by Mike Truk
Pony was sitting with his back to the main mast, a hat someone had made him from rough canvas pulled down low over his eyes. It was a jaunty thing, with a wide, upturned brim in the back and pointed in the front like a great bird’s beak. All it needed was a trailing feather and the war troll would be ready to court another of his kind.
Amused and slightly perturbed by the idea of war troll sex, I strode over to where Yashara and Pogo were standing by the rail, watching the last glimmers of the setting sun scintillate off the waves. It was a beautiful sight; land was barely visible on the horizon, a continuous and undulating line of darkness, while the ocean glimmered and swelled and ebbed about us, seagulls crying out and wheeling about the prow. The great sails above us were a dizzying sight, and I could actually feel the ship straining and coursing through the waters through the soles of my boots, the whole of it lashed to the wind and seeking the horizon.
“Master Kellik,” said Pogo, half turning to regard me and giving a sketch of a bow. “Greetings and contextually appropriate salutations.”
“Pogmillion.” I moved up to cross my arms over the railing and gazed out over the ocean.
Yashara loomed over us both, seven feet of savage beauty, her black full mane of hair held back by the crown of iron spikes that she wore around her brow. It was easy to see why the sailors were fascinated; she exuded a predatory power that was obvious in every line of her frame, every curve of muscle, a latent sense of danger hanging about her like the coppery tang of blood did a murder scene.
Had we really fucked down in the sewers beneath Port Gloom? Glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, I found it hard to believe; that she’d hooked one muscled leg over my shoulder as I’d licked her green slit, causing her to gasp and tremble as she’d dug her fingers into my hair.
Heart racing, I turned away to gaze back at the ocean, glad for the cool sea breeze on my suddenly hot cheeks.
“We have a problem, Kellik,” she said, voice low, brooding.
“I can think of a dozen off the top of my head.”
“There’s only one that matters to me.” She shifted her weight, causing her triceps to momentarily appear in sharp relief down the back of her arm. “Pogo, how much does Kellik owe the Mailed Fist?”
“The agreed upon sum for the completion of our mission at the Baron’s castle was two hundred and eighty gold; of course, that sum no longer reflects our actual balance, as we have lost Ashrat, Skaxa, even Harusk. All our equipment is gone, our letters of charter, our registrations and licenses which we’ll need to apply for once more. I took the liberty of working out some sums while everyone slept, and have come up with a grand total of two thousand, six hundred and eighty-seven gold crowns owed -”
I spluttered and turn to stare down at him in disbelief. “Two thousand?”
Pogo displayed admirable sangfroid. “The bill is, of course, itemized. I would be happy to review it in its entirety at your leisure, Master Kellik. It includes the two hundred and ten gold coins of mixed denomination I lent you before so as to secure Havatier’s aid. However, I must admit that the bulk of the new charges comes from my estimation as to how dangerous a bounty has now been placed on our heads following our escapade in the Sodden Hold -”
“OK, wait. Wait.” I raised both hands forestalling him. Yashara hadn’t looked my way yet, her expression bleak as she studied the far shore. “Fine. Whatever the balance, I won’t argue it. But something tells me it’s not the gold that’s got you worried, Yashara.”
Now she did turn away from the railing to stare down at me, her eyes slitted, her dark lips pursed. Damn but her presence was so physical. With my current trend of thought set by the sailors’ commentary below, it was hard not to admire her cut torso, the swell of her hip, the deep cleavage that was just visible above her wrought iron breastplate.
“What’s got me worried, Kellik, is that we’re sailing across half the known world without a goal, without a plan, and without expectation of payment. Your employment has proved ruinous to the Mailed Fist. Events have carried us this far together, but I won’t be content to simply follow your lead because you will it. You have until our next port of call to satisfy your debt. If you cannot pay the two thousand, six hundred gold, we shall take the payment in the form of your weapons and armor. That ensorcelled bow and the blade you now wear at your hip will go a long way to satisfying your bill.”
