The Harvest Tide Project by Oisin McGann Page B

were allied to Noran. We set out for the Peaks but we were too far from home to get him to a healer in time. I watched the ship’s carpenter saw off my father’s arm to stop the rot reaching his body and killing him. Father had nothing to kill the pain, just a piece of rope to bite on, and some men to hold him still.
    ‘Only a fool looks for war, Emos, but if the Braskhiams start something, then the Karthars have the will to finish it.’
    ‘And you’re sure they are starting something?’ Emos urged. ‘It’s not just rumours and back-biting?’
    ‘My boat was attacked out in the Gulf of Braskhia not long ago. Attacked by a Braskhiam vessel. We escaped with our lives, but not before they put some crossbow bolts through our sails.’
    ‘It’s fortunate you lived to tell about it,’ the Myunan said, almost to himself.
    He was troubled – the Braskhiams had high-powered harpoons fired with compressed gas. Braskhiam vessels did not carry crossbows. Nor, for that matter, did Karthar ships.
    ‘Two children, did you say?’ Neblisk sat up suddenly. ‘Didn’t two Myunan cubs try to break a man out of a Noranian convoy last night? I heard they set the skacks on them.’

    As it approached the forbidding gates of Hortenz, the convoy of gaol wagons and armoured vehicles slowed, waiting as the Whipholder’s lead vehicle drove ahead to show his papers and gain entry. Once the guard had waved themthrough, the convoy rolled under the stone arch and into the town.
    In the shaking and shifting gaol wagon, Groach considered his options. To keep quiet and go unrecognised, which might mean more misery for the other men. Or, to announce who he was in the hope that he would be put back on the project and the men released, which might not happen. He decided to wait and see what the Noranians did next.
    The six gaol wagons split off from the other vehicles at the town square and turned into the barracks’ compound, where the gates closed behind them. The barracks was a menacing rectangle of grey plastered stone buildings with towers at two corners. The walls had no windows looking out on the town; they were high and solid, with walkways to allow guards to patrol around the top and see through the triangular battlements that looked like the teeth of a trap. The towers had slits to allow light in on each floor and crossbows to be aimed out. Altogether, it was a place that was built to be easy to defend … and hard to escape. Shessil Groach looked about him with a sinking heart.
    Guards unlocked the cages, and the men were made jump down and stand in line before a small, slight man in a grey waistcoat and shirt, green trousers and jacket, and a string tie held in place with a silver clasp. He had wispy blond hair that was so thin on his scalp as to be almost invisible, and his skin was like taut tissue paper, barely hiding the blue veins beneath. He regarded the prisoners without emotion. It was obvious that they were a task to be completed and nothing more.
    Groach moved to get out of the wagon and was pushed back inside by a guard. He was not a part of theseproceedings. The small man inspected a notebook in one hand and then brought his gaze back to rest on the men.
    ‘My name is Rulp Mungret. I am the aide of His Most Political Wonder, the Prime Ministrate, Rak Ek Namen. I have one question to ask of you men. If I receive a satisfactory answer, you can all return to your homes. If not, you will all remain in the cells beneath this barracks until such time as I receive that answer. The question is this: I am looking for a man named Shessil Groach. Is he here among you?’
    There was complete silence. The men scanned each others’ faces for a reaction. Then there was a clamour of protests as each man shouted out who they were and where they were from. Groach watched and listened, and decided he must come clean. These men did not belong here.
    ‘I’m Shessil Groach!’ he yelled.
    Some of the men heard him, but Mungret was at the