The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  “You must go, Carym! And you must take these stones with you to the Everpool!” he said with urgency. “You must tell no one of them! Not even your friend, Zach. Our own reporting has revealed that the Spiders are in league with dark powers, Carym. Dark powers! Travel with him now for he can aid you in your own quest, but do not let him know of yours!”

  Carym grunted in acknowledgement; he surmised as much himself, understanding now that the elf must have been surveilling the Spiders while he was patronizing the Widow that evening.

  “What are your plans, then?” he asked Morgon. “If you know so much about the stones, will you come with me?”

  “I fear I must return to Alfheym and report my findings. We Elves have been somewhat obtuse regarding the existence of these stones over the centuries. While many of my kind have insisted their existence to be real, the Royal Family has not been so agreeable to the notion. In any case, Umber’s minions will be hunting you fiercely!”

  “I’m afraid they have already begun, Morgon,” he said, relating his encounter with the siren and the evil priest, Ebonaar.

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “Well, they shall be hunting you much more diligently now. Go and find your privateer, for he will return soon. We will help cover your tracks here, won’t we Bartholomeul?” the cheery elf said. The dour old mage grunted and nodded his head.

  “I will join you when I can. Regardless, you must leave now!” he grabbed Carym by the shoulder and ushered him toward the door.

  Carym shook hands with each man, then headed out towards the Widow.

  “What are your wishes, Great One? Shouldn’t I go with him?” there was a long pause before the other man answered.

  “As much as it saddens me to say so, no. As you said, you have a journey of your own to make.” The first man did sense great sadness in the voice of his counterpart. “He must find his own way for a while. You may join him later.”

  “Aye,” replied the other, heaving a great sigh.

  Carym found his way back to his room where he promptly went to sleep. He dreamed of swirling masses of colors and waves that ebbed and flowed like the tides of the sea, and power beyond his reckoning. In his dreams he felt the tug of a spiritual force offering eternal peace and tranquility, which was suddenly negated by dark forces that played upon his every temptation. Finally, he awoke breathing hard and was surprised to find that it was just moments before dawn!

  Zach was already awake and moving busily about the room.

  “Welcome to the world of the living, Carym,” he said sarcastically.

  Carym just nodded as he got dressed and buckled on his sword. Zach had acquired some supplies and split them up between two backpacks. Finally, the two men proceeded to the lobby where Zach returned the room key and slipped a coin to the woman who was minding the counter. After that, they set off for Pier 25.

  The same weasily man was seated at the gate to the pier when they arrived, his nose in his ledgers and his seemingly sleeping guards slouching behind him. Carym and Zach walked by and the man did little more than raise an eyebrow as they passed. Zach had made all the arrangements and the appropriate fees had been paid, no one would take notice of the two men.

  Waiting impatiently at the dock was a burly, red-haired man with a long, scraggly beard. He wore the fine clothes of a sea-merchant, adorned with many gold chains and necklaces. Next to him was a woman cloaked in gray. Raven black hair spilled out from her hood and her face was steeped in shadow.

  “Nice of you to come visit, Yag. What brings you here?” Zach said smartly.

  “Get in the boat!” growled the privateer. “There are dark clouds forming and I don’t want to get caught in any storms.” Then he turned his back to the pair and climbed into a small landing boat, which was big enough to carry eight people aside from the oarsmen. The cloaked woman followed quickly after the privateer with Carym and Zach in tow.

  Slowly the little boat made its way further into the bay, rocking and swaying on the choppy waves. As the wind picked up the passengers were occasionally sprayed by a wave breaking across the bow of the small boat.

  A particularly strong gust of wind battered the passengers of the boat, stinging them with its chill. Carym was awestruck as the cloaked woman’s hood was blown back, revealing her fine features and stunning eyes. His gaze locked with hers for a moment as she held him steady with her piercing eyes. Then, abruptly the woman pulled her hood back into place, but not before Carym noticed her olive skin, and her slightly cupped ears. Glancing at his friend, Carym noticed that Zach had seen the woman’s face too; although his expression was far from friendly. Carym tried to strike up conversation with Yag, and with the cloaked woman, but each time he was met with a scowl from the privateer and naught but silence from the woman. He sighed and sat quietly the rest of the journey, watching boats ferrying passengers out to the harbor while fishing boats returned to the docks with their catch.

