Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  “Need help there?” Hudson asked.

  “She won’t stop moving…”

  And she was right. Sivvy had never been outside the Woodlands and being the curious thing that she was, she was desperate to catch a glimpse of it all.

  “S-Stop! Sivvy!” Syrena hissed again.

  Sivvy finally stopped moving when she found a hole at the bottom of the satchel, through which she was able to peek. Syrena tried to relax, but her eye started twitching again when the tavern server approached their table rather enthusiastically.

  “Good evenin’, folks!” the young man said with a broad smile. “The name’s Seamus, at yer service! Can I get ye anything? Ale? Potatoes? A bit o’ spiced rabbit?”

  “Yes to all,” said Hudson, and it was followed by a stroppy silence.

  “Err,” Seamus hesitated, eyeing the three sloppily dressed misfits up and down repeatedly. “Have ye got the coin to pay for it all?”

  “He asked you a question, mate,” Hudson gave John a shove.

  “Oh… Um… Sure,” said John. Seamus gave them all a smile and headed for the kitchens. The farmer then glanced at the thief with a scowl. “Y’know, I’m not made of money!”

  “Yes, but you owe me,” Hudson snatched a leftover mug of ale that had been sitting on the table when they arrived and gulped it down. “Need I remind you how you got me locked up back in Val Havyn?”

  “You cannot hold that over my head forever…”

  “Watch me,” Hudson grinned. “Besides, they did strip me of all my coin, mate. The least you could do is buy me a meal.”

  “Stripped you of your coin?”

  “All three coppers of it.”

  John scoffed, though in a friendlier way than he had in previous occasions. Hudson noticed Syrena’s hand was still shivering, and so he placed his own hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  She turned to him. They shared a smile.

  “Something the matter, darling?”

  She breathed deeply, her eyes glancing all around. Most peasants were locked in drunken conversations while the rest were sloppily singing and dancing to the bard’s upbeat rendition of The Ballad of the Golden Eagle. Even John was humming along, a joyful grin plastered on his face. No one seemed to be paying the witch any mind and yet she couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world was watching her.

  “I’m fine,” she nodded, her eye still twitching madly.

  “Ease yourself, darling,” the thief caressed her hand. “I imagined Syrena of Morganna would be excited to be back in Halghard.”

  She chuckled. “I was only six years old when I left Morganna,” she said. “Hardly remember the wretched place. And I’m sure nobody in this side of the world wants anything to do with me…”

  “Hey… Look at me,” Hudson said, feeling unexpectedly overwhelmed with empathy. When she locked eyes with him, it was as if there was suddenly no one else in the room but the two of them. “Fuck them,” he whispered to her. “Fuck what they all think…”

  He gripped her damp hands tighter, and she was surprised at how much it was helping. Her lips curved into an anxious smile. Had they not been surrounded by peasants, she would have undeniably kissed him. And he would have undeniably allowed her.

  Some fifteen minutes later, they were feasting.

  It was well past sundown and yet all they had eaten that day was a roughly cooked squirrel, some mushrooms that made them feel sick and dazed, and the green apple they’d shared between the three of them. Suffice it to say they ate until they could no longer fit anything in their bellies, and then proceeded to wash it down with ale.

  Syrena may not have felt as safe as she did in the Woodlands, but at least her eye became stagnant and relaxed after every conversation. Little did she know that John and Hudson felt even safer next to her, after seeing what she was capable of. She kept glancing down at her satchel, so as to make certain Sivvy was well hidden. She could hardly see anything except for that subtle glow when she lifted the rucksack’s lid, but it was enough to calm her.

  The evening was peaceful, at least as peaceful as it had been in recent times.

  Too peaceful for a place like Gravenstone, where trouble lurked around every corner.

  It was nearly midnight, in fact, when the trouble finally arrived at Grymsbi. It began with a distant shout, a child’s shout, and it caught the attention of half the crowd at The Stumblin’ Hare. Just moments later, a boy no older than twelve stumbled in, panicked and out of breath.

  “Seamus!” the boy shouted. “Where’s Seamus?!”

