Sutler's Road Read online

  Sutler’s Road

  Part One of Native Silver

  Blake Hausladen

  Edited by

  Deanna Sjolander

  Published 2018 by Rook Creek Books, an imprint of Rook Creek LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by Blake Hausladen

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  * * *

  Edited by Deanna Sjolander

  Cartography by Author

  Contents

  Map to Zoviya

  1. Arilas Barok Yentif

  2. Geart Goib

  Map of Bessradi

  3. Minister Sikhek

  4. Madam Soma O’Nropeel

  5. Madam Dia Yentif

  6. General Leger Mertone

  7. Crown Prince Evand Yentif

  8. Geart Goib

  9. General Leger Mertone

  10. Madam Soma O’Nropeel

  11. Madam Dia Yentif

  The Ubroshor Manner of Camp

  12. Crown Prince Evand Yentif

  13. Minister Sikhek

  14. Crown Prince Evand Yentif

  Also by Blake Hausladen

  About the Author

  Glossary

  1

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  We rode across the west bridge of the Enhedu River and stopped to wait for my envoys. I could not stand it. A desperate ship had arrived from Heneur, and there was much to do. My Fell Pony shook his head in protest and tried to spit his bit. I relaxed the reins, scratched his neck in apology, and worked to hold still. The calm moments forced me to take in the world around me and afforded me the opportunity to enjoy the sights and sounds of our great enterprise.

  The warm wind ruffled the canvas sails of the towering wheat threshers, and their spinning copper drums rasped like the hiss of a hundred angry lynx. The roaring river spun the miller’s wheel and the wheel his heavy stones. Carts filled with winter rye rumbled in, and the drayers and farmers hollered and grunted. The ropes of the bargemen creaked and strained to the occasional compliment or growl of an overseer. Along the wide gray road we’d arrived upon, a long line of packhorses clattered toward the harbor, while the metal that plated my personal guard rattled impatiently for us to be moving after them. Behind them, my master carriagemaker and his very large family chatted about the happy heat of that fine mid-morning sun.

  But the moments stretched on, and my worries crept forward. My stomach sank while I vexed about Geart and Leger. Had they reached Bessradi on time? Were they and their company of greencoats still alive? I imagined them marching through the capital and all the many things that could undo our plans. I worried then, too, how I would survive even if they were successful.

  Could my craftsmen pay their taxes? Would my untested harbor and half-finished ships be able to deliver their goods to distant shores? Would my farmers manage to pay their rents? Would the enterprise hold together once the work-for-land contracts I had with so many began to expire? How could I get back Enhedu’s vote upon the Council of Lords when the best outcome for my treasury and tax rolls was a fraction of what a petition would require?

  And what of my enemies? Did they know of my conquest of Trace the previous autumn? Were more Hessier moving up the Enhedu Road to kill me? Were they already here and about to ambush me once again? Would I ever get used to these long rides out to the harbor? Why had the ghosts that possessed me been silent these last hundred days? And how was it possible that I was going to fail for a second New Year in a row to find a gift for anyone, much less my pregnant wife, Dia?

  Would the baby be okay? Would my father murder my wife and child? Would Zoviya take offense and smash all of Enhedu?

  Enhedu was the Zoviyan name for my province. My mother’s family had called it Edonia. It had become my home, and the Spirit willing, I would be its king.

  A move of bright colors drew my eyes to the fresh granite square of the customhouse. Selt Sestar was emerging at last—dressed as I was for the morning’s event in the sapphire blue of Yentif silk. Behind him was Captain Gern Furstundish in a vested uniform and green overcoat, and Admiral Elsar Mercanfur was in one of the new naval uniforms of yellow linen, complete with a short coat and a wide-brimmed hat. The rest of my envoys followed them out, none as well dressed but all with the silver emblem of their royal office pinned upon their breasts. The average man from the Kaaryon would mistake the structure for an outhouse and them as the footmen of some gritty noble. To me, it and they were the same as the threshers and bargemen—perfectly functional and as equipped for the day as they had been all the days of that hectic winter.

  I excused myself from the carriagemaker and joined the seven of them in the brief plaza between the customhouse and the road.

  “The prophet Roto Zovi did the moon a disservice,” Selt said. He was a Bessradi man ten years my senior, my new reeve, and a bit of a jackass. He squinted against the extra light of the bright yellow moon and continued adroitly, “It is not Bayen’s fist hovering around his fiery eye. Our Lord in heaven has two eyes: one unerring orb, and a second that wanders, crossing and uncrossing as it divines for apostasy. Heresy cannot hide beneath such awesome vision.”

  None in that group cared at all what one of Bayen’s prophets may have said, but I had myself to blame for Selt’s behavior. He was one of the few in my service who could carry off the guise of a devotee, and as distasteful as it was, Urnedi needed practice hearing the likes of it before men from all points began to sail to our shores.

  I chose to ignore him and turn to Mayor Erom Oklas. “Your report?”

  “Urnedi’s streets need to be paved,” the master mason replied as he had almost every day that winter.

  “Today is not a good day for the topic. Have you finished drafting a proposal for the work as we discussed?”

