The Colour of Vengeance

by Rob J. Hayes

  Taking the box Pern immediately noticed the smell. He knew the odour well enough by now. Rotting flesh was quite distinctive. He carried it to Swift’s desk and his client glanced at it.

  “Another head, I reckon. I should keep them; I’d have a fair sized collection by now. What does the letter say?”

  Pern tore the envelope from the top of the box and opened it. Inside there was a note and a small iron key.

  “Box is locked,” Swift said poking at it.

  Pern picked the key from the envelope and held it; he would not allow his client to open the box just in case there was something dangerous inside. Then he read the note aloud:

  To my darling Swift,

  I can no longer go on

  Your war with the wonderful, handsome, dashing Captain Drake Morrass has brought me to this

  Please, please, please don’t cause him any more trouble

  I would so hate for any ill harm to befall anyone else

  “Uh…” Swift started. “Reckon we should open it up an’ see who’s inside.”

  Pern took the key in hand and inserted it into the small lock then opened the lid of the box and looked inside. He saw a head, old and rotting and nothing else besides. Slowly he turned the box round to face Swift.

  For a long time Swift stared into the box saying nothing. As if his silence wasn’t ominous enough Pern could see his client’s aura changing before his eyes. Red was the colour of anger and Swift’s aura turned a bright, fiery crimson.

  With a wordless scream of fury Swift plucked his glass of wine from the table and hurled it at the far wall. The glass shattered, leaving the red liquid inside to drip down to the floor. Pern took a step backwards as his client’s rage continued. Swift picked up his chair and slammed it down upon his desk three times. The box bounced each time and finally tipped over the side and spilled the rotting head onto the floor.

  Swift stood, panting from the exertion, the remnants of the chair dangling forgotten from his hands.

  The door to his office burst open and three of Swift’s most trusted guards rushed inside, weapons drawn and ready for violence. Pern held up a hand to stop them but his client turned angry eyes on the trio.

  “GET THE FUCK OUT!” he screamed and the guards, knowing better than to disobey their master, immediately began back away. “Find me that bastard, Drake Morrass. Find him an’ bring him here alive!”

  The guards nodded their obedience and fled from the room. It was a pointless order; they had been searching for the pirate captain for months to no avail. No sooner had someone seen him on the streets of Sarth he disappeared without a trace.

  Pern looked down at the head now lying on the floor. It was a woman, of that he was sure, she had black hair with more than a few silver strands but most of that was patchy and matted with dried blood now. The eyes were gone and the streaks of blood running from the empty sockets suggested it had been done before the woman had been killed. A painful way to die, Pern thought.

  Looking back at his client Pern noticed the change in Swift’s aura once again. The anger was still there but it was mixing with something else. Pern wouldn’t have thought it was possible but his client looked to be grieving.

  “Who was she?” Pern asked, ignoring the hostile glare Swift sent his way.

  “My ma’,” Swift said his voice thick as if he was choking back tears. “Tanda. Owned a whore house in Bittersprings. I’m gonna kill that bastard.

  “Weren’t easy fer her, havin’ a little shit like me runnin’ ‘bout her heels while she was tryin’ ta earn her livin’ but she managed it.” Swift stared down at the head of his mother. “Taught me everythin’ I know. How ta speak, how ta act, how ta fight. Think I’m good with a knife? She was better. I saw her skewer a fly at a hundred paces with jus’ the one throw. Only woman worth a damn I ever met.”

  Pern picked up the head by its hair and placed it back in the wooden box then closed the lid. Somehow he doubted his client would ever touch the thing.

  “You got a ma’, Suzku?” Swift asked.

  “I am Haarin.”

  Swift sighed and shook his head. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Pern paused, unsure of how much to divulge. “We have mothers. All men have mothers. We do not know them. Those destined to be Haarin are separated from their parents before they can form… attachments or bonds. For Haarin there is service to the clan and service to the client. There is nothing else.”

  “Right,” Swift said. “You care ‘bout the clan an’ the client an’ nothin’ else. So what happens if someone sent you my head in a box?”

