by Bill Mays
“I’ve told you repeatedly never to disrupt me here!” The ancient wizard hissed.
“Forgive … me …” Arrivand gasped as his feet thrashed about some two feet above the floor. The olive-skinned man fell to the ground in a heap of red robes and pants. He tried to catch his breath as he stood slowly.
“Speak!” Meiron howled with a mad look in his eyes.
“Forgive my intrusion, my lord. Talipax has received aid from the Queen of Kandair. An army aided by the Waynan nomads and troops from Paseth have marched upon our forces. Our men are being overwhelmed.”
Rugen’s image was reflected in the acidic waters of the scrying pool. The news made the angry wizard lose all control. Meiron reached into the bubbling liquid and disrupted the image with a hissed incantation. General Rugen’s voice filled the small chamber with cries of agony.
“You should be there!” The wizard screamed at the knight general. “If I can’t have its mines and its secrets then no one will!”
Meiron began chanting. Arrivand could feel the energies gathering. The old man was calling on powerful magic. The apprentice wanted to watch, but the room was growing unstable. The power gathering was intense. It felt as if it were crushing his chest. He could see the gem hanging over his master’s heart pulsing wildly. With much effort, Meiron seemed to calm his momentary insanity. The energies dissipated and he gripped his red gem tightly.
“No, not yet,” he mumbled as if speaking to someone the apprentice could not see. He seemed suddenly to remember that Arrivand was present. “Go and recall the troops from Talipax! They have won this round, but the war will be mine.” Arrivand did not hesitate as he rushed from the room. He was still having trouble breathing and his neck and chest hurt. “I have almost found you, gladiator,” the ancient wizard laughed aloud as he stared into nothingness. “Soon all will be as it should be. All will belong to us!”
- Chapter 28 -
The Siren
As the lady in the red dress had warned him, the use of Tark’s legs did not return for hours. Panni, the Siren’s healer, patched up the gladiator’s wounds without another word. He used a smelly ointment that reminded Tark of his days after the arena matches back in Drackmoore when his old friend, Helious, would tend to him. The priest used a similar smelly mixture that worked wonders, but all similarities ended there. Panni was neither friendly nor gentle. The hunched man slapped on his ointment, sealed up the gashes and then left him alone in the small holding room. Tark lay in the barren, silent room for hours on end. This left him plenty of time to think. His anxiety returned, and he felt like his head would explode. He wanted to tear his way out of the small chamber and escape, but to where? He first let the rocking of the ship calm him, while he clutched the gem hanging about his neck tightly. Its gentle pulsing rhythm meshed nicely with the motion of the sea. The captain did not visit again that night. Only the lizard man, Sslath, stopped by to deliver a modest meal of fish soup and old bread. The door to his room was kept locked. The gladiator knew he could break the flimsy door down if he wanted to, but he held his temper in check. The facts were simple. He was now out to sea with the crew of the Siren. They had rescued him from the fanatical order, and they left the artifact in his possession. They had even bound his wounds. Tark was an honorable man. He knew he owed them something, and going on a tirade to escape the holding room was not called for. The captain seemed like a reasonable woman, for a pirate. Basically, he would just have to sit and wait to see what they were going to do with him. If the need arose, he still had plenty of fight left in him, trident or no trident.
Tark could not help but wonder about his companions he had left behind. Herrin and the little ones were safe with Belrrus, unless the fanatics were to return to Seaside with their malicious demon gods. Remembering the devastation the order had wrought upon Talwen, he could only hope that did not happen. Though he was not a religious man, he prayed that whatever deities were listening would watch over the port town and his friends. He hated to think what would become of them if the reivers did show up in Seaside. Ado might escape, but not the others. They were just more victims haplessly drawn into the turmoil that his life had become. Tark felt like a whirlpool that pulled everyone in to their doom. How many lives would be tangled in his fate and how many more would be lost? At times like this, Tark almost regretted the day he escaped from his former slave existence. He spent the rest of the night in his quasi-sleep state contemplating his predicament and wondering what fate, or the gods, would throw at him next.
