The Bloodforged (8 page)

“Your support is deeply appreciated,” Liam said, launching into his second prepared line, “and we know you are doing everything you can to accelerate preparations to join us in this fight.”

A new voice spoke then—smooth and dark, languid, like molasses. It oozed out from behind a crude mask of black wood adorned with a single, all-seeing eye. Liam sensed something different about the words, something less than cordial, but he couldn't be sure, because the man was speaking Onnani.
Is he talking to me? How in the Nine Domains am I supposed to—

The little herald at the foot of the steps spoke up. “It is good to hear you say so,” the booming voice said, translating. “In
view of your presence here, one might have thought His Majesty had doubts on that score.”

And just like that, the atmosphere in the room grew thin and quivering, a drawn bowstring, the arrow pointed right at Liam's chest.

“He doesn't,” Liam said—too quickly. He tried for a disarming smile. “If he did, he would hardly send me, a man who knows nothing at all of ships.”

Your humility will go a long way with them
, Alix had said.

But Alix had never met this priest of Eldora, whoever he was. He cocked his head, the all-seeing eye tilting slightly, and the honeyed voice spoke again. He hadn't waited for a translation. He didn't seem to need one.
I'll bet he speaks Erromanian just fine
, Liam thought sourly.

“Indeed?” The little herald's voice thundered under the dome. “Which of his advisors would he have sent, one wonders? Which captain of the seas would he have selected to advise us?” The translation contained no trace of sarcasm—which made the barb all the sharper.

Sweet Farika.
Liam glanced helplessly at Rona Brown, his guide in all courtly things. She stared back at him, her features carefully blank. She could do nothing for him, not without making him look like a fool in front of everyone. Liam was on his own.

Dogs could smell fear, Alix had said. Apparently, so could politicians. Liam had faced battles with more confidence than this. He'd faced death with more cold-blooded determination.

The thought gave him an idea.

“We don't have many captains of the sea, it's true.” Liam addressed his words to the priest of Eldora, fixing the all-seeing eye with the same look he gave foes on the battlefield, the one that dared them to come on. “But we do have captains of war. Seasoned and tested, especially in these
troubling times
. And I flatter myself to think that I'm one such.” He bowed then, low and deliberate. “I'm not here to advise you, my lord speaker. I'm here to learn, as much as I can, as quickly as I can, so that my king and his commander general have all the information they need to plan our strategy for this new season of war.”

To Liam's vast relief, it was First Speaker Kar who spoke next. “And in that task we shall assist you to the best of our ability. For
as Speaker Irtok has rightly said, the people of Onnan stand beside our Aldenian brothers. You shall be accorded every courtesy and assistance.” The spun-glass flame ducked again, a grave nod to seal the words.

There was a stretch of silence. Something stirred at Liam's elbow. The man who'd escorted them from the anteroom was standing there, waiting. They'd been dismissed.

The pocket-sized herald struck up again, but the words were Onnani, clearly not intended for Liam's ears. He quit the hall with as much princely dignity as he could muster, not daring to breathe until the thick wooden doors came to behind him.

“Holy Virtues,” Dain Cooper muttered. “I need a drink.”

“I need a cloak,” said Rona. “It was
freezing
in there.” She didn't mean the temperature, Liam knew.

A few moments. A handful of words. That was all the time he'd merited, apparently. Would they have dismissed Erik so quickly? Liam didn't think so. “The priest of Eldora. Who is he?”

His officers shook their heads. “Do you think we'll see him again?” Dain asked.

“Yeah,” Liam said grimly, “I do. And I think it's going to be a problem.”

L
iam paced the sunroom like one of those bears they keep in cages at the fair. (Probably. He'd never actually been to a fair, but he'd heard.) He was wearing down the shine on the floor, black-and-white marble glossy enough to shave in and with the approximate traction of a frozen lake. It was a miracle he hadn't yet fallen and broken his neck, but that didn't stop him from tearing back and forth, back and forth, the
way he'd seen Erik do a hundred times when he was agitated and needed to think.

Not that it was helping. They'd been back at Bayview for over an hour, and Liam was no closer to figuring out what in the Nine Domains he was supposed to do next. His officers watched him in silence, their expressions ranging from bored (Ide) to worried (Rona) to mildly embarrassed (Dain).

“Maybe we should get drunk,” Ide suggested.

Rona blinked at her in astonishment. “I hardly think that would help matters.”

“It'd pass the time. You ever seen the commander tippy? He giggles. Worth seeing. More entertaining than this, anyway.”

“He needs to think,” Rona said. “This is a very serious situation.”

“Not to mention confusing,” Dain put in. “I don't see how he's going to make top nor bottom of all this—”

“You all realise I'm
right here
, don't you? I may be thick, but I'm not deaf.”

“You're not thick, Commander,” Rona said, rising. “You're doing fine. Anyone would be overwhelmed by this.”

Erik wouldn't.
Liam kept the thought to himself.

“The important thing is not to
seem
overwhelmed,” Rona continued. “Diplomacy is all about crafting an image. Carry yourself as if you belong here, and soon enough, you will.”

