by Brad C Baker
It took a while for the groaning, limping, and bleeding lot of them to gather. Once together, mind you, Crallick could easily see things were direr than he had anticipated.
He had come through the battle unscathed, just like so many times before. Only Izzy Nunez and Erik Drake could likewise make this claim. Although, Crallick noted, Izzy seemed a little unhinged for some reason.
Glip-glip, Menshirre, Jarod and Gregor all had minor wounds. This gave him a fighting force of seven men.
The remaining seven, he held serious reservations over.
Wanda had been shot three times through the middle of her torso, and while she claimed divine healing had saved her and that she was fit, he had his doubts. Besides, Wanda was one of the only members of his team that knew anything about the mysteries of the body, and how to heal the damnable thing.
Bargress had Crallick feeling a little more at ease after he explained to Crallick that the gouge on his left leg, puncture to his tail, and cut on his left arm were all healing swiftly, and in a day or two you’d only notice the discoloration of the scales. Nothing more. Crallick decided to trust the Komodoman and he added him to the combat-ready list he was compiling in his head.
Hullaboo’s mangled right thigh was seriously hindering his mobility and stability. His torn throat made him sound like, to use his own words, “I have a frog in my throat.” He enjoyed the human saying so much that he was still chuckling to himself for a good while later. Binding and reinforcing the leg was the only option to allow Hullaboo to continue on. So it was done, and Crallick added one more to his beleaguered band.
Brom Corr sat down heavily and waited patiently, wheezing and spitting blood. On examination, Wanda suggested he go back to the ship for the surgeon to take care of his lung. His impaled leg was an annoyance to him and hobbled his movement slightly, but the real threat to him was the collapsed lung. He grudgingly agreed to wait behind to get treated.
Once they had noticed that Lawrence Marley was still sitting with a smile on his face, some ways off, Wanda and Crallick moved over to check out what was wrong. Coming up on him, it was soon very apparent that he was in serious shape indeed. The cutlass, still imbedded in his skull, glinted in the sunlight.
“Oh my goddess,” Wanda breathed. “Are you feeling okay Lawrence?” She was amazed he was still conscious.
“Ire,” he said. “Just enjoying the sun. I have a bit of a headache.”
Crallick said, “Just relax, my man. We’ll take care of things.” Then, in a hushed voice, he said to Wanda, “Get the surgeon over to the land to treat our wounded. Then she can figure out who and how to move them.”
“Agreed.” Wanda looked back over her shoulder to Lawrence, “Shouldn’t we tell…”
“Absolutely not!” snapped Crallick. “Just make sure he doesn’t lie down. Maybe have Brom hang with him.”
“Okay,” Wanda said.
They got back to the others and explained how bad Lawrence was. Crallick enforced the importance of not telling him about it. Brom agreed to babysit the wounded look-out. Then Crallick turned an appraising eye at Vlados.
“You aren’t going anywhere shot like that,” Crallick softly said.
“Bugger you,” Vlados spat, “the Plains of Feyarth take you. I’m getting my daughter back.”
“You’ll need to be alive to do that my friend,” Crallick advised, ignoring the slur and insult.
When Vlados again seemed about to protest, Crallick hastily added, “Besides, I need someone back here to make sure our escape is good to go. And I’m as good a farmer as I am a sailor.”
“Yer no good a farmer,” Vlados grumbled.
“You’re right,” Crallick said. “You’re a much better sailor than a tavernkeep.”
“Bugger you again,” Vlados sighed. He was very tired, and even the argument seemed to be taking a toll on him. “Fine. Yer right. Damn ye. I’ll stay.”
Kittalae piped up. “Master, I’m fine, just need to cauterize my hand. I’m so sorry I got damaged, I’ll be better next time.”
Crallick looked affectionately at the lithe young woman, “No, you stay too.”
“No Crallick! I can’t protect you if I’m here. You need me!” she seemed so distraught that Wanda’s heart went out to her.
“Crallick, let me pray over her. If I can pull one more miracle out of my butt, I’ll let her go with you. If I can’t, then she’ll stay with me. I’d rather you have someone watching your back who truly cares about you.”
