The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  “Great Master, we have completed our tasks. We have gathered the required coin for payment.” She nodded curtly to Aura who placed a leather pack on the table in front of Morghal. Calepo and Karl were standing with their backs to the three, facing the street where any potential attack may begin. Morghal reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of emerald and ruby coins, gem currency being accepted more universally than metal and more popular among the nationless peoples who frequented Dockyard City. Aura glanced fearfully from Morghal to Alyksandra and then nodded toward the street, scowling at the other’s unspoken concern. The five of them could handle any threat from the pitiful mortals who might entertain the foolish notion of robbing this group.

  “Very well. You have held up your part of the bargain. I will send you to the one who can cure you.” The man had a voice of gravel and sand and sounded to Alyksandra as though he was going to spit sand from his mouth. Aura risked a fearful glance at her leader, who pretended not to see. It was bad to show weakness. Yet, she shared Aura’s concern. This was not part of the bargain.

  “Great Master, forgive me. I thought you had discovered a way to cure us,” she didn’t dare show the man any disrespect, the old coot was likely ready to melt the flesh from her bones at any moment.

  “Yes, it is as I have said. I have discovered a way to cure you. That cure lies within the mind of Shalthazar, a powerful master of the Shadow Tide the likes of which has not been seen in five centuries. He is wise and powerful and favored by Umber,” said the old man.

  Alyksandra did not like being fooled and she was on the verge of calling the pack to rip out the old man’s throat and feed on his powerful blood. As much as she desired such violence she knew the futility of any such action; the four of them combined could not best him. Yet she maintained outward calm and, for a long moment, she sat silently staring at the old man in his threadbare brown robes.

  Then she said, “Very well. Where do we find this Shalthazar?”

  “Shalthazar is presently orchestrating a campaign in the Wilds of the Northern Realms, subjugating every nation, city-state, and principality from the Vaardlands to the Cklathlands,” the old man began. “You need not find him yet. There is a task you must complete before he grants you his boon.”

  Angry at yet another obstacle on their road to freedom, Aura snarled at the old man. She caught herself quickly but her youthful impetuousness had revealed itself and Morghal did not care for undisciplined subordinates. Aura let out a short scream before her form went completely rigid, her eyes bulging, and a tear of pain dripping down her cheek. Alyksandra glanced at her, expressionless, and looked back at Morghal.

  “Tut, tut, Runner Aura. Petulance will get you nowhere,” he said indifferently. “Please dwell on that a moment, and do not dare distract me again, dear.”

  “Great Master?” Alyksandra inquired, dutifully ignoring the plight of her Second.

  “There is a ship at Pier Three, passage has been obtained. You must find a human named, Carym. Be wary, he is no ordinary human.”

  Be wary? Was this human a renegade from the Society? What could one human mean to Morghal and Shalthazar? This was getting worse by the minute. Hadn’t they done enough? One look at Aura’s terror filled eyes silenced any objection she had, however delicately she might have phrased it.

  “Great Master, what is the role of the Society in this conflict? Aren’t we above these affairs?” she asked respectfully, knowing full well the Society did not ally itself with any governmental group.

  “It is the will of the Elders that this be done. Know ye well,” cautioned the old man, “any cure you find will not revoke your membership in the Society!”

  “Great Master, we hear and obey,” Alyksandra let out a small sigh and was grateful the old man did not notice. Aura’s rigormortis had apparently been released and she tried to regain her composure without offending the old man again.

  “Go to the Widow’s Inn, there you will find the spore you need to track your prey.”

  “Alive or dead?” she asked simply.

  “Dead.”

  Nothing more was said, and nothing more needed to be said. Each of the foursome knew enough not to cross the Great Master. He ruled the Society with an iron fist and protected it the same way; even the Elders feared him. Unless they wanted to be turned on by the entire Society, there would be no further discussion or disagreement. With respectful bows, Aura and Alyksandra took their leave and were immediately followed by Calepo and Karl.

