Selinon

By Diana Pool

Holle
Holle is the exiled princess of the ruling family of the ancient seafaring kingdom of Solinacea who is gradually learning to love the seaport of Selinon to which she was exiled and appointed as the Sovereign in the opening years of the Renaissance. Having seen her success in turning the port into a flourishing and rapidly growing hub of trade, she begins to realize that she has made it a prize worth seizing. And she is suddenly aware that the recently colonized town in the wild and treacherous country on the far side of the cliffs ringing in the seaport are also beginning to flourish under the hand of an unknown leader of the men who live there.

Faolán
Who is this mysterious leader Faolán, where did he come from, and most importantly, what are his connections to the outside world and his potential threat to her Selinon? His past is a mysterious mixture of combat experience, education in the natural arts, and courtly graces, hinting at some sort of elevated social status. Most disturbingly, he assumes a familiarity with her to which she is unaccustomed and from which her best friend, Elizabeth, the Apothecary, is deriving far too much amusement. Elizabeth likes and greatly respects Faolán, is intrigued by his cloak of mystery, and can see what Holle can't, that she hasn't a prayer of escaping his attractions. She just hopes it will end well for Holle and is reasonably sure her hopes are well founded. Reasonably sure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Pool
• Release date: Oct 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005070632

Diana Pool

Diana Pool is the pseudonym for a number-one New York Times-bestselling author of no known novels including Moby Richard, Gone With The Paycheck, and Unfortunate Decisions I Have Made. There are less than four hundred million copies of her books in print. Her book will soon be available at the icy windswept McMurdo​ Station in Antarctica, as long as an internet connection is functioning, and perhaps some day on Mars as long as Elon gets his act together soon.

Book preview

Prologue

Marlowe had just thrown the Second Mate over the starboard rail and Varney heard him splash into the clear blue water below. Bildad was not a bad Second Mate, he was just exasperating. He had reeled off the sounding line to clean and inspect it at the captain’s command and Marlowe had listened to the rope spool off the drum until the weighted end hit bottom. And, just like last year, Bildad had failed to secure the drum end eyelet after detaching and inspecting it and so ended up scrambling after the end fastener as it snaked along the deck and, disappearing over the side, slid beneath the surface with nothing but a small pop, with an expanding set of concentric rings of water marking where it had disappeared.

Marlowe stood there inscrutably looking at the rings for a few moments, chewed on his lip and scratched his beard, then seemingly calmly but belied by a brief flash of that look on his face that they all knew so well, walked casually over to Bildad and, lifting all 190 pounds of him, smoothly and efficiently, heaved him over the railing into the center of the rings. It was a calm morning so the new larger rings created by Bildad’s slap on the water grew ever wider until they splashed against the hull then faded away.

Varney, the wiry weather-beaten First Mate, who was standing a little way down the deck, shook his head and grimaced. He stepped over to a nearby side hatch and, pulling out a pilot line, threw the end overboard to Bildad. Leaning over the railing, Varney called out, Bildad, you’ll be securing the end to this line so we can fasten her to the reel again, now won’t you.

It was not a question. Bildad, sodden hair matted across his scowling face, nodded, grabbed the end of the line and disappeared into the green world below, his long hair flowing behind like a merman. Thank God that man can dive like a Cormorant to find the line or he wouldn’t be long for this world, thought Varney.

By this time Marlowe had turned away and, ignoring both of them, was barking orders at the rest of the crew who moved about just a little bit more smartly than they had been wont to do a few moments before.

Varney wasn’t particularly concerned at this turn of events. They all knew the Captain would forget the incident ever happened as soon as the line was secured, or would seem to. He was a man of passion and every sailor who served under him was reasonably sure the Captain, while guiding the Mariah, wouldn’t actually kill anyone intentionally. It went with the territory. Marlowe was not quite a god but had a temper along with an art of seamanship that befitted a not inconsequential deity, and although he didn’t know it, his crew did.