* * * * * * * * * *
The morning arrived without warning. Tark had no windows in his small room, and thus no way to keep track of time. There came two swift raps on the door before it swung open at the captain’s hands. He had not even heard the lock turn. The woman strode in as confident as ever. At her side was the tall, redhaired mage. The tall woman’s wild hair and exotic jewelry were accentuated by the strange herbal scent that followed her. She moved with a refined grace that opposed her feral appearance. He had never seen anyone quite like her. For a second Tark wondered where the lady mage hailed from.
“I see you’re up early,” Kottia smirked a little disappointedly. She had expected to catch him sleeping, maybe even snoring like a lazy dog. “It’s a sign of a good man, my mother always said. Of course, what did she know? She married my father.” Tark could not tell if she was joking or being serious.
The redheaded woman placed a hand over her eyes and stumbled into the wall, off balance. Kottia’s cutlass was out and poised to strike. Her reflexes were quick. She scanned the small room and then stared Tark down suspiciously.
“What is wrong, Xina?”
The pirate woman’s dark eyes were glued to the gladiator as she spoke. She was very confident, but also very cautious. That was how she and her crew survived.
“It is nothing. Forgive me,” the mage whispered as she regained her stance.
“That wasn’t nothing!” The captain shot back angrily. “You’ve spent long enough at sea to hold your balance on a ship, especially in relatively calm waters. Tell me what just happened. Was it our mysterious guest here?”
Xina seemed to mull over her answer. “It’s the gem about the warrior’s neck. It’s an artifact of great power. The aura it radiates is literally staggering. I was unprepared for its presence, that’s all.”
“So, it’s not only pretty, it’s valuable,” Kottia grinned. It was easy to see where her thoughts were headed. “Magic treasures do fetch a high price if you can find the right place to sell them and I have a few contacts in that department.”
“I already told you, I will not part with it,” Tark stated bluntly.
“Don’t tell me what you will or will not do on my ship, Drackmoorian!” The woman held a stern glare of anger. Kottia moved forward with her cutlass, set to slice the artifact from its cord.
“Wait captain! The item is what binds his destiny. I fear claiming it would only bring doom upon us all,” the mage woman pleaded.
“How certain are you of this man’s value?” The captain did not look convinced. Though he was handsome and strong, Kottia had seen better men. She was beginning to think that the gladiator was nothing more than a bad luck charm with delusions of grandeur.
Xina looked her captain square in the eyes. “There is no doubt in my mind now. His course will affect everyone he crosses. We are already bound in that web as well.”
“And if I toss him overboard this day, do we escape this -- web?”
“I cannot say, but I suggest we drop him at the nearest port and avoid tempting the fates.” The redheaded woman studied Tark intently as she spoke. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking.
The captain slapped the flat of her blade against the wall with a loud clanging sound. “Why did you get involved?” Kottia snapped angrily. “I thought you were past that phase. This one seems nothing but trouble!”
“My apologies, captain, but I don’t think I had a choice. The weave of chance saw fit to pull me int
o his path, and thus it pulled us all into his path. We were destined to intervene. I am but a humble servant of the weave.”
“I’ve had about enough with that servant of the weave or servant of chance crap! You’re a probability mage, a chance-altering sorceress. It’s your magical forte. You should be the mistress, not the servant!” The pirate woman shook her head from side to side for a moment. Kottia did not really grasp the whole call of magic anyway. “Do me a favor. Next time, spit in chance’s face and walk away. I do it all the time,” she sighed in annoyance. “Very well, it looks like you’ll be with us for a while, Drackmoorian, so make yourself useful. This isn’t a passenger ship. Everyone aboard the Siren does their part. I’ll get Sarry, and he can find a way to put all those big muscles to work. Be aware that I don’t trust you. Grand destiny or not, I will put my blade through your gut and toss you to the sharks without a second thought. To be perfectly clear, what I’m saying is don’t give me a reason to. Is that understood?” The woman stared Tark down hard awaiting a response.
“Understood,” the gladiator nodded back slowly without looking away. There was a silent agreement behind the big man’s eyes. The deal went both ways.
