Steel And Flame (Book 1)

by Damien Lake

  “Meaning me.”

  “Yes.”

  “As I said, sir, my skills in this field are extremely limited. What did you have in mind?”

  Trask took his seat. Beside the chair sat a small end table covered with documents. He lifted one and gestured to the empty chair across from him. The other four men were already seated. Marik felt less singled out once he sat among them.

  “Donnel said he would set up a containment filter, whatever that means.” Trask glanced at the document. “Something about blocking astral energy transfers or like that. That make any sense to you?”

  “In a way.”

  “Think you can do that?”

  “Definitely not. It sounds pretty advanced.”

  Trask nodded. “Then what can you do against a mage? I need to change the plan and we’re going to do that before we leave.” The tone in the captain’s voice made it clear no one would get any sleep until they were done.

  “Sir, it depends on what kind of mage it is. Is it a real mage, or is it a wizard? I can work a trick or two against those, maybe.”

  Trask glanced at the report in his hand again. “Scout’s best estimate is ‘magician’.” He looked up. “What about one of those?”

  Figures it’d be the same type as nearly killed me. “As I remember, a magician calls on the astral form of his spell components, I think, and uses his power to draw the raw form into the physical plane where it takes shape as a spell.”

  “I don’t care about all that! Are you any good against one or not?”

  “I’m thinking, sir. I’ve never used my skills in battle before.” Marik paused for a moment, deep in thought, struggling to remember old Tollaf’s words and lectures now that it seemed he actually needed them. “A magician…or maybe a witch or a warlock. They share the same talent, so it might be either, but whichever it might be, I might be able to work something. They have to pull the astral form of their spell components through to the physical plane, I think, so I might be able to disrupt the spell, maybe, but,” he looked straight into the captain’s eyes, “don’t count on it.”

  “Can you do anything I can count on?”

  “I’ve practiced different shields against magical attack. I’ve never used them against a magician’s style of magic, but Master Tollaf taught me how to adjust for it.” Am I actually referring to that old bastard as Master?

  Trask looked far from happy. Marik hesitated before deciding to add his own piece. “I think the best option would be to get as close as we can to the magician or mage or whatever. If there is one. If the men can get close enough to attack and break through, I think I can keep him busy long enough for the fighters to handle him.”

  The captain cast a sharp glare at Marik. “You think so, eh? You have any idea what kind of defenses are around the supply base?”

  “No sir, I was only offering a suggestion for your consideration.”

  Trask suddenly smirked and glanced at the unnamed strangers. He chose to say nothing, only cast that single look. Marik worried he might have said something foolish.

  “Well, let’s talk about what you can, or I suppose what you can’t, do. Attacks?”

  “Not really.”

  “Weather spells?”

  “No. You’d need an entire team for anything like that.”

  “Concealment spells to hide the men from sight, or anything similar?”

  “Sorry.”

  While they continued over the list of Marik’s shortcomings, Trask’s displeasure with the situation deepened. But despite all the cold water Marik threw on the idea, the captain refused to consider letting the mercenary escape from this task. A mage was a mage was a mage in Trask’s eyes, and there better be a way for this mage to protect his men against possible Nolier magic. In the end, they decided upon Marik’s suggestion as the best of the worst, with a few revisions.

  Once the entire company neared the supply base, Marik would move as close as possible to the enemy compound to ascertain the existence of mages within. If none were present, then Marik would act as lookout, his mage senses better able to pick out Nolier scout auras among the trees. If a magic user did reside within, then he would return, report to the captain and the best course would be debated.

  The marker candles burned low before they finally exhausted all other possibilities. Marik staggered to his bedroll, amazed at how exhausted a simple meeting between men could make him. On the way he found enough energy to ask Fraser what Trask’s odd glance had signified.

  “That? Don’t think much about it.”

  “Should I keep my mouth shut? I don’t want to earn the Kings a fodder position because I’m too stupid to know when to keep quiet.”

