Chapter 8

When the weather cleared, the pirate ships passed by the fort and anchored in the estuary of the Thorn River. Freshly bathed and barbered, Tol stood on the battlements of the citadel and watched the ships nose in to shore and drop anchor.

Flanking Tol were enormous throwing machines, the likes of which he’d never seen before. Tremond said they were the work of an engineer named Elicarno, who’d come down from Daltigoth to install them. Two stout spars, each thrust into its own skein of cords, were mounted horizontally on a frame like a bow laid on its side. A windlass drew back a bowstring as thick as Tol’s wrist, on a sliding wooden tray. The bowstring was secured by an iron ratchet. The ratchet was released by a simple trigger, a length of lanyard. Once the bowstring was drawn back, a huge arrow-some six feet in length and half as thick as the bowstring-was placed in the tray to launch. The whole contraption was mounted on a timber pedestal, heavy but so precisely balanced two men could swing the device from side to side or up and down to aim it. Impressed, Tol asked, “How far can it throw?” Tremond shrugged. He cared little for anything but women, food, and face-to-face combat from horseback. “Ignoble devices, if you ask me,” he said. “Not worthy of a warrior at all. Still, they’re useful for dealing with hostile ships, I suppose.”

Before leaving the citadel, Tol met the maker of the remarkable catapults. Elicarno was dressed in a very plain, short-sleeved tunic of tan canvas. He had a shock of curly Mack hair and smudges of soot on his face. A pair of long scrolls were tucked under one arm. Earnestly, he lectured a member of Tremond’s garrison.

“The skeins have to be tightened daily-daily, do you understand? The sea air will slacken them in no time. You won’t be able to hit the ocean with a hambone if the skeins are slack!”

The gray-haired Ergothian listening to him rolled his eyes but nodded.

When Tol was introduced, Elicarno barely acknowledged him as he finished his instructions. Alone among the inhabitants of Thorngoth he did not seem to know or care who Lord Tolandruth was. To the busy engineer, Tolandruth of Juramona was merely yet another arrogant, ignorant warlord. When Elicarno finished speaking, Tol repeated his greeting. The engineer only grunted hello and walked away, studying the scroll spread wide in his hands.

The last pirate vessel, the great Thunderer, crept up the channel past the fortress. From this height, Tol could see crew members moving on deck. The beat of the oarmaster’s drum reached his ears.

Tol made ready to depart. Tremond had assured him he would carry out Tol’s plans regarding the pirate fleet. The Marshal of the Coastal Hundred, though not the brightest ember on the hearth, was honest and reliable.

“Don’t worry, Tolandruth,” Tremond had said. “I won’t have any trouble with these rogues. They’ll obey, or I’ll hang the lot of them.”

Tol suggested he take it easy on the pirates at first. “They’re not used to discipline, so don’t expect them to behave like imperial soldiers,” he said. “If this scheme works, we’ll have the beginnings of a real navy, and the Tarsans will think twice about raiding our shores again.”

In the courtyard below the battlements Darpo and the half-elf captain, Wandervere, were waiting for Tol.

“The fleet is anchored,” Tol reported, as he and Tremond entered the courtyard. “Before we bring the men ashore, there are some dispositions to be made.” He looked his old comrade in the eye. “Darpo, you will remain in Thorngoth after I depart.”

“But, my lord-!”

Tol held up a hand. “You must. You are now in command of the first fleet of the Imperial Navy.”

Darpo was thunderstruck. He struggled for words, finally exclaiming, “My lord, I’m not worthy of such a high command!”

“Nonsense. You’ve been a warrior for twenty years, and before that you were a sailor.”

“I’m not a Rider of the Great Horde-”

“What does a horseman know of ships?” Tol scoffed, and clapped his scar-faced friend on the shoulder. “You’re the man for the job, Darpo. We need an Ergothian in command. When I see the emperor, I’ll ask him to confirm your appointment. As for rank-” He thought a moment. “A fleet commander is an admiral, like Anovenax of Tarsis. You are now Admiral Darpo!”

Tol saluted. His friend returned the gesture, embarrassed but visibly pleased.

More than military expediency motivated Tol’s actions. Since leaving Tarsis, he had lost two old and valued friends to murderous magical attacks. He had no intention of losing any more. Making Darpo admiral of the new Ergothian fleet was a wise and proper decision-it was also a way to steer him out of harm’s way. The more difficult task would be trying to do likewise with the Dom-shu sisters,;

The waterfront was jammed with onlookers. Idle fishermen, boatmen, carpenters, sailmakers, sutlers, and merchants crowded the narrow streets of Thorngoth, curious and expectant. Word of the approaching pirate ships had first frightened the town. When the news spread that Lord Tolandruth had tamed the Blood Fleet, the crowd gathered to see the famous warlord as well as the fearsome pirates.

With an escort of forty spearmen, Tol, Darpo, and Wandervere marched down to the quay. The pirates had not come off their ships yet. The crowd on the waterfront spooked them. None of them was eager to step off a gangplank into what might prove to be a lynch mob.

Wandervere’s crew from the galleot Quarrel stood on the quay, awaiting their captain’s return. Seeing him with the Ergothians, they lined up on the dock in rough but regular order. Tol halted the escort and signaled to the carter who had been trailing them since they left the fortress.

“Captain, here are your men’s swords. Take them and the imperial cloaks that go with them.”

Quarrel’s crew broke ranks and helped themselves to the cutlasses piled in the dray. The scarlet cloaks around their necks didn’t make them look any more soldierly, but they did help reassure the former pirates that the promised amnesty was truly happening.

Aboard Thunderer, Tol, Darpo, and Wandervere were greeted by Faerlac. Behind the bosun stood Kiya and Miya, plainly unhappy they’d been left behind that morning. Dralie and Inika, dressed in their best finery, were present as well and eager to be off the galley.

Tol faced the former pirates. “Welcome to Ergoth! I have conferred With Marshal Tremond, and he will honor our agreement. No punishment will fall on you, so long as you don’t commit any fresh offenses. All officers will remain in command of their respective vessels.”

“Who will command Thunderer?" asked Faerlac.

“Darpo has been appointed admiral of the fleet. You will take your orders from him. Now take the crew ashore, Faerlac. Give them the liberty of the town.”

The sailors raised a happy shout and rushed forward, engulfing their commanders. After a few moments of joyous mayhem, Darpo shouted for order. The ex-pirates quieted a little and filed down the gangplanks, dirty and ragged, but delighted with the sudden change in their fortunes. Many had spent years aboard ship, haunting random islands in the gulf, never daring to set foot in any civilized port. To them, the outpost of Thorngoth beckoned with all the glamour of the imperial capital.

Inika and Dralie sought out Tol. The younger woman was dressed in unrelieved white-low boots, leggings, and doublet. Dralie wore another gauzy creation, this one the color of old gold coins but shot through with metallic threads in a rainbow of colors. Both women moved in an invisible cloud of perfume.

Inika said, “My lord, what’s to become of us?”

“Only the gods know, lady,” Tol replied, smiling. “You have your freedom. Make of it what you will.”