A Shore Too Far

Chapter 4

My father often spoke about what he called the Mask Imperial, the visage a ruler must maintain so that all onlookers know that there is nothing he wouldn’t do to execute his will, nothing he wouldn’t do to preserve the kingdom. As I glared at Prince Eglanna, I saw him struggle to don that very composure. I saw him try and fail. He would hold my gaze only a moment before looking back down at the table.

“What right,” I began, “do you have to set foot on our soil with troops? What right do you have to lie to the sovereigns that rule here?”

The prince opened his mouth as though to speak and then closed it.

“What of you, Eldrazz?” I pressed. “I sense your bloodline as well, your unwillingness to bow. Do you share in this lie?”

Eldrazz leapt to his feet, his blood hot in his face. “I did not face hazard and hardship to be spoken to in this manner!”

“No,” I said coolly. “You came here to lie, though for what purpose I cannot say yet.”

“I am a prince with all rights,” he cried. “Is this how you treat noble blood?”

“Perhaps I should tell you how I treat noble blood that lands on my shore with troops?” I asked, seething.

Both princes stiffened. Kannafen stood quickly and reached to calm Eldrazz. Slowly, the younger brother began to regain his footing.

“Please,” the younger prince said, “you must consider the matter from our side, High General. We found ourselves forced to land—”

“I will not hear you out,” I interrupted. “The offense you have given is to Prince Eric Asgrand. He will hear your explanations, if there can be any. Assemble your honor guard at first light, Prince Eglanna. You and your brother will present yourselves to Prince Eric’s court at his earliest convenience, or you may reboard your ships, disease and all, and leave our shores untroubled by your childish games.”

I turned on my heel and left the Kullobrini standing beneath the tent. I could hear Gonnaban hurrying to follow.

“Well, now we know what they guard that is so precious,” Gonnaban whispered behind me.

“No,” I said, “now we know less than we did before.”

We walked the quarter mile to my tent, and I returned the salutes of my guards as we neared. A moment later, we stood around my war table and gazed out at the tents glowing in the night.

“Begging your pardon, but two of their sovereigns would seem pretty valuable,” Gonnaban said. “If we had to put ashore somewhere with illness or the like, I might counsel you to lie about your bloodline.”

“Do you think my career, my life at war, has changed me?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Highness, what? Changed you? Well, I don’t—”

“Prince Eric and my father, they have been worried about me, worried that my life defending the kingdom has affected me, has changed how I view the world, people…everything, I would guess.”

Gonnaban looked at me as though in a stupor. Then he turned to the war table and ran a finger down one of its many scars. His gaze followed one furrow after another until he met my eyes.

“What we do, Highness, it has to leave a mark, eh?” Gonnaban said carefully. “When I took that arrow at Cheergate, I was out for weeks healing, but did you know I still woke every morning at dawn? Still put on my uniform? Still did a turn around the healer’s house? My fever raging, the healers yelling at me.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s like that too for how we think.”

I would be lying if I said his words did not chill me, and I found my eyes, like his, tracing wooden scars in the battered table.

“But begging your pardon again,” Gonnaban said, “I have never known anyone to see so clearly when there’s a fight, to see the weaknesses of a strategy or war plan. You’re the most feared person in a hundred leagues, and not a person doubts that they have to go through you to get to the kingdom.”

In the distance, Eglanna, Eldrazz, and their entourage were riding back into a city of cloth and light. I could make out Esmir’s jaunty frame bouncing lightly in the saddle. As they entered, Kannafen and Eldrazz turned to look across the distance to my tent.

“Eldrazz nurses some hurt to his pride,” I said, as the princes reentered the tent city.

“Well, you did spoil their deception,” Gonnaban said.

“No,” I responded, “there was a bitterness to him at our first meeting.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Gonnaban began. “But, you said, miss, that we know less now.…”

I turned back to face Gonnaban and looked fondly at my master-at-arms. I was shocked at how much he’d aged since we had first served together. The wrinkles at his brow and mouth were as deep as those scars in the table, and a sick feeling grew in me that I hadn’t noticed those changes until now.