  “What do we do now, leader?” asked Karl with derision in his voice. “Have you bargained our lives away yet again?”

  “Stow it, Karl. Else I may hand you a silver spike,” although Karl and Aura had been lovers on and off, business was business. Aura would put that silver spike through his heart to protect the pack. Alyksandra did not acknowledge him and led them down Front Street to Pier Three.

  “No, Aura, I will not! She has led us on a wild goose chase for the past twenty years, seeking this cure. I think Calepo has the right of it, now. We should accept who we are and embrace our way! It is not so bad, yes?” Karl stalked along directing his tirade toward Alyksandra. Suddenly Karl doubled over, gasping. Then he collapsed to the rickety wooden planks of the street after Aura brought a foot to the side of his head with a stunning blow. He lay there gasping and seeing spots, as he watched the filthy water sloshing below him. Then he felt what he knew could only be a silver spike with its razor sharp tip placed behind his ear.

  “Do we have a misunderstanding here, Karl?” asked Aura through clenched teeth, the memory of Morghal’s power fresh in her mind. “Do you suggest going against the Society?”

  “No, Second....never!” he gasped through clenched teeth as the coldness of the silver spike sapped his strength. Aura was wearing a glove and so the effects of the silver could not work against her own flesh. He glared at Alyksandra who still had her back to him pretending not to notice what was beneath her. Karl stood shakily and Aura withdrew the weapon. Calepo watched the whole affair with a cool air as Alyksandra sensed the end of the confrontation and walked away. The rest followed in grim silence, contemplating what the future held for them and how finding this human was going to help.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tensions Mount.

  Attacked!

  Boredom was setting in. They had been under the sea for two days and it was getting cold. The sun’s warmth and light could not penetrate the inky blackness so far below the surface. Carym found that he needed to wear his coat over the top of his long sleeved shirt to ward off the dampness and the chill. The air had a sticky, clammy feel to it, and Yag warned of the ease of spreading illness with no ocean breezes to air out the ship.

  By and large the crew had little to do now as the operation of the ship was conducted almost exclusively by Yag and his wizard, Visare. The crewmen took turns standing watch in all corners of the ship, ready to report the slightest sound, or leak. The most important function of the watch was actually reporting any sightings of Rock Sharks or whales, as these could potentially damage the ship and there was no mechanism to defend against them, except flight. The officers held daily inspections, and forced the senior crewmen to conduct reaction drills to various circumstances. And, as long as the other work was complete, the literate shipmates gave reading lessons to the illiterate ones.

  The passengers had no such distractions to occupy themselves with, however. Zach spent most of his time studying the documents given him at the Widow, and reading maps of the surface. Beyond that, the man spent a large part of his time staring out the window into the soft green glow of the water. Being under the surface of the sea was causing Zach no small amount of stress. Traveling under the sea came with a few tediums, not the least of which was that it was a really noisy affair. Yag had explained that the great pressures of the sea were constantly pushing and squeezing the ship, causing a continual groaning and creaking among the beams and planks. Paranoid fears of springing a leak plagued Zach’s waking moments,
even with Yag’s reassurances that the magical gel held the ship snugly together and was, almost, impervious to leaks and fissures; Carym and Zach both hoped that was true. When Zach wasn’t reading, he and Carym spent many hours playing card games to relieve the monotony.

  It was hard to keep track of time below the sea, and Carym found his internal clock seemed to be off without the sun to guide it. After waking up to what he guessed was their third day at sea, Carym was getting restless. He couldn’t understand why he was so restless, having been a seasoned sailor in the Arnatahian Navy. But he was exactly that, restless. He felt an urgency to reach the corridors leading to Uta Milla, but couldn’t place why; probably the need to breath air that wasn’t magically recirculated. According to what Yag told them of the remarkable speed of this ship, they should have reached the tunnels leading to ancient Uta Milla by now.

