The sailing ship made good time heading back into the bay, its starman designs carrying them past fleets of sluggish fishing boats and an occasional war galley owned by one of the local lords. They reached the dock and were tied up alongside, at which point Eric disembarked. The swaying in his legs would take some time to go away.
“I daresay the only vessel faster than this would be a Keeper volor!” their captain, Vonlal, said. “And your north-pointing device...what is it called?”
“Compass,” Professor Temerin replied. “This planet has just enough magnetic field for it to work.”
Along the shore were skeletal frames of several similar ships, under construction, and Eric was treated to an impromptu lecture on ancient naval architecture as he followed Temerin back up through the cobblestone streets of Primus City. They reached their rental house, a structure calling to mind an ancient Roman insula, and headed inside.
Eric stopped in the tile-floored foyer, sniffing the air and walking to the kitchen. "Are those cheeseburgers?"
“Took me a while to get the ingredients.” Cobb retrieved a patty from the stone-brick oven and sprinkled on feta-like cheese before putting it into a bun. It would be a sad sight compared to something from a Patriotic Burger Congressional Combo back on Jefferson, but was still a welcome slice of home.
“How’d the sailing go?” Rachel sat with Selva at a table, eating another burger. Sir Wotoc’s younger squire Issel eyed the alien concoction with suspicion.
“Even if the XRD took out Dulane tomorrow, we’d still cause an economic revolution in ocean trade,” replied Temerin. “I wish we’d brought Arin Burke with us--he teaches pre-industrial naval warfare. We go before the Assembly today, to present our plan.”
As if on cue, the wooden door thumped open, and Sir Wotoc’s towering frame stepped in. “The Lords gather. It is time.”
These Assemblies were rare, Eric gathered--Wotoc had mentioned his father being a young man when the last one was called--and figured that was a good thing. A decentralized political system like the Freeholds, if running properly, would only rarely need intervention from the upper levels of government.
Primus was an ordinary coastal town, no bustling center of imperial government. If not for the ostentatious camps now outside the wall, the only sign the Freehold Lords convened here was the square building of Meeting-Place. Delegations milled about outside: Lords, servants, and the quota of landsmen each was obligated to bring. They met their sponsor outside.
“Lord Leon!” Temerin called out.
“Professor!” he came over and shook his hand. “I thank you once again. Were it not for you, I would not still be accorded a Lord even if I escaped Dulane’s attack. I hear you have made good progress?”
“I’ll tell you about it when we speak.”
The space inside featured a high ceiling supported by columns, leaving a large open area of benches arranged in a semicircle, facing a central dais. Lords and their landsmen took take seats, Eric got squeezed between Temerin and Sir Wotoc.
A man stepped onto the dais—the Lawspeaker, Eric had heard him called. He began, “Honored lords and freemen, welcome. I shall waste no time—we all know the dreadful reports of Caesar Dulane’s marches against our lands, and the heroic defense mustered by Lords Leon and Granat which turned his forces back at Forefathers’ Pass. What some may not know—or may not believe—is they were assisted in this by an intrepid group of starmen.”
A few murmurs went up from the crowd. The Lawspeaker looked to Lord Leon, who urged Professor Temerin to stand along with him. He did so, and they went up to the dais beside the Lawspeaker.
Temerin cleared his throat. “Most of you probably know the story as you tell it: we come here from other worlds, with strange or even frightening appearances, and first touched down outside Arztilla itself, in the place now known as Starman’s Landing. But we are no friends of Dulane. He is a tyrant, and must be stopped.”
“Believe what he says,” Leon added. “Arztilla’s armies cut down Lord Osral, as fierce and strong-willed of a man as I ever knew—he stood no chance. But they shared with us what must be the smallest speck of their arts, and we won! It is by the valor of our fighting men that you now sit here contemplating how to prevent the next attack, rather than panicking as Siege Master Fuhran ravages the countryside!”
“And how do we stop the next attack?” a bearded man near the front asked. “They will not be so kind as to attack at a convenient pass.”
Selva stood and went up to the dais, her wolf-like appearance causing those in the back to crane their necks for a better look. “We suspect they will next try a naval attack, and to that end are working to improve your shipbuilding technology.”
“How can you know this?” another lord asked. “Have you spies in Dulane’s court?”
Lord Leon answered, “They possess observation posts high above the world, which can look down and see our goings-on.”
“In particular, we see the Arztillan Panarchy gathering its triremes, reading to set sail,” added Temerin. “We must build a fleet and prepare coastal defenses, I am here today to ask you for that, and one other thing:
“You must go on the offensive. Yes, the thought of a large, organized army goes against your cultural inclinations toward liberty, but you cannot win by simply reacting to Dulane’s moves.
“Consider: In order to expand this far, he had to conquer numerous other nations and peoples. If you were to leave the Freeholds, go into their lands, and throw Arztilla out, you would be hailed as liberators. Provided, of course, you kept pillaging and ravaging to a minimum. Then your borders could be secured against future attack, and an even greater fighting force mustered to force Dulane to accept your right to exist, acknowledge he will not put this entire world under his Panarchy. What say you?”
“Seems we have a real problem with messaging,” Rachel said. Across the kitchen, Cobb and Temerin appeared to be investigating the feasibility of making pizza with Iron Age ingredients.
“We’re outlanders, there’s a lot of suspicion for us to overcome,” Temerin answered. “I just planted a seed, as before our best chance of success will be to work on the technical aspects of the problem and wait for their politics to come around. We have Lord Leon, Granat, and a few others on our side, that’s enough to fund a fleet and start patrols.” He took out a parchment map, unrolled it. “I was talking to Vonlal about establishing outposts on some of these islands, and hit on this one. There is a problem, though.”
“What is it?” Eric asked.
“They say it’s haunted.”