“Suppose, Gonnaban,” I said, “I were to order you to gather a fleet of ships and 20,000 soldiers, including cavalry, that I would command. What would you think? What do you call it when a sovereign lands on foreign land with 20,000 men?”

He laughed for a moment and then realized there was no joke.

“Well,” he said. “I guess that—”

“Come, Gonnaban, what do you call it?”

“Well, an invasion,” he said slowly, “but we’ve had that thought already.”

“Yes,” I answered. “But apparently Kullobrini invasions involve children.”

“But you’re assuming they’re lying about the colony,” Gonnaban replied.

“Yes, I am. Trust me, Gonnaban. We know nothing. Send word to Prince Eric about the deception and the arrangements I have made for his meeting with the princes Ujor. I’m going to have a word with our healers to make sure they can help us diagnose both the illness and the mystery of the Kullobrini.”

Gonnaban nodded, bowed, and left.

I headed for the healers’ camps and found myself thinking whether or not Gonnaban had any family. I found I could not remember.

The next morning, beautiful, strange notes sounded from the Kullobrini tents and rolled across sea and land. The ships in the harbor answered with notes of their own, and a powerful salute to the departing royalty lit the air as Prince Eglanna and Prince Eldrazz rode out of the tent city with an escort of some fifty riders.

Our own escort, a gleaming 200 men, met them near my tent and took position in front and back of the Kullobrini. They were on our soil, and I intended them to feel every mile of it.

Eglanna and Eldrazz nodded as they rode past, Eldrazz holding my eye for as long as he could.

When they were out of sight beyond our little lookout hill, I watched our scouts as they followed the princes’ departure with a farlook. As soon as the princes were beyond sight of the farlook, our scouts signaled Gonnaban at the healers’ camp, and wagon by wagon, the healers came rolling toward the fluttering city of fabric.

Gonnaban rode up to me as a six-man cavalry escort assumed formation in front of the medicinal caravan.

“Well, we should know more by tonight if this works,” he said as he dismounted.

“There are two central questions we must answer, Gonnaban,” I said, watching the caravan trundle down the road, bags and barrels swinging with the weight of poultices and charms. “Is the illness real? And why does the fleet mix children and soldiers?”

“And what of the answers?” Gonnaban asked. “What will we do when we know?”

“If the illness is faked, or even exaggerated,” I said, “I will recommend that my father and Eric order the Kullobrini from our lands or risk being exterminated.”

Gonnaban watched me as I studied the sea breeze playing at the edges of distant tents.

“As for the children…,” I said, “I can’t yet imagine any possible answers, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”

After several moments, the wagons reached the tent city and the Kullobrini guards were allowed to inspect the wagons. The moments passed slowly, but I knew all that we had hidden was in plain sight, and only a truly sharp eye would note the lack of warmth between the healers and the “assistants” we had planted among them. I wondered for a moment if I could spot such nuances anymore or if I no longer had an eye for how people were linked, what held them to one another.

At long last, the healers were permitted entry and the caravan was directed through the narrow opening of the road that was not covered by the broad, red cloth that surrounded the mass of tents like a collar around a fat merchant’s neck.

“Have we learned the purpose of that ground cloth the Kullobrini use?” I asked.

“Some of our boys have asked the Kullobrini guards,” Gonnaban replied. “They call it a Cloth of Blessing. It’s, I dunno, for luck and such. No one’s allowed to ride over it, touch it, or the like. It’s so thick the wind doesn’t even move it.” He laughed sharply. “Or maybe even the wind knows better.”

“Maybe,” I said absently. “Signal the lookout, Master-at-Arms. Send Gwey’s people through.”

As I spoke, Kullobrini children appeared on the road within the tents and chased after the healers’ wagons. One girl’s high laugh was carried to us by the breeze as clearly as her masters’ horns were earlier. I realized that I was glad children laugh whatever their skin may show.

Gonnaban waved at a hill sentry, and the signal was passed on behind and above me. These were the moments I loved among my father’s soldiers and armies. A supple and robust structure that acted, responded, obeyed without the need of henpecking or debate. The signal had been passed and now another six-man escort was taking the lead as the laden wagons of the merchants fell in behind. I did not enjoy the fact that I had the power to make this happen with a word. Rather, we had power together as an army, the power to carry out the right and proper will of the land’s sovereigns and to spread that will wherever our lords had cause.

