"Mister Dilladrum, what exactly are your instructions concerning us?" Wesley inquired.
"I am contracted to safely deliver officers, cargo, and crew of the Emerald Storm to the Palace of the Four Winds in Dur Guron."
"Is that the residence of Erandabon Gile?"
"Ah yes, the fortress of The Panther of Dur Guron."
"Panther?" Wyatt asked.
Dilladrum chuckled. "It is what the Vintu call the warlord. They are a very simple folk, but very hard workers as you can see. The Panther is a legend among them."
"A hero?" Wesley offered.
"A panther is not a hero to anyone. A panther is a great cat that hides himself in the jungle. He is a ghost to those who seek him, deadly to those he hunts, but to those he doesn't, he is merely a creature deserving of respect. The Panther does not concern himself with the Vintu, but stories of his valor, cruelty and cunning reach them."
"You are not Vintu?"
"No. I am Erbonese. It is a region to the northwest, not far from Mandalin."
"And the Tenkin?" Wesley asked. "Is the warlord one of them?"
Dilladrum's expression turned dark. "Yes, yes. The Tenkin are everywhere in these jungles." He pointed to the horizon ahead of them. "Some tribes are friendly, others are not. Not to worry, my Vintu and I know a good route. We will pass through one Tenkin village, but they are friendly and familiar to us, like the one you call Staul, yes? We will make it safely."
As they climbed higher, they entered a great plain of tall grass that swayed enchantingly with the breeze. Climbing a large rock, they could see for miles in all directions except ahead where a tall, forested ridge rose up several hundred feet. They made camp just before sundown. Hardly a word passed between Dilladrum and the Vintu, but they immediately set to work setting up decorative tents embroidered with geometric designs and neatly bordered canopies. Cots and small stools were set out for each, along with sheets and pillows.
Cooked in large pots over an open fire, the evening meal was strong and spicy enough to make Hadrian's eyes water. It was tasty and satisfying after weeks eating the same tired pork stew. The Vintu took turns entertaining. Some played stringed instruments similar to a lute, others danced, and a few sang lilting ballads. The words Hadrian could not understand, but the melody was beautiful. Animal calls filled the night. Screeches, cries, and growls threatened in the darkness, always too loud and too close.
***
On their third day out, the landscape began to change. The level plains tilted upward and trees appeared more frequently. The forests that had lined the distance were upon them and soon they were trudging under a canopy of tall trees whose massive roots spread out across the forest floor like the fingers of old men. At first it was good to be out of the sun, but then the path became rocky, steep, and hard to navigate. It did not last long, as they soon crested a ridge and began a sharp descent. On the far side of the ridge, they could see a distinct change in the flora. The undergrowth thickened, turning deeper green. Larger leaves, vines, thickets of creepers, and needle-shaped blades encroached on the track, causing the Vintu to occasionally move ahead to chop a path.
The next day it began to rain. While at times it poured, at others it would only mist, but it never ceased.
"They always seem content, don't they?" Hadrian mentioned to Royce as they sat under the canopy of their tent watching the Vintu preparing the evening meal. "It could be blazingly hot or raining like now and they don't seem to care one way or the other."
"Are you now saying we should become Vintu?" Royce asked. "I don't think you can just apply for membership into their tribe. I think you need to be born into it."
"What's that?" Wyatt asked, coming out of the tent the three shared, wiping his freshly shaved face with a cloth.
"Just thinking about the Vintu and living a simple existence of quiet pleasures," Hadrian explained.
"What makes you think they're content?" Royce asked. "I've found that when people smile all the time they're hiding something. These Vintu are probably miserable-economically forced into relative slavery, catering to wealthy foreigners. I'm sure they would smile just as much while slitting our throats to save themselves another day of hauling Dilladrum's packs."
"I think you've been away from Gwen too long. You're starting to sound like the old Royce again."
Across the camp, they spotted Staul, Thranic, and Defoe. Staul waved in their direction and grinned.
"See, big grin," Royce mentioned.
"Fun group aren't they," Hadrian muttered.