Under the combined pressures of the two women, Crallick conceded. “Fine, you have until we’re ready to go.”
So he had, including himself, nine to take on thirteen. Well, he had gone up against worst odds. And if Wanda could work her miracle, they would have ten.
“All right, Armon, now let’s have you tell me a story, and make it rich in detail,” Crallick finally addressed their Amarallan prisoner.
Chapter Thirteen
“Let them burn, let them burn, let the wee children burn
The hamlet is lost to Amaral's mighty troop
Let them burn so the tide of battle we may turn."
Through cries and screams, he forced his head never to droop.”
Verse 14: Ballad of Ser Crallick Carnage-born
Armon began his tale to the gathered crew of the Flamerunner. “I’d been working out of Wyvernhold in Amaral. Then about three years ago, a bunch of us veteran sailors were approached to crew a ship, the Princess Grace.”
He sat down on the sand, leaning his back against a palm tree of sorts. “The first thing we thought was odd was that they had us help dry dock the Princess. We then took her name, and put some kind of black varnish on all of her wood. There were some gaunt priestesses wandering around with their shaved heads all glistening with silver. They had poured metal onto their scalps, or some shite. In any event, they were there all mumbling and praying, and generally creeping us out.
It got worse when we re-blessed the ship the Chess’s Blight. Who names a ship after the goddess of darkness and death? Let alone her bad mood? Well, they then took all the lads out for drinks and pleasant company. That was when we first met Eli.
He was flanked by two Komodomen bodyguards, and there was a Nekomin concubine who was massaging his feet. He called out to the sixty of us, ‘Hey lads, who here wants to undertake a voyage never before attempted? When you get back, you’ll get wealth, fame, and pleasures beyond imagination!’
Well, naturally all us low-born were excited to have a taste of the high life. Also, you see, we were tasting heavily the wine and spirits. As such, we all pretty much joined in without him really having to sell it very hard. Our pay had already been handsome without leaving port, so we could just imagine our rewards.”
He glanced around the blood-soaked beach, scoffed, then continued, “Now even though I’m sure you don’t feel it, these boys weren’t the villains, just victims, like you. The true villain is up in the interior somewhere. But I’ll get to that. The next day Eli had told us to make her ready to sail and to meet him in Marahaven in three months time. He had to travel by land to see if he could collect a few things before joining us to make our expenses lighter. We supplied the Chess’s Blight, then made way two months later. After we arrived at Marahaven, we took on some cages and five, I think, young women. All were very attractive, and all were very young.”
At Crallick’s dangerous gaze, Armon quickly added, “They were also unharmed.”
“Go on,” was all Crallick had to say to menace Armon.
“We then set sail, against the tide, to Jamtown. Eli, who had boarded in Marahaven, needed to get some slaves there. We presumed they would be gifts for someone. The way he had gone on about sacrificing what was dear to explore new untold vestiges, we naturally figured new civilizations might require tributes.
When he returned from his shopping, he had a chain of eight virginal looking slave girls. We had a hold full of breeding stock, and a crew of sixty horny and lonely men. Suffice it to say, af
ter the storm and the examples of what would happen should someone touch his ‘meat’, we arrived here with only fifty souls of the crew left.”
“Examples?” asked Drake.
Swallowing hard, Armon’s voice grew tight. “Eli wanted his tributes to be unspoiled. He keelhauled four men, crucified two, and drew and quartered a final man. No one much felt like thinking about our cargo after that. The storm took three.”
“Too bad,” Crallick growled. “What about your arrival?”
“Well,” Armon continued. “We arrived early morning. Then came the order that we were to all make landfall. Most of us thought this preposterous. The captain delicately put to Eli the risk of that action. Eli seemed not put out in the slightest by our fears. ‘Worry not. For that ship is as safe as Chessintra’s womb.’
None of us common folk were too sure about just how safe that would be, but neither would we argue. He armed us all to the teeth, and he and his men girded themselves out for war, it seemed. Then they gathered the women, chained them in a train, and took them ashore. This left the Blight empty at anchor. Damn foolish, I thought. I told our captain as much, but he just hushed me.
