Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

A petrifying wail echoed through the foyer. As Draigo recoiled, another giant hand swatted at him. He managed to deflect it with his blade, but the large fingers grazed him nonetheless.

  A tingling sensation, like ice-cold daggers shot up his arms. Draigo’s eyes grew heavy. They nearly closed all the way until he shook himself alert. This is no time to nap.

  The wraith lord must have sensed his weakness. It drew closer, its long arms growing more insistent.

  Draigo was hard pressed to keep those giant hands at bay. Thankfully, they recoiled from his flaming blade, but neither could he land a decisive strike without being touched. The creature slowly drove him back. If he wasn’t careful, he would trip over Tharne or the girls, and that would be the end for all of them.

  If one path doesn’t work, try another. The words crystalized a desperate plan in Draigo’s mind. As the next giant hand reached for him, he drove it back, then dove beneath it.

  Tucking and rolling, Draigo came up behind the hands still on the move. Blade beside him, he strafed it across the wraith’s body as he ran past.

  A terrifying scream burst from the huge wraith. Draigo turned around in time to see it shake in agony, yet it did not disappear as he had hoped. Instead, it set its sights on the three prone figures in front of it.

  The weakened lord captain stared up at the huge wraith towering over him. With a herculean effort, he forced himself to his feet. Barely able to stand, Tharne cursed the dark creature. “Do your worst, you bloody ghoul—you won’t have my girls!”

  Draigo knew he’d never reach them in time. There was only one way he might save them. The Shin Tauri master sheathed his sword.

  Tharne’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “What in the seven hells are you doing?”

  Ignoring Tharne’s cry, Draigo slowed his breath and gathered his spirit. The energy coursed through him, flowing to all his limbs at once.

  The giant hands had nearly closed on Tharne when Draigo grasped his sword hilt. In a movement almost too fast to see, he shot across the intervening space, drew his sword, and sliced through the wraith lord in a single devastating strike.

  The creature halted in its tracks. It floated there for a moment, mere inches away from Tharne. Suddenly, it arched its back and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Its huge form shook, then without warning exploded in all directions.

  Draigo shielded his eyes. When he finally uncovered them, the wraith lord was gone.

  The night was clear outside the northernmost tower of the Villa Dasati. Draigo stood at a tall window looking out over the loch far below. The lights of Renere twinkled brilliantly along the western shore. The glow extended out onto the lake where a half-dozen ships were moored.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tharne asked in a hushed voice. He drew up next to him, still somewhat hobbled from their encounter with the wraiths.

  “Indeed,” Draigo rumbled gently. The stout man glanced behind him at the two four-poster beds that occupied this room. Kortiama laid quietly in one while Solais tossed fitfully in the other. From what he could feel, their energy levels had begun to recover. “They should wake up sometime tomorrow.”

  Tharne nodded, his expression grateful. “Thank Zesstara for that”—his brow furrowed—“though Korti is going to have a tough time dealing with the deaths of her friends.”

  After the battle they had searched the rest of the villa. The wraiths were all gone, but they had found the bodies of the other teens—all completely drained of their life force.

  Draigo closed his eyes and grimaced. “As a war veteran, I’ve had some experience dealing with grief. If you want, I can stay up here and counsel the both of them.”

  Tharne smiled at him appreciatively. “Thank you, my friend. I can never repay you for all you have done, but I have an idea that might benefit both of us.”

  “Oh?” Draigo lifted both eyebrows.

  Tharne glanced back out the window. The lights of Renere still twinkled off in the distance. “As I said before, I know you are not thrilled with the pirate life. What if I told you there was a way you could retire?”

  Draigo pressed his lips together. “I’m listening.”

  “You know of the Day of Choosing?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Draigo admitted. Once every three years, during the time of the harvest moon, there came a day of great celebration amongst the clans—the Day of Choosing. That day, those youths who had come of age would be chosen to join a ship’s crew.

  Tharne gazed at Draigo, a haunted look in his eyes. “Four years from now, Korti will be of age. It is then she will be revealed to all as the new Lord Captain. Rikton will surely call for a Grand Choosing.”

