Blood Of The Righteous

by J. E. Sandoval

  * * * * * *

  A hard rap on the door awoke David from his deep, peaceful sleep. The small cabin he had been given in the forecastle didn’t reek as badly as his cabin on the riverboat, but it was far from clean, although a good bit bigger. Captain Karinga had mentioned that passengers occasionally used these cabins, but he allowed the officers to have them when the Waverunner was on cargo runs. Since most of the crew had spent the night ashore, three of the four of the small cabins were available.

  “Yeoman Tanner! Wake up!” Fyke’s voice was a bit too cheerful this early in the morning. “The some of the crew are coming on board and the Captain wants you to meet them! Come on, lad, you’re going to sleep the day away!”

  David rubbed his eyes, coughed up and spat out a smoky phlegm ball. “I’ll be right there, sir!” he said groggily.

  “Calling me sir is like putting a gold ribbon on a sack of cow dung. Just call me Fyke. Everyone else does. Now come on, Tanner! It’s noontime already!”

  Noon? It didn’t feel like he had slept that long. Then again, he couldn’t remember much of anything after getting into his room. He had impressions of lying down, a feeling of safety, and then the next thing he remembered was Fyke knocking on his door. Thirteen hours… He sprang up from the pallet, fearful that Karinga or Fyke might be cross with him for oversleeping. Rolling up his oversized sleeves and pants, David opened the door and walked into the sunlight. He had to avert his eyes, as they had become accustomed to the darkness. He walked onto the deck of the ship, once again being stunned by the beauty of the sea.

  Fyke clapped him on the shoulder, which made David twinge. He was still in a lot of pain from the beating he had received the day before.

  “Top of the day to you, Tanner,” Fyke said, adjusting his tricornered hat so it cast a shadow over his eyes. “The crew will be along any minute. In the mean time, would you like something to eat or drink?”

  It did sound inviting. “Yes sir, although there is something else I need to take care of first.” David bit his lip, his sense of manners making him reluctant to talk about bodily functions.

  “Just piss over the side, lad.” Fyke stepped over to the doorway leading to the lower decks. “Hey Doc! Bring our new Yeoman up some good grubbin’!”

  David walked over to a space in the rail on the ship’s port side, facing the sea, and after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he nervously relieved himself into the water below.

  A man dressed in a dirty white apron with a tray of biscuits, a cut of salted pork, and a wooden cup came up the stairs. He set the tray on a small table by the doorway, and looked David up and down. “So Cor, this is the lad who’s gonna make us all rich, eh?”

  “Indeed he is, Doc. David Tanner, meet Tye Moran, ship’s cook.”

  Tye extended his hand to David. “Folks on board call me Doc. Pleased to meet you, Yeoman Tanner.”

  David glanced at the man’s hand. “Sir, forgive me for not shaking your hand, but I just… um…”

  “He just took a piss, Doc,” Fyke said.

  David blushed, as he was not used to such coarse talk.

  Doc laughed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, grabbing David’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “No worse than what goes into the food every day.”

  David pulled his hand back, horrified. He glanced at the meal Doc had brought up, then over to Fyke, who was chuckling.

  “He’s just teasin’ you, Tanner.”

  Doc nodded, smiling. “I’ll be down fixin’ up some of Quenton’s hangover remedies for the crew, Cor, if you need me.” With that, Doc walked through the doorway, returning to the lower decks, wiping his right hand on his apron.

  “Go wash up. There’s a wash basin in your room.”

  David hurried back into the room and washed his hands. He came back out, finding Fyke staring southward towards a group of ships anchored a distance in the harbor. Walking over to the tray that Doc had left him, he split open a biscuit and put the piece of pork between the two halves. He inhaled deeply, smelling the pork, and for the first time in days, exhaled deeply instead of coughing. He was definitely on the mend. David bit deeply into the pork biscuit and tore a piece off, chewing it slowly.

