The Chronicles of Crallick

by Brad C Baker

  The raucous cries of horror rang out from the alarmed crew.

  “Why would you say that?” Vlados asked sharply, not liking the direction that the relief was taking.

  “Because Marc said that Eli’s throat was torn open. Alexandr was strong, but for him to swiftly and silently kill a sleeping sailor without alarming anyone else, he’d have to choke him to death, not rip his throat open like a Nekomin or a Komodoman.” Crallick looked back at Vlados, “Don’t worry, none of the lizardmen have bits of flesh stuck in their teeth. They’re innocent of this mess. But this means we have a stowaway.”

  Vlados felt his cheeks redden. “But, but…” he spluttered. “That means you had me execute an innocent man!” he roared.

  The crew was in a rapt silence, watching the exchange, not sparing a breath.

  “Innocent, my arse,” Crallick growled. “He got in the way between me and my quarry. I would do it again in an instant!”

  “How dare ye?” Vlados raged.

  “I dare so easily, the Queen herself gave me the title!” Crallick snarled back. “And those were only matters of the kingdom. This is my daughter! Our daughters.” A ragged breath later, he concluded, “Any questions?”

  Chagrinned, Vlados felt his temper ease back, knowing that the passion that drove his once insignificant, drunk farming friend was the reclamation of their kin. He couldn’t fault that. Also, how would he face his own if he couldn’t claim the same reckless fervor to defy anything that would prohibit him from getting her back?

  “All right. Ye have my leave.” Softer, he added, “and my apology.” To all, he called, “Watch well for an intruder, not a soul is to wander alone! All are to be armed until the murderer is discovered!”

  Below decks, the Aquan blinked its understanding. It would lay low for a while. It had done well. Two land dwellers for the one kill. It flapped swiftly back into the hold to melt into the damp darkness.

  ***

  Hullaboo stirred in his freshwater keg. He hated this ocean travelling. If not for the debt to Crallick, he’d have long ago left their company. He hated the salt in the air. It desiccated his skin and hurt his eyes. The nictating membranes did little to relieve the saline irritation. So he found himself confined, almost like hibernation, in this keg. A disturbance in the bowels of the hold jarred his awareness. He could tell that the bulk of the crew were up on the deck. None of their footfalls sounded like the flapping that quietly receded into the hold. Stealthily, Hullaboo rose his head so that only his bulbous eyes broke the surface of the water in the keg. He rotated slowly, not causing even a ripple. The salt in the air stung his eyes, blurring his vision. He couldn’t tell if that had been a movement or a trick of the light. He sank back down into his keg.

  Crallick left the sight of the crew, and after making what he thought was a quick stop, only two or three ladles of rum, he retired to his cabin. There he found Kittalae’s ass stuck up in the air, tail wiggling furiously while she rummaged under the cots. His brow creased in amused confusion. He silently closed the door and waited for a few breaths while listening to her mutterings to herself. “Here, here, here, it has to be here.”

  “What has to be here?” he declared.

  “Eeep!” With a start, she jolted upright, her head running into the ropes that formed the lower cot. Twisting, then throwing the offending things free of her hair, she scooted free on her derrière. “Umm… sorry, master, I’m so sorry, I lost your bow.”

  “This bow?” Crallick shrugged off the greatbow and placed it where it usually hung, on a peg that used to support a lantern.

  “Uh, yeah.” She sheepishly grinned, “That bow.”

  “I found it.” Crallick sat on the chair behind the captain’s desk.

  Kittalae swiveled to both watch him and to afford him a better view of her attributes. “How did you get it, Crallick?”

  “Magic,” he snidely answered, kidding, but not lying.

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  “In truth, yes,” he replied.

  “Really? How do you channel your magical energies? I commune with the elemental wood.” Kittalae had a twinkle in her eye betraying the joy she felt at a perceived commonality with her master.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just shape little forces here and there. I draw mostly from the light that I bound my sword and bow to. It allows me to reach into Etheria and retrieve them at my will.”

  “Oooo,” Kittalae said, realization dawning. “I shall never again fret if they go missing. That is so convenient.”

