Two days of travel and the sand finally gave way to the bushes and small trees I’d grown accustomed to seeing at coastlines. Off in the distance, we could see a vast ocean, stretching as far as the eye could see.
“Morogan not see ocean before. It beautiful,” he said.
“Really?” asked Garstil.
“Orcs have no reason to cross desert,” said Morogan.
“Are there no Orc tribes on the coast?” I asked.
Morogan nodded as he gawked at the coast. “Some. Fishing Orcs. Some warrior Orcs on boats. Never meet. Maybe meet someday. Morogan cousin have friend from coast.”
We found a small cliffside that overlooked the beach and ocean and simply stared at it for a while.
“Wow,” I said. “Beachmarsh is actually really beautiful.”
“Indeed,” said Sai. I could live in a place like this. I cannot wait to sample their cuisine.”
“Me too, but I think I’ll talk to Noslen first. You guys feel free to take care of any errands. It’ll save us a little bit of time if we split up.”
As much as I wanted to take in the sights, I headed straight for the church. I only had to stop and ask directions twice, because apparently, I’d passed it. Twice.
The church was this beach hut type building on the edge of town. Apparently, the Caretaker wasn’t the only God worshiped here. There was also a shrine to the Norse gods as well. Being a coast city, this probably shouldn’t have been a surprise. Once inside, I knelt before the altar and closed my eyes.
Noslen’s cabin appeared before me in the dark Otherworld. I didn’t bother knocking and strode right in. There wasn’t time for pleasantries and formalities.
Noslen was looking at a map on his table when I walked in. “I see you’ve made it to Beachmarsh, excellent. Damon Tod and his accomplices have already left, but you’re only a few days behind them now.”
I looked at his map and noted thumbtacks which were slowly moving on their own accord and frowned. “How exactly are we supposed to catch up to them?”
“By boat, of course,” he said, as if I should have known the answer.
I sighed. “If we’re so short on time, then quit beating around the bush. Where the hell do I find a boat so I can go take care of your problem.”
He looked up, annoyed. “Our problem. You live here too. If they win, you will spend the rest of your existence as a slave to Damon Tod.” I apologized, and he nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m also under a great deal of stress, a lot going on outside of Tempest as well.”
“Okay, what’s my next move?” I asked.
“Find a man named Orin. He’s the captain of the Swordfish. He is a close friend of mine, and he’s already expecting you at the tavern.” He frowned. “He’ll likely have some sort of menial task for you to complete as well, so, be prepared to waste a little time with that.”
“Simple enough. What about the prince?”
“He’s still alive. They’ve bled him a few times, but they are keeping him in good health. He’s of no use to them dead.”
“If we don’t get them back, the necromancers will start a war between the Humans and the Dwarves,” I said.
“Of that, I am quite certain. I discovered it later; however, it was the necromancers that started the war between the Humans and the Orcs. Assassinated leaders and families on both sides, blamed the other.”
“All right, so stop the necromancers, save the prince, stop a war on two fronts. Got it.”
Noslen nodded. “Pretty much. Oh, you’re also on the clock. Get going. And Abalonious?”
“Yeah?” I asked, halfway out the door.
“Don't let him say no. Tell him I'm calling in a favor which he owes me.” I nodded. The room faded away, and I opened my eyes. My party surrounded me, their backs to me, weapons drawn. Across from them, militiamen pointed swords and spears at us. Shit.
24
The Swordfish
“You know,” I said, “I tend to get pretty violent when I open my eyes and find a bunch of assholes pointing sharp objects at me…” The militiamen all tensed. I willed lightning into my swords and illuminated the wall behind me like a strobe light. I pulled both swords instantly out, causing an afterimage behind them and arcing lightning every which way, including off my party’s weapons. “Who dies first?” I asked. Everyone took several steps away from me.
“Hold fast,” said a voice from behind the militiamen. “There’s no need for this to come to blows.” The militiamen parted, and a burly centurion with plate mail armor thudded to the front of their group.