  “Jax needs to get back here soon. Ferndock isn’t going to like what we did to his men last night,” Fyke said, not taking his eyes off of the ships to the south. “He hates us as it is, with Jax refusing to pay tribute to him and his pirate boss. Stick with us, you may be in for more than you bargained for, Tanner.” He lowered his voice. “I’m in for more than I bargained for,” he said, to no one in particular.

  David swallowed the chewy meat and bread. Taking the cup, he took a deep drink. His eyes flew open as he staggered back, almost tipping the cup over as he set it on the railing. Fyke slapped him on his back, chuckling, as David gave a deep, guttural cough.

  “Just a bit of extra strong mead there, Tanner! It’s good for you. Puts hair on your chest! Can’t hold your drink there, eh lad?”

  David’s cough subsided. “No, it isn’t that sir… um, I mean Fyke. I just wasn’t expecting it. I thought it was water and I…”

  Fyke’s eyes lit up. “You haven’t got the hocking cough, have you?”

  “Oh, no sir! No, I swear it! There was a fire and…” David stopped in mid sentence, thinking he had said too much. If Corwyn or Karinga figured out who he was, he had no idea what they might do. While they seemed nice enough, David wasn’t going to take any chances on anyone turning him in.

  Fyke relaxed. “Ah, caught in that mess up in Lystra, eh? Shame what happened up there. Ki Kalendeen and Branvold were good men. My father fought for Ki Kalendeen when he was a general for King Nicolae. He fought with him at Korval, Crystal Springs, and at Denning. Tanner, do you know how they knocked down the Denning walls?”

  David shook his head, answering honestly.

  Fyke looked back southward towards Ferndock’s ship. “Neither do I. Old Pap knew, though. But he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “He wouldn’t have told anyone. Lord Ki Kalendeen only picked the men he trusted at Denning to help him, and swore them all to secrecy. Father always said…” David had done it again. He felt a lump in his throat as he started to choke up.

  “He said what, lad?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fyke. My father was with Lord Ki Kalendeen also at Denning.” David turned and started sobbing.

  Fyke put his hand on David’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Davey. Me and Jax figured that your father was killed in Lystra. Probably by the looters, right? They set his shop on fire and you escaped. Am I right?”

  David wiped his eyes, trying to stop crying. “No, it isn’t that. My father sent me and his apprentice, Alex, to Lystra to buy new tanning tools. Alex’s cousin lives in Lystra, and went to the Ki Kalendeen’s for the wedding. I didn’t want to go, so I stayed at the inn. Alex never made it back.”

  Fyke nodded. “Well, that explains why you had so much gold taken from you by Ferndock’s men. Would you like us to take you home to Northpoint?”

  David shook his head. “After losing Alex and all of that gold, home is the last place I want to go.”

  “Yeah, but you want to let your father know you’re still alive, right?”

  “I went to Pigeon Post when I first arrived in New Portsmouth,” David lied. He was suddenly hit with a wave of sadness and began to sob, which he quickly forced back down. “I’m sorry, Mister Fyke. I’ll try to be stronger.”

  “Lad, let me tell you something that might make you feel a bit better. You saved Jax’s life yesterday, and probably mine too. Jax isn’t a man to forget a blood debt like that. It is part of his Gylinian heritage. You are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. We spend a lot of time at sea, and there ain’t nothing like the expansive water and a cool salt spray to chase away the head demons. Now,” he said, handing David the cup o
f mead, “drink up.” He pointed out towards the dock. “Here comes three of our best people now.”

  David drained the cup of mead, suppressing another cough. Fyke’s words had made him feel a bit better. He glanced up at the three men coming on board. The first was a tall, older man with sunken features and short, black hair. He wore heavy sailor’s clothing and had an air of authority about him.

  “That’s Dunkirk. He’s our boatswain. The crew know to not get on his bad side before he’s had his mead ration in the morning,” Fyke said. “He can teach you how to pick a lock if you’d like.”

  “Who’s the bald man in the fancy clothes?” David asked.

  “He’s our ship’s surgeon, Quenton. Nice fellow. Good with the herbalist and apothecary remedies and such. Once saw him amputate a man’s arm in twenty seconds.”

