Landfall Read online

  Landfall

  Chronicles of the Spice Wars

  Book 1

  Victor Serrano

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Author Page

  Copyright © 2019 Victor Serrano

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  To Throw the Plum

  Juice dribbled between the Emperor’s fingers as he squeezed the plum. Across from him Lin nodded, his massive bow strung taut, an arrow already nocked and readied against the quivering string.

  “Throw it,” Lin said as he raised his bow, then remembered to add a hasty “my Emperor,” as Emperor Banisu flung the plum up in the air through the orchard ringed by a wall of crumbling masonry and silent sentries. Lin Karatsu pulled the bow back, holding for a half-second as the young man gauged the distance, and then the bow strummed in an instant as the arrow sped away. Banisu looked to see the arrow plunge into the side of the plum, flinging bits of fruit into the air as it spun away, and even a few of the watching guardsmen looked impressed.

  “Nice shot,” Banisu said, and turned to grin at his friend. Just past his name-day at sixteen years old and already Lin looked like a full-grown man. I’ll have years yet, Banisu thought, though he hid his jealousy as he wiped his sticky hand on his regal tunic. Imagine, me an emperor of sorts, and him just a vassal. But I am the jealous one.

  Lin just grinned, feigning modesty, and Banisu fought to not look too impressed. I’ll bet that was just luck. Well, he gets to practice all he wants, anyway.

  Lin seemed to read Banisu’s thoughts and his smile faded into a guilty shrug.

  “Father has a nice range on his estate. I spend at least an hour a day at archery, and I train with the spear and sword as well. But I prefer the bow.”

  Banisu sighed. “Must be nice to have all that time. I’m just trapped in here by the clan leaders reading stuffy tomes all the time. I hate it.”

  “You should burn them all down like your father did,” Lin said carelessly.

  “No,” Banisu snapped, and the mood changed in an instant. Leather creaked in the silence as one of the Kintari soldiers took a few steps closer. The man bore a halberd and wore the ornate lamellar armor and a red ceramic mask that covered his lower face.

  Lin looked over, eyebrows raised, and seemed to realize his mistake. He bowed like a retainer to his emperor. As he should.

  “I am sorry, Emperor. I only meant it in jest.”

  Banisu gritted his teeth. He had just about had enough of being the butt of jokes. Months he had waited in the mountain monastery where he had been secluded with other initiates. Months of waiting for the annual gathering of nobles to pay him the proper respect, boy emperor that he may be, but it had already been ruined by the sneers and snickering he had overheard. In his grandfather’s time those sneers would have been punished with flogging or worse. But since his father’s time…

  Banisu stuck out his hand for Lin’s bow. “Let me try,” Banisu said, but Lin just stood there looking down at him. He had grown so much taller in the year since Banisu had seen him last.

  “I’m not sure you could pull it,” Lin said after a moment. “No offense meant, Emperor.”

  Banisu frowned. It was probably true, and the novelty of visiting nobles having to pay him the proper respects pleased him, but he didn’t like this one bit. If I just had the time to practice archery instead of memorizing the sutras in this monastic cage…

  “A fine shot!”

  They turned to see a man shuffling along the courtyard of the mountain monastery. His back was hunched and his face was unnaturally twisted. Unkind observers had likened the nobleman to a lurching ape, and had lost their tongues for their insolence, but Banisu smiled to see the deformed man approach.

  “Uncle Prasert! It is good to see you,” Banisu said.

  Prasert stood at Banisu’s height and shambled forward to give him a hug. After a moment he stepped back, his sloping jaw dribbling spittle as always, and his lazy eye regarded the soldier nearby.

  “Your guards are incaushush,” Prasert said, squinting into the distance as he wiped his mouth with the drooping hem of his regal robes. “Perhapsh they should be whipped to…” he paused as his retainer hurried to join him and proffered a large jug. Prasert spat into it and cleared his throat. “To instill more discipline.”

  Banisu shrugged. “I have little to worry about.”

  “That is incorrect. There is always danger afoot and I, at least, want you to grow to be a strong emperor. The Council of Lords is beginning, and it is your place to join them.”

  “The meeting,” Banisu said scornfully. As if he hadn’t been waiting for it to interrupt the drudgery of studying. As if it wasn’t the one reminder that an Emperor still technically ruled the Three Clans. However ceremonial and powerless he might actually be.

  “I will not let our family lose its influence.” One eye regarded Banisu and then drifted away. “The clan leaders gave my title to you because of my… condition. I will not let you shquander it.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” Banisu nodded, feeling chastened. Seeing Lin again had made him feel like a boy getting a chance to play once again. But soon he would be an adult and the regency would end.

