NOVEL NEXT Book 3 Chapter 44
The next morning over breakfast, Commander Betlin offered another stiff-backed apology for the disgraceful behavior of his officer.
I waved the apology aside. "There is no need to bring up the matter again. I received his apology and satisfaction." I tore off a chunk of bread, more to give my hands something to do than from hunger. "But I should apologize to you. Mobilizing such a large force, riding all the way out here, only to find no battle waiting for you… that must be frustrating."
The commander's lips twitched into something between amusement and weariness. His armor creaked as he leaned back. "Forgive me, my lord, but unlike some of my hot-blooded young men, I have no desire to go into battle." His gaze drifted toward the doorway, where his two officers would have been. "You cannot fight a war without casualties. Battle is a necessary part of life, yes—but only a fool wishes to send his men to die."
"Very wise." I reached beneath the table, fingers brushing the smooth leather pouch I had set aside. It clinked softly. "Nonetheless, I'd like to present you with fifty gold to make the return trip more pleasant."
I set the sack on the table. It made a heavy thud, followed by the barely muffled jingle of coins. Betlin's eyes widened before he managed to rein in the reaction. His gloved hand rested atop the pouch for a moment, weighing its contents… and its meaning.
Benjamin and I had chosen the amount carefully. Fifty gold crowns, enough to cover the salaries of his top officers for a month. A polite farewell. A generous incentive. And, in truth, a bribe to leave my lands quickly and without lingering curiosity.
Betlin offered a slow smile. "It will be of great help, my lord, especially since we depart this afternoon. I expect we'll leave North Cove entirely within a few days."
Relief loosened something in my chest I hadn't realized was tight. The man was sharp. Sharp enough to understand exactly what I wanted without my ever saying it. Sharp enough to take the gift for what it was: an agreement to part ways swiftly, amicably, and far from my borders.
"Good." I reached to the side of my chair and lifted a bundle of documents, neatly tied with waxed string. The edges of the parchment were just slightly uneven. Emily's improved paper. "One more thing. I have sealed reports for you to bring to the king upon your return. They detail the Rabiss incursion." I tapped the packet lightly. "I trust you will use discretion regarding who becomes aware of these documents. I'd hate for them to fall into the wrong hands."
Betlin accepted the papers with both hands. "I acknowledge the trust you place in me, my lord. I will ensure their security all the way to Falmore."
I nodded, though internally I wasn't concerned. The documents were written in cipher, and the king would never receive the key through Betlin. That was already on its way to Vaspar to a contact of Fredrick's, then to the capital by ship, then to the Duke of Falmore… and then to the king.
The king would receive the truth, or close enough to it. Enough to explain how a handful of people annihilated an entire Rabiss force, without revealing gunpowder, or the vulnerabilities of our defenses, or how close we'd come to disaster.
I had shaped the narrative with deliberate care. Not lies, just… framed truths.
Betlin tucked the sealed packet beneath his cloak, rising to his feet. The leather straps of his armor slapped lightly against his sides. "We will ride hard," he said, "and I will personally ensure these reach the capital."
"Thank you, Commander." I stood as well, pushing my chair away from the table. "And safe travels. May the road favor you."
For a moment, he hesitated, just long enough for me to realize he was studying me, weighing me as a political actor, not just a count. Then he bowed, deep and crisp, and strode from the hall, boots echoing against the stone as he went to ready his men.
Only after he was gone did I release the slow breath I'd been holding.
Good. One less danger to manage.
*****
With the bribe in place and my treasury closer to empty now, I left Plimgus to make my way back to Bicman and then on to what would be Cove Town. So why Cove Town and not Cove Village? Well, because we were only going to have one place for the people of my county seat to live for a while, and I planned to bring as many people as I could get away with. I didn't know what Weston Yarbeth was like, but I was sure he was going to be nothing but a headache for me and for anyone stuck living under him in the Bicman Barony.
I had already started relocating some of my more trusted people to Cove Town. As more and more water was drained out of the swamp, I expected a significant portion to be usable by summer. We'd have a late planting for things like cotton or hemp, but putba was the priority; it would do well as the heart of our trade. We'd ship that to Carok and let them get it to the capital. I wasn't going to stop in Vaspar anymore to sell the really good stuff. And I certainly wasn't taking the south road through Malcomp into Yarbeth's territory.
That left two options: sailing along the coast into Falmore County, or heading east into lands barely mapped. Neither option was comforting. But Carok was the least of the unpalatable choices.
