The Third Eye Initiative

by J. J. Newman

  Captain Halbert sat down at a table beside a man who looked like he had been in a fight with a grizzly bear and lost. His bald face and head were scarred, and he was missing his left ear. He grinned at Tsaeris, and all the teeth in his mouth were either missing or broken.

  “This is me mate, Cornock,” Halbert said. “Cornock, this is Byron.”

  “Bout time ye showed up!” Cornock said, spittle spraying from the large gaps in his teeth with each word. He wondered if all sailors greeted people that way.

  “Well, you know. Better late than never,” Tsaeris replied.

  “Aye. Let’s get down to business,” Captain Halbert said. “As ye know, our Navigator got himself kilt this morning. Found him dead in the water.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Tsaeris replied. The dead Navigator had been named Lester. A nick of a poisoned knife and a push off the dock had been enough to take care of that little problem. Official cause of death had been drowning.

  “See the thing is, we need to leave tonight while it’s dark. Most navigators ain't willing to travel out of port at night. But we’re in a rush, and can’t wait around fer the inspectors to get around to clearing our ship in the morning,” Halbert said.

  “More than that, we ain't want no inspection,” Cornock added.

  “Curse yer face, Cornock. Was going fer the subtle approach,” Halbert said angrily.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not stupid. And yes, I’ll navigate at night. It’ll cost you extra, though,” Tsaeris said.

  “We’ll give ye three hundred gold extra if yer willing to navigate tonight,” Halbert offered.

  “Five hundred. Sailing out of port at night is very illegal, after all,” Tsaeris countered.

  “Five hundred? Fer that kind of money we might as well wait until we get to Synar and hire a navigator there. It’s not like ye navigators do any real work.”

  “Ah, but the Navigator’s Guild doesn’t take kindly to ships sailing without a licensed Navigator. In fact, you sail into Synar without a navigator you’re going to find yourself in jail.”

  “Maybe Cornock here pretends he’s a Navigator,” Halbert said.

  “Come on, Halbert. Is that the best you can do? We both know that they don’t take your word for it. They want to see paper work,” Tsaeris smiled.

  “Maybe I find him some fake paper work,” Halbert wasn’t backing down.

  “And sail into Synar without a first mate? That’s even more illegal than not having a navigator.” Tsaeris took a sip of his whiskey, as Halbert and Cornock glared at him. “Gentlemen. You have a choice here. You can either pay what I ask, or you can find a new navigator and sail out in the morning after your inspection.”

  “Fine,” Halbert said after a long pause, his voice angry. “You win. Five hundred, ye bloody thief. Let me see yer papers.”

  “When do we leave?” Tsaeris asked, handing Halbert his expertly forged Navigator’s license. Halbert examined the paper for a moment, and then handed it back to Tsaeris.

  “We leave now, ye bandit.”

  ***

  The deck of the ship was silent as the crew prepared it to cast off. They didn’t want to alert anyone of their nightly departure. They were so quiet and so efficient at it, that Tsaeris was sure that this was not the first time they left port under the cover of night.

  Before long the ship was drifting out into the harbor. Tsaeris felt unsteady on his feet, having never been on a ship before. It took the ship almost an hour to leave the harbor behind, and the lights of the city were barely visible in the distance. Once it had left the harbor, the ship turned north, staying close to the coast. Most ships would follow the coast all the way to Synar.

  The Captain and Cornock immediately retired to their cabins as soon as the ship had started up coast, their long day of drinking finally catching up to them. Tsaeris decided that he would start his work now, as he didn’t want to get too far away from the city. It was just after midnight. If he worked quickly, he could still make it home by dawn.

  There were four crewmen on deck, and a man at the helm. The sail was raised, but was all but limp as there wasn’t much of a breeze. The ship was moving very slowly. Tsaeris nodded to the crewmen, and then made his way to the rooms below deck. The ship creaked and swayed, and it made Tsaeris slightly nauseous. He made his way to the crew’s quarters first. Six men lay sleeping in uncomfortable looking hammocks. Tsaeris released a vial from his coat and silently removed the cork stopper.