  “You won’t. Not with Trask. His aides usually present their own opinions as fact when reporting gathered intelligence. It’s a sore point with him. A little honesty is refreshing. Still,” Fraser added in a harder tone, “exercise your common sense when you’re talking.”

  “Right.”

  He fell into his bedroll, thankful the nights remained warm since wrestling with the sheet lay beyond his capabilities at the moment. It seemed a bare moment after he closed his eyes when he felt a hand shaking his shoulder.

  “Come on, Marik! Early to rise and all that bilk…”

  Marik cracked open one gummy eye to find Dietrik leaning over him.

  “We’re moving out soon. You’ll miss the splendid breakfast slop!”

  Later, while he tied his gear behind his saddle, Fraser summoned him from across the stable yard. Marik asked, “What now?”

  “I wanted you to meet the scout you’ll be working with once we’re in the trees. He’s from one of our specialty squads that were divided among the whole damned army.”

  Atop a wagon wheel perched an odd figure. The man was slightly shorter than his own height, and not as broad across the shoulders either. His body mass was less all around yet he looked muscular all the same. He wore an outfit of mottled brown and green with gray mixed in as befitted a scout, except the colors hung in loose cloth strips dangling from strangely cut clothing. It twisted Marik’s eyes, suggesting it had been woven from leaves and hanging moss. Marik needed to squint so he could pick out the scout’s form, even in the stable yard’s light. Dark brown hair fell around the man’s ears. When he shifted his attention, Marik felt pierced by the coldness in those stony eyes.

  “Meet Colbey from the Second Squad. He’ll be watching your back during the mission.”

  Chapter 24

  “ ‘Anpa! ‘Anpa!”

  Three young children, energy abounding in the bright summer sun, ran across the hard dirt yard, scampering between the nets on their stretching racks with the ease of those who had spent their entire short lives in a fishing village. It distracted old gaffer Lorry from his mending. Far from displeased, he bestowed a smile on his grandchildren.

  “Here now! Slow down, tykes, or you’re liable to run head first into a frame!”

  “ ‘Anpa Lorry!” the youngest one shouted again.

  “Hey’la.” The old man set aside the net to scoop the little one into his lap. “Oh! Look at you! You’re getting bigger all the time, Feyme!”

  The little girl smiled, showing her missing first teeth. “Mamma says stay outside.”

  “So you came running to me, did you?” He took in her two older brothers, instantly recognizing their bearing. “What boiling kettle have you two scamps upset this time?”

  “Nothing!” protested Setin, the oldest.

  “Don’t lie to me, child. I’ve known you your whole life, and your mamma all of hers.”

  “We didn’t do anything!”

  Rudy scuffed a toe in the dirt.

  “Well, Rudy?”

  He cast a furtive glance at Setin, then, “We just brought home a kitty! Farthing’s got a dog! Why can’t we have som’thing?”

  “You know your mamma’s told you about that before. And what were you boys thinking, bringing a cat into a fisherman’s house?”

  �
��We was gonna train it real good and not let it do nothing bad!” Setin insisted.

  “Uh-huh. And I know what happened. It got away from you and ruined your papa’s catch.”

  Both boys dropped their gazes to their feet.

  “Where’s it now?”

  “Mamma said it’d never leave now it found som’thing to eat. Does that mean she’ll let us keep it?” Rudy sounded eager.

  “Where is it?”

  “Mamma’s looking after it.”

  Which answered the question in Lorry’s mind. In a fisher village, cats were unwelcome enough. Unless raised from a kitten, they could never be trusted, and many times not then either. Cats were their own creatures, following whatever whims struck their fancy. Garda had sent the kids from their little home and would take it to the water’s edge in a sack to drown it away from their sight. Later she would either say it had run away or that a stranger passing through had expressed an interest in it.

  “Is she now? Probably she wants to make sure it’s nice and healthy when its owner comes looking for it.”

  “It ain’t got no owner! It’s all skinny and starving. Setin said it’s a stray.”