I had a growing list of tasks and far too few people to accomplish them. Which meant it was time to get to work.
Rick sat beside me in the carriage as we traveled north. He wasn't talkative, which made the already-long ride feel even longer. And since he didn't know my secret, I couldn't bounce ideas off him. I needed Emily, or Benjamin, or... even Draves. Though, to be fair, Draves wasn't much better than Rick. Thankfully, Em would be coming back with me to Pine Ridge soon. At least that trip would be pleasant.
We had expanded the switchback from Melnon up to the new road that ran along the mountain toward Pine Ridge, and my carriage should now be able to travel all the way there. My people assured me that within the next thirty days, the road connecting Cove Town directly to Bicman would be complete. After that, we could start receiving guests. The back road would still be used for shipping cargo from Melnon, but we would restrict others from using it once the direct route through the marshland was finished.
We passed quickly through North Point and crossed the river to the old fort, Lieutenant Vance, now Sir Vance of Cofi, once commanded. A man named Clark now served as steward there. He was a large man with a shaggy brown beard, a retired carpenter from Vaspar whose life had fallen apart after a wagon wheel crushed his hand. Now he supervised the Tower Teams.
We rode into camp late in the day. Steward Clark stood waiting for us in front of the small lieutenant's house he had taken over. Because the North Point military camp lay just over the river, we'd decided not to turn this place back into an active garrison—not until the wall was built.
Getting out of the carriage, I strode up to Clark. He bowed, and then we shook hands.
"It is good to see you, Clark. How are the towers coming along?"
"The first two are under construction, my lord, and should be done in a couple of weeks now that the material from Lumberville has arrived. The idea of prefabrication you came up with is ingenious. If they really can create the pieces exactly the same for each tower, then we should be able to increase our speed drastically."
We began walking toward his home.
"That is great," I said.
"Also," he continued, "the road crew is already flattening and preparing foundations for the next towers in line. Everything will only get faster. I think we should be able to build all the towers in a few months at most."
"And the Rabiss captives? Did they arrive?" I asked.
"Yes. We received twenty of them, and they are helping with the road."
"Any problems?"
"Surprisingly, none." Clark's beard hid most of his expression, but the faint tug at his cheeks might have been a smile. "I think they don't want to upset the Hand of Justice."
I sighed. At this rate, I was going to lose my head to an offended priest or king. Three different groups had started elevating me, and all it would take was one powerful person deciding I needed to be a head shorter. I was just going to assume it had nothing to do with a certain general and lieutenant who'd spread rumors that I was the hand of a god… and instead pretend it was because I promised to send the Rabiss captives home. Oh, and also that traitorous glassmaker and papermaker who had fed the rumor to Draves and Griff in the first place.
"Good. I'm glad they're behaving. But if I hear anyone mention me being the hand of a god again, I will personally assign them to dig latrines for a month."
If Clark hadn't been so hairy, I was sure I would have seen his face blanch.
"Of course, my lord. I will ensure no one speaks of it in your presence."
I gave him a glare.
He swallowed. "—Or at all. Not in your presence or outside it."
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"Excellent," I said with a nod. "Now let's get to eating."
Valik of the Blue Moon Raiders
I sent a message to the Council requesting an audience, and three days later, I received an answer. Faster than expected. Normally, they liked to let raiders stew a week or more, just to remind us who held the power. It irked me. Rabiss was founded by raiders, and now, as the country grew in wealth, the raiders were treated little better than the slaves that we brought in. Not that I wasn't ready to leave the life of raiding, it was less profitable than just buying and selling slaves. Raiding was expensive, and you could lose everything in a bad one. But trading- that was something I think I would enjoy.
The meeting was to be held in the palace of Nirick Tum's, a full day's journey by carriage. That gave me time—time to worry, and time to spend with Jernumas, my eldest son. He had reached the age where the sea called to him like a siren. Every conversation with him drifted toward ships, trade, and dreams of circling the entire continent. The same dreams I'd had at his age, before raiding became my life.
When the morning of departure arrived, I kissed Eleum goodbye and packed my travel clothes, my best outfit, and every jug of that strange drink we'd taken from the fort. The road toward Nirick Tum's palace wound between hills and stone outcroppings, my carriage wheels thudding over each patched section of road. I had packed the jugs well, but I had already lost a few at sea and could not afford to lose any more of the precious liquid. So I took my time allowing the mules to plod at a leisurely pace towards the capital.