  John and Syrena both grew nervous all of a sudden. Hudson, on the other hand, kept munching on his rabbit as if he had not a care in the world.

  “Seamus!” the boy ran straight for the bar.

  “Calm yerself, lad. Ye’ll scare away the customers,” said the tavern server as he wiped ale and slobber from the wooden counter.

  “Th-They’re back, Seamus!” the boy said, his eyes wide with terror.

  “Whoa there, settle down,” Seamus pulled the kid aside so as to speak discreetly. “Relax now. Talk to me. Who’s back?”

  “The Brotherhood… I saw ‘em… They’re walking into town at this moment…”

  Hudson suddenly froze mid-bite. Among the peasants, there were a few panicked whispers. Some even gathered their belongings in a rush and bolted for the doors.

  “S-Settle down, everyone!” Seamus leapt out from behind the bar. “I-I’m sure it’s all fine!”

  But it was of no use. The peasants had consumed far too much ale to remain calm. They were panicking. And within seconds, the muttering grew into a chaotic clutter of fear and dismay.

  “Everyone, please! Settle down! W-We’ll lock the doors and… um…”

  Seamus had lost control of the tavern by then. Some of the drunken peasants even took the opportunity to rob the lad while he was distracted trying to bring order into the room.

  “What do we do?” John Huxley asked over the chatter. Syrena remained silent, her left eye twitching wildly all over again. Hudson wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, slowly and carefully, looking about as lost in thought as a child. “Hudson?!” John gave him a shove. “What do we do?!”

  “Lower your bloody voice, mate,” the thief said calmly.

  “What? Why?!”

  “Shh. Listen…”

  Hudson held a finger up near his ear, as if signaling John to keep his lips sealed and pay close attention. There were snickers just outside the tavern, along with slow heavy footsteps over the mud…

  “Please! Everyone, calm yerselves!” young Seamus kept trying desperately to keep the peace. At that moment, an old man burst out of one of the rooms, the skin around his eyes wrinkled from the lack of sleep. “What on earth is goin’ on here?!” he shouted, his face red and sweaty.

  Seamus stepped forward nervously. “Sir! Thank the gods you’re awake…”

  The old man scoffed. “Ye better have a damn good explanation, boy!”

  “Y-Yes, sir! I’ve heard word, sir, that…”

  Seamus suddenly froze in silence. The heavy footsteps were now coming from the wooden stairs on the tavern’s porch. In unison, the voices began to die down and every head in the room turned except for Hudson’s; the thief remained seated, his mind reeling and his hat hiding half his face.

  “M-Mercy, sir!” cried a frail voice from outside the doors, a voice that sounded like the beggar elf’s. “Mercy… I beg you, have merc-”

  A dagger silenced him.

  The tavern doors creaked open and a shadow now stood at the entrance, a shadow with decorated dreadlocks, a leather patch over his eye, and a bright red coat over his hunting leathers.

  The entire room fell silent as Captain Malekai Pahrvus strolled in casually, wiping the blood off of his dagger. He was followed by a group of mercenaries, also dressed in red leather and also with a hungry look on their faces.

  John Huxley recognized the captain instantly; he’d seen that face back in the royal palace during
the attack. The man still had both of his eyes then, but John had no doubt that it was the very same man with whom he’d crossed blades with near Lotus Creek, where the princess had been taken. John turned his gaze away cautiously. Both he and Hudson were huddled over their food with their backs to the men in red.

  “Damn it!” he whispered. Hudson said nothing still, only listened. And Syrena had her hands resting on the table when they impulsively started to ooze white smoke. She had to hide them under the table over her lap, but there was no covering that burning smell.

  Captain Malekai made it to the tavern bar and placed his hands on the wood, leaning casually against it as if waiting to be served. Meanwhile, the peasants watched him; it was so quiet in the room, they could almost hear the crickets in the garden. Malekai glanced around nonchalantly, his brows lowered, his arms stretched out in the air as if he was confused. “What happened to the music?” he asked.

