The Sword in the Sea - Chapter Seven

Shortly after Ravian and Sinur returned to the White City, Admiral Acrusta announced his retirement and, at the age of twenty-one, Ravian assumed the title of Defender of the Nation.

'I understand that the longships are to be replaced by a whole new breed of warship,' Acrusta observed, with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Ravian, who had gone to Acrusta's flagship to wish him farewell, struggled to find a reply. He realised that the old sailor had been aware of the swordship development long before the recent arrival of Sea Hawk in the White City.

'It's all right, Ravian,' the retiring admiral said with a smile. 'It seems that your new toy will give the Tarcun navy an advantage in blue-water battles it has never before had. I was wrong not to listen to your idea and that is what has told me that it is time to put myself out to pasture. You were right to pursue your idea regardless of my reservations, and it's time for you to take over as admiral.'

They were standing on the jetty beside Storm Bringer. Ravian felt an overwhelming sense of loss of the old admiral's experience and knowledge.

'Do you think that I'm ready for the promotion, Sir?' he asked.

'As ready as I was when I became admiral,' Acrusta replied. 'Don't worry, Ravian, I won't be far away. My wife and I are retiring to Neverius where we have bought a nice little house that looks out towards Golden Bay – it would seem that I am about to become acquainted with the challenging new skill of gardening. You will always be welcome, should you feel the need of an old sailor's advice.'

Now that he was Admiral of the Fleet, Ravian was both entitled and expected to move into the Admiral's Residence – a handsome, impressive building on the heights of the Western Arm. Traditionally, the admiral and his family resided in the upper level of the two-storey house, the lower containing the offices of the admiralty staff. Close to the residence, a long, steep flight of steps ran down the western cliffs of the harbour to the naval base.

Ravian loved the building, with its handy location to the base and its magnificent outlook. On a fine day, one could stroll about its southern balcony and take in a panoramic view that included all of the harbour and most of the city, as well as a sweeping ocean vista only interrupted by the cliff walls of the Lee Shore to the northwest. Apart from the small barracks that serviced the western guard tower, it was the southernmost building on the Western Arm and well away from the hubbub of the rest of the city. Behind it, a quiet, leafy lane meandered past a number of old, established mansions on its way to the temple where he and Sinur had married. The road then curved eastwards into the more densely housed part the city before splitting in two – one lane running up a steady incline to the palace, the other descending down to the harbour.

Much as Ravian loved the calm peacefulness of the residence's location however, he knew that Sinur was not going to be at all happy at the prospect of moving into such social isolation and, for some weeks after his promotion, he had been avoiding raising the subject with her. Even while he procrastinated though, something happened that, for a time, overrode everything else.

His father, King Jabacus, died peacefully in his sleep.

Despite his venerable forty-five years of age, Jabacus had seemed robust and vital and Ravian, like everyone in his family – indeed, like everybody in the kingdom – was shocked at his unexpected passing.

He had little time to mourn though. As the newly appointed Defender of the Nation, the responsibility for the state funeral fell directly on his shoulders. At the same time, it was also vital that he help Jeniel assume the throne as swiftly and as smoothly as possible.

The next few days were a whirl of organisation and ceremony and it was not until he was escorting his mother home from the funeral, the smoke from the dead king's pyre still hanging above the High Temple, that the loss of his father began to strike home. Beriel, for her part, had seemed remarkably composed throughout the three days since her husband's death, and had followed his funeral procession through the White City's streets with a dignity and composure that Ravian had struggled to emulate.

'Are you all right, Mother?' he asked her, as they approached the palace.

'I'm as well as can be expected, Dear,' she had replied serenely. 'How are you feeling yourself?'

'Angry,' he replied. 'Angry that father should have been taken from us so suddenly and so soon – and a little frightened, I suppose. Jeniel, Ramus and I are very young to be governing the country.'

Beriel stopped and smiled at her son, her face full of warmth and love.

'Oh, Ravian, be strong,' she told him. 'Jeniel is no younger a king than your father was – and Jabacus never had two brothers like you and Ramus to help him. Delikas has called your father to his kingdom sooner than any of us would have liked but, if you think about it, it is clear that Jabacus has fulfilled his destiny and fulfilled it well.'

'Look how well he has moulded you boys,' she continued. 'Tarcus couldn't wish for a better-structured government, a more modern navy, or a healthier trading surplus. It was time for him to leave us, Ravian – he had done everything Delikas put him on this earth to do.'

'That may be so,' Ravian replied, 'but I will miss him terribly – although not as much as you, Mother.'

