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Landing
Part 1
A mild breeze blew off the Great Sea along the western coast of the Hansic Alliance. The sleek form of a Khadashite corsair seemed to glide across the surface of the water as it followed the current to its destination. Even with such a light breeze to fill its sails, the vessel moved faster than the quickest means of overland travel, but this still wasn’t speedy enough for its anxious passengers. Premier Glendon Fortinbras and his delegation of negotiators, which included his daughter, Dannia, were on their way to Hansehaven to meet his Hansic counterpart, Chancellor Yarena Hanser. As Fortinbras stood at the prow and watched the twin cities of Lubec and Rugen draw closer from the horizon, his meeting with Cain three weeks earlier weighed heavily on him. That the Champion of Chaos was on the move was beyond doubt. Now that the evacuation of Khadash was underway, the premier’s mission to procure more food and raw materials was critical.
And now a delay!
As Rugen’s pier came into view, Fortinbras shifted his bulk. Dressed in tan breeches, dark brown boots, and a red surcoat that did little to hide his generous frame, he hardly looked like a head of state. He noted the honor guard and the carriages awaiting them and nearly slammed his fists on the rail in frustration. Did the Hanse need a ceremony for everything? Was he not clear enough in his missive about the need for haste?
Soon, pier workers were tethering the corsair to the dock and a plank was lowered to allow the passengers to disembark. A voice carried over the entire waterfront.
“Present arms!”
As one, the honor guard drew its weapons and saluted the vessel.
“Company, at ease.”
The soldiers sheathed their blades and remained standing rigidly. A herald moved to stand in front of the guards and announced a formal greeting. “To His Honor, Premier Glendon Fortinbras of the Dominion of Khadash: welcome to Rugen and to the Hansic Alliance.”
The premier moved to the plank followed by his daughter and the rest of his delegation who had emerged from a lower deck.
A noble stepped forward dressed in a navy blue ceremonial outfit with a bright sash that ran from shoulder to hip. “Greetings, Premier Fortinbras,” he said stiffly. “I am William Lessander, governor of the Great Sea District. Welcome to the Hansic Alliance. I hope your stay will be pleasant.”
The plank groaned perceptibly as Fortinbras debarked. He stopped a few paces away from the governor and eyed the waiting carriages angrily. “I don’t care who you are. I’m here to see your chancellor, but she’s in Hansehaven, not Rugen.” His booming voice carried across the entire waterfront.
Lessander’s eyes bulged and his mouth gaped. “I was told that you were informed of the repairs currently underway to the pier at Hansehaven,” he growled. “All naval traffic is being rerouted through Rugen and Lubec. These carriages are the quickest way to Hansehaven from here. I hope the remainder of your journey will be comfortable.”
Standing a head taller than the governor, Glendon Fortinbras glowered at Lessander. “Fine. Have our belongings transferred to the carriages. I want to leave immediately.”
Lessander replied to the premier with forced civility. “Very well. The journey to Hansehaven will take several hours. I’ll send word of your arrival.”
“You do that. Every second lost is a second wasted. I’ll tolerate no more delays. The sooner I can speak with your chancellor, the sooner we can return home.”
The Khadashite delegation was ready to leave in a quarter of an hour. As the honor guard formed around them to escort them to Hansehaven, the governor mounted his steed and returned to his keep, thankful to be rid of these guests.
* *
Twelve hours passed. William Lessander looked down on the city of Rugen as the lights winked out one by one. His city and its twin across the river were going to sleep. Lessander’s bedroom was very plain, with only some decorative weapons and medals adorning the stone walls. He had kept none of the paraphernalia amassed by the previous governor. A brazier sat in a corner under a ventilation shaft for Lessander’s daily votives to the Spirits, though he was finding it increasingly difficult to Commune lately.
Dressed in his nightgown, Lessander was preparing to turn in when a page appeared at the entrance to his bedchamber and knocked. The governor responded with annoyance. “Yes, Douglas?”
“Message from Longpoint, your Honor. They require your immediate presence at the lighthouse.”
“Longpoint? Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No, your Honor, I’m afraid not.”
*
“Ships, your Honor.”
“That’s what you called me out here for, to stare at a group of ships?” Lessander and the head watchman were observing the horizon from the deck on top of Longpoint’s lone spire. It stood thirty meters from the ground and its large oil lamp was extinguished. The lighthouse was built on a small promontory just west of the mouth of the River Odra.
“The problem is, sir, that there weren’t any ships scheduled to arrive tonight. And look where they’re coming from — out west.”
“Could it be the Explorer?” asked Lessander hopefully.
“If it is, they seem to have found some friends. There are a lot of them out there and it’s impossible to tell which of them, if any, is ours. If they were coming during the day, I might be able to make out some markings, but right now it’s too dark.”
Lessander took the watchman’s spyglass and raised it to his eye. He could barely see the faint outline of a fleet of ships stretched across the horizon in the full moon’s light. After a moment, he said worriedly, “Send for the garrison commander.”
Time passed and the fleet edged closer. Soon a figure appeared clad in his armor. His breastplate bore the emblem of a vulturn clutching a bow with a sword and pike crossed behind it. He was tall with watery-blue eyes and blond hair.
“Yale Hendricks, senior marshal of the Twin Cities Praetorian battalion, reporting as requested.”
Lessander glanced questioningly at the Praetorian. “What are you doing here? I sent for the militia garrison commander.”
The fighter treated this question disdainfully. “General Eigels escorted the Khadashite delegation to Hansehaven to attend the chancellor and Commander Frederick has taken ill. His senior lieutenant asked me to fill in.”
“Very well.” Lessander handed him the spyglass and he surveyed the advancing fleet. “How many ships do you estimate, Marshal Hendricks?”
The marshal surveyed the horizon for a moment. “About fifty, with more possibly following behind.”
“Do you recognize any designs?” the governor asked the watchman.
“They’re too distant for me to make out identifying features, but judging from the apparent sizes and shapes, they could be similar to ours.”
Hendricks furrowed his brow and looked back out at the horizon. “How many people could be stowed away on board, if there were only supplies and no cargo?”
The watchman was puzzled. “Depending on how long the voyage was, I’d say between eighty and one hundred people, plus the crew.” He suddenly understood what this estimate meant. He stared at his governor fearfully. “Your Honor, how can this be…?”
Lessander turned to his armored companion. “Marshal, I want you to awaken the militia and dispatch the soldiery. Rugen and Lubec are now under curfew. No one is permitted to leave his or her home for any reason.”
Hendricks nodded. “That’s sensible. I’ll deploy the Praetorians to establish defensive positions. The militia will be kept free to evacuate people to the keeps if the need arises. Otherwise, they’ll be used as backup. I want the Praetorians to be the first line of defense.”
The governor nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave it in your hands.” Lessander entered the lighthouse, found some paper and a quill, and started writing. “I need some hot wax,” he instructed the watchman. After a few minutes, with his letter finished, he dripped the wax onto the bottom of the page and pressed his ring with the governor’s seal into it. He looked up gravely.
“All three of us must sign this. I’m sending it to Hansehaven immediately.”
Hendricks accepted the note and quickly read it. He looked up at the governor grimly. “There hasn’t been an attack on Rugen and Lubec in three hundred and fifty years.”
Lessander stared worriedly at the western horizon. “I know, Marshal. I know.”
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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