by Eli Steele
Baron and Griffon sat at the high table breaking their fast. “Eldrick!” Baron called down. “Join us.”
Sitting, the Kal’Dean poured himself a goblet of wine, before taking a gulp. He studied a heavy tapestry on the wall, the story of Dærnwyn.
Sliding a plate of dried fruit across the table, Griffon said, “Oh, the hole in the wall… whatever came of that? Did you find its source?”
With a snort, the spy replied, “…I think I just did.”
Chapter 33
Rowan Vos
The Cormorant
Off the Coastal Shelf
“You’re back,” Iseult said, surprised.
“I sought you ought.”
“It’s good to see you’re moving around with intention.”
Biting his lip, he scanned his surroundings.
She stood between two skulls, unlike the fiend’s from before. They looked human, but that wasn’t possible. The largest was maybe thirty feet tall, and the other, only slightly less. Gnarled trees, dead or leafless from the season, crowded in on them like ghouls. Roots like tendrils rose up out of the mire before arching down and slithering back in.
The mire...
Looking down, he saw he was standing in water above his ankles. Murky and stagnant, it stunk of decay. As he lifted his boot, a sucking sound chased after it. Mud dribbled off his boots like filthy molasses. Lilies the color of sickness floated nearby.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Somewhere you will be, but have not yet been.”
“Is this my future?”
She chuckled. “This is now, but... perhaps, you could think of it that way,” she added, clicking her tongue. “It is my present, and maybe your future. I have come to make a way for you here.”
“Why do you have to speak in riddles? Every last one of you... I’m always left with more questions than answers.”
She shrugged.
Never any answers...
He pointed. “The skulls, are they real?”
“What is real?”
I’ve heard that before...
“Were they living?”
Sighing, she replied, “No. But is this why you’re here? To waste my time with petty prattle? Let us talk of something that matters.”
“Fine, tell me of my father.”
Iseult shook her head. “He is dead. Bones in a crypt. A withered staff. It is not something I would speak of at this time.”
The thief felt his frustration mounting. He started to close his eyes, to leave the place – wherever it was – but decided against it.
We do have something to speak of...
Stepping forward, he met her at the skulls. “I snuffed out a flame with nothing but my will.”
The warwitch’s eyes lit up. “Indeed?”
He nodded.
“Now this...” Her mind was racing, he could see it in her eyes. “Like the floodgates of Turic Durum-“
“Like the what?”
“It matters not, the point is this – it is slow then swift. Continue dredging the depths.” Rapping the head of her staff on the skull, it glowed blue-green. “Now, I must go. There is much to do, much more than I thought. Until we meet again...” With a slight bow, she departed. The swamp’s haze absorbed her, leaving nothing but a faint blue-green glow trailing after, until it too was gone.
Rowan started to speak, but realized he was alone. Turning, he rubbed his hand across the skull’s rough surface.
That’s odd, it’s stone...
With one last look around, he closed his eyes.
* * * * *
...And opened them again. A hint of salt and creosote hung in the air, while a wood ceiling stared back at him. Turning his head, he saw the casks and the solitary crate. Atop it, a lantern glowed.
The ship’s hold...
Moving his hand down his body, he felt for his sword belt, but found it was missing. Peering over the edge of the cot, he saw it on the floor. Rowan slid Unforged from its sheath, laid it across his chest, and closed his eyes.
In the darkness, he saw the lantern. Straight as the Cormorant’s mast, the solitary tongue was without dance or flicker, guarded by the cloudy-glassed globe.
You’re a lonely flame...
Reaching out with his mind, he pinched it, and it was gone.
He sat upright.
Damn that was easy... Slow then swift…
The smoky ghost of the light curled in on itself like a ribbon as it floated to the ceiling.
Rowan planted his feet on the floor and sat upright. Stretching, he moved his arm about in a circle, testing the wound. It was sore but felt better, healing more by the day. Beside the cot was a poultice and fresh dressings. Holding the moist mass of medicine in place, he wrapped his shoulder as best he could. Pulling on his shirt, he fastened his sword belt, sheathed Unforged, and padded upstairs barefoot.
