The Long War 03 - The Red Prince (3 page)

‘What do you want, boy?’ asked a bearded sailor.

‘Captain Makad,’ replied Randall, keeping his voice even and unemotional. ‘I have business for him.’

The dark-skinned Karesian sailor assessed the armed stranger in front of him before nodding in the direction of a man just coming ashore.

‘There’s your man,’ he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the squire.

‘Thank you.’

Randall thought that there was no reason to forget his manners, despite the impression he formed that Captain Makad and his crew were far from legitimate traders – something about their demeanour, the cutlasses in their belts, the glares they gave any man of Ro who came too close to their ship.

Randall smiled to himself as he realized how little he feared common criminals. The things he’d seen in the last few months had strengthened his confidence beyond the point where a few nasty glares could bother him. In fact, he found himself meeting them, and standing his ground before the sailors.

Captain Makad was a tall Karesian in late middle age. He was barrel-chested, with a smug look of self-satisfaction on his face. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he looked as if he had just stopped eating. He was taking his first steps on the wooden dock as Randall approached.

‘Captain Makad?’ he asked, extending his hand.

The Karesian sailor looked down at the offered hand and then back up to meet his eyes.

‘I don’t shake hands with Ro.’

Randall snorted confidently, glad he found the insult amusing and not offensive.

‘And I don’t offer money to rude bastards that don’t shake my hand,’ he said with a smile. ‘Shall we start again?’ He extended his hand a second time. ‘My name’s Randall of Darkwald. Would you be Captain Makad?’

The Karesian sailor narrowed his eyes at the confidence on display and looked around to reassure himself that a dozen or so of his men were still present.

‘I am,’ he replied, no longer smiling. ‘What do you want?’

Randall nodded down to his offered hand and broadened his smile, indicating that he wasn’t going to respond until the niceties had been observed. Captain Makad considered his next move carefully and, after a moment, took Randall’s hand and shook it half-heartedly.

‘You see? We can always be polite,’ said the squire, slightly surprised at his own confidence. ‘Now, I understand that you are amenable to paying passengers.’

‘I might be,’ replied Makad. ‘Who, and how many?’

‘Two men and a woman... we’re going to Kessia.’ Randall wasn’t turning away and he judged that his stare was making the barrel-chested captain a little unsure of himself.

‘I could do that,’ replied the Karesian, adopting a more business-like expression, ‘for thirty gold crowns.’

‘Ten,’ countered Randall.

‘Who do you speak for, boy? Who am I taking to Kessia?’ Makad was obviously wary and, just as obviously, not a fool.

‘Me and two friends of mine... twelve crowns,’ replied Randall.

The Karesian looked around at his crew and nodded to the closest men. Four swarthy-looking sailors closed in round Randall and waited for their captain’s order, nodding their heads suggestively.

Makad began to look even more smug. ‘Give me a reason not to steal your shiny longsword and dump you in the harbour.’

Randall chuckled. ‘I could give you a reason, a very good reason, or I could tear your head off and use it to kill your men... but then you wouldn’t get twelve crowns for sailing to Kessia... which you’re going to do anyway.’

It was a bold strategy, but the squire didn’t back off a step, even when surrounded by men who would attack him in an instant if their captain ordered them to.

For a moment, Randall thought he’d pushed his confidence a little too far, until Captain Makad replied, ‘Fifteen crowns... and I won’t kill you.’

‘Done,’ he replied. ‘When do you set sail?’

Makad looked back at his ship, then up into the dark night sky. ‘With a good wind, we’ll be out of here a few hours after dawn. I need to give my lads a chance to get drunk and fucked... assuming there are paid women in town.’

A few nods from his men indicated that they liked this plan.

‘Whatever you want,’ replied Randall, ‘as long as they can sail when hung-over.’

A few of the sailors looked as if they were about to take offence, but Captain Makad shook his head.

‘We’ll be here two hours after dawn,’ said Randall, beginning to turn and leave the dock. ‘Oh, and just so we’re clear, neither of my companions are as fluffy as me... so I advise you to take the money and not do anything foolish.’

He maintained his smile for a moment before striding through the Karesian sailors and back up the wooden steps of the White Landing. No one said anything as he left and he allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction as he walked back to the tavern.