He could sail a pine coffin through a maelstrom as the saying went, and as long as his crew did what he said when he said it, they all knew they would arrive back at their home port more or less in one piece. They had seen him calmly and expertly guiding the Mariah through sixty-foot waves on the third day of a storm with the spars glowing from St. Elmo’s fire when terror had gripped the most experienced hands after an especially bad one had rolled by and swept the decks. They had placed their faith in their gods and the Captain to pull them through, and although they couldn’t see what their gods were intending, they could see Marlowe. He was a serene rock at the helm, calmly barking orders while back lit by a bolt from the heavens as a mast snapped or a stanchion gave way, and with an easy manner, would tell a deck hand to tie this line down or cut the shreds of that sail loose. And they knew in the end they would eventually pull through and see the familiar lighthouse that marked the entrance to the harbor where they would disgorge and pile into the local tavern after so many months out.

Varney knew that the worst thing that could happen aboard the Mariah wasn’t being thrown overboard. The captain threw men overboard, tied them to the mainmast for a day, and even on one occasion, left a man dragging behind the ship for an extended period until he went below and Varney ordered the man to be hauled in. The worst thing that could happen was for the Captain to quietly order a man to be relieved of duty and confined to his quarters. This meant he was irredeemable in the Captain’s eyes, was not to be trusted, and would be put ashore at the next port. If the Captain didn’t trust him, nobody else did and never would again.

If you were thrown overboard, you were an idiot, everybody was at times, but you were still part of the crew and were expected to come around and do your job properly as soon as you stopped being an idiot. If you were confined to quarters, well, that was final and what more could one say or think. Who would want an irredeemable at their back in a storm tossed sea anyway.

Varney wasn’t staring into the water idly watching Bildad moving like a fish under the mirrored surface anymore or thinking of storms past or the folly of men. Instead he had lifted his gaze as they rounded the lighthouse peninsula and looked up to the town of Selinon coming into sight with its carefully arrayed ranks of buildings, some of old stone and some of new wood or fresh white marble, rising up from the quayside. On high was the white citadel that overlooked the town and the port, eight chimes from its clock tower reverberating across the water, and some distance behind it all was the massive wall of grey and rust colored stone, hundreds of feet high, encircling the entire town and harbor and nothing but the wheeling gulls, scudding clouds, and bright blue sky above. Not a wall, an escarpment as Marlowe had taken pains to explain to him. A thing risen from the earth by volcanoes countless centuries ago. Where Marlowe got these ideas, Varney wasn’t quite sure, but they sounded good and who was he to argue.

Soon, Varney thought, Selinon would become a great city in its own right, escarpment or no escarpment. It was fast becoming his favorite stop in the Mariah’s wide-ranging ports of call. It wasn’t large with an unending array of ancient and stately marble buildings and scores of pubs with fine ales and exotic foods and watchful nobility that might have you hauled off and imprisoned for no good reason. It also wasn’t an island in the middle of forever warm blue waters with a port sprung from the shore yesterday with taverns never closed and filled with beautiful wenches and new found drinking acquaintances and thieves and cutthroats that might steal your money or your life. Rather, it was a town radiating the feel of that newly made clock movement in its fine old tower, a mix of old culture and new energy, enormous possibilities limited only by a few, fair and orderly restrictions, and most of all a place that felt like it was going somewhere you very much wanted to be and you knew you both would get there soon.

Varney also liked Selinon because it gave him the occasion to see the Princess Imran and Marlowe’s friend Faolán. The Princess Imran was very smart and beautiful and cut a fine figure and was, by all accounts, what made Selinon tick, much as the captain made the Mariah fly. She almost made Varney regret that he had a rather distinct lack of royal blood flowing in his veins, but he knew he loved the sea too much ever to be rooted in one place. Still...

As to Faolán, now he was also smart and competent and most importantly to Varney, a wonderful storyteller. When Faolán came aboard of an evening and finished whatever he was up to with Marlowe, the crew would come on deck and Marlowe would produce a bottle of some fine spirit while the men would drag up some crates and settle around in a circle. He would ask them of their adventures, of the doings of the world, and then would tell a story that would make them laugh and cry and feel homesick and remember their first loves and friends long absent. Faolán could do all of this before the bottle was drained. He was not just a storyteller visiting the ship to delight the crew though. He was also, with some help from their Captain, making something tick and grow behind that escarpment. Varney just wasn’t quite sure what that something was.

Varney laughed quietly to himself as he looked over the town. A voice next to him asked in a friendly inquisitive manner, What are you laughing about?