  “I would be required to take my own life,” Pern answered immediately.

  “Eh?”

  “That is the contract we enter into once the clan has taken payment. Our code is very strict on the matter. If a Haarin fails to protect his client in life he must take his own life and protect the client in death for eternity. It is rare that such action is required. It is much more likely that the Haarin will give his life protecting the client and then their soul is free to return to the clan and be born again into the next generation of Haarin.”

  Swift sucked at his teeth and then spat. “You people got some fuckin’ weird ideas. Where I come from we know our ma’s an’ if some bastard kills ‘em… We fuckin’ kill that bastard right back. Revenge yeah.”

  Pern looked at his client again. The mindless fury might be gone but the anger and hatred remained. Swift’s aura boiled a deep red. The colour of blood.

  Thorn

  “You trust ‘em?” Bones asked.

  Betrim shrugged. He was leaning against the railing, staring out into the opening of Rainbow Bay and watching the port of Chade grow larger by the minute. Last time he’d been here he had sailed out to Sarth with Arbiter Thanquil Darkheart and Jezzet Vel’urn. Both the others were dead now, killed because of his failure, because he had been too damned drunk to finish off Kessick when he had the chance. Some mistakes needed amends.

  “Dunno,” Betrim said to the giant. It was good to have Bones back; the big man had always been a friend. He was near as gentle as breeze when he wasn’t killing folk. “Known Heavy-Hand fer a long time, man’s got a code of honour or somethin’, don’t reckon betraying folk comes into it.”

  “What ‘bout the little one?”

  “His brother,” Betrim spat over the side of the ship. “Six-Cities’ has got a reputation an’ no mistake but he follows Heavy-Hand an’ is a good man ta have in a situation. Reckon we might have one or two o’ those ahead. What about Beth?”

  Bones laughed and, despite himself, Betrim joined in. “Well it’s fair ta say she ain’t never gonna like ya, Thorn. Don’t reckon ya got anyone but yaself ta blame fer that.”

  Betrim glanced at the giant next to him. “Seem ta remember you had as much ta do with it as me.”

  “Aye but I can get away with it seein’ as how I married her,” Bones replied with a grin. “She’ll be good, stick with me ‘til the end. What ‘bout ya little blooded friend?”

  “He’s an odd one but he’s loyal. Proven that…”

  “He’s a Brekovich,” Bones interrupted.

  “Can’t choose ya family an’ I was there; they certainly didn’t choose him. Tried ta have him killed an’ me an’ Henry along with him.”

  Bones grunted. “Got a plan?”

  “Find Swift. Stab him ‘til he’s dead.”

  The giant laughed. “Aye. Reckon it’s a start. Might need some work though. Seem ta remember Swift bein’ a tricky little bastard. Last thing ya want is him gettin’ his hands on a bow… or a knife. Might be best ta do him in his sleep an’ ya know who was always best at that sort o’ work…”

  “Swift,” Betrim finished for the giant with a snort and a shake of his head. “’Sides, reckon Henry wants ta do him while he’s awake. Watch him die. I’ve got a mind ta let her given...” Betrim trailed off.

  “Tortured the name out o’ her an’ left her fer dead,” Bones said. “Nothin’ else?”
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  Betrim didn’t tell Bones the whole truth. Wasn’t his place to tell. He said nothing and stared out at the port. Seemed there were a lot less boats than he remembered. Fact was Betrim had spent a good deal of his life in and around Chade and the port had always been the busiest part of the city, bristling with masts, full to bursting with ships and noisy with people and business. He couldn’t quite see the port clearly at this distance, nor hear it but he was certain of one thing; something was amiss.

  Now he gave it a closer look he could see something else as well, black smoke rising from the city in plumes, a dark smudge against the sapphire blue sky. Even as Betrim watched one of the ships in port went up, bright orange fire spreading quickly across the deck and eating its way up the mast. The sails went up in a blaze. It looked a pretty sight from their distance.