She sounded a lot like Alix just then, and it comforted him. He nodded, forcing himself to stop pacing.

“Excuse me, Your Highness.” The servant who'd escorted him earlier—Shef, he'd said his name was—appeared in the doorway. “You have visitors. First Speaker Kar and Defence Consul Welin are in the entrance hall.”

Liam stiffened in surprise. “Here? Now?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Shall I . . . ?”

“Of course. Show them in.”

Rona Brown swept over to the window seat, arranging herself in a posture that was dignified, but relaxed. She gave Liam a meaningful look.

Diplomacy is all about crafting an image.
He needed to look confident, as if he belonged here. He cast a glance around the room, settled on a pitcher of wine, and stationed himself near the table.

First Speaker Kar and his consul of defence entered the sunroom to find the prince and his officers pouring wine, reclining, and leafing casually through old books, to all appearances passing a pleasant afternoon. The speakers had brought a third man with them, Liam saw, the only one of the three not robed as a priest.

It was Rona Brown who set the tone. She rose and bowed—cool, unhurried, not a servant genuflecting, but an equal paying respect. She was pitch-perfect—as good as Alix, maybe better.
Thank Farika she's here
, Liam thought, not for the first time.

“Speakers,” he said. “Welcome.”

“Your Highness.” The first speaker had shed his formal mask, thankfully; Liam could see his face now. That sat easier with him. Liam didn't trust anyone he couldn't look in the eyes.

“May I introduce my secretary, Ash Bookman.” The third man, the one Liam didn't know, inclined his head. “Ash will be at your service throughout your stay with us. He will organise your schedule and arrange any meetings you desire.”

“Thank you.”

“I must apologise, Your Highness, if my learned colleague was less than civil this morning. Speaker Syril is a staunch republican, and no ally of the war effort. It was, I fear, a case of shooting the messenger.” He smiled then, an expression so artfully crafted that Liam had the impression of a pantomime.
He's still wearing a mask after all
, Liam thought. One of flesh instead of spun glass.

“I'm not familiar with Speaker Syril,” Liam said.

“Entirely understandable.” It was Welin who replied, disdainfully. He was a round, wrinkled man of medium complexion; the overall effect was that of a large walnut. Right down to the bitter insides, judging from his sneering expression.

“What Speaker Welin means,” Kar said, “is that Speaker Syril came to his position only recently. The People's Congress had something of an internal power struggle last summer, and when the dust settled, Syril was their new leader. He is”—the painted smile again—“sly.”

“I see,” said Liam, though he really didn't. “Please, take a seat.”

Kar settled onto the window seat Rona had abandoned, arranging his priestly robes around him. The walnut rolled in beside him.

“Wine, my lords?” Rona said.

“Yes, thank you, Lady Brown.” Kar's gaze followed Rona across the room, his brow slightly stitched.
She confuses him
, Liam thought. Bad enough that she was a female knight, something the conservative Onnani just didn't understand; she was also a banner lady. The Republicana had been informed she'd be part of the delegation, but they probably hadn't realised she was a Wolf. They'd have expected her to come in a fancy frock, with jewels on her fingers. Instead, she'd come in White Wolf armour, with a sword at her hip.

Good. Let them be confused about our politics for a change.
Maybe it would even out the battlefield a little. “So,” Liam said, “what happens now?”

Kar took the glass Rona offered him. He sipped from it, then set it down, turning the glass a little as though to admire the cut crystal. He folded his hands over his knees and gazed at Liam.

Hardly any drama there.

“Can I be frank, Your Highness?”

I seriously doubt it.
Aloud, Liam said, “Please.”

“My colleagues and I have reason to believe that the setbacks we are experiencing with the fleet are not entirely accidental.”

Liam regarded him warily. “Meaning . . . ?”

“Meaning,” said Welin, “that someone is deliberately employing delaying tactics.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“To embarrass the government,” Kar said. “To make us look like incompetent fools. Next year is an election year, Your Highness. The games are well under way.”

Liam stared. His country was at war, thousands dead and dying, bandits marauding over half the territory, raping and stealing . . . and these fishmen were using the fleet as a game piece in their sodding
elections
?

Dain Cooper cleared his throat. “Commander . . .”

“Go ahead.” Liam was only too happy to let Dain talk; it would give him a chance to calm down. Thumping the leader of a foreign country would probably qualify as a diplomatic incident.

“Do you have actual evidence of that?” Dain asked. “Or is it just a theory?”

“It is the only plausible explanation,” said Kar. “But perhaps you would like to judge for yourselves. Would you care to pay a visit to the shipyard, Your Highness? I know it was planned for tomorrow, to give you a chance to rest from your journey, but—”

Liam was already on his feet. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

“And this,” said
First Speaker Kar, “is Mallik, our Chief Shipwright.” He nodded at a thickset man with compact features and leathery skin. “Chief, if you please.”

“Happy to, First Speaker.” The chief shipwright gestured behind him at a towering structure braced with scaffolding. “After you, Your Highness.”

Liam craned his neck until it hurt. The thing was
huge
, its wooden rib cage looming over them like the carcass of some massive sea creature.