Wisps of white on blue with the occasional splotch of gray, the sky acted as if nothing had happened. Like a familiar song recalled, waves lapped their tranquil rhythm anew, but the deck of the Cormorant was in complete disarray.
Smashed casks were piled in heaps, waiting to be jetsammed. Broken railing splintered inward. A bedlam of lines entangled the deck, like the web of some disorganized sea spider.
“It looks worse than it is,” Sutton said, toting an armful of splintered planks. “The mast stands tall, the sails are full, and our lady takes on little water.” With that, he smiled.
For the first time, Rowan noticed Howland was wearing his saber. Casting a quick glance about, he saw the same of all the crew. “What’s with the weapons?”
“Keep your eyes on the sea, we’re off course. These waters can be strange.”
“Strange how?”
“The devils of the deep haunt them...”
The thief’s hackles stood on end. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’d do well to get back to where we ought. Until then, wear your blade.”
The thief slapped his sheath. “Always… wait, if you’re down here?” He turned towards the helm.
Kassina waved.
The captain chuckled. “Learning the tiller is slow then all of a sudden. Her slow just ended sooner than most, and storms like that make a fine master to apprentice under.“
“I don’t believe it.”
“I wouldn’t yet give her over to the helm unless the waters were as calm as they are today. Nevertheless, before you make your final port, she’ll be a capable nautiler.”
“I should-“
“Go,” Sutton interrupted, “see her.”
At the helm’s ladder, a young man approached Rowan with a measure of apprehension. “M’lord?”
Tall and wiry, he was maybe sixteen. A shock of unkempt hair like the evening redness fell just past his ears, matching his wind-burned cheeks. Splotches of freckles made him look younger still. The boy looked nervous to be standing before the thief. He fidgeted and averted his gaze.
“Yes?”
“Yesterday... in the storm...”
“You’re the one over the rail?”
“Name’s Ortun, sir.”
“Ortun, I’m glad to see you’re alright!”
“I owe you my life, m’lord.”
“Any of us would’ve done the same.”
“Maybe so, but they didn’t; you did. And I won’t forget it.” With a smile, he returned to his duties.
You up there, and me down here, I guess we’re part of the crew now, it seems…
Atop the helm, Rowan said, “Howland says you’re a natural.”
She rolled her eyes. “Howland hasn’t washed in at least a week. I’m not sure I trust his judgement on things.”
“He may smell like salted piss, but he knows his craft, so I’ll take his word on this at least.”
Kassina let out a sigh of contentment. Rowan could see the fire in her eyes, and her face was two tones darker from the sun. She looked past him to the horizon, guiding the ship with a steady hand on the ti
ller.
“The first port we make, I’m getting you a hat, just like Sutton’s.”
Snorting, she replied. “I’d like that.”
Leaning against the rail, he studied her in silence.
After a time, she cut her eyes his way and said, “What?”
“You’ve never looked better, Kass.”
Her tanned cheeks flushed red. Tangled blondish hair twisted in the wind. Sapphire eyes blazed like the sun glistening on the waves. “I’ve never felt better, to be honest. A hold full of wine casks and I haven’t been drunk since boarding. I don’t want to miss a moment in front of this tiller...” Her voice trailed off with a yawn.
“How’s it make you feel? Being up here.”
“Like I never want to go back to Ashmor. I don’t know, maybe free’s the word? Right here, no one can tell me what to do.”
“Except Howland...”
She cut him narrow eyes, before rolling them and grinning. “Except Howland...”
Leaning over the rail, Rowan said, “I’ve never seen the sea this color.”
“The storm blew us off the shelf. We’re in blue water. Sutton says there’s no bottom, that it goes on forever.”
“If there’s one thing I learned from the docks it’s this – the only people more superstitious than sailors are the fishwives, and they’re fouler of mouth, too.”
“Even still, the whole crew’s on edge.” Nudging the crossbow with her boot, she added, “and I’m not taking any chances.”