  “And the stocky guy?”

  “He’s our Jimmy-Legs, Stockmoor. But everyone calls him Edge. He’ll teach you how to fight with a blade, Tanner. If he had been with us yesterday, he would have walloped all four of Ferndock’s men while holding in a fart.”

  David chuckled a bit at Fyke’s last comment while taking the last bite of his pork biscuit. “You were pretty good with that throwing knife last night, Mr. Fyke. Can you teach me?”

  “Did I hear someone askin’ to learn how ta’ throw a knife?” Edge said, reaching the top of the gangplank.

  Fyke led David over towards the three men. “Gents, I’d like you to meet our new Yeoman, David Tanner.”

  Dunkirk gave David a half smile and a nod and headed towards the forecastle cabins.

  Quenton grabbed David’s right hand and shook it vigorously. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tanner. Looks like you’ve been in a scrape in the last day or so. After I get settled, I’d like to look you over a bit and make sure you are alright.”

  “Nonsense, Quenton, the lad looks right as rain to me. A few bruises and scrapes, it drives the ladies wild, eh?” Edge said, giving David a light slug on the arm, causing him to blush a bit. “I’m the one who taught Fyke ta throw like that, lad. I can teach y’ too, and show y’ how ta fight like a pit slayer!”

  The surgeon pressed his lips together. “I think the lad needs to get some rest and heal up proper, Edge, before you go slapping him around and poking him with your practice sword.”

  “Alright. You take good care of him, Quenton!”

  “Come on, lad. The rest of the crew will be along shortly. Captain says we’re setting sail with the afternoon tide.”

  With that, he led David down into the sickbay.

  * * * * * *

  Eleenia slowly opened her eyes. Had it all been a dream? She glanced around at her surroundings, finding that she was in her own bed. Oddly enough, she was still wearing her day clothes and shoes. The smell of aromatic herbal tea filled her room. She glanced over to the small fireplace, seeing Gabriel tending to the fire, her small teapot hanging over it. He was still crying, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Reality hit her like a fist in the gut as she realized that it hadn’t been a dream. She felt under her bed for her chamber pot, and pulling it out, she emptied her stomach into it.

  Gabriel poured the steaming tea into a tall mug as Eleenia finished. He walked over and sat down by her on her bed. “Here, drink some of this.”

  Eleenia took the cup into her hand. She was grateful for her brother’s watching after her. Raising the hot liquid to her lips, she took a slurping sip. She smiled a bit, as Gabriel had made the tea far too strong. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I hope I made it correctly.”

  “It is fine,” she lied, setting the mug down on her nightstand. She took a deep breath and a cold shudder ran through her. She looked to her brother and drew strength from his presence. “Gabriel, did they tell you what happened?”

  Gabriel sighed heavily. “From what I’ve been told, there was an attack on the castle during the wedding. Soldiers from Aragil, they say. They killed everyone and now they are marching on southern Elganin. Reports are still coming in. It would appear that after King Tyral died, so did Prince Eric, and now Dorian is on the throne.”

  “Tobias’ brother,” Eleenia said through her clenched teeth.

  Gabriel put his arm around his sister. “Now El, Tobias had nothing to do with it. He hates Dorian also.”

  Eleenia put her head against her brother’s shoulder. “Why would anyone do such a thing?” El cried. “Mother, Father, oh, poor little David! And on Alexander’s big day! He and Mareth would have been so happy! Why?!? How could God allow this to happen?” El began to weep deeply. “Oh, Gabriel, what are we going to do without them?”

  Gabriel wiped the tears from her eyes, then from his own. “We’re going to have to go on. I guess once you finish your coursework you can stay on as an instructor. I understand that your mentors are most impressed with your knowledge. You always were the smart one, El.”

  Eleenia nodded. “I hope they don’t send you away once you become a full knight. You are all I have left in the world.” She once again began to sob heavily.

  “Well, you do have…” Gabriel took a deep breath. “You do have Janelle and Holle.”

