The Chronicles of Crallick

by Brad C Baker

  Cheers erupted from the men.

  “For those new to the Flamerunner, I am Captain Vlados Ironforge. This is my first mate, Erik Drake…”

  Erik opened his mouth, about to protest, then thought the better of it. Instead, as he towered beside the dwarf, the words that came out were, “Aye! Hello all. Now even though I may not always see eye to eye with our fearless captain, I’ll always stand beside him!”

  There was scattered laughter, applause, and a few ‘huzzahs!’

  Smiling, Vlados continued, “Since Mr. Drake is being promoted, one of the lucky new deckhands, Mr. Burrowwell…” He paused, looked at his notes, and then asked, “Is this true, Mr. Pallan? Is Mr. Burrowwell a dwarf?”

  “Naw, she ain’t,” bellowed a voice from the throng of sailors on the dock. “But aye, SHE be a dearf! Tandi Burrowwell at ‘cher service!”

  “Bugger! Did we find the only dwarf on this rock other than me?” Vlados said, half to himself.

  “Aye, might be that ye did! Imagine my surprise to find a dwarven sea captain! At that I say to meself, now there is someone I have to serve with!” Ms. Burrowwell called.

  “Aye, then. Back to this. Ms. Burrowwell will take over the duties of quartermaster, in addition to her lighter deckhand duties. Shifts will be a touch on the long side, twelve hours each. There’ll be one lookout, three rigging rats, and eight deckhands per watch. There will be at least a brace of officers on watch at all times. Now, welcome aboard and find Mr. Pallan to get your berth and watch.”

  Seeing the harbormaster walking up to the crew swarming ship, Crallick and Vlados both took routes that independently converged on him as he approached.

  “Evening,” said Vlados, at about the same time that Crallick, less politely demanded, “So what did you find out?”

  “Well sers, it only took light digging. My notes are very good,” the harbormaster boasted.

  “Cut to the chase,” growled Crallick. “We have to do the same.”

  “Uhh, ahem, of course.” The harbormaster jittered his hands about before continuing. “On the 21st of Dracois, just after dawn, a white-sailed, three-masted ship anchored in the harbor. She sent three longships ashore to secure supplies. She had black paint or enamel applied to her hull. Very expensive. She had silver letters astern, and upon her flanks at the bow. The name read Chess’s Blight. Her captain signed as Temelia Grimm. She asked about Jamtown. They left around dusk, headed towards the island of Bian. I know that they took supplies to last many tenday. Definitely more than just a cruise to the islands, and more than what raiders take to pillage the main coast for a while. I hope that helps my good sers.” At the end of his speech, he bowed deeply.

  “What do they want in Jamtown?” wondered Crallick.

  “Best slave market on the ocean, ser,” the harbormaster glanced up. “To be sure, they were looking for seven slaves.”

  Crallick found a predatory grin claw his cheeks tight. “Perfect!” Glancing at Vlados, he said, “C’mon, our quarry is at hand! Let’s not tarry here!”

  Vlados followed his suddenly enthusiastic friend. “Thanks,” he said as he parted with the harbormaster. He followed the practically exuberant Crallick onto the Flamerunner. “Step lively lads! We got a three-masted ship to catch; make as much sail as fast as possible and make our course for Jamtown, Mr. Drake!”

  “Aye ser!” came the rousing replies. Then with the chattering of sailors and the creaking of timbers, the Flamerunner made into the night. It was the 24th of Dracois, they were only a few days behind an apparently slower ship. He began to see why Crallick was enthusiastic. For the first time in almost two months, he didn’t feel like this entire venture was in vain. He had been secretly going along so that his friend wouldn’t kill himself, and for something to salve the loss of his own daughter and bar.

  By midday the next day, Vlados heard Mr. Marquis call down from the lookout, “Jamtown ahead!”

  Rushing to the bow of the ship, Vlados found Crallick already there. They were swiftly joined by Wanda.

  “Hey all,” she said as she came up. “Don’t mind saying that it’s a nice change of pace to be not slaving over wounded men all day.”

  “Aye, to be sure.” Vlados watched the growing details of the approaching island harbor. He was a little awestruck.