"Yeah, they are a group aren't they," Royce considered. "Why would a sentinel, a Tenkin warrior, a physician, a thief, and…whatever the heck Bulard is, go into the jungles of Calis to visit a Tenkin warlord? And what is Bulard's deal?"
Wyatt and Hadrian shrugged in unison.
"Isn't that a bit odd? We were all on the same ship together for weeks and we don't know anything about the man beyond the fact that he doesn't look like he's seen the sun in a decade. Perhaps if we found out, it would provide the common connection between the others and this Erandabon fellow."
"Defoe and Bulard share a tent," Hadrian pointed out.
"Who's Defoe?" Wyatt asked.
"That's Royce's pet name for Bernie," Hadrian quipped.
"Hadrian, why don't you go chat with Bulard," Royce said. "I'll distract Defoe."
"What about me?" Wyatt asked.
"Talk with Derning and Grady. They don't seem as connected to the others as I first thought. Find out why they volunteered."
The Vintu handed out dinner, which the Storm's crew ate sitting on stools the Vintu provided. Dinner consisted mostly of what appeared to be shredded pork and an array of unusual vegetables i ifick, hot sauce that needled the tongue.
After the meal, darkness descended on the camp and most retired to their tents. Antun Bulard was already in his, just like he always stayed in his cabin aboard ship. The light in Bulard and Defoe's tent flickered and the silhouettes of their heads bobbed about, magnified on the canvas walls. A few hours after dark, Defoe stepped out. An instant later, Royce swooped in.
***
"How you been, Bernie," Royce greeted Defoe who flinched noticeably. "Going for a walk?"
"Actually, I was about to find a place to relieve myself."
"Good, I'll go with you."
"Go with me?" he asked nervously.
"I've been known to help people relieve themselves of a great many things." Royce put an arm around Defoe's shoulder as he urged him away from the tents. Once more Defoe flinched. "A little jumpy, aren't we?"
"Don't you think I have good reason?"
Royce smiled and nodded, "You have me there. I honestly still can't figure out what you were thinking."
The two were outside the circle of tents, well beyond the glow of the campfire, and still Royce urged him farther away.
"It wasn't my idea. I was just following orders. Don't you think I'd know better than to-"
"Whose idea was it?"
Defoe only hesitated a moment, "Thranic," he said, then hastily added, "but he just wanted you bloodied. Not dead, just cut."
"Why?"
"Honestly, I don't know."
They stopped in a dark circle of trees. Night frogs croaked hesitantly, concerned by their presence. The camp was only a distant glow.
"Care to tell me what all of you are doing here?"
Defoe frowned. "You know I won't, even to save my life. It wouldn't be worth it."
"But you told me about Thranic."
"I don't like Thranic."
"So, he's not the one you're afraid of. Is it Merrick?"
"Merrick?" Defoe looked genuinely puzzled. "Listen, I never faulted you for Jade's death or the war you waged on the Diamond. Merrick should have never betrayed you like that, not without first hearing your side of it."
Royce took a step forward. In the darkness of the canopy, he was certain Defoe could barely see him. Royce, on the other hand, could make out every line on Defoe's fa
ce. "What's Merrick's plan?"
"I haven't seen Merrick in years."
Royce drew out his dagger and purposely allowed it to make a metal scraping sound as it came free of its scabbard. "So, you haven't seen him. Fine. But you're working for him, or someone else who's working for him. I want to know where he is and what he's up to, and you're going to tell me."
Defoe shook his head. "I-I really don't know anything about Marius or what he's doing nowadays."
Royce paused. Every line of Defoe's face revealed he was telling the truth.
"What have we here?" Thranic asked. "A private meeting? You've strayed a bit far from camp, dear boys."
Royce turned to see Thranic and Staul. Staul held a torch, Thranic carried a crossbow.
"It's not safe to venture too far away from your friends, or didn't you think about that, Royce?" Thranic told him and fired the crossbow at Royce's heart.
***
"Antun Bulard, isn't it?" Hadrian asked sticking his head in the tent.