“I hear you,” I said. “You’re upset and with good reason. I miss Ashrat, Harusk _”
“No,” she said, voice low and intense. “Don’t pretend to understand. The Mailed Fist was not just a group of soldiers. We were all of us cousins, half-orcs, full bloods, goblins and war trolls. Outsiders in this world that either hate us or seek to use us as expendable war fodder. It was my responsibility to not just make money, but to take care of them, to give them a purpose and a future in this world that would deny them both. I failed. I got caught up in your quest and now they’re all dead.” She leaned forward, eyes slitted. “I won’t deny that I’m fond of you, Kellik, but my first duty is and always will be to my people, my cousins, all those who struggle to find a place in this world that would rather see them dead. Do you understand?”
“Maybe better than you think,” I said. “I just finished slaughtering everyone I once called family. Burned my old home to the ground. And, oh yeah, saw them raised as undead and forced to fight on. So maybe I do have an inkling of what you’re going through. And I know gold will prove a scant comfort, but it’s a minimum, right?”
“Gold is always the baseline against which all other values may be measured,” said Pogo.
“I’ll see you paid before our next port,” I said, leaning heavily on Blind Fortuna’s favor to make my words true, “and will reveal my plans shortly as to our next steps. If you don’t want any part in it, I’ll understand. But I think you’ll appreciate the opportunity for greater wealth and a chance at true power.”
Yashara leaned back on one heel as she crossed her arms over her large chest. “True power.”
I gave her my best roguish grin. “Isn’t that what gold’s all about? A means to impose your will upon the world? Well, let’s cut to the chase. You can have just gold, but I’m going to offer you much more than that. But I won’t get into it now. I want to speak with everyone at once. As soon as Havatier and Tamara are up, we’ll gather and talk.”
“I’ll hear you out,” said Yashara, “but it will take more than empty promises to satisfy me.”
I almost made a suggestive quip, but the smoldering intensity in her eyes promised I wouldn’t get away with it lightly. What friendship, what intimacy we’d developed over the past few days had been subsumed by her current mood. Like I’d said, I couldn’t blame her. So instead I sketched a bow, much as Pogo had done. “I’ll let you be the judge.”
“Two thousand, six hundred and eighty-seven gold,” said Pogo.
I gave what I hoped was an ironic twist to bow, then turned and walked away. Fought to keep my expression serene as I wandered up the deck toward the front. Two thousand, six hundred gold? When I’d not a penny to my name? I glanced down at my frost blade. I was sure it would fetch a much higher price than two thousand, but only to the right vendor. And who on the Bonegwayne would pay that much coin for a sword? Maestria? Unlikely.
My sales pitch was going to have to be absolutely perfect.
At loose ends, stomach gurgling with hunger, I paused by the railing anew to stew in my thoughts. Whom could I count on? Cerys, probably, though our initial trajectory had involved vengeance on the slave trade that had seen her sister killed. Would she declare herself satisfied with Wargiver’s death and our strike against the Sodden Hold and call it quits? Iris had sworn to repay her debt to me for saving her life - but had already made great inroads in that direction with her help at the dust yard and the Sodden Hold thereafter. At what point would she consider the debt repaid?
Havatier? A reluctant ally against the Family. Netherys? She I could probably count on for as lon
g as my fate promised ruin and flames to enough innocents, which was a joyous thought to take comfort in. Pony? Pogo? They’d go with Yashara.
I ground the heels of my hands in my eyes until I saw crimson stars and then sighed. One grain of sand at a time, as Jack used to say. So what was the first grain?
“Hello, Kellik.” The voice was a shadowy purr which sent a shiver down my back as an impossibly graceful form appeared by my side, leaning the small of her back against the railing as she looked over at me with a subtle smile playing on her purple lips.
“Netherys.” I turned to regard her, crossing my arms as I did so. “You look better.”
Understatement of the year. She wore a voluminous black robe, hood pulled low over her face, but even so I could make out her flawless ashen skin, the purple hair so dark it was nearly black as it cascaded down over one shoulder. Her slanted eyes were alive with cruel amusement, and her full lips were quirked as if at some inside joke I would never - could never - be privy to.
