The Captive

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by Paul Lauritsen


  Khollo took it, smiling. “Good to meet you, Jorgen. These are my friends here.”

  The others introduced themselves quickly, Jorgen shaking hands all around. When they were finished, Jorgen looked around the deck of the ship, then up at the wind telltale.

  “Good strong breeze today,” he observed. “Soon as the captain is back, we’ll be under way. In the meantime, I’ll show you your cabins for the voyage.”

  The Keepers followed Jorgen to the center of the deck, where an open hatch revealed a steep set of stairs leading down into the hull of the ship. Jorgen descended first, ignoring the rope handrails on either side of the stairs. Khollo felt the deck rolling under his feet and kept a firm grip on the handrails as he descended. The others followed his example.

  The hold was dark, with only a few lanterns with thick glass lighting the space. In front of the stairs was a combination cargo hold and quarters for the crew. Barrels and crates were piled here and there, all full of supplies for the voyage. Most of it was food for the voyage to and from Ethgalin, but a few crates had been marked separately as supplies for the Keeper’s to take with them on the island. Between the piles of cargo, empty hammocks swung gently with the rocking of the ship.

  This is where the lads sleep,” Jorgen explained. “For you, we have cabins a little further for’ard.” He led the way around the stairs to a narrow hallway with four doors branching off of it. “Three of these are for you,” he explained. “So most of you’ll have to double up.”

  “No problem,” Sven said. “L’tel and I will take one.”

  “And Aralye and Halena can take another,” Khollo agreed. “We’ll make it work, Jorgen. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” the sailor replied easily. “You might as well stow your things, then we’ll go back above decks.”

  The Keepers quickly dumped their packs in their respective rooms. The cabins were simple enough, with a hammock hanging on either side of the door and a single lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling. Against the far wall of each cabin was a set of shelves, angled so the front edge was higher than the back, to keep the contents from sliding off during the rolling of the ship.

  As soon as they had finished stowing their belongings where they wouldn’t slide or roll too badly, Jorgen led the way back to the deck. The other sailors were lounging against the seaward rail, talking loudly and laughing.

  “Just need the cap’n now,” Jorgen muttered. “His cabin’s the one under the stern, by the way, if you ever need to find him.”

  Khollo nodded, then glanced up at the sky. Kanin was circling over the harbor, drifting on the air.

  “You know, I’m not quite sure I’ll ever be used to that,” Jorgen remarked, glancing up at Kanin as well. “I understand yon dragon is friendly, but a creature with so much power and so many different ways to kill a man . . . it puts a fear in my bones it does.”

  Khollo grinned good-naturedly. “Well, we’ll work on that some, Jorgen. We’re here to protect and serve, not to dominate. The time will come when the sight of a dragon in the sky is a welcome one.”

  “I hope so,” the sailor muttered, tearing his gaze away from Kanin. “Ah, and here’s the cap’n now!”

  A wiry old man, his face and arms heavily scarred, was stumping up the gangplank. “Bloody harbormaster,” he groused as he joined Khollo and the others. “You’d think a ship on official business wouldn’t have any trouble gettin’ clearance to sail. We’re part of Piralt’s own fleet, not a bunch of smugglers.”

  “Well, we don’t pay yon harbormaster as good,” Jorgen replied, snorting. “Anyway, we all set now?”

  “Aye,” Eralm said. He nodded to Khollo. “Welcome aboard, Keeper. Do you have the map you promised?”

  Khollo nodded and reached into his pocket, producing the folded map. He hesitated before handing it over though.

  “Captain, I trust that this information will stay between you and Jorgen. If everyone knows about this place and knows how to get there, the Keepers and their legacy is at risk.”

  “I know the stakes, lad,” Eralm grunted.

  Khollo handed over the map reluctantly. Eralm unfolded it and scanned the parchment curiously, until he found their destination marked in the Southern Sea.

  “This island?” he asked, glancing at Khollo.

  The young Keeper nodded gravely. “It’s called Ethgalin.” He looked around at his recruits. “It’s the ancestral home of the Keepers, and the place where they built their stronghold.”

