The Great Northern War (The Portal Wars Saga Book 2) Read online

  A long minute passed and finally Uther smiled. The expression so stunned her she flinched.

  “You are quite correct. This is why you are my sole councilor. The others who came before were spineless cowards who spouted platitudes and told me what they imagined I wanted to hear rather than the truth. Each time one of them did, I added his head to the wall. I can hardly believe that I would find the heart of a true Straken warrior in such a small, beautiful woman. Prepare the orders and I’ll sign them.”

  He took his hands away and sat back down.

  Her heart returned to normal and she took a step toward the door.

  “Never change, Lady,” the king said. “I would hate to have to add your pretty head to my collection.”

  She bowed at his back and withdrew. She’d survived another day.

  Perhaps tomorrow would be her last, but until then, she’d do her best to prove to Uther that he hadn’t made a mistake with her.

  Chapter 12

  Around dusk, Allen, Eric, and Erin set out for the river. Much as he hated to, Allen was forced to leave Ulf behind to look after the tavern. Not that Allen expected trouble. The Riverman was an old friend and if anyone knew what was happening on the river, it was him. Even if he wasn’t expecting trouble, Allen wore his sword and dagger and the mercenaries had their crossbows as well as a backup shortsword. No one ever died from being too prepared.

  He led his companions toward Northgate through the rapidly darkening city. The clanging and crashing from the city’s many foundries quieted at night but never went truly silent. If you had to walk through the metal district, this was the best time.

  Workers were pouring out into the street to make their way home after a long day at the forges. Allen kept them to the side streets, evading the worst of the crowd, and soon reached Northgate. Today’s traffic had already dwindled to nothing so they had no trouble walking out.

  Allen turned up the northern trade road. It was about a mile to the Riverman’s home and he wanted to get there before the sun fully set. Thrashing around through the forest in the dark didn’t appeal to him.

  “Why is it we couldn’t do this in daylight?” Erin asked.

  “The Riverman doesn’t like bright light,” Allen said. “He has an eye condition that makes them very sensitive. The same condition also lets them see long distances and in very minimal light. He’s been watching the comings and goings on the river since long before I was born.”

  “Just how old is he?” Eric asked.

  “Old. When I first met him ten years ago, he already had white hair, a beard, and more wrinkles than you’ve ever seen. Still, I haven’t heard anything about him dying so I assume he still keeps watch.”

  “What’s he do for a living? I assume there’s not much money in watching the river,” Erin said.

  “You’d be surprised how many people want to know what is going on. Not that he’s getting rich. He lives in a shack, fishes for most of his food, and occasionally trades for whatever else he needs.”

  “Is that why you brought the whiskey?” Eric asked.

  Allen patted the satchel at his side. The cheap bottle of booze he grabbed from behind the bar before they got going should be plenty to bribe him, but if it wasn’t enough, he’d also brought a bag of dried sausage.

  “That’s right. The old-timer likes a nip every once in a while.”

  They marched on in silence and after a few minutes Allen spotted the narrow trail that led down to the river. He turned off the road, ducked a branch, and generally did his best not to get tangled up in the many roots and branches that grew in the trail.

  “If he wants company,” Eric said, “you’d think he’d at least trim the trail.”

  “I never said anything about him wanting company,” Allen said. “Hell, it took me over a year to actually convince him to speak to me. He’s a little eccentric, so be sure to mind your manners.”

  After ten minutes or so bushwhacking, they emerged on the riverbank. There hadn’t been any major rainstorms in weeks, so the water was low enough to expose the boulders in the shallows. Twenty yards to their left, the Riverman’s shack looked just as Allen remembered. It was cobbled together from driftwood, what passed for windows were basically just gaps in the wall, and the door was made from four oars nailed together.

  “What a dump,” Erin said.

  Allen shot her a hard glare. “What part of mind your manners do you not understand? Insulting the man’s home before we even see him is beyond stupid.”

  “Sorry.” At least she sounded contrite.

  Hopefully the old man’s hearing wasn’t as good as his sight. Allen led the way over to the shack and rapped on the door. Silence seemed to stretch on for a long time, but finally the door opened a crack.

  “Allen?”

  “Evening, Riverman.” Allen pulled the whiskey bottle out of his satchel and held it up. “Thought you might like a drink on this fine evening.”

  Allen couldn’t see it, but he heard the Riverman’s lips smacking. “A drink would be nice. But just you. My dump of a shack no doubt isn’t good enough for your companions.”

  Allen winced and turned to the others. “You two are going to have to wait out here. Try not to do anything else stupid.”

  He stepped inside the shack and the Riverman closed the door behind him. The old man’s eyes seemed to glow amber in the dark, just enough to allow Allen to make his way to a rickety table made of the same junk as the rest of the shack. He sat on the smooth stone that served as a stool and set the bottle on the table.

  The Riverman sat across from him, opened the bottle, and took a long drink. He sighed in satisfaction then asked, “So what do you want to know?”

  Allen knew the man well enough not to mince words. He described Anders and the three mercenaries he’ brought with him as well as the smugglers he met on the sandbar.

  “Do you know them and what they’re up to?”