But it was more than that - just as Yashara had had her own savage physicality, Netherys exuded her own inhuman grace, a lightness of being that made her seem lithe and sinuous in a way that no human dancer could ever hope to mimic. Her beauty was haunting, and I felt a frisson of lust pass through me as I recalled those very lips sliding down the length of my cock…
“Mmm,” she purred, moving her body in a subtle and provocative manner. “You humans are so easy to read.”
For the second time in as many minutes I blushed, but this time I didn’t avert my eyes. “Yes, well. There’s something about indescribably attractive dark elves that have a certain effect on us males.”
“Not just the males,” she said lightly, reaching out to trace a line down the front of my shirt. “You’d be surprised at how many human women treasure the company of someone softer, more understanding, more patient and playful than you masculine brutes.”
“So that’s what I am now? Feels like a promotion.”
Her lips curled a fraction more. “It’s easy to climb when you’re starting at the very bottom. All you need show is a willingness to work very, very hard.”
I took hold of her wrist just before her hand could pass below my belt. “If there’s one thing I have, it’s an endless desire to accomplish my goals.”
“And what goals they are.” She made no move to pull her hand away. “Mother Magrathaar is most pleased with you. You are rushing full tilt toward your destiny. Your strike on the Sodden Hold solidified your trajectory.”
“Toward fire and ruin?” I asked, releasing her wrist. “That’s what you still see?”
“What she sees, yes.” She leaned back, both elbows on the railing, causing her chest to thrust forward ever so slightly as she gazed out across the deck. “You are an agent of chaos, Kellik. Where you go the Hanged God follows, with Mother Magrathaar circling overhead, her cackles riding the storm winds of destruction and doom.”
“Great. I’ll have that put down on my calling cards. But… does she see anything more definite? Has she hinted at what we should do next?”
“Oh my, taking your cues from my goddess? What a delicious turn of affairs.” Her eyes glimmered. “When we first met you feared her to the point of painfully detailed contracts. Now you seek her counsel?”
“Not quite. But if I know what she desires, I can use that to make sure things don’t get quite as cataclysmic as she hopes.”
“Alas, no. She hasn’t vouchsafed me a vision of the future. I am to remain by your side, however, and nurture your instincts to dominate your opponents.” She looked me up and down, making no attempt to disguise where her gaze lingered. “Of course, there’s nothing to prevent us from having a little fun in the process.”
I gave a husky laugh. “On a crowded ship? I don’t think we’d find a quiet corner.”
“I don’t mind being watched.”
By the gods she knew just how to throw me off my balance. “Ah, no, thank you. Plus I’m rather focused on what I’m going to say to you all once Tamara and Havatier awake.”
“Hmm. Let’s see if your resolve lasts all night. I’m willing to wager it won’t.” Her tone was light, playful, but there was something in the depths of her eyes that spoke of a more base desire, a hunger at odds with her own teasing words. “However, in the meantime, I’m willing to offer any advice that might help you with your decision.”
“Thanks.” I pushed away from the railing. “But you’re liable to just advise me to burn everything to the ground.”
She laughed, the sound causing more than a few sailors to turn our way. “Oh Kellik. Do you think I’ve lived this long by being that unsubtle? No. Your corruption will be a very gradual, delicate process. If I lead you too hard, you’ll balk. You must fall by very slow degrees, making one inconsequential decision after another, till their sum adds up to your irrevocable corruption. Have no fear. I’ll never be so crude as to push hard against your conscience.”
She leaned forward, smooth hand cupping my cheek as she raised her dark lips to my own. “And I promise you this: you will enjoy it, enjoy each step down that dark road. It’s why most walk it, after all: it feels so damn good.”
I stood there, frozen, as she brushed her lips against my own, then watched as she walked away, her whole body an orchestra to feminine beauty, her hips and long legs drawing the eye of every man she passed so that in her wake stood a dozen dullards, all of them gaping.
Me, unfortunately, amongst their number.