“Unless the pay’s on time this week, I don’t have a penny to spare for your thoughts, Highness,” Gonnaban said.

“We do some good work, Gonnaban,” I said as the first of the merchants’ escort edged into my periphery. “We do some good work.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Gonnaban replied softly.

I could feel more than see Gwey break off from the line of merchants’ wagons and approach me. His spirited mare sparkled with tassels and baubles, and I remembered thinking her beautiful and stately until I saw the grandness of the Kullobrini’s horses. I wondered what else would change in our knowing of the world.

“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” Gonnaban said loudly as he made his usual uncomfortable exit from me and one of my lovers, “I’ll just tend to that execution order for one of the merchants you asked about.”

Gonnaban took his horse by the reins and made for an approaching cavalry patrol.

Gwey leapt lightly from his horse and watched Gonnaban retreat.

“I think,” Gwey said, “he is perhaps the rudest chaperone which it has been my misfortune to encounter.”

“Perhaps,” I said, watching the merchants draw closer to the Cloth of Blessing and its opening, “but it bears keeping in mind he is no doubt the deadliest.”

“Ah,” said Gwey. “Good staffing has come to that, has it?”

He still watched Gonnaban as the patrol dismounted to report to my master-at-arms.

“I still think I prefer Gonnaban’s rough remarks to Eric’s icy disdain.” Gwey clucked appreciatively to himself. “Eric has a real command of making you feel unwelcome.”

“Prince Eric,” I said quietly.

The Kullobrini guards stepped beyond the bright borders of the Cloth of Blessing and waved casually to the approaching merchants, or perhaps to their escort. Some from each group waved back.

“What?” asked Gwey.

“You will refer to him as Prince Eric,” I said again, not raising my voice.

“Oh, yes,” he said, taken aback. And then, more genuinely, “Of course.”

I looked at him and, convinced of his earnestness, I smiled.

“You seem to be letting the competition reach the customers first,” I observed, taking in his warm face and choice attire.

“Ah, yes, I hope to profit by other roads, you see.”

He took my hand and kissed it, squeezing it tenderly. “Can I make us tea this fine morning? I bring a treat from the Sand Republics.”

“A moment longer,” I said, turning my eyes again to the caravan. “Let them pass in and we’ll go.”

Gwey followed my gaze and watched a moment in silence. “What are you expecting, Kara?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know, Gwey.”

Again, the black-skinned Kullobrini were allowed to inspect the wagons. They flipped open tarps and coverings and checked briefly beneath each wagon and cart. Eventually, all of the wagons were waved through and our escort began the ride back.

“They’re thorough,” I said admiringly.

“There’s an old Dolbiri saying: ‘He who drinks in haste will find the spider,’” Gwey admonished.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” he answered.

“Go make us tea.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gwey’s treat from the Sand Republics was a cactus-based tea from Chimma Do.

“It’s extraordinary,” he told me, pouring hot water onto the small fleshy lump in the bottom of my cup. “A touch of hot water and the thing melts, but let it cool and it will congeal again and keep for days. Weeks even.”

We sat in one of the back rooms of my war tent. Gwey never liked to sit at the war table. He said it distracted him.

The tea was slightly sweet, but it warmed me well against the young spring morning. Tiny lumps spun in circles in the light green mixture.

“I understand you caught two young princes,” Gwey said, a jest in his eye.

“Gwey…,” I said warningly.

He held up a hand in mock defense as he balanced his teacup.

“I have bribed no one, High General. I swear,” he protested.

“Gwey, if I find one of my riders has a sudden penchant for silk, I’ll have to flog him,” I said. “I may make you do the flogging and we’ll see how funny you both think it.”

Gwey blanched momentarily but soon recovered.

“Hearsay, Princess,” he said. “On my life. Camp gossip.”

“Camp gossip,” I fumed. “To the Low Cauldron with camp gossip. I have an army on my doorstep, Gwey.”

“I know,” he said with some seriousness. “And it’s our doorstep, by the by. My ship is sitting out in that bay somewhere, and my warehouses are just as close to the Kullobrini as your palace walls.”