  “Cap’n,” shouted the sailor up at the top of the mast, Betrim seemed to remember it was called the nest. “Som’in’s up. Dock side.”

  The captain, a grizzled man with more grey hair on his chin than on his head limped up to the front of the ship and stood next to Betrim. He pulled a small cylindrical device from his belt and held it up to his right eye. Betrim glanced at Bones who shrugged back.

  Betrim reckoned he should have a word. “Uh, Captain…”

  “Quiet!” the captain snapped without lowering the device. “Ain’t got time to be dealing with you damnable land monkeys.”

  “Well…”

  “Damnit!” the captain raised his voice to a shout. “Pull in the sails! Get our speed down. Bastards are burning ships. Now! Or I’ll drown you all like the dogs you are.”

  “Captain…” Betrim started again.

  “Pull her to starboard. I want to be ready to run.”

  The ship gave a sudden lurch to the right and Betrim almost lost his footing, would have if not for Bones putting a big hand on his shoulder to steady him. Chade began to move to the left as the ship turned.

  “Ya mind tellin’ me what’s happenin’?” Betrim asked the captain. “Why the hell are they burnin’ ships in port?”

  “You don’t know? Figured that was why you’re headed here after that business in Solantis.”

  “Ya heard ‘bout that?” Betrim asked.

  The captain sighed. “Lad, everyone has heard of Solantis. City of Mercs don’t have a single mercenary in it no more. Death sentence for any that set foot inside the walls. For months mercs like you have been flocking to Chade any way they can.”

  “Why?”

  “Because two of the folk that rule this place have started tearing strips off each other and are willing to hire anyone with a price to do it,” the captain said with a sigh

  Betrim looked at Bones and again the big man shrugged. He glanced across the deck to see Henry and Anders had emerged from below deck and were making to join them at the front of the ship. Anders stopped to point at the docks and the ship burning there. Joan and Ben were already standing at the railing and watching.

  “What’s happenin’?” Henry asked.

  The captain let out a low growl. “Tell your people to get below deck. Last thing we need is a bunch of land-loving thugs getting in the way of my honest sailors.”

  “Ship-ahoy,” shouted the sailor at the top of the mast.

  “Where?” the captain shouted back.

  “Aft.”

  The captain started limping across the forecastle, dropping nimbly down to the quarterdeck and quickly pulling himself up the ladder to the poop deck. Betrim followed the man all the way despite the annoyed glances. At the stern of the ship he pulled the eye device from his belt again and stared through it.

  Henry stepped up beside Betrim and gave him a nudge to let him know she was there. He shrugged back at her and waited for the captain to speak.

  “I don’t see any colours,” the captain called out.

  “She ain’t flyin’ none, Cap’n,” the sailor in the nest shouted back.

  For a long time the captain stood motionless, staring through his device while alternating between sucking at his teeth and clicking his tongue. Eventually he seemed to make a decision, crossing to the wheel and taking control from the sailor stationed there.

  “Pile on sail. Let’s get some speed up. See if she’s for us or for port,” the captain shouted to the crew and sailors began scurrying around the deck and the rigging. Betrim watched in wonder at the apparent organisation appearing from what had before seemed like lazy chaos.

  “Anythin’ we can do?” Henry asked.

  The captain glared at her for a moment then spoke to Betrim. “Keep out of the way… but be ready.”

  “Ready fer what?” Betrim asked. The captain didn’t reply.

  The ship started moving again, slowly building speed, slipping through the calm waters. For a long time the agonising wait was more than Betrim could bear. Knowing they were safe would be good, knowing they might be in for a fight would be bad but knowing anything was better than standing around waiting. The captain didn’t try to shoo them away again but neither did he seem like talking to them. The whole situation was making Betrim more than a little anxious truth be told and he was starting to get that worrying feeling he got when a situation was about to turn into a shit storm.

  “She’s on us, Cap’in. Puttin’ on sail and gainin’ fast.”

