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Authors: Richard K. Morgan
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at the starboard rail with a spyglass at his eye, scoping the League vessel. Egar saw him turn to one of his retinue and issue commands. The man bowed and went below again.
“All right, come on.” Egar jogged along the wharf to Pride ’s gangplank, waited for Barla to catch him up, and then went aboard. The watchmen waved them through, clearly distracted. Which, Egar reflected grimly, wasn’t good to see in men supposedly trained to marine standard.
We’re all getting way too slack. This place is sapping us. We’re in no shape to …
To what?
He joined Mahmal Shanta at the starboard rail.
“Dragonbane.” The old naval engineer did not take the spyglass from his eye. His voice was hoarse with long bouts of coughing. “You’ve seen our new friends, I take it?”
Egar grunted. “Hard to miss.”
“Indeed. Hard to take as coincidence, too. One doubts such savage beauty graces Ornley harbor on a regular basis.”
“Beauty?”
“Beauty.” Reedy emphasis on the word. Shanta lowered the spyglass and looked at the Dragonbane. He’d grown gaunt with his illness, but his eyes still gleamed. “I don’t expect anyone from a horse tribe to appreciate it, but that’s a poem in timber floating out there, a veritable ode to maritime speed and maneuverability. There’s a reason the Empire always comes off worse in naval engagements with the League, and you’re looking at it. Superior design, borne of constant competition between city-states warring for an edge.”
“Right.” Egar gestured. “You know what those red pennants mean?”
“Indeed I do—”
Shanta stopped abruptly, caught and then creased over with a spasm of coughing. One of his retinue came forward to hold him up, but the engineer waved him violently away. He braced himself on the rail with one age-knobbed hand, got himself upright again by wheezing stages. Slaves fussed about, rearranging the blanket on Shanta’s trembling shoulders. The man Egar had seen Shanta order below returned with a steaming mug of something that reeked of mint and other less palatable herbs. The engineer tucked the spyglass under his arm and cupped the mug with both hands. He drank gingerly. Grimaced but forced the liquid down.
“My lord, this is madness.” Salbak Barla knew his patient well and was not crowding him, but his tone was urgent. “You should not be out in this weather. We must get you below, we must get you warm.”
“Yes, yes, all in good time. Here.” Shanta handed the mug to the doctor and took hold of his spyglass again. “It is unfortunate, but I am the expert here, and I am not done perusing. I must fix detail in my head, Doctor, and thus save myself the necessity of further sojourns on deck.”
“The pennants,” Egar persisted.
“Yes, the pennants.” Shanta pointed with the spyglass, schoolmasterish. “Heart’s blood red, snake’s tongue trim, at foremast and aft. Northern League naval convention. It signifies that the vessel is flagship to a flotilla.”
“A fucking flotilla ?”
Shanta stifled another, weaker cough with his fist. “Three to five vessels, if my memory serves me correctly. More and the pennants would not be split tongued. Or they would have gold trim. Or is it both?”
The rain seemed abruptly to be falling that little bit harder. The gloom beyond the harbor exit grew that much more menacing. Egar scowled.
“So where are the rest of them?”
“There’d hardly be room for more vessels in the harbor anyway,” Barla offered. “Perhaps they anchored farther out.”
Egar tried to stave off a creeping sense of doom.
“How long have they been there?” he asked Shanta.
“Oh, not long. The watchmen called me as soon as they sighted the colors. It’s taken me some time to get up and dressed, and then I waited below to see if they’d come to us. When they didn’t, I came up on deck and I’ve been here awhile. Say half an hour since they anchored? A little longer?”
“And no landing party.” Egar
“All right, come on.” Egar jogged along the wharf to Pride ’s gangplank, waited for Barla to catch him up, and then went aboard. The watchmen waved them through, clearly distracted. Which, Egar reflected grimly, wasn’t good to see in men supposedly trained to marine standard.
We’re all getting way too slack. This place is sapping us. We’re in no shape to …
To what?
He joined Mahmal Shanta at the starboard rail.
“Dragonbane.” The old naval engineer did not take the spyglass from his eye. His voice was hoarse with long bouts of coughing. “You’ve seen our new friends, I take it?”
Egar grunted. “Hard to miss.”
“Indeed. Hard to take as coincidence, too. One doubts such savage beauty graces Ornley harbor on a regular basis.”
“Beauty?”
“Beauty.” Reedy emphasis on the word. Shanta lowered the spyglass and looked at the Dragonbane. He’d grown gaunt with his illness, but his eyes still gleamed. “I don’t expect anyone from a horse tribe to appreciate it, but that’s a poem in timber floating out there, a veritable ode to maritime speed and maneuverability. There’s a reason the Empire always comes off worse in naval engagements with the League, and you’re looking at it. Superior design, borne of constant competition between city-states warring for an edge.”
“Right.” Egar gestured. “You know what those red pennants mean?”
“Indeed I do—”
Shanta stopped abruptly, caught and then creased over with a spasm of coughing. One of his retinue came forward to hold him up, but the engineer waved him violently away. He braced himself on the rail with one age-knobbed hand, got himself upright again by wheezing stages. Slaves fussed about, rearranging the blanket on Shanta’s trembling shoulders. The man Egar had seen Shanta order below returned with a steaming mug of something that reeked of mint and other less palatable herbs. The engineer tucked the spyglass under his arm and cupped the mug with both hands. He drank gingerly. Grimaced but forced the liquid down.
“My lord, this is madness.” Salbak Barla knew his patient well and was not crowding him, but his tone was urgent. “You should not be out in this weather. We must get you below, we must get you warm.”
“Yes, yes, all in good time. Here.” Shanta handed the mug to the doctor and took hold of his spyglass again. “It is unfortunate, but I am the expert here, and I am not done perusing. I must fix detail in my head, Doctor, and thus save myself the necessity of further sojourns on deck.”
“The pennants,” Egar persisted.
“Yes, the pennants.” Shanta pointed with the spyglass, schoolmasterish. “Heart’s blood red, snake’s tongue trim, at foremast and aft. Northern League naval convention. It signifies that the vessel is flagship to a flotilla.”
“A fucking flotilla ?”
Shanta stifled another, weaker cough with his fist. “Three to five vessels, if my memory serves me correctly. More and the pennants would not be split tongued. Or they would have gold trim. Or is it both?”
The rain seemed abruptly to be falling that little bit harder. The gloom beyond the harbor exit grew that much more menacing. Egar scowled.
“So where are the rest of them?”
“There’d hardly be room for more vessels in the harbor anyway,” Barla offered. “Perhaps they anchored farther out.”
Egar tried to stave off a creeping sense of doom.
“How long have they been there?” he asked Shanta.
“Oh, not long. The watchmen called me as soon as they sighted the colors. It’s taken me some time to get up and dressed, and then I waited below to see if they’d come to us. When they didn’t, I came up on deck and I’ve been here awhile. Say half an hour since they anchored? A little longer?”
“And no landing party.” Egar
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