Shinsan. They murdered my wife, two of my kids, some of my friends. And they kidnapped a friend of mine's wife and son. And maybe the friend, too. They're locked up in Argon's Royal Palace. I'm going to punish Argon."
Aristithorn's gaze flitted to Varthlokkur whenever the urge to verbalize became strong. Varthlokkur merely stared.
Aristithorn seemed a mouse, but that was pure show. He was a mortal danger to his enemies.
"What I want is boats. All the boats I can lay hands on. And don't forget, we'll be in your debt. Varthlokkur's ability to meet his obligations has never been questioned."
Ragnarson smiled to himself, pleased with his doubleentendre. A threat and a promise in one simple declarativesentence-which meant little. Varthlokkur was accepting noobligations himself. This wriggling in the worm pile of politicswas making a politician of him too.
Aristithorn changed. He sloughed the pretense, stood tall and arrogant. "You say Shinsan has its hooks in the Fadem? That would explain some strange things."
"Fadem?" Bragi asked.
"What they call their Royal Palace in Argon," Trebilcock reminded.
"Yes," Aristithorn continued, "Argon has behaved oddly the past few years. And I've heard that a man resembling a Tervola visits there frequently, and came here once. Pthothor gave him short shrift, the story goes. This's bad-if it's true. This's a sad enough earth without Shinsan creeping into its palaces like some night cancer. Yes. This explains things that puzzle the wise. Particularly about the Fadema."
"Queen of Argon," said Trebilcock.
"Boats? Did I hear right?"
"Boats, yes. As many as possible. Big, little, whatever can be had. But quickly. So I can arrive before they know I'm coming, before the Power returns and they can see me with their inner eyes."
"Ye might work it.. Argon's defenses be meant to stop land-bound armies."
"Told you he was sharp. Figured it without me telling him a thing."
"Yes, this must be stopped. And Pthothor, with his fear of things Shinsan, and his lust to be remembered as a conquer-or.... He may join ye."
The old coast reever in Ragnarson became wary instantly. Somebody was hinting about divvying the plunder. Before the booty was gained. "That might be useful," he said, trying to sound noncommittal. "As later support. But the enemy has agents everywhere. We dare not risk ourselves by including anyone in our plan just now. In a week...?"
"My sense of rectitude compels me to assist ye. But there must be balance."
"Derel. The man's ready to dicker. Don't give him the Royal silverware."
Prataxis was a master. With Varthlokkur to handle the intimidation he soon got Aristithorn to agree to what Ragnarson considered bargain terms. A modest amount of cash. A few items believed to be in possession of the Fadema. Kavelin to sponsor his children's educations at the Rebsamen. The university's fame had spread far and wide, and a man from these parts who could honestly claim to have been educated there was guaranteed a high, happy life.
What Ragnarson didn't realize was that Aristithorn had ch! -lren in droves. His wives were always pregnant, and often bore twins.
Later, as they strolled to the waterfront with the babbling wizard, they were spotted by a chunky brown man who scrambled into shadows and watched them pass. His face contorted into a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. Only Aral Dantice noticed him. He had no idea who the man was. Just another curious easterner....
TWENTY-FIVE: The Assault on Argon
Aristithorn did better than Ragnarson expected. His reputation locally was as nasty as Varthlokkur's worldwide. Boat owners, merchant captains, no one refused him more than once. No one quibbled over the vow of silence he extracted. Boats and ships departed, fully crewed, without question of payment being raised, though Ragnarson promised owners and crews a portion of the loot of Argon.
Aristithorn claimed that didn't matter. This was war. If Ragnarson failed, Pthothor would take over. There were old grievances between Necremnos and Argon. The cities were overdue for one of their periodic scrimmages.
So Ragnarson led an armada down the Roe and met Haaken. Three thousand men boarded the vessels, more than he had hoped. His spirits rose. If he remained unnoticed he had a chance.
Aristithorn virtually guaranteed that the Necremnen army would be right behind him. Ragnarson soon hoped so. Argon was huge. A million people lived in its immediate environs. Six thousand men could disappear quickly if the populace fought back.
As Argon drew closer, Bragi found ever more reasons for forgetting the whole thing. But he went on. Worrying was his nature. Haaken had chided him for it since childhood. Sometimes you had to ignore potential difficulties and forge ahead. Otherwise nothing got done.
The first wave consisted of the smallest boats, carrying Marena Dimura mountaineers, attacking at two points. One group drifted down to where the walls of the Fadem rose from the river. The other remained at the apex of the island.
The Marena Dimura scaled the rough walls and established bridgeheads. Their boats returned upriver to Haaken, whosemen, weary from slogging through marshes and swimming delta channels, awaited their turns to ride. One battle of the Queen's Own had taken the horses and train back into the plains, to erect a fortified camp a few miles above the Argon-Throyes road.
Ragnarson traveled aboard a galley which served Necrem-nos's trade in the Sea of Kotsum. He had filled a dozen such with Haaken's Vorgrebergers, Reskird's Damhorsters, and bowmen. The assault captains were ex-mercenaries who had come to Ravelin with him years ago. They were the shock troops who would expand the bridgeheads.
It went so smoothly he suspected he had a friendly god perched on his shoulder. The Argonese were expecting nothing. As always, when the evening rains came, the wall sentries had scurried for cover. Argon lay as defenseless as a virgin thrown by her protectors to barbarian raiders. Two thousand men were over the walls before they attracted any attention.
The fighting broke out, as Ragnarson had hoped, at the apex of the island. Kildragon, in charge there, immediately began raising the biggest fuss possible.
Ragnarson took his party into the second bridgehead.
There the troops were lying low. The Fadema maintained a personal guard of a thousand, and had regular army units quartered in the Fadem too. Ragnarson wanted to be as strong as possible before the Argonese counterattacked.
He cleared the top of the wall, scuttled out of the way, gasped, "Didn't think I'd make it. Getting old for this. Jarl? How's it going? You spreading out yet?"
Here the Marena Dimura were doing what they did best, skulking, stabbing in the dark, occupying strongpoints by stealth.
"We've taken everything you can see from here. This's the sloppiest defense I ever saw. We haven't found anybody awake yet. It's too bad Reskird's raising hell up there. We might've grabbed the whole damned place before anybody knew we were here."
"Uhm. Keep moving. Grab what you can while you can. Gods, it's big."
The Fadem alone seemed as big as Vorgreberg. Trebilcock said it had thirty thousand permanent residents.
"Michael. Aral," Bragi whispered. "Where's this tower?"
"The squarish one yonder, with the spire sticking up from the corner," Dantice replied.
"Let's see if she's still there."
They descended to street level and slipped through narrow passages between buildings, making of a two-hundred-yard crow flight a quarter mile walk. They won the distinction of being first to face wakened opponents.