Eli then told the captain to hold the beach at all costs. There would be a thousand dragons for any who survived. Thusly motivated, the greedy blighters fired as soon as they saw you leaving the Blight.”
“Back up a bit,” Crallick said.
“To where?” Armon asked.
“Just before you’re ordered to hold the beach. Did you happen to hear anything about where they were heading? Or just taking a stroll randomly into the jungle?” Crallick worked his grip on his greatsword like a dog worried a bone.
“Hmmm…” Armon thought intensely. “Well, there was some discussion from his scouts. They were trying to figure out the lay of the land, particularly to the northwest. While they never said directly where they were going, they did face that way and talked at length about water, lack of paths, inclines, dragging mewling women, and other possible hindrances to their journey.”
When Crallick seemed about to say something, Armon cut in. “Eli and his Nekomin mage did mention something about a temple in the skeleton of the world. That is probably the last thing I can think of that might be of any help. Was it?”
“Was it what?” Crallick looked for clarity.
“Helpful?” Armon pressed.
“We’ll see,” Crallick grumbled. “We’ll see.”
Turning to the collected group, Crallick addressed them. “All right then, we have an idea of where these pieces of filth are heading. We know they will be slowed down by their victims. We also know that they will not kill their victims until they reach this temple thing. Is there anything else I’m missing here?”
“This sacrifice may have something to do with Asha Trixiaxi.” Wanda spoke up after a moment of low murmuring amongst the gathered companions.
“Wait a minute?” Crallick put out suddenly. “What makes you say that? Were you not the one pointing out this hokum about Chessintran magic and the Malefecorum? Why would you muddy shite now with this?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Wanda said. “I know what I proposed earlier. However, I don’t deny that. After all, it’s still relevant.” You could see the thoughts coalescing in her mind. “The Malefecorum can steal the will of any of the greater servants and bind them to its will. The month of Chessintra would be the Haunting. Still three months away. We’re at the last days of Pyrois, the flame. Asha’s month, her purification, is next month. And anyone want to hazard a guess as to her greatest servant?”
The two men from Amaral and Crallick all choired the answer, “Dragon.”
“Well?” Wanda pressed.
“It makes sense,” admitted Crallick. “Armon, where did they head inland, did you see?”
“Yes,” Armon pointed north, up the beach a way, to where a copse of strange trees invaded the white track of sand and seemingly walked right out to the ocean bay on wispy roots. “There seems to be a low swampy river that they followed inland.”
“Right then. That’s where I’ll start tracking them from.” Crallick purposely spun on his heels and strode off towards the location. He hadn’t gone more than twenty strides when he heard the none-too-quiet crunching of sand behind him.
He turned.
What he saw rent his heart. Ten weary, bedraggled, battered and yet determined companions held arms and were dogging his path. “What in Jyslin’s great grace do you all think you’re doing?”
“I’m following my master,” Kittalae pronounced.
“Your hand?” Crallick cautioned.
“Better.” She held aloft a wooden, yet seemingly prehensile left hand. “Wanda used her attunement to water, and I used my attunement to wood to produce a skeletal and living new hand to replace the one I lost. It might even be agiler than my former hand.” She winked. “Want to find out?”
Sighing, Crallick muttered, “Not the time. But, fine, you can come.”
Hullaboo hopped up. “I owe. I go.”
The rest of the crew pushed Erik forwards. He obliged. “Well ser, it’s like this, they all want payback for their lost mates. We all want to get your daughter back, as well as the Captain’s.” Glancing back over his shoulder, Erik then looked back at Crallick. In a lower tone, he finished, “Besides, if we stayed, we’d have to listen to Vlados complain incessantly about his injuries and the fact he’s travelled all this way not to be there to rescue his own bleeding daughter. Getting eaten by a dragon seems a fairer proposition.”
