In Defence of the Crown (The Aielund Saga Book 2), Page 2

  “Mister Wainwright, your timing is impeccable,” came the captain’s voice from within. The door was open, and the captain’s steward was presently departing with empty plates and cutlery.

  “Captain Sherrard, I was just heading up to get some air,” Aiden called, covering the fact he had become disoriented in the ship. To his addled sense of balance, it felt as though the vessel was pitching up and down in the most violent of conditions. “I didn’t realise we had sailed into such choppy weather.”

  “I don’t know to what you are referring, sir,” Sherrard replied evenly. “We are blessed with fair winds and calm seas. Please come in for a moment.” Aiden nodded, managing to get himself into the captain’s office without falling over. “I see you are yet to acquire your sea legs.”

  “It’s my first time at sea, Captain,” Aiden muttered, sitting down in a sturdy chair opposite a large desk, behind which Sir Denholm was sitting. Glancing around for the first time, Aiden could see an assortment of fine paintings hanging on the walls, depicting rolling hills, mountains and even a painting of a small castle.

  Upon the desk were papers, charts, and the curious instruments one would use to navigate at sea. Large windows behind the desk provided ample light and Aiden realised the office was at the rear of the ship, for they looked out across the sea left in their wake.

  “You’ll get the hang of it, soon enough,” Sir Denholm assured him. He had a crisp manner and military bearing about him that alluded to his many years in the navy. Though his features were weathered in testament to his years at sea, his grey eyes were sharp and alert. “I trust you find your accommodation satisfactory?”

  “Yes, although my roommate doesn’t share my stout constitution.”

  “Having a rough time of it is he?” the captain asked rhetorically. “Most unfortunate.”

  “How long do you think the journey to Fairloch will take us, captain?” Aiden inquired, changing the subject.

  “Under ordinary circumstances, the capital would be a scant two days sail from Culdeny,” he explained, “but since the foremast is damaged, we are restricted by the amount of sail we can carry and thus, it may take an extra day to reach our destination. Have you stopped by to ensure the comfort of the ladies?”

  “Princess Criosa seems well and is taking care of the others who are in various degrees of distress,” Aiden replied diplomatically. “Considering she had been kidnapped just days ago, I find her resilience quite remarkable.”

  “She comes from a line of strong-willed men and women, so this comes as no surprise to me,” Sir Denholm said. “I must congratulate you once more on stopping the dogs who kidnapped her. Damnable scoundrels sir, the lot of them.”

  “They were mere puppets, captain,” Aiden suggested. “I’m more concerned about who was pulling their strings, and why. I have a few questions, if you’ve the time, sir.”

  “There aren’t enough hours in the day for the workload of the captain of an under-crewed vessel in His Majesty’s navy,” Sir Denholm replied, gesturing at the pile of papers scattered over his desk, “but I will make time, for the hero of the Battle of Culdeny.”

  “Yes, your crew,” Aiden said, taking the compliment for what it was. “I know you’ve seen action recently and I was wondering if you could tell me some more about your part in the war.”

  “Our last engagement was in the western part of Rochfort bay,” Sherrard answered, “where the remnants of the Tulsonite fleet had assembled to interfere with the deployment of reinforcements ashore. Ever since the war was declared, the navies of our two Kingdoms have been skirmishing back and forth, particularly around the islands that lie in disputed waters off the north coast of Aielund.”

  “In a moment, you’ll have to tell me what all this is about, but please continue,” Aiden interjected, his curiosity about these world-changing events overriding the complaints coming from his tired mind and body.

  “It pains me to say this, but we lost several ships in minor actions at the start of the war,” Sir Denholm continued, “greatly hampering our efforts to carry supplies to the army. Despite this, our carracks are larger and more than a match for the smaller ships the Tulsonites use and First Admiral Chesterton devised a plan to exploit their weaknesses.”

  “Moving as one fleet, under the aegis of Admiral Collins aboard the Celerity, we sailed in force with the clear intention of crippling their navy once and for all, giving Aielund supremacy over the northern seas for the duration of the war. As predicted, their scouting vessels saw us coming and signalled the rest of their fleet to oppose us. What followed was the largest naval engagement this country has ever seen, with over thirty ships from both sides fighting for victory.”