It was the captain and it made Varney start. He quickly regained his composure, not wishing to offend and said, It’s odd but I feel like I’m coming home even though my home is an ocean away.

I know, I feel the same way every time the Mariah drops anchor here, said Marlowe. A rare confidence from a man who shared few of his private thoughts, and it pleased Varney to have received it.

Chapter

One

It was a warm day, dry and breezy, with an impossibly blue sky and bright white clouds in all the shapes one’s imagination could wish for. The Princess Holle Imran looked out from the tower balcony high over the harbor of Selinon and listened to the gulls cry as they flew around the docks and skimmed the whitecaps far below. The cobblestone streets, leading from the Citadel down through the commercial center surrounding the harbor to the south, were filled with mule and ox drawn carts. These were carrying newly arrived shipments from distant ports and cargo from warehouses destined for foreign lands. Her eyes traveled from the town to the quay and out to the docks as the tower bell rang overhead. She smiled as she saw the Mariah rounding lighthouse point. With its rakish lines and long blue and white pennant, she would know it from half an ocean away. Marlowe would visit her and tell her of the news of the wide world. All in all, a good day to be alive.

Her eye was drawn back to the ships already at anchor and the stream of cargo flowing to and fro in mule and ox carts. Ever increasing exports flowed from seaport warehouses down to the ships to fill their freshly emptied holds, along with the tariffs to fill Selinon’s coffers. This was in itself a very good thing, but it also made Holle knit her brow. She knew from an early age that one can work hard to create wealth, or one can work endlessly on ways to steal it from others. As the hour count of the great clock bell faded away across the water she thought about the childhood rhyme,

What is told by a hand,

measured in sand,

and announced with the ring of a bell?

then recalled another,

Where treasure hoards grow,

evil will flow

which always led to the last;

Blood and sweat, till and toil,

store your treasures away

As the corsairs lie in the mist

Build your walls wide and high,

and man them as you may

For they will come and you will defend

with bow and sword and fist

A rather unsettling line of thought, and the Gods knew this did seem to be a basic law of human nature. My fair Selinon, she thought, please let us be exempt from that law.

The town had grown since her arrival seven years ago, and she had worked very hard indeed to transform it from a dreary collection of buildings and hovels with lawless inhabitants into a cohesive whole that grew in size and beauty and wealth with each passing year. Although her friends told her she fretted and worried too much, she didn’t think her actions were unreasonable given her burden, and she did, now and then, step back and appreciate the world below that she was helping to shape. And she was happy.

She shifted her weight off of the beautifully wrought black iron balcony railing anchored into the marble slab and walls, then turned and walked back into her study and resumed her obviously too infrequent review of the customs ledgers summarizing commercial transactions and tariff records for a third time to further ponder her bafflement.

How could this be possible, she thought, knitting her brow. She sat down in her high-backed red oak chair and reorganized the papers knocked askew by the breeze forever sliding through the balcony door like a thief in the night. Imports were as expected, with dry goods, silver, iron and copper ingots, grains, and other foodstuffs in the usual quantities. Raw wool bales and other fiber stocks were up, as was typical for this time of year and could be washed for next winter’s weaving. All import duties were fully paid and no significant contraband of any note had recently been intercepted. Exports of glass manufactured from the unusually fine quartz sands in the area were slightly up, dried fish products were rising as the shad run had been especially good this spring and the schools of cod never failed, and quantities of last winter’s finished bolts of cloth were filling the warehouses as the weavers and their families turned away from their looms to be out of doors during the growing season.

What was troubling Holle was the quantity of exports issuing from the wild lands. These had been growing steadily over the last two years. The wild lands, as people called them ever since she arrived in Selinon, were named that for good reason, with fierce packs of wolves taking their toll on any and all who ventured therein. She shuddered thinking of the tales of carnage that had been reported to her from rescue parties that had ventured there when communications from the would-be settlers inevitably failed.

These lands lay on the other side of the long ridge line that rose up a mile from the shore along the north side of Selinon and formed a continuous natural barrier to the lands beyond. A pass existed alongside the river that ran through a break in the ridge; a deep notch cut in that high wall of rock that led up into the lands beyond. The notch was the only way through to the lands beyond. A wall and a gate had been built across this pass in years gone by, as on a cold winter’s night wolves sometimes used to make forays into the town in search of something on four legs, or perhaps even two, to spirit away.

