by C. M. Gray
'There… a light… as promised Captain.' Tarent pointed, a big grin splitting his rain washed face as his hand came up to brush the water from his eyes, praying to the Source that they weren't deceiving him. A moment later, a similar cry was repeated by a lookout, high above in the crows-nest and the relief was plain to see on the Captain's face, even in this low light.
'Two points to port,' came the cry from above and the two helmsmen responded, fighting with the ship's wheel to bring them sluggishly round towards the cliff and what looked at first to be certain catastrophe upon the rocks. It was only as they edged closer that a fold became visible in the rock face, a feeble light placed high on a rock on the weather side.
Loras glanced back from where he and Magician Falk stood at the side of the ship and waved to Tarent, a huge smile of relief upon his face. Despite their magical abilities, both Magicians were soaked to the skin and as ready as any of them to find shelter and rest.
The two ships rushed through the mouth, riding the surging waves, the timbers of The Jenny rumbling as she slid against the sheer cliff before entering the hidden harbour. As they passed, Tarent gazed across at the small oil lamp that was their signal, a tiny speck of light in the storm, perched precariously upon a rock. How they had found their way here and seen this light had to have been a miracle of the Source, a balance to the Chaos of the storm? How Quint had placed it there must surely have been another miracle.
Once inside the protection of the anchorage The Jenny and Black Destiny moved into a different world, the wind immediately dropped to a distant ghostly wail and the water became relatively calm. Frequent flashes of lightning continued, revealing two other ships at anchor, the larger of which was easily recognisable as The Esmerelda.
A short while later and the crew were united and sitting around a rather impressive dining table on board The Esmerelda, the portly figure of Bartholomew Bask sitting as host at the head of the table, beaming down its length at the row of silent faces staring back at him.
'Oh, the irony of life eh, lads, there we were chasing each other ter hell and gone, and here we all now sit, brothers in arms, so ter speak.' Sweat beaded the fat merchant's brow and his smile threatened to split his face as he waited for some kind of response.
Tarent tore his gaze away. 'Is there anything you feel you should tell us, Quint, anything at all? Because this feels very strange to be sitting here with…' he motioned with his head, '… him.' Before Quint could answer, the doors to the galley swung open and a line of stewards bearing trays of food marched in and the serious business of filling hungry stomachs became the priority. Between mouthfuls of baked potatoes and grilled fish, Quint told of their journey over the Massif, with details later added by Mahra and Pardigan, and then eventually by Bartholomew Bask.
'So here I am, playing on the other team, as they say. I wants me vengeance on that… that… deceiving…' His hands began ripping a small roll of bread into crumbs as he tried to explain his hatred for Matheus Hawk. 'I've told yer where the Skulls are and swear by the Source ter do all I can to bring that evil soul to justice. I have, as they say, seen the error of me ways.' The smile was back in place, and he hastily brushed the remains of the loaf onto the floor as if he had only just noticed it.
Magician Falk cleared his throat and looked up the table to Bartholomew. 'You are aware, I trust, that King Hugo Payne has placed a warrant for your arrest on charges of treason? You were clearly identified leaving Sterling temple on the night of the theft in the company of one Matheus Hawk, another man wanted by the crown.'
'Treason?' Bartholomew's bottom lip began to quiver, and a trembling hand clutching a clean white lace handkerchief came up to dab at his mouth. He looked as if he was about to cry. 'But I was tricked, conned, coerced, and it was all down to these… these…' He flapped his hands at the other occupants of the table. 'They stole my property!' He stood up waving his arm, and then shook a finger in the face of each in turn. Pardigan, the guilty party, had slunk back into his chair at the mention of the theft.
'Merchant Bask, I am a close advisor to the King and will speak on your behalf,' continued Magician Falk, 'if, that is, I feel you are aiding us fully in the recovery of the skulls and the capture of Matheus Hawk. I cannot promise that all charges will be dropped against you, but aiding us will certainly go well in your favour. Now calm down and be seated. Tell us all you know of the skulls locations.'