Beriel looked serenely towards the heavens, her eyes far away.

'Yes, Ravian,' she agreed, 'I will miss your father more than I think you would ever imagine but, much as I grieve now and will for the rest of my days, I also have to give thanks to Delikas allowing me my life with Jabacus. He was a wonderful man, Ravian, and I have been privileged – beyond the comprehension of most – to be his wife.'

His mother was right, Ravian thought. They were all of them lucky to have had a man like his father as their family head. He wondered if Sinur, should she survive him, would feel the same way about him as Beriel did about Jabacus.

Somehow, he was not so certain that she would.

Jeniel paced the palace balcony, hands tightly clasped behind him. Even though it was only a few days since their father's funeral, Ravian saw that his brother had a lot more confidence now and seemed to have accepted his kingly destiny. Tarcus's new ruler came to a halt, took a deep breath and then turned to the Defender of the Nation. The two brothers were alone and, as Jeniel began to reveal what was on his mind, Ravian understood why he had called such a private audience.

'You know that father was worried about the rise of this Bordwar fellow in the North,' Jeniel began. 'Well, we've had an update from our people in the area and the news is not good.'

Ravian felt a fluttering in his stomach at his brother's words.

'The Northerners may be a bunch of lice-ridden, squabbling barbarians,' Tarcus's new ruler went on, 'but it looks like Bordwar has been strong enough to put together an alliance of a number of the Grimspot Gris kingdoms.'

'Which ones?' Ravian asked.

'Graftsen, of course,' the young king replied. 'And Gerouf, Kleeft and, probably, Groven.'

Ravian gave a quiet whistle.

'That's quite an achievement, if it's true,' he said grudgingly.

Jeniel grunted in agreement.

'If he has managed to put such an alliance together,' the new king said, turning to stare out over the city and harbour, 'I can only agree with father's view that an invasion of this country is inevitable. Still, it will take the Northerners at least two years to build sufficient ships and to assemble a landing force sufficiently large to make such an attempt. They're not going to declare their hand until the last moment, and we'll still have plenty of traders in their waters until then, so we will have ample opportunity to monitor developments.'

Jeniel turned back to his brother.

'Two years gives you time to get how many swordships operational?'

Ravian did some quick calculations.

'If we turn the naval yard here to swordship production, we could produce twelve swordships a year – maybe more,' he replied.

'I want production up to twenty-five swordships a year,' his brother stated flatly. 'In the next two years, all fifty longships must have been replaced by trained, battle-ready swordships.'

'You'll need funding approval from the Citizens' Council,' Ravian said, knowing additional production facilities would have to be built or acquired. 'Do you think they'll support you?'

Jeniel smiled mirthlessly.

'I think so,' he replied. 'Even now, certain influential council members are hearing of these disturbing developments in the North – I'm making damn sure they do. Give them a week or so to work themselves up into a panic, and I think that I can get the council to approve the budget without any real opposition.'

'And if the council doesn't approve?' Ravian pressed.

'Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that,' Jeniel said grimly. 'I could ask the members to declare a state of emergency of course but, to do that, the threat would need to be imminent – and then it would be too late to build enough swordships. No, if I'm wrong and they don't back me at the next meeting, I'm going to have to make things happen regardless. That's not going to look good as the first act of the new monarch and you,' – he looked meaningfully into Ravian's eyes – 'may need to mobilise the army in a way that this nation has never seen before.'

Ravian swallowed. His brother's resolve was disturbingly evident but, at the same time, he knew that the king of Tarcus would need to rule with an iron fist of to keep their nation safe through the coming years.

'Whatever your command, Your Highness,' he said with a bow.

Fortunately for the democratic sensitivities of Tarcus's citizens, Jeniel's manipulation of the Citizens' Council proved effective. At the next meeting – and with minimal objection – the august body approved the expenditure required to accelerate production of the swordship fleet.

Suddenly, Ravian found himself in charge of the biggest reformation the Tarcun navy had ever seen. Not only did he need to double the production capacity of the nation's shipyards but, with the delivery of the first swordship imminent, he also had to develop tactics and techniques for the new craft.

He quickly established a bureaucracy that included Lederalus – who agreed to move to the White City – as the overall supervisor of production. Aphorstra remained in charge of keel production at Belainus where, to no one's surprise more than the metalsmith's, Ravian also made him responsible for procurement. Godart was elevated to full captain's rank and made responsible for tactical development and training while, knowing that he would not be able to focus fully on his role as Admiral of the Fleet, as well as oversee the swordship programme, Ravian cast about for a vice admiral and quickly decided on Capernal for the post.

