"I suppose you can't have discipline without the threat of punishment," said Jutaar. "As a captain I'm always quick to enforce the regulations."
"That's right, son," said Ullsaard. "When they see what the alternative is, these people will be grateful to have the kind and understanding Jutaar in charge again. And just like the way a company works, most folks in Askhira will start to take care of the matter themselves. After the next ten days, nobody here will want me coming back, so they'll cast out any Brothers that stay behind, as well as anyone else that wants to upset the wagon."
Realisation crept across Jutaar's face like the dawn spreading across the harbour.
"It's a bit like when Urikh and I were kids," he said. "He was always saying 'I'm telling Father what you did', even when I hadn't done anything wrong."
"Yes," said Ullsaard. "But when I've left and you need to remind people of the consequences of ill discipline, I wouldn't use those exact words."
III
Ullsaard's crackdown on the Brotherhood and the other malcontents in Askhira rapidly brought work back up to speed. Though Jutaar was still behind on delivering the fleet his father needed, the pace was quickening and there was still a chance that they would be ready to sail with the legions before the winter.
Five days after his father had departed, Jutaar discussed this with Urikh; Ullsaard had left his eldest son in Askhira to help Jutaar ensure progress went smoothly. The two of them were making a tour of the docks, followed by a coterie of scribes with wax tablets and styluses making notes of the work being done.
"This is the sixteenth of the thirty warships we need," Jutaar was saying as they stopped to look at the skeletal timbers of a trireme. Hundreds of men were cladding the ribs with hull planks and putting down decking. "We have four hundred and eleven of the six hundred and fifty transports too."
"It is still taking too long," said Urikh.
Jutaar had always known his brother to be an industrious, ambitious, busy person. Even as a child Urikh had constantly devised ways to take advantage of his younger siblings and their friends, persuading them to lend him money for some scheme or other; money that he almost inevitably failed to repay due to the poor sense or bad luck of someone else. Urikh's apparent appetite for this operation outstripped anything he had shown before. The promise of becoming the heir to the Crown was clearly the greatest incentive Jutaar's brother had ever felt. Since coming to Askhira, he had thrown himself into every aspect of the endeavour, berating any foreman whose team so much as laid one plank or hammered one nail or tarred one seam less than was required each day. Jutaar was pleased that Urikh was around to deal with the more unpleasant practicalities of controlling a work force and Urikh had even admitted, somewhat drunkenly and aggressively the night before, that the two of them made a good team.
"More men won't help," said Jutaar. "There's only so much space to build and so many things that can be done at once."
"That does not solve my problem," said Urikh, squinting in the sunshine. He was obviously suffering from his over-indulgence of wine the night before. "Give me answers, not excuses."
Jutaar thought about the problem as they moved onto the next dock where a flat-bottomed transport was taking shape, waiting only for its mast and cabin to be built.
"Lanterns," he said.
"What's that?" Urikh replied absently, having snatched a tablet from one of his attendants to scribble down some thought of his own.
"If we bring in some of those large camp lanterns the legions use, maybe thirty or so, we could extend the shifts into the night by another watch before it gets too dark to work."
Urikh stared at his brother as if he had suddenly turned a strange colour and spouted Nemurian.
"What?" said Jutaar. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing!" Urikh exclaimed with a grin. "It is brilliant! I should have thought of that."
"Well, you didn't, brother," said Jutaar, feeling pleased with himself.
"So, where do we get these lanterns from?"
Jutaar hesitated. He hadn't got that far ahead in his thinking.
"We'll have to send for them," he said.
"That will take too long," said Urikh as they resumed their tour, walking along a stone wharf as the waves lapped over its edge and crept towards their sandaled feet. His smile disappeared and became a frown, but that soon vanished as he came to an answer. "We will get the artisans in the Tenth to make them. I'm sure they have everything they need and it is not like they have much else to do at the moment."
Jutaar thought about this and could find no fault with the plan.
"That would work. An extra watch each day should increase production by another fifth. We would have the fleet ready in time."
Urikh laid a brotherly arm around Jutaar's shoulders and slapped him on the belly.
"With a fleet, we take Askhor," Urikh said. "When we have Askhor, we take Askh. After that, father becomes king. And we will be Princes of the Blood!"
Jutaar nodded and smiled. That certainly sounded good.
IV
Something woke Urikh in the early hours of the morning. He guessed it to be during Gravewatch. He glanced across the bed to see his wife, Neerlima, still asleep. He slipped out from under the blankets and padded barefoot to the archway and into the adjoining room. He peered into the darkness at Luissa in her small bed, nothing more than a splay of dark curls against a white pillow. He watched for a moment but his daughter did not stir, as sound asleep as her mother.
As he turned back to his bed, Urikh realised what seemed amiss. He could smell a hint of smoke in the air, as if one of the servants had improperly put out a cooking fire. Urikh could not understand why he would notice such a thing at this time of the morning. As he was about to slip back under the covers, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked towards the windows. Between the slats of the shutters he saw a flickering.
Filled with sudden foreboding, he dashed across the room and flung open the shutters. He looked towards the harbour and saw smoke rising from flames aboard three ships, slowly drifting towards he docks. He recognised them as ships Jutaar had mounted with legion lamps, now ablaze from stem to stern.
Others had seen them too and bells rang and gongs were struck in warning, but there was nothing that could be done. Urikh heard Neerlima stirring behind him, asking what he was doing, but he was fixed on the scene unfolding in the harbour.
The burning ships crashed into the docks, the sea wind fanning the flames onto the canvas and timbers, the barrels of pitch and oil, and soon the fires were spreading from hotward along the crescent of the bay, growing in strength. That same wind brought smoke gusting over Askhira, stinging Urikh's eyes; but there had been tears in them already as he realised how many ships they would lose. It seemed as if they hadn't found all of the Brotherhood's agents and saboteurs after all. He would have to write to his father.
"Fuck," he muttered, lowering his head into his hands, unable to look any more.
Narun, Nalanor
Late Summer, 210th Year of Askh
I
The reports from the scouts had been confirmed: Nemtun's army had left the Wall and was advancing on Narun. After a season content to guard against attack, no doubt having celebrated the new year in comfort, the king's brother had decided to take the offensive. Donar gathered his second captains in the headquarters he had made in an old municipal building. Third captains bustled around the room, gathering maps of the area between Narun and the Wall, collating the disparate reports of Nemtun's army and its progress.