Gold & Glory

by M. H. Johnson

  "Yet," Fitz added with a grim little smile.

  "Exactly." Sorn's matching grin was fierce. "Now, before I go up top, I'm going to make sure my suspicions are correct. Something I should have done from the start." He admitted this last bit aloud, feeling humbled by his own foolishness. He should have checked the wine for poison to begin with, bypassing his cousins until he knew for sure. For if it had indeed been nothing but bad wine, Kalek's behavior might be attributed to little more than the addled mind of a vice-laden drunk, and a lot of damage and chaos might have been avoided. If he truly was innocent of foul play, then Kalek was owed some restitution which would certainly cut into profits. Sorn winced at the thought.

  Back at Kalek's quarters, a quietly whispered cantrip effortlessly cast upon the tainted flasks soon revealed the depravity of the man, and the accuracy of Sorn's suspicions. Kalek, Sorn resolved, was going to pay. Focus first, he reprimanded himself, before he charged up on deck in reawakened fury. Calmly, breathing deeply, he sought the tranquil center of his being.

  With the intense concentration that came to him so naturally after hundreds of hours of practice, Sorn summoned forth and released multiple webs of power. These spells of protection were ones he had spent many countless hours mastering for the day he might need them for real. Each spell was deliberately and carefully considered, as preparations for the potential battle he might face. First, he cast the most potent of his magics and thus the most difficult to cast, a ward to protect the caster from combat, absorbing the kinetic force of a number of blows before the arcane energy was itself expended. It affected blows from all areas save the soles of his feet, less the impact of normal movement otherwise dissipated the spell.

  A ward for protection from missiles followed, a far easier spell of the second magnitude, whose web he had mastered sufficiently such that the fiery energies of his essence flowed through quickly and easily, drawn forth, in part, by the web itself. It was good for redirecting the kinetic force of projectile weapons away from the caster, using up energy in this fashion, and eventually fading out in similar fashion to his first spell.

  A subtle field of force was the result of the third spell cast, the protective warding good for causing glancing blows to miss entirely. As the spell would last for a number of hours, it would help keep the other protective wards from being drained by glancing blows. Out of habit alone, he gracefully shaped the web and effortlessly filled a fourth spell of minor power, this spell reflexively absorbing a portion of all violent elemental energies cast at it, using those very energies to maintain the spell. This minor protection from various elemental energies would also last many hours before dissipating.

  The enforced calmness entailed by the practice of his art left him clear headed enough to plan, as well as to appreciate the subtlety of his own magics. The defensive wards he had cast had no visible effects and indeed, left little evidence that a spell was in effect at all. A foe would think his blow had simply missed, or that he was just unable to pierce a chain shirt or gambeson underneath Sorn's clothes. Only a skilled magic user would have reason to think otherwise, and few spell casters indeed had the talent to see the arcane magics protecting Sorn in any case.

  Sorn thought it best if he did not allow the extent of his abilities to become known, and since he really didn't want to be responsible for the taking of multiple lives, should such prove unnecessary here, there would definitely be witnesses to whatever ensued in the next handful of minutes, for good or ill. After all, he had no knowledge that the crew knew of Kalek's treachery, and he would rather not have them bandy about tales of his powers or, most importantly, his ability to hide from the human eye, and the incredible advantage this could give him. He ultimately decided not to cast a ward of invisibility, or any spells but the subtle magics he had cast, so that rumor would not rob him of the opportunity to catch an unsuspecting foe unawares at a later date and time.

  Sorn held onto his calm as he went back to their rather tattered stateroom, grabbing his sword as he walked past his cousins, finding himself the sole focus of their intent, uniform gaze. Sorn didn't trust himself to speak at that moment, only giving them an affirmative nod as he turned around to leave their quarters. His fragile equilibrium, however, quickly left him as he entered the grain storage area, catlike vision allowing him to clearly see the bulkhead across the cavernous storeroom filled with sacks of grain. His mood was steadily becoming one of reawakened outrage as the reality of Kalek's treachery struck him anew. In truth, it was a rage laced with excitement, as a dark part of him felt nothing but gleeful anticipation with the prospect of violence and bloodshed ahead.

