"Not all of us believe in ancient legends and fables, Dagmar," Synalavar added, tugging at her lobeless ear, showing the first sign of tension Dagmar had seen from the non-humans. "Like Prince Methyn, I believe in doing right for our people. This is necessary for both the sanctity and security of our lands. If I may make two specific points?" She looked at Dagmar, eyes questioning, a faint flush high on her cheeks. Feeling uncomfortable, he nodded; he was so far out of his depth sitting at the table, he didn't dare open his mouth. Synalavar sensed his vulnerability. Her voice was comforting, placing him at ease like a warm blanket. "Do you agree we could have brought you harm?"
Dagmar nodded. It was surprising the fuckers hadn't already. They must really want something.
"If our territory is in peril, do you consider this—" She gestured around the cove with her delicate looking hand. "—a waste of our time during a crisis?"
Dagmar nodded again and felt himself colour. "When put like that, it makes me seem suspicious."
Methyn chuckled in good nature. "You have just reasons, and yes, we have little positive relations with humans. Many of our kin would hunt the world's oceans if given the opportunity, but that is another matter. To ask a question, do you want to trust us?"
"To be equally blunt, I cannot speak for my shipmates, or my leaders in secular, or guild matters. With what I've experienced, and what you said; I believe an alliance or mutual assistance is prudent. Personally, if it saves souls on both sides of the western ocean, I'm all for it. Not that I can object, being held captive." Alleyne gave a rich laugh, but all three leaders appeared satisfied.
Dagmar made one last effort to clarify his position. He cleared his throat and continued. "I beg pardon, but I feel you should have this conversation with our commanding officer, and perhaps the noblewoman we rescued. They are of higher rank. I don't know what help we can be. We're the remnants of a ship's crew, not a cohesive unit."
"That is not unreasonable, Dagmar," Methyn agreed after a moment of thought. He glanced at Alleyne, who expanded his remark.
"The officer had a grave injury and lost a lot of blood and strength with infection. The boy sleeps soundly, as the power for the healing comes from both the healer and within the healed. I will arrange for him, as he will rest for some time, and it may be several days before he awakens and longer before he can move about. Other men from your party had serious injuries and will recover their fortitude by eating well. We will meet again before the next sunset and allow you time to discuss matters between yourselves and allow the greater healed to recuperate."
Methyn continued, his eyes distant. "As for equipment, we can provide arms and armour for all your men. I also have a half a dozen scouts to go with you as pathfinders and investigate what occurred with the expedition. It is all I dare spare. Each man and woman insisted on volunteering. There is an additional reason you may wish to consider. Our formal proposal to you—if I may present it?"
Dagmar looked at him. He appreciated they manipulated him with delicacy, and he peeked over his shoulder at the remaining crew. They sprawled like corpses and showed no sign of rushing to his aid. How risky was it to trust elves? Hopeful logic incised its way past distrust, and he patted it on the back. He looked at each individual leader and commented in as neutral a tone, "What reason?"
Methyn looked at him, and Dagmar noticed the determination in those ageless eyes. "Rid our lands of whatever evil is infecting our southern shore. Determine the fate of our expedition and settlement. We, in turn, will provide you with a ship and supplies. The means to return to your homeland. It is an old land elf vessel that ran aground some time ago, and our cousins never reclaimed him, or visited since. We have re-floated him to a nearby bay and checked the hull and the plating on it. He is sound and will require sails, which we will arrange while you are away. I believe it is one of the first of the type to utilise the dwarven crystal power you are familiar with. If you accept, he is yours."
"Him?" Dagmar gave a puzzled snort, before gulping the last of his wine. "It is our custom to refer to our ships as women." He grinned roguishly between the elven women. "Especially when they break."
Prince Methyn smiled, a broad genuine one which had his dark eyes dancing in merriment. "Elven ships are unique, some male, some female. They have personality." He raised a long sinewy hand, suppressing laughter. "With your role on your old vessel in harnessing the sun, I don't wish to spoil the surprise." Both women laughed at that, voices light and jingling to his ears. Free from the pressures of their world, for an all too short, joyful moment.
Dagmar knew he was being set up. Being the butt of an obscure jest to three elven nobles is a minor concern in the grand scheme of things. Outwardly, he shrugged. "If my friend, Edouard, agrees to your proposal—which is likely with your offer of a vessel—what next?"