  He lay in his bunk for a long time, looking at the mesmerizing glow of the green gel around the porthole, listening to the creaking and groaning of the ship. Feeling guilty for not telling his friend what he had learned from Dryume about the Everpool and the Tome of Sigils. They had few discussions at all, in fact, since boarding the ship. Carym was certain the cause of their sparse discourse was his own attraction to Gennevera and Zach’s own prejudice towards anyone who was not decidedly human. It bothered him. His lifelong friend couldn’t see far enough past his own shortcomings to be happy for him. In truth, Carym realized, he kept the secret of the Tome of Sigils form Zach for precisely that reason. He was just plain mad at his friend.

  Carym finally decided to crawl from his upper bunk and dropped lightly to the wooden deck. The air was cold and he was loathe to leave his warm blankets behind, the floor was colder still. Carym quickly donned socks, boots, and his black coat. As he slipped the pouch of stones into his pocket, he felt an intense desire to grasp the stones in his hand. Giving in to the temptation, he reached into the pouch, grasped a stone, and held it aloft; it was the blue stone. He closed his fist over the stone and closed his eyes at the same time. His mind was immediately assaulted by a powerful presence, clawing, grasping, reaching into his head. He relaxed his mind, and found that he was filled with a cool sensation, not entirely unpleasant. It felt to him as though tendrils of water were lapping at his body, and he was shifting slightly, responding to the give and take of an unseen wave.

  Water? The sensation of being in the water was so real, for a moment he panicked and opened his eyes. His mind was assaulted by what he knew was not logical. He appeared to be seeing through a haze of water, as though he were swimming underwater in one of the lakes back home and had opened his eyes. He felt dry and wet at once, and the disorienting push and pull of the waves were beginning to take their toll on his mind. What is happening?

  He quickly shoved the blue stone into his pouch. As he released the stone and removed his hand the sensation of leaving the water passed over his body and he became very dizzy. Dropping to one knee to catch his breath he glanced over at Zach’s bunk; sleeping. He stood, slowly, and tried to shake the dizziness from his head, his vision blurred and dimmed and, for a moment he felt as though he were going to faint.

  Finally his vision returned to normal and he vowed not to do that again. Whatever that was. But now he was sure the stones were causing his restlessness, and he wondered what else they could do; and if he would have been better off without them. That thought caused another surge of energy from the stones, and his hand was nowhere near them!

  Carym left his friend to his rest and went to Gennevera’s cabin to see if she was awake. He knocked very gently with the handle of his knife, and waited several moments outside the door. Hearing nothing, he assumed she was asleep too and decided to walk to the galley and see what was being served for breakfast. He made his way down the passageways, climbing up and then down some very tight ladders until he found the officers’ galley.

  He opened the hatch, stepped over the lip, and entered the large but dimly lit room. A number of Yag’s officers were seated in various places among the few tables. Instead of chairs, the men sat on long benches that were fastened to the tables which were secured to the deck. Breakfast was an array of eggs, ham, and biscuits, placed in metal trays and sitting in fitted slots on one of the tables. He removed a metal plate from a drawer by the breakfast counter and helped himself to some runny eggs which looked suspiciously green although that could have been from the glow of the green gel, some chewy ham, and a hard biscuit. Some things never change, he thought, remembering his own experiences aboard naval ships, and not fondly. He sat at the table where Yag’s top officers were seated, eating and happily discussing crew progress in certain tasks. He sat next to Commander Wellson, Lieutenants Hyrnby and Mathys were across from him.

  “Good morning, Commander,” said Carym, being certain to address the highest rank first, then nodded to each of the junior officers present. He was answered with a laugh, the big man shook his head ruefully. Carym wondered if privateers followed the near-universal customs and courtesies of the sea as did the Arnathian Navy and other navies of the world. Had he done something wrong?