“Pulgatt’s going to wind up with maybe 150 ships,” I mused absently. “None of them a match for the monsters out there.”

“And our armies? How do we match up, High General?”

“It can be done,” I sighed. “I just don’t know the cost yet. With what we’ve got, we lose either the forts to the north or Abringol. We could then retake Abringol with some losses.” I shrugged. “It’s not what I’d hoped, but then we didn’t even know these people existed.”

Gwey watched me over the brim of his teacup. Occasionally, he would swirl it around absently.

“And your East Guard?” he asked. “Will they be making an appearance in this scenario?”

“Nine days away and counting,” I said. “If the Kullobrini intend an attack, then time is against them.”

“And you’ve just sent their two princes to Abringol.… Cutting the head from the snake, are we?” Gwey asked, his eyes glinting.

I looked away from his admiration and studied the lumps in my tea.

“Four slow hours to Abringol, some waiting to make them feel their shame.” I shrugged again. “It buys us a day, maybe two. And…”

“And?” Gwey loved to compare our tactics. He often thanked the Nine Fathers that I was not a competitor.

“And when the merchants and healers begin their work,” I said, “we’ll see who’s next in line to lead.”

Gwey laughed out loud and shook his head.

“You would ruin me in a week,” he said, laughing.

I sipped my tea and held my tongue.

After a few hours, Gwey followed his caravan into the tents, though he hoped to return that evening and give me his impressions. I kissed him as he left and watched him disappear into our kingdom’s pressing mystery.

Gonnaban had little to report. The tent city was vast, larger than we imagined, perhaps as much as a day-and-a-half’s ride round to its north side, and much of that was through scrub brush with few roads. Our scouts to the east were in place, but the northern outpost would have only just reached its lookout. Communications could now be added to our list of challenges.

“I’m not afraid to say I’m sick of this,” Gonnaban said, stooped over a campfire among our cavalry’s camps.

“You never know everything in battle, Gonnaban,” I reminded him.

“Something would be a change, miss. They lie to us. They land troops here. And children.” Gonnaban shook his head like a horse shooing flies and then spit into the fire. “After it all, I’d argue to attack if I knew what it was we were attacking.”

“We’ll get news this evening,” I said. “Gwey will talk. You’ll question the other merchants, and Eric’s infantry will send reports from their time with the healers.”

“All due respect, miss, it’s the waiting I love,” Gonnaban said bitterly, pushing embers around in the fire. “Another few days of this and I’ll take the Kullobrini on myself.”

“Reinforce the scouts,” I ordered. “Six men. No more two-men units. If the scouts are so far apart, it leaves a man alone for far too long.”

“Eight men, begging your pardon, ma’am. Dispatched this morning.” He pushed another ember and struck it idly with a stick. Sparks flew and cooled in the breeze.

“You’re better than I deserve, Gonnaban.”

“Not by a long shot, ma’am, thanks all the same,” said Gonnaban.

I left him stooped over the fire, gazing at ember and ash, and walked around the lookout hill and toward my tent.

In the distance, a group of Kullobrini soldiers and my own men were crouched over a flattened piece of earth. Their heads followed some invisible movement on the ground between them, dice in all likelihood. Color and country aside, all men off duty needed a way to pass the time.

Another toss and again heads turned. A second later, men were throwing coins down in defeat while others slapped knees at their good fortune.

I stopped outside my tent and envied them their pastime.

Again, a distant hand released distant dice, but the game had worn thin. One of my men threw his hands up in frustration and pointed angrily to the ground. A Kullobrini stepped toward him, and the rest of the game stiffened at the confrontation. Men from both sides were beginning to move toward the group of gamblers.

“Gonnaban!” I called.

Hoofbeats later, Gonnaban swung off his horse. He landed and followed my gaze. Without a word, he was on his horse again and off. He shouted for my two cavalry colonels as more men of both sides were drawn to the standoff.

Suddenly one of the men drew a sword, and the flash and clang that had so filled my life reached my ears yet again.