Upon arrival, I rented a room at an inn outside the palace gates and changed into my finest clothes—a deep-blue tunic, a sash from my last successful raid, and boots polished until they reflected the lamplight. Then I got back onto the bench of the wagon and guided my mules with my precious cargo to the Great Hall of Chiefs.
Yitum was already waiting in the outer chamber when I arrived.
He leaned against one of the marble pillars, tall and broad-shouldered, his beard braided with silver rings that clinked softly when he moved. His smile—cruel and effortless—spread the moment he saw me. I had never liked him. Too charming. Too reckless. Too eager for easy coin. But my brother had trusted him deeply.
Our eyes met, and I forced my expression into something respectful but unyielding.
"I understand," I said, "that you managed to capture a village."
He nodded once. "A good haul." Then, studying my face, he added, "Where is Nibilum?"
"So news hasn't reached you." I raised a brow.
"I've been trapped in this city waiting for these fools to summon me," Yitum growled. "Each day my slaves go unsold, I lose coin feeding them. So I'll ask again—where is your brother?"
"He stayed behind," I said, the words heavy. "After over three hundred of our men were killed, and the enemy did not lose a single warrior. He said it was a matter of honor. Word reached us that only eighty-three survived after the other captains and I retreated."
Yitum's eyes narrowed. "You abandoned your brother?"
I stepped forward, fists tightening. It took every ounce of restraint not to strike him.
"I lost seventy men," I said through my teeth. "I tried to make him leave. We were not prepared to face a Hand of Wrath. And where were you? Your ships should have been at that village. Your men should have been on the march north, hunting down the fleeing citizens."
His smile vanished. His posture shifted. A fight was coming—seconds away.
Then the door swung open.
A slave entered the chamber, stepping quickly before either of us could make a move. His dark hair fell over his bowed head as he knelt, voice steady.
"Honored chiefs," he said, "your presence is demanded."
I stiffened. Slave or not, the man had authority here. In the eyes of the Council of Chiefs, Yitum and I were barely a step above him.
We followed the man into the vast chamber where the Council gathered. The ceiling arched high overhead, carved beams catching the firelight from the great iron braziers that lined the room.
At the far end of the chamber sat Rictithum of the Carvanal Clan—the head chief and speaker for this meeting. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone. Yitum and I each touched a knee to the ground, then rose.
Rictithum stood, voice carrying easily across the hall. "We received word from the ambassador of Falmoren. Apparently, a count is asking for his people back."
Yitum scoffed loudly. "You have no right to take our plunder. We have an accord. We defend your seas, and you let us live by our own laws."
The fool had courage—or stupidity—in abundance.
I kept my face still, though inside I grimaced. Our accord with the Council was tenuous at best. They were building their own navy now, slowly but surely. Once their ships could truly defend these waters, raiders like us would become obsolete. Then hunted. The tides were shifting, and these chiefs could already smell blood in the water. Soon, they would control the winds entirely.
Rictithum continued, smooth as polished stone. "We will abide by the accord. But the situation is curious. Most of the nobility do not ask to buy everyone back. Only those they find useful. And sometimes not even that. Don't you agree?"
I frowned. "Are you saying he wants everyone?"
"Exactly," Rictithum said. "He wishes to trade the eighty-three men he captured... for them."
Yitum smirked, folding his arms. "That will not happen. They are not my men, and I am not going to feed and care for slaves, waiting for an acceptable price, when I can get a decent one from the slave merchants right now."
Anger flared in my chest, but I held it down. He was right—from a financial perspective. Unlike me, he owed no loyalty to my brother's survivors. His only allegiance was to profit.
"Very well," Rictithum said, already sounding bored. "We will send the message back." The wave of his hand made the whole matter seem like nothing more than a chance to display his authority.
No. They couldn't make a decision yet. Not without hearing the truth.
"I request permission to speak with the council in private before a final decision is made."
The chiefs, who had been slouching in their seats moments before, straightened in interest.
"Speak," Rictithum said.
"I ask for a private meeting with the council."
A long silence followed. Then Falitum rose, his cloak whispering over the stone. As he stood, Rictithum sat.
"I am curious about your letter," Falitum said. "I vote we approve this request."
Three hands rose in agreement.
Rictithum stood again, voice firm. "The council will hear you."