As the first completed swordship from Belainus arrived at the naval base, Ravian became even busier. With Capernal and Godart, he carried out tests of the new vessel, Sea Eagle, sailing her against both the oldest longship in the fleet as well as against a galley taken from some pirates as a prize some years before. The success of these trials indicated that the full-sized swordships were going to be every bit as effective as Sea Hawk's tests at Belainus had promised.

It was a time of urgency and excitement and Ravian was enjoying organising Tarcus's defences into a more effective state. Sinur, however, showed little enthusiasm for his military activities or, when he finally broached the subject, for moving to their new abode.

'Why do we have to move into the Admiral's Residence?' she demanded.

'Well, it's traditional and it's convenient,' he replied. 'The admiralty offices are in the lower storey, it's immediately above the naval base and it also has superb views all around the harbour and out to sea,'

'It may be handy to the base, but it is hardly handy to anything else,' sniffed Sinur. 'It's bad enough that I see less and less of you but, if I have to live there, I'll become a social outcast into the bargain. Can't we stay in the place we have now?'

Thus, Ravian requested of his brother that he and his wife be allowed to retain use of the residence by the theatre. To the prince's surprise, Jeniel granted his request without any further discussion, and he suddenly found himself with a choice of two homes. The demands of the prince's work though, saw him sleeping more and more often at the Admiral's Residence while, back at what he soon came to think of as "Sinur's House", his wife maintained a full social calendar regardless of his comings and goings.

If Ravian was available, Sinur attended events on his arm. If not, she now flew in the face of convention by choosing any one of a number of male companions to escort her. Bound up in his punishing schedule, Ravian found most of Sinur's social fixtures even less convenient and even more tedious than before and, knowing the ease with which his wife could summon an alternative escort, he excused himself from them with increasing frequency. He knew that Jeniel, Ramus and their wives strongly disapproved of this arrangement although, thankfully, none of them chose to raise the subject with him directly. He was also aware that he and Sinur seemed to be drifting apart but his concern was vague, overwhelmed by the greater priority of his military duties.

Once the fleet was ready, he told himself, then he would make his absences up to Sinur. Once Tarcus was protected, they could think about a family again.

More swordships began to arrive at the naval base, initially from Belainus and then from the White City's own shipyards. The number of crew that was required to man a swordship was the same as that for a longship, facilitating the transfer of complete complements from the old vessels to the new. Loath to have the retired longships broken up for firewood however, and lacking anywhere at the White City to store them, Ravian ordered boat sheds built for them at North Cove. Thus, as each longship was decommissioned, a crew under training would sail it up the coast, help to haul it out, and put it into storage there.

At the same time as he had the navy to attend to, Ravian was also responsible for the army. He made no changes at the Academy but, knowing the gentle beaches and undulating countryside in Tarcus's north to be the obvious target for an invasion from that direction, he relocated most of the standing land army to a new base at Centrus, close to Golden Bay. This was not accomplished without significant cost, but Jeniel managed to sway the council to vote its approval, even though the complaints of some members were becoming increasingly strident.

Six months after commencing the longship building programme, Ravian was able to report to Jeniel that the Tarcun Navy now boasted a dozen operational swordships.

'Excellent,' the Tarcun king declared. 'And none too soon either.'

'You've had more news from the North?' Ravian asked him.

'Yes – all bad,' his brother growled. 'Dekane and Graftsen are building extra galleys and consolidating a fleet at Durst. Gerouf and Kleeft also seem to be putting a lot more naval vessels into the water. On top of that, it would seem that the king of Groven was unwise enough to let it be known that he had second thoughts about the Northern Alliance. Well, he met with a violent accident shortly thereafter, and our friend Bordwar isn't trying too hard to deny the rumours that he was behind it. The successor to the Groven crown is, not surprisingly, utterly supportive of the damned alliance and loud in his praises of the king of Dekane. We've got a dangerous adversary in the North, Ravian.'

Ravian nodded.

'So it'll be war then,' he said. 'When, do you think?'

'I'm still saying a year at least,' Jeniel said. 'The summer after next is when they'll come.'

'That still gives us time to replace the whole fleet then,' Ravian said thankfully. 'You've the full support of the council still?'

'Near enough,' the king grunted. 'It won't hurt for them to see what they are paying for though and, for that matter, the people at large would benefit from a display of our increased naval might. I was thinking that we could have a holiday and parade the new ships – get the priests to bless them, or something like that.'