  He quietly approached the first man in the room and, using his thumb to control the dose, poured a single drop from the vial into the man’s ear. One by one, he went to each crewman. If the man lay on his back, a single drop from a different vial on his lips was enough to get the job done. The poisons were painless, and the sounds of heavy breathing faded away one by one.

  Next he made his way to Cornock’s room. Decided that he really didn’t like the man, Tsaeris slit his throat instead of using poisons. He held his hand firmly against the man’s mouth, muffling any sound, as he tore his throat open with his knife. The man took a few minutes to die, and then Tsaeris moved on.

  Tsaeris had to pick a lock to get into Halbert’s cabin, but the lock was basic and Tsaeris had it opened with his picks faster than most men could have with a key. He crept silently to the side of the sleeping captain and removed a long needle.

  He closed the captain’s door softly as he left the room. Moving silently so as not to alert those crewmen still alive on deck, Tsaeris found the cargos hold. The lock was no more difficult to open than the one on the captain’s door.

  Inside there was a large cage. He could hear muffled sobs and whispered voices coming from inside. A single torch sat in a bracket on the wall. The cage was full of children. Orc children, to be more specific, and an adult male and female who were obviously charged with looking after the young. This ship was a notorious slave runner and the Initiative had decided to shut it down.

  “Do you speak Common?” Tsaeris asked in a whisper.

  “Yes,” the adult male replied.

  “Good. I’m going to open the cage. You need to keep the children quiet. There are still men alive on deck.”

  The Orc nodded, obviously not wanting to argue with a man who was freeing them. Tsaeris opened the cage. He ushered the Orcs out, and bid them to follow him. The adult Orcs did a good job keeping the children silent. When they reached the staircase leading to the deck, Tsaeris held up his hand to stop the Orcs.

  “Wait here. I’m going to take care of the men on deck. Don’t come out until I come back for you. Understand?” Tsaeris said. The Orc male and female nodded.

  Tsaeris crept up the stairs and opened the door to the deck. He closed it behind him. Silently, he approached one of the crewmen from behind. As quickly as he could, he reached out, gripped a hand over the man’s mouth, and slit his throat.

  “What the hell...” a voice said from behind him. Tsaeris cursed. “He killed him!”

  Tsaeris spun to face the crewman, who was quickly joined by the other two. Tsaeris could hear the anchor chain unwinding, and the helmsman was joining his crew mates as well. All four men held swords.

  “You’re dead, you little freak!” one of the crewmen yelled.

  The sailors attacked together. Tsaeris dodged two sword blades, and then leaped backwards. He needed as much space between himself and his assailants as possible.

  “Stop!” Tsaeris cried out, holding his hands out in front of him. The men hesitated for just a second, but it was enough.

  Tsaeris whipped his arms downwards, and two metal balls fell out of his sleeves, their pins pulling off on his fingers as they fell. They rolled towards the sailors, and popped in an eruption of shrapnel and flame. Two of them went down immediately to lie screaming on the deck. The other two were burned badly but stayed on their feet. Tsaeris removed a handful of tiny impact explosives from his pocket and threw them at the feet of the other two sailors. The explosions were not enough to injure the men, but they recoiled
in fear.

  Tsaeris wasted no time and charged the men with a dagger in hand. He stabbed one of the men hard in the neck, and then quickly spun to face the other. The man was coming at him with a sword still in hand, but was limping. Tsaeris threw his dagger in the air and caught it by the tip. He feigned throwing it at the sailor, who flinched and cringed. Tsaeris laughed, and then pretended to throw it again. The man swung his sword wildly, trying to deflect the dagger which was still in Tsaeris’ hand. Tsaeris waited until the man stopped swinging, and then threw the dagger for real. It caught the man in his right eye, and blood erupted from the wound. The man fell back to the deck, and lay very still.

