Pirates and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  The guard at the gate disappeared shortly after Tempolius’s initial inquiry, and the agent flashed them a confident thumbs up. But a quarter hour later, the guard returned with the captain, who stood before Tempolius with his arms crossed. Over the next several minutes while Tempolious talked, the captain consistently shook his head.

  The man could talk, Kirt gave him that. Tempolius kept up a steady stream of words, growing increasingly agitated. At long last the captain said a few words and marched away.

  Tempolius returned with the news. He said, “The captain seems completely indifferent to my request to visit your prisoner. In fact, he flatly denies any such man by the name of Stin is in their custody. I had to pull out several trump cards to prove I knew for a fact such a man by that name had been delivered into their custody from the marines on King Keel a few days ago. I think that bit of knowledge impressed him. He blinked, anyway.

  “Now he says he is going to double check the dungeon’s roster and he’ll get back with me. This is a delay tactic. We’ll likely be here a while, but I’ll go wait at the gate so they’ll know we’re still here.”

  And wait they did. The lunch hour had come and gone before the captain reappeared at the gate, this time with another individual in tow. This fellow wore an orange-red uniform, but not the leather chestpiece of the Royal Guard. His face also seemed rather sallow to Kirt’s eye, as if he rarely walked in the sun. Together, he and the guard spoke with Tempolius.

  Tempolius raised his voice, waved his hands, gesticulated with his fingers. The two men stood impassively and watched. Despite the agent’s histrionics, they did not budge.

  At last, raising his voice to the point that Kirt and the twins could hear, he waved at them and almost screamed in anger. “Would you deny his wife and child the opportunity to see the husband and father they thought lost at sea? What kind of cruel, heartless animals are you?”

  Kirt thought the lies about a wife and child were a nice touch. It certainly invoked sympathy. The captain finally raised his voice, exasperation seeping through. He said, “I have told you, there is no such prisoner here! The jailer here is also telling you this personally, sirrah!”

  He pointed to the sallow-faced man he had brought, who nodded somberly, and spoke a few more words Kirt couldn’t here.

  Finally, Tempolius turned to leave, a look of anger and disgust on his face as he pushed his cowlick up and out of his eyes. He stopped after a few paces, turned and raised a finger at the men.

  “Don’t think this is over! I know for a fact you have our man. There are too many witnesses who saw him! I don’t know what you’ve done with him, but I have plenty of friends in high places to help me find out!”

  It seemed to Kirt that the jailer broke out in a sweat. He mopped his brow, and turned to go back inside after hearing this. The captain stood with his fists on his hips, watching Tempolius cross the street, all the time frowning at the departing man’s back. Then he turned and left, too.

  Tempolius looked devastated as he approached the cart. It warmed Kirt’s heart that the man actually seemed to care. Then his more cynical nature kicked in and he thought that perhaps his inability to produce Stin after being paid 12 gold caused more distress for the man than any actual concern about Stin’s welfare. He shrugged off the thought as Tempolius addressed Bellasondra and Bartimo, struggling to stay positive in light of developments.

  Tempolius said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. They refuse to even admit he was once in their custody. I don’t know why, since I let them know that I know without a doubt he’s in there. Or at least he was taken in there.”

  Bartimo said, “What do you think happened?”

  Tempolius took a deep breath and looked all three of them in the eye, one by one. Then he let it out in a rush and said, “I’m afraid we have to face the possibility he might be dead.”

  Bellasondra raised her hand to her mouth.

  Tempolius nodded, acknowledging the look of horror on her face. He said, “It would explain why they refuse to admit they even had him a few days ago. If he disappears, there would be no evidence of mistreatment, no evidence of murder. It would explain their reticence in defiance of all the facts. I’m not saying he is dead. I’m just saying we have to prepare for the possibility.”

  He told them he would continue looking into it, and that he would visit his friends in the navy and in the court, and would try and find out what had happened to Stin. He promised to get in touch with them in a day or two, and that he hoped to have more information by then.

  With that, he departed. Kirt decided some part of the agent must have true empathy for their plight. He noted that Tempolius did not ask for more gold to continue the search. That impressed the boy, and Tempolius’s stature rose a couple notches in his personal opinion of the man.

  Bartimo suggested they catch a late lunch at the Green Eel and see how their supply of Dwarven Stout fared. Unspoken, but felt by all, was the question of what to do next. The day before, Bartimo had sold the last of their casks to another wholesaler. With that deal, he had earned the full 3,000 gold, minus their expenses. The time had come to go home so they could repay their backers.

  Bellasondra sunk into a despondant silence, and Kirt really didn’t care where they ate, so Bartimo guided Horse out into the street and headed back in the direction of the docks.

  Horse trod forward several hundred paces. Bartimo kept his eye on traffic, trying to prevent collisions with people, horses, and wagons. Bellasondra stared down at the cobblestones with a sad look on her face. Kirt’s eyes wandered everywhere.

  A man stepped out of an alley and waved at him. Kirt turned toward the man, the motion attracting his attention.

  “Stin!”

  Stin waved again, and headed for the street. Kirt tugged on Bartimo’s arm, pointed and said, “Pull over! Pull over, it’s Stin!”

  Bellasondra looked where Kirt pointed and gasped. She said, “It is him! Stin! Stin!”

  Bartimo eased Horse over to the curb and set the brake. Bellasondra jumped off the cart first and ran, throwing herself in Stin’s arms. He hugged her, pulling her off her feet. Kirt danced around them in a circle, laughing. Bartimo secured the reins and climbed down, walked over and grasped forearms with Stin.

  Kirt said, “We thought you were dead!”

  Stin smiled at that, but when he spoke he looked at Bellasondra. He said, “No. Not yet.”

