“Worry not about that, lest it happens. In any case, when things turn sour, duck and hide behind Flaer and me, so that we do not throttle you in your own defense,” Slowin joked. Adacon wasn’t sure how to feel about the plan, but he trusted Slowin. They walked north across the sand to the first dock trail.
“What about once we get to the schooner?” Adacon asked.
“Leave that to Flaer and me.”
The sand transformed into a reed-filled meadow with a dirt path cut amidst it. They marched along the dirt path and came determinedly to the first dock; a row of torches glittered, fastened to a rail that led out to sea. All around them, looming bright as ever, was marvelous Saru Gnarl, great port city of the cape. Adacon, though nervous, looked in awe at the magic lights of the city. It seemed there was an amazing number of things all happening at once: on the wide-paved street that ran down to the docks from the inner-city, Adacon ran his eyes over many strange looking figures, each conducting some form of business or revelry.
“Arms now,” Slowin ordered, and Flaer and Adacon walked on either side of the hulk holding his hands as if he were shackled.
“This looks convincing,” Adacon whispered sarcastically. Soon they were treading out toward the ocean atop the southernmost dock in the port; they walked hurriedly by several humans who appeared to be unloading goods from a small sailboat anchored by the bay.
“Quite a catch there mates!” came a high-pitched voice from one of the merchants. Flaer turned and glared at the men who squatted over their parcel. The Brigun Autilus glowed red for a brief instant.
“Sorry, just being courteous,” replied a frightened voice, and the men went back to tending their load. Adacon gritted his teeth at the exchange, sighed deeply, and kept walking without a word. Ahead was a single man near the end of the dock, nearly fifty yards away. Three massive clippers on the left side of the dock appeared abandoned, as did the tiny schooner anchored on the opposite side.
“He might be a city guard,” Slowin warned. Adacon wasn’t sure if that changed their plan, but he kept walking forward in the best imitation that he was doing nothing unusual.
“Good evening men, how goes your business?” asked the guard as they neared. Flaer brought them to a stop and there was a moment of awkward silence before Slowin nudged Adacon as furtively as possible; he hadn’t realized he would be the only one able to speak for them.
“Just off to the East with this shipment—care of Grelion himself,” Adacon stammered.
“Personal cargo from the lord himself, eh? Does look rather strange though doesn’t it… never seen a golem that color,” the guard said, poking Slowin curiously on the arm with his finger. The guard wore brown cloth and chainmail with a thin brass helmet that covered half of his face. On his side hung a broadsword, similar to the ones Adacon and Erguile had once used.
“Yea—he’s a present for one of our best traders,” Adacon bluffed. The guard eyed Slowin from top to bottom and then turned his glance to Flaer.
“Where’s your crew?” the guard asked.
“Ehm—actually staying in port; they say the Saru Gnarl Cape offers many pleasures. To be honest, I couldn’t convince them to return with us,” Adacon lied.
“Strange to think after being through so many times they’d still enjoy the place so much.”
“It’s a new crew,” Adacon fired back.
“Right then. What country of the East are you faring back to?” the guard asked.
“Actually I can’t say, sorry.”
“Always with his secret business,” the guard muttered to himself. “Well then, sounds important—papers and you’re off…” the guard said, looking at Flaer as he spoke. Adacon coughed and drew the attention from Flaer back to himself.
“Papers?”
“You’ve got your papers right?” the guard reiterated, directing his question at Flaer. Slowin had been keeping his head hung, acting inconsequential, but now he lifted his gaze.
“Well—” Adacon said, buying time to think.
“Does talk, doesn’t he?” the guard said, glaring at Flaer. Flaer stood motionless, looking past the guard to the ocean. “Hey, I’m asking you a question. Where are your papers?” the guard asked Flaer again.
“We’ve lost them in the swamp,” Adacon finally answered.
“The swamp?”
“On the way in there was a storm, and they were blown away,” Adacon made up.