  Nervously, the bard stammered and began playing again, this time a much softer tune. The tavern customers that remained glanced at one another with uncertainty. Malekai called for the tavern server’s attention while the rest of the red mercenaries found a seat somewhere in the room. It was enough to ease some of the tension, but the presence of the Brotherhood had certainly caused a dent in the atmosphere.

  “The name’s Malekai Pahrvus!” the man introduced himself, holding a hand out. “Captain of the Rogue Brotherhood.” Seamus stood nervously behind the bar, unsure of how to react to the captain’s presence. “Where I’m from, lad… it is a courtesy to shake the hand of a guest…”

  Seamus shook the man’s hand and gulped down some water to ease his aching nerves. “H-Hello! Yes… Um, c-can I help ye?”

  “Yes,” the captain nodded. “You can start by serving me a drink.”

  Seamus did it reluctantly. By then, some fifteen rogue mercenaries had made themselves at home, sitting comfortably among the peasants and helping themselves to their food and drinks as if they had a right to it all.

  “Why, this place looks more of a wreck than we last left it,” Malekai snickered. “Have you no decency, boy?”

  The old man next to Seamus, who appeared to be the owner of the tavern, was the only one brave enough to stand up to the captain. He leaned in, so as to not disturb the bit of peace that was left in the room. “What in all hells is the meanin’ of this?!” he asked sharply.

  Malekai took a sip from his ale and then glanced menacingly at the old man.

  “I’d watch that tone if I were you, good sir…”

  “Ye don’t scare me, lad,” the old man replied. “Yer standin’ in our village grounds. One word ‘n’ the village guards will be on ye like hounds.”

  Suddenly, it happened again… A grin, a chuckle, and a head nod, such as was usual of Captain Malekai Pahrvus. “Tell me, kind sir,” he said calmly. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

  “That, I am!” the old man said. “And I will not tolerate a drunken madman bursting through my doors and breaking the peac-”

  Suddenly the room went silent once again…

  Without saying a word, Malekai drew his dagger and plunged it into the man’s gut. He then twisted it viciously and yanked it out with a swift pull. The man fell, creating a puddle of blood around his twitching body. There was a sudden scream; a horrified woman dropped to her knees, crying frantically next to the old man’s body.

  Malekai grabbed Seamus’s wet rag from the counter and used it to wipe the red smears from his dagger. He held it up close to his eyes to make certain it was nice and clean, and then he smiled and tossed the rag back at Seamus, who was horror-stricken to say the least.

  “My apologies for that,” Malekai said nonchalantly. “I’m not fond of being interrupted.” He then glanced at the bard and pointed his dagger at him. “You stop playing again and you’ll be next, you hear?”

  The nervous bard nodded and resumed picking at his harp.

  John Huxley saw nothing, but his ears had heard it all and he had to shut his eyes to distract himself from the horror. His hands were shaking from both fear and anger, wishing he could leap up and kill the rogue captain where he stood. But he knew that exposing himself was the dumbest thing he could do at that moment, especially when Viktor Crowley was depending on him getting to Wyrmwood.

  “Now, where were we?” Malekai turned towards Seamus again.

  “The farmgirl ‘n’ the Beast, cap’n,” Borrys Belvaine approached the bar and sat on a stool near Malekai.

  “Ahh yes,” Malekai grinned. “I’m here because I’m searching for someone… Perhaps you can help me out, young sir.”

  Malekai was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Seamus, on the other hand, had frozen with fear. He was sweating awfully and had to keep wiping the counter to distract himself from his superior’s dead body laying just a couple of feet away.

  “I’m looking for a girl,” the captain went on. “A young one… Fair-skinned, black curls, a real beauty. We believe she’s traveling with an orc… An orc with a scarred chest, dressed in red leathers just like ours.”

  Malekai had a talent for reading expressions. And when he gazed upon young Seamus again, he knew what the look in his eyes meant. The young man had seen them, all right. And so, with a devious grin, Malekai went on.

  “If you’ve seen them, I would appreciate any help you can offer, my good friend… The reward for your assistance would be most generous, I assure you.”

  Seamus stammered nervously, his lip shivering as he spoke.

  “P-Please… We don’t want any trouble, sir,” he said.