"Recover this day," Synalavar answered. "We will equip you tomorrow and then discuss what we require. Today would be better; however, you cannot hurry the body with healing, nor the wisdom in the stars." Synalavar gave a faint smile towards Alleyne, who barked a jovial chuckle. Another bloody sea elf jest. Dagmar ignored it as the elves rose and fluidly bowed as Dagmar scrambled to his feet. He returned the bow as Methyn turned back to him.
"We will send a hearty meal, but we request you do not wander off the beach. Your possessions and fresh clothing are in your boat, should you require them? Our weather is warm, with a light chill in the late evening, so perhaps not?"
"Thank you, that sounds ideal. I'm sure the others will appreciate it when they awaken." Dagmar glanced at Van Reiver's slumbering form and grinned. It was clear how easy his friend's breathing had become easier, even sprawled snoring in the open on a mossy bed. That alone was worth the shame of being so easily captured. Dagmar had a crew to awaken, and a future-shaping decision awaited. He glanced at the scrolls left on the table, frowning as though glaring at them could discern their meaning. The elves had better have neat handwriting and not be as obscure as their fucking motives.
32
Dagmar spent tense hours alone, as he read and mulled matters without a headache for the first time in days. He sat, mind idle at first, picking at the edge of the grass and watched the waves invade and recede. Just like his thoughts. Gradually, Tryphon's crew awoke and chewed over the situation—and the elven offer harder than overcooked steak. Van Reiver slept as though dead until mid-afternoon, when the noise of the boisterous crew dragged him from the depths of post-healing slumber. Only Petty Officer Dorad took longer to rise and remained distant to anyone who spoke to him.
"Do you reckon we can trust them?" Van Reiver looked and sounded exhausted, but his strongest to Dagmar's ears since being arrowed. Absently, the navigator rubbed his shoulder where only a faint mark remained. The sunjammer wondered if it was phantom pain or not. His own face still twinged from the small, but vicious cut to his chin.
"Other than subduing us and moving us, I think they're sincere, or that's the impression they give. I've never met an elf, and with the stories and tales surrounding these lands, I'm surprised by their candour. They've been transparent, or so they claim. The scrolls from their Chronicle of Ages go along with hard times from several independent sources, if considered at face value, and if they interpret the two things they reference as our boats."
"All right," Van Reiver conceded, his colour rising. "If it's as they foreordained, why aren't the sails for this ship ready?"
"Fuck knows. Maybe to control, as in stopping us from running off and dodging payment. Maybe they have their own factions. I dunno—it isn't the point though, is it?"
"All right, Dag. Anything else? Anyone?" Van Reiver caught each man's eye.
"They healed us and took care of the cadet. That says a lot to me. Good, I mean," Grimm chipped in from where he wiggled his foot and prodded it, as though surprised the hole had healed. With an incredible fortune, the cox'n had managed not to lose anything with infection in the boat.
"They want somethin' bad considerin' the trouble they
're takin'. It's clear they've problems and trust issues which will limit what we may glean." Merizus countered, decimating the fruit basket at his feet. His second.
"This is an awful idea, I think—" Hadly objected and stopped when Van Reiver raised a finger and Dagmar thumped a bony elbow into the quartermaster's ribs.
"But—" Dagmar hit him again, harder. It was a good feeling and if Dagmar had to quell another one of his fucking carping objections, he may injure himself smacking the bastard.
"Enough. Hadly is still a prick, but I agree on being wary. We are out of our depth here with nowhere to run. To be clear, did they say what we have to do, to earn this ship?" Van Reiver said. He seemed to Dagmar to be brooding on the least evil option without trying to flee.
Dagmar shrugged, irritated at repeating himself to Van Reiver for the third time. "No specifics. Just what I told you the first time. A patrol. We're getting briefed tomorrow. I imagine it's involved—or dangerous—if they are offering us a ship. I don't believe they have no forces to spare as we are tying up a dozen men and their best healer by sunning ourselves here munching on fruit."
"It can't be urgent." Merizus snorted, and to Dagmar's surprise, Hadly nodded his agreement. That felt wrong, Dagmar considered after the last few days, more like a knife to the guts than any kind of reassurance.