“How have you have been to the swamp and back, your ship has only been anchored but an hour now?” the guard said with growing suspicion. “Matter of fact, I didn’t see anyone coming off dressed as odd as you two.” The guard drew his sword. “I’m going to have to detain you until I can get my captain down here to check your—”
The guard couldn’t finish his sentence, for Slowin head-butted him with the might of a Metal golem; blood ran down the guard’s forehead as he slumped to the wooden floor of the dock. Slowin frantically looked about for sign of anyone else on the dock, as did Flaer and Adacon; it was still abandoned, except for the crew at the entrance who were still sorting their packages. It looked as if they hadn’t noticed the brief scuffle. Flaer urged them forward in haste toward the schooner.
It was a small red-black wooden vessel with two masts and enormous lettering on the hull that read “Blockade Runner.” Adacon saw through the portside window a dim candle flickering in the cabin, but nothing else on board moved. Adacon followed behind Slowin and Flaer, running across the ramp that brought them on deck. Once aboard, Slowin rushed to the cabin to make sure it was empty—the candle alone occupied it.
“Clear,” he called to them, returning to the deck. “Raise sails!” Adacon watched helplessly as Flaer and Slowin set about raising the sails on the ship, wishing he knew how to help.
“Adacon, keep your eyes on the docks, not us,” Slowin commanded while maneuvering about the rigging of the ship. Flaer had already ascended the second mast, and soon five sails were open to the night wind. Adacon couldn’t help but wonder if Flaer and Slowin had used some magic to get the sails open as fast as they had. Two wide sails were fastened to the base of either mast, a smaller square sail rested at the cross atop the forward mast, and two more triangle sails extended over the bow. Each was colored red and black, embroidered with an emblem Adacon likened to a fish caught on fire. He kept a close watch on the dock and the street beyond that led to Saru Gnarl’s well lit center; it appeared all was routine there, and there was no sign of anyone advancing toward their position.
“Alright, she’s full-stretched,” Slowin yelled up to Flaer on the mast, where wind was catching the sails and causing the ship to lurch from its anchoring. Slowin ran to a pulley and called Adacon to his aid; together they hoisted the anchor of the small ship onto the deck. The vessel heaved into the moonlit bay.
“What a success,” Adacon whispered.
“No need to keep quiet; just don’t shout and we should pass out of port untraced,” Slowin said with a deep sigh. Adacon realized how close they had come to disaster, but the danger had felt exhilarating to him. The Blockade Runner drifted away from the dock as Slowin and Flaer guided the ship. Adacon stood idle, content to watch the sparkling city from afar until his shipmates needed his help. It was only after Flaer and Slowin seemed to relax that Adacon started up with alarm:
“Look!” he said, pointing toward the main street of Saru Gnarl, a wide strip of gravel that ran downhill between buildings toward the docks from the inner heart of the city. There at the bottom of the street Slowin spotted what Adacon had started over: a ruckus of smoke and light. Just where the street spread out into a paved platform before the dock, a figure could be seen on a horse, riding away from a trail of pursuers. The pursuers rallied with arms and torches, chasing from where the fire and smoke rose, and the man on the horse galloped hard in a direction toward the last dock, the one from which the Blockade Runner was taken. Adacon focused on the fleeing horse that bore a flailing rider. “Erguile!” he exclaimed.
“C
ould it be?” Slowin said “Can’t be him—he couldn’t have made it through the front gates of the city.” Flaer focused on the scene now too, and he smiled broadly, recognizing the old grey horse; it was Weakhoof. Adacon soon heard wailing coming from the fleeing rider, and all of them strained to hear.
“You will not take me alive! I will have all your heads before I give mine!” came Erguile’s furious voice. He menacingly brandished his broadsword while turning Weakhoof about; there atop his bucking steed he faced his troop of armed pursuers. Five men braced themselves, and Adacon thought they all looked much the same as the guard Slowin had knocked out on the dock.
“Turn back, we’ve got to get him,” Adacon ordered, but Slowin and Flaer had heeded the command before it was given, and the Blockade Runner turned on the open ocean and sped toward the dock.