  8

  With a resounding crack, Sorn shattered the locked hatch, charging up the cargo hold stairs and leaping out onto the deck above amidst a shower of wooden splinters.

  A cluster of very startled crewmembers nearest to the bulkhead immediately began backing away in startled terror, their gazes helplessly riveted upon Sorn's glaring countenance. His unsheathed blade held in a tight-knuckled grip, Sorn roared.

  "Kalek, you pustulant sack of filth, show yourself!"

  Within moments, Sorn spied a wide-eyed Kalek instinctively crouching behind the grim-faced Riegland, the captain's thick arms crossed over his torso much as Sorn had seen him before, scowling at Sorn and shaking his head with sneering disbelief.

  "Was it you making that racket, setting my men afeared of spirits? I don't take kindly to uppity lads, however much they ape lordly ways like a monkey. Put down your toy, lad." At this point, Riegland drew his own scimitar, flashes of sunlight reflecting off its mirror perfect surface. "And get below. You and your friends are over your heads in business that no longer concerns you. The grain is ours, boy. You lost, we won, deal with it. If you choose to take it like a man, we just might let you walk away with your own skins. You'll have your lives, and know not to play at being adults until you have the strength of muscle to back it up. Fight me like a rabid dog, however, too stupid to know you've lost, too weak to admit it, and I'll split you like the worthless cur you are."

  Riegland's mouth flashed in a nasty parody of a grin, a number of gold teeth flashing in the sunlight. "Well, boy, what's it going to be?"

  To which Sorn roared a response that transcended all language barriers, effortlessly dodging the one halfhearted swipe of a dagger and returning the favor with a hilt bash that sent the offending crewman spinning wildly before crashing to the deck, as Sorn charged with blinding speed toward a grinning Riegland.

  Immediately the sound of steel clanging on steel could be heard throughout the ship as their blades met each other with a flurry of blows. Riegland's naturally powerful physique coupled with the tight circular motions of his well-balanced scimitar allowed for quick slashes considerably swifter than what a broadswordsman could normally deliver. Sorn's saber skills, however, enabled him to meet the captain's onslaught with a blistering series of parries and counterstrikes of his own, his unnatural strength allowing for a speed of movement normally seen only with the lightest fencing blades, the power of Sorn's blows evident to all. Riegland's formerly sneering countenance soon shifted to surprise before sliding into a grim mask of concentration, and Sorn could smell the man's growing fear.

  It would have shocked the intently focused Riegland, fighting with such a furious intensity to save his own life, to know that Sorn could have ended it far sooner. Sorn's goal was two-fold in this battle, striving first and foremost to pull back from the instinctive killing thrusts and slashes to throat and torso that presented themselves from time to time, and secondly, looking for the opportunity to aim a sharp blow to the captain's arm with the flat of his blade.

  Soon enough came the sickening crack as Sorn, expertly spinning Riegland's slash away, riposted with a snapping blow with the flat of his blade to the man's forearm with force sufficient to crack bone and send Riegland's scimitar sliding to the edge of the prow. The captain stumbled to the ground, holding his arm in agony, looking at Sorn with an expression of shock,
and no small amount of fear.

  Sorn quickly spun around with an adroit grace, sword forward, letting the crew know in no uncertain terms that an attack from their quarter would neither be unexpected nor tolerated before once again turning to face a heaving captain, still looking at Sorn in utter disbelief.

  "So tell me, Captain, did you know that Kalek tried to poison us?"

  Calculating to catch Riegland off guard while he was still in shock, all Sorn saw was genuine surprise and disbelief in the man's expression. If it was an act, it was masterfully done.

  "It was a sleeping drought, that's all, boy," Riegland muttered at last. "We were just to put you to sleep, and the four of you would have been taken off the ship at the port we were going to, along with the grain."