  “I draw from wood to both impede my foes and make my passing easier.”

  “Simple tasks for wood,” Kittalae smiled. “I do much more with wood,” she winked with a tantalizing eye.

  “Ahem, yes, well, I also draw from fire to burn my foes, keep my comfort, and clear evidence from my actions. I also draw from metal to hone my blades and strengthen my mail,” Crallick concluded.

  Kittalae watched Crallick sitting at the desk for a while. Then she said, “You must miss her terribly.”

  “Of course I do! I failed her! It’s why I’m on this hunt to get her back,” Crallick snapped.

  “I’m sorry, I was talking about your wife, not your daughter. Though I’m sure you’re heartbroken over her too,” Kittalae quickly clarified.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t ever think of my wife. She’s ten years dead. My only focus is on getting my daughter back!” Crallick glared.

  “Of course,” she said. She thought, ‘My ass, my dear master, you are so distraught over the thought of failing your dead wife, you are willing to meet her in Chessintra’s embrace to make sure you don’t. The only reason you don’t think of anything more immediate is due to your constant poisoning of yourself with your Flowwe-be-damned rum.’ “I assure you,” she said, “I will do everything in my power to aid you in getting your daughter back.”

  “Hah!” he scoffed. “What can you do?”

  Smiling, the half-demonic slave girl slid to her knees beside him. “More than you; more than anyone can possibly imagine. And my dear master, no one expects a simple slave girl, or concubine, to do anything other than pour wine, give pleasure and look pretty. I am a stronger ally than you can imagine.” She gently kissed the back of his hand. “May I clean your armor, Crallick?”

  Crallick thought long and hard before consenting. She was an enigma. That much was certain. He made a note to ask Wanda about her thoughts on Kittalae later.

  Back above deck, the afternoon watch was well settled into its routine when the sails snapped full with wind. A cheer came up from the hands. When Mr. Pallan inquired from the aftcastle cabin, the report of the wind coming up strong was likewise well received. Right up until the moment the crow’s nest called down, “Mr. Pallan, Mr. Pallan! Storm ‘head to the north east!”

  Wallace made his way to the aftcastle and gazed starboard. The sight chilled him to the bone, even in the tropical heat. As black as Chessintra’s arse, clouds piled upon each other in ravenous eagerness, miles tall, and full of malice and destruction. A grey pall hung under those dreadnaughts. It was a torrential rain shadow. There were flickers of strobing light that played across the features of the malicious beast.

  “Fuck me, Chessintra,” he whispered to himself. Then, to a nearby hand, he instructed simply, “Better go wake Mr. Drake, Jacob, and the Captain. We’re not likely to outrun this.”

  Chapter Eleven

  "We shall raze the village true enough. Burn them all.

  Eat your fill, cremate the rest. Bannathyr shall weep.

  When Knights try to save them, we surround. Watch them fall"

  Skywyn was ruthless. No winks would he lose of sleep.”

  Verse 12: Ballad of Ser Crallick Carnage-born

  Crallick heard the commotion of sailors mustering out of their racks and rushing about the ship. Curious, he took his leave of Kittalae and headed up to the deck to see what the goings-on were for himself. Upon reaching the deck and taking a quick scan, he noticed Vlados at t
he back of the boat. He headed over to the stalwart dwarf.

  He walked up to Vlados’s left side, as Mr. Pallan was already at his right. “What’s going on? Trouble?”

  “Isn’t it always?” Vlados grimly joked. Then he nodded to the horizon. “Think you can shoot that with an arrow?”

  Trying not to laugh in spite of himself, Crallick admitted, “Oh, I could shoot it, sure enough. I’m just not sure it’d have any effect.” When his jest met with no merriment, it dawned on him just how grave the men were taking the situation. This was further reinforced with Mr. Drake’s arrival.

  “Well, if it ain’t Moredhel, Chessintra, or Asha, who haven’t I pissed off to be buggered like this?” Drake named off the gods of fate, death, and fire as potential candidates for those he may have angered.

  Hanging his head low, Vlados muttered, “How long until it overtakes us? I am correct in assuming we can’t outrun it?”

