arc, Laylah screamed and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Laylah,” said Page’s voice, calm and slightly annoyed, “we agreed that screaming was not the right thing to do.”

“Actually,” Laylah said, her voice quivering slightly as she opened her eyes and picked up her dropped weapon, “when you think about it, it would be a fine thing to do.”

“No, we discussed this,” Page reminded her, grinning a little. “Scream at the
start
if someone attacks you, and you’d like help. Then fight your enemy off until help arrives.” She went to the sideboard and poured water from a crystal pitcher for herself and her friend.

Laylah took a few gulps, then said, “You’re right, of course. I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you recognized it,” said Page, squeezing Laylah’s arm warmly. “That’s why we’re doing this. The more you practice and get familiar with coming under ‘attack,’ the more you will become used to the idea. If something ever does happen, then you won’t be paralyzed by fear.”

The two women were dressed in shirts, trousers, and boots. Page had said it was easier to learn the movements without the encumbrance of skirts. “Although once I had to fight in a formal costume,” she said. “That was interesting.”

“Oh?” asked Laylah. “Against whom?”

Page made a sour face. “Your husband and I were pitted against a variety of opponents by one Mr. Reaver.”

Laylah was startled. “What? He never told me. I knew that
Mr. Reaver wasn’t very popular because of his cruelness to his workers, but … he tried to kill the king?”

“He did,” said Page. “He has entertainment rooms in all of his houses, where he and his twisted toadies can watch as some hapless prisoner is pitted against balverines, sand furies, and … other things.”

It was clear that Page didn’t want to talk about it, so Laylah let the subject drop. For now. The revelation had deeply distressed Laylah, and she wondered how many other things her husband had kept from her.

“Well,” said Laylah, “at some point, I probably should try to fight in a dress. I mean”—and she tried to lighten the moment—“someone trying to kill me isn’t going to wait until I change into trousers and tie my hair out of the way.”

“An astute observation, Your Majesty.” The two women turned to see Captain Timmins entering, giving his hat and walking stick to Barrows. “Mind if I see for myself how Page’s tutoring is going?”

“Not at all,” said Laylah, though in truth she was uncomfortable with the idea of sparring with Timmins. He nodded, shrugged out of his coat, and handed that, too, to Barrows. He strode to the row of weapons hanging on the wall, examining them carefully. Laylah looked down at her scimitar. Thus far, it was the only weapon she had practiced with.

“Ah, here we are,” said Timmins. He turned around and Laylah saw that he had a dagger in one hand and a short sword in the other.

“
Two
weapons?” she asked.

“Why not?” said Timmins, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You may well be the target of an assassination, Your Majesty. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“Of course she does,” said Page before Laylah could answer.

“You can’t content yourself with simple swordsmanship,” Timmins continued. His voice was hard. “You need to be prepared to defend yourself with a pistol on the bedstand, the knife you use to slice cheese for a snack, a figurine you can break and use to gouge out eyes, even your own body. Do you understand this?”

Laylah, taken aback by the flurry of words and the seemingly angry tone, nodded.

“Then have at me!” Timmins cried, and charged.

Laylah had thought sparring with Page had been difficult and challenging. She realized now that Page had been going easy on her. Timmins attacked with lightning speed and strength, shouting words at her she was too overwhelmed to even understand. A scant few seconds later she was unarmed and on the floor, staring up at a man who had both a dagger and a sword respectively pressed to her throat and belly.

Timmins grunted and stepped back. Page hastened over to Laylah and helped her up. Laylah was shaking violently but did her best to hide it, folding her arms tightly across her chest. Timmins clearly thought little of her; she had no desire for him to think less.

“What are you doing?” Page snapped at Timmins. “We’ve only been practicing for a couple of weeks!”

“That’s all some of the recruits had to train, and they’re on ships sailing to fight a terrible and terrifying darkness,” Timmins said. “The king—”

“Was trained by Sir Walter Beck from childhood how to fight,” Page said. “Laylah didn’t have that luxury.”