Gonnaban didn’t slow his horse and rode straight into the growing brawl, sending both sides sprawling. In one motion he was off the horse and kicking downed Kullobrini and Avandi alike. Gonnaban’s tirade and demeanor stopped each would-be combatant in his tracks as he approached the area to help his compatriots. One Kullobrini picked himself up and made to approach Gonnaban, but the grizzled veteran did not pause, pushing the man chest to chest until the dark-skinned soldier fell and scrabbled back in the dust.

Gonnaban’s sense of the men had always mesmerized me. Only he would end a fight using his horse and disperse tensions by the shock of his boot. Though Gonnaban was weaponless, his unflagging rage was overwhelming and unanswerable. No sword was as sharp as Gonnaban’s fury and no warrior so skilled that he could gather his wits against its onslaught.

Soon, our cavalry colonels had reached the former fray and dissipated what little was not under Gonnaban’s angry sway. Two of my men stooped over another on the ground who had not moved since Gonnaban’s horse had made its entry. The soldiers removed their comrade’s chest plate and carried him toward our camps beyond the hill.

Gonnaban bent and picked up the discarded chest plate. He looked toward the retreating Kullobrini and then held the armor up to the sun. He began walking his horse in the wake of the wounded man, eventually stopping beside me with the armor in hand. His gaze turned again to the handful of Kullobrini guards that watched the south entrance of the tent city.

“That’s a captain’s plate,” I said, remarking on the damaged armor. “I’d expect better of an officer.”

“He’ll get his lashes, miss, though no drink involved, I’m glad to say.” He raised the chest plate again and fingered the slash through the armor.

“What weapon did that to officer’s armor?” I asked, beginning to see the problem that struck Gonnaban.

“One of their short swords, General.” He shook his head. “In the hands of an untrained kid. Lousy stance, poorly placed strike.” He raised it again to the sun.

“It could be a fluke, Master-at-Arms. A particularly fine sword given as a gift. A particularly weak smithing of this plate, an off day in our forges,” I suggested.

“You’ve seen their ships, miss. Their horses,” he said bitterly. “The Kullobrini aren’t a people of flukes.” His finger traced the tear in the breastplate. “These demons can cut through our best armor.”

He laughed darkly and trundled off under a new weight, a weight heavier than the ruined armor he still cradled.

Gradually, the bad news rose like an inexorable and dark tide. An hour or so after the last of the healers’ wagons had made their way back to camp, we had word from our many spies tucked away among the medicines. The Kullobrini soldiers were well trained and well supplied, with light armor and ample weapons for even the lowliest warrior. A track even ran along the interior of the tent city so that the cavalry could practice riding maneuvers beyond prying eyes.

News of their metal craft came also, echoing Gonnaban’s blackest thoughts. Apparently some discarded piece of our armor had made its way to the Kullobrini, and one talented chap took to etching on its metal with a Kullobrini arrowhead. Gonnaban commented that at least they were an artful folk and, should we come to blows, perhaps they would kill us in decorative patterns.

“Something in red, no doubt,” Gonnaban growled. “I’m sure it’ll ease the grief of those we leave behind.”

More mysteries arose as well and I had to send Gonnaban for grog before his mood worsened. The Kullobrini carried with them not just children, but the elderly as well, and all were being educated in large tents in the center of the sprawling city of fabric.

“In what subject?” I asked the cavalry colonel who had continued Gonnaban’s report.

“Well, General, ah… They’re teaching folks our language.”

Only one report brightened the deluge of mysteries and miseries. The healers all agreed that the illness was genuine, fairly widespread, and serious. In fact, some of the healers’ wagons had begun the return journey to Abringol to restock what poultices were deemed useful. The healers had also requested that some of the soldiery be assigned to help scour the countryside for particular herbs, a request that I granted.

Gwey’s information, or rather the information he brought in the form of a colleague, was the last blight of an already blighted day. The merchant was tall, taller even than Gwey, and rail thin. He stood wringing his hands as Gwey rolled his eyes and prodded the man into speaking. A note of fear played at the edge of the man’s voice.

“I meant nothing by it, you understand, Highness, but was just asking the Kullobrini by way of information like,” he started. “The Nine Fathers know I’m as loyal a citizen as any you could find, but a man must make his living, you know.…”

“He tried to sell bows to the Kullobrini,” an exasperated Gwey blurted. “The fool broke the royal ban on selling weapons to foreigners.”