  “Hmm.” Draigo nodded thoughtfully. “He will challenge her for the title.”

  Tharne’s grimace was so pronounced that Draigo could feel his pain. “Yes. It is well within his rights. No one will be able to intervene, not me, not Liadha.” Tharne’s voice sounded hollow. “It will be a slaughter. No one can stand against my brother with a blade—no one except perhaps you.”

  Draigo suddenly understood where Tharne was headed with this. “You want me to train her.”

  “Aye.” Tharne closed his eyes and nodded. “So, what if I were to tell folks the Emerald Blade died saving me and my girls?”

  “Go on,” Draigo rumbled, his curiosity piqued.

  “I’ll put up the wards again and tell folks the place is off limits—only my family and the caretaker will be allowed up here.”

  “Caretaker?” Draigo raised an eyebrow.

  “The simple gardener, Iro.” Tharne’s mouth twisted sideways.

  Draigo breathed a deep sigh. “Trade my sword in for a hoe? That would be heavenly.”

  Tharne chuckled softly to himself. “You are a strange man, my friend.”

  Draigo shrugged. “To each his own. So, how are you going to cover the fact that Korti took down the barrier?”

  Tharne’s smirk widened. “My brother’s already seen to that—I’ll just blame it on the amulet.”

  They had found the worthless piece of jewelry on Kortiama. Tharne now hefted it in his hand. “As long as no one else sees this, they won’t be able to say it’s not real.”

  “Rikton will know,” Draigo reminded him.

  Tharne casually flipped the amulet between his fingers. “That changes nothing. He won’t openly attack them without the mandate.”

  Draigo pressed his lips together and nodded. “Fair enough. Still, now that the barrier’s down, what’s to stop him from coming up here to look for it?”

  “Absolutely nothing. He’s part of my family, and he’s welcome up here anytime—at least, that’s what I’ll tell him.” Tharne winked.

  Draigo nodded appreciatively. If Rikton thought there was nothing to hide here, he would most likely lose interest. “That’ll take the wind out of his sails.”

  Tharne’s mouth spread into a grin. “Indeed, my friend. Indeed.”

  Grand Choosing

  Shannon Pemrick

  1

  Haunted

  A darkness surrounded Kortiama, one so thick not even her lantern could penetrate. Eyes darting about, her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, her heart racing. Her nose flared out, taking in the musty smell surrounding her. A cold sensation rushed past her back. She spun around, holding back a scream.

  A blood-curdling shriek filled the air, then it was cut short. Lathara? No, it can’t be.

  “Korti, run! Get the others out and run!” a young man shouted before he cried out in pain. Silence.

  “Regarn? Regarn?” No, he couldn’t be gone. “Trevis! Trevis, where are you?”

  More silence.

  Kortiama tugged on the arm of her sister, who lay in a heap on the ground, her wild mane of hair curtaining her face. Still breathing, her skin was pale and cold, as if the life had been sucked out of her. “Solais, get up. We have to go. This was a mistake.”

  Air moved in a brisk current behind her. Kortiama spun around, desperately trying to find
what had taken her friends. Her pulse pounded in her ears, making it hard to think. Why had she done this? She knew it was unsafe. And yet—

  A cold, dark, foreboding presence sent a chill up her spine. Kortiama turned to face a floating figure in a dark billowing cloak. A large boney hand reached for her, coming within mere inches of her skin. Unable to move a muscle, she let out a chilling scream.

  Kortiama’s eyes snapped open as she shot upright. Her breaths came shallow and hard, sweat dripping from all over her. Her fingers clutched soft sheets. She was no longer in a dark room. Instead, she sat in the large four-post bed in her room, bright morning light filtering in through a tall arched window. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she pulled her knees to her chest. Her long raven hair spilled around them.

  It was a dream… but at the same time it wasn’t. The recurring nightmare wouldn’t leave her, forcing her to relive that fateful mistake from three years ago, over and over. She knew the villa was dangerous at the time. That was why they needed a ward-breaking spell to get in. Yet she couldn’t let her ambitious uncle Rikton get his hands on the Mandate—the one item that would give him power over the Dasati. Even as a child, she’d learned what kind of ruin that would bring to their clan.