  Great warships with towering masts and wonderfully colored sails stood in the harbor alongside merchant barges, Vaardic long ships and Karbander Tradesmen, and even those oddly designed ships favored by the Shugu of the Kamato Islands with golden sunrays on their sails. The little boat meandered its way through the towering ships and the passengers endured the jeers and curses from the foreign sailors, as sailors are wont to do.

  Finally, the small craft arrived at the privateer’s ship and Carym stared in awe. The stern of the ship bore a great stern cabin like any Arnathian warship, likely where the captain was housed. And the ship had four masts of varying sizes with sailors climbing the rigging and unfurling the canvas now that their captain had arrived; typical of most ships. There was a large open space along the main deck where still more sailors scurried about hauling lines, tying knots, cleaning the deck, or other sailor busy work.

  What was different, however, was the massive cabin in the fore of the ship with large windows looking out at the ocean. The front of the cabin sloped down, like a ramp, until it narrowed and joined with the prow, finally ending in a long bowsprit. The wooden beams used to make this ship joined so smoothly as to appear utterly seamless; he marveled at the craftsmanship. While Carym was in awe of the bizarre ship, Zach seemed indifferent to it all. It was apparent that his mind was on other things, though try as he might Carym could get nothing from his old friend.

  A large wooden arm swung out over the small boat and two ropes dropped from a pulley system that dangled from the arm. The oarsmen quickly grabbed the ropes and secured them to the bow and the stern of the small craft. With great effort, the sailors on deck above pulled and pulled on the ropes as the small boat was slowly raised into the air. Once the boat was parallel with the top of the ship, crewmen swung the arm back in and secured it to the ship, allowing the passengers to board the Marineer. Once aboard, the passengers were led away from the gangway and aft towards the great stern cabin.

  Majestic was the only way Carym could describe this ship. The great cabin was carved intricately with fanciful scenes of naval battles seemingly inlaid with gold and silver and bright paint. One particular scene exhibited a beautiful siren, displaying her wares from the surface of the sea and lulling a witless captain and his crew to their deaths on a rocky shoal. Carym felt a twinge of guilt as he admired the lifelike portrayal of the well-endowed siren, miserably recalling his own encounter.

  “Don’t stare too hard, man. She might convince you to walk the plank!” the captain laughed heartily and so did some of his crew as Carym’s face reddened in memory of the shameful experience, which he vowed to take to his grave.

  It was then that Carym was introduced to a few of Yag’s officers; Commander Wellson, the 1st officer; 1st Lieutenant Hyrnby, the deck officer; 2nd Lieutenant Mathys, the pilot; 3rd Lieutenant Persus, the arms officer, and an Arnathian, Carym noticed; Chief of Mates Ahmen’She; and Captain Kyrses, commander of Yag’s personal detachment of Roughneck fighting sailors. Kyrses was a tall and lean man, who wore a coat of dark gray with black buttons, three bands of black on
the sleeves just above the cuffs to indicate his rank and a stiff neck collar, also known as a “Roughneck” collar, which forces a man to hold his head high, and gray trousers with a black stripe down the sides. Captain Kyrses’ face was scarred and it seemed to Carym that he might be blind in one eye. The man wore two swords fastened to a shiny leather belt and had a number of daggers fastened to a pair of belts he wore diagonally across his chest. He and his men wore an odd tri-cornered hat, like Yag’s, that was becoming the style of maritime officers. On his chest was a coiled rattlesnake, poised to strike, which denoted the identity of his mercenary company.

  “The Marineer has such a fierce reputation that pirate ships and Vaardic Raiders alike have fled from her presence,” Zach confided to his friend. Zach had been aboard this ship many times while working for the Spiders and was no stranger to these men. In fact, they greeted him heartily and welcomed him and Carym aboard with an invitation to dine in the officer’s mess in the evening. How could an old sailor like Carym say no to that?

