Tundra

‘Your father always was a small man.’ The words fell between them like stones cast before a prow, to test the depth of the ocean that sundered them. The tide roared up in protest. They were in a room full of carvings, wooden planks showing vistas of the bay, full of ships in its time of glory, before now. The jutting, icy precipices of the far-off glaciers were also rendered in oak and arctic pine.

‘He’s dead,’ said Turon. ‘Show some respect.’ He turned to me, and asked, ‘What do you want?’

‘This Erasmus,’ I said. ‘What do you know about him?’

Turon waved a lazy hand, his gesture bitter like an agonising oar stroke. ‘Several bands have flocked to his banner. He’s a southerner. He’s not a mage, but he has mages with him, or monsters, or both. My spies are not experts, so they can’t tell the difference.’

Eiron raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Since when do we have spies?’

‘Since we lost two thirds of the band in an ambush, Eiron. Like I’ve been telling people, this is not our grandfathers’ war.’

And the fact that you’ve only ever led a handful of raids has nothing to do with that, I suppose?’ Eiron insinuated.

‘What are you implying?’

‘There are no spies in the hall of heroes.’

‘Yes,’ said Turon, ‘but everyone there is dead.’

I pulled Eiron aside, walking down several of the steps that led to the depressed, fur-scattered centre of the hall. ‘Are you going to be able to work with this man?’ I asked him, seriously.

‘There is no working with him. This is my replacement, and he knows it,’ Eiron explained. ‘The right thing for him to do is to get out of my way.’

‘And then what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I see,’ I said quietly, but seething. A new thought had occurred to me. ‘Is that why you’ve deferred to me all this time?’

‘I don’t want to be the leader of a mage and a fish-man.’

‘You’re not worried about getting us killed?’

‘Alright. Yes. You take the lead on this.’

We stepped back up the tiers in the floor, arriving at the elevated platform on which Turon stood. It was a kind of royal platform, furnished with a long table and an iron seat; a throne. ‘What do you mean, mages or monsters?’ I asked him.

‘Men with the appearance of monsters,’ said Turon, gesticulating. ‘Huge teeth, bulbs growing out of their skin, gills and feathers and horns.’

‘Presumably that’s his fungus contingent,’ I said darkly.

‘Presumably.’

‘So is it just you who’s come out against him?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’

I shook my head. ‘My school’s not involved in this on either side,’ I informed him.

‘Why not?’ Turon was puzzled. His hand went automatically to his head, stroking the blonde braids that ran from the base of his skull in a long ponytail, like and extension of the tentacles whose black shapes marred his face.

‘It’s not what we do,’ I said.

‘This isn’t just a Seafarer fight, you know.’

‘I know, but we can’t get involved. You wouldn’t want us to anyway. If we won this war for you, you wouldn’t be prepared to pay what victory would cost you.’ I thought of Blackmouth again, and of pacts. My bet was that none of the Seafarers had ever encountered a demon.

‘You’d be surprise,’ Turon let on. ‘Regardless, no, we’re not alone. When Erasmus ambushed the gathered Karls, he earned the enmity of half the bands still extant. You just don’t do that.’

‘Because it’s dishonourable?’ I guessed.

‘No, because it’s stupid. It’s vitally important that Karls can meet with one another in the middle of feuds without being threatened. Otherwise, how would any diplomacy ever get done?’

‘Alright,’ I reasoned. ‘So what are we talking about here?’ Eiron was silent now. As he had already indicated, it was down to me.

‘Several smaller fleets. We’re trying to coordinate them all, but we don’t know where Erasmus’s fleet is going. It’s one big fleet, but it’s not headed for anywhere they could raid as far as we can tell

‘If we could tell you, would you be able to get your people together in time to stop it?’

‘Potentially.’

I pulled a map from my pocket, and smoothed the ancient paper over on one of the tables, no longer crammed with food, just as the hearths no longer crackled with fire, but were full of night-time black and embers. I held the crisp chart up, handing it to Turon. I pointed at a part of the drawing as I did so.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘You’re about to tell me there’s nothing there, yes?’ I guessed again.

‘There’s nothing there now, no,’ he said, a hint of wariness in his voice. ‘But there used to be?’

‘What?’ I asked.

Turon sighed. ‘There’s a story my great-grandmother told me. It’s not a well-known legend– I’ve actually never heard it outside of her telling it.’

‘This is Prince Eiron’s great-grandmother as well?’

‘Other side of the family. The reason his father inherited his Karlship and my father had to claim his. Anyway, there used to be this island out there. It had a couple of sheltered bays, access to some swift currents, perfect for raiding. The band that used it were the Spiralled Arm, who as far as anyone can tell never existed– they’re not in any of the other stories. Anyway, they fell afoul of a couple of larger bands– not the Cleaved Tide, but one of the bands we absorbed a few generations ago. The rumour was that they’d made a deal with a sea-demon to make them difficult to trace, and because of this, when they raided other bands, they’d tear down their shrines and throw their ancestors’ bones into the sea. Eventually, their enemies came for them, but when they arrived at where the island should be, all they found was empty water.’

‘Why haven’t I heard of this before?’ I demanded.

‘Do you spend much time among the Seafarers?’

‘No,’ I admitted, ‘but we have books of your legends.’

‘Well then maybe you need new books. I will talk to the other Karls and assemble the fleet. Do you know what he’s planning?’

‘No,’ I confessed.

‘I would have liked to,’ said Turon, wistfully, ‘but it seems there’s no time. I’m going to have to lead people into a battle we don’t know enough about, against an enemy we don’t understand. I now know how Eiron feels.’