  The Riverman took another long drink. “I know everything that happens on my river. That meeting happened weeks ago. Can’t say what they were carrying, but that bunch of smugglers has been moving up and down the river more than any other group.”

  “And the wizard?”

  “He met them twice, counting the time you mentioned. They seem friendly enough, but they didn’t discuss much. It was just a load-and-run meeting.”

  “Do you know where the smugglers make their base?”

  The Riverman finished the last of his whiskey and sniffed loudly. “What do I smell?”

  Allen grinned and took out the sausages. The old man reached for them, but Allen pulled back. “Where’s their base?”

  “Ten miles south. There’s a partially hidden cove on the opposite bank. They put their boats on shore and camp there.”

  Allen handed over the sausages. “Thanks. I’ll stop in again sometime.”

  “I’m not so sure, Allen. You have company waiting outside.”

  Allen frowned. He hadn’t heard anything from outside and surely either Eric or Erin would’ve made some noise if there were strangers approaching. He looked at the Riverman’s bright eyes and couldn’t think of any reason he might lie.

  He left the shack and found a bored-looking Eric and Erin waiting. No sign of any threat. He looked back over his shoulder and found a glowing eye staring out through the gap of the oars.

  “Learn anything useful?” Eric asked.

  “Yeah.” Allen turned back. “The smugglers have a base ten miles south of here. We’ll check it out tomorrow. Why don’t you two load your crossbows?”

  “Uh, because there’s nothing to shoot out here?” Erin said.

  “Humor me.”

  Allen drew his sword and dagger while his companions loaded their crossbows. When everyone was ready, they started walking for the trail.

  The group only managed five steps down the riverbank when three familiar figures stepped out of the forest and unhooded lanterns. It was the mercenaries from the Rusty Arms Allen had paid for information
. All three were armed with broadswords and round shields that covered most of their bodies.

  Eric and Erin brought their crossbows up and aimed at the left- and rightmost men, leaving the guy in the center for Allen. The siblings set down their lanterns and separated. Before things turned bloody, maybe he could talk his way out of this.

  “I hadn’t expected to see you three again so soon,” Allen said.

  “Anders paid us to do more than escort his goods,” Scarhead said. “See, we also keep an ear open for anyone asking questions they shouldn’t. When we saw you heading north toward the river, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where you were headed. Everyone knows the Riverman. Though not for much longer if the old man’s going to tell tales he shouldn’t.”

  “Before we start killing each other,” Allen said. “Do you work for the smugglers or the suppliers?”

  “That’s nothing a dead man needs to worry about.”

  The mercenaries roared and charged.

  Both crossbows fired as one.

  Eric’s shot struck low, piercing his target’s shield, but missing flesh.

  Erin took her man right in the knee. He collapsed, howling and clutching his leg.

  Two against three was a little better, but the surviving mercenaries had superior weapons for hand-to-hand fighting.

  Allen met his opponent with a high slash which skipped off his opponent’s shield.

  He dodged a counterthrust, spun, and slashed low.

  The shield dropped to block his attack.

  When it did, he threw his dagger at the man’s exposed head.

  The mercenary’s broadsword flicked out and knocked it aside.

  Allen grimaced. That trick had been his best hope.

  “You’re pretty good for an amateur,” the mercenary said.

  “Thanks. Now that I’ve earned your respect, can we call this off?”

  The mercenary’s smile was vicious. “’Fraid not.”

  Before the battle could resume, the door to the shack slammed open. The Riverman stood in the opening. It was the first time Allen had seen the old man outside of his shack in light. His legs were made of water. They still looked like legs, but he could see through them and they sloshed around like water-filled tubes. The rest of him appeared human enough, though he clearly wasn’t.

  “You dare come to my river and threaten me!” The Riverman’s voice sounded like the thunder of spring rapids.

  He didn’t exactly move. Rather his legs turned into a pillar of water and his upper body rode it over to the man threatening Allen.

  The mercenary swung his sword and the blade passed through the Riverman’s body, which sealed up instantly behind the swords, like it was made of water.

  He grabbed the mercenary and hurled him into the river. Before Allen could react, the other two joined their companion.

  The three mercenaries scrambled to their feet. The water only came to their knees.

  Then the water started to climb to their hips, then their chests, and in moments all three were encased in columns of water. They fought and thrashed for long seconds before their bodies went still.

  The columns collapsed and the dead men washed down the river out of sight.

  A still-furious Riverman was glaring after them. Allen debated staying silent, before working up the nerve to say, “Thank you. I’m not sure we could have handled them on our own.”

  The Riverman shuddered and looked down at Allen from the top of the serpentine length of water connecting him to his feet which still stood just outside his door. “I can’t abide being threatened, especially by some stupid humans with no idea what they’re facing. I do hope you’ll come again, Allen, and please bring more of the sausages. They were delightful.”

  The Riverman shrank until he looked mostly human again and stepped back into his shack. Allen stared at the door, not entirely sure what just happened.

  “I really wish I hadn’t said anything bad about his house,” Erin said.

  Allen nodded. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat.”