  The sailors were all dead. Tsaeris moved to the door leading below decks and opened it. He beckoned for the Orcs to follow, and led them to a lifeboat. It took only a few moments to load all of the children into the boat. Tsaeris removed a vial and a pouch from his coat, undressed and threw his clothes and a cloak he had removed from one of the dead crewman into the boat as well. The Orcs seemed shocked upon seeing his many scars

  “I’ll lower you down. I have to set fire to the ship. Row out a ways towards shore, and then wait for me. I’m counting on you picking me up when I jump into the water.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be waiting,” the Orc man assured.

  Tsaeris used the crank to lower the lifeboat into the water, and then went below deck to retrieve a torch. He climbed the mast and set fire to the sails. He scattered a variety of flammable powders and liquids around the deck. Before long the ship was engulfed in flame and Tsaeris was swimming towards the lifeboat. As soon as the Orcs pulled him into the boat, he used the crewman's cloak to dry himself as best he could, and then wrapped it around himself. The water had been cold and he was freezing.

  The Orcs rowed the ship to shore. When they reached land, Tsaeris discarded the cloak and dressed in his own dry clothes, then helped the Orcs get the children out of the boat. When they were finished, he tossed the coin purse that Halbert had given him to the Orc male.

  “Good luck to you,” Tsaeris said, and then turned towards the forest to make his way to the road. He could hear the Orcs calling out their thanks at his retreating back.

  The walk back to The City took Tsaeris about two hours. He was lucky that the ship had been moving so slowly. By the time he returned home, dawn was only an hour or two away. He collapsed in his bed, exhausted.

  It felt like he had just gotten to sleep when he heard somebody say his name. He opened his eye and groaned. Somebody had lit a few candles.

  “Get up, boy,” It was Elias.

  “Go away,” Tsaeris replied irritably.

  “Get up now, or I’ll drag you out of bed,” Elias said, then paused. “Something’s happened.”

  Tsaeris sighed, and crawled out of bed. He walked over to his water basin in the corner of the room, splashed some cold water onto his face and rubbed his eye.

  “Is it bad?” Tsaeris asked after a moment.

  “It’s bad,” Elias replied.

  Tsaeris nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Corrupted Memorial

  Doctor Tyrier Sydarin stood in the center of Market square. Before him sat a statue of a hammer and anvil, with the words ‘For Our Friends’ etched in the worn stone, a memorial for the lives lost at the Dwarven Arms Fair four years past. Tyrier took a moment to remember his beloved son Jarod, who had been among those lost that day. The statue had long since been defaced with ink and cracked by people who felt they were above it all, and who cared little for the feelings of others. What had once been a proud and pure symbol of shared loss and pain had become, like everything else in this city, a corrupted shadow of its former glory.

  Once again that monument for the lost had become a parody of what it had stood for. At the base of the monument lay three bodies. Their blood smeared over the words of memorial, drops of blood stills pursuing a slow and silent journey from the words to the base of the statue.

  A crowd of citizens circled the monument, kept at a distance by The City Watch. Watch Commander Isaac had knocked on Tyrier’s door earlier that morning to have him examine the bodies. Tyrier was a well-known and respected doctor, and the watch often came to him when they needed a medical point of view for a crime. Most deaths in The City were a result of a mugging or a fight, and seldom did they require any serious investigation. These bodies were different.

  Tyrier did a quick examination of the corpses. The first was a young man named Allec. His head had been beaten in by what was probably a hammer, and his hands were missing all of their fingers. He had liked to play dice, and had a girlfriend named Mora. The second was another young man named Brian. He was eviscerated and by the expression frozen on his face, it was clear he had been alive when his guts were torn out. He had been a good musician, and Tyrier had often listened to him play his flute which dangled from his belt, stained in red. The third was a young woman named Kelly. Her eyes had been cut out while she lived, and bruises around her throat indicated that she had been choked to death. She had always had a bright smile, and loved to tell stories.

  All three of them had been Third Eye Initiative novices. Men and woman not yet sixteen years of age, Tyrier had known them well, and had cared for each of them when they were hurt or sick. He had watched them grow from young recruits into budding agents. Now they were gone, and would fade into memories of those who knew them and obscurity to the faces in the crowd when their interest finally waned.