  Still, as a foolish child, she thought her little group of orphan misfits could handle it. They were a capable bunch—unfortunately, not capable enough.

  The door to her room flew open and heavy feet rushed in. “Korti? Korti, are you okay?” Soft hands touched her shoulders. “Korti, I could hear the screams from the other room.”

  Kortiama lifted her head, her cheeks tear-stained as she gazed at her sister Solais. Aside from the mane of light-brown hair, she looked remarkably like Korti. She had a similar tan complexion, with deep brown eyes and even the same round-shaped face.

  The two of them were the only ones to have survived the massacre, and only because Tharne and the Emerald Blade had come to rescue them—only the rescue had come at a cost, the Emerald Blade’s life. Afterwards, Kortiama discovered the Mandate hadn’t even been at the villa. It’d been a ruse by Rikton, and another example of her poor decision-making.

  Some leader I am.

  Solais stroked her head. “It was that nightmare again, wasn’t it?”

  Kortiama nodded, struggling to find her voice. She feared any quaver in it would only make her sound more pathetic.

  “You need to let it go, Korti,” her sister said, gently taking her by her shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was,” Kortiama insisted. “I was our leader. Everyone looked to me for direction. They trusted me. And I got them all killed.”

  Solais fixed her with a hard stare. “We followed you because we believed in you—and your goal. I’m the one who stole the barrier-canceling scroll from Uncle Tharne. You didn’t even know he had it. I chose to follow you. We all knew the dangers and what the cost might be.”

  Kortiama’s shoulders slumped. Knowing her friends had made those choices of their own accord didn’t absolve her of the guilt. It ate away at her every day. They were all supposed to make it to the day of choosing and be placed on one of the grand ships. They were to do their clan proud and be the best privateers in all the clans—at least one of them becoming a ship’s captain. That was the dream they all shared. But now only she and Solais would see that day come.

  With a reluctant sigh, Kortiama pulled herself out of bed and dressed. Solais left to do the same, knowing no words would help at this point.

  Kortiama pulled out a white low-shouldered blouse with long, flowing sleeves, and dark pants. A black underbust corset complimented the shirt, though it took a moment for her to lace up on her own. While difficult, it wasn’t impossible for Kortiama, due to years of practice.

  She then rummaged for her favorite boots, finding them tucked away in a corner. After pulling them tight up to her knees, Kortiama went about brushing her hair, staring out one of the tall arched windows of her tower. The villa below, constructed of smooth limestone with terracotta roof tiles, sprawled across a manicured plateau. Another tower stood on the south side of the home. A fortified wall surrounded the grounds, adding a fortress feel to the estate.

  Craggy mountaintops secluded her home to the east, while a forest and hills bordered the villa to the west. The sparkling waters of the loch shone beyond the treetops. Renere, the home port of the Dasati, sprawled along the western shore with a number of tall ships moored at its docks.

  She loved her little town, but like all in her clan, she yearned to be out on the water. Of course, until the day of the choosing, she would be confined to sailing skiffs in the loch.

  Kortiama’s brushing stopped, realization dawning on her. Today was her birthday, and that meant the next choosing was only a few months away. She and Solais had missed the last one due to the unfortunate event at the villa. This meant Kortiama could finally be chosen for one of the great ships of the Dasati, and sail with the rest of her clan.

  Renewed vigor hastened her routine, the nightmare soon becoming a distant memory.

  When she exited her room, Solais was just leaving hers as well. She’d dressed in leather pants and a cropped white blouse, the sleeves long and hanging low off her shoulders, accentuating her slender, muscular frame. A bright red bandana now pulled her hair out of her eyes, a failed attempt to control her wild mane.

  “Feeling better and ready to take on the day?” Solais asked.

  Kortiama nodded, and Solais’ face broke out in a wide grin before latching onto Kortiama. “Good. Can’t have my baby sister all gloomy on her birthday.”