  Kalek, huddling in the corner, was trembling so hard he could barely speak. "Your words mean nothing! You're just a mad delusion, you're not even really there!" He laughed maniacally then. Already partly unhinged, the shock of the battle seemed to have pushed him over the brink of rationality completely. Trembling hands reached desperately for a flask hidden in his furs, and he drunk deeply, spilling as much as he consumed, the acrid odor indicating it was raw spirits he drank. "Not there," he uttered, smiling madly. "I need my pipe," he mewed to no one in particular, and made his trembling way to the passenger bulkhead, desperately seeking to place as much distance between himself and this made delusion as possible.

  He gave a shocked squeal, however, when Sorn, having resheathed his sword and still feeling no small amount of outrage coursing through him despite the victory of battle, effortlessly hoisted Kalek by his fur coat and shook him like a dog. Teeth cracking painfully together while his neck snapped back and forth, a formerly overbearing and pompous Kalek shrieked to be let go.

  "Are you sure?" Sorn asked, voice dripping with a malicious sweetness that would have sent tremors through Kalek, had he not been completely unhinged.

  "Please, let me go. You're not even real! Just let me go!" The man sobbed.

  "Alrighty!" Sorn said, striding quickly to the prow and dangling a now shrieking Kalek over the side, much to the amusement of the crew who, from the contemptuous stares sent Kalek's way, despised the drunken trader and were enjoying the bit of free entertainment. Even Riegland looked at Kalek with amused contempt, even as he held his arm and winced.

  Riegland's voice was scathing when next he spoke. "So this was your brilliant plan, Kalek? Drug them all and sail on to Abletown, and we'd all make a quick fortune selling the grain to your buyer. Oh, you looked so pleased that all we had to deal with were a couple of boys. Young fops, every one of them, right Kalek? Well look where your stupid ideas and drunken vices have gotten us now! To think I fought to save your greasy hide, and all you can do is blubber for your damn pipe, you worthless piece of gutter trash!"

  "Now, Kalek," Sorn said patiently once Kalek's shrieks had died off to whimpers, "you and I are going to have a little talk. It seems that our good captain has confirmed that you were set for something of a double-cross. Isn't that so, dear Kalek?" Kalek frantically nodded his head to Sorn's acid sweet interrogation.

  "We'll start easy. Why don't you just confirm for me the destination first, dear boy?" Sorn said the last bit with particular satisfaction, having been condescended to once too often by the treacherous drunk squealing in his arms.

  "I'm sorry, what was that?" Sorn's voice was syrupy sweet, even as he shook the man so violently his thick cloak began to tear, setting Kalek to screeching again. "Speak up, Kalek!"

  "Abletown," Kalek whimpered.

  "Ah, excellent progress we're making here, dear boy! Second question. Who was the buyer that you were supposed to meet? I know you got a name! Well, dear boy? We're waiting!"

  "Um… John. I'm to meet trader John Bigsby at the Hogshead inn."

  Sorn, though no expert at interrogation, felt that this answer was given a bit too quickly, was just a bit too pat.

  "Kalek!" Sorn began, deliberately slamming a screaming Kalek into the prow of the boat as he shook him. "There is something you should know about me. Do you want to know what that is? One. I can smell your fear, so I know exactly when you're lying to me. How do you think I knew you were set for treachery of some sort, the moment we met?"

  This last bit was a lie, of course, Sorn acknowledged to himself, embarrassed at how naive he had been for so long to Kalek's malign intentions, not even being clued in by the sour smelling wine, not even thinking about using the most basic cantrips to check for poison! Sorn shook the dangling Kalek once again, as frustrated with himself as he was with the man dangling before him. "Point two, Kalek. I hate liars. I absolutely hate them!" This he punctuated by slamming Kalek, albeit far more gently than he could have, against the prow. As soon as Kalek's cries had died to an exhausted moan, Sorn continued, figuring the man too drained and terrified to attempt further dissembling.

  "Who is the man you are to meet in Abletown, and where? Now, Kalek, now! Don't think, just answer!" Sorn punctuated his demand by shaking Kalek vigorously, allowing the man absolutely no time to think, though avoiding banging him against the side of the boat.

  "Please!" Kalek plead. "It's my life if I tell!" At which point Kalek began to vomit.