Ravian thought about it – it seemed like a good idea.

'We could get them to sail into harbour past the Southern Arm,' he said. 'The whole population could see them from there and the priests could bless them as they sail under the eastern guard tower.'

'Splendid!' Jeniel declared. 'I'll leave it in your capable hands then, shall I?'

It was a lot of extra work for Ravian and his staff but, the prince could see the benefit in boosting the population's morale. Consequently, on the duly appointed day, a line of twelve swordships, red sails filled by a steady offshore breeze, approached the city from the southeast and tacked close in along the length of the Southern Arm. Almost the entire population of the White City had packed onto the walls there, the cheers for each ship deafening as it passed the crowd before turning into the harbour mouth beneath the eastern guard tower. Atop that structure, the Priests of Delikas rained down blessings and sacred water from the Heart Lake upon each vessel. At the foot of the tower, on a raised platform built especially for the occasion, the king, accompanied by his brothers, their spouses and the heads of the Nine Houses, took the salute of each captain as his ship passed.

It was a glorious day and Ravian had every right to feel proud of his accomplishments – although the presence on the platform of his old enemy Graticus, head of the House of Palin, marred his mood slightly. Further, Sinur's dutiful attendance at his side, obliged by her royal title to attend the occasion, pricked him with a feeling of guilty discomfort.

How long had it been since they had spoken to or even seen each other, he wondered. Two months? Three?

He stole a sideways glance at his wife, watching the parade of ships pass with a vague, distracted smile. Aware of his gaze, she turned and, as their eyes met, gave him an almost imperceptible curtsy.

Ravian was shocked at how much older Sinur suddenly seemed. She was still beautiful, her face unlined and her figure youthful, but her eyes now seemed to hold a weary worldliness that was disturbing to the prince and yet, at the same time, strangely familiar.

'You have achieved a fine navy, My Lord,' she said, breaking into his thoughts. 'I trust that you consider it a good return against the investment.'

'We will need more ships,' he replied tersely, 'and there will be more cost.'

She laughed, the tinkling laughter he had once adored tinged with a cynical edge.

'I wonder if My Lord is fully aware of the real costs of his activities,' she said. 'Somehow, I doubt it. The royal family seldom seems to concern itself with petty details.'

She was almost a stranger to him now, Ravian thought with a pang of sadness.

'Sinur, I'm sorry that I haven't visited lately,' he said. 'It's just that I've been so busy, and the preparation of Tarcus's defences still has a long way to go.'

'Why, Ravian, I do believe you mean that,' she said and, for a moment, she seemed to soften and become the same girl whose balcony he had stolen to so many times.

Then the hardness returned.

'Well, don't concern yourself, My Dear,' she said in an off-hand tone. 'I've always known where to find you if I wanted to – I suppose we have both been busy. Still, you're right about one thing – you are going to need a lot more ships.'

Ravian frowned – the Sinur he had once known wouldn't have cared one way or another how many ships the navy had.

'And how many ships do you think that might be?' he asked her casually.

Sinur said nothing for a moment and Ravian sensed a conflict raging behind the deep blue eyes that had once looked into his so lovingly. Then she stepped close to him so that her scent swirled about him, placing her hand on his arm, and her lips inches from his ear.

'Ravian,' she whispered, 'not everybody in this kingdom is happy about what you and your brother are doing.'

He shrugged.

'I would imagine a few of your friends would rather their taxes were devoted to new theatres and the like,' he said. 'Such opinions are of little importance to me.'

'I'm talking about powerful people,' she hissed, her nails digging into him for emphasis. 'Have you heard about – '

Something she saw over his shoulder stopped her and Ravian turned to see the cause. On the other side of the platform, Jeniel, flanked by the leaders of the Nine Houses, was staring at them in a bemused fashion.

'We'll have to talk later,' Sinur whispered.

'Don't worry about Jeniel,' Ravian told her, desperate to know what she had been about to say.

'I'm not...' she started to say, then. 'Anyway, will you be at your residence tonight?'

'I'll be there,' he said. 'But let me come to you.'

'No,' she insisted. 'I will come to you tonight. Make sure that the sentries you have on this evening are men that you can trust, men who know to keep their mouths shut.'

Without waiting for his reply, she moved away from him and crossed the platform to strike up a conversation with some members of the Nine Houses. Ravian was about to pursue her when he realised that Graticus was in the group.

Whatever she had to say could wait until that evening, he thought. He would just have to be patient.