  Nestled in the verdant brush of a jungle paradise, with snow-white sands running to either side of the crowded bay, lay the natural harbor of Jamtown. That, however, was where the natural beauty of Jamtown ended. The thirty odd masts that crowded the bay made it difficult to count the masts, let alone the ships. It was also difficult to tell what the true size of the town was, as its details were buried behind the ships at the end of the bay. The only sure thing that could be told was that there was a lot of browns of untreated timbers forming the structures.

  “We got to make this quick,” stated Crallick to his viewing companions.

  “Aye, that we do,” Vlados agreed.

  “I really don’t like the feel of this place,” Wanda commented.

  “Not many do m’lady,” said Erik Drake, coming up behind the onlookers. “This is a warehouse of sentient trade.”

  “Sorry?” asked Wanda, not comprehending.

  “A massive flesh market ma’am,” Erik gravely intoned.

  “My goddess,” Wanda breathed. Horror laced the fringes of her tone.

  “No ma’am, I’m sure your goddess wouldn’t approve such a thing,” Drake went on.

  “No, he wouldn’t, and that’s why ye be staying here with me an’ the ship. Okay?” Vlados soothed Wanda’s obvious discomfort. “Crallick– you, Pallan, and two others take a longboat o’er there and learn what you can. I’ll have us quietly come about and be ready to run to open water should things go amiss. Savvy?”

  “I savvy.” There was a twinkle in Crallick’s eye. “Just what makes you think something will go amiss?”

  “Because it’s you, son,” Vlados smiled under his ruddy blond beard. “Because it’s you. By design, or fluke, someone will have a bad day, and in some way things will go amiss.”

  Nodding, Crallick conceded the point, “Fair enough.”

  Half an hour later, Crallick, Wallace, Mahar, and the monitor lizardman, Jetten, were lost from sight as they sculled the ship’s launch through the maze of masted islands. A full hour later had them clamouring out of the launch, onto a decrepit jetty.

  “You two stay with the launch,” Crallick commanded Wallace and Mahar.

  “Just a minute,” Wallace Pallan began to protest. “I’m supposed to be in comm…”

  His voice trailed off at Crallick’s glare. “Firstly, a lizardman and a half-blood that’s vicious looking and wears a string of trophies around his neck….” Crallick pulled a not-quite-properly preserved thong of goblin ears, aquan fingers, and a length of unidentified matter that was not handling Crallick’s attempts to preserve it very well. “Will be taken as flesh traders more readily than a couple of human pure-bloods.” He finished among the two men’s “eww’s” and the chuckling of the salivating lizardman. Crallick, noticing this, snapped, “No! You cannot eat my trophies. They’re mementos, not hors d’oeuvres. Savvy?”

  The sullen monitor nodded. “’Kay,” it hissed.

  “Good, now let’s go.” With that, Crallick left the two men at the launch and strode into the town, leading his lizard companion.

  “The slave pens are this way,” Jetten hissed, wrinkling his nostrils at the side of his elongated head up toward the air. “I can barely smell them over your tasty necklace though,” he finished, conical teeth showing by means of a grin.

  “Keep dreaming of my trophies like that, and soon I’ll be wearing a tooth and a new belt,” Crallick advised.

  Sniffing indignantly, Jetten added, “You know, for a Vitani, you’re quite violent.”

  “Only half. Not all the way Vitani.” Crallick smirked, “Enough to get the ears, though.”

  Thus bantering, the two headed down narrow streets choked with refuse and t
he sentient population who lived in the ramshackle shanties that lined the streets. Then, as though bursting into a clearing, the pair erupted into a large square, roasting under the hot tropical sun. No breezes made it into the stale market. Vast pens, half dug into the ground, half lined with filth and sugar cane cages, lined the perimeter of the square. Light tents and stalls clustered around the sides, creating a pair of avenues between the pens and the central stage.

  Almost immediately, the pair were accosted by purveyors of human flesh, offering all kinds of uses for unuk guards, castratae boys, fertile breeding stock, and hard labourers. Deals were made available for singles, pairs, and grosses. Crallick set his face in a hard, determined mask. He figured he had to set his mind to his quarry. Whatever it took, he would not, nay could not, fail Amalae and Bekka. Or Mindy, or any of those other condemned girls. With that in the back of his mind, he pounced on a spry looking chocolate Vitani merchant. “You!”

  “You batty boy? Ser, me no batty. You want batty, me can get you though!” The suddenly wide almond eyes turned to fix themselves on Crallick’s severe countenance.