Laughing, Crallick shook his head. “Fine, you made a good point there. You are all wyvern-stung crazy, but thank you. Let’s get going.” Then he noticed Armon, “Wait, why you?”
“I know you’ve been grievously wronged, ser. I seek to make right my part, no matter how insignificant,” Armon said.
Nodding, Crallick conceded, “I know a thing or two about honour, especially laden with guilt. I shan’t burden you with it. You are welcome to redeem yourself.”
“Thank you, ser!” Armon swiftly rushed ahead to catch up to what was now the vanguard of the inland bound expedition.
Crallick pulled out his flask, and in the scorching afternoon sun, drew a long pull of fiery amber rum. Glancing skyward, Crallick softly prayed, “Amalae, darling, wherever you are, know I’m coming. Hang on, my dear. Just hang on a little while longer.”
The group moved north along the beach. In a short time they came to a saltwater delta that choked an egress of an inland river. Mangrove trees greedily clutched at any bit of dry land they could. They kept it from the ocean’s devouring waves. It was an uncanny and seemingly unnatural alliance of wood and earth against the water of the ocean. Kittalae cringed at the unintuitive matrimony.
Deep brown bark sheathed the tendril-like roots that fed the slender boles that then rose anywhere from fifteen to thirty feet above. The leaves of the mangroves were a rich emerald, cut in twain by a thick rib. The underside was a paler green. The effect of the breezes blowing through the trees was to send flickers of the two shades pulsing through the river. There was a serene beauty to the place. The river water was its own semi-opaque shade of green. Black organic soil lined its banks. There was a rich dank smell of sweet rot, mixed with floral perfumes from water hibiscus and lilies.
As the group slogged through the mire in the shallows of the river, sweat slaking their clothes to their skin, Crallick, among a few others, kept scanning the water nervously for disturbances that seemed out of place.
Vines and creepers climbed up the trees, vying for any light they could feed on. There was vicious competition going on all around him. Crallick knew that animals weren’t the only things willing to kill another to live themselves.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and the tips of the trees were dripping the blood of the end of the day, the thinner rooted mangroves were beginning to give way to more majestically buttressed cypress trees.
These trees had heftier roots, and much thicker boles that rose even
higher. Their canopy sported broader leaves as well. Alien hoots from unseen animals, and cries and screeches from unseen birds, haunted and mocked them on their passage.
When the night became too dark to safely find purchase with their feet, Crallick found a spot of slightly elevated ground. He navigated over and instructed the others to set up camp for the night.
He pulled his ring mail off and set it aside. He was then interrupted by an eager pair of yellow eyes gazing bewitchingly at him belonging to Kittalae. “Hey, can I help you with anything?” she winked. “Anything at all?”
Wearily looking up at her, he grunted. “Fine. Find grass that looks like this,” he held up a broad blade. “Pick all that you can and bring it here.”
Flashing him a dazzling smile, Kittalae scampered away to her task.
“Great work boss,” Erik said, walking up. “You found their campsite.”
Crallick gave him a look that suggested where he could go if he doubted his abilities.
“We found a fire pit, and four privvie holes,” Erik concluded. “Are you sure we want to rest now?”
“Yes,” Crallick stretched his aching muscles. Their aches suggested they thought he was going soft with his age. Perhaps they were right. “This is a marathon, not a sprint. No point exhausting ourselves to catch them, only to be too tired to kill them. Right?”
As Crallick let the question hang in the air, he watched Erik mull over this notion. Erik nodded, “Okay, I see your point.”
“I’m so glad. Now go and organize the watches for the evening.” Crallick leaned back against the tree. He idly wondered why he wasn’t being harassed by mosquitoes.
Around midnight, Kittalae woke him with bales of grass. “Sorry, dear Crallick. I gathered all I could carry. Now what am I to do with them?”
Shaking the webs of sleep from his mind, Crallick shuffled into a sitting position, then grabbed his ring mail coat. One by one, he wove blades of grass into his mail, covering each ring in turn. Catching on swiftly, Kittalae joined him at his task. As they emptied the first bale, she smiled sweetly and said, “This is the first thing we’ve really done together.”