The sheer towering ridge wall reached halfway to the sky and a rocky talus slope at its base formed from boulders splitting off of the wall and crashing down with the onset of the cold weather. The wall encircled the port and ran right down to the water’s edge two miles or so to the east and to the west, forming a broad crescent of land for the town to occupy. It also extended beyond these points along the coast in either direction, farther than the eye could see or a person could sail in several days-time, and the waves crashing against the high rocky cliffs along with the turbulent currents were quite enough to put off any attempts at landing anywhere except at the harbor. If you were sailing a ship along the coastline and looking for a place to land, Selinon was that place.

As to the domain of the wolves beyond that wall, many had tried and none were ever heard from again according to legend and recent experience. This had changed within the last few years. This last venture appeared to have been more successful, and not only had people lived to tell the tale, but they were now making and exporting goods in ever increasing quantities.

The problem was, Holle hadn’t heard very much of this particular tale, and the steadily increasing quantity of exports flowing through her seaport to distant lands had taken her quite unawares. Several questions came to her mind. Who were these settlers? She knew generally, but not in detail as she had assumed theirs would be a short-lived venture like all those before and did not wish to become emotionally attached to the soon to be lost adventurers. How did they actually survive the perils they faced? Were they possibly allied with a foreign power? How would the increase in commerce from the wild lands affect the growth of her seaport? And finally, what ramifications did this all have with respect to the security of Selinon?

Holle sighed again and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Administering the religious, commercial and civic framework of Selinon was a major operation, as was raising enough revenue to keep the harbor, streets, water, and sewer systems in proper condition. Fortunately the latter was becoming easier with the steadily rising port income. But none of this was of any use if Selinon was overwhelmed by marauding forces. These might be expected to come from across the sea, but might not a force be building up behind her that she would have some day to reckon with? Information was needed, and she must find Sarah. She would have to postpone the rather nice ride she had planned up to the wall, ostensibly to talk to Wilhelm.

It had been Wilhelm who identified the beach sands as being especially suitable for glass making four years ago and a business had been established once this came to light. He had recently been sent up at her request to prospect along the talus slope and determine whether minerals in addition to the fine beach sands might be used to create new commercial opportunities. He had been methodically working along the arc of the far west cliff base for two months now, examining the rock face and digging along its base.

Recently he had requested that she come to see him at his current camp to discuss his findings as soon as her schedule allowed. She could have sent for him to come to her, but he had wanted her to see something personally, and besides, as the paths winding up from the seaport and along the base of the cliff were beautiful, the view was not to be missed, and it was a good season to enjoy the fine weather.

Being the ruler of even this small seaport was a lot of work, and duty never ceased to call. What must it be like, she wondered, to live a life with less demand? To be a simple artisan without the weight of the city upon one’s shoulders. People fantasized about being a princess, with fineries and the adulation of the crowd, but reality was nothing like that. They might talk in passing about the beautiful dress you wore, but mostly they would talk about your responsibilities toward them and whether you were up to the task. Not the responsibilities of hearth and home but of greater things you might control such as the condition of the streets or the presence of thieves and ruffians. They would also talk about things you couldn’t control such as storm swept shores or bad crop weather, as if you had influence over these things as well.

Power she had over the affairs of the port, but it had its limits and was only a means to her end of running the kingdom smoothly and efficiently. It was also most certainly a double-edged blade. A rather nice blade, but still quite sharp enough to cause her serious harm. She gazed around her room, her eyes falling on the oil paintings of scenes of her home shores, the colorfully glazed ceramic vases from Saraneth, and the complicated patterns of the wall tapestries from weavers in the woods of Galitaea, expensive items indeed, but not a substitute for a home and family. She thought of the old lonely at the top adage, had to agree it was so, and not for the tenth time wished it might someday be otherwise.