  “That explains the damage to the Redoubtable and your loss of crew,” Aiden mused absently, engrossed by the captain’s account.

  “The Redoubtable was in the van, and took the brunt of the first assault, with Tulsonite marines killing nearly a dozen of my crew in the process. A further twenty three were lost during a boarding action later in the day, but at the end of it all, the enemy fleet was decimated and Aielund stood triumphant. We managed to limp back to Culdeny for a quick re-supply with the intention of heading on to Fairloch for extensive repairs, but found ourselves amidst another battle, of which you are intimately acquainted with.”

  “It would be nice to have some perspective on all this, an understanding of why all of this is happening in the first place,” Aiden remarked soberly.

  “The reasons for the war are being kept secret, even from those of us doing the fighting,” the captain informed him, somewhat regretfully. “It is enough for men sworn to his service that His Majesty commands it, yet I understand the hardships imposed upon the civilian population and the desire for it all to make sense. All I can tell you is that the King was involved in several months of diplomatic overtures to Tulsone prior to the declaration of war.”

  “So, he did at least try to avert war,” Aiden mused. “I have seen, first-hand, the problems this bloody conflict has caused the kingdom and all I can say is that he better have a good reason for it.”

  “You are plain-spoken, sir,” Sir Denholm remarked dryly. “I appreciate your candour, though I would ask that you keep such thoughts to yourself while aboard my ship. My crew do not need to hear more about trouble at home while they have enough to deal with in the present moment.”

  “Of course, I’ll be discreet,” Aiden assured him.

  “You are young to have been thrust into the position of fighting a major battle,” the captain observed. “You are a boy of no more than seventeen or eighteen, if my guess is correct, yet from what I hear, you led a squad of the Kingdom Guard and even the princess herself against the mercenaries that assaulted Culdeny.”

  “I helped devise the plan, though it was Sergeant Evans who did most of the commanding,” Aiden explained deprecatingly. “It really was a team effort.”

  “I find your humility most becoming, sir,” Sir Denholm remarked with a slight smile. “Now then, I have to complete this battle report for the admiralty before our return to friendly shores, so why don’t you avail yourself of some fresh sea air. I would however, like to extend an invitation to you, your companions and the princess, to dine with me this evening here in my cabin.”

  “Thank you sir, I’ll pass that along,” Aiden answered, genuinely pleased at the invitation.

  “Smashing,” Sir Denholm murmured. “If you need anything, Lieutenant Masterson is on the bridge. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must continue my work.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Aiden replied, standing up and exchanging a short, firm handshake. Aiden left the cabin and softly closed the door behind him.

  Upon exiting the confines of the ship’s interior, he was immediately welcomed by the fresh breeze, laden with the unique, salty tang of the sea. Despite his unsteadiness, Aiden realised the captain had been correct - the conditions were nearly perfect, and they couldn’t have asked for a better start to the short voyage.

>   The crew were kept busy managing the intimidating array of ropes and pulleys that held the sails in check, and didn’t pay much heed to the unsteady young man as he made his way out onto the deck. Aiden took a firm hold of the nearest mast, trying not to fall over as the ship swayed gently beneath his feet. For a solid five minutes he stood there, afraid of stumbling on the deck and appearing foolish before these seasoned sailors.

  The helm was under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Masterson. Aiden’s attention, however, was caught by the two ballistae positioned on either side of the deck - massive, oversized crossbows that fired spear-like projectiles with tremendous force.

  “Afternoon, Mister Wainwright,” a sailor remarked to him, appearing next to the young man as if by magic. Aiden recognised him as Woulfe, the man who had shown Pacian and himself to their cabin. Sharp green eyes scrutinized the deck around him, and a bandana of cloth helped keep his wild dark hair in check. Like all the other sailors on board, he was wearing baggy trousers and a heavy brown tunic to ward off the chill.

