Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  Lara gently elbowed Kratos in the side, then stepped forward and kissed Pallas on the cheek. “Despite what some folks say, that was very brave of you, Pallas.” She stepped back and tapped her chin with a single finger. “Still, you had us worried there for a while.”

  “Nothing Thea couldn’t fix!” Lloyd exclaimed enthusiastically.

  Their reunion was interrupted when someone grabbed Pallas from behind. He turned to see Alys standing there, her comely brow furrowed with deep concern. “Thank the gods you’re okay. We’ve been worried sick over you.”

  Pallas flushed at her close proximity. He tried to speak, but suddenly found himself tongue-tied.

  What in Thac is the matter with me? It’s just Alys—the same gangly little redhead who used to annoy me all the time. Yet no matter how much he tried to deny it, this was not that same girl. This Alys was very much a woman.

  It was Lloyd, of all people, who came to his rescue. “Nah, he’s fine. We Stealles are made of stronger stuff than iron.”

  Pallas groaned to mask his flustered state. He never thought he’d be happy to hear one of Lloyd’s infamous family-name puns.

  Alys seemed to enjoy his brother’s dry sense of humor. She giggled and grinned at him before turning to Kratos and Lara. “Anyway, if you don’t mind, may I borrow your son?”

  Lara arched an eyebrow as she exchanged glances with Kratos. Pallas had hit marrying age quite a few years back. His parents had been trying to set him up with eligible young women ever since.

  Kratos now wore a knowing look that would normally have made Pallas groan. Yet for some reason it didn’t bother him this time.

  Lara gave Alys a sweet smile. “But of course, dear.”

  Before Pallas knew it, he had been whisked away toward the ongoing conversation between Alys’ father and Captain Hightower. Pallas felt just a bit nervous about joining them. Alburg had not exactly been a fan of the Stealles since that deadly incident five years ago. In fact, he had made it quite plain that he thought it was all their fault. Yet his nerves were replaced with curiosity as they approached the duo.

  The pair were gazing intently at an unrolled parchment Alburg held in his hands. When Dunamal saw them, however, he swiftly rolled up the paper and handed it to Hightower. The entire thing made Pallas all the more suspicious. What is Dunamal up to now?

  Alys still held onto his arm as she drew up in front of the pair. “Father, you remember Pallas Stealle—the young man who rescued me yet again.”

  Pallas nearly choked. Alys was taking great liberties with that introduction, especially when she knew how her father felt.

  The elder Dunamal regarded Pallas silently, his expression unreadable. Thus, he caught Pallas completely by surprise when he extended his hand out to him. “Thank you for saving my daughter, young man. If it were not for you, I might have never seen her again.”

  Pallas’ eyes widened at the unexpected reaction. Thea’s words from before ran through his mind. “It appears the crusty old coot really does care about his daughter.”

  Pallas was hard pressed to keep a straight face as he tentatively shook hands with Alburg. Yet for the first time since he had met him, Pallas noted genuine warmth in the old man’s expression. Even so, Pallas felt somewhat embarrassed for being singled out. “It was really the efforts of the entire crew, sir.”

  Captain Hightower admonished him. “Pallas, no need for modesty. It was your idea that ensured the young Lady Dunamal’s safety.”

  Pallas was not sure how to react. He was far more used to hearing subtle innuendos about his lineage than receiving praise for his accomplishments. In the end, he responded with a smart salute. “Thank you, Sir.”

  Hightower crisply saluted him back, a smile spreading across his chiseled features. “That is why it gives me great pleasure to present you with this.”

  He held out the same parchment Dunamal had handed him just a few moments ago. Pallas raised a single eyebrow as he stared at the rolled-up paper.

  Hightower thrust it toward him. “Take it, lad. You’ve earned it.”

  Pallas, now thoroughly mystified, accepted the parchment from his captain. He slowly unrolled it, his eyes going wide when he saw what was written there. No way. No bloody way.