Yitum shot me a murderous glare but obeyed the silent command. He turned and strode from the chamber, the doors closing behind him with a heavy echo.
As soon as the doors slammed shut behind Yitum, I stepped forward and bowed my head respectfully. "Chiefs," I began, my voice steady despite the tension thrumming beneath my skin, "I would like to explain what occurred—and what we discovered—at the northernmost county of the Falmoren. Not all is as it seems."
I paused, giving them room to silence me if they wished. No interruption came.
"First, why we retreated," I continued. "When we arrived, we found a mostly built fort with only a handful of soldiers defending it. We took it quickly—easily. But that evening, a man approached the walls. I was not present, but several men who left for the ships relayed his words. The man claimed to speak on behalf of the Hand of Malitouma."
The reaction was immediate—shock from some chiefs, anger from others. Every Rabiss child grew up hearing tales of the Hands of Malitouma, but the idea that a foreigner could bear that mantle was more than many were willing to stomach.
"There was debate," I conceded. "Some of the messengers could not agree whether he said Wrath or Justice. But after what happened… I am convinced it could only have been the Hand of Wrath."
A councilor rose sharply. "And you believe this?"
"After what I saw," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching, "I do not see how it could be anything else."
I let the silence linger a heartbeat before continuing.
"The man warned us that if we did not flee before sunrise, their leader would call upon Malitouma and wipe the fort away like chaff in the wind. His words were fulfilled within hours."
The chiefs leaned forward.
"The reports from those that witnessed what happened say there was a sound like thunder," I said quietly, "and then fire. A blast that tore the fort apart from beneath. Bodies—our warriors—were scattered like dandelion fluff. The next morning, pieces of them floated in the sea. Over three hundred men died because we dismissed the warning."
Another chief stood, his voice deep and skeptical. "They did not simply set fire to the fort?"
"No," I said firmly. "Those who witnessed it described the ground erupting. This was no torch, no oil, no fire trap."
Falitum rose slightly in his seat, eyes narrowing in thought. "Let us assume this man is the Hand of Wrath. What is done is done. What would you have us do? We cannot fight Malitouma's own chosen."
"I recommend," I said, choosing my words carefully, "that you avoid provoking him—and ensure he gets what he wants."
Rictithum steepled his fingers. "It is not us who needs to make peace with him."
"I misspoke," I said. "You should not 'make peace' with him—you should open trade with him. You cannot do that if you begin by denying him what he requests."
Another chief scoffed lightly. "What would trading with such a distant port gain us?"
"He is more than just a Hand," I answered. "We found things at the cove—objects and tools I have never seen anywhere else. Either they craft such things themselves, or they have access to trade routes no other port has. Perhaps from further along the coast."
I let my final words hang in the air.
"If we ignore what we have seen," I said softly, "we may be turning our backs on the beginning of a new era. And on the favor—or wrath—of Malitouma Himself."
I opened a pouch at my side and drew out the strange hand drill we had recovered from the shore. The carved wooden handle gleamed faintly in the firelight, the metal spiral still sharp despite the tests we had put it through on our journey home.
"This," I said, holding it up so the chiefs could see, "is a machine unlike anything I have seen. It drills through wood faster than any tool our craftsmen possess."
I set it in the hands of a waiting slave, then reached into the pouch again and pulled out a folded shirt—the simple garment taken from the fort along with the barrels of alcohol. Even now, the fabric felt impossibly soft between my fingers.
"This cloth," I continued, "is woven tighter and smoother than anything our best looms can produce. Soft as fine linen, yet strong. A fabric fit for nobility—yet this was a common shirt found in the fort. And I did not win the bet for them," I added with a rueful sigh, "but their bedsheets are made of the same material."
Another slave stepped forward and passed the items to the chiefs, who murmured among themselves as they examined the weave and construction.
"The last item," I said, "is outside. It awaits your permission to be brought in. A jug of the strongest alcohol I have ever tasted. A single mug is enough to make seasoned raiders struggle to form coherent sentences. It is fruity, smooth, and gave me one of the grandest feelings I have ever experienced." I bowed my head slightly. "If anything bears the touch of Malitouma, surely that drink does."
"Bring in this drink," Rictithum ordered, gesturing toward the slaves at the back of the hall.
As they hurried out, he fixed his sharp gaze on me. "And while we wait, tell us your plan. How do you intend for us to gain advantage from this arrangement? If there is profit to be found, I will consider investing in Yitum's slaves myself."