Randall didn’t mind the uncertainty, he didn’t mind the danger, and he didn’t mind being the calm centre of his bizarre little world. He had accepted that his fate was bound to that of his master and where Utha the Ghost went, Randall would follow.

* * *

‘Randall, I told you to wake me up when the ship arrived. I did not tell you to talk tough to a bunch of Karesian sailors.’

Utha was always grumpy in the morning and his squire no longer took it seriously.

‘It was a sort of experiment,’ replied Randall, opening the shutters to their room and letting the bright sunlight intrude.

‘Are you trying to fucking blind me, boy,’ grumbled the Black cleric, holding an arm up to his eyes and rolling over in bed. ‘And what kind of experiment involves you picking a fight with a few dozen men?’

Randall shrugged. ‘I thought that confidence was the important thing... the experiment proves I was right.’

Utha scratched at the huge scar running down his neck and sat up on the edge of his bed. He was grunting and rubbing his eyes, though looked otherwise fit and healthy. Randall was impressed at his master’s constitution and confined himself to worrying mostly about his state of mind, leaving his physical well-being to take care of itself.

He had sensed a change in his master since they left the Fell. Utha now spoke of the halls beyond the world and, in his sleep, he murmured about a stairway, a labyrinth and a guardian. Randall didn’t understand exactly where they were going or why they had to go there. He certainly didn’t understand why it was necessary to take Ruth along with them.

The Gorlan mother, even in human form, was a constant worry in the back of his mind. As he looked at the dark-haired woman, just waking from sleep, he gritted his teeth and breathed deeply.

‘You have done well, Randall,’ said Ruth, sitting upright and seeming instantly awake. ‘Your master does not appreciate you.’

‘No, no he doesn’t,’ replied Randall.

‘Gang up on me after I’ve had breakfast,’ interjected Utha with a throaty growl.

Randall gestured to the tray of bread and fruit that had been placed on a small table by the door. It was far from a hearty breakfast, but was included in the price of the room and wouldn’t dent their rather meagre travelling fund.

‘What are we going to do for money in Karesia?’ he asked. ‘Do they use gold crowns?’

Utha began to munch on a fist-sized apple and considered the question. ‘I’m actually not sure.’

Randall didn’t like this answer. ‘So I’m in charge of such things?’

‘You’re my squire, boy. It’s your job to look after me,’ he said, between mouthfuls of apple.

‘I don’t know how much bed and board costs in Kessia, but we’re not exactly rich.’

Randall opened his small coin pouch and counted the gold crowns within. He counted to ten and estimated that, were they in Tor Funweir, they’d be able to pay their way for a few more days. He hoped that things were cheaper in the capital of Karesia.

‘I don’t like Karesian food,’ said Utha. ‘Lots of spicy meat, makes my stomach churn.’

‘We won’t be able to afford lots,’ replied Randall. ‘Maybe a small amount of spicy meat.’

Utha glared at his squire but said nothing. Randall hoped the occasional bit of teasing would help lighten his master’s bad mood. If the joking helped, he’d take it on board as another of his duties.

‘What was the captain like?’ asked Utha.

‘Fat. Suspicious.’

‘In your professional opinion, young Randall, is he likely to kill us and dump us off the coast?’ asked the cynical albino.

He shook his head. ‘Doubt it, he seemed like a coward. I don’t think he’s too bright. He has a crew of nasty-looking sailors, though. I’d say they don’t always ply an honest trade.’

‘Very few Karesian sailors are entirely honest, my dear boy. Smuggling is far too easy to do and far too difficult to stop.’

‘And we don’t sail too well... as a race, I mean.’ Randall had heard a hundred jokes about the notoriously poor maritime skills of the Ro.

‘Armoured men on armoured horses are not best suited for sea combat. You can’t lead a heavy charge across the deck of a ship.’

‘The captain didn’t seem too concerned that we were Ro. Maybe he’s not expecting an armoured cavalry charge.’

Randall had begun to gather up their belongings while Utha was eating. Ruth had remained seated on the edge of her bed, looking impassively at the two men.

‘So, where to after Kessia?’ asked the squire.

Unexpectedly, it was Ruth who answered. ‘The Hound lands lie to the south of the capital city – also called the Spider’s Web, incidentally – then the city of Thrakka. An interesting place of spires and viziers.’