Realising he possessed few other options, Bartholomew began a rambling account of Morgasta's camp and the twin cities of Bedlam and Mayhem. The crew listened with growing dread as he spoke and wondered what perils awaited them.
Meanwhile, the storm continued to rage outside as the crew made plans for the following weeks. They had two missions; the first and most important was to reclaim the skulls. The second, if it were possible, was to stop Morgasta's army from invading the Kingdom, something that would be no small feat.
Either the skulls were in Morgasta's camp or, more than likely, were by now in the twin cities of Bedlam and Mayhem. For all of them to go after the skulls, would not only be pointless, but extremely dangerous. Eventually, after much debate, it was decided that they would remain in the same two groups. Pardigan would be best suited to infiltrating the camp. Mahra and Quint would go with him on The Griffin to get them out quickly if they got into trouble. The problem of Morgasta's horde of invading Barbarians would be left to the team of Tarent, Loras, Magician Falk and the latest, and most unlikely recruit to the team of The Griffin, Bartholomew Bask.
'Me!' Bartholomew spluttered, spraying good berry wine all over the table when he heard his name mentioned. 'You can't be serious, why me?' His voice dropped to a pitiful whine 'What can I possibly do to stop those filthy Barbarians? They almost killed me last time… and, if you remember, I came bearing gifts then.' He nibbled his lace handkerchief nervously.
Loras shook his head in disgust. 'I think he should go with Pardigan. It was him that…'
'Loras!' Pardigan hushed his friend and offered a big smile to Bartholomew who glared at him suspiciously. 'It makes sense, Loras, think about it. We're going to have to sneak into Morgasta's camp and maybe into these horrible sounding cities. Could you ever imagine Mr Bask sneaking anywhere?'
Loras reluctantly shook his head. Nobody, not even Bartholomew, could imagine that.
Loras was first up on deck the next morning. The weather had returned to a dull cloud cover and a fall of miserable drizzle. He shivered as he walked to the side of The Esmerelda and took his first real look at the anchorage.
They were in a large natural lagoon that could have easily accommodated four, or even five more ships. It had a small pebble beach and was surrounded by high cliffs. He glanced back to see where they had entered the night before and was amazed at how narrow the gap was between the towering rocks. Enough of the open sea was visible to see that the dark turbulent waves of the night before still hadn't calmed, they were still swelling and crashing on the entrance, the sound carrying into the lagoon, echoing around the cliffs.
Crossing to the other side of the ship, he glanced down at the steep shingle beach that rose out of the water beneath him and saw a narrow winding path leading up towards the top of the cliffs to somewhere high above them. Some large birds were circling near the top, their plaintive cries as cold as the weather.
Loras shivered again and pulled his cloak tighter about him. He could see where the birds were nesting by the white smears painting certain areas of the rocks. He watched them for a few moments, his thoughts lost to the possibilities of flight. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned around to see Tarent come up out of the hatchway.
'Thought you might like this,' said Tarent holding two steaming mugs of brew. He offered one to Loras, which he gratefully accepted. 'Have you had any thoughts about how we're supposed to stop a whole army from invading the Kingdom? It seems like a pretty tall order, even for us.' He took a sip from his brew and sighed as the sweet liquid warmed him. 'We should have just gone fishing.
' He looked up at the grey clouds speeding past overhead. 'I bet it's a wonderful day at Minster Island, not like this.' He ran a hand through his hair, which was already wet. 'Come on; let's get below in the dry. The cooks are making ready for us to break our fast.'
'All right, I'm coming,' said Loras, moving towards the hatchway, 'and actually, I do have an idea how to stop them, but I need to speak with the others about the Bolt. It's there that Morgasta will try to bring her army through, so that's where we need to go.'
Bartholomew's cooks, who were accustomed to catering for their master's legendary appetite, had set out a feast that the crew hadn't witnessed since they had been guests of the King. They entered the dining room and gazed in wonder at the dishes laid out before them on a starched linen tablecloth, napkins folded to resemble little birds set neatly by each place – and then they noticed their host and the sight immediately took all of their attention.