  Not that he had any confidence that he’d be able to sleep, not after what they just saw.

  Chapter 13

  The wagon clattered down the empty main street. Otto’s ass was numb from the vibrations and he couldn’t wait to get down, even if it was in Father’s courtyard. As Castle Town and beyond it Castle Shenk came into view, Otto felt only distaste. He glanced at Sergeant Hans, but the man was practically made of iron. He’d never voiced a complaint in Otto’s hearing.

  They passed the first house at the edge of town. It might have been a ghost town for all the people around. Only a few trickles of smoke from the inn and bakery gave any indication that people actually lived here. They’d arrived an hour before noon but despite the high, clear sky the air held a bite.

  Winter would be here soon enough. Otto needed to eliminate the bandits so he could turn his attention north. Hopefully Master Enoch was making good progress with the recruits. He was a skilled teacher, so as long as his students were doing the work, things should be progressing. He wanted them ready to go as soon as he returned.

  “Is it always this quiet, my lord?” Hans asked.

  “In the fall it is. Everyone that can work is busy in the orchards. The apples all need to get picked before the first frost otherwise they’ll freeze, get soft, and rot. Once that happens, they’re only good for pig feed.”

  The castle sat on a small rise east of the town proper. As they drew ever closer Otto did his best to keep the memories at bay. He could count on one hand the number of happy memories he had of his family. Only his mother had ever treated him with kindness. Stephan and his father mostly used him as a punching bag. Much as he would like to return the favor, he had more pressing matters at hand.

  Hans reined in before the closed portcullis. A pair of guards wearing slightly battered Shenk tabards over their mail stood just inside and shot them hard looks. A quartet of archers had gathered on the battlement directly above them. Otto hopped down and walked up to the gate.

  The guards stared at him for a moment before their eyes widened and they touched fist to heart.

  The right-hand guard, the older of the two, cleared his throat. “Lord Shenk. I didn’t recognize you from a distance. Open the gate!”

  For the life of him Otto couldn’t remember the man’s name. “Don’t worry about it. I assume Father’s around.”

  “Yes, my lord. The baron, Sergeant Graves, and Stephan are all in conference at the moment trying to determine how best to deal with the bandit issue. Shall I send a messenger to let them know you’re here?”

  “No need. As it happens, I’ve come to talk to Father about the bandits anyway. I’ve got a lead on where those operating in the barony are based.”

  “Baron Shenk will be delighted to hear that.”

  Otto seriously doubted his father would be delighted that he was the one bringing the information, especially when he heard what Otto had to say. Still, he needed to hear it.

  The portcullis clunked into the open position and Otto walked through. Hans drove the wagon behind him and the others rode along at the rear.

  Otto looked back. “You guys will have to wait here. If you’re hungry, I’m sure they can rustle something up for you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t worry about us, Lord Shenk,” Hans said. “If there’s one thing we’re used to, it’s waiting.”

  Otto left his men and marched across the yard toward the keep. If they were having a meeting, everyone should be in the great hall. That would be convenient as it would save him searching the whole keep.

  Otto was about ten strides away when a tiny figure came running toward him, a wooden sword clutched in his fist. Little Stephan had grown by nearly a hand since Otto had last seen him. Despite the growth, it looked like he was still wearing the same size pants as half his calf was visible. Behind the little blond boy came his dark-haired younger brother, crawling at a good clip.
Mandel wasn’t walking yet but it wouldn’t be long.

  He looked around but was relieved to see no sign of their mother, Griswalda. The woman hated him and the feeling was mutual. If he could avoid her, Otto would be happy to do so for the entire visit.

  “Halt!” Little Stephan said. It seemed the boy was on guard duty again.

  Otto smiled and raised his hands. “I see you’ve grown since last I visited. I wish I had time to play, but I need to go in and talk to your grandfather.”

  Little Stephan frowned and put his wooden sword away. “Grandpa’s in a bad mood.”

  What else was new? “Don’t worry, I’ve got some news that will cheer him up. Have you two been behaving yourselves?”

  “I think so. But everyone keeps yelling at us.”

  Otto knew what that was like. He bent down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t let them bother you. Sometimes adults just like to yell at kids. Maybe after dinner I’ll show you some magic.”

  Little Stephan’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

  “We’ll see, but if I do, you can’t tell your mother. You know she doesn’t like wizards.”

  Little Stephan gave an enthusiastic nod. “I promise.”

  “Good boy.” Otto gave him a final pat on the head and strode toward the keep door.

  Otto pushed through the main doors and, as expected, found his father, brother, and Sergeant Graves seated at the dining table with a small fire burning in the hearth. They all looked up when he entered and none looked pleased. Otto ignored their glares, pushed the door shut, and walked over to the table.

  “What are you doing here?” his father asked.

  “King Wolfric is worried about the bandits screwing up the harvest and he asked me to help deal with them. Turns out, a lot of the attacks are happening in Shenk Barony. So here I am.”

  “What possible help could you be, Runt?” Stephan asked.

  “A great deal. You see, I captured a bandit last night and asked him a few questions. It turns out the Straken spy running the local bandit gang is operating out of Castle Town.”