  “It’s isolated,” Eralm murmured. “What do you think, Jorgen, sixteen, eighteen days?”

  “Thereabouts,” the first mate agreed, leaning over the map.

  “Will we be able to reprovision on the island?” Eralm asked.

  Khollo shrugged. “I don’t see why not. There’s plenty of water and fresh meat to be had.”

  “Good,” Jorgen muttered, “Because this little voyage is going to stretch our supplies to the limit.”

  “We’ll manage,” Eralm said confidently, folding the map up again. “If you’re ready, Keeper, we can get under way now.”

  Khollo grinned. “That would be perfect, captain. And my name is Khollo.”

  “Khollo it is,” the captain replied, nodding. “Jorgen, get those lazy swabs moving will you?”

  “Aye cap’n,” Jorgen replied. The first mate sauntered across the deck, bellowing orders at the men lounging against the railing. “Prepare to cast off! Run out the oars!”

  The group at the rail scattered, three men jumping down onto the dock. The last man turned and threw the gangplank aboard, then all three ran to separate mooring lines and began unwinding them. As they did, three more sailors coiled the lines on the ship’s deck, storing them neatly out of the way.

  As the mooring lines came free, the ship began to slowly drift away from the dock. The moment the last mooring line was cast off, the sailors on the dock leaped back aboard, vaulting over the railing easily. Then, all of the sailors scrambled below decks, and there was a multiple clatter of wood on wood. A moment later, oars sprouted from each side of the ship and began to beat slowly in rhythm. Eralm leaned on the tiller and the ship’s bow swung slowly until it pointed out to sea.

  The Keepers looked around uncertainly, unsure where exactly they should stand to be out of the way. Finally, Khollo moved to join Eralm at the helm, while the others split up and moved to the sides of the ship. The captain looked up as Khollo approached.

  “Is yon dragon going to follow us all the way there?” he asked, gesturing to Kanin’s distant, glittering form. “He knows he can’t land on my ship, right?”

  “He knows,” Khollo promised. “He’s just seeing us off. Then he’ll fly to Ethgalin on his own.”

  Eralm grunted and went back to steering the ship, making small adjustments to their course. To either side, the harbor was slowly slipping past as they made for the open water. Finally, the other ships and the bustling docks were well behind them. Eralm glanced at the wind telltale, then bellowed a new sequence of orders.

  “In oars! Sails up, lads, northeast quarter!”

  Khollo heard Jorgen repeat the command below decks, and the oars vanished as quickly as they had appeared. A moment later, sailors came scrambling out of the hatch that led below decks, moving quickly to the ship’s two masts and climbing them skillfully. Khollo watched, squinting against the bright sun, as two men straddled each yardarm and began working at the knots securing the sail. When each was ready to unfurl the canvas, they raised their left fist and looked at Eralm. When all four men were ready, the captain gave them the next order.

  “Sails up! Sheet home!”

  The sails dropped, the wind filling them with a massive WHUMPH. The canvas strained and flapped momentarily, the sails lacking a definite shape. Then, sailors on the deck began pulling on ropes attached to the sails, securing them in the best position to harness the wind. The ship picked up speed, slicing through the waves easily, rising on each crest and sliding gently into each trough. Spr
ay regularly broke over the bow, and before long Narne was lost to sight behind them.

  Eralm turned to Khollo and shrugged. “Not much for you and your friends to do now, I’m afraid. We’ll have about eighteen days of this, so you’d best find something to pass the time.”

  Khollo nodded. “I’m planning to start their training,” he replied. “There’s a lot to learn.”

  “Don’t start immediately,” the captain warned him. “Take a few hours and get used to the ship. Don’t want any of you land dwellers getting sick on me.”

  Khollo winced. Now that the captain mentioned it, his own stomach was giving the occasional twinge. He looked around at his new Keepers, concerned. Aralye appeared fine, and L’tel, but both Sven and Halena were gripping the railing tighter than was strictly necessary and leaning out over the edge of the ship.