  Eleenia sat up and stared at him in disbelief.

  “Now don’t look at me that way,” Gabriel said. “I don’t approve of either of them, especially Argos. They are both arrogant, disrespectful, and don’t know their place. But…” Gabriel clenched his fist and continued. “Their friendship makes you happy, and like you said, I probably won’t be here once I become a full knight.”

  Eleenia hugged her brother and began to cry again. Her tears were born of anguish, but tempered with a hint of relief.

  Gabriel put his arm around her and let her spill her tears. The words he spoke were some of the hardest he had ever had to say. Janelle Argos was a common little trollop who didn’t know her place. Her family going off to war was no excuse for her hatred of the church or her rebellion against societal norms. Hatred against men in general and her constant lashing out at those in authority spoke of her weak character and her purely emotional world view, devoid of any hint of logical thought. If Janelle wanted to be angry at someone, she should be angry at her father for not remarrying after her mother had died in childbirth. A girl needed a mother to teach her how to behave like a woman, just as a boy needed a father to help him be a man. Her father had failed her, trying to raise a son and a daughter by himself, especially as a mercenary in the employ of the Elgannan army. The war had raged for four generations, and while Elgannan had temporarily gained the advantage for the first time since the fall of Denning to Caledonia seven years ago, it was far from over.

  Denning, The Unconquerable City. It was the pride of Caledonia for hundreds of years, and the staging point of every attack upon Elgannan for as long as anyone could remember. Its alabaster walls could be seen from a day’s journey away, gleaming in the bright sun as a beacon to traders and travelers, and as mocking dare to any army who dared attack. They had withstood attacks from enemy armies, clans of desert nomads, marauding barbarians from the west, and terrible storms of rain, hail, wind, and ice. Scholars of academia and warfare alike had said the fortified walls of Denning would stand until the Day of Judgment. They had been gravely mistaken, and Caledonia had paid the price for its overconfidence.

  Ten years prior, an army under the command of Gabriel’s father, Lord General Alexander Ki Kalendeen III, had knocked down a large section of the southern walls. The method used to do this was unknown to most of the world, most of his army, and even to his family. Gabriel had asked his father several times how he had accomplished what generations of scholars had said could not be done, but an answer was never forthcoming. All Gabriel ever received was a reassurance that there was nothing supernatural involved.

  Gabriel began to become choked up. A lump formed in his throat as his thoughts turned to his father. He was plea
sed that his father had been proud of him and heaped praises upon him for his decision to serve the Church. His last meeting with his father had been when he brought Eleenia to the university, saying goodbye to his only and beloved daughter. Gabriel was thankful that his final parting words with his father were words of encouragement, appreciation, and pride.

  The bells that signaled the serving of the evening meal rang in the distance, bringing Gabriel’s thoughts back to the present. He had no appetite, and would stay with his sister as long as his duties would permit, or as long as she wanted him to stay.

  Suddenly, Eleenia sat straight up. “Gabriel! I almost forgot! Bishop Sentius has ordered me to report to his office in two hours!”

  Gabriel forced a reassuring smile. “He most likely wants to tell you of the news.”

  “But why would he have waited so long? Wouldn’t he assume that you would tell me?” She bit her lip nervously. Understanding passed between them without words, as the Bishop’s reputation for taking advantage of young women in distress was a constant source of rumor in the halls of the university.

  Gabriel took his sister’s hand. “Not to worry, El. I shall be there with you.”

  “The note says that I am to come alone.”

  Eyes narrowing, Gabriel gave Eleenia’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He spoke in a cold, forceful voice. “Note be damned. I shall be with you when you speak with his Grace. Oath or no oath, I promise you that as long as there is still life in me, no harm shall befall you that I have the power to prevent.”

  Eleenia hadn’t realized how much of the fires of anxiety had filled her until they were extinguished by Gabriel’s words.

  * * * * * *

  “Well, Mr. Tanner, you definitely are on the mend.” Quenton began to put his instruments away. “You can put your shirt back on now.”