  “Shouldn’t you be saying ‘ahoy thar matey’, or some such?” Aiden replied with a half-smile on his face.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Woulfe replied laconically. “That’s all a bunch of heresay, actually. People talk the way they were raised, you know? Pleased to meet you. The name’s Ronan Woulfe.” Aiden shook his hand, being careful to steady himself with his other arm on the mast. “I noticed you admiring our ballista,” Ronan continued. “If you gotta take on a dragon, I can’t think of a better weapon.”

  “More than that, it was accurate shooting, too,” Aiden complimented.

  “Thanks.”

  “You were the shooter?” Aiden asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Of the aft starboard station, yeah,” Ronan clarified. “The thing about dragons, is they’re big. Pretty hard to miss, really - all you gotta do is aim where they’re gonna be.”

  “It’s still an impressive feat.”

  “Woulfe, you’re not being paid to stand around chatting, get back to work this instant,” Lieutenant Masterson barked.

  “Aye aye sir,” Ronan answered, still in the same laconic tone. The sailor leapt up the mast Aiden was leaning against and scurried up the rigging as the executive officer approached.

  “Good afternoon, Mister Wainwright,” he greeted him. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked,” Aiden muttered.

  “Well, you’ll soon settle in, though I daresay you won’t be aboard long enough to become accustomed to the motion of the ship.”

  “A pity, I think I’m starting to understand the appeal of the sea,” Aiden mused, looking out over the expanse of blue water before him.

  “As well you might,” Masterson replied, smiling for the first time since Aiden had met him. “There’s nothing quite as soul-stirring as a sunrise on a clear morning at sea. The way the light filters through the fog in shafts of heavenly rays… it’s really quite breathtaking.”

  “Sail ahoy!” a man yelled from the crow’s nest, high above the main deck on the tallest mast. Masterson, previously standing about in a casual manner, suddenly became alert.

  “Where away?” he called back to the lookout.

  “Port quarter aft, sir!” came the shouted response. Aiden looked in a random direction, unsure where he was referring to, while Masterson pulled out a small metal tube from his longcoat and strode over to the rail.

  “Is there a problem?” Aiden asked the officer.

  “Difficult to make out details at this distance, even with this useful contraption,” Masterson replied absently, “but she could be a merchantman out of Brigham, in the Rael islands. I doubt it would be an enemy vessel this far from Tulsonite waters, especially considering their recent defeat.”

  “What about pirates?” Aiden asked, drawing a look of condescension from the officer.

  “A pirate caravel is hardly going to be giving chase to a ship of His Majesty’s navy, Mister Wainwright,” he admonished.

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “Given the nature of our precious cargo, I’m not going to take any chances,” Masterson said after a moment’s thought. “I doubt we can outrun them in our current state, but should an opportunity arise in the next twelve hours to lose them in fog, I shall do so, just to be safe.”

  “You seem to know what you’re doing, Lieutenant.”

  “I would be a poor officer indeed if I did not,” he asserted. “You’re looking a little green around the edges there, Mister Wainwright. Why don’t you head back to your cabin and get some rest.”

  “I think I might, at that,” Aiden agreed, having had his fill of sea air and questionable company for the time being. He slowly made his way to the door leading into the ship, noticing that a few sailors were grinning at his unsteady progress as he headed back to his cabin.

  *

  To his surprise, Aiden managed to get a few more hours sleep before he was awoken by a knock on the door from the steward. It took him a few minutes to struggle back into his clothes, during which time he deduced that Pacian was unlikely to be attending the captain’s table.

  “I’m going to throw up all over them,” he croaked, his bleary green eyes begging for mercy.

  “I’m not asking you to go,” Aiden assured his friend. “But I could bring you back some food, if you’ve the stomach for it later on. I’m sure they’ll have salted pork and biscuits, if nothing -”

  He was interrupted by Pacian’s sudden dash to the window, which was surprising to Aiden, for he was almost certain his friend would have nothing left to purge.

  “Just rest up, you’ll feel better tomorrow,” Aiden advised with a slight grin before heading to the doorway.