  “Good morning, sir,” replied the big commander, his voice as strong and deep as he was big. A Western Volan by his dark skin and his accent, mused Carym, still uncertain about the man’s humor. The big Volan was barrel chested and had arms with muscles like banded steel. “Enjoying your trip so far, sir?”

  “A bit bored, really.”

  “Aye, it’s like that for you passenger types then. Well, we keep the men busy which keeps us busy!” said the officer, taking a bite of a baked potato. Carym wondered how the chef managed to cook anything, with no outlet for air to escape. And where was their breathing air coming from? He found that he enjoyed the company of these men, so much like himself when he was a young sailor. They talked about things that sailors always talk about: work, home, women, families, and the next port-of-call. He had even learned that there were a number of women being harbored on the ship; prostitutes most likely. It was a custom known to occur on many ships whether merchant, pirate, or even naval ships. In most cases the women were better treated and better paid than their dry land counterparts. In fact, the Royal Sea Ladies Guild was one of the most powerful of the illicit guilds that helped govern Dockyard City.

  The drama of the ship unfolded itself in the speech of the young officers, combat veterans each of them. Soon Carym knew all about the structure of the command and the political rivalries among the officers and even the men; it wasn’t unheard of for Yag to promote a crewman to an officer’s rank and demote an officer to the crew when the occasion called for it. And, with a ship requiring nearly two-hundred men to crew it while it remained on the surface, there was plenty of room for political maneuvering.

  Finally, Carym bid each man a “g’day,” which was the proper way to say hello or goodbye in the nearly universal language of the seas. Even among naval forces and merchant fleets of different countries, the Naval Brogue was the most common language used among sailors. Being a diverse and well-traveled lot, it was only natural that common language would be used to communicate among the many races and cultures of the seas.

  After leaving the galley, Carym decided to pay a visit to Yag and see what the bridge of this wonderful ship looked like now that they were miles below the surface. He thought about leaving his surly friend behind, but decided that dragging Zach out of his cabin might improve his mood.

  “Fine, might as well,” said Zach in a clearly disinterested tone, rubbing his watery and tired eyes. With a shrug as he walked past his friend and into the passageway, Carym followed glancing wistfully at Gennevera’s cabin; best to let her and Zach have their space. At the end of the passageway, Zach lifted the large handle and opened the hatch leading to the next passageway. They continued on to a ladder at the far end. Zach scurried up with Carym right behind, still moving in silence. He wanted to talk to his old friend, to find out why he so deeply despised the Keneerie, to make him see that he was wrong. But he couldn’
t find the words, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Why was Zach so cold, so full of hate? Carym sighed as he reached the top of the ladder and walked to the hatch with the word “Bridge,” painted on it.

  On either side of the hatch were two of Yag’s Roughneck sentries. Roughnecks was the name of a maritime mercenary company comprised of veteran Marines and battle tested sailors, or “roughnecks” as they were commonly called. Yag owned the mercenary company and made a tidy profit from their duties aboard the vessels of merchant companies around the Northern and Arnathian Continents. Each man wore a blue high-neck coat with a stiff leather collar and the crossed sword emblem on their breast; each carried two short swords sheathed crisscross on their backs. Their trousers were gray with a wide black stripe on the legs and their boots were brightly polished. One wore sergeant’s chevrons on his left sleeve, his face scarred from battle and his left eye white. The other was a corporal, and though he was less scarred than his superior, his face was framed by a myriad of tattoos, twisting like vines around his eyes, nose, and cheeks. Neither of the two said a word, refusing to acknowledge the presence of the men.

  “We are here to see the Captain,” said Zach, advancing toward the hatch. But the sentries would have none of it. In perfect unison, and with no verbal communication at all, the men neatly sidestepped toward each other, effectively barring the way onto the bridge. Zach peered at Carym and raised an eyebrow. Carym shook his head; best not to cause a stir.

  “Fine,” muttered Zach as he stepped back and away from the hatch. Then, in one quick movement the men sidestepped away from each other and resumed their position flanking the hatch.