“Erguile!” Adacon and Slowin yelled together as loudly as their throats could manage while Flaer waved his arms in the air. At once Flaer unsheathed the Brigun Autilus and held it aloft; a soft red glow turned abruptly into a vibrant glare, and the sword became as a lighthouse in the bay. Adacon winced, shielding his eyes from the tremendous charge of the sword. Erguile spotted the light and heard the calls of his friends. Weakhoof turned again from his pursuers, only in time to narrowly escape the strike of a sword. The Blockade Runner closed in on its mooring post once more, and Weakhoof galloped full speed toward the ship as the light of the Brigun Autilus went out. Adacon was alarmed at the strange speed of the ship and called for them to halt before it crashed into the dock. Weakhoof bore his rider with great speed onto the dock and out toward the returning schooner. Erguile twisted his neck to see the guards still following.
“Bit faster now—come on,” Erguile called to his friends, reaching the water’s edge before the ship.
“Jump in the water, we’ll pull you aboard,” Adacon urged. Erguile ignored him. “They’re coming, hurry!” he yelled again. The guards were halfway between the start of the dock and Erguile, chasing at a full sprint.
“I won’t leave Weakhoof for the slaughter, I’ll go with him should it come to that,” Erguile stubbornly replied. Finally the Blockade Runner drew up along the dock and Slowin threw down the boarding ramp. Weakhoof scampered on board and Slowin withdrew the ramp, but not before two of the fastest guards had managed to sneak across—they tumbled to the deck floor; a third guard dove across but missed and fell to the sea. The last two stood glaring from the dock, helpless to assist their comrades.
Flaer wasted no time on the guards—he relit the Brigun Autilus and shone it directly at their faces so that they stumbled back in the blinding light. The guards regained their footing near the starboard rail in time to look up as Slowin rammed forward with his right shoulder, knocking them both over into the bay.
“Well done!” Erguile applauded. The guards on the dock had been joined by reinforcements who worked to rescue the three men who fell; each was struggling to free himself from armor underwater. An archer came to the dock too late, and his arrows missed the Blockade Runner as it picked up wind, speeding out upon the great Kalm Ocean. Weakhoof whinnied at the rolling motion of the ship as its course drew them away from the dock, and Erguile dismounted.
“It’s great to be back with you—I have been blessed,” Erguile proclaimed, hugging each of them.
“You are a true fool, Erguile, and mad—risking the front gates of Saru Gnarl,” Slowin scolded.
“Was no easy task, but had you not come for me those guards might have met a worse fate yet,” Erguile boasted, smiling.
“Hah—surely I won’t doubt your valor again. But I am glad you have returned to us, and that we have accomplished our task so quickly,” said the golem. “And to Adacon and Flaer do you owe thanks: Adacon spotted you, and the Brigun Autilus called your gaze.” Erguile offered his gratitude again as Flaer extinguished the last glow from his sword and sheathed it once more.
“We are on course to Remtall?” asked Erguile as he tended to Weakhoof, still quivering with fright at the small waves that hit the ship.
“Yes, due southeast to the Point,” Slowin replied. “And thanks I owe to you Weakhoof for keeping our friend in safety. You have proved a steed worthy of noblest recognition—no doubt is left that your name belies your character.” Slowin placed a hand on the grey horse’s mane and stroked. “This horse has shown us intrepid hooves this day. I am sorry, Erguile, for doubting him.” Weakhoof neighed at the compliment, and Adacon laughed merrily; it seemed the old horse had understood and replied to Slowin.
“See—he has already forgiven you!” Erguile laughed.
The Blockade Runner sailed on into the night, and no ship came in pursuit of her from Saru Gnarl. Slowin ordered that they should get some sleep, and that he himself would steer the ship as they regained their strength. It had been a long time since any of them had had any rest, and Adacon heartily welcomed the repose. It was not long before he was asleep on the floor of the cabin upon a soft fur rug, dreaming of Erol Drunne. Erguile lay nearby, and Weakhoof stayed near the cabin door, tied to a small post. Flaer sat mellowly on the deck, gazing at the stars while Slowin commanded the helm. Soon, even Flaer sprawled out to find comfort and sleep. Many peaceful hours passed, until finally dawn rose in a meandering pink line from the East, turning its color ever so slightly more golden, as Slowin kept awake, guiding them all.
VIII: AGAINST THE KALM
“Wake up,” Slowin said, nudging Adacon.
“Ugh,” Adacon complained as he turned over, squinting up at Slowin through rays of morning sunlight. “What time is it?”
