Ships from the West

generally known, I have been able to find out that this new body is to be composed entirely of mages and shifters. He calls them the 'Hounds of God'.'

'Saint in heaven!'

'What we want you to do, Captain, is to help prepare Hebrion for war.' 'What war is that?'

'One which is to be fought very soon. Not this year perhaps, but within the next few. A battle for mastery of this continent. No man will be unaffected by it - nor will any man be able to ignore it.'

'Unless he drinks himself to death first.' Golophin nodded sombrely. 'There is that.' 'So I am to help you prepare for some great struggle with the warlocks and werewolves of the world. And in return—'

'In return you will attain a high position in the navy, and at court, I promise you.'

'What of Murad? He won't like my . . . elevation.' 'Murad will do as he's told.' 'And his wife?' 'What of her?'

'Nothing. No matter. I will do it, Golophin. For this I'll crawl out of that bottle.'

The wizard's grin shone in the gloom of the cabin. 'I knew you would. How very fortunate that Grobus offered so paltry a price today. We will have need of the Gabrian Osprey. She is to be the prototype for a new fleet.'

'You knew of that. You had a hand—'

'Damn right.'

Nothing changes, Hawkwood thought. The nobility have sudden need of you, so they pluck you out of the gutter, peer at the disappointed little life they pinch twisting between their fingers, and set it down on their great gaming board where it can be put to use. Well this pawn has its own rules.

'It's dark as pitch in here. Let me light a lantern.' Hawk-wood fumbled for his tinderbox and after striking flint and steel a dozen times was able to coax into life a ship's lantern which still had some oil in its well. The thick glass was cracked, but that was of no moment. Its yellow kindly light illuminated the creviced features of the wizard opposite and blacked out the sea astern.

'So may I expect you at the gate of Admiral's Tower tomorrow morning?' Golophin asked.

Hawkwood nodded assent.

'Excellent.' The mage tossed a small doeskin bag on the table that clinked heavily. 'An advance on your wages. You might want to outfit yourself with a new wardrobe. Quarters will be arranged in the tower.'

'Will be arranged, or have been arranged?'

Golophin rose and donned his hat. 'Until tomorrow then, Captain,' and he held out a hand.

Hawkwood shook it, rising in turn. His face was a stiff mask. Golophin turned to go, and then halted. 'It is no bad thing when personal inclination and the dictates of policy go together, Captain. We need you, it is true, but I for one am glad to have you besides. The court is full of well-bred snakes. The King has need of one or two honest men around him too.'

He left, stooping as he entered the companionway. Hawk­wood listened to him stride forward to the waist, and then there was that scrabbling seagull on deck again, and then silence.

Later, he lay on his oars a cable's length from the Osprey and watched her burn. Somehow the ship reclaimed some of her old beauty as the flames swept up from her decks and roared bright and blazing into the night sky. The fire reflected wet and shining from his eyes and he sat watching until she had burned down to the waterline and the sea began rushing in to quench the inferno. A hissing of steam, and then a murmuring gurgle as what was left of her hull turned over and sank beneath the waves. Hawkwood wiped his face in the choppy darkness.

He'd build their damn navy, and jump through whatever hoops they put in front of him. It was a way of surviving, after all. But his brave ship would never become a mere blueprint in some naval surveyor's office.

He picked up his oars, and began the long haul back to shore.

PART ONE

The Fall of Hebrion

He uncovers the deeps out of darkness,

and brings great darkness to light.

He makes nations great, and he destroys them;

He enlarges nations, and leads them away.

He takes away understanding from the chiefs

of the people of the earth,

And makes them wander in a pathless waste.

Job ch.12, v. 23-24

One

14^th Forialon, Year of the Saint 567

The knot of riders pummelled along the sea cliffs in a billow of tawny dust. Young men on tall horses, they came to a thundering halt scant inches from the edge and sat their snorting mounts there laughing and slapping dust from their clothes. The sun, bright as a cymbal, beat down on the sky-blue sea far below and made the glitter of the horizon too bright for the eye to bear. It caused the sere mountains behind the riders to ripple and shimmer like a vision.

Cantering up to join the horsemen came another, but this was an older man, his dress sombre, and his beard gun-metal grey. His mount came to a sober halt and he wiped sweat from his temples.

'You'll break your damn fool necks if you're not careful. Don't you know the rock is rotten there at the edge?'

Most of the younger men eased their horses away from the fearsome drop sheepishly, but one remained in place, a broad-shouldered youth with pale blue eyes and hair black as a raven's feather. His mount was a handsome grey gelding which stood prick-eared and attentive between his knees.

'Bevan, where would I be without you? I suppose Mother told you to follow us.'

'She did, small wonder. Now get away from the edge, Bleyn. Make an old man happy.'

Bleyn smiled and backed the grey from the brink of the sea cliff one yard, two. Then he dismounted in a motion as easy as the flow of water, patted the neck of the sweating horse and slapped dust from his riding leathers. On foot he was shorter than one would have guessed, with a powerfully built torso set square on a pair of stout legs. The physique of a longshore­man topped by the incongruously fine-boned face of an aristocrat.

'We came to see if we could catch a glimpse of the fleet,' he said, somewhat contrite.

'Then look to the headland there - Grios Point. They'll be coming into view any time now, with this breeze. They weighed anchor in the middle of the night.'

The other riders dismounted also, hobbled their horses and unhooked wineskins from their saddles.

'What's it all about anyway, Bevan?' one of them asked. 'Stuck out here in the provinces, we're always the last to know.'

'It's a huge pirate fleet, I hear’ another said. 'Up from the Macassars looking for blood and plunder.'

‘I don't know about pirates,' Bevan said slowly, 'but I do know that your father, Bleyn, had to call up all the retainers on the estate and tear off to Abrusio with them in tow. It's a general levy, and we haven't seen one of those in ... oh sixteen, seventeen years now.'

'He's not my father,' Bleyn said quickly, his fine-boned face flushing dark.

Bevan looked at him. 'Now listen—'

'There they are!' one of the others shouted excitedly. 'Just coming round the point.'

They all stared, silent now. The cicadas clicked endlessly in the heat around them, but there was a breeze off the barren mountains at their backs.