  Alys practically bubbled with delight as she stared over his shoulder. She ran a finger along the parchment, pointing out the signature at the bottom. “It’s a commission from the Baron of Penwick himself, assigning you captaincy of the Avenger.”

  Pallas felt numb as he stared at the paper. Captaining the Avenger was something he had dreamed of ever since he was a youth. The very first time he had seen the great man-of-war, he promised himself that someday she would be his.

  Alys, still hanging onto his arm, gave him a gentle tug. “Well, say something, Pallas.”

  As the shock wore off, Pallas began to smile. However, just as suddenly, his smile faded. Guilt-ridden, he gazed at Hightower. “But… what about you, Sir?”

  Hightower eyed him for a moment, then smiled warmly. He shifted his gaze to Alys and her father. “Would you two excuse us for a moment?”

  Alburg responded with a prudent nod. “Why of course. Alys and I have some family matters to discuss anyway.”

  Alys seemed less than enthusiast about leaving them, but her father firmly escorted her a few paces down the rail. When they were out of earshot, Hightower addressed Pallas in a soft voice. “Don’t worry about me, lad. I was going to retire in a year or two anyway.”

  He turned to face the rail, motioning for Pallas to join him. “However, it would seem that Master Dunamal is willing to make my waning years quite comfortable.” He placed a hand beside his mouth and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He just made me a nice, tidy offer to run his fleet of merchant ships.”

  Pallas eyed Hightower with disbelief, then cast a suspicious eye at Dunamal. What are you up to, old man?

  Alburg, however, was deep in conversation with his daughter. When Alys saw him looking over, she waved to him enthusiastically.

  Pallas couldn’t help but smile back, his suspicions all but forgotten. He turned to Hightower and replied in a low voice. “Are you sure about this?”

  Hightower surprised him with an uncharacteristic wink. “I’m certain.” He then stood up straight and snapped to attention, giving Pallas a sharp salute. “Welcome aboard the Avenger, Captain Stealle.”

  Pallas’ eyes shot wide open. Not to be rude, he snapped to attention and saluted back. “Thank you, Sir!”

  Before he could say another word, he felt a small hand slip into his. Alys stared up at him with a brilliant smile.

  “Congratulations, Captain.”

  Without warning, the ardent young lady stood on her toes and gently kissed him. Pallas’ head swam, the smell of her skin and warmth of her lips having an intoxicating effect on him. It only lasted for a few moments, then Alys pulled away and whispered softly in his ear. “That was for saving my life.”

  She let go and stepped back, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Pallas felt the blood rush to his face, quite certain that he must be as red as a beet. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Alburg addressed him.

  “Ahem. Yes, congratulations indeed. I am sure you will want to celebrate first with your family, but do come by afterwards to visit our home.”

  Pallas raised an eyebrow at the unexpected invitation. A Stealle at the Dunamal house? Next thing you’ll be telling me is that Lloyd is the next Duke of Dunwynn.

  Still, Alburg seemed quite sincere. Perhaps Pallas should have felt more wary, but Alys’ attention had him feeling rather agreeable. He cleared his throat and gave the austere gentleman a curt bow. “Certainly, Master Dunamal. It would be my pleasure.”

  Alburg responded with a curt nod, then extended his arm to Alys. “Very good. Now we must be off.”

  Pallas peered past Alburg and noted one of his merchant ships anchored a short distance from the Avenger.

  As the Dunamals strode away, Alys glanced back over h
er shoulder. Her eyes danced as she mouthed a silent message to Pallas. See you soon.

  Pallas felt the blood rush to his cheeks again. There was no denying the strange affect she had on him. A firm clasp on his shoulder shook him out of his reverie.

  Pallas turned to see Thea staring at him with her arms folded across her chest. The rest of his family stood behind her. “Well, you may be the new captain of this ship, but until you’re better, you still answer to me. Now back to bed. Priestess’ orders!”

  Pallas let out a short laugh, then gave her a mock salute. “Yes, Sir!”

  Thea grasped him by one arm, while Lara grabbed the other. The two ladies led him away, with his father and brother in tow.