“It left a bad taste in my mouth to find ourselves under attack in a place of peace and worship,” I said. “What do you want?”
The centurion relaxed, if barely. “The Crown Prince. What have you done with him?” he asked.
“Not a damned thing,” I said. “He was taken by Damon Tod of the Cult of the Dead Hand only a few days ago. We were already chasing them when they took him for some evil blood magic they plan on releasing on Arbington.”
“Swanson! Get over here." he turned to me. "And if I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying?” he asked.
A man in his early twenties ran up and pushed his way to the front. "Yes, Captain Ashford?"
"Shut up and sit tight, Swanson," said Ashford.
“Well, that’s up to you. However, I honestly don’t give a damn what you believe,” I said. “You…” I glared at Swanson and pointed my rune sword at him. “You look very, very familiar.”
Swanson began to tremble a little bit. “Aye, I would,” he stammered. “I was there when you took the prince.”
“No,” I said. You weren’t. You were there when Slag beat the shit out of me.”
Swanson paled. “No, it was at the village. But a few days ago!”
“Where, exactly?” asked Thasgrin.
“What?” asked Swanson.
“The village name. What. Was. It.” Thasgrin glared angrily.
Swanson grew angry. “What right do you have to question me?” he asked. “Your activities are in question, not mine.”
“Enough of this,” I said. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Tell them the truth, or I’ll kill you where you stand.” The militiamen steadied their weapons.
“You’ll do no such thing,” said the centurion, puffing out his chest as he attempted to look intimidating. I mean, he was, but that’s beside the point.
“This man is an imposter. A plant,” I said. “One of the cultists—”
“Enough!” bellowed the centurion. “You’re under arrest. If you try to resist, you will be subdued, killed, if necessary.”
“Not happening,” I said.
“It’s not like you get a choi—”
I triggered Temporal Shift and Dashed forward. I swung my sword in an arc, hitting every spear and sword which was pointed at us, and then brought my other sword under Swanson’s chin while standing next to him. With my other hand, I returned my off-hand sword to my back and grabbed his wrist. Time returned to normal.
All of the militiamen were thrown back, off balance, most of them losing their footing and falling over each other. The old centurion only let out a small gasp of surprise, but he didn’t flinch. A small puddle formed around Swanson's feet.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” I seethed. “Unless you want to start breathing out of your neck.
“Now, son,” said the centurion. “Don’t make this into more of a problem than it needs to be…” The militiamen slowly collected themselves and stood, trying not to alarm any of my party.
“His sleeve,” I said. “Look at it.” I pulled at his sleeve, and it fell toward his elbow. A black tattoo marked his inner left arm. A crude skull and crossbones.
This time, the centurion did flinch when he gasped. “By the gods…”
Swanson laughed. “You’re too late, Abalonious. I may have failed to get you killed or arrested, but my brothers are long gone with the prince. Arbington is ours!” He raised his right hand and threw dow
n a vial of blood I hadn’t seen him palm. The explosion knocked us several feet away and dazed us all. When I was able to focus, Swanson was gone.
We spent the next ten minutes explaining everything that had happened since we arrived at Bridgeport. Ashford took it all in and only asked minor questions to clarify key points.
Ashford frowned. “So, you're saying there's still a chance the Prince is still alive?” he asked.
“That's the short of it,” I said. “If we can get to Arbington before they bleed him dry, then we can save him.”
“What's your take away from this?" he asked.
"Save all of Tempest from being overrun by the undead. Stop the king of Laencaster from declaring war on the Dwarves and repeating the War of Unsung Heroes. Then get to live my life as I see fit.”
“Tall orders,” said Ashford. “Who's giving them?”
I pointed at the altar. “Big man himself.”
He looked at the altar and frowned. Then he locked eyes with all of my party members. They all nodded as he moved from one to the next. “You're serious. Aren't you...”
