by Alan Black
Quest for the White Wind
Alan Black
This is a work of fiction . Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Quest for the White Wind
Published by arrangement with the author.
Copyright @ 2016 by Alan Black
Cover Layout and Design: The Cover Collection at
http://www.thecovercollection.com/
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or digital form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Copyright registration: 1-3280763811
ISBN-13: 978-1535026178
ISBN-10: 1535026170
Dedication :
This novel wouldn’t exist in this form without my brother Steve Black or my wonderful wife Duann. It was their prodding that pushed me into converting an old story I’d written years ago into a fantasy novel. It wasn’t as easy a task as they told me it would be, but the result is better than I could have wished for.
Acknowledgement:
Thanks beta reader team for your quality reads and feedback. Steven, Bennett, Melanie & Melissa, you make my books much better than they would be, if left to my own imagination.
I also want to thank my editors. Melissa Manes
(www.scriptionis.com) has done her usual wonderful job. My chief editor has exceeded all expectations.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Legalese
Dedication and Acknowlegement
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Other Books by Alan Black
About the Author
Praise for Other Books by Alan Black
Map
CHAPTER ONE
Rough hands jarred Tanden awake, dragging him from the captain’s bunk. Before he was fully alert, fists slammed into his stomach while someone struggled to pull a dirty, smelly sackcloth over his head. Before he could strike back, his arms were yanked behind him and his wrists tied with a rough cord. More hands grabbed at him than he could count. His attackers grunted as they fell about trying to get at him, climbing over each other, his small desk, and the trade goods stacked about his cabin. Other than a few guttural curses, no one spoke, leaving him no clue about his attackers.
The hits to his body were painful, but not enough to stop his struggle. His twisting and turning brought more blows. He shook his head trying to loosen the sackcloth, but it was looped tightly around his neck. The rancid stale odor of the cloth did little to block the smell of sweaty unwashed men and the acrid fragrance of smoke.
Falling onto his bunk a few hours earlier, he was certain he could sleep through a whirlwind. He had stripped off his shirt but was too tired to pull off his boots. Now, sharp fingernails raked across his bare back. Dragged to his feet, his boots saved him from injury when a foot stomped on his instep.
Clanging swords, loud voices, and the sound of running feet came from the deck above.
Tanden wasn’t concerned about the insult to his person, the harsh binding of his hands behind his back, the sharp sizzle and pop of a magical spell, or the possibility of injury and death to him or his crew. He was alarmed about the smell of smoke swirling about his cabin. Smoke on board a sailing vessel was a bad sign, even in this modern age. Fire threatened his passengers, the ship, and his cargo.
He and his crew were aboard the White Wind by their free will—by their deliberate choice. The crew had selected his vessel as their best option for a successful, profitable voyage. Their lives were important, but not Tanden’s primary obligation, at this moment. A ship’s captain is the ultimate steward of her passengers, the ship itself, and her cargo. Stewardship was serious business to Tanden. Any losses would severely damage the rewards he worked hard to earn, rewards in this life and in the life yet to come.
His attackers dragged him down the short hallway passing by the passenger cabin. Lady Yasthera il-Aldigg shared the cabin with her maid, I-Sheera. Her bodyguards didn’t stop them. Normally, anyone walking the passageway would have stumbled around one of them or the Lady’s elderly, male cousin who acted as her escort and chaperone. All three men slept in the tiny corridor, however, this time the passageway was clear.
Tanden was thin and well-muscled for a man coming into the middle of his thirties. Many would describe him as wiry if he was a smaller man or bony if he was taller. Years as a warrior, a sailor, and a ready laborer on his adopted father’s docks and warehouses had toughened his six-foot frame. Age hadn’t thinned his wild mop of red hair, nor dimmed his clear blue eyes. He was strong, hard, and stubborn.
Struggle as he might, Tanden was well and truly bound. Trussed like a goat on the way to the market, they dragged him up to the top deck. The rough handling did not hamper Tanden’s tongue. He called upon the wrath of the gods—all six of the planet’s moons—though he believed their power was a myth and they certainly weren’t listening. Unsure of who he was cursing, he threatened them with the vengeance of Emperor Monstantong who sat upon the blue throne in Tunston; the might of Warwall, the Red Wizard of Drohnbad; and the promise of a blood feud with King Krebbem, ruler of the Holden Kingdom and the green priests. His captors unceremoniously dumped him onto the top deck as he called on the shrill voice of his adopted grandmother to cause their ears to bleed.
The air on the deck was clear, but Tanden was still concerned about the possibility of fire. The ship and her cargo would be lost if a fire caught hold. He and most of his crew could swim or grab onto hastily constructed rafts, but the White Wind was a long way from shore. He might not be able to save his passengers.
Losing his passengers, even if he saved everything else, would be an unacceptable failure. Not living up to his adopted father’s faith would shame Tanden beyond measure. Tanden had sworn to the memory of his long dead mother and the six gods that he would never fail. He no longer believed in the six gods, and the memory of his mother had long since faded, yet he steadfastly held to his oath with unflinching conviction.