Bartholomew was already seated and had been happily eating alone. He smiled when he saw them and waved a fork full of syrupy pancakes by way of welcome. The crew stood, amazed by his efforts to fill his mouth as much as possible while humming to himself at the same time, totally absorbed by the task in front of him. Egg yolk decorated his shirt; there was a brew stain on his sleeve and the syrup that ran down his chin just added to the impression of a pig at a trough.
'Eat, eat up and get big and strong like me!' he thumped his chest with one hand and crammed more pancakes into his mouth with the other.
'I don't think I'm that hungry actually,' said Loras. 'I suppose I could have maybe just a bun and some juice,' he added seeing a frown cross Bartholomew's face. 'Thank you, Mr Bask.'
'Nonsense, steward, fill this young man's plate with a wholesome breakfast, he's far too skinny for his own good. I'll not have it said that any guest of Bartholomew Bask walks away from the table hungry.' He smiled at Loras and waved his fork again, sending a dribble of syrup across the tablecloth, indicating they should all sit and begin. Then, feeling his duty as host had been fulfilled, he returned to the serious business of filling his own face, once more humming a happy tune around mouthfuls of food.
The crew sat and had a light breakfast, speaking very little as everyone watched, fascinated by the entertainment at the end of the table.
It was mid-day before they were ready to leave. They had waited around, not exactly eager to depart the warm dry confines of the boat and travel in the rain, which had gradually turned to sleet as the morning wore on. On reflection, it didn't look as though it was going to improve, so eventually Quint decided they couldn't wait any longer and called for The Griffin.
A small crowd gathered on the boats as The Griffin came in. The loud, shrill cries it made as it entered the anchorage echoing enough that you would have to be deaf not to hear it and wonder what it was. Crews and passengers lined the rails of each boat shouting and pointing excitedly as the great beast, half eagle, half lion, circled overhead then came in to land, skimming over the anchored ships before alighting softly on the beach.
His feet crunching in the shingle as he stepped out of the longboat, Bartholomew eyed the creature warily, unsure of what to make of it. Previous dealings with this odd beast had all been bad, and his experiences with the demon King, Belial had made him very wary of anything unduly strange, and this creature was extremely strange.
'Nasty evil looking beak,' he muttered, to nobody in particular. 'T'ain't natural… t'ain't natural at all.' He watched as Pardigan and Mahra clambered on behind Quint, and The Griffin set back on its haunches and took an almighty leap, launching itself towards the sky and scattering stones in its wake. Nesting birds took to the air as it crested the top of the cliff, startled up in one great noisy flock, their angry cries echoing around the anchorage.
'Source be true,' shouted Loras, wondering if his friends could hear him over the noise of the birds. 'Source be true,' he repeated in a whisper, sending the words magically to his friend's ears.
Once the excitement of The Griffin leaving had subsided, people returned to their tasks, and the anchorage was restored to its previous calm state. Turning away from where The Griffin had been only moments before, Loras followed Magician Falk down the beach, raised his robes, and paddled out to the rowboat, which was already occupied by Tarent and Bartholomew Bask.
'Just in time for a spot of lunch,' said Bartholomew happily as Loras jumped in and two sailors began to row them back to The Esmerelda.
'If you like Mr Bask,' said Tarent, 'but we will also be leaving soon and that, of course, includes you. Our Magicians here have come up with some good ideas, and we have an army to stop.'
Bartholomew was still grumbling quietly to himself as the rowboat bumped back against The Esmerelda.
* * *
The Hawk gazed down through viewing goggles that were strapped to his head, acquired in the Emperor's city and studied the multitude of men, beasts and wraiths marching far below him, the dust from their progress rising high into the air, but not as high as where he sat behind Nhasic, the real skill behind the dragon's flight. When Matheus had tried to tame the great red beast, he had almost been killed; magic had no effect upon the huge creature, at least not once it was hatched. Whilst in the egg he had been able to tamper a little with its growth rate, accelerating it, but now only the little demon was able to communicate with it. The two had become almost inseparable, and as Matheus controlled Nhasic, he now also controlled the dragon.