"Hmm?" Antun looked up. He was lying on his stomach, writing with a featherless quill worn to only a few inches in length. He had on a pair of spectacles, which he looked over the top of. "Why, yes I am."
The old man was more than just pale-he was white. His hair was the color of alabaster while his skin was little more than wrinkled quartz. He reminded Hadrian of an egg, colorless and fragile.
"I wanted to introduce myself." Hadrian slipped fully inde. "All this time at sea and we never had the opportunity to properly meet. I thought that was unfortunate, don't you?"
"Why, I-who are you again?"
"Hadrian, I was the cook on the Emerald Storm."
"Ah, well, I hate to say it Hadrian, but I was not impressed with your cooking. Perhaps a little less salt and some wine would have helped. Not that this is any great feast," he said, gesturing toward his half-eaten meal. "I am too old for such rich foods. It upsets my stomach."
"What are you writing?"
"Oh, this? Just notes really. My mind isn't what it once was, you see. I'll forget everything soon and then where will I be? A historian who can't remember his own name. It really could come to that, you know. Assuming I live that long. Bernie keeps reassuring me I won't live out this trip. He's probably right. He's the expert on such things after all."
"Really? What kind of things?"
"Oh, spelunking, of course. I'm told Bernie is an old hand at it. We make a good team he and I. He digs up the past and I put it down, so to speak." Antun chuckled to himself until he coughed. Hadrian poured the man a glass of water, which he gratefully accepted.
After he had recovered, Hadrian asked, "Have you ever heard of a man called Merrick Marius?"
Bulard shook his head. "Not unless I have and then forgotten. Was he a king or a hero perhaps?"
"No, I actually thought he might have been the man who sent you here."
"Oh, no. Our mandate is from the Patriarch himself, though Sentinel Thranic doesn't tell me much. I'm not complaining mind you. How often does a priest of Maribor have the opportunity to serve the Patriarch? I can tell you precisely-twice. Once when I was so much younger, and now that I am nearly dead."
"I thought you were a historian? You are also a priest?"
"I know I don't look much like one, do I? My calling was the pen not the flock."
"You've written books then?"
"Oh, yes, my best is still the History of Apeladorn, which I am constantly having to append, of course."
"I know a monk at Windermere Abbey who'd love to meet you."
"Is that up north near Melengar? I passed through there once about twenty years ago." Antun nodded thoughtfully. "They were very helpful, saved my life if I recall correctly."
"So, you're on this trip to record what you see?"
"Oh, no, that's only what I've been doing so far. As you can imagine, I don't get out much. I do most of my work in libraries and stuffy cellars, reading old books. I was in Tur Del Fur before setting off on this wonderful trip. This has been an excellent opportunity to record what I see firsthand. The Patriarch knows about my research on ancient imperial history and that's why I am here. Sort of a living, breathing version of my books, you see. I suppose they think if they put in the right questions, out will pop the correct answers, like an oracle."
Hadrian was about to ask another question when Grady and Poe poked their heads in.
"Hadrian," Poe caught his attention.
"Well, isn't my tent the social center tonight," Antun remarked.
"I'm kinda busy at the moment, can this wait?" Hadrian asked.
"I don't think so. Thranic and Staul just followed Royce and Bernie into the jungle."
***
Royce heard the click of the release and began to move even before the hiss of the string indicated the missile's launch. Still his reflexes could not move faster than a flying bolt. The metal shaft pierced his side below the ribcage. The impact thrust him backward where he collapsed in pain.
"Lucky we found you, Bernie," Thranic told the startled thief as he moved away from Royce's body. "He would have killed you. Isn't that what you said bucketmen do? Now, don't you feel foolish for saying I couldn't protect you?"
"You could have hit me!" Defoe snapped.
"Stop being so dramatic. You're alive, aren't you? Besides, I heard the conversation. It didn't take much for you to give me up. In my profession, lack of faith is a terrible sin."
"In mine, it is all too often justified," Defoe snarled back.
"Get back to the camp before you're missed."
