by Jaxon Reed
A butler knocked on the door and informed him dinner would be served in the main hall in half an hour. He said, “Do you require assistance with your attire, milord?”
“No, thank you. I usually stay in these robes.”
“Very good. Please pull the bell rope if anything is needed.”
The butler had the wherewithal not to express surprise at Greystone’s comment. Almost everybody changed clothes before attending a royal dinner.
He must be highly paid, as well.
Greystone had no doubt Trant would be attired appropriately. The prince would request a manservant, as the wizard had trained him to do. The host would have preselected one for him, as Trant would be expected to request the assistance.
The manservant would ensure the prince attended dinner properly attired. If there were other pertinent bits of information Trant needed to know, such as who he would be seated next to, topics to bring up or avoid during the meal, what to expect afterward, or a dozen other items, the butler and the manservant would make sure Trant knew about them ahead of time.
The butler would also try and discern the prince’s preferences, inquiring as to his favorite wine, if he preferred sleeping late in the mornings, and other things that could be tailored to his visit. Such was the level of quality one could afford with servants in a manor as grand as Donamar, Greystone thought.
He looked around for Deedles, and realized he’d lost track of her after dismounting. He put out a quick mental check for her whereabouts. Deedles spoke in thoughts more so than words, and sent him a combination of images and emotions relaying the fact she intended to room in Princess Margwen’s quarters, on the opposite side of Donamar.
Before long the butler knocked on his door again, and Greystone joined other guests heading down the corridor and stairs and into the manor’s great hall.
A long table filled with every kind of food occupied the center of the room. Servants darted from the kitchens to the table, stocking it with last minute items, carrying pitchers of water and wine.
King Keel and Queen Kita were seated at the head of the table. To the king’s right sat Margwen. Most importantly, as far as Greystone was concerned, Trant sat next to her. This signified to all present that Keel and Kita accepted Trant’s claim to the throne of Emerald. Essentially, by letting him eat at the head of the table with them, they were publicly recognizing him as their equal.
Greystone smiled and sighed, somewhat in relief. After all these years, ever since saving the young prince from Endrick’s sellswords, seeing him properly acknowledged as royalty provided a profound feeling of satisfaction.
When everyone settled in their assigned seats, and after the king asked the Creator to bless the food, the meal began in earnest. A whole roasted pig occupied the center of the table, but Coral was known for its seafood. Lobster bisque and crab legs along with several varieties of fish were served in abundance.
After dessert, in which guests could choose from five different types of cake representing the five noble families present, the king tapped the table with a knife for attention and stood up.
All talking ceased, and all eyes fixed on Keel.
He cleared his throat and said, “Thank you all for attending tonight at my request. And thanks be to Bently for the unselfish offer of letting us meet here in Donamar, far from the prying eyes of court.”
Bently, Duke of Fellows and the queen’s oldest brother, smiled broadly at Keel’s compliment. Greystone decided the corpulent Bently enjoyed fine food perhaps a little too much. Like his sister, his hair had turned gray. Unlike her, though, the older Bently’s hair had gone completely white. With his snow-white hair and beard he reminded the wizard of Old Man Winter from children’s story books.
“And now,” the king continued, “to the question at hand. You are all aware of Trant’s claim. I have accepted his testimony, and agree that he is the sole heir of Tran and Karla. I came to this conclusion some time ago based in no small part on Wizard Greystone’s witness.”
All eyes turned to the wizard. Greystone nodded, as if to emphasize the truth of these statements.
The king continued. “And now we are ready to express our support in a more public way.”
Keel paused at this point, and caught the eye of each person seated at the table, one by one, before continuing. Greystone felt everybody in the room holding their breath.
“Trant has requested the hand of our daughter Margwen in marriage. We have granted the request.”
The room exploded in noise as breaths were either let out or sucked in. Several women present squealed in delight, and flashed smiles at the couple. The queen wiped a tear from her eye and smiled, but Greystone noticed a tinge of doubt remained hiding underneath her expression.
Several of the noblemen began murmuring with one another. Bently caught the king’s eye and decided to voice the families’ collective concerns.
“Yes, Bently?”
“Your Majesties are doubtless aware of the, ah, diplomatic consequences of this betrothal.”
One of the other patriarchs, a stern-faced man with dark brown hair seated further down the table, piped up. “This could mean war!”
Keel nodded at the statement, and ignored its underlying accusatory tone. He stared at the man and said, “Yes, Baylock. We are aware that Endrick is not going to like it. However, I have personally seen the state of Endrick’s army, or what was left of it after the Battle of Greystone Village. Endrick does not have enough soldiers left to mount a serious attack against Coral.”
Most of the nobles nodded in agreement. The stories about the battle following the return of the king with his daughter and the long missing prince were well known throughout the kingdom. Greystone decided their fears of war were stifled, at least temporarily.
Keel took the respite from their concerns to drop another surprise announcement.
He said, “We have decided to attack him. Close your mouth Bently. You too, Baylock. Kita and I have spoken at length with Wizard Greystone. What Endrick did so many years ago was bad enough, but how he has run Emerald into the ground and the way he treats his people is simply deplorable. There is no other way to say it.