  “Shells and sand, Setin! You should know better than to bring a hungry stay into the house!”

  “We didn’t mean no harm…”

  “Still, if it was a stray then it probably won’t stay long. They like their freedom. It filled its belly from your papa’s catch, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s gone its own way before you get back.”

  “But mama said she’d look after it and keep it outta trouble!”

  “Have you ever seen a cat that didn’t want to be caught?”

  Setin and Rudy shook their heads.

  “They can move fast as summer lightning when they’ve a mind to. Your mamma’s got better things to do than chase the bedraggled thing across the whole waterfront. If it’s gone when you get home, best to forget about it altogether.”

  They were unhappy, so Lorry offered a diversion. “You two boys, give your old gaffer a hand with this mess. I still got miles of mending to do on this net. Feyme dear, how about you slide on down for awhile.”

  “ ‘K, ‘anpa.”

  The girl jumped from his lap and busied herself climbing an empty drying rack. He set the boys tugging the net’s corners this way or that. They were eager to help like real grown-up fishermen. Their help actually slowed his progress but he had nothing else to occupy him now that he no longer challenged the azure waters every day, snatching what he could of the sea’s bounty. Lorry enjoyed his rambunctious grandchildren.

  “Who’s net’s this, Grandpa Lorry?” Setin asked after he pulled too hard on his corner. The hole Lorry was mending slid off his lap.

  “Brass Knob’s. Did you see that big stickerfish he brought in last eightday?”

  “Yeah! Papa say’s it’s the biggest catch of the season so far!”

  “He’s right. It took three of them to haul it over the side into their boat, and look at the damage it did to the net!” He gestured to the many rents and tears.

  “It were hanging on the racks by the main road! Farthing says the Bloody Sun Pirates break off those big spikes on their noses and use ‘em like swords when they’re fighting. That one on the racks could’ve been a spear!”

  Rudy asked, “Is that true, Grandpa Lorry? What Farthing said?”

  “Don’t you go listening to that boy. He knows about as much of fighting and pirates as you do. He’s wanting to show off to impress you younger minnows.”

  “See?” Rudy jeered at his older brother. “Told you wasn’t so!”

  “But they could! Remember how long that were? And sharp too! Steeves poked his hand on it and he bled!”

  “You best not be playing around with things like that!” Lorry admonished. “One slip and you could hurt yourselves right good!”

  “We were being careful! But you could turn one of ‘em spikes into a sword. I’d bet it’d look really neat! No one’d come near you!”

  “Hard to make friends that way then, and the first person to challenge you to a fight with a sword of honest steel, or better yet a longarm spear, would hack it to pieces.”

  Rudy asked, “Papa said old Brass caught it in the Deeps. Where’s that?”

  Lorry paused, slipping the wooden bobbin between his leg and the old rickety chair. “You see out there?” ‘Out there’ was the vast blue ocean sparkling in the clear sun. Across the irregular wavelets drifted an uncountable number of fishing vessels, from small two-man rowboats to low schooners requiring full crews. The old fisherman reckoned his porch view atop a low hill on the west coast of Tullainia would be the closest to the heavens he’d come until death claimed him.

  “You boys see where the water darkens, out past those far rocks poking up through the water?”

  “Yeah, but the sun’s sparkling in my eyes!”

  “Shield your eyes like this,” he said, raising one hand to his brow and smiling. “The light water is shallower and easier to fish. Farther out, the ground under the water falls away sharp. You shouldn’t fish out that far until you’ve as much experience as your papa.”

  “Why not? Old Brass caught that big’un up outta the water. That’s the Deeps, ain’t it?” asked Setin.

  “It is, but the danger worsens the farther out you sail. It’s close on to four miles, that far. How many vessels you see out in the dark blue today?”

  The boys squinted while Feyme dropped next to his chair, holding his free hand.

  “Maybe four? The sun’s in my eyes.”