Remembering his wife's words earlier in the day, Ravian personally chose the guards for the Admiral's Residence that evening – two good men, trustworthy and handy with their weapons – and briefed them that he was expecting a female guest. He bathed, and then dined lightly and alone, a strange feeling of nervous anticipation fluttering inside him.

Yes, he was intrigued as to what Sinur might have to tell him – although he had little doubt she would simply be passing on the discontented grumbling of some high-placed member of Tarcun society. Indeed, it was with some surprise that he had to admit to himself that he was mostly looking forward to trying to rekindle the romance with his wife. It was, he felt, almost like the times when he had first started escorting her out – the evening was full of possibilities, but nothing was certain.

It was a warm night, and he took a glass of wine to a balcony that looked directly out upon the city, blazing with a thousand lights of festival revelry. There was no breeze and, even high on the Western Arm, the sounds of music and laughter carried faintly to him across the black mirror of the harbour.

It was time he took more interest in society, he thought to himself, time to laugh and love again.

He finished the wine and went inside to pour another – his last, as he did not want to ruin the moment with drink. He then settled on a couch with a book of poetry that Sinur had given him long ago, thinking it would please her if she saw that he had been reading it. The words were difficult to make out in the candlelight and he had difficulty finding the rhymes. Still, he persisted as he awaited his wife's arrival.

Ravian wasn't sure what time it was when he awoke but all the candles had burned down to nothing and the room was in darkness. Staggering to his feet, he went out to the balcony overlooking the city. Only a few lights glinted across the water now and the night was still and silent – it must be well after midnight, he realised.

Sinur had not indicated the time of her visit but Ravian would not have been surprised for her to arrive at a late hour, possibly after some social fixture. This was too late even for that though, he decided, the realisation that she was not coming after all filling him with a disappointment that he could not deny. Miserably, he prepared to retire – perhaps she would come tomorrow.

He could not sleep though, tossing and turning as he wondered what Sinur's news was, and whether she also had romance on her mind. Finally, after an hour or so, he arose and dressed again.

He would go to her house and show her that he still had feelings for her, that he still wanted her in his life.

Stalking past the startled sentry at the front door, he set off up the silent lane towards the High Temple. The almost-full moon bathed the smooth cobblestones in a silvery light and he could see his way clearly. At the fork, he took the high road past the palace as the most direct route to the theatre district where Sinur's house was. The palace was dark and silent, the only sign of life being two sentries from the royal guard who snapped to surprised attention and saluted as Prince Ravian, Defender of the Nation, suddenly materialised out of the night. He marched onward, past the dark silhouette of the slumbering theatre, to Sinur's house.

At her door, he hesitated.

Was he being presumptuous?

Had he misheard Sinur or misread her intentions?

Then he made up his mind and pounded on the locked front door.

It was his house as well wasn't it?

She was his wife wasn't she?

After what seemed forever, the door slowly creaked open and a middle-aged woman, holding a dim, sputtering lamp, peered around its edge at him. Ravian recognised her as Karli, the head of Sinur's household staff.

'Your Highness,' she exclaimed, blinking at him in surprise.

'Please inform my wife that I am here,' he told her imperiously.

'Just a moment please, Your Highness,' the woman said, obviously confused by his unexpected appearance. 'I'll go and see if she's...um...in residence.'

She disappeared inside again, pulling the door to behind her.

For some moments, Ravian stared at the closed door in disbelief.

In residence?!

Where in the name of Kanavas would Sinur be at this hour of the night if not in her bed or in his? Well, he thought with a flash of temper, he was not going to be made to wait in the street outside his own house at the pleasure of his own wife!

With a surge of rage, he kicked the door open and blundered into the darkened interior. As he did so, a scream came from above him, a woman's scream that sent every hair on his body prickling. The sound came from the top of a flight of stairs ascending up out of the gloom before him. At the top of those stairs, he knew, lay the master bedroom.

His sword materialising in his hand, he bounded up the steps three at a time. A figure came running through the open bedroom door ahead of him and he barely stopped himself from cutting Karli down on the spot. At the sight of him towering over her with his sword raised, the terrified woman dropped to her knees and screamed again.

'Your Highness,' she howled. 'It is My Lady!'

The servant woman started to say something else but he was already past her and into the moonlit bedroom, flinging his sword aside as he ran to the bed and the small, still form that lay upon it.

The images in that room burned themselves into his memory forever.

Her face, beautiful and serene in the moonlight.

The coldness of her as he gathered her into his arms.

The wide black stain of her blood upon the bedclothes.

The moon beaming in through the open window to her balcony, the curtains drawn aside and hanging motionless in the still air.