"We need the rest and time to sort ourselves." Grimm said. "Most of the lads have just eaten their first decent meal since midday on Tryphon. Do you in all seriousness expect us to run around forests and stuff?"
"Not in your case, even with that foot of yers." Merizus stated facetiously. "They're fine cooks, even if fish heavy. I'd commit wholesale slaughter for a thick gravy-smeared slab of beef and an ale, or six." Merizus beamed and looked at Hadly. "Hiding anything, pickpocket?" Grimm rolled his eyes, and to Dagmar's surprise, Hadly gave the marine the finger. Merizus barked a mocking laugh, crunching down on another succulent fruit.
Van Reiver nudged Dagmar to get his attention from the byplay, "With our predicament, we have no choice. We should go along, but let's keep our eyes open on the full horizon, especially you. They have an idea what you can do, so take care."
Dagmar inclined his head, not so sure about the sentiment, but he agreed with their lack of options. He surmised he would spend time scrying instead of resting, or preparing. Something he should have done already, if honest. It wasn't like he could take the sunjammer crystal with him, and there was thinking he needed to resolve. Carla and Grimm knew what he could do, how he could be of use. He failed to repress a shudder. His use of his mystic arts to kill meant he would never be the same man—he knew it for a fact with his single deed. He would resist it if he could. He would never become a willing battle magus. No one could force him, and he hadn't dreamed about killing the Aztexa magus. His soul felt clean. How could that be right?
"Gettin' a ship would be massive, even if it's a bitch to handle until we train the lads. We take it slow with our numbers, an' keep our eyes peeled." Grimm inclined his head, and the sunjammer smiled at the reassurance. The poor coxswain would have his hands full with most of the senior seamen and sailing master now deceased.
Van Reiver blew out a lengthy breath, stretching his legs. "It's a question of risk. We might lose more, but it will get the rest of us home, and return the noblewoman. I'd like to think we can sail away with everyone, but that isn't likely to be the case—if it's as bad as we suspect?"
Dagmar nodded again; he wished Edouard would stop repeating the fucking obvious. The two senior rankers said nothing and Hadly looked bored. They knew Van Reiver was dithering. After several seconds, Van Reiver tapped Dagmar again. "Are you happy the risk is worth it?"
"Happy? No." Dagmar shrugged. "I dropped us into this, as Hadly carped about earlier. Yet, I think they were messing with us, anyway." Dagmar tapped his head with his forefinger. "The island was surreal. A fucked-up experience, but I digress—that's a matter for The Citadel and Sunjammer Guild. If any cunt speaks on it again, I will hit him.
"You're going over the same ground again. Distrix, my friend, distrix. Cease splitting hairs—you know the key points, so don't catastrophize matters. We owe them for healing. We need a ship, or a ride out of here. They are asking a serious favour for one. Rumours abound aplenty, and chances are they'd kill us if we refuse. That is what their men are for, I'd surmise.
"Not that we are too prideful, or stupid to do that. You're not stupid, are you? Or prideful? Click, clack. Sand is running, Eddie." His look to Van Reiver was all innocence, but Dagmar's tone was pointed. He knew the temper that lurked behind those green eyes, and Van Reiver could be a stubborn bastard when needled.
"No." Van Reiver coloured when Merizus and Grimm exchanged a flash of concern, and Dagmar felt a glow of satisfaction at the panic in Hadly's eyes as he realised the depth of his misjudgement.
Dagmar knew him better and looked down, allowing Van Reiver to continue. If only he would fucking get on with it, his mind snarled in impatience, resenting the hidden tension he alone had endured.
"I don't enjoy being forced into it. It doesn't sit right, following other peoples' so-called prophecies. It sounds complete shite. They can mean anything, and we only have their word about honesty. I've never trusted fortune tellers. Never. It's a swindle for the gullible, and our only way out seems through one. I know some people have great faith in the seven gods and that life follows some kind of divine plan, but I cannot trust them, or some scribble on a dead animal skin, with our lives. What bollocks!"
"Uh huh, I agree to a point. We also must call you 'Captain'—that's even stranger, if it goes well." Dagmar retorted, his impatience pushing Van Reiver's thinking. Hadly sniggered, and Dagmar couldn't help his elbow flicking on instinct.
"Huh?" Van Reiver looked up, nonplussed, breathing hard, frowning at the movement he'd missed.