  Lorry shaded his eyes to count as well. There were actually five out past the deep water line today. Scattered across the darker waters, they were mere specks to his aged eyes. One sailed farther than the rest, practically on the horizon line itself. That Lorry could see it at all meant the ship must be overly large, probably a merchant carrying a fancy load.

  “I think you’re right, Rudy. There’s four of our own ships out there today. I see another, but it’s foreign and passing by. But think on that for a moment.”

  “Think about what, Grandpa Lorry?”

  “All these fishermen with their big plans and bigger stories. You hear them talking about their greatest catches all the time, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In comes old Brass with the hells’ own catch, and the whole village is gathering around and talking about it. How many of the boys do you reckon would rush out to the place he caught it to try and get one of their own?”

  “I would,” exclaimed Setin. “You could catch a few of ‘em and not have to work for the rest of the eightday!”

  “Exactly. And how many do you see out there doing that today?”

  Setin frowned suddenly and turned to recount the vessels delving into the ocean’s bounty. Rudy answered. “Not many.”

  “And those are the same ones who go out there most days already. You know why everybody else is staying in their normal fishing holes?”

  “It’s dangerous? But why? You can still see the village.”

  “Listen son, and I’ll tell you a secret in the fishing game. As a rule, the deeper the water, the more dangerous it is. Even this close to the shore. Storms come up out of nowhere and the currents get funny. And Brass Knob has always been a little crazy, so don’t go following his example.”

  “What ‘bout sea monsters?” Setin asked, turning back from the ocean. “I heard they like to eat boats whenever they find one!” Lorry thought Setin had always seemed overly eager for adventurous tales. His younger brother acted sensibly, keeping his feet on the ground so his head stayed out of the clouds, unlike the older sibling. He doubted he would be around long enough to know for sure but he guessed the younger child would make the better fisherman when they grew older. Rudy might one day gain the skill and caution to make a good deepwater fisher, and thus take a place among the prosperous.

  “You like to gobble down all of Farthing’s tales whole, don’t you Setin? A future fisher shouldn’t swa
llow hooks and sinkers himself!”

  “Didn’t hear it from Farthing! All the sailors down at the Roost were talking ‘bout it!”

  “When were you in the Roost?”

  Setin belatedly looked wary. Rudy said, “Feyme was thirsty. We only asked for a cup of water.”

  “All right then, if that’s all it was. But you watch yourselves around there. The place is full of those foreign sailors. Nothing but a gang of cutups and chikenhawks!”

  “What’s a chikenhawk?”

  “Never you mind that. What did you hear?”

  Setin piped anew. “They were saying how two of their big boats were swallowed up by giant serpents bigger’n the whole ocean!” The boy’s eyes widened with a nervous tinge. “Is that true, Grandpa Lorry?”

  “Well, sailors were born to lie, you remember that. But maybe there’s a scale of truth in the tale.” Setin’s eyes grew small in excited fear. “Don’t ever go believing you know everything there is to know about the sea, boys. She holds her secrets deep and close, and any man who catches one up is likely to find himself facing her wrath.”

  They spent the afternoon mending nets while Lorry entertained them with tales nearly as old as he. Garda came looking for them when dusk pressed down on the sky. She explained to her saddened children that their cat had followed a pair of rich-looking people away, and she thought it would be better off under their care. The children cried, yet the cat was gone and nothing could be done about it. Exactly what a rich person might have been doing strolling around the village when none had ever done so before never crossed their minds.

  She thanked her father for looking after them and letting her finish her own work in peace.

  “Nothing to thank me for, little miss. Send them over anytime. It lightens my day.” She left with her youngsters.

  Lorry decided to deliver the mended nets that night after all. He dropped Gerd’s two small throw-casters into the hand cart over Brass Knob’s bigger trolling net. Gerd’s lay closer. Soon he collected a short string of halibut from the day’s catch as payment for his mending. Being retired, he lived mostly off his meager savings since Alma had died, but a fisherman to the core, he enjoyed the light work. The extra income came in handy too.