The merchant glanced back at Gwey in horror for so directly outing him and turned to me only to flinch at my face.

“Your Highness,” began Gwey, “I convinced the wretch to admit his guilt to you in the hopes that his other information might produce some leniency in Your Grace. In fact, perhaps Gonnaban should hear this.”

“No,” I said, raising my hand quickly, “he’s heard and seen enough today.” I turned to the merchant who again flinched. “Speak.”

“It’s true, Your Ladyship, I tried to sell these devils some bows, but when I took out a sample, well, they, they—”

“The Low Cauldron boil you, what did they do?” I shouted.

“They laughed, Kara,” Gwey said. “They laughed.”

The groveling merchant insisted it was true. The Kullobrini promptly showed him a sample of Kullobrini craft, a monstrous bow taller than most men.

“They’ve an archery range inside that city of theirs, Highness,” the merchant began again, shaking his head despondently. “It’s longer than a jousting run and those fellows can split a sparrow’s prayer from that far and longer. I’m ruined, Highness, ruined! The backstops for their targets have to be thick and backed with metal, they told me, so the arrow don’t just pass on through and kill someone. I’m ruined!”

Gwey looked at me steadily. “Maybe not just you, friend.”

Minutes after they left, I ordered our signalers to ask Pulgatt’s fleet about their scouts out in the Gaping Sea. They had had a report, and thankfully no more Kullobrini fleets had been spotted.

I charged Gwey’s informant and sentenced him to ten lashes and a sackful of coin. I debated whether to send for Gonnaban and let him know the latest black news from our blacker guests, but I knew the rumor mill would soon have him misinformed. I consoled myself that he would hear worse still and I could at least set him right and cheer him by comparison.

Gwey stayed the night and as we lay together, my head on his chest, I could feel his worry through his fingers playing at the curls of my hair.

“You’ve not given me your impressions, Gwey,” I reminded him, hoping to lead him to ease his burden.

He took a deep breath. “They are a remarkable people, perhaps the most remarkable I have ever seen,” he said.

“High praise. You’re easily as traveled as I,” I said.

“Well, I don’t have the benefit of an army to open doors into new lands, but my business dealings have taken me far,” he said, chuckling. Then he grew serious again. “But these people excel at everything they put their hand to from archery to…”

“To animal husbandry, ship-building, smithing. I know,” I said. I shook my head slowly. “It will be very costly to fight them.”

“Will you have to?” Gwey asked suddenly, passionately.

I looked at him curiously.

The first man I ever loved was a boy named Bernard, a squire for a knight in my father’s Guard. He had blazing red hair and was tall and lanky, but he had a dazzling smile and a quiet, easy laugh. He was gentle and thoughtful and looked at me like he was glad I was near and safe. He would often touch me on the cheek or on the hand as though to check if I were real.

We would sneak off to the hayloft when his duties allowed, and I would come and watch the jousts just to see his smile when he spotted me by my father’s seat. I would steal off from my studies and talk to him while he polished armor and sometimes explain to him how the armor was made, even though he already knew.

I even watched his first training jousts as he rode clumsily toward the mute dummy with its blunted lance. It was on the fourth charge that we all realized his saddle had been slipping, perhaps from his first run at the straw figure. As he approached the dummy, the saddle rotated suddenly, swinging that beautiful head in line with the merciless, motionless lance of the dummy. He was thrown from the horse and lay splayed in the straw, his knight and other attendants running, screaming, crying, to his aid.

I remembered thinking that he should have been stronger, better. I remembered being furious that his carelessness, his weakness, had cost so much. And I remember feeling shame when my saddle slipped on my first training joust and I lay puking in the straw for reasons no one could explain.

Gwey would never joust, neither for practice nor in war, and looking at him now, I saw an unlooked-for depth of kindness, a resounding sympathy and admiration for a people of accomplishment, a passion for things he did not understand. His face was open now and serious, like a child who wants to grasp the curve of the world and you must answer, knowing that no answer is big enough.

“I may,” I said softly. “I may.”

He nodded, still wide eyed, and pulled me again to his chest. We lay that way for a while, and every now and then I would feel him nodding as he turned my answer around and around in his head.