  Yet Pallas could not help glancing once last time at the receding Dunamals. He noted with covert pleasure the winsome young redhead casting a glance back at him.

  The Battle of Fish Eye Cove

  Timothy P. Doran

  1

  Fisheye Cove

  The newborn sun was already starting to burn off the morning’s misty chill from the small cove. Soon the white crescent of beach would be sparkling in the sun, and the only way to escape the blazing heat would be to plunge into the cool ocean waters. Usually she looked forward to such a treasured early summer’s day, but Meriwynn Fichgotz knew the holiday was a sham.

  The baron was dead, and a dread pallor was falling across her entire village.

  Ma suggested the trip in a cheerful, off-handed way, the smile never quite reaching her eyes. It took only one meaningful look from her to convince Pa, and she packed the family off with honey rolls and greenberry jam usually reserved for holidays.

  Even her Uncle Vic had agreed to go along. He hadn't done a serious day's fishing in the half-year since he had returned to Ravenford, but he was the one who suggested Fisheye Cove as the perfect place for a day trip.

  At the last minute, Ma declared that they needed her at the keep, and the family was to go without her. There was no arguing with Mama Fichgotz.

  So, they sailed their small fishing boat down the coast before the sun was fully up, and arrived at the cove at first light. Fisheye Cove was perfectly round, and almost completely surrounded by a rock wall. The wall of unevenly squared and fitted rocks rose a tall man’s height over the waves and was twice again as wide. It was rough and carelessly strewn, like the work of giant children.

  The cove was mostly shallow, one or two fathoms at most, except for the very center, where the bottom fell away in a circular well, the depth of which her father had been unable to measure with his longest line.

  Their small fishing boat was anchored at the north end of the cove, and Merry’s father and uncle were already preparing the nets in the gentle waves near the inlet. There they patiently waited for the yellow-jumpers that were the Baroness’ favorites. The jumpers would be harder to catch this time of year, and smaller, but like all good fishermen, they were patient and determined.

  Merry’s younger brother, Gulhawk, had found a wealth of driftwood and was busy making implements of war for his games. Before he could try to rope her into his escapades, or her father found some net that needed mending, Merry made her way down the beach and carefully out along the south breakwater to a particularly large boulder that marked the end. There she brought out her journal and settled down.

  She turned her back to the rising bluffs that rose toward the rounded peak of Stone Hill in the distance. At the shore end of the curved breakwater, she and her brother had found evidence of some ancient stone structures, now overgrown by trees and shrubs, and an old, mostly buried road that headed, she imagined, to the old ruined keep on the hill. Someday when she was older, she would follow that trace of road to see where it truly went.

  To her left, the coastline ran almost due north to the mouth of the Raven River, and her hometown of Ravenford. It then curved back east and somewhat south, so that she could faintly see the rocky heights of Gelcliff across the water. And she thought that she could almost make out the lighthouse at the tip of Cape Marlin. The lighthouse had recently been burned to a stony husk in a magical conflagration by some evil conjurer yet to be caught.

  To Merry’s right, the coast curved south out of sight behind a large ridge, and then appeared again traveling eastward, out to Colossus Point. Once, several years ago, her family had sailed out past the rocky prominence at the foot of the colossal statue. In her wild dreaming, the towering stone figure was the earthly incarnation of some forgotten goddess, so lifelike that it might come alive at any moment and recognize her as the long-lost heir of a fabled kingdom far from here.

  Some of her imaginings were too wild to share, even with her story journal. She held onto the precious book like one of the lost treasures she wrote about. Merry knew she didn’t really have to worry about her family finding its secrets; she was the only one among them who could read.

  Her brother had been invited to the classes that the Lady Gracelynn taught for all the village children, but he rarely attended and could barely recognize letters. “There’s little reason for a fisherman to read,” her father would say in his gruff way, but she knew he was terribly proud of her, and after a few drinks would go on at the tavern to anyone who would listen about how gifted his girl was.

