Farlander

At this, Bahn's hungry stomach grumbled loudly once again. He pulled his gaze away from the banquet of food waiting close to the main door of the chamber, and sat up in his chair next to the general. They sat at one end of the table, facing those opposite, and behind them the great sun-fattened windows of the south gallery. No reply came from his superior, nor did Bahn sense any shift in the man's posture.

Glancing sideways at the old warrior, he saw that General Creed, Lord Protector of Khos, was now staring out through the same windows at the pale blue sea of the Bay of Squalls. From here they could not see the cliffs on which the building of the Congress stood, let alone the slum-town of the Shoals, which sprawled along the foot of the cliffs, half submerged in seawater during storm tides. Instead the vista revealed was a pleasant one: the air was especially clear today, everything crisp in detail so hat landmarks appeared closer than they really were. A squadron of triple-masted men-of-war roamed the waters, bearing the Khosian flag. They ranged beyond reach of the heavy Mannian guns positioned on the far shore, seen from here as a coastline of russet hills made pale by the sunlight and dotted with grey fortifications. From here the forts could be seen to cluster most thickly around the dark smudge of the Pathian town of Nomarl where, within the harbour walls, the hulks of a Mannian fleet were reported to still lie abandoned in the water, charred and sea-rotted after being burned at anchor by a Khosian raid three years earlier – the last offensive action the Khosians had mounted with any success.

General Creed seemed to be eyeing the faint image of the fortress town. He looked like a man who wished to return to it.

Daydreaming again, Bahn reckoned, and he gently nudged the general's foot with his own.

'Yes, First Minister,' Creed replied smoothly, as though he had been listening attentively all along. His chair scraped as he stood up to address the room, his burnished armour reflecting the sunlight. The general pressed his palms against the polished tiq wood of the table, as his gaze took in the assembled ministers one by one. He did not look impressed by what he saw.

'My request is that we return to the issue of the coastal forts. And you may groan all you like, gentlemen, for I mean to have this issue decided upon here, this very day.'

'General Creed. We have been over this many times. We are aware that our eastern forts are undermanned. Yet what is it you believe we can do?'

'First Minister, the forts are not undermanned, as this council is so fond of suggesting. They are barely manned at all. That is my point: they contain skeleton crews merely to service and repair them, no more – certainly not enough to offer solid resistance. They have little blackpowder, even fewer cannon, for instead all has been drawn to the defence of Bar-Khos and our southern coastline. Therefore we still have no answer for a surprise attack on our eastern shores.'

'That is to presume such a surprise attack would be possible, General. The third fleet has protected us thus far. We must pray it will continue to do so.'

Creed waved that comment away. 'First Minister, that is a lot of sea for the third fleet to patrol. We have been lucky so far, that is all. Now that the insurrection on Lagos has finally been quelled and its great harbour secured, the Mannians have the perfect anchorage from which to strike against us. We can no longer rely on the navy for our protection. First Minister, we must man those forts.'

First Minister Chonas, philosopher as well as politician, took this demand with his usual good grace. He nodded to his old friend and opponent. 'Truly, I understand, Marsalas. But we are overstretched as it is. You know as well as I, we have not the resources to equip and maintain more soldiery. Where can we find these extra fighters? You yourself have a solution, all of a sudden?'

'We divide our reserves in two, and use one half to man the forts.'

There was an outcry of protest from around the table at this suggestion.

'That is hardly a solution, General,' spoke up one voice. It was Sinese, Minister of Defence, third most powerful man in all of Khos, who sat back with his legs folded and white-gloved hands resting on the ivory head of his walking cane. 'This cabinet will not allow our reserves to be diminished any further than they already are. Even if we were to man the forts fully, it is doubtful they could hold off a full invasion. There is nothing new in what you propose here.' He paused to turn in his seat and address the man next to him. 'Minister Eliph, you have more pressing news from the diplomatic corps, I understand?'

'I do,' concurred Eliph, and avoided the general's sudden glare as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. 'Our ambassador in Zanzahar has arranged for further discussions with the Caliphate concerning their recent proposal. He believes they are sincere in their talk of extending the limit of their safe waters closer to us. There is real hope, it would seem.'

His words drew the scorn of half the chamber, evident in a general hiss of breath and the shaking of heads. Many believed that this recent proposal of the Caliphate was nothing more than empty words, amounting to simply another manoeuvre in the Caliphate's latest trade dispute with Mann.

'The Caliphate merely hopes to sustain this war for as long as it can,' said Chonas, as though speaking to a child. 'It profits too well in providing blackpowder to both sides.'

Some rapped their knuckles on the table in agreement with this. Others protested vocally and asked to be heard.

After that, the assembly broke down into a series of arguments. They could carry on this way for an hour or more, Bahn knew only too well.

It was hot in the huge room, with its windows facing the sun. Despite the hand-pulled ceiling fans and the cool sea breeze from those windows which stood open, a smell of sweat permeated the chamber, not quite concealed by the scents of sickly sweet perfumes. After a while Bahn's interest faded to mere observance, and then shifted to other matters entirely.

He had hoped today to hear of some resolution on their present food crisis, yet they could do nothing about that, it seemed. Food supplies to Khos had been reduced even further since they had lost a grain fleet on its return from Zanzahar. In theory Khos could sustain itself without these imports, being the breadbasket of Mercia after all. But with a steady influx of refugees into the Free Ports over the last decade, which the Mercians had finally welcomed, after heavy losses suffered in the first few years of the war – deciding they needed these desperate people after all – Khos had long ago ceased to produce enough to feed the other islands. With their summer harvest of wheat still in the fields, and a large proportion of their imports needed elsewhere, rations had become even more meagre than before.

Upon noticing the jutting bones on his son's body and even in his wife, Bahn had chosen to abstain from consuming any of his family's weekly rations, in the pretence that he could eat when he was serving at the walls or inside the Ministry. But even the soldiers there were suffering as everyone else, and received hardly enough to sustain a man.

A fist crashed against the tabletop next to his arm, jerking him from his thoughts. Bahn stared at it as though it had fallen from the sky.

'Enough of this,' the general rumbled to the gathered ministers, stopping their scattered debate in its tracks. He drew himself tall, not looking at the First Minister but at the others around the table instead, and with a firmness in his voice he said, 'We were discussing the forts, and I still have this to say on the matter. If you choose not to defend the forts, we must defend ourselves by other means. We must stop sitting here on our arses behind our high walls. We must attack, and take the fight to the enemy.'

Attack? Bahn was suddenly all attention.

A chair fell to the floor as old Phrades clambered to his feet, mouthing words no one could hear. Other ministers stood and added their own more substantial voices to his protests. Bahn pressed back in his chair, seeking anonymity from the suddenly angry Michine. He blinked at the powder-white faces ranged around the great table. These men had been taught from youth to show emotion only when it was most required of them. It was said that they daubed their faces white so as to hide the merest hint of a blush. Now, in their hostile expressions, he saw the blood of their ancestors finally flooding to the surface, darkening the pallor of their dusted complexions. It was the same blood as ran through the veins of their great-greatgrandfathers and uncles, those wealthy patricians who had deposed the first and only High King of all Mercia, and had done so backed only by a rabble army inflamed to action by the king's plans of foreign conquest – for such imperialistic ambitions had not sat well with the people of the Free Ports.

'Attack with what?' enquired Minister Sinese, shaking his walking stick in the air.

'With our reserves, damn it. Yes, that again. We have men enough to launch an offensive against Nomarl – there, you can see it right before your eyes, man, close enough you could almost reach out that stick of yours and