Rowan breathed in the salt air and felt the occasional sea spray on the nape of his neck. He disappeared for a time below deck and returned with an armful of sand apples and a couple of skins. Kassina refused any drink but the new wine, which was hardly wine at all. The sour-sweet apples were native to Beyorn, and grew just beyond the walls of Ashmor in endless rolling orchards. He reasoned he would miss them more than anything, except the old priest. “I wonder if he’s alright...”
“Brayden?” she replied. “Cecile’s a healer divine. Remember when I broke my arm?”
Rowan laughed. “The wall, you fell… and you blamed me.”
“You pushed me!”
“I did not!” he said, pushing her just then.
She caught his arm and pulled him near. Face to face, he could feel his heart quicken. He wanted to lean in, but didn’t. Cutting an eye to the side, he said, “We’ve got an audience.”
“Let ‘em stare,” she said, pulling him closer still. “They’ve been out here a long time. It’d do them good.”
He side stepped her and backed away to the rail.
A collective murmur rose up from the main deck.
Her face flushed red.
“Shit!” he shouted, withdrawing Unforged.
“What?”
“Howland!” Rowan shouted.
“Yeah!”
“Get your ass up here, now!”
“Ro, what is it?” she whispered.
The captain bounded up the ladder.
“There...” the thief said, pointing with the blade. “The shadow, something’s down there.”
“By the nine,” Sutton exclaimed, “whatever it is, she’s big.”
The dark mass under the water dove and flitted about, flaying out before drawing back in on itself. The men studied its moves, uncertain of what to say.
“It could be a fish,” Rowan offered.
“’Int no fish,” Howland replied, shaking his head.
And suddenly, it was gone.
“Where’d it go?”
“Shhh…” the captain whispered.
For several long minutes, the pair searched the deep.
“Is it gone?” Kassina asked, eyes forward.
Sutton turned and leaned against the rail. “Perhaps we got lucky.” As he finished speaking, seawater sprayed the helm’s deck. Up from the depths, a black tentacle rose, dripping and writhing and curling in on itself. “Son of a bawd!” Howland howled.
Scooping up her crossbow, Kassina was the first to reach the ladder. Rowan leapt from the helm’s deck, landing on the main with a roll. Before he could jump, the feeler lunged at the captain, wrapping itself around his waist and lifting him from the deck. Gasping for air, he managed a garbled squawk. From out of the water, the head of the monster emerged. Long, and bony, and ending at a point, it loomed over the Cormorant.
“It’s a kraken!” Ortun shouted.
High above the deck, Sutton’s face was as red as a winter wine, and fast turning purple. The giant squid reared back its head, exposing a series of smaller, lively tentacles. They bloomed outward as Howland was drawn in, revealing two mandibles that yawned open, before snapping down again.
“Kass, your bow!”
But she was ahead of Rowan’s thoughts. Pressing it against her shoulder, she closed an eye and squared the bolt with the kraken’s mouth. The beak clacked with a hungry cadence. Counting it off, she timed her shot.
Clunk!
The bolt surged through the air and disappeared into the creature’s mouth. Iron tore through soft flesh, burying the shaft to the fletching.
A squeal, like a porpoise damned, filled the air and stood hairs on end of everyone on deck. The captain screamed as the tentacle loosened its grip, dropping him a dozen feet to the helm. Landing in a heap, he dragged himself to the edge and rolled off and down to the main deck.
A wet gurgle dribbled from the monster’s mouth. With a second tentacle, it punched the side of the Cormorant, splintering wood and leaving a gaping hole just above the waterline. The tiller slammed to the side, starting the ship in a sharp turn. The lady leaned as she rolled to her port side, before straightening again as the squid slapped several feelers across the deck and attempted to heave itself up. As it did, the Cormorant shifted back to the starboard side. Timbers groaned and creaked and snapped in two.
“It means to capsize us...” Rowan said.
A long tentacle whipped out of the water and wrapped itself around the mast. “If we lose that we’re dead,” Sutton croaked, pulling himself to his feet.
“I’ll rally the crew and buy you some time” the thief said, “Get your ass up to the ballista and get the anchor tied to the bolt. Leave plenty of slack. Go!” Turning, he said, “Kass, go with him!”