  After the introductions, a young midshipman took the passenger’s weapons and belongings and stowed them in the captain’s cuddy. In the event the ship came under attack, Yag felt it prudent to be able to arm or disarm the passengers as needed; the latter being a measure of protection to be offered in the unlikely event his ship was detained by the authorities, thus the passengers would be viewed as innocent non-combatants. Commander Wellson brought the travelers to their staterooms below decks, where paying passengers would sleep. He showed the lady to her stateroom first, they exchanged bows, and she closed the door behind her. Then Wellson showed the young men to their space across the passageway. It was very cramped, but it was all theirs, and it was separate from the bunks of the crew for which Carym and Zach were grateful. Yag told them it would be a day and a half trip across the bay, two days with bad weather, and warned them to stay out of the way.

  Zach had already kicked off his boots and put his feet up on his bunk. Carym silently contemplated his several near-misses over the last few days, beginning with becoming an outlaw in his home town and ending with his encounter with a Siren; his gut twinged and he quickly put that thought behind him. He wondered if he would ever return to visit Naboneezer’s shop, and he thought he might even enjoy talking with the old sorcerer, Bartholomeul, under more pleasant circumstances. His thoughts naturally turned to the mysterious Crimson Elf, Morgon Fyr, and wondered if the man was as genuine as he seemed. A Fyrbold?

  “You know she is Keneerie, don’t you,” Zach growled suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. Carym shook his head at the sudden and surly change of mood in his old friend.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Carym said wryly. “What have you against them, anyway? We’ve dealt with them on many occasions.”

  “They have hurkin blood in them and are not to be trusted, Carym. ‘Tis why the Crimson and the Frost Elves refer to them as ‘Low Elves.’ And did you see that tattoo on her neck? It is the mark of the Black Order of Grymm; she is a Sister of Death!”

  Carym nodded, having made that observation too. It was a secretive order of witches devoted to Grymm, the Lord of Death. Carym had met of few in his time and couldn’t help but feel reticence about that. They were a very secretive group with a powerful command over the souls of the departed. While a member of the Order of Grymm she may be, he found it difficult to believe the myths about her race. Some indeed said Keneerie were descended from a lost tribe of the elves that had been enslaved by hurkin overlords many centuries ago. According to that legend, Keneerie female slaves had been forced to breed with hurkin and that their hurkin ancestry had polluted their blood making them dangerous and unpredictable. The Keneerie peoples firmly dispute any such hurkin ancestry. Other legends describe them a race of elves mixed with human blood.

  “Witch and Keneerie,” Zach said with disgust.

  “Isn’t your boss an elf?”

  “He is not Keneerie. And he is my boss only as long as he pays me and as long as someone else doesn’t knife him. She is just a Low Elf, Carym; hardly considered an elf by Elvish standards. They are unpredictable and they cannot be trusted.”

  “I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I will not judge her simply for being a Keneerie. There are many of her kind living among the human populations and the ones I have met are good people. I pity them; their Elvish cousins distrust them as much as humans do.”

  “Spare me,” Zach groaned, rolling to face the bulkhead. “Sometimes you have to pre-judge people so you don’t get caught off guard, something you and I know can get you killed!”

  “Well, I am going to try to get to know her and learn from her if I can,” Carym was quickly tiring of his friend’s increasingly intolerant attitude. It seemed Zach now suspected every person he met of betrayal and duplicity. Irritated, Carym intended to leave Zach alone with his suspicions.

  “Learn from her? Why, you are Right!” Zach said, mocking his friend. “She could be a princess from Amberlou!”

  Carym’s face turned red with anger as his friend erupted in laughter. He began to demand how Zach had known about the Siren, but thought better of it and stormed out of the cabin.

  “Ass!” he grumbled as he walked out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A Journey at Sea.

  Beneath the Waves.