The knife Tanden felt at his throat did not bode well. The blade’s edge was sh
arp and held expertly against his skin, pressed by a skilled hand. The slightest shift would cause blood to flow. He rose slowly to his knees hearing the sounds of a scuffle around him. Recognizing Gadon’s angry voice and the voices of others, he could not discern their words, because the sackcloth muffled the sound. The clanging swords and scuffling stopped.
Tanden shouted, “Cease! Release me.”
Someone said, “Shut your mouth.” Their response was punctuated by a slap to his head.
He was thankful the blow pushed his head backward away from the knife blade. He realized with a start that he recognized the voice. Heraclius was a crewman, a Glendonite who had sailed on the White Wind once before.
“Herry,” Tanden shouted, hoping that calling the man by his common name might help calm the situation. “Let’s discuss this before it goes too far and someone gets killed.”
“It’s too late for that, you arrogant bastard,” Heraclius snarled.
Another voice interrupted, “He’s right, Heraclius. No more blood, we have what we want.” The voice was Gregin’s.
Heraclius had enlisted and vouched for Gregin shortly before they sailed from Harkelle in the Kingdon of Holden. The man was small and pinched, in stature and personality. Tanden appreciated Gregin’s small intervention. Although he was not really sure what was going on, he swore silently that Heraclius and Gregin would pay dearly for this, as would any others involved.
Heraclius shouted again, “Gadon, hold or we’ll split the throat of this Surr cast-off bastard.” If Heraclius could see Tanden’s eerie smile under the sackcloth, he might have regretted his remark about Tanden’s birth.
When he was younger, Tanden would have mutilated or outright killed anyone who insulted him in such a manner. His mother, a Nechepeg maid from the northern reaches of the Holden Kingdom, was raped by a Surr raiding party and left for dead. She lived to give birth to Tanden, only to die a few years later from a fever. A moderately well-to-do merchant family raised Tanden. He started his childhood as more of a servant than a ward, but grew to become family. Despite his adopted family connections and the passing years, he was still sensitive about his birth and the loss of his mother. He had studied with the great scholars of science in the secret Arius libraries in Allexia as a young man. There, he had become convinced that insults from ignorant men should not go unanswered. He believed the six moon gods were not deities at all and had no authority to punish, neither in this life nor in the next. Tanden would cut Heraclius’s tongue from his foul mouth if the Geldonite lived long enough for justice and revenge.
Tanden heard no response from Gadon, but the knife retreated, and the sackcloth was yanked off his head.
“Fire?” He asked as his vision cleared in the gray of the coming dawn.
“What?” Gregin asked.
Heraclius answered, “We’ve taken the fool’s ship, all his cargo, taken his passengers hostage, and he wants a fire to warm his frail old bones.”
“Is the ship on fire?” Tanden asked patiently. Time would tell who was the fool if Heraclius and Gregin did not understand the dangers of a fire on board a ship at sea without a red magician present to control it. “I smelled smoke where there shouldn’t have been any. Is there a fire?”
“No fire,” Gregin replied. His voice was calm and relaxed, with a steadfast tone Tanden had never heard from him before.
Tanden decided he must have smelled a burning torch or lamp they used to light his cabin when he was taken. He took stock of the situation about him as his eyes cleared. Four of his men sat with him: Alton, a fair-haired citizen of Holden; Durrban, an older man, was a devout green magic acolyte; Tuller was Gadon’s younger brother; and Seenger from Huzzuzz, was a dark ogre.
In the pale morning light, Tanden saw Alton and Seenger had bleeding wounds about their heads and faces, clear indications they had not been subdued without a struggle. It would have taken a magician or a priest to stop the ogre without more than a handful of men. Alton was a small man, easy to knock down and tie up. Tuller and Durrban were bound hand and foot. Tuller would not have been taken without a fight unless captured by surprise.
Durrban was as small as Alton and well on his way to his sixth decade, with limited magical ability. This far out to sea, a green magic acolyte could not collect and condense enough magic to fight a blue magician who could draw strength and power from the winds and the movement of the six moons themselves. No acolyte stood any chance for success in a battle against a priest, magician, or wizard of any color.
Seenger’s wounds would have been deadly on a human. His cuts were on the thick bony ridge along his forehead, well below his black straw-like hair. The ogre’s upper and lower fangs were evident, showing his willingness to continue the fight, despite the danger of a magician or priest on board. A light dusting of blue swirled around Seenger’s hands, binding them tighter than leather or hemp bonds. The ogre glared at Obert, another crew member armed with a short sword standing uneasily over the captives.
A glimpse at the surrounding sea assured Tanden no other vessel had come upon them in the night. All he had to deal with was a handful of mutineers and thieves.