  On the face of the memorial there was a sentence written in the blood of the victims. It was in the language of the dwarves. Greyloke nock armark, nai hic arn nargott.

  Gravelock is real, and he is terrible.

  A city watchman approached Allec’s body, and removed his coin purse. Tyrier glared at him, but the watchman simply shrugged and smiled. He removed the coin purse of Brian and Kelly as well. When he reached for Brian’s flute, Tyrier caught his arm by the wrist.

  “Not the flute,” Tyrier said. His voice had been clam, but there was a slight undertone of threat. The watchman looked like he was about to argue with the big man, but seemed to decide against it. Without a word, the watchman returned to join his fellows. Tyrier shook his head in disgust as the watchmen began dividing up their spoils. Gently, almost tenderly, Tyrier removed the flute from Brian’s body and placed it in the pocket of his coat.

  Tyrier turned to scan the crowd. He wasn’t surprised to see several agents there, including Elias and Tsaeris. Elias gave him a slight nod. Tyrier was relieved to see that the agents were doing a good job containing themselves in the face of the tragedy. Third Eye novices were the cubs of the pack, and the agents were protective of their young. For most of those men and women, the Initiative was the only family they have ever had, and to see their novices targeted and killed like this would be hard for some of them to bear. Tyrier knew that Elias’ presence in the crowd had a calming influence on the agents. If the novices were the young of the pact, then Elias was the alpha.

  Tyrier didn’t bother wasting his time trying to figure out who had been behind this. There was simply no evidence beyond the bodies and the words on the monument. Obviously the killer was aware of the Third Eye Initiative, but that didn’t make things any clearer. The Third Eye Initiative was a behemoth of an organization.

  Tyrier looked down to the bodies of the novices again. As unidentified victims, the watch had nobody to contact. In these cases the bodies were usually thrown into a landfill, or taken to the industrial district and tossed into an incinerator. These kids deserved better than that. Tyrier walked over to the watch sergeant, who took over the duty of overseeing the scene after Commander Isaac had left to attend other matters. He was a young, cocky-looking man with black hair and a thick black mustache.

  “I need these bodies taken to my clinic,” Tyrier informed him.

  “What for?” The watchman asked, his tone instantly condescending.

  “To be examined further,” Tyrier replied.


  “Why don’t you just finish telling us how they died, so we can get rid of them. They’re nobodies. Just stamp your damn paper.”

  “Listen, boy. I didn’t ask you. I told you. I’m not stamping a damn thing until I’ve had time to examine these bodies properly. Just because you don’t like to do your job, don’t assume that everyone else is as lazy and useless as yourself.”

  “Now listen here...” the watchman began before Tyrier interrupted.

  “No, you listen. Do what I said, or I will take you by the ear right in front of your men, and drag you to Watch Commander Isaac so you can explain to him why your job is just too much work to be bothered with.”

  The watch sergeant’s face contorted in anger, and his hand moved in the direction of his sword. Tyrier grabbed his wrist roughly, squeezing it hard. He could feel the steel of the bracer starting to bend inward.

  “If you draw on me, son, I will tear your arm from its socket. I’m going to tell you this one last time.” Tyrier squeezed even harder, and the watchman’s face began to twist in pain as the bracer began digging into his flesh. “Bring the bodies to my clinic.”

  He let go of the man’s wrist, and the watchman stared at him for a moment. Tyrier met his eyes with a stone glare. The watchman cursed, and then turned to his men.

  “Get these bodies to the Doctors clinic,” he ordered. “And get that crowd moving.”

  Tyrier stayed to oversee the handling of the bodies, and then accompanied the watchmen to his clinic. He wheeled several small beds into his examination room, and had the watchmen gently lay the bodies on them.

  When they were gone, he left the examination room and headed to his office. He removed a flask from the drawer of his desk, and three small glasses. Tyrier didn’t usually drink this early in the morning, but he felt the need for it today. He poured whiskey from the flask into the glasses until they were about a third full. He had only just finished pouring the drinks when the expected knock sounded on his door.