  “I see what you mean,” Khollo muttered. “Any cure for it?”

  “Not really,” Eralm said sympathetically. “They’ll get used to it though. In the meantime, they’ll be snappish and belligerent probably. People seem to get that way when their own stomach betrays them.” The sailor chuckled to himself quietly. As he did, a larger wave struck the ship not quite head on and Khollo’s own stomach lurched alarmingly in response.

  “It’s not funny,” he growled, glaring at the captain.

  “Not to you and the others,” Eralm agreed. “But to seasoned sailors like myself and the crew, it’s mildly amusing. Although,” he added, “I thought you would have had an easier time of it, being used to flying on dragon back all the time.”

  “That’s different,” Khollo muttered. “Flying is smoother, easier. This . . . this is worse.”

  Eralm wisely made no reply, instead staring off to the south, gauging the movement of the sea and how his ship would respond. Khollo groaned slightly as his stomach made its displeasure known more strongly, and leaned back against the rail

  Are you all right? Kanin asked, concerned. You and the others are acting strangely.

  Seasick, Khollo grunted.

  Oh. Kanin hesitated a moment. Are you sure you don’t want to just fly with me to Ethgalin?

  Yes.

  It will be faster, the dragon said, smoother. More fun. Think of all the adventures we could have while your recruits are stuck here being seasick.

  I’m . . . staying, Khollo managed.

  Kanin sighed. High above, Khollo saw him turn lazily and set himself on a more direct course. Very well. I can sense your mind will not be changed. If you must stay, use the time well. Make Keepers of these young people. Teach them what you know, what you have read, what you have learned. Tell them about the island, the hold, the library, the dragons, but not the eggs, I think.

  Not the eggs, Khollo agreed. The secret of the hatchery should stay secret a little longer.

  Until they are ready, Kanin agreed. How long until you reach the island?

  Eighteen days.

  Kanin huffed. Well, I told you humans are slow. Even on the sea, it seems.

  Just get going, Khollo urged him.

  You do not sound well, Kanin observed helpfully.

  No, Khollo agreed.

  Should I stay?

  No.

  You are sure?

  Yes.

  If Kanin noticed Khollo’s answers were getting shorter and more irritable, he made no comment. The emerald dragon hovered over the ship a moment, then began speeding towards Ethgalin.

  Very well, Kanin agreed finally. I will see you fifteen days from now, when you are approaching the island. Good luck, Khollo.

  The dragon’s mental voice started to fade with the distance, the last words barely more than a whisper. Then, he was gone. Khollo shuddered, probing at the empty space in his mind that their connection usually occupied. He had lived almost his whole life this way, but it felt utterly wrong now. He shivered again, then turned and stared out over the bow. As he tried to master his stomach, Khollo focused on one thing: Ethgalin was ahead, and the rise of the Keepers was beginning at last.

  Chapter 14:

  The Ramshuk’s Scheme

  Garnuk scanned the map Tarq had just passed him. It was amazingly detailed, compiled using information from dozens of informers and spies associated with Shadow Squadron. Accompanying the map was a multiple-page summary of recent events, along with some information regarding the enemy’s upcoming plans.

  “Well done, Tarq,” Garnuk said finally. “This sort of knowledge is the key to victory.”

  The captain nodded gravely. “Yes, you taught me that during the last campaign. But, Shadow Squadron is stronger and larger now than it once was. We operate without fear in the mountains, and our reach has extended into the kingdom of men. The human mercenaries and outlaws we have made contact with have been invaluable.”

  “You trust them?”

  “Hardly,” the captain snorted, “But their information has been good so far. As long as they are paid in weapons or riches, they will cooperate. In fact, they’ve done more than cooperate. A few groups have provided some curious insights.”

  Garnuk looked up sharply. “Such as?”

  “They are being funded by others as well,” Tarq said, leaning over the table. “From high-ups within the kingdom. These mysterious people don’t mix with the outlaws, but they are paying them to keep operating for some reason.”

  “Strange,” Garnuk murmured. “Could they be referring to our old friends the Council of Masks?”