  "Got it all out of your system dear boy?" Sorn inquired with acid politeness once Kalek's vomiting had turned to dry heaves. "Excellent. Now answer the damn question and no more bloody dissembling! Don't you think it's me that you should fear? You can always run when you get to port. You have nowhere to go right here!" Sorn began shaking Kalek violently once more, leaving the broken man too terrified and distracted to tell anything but the truth. "Who were you going to sell the grain to!?"

  "Valsrem Tilgroth!" Kalek cried. "Valsrem Tilgroth at the Fat Leopard Inn!" Kalek broken voice faded to a whimper with those last words.

  "Excellent! Now, next question. Who set up the trade? What was his name and what did he look like? Don't think about the question, just answer it!" Sorn punctuated this last bit by slamming Kalek against the prow of the boat once more, though no harder than he had before.

  "Okay, okay!" Kalek shrieked, "his name was Mavrins! He wore a lavender doublet and met me at the den! His hair was white, and he had a mustache. He didn't really look like he fit in!"

  "Den?" A puzzled Sorn quarried.

  "He means opium den." Riegland smirked. "The wonderful vice that sunk him into that whimpering, mewling pathetic pile of shit you presently have dangling over the prow.

  "Ah," Sorn said. "Now, Kalek. What about the poison?"

  "He gave me a small case. No one asks questions there, I can assure you. In it was a black vial. All I had to do was put a few drops in each of the wine flasks, and it was guaranteed to put you to sleep for the entire voyage! Valsrem Tilgroth's men were to cart you off deck when he got the grain, and leave you all in front of an inn somewhere. I swear!"

  "Well the fact, Kalek, is that the contents of that vial would most definitely have put any unfortunate imbiber to sleep. Forever." Sorn took a deep shuddering breath to control his anger, fighting a suddenly acute impulse to simply fling Kalek as far from the prow as he could, and watch him drown in the crashing waves. "It was poison, you damn inebriated fool! You must have had some suspicion. After all, who would want to risk waking up four well-trained guards while unloading a ship full of grain? And that was what you were expecting, right, Kalek? not four 'harmless' youths. My guess is that you were just too hungry for the gold to want to trouble yourself with that ugly little fact." Sorn snarled. "We do not take kindly to those who value our lives so cheaply! You're a treacherous worm and a filthy drunk, Kalek, and I think it's high time you took a swim. What do you think about that?"

  At which point an exhausted and defeated Kalek caught his second wind, immediately putting it to use shrieking in terror and begging for mercy.

  "Go ahead, boy," a smirking Riegland said to Sorn. "Throw the blubbering piece of lard over. I guarantee not a man here will care, one way or another."

  S
orn sighed and shook his head. "As much as it might tempt me to, Captain, the fact is that we made a deal. And I always keep my end of the bargain." Sorn then turned to address the blubbering piece of lard presently dangling over the prow by his hand. "We're going to York, Kalek!" Sorn shouted, looking with contempt at the pathetic excuse for a merchant who was still gazing at the sea below in wild-eyed panic. "And there we are going to sell the grain, and you'll get your cut, as per our contract. And if I ever see your slimy, treacherous, drunken rear again, anywhere, I will not hesitate to yank off your arm and beat you to death with it. Are we clear, dear Kalek?" Sorn flashed a caustic smile, a dark part of him reveling in the sheer horror Kalek radiated as he begged and pleaded before Sorn slammed him back onto the deck.

  Kalek got up with a whimper, trying futilely to staunch the flow of blood from his smashed nose. He couldn't help but flinch and whimper as soon as he caught sight of Sorn looming over him. "Mark my words, Kalek. You'd better flee after you get your money. I think there are at least a few people who might be interested to know of merchant Kalek's treachery, and not at all amused by four flasks of poisoned wine! So I suggest you scoot as fast as your drunken little legs can carry you once you get your cut, because if I don't find you, I'm sure the authorities will!"

  Kalek, far too shocked and stunned to do anything but huddle and whimper, could only nod his head and mewl piteously.