  I ignored his grumblings about the inconveniences of writing it all down and turned to the commander of my personal guard. “Captain?”

  “The fitness of the greencoats could not be better,” Gern replied. “Our tenth camp of trainees just made muster, bringing us to 1,080 fit and well-equipped men. We’ve a company of cavalry and another of infantry here in Urnedi, and a second of infantry under the command of General Leger Mertone. We are maintaining an active watch on the harbor, both bridges, and the top of the mountain road. I have detached three troops to the north to serve garrison duty—”

  “Again, thank you, but there is no need for you to review the tasks that are assumed of you. Please, all of you, let me restate my purpose. I mean to take back Enhedu’s vote upon the Council of Lords. The best case I can make is the size of Enhedu’s tax rolls and the strength of our trading relationships with our neighbors. And to that end, I am working to respond to the letter delivered this morning by the first friendly ship to visit Enhedu in centuries.”

  I retrieved the rolled sheets of vellum from a case in my saddlebag and read it to them aloud.

  The 81st of Winter, 1195

  * * *

  Prince Barok, Honorable Lord and Arilas of Enhedu,

  A loyal man of Heneur arrived yesterday in Wilgmuth and told me a tale of horses. He claims he sold a herd of Fell Ponies to your alsman earlier this year that our enemies meant to take to war against us. I did not believe him, especially when I learned that your alsman was Leger Mertone, the very man who broke Heneur’s back when my uncles were at war with your
father.

  * * *

  But my man insisted and showed me the contract which bears your mark. So I was left to wonder why you would put yourself between Heneur and its enemies. I was roundly counseled that your man was taking advantage of the horse trader, but I am compelled by the ardent opinions of my returned countryman to send to you this most desperate plea.

  * * *

  On the 28th of Autumn, I became Heneur’s arilas when my brother Cirt was murdered at Smargnoid by Arilas Harod Serm of Aderan. The long year of my brother’s labors—a beautiful and bountiful crop—was stolen.

  And to the east, the ignoble families of the Oreol send corsairs to raid my coastline, forcing my fishermen ashore and my farmers behind the few walls that can be relied upon.

  * * *

  My people starve.

  * * *

  I have received a demand for Heneur’s surrender, and the Serm of Aderan waits only for the weather to turn before climbing up Opti Pass to enforce it. My army struggles now to fortify Wilgmuth against a siege we cannot withstand.

  * * *

  I endeavored to travel to Bessradi for the spring meeting of the Council of Lords to seek redress, but the few passages south are closed by the weather and the Serm. I can only hope that what my returned countryman has said of the men of Enhedu is true, and I beg you to send what you can to help me feed my people.

  * * *

  I have nothing to offer in return but the turmoil of our conflict and the gratitude of the dying.

  * * *

  Upon bloodied knees,

  Lukan Vlek, Arilas of Heneur

  “So, my envoys, address yourselves please, as is relevant,” I said, and leadingly I asked the mayor, “Erom, how has Urnedi received word of my decision to help Heneur?”

  “Very well, my lord. They were happy to hear it.”

  “It is known that this will mean war with Aderan?”

  “Pardon, my lord, but everyone knows that it was Aderan’s coins that paid for Trace’s attack upon us and Aderan’s jails that held Geart and Avin. We’ve a score to settle with them. And besides, the Oreol belongs to you now, and the Raydau, Cynt, and whoever else lives there cannot be left to make war without your leave. You’ve no detractors in town.”

  “Chairman Nace? The craftsmen’s consortium agrees?” I asked.

  The soft-spoken man replied, “They required that I verify the reeve’s work. That was the reason for our delay. I found no flaws.”

  Selt handed me the inventory in question and said, “Our stores can take this hit, and another like it if necessary. We cannot manage a third before the summer crops start to come in.”

  160,000 weights of foodstuffs were on the move. Enough, perhaps, to make a difference to Heneur.

  I turned to Admiral Mercanfur. “Is the harbor ready for the event, Elsar?”

  “Yes. I rousted Haton and his staff. His inn at the harbor will be ready to host our guests. The face of the pier will be ready as well, but …” He correctly read my mood and shortened his report. “We’ll make do.”

  “And your ship?”

  “The Thorne is ready,” he replied, but his tone was off. I waved him on. “She’s not built for deep water, my lord. A voyage to Heneur will be a rough affair. The trip might ruin her. I would call it a good trade, all things considered, but a sad parting nonetheless.”

  “Thank you, Elsar. We will give the Thorne a proper burial when the day comes for her to be retired.” I said this not knowing exactly how one went about burying a ship, but Mercanfur was appeased.

  I turned to Fana Furstundish, Gern’s wife and my senior scribe. She waved off, having nothing to add.

  The last of them was Eargram, Urnedi’s bailiff. He said, “I have problems that need to be addressed, but they’ll keep.”

  “Thank you, everyone,” I said. “Gern, Selt, Elsar, you are with me. The rest of you, I leave you to your day.”

  They got to their horses. Gern rode close. “There is still the matter of the oaths—”

  “No. We have discussed this. The yew forest is no place for scribes, cooks, and maids.”