“No one has the luxury now to let others down—or get themselves foolishly and senselessly killed,” Timmins said. “Least of all the queen who’s currently ruling Albion.” He put away the weapons and rang for Barrows. As he shrugged into his coat and
took his hat and cane, he said, “Step up the sparring, Page. I’ll come work with her again once she’s got the basics down.” He bowed deeply, and, it seemed to Laylah, with genuine courtesy, which confused her. “Your Majesty.”

He turned and strode out. Page squeezed Laylah’s arm. “I’m going to talk to him. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Laylah nodded, endeavoring to look relaxed and composed. As soon as Page had gone, she forced herself to calmly put away her weapons properly, then rang for Barrows.

“Have a chambermaid draw me a bath, please,” she said.

“Right away, Your Majesty.” Barrows bowed and withdrew.

Alone in the sparring room, Laylah finally unfolded her arms. Blood was wet and sticky on her right hand, where she had clamped down on the thin slice across her left bicep. The shirt was damaged beyond repair, and indeed, Laylah had no desire for anyone to see it. The cut would heal quickly once it was cleaned and bandaged for a day or two.

Was she so terrible at defending herself that even a master swordsman like Jack Timmins couldn’t stop himself from injuring her?

Or was this Timmins’s way of teaching her a lesson?

Page hastened through the castle, racing down the stairs until she caught up with Timmins. He didn’t slow his long-legged stride but did glance down at her.

“Was that really necessary?” asked Page.

“Yes, it was.”

“There are other ways to teach rather than shouting at someone and making her feel useless.”

“There are,” Timmins agreed, “and I’d prefer it if this was simply teaching Queen Laylah how to fight in order to keep her
figure trim. But it’s not. I appreciate that she’s suddenly been hurled into the deep end of the ocean, but she either sinks or swims. And I know you understand that.”

Page sighed. “I do,” she admitted.

He softened a little. “She’s got to rule so that this country believes in her as much as they do her husband. And she’s got to be able to defend herself in case no one’s around to do it for her. She can’t keep quailing like a doe every time someone raises their voice or approaches her with a weapon. Do you think I want to hear the hue and cry and find her dead on the floor one night?” He looked stricken at the thought. “She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. It’s no wonder the king loves her so much. But she’s got to help us help
her
to stay safe!”

“I know, I know,” said Page. “But—give her a little time. I’ll step up the training, I promise. You need to understand she still gets sore from simply holding a sword.”

He did come to a halt now and looked at her. “You treat her how you wish, Page,” he said. “But I intend to do everything necessary to make sure that she’s strong enough to inspire her people and to defend herself if some bloody assassin sneaks past the guards and into her room one night. That’s what I pledged to do when I swore fealty to her and the king—to devote myself to serving them and protecting them. I couldn’t bear to let them down.”

“I understand,” said Page, and she did. The trick was, how to make Laylah understand.

A
fter two weeks during which the idea of dry land that was actually both A) dry and B) land became everyone’s wildest dream, the shore was finally sighted. The joyful cry of “Land ho!” from the first ship to behold it was caught up and echoed with cheers from ship to ship. Right now, it was only a speck against the horizon, but in a few hours, they would all have to get their land legs again. Everyone was pleased at the prospect. Everyone, it seemed, except Kalin, who stepped beside the king and turned her aquiline face to the brownish smudge on the horizon.

“The sun is already sinking,” she said.

“It is,” said the king. “It will be full-on night before we can make landing. Not only would it be unwise to attempt to unload such massive weaponry in the darkness, but—”

“But there is the darkness itself to fear,” said Kalin. “We will have to wait until dawn.”

The king agreed and issued the orders. No one overtly complained—the logic was too sound—but no one was happy about it, either.

“At least we can have a hot meal tonight,” said the
Queen
Laylah
’s cook, and that seemed to brighten a few spirits. As night fell, everyone came up on deck to enjoy the clear, calm evening. The sunset was beautiful, and the hot meal, a simple beef stew and hard tack to go with it, tasted like the finest meal the king had ever had.