  “Damn,” the Captain heaved on the wheel and the ship gave another lurch to the right. Betrim was ready for this time and steadied himself. Henry wasn’t so prepared; she stumbled and almost ended up on her arse. The glare she sent the captain’s way, after she had recovered, might have scared him into an apology if he had been paying attention. Instead he was shouting to his crew, orders mixed with insults and none of which Betrim understood but the crew clearly did. What had been chaos, and then organisation turned into organised chaos as sailors doubled their speed. Some scurried up the rigging like spiders climbing a wall; others heaved on ropes or disappeared into hatches.

  “All hands on deck,” the captain bellowed then sent a quick glance at Betrim. “Get your people together down on the quarter deck. We’re running but if they catch us it’ll be a fight an’ a hard one at that.”

  “Pirates?” Betrim asked.

  “Most likely. Though never heard of any attacking ships so close to Chade before. Bad for business. Get down to the deck and stay out of the crew’s way.”

  Betrim nodded for Henry to follow the captain’s orders and she jumped down to the quarter deck. Betrim stayed behind near the wheel, near the captain.

  “Reckon I’ll stay here fer now,” he said. “We get boarded reckon ya might need someone ta look after ya.”

  “Ha!” The captain laughed. “This won’t be my first fight, lad.” He turned from Betrim and shouted at his crew again. “Get the weapons up on deck. A sword for every man and a bow for all those know how to use them.”

  If Betrim had thought the waiting was bad before the chase was even worse. Both ships slipped through the water and the port of Chade passed by them on their left side, though the captain insisted it was the larboard side. The vessel behind them grew steadily larger and closer and the captain grew steadily more tense and worried, his shouting containing less in the way of orders and more in the way of insults. Joan’s hunters and Bones’ soldiers were roused and herded up onto deck where they stood around trading nervous jokes and fingering idle weapons. Truth was their little group of thirty men, while outnumbered two to one by sailors, would be the ones to make all the difference should the pirate ship catch them.

  The minutes stretched on and on and still the pirate ship closed on them. Even the captain started to look nervous. “Can we lose ‘em?” Betrim asked eventually, fearing he already knew the answer.

  “She’s bigger than us, might be lower in the water. We could hug the coast and hopefully go where she can’t but…” The captain sighed and gave Betrim a look that spoke volumes about how fucked they were.

  “What ‘bout Chade? They wouldn’t dock ta get at us,” he asked with ho
pe.

  The captain turned an anxious gaze on Betrim. “They’re burning ships over that way, lad. Rather take my chance with pirates than with fire. Boat’s been with my family for more than a couple of generations. I ain’t about to lose her ‘cos some dumb fuck ruler o’ Chade thinks burning ships is good for business.

  “Now I’m sorry if that makes things a bit tougher for you and yours but the thing about being a captain of a ship is whiles you’re on my ship, my word is law and if I say fight, we fight.”

  Betrim grunted.

  “Cap’n,” shouted the sailor in the nest. “It’s the Fortune.”

  The captain cursed and left the wheel to a nearby sailor before striding to the stern and again staring through his eye device. Betrim joined him, at this distance he could just about make out figures on the ship chasing them though in truth they looked little more than dark moving shapes. The Fortune had a dark hull, almost black and tore through the water in great lurching leaps.

  With another curse the captain tucked his eye device away and spent a few minutes pacing the deck muttering to himself. Betrim decided it was best to keep quiet though his nerves were screaming at him to do something.

  “Take in the sails,” the captain bellowed, again moving to the wheel. “Drop anchor and get those weapons stowed.”

  “What the hell are…” Betrim started.

  “We’re giving up. Letting them catch us,” the captain said, squaring up to Betrim. “We can’t outrun the Fortune and we sure as hell can’t outfight her.”

  “I reckon ya might be underestimatin’ my lot,” Betrim said with confidence.

  “You want to fight? Go ahead and try it but my crew will be sat holding onto our arses making sure we’re not involved. Long as we give in, don’t make them work too hard might be they’ll just take the cargo and let us move on. We fight and they’ll show us the error of our ways.”