“Get your pants on and get prepared for work, gladiator. You won’t get to lie around anymore. The dwarf will be by to get you shortly. Xina, we need to talk.” The mage nodded and followed her captain from the small room.
This time the door was not locked behind them. Tark stood to dress and could hear the two in muffled conversation. They were still in the hallway.
“We have to find the nearest port and drop that one off. My gut tells me he’s trouble,” Kottia grumbled.
“I agree, captain. The aura surrounding him is unbelievably powerful and very unstable. Something pursues him. Perhaps we should head for Gurdail?” Xina offered sincerely.
“Gurdail? Gurdail isn’t safe either … Damn!” Kottia sighed and then kicked the wall. She quickly patted the wall with one hand. “Sorry girl.”
“The rest of the smaller ports along Villinsk’s shores are closed due to the war and I doubt Drackmoore’s bay will be welcoming,” the mage replied. “We have few choices unless you want to sail all the way back to the eastern isles or chance the journey to the Barrick Isles.”
Kottia sighed heavily. “I know you’re right, as usual. It’s the lesser of two evils, I guess.” The women’s voices faded as they moved from the hallway.
Tark wanted desperately to speak with the mage. She seemed to have some sort of insight into his connection to the artifact. He would bide his time. Surely, an opportunity would arise without the skeptic captain present. He also wanted his trident back. The gladiator felt naked without it. He doubted he would see it again, though. It was enchanted. The captain probably intended to sell it as part of his price for being onboard. Only a few moments passed before the dwarf was at his door.
“Captain says yer going to help out around the ship.”
Tark sighed, “I suppose I am.”
“Well, that means ye been accepted as a crew member, at least temporarily. I’m Sarlence Ardel, but everyone just calls me Sarry for short.” The dwarf extended his arm in friendship with a big grin. Tark hesitated and then accepted the gesture. The dwarf seemed genuine.
“I’m Tark. I want to thank you for your help back in town. If it weren’t for you two, I don’t think I would have made it.”
“Bah! Ye can thank Xina. I wouldn’t have gotten involved if it weren’t for her. I try to mind me own business, nothing personal.”
Tark chuckled slightly at the stout little man’s honesty. “Fair enough, so what exactly am I going to be doing, Sarry?”
“Now that ye ask, I’ve got the perfect job for ye,” the dwarf chuckled in a way that made the big man a little uncomfortable.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Sorohl Sea was not exactly calm and it had not been since they left the docks in Seaside. It was almost as if the waters were warning them of the danger that surrounded the gladiator. The constant rocking of the ship coupled with the splashing sea spray left both tiny stowaways nothing short of nauseous. Neither Ado nor Nivit had ever been at sea before. Neither was ever planning on doing it again.
“Oh … Mr. Ado … I don’t feel so good,” Nivit moaned softly for the hundredth time.
“Me either, now shut up and keep a lookout for that troublesome human!” Ado snapped as he held his round belly tightly. He fought back the urge to wretch.
The gremlin was in no mood for dealing with the fairy. His head was swimming and his stomach was twisting every which way. It did not help matters that the whole place smelled like old fish. The two were seated on a small platform attached to the main mast high above the ship’s deck. They were just above the crow’s nest, where one man assigned to lookout duty sat half-awake.
“There, look!” Ado pointed excitedly. Too bad, he was invisible and Nivit could not see him.
“Where am I looking, Mr. Ado?” The fairy asked as she scanned the deck.
“Do you see the woman in red, the one carrying the bucket of fish?” Ado grumbled.
“Yes,” Nivit whispered half-heartedly. “She’s very pretty.”
“That’s not why I pointed her out, you dolt! She was there when they took Tark. That woman was the voice, the prisoner, inside the fancy coach we passed on the road to Seaside.”
“I remember,” Nivit whispered back. “I told you she sounded like she might need our help, remember? At least she seems to be safe now.”
“Never mind that! Maybe she can tell us where they’re holding the big oaf.” The little man’s stomach grumbled on its own.
“Good plan, Mr. Ado!” Nivit cheered, until her head began to swim again. The sea was no place for a sun fairy. “I just wish she wasn’t carrying fish,” the tiny girl sighed. “That smell is going to make me sick.”