  “Do I look batty to you?” Crallick growled, not even sure what that meant. Then taking a deep breath of resolve that he hoped would be interpreted as frustration, he continued, “No more bullshit! I want the choicest pieces of virginal meat you have to offer in this market! Now, who do I talk to for that?”

  “Let Soulo go, my friend. He can’t help you there,” said a voice from the gathering crowd. “His trade is younger… options. You have a discerning quality to you, ser. If you seek the best, you seek me.”

  Crallick’s ears tracked the owner of the smooth voice to a cleanly dressed, chocolate skinned Vitani blooded man. Startling white teeth that matched his tunic broke his face apart in a dazzling display. He extended his hand, “Come now, I am Levvan Dazzathry. Mr. Dazzle, if you will.”

  Crallick shook his hand with mock enthusiasm, “Well, it’s about time, someone who looks like they understand culture and finesse. Where can I get the ripest maids to pluck?”

  “Why, as I said, with me, good ser.” He gestured to the side, through the bickering, dickering, jostling throng of market-goers. “Come this way.”

  He led them through the crowd to an opulent looking tent that proclaimed “Mr. Dazzle’s Domain of Dazzling Delights.” Stepping into the white linen tent felt fresher than the outside clamour and miasma. Out there, the stink of unwashed people, effluvia, and rank pens multiplied in the stale, unrelenting heat to make it almost nauseating to those not acclimated to it. In this purveyor’s stall, however, there was a fresh collowood incense burning in a censure. There were potted flowers that gave off a pleasant perfume. Hand-picked, no doubt, to also put one in the mood to make a purchase. Crallick knew such a plant could sway one’s mood and one’s ability to think rationally with just a hint of its aroma. Crallick decided he immediately sensed another predator just like him, though governed by his own set of rules. He would have to be very cautious to get what he needed.

  “Very nice,” Crallick said.

  “Hmmm,” Jetten grunted agreement.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Dazzle said. “But, first, you didn’t come to gander at my stall, you came to gander at my flesh! Also you have me at a disadvantage, I dislike doing business with those I do not know the names of. Also, I refuse the sale of any of my wares to those who seek to abuse them.” He finished by winking.

  Crallick scoffed. Then he caught himself. “How could you enforce such a claim?”

  “I can’t, directly,” Mr. Dazzle smiled. “But I can refuse to sell to one who I find has slain or seriously harmed any of my merchandise in the past.”

  Scrunching up his face, Jetten said, “How is that possible?”

  Laughing, Mr. Dazzle leapt up and grabbed a small chest. With a flourish, he produced two gems. They were tiny enough, but they scintillated brilliantly. “With these. Each flesh comes with one. My master crystal can tell which gem goes dark and which flesh it was. I cross reference the name, then bam! Onto my blacklist they go! Clever, no?”

  Crallick smiled, “That, my friend, is the best news I’ve heard all day.” Grimly he added, “So where is your stock hiding?”

  This is where Mr. Dazzle’s countenance flickered for just a heartbeat, before he offered an excuse, “Well, usually I have on hand twelve to thirteen heads, but at the moment, I’ve just had a run on virgins.” He laughed, “I wonder if there is some new lewd holiday I really need to learn about. This guy came in with two Komodomen and bought up eight. That’s right! Eight! All different breeds too! Now that’s kinky!” He laughed again, then he saw Crallick’s expression.

  “When was your stock depleted?” Crallick asked.

  “Why, just yesterday. They took some time to browse, then chose their wares.” Mr. Dazzle’s smile tightened to a grin, “Now, look, I make it a strict policy not to discuss others’ transactions. I’m starting to get the feeling you’re not going to be a paying customer, so our business is done.”

  Crallick, barely controlling his temper, growled softly, “Show me the flesh.”

  Sizing up the fellow, if not much paler Vitani blood, Mr. Dazzle pulled on a rope that drew a panel open. As the fabric panel slid open, it revealed seven young girls, all dazzlingly beautiful, all barely clothed in sheer wraps of complimentary colours. They all straightened, posed, or swayed suggestively as the curtain revealed them to Crallick and Jetten.