He reached down and stroked the glossy red scales below his hands and watched with pride as the wings beat steadily, bearing him high above the cloud of dust.
'North, my little friend, take us north. We have more business to take care of in the mountains before this army will be ready to do battle.' Nhasic scuttled along the dragon's neck, bent down and chattered in its great horny ear, it roared in understanding, smoke puffing from its nostrils - it was still too young to produce fire. It turned towards the distant mountains of the Northern Massif, swiftly leaving the desert behind.
* * *
Chapter 11
The Darkest Side of Night
Flight upon The Griffin had been swift, but as always, incredibly cold. It wasn't something they could ever get used to. From their vantage point, high upon a rock pinnacle, Quint, Pardigan and Mahra gazed down upon the might of Queen Morgasta's Barbarian army. A fierce wind threatened to pluck them from their perch, so they hung on with numb icy fingers, studying the huge mass of humanity several hundred spans below them.
As far as they could see, in the plains, valleys and even scattered up the sides of steep hills, the Barbarian army sprawled, their numbers surely in the hundreds of thousands. Smoke drifted up from campfires and small groups of makeshift shelters, each cobbled together from a variety of materials scavenged from the land in a pitiful attempt to keep the worst of the weather at bay. Dogs, chickens and even goats roamed around the camp, and even from this height they could smell the effect that all those animals, both two and four legged had created. It rose up from the camp in clouds of steam, making them wish they hadn't succumbed to so much of Bartholomew's lavish breakfast, they could only imagine the misery of living in such squalor.
'I don't think I've seen so many people in one place before,' said Pardigan in awe. 'If this lot gets through the Bolt and into the Kingdom… we've had it.'
Quint glanced behind him to check The Griffin, who was snorting happily into a snowdrift, before answering. 'Well I don't think the others are going to let that happen. Loras has a few good ideas to stop them getting through the Bolt, all we have to concentrate on is getting the skulls back.
'Oh, that's all we have to do is it? All I have to do you mean,' replied Pardigan, wondering how he was going to hold an invisibility spell long enough to walk through the muddy camp checking into every tent for the skulls.
'Actually, I think this one will be up to me,' said Mahra pulling back from the edge. 'Come on, let's find some shelter, I'll go and have a look around tonight when it's nice and dark.
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* * *
'What possible use I can be, traipsing round these Source forsaken mountains, I have no idea. How the Source can have fled such an honest hardworking man as I, beggar's belief, it really does. The cold is intolerable. It does nothing but rain and snow, snow and rain. There is scarce comfort to find in this wagon, which seems to be finding every bump and stone in the road and…'
'Mr Bask, will you please stop that!' shouted Magician Falk. 'You've been talking and moaning to yourself in that loud voice since we first left the ship. Nobody wants to listen to it! Is your plan to attract Barbarian warriors to us, or just drive us all crazy with your gibbering nonsense?' He pulled back hastily on his horse's reins as Bartholomew's angry face suddenly poked out through the flap at the back of the wagon.
'Gibbering nonsense is it? Nonsense! I'll have you know that this is no less than kidnapping, dragging me, an innocent merchant, up into these mountains into extremely hostile territory with some half-baked plan to turn an army around. Nonsense is right, but it's not my nonsense we all have to worry about!' He withdrew his head and continued talking to himself about the injustice of life.
'You do remember that I said we should make Pardigan take him? I suppose we could always leave him behind, couldn't we?' said Loras, peeking out from under his hood as Magician Falk's horse dropped back to where he and Tarent rode just beyond hearing range of the unhappy merchant.
'No, he has to stay with us, he's too much of a liability out on his own,' said Tarent. 'Besides, he may be driving us potty, but we're driving him back to the one place he really doesn't want to be - back to his Barbarian friends. He's entitled to moan a bit… I suppose.'