“Kings and queens are given authority by the Creator to lead their people. As such, we hold higher positions of responsibility, and we will have to answer for all our decisions on the Day of Judgment, just as others will. However, since our decisions affect so many people, we are held to a higher accounting by the Creator.
“I believe, and Kita agrees with me, that we have an obligation to help ensure Endrick meets the Creator as soon as possible.”
He paused expectantly and waited for anyone to object. No one, Greystone noted, was willing to publicly express disapproval of the king’s statement, even in an intimate gathering like this where most of the people present were related to one another by blood or marriage.
A few men and women stared at the table, or down into their laps, refusing to make eye contact. Others locked eyes with Keel and Kita, Trant and Margwen, and nodded silently in support.
Bently broke the silence. He said, “Well, look at the bright side. If we can wrest the throne from Endrick, we’ll have a Coralian queen in two of the great lands.”
Baylock said, “Aye, but how much Coralian blood will it take to secure that second throne?”
“It’s not an unreasonable question, Baylock,” Keel said. “Frankly, it was my chief concern about Prince Trant marrying our daughter. However, most of the wizards will be on our side in this conflict.”
Everybody turned to look at Greystone. He smiled back at them.
Keel said, “They also have a battlemaiden, a powerful one, the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the days of Theena.”
Several eyebrows raised, and many looked back to Greystone for confirmation. They had heard snippets of accounts concerning a battlemaiden participating in the battle, but for many this was the first hint of her raw power. Greystone nodded again, reassuring everybody that the ki
ng spoke true.
“How about it, Greystone? What are the odds we can attack Emerald and successfully reclaim the throne for my future son-in-law?”
“The odds are good, Your Majesty, especially since I recently realized that Darkstone himself has left us with the means of his demise.”
Several moments passed while Greystone smiled enigmatically. The noblemen and ladies looked at one another and the wizard with questioning eyes, but he remained silent.
At last Keel said, “Well? What is it?”
“I will reveal more in due course, Your Majesty. In the meantime, as we prepare for war, I will need to borrow as many blacksmiths as you can spare from your kingdom.”
“Blacksmiths?”
“As many as possible. I have recently learned a valuable lesson from your own people about reusing broken things.”
4
Stin opened his eyes. His pupils dilated in the glare of a lantern swinging gently near his face.
“He lives.”
Stin focused on the face behind the light with shoulder-length blond hair and a matching beard. Hope blossomed in his breast like a flower.
“Quarl? Go’be with you, man.”
The face smiled back at him, but a touch of sadness crossed into its voice.
“I’m Quent. I understand my brother Quarl serves aboard Dream of the Isles. I did not know that before we tried to board her. Alas, I fear I haven’t seen my twin in a number of years.”
Stin squinted at the face, slowly soaking in what Quent said. He said, “Are you a healer, too?”
Quent nodded and said, “Welcome aboard Wavecrest. I fear you are our only surviving acquisition from the ill-fated meeting between our two ships.”
Inwardly, Stin felt pleased at the news. He took care not to show it, though. He sat up slowly, and carefully swung his legs out over the bed. He pointed at his belly and said, “Your brother cured my seasickness.”
Quent said, “Mm. I wondered what that was about.”
“I think it was also your brother who came up with the idea of tossing lanterns onto your deck.”
Quent nodded again and said, “That sounds like something he would dream up. A foolhardy and outrageous stunt.”
“And yet, it seems to have worked.”
“Mm. And that sounds like my brother as well. Always had luck on his side. Harebrained plots invariably seem to work out in his favor, for some reason.”
Stin wiggled his toes. He said, “Everything seems to be working. How long have I been out?”
“A day. Dream of the Isles is long gone.”
Stin felt a pang of regret. He thought about Kirt, Bellasondra, and Bartimo. He pushed down his feelings and kept his face frozen.
“I see. So, what is to become of me?”
“The captain will decide. I see he graces us with his presence as we speak.”
A tall man with thick, curly black hair flowing down to his shoulders stepped into the room. Tiny red ribbons were tied neatly in his beard. He wore a red silken jacket, a white tunic and trousers. A silver chain around his neck had an ornamental key hanging from it.
He smiled broadly at Stin, a hint of gold flashing from his top teeth.
“I see our guest is awake. I am Captain Cessic. And who might I be addressing?”
“I’m Steck.”
“And where do you hail from, Steck?”
“Ruby City.”
Cessic beamed. He said, “My home town! Why were you aboard Dream of the Isles?”
“I was making my way to Refugio to seek out new trade, in hopes of finding something I could sell for a profit back home.”
“So you must have much gold.”
“Silver. But what modest means I had is onboard Dream of the Isles.”
The captain glanced at Quent, who nodded and said, “Not a copper on him. I checked.”
Cessic turned back to Stin and said, “Forgive us our skepticism. Many of our guests try to hide items of value, as you might imagine.”
The captain turned and paced about the small room for a moment. He said, “So, a wealthy merchant sails to the Ageless Isles in search of fortune.”
“I wouldn’t call myself wealthy. I make enough to eat.”