  “Perhaps,” Tarq agreed. “I’ve been trying to find out more, but I haven’t had much success. This self-appointed council has always been hard to find, and harder to investigate. It could also be another group intent on destabilizing the kingdom though. Perhaps if we wait long enough, the Sthan civilization will collapse on its own.”

  “We can’t count on that,” Garnuk murmured distractedly. “But we may be able to help the process along. Get me more information on these insurgents, Tarq. Especially the Council of Masks. I can’t shake the feeling they used us during the last war, and I don’t like it.” He scowled, remembering the condescending messages the council had sent before and after the final battle, then abruptly changed the topic. “Has there been any word on the dragon?”

  “It had been flying all over the kingdom,” Tarq replied. “But latest reports say it flew south from the city men call Narne.”

  “Over the sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “And hasn’t been seen since?”

  “No. That was four days ago.”

  This was a baffling development, and Garnuk hated it. He hated not knowing with certainty where the major players in this battle were hiding. This frustration was part of the reason he had commanded Tarq to expand Shadow Squadron, so he would have as much information to work with as possible.

  “We’ll give it some time,” Garnuk decided. “If the dragon does not return for say, a week or two, then we may have a window of opportunity to strike in. Say nothing to the other clans about the dragon’s whereabouts or the possible internal struggles of the Sthan. If the chiefs catch wind of this, they may dig in and push for holding out in the mountains and waiting to see what happens.”

  “We should push forward,” Tarq agreed. “If the Sthan king is battling his own, he is distracted and weakened. How close is Zanove to being ready?”

  Garnuk grinned maliciously. “He yearns for destruction. He enjoyed the demonstration at the gathering of clans. The way he sees it, the more enemies he destroys the safer this world is for the vertaga and for dragon kind.”

  “And if he learns otherwise from the Sthan dragon?” Tarq asked quietly. “What happens then?”

  “He has been warned against the beast,” Garnuk replied confidently. “But, eventually they will meet. I am planning for that encounter to come in the heat of battle. With any luck, the green beast the human boy rides will give Zanove a minor but painful injury, and I will be able to reaffirm the idea that the green dragon is his enemy.”

  “This is a dangerous game,” Tarq
observed. “We hardly know how the minds of vertaga work, and yet you are trying to manipulate the mind of a dragon?”

  “We will never understand what we do not attempt to understand,” Garnuk growled. “Zanove is completely loyal to me. He will fight the Sthan, and he will fight the so-called Keepers. He will destroy them all, and bring us revenge.”

  “And a world where we no longer live in fear,” Tarq added carefully. “This remains the primary goal, yes? A future full of boundless opportunity for our race?”

  “Of course,” Garnuk agreed distractedly. But his mind was far from the future of the vertaga at the moment. Every time the green dragon was mentioned, he saw the mountain collapsing again, heard the screams of those caught in the destruction, and the thunder of rocks clashing against each other. And he saw the broken forms that had been slowly recovered over the subsequent days, two standing out in his mind above the rest. The two who had been fleetingly returned to him before the collapse.

  He dragged himself back to the present in time to hear Tarq’s next words. “Revenge is not a healthy goal, my friend. It consumes the best rams and twists their actions. Do not fall into this trap as others have, or it will ruin your plans.”

  “I know, Tarq,” Garnuk replied, deceptively calm. “Trust me. I have a plan, and it will be executed flawlessly. There is nothing more important than getting this right. Now, let’s discuss the clans. Are they responding as they promised?”

  Tarq nodded. “Warriors from the twenty-seven clans have been visiting every village from the easternmost reaches of the mountains all the way to the scattered tribes of the west. Every ram who can fight is expected to answer the call.”

  “What of those who cannot fight?”

  “They are remaining behind, looking after their homes and villages.”

  “They should be here,” Garnuk countered, stabbing a finger at the marking for Dun Carryl on the map. “Do they not realize their hunters and protectors are marching to war? They will have little in the way of food, and less in the way of ability to find more. If they gather at Dun Carryl, they can all be seen to.”

 

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