  Both veteran sailors barked dry, sardonic laughs. The pair replied, “No.”

  Drake said, “I dunno Pallan, you figure eight hours?”

  “Only if we wait ‘til it’s nearly too late to reef the sails,” Pallan objected. “More like six if we’re playing it safe.”

  After a brief glance at each other, their eyes doing most of the talking, they mutually looked at Vlados. “Six, ser,” came the unanimous appraisal.

  “Just how bad a fix do you figure we’re in?” Crallick asked them, sparing Vlados the pain of inexperience forcing him to ask that question.

  One sailor glanced at the other. Then Drake began, “Well, ser, it’s like this. When you get a storm of that scale,” he gestured behind him at the front moving in, “we are not much more than a pile of twigs in the washbasin of the gods. You see, on one hand if we were closer to shore, where the waves come up to the shallows, we could bottom out and be shivered to splinters. Or capsized from unpredictable wave action on shallow outcroppings, be they reef, shoal, or rock. So we’re kind of in a favorable position out in the depths, as we suspect we are. The drawback though, is there is no buffer betwixt us and the force of the tempest. The winds can truly run as Aarison’s whim decrees, and the swells know only the bounds of Flowwe’s bountiful bosom. What that means good sers, is that should we roll broadside to a swell, we capsize and sink. The slightest sheet of unreefed sail and we splinter anything from a yardarm to the mast, to hole the hull by the keel.”

  Looking shaken and more than a little grey, Vlados sat heavily down against the rail, “S-s-s-so how do we avoid certain calamity and doom?”

  Mr. Pallan glanced back to the horizon. “Too large to try to flank it. I’m thinking it’s best we heave to, and run with it. How ‘bout you, Mr. Drake?”

  Erik shook his blond head slowly. “Naw, mate. I agree with heaving to, but we should come about and run headlong into her. It’ll shorten the time in the heavy water considerably.”

  “Mate, that ain’t up to me. That’s the Captain’s call. Either way, I figure we can keep this girl afloat, don’t you?” Wallace turned a keen eye to Erik.

  “Sure we can. I’ m just advising the safer course.” Drake rose a hand up, “I’m not trying to get into it with you.”

  “I’m not suggesting you are, mate.” Wallace nodded his chin towards the quaking dwarf. Then added in a hushed tone, “This is just for our virginal captain there. For confidence, aye?”

  Understanding came upon Drake. “Aye,” he declared. “We can keep us afloat, either way.”

  Crallick sized the two men up. “How long are you figuring we’d be in a storm that large for?”

  “Running headlong into it, probably a day, maybe a little less,” Drake said.

  “If we run with the storm?” Crallick then put to him.

  “Well, then it becomes more of a marathon,” Pallan added. “It may take as much as three to five times as long to get out of the heavy water.”

  “How much time do we lose running into the storm? And how much time do we lose running with it?” Crallick grimly asked.

  “Huh,” Drake snorted. “Running into it, we lose about two days getting through the storm. We have to backtrack those lost leagues, so that could be another day. Plus any repairs. Let’s say five days. To be safe.”

  “Running with the storm will still run the delay of repairs to the ship. Plus there is the problem of navigation. We’ll need to track our way back on course, no matter how secure our compass heading,” Wallace conceded. “We may still run an extra two-three days behind.”

  “They’ll suffer the same storm though,” Crallick ascertained.

  “Sure, but after it already hits us,” Vlados noted the wild look in Crallick’s eye. “And no, you’re not even that good. If we were to run into them in the storm, it would be just as pointless as not running into them at all. Savvy?”

  Crallick scoffed, “Yeah. I understand. I’ll wager, they’ll suspect they’re being pursued; at least I would if I were them. It’s always better to err on the side of caution than recklessness. They’ve demonstrated a resourcefulness that can ensure they would share that sensibility.” Crallick looked at Vlados, “For our daughter’s sake, run with the storm, Vlados. Trust me. Get your crew to do whatever they need to do to ensure we get through intact. We must run with the storm.” With grim determination, Crallick strode off towards the bow entrance below deck.

  “Where you going?” Vlados called after him.