“Completely. And running out of time.”
“Let's say I believed you,” he said. “Not that I do, but let's say I did. How can we help?”
“What do you know about Captain Orin?” I asked.
“Orin? Of the Swordfish?”
“Yeah, that’s where we’re heading next. Wouldn’t mind knowing a little more about him.”
“He’s a strange man. Used to be a navy man. No one knows just how old he is though, never seems to age.” He scratched his scraggly chin hair. “He’s a good man though, keeps to himself. His word is his bond. People give him a wide berth. Won’t take scuff from anyone, even the king himself.”
“Wow,” I said. “Must be pretty powerful.”
“Something like that.”
“Any chance of reinforcements?” I asked. “We could use the help to take down the necromancers and rescue the prince.”
He frowned. “Officially, none of this is happening.”
“Unofficially?” I asked.
“We need to save the prince. This sounds like your fight; however, it’s our duty to save the prince as well. Just tell us when and where you want us.”
“Well, if you’ve got a boat, meet us at Arbington as soon as you can. That’s where they’re heading.” He nodded. “Ashford, if you need more convincing, pray to the Caretaker before the altar. I’m pretty sure you’ll find the answers you need.”
We traded grips. “I just may do that,” he said. “Get going. You have a lot of water to cover.”
“Will do. Hope we see you there,” I said, walking past him.
“Oh, Abalonious?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Good luck, son. You’re really going to need it.”
“Thanks,” I said. "I'm sure we will." The militiamen parted and let us pass.
“So,” said Garstil. “Anyone else get the feeling that the necromancers are playing dirtier than we'd thought?”
“No kidding. Shame Swanson got away. I would have liked to...have a conversation with him.”
Morogan made a fist. All of his knuckles popped. “Morogan want talk too.”
My stomach growled. Other stomachs joined mine, threatening mutiny.
We walked into the tavern, and the first thing that I noticed was that the place was entirely deserted. Save for the barkeep and a solitary man sitting at a table. Even seated, he towered over the table. He wore a red coat with black buttons and long sleeves. His head was adorned with one of those funny hats like Captain Hook would wear on those Saturday morning cartoons.
“Abalonious, I presume?” asked the man. I nodded. He stood and offered me his hand. “Captain Orin, of the Swordfish. A pleasure...” I took his hand and we traded grips. We sat across from each other.
“Noslen mentioned you'd be expecting us,” I said.
Captain Orin smiled. “Indeed,” he said with a smirk. “What else did he...mention?”
“That you owed him a favor and we are to collect on it,” I said.
The smirk vanished. “I see,” he said drily. “Very well then. Next time you speak with him, tell him we are even.”
“Okay, will do. When can we leave?”
“Pretty eager, aren't you,” he said. “Fine. Pick up my new sword from the blacksmith, then meet us at the Swordfish in two hours.” He stood to leave. “Oh, and you can pay my tab while you're at it.” He walked past the barkeep and waved.
We ordered food and drink for ourselves and paid for Captain Orin's tab as well. All five hundred silver of it. The bastard... After we'd finished eating, we headed for the docks.
We found Captain Orin at the end of the docks. He stood aboard a large wooden ship. From what little knowledge of history I had, this was probably based off of a Spanish galleon.
Usually, galleons would be powered entirely by wind, but the Swordfish, however, had been modified and also employed oars. And cannons. Lots and lots of cannons. There were even cannons on deck-mounted turrets. This ship meant business. And no other ship was moored anywhere near the Swordfish, as if other boats were purposefully avoiding it.
As we approached the end of the dock, the Captain called to us. “Ahoy!”
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” I asked. That drew a huge grin from the tall man.
“Granted, my friends,” he said, taking his hat off with a flourish and bowing over it. “Welcome aboard the Swordfish.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said as we boarded the ship.