Defoe grumbled as he trotted back up the path and Thranic watched his retreat.
"We might have to do something about him," the sentinel told the Tenkin. "Funny that you, my heathen friend, should be my stalwart ally in all this."
"Bernie 'e dinks too much. Me? I am just greedy, and derefore trustworzy. We going to just leave dee body?"
"No, it's too close to the path we'll be taking tomorrow and I can't count on the animals eating him before we break camp. Drag him away. A few yards should be enough."
"Royce?" Hadrian shouted from behind them on the trail.
"Quickly, you idiot. They're coming!"
Staul rushed forward and, planting his torch in the ground, lifted Royce and ran with him into the jungle. He only traveled a few dozen yards when he cursed.
Royce was still breathing.
"Izuto! " the Tenkin hissed, drawing his dagger.
"Too late," Royce whispered.
***
Hadrian led them into the trees the way Royce went earlier. Ahead he spotted the glow of a torch and ran toward it. Behind him Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning followed.
"There's blood here," Hadrian announced when he got to the burning torch thrust in the ground. "Royce!"
"Spread out!" Wyatt ordered. "Sweep the grass and look for more blood."
"Over here!" Derning shouted, moving into the ferns. "There up ahead. Two of them, Staul and Royce!"
Hadrian cut his way through the thick undergrowth to where they lay. Royce was breathing hard, holding his blood-soaked side. His face was pale but his eyes remained focused.
"How ya doing, buddy?" Hadrian asked, dropping to his knees and carefully slipping an arm under Royce.
Royce didn't say anything. He kept his teeth clenched, blowing his cheeks out with each breath.
"Get his feet, Wyatt," Hadrian ordered. "Now lift him gently. Poe, get out front with the torch."
"What about Staul?" Derning asked.
"What about him?" Hadrian glanced down at the big Tenkin whose throat lay open, slit from ear to ear.
When they returned to camp, Wesley ordered Royce taken to his tent, which was the largest and originally reserved for Captain Seward. He sent Poe for Doctor Levy, but Hadrian intervened. Wesley appeared confused but, as Royce was Hadrian's best friend he did not dispute his wishes. The Vintu were surprisingly adept at first aid and under Hadrian's watchful eye they cleaned and dressed the wound.
The bolt aimed at Royce's heart had entered and exited cleanly. He suffered significant blood loss, but no organ damage, nor broken bones. The Vintu sealed the tiny entry hole without a problem. The larger tearing of his flesh at the exit was another matter. It took a dozen bandages and many basins of water before they got the bleeding under control and Royce lay calmly, sleeping.
"Why wasn't I notified about this? I'm a physician for Maribor's sake!"
Hadrian stepped outside the tent flap to find Levy arguing with Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning who, at Hadrian's request, guarded the entrance.
"Ah, Doctor Levy, just the man I wanted to see," Hadrian addressed him. "Where's your boss? Where's Thranic?"
Levy did not need to answer as across the camp Thranic walked toward them, alongside Wesley and Defoe.
Hadrian drew his sword at their approach.
"Put away your weapon!" Wesley ordered.
"This man nearly killed Royce tonight," Hadrian declared, pointing at Thranic.
"Thatens not the way he tells it," Wesley replied. "He said Royce attacked and murdered Staul over accusations the Tenkin made about Royce killing Drew aboard the Storm. Thranic and Seaman Bernie claim they were witnesses."
"We don't claim anything, we saw it," Thranic said, coolly.
"And how do you claim this took place?" Hadrian asked.
"Staul confronted Royce, telling him he was going to Wesley with evidence. Royce warned him that he would never live to see the dawn. Then when Staul turned to walk back to camp, Royce grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. Bernie and I expected such treachery from him, but we couldn't convince Staul not to confront the blackguard. So, we followed. I brought a crossbow, borrowed from Mister Dilladrum's supplies, for protection. I fired in self-defense."
"He's lying," Hadrian declared.
"Oh, were you there?" Thranic asked. "Did you see it happen as we did? Funny I didn't notice your presence."
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