Two other crewmen, Greeta and Tuba, had Gadon cornered on the aft deck. Gadon’s back was to the sea. Holding a pike menacingly in his hands, Gadon slashed it through the early morning air. The pike was a boarding pike with a foot-long metal point on the end of an eight-foot wooden shaft. A sharp hook was welded on at the junction of wood and metal for catching mooring lines or dock pylons. Today, the metal hook caught the first rays of the sun. The sharp curved end succeeded in keeping the two men away from the first mate. Gadon’s short, heavy frame made him look fat, but many a tavern brawl proved Gadon a difficult man to put down in a fight. As Gadon swung the pike before him, his face looked ready to explode.
Greeta and Tuba managed to keep him cornered from a respectable distance. Tuba was favoring one leg, a sure sign his respect of Gadon’s fighting ability was earned the hard way. Nommer, the twelfth crewman, was nowhere to be seen, nor were the Lady, her maid, or any of her attendants.
Gregin shouted to Gadon, his voice commanding and imperious. “Yield now or you will be killed.”
“I’ll shit in your beard first,” Gadon spat. “I’ll give your body to the sea, where I sent that idiot Nommer. Then, I’ll die a happy man.”
“You misunderstand me, Gadon.” Gregin’s voice was calm and confident. “It’s not just you, but all of you who side with Tanden will be tossed into the sea to drown. As a servant of blue magic, I must follow the commandments of my lord, the Blue Wizard of Tunston, who says, “Thou shalt not murder.” Still, I’ll not hesitate to have Heraclius and his companions toss you all overboard, here and now.”
“And if I yield, then what?” Gadon asked.
“No promises, no promises at all to you,” Gregin said. “If you continue fighting us, you shall be the last to go overboard. His high and mighty self, the great Captain Tanden, will go overboard first...with his hands tied and then all the others; each in turn. You last of all because I doubt even your strength against the five of us.”
Gadon called, “Tanden, what say you?”
“Yes, Tanden,” Heraclius snarled in a taunting tone. “Tell us. What say you; you imperious bastard. You lord yourself over us like you know it all. Tell us, in your genius, how you expect to get out of our hands.”
Tanden said, though mostly to himself, “I will find a way, in this life or the next.”
“Ha!” Heraclius shouted in triumph. “Then I still win. Gregin is a Tunston blue priest, sent by the Blue Wizard himself. He has assured me of my place in the next life.”
“Enough, Heraclius!” Gregin interrupted. “We don’t need to cast the Blue Wizard’s wisdom before these swine.”
“Tanden,” Seenger spoke for the first time, his voice low and gravelly, “Let’s take some of them with us if we’re to die by their hand on this deck or in the sea. My god would enjoy a few blue sacrifices.”
Like
all Huzzuzzian ogres, Seenger was a pagan, never using magic of any color or form. Tanden doubted he worshipped any gods, though the jibe wasn’t lost on Obert who was standing guard over him and Gadon’s brother, Tuller. Seenger was as tough a creature as Tanden had ever met, doubly dangerous because he feared nothing and cared about even less.
Tuller, always the negotiator, said, “Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Surely, there isn’t any profit in our deaths. We would die if we went overboard. Yet, I know for a certainty, we would take some of you with us. The five you have now is barely enough to sail this good ship and cargo back to Stantinstadt. It’d be wasting the quality goods on this ship for no man to claim them. Nor would you want our deaths on your souls. We can surely reach some accord if we calmly discuss your demands.”
Gregin looked disdainfully at Tuller, then back to Tanden, “Your ship and cargo mean nothing to me. I’m afraid you mustn’t live to tell of what has happened here today.”
Tanden silently thanked Tuller for his intervention. Now he knew the intention of the mutineers. They were here to take or kill his passenger, Lady Yasthera il-Aldigg. She was bound for Holden, engaged in marriage to a younger member of King Krebbem’s household.
Political tensions were thick enough to cut with a wooden kitchen spoon. Warwall, the Red Wizard of Drohnbad captured the Oggy Strait and the city of Stantinstadt a few years before. The strait bottled up access to the Black Sea. The narrow waterway was the only shipping lane from the Holden Kingdom to the Almodovar Ocean. Closing the strait strangled Holden’s economy. Warwall pressured Holden’s King Krebbem into an agreement to convert his realm to the red magic order. For Holden to survive as a separate kingdom, converting was their only political option. The forced agreement greatly disturbed Tunston’s emperor, who blindly followed the Blue Wizard, the strongest member of the blue order and the head of their conclave.
Colorful magic ruled every aspect of Tanden’s world. Everyone was affected by it, believers and pagans alike. Wind and the movement of the stars and the six small moons in the sky were the sources of blue magic. A follower gathered shifting winds into his hands, condensing it into blue power. The flickering flames of fire were the source of red magic. The order collected and condensed the power of rising heat and the dancing red blaze to wield their magic. The green magic order gathered their force from the growth of all living things. The minute movement of a single blade of grass as it grew without external compulsion generated magical power. Green magic could be harvested from a grassy meadow, the bushes hedging the clearing, the trees growing near the clearing, and the small creatures that called the meadow their home. Their growth from egg to adult added to the green’s strength.