“Please be careful,” she urged, before heading for the bow.
Scanning the deck, Rowan’s chest tightened. A tentacle slapped a man across the ship, slamming him into the railing. He landed in a heap, dead or unconscious.
“Swords!” he shouted, raising Unforged, “Draw steel and follow me, or we will all die!”
“Come on, you dour bastards!” shouted Ortun with words that contrasted his shrill screech.
A dozen men charged the kraken, small, and scared, and shivering from the wet of the sea spray and the cold of the evening. Shrieking, a sailor was lifted off the deck by a feeler and launched into the air. Rowan watched him land in the frothing water and get sucked into the depths by the churning limbs, like a mouse in a tangled den of snakes.
Hurling himself off the deck, the thief stretched Unforged overhead with both hands. Sea slime splattered as he struck the creature, burying the blade to its hilt. The undulling edge and his own body weight raked Rowan down the side of the monster, laying its thick hide wide as he did. Landing with bare feet back on the deck, Rowan turned and dashed for the hold’s portal. Behind him, sailors hacked at tentacles with their sabers, but it cared not. The squid’s black eyes searched for the foe with the unforgeable sword.
Rearing back, it splayed its mandibles wide and shrieked.
“Now, damn it!” Rowan shouted.
The high whine of the torsions springs was followed by the groaning of timber. Looking over his shoulder, the thief saw a bolt as big around as his leg sail through the air. Uncoiling rope whipped in the wind behind it. It slammed into the kraken’s flowering maw, sending it reeling backwards. As it fell, it snatched the anchor from the ship and sent it plunging into the depths.
Silence fell a
cross the deck as men waited for the creature to reemerge, but it never did. Kassina and Sutton dashed back to the helm and righted the Cormorant. Rowan plopped onto the deck, while the sounds of cheering men and raucous laughter went unheard by his ears.
Laying back, he looked skyward and watched another twilit fire blaze across the wide canvas. Oranges and reds and purples, the colors of wintry hearths and tapestries royal, bled wide before drawing back to the west, chased by shades of gray fading to black. By the time the first stars twinkled, the goings-ons of the ship had returned much to normal, or as near it could after having stared down a kraken.
He considered the long voyage ahead, and if the loss of others was worth his own selfish revenge. Bust most of all, he thought of the headless adversary in Thim Dorul, the one that Unforged could not fell, and wondered again if perhaps he never should’ve left Ashmor after all. He imagined Iseult, with all of her riddles, somewhere ahead preparing a way, and pondered what that even meant.
Chapter 34
Byron Dhane
Meronian Encampment
Outside of Bearbrook
Kingdom of Meronia
The industrious smell of coal dust and molten iron hung thick in the air, burning Byron’s nose, though the smell wasn’t offensive. Behind Gorv, bellows whooshed and a fire roared as his partner continued working the forge, indifferent to customers, regardless of name or renown.
On the table was the daystar, polished to a shine, lustering by the light of the flames. Beside it was the shield. The sigil of House Dhane, torch and fist, was emblazoned on the front.
“A weapon like this deserves a name, m’lord,” Gorv said.
Though he hadn’t considered the thought before, Byron didn’t hesitate. “Lordsbane,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. Testing its balance with several slow swings, he dropped the shaft through the oversized loop on his belt.
Havar lifted the shield. “Here,” he said, holding it out.
The commander slipped his stub into the leather boot and fastened the strap himself. Drawing it in close, he saw his house words painted in red across the top of the shield’s back.
We Light the Way
The gesture touched him, more than he would’ve expected. Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes for a moment before looking up at the men. “These last few days have been the hardest of my life. I’ve lost my men, and the source of my identity. A soldier without a sword arm is no longer a soldier, and a commander without an army is, well...” He paused, gathering his thoughts and tamping back his emotions. “The road back to Bearbrook was the longest I’ve ever ridden. And through all of this, I’ve felt unmanned. Thank you, both of you, for giving who I am back to me.” His eyes were moist by the time he’d finished. If the men saw it, their faces didn’t betray it.