‘Viziers?’ questioned Randall, who had heard the term but did not know what it meant.

‘They’re diplomats, I think,’ answered Utha. ‘The noble classes of Jaa. They make sure the merchant princes and mobsters stay polite... well, polite-ish.’

‘It’s a little more complicated than that,’ said Ruth. ‘The viziers are not to be trifled with, even by the mighty Utha the Ghost.’

‘Who says I want to trifle with anyone?’ replied the albino, glaring at Ruth.

‘It seems to be in your nature.’

Randall chuckled involuntarily, causing Utha’s glare to turn towards him.

‘What?’ said the squire. ‘It’s a fair point, master.’

‘I haven’t finished eating yet. You’re not allowed to gang up on me.’ To emphasize the point, he took another large bite of apple.

* * *

They said nothing more while Randall packed, Utha ate, and Ruth looked on without blinking. Within twenty minutes they had paid their bill at the inn and were walking through the warm morning air of Kabrin. They shared the streets with few other people, though an occasional commoner did spare an extended glance for Utha. True to form, the cleric paid them no attention.

As they neared the dock, a thin, well-dressed man of Ro, carrying a longsword, appeared suddenly out of a side street. His eyes were red and his skin pasty, though a black mark on his cheek seemed to be obscuring a tattoo. He stumbled into Randall, losing his footing on the cobbled road, and fell over.

‘Easy, friend,’ said the squire gently. He offered a hand to help him to his feet.

‘Get away from me,’ sneered the man, slapping away Randall’s hand and pulling himself up. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, suggesting he was hung-over, or maybe still drunk.

Randall backed away and Utha grabbed the collar of the man’s cloak, roughly pulling him into a standing position. He wore well-tailored clothes which, though dirty and creased, marked him as a nobleman of some kind. The longsword at his hip was not a decorative weapon and he had scarred hands.

‘Better get home,’ said Utha, straightening the man’s cloak.

For a second they locked eyes. The man showed a flicker of recognition as he looked at the albino. Utha didn’t react with more than a raised eyebrow and in a moment the man had left, weaving a chaotic path along the dawn-lit streets.

‘You should keep your head covered,’ said Randall, wishing his master was more aware of his distinctive appearance.

‘You should keep your mouth shut,’ replied Utha.

Randall decided to stay quiet while the three of them completed their short journey to the harbour. Captain Makad’s ship was the tallest at anchor and bobbed gently in the morning wind. The sea was calm and the Kirin Ridge stretched over the horizon, and Randall felt strangely tired as he searched for Karesia in the distance. All he could see was a rippling line of blue at the limit of his field of vision.

‘I get seasick,’ muttered Utha, as the smell of salt water hit them.

Randall looked at him, trying to stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, that is... not at all funny.’

The squire ducked under an attempted back-hand from his master and quickly chuckled his way down the street.

‘Come here, you cheeky fucker,’ barked Utha, running after him.

The chase ended with the squire, desperately trying not to laugh, cowering against the steps leading to Makad’s ship.

‘Okay, I’m sorry, master,’ he said, biting his lip.

Utha stood over him and narrowed his eyes. ‘You only call me master when you’ve done something wrong or are trying to be funny.’

Randall let out a laugh, unable to help himself. ‘Yes, master.’

‘Right, you little bastard.’ Utha grabbed his squire by the back of the neck and hefted him upwards. He raised his hand as if to strike, but the anger quickly disappeared from his face and was replaced with a reluctant smile.

Randall turned to look down the steps and saw a dozen Karesian sailors looking at them.

‘Er, this might damage my tough reputation,’ he said, nodding towards Makad’s men.

‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ Utha snapped at the Karesians.

‘They’re looking at our passengers.’

The words came from Captain Makad, who was once again wiping food from his mouth. The barrel-chested Karesian had a half-eaten chicken leg in his fist. ‘When you’re done beating the boy, the tide is waiting.’ He turned back to his men. ‘Stop gawking and get to work, you worthless cunts.’

Utha released Randall and stepped back from the steps. ‘Fifteen gold crowns, huh? Well done, my dear boy.’

‘It wasn’t actually that difficult. I just acted a bit like you,’ replied the squire.

With pride rather than anger, Utha motioned down the steps. ‘After you, sir.’