  “I should see to my father,” Lin said, breaking the silence. As a noble lord Lin’s father would also be in the meeting. “It was good to see you, Lord Prasert.”

  Prasert half-bowed and then scratched his twisted face as the young man left.

  “Who was that again? One of your friends?”

  “Lin Karatsu,” Banisu said as he began walking back to the monastery. Prasert joined alongside and his silent attendant and the detachment of guards trailed after them. Banisu
had long grown used to their footsteps.

  “His father is a minor Kintari lord. And he gets to learn how to use a bow and spear and sword! I wish I had the time to practice archery,” Banisu grumbled as they walked along. “Abbot Cibu won’t even allow me a bow. He won’t allow me anything.” Banisu tried to kick a pebble and missed.

  “Never you mind,” Prasert said. “It is this Lin’s place to fire the arrows and your place to throw the plum. In a manner of speaking. Have you been practicing the Reverie?”

  “I have enough to do,” Banisu snapped, but his petulance faded away in an instant. “Sorry, uncle. I’ll try to make time.”

  “See that you do,” Prasert said, not bothering to hide his irritation. Banisu’s uncle had traveled from his estate at Khrao Feranti to attend the meeting and had never enjoyed having to travel. He turned to wave his attendant over and spat into the proffered urn. Banisu hesitated to ask his next question.

  But when else will I ask? And who else can I trust to tell the truth?

  “Was it the Reverie that led to the self-immolation?” he blurted out. “You know. My father. At the palace.” As if there were other self-immolations I might be talking about.

  Prasert considered this question with the care it deserved. It bordered on treason, in a way, though they were of course both the highest level of royalty. Even the clan leaders themselves couldn’t claim to be descended from the founding Emperor Matanori. Banisu’s uncle sucked on his teeth for a long while.

  “Your father was a daring man but he was not, mm, perhaps as wise as one would hope. And according to my research his Reverie was bolstered by a certain herb or spice. Indeed, I recall that during his last months he was somewhat changed.”

  “Changed?” Banisu asked as they approached the main hall of the mountain monastery. Normally given over to Abbot Cibu’s booming lectures, the initiates had been sent home for the week, and the cavernous room was filling with the most influential aristocrats in all the Three Clans. It echoed with the hubbub of aristocrats chatting to each other as they approached.

  “Yes, as I recall he began acting very-”

  “Emperor Banisu!”

  Banisu turned to see Abbot Cibu greeting him. As if he were a real Emperor. As if a typical day didn’t consist of Banisu scuttling around with the other initiates from class to class and fervently memorizing the ancient sutras under the stern tutelage of the old abbot. Still, it was nice to at least pretend he had some power for once. Banisu straightened and nodded a cordial greeting to his lifelong teacher.

  “Your place is on the chair beside me,” Abbot Cibu said, and from a lifetime of familiarity Banisu could see the suppressed irritation at his tardiness. Banisu said nothing but instead made for his seat beside the abbot of the monastery. The clan leaders were already in their seats and their most noble retainers were gathering around them and preening in a proud show of force. Politics. I suppose it’s for the best that I’ll never have much of a part in it.

  From the age of three Banisu had attended the annual meeting of clan leaders. An Emperor had always been required, after all, even if he was just a child. As he grew into his teens Banisu had realized the clan leaders preferred him as a child and he had learned to keep his opinions to himself. Already the meeting had started off at a brisk pace as Banisu sat and watched in silence.

  His chair was both comfortable enough to make his mind wander and yet uncomfortable enough to prevent him from falling asleep. He thought of all the adventures he would rather be having. He thought of the Prince of the Wastes, that renowned mercenary general, roving through the Veldt with his band of war elephants. The Prince of the Wastes wouldn’t be bored enough to fall asleep. He must have adventure after adventure…

  Banisu’s half-lidded eyes regarded the assembled clan leaders and their chief attendants. The most senior of their number, Lord Marshal Feruke Hangyul, was currently holding forth about independent traders breaking shipping regulations. Lords Shinzen and Kintari were bristling for no particular reason, as far as Banisu could tell, then that the clan leaders naturally opposed each other.

  “My clan has finished construction of a most powerful ship,” Feruke Hangyul declared pompously. “We would be honored if the Emperor were to bless its maiden voyage.”

  A quiet settled in the room and Banisu realized everyone was looking at him. “Oh. Um. Yes, Lord Hangyul.”

  The Lord Marshal nodded. “Back to the matter at hand. The trade ships from the northern mission are still unaccountably delayed. I find it hard to believe weather could be the cause.”

  “Are you suggesting pirates were involved, Lord Hangyul?” Lord Palani Shinzen asked. His trip had been the longest, a caravan of elephants and footmen tramping all through the jungle of Shinzen territory and up into Kintari territory. “Rare for them to raid that far north. We have enough problems with them outside Salawanswari.”