After a few more minutes of sorting through documents, a few of which she signed with her unmistakable flourish in emerald ink flowing from her favorite glass pen, she decided to find Sarah. She cleaned her pen, purchased two years ago from a shipment from the famous craftsmen of Tirano and, closing up the glass-paned doors to the balcony, she locked the heavy white oak door to the room and descended the spiral stair. Stopping by the temple to pay her respects and to the kitchen for a quick cup of tea and an inquiry as to Sarah’s whereabouts, she then stepped out into the courtyard.

Holle thought about taking her horse Morningstar, but after admiring the beauty of the day, decided it was too glorious out to rush and started walking instead. As she walked past the stables with gravel crunching underfoot, a short but long bodied black dog with floppy ears who had been curled up in a pile of straw just inside the stable door came running out to greet her and accompany her on her journey. Guarding a princess was serious work, but Franz felt himself to be supremely up to the task.

So through the courtyard gate, out onto Switchback Street with its panoramic views of the harbor, and down the hill the pair went together. Armand, appearing from nowhere as usual, stepped in behind her and shadowed her a few paces back. He was a man of medium height, dressed in nondescript clothing of plain wool in hues of grey and dark green, and had a similarly unremarkable countenance. The only notable thing about him aside from his ever shifting green eyes were the ever present matched long and short black handled blades sheathed in grey leather scabbards worn on his back, each tooled with a seven-pointed star with a central green gem at the top and rays running down to the silver clad tip. Armand seldom spoke, but only nodded or shook his head when someone wished to approach Holle. Few were foolish enough to ignore him and approach her uninvited, and then only ever once.

Sarah had left word that she would be stopping by Bill’s Mercantile Shop, the largest purveyor in town of hardware, dry goods, paper stock, and curiosities arriving from overseas. She had heard of a shipment of perfumes from a famous manufacturer in the legendary port of Chamiloux, and as was well known, her fondness for scents and other fineries were her one and only weakness, unless one counted a love of intrigue and gossip as weakness as well. To most of the townspeople, Sarah was simply a social functionary in the Princess Imran’s court, organizing dinners, balls, and various court ceremonies. To Holle, she was quite a bit more. Sarah had been sent to Selinon with Holle seven years before when the town was a fair bit smaller, and Holle had ostensibly been appointed to develop this asset of her family’s far-flung empire. Unknown to all but a very few, Sarah had been trained from birth as a gatherer of intelligence, and to even fewer, in the quiet killing arts as well. Holle’s family had been rulers of the Solinaceae kingdom for three generations now and had learned a thing or two about court intrigues. Her father the King had, in accordance with family tradition, selected not only Armand, Captain Marco and a contingent of military men, but also Sarah to be her hidden Guardia del corpo.

Holle had recently found out that Sarah had also been sent with her to Selinon to report back to Solinacea on her affairs and the goings on at the port. Sarah had never told her this, but Holle had overheard her one day providing a rather detailed report of her personal affairs as well as her public life while sitting behind a stone wall in the cemetery to enjoying a moments respite from the crowded streets. This greatly annoyed her, and she made no move to enlighten Sarah, but she was much more circumspect around her and it had hurt to think that her confidences in Sarah as a friend were so easily given away.

Reining in her cares for a time, Holle and Franz walked down the brown cobblestone streets enjoying the warm, dry air. Franz trotted by her side, showing proper disdain for the more common dogs they came across, as befitted his assumed station of Guardian of the Citadel. As he stopped to sniff the latest news from the fence post and stone wall message boards, Holle admired the hibiscus and rose bushes beside the fence. She had noticed it was becoming more common in the past year for people to plant them in their gardens, obtained in the wild from alongside springs emanating from the rocky cliff base. She was pleased that the street trees planted under her direction soon after arriving were thriving and beginning to provide shade. Some of the lindens and hollies were starting the tower over her she realized with pleasure. As she and her bodyguards walked by, people smiled. The townsfolk recognized the distant look on her face and didn’t bother approaching her, as they knew she was lost in her thoughts and only marginally attentive to the world beyond her gaze.