Rubbing vigorously at my face, I turned back to the ocean. By the Hanged God’s empty ball sack it was hard to focus on strategy with so many lethally gorgeous women around.
I stood at the railing for another hour, watching the sun slowly sink behind the horizon, its death a conflagration of spectacular hues, a molten trail of undulating gold extending from our ship across the entire ocean. The skies darkened, the wisps of cloud going from salmon pinks to burgundies and fuchsias until at last they became dark purples, cobalt blues, and finally slate gray.
The wind picked up, bringing with it a stinging spray as the waves grew larger, and with a grunt I finally straightened up, no plan decided upon. I’d have to do what I did best, and improvise.
Cerys approached, bundled in a thick seaman’s knitted sweater, her chin buried in the heavy collar. “Kellik. Good news. Tamara and Havatier are both awake.”
“Thank the gods,” I said, a wave of relief coursing through me. Until then I hadn’t realized just how afraid I’d been of losing her, of losing them both. “At the same time? That’s damn lucky.”
“No.” It was fascinating how her smile was so different from Netherys; where the dark elf’s was cruel amusement, alien and hinting at centuries of experience, Cerys’ was warm, simple in comparison, yet speaking of her own wit and quick mind. “Tamara woke first then healed Havatier, enough for him to awaken. She said he’d not have done so without her intervention. He owes her his life.”
“As do most of us. I’ll head down and say hello.”
“No need,” said Cerys, pushing me back gently, hand on my chest. “They’re coming up to Maestria’s cabin. Everyone’s agreed. We want to hear you out, immediately.”
I actually gulped, forcing down a dry swallow as my stomach knotted up and my palms suddenly prickled with sweat.
“Oh. Great. Fantastic. I’ve been, ah, eagerly awaiting this moment. All day, actually.”
She considered me. “I can tell. We’re all dying to know what happened between you and Jack. What you’re planning next, and whether we figure in those plans. Whether we want to take part.”
I forced a grin. “Oh, just you wait. You’re going to love it.”
“Sure we are.” Cerys lowered her hand. “Come on. They’re waiting.”
I took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly as I followed her across the deck toward Maestria’s door. Pony was ducking his head as he entered, Iris waiting just behind him, a black shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders. She smiled brightl
y at me, the wind blowing her veil across her high cheeks, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
At least someone here wasn’t going to be too upset when I revealed that I was descended from the worst monsters out of legend.
Cerys entered behind Iris, and as I stepped into the doorway I saw that everyone had already gathered within around Maestria’s table.
All eyes turned to me.
Another deep breath. I forced a confident smile, entered, and closed the door behind me.
Chapter 3
Had it been only last night that I’d slept in this cabin? Stepping forward, I was struck by a sense of surreal disbelief; already that night in Maestria’s arms seemed a year behind me. But the cabin was obviously the same and unchanged; the rear wall composed of five diamond-paned windows, thick drapes hanging on either side, while the other walls were the hull of the ship that curved up to the foredeck. Thick, richly woven carpets lay strewn over the boards, while a great four-poster bed dominated much of the space. Swords were crossed over the walls beside gilt mirrors, heavy furniture was bolted down, and a large circular desk was currently crowded with my companions, their faces illuminated by lamp light.
Maestria had settled into a large chair, and was leaning back, ringed fingers interlaced over her stomach. Pony was a gently subsiding mountain at the rear of the room, while Yashara eschewed the chairs which looked too small regardless to lean against the wall, arms crossed.
Tamara’s smile warmed me like nothing else. Face still waxen, she was obviously cheered at the sight of me. Havatier looked more a cadaver than a living man, and it was probably a coincidence that Iris had chosen to settle in the chair by his side. Cerys and Netherys rounded out the group, each of them settled in their own chair, and each and every one of them considered me as I moved forward.
I felt like a man on trial. A man being judged by a jury, most of whose members I’d fucked. Maestria, Netherys, Cerys, Yashara, Iris - had I really been intimate with all of them in some way or another over the past two or so days?