  The Chaukai wished to swear my staff to the Spirit of the Earth like they had the greencoats in their trust, but it was a dangerous business. They’d lost two men to the process that winter.

  He surrendered, and I started us toward the harbor.

  I noticed that Selt was wearing a war hammer—undoubtedly the same one he’d used during the Battle of Urnedi. I said to him, “Leger’s smiths can make better.”

  “A new one wouldn’t have dried Hessier blood on it,” he said.

  “You find this helpful during your day-to-day in my service?”

  He smiled a touch. “I like to think of it as advisory. If one cannot deal with me, they certainly cannot deal with all of you.”

  My guards chuckled at this. The thick steel plate they wore had belonged to the Hessier who’d come to kill me. The armor still had the slightest tinge of their dreadful smell, and many still flinched at the sight of them.

  Selt never ceased to surprise me. He was able enough, but lacked the physical confidence required to be anything but an average swordsman. I had thought he carried the hammer to compensate. I was pleased it had become a symbol of his authority.

  “We strive to walk his humble path into the light,” Selt quoted, as any devotee would do at the commencement of a journey.

  The members of my personal guard hid their anger well. Our master carriagemaker and several of his brood replied with grateful benedictions. The youngest and least attractive of his daughters scoffed. I could not recall her name but was familiar with her from the employment she’d found at the harbor as a sailmaker’s assistant.

  Selt used the opportunity of the long ride to start an old conversation. I listened to his arguments for a time but could only entertain him for so long before cutting him off. “You will convince me one day that we can build a bank, but not this season. Every coin already has three uses.”

  If he’d not spent a lifetime in the service of royalty, I was certain he would have spat and cursed our ill fortune. He bowed, instead, and would have changed the subject if the carriagemaker had not ridden close as he was wont to do. Tall, importunate, and graying, Master Sevat O’Nropeel would never win a congeniality contest. It did not take long for him to impose himself further.

  “I know I am just another of Prince Barok’s master craftsmen,” he said to Selt, repeating an expression he used far too often, “but the new customhouse is quite a sight. It is, surely.” I caught a touch of his thick Heneuran accent leaking through and wondered if he was trying to practice it. I’d been rather disappointed that he was the only man from Heneur in Enhedu. I would not have included him otherwise, and I was beginning to worry at the decision regardless.

  He continued, “I haven’t been away from Carriage Road all season, so I missed the unveiling. A fine building, Reeve Sestar, truly it is. My dau’ter is not getting in the way, I pray? Please tell me it is not so.”

  “Not in the least. Amelia is proving to be a most promising scribe.”

  “My, but what a wonderful thing for a father to hear. It stirs memories of my own pap,” he said working too hard on both his accent and the topic. He said to his wife, “Please do remember, Soma dear, the day w’en our families were discussing the dowry, can you? My father stood t’ere in the plaza of Errera as proud of my carriages as your uncles were of the job you did delivering t’em downriver to Bessradi. Do you remember, dear?” This made the otherwise stony woman blush and the rest of us increasingly uncomfortable. Sevat pressed on. “It won’t be long before we are negotiating a dowry for Amelia, I am sure.”

  We were all grateful when the harbor came into view, though none quite as much as Madam O’Nropeel or the Lady Amelia.

  The sight of the visiting ship tied onto our fresh-planked pier was stirring. The long triangular-sailed Heneuran ship had a flat stern and small aftcastle. Two useful-seeming pitched canvas tents shaded the work
areas on either side of the mast, but what most struck me about its make was how the ship was held together. No nails at all in a western ship like this one as I understood them. Each hull and deck plank was lashed to its neighbor with cordage, likely flax. The ship was complemented well by the Thorne, the finest of Admiral Mercanfur’s Tracian traders tied on farther along the pier. The rest of the admiral’s barges and ships were not in harbor just then, all out working Enhedu’s river or the safer waters of her gulf coast. But there was something very picturesque about the two ships, one a creature of the West, the other a creature of the North—two masts rising up from the waters of the calm bay like salutes to the sea and sky.

  From the foot of the pier spread a wide collection of warehouses, storefronts, and homes that buttressed the welcoming three-story inn that towered over them. On the far side, a road ran down the long beach to the five ships my wrights labored to complete. Every structure and boat launch had sprung up from nothing during the long uninterrupted winter. Admiral Mercanfur’s people from the struggling city of Almidi had immigrated, and each had signed my pledge of service.

  I would have to give the place its own name soon.

  The work of my shipwrights held my attention as we rode down. Each design was the work of a hundred master craftsmen whose livelihoods depended upon the success of my fleet. None were the four-masted masters of the ocean that piqued my dreams. I was neither carpenter nor seaman, so my crude attempts to draw or describe the glimpses my ancestors gave me were of no use to either class of men. The competition was fierce as the reward was a contract to build five more ships. The first had three masts and castles fore and aft to strengthen them. Several of them abandoned the cobblestone-like method for hull design in favor of overlapping timbers. One did away with the cross pieces for the deck to rest upon, instead framing it with deck timbers that reached the full length of the very large ship. The last was Mercanfur’s design, and it seemed the most sensible, if not the best understood. It was identical to the Thorne, just half again as long with ten oars to a side instead of six.