Snippet #2375373

Bann of Silverstone

Duremis Harbour was the main point of shipping for the Silverstone lands. It lay at the mouth of the Great River that flowed through Silverstone itself and provided berths for the trade ships that carried the wealth of the city to Penumbria and beyond. Only there were no ships to make the journey.

The local Reeve, Harald Houral, had thought at first that it might be jitters about the war but now that virtually no vessels had come from the north or east he was convinced that something else altogether more sinister was afoot so he had requested the Bann to join him and asked his lordship to suggest a course of action.

"You can see from the figures lord that within the last week we have received fewer than six vessels. That is our normal visitors for a single day!" Houral had opened the huge ledger he kept on his desk. His office was located within his own home, a hall built of bright new timber with a thatched roof that did well to keep the rain out though the smoke from his fire was already blackening the golden straw above.

"It must be that bloody man, Hightower." Bjorni snarled. "His festering nest of pirates are certainly out on the loose, snapping up everything they can lay their hands on. Those they miss I am sure the bloody Danescral raiders snap up." He was in a foul temper. No ships meant everything had to go overland and that meant he needed to hire men to guard the precious metals. Those men would have to be paid well or they might steal the cargo themselves. War was bad for business.

"The Lady Fitzwarren could pay for her own protection. Does she not have an army?" The Reeve suggested quietly. He, like his lord, had no interest in spending more money than was needed.

Bjorni nodded slowly in agreement. "Why just her? Everyone needs or wants what I have, they can damn well send soldiers to guard their own cargoes." He rubbed his hands together. "This might actually save us some money."

He turned on the Reeve and gestured for him to pick up the quill. "Write me something complimentary that apologizes for being unable to ship by sea due to Hightowers pirates. Also add that the safety of shipments cannot be guaranteed since I do not have the soldiers to make it so. I suggest they find alternate forms of security."

Without waiting for a response the Bann limped from the room, his leg making a hollow "thunk" sound on the wooden docks outside. He stared out to sea and only a single sail could be seen. It was square and bright red but was racing swiftly northward and showed no intention to make for Duremis.

Had bothered to mention it to anyone he would have discovered that it was not the first time the red sailed ship had been sighted nosing about the harbours borders.


Alerk Alerkson

Eighty ships. Eighty ships to take a city reckoned unobtainable. Alerk liked a challenge. All that week strong winds had blown from the east and more ships had come bringing with them more Spear-Danes, Sword-Danes and Shield-Danes, big men hungry for land and riches.

For nearly a thousand years the people of Danescral had been raiders, only leaving their barren home to take what they needed from others but Alerk had a vision, a vision told to him by a blind virgin who could see the future. She had told him that he would be a gold giver, a lord of men, a king in the lands of the west.

Fascinated by her predictions he had sent word for every man who had been there to come to him with news. Merchants, raiders, even Hightower Pirates, had come to his hall, drunk his ale and eaten of his food while they told him everything about the Kingdom of Penumbria. What he learned was that the land was rotten. A bastard King, Wardens that struggled amongst themselves, Banns who believed themselves immune to harm and at last he dared to believe that the blind virgins visions had been true.

Now he stood on a bluff overlooking the long beaches of the Temperance Isles. He could easily count the number of ships that had come, eighty. Each of them had come with no less than thirty warriors, proper Danes, who could kill and kill well. Like the embers of a fire they had to be drawn together and when bunched together they made a mighty blaze.

The sands around the ships were alive with the movements of the ships crews and their families. Warriors fought mock battles up and down the beach, their women repaired torn armour while slaves scrubbed the rust from weapons with sand and straw. Even the children were busy, scrapping the hulls of the ships clean so that they might slide faster through the waves.

A sudden splash of colour showed against the white cloud sky, mercifully absent were the rain clouds that had hammered them the last few days. A single red sail had appeared and Alerk grinned through his massive beard. Finian had returned and with him would be news of Silverstone.