  “Well ser, there they are. I’m afraid I’m out of martini, jaragua, and hobgoblin. I have four humans, a vitani, a tree froggle, and a demonic ephemorae.” He crossed his arms, “Now ser, which suits your fancy? Be warned, the more exotic the flavor, the higher the fee.” He then emphatically nodded at Jetten, “And they are not to be eaten. They are playthings, or pets to be cared for, not consumed. Clear?”

  Jetten grinned widely, “Got it.”

  Crallick glanced over the lot of them. He justified what he was about to do by reasoning it was best for his daughter. As his eyes wandered over the girls, the ephemorae caught his gaze with her own. She gave him a radiant smile, nodding slightly as to encourage him to choose her. Well, since she seemed the most eager to go with him, he made his choice. “I’ll take the Chess-blessed,” he said, using the racial slur for the demonic ephemorae.

  Laughing in delight, Mr. Dazzle beckoned the girl forward. She obediently crawled forward on her hands and knees, scarlet skin highlighted by the gold gossamer wrap that left little to the imagination. Her cocoa-red hair fell about her heart-shaped face. She lifted her delicate chin to Mr. Dazzle and received the gem between her lips like a Flowwvite receiving communion. She swallowed delicately, her yellow eyes locking onto Crallick’s grey ones.

  With much less pomp and ceremony, Mr. Dazzle turned to Crallick and said, “Now, Crallick. This gem will cost you 5,000 crowns.” Smiling widely again, he added, “or equivalent.”

  “Why so high?” Crallick grunted.

  “Premium product. Premium beauty. Premium purity. Premium health. All comes with a premium price. You treat me well, and I’ll serve you better.” Mr. Dazzle’s pitch fell like quicksilver on an alchemist’s table.

  Suddenly grinning, Crallick said, “Of course! Why not? You only live once, unless you believe the Jyslinites. I’ll take of her,” he good-naturedly jabbed Jetten, who accepted his role as friend who was pushing his mate into a big luxury purchase.

  “Good deal, mate,” Jetten said. “She smells sweet.”

  Trying not to cringe, Crallick fished out five thousand in gold coins. He then pulled another one hundred platinum coins and set them aside. Locking eyes with Mr. Dazzle, Crallick said, “Let me have it.” He took the offered gem and swallowed it.

  His newly bought slave sighed.

  “What is that for?” Mr. Dazzle gestured at the pile of platinum on the edge of his desk.

  “Consider it a rebate; an insurance policy. I’m going to treat you better, so you can help save those eight virgins you sold to that g
uy with the two komodomen. I know for certain that they plan to sacrifice those eight girls, along with five others, in some messed up rite to Chessintra. I’ve hunted them for five tenday now. I’m almost on them.” Crallick was almost snarling now with anticipation, “I know you have their names! Also, if there is another way I can track them…?”

  “Hold friend!” Levvan’s hand came up, all signs of his song and dance gone, “You’re telling me you’ve hunted them across land and sea, and bought a slave, just to get to these men?”

  “Yeah,” Crallick growled.

  “They have something of yours.” Levvan put together. At Crallick’s darkening features, he corrected, “No, they have someone of yours.”

  “Yeah,” Crallick said, this time very softly. He felt the magic itching his hand to call his blade to it.

  “Well, shite. I have no interest in pissing the likes of you off,” Levvan smiled weakly. “The man’s name is Eli Bligh. He is from Amaral. The two Komodomen are Takk and Serr. They’re probably from the northern pirate islands. All the flesh are obedient to the gem that he alone swallowed. If you have a means to track magic, then you could follow the charm dweomer that rests upon the stone. It is identical to the ones within you and her,” he gestured to the nubile woman that now wrapped her arms around Crallick’s leg. She sat upon his foot, smiling up at him.

  “I sincerely thank you,” Crallick said, pulling his foot free of the woman’s behind. “You may have just helped me save those girls, and my daughter. Well earned.” He slid the platinum to the slaver. “Let’s hurry,” he said to Jetten.

  The two men turned and bolted from the tent. The din of the market drowned out the padding of bare feet that followed as swiftly as they were able. It wasn’t until the men stopped back at the launch and Mr. Pallan waved at the two of them that they became aware of something amiss.

  “Let’s get going, Mr. Pallan,” Crallick said, hopping down into the boat.

  Jetten started untying the aft rope.

  Wallace looked at Crallick, “Is it to be the five of us returning to the ship then, ser?”