  “I need to check some tricks that I hope I have up my sleeve!” Crallick said before disappearing below deck.

  Vlados looked at his two mates. “Well, you heard my boy, step lively mates. Let’s get the Flamerunner ready for the storm.”

  Below decks, Crallick quickly found Wanda. She was taking some time with the ship’s surgeon. The two women quieted on Crallick’s approach.

  “Excuse me ladies.” Crallick paused, then continued, “Wanda, I need to talk with you for a moment.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Syllethra.

  “Shut it,” said Wanda, rising. “All right, let’s go.”

  They walked across the tight companionway. They stopped just in front of the ship’s arms lockers. Wanda could smell his musk in the heat of the mid-afternoon. She smiled in spite of herself. “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I need you…” he started.

  “Yes…?” She butted in, her anticipation getting the better of her patience.

  “…to calm the seas around the ship. Are you that tight with your goddess? Can you swing that? The waves could get pretty intense,” Crallick concluded, frustrated at her interruptions.

  “Depends for how long, and how much they need to be pacified,” replied a rather crestfallen and disillusioned Wanda.

  “Oh, just so we don’t break apart, and maybe for four to five days?” Crallick humbly admitted.

  “Are you fucking kidding me!?” Wanda screamed. “I could manage a few hours maybe. Days?” She shook her head and took a deep breath, “When I decided to go with you, I figured I would be put to a strong test of faith. Never did I imagine it would be the whole journey. I’ll pray on it and see what I can do.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure you’ll do the best you can,” Crallick said.

  “Where you off to?” she asked of his swiftly retreating back.

  “Contingencies!” was the only word Crallick called back to her.

  Dashing through the companionway, under the main deck, Crallick burst into his cabin. “Kittalae! Kittalae!” Crallick cried.

  Popping up to attention from where she was polishing his ring mail, ring by ring, Kittalae responded, “Yes Crallick? I’m yours to command.”

  Shaking his head at the alien sounding words, Crallick blew it off. “How in tune are you with the wood?”

  “Very,” she replied.

  “If it were to splinter, or to leak, could you repair, or mend, or somehow get it to endure?” Crallick asked in earnest.

  “Of course. Why? Is my master in trouble?” A look of concern tightene
d her youthful visage.

  “We all are,” Crallick pointed out the aft cabin windows. There could be seen the black horizon, and the increasing chop of the ocean. “There is a severe storm coming.”

  Kittalae smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, my sweet master. I shall keep you safe.” She put her hand on his arm.

  Crallick never allotted any time to her comfort. He dashed back out to return to Vlados.

  Crallick found him on the aftcastle. Vlados was watching his rigging rats reefing the sails tight. Casks and crates that couldn’t be stored below decks were being lashed to the deck. Men were shoring up the companionways, and lashing tarps over the cargo hatches.

  “Where were you?” asked Vlados, as Crallick ran up.

  “Sorting out contingencies.” Then at Vlados’s uncomprehending look, he added, “Wanda is a cleric of water. I was just trying to figure out how much water she could effect if she put in a good word with her goddess. She’s praying for it. Also Kittalae…”

  “Who?” Vlados interrupted.

  “My slave, Kittalae, she’s some sort of wood-talker. She’ll try to keep the hull intact.” Crallick finished off, “I can entangle the helmsman to the deck to keep him safe while we run through this.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, usually they just tie off the helm,” Vlados began to protest.

  “I think that would be a grand idea, master Ironfoge,” came the deep, resonating timber of Jacob, the day watch’s helmsman. “Many ships are lost because a rope snaps and there is no one to hold the helm while the ship breaches a wave and rolls. If I’m secured to the deck by Mr. Oakentree, then the helm is tied. We’re sure’n to be in a safer way than all hands hiding below!”

  Vlados nodded gravely. “Aye, all right, you made your point. Let the other helmsman know of the plan.”

  “Aye ser.” Then Jacob relinquished the helm to a deckhand for a while.

  Vlados and Crallick silently watched the approaching tempest, side by side, until the first curtains of rain began to pelt them, foreshadowing the oncoming deluge.