  Feruke Hangyul glowered at the man. Traditional clan rivalries had been tempered to some degree with the appointment of an emperor but they inevitably flared up in council meetings.

  “If your navy had done its job we wouldn’t need to build our own vessel for the purpose.”

  Lord Shinzen sputtered as his companions bristled and nobles of other clans hid their smirks with varying degrees of success. Banisu leaned over toward Abbot Cibu, the stout old monk remaining silent and expressionless.

  “Um, Abbot Cibu? Do I need to be here?”

  Abbot Cibu glanced over at him. “No. If you would prefer to attend to your studies that would be fine. I will send for you if need be.”

  Banisu edged out of his seat and quietly left the meeting as the discussions continued. Only the silent Kintari guards took much notice as he walked from the lecture hall to the attached library. Dust motes drifted down, illuminated by the fading light, as he opened the solid oak and metal door. The library was normally a hive of hushed but frenetic energy as the initiates would pore over their reading material. Now it was eerily silent, abandoned except for Lord Prasert and his retainer.

  A few dry scrolls rested on a table beside his uncle as he unfurled a leather scroll that was blackened around the edges. The attendant was staring into the distance with a blank look on his face as the jug sat by his feet. Lord Prasert was spreading open the fire-damaged scroll on the table, gazing down at it in rapt attention, but glanced up as Banisu approached.

  “What’s that?”

  “Some of the scrolls recovered from the palace decades ago. Presherved here.” Prasert coughed to clear his throat. “Abbot Cibu was gracious enough to allow me to peruse this monastery’s library. I hope to find evidence of whatever your father used to enhance his Reverie. Lately my trances have become clouded with whispers of danger and…” Prasert trailed off and studied Banisu for a moment. “Shouldn’t you be attending the Council of Lords?”

  “They’re just arguing about some missing ships in the north.”

  “Yes, it’s a shame about that. I thought to purchase some exotic herbs from the far north since the fighting there just settled down. Likely the detritus of war will float down south along with them. But now?”

  He shrugged. The distant voice of Feruke Hangyul debating one point or another could be vaguely heard in the silence. He was a great shouter, that one, and Banisu was glad he had left the assembly. Still, he was not looking forward to studying, and so he dithered beside his uncle.

  “The Prince of the Wastes was fighting in the north, wasn’t he?”

  “I imagine so. Leeches always go where there’s blood.”

  “He’s not a leech, Uncle. He’s a hero! Traveling around with his own army of elephants. Fighting with, with, everyone!” Banisu was bouncing on his feet now and grinned at Prasert. “I bet he wouldn’t listen to a bunch of monks telling him what to do.”

  Prasert looked at him for a long moment. The silence of the library served to dampen Banisu’s enthusiasm though the occasional shout from the nearby meeting room could still be heard.

  “He’
s a mercenary exile, not one destined to be Emperor as you are.” Prasert gave a weary sigh. “I had hoped to find you more fully grown. But you are still a boy, after all. Well, I suppose we all were once. Come visit me once you return from blessing Lord Hangyul’s ship. I’ll make sure we have time to practice the Reverie, whether your minders like it or not.”

  Lord Prasert stared down at the faded writing on the scroll unfurled below him. The passage of time had not been kind to the scroll yet Banisu’s royal uncle handled it with particular care.

  “You should take to your own studies as well, young Emperor. There is much wisdom in these dusty scrolls.”

  Banisu hid his skepticism and nodded as duty demanded. His elders always seemed to like that.

  Chapter Two

  Invasion Fleet

  Enbo Vermilies was engaged in the precarious task of navigating through the crates and barrels strewn about the Syriot battleship a dozen leagues off the coast of Hangyul territory when a voice brought him up short. He peered past the crowded corridor to the deck outside, his bladder aching, noticing the Syriot soldiers gathered around under a hanging lantern.

  “Governor General Powluk. How does that sound?”

  The voice was unusually hesitant, not at all like the fierce barking Vermilies had grown used to. Perhaps nights like these reveal men’s true character.

  There was only silence in response. The battleship continued its slow shifting tilt from side to side, a light sea breeze swelling the sails, the steady creak of the timbers the only sound above the constant noise of the waves. Finally, one brave soul among the gathering of soldiers piped up.

  “I’m not sure that General Eben would like that sort of talk.”

  “General Eben likes loyalty, and he already has mine,” the first voice said again with more confidence. “Besides, the general has his own ambitions. This will be just another conquest to him.”

  Captain Powluk. What an ass. Vermilies had grown quite sick of the man during the long sea voyage.

  “Of course he has your loyalty,” another voice slurred. “We’re all loyal subjects of the Syriot Empire.”