Every few days, Ullsaard ordered the captain to put into the bank to allow the ailurs some exercise. Ullsaard, Noran and Erlaan would ride along the bank, easily keeping time with the ship, and board again in the evening. The general enjoyed these short excursions, and listened patiently to Noran's exploits in Askh or Erlaan's hopes for quickly finding some suitable wives. He let their babble wash over him, paying just enough attention to answer the occasional question or respond with suitable comment when it was required.
The Greenwater curved dawnwards towards the Askhor Mountains and the banks grew steeper, reed beds giving way to chalky cliffs cut with zigzagging paths. River traffic grew with each day they came closer to Nalanor's capital, Parmia. The grey city dominated the hills to coldward of the river, across five mounts that dropped steeply to the shores of Lake Parmia. The Greenwater disappeared into the inland sea and the wind died, broken up by the surrounding ring of hills. The crew bent their backs to the sweeps for five watches out of eight, as the steersman guided the galley around other ships and the low, tree-filled islands that broke the lake's surface.
The ship stopped in Parmia for two days while the captain exchanged some of his cargo for Nalanorian goods. Ullsaard and Noran had no desire to repeat the fiasco of Geria and stayed on board lest Governor Adral became aware of their presence. They left the city without incident and carried on dawnwards along the Greenwater, every day bringing them closer to the docks at Narun and the border of Askhor.
Narun
Summer, 208th Year of Askh
I
Though it lacked the general splendour of Askh and could not compete with the sheer size of the Askhor Wall, Narun was perhaps the greatest achievement of the Askhan Empire, at least in Ullsaard's mind. Just hotwards of the sprawling docks the Greenwater ceased to be a river; for three miles the river broke into a dozen channels created by a series of lock gates and dams. Each channel was divided and divided again into a criss-cross of canals and aqueducts, creating a huge gridded area of waterways, wharfs and dry docks.
Teams of abada trudged in circles around capstans to open lock gates or pump water along the aqueducts. Thick-beamed cranes — more than ten times as many as were found in Geria — loomed over the still waters, more beasts of burden chained and roped to the sprawling network of pulleys and levers. Swarms of dockhands busied themselves on the ships' decks and wooden quays, loading and unloading, a constant stream of wagons and handcarts arriving and leaving with the goods of the empire. A stepped hill had been built to duskward, rising in twenty levels reached by winding ramps, each tier filled with cavernous warehouses.
Along the waterside overseers cajoled and bullied their teams with cudgels and curses, warning off rivals with hoarse shouts. They haggled unloading fees with ships' masters as they passed and called out to Ullsaard's ship to make dock at their quay. Pilots sat in boats on the water, offering their services to captains unfamiliar with the maze-like harbour.
'Where are we going to berth?' Ullsaard asked the shipmaster, Eoruan, who thrust a hand into a leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a gilded crown-shaped token.
'King's Wharfs,' Eoruan said with a grin. 'Your friend, the herald, knows all the right people.'
With slow sweeps of the oars, the galley slid serenely between the ships, coracles and boats filling the waterway, the smaller vessels hurrying out of its path as it headed implacably coldwards along the main canal. The water opened into a large artificial lake, broken by anchored rafts on which were piles of wood for fires. The clean- hewn banks of the reservoir jutted steeply at the water's edge, and there stood high beacon towers.
'You should see this place at night,' the captain said. 'It's not called the Harbour of a Thousand Fires for no reason. The firelight glittering on the water, the shadows and silhouettes of a hundred ships. Makes my old heart stir, it surely does.'
Ullsaard nodded but said nothing. He had seen plenty of firestorms by night; when Lehmia had burned; when his legions had put the torch to Mekhani settlements hotwards of Khar; when lava-throwers had torched enemy encampments. He chose not to share the memories with the ship's master.
'About time,' muttered Eoruan.
'What's that?'
'The harbour authorities have talked about a halfway bridge for the past three years. Good for unloading light, perishable goods without having to dock fully. You know, using just boats. Looks like they're finally doing something.'
The captain pointed to a long pontoon bridge stretching about a third of the way across the lake from the coldward bank. Dozens of men laboured on the extended bridge, naked save for black scarves that covered their heads and shoulders; slaves taken by the legions and criminals labouring to atone for their acts against the empire, under the watchful gaze of robed members of the Brotherhood. Soldiers with black crests stood at regular intervals along the line of labourers, carrying long clubs rather than spears. More coloured hats, thought Ullsaard. Black hats to match the black robes of the Brotherhood. More nonsense.
The King's Wharfs were built of stone blocks, unlike the wooden quays and jetties that made up the rest of Narun. On solid piles sunk into the bottom of the lake, three wide piers speared into the water, each large enough to berth four ships, two to each side. Only one was in use at the moment, the middle quay providing mooring for a bireme and a small yacht. A blue banner embroidered with the gold symbol of the crown fluttered at the masthead of the smaller vessel.
'Prince Kalmud's ship,' said Eoruan. 'Was here when we left. I guess the prince has been spending some time in Askh.'
'Very likely,' grunted Ullsaard.
'I thought he was hotwards along the Greenwater,' Eoruan continued.
'He was,' said Ullsaard. 'Now he isn't.'
The captain caught Ullsaard's stare and quelled whatever he was going to say next. He coughed self- consciously.
'We'll be in berth soon enough. Time to start getting the stores ready to unload.'
'Right,' said Ullsaard. 'Do that.'
With another glance at Ullsaard, Eoruan headed along the deck, bellowing for the crew to muster. The pounding of feet on the deck roused Noran, who sauntered from belowdecks. Erlaan was behind him.
'Not long now, eh?' Noran said to the prince as they joined Ullsaard. 'Soon we'll be back in Askh, chasing the women and drinking the finest wines.'
'I am more concerned with my father's health,' replied the youth.
'Of course, of course,' said Noran. 'I didn't mean to be dismissive. It's just… I'm sure there's no cause for serious concern.'
Erlaan's eyes were fixed on the dawnward shoreline.
'I hope not,' he said. The prince turned and his gaze moved between Ullsaard and Noran. 'I know you think me inexperienced, and you're probably right. But I know enough to wonder what's happening when my uncle sends a herald so far hotward to bring back his favourite general.'
'Probably the Greenwater campaign,' said Ullsaard, meeting Erlaan's look. He smiled in the most encouraging fashion he could. 'It doesn't mean anything, really. I'll probably just be sent to keep an eye on his troops while your father recovers. We'll be back kicking sand at the Mekhani next year.'
Erlaan shook his head.
'Why bring you to Askh just to send you all the way back down the Greenwater again? Seems like an awful waste of your time.'
Ullsaard looked to Noran to provide an answer. The herald shrugged, earning himself a frown.
'I just know what I am told,' said Noran. 'Prince Aalun gave me no instructions other than to bring you back to Askh; and no information other than Prince Kalmud had been taken with an illness.'