"You are the senior officer. You may both be lieutenants, but the quarterdeck has seniority." Grimm said and pointed one of his daggers at Hadly. "Even over him, whether he thinks otherwise. Somethin' better than a rowboat is all I ask. Then you can be a proper captain." He grinned, "Can't hurt, eh, sir?"
"True." Van Reiver laughed before the smile slipped. "I don't plan on a suicide mission, we've gone through too much, and they deserve a chance at a life beyond this."
Grimm looked at the men. Dagmar followed his stare over the sprawled mounds, eating, drinking, laughing, or staring around the surroundings in wonder. He nodded several times for the men heinously burned in Tryphon's fires as they capered, laughing and joking in surreal merriment. Their skin was blotchy as though they'd tanned through a shrubbery, yet smooth and free from hideous scabs. Grimm shuddered and Dagmar felt his own shiver build in remembrance, as though caressed up his spine by the death goddess. A light chill slid back down his spine as his new captain spoke.
"I know how you feel, Dag, but if we encounter trouble, do you remember any old tricks? Any diablerie to have our backs? Or do you want to ask the elves?"
Dagmar's thoughts swooped inwards, Van Reiver's words a punch in the guts, and an icy sensation suffused his core. Knowing his friend required a response, he grunted. Despite the sanctity of their surroundings, cowardice, fear and rage warred within. He needed space to come to terms and yearned for solitude. Shit, the magus thought as the heat of dampened anger rose. That hadn't worked out last time, had it?
Merizus unleashed a rumbling belch, breaking Dagmar's musing, and looked apologetically around. Grimm shook his head in mock disappointment at the big marines' manners. The serjeant considered the younger men for several seconds, as though feeling his age, and muttered, "Yer all missin' somethin'." The serjeant paused until he had their undivided attention, Grimm raised an eyebrow, as it was something he'd missed as well as Dagmar. "Our men have been takin' it for days. They've lost friends, their ship, and almost their lives between the attack and storm. Now we've a chance to give it back, and they're angry an' fit enough to get it done. They won't disappoint you. I'm just sayin' it, sir; it's
the right thin' to do."
"Better not tell the elves; they'll have us fight our way inland bullock nekkid with our teeth," Grimm snorted and inclined his head toward Carla. She sat alone by the water, eyes vacant over the sea beyond their inlet, her arms around her knees. "If we're off, best leave her, she's suffered enough." Dagmar winced at the bluntness, but couldn't fault his logic. He looked to Van Reiver, who stared back, gaze even. Then it hardened.
"We all have, but I take your point. I promise this, though, gentlemen: we will not waste our lives in futile endeavours. Given the few we have left, I must rely on you."
"Smart of you, Captain," Grimm agreed, smirking at the marine, then the ravaged basket. "I'm hopin', baldy Mez will burn off some weight on our epic trek, or we'll need a bigger ship."
Dagmar laughed at the Marine's mock outrage, but saw Van Reiver look to Carla. He saw the determination drain from Van Reiver. Dagmar flicked him a significant look. At the blank stare, he added a nod of encouragement and twitched his head towards her. Dagmar hid a smile as Van Reiver creaked to his feet and stepped across Hadly's sprawled legs. On an impish impulse, the former navigator filched the last pair of fat dark green pears from the fruit basket to Merizus's dejection and headed over, flipping the fruit from hand to hand. Dagmar grinned; he'd had the four best ones earlier, including the red fucker Hadly had eyed up. Hard, not juicy ones were the best eating. He'd argue that inescapable fact on his deathbed.
33
Feeling alive and free of responsibility since his healing, Van Reiver brazenly placed a comforting hand on Carla's shoulder and flopped in a controlled crash to the shingle beside her, a few paces from the slap of the sea on the beach.
"It's breaking my heart," she said in a dull voice, not looking up as she hissed the words. "My father died for nothing. A lifetime of serving the Spires Kingdom and Western Principality for an unmarked grave on an unknown beach. So little remembrance, so pointless. A waste and not even a natural death." Her large eyes were red-rimmed but dry. She'd cried herself out already. He squeezed her shoulder and said nothing for several long, interminable moments, then offered her one of his stolen fruits. She shook her head in abrupt jerks and opened her mouth to snap, then apologised.
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 29