  Aiden closed the door behind him and saw Princess Criosa had emerged from her cabin a little further along the hall. Her silky shoulder-length blond hair seemed to glow in the dim light of the lantern hanging nearby. But that’s where the veneer of royalty ended, for it was unlikely any princess in history had worn the blue and white attire of a naval officer.

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” Aiden said to her, quite formally.

  “Hello Aiden, I trust you are weathering this experience better than our roommates?” she responded. Despite her relaxed appearance, she was smoothing down her longcoat in a very self-conscious manner.

  “Thankfully yes, though I’m still wobbling about,” Aiden explained ruefully. Criosa walked up to Aiden and scrutinized his appearance with a sharp eye. “This is hardly suitable for a formal dinner,” she muttered, poking at his clothing in an attempt to neaten him up a little. “It will have to do, though I rather imagine you’d look quite dashing in an officer’s uniform.”

  “As do you?” he complimented, noticing her squirm at the attention.

  “If father saw me dressed like this, he’d be fit to be tied,” she exclaimed. “Women of breeding don’t wear men’s clothing, let alone a military uniform and never on formal occasions. But, it’s an improvement over what I had on before I suppose, although these tights are a little too revealing for my taste. I am glad for the longcoat, at least, to obscure such things from the men should I venture on deck.”

  “I… yes, that would be unfortunate,” Aiden replied, momentarily distracted. The marine stationed just outside her door had the good grace to keep his eyes staring straight at the wall, though he did seem to blush a little.

  “I’ll thank you not to dwell on the subject of my legs, if you please, sir,” Criosa laughed.

  “Best that you keep such observations to yourself then, Your Highness,” Aiden advised, smiling in spite of his embarrassment. Down the hallway, he saw Nellise emerge from the room, dressed in a fresh white robe.

  “Good evening, Nellise,” Aiden greeted her, speaking gently without intending to. Her golden eyes seemed lacklustre, and her pale hair was somewhat unkempt. “How are you feeling?”

  “Well enough,” she quietly replied as they approached. “I hav
en’t been to sea for a few years, but I’m no stranger to ships. Poor Sayana isn’t fairing so well however, and she won’t be joining us for dinner.”

  “Pacian is also indisposed,” Aiden added, “but at least he’s resting properly now.”

  “I stopped by earlier while you were sleeping and gave him a tincture to settle him down a bit,” Nellise explained. “I gave some to Sy as well, so they’ll both have a good night’s sleep and hopefully be on their feet by this time tomorrow.”

  “So it’ll be the three of us then,” Criosa affirmed, examining Aiden and Nellise closely for a moment. “Were we heading to a formal dinner in Fairloch, I wouldn’t even allow either of you through the front door. Couldn’t you at least wash some of the dirt off, Aiden?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t even think of it,” he replied ashamedly.

  “No, this simply won’t do,” she muttered. Before he could object, Aiden found himself being dragged inside her quarters where he found himself bestowed the unique honour of being washed by a member of the royal family. She dabbed and scrubbed the dirt stains from his skin and clothing until he met some standard of cleanliness only Criosa was aware of.

  “You wouldn’t believe the amount of coaxing it took to have both he and Pacian take baths a few weeks ago,” Nellise remarked, watching the spectacle with wry amusement. Sayana, lying upon a bed, barely stirred at all during this event, for which he was grateful.

  “I have never met a man so resistant to the idea of being well presented,” Criosa remarked as she finished, straightening up his tunic.

  “I’m a simple country boy, Your Highness,” Aiden explained.

  “Nothing about you is simple, sir, so do not prevaricate with me,” Criosa warned crisply. “Now then, we’ve delayed Sir Denholm long enough.”

  Leaving Sayana to rest, the three of them left the cabin and soon arrived at the captain’s chambers. Sir Denholm appeared resplendent in his fine attire and Aiden was suddenly glad that Criosa had taken the time to clean him up. After exchanging pleasantries, they sat as the steward brought in a platter of sizzling sausages, a bowl of mash potatoes, and some freshly baked bread lathered in butter.