  Merry carefully untied the ribbon from around her book. Knots were one thing the Fichgotz family members were uniformly experts at. Her brother would never fall for a thief knot, so she used a grief knot instead, relying on the flat of the ribbon and an extra tuck to keep it from slipping.

  She began humming a little tune as she produced a small quill and ink bottle from her pouch. It was a glorious half-hour before she was interrupted.

  “There you are, Princess! Never fear, I am here to rescue you!” the voice of Gulhawk cried dramatically behind her. Merry didn’t need to turn around to know he was striking some improbable pose.

  “Get out of here, vermin!” she snapped over her shoulder.

  “Gods!” he complained, “You don’t need to bite my head off.”

  Merry looked back in disgust. Gully was dressed only in short trousers. His skinny arms were brandishing a piece of whitened driftwood that looked like an enormous, flattened and bent chicken bone with a bad case of gout.

  “What’s that?” she asked resignedly.

  “It’s my axe!” he exclaimed.

  “You’re the one who’s going to need rescuing if you don’t march back around the cove and leave me alone,” she warned in a tone she hoped conveyed the proper amount of menace.

  That was exactly the kind of challenge that ‘Sir Gulhawk’ was looking for. “Ho, it isn’t a princess; it’s a sea-hag in disguise! Good thing I brought my trusty axe.”

  “Oh no,” she bemoaned, “poor Sir Gulhawk is greatly mistaken.” Merry rose and turned on her brother. “It isn’t a lowly sea-hag he faces, but something far more dangerous!” She paused for dramatic effect; then her eyes went wide as she looked over his head.

  “A dragon!”

  Gully still thought it was part of the game until the powerful form of a true dragon flew less than thirty feet over his head. The great beast’s scales glistened like metal in the early morning sun; the wind of its passing stirred their hair with the tang of a pre-storm breeze. Merry staggered as she felt pure primal fear buckle her knees and turn her guts to jelly as it passed.

  The dragon banked as it glided beyond the cove, then when over deeper water, it suddenly dropped beneath the surface with barely a ripple.

  “That was…” Gully began to shout, but Merry’s hand cut him off and pulled him down as the second dragon skimmed over the treetops and into the air over the cove. This one was smaller, its body no bigger than their fishing boat. And with the morning sun on its bright scales, it seemed almost radiant. The second dragon also didn’t invoke the same fear in her as the first dragon, perhaps because it was farther away, or maybe because it seemed slightly confused.

  It looked first at the ocean where the larger dragon had vanished, then
at the fishing boat and the people with nets in the waves, and then back the way it had come.

  Merry was certain that it was yelling to her father and uncle as it flew over their heads. It was too far to be sure, but she thought the dragon was telling them to swim for deep water.

  Not likely, she thought. Dry land and the woods would be safer, with the ocean full of storm dragons. She looked at the over hundred feet of broken and slippery rocks along the breakwater to shore. She would have to chance it as quickly as she could with Gully in tow.

  She didn’t make it a step before the next wave of dragons appeared over the bluffs, diving for the cove.

  Even as the certainty of their imminent death became clear to her, Merry thought how odd and beautiful it was to see the multicolored flight of dragons descend out of the morning sky.

  Theria was tired, annoyed, and hungry. She had been flying all night trying to catch those cursed storm dragons, their bronze-scaled tails always in view, but frustratingly out of reach. May the five-headed Lady consume their souls, she fumed to herself.

  The larger of her quarry, Vestiralanna, couldn’t be in good shape, not after her days of exposure to the shard. And Theria didn’t know how she had managed to hold on the last few hours and stay ahead of them. The smaller storm dragon, she didn’t know, but Theria assumed she was a relative, and probably the one who had rescued Ves.

  Truly they should have caught them hours ago, but their luck was poor and their coordination worse. It didn’t help that she was grouped with the biggest flock of young idiots ever to hatch from dragon eggs.

  And now the chase was over; their quarry had reached the sea. There was no catching them unless the Dragon Master returned. Even with the power of the shard, the princess certainly couldn’t catch dragons as powerful as these in their own element.