Captain Orin gave us a tour of the ship and took us to our cot bunks. “Any of you fine land-folks ever spent any time aboard a ship?” We all shook our heads. “All right then, just try to make yourselves useful. Swab the decks, cook in the galley, maintain the weapons, you know, grunt work. Everyone works on a ship, and guests are no different.”
Captain Orin turned and walked halfway up the stairs before he stopped. “We’re taking on supplies at an island tonight. Necessary to refill our foodstuffs for the journey to come.” He marched up the wooden staircase.
We docked at the island, whose name I didn’t even know, to get supplies. It was, however, too late in the day, and the supply master had already retired to his home. We would stay the night and resupply at dawn before the fishing boats headed out.
As the evening was settling in, we helped in the galley as it was mainly the only thing we were useful for. We didn’t know enough about sailing to be of much use. We could cook. We could clean. And we could maintain the smaller weapons. Everything else about sailing life was lost on us. I’d have to fix that one day.
After helping prepare a meal and eating dinner with the crew, we headed to bed. I was having trouble sleeping. I had been tossing and turning for a good hour, and at first, I thought I was seasick; however, the odd feeling I'm my stomach wasn't nausea.
“SADA, can you scan me and tell what's wrong with me?”
“If you are referring to the constant unease you're currently feeling, you are probably sensing some foreboding event.”
“Foreboding event? Like what? We’re in the middle of the ocean parked at an island...”
In the darkness outside, a panicked bell began to roll. Shouts of alarm rose all over the ship.
“Much like that. Proximity alert. We are under attack.”
Everyone around me began to rise, worry cutting through their grogginess. Morogan bolted upright, slammed into Garstil's bunk, and snarled. He fell back to the mattress, holding his head and groaning.
“Stupid Human boat,” growled Morogan.
“SADA, shields, internal projection.”
“Compliance.” I felt the power snap into a form-fit shield around me. A feeling I was growing to really like. I managed to get my boots on and sheathed my swords into their latch.
“What's going on?” asked Garstil through a stifled yawn.
“Trouble,” I said. “Gear up, they're here.”
25
> We filed out onto the deck and were greeted by utter chaos. Sailors and zombies fought in the night, a few torches burning high up on the mast. And more zombies were piling over the side. Some even wore chainmail and didn’t have the usual crude weapons that we’d been accustomed to seeing. They meant business.
The lighthouse was in flames, and more people and undead fought upon the beach. I looked to the stern of the ship, and by the wheel, I saw Captain Orin fighting a necromancer blade to blade. The necromancer's eyes glowed slightly, and he was matching the captain perfectly. And yet more zombies climbed onto the deck from the ocean and beach.
“We’re being overrun!” I yelled over the din of fighting.
Garstil nodded. “On it!” he yelled back. He lifted his arms into the air, and lightning bolts began to rain down, clearing a good portion of the deck. I pointed at Thasgrin and Sai and then toward Captain Orin. They both nodded and ran up the staircase, shouldering people and undead aside.
Something large and scaly thumped onto the deck from the water and roared at us. The entire ship shook. Morogan and I looked at each other. He grinned. Then we charged into action, battle roars greeting the newcomer.
It drove forward at us, massive pincers reaching for flesh. I swung both of my swords, and it parried my blow. With its pincer. Its spiked legs pierced the deck and gave it a good foothold. The giant lobster swung its massive tail at us. I saw it coming and hopped over it, but Morogan took the blow straight to the chest and went flying into the mast. He slid to the ground. He wasn’t moving.
I focused thermal energy into my left palm while returning my off-hand sword to my back. Another pincer flew for my face, and I parried the attack with my rune sword. Then I let it have the focused plasma blast point blank in its face. It screeched and jumped backward.
Morogan still wasn’t moving. I Dashed toward him as I focused healing energy into my hands. The green energy enveloped him, and his eyes snapped open. And he looked pissed.
Legend of the Sword Bearer: Tempest Chronicles Book 1 Page 25