Ado’s stomach grumbled its agreement. The little mage was never a big fan of fish to start with. “Come on pipsqueak. Let’s get down there while she’s alone.” The two flitted down behind some barrels set on deck to catch fresh rainwater.
* * * * * * * * * *
The dwarf led Tark to the rear decks. The few crewmen they passed watched the big man with suspicion. As soon as they reached the open air, the spray of salty water wet their faces. It felt surprisingly good on Tark’s cheeks.
“The Sorohl is uneasy today,” the dwarf mumbled under his breath.
Even with the tossing of the waves, the gladiator was at ease. He could not explain it. He just felt comfortable. Sarlence did take note.
“Have ye ever thrown fishing net before?” The stocky man asked.
“No. I’m not familiar with the ways of sailing in the least. Actually, this is my first time out to sea. I was a herder, and then a miner in my younger days,” Tark answered honestly.
Sarry chuckled again. “Well then, this ought to be interesting. Ye seem like a natural. Just be careful not to fall overboard. There are plenty of nasties waiting below the waves.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the big man grinned.
“First we’ll secure ye to the ship. If ye fell into the water now, I doubt we’d be seeing ye again.”
The dwarf began tying a sturdy rope around Tark’s waist. The other end was wrapped and knotted to one of the smaller masts. At least it looked as if this were a common practice. That much made the gladiator less apprehensive.
“Ye just toss the net into the waters, let it ride for a time, and then haul in the catch.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Tark nodded.
“Careful what ye catch before just pulling it onto deck. I’ve seen a sea devil wrapped up in there before, not to mention sharks and plenty of other nasties. Just use yer eyes and yer brains. Be aware that ye need to do well, Tark. We pulled out of Seaside without fully stocking our supplies first. We usually only do this when we want a bit of fresh meat. With things as they are, we’re going to need the extra food. Not that it’s yer fault or that I want to put
any pressure on ye or anything,” Sarry grinned.
“Of course not,” Tark smiled back. He liked the dwarf’s dry sense of humor.
“Once ye pull in a catch, fill these buckets and take them to the forward deck. Yer lady friend is doing the honors of prepping the meat. As ye can imagine, she’s loving every moment of it.” Sarlence stayed long enough to watch Tark toss the net with modest skill, and then the little man was off to deal with his own duties. “I’ll be back to check up on yer progress in a bit.”
Tark actually enjoyed the serenity and simplicity of his assigned task. He was alone, just staring out at the vast sea. The choppy water stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction. Its waves rose and fell about the ship and the winds blew a constantly cool spray across his body. The overall effect proved quite relaxing.
* * * * * * * * * *
Kreasha struggled to get the first bucket to the area where the fat pirate cook directed her. Every step sent the unsteady woman sliding. Fish oil slicked the floor in the ship’s kitchen. The bucket’s contents weighed more than she expected and the tossing ship made it that much more difficult to walk. She then went back to get the second bucket of fish. The lady was not accustomed to manual labor. Her back ached from the strain and she was beginning to smell like fish herself. The crewman that had fetched her so early in the morning made her leave her beautifully beaded red shoes behind. He said they would be too slippery on deck and she would probably slide overboard to the sharks. She still was not sure if the man was serious or just trying to play a cruel joke on her. Now she was barefoot and the rough wooden planks had given her two splinters already. Plus, the fish oil felt gross between her toes. When she collected the second bucket, she noticed a large knife inside. It was there so that she could cut up the scaly animals and prepare them for cooking or storage. The fat, greasy man they had for a cook, had given her a rushed lesson on how to tend to the fish. He seemed amused and shocked that she was not knowledgeable on how to do it on her own. The whole experience felt degrading. She was not some common tavern wench. She was not supposed to know how to prepare food. She was Kreasha Newmons, of the House of Newmons! Hers was one of the most prominent families in Villinsk. The lady considered using the knife on the condescending cook, but only briefly. Soon she was off with her second bucket. She grumbled constantly as she struggled to carry the heavy load. The salty spray was drenching her shoulder length hair and her gown. She was sure her expensive silken dress would be ruined. Her make-up was completely destroyed as well.