“Hm. Tell me of your shop. What street is it on, in Ruby City?”
“It’s a stall, actually. At Market Square. I rent it.”
“Who is your landlord?”
“A man named Felway.”
The lies came easily to Stin, answering each question without batting an eye. He could have just as easily lied about most any of the capital cities, having spent time stealing in all of them.
Cessic smiled and said, “Felway the Fence? I did not know he dealt in the renting of market stalls. So he’s a landlord, too.”
Stin frowned. He decided to take advantage of the captain’s familiarity with Felway. At the same time, he found himself hoping Cessic had not heard of Felway’s death yet.
“Felway has his hand in many things throughout the city. In fact, that is one of the reasons for my voyage. I hoped to profit enough to pay off my debts to him.”
The captain seemed satisfied with Stin’s answers. He smiled, showing the golden tooth again, and said, “Well, there’s no sense in holding a man for ransom who owes Felway the Fence. Felway would as soon see you die before handing over money to bring you back. Especially if it’s more than you owed him.”
Stin grunted an acknowledgment, but said nothing.
“Well, Steck, now that you’re onboard Wavecrest you’re expected to pay your own way. I’m conscripting you to the crew. You will follow the orders of my first mate, Melton. He will assign you to your quarters and duties. In return you’ll help pay for the damages inflicted on my ship by Dream of the Isles.”
Stin raised an eyebrow and said, “Hardly seems fair to assess all the damage to me alone, Captain.”
Cessic smiled wide, flashing his golden tooth. “Welcome aboard, Steck.”
-+-
Melton was shorter than average, missing his left leg below the knee, and sporting a receding hairline. Stin took Melton for a man of quick decision and slow wit. For his part, the first mate of Wavecrest seemed to take an immediate dislike to Stin.
Stin followed the grumpy sailor deeper into the ship, the wooden leg tapping a sullen rhythm on the deck boards.
They finally made their way to sleeping quarters, a cramped room in the bowels of the ship with berths stacked four high.
“Pick one. Most of the men sleeping here were killed trying to take your ship.”
Melton turned on his wooden heel and headed back up top.
A few men occupied some of the bunks. They all stared at Stin. He met the eyes of each one, turning left to right. At his far right he spied the bald giant who had pulled him overboard.
“Well at least I know somebody here. Tell me which bunk to choose, old friend, so I don’t piss anybody off.”
The other men seemed to hold their breath as they swiveled between the giant and Stin. The giant’s eyes narrowed to slits for a moment. Then he grinned wide, his tongue poking out between his missing front teeth, and he laughed.
“Bwahaha! I like you! And y’ fight good! Aye, I be the one what brought ye. You’ll do well here. Come bunk in this spot near mine, and if any give ye trouble aboard Wavecrest they’ll answer to me, Plinny the Giant!”
-+-
Stin never could tell if the other pirates truly liked Plinny, or if they were simply scared of him and pretended to like him out of fear for their lives.
Plinny dominated all discussions, especially at mealtimes in the mess where he took up half a table for himself. He regaled Stin with stories of kidnapped damsels and looted plunder, gold stolen and gold spent, the best houses in every port filled with women willing to relieve sailors of their gold, the best taverns with the best ale, and the best sea lanes filled with boats carrying more gold.
Plinny amused himself in the telling of these tales, and often broke out in uproarious l
aughter. No one was more amused by his tales than Plinny. Everybody within earshot, or at least in sight of Plinny, laughed, too. Courteously, almost. So it seemed to Stin.
On Stin’s fifth day aboard Wavecrest, at supper, Plinny said, his booming voice filling the mess, “Steck me boy! Hast I ever telled ye about Mickee’s House o’ Pleasure in Port Osmo?”
In fact, Stin had heard the tale twice. But as the honored guest at Plinny’s table, the only guest, Stin flashed a smile between his mouthful of gruel and gamely shook his head, giving Plinny the encouragement needed to begin telling it once more.
“Well, y’ wouldn’t believe they’d even care about the needs o’ human sailors in Port Osmo. But they do, mate. They do!”
He paused to bellow out a thunderous roar of laughter, making the cups rattle on all the nearby tables.
“Ugh! Not the Port Osmo story again.”
All sound died, save the creaking of the ship. Everybody in the mess held their breath.
Plinny turned and faced a pirate three tables away, a skinny fellow with dark hair and brown skin suggesting Crystal Kingdom ancestry.
“What did ye say, Veeroy?”
“The Port Osmo story. Don’t tell it again for love of the Creator. We all know how it ends. You go running out the back door with a midget whore on your back. I done hear’d it nine times since we left Corsair Cove, man!”
Stin watched as Plinny’s face turned red. Then puce. Furtively Stin glanced about for weapons. Nobody wore a sword, and he began to see the captain’s wisdom in storing all blades in the hold between battles.
Plinny jumped up and grabbed a chair. He swung it over the table, breaking it into pieces. He held a splintered chair leg like a club and said, “She . . . weren’t . . . no . . . midget!”
He took one long stride toward the man’s table, covering half the distance in a single step. Everybody scattered out of the way, leaving poor Veeroy to face Plinny alone.