Dain Cooper whistled appreciatively. “That's quite a vessel. How many oars?”

“A hundred each side,” the chief said with a grin. He glanced back over his shoulder at the first speaker and his deputy. “Biggest galley ever built,” he added, apparently for their benefit. “Half again the size of anything the Oridians have.”

The air rang with hammer blows and the shouts of workmen. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead, and the smells of pitch and wet sawdust filled Liam's nose, vying for dominance with the salt tang of the sea. A soft, rhythmic pulse of white noise washed over him every few moments.
The waves.
He longed to see them, but he had work to do.

As he approached the galley, he saw that it was only the first in a long line stacked up on wooden platforms. Some looked almost complete; others were little more than a few bowed sticks gathered together, like a barrel before it's banded.

None of them was finished. Not a gods-damned
one
.

“A new design of my own devising,” the chief was saying proudly. “See these front turrets? Perfect for archers. And there's plenty of open space on the deck for transporting siege engines.”

“How many men can they carry?” Rona asked.

It was the first speaker's secretary, Ash, who answered.
“Four hundred apiece, not counting the crew. Those were the specifications given by the Republicana.”

“And cursedly difficult to meet, I don't mind telling you,” the chief said. “But we managed.”

Liam was about to ask the chief for his definition of
managed
when he felt someone's gaze on him. He turned to find a dockhand looking at him—staring, really—with a gaze that couldn't be called warm. He wasn't the only one, either. Glancing around, Liam realised that every man on the docks was watching their little party of dignitaries, and none of them seemed especially friendly. Were those frosty looks intended for him, he wondered, or the members of the Republicana?

“Speaker,” he said in a low voice, “do we have a problem?”

Kar raised his eyebrows and looked around. “What, the dockies?” He made a dismissive gesture. “Never mind them. They always look like that.”

“A more self-entitled group of malcontents never existed,” Welin added. “They are almost enough to put me off unions entirely.”

Liam glanced at his officers, saw his own confusion reflected in their faces. “What's a union?”

“Do not concern yourself, Your Highness,” Kar said. “Ash will explain that and more, at your leisure.”

They continued wandering alongside the half-finished hull of the galley, the chief shipwright nattering on about this innovation and that, telling them how many wagonloads of timber had gone into it, how many men, how well balanced it was and how light on the draught—on and on, as if this ship were the single greatest invention in the history of warfare. Which maybe it was—Liam didn't know. He didn't
care
. There was only one thing he wanted to know. “How long does it take to build?”

The chief fell silent. His gaze cut briefly to Defence Consul Welin. “If everything goes as it should, about six months.”

“Six months. Meaning a first round of them should have been finished by now, assuming you only started
after
declaring war.”

The chief's eyes met his. “If everything goes as it should,” he said again, deliberately.

“And how far along are these?”

“About three months, Your Highness.”

Liam frowned. “How does that work? My maths may not be top drawer, but—”

“Your Highness.” First Speaker Kar smiled and spread his hands. “We can discuss this further back at Bayview. Have you seen everything you wish to see?” His smile was as wooden as the timber planks behind him. Little splinters gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Sure,” Liam said. “I think I've seen enough.”
Enough to know I'm not getting anywhere with you around.

He thanked the chief for his time. Then he followed First Speaker Kar back up the hill to where the horses waited.

*   *   *

“Thank you again,
Your Highness,” Kar said, bowing. “Ash will return first thing in the morning. He will take excellent care of you, and if there is anything more you need from me personally, do not hesitate to let me know.”

Because you've been such a big help so far.
Aloud, Liam said, “Bye.”

Ide came to join them as they watched Kar and the others ride down the drive. “How'd it go?” she asked.

“Oh, splendid. Perfect. Unless of course the idea was to
learn
anything, in which case, not so well.”

“Not very forthcoming?”

Liam snorted. “That bloke is slippery as a”—
Not fish! You can't say fish!
—“marble floor,” he finished lamely, avoiding Dain's eye.

“The shipwright clearly had more to say,” Rona added. “The question is, why was Kar so keen to hurry us out of there? What didn't he want us to hear?”

“There's so much that doesn't make sense,” Liam said. “It looks like they're building everything from scratch down there, but why? What happened to their existing fleet?”

“That's a good question, Commander,” Dain said. “I've seen the fleet a few times. It's never been big—the Onnani put more effort into fishing boats and merchant vessels than warships—but it was there. You used to see big galleys anchored out in the bay. A beautiful thing at sunrise.”

“So where are they now?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course; none of them had an answer.

They found Shef waiting for them inside. “You have another visitor, Your Highness,” the servant said. “Chairman Irtok is waiting for you in the sunroom.”

Liam sighed. And here he thought he'd met his quota of politicians for the day.

The chairman rose when Liam and his officers came into the room, his silver robes falling into neat, shining folds. “Your Highness.”

If Liam hadn't been told who awaited him, he never would have recognised the man. With his mask on, Irtok had been a grave, imposing figure. Without it, he looked old and querulous, with narrow-set eyes and a disapproving mouth. He was balding, but tried to disguise the fact by casting an improbable wave of grey hair over the crown of his head.