People had initially assumed her to be a typically remote member of the upper class when she was newly arrived at the port, ignoring bows and curtsies and not appearing to notice the people she walked by. Armand trailing behind her was also a consideration not to be overlooked. But over time they came to realize it was more her intensity and tunnel vision when lost in thought that made her appear so. When she broke away from this internal focus and directed her gaze outward she was charming and gracious, and made people feel they were all personally and individually important to her. This was not only rare for one of her position, but was in fact actually the case. She not only felt they were obligated to her as their Sovereign by right, but that she was equally responsible to them for providing a place to grow and thrive through the powers bestowed upon her. She could do very little as one person alone in this somewhat isolated port, Sovereign or not, and by engendering their cooperation and sometimes even their enthusiasm, she could bring her vision of Selinon to reality.

Franz, trotting alongside her, felt none of this reciprocal responsibility, but was careful to leave messages on available fixed objects at regular intervals announcing he had been by to bestow his graces upon the neighborhood, more in keeping with the attitude of typical nobility.

Where Switchback Street intersected Commerce Street two blocks up from the harbor, Holle turned right and proceeded a short distance west until she arrived under the large weeping elm overhanging the street. A young woman with an oval shaped face, long dark hair with a widows peak, serious wide brown eyes under narrow up-swept brows over a short straight nose and generous mouth, and a lithe frame clad in a grey kirtle under a light blue woolen shawl was sitting on a grey stone bench in the shade of the tree. She quickly stood and greeted Holle with a curtsy when she approached after having glanced at Armand and receiving a nod in response to her questioning look.

Ma’am, Bettina said, startling the princess out of her thoughts. I saw you coming down the hill and wanted to tell you the shipment of books has arrived. I have arranged to send them up to High Street and will catalog them when they are delivered.

Holle smiled widely, thanking her for the information. Bettina’s father had been one of the unfortunate souls who had ventured into the wild lands early on and had not returned. Holle had arranged for Bettina to live over the library she had started when she came to Selinon, and had arranged for a stipend to be paid to meet her living expenses in return for teaching classes to the younger children. Bettina had been raised in the Azure Isles before coming to Selinon, and had been given a proper education with good tutors, as her Father had been a nobleman, though an increasingly impoverished one, in that country. They eventually left and wound up in Selinon due to his mounting debts and dwindling assets.

She taught reading, math, and writing three times a week except during harvest time when they were needed in the fields. Some of the people in town grumbled that their children’s heads were being filled with useless information and wild ideas when they could be working instead, but Holle insisted all children attend the classes until they were fourteen years of age. As she had very noticeably improved living conditions since her arrival and life had become less harsh in direct proportion to the prosperity of the town, grumbling was as far as the disapproval went for most.

Has the attendance been steady and have the Slatterly’s been behaving Bettina? asked Holle.

Yes, Ma’am, Bettina responded. Mr. Slatterly has stopped coming by to drag his son away after the last time Armand spoke with him, and has caused no further trouble. A few of the students have been out due to illness, real or feigned, but not for long and I am pleased with their overall progress. Paper and quill supplies are good, and they are proficient at making ink from the stocks of iron powder and gum at hand, and the boys bring in plenty of galls that they collect from the woods. I feel that their progress can only make their parents proud. Most of them anyway.

Holle stifled a laugh at the last observation. Most of them, I am sure she agreed but not all. I do believe that you could teach some of them to read and write in three different languages and their families would only think it a waste of time. But as long as they allow them to come, that is enough for now.

Bettina I have to visit the lighthouse in a bit and was hoping you might take Morningstar down to the west beach for a bit of stretching today. I have been neglecting him and he really does need to be taken through his paces. Would you mind terribly? asked Holle.

Bettina nodded vigorously and her radiant expression brought warmth to Holle’s heart. Her father had taught her to be a proper horsewoman and though she was a slip of a girl, she had quickly established a strong connection with the horse, and Morningstar seemed to know exactly what she wanted with almost no outward expression of control. Taking him through his paces across the wave smoothed sand with occasional detours into the surf, and feeling the rhythm of hard muscles propelling her through the salt air brought back memories of her childhood on her far distant home island, and her father patiently explaining the many small secrets of bonding with her animal.

Holle had taken Bettina in as a servant when news of her father’s loss came from a search party into the wild lands two years ago and had tried to bring her out of her depression. Holle knew she still mourned his loss every day, but was gradually coming to terms with a world bereft of him. Morningstar helped the process considerably, as well as tasking her with educating the younger populace. At some point in the last few months she realized that helping Bettina meant a great deal