“Late enough in the day. We are soon to be upon the Point. Come out on deck,” he said, then left the cabin. Adacon sat up and rubbed his eyes. Looking around in the light of day he noticed several elaborate maps and sea charts that hung about the walls, and detailed paintings of strange ocean monsters. There was a loud neighing from the deck, and Adacon forgot his preoccupation with the maps and stood to head outside.
“Adacon—missed much you’ll find,” Erguile said proudly. Adacon looked in awe at Erguile: he stood dressed in shining silver-gold armor and held aloft a beautifully engraved long sword.
“Good sword for riding Weakhoof—I can grip it with one hand, but on foot, I can grasp with both,” Erguile said. He gripped the sword firmly with both hands. “Like this,” he said, demonstrating by swinging the sword wildly. Behind Erguile stood Slowin and Flaer, gazing at the turquoise sea over fresh mugs of steaming drinks. They leaned over the stern as wind kicked into the sails above, pushing the Blockade Runner away from dark clouds that hung in the distance behind.
“Where’d you get it?” Adacon exclaimed.
“Secret booty, of course,” Erguile quipped, and he continued to practice with his new sword, slicing through the morning breeze.
“Secret booty…treasure on board?” Adacon resounded.
“Flaer found it this morning, under those planks,” Erguile said; he paused his phantom strikes to point his blade at some upturned deck floorboards near the starboard rail.
“Is there anything left? Why didn’t you get me up?” Adacon panicked as he ran to the floorboards, rubbing cobwebs from his eyes.
“Maybe; I thought I saw some more weapons, a suit of chain mail…” Erguile replied, returning his attention to his new sword, absorbed by it. His old broadsword lay discarded on the deck near Weakhoof.
“Good morning,” turned Slowin, watching Adacon fervently search the yard-wide gap in the deck. He looked within the dark space below for any more shiny armor or swords.
“Morning…” Adacon replied, distracted.
“You’ll find there’s another—” Slowin began; he was cut off by a shout from Adacon:
“Ah! What a sword,” Adacon said, lifting a black-tinted great sword from the orifice. He held it high, his face aglow with the excitement of a small boy. “And I thought I’d be out of arms.”
“I didn’t want it—too bulky for riding with,” Erguile scoffed.
&nb
sp; “Should serve you well, I’m sure, provided you build up strength for her,” Slowin remarked. Adacon noticed Flaer turn to give a nod of approval for the quality of his new sword.
“Amazing—it’s so light for such a massive sword,” Adacon observed. Slowin turned toward him to touch the blade.
“Odd engravings on the blade, as you can see. No telling where it was stolen from,” Slowin said.
“So this is a real pirate’s ship then,” Adacon replied.
“Absolutely is,” Erguile beamed. “Go on and grab your chain mail so we can spar.” Adacon briefly relinquished his sword, setting it down in its sheath. In an instant he returned to the treasure stash to look for armor. Under the floor boards were scattered jewels, gold coins, several small daggers, metal boxes, several bottles of what looked like liquor, and two coats of glossy chain mail. Adacon grabbed one of the mails and stood to try it on.
“Fits,” Adacon smiled.
“And you were so worried to leave your things at the pond,” Slowin laughed. Flaer smiled widely and drank deeply from his mug.
“Tea, Adacon?” Slowin offered.
“Tea?”
“Pirates had a great stash of it, a fine blend too, invigorating…” Erguile explained from across deck. Weakhoof whinnied, and Erguile put his new sword in its sheath to tend his horse.
“Still brewing some,” Slowin said. Flaer left for the bow of the ship toward an iron stove propped up against a mast. “Of course there’s fresh porridge as well, and thick bread—some exotic fruits I’ve never tasted before too.”
“What about the Point? You said we were closing in,” Adacon asked, peering into the horizon and seeing the Kalm Ocean spread uniformly in each direction, no signs of land. The sun was almost halfway up in the sky, and in front of the ship there wasn’t a single cloud.
“As Flaer has it, we make a sharp turn west in a few moments time. That should bring us right up on the Point. We have been sailing parallel with the coast for some time now,” Slowin replied. At that moment Flaer returned with pirate food and tea for Adacon, who sat quietly near Weakhoof and ate hungrily.
Darkin: A Journey East Page 14