  “Nor do I… Just tell me where they went and you won’t ever see me again…”

  Seamus hesitated, but after taking a gander at his horrified guests he couldn’t help but yield.

  “They were here,” he said. “But they’ve been gone for hours now. I-I swear…”

  “Ahh I see,” Malekai said, the hint of a smirk on the corner of his lips. “Any idea as to where they’ve gone?”

  Seamus froze again; he could see the look of hunger in Malekai’s eye. And he knew that, should he reveal what he knew, the girl’s life might be at stake. Truthfully, it terrified him. But the young man was unfortunately more keen on saving his own skin than saving someone else’s.

  “Keep in mind, young lad,” Malekai leaned in closer. “I always find out when someone’s lied to me. Always. And when I do… Well…” He didn’t finish his thought; he simply looked down at the dead man nearby lying on a puddle of his own blood.

  “I-I saw a woman take the girl away!” Seamus revealed. “Ayisha is her name… Sh-She’s one of Skinner’s. She took her to their cabin over by the southern outskir-”

  “I know where the old bastard lives,” Malekai interrupted, his face a mixture of satisfaction and concern, as if he knew a thing or two about Skinner’s reputation.

  “Shall we go, cap’n?” Borrys asked.

  Malekai spat on the floor out of habit. He then forced the grin back onto his face as if trying to look convincingly poised and glanced towards the nearest of his rogue mercenaries. “Clive!” he said. “Keep an eye on them all until I get back.”

  “Aye, cap’n,” Clive snickered.

  Before he left, Malekai glanced at the bartender one last time. “What was your name, lad?”

  The young man shivered and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “S-Seamus…”

  “Congratulations, Seamus,” Malekai gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder. “You’ve just earned yourself a tavern.”

  Seamus looked a bit relieved, though the horror in his eyes remained.

  “Now do try and clean up this mess, will you?” Malekai tapped the dead body on the floor with his boot. “Your customers look rather unhappy.”

  And with that, the captain headed for the doors, leaving behind a room full of worried faces and subtle whispers, as Seamus proceeded to clean up the mess on the floors of his new tavern…

  * * *

  The chicken m
ight have been slightly overcooked, but every bite was tangy and savory to Robyn’s lips and she bit into it until there was nothing but bones left on her plate. The rest of the children had finished their supper and most of them were lounging about in the cabin. It was clear that guests were unusual in their home; most of them sat at close proximity to Robyn, especially the boys.

  Osric Skinner, the commander of the peculiar crew, sat across from her at the dining room table shuffling through a dusty pile of parchments and maps. “You say it’s Drahkmere you’re heading to?” he asked.

  “It’s where my brother’s heading to,” Robyn wiped her lips. “I lost track of him in the Woodlands. But he can’t have gone far.”

  “If he even made it out, that is,” Ayisha muttered coldly.

  Robyn didn’t particularly dislike Ayisha, but the woman’s pessimistic ways were certainly starting to pick at her nerves. “He made it out!” she argued, though her voice cracked mid-sentence. “He must have…”

  Ayisha said nothing else this time, only shrugged and leaned in over Skinner’s shoulder. Worriedly, Robyn turned her attention back to her plate and finished munching on her last piece of wing.

  “So what d’you think?” the young cook, Gibbons, asked abruptly. Robyn hadn’t seen him approaching and was mildly startled, nor did she realize Milo was inching closer from the other side like an eager child desperate for attention. “The chicken, I meant,” Gibbons clarified. “How is it?”

  “It’s complete rubbish,” Tails grunted, walking by with a half-eaten drumstick in his hand. “It tastes like goblin shite.”

  “You would know what that tastes like, then!” Gibbons gave his friend a punch in the arm.

  “It’s brilliant, Gibbons,” Robyn smiled. And she meant it, too.

  Gibbons smiled back, his face turning red as he leaned back casually on the dining room table. “Really? D’you really think so? Most people don’t appreciate the art of cooking. It takes time and patience, and y-”

  “Get your arse off the table, lad,” Skinner muttered, his eyes never leaving the pile of parchments.

  “Ohh,” Gibbons’s face turned even redder. “S-Sorry, sir…”