  Kortiama’s nose scrunched as she swatted at Solais. “Must you call me that? You’re only three months older than me.”

  Solais winked. “Still makes me older.”

  She and Solais weren’t blood sisters. Both had been orphaned as babies during the largest raid in Dasati history. Lord Captain Eboneye, who had united the thirteen clans, led the raid on Penwick. It’d been long and grueling, with casualties on many fronts. But the feared man held the city, until their goddess’ favor ran out—or so it was claimed.

  Kortiama and Solais grew up together, alongside other children orphaned by that event, until Captain Tharne adopted both of them.

  Solais grabbed Kortiama’s wrist and dragged her toward the stairs. “C’mon, I’m sure Eyro has breakfast waiting.”

  Kortiama nodded, smiling, and followed her sister down the winding stone staircase. When they made it to the bottom of the tower, a faint savory smell teased their noses. Solais was right, Eyro has been busy this morning.

  Solais and Kortiama strolled down the hall, past several rooms and a large library. The villa seemed unnecessarily large, consisting of over twenty rooms between the first and second floors. Kortiama wasn’t entirely sure why it need to be so big. To her knowledge, the original owner never utilized even half the rooms. Power, most likely.

  They made it to the large foyer, descending one of the two curving stairs. Their boots clicked on the tiled black and white marble floor. Before entering the room where the smell wafted from, Kortiama stopped in front of a double portrait hanging between the stairs depicting an imposing couple. The man was garbed in a fancy, dark long coat and white shirt, with a red sash tied at the waist. An eye patch, grizzled dark beard, and scars enhanced his menacing visage, though it was the woman in the painting that was even more frightening.

  Her sable hair and porcelain skin framed coal-black eyes so dark one would swear they’d steal your soul. The elegant black grown and intricately woven hair did nothing to hide the ominous aura that was perfectly captured of this fearsome woman.

  These two were none other than Bernal “Eboneye” Ozden and his wife, Liadha Rowan, a powerful witch of the Ramulos clan. The estate had once belonged to them, until Liadha abandoned it after Eboneye’s death. That was how it fell into the state Kortiama and her friends had come to, before it had been purged of the dark horrors.

  Solais rested her arm on Kortiama’s shoulder.
“I still say you look a lot like her.”

  Kortiama tapped her finger against pursed lips. They did share many similarities, something others had pointed out when Liadha made the occasional visit to the clan to see her former brother-by-marriage. “Maybe. But I still say you look like Eboneye.”

  Her sister crossed her arms and puffed out her chest, arrogance radiating off of her. “Maybe I am his long-lost daughter, after all.”

  The two shared a glance and then doubled over in laughter. It wasn’t uncommon for children to pretend to be the fabled pirate’s lost heir. Who wouldn’t want to be related to such a man, and possibly have the blood right to lead the clan?

  “Korti, Solais, are you two finally downstairs?” came a masculine voice.

  “Yes, Eyro,” they responded in unison.

  A portly older man with weathered yellow-tan skin emerged from the adjacent room. He wore a simple robe, something he called a kimono. A gray beard framed his gentle features, long gray hair flowed behind his back, though the morning sun peeking through the nearby windows reflected off the bald spot atop his head where his hair had receded, threatening to make Koriama enter a fit of giggles. Solais, on the other hand, didn’t contain herself.

  His dark eyes crinkled in the corners as he chuckled, his smile deepening the few wrinkles he had. “From the sounds of it, you both are ready to get into trouble, and all before you’ve had your morning tea.”

  Oi, tea! Kortiama swore this man bled the stuff with how much he drank it. She smiled at him. “We’re not getting into any trouble…” She winked. “Yet.”

  Eyro laughed some more, resting a hand on his round belly. “Ah, of course. Now, before you two go causing havoc in town, come and have breakfast.”

  He ushered them into the adjacent room, where food was prepared and laid out for the taking. Kortiama’s eyes went wide. So much. They had bread and cheese, fish of several varieties, berries, a whole chicken, rice, eggs, and more. There were also several cups, and a tea pot waiting in the center. It all made her mouth water. “Eyro, what is all this?”