  On the morning of the second day at sea, Carym was on the weather deck near the bow of the ship getting some air and watching hopefully for a glimpse of a whale, a shark, or giant ray in the gently rolling waves. He breathed deeply enjoying the cool breeze and the clean air and for a moment he could almost feel the pull of the stones secreted inside the pocket of his coat. The blue stone seemed to pull his consciousness the most, though he resisted thoughts of examining it in the presence of others. He watched as crewmen hoisted barrels of full of seawater from the sides of the ship using a system of ropes and pulleys. The barrels were placed sporadically around the decks of the ship for men to drink from, wash themselves, or use for cleaning. Feeling quite thirsty, Carym dipped a cup into a barrel of fresh cool seawater and drank deeply.

  A shadow in his peripheral vision warned him that someone was coming, perhaps seeking a drink. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was that had glided up next to him; the Keneerie woman! The ominous black garb of her station was unsettling to most people, cowl shrouding her face in shadows, voluminous sleeves hiding her hands. Somehow Carym sensed a warm spirit there, trapped ironically in the dark world of the God of the Dead. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he truly felt like this woman was no ordinary Sister of Grymm.

  Carym quickly bowed and offered the woman a drink from his cup.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You are kind.” Her voice, soft and graceful, seemed almost musical in keeping with the way of elves.

  “Not at all, my lady,” he said, glimpsing her raven hair and golden eyes peeking out from under the hood. He was amazed at the woman’s beauty and, for a moment he felt awkward and foolish; perhaps this was another siren masquerading as a Sister of Grymm? He blushed with embarrassment and quietly swore he wouldn’t fall prey to that darkness again.

  A loud horn began blowing from the rigging directly above him and he looked up to see the lookout frantically waving and shouting something about warships. Carym glanced in the direction the sentry was pointing and he saw several ships looming on the horizon. Yag’s gruff voice heralded his approach, shouting orders at his men who probably could do their jobs without being shouted at. But such was life aboard ship, he not-so-fondly remembered.

  “Better stand clear, landlubber! Else ye might get knocked overboard by mistake!” the old pirate laughed, apparently thinking that might be an amusing scenario.

  “Are those Arnathian warships, Yag?” asked Carym; the grizzled captain snorted and cursed at the thought. Carym was used to life aboard a ship and was not offended by the rough sense of humor and harsh language of most sailors and Roughnecks, though he naturally felt that such was not proper behavior in front of a
woman.

  “No,” he said as he pulled out a brass telescope and peered through it. Carym wondered how much Zach had told him about their ordeal.

  “Where are they heading?”

  “It looks like they are heading towards Amberlou, or maybe Brythyn. Can’t be sure.” Yag handed the telescope to Carym.

  Carym peered through for a few minutes and said, “It looks like at least one ship is coming this way.”

  Yag snatched the spyglass away from Carym and peered through for long moments, oddly silent. “Shrast it all! It’s the Shugu!” the old man sputtered, a nervous edge took over and hardened his voice. He began thrumming his fingers on the polished rail of the ship. “Sharks and shells, they’ve identified us! Now the whole crackin’ lot is coming about.” The grizzled old pirate looked positively worried to Carym.

  Then the captain stalked away, shouting orders to his men. Suddenly the ship lurched and turned a few degrees to the west, orders shouted and men scurried to comply. It seemed to Carym then that a distinct change in mood occurred in the crew, the men seemed anxious.

  Carym grabbed a passing deckhand by the shoulder. “Are those really the ships of the Shugu out there?” he asked.

  “Aye, and the Shugu is one for holding a long grudge!” the man said earnestly. Carym looked back out at the horizon, listening as the man in the crow’s nest called out descriptions of the sails of the far away ships and what flags they were flying. The navy of Shugu Wysari Komato practiced the ancient signaling tradition of the seas, wherein ships of a fleet could communicate with each other by flying a series of elaborately decorated flags with predetermined meaning. The meanings of these flags were secrets closely guarded, typically known only to ships’ captains and their designated signalers. Of course, almost anything can be bought for the right price and it seemed that Yag’s men must know the Shugu’s signal codes.

  Carym squinted up toward the spy in the crow’s nest and heard him shout, “Shugu’s ordering his fleet to pursue and detain all ships leaving Dockyard City!” Yag knew the old Shugu well and was not surprised that the fearsome man would attempt such a crime against the Laws of the Sea. “Command ship has signaled a pair of Mantis Battleships to lead pursuit at us!”