  She said, “Where have you been?”

  “It’s a long story. I know you’ve been out in front of the gate all this time. I would have approached you earlier, but I didn’t want to be seen by the guards. Were you going somewhere to eat?”

  -+-

  A short while later, in a dark corner of the Green Eel, Kirt noted some differences in Stin. He sat with his back against the wall, and his eyes seemed to take everything in. Kirt could not tell for certain but it seemed like Stin looked beyond the walls, if that were possible. Often he’d stare in a direction in which there were no people.

  Several moments later Stin relaxed, and once their food came out he proceeded to tell them his story.

  An hour and a half later, he came to the point where he flagged them down off the street. Kirt guessed that Stin had skipped several details and glossed over some others. Now was not the time to press him, though. Not in public. Maybe not even in front of Bartimo and Bellasondra. But he knew Stin held back several bits of information, and he resolved to suss them out sometime in the future.

  When Stin stopped talking and took a sip of Dwarven Stout, Bellasondra said, “So, this duke met you down in the dungeon? He had you captured and brought there? What kind of man can wield that power? Besides a king, of course.”

  “He’s got a line on royal power, I think that’s certain,” Stin said.

  Bartimo said, “I thought you said he was from Ruby.”

  “Yes, but evidently he has some sway in other places as well. Like here in Coral.” Stin waved his mug in a dismissive motion. “Where his p
ower lies is not as important as his task for me. Chedwick is offering a considerable sum of gold to retrieve the dagger I took from his townhouse back before I met you all.”

  Kirt clued in on the gold. He said, “I thought you said you won an enormous pile of gold in the card games.”

  Stin looked at Kirt, his eyes narrowing. He said, “I did. But you can never have too much gold, boy.”

  Kirt let it go. After all, that statement was certainly true, even if parts of the rest of his story weren’t adding up.

  “Speaking of gold,” Bartimo said, “we’re bringing back our share of the brew sales. We will have close to 450 doublets to our name when we get home.”

  Stin quirked an appreciative eyebrow. He said, “Not bad.”

  Somehow Kirt sensed Stin was not overly impressed, despite the comment. How much gold had the thief amassed for himself?

  Bartimo said, “You’re coming with us, I presume? A merchant ship is sailing to Refugio with the morning tide. Now that we know what’s become of you, I’ll book passage for everybody.”

  Stin took a breath and looked each one of them in the eye. He said, “I’m afraid I can’t. I have given my word to Duke Chedwick that I will find the dagger and return it to him. I will be traveling back to Greystone Village on the morrow and begin my search from there.”

  This time Kirt felt genuine emotion. The boy knew if Stin could have sailed with them, he would have.

  Stin spent the remainder of the afternoon with them, riding back to the recently emptied warehouse. Once there, he spent a while softly stroking Horse’s nose. For his part, Horse seemed happy to see his old master, and nuzzled Stin’s face a couple times.

  Everybody talked late in the evening, eating a cold supper of salted beef, which comprised the last of the twin’s food. Bartimo had half a sample cask left, and between the three adults they quaffed it all.

  Then Stin and Bellasondra left for a late night walk around the docks. Kirt made his way to bed, a hammock strung up in a corner of the warehouse. He lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, happy to finally have Stin back in his life. In the morning, he resolved, he would bid goodbye to the twins and go with Stin.

  Late that night when Bellasondra returned, she and her brother had a loud argument. Kirt slept through it.

  On their way to the dock in the morning, the twins weren’t speaking with one another. Kirt didn’t notice because he woke up with a worry of his own. What if Stin didn’t show? He resolved to head back to Greystone Village on his own if that happened, and try and find Stin there.

  Bartimo met with armed guards carrying three chests of their gold to the ship, where the purser directed them to a secured part of the hold reserved for valuables. Then he came back out to the dock and waited with his sister and Kirt.

  At last Stin appeared, walking through the crowd of passengers gathering near the gangway. Bellasondra rushed over and hugged him, with Kirt following close behind. He tousled the boy’s hair.

  “I’m going with you,” Kirt said.

  Stin smiled at him.

  Bellasondra said, “I am, too.”

  They both looked at her with some surprise. Bartimo walked up, frowning. He said, “Yes, my sister made it clear last night that she wishes to accompany you on your quest rather than return home with our gold.”

  Kirt swiveled, looking between Bartimo and Bellasondra. Bartimo seemed quite unhappy. Bellasondra ignored him, keeping her eyes on Stin, her arms wrapped tight around his neck and shoulders.

  Kirt wondered if Bellasondra’s absence would affect Bartimo’s plans to start a house of his own. Surely not, he thought. Bartimo needed a wife, not a sister. Still, the politics might come into play. Lady Leddia managed one of the oldest and most prestigious houses in Refugio, and Palento’s widow had hinted she could get them both married into the family. That would surely provide an excellent start to a new house. But returning without Bellasondra might put a wrinkle in those plans, Kirt thought.

  Stin said to Kirt, “By the looks on both of your faces, it doesn’t look like I’m talking either one of you out of it.”

  Kirt shook his head and said, “We’re not letting you out of our sight again, sirrah!”

  Stin smiled, but Kirt sensed a sudden pang of guilt, or remorse, in the thief’s eyes. What did he say to cause such a reaction?

  “Bellasondra and I have already discussed this,” Bartimo said. “And it’s been decided. I wish you could all sail home with me. But, what will be, will be. My sister is her own woman, and I cannot make her return with me.”

  A call came out from the ship and the passengers started boarding. Bartimo patted Kirt on the back and hugged his sister. He clasped arms with Stin and said, “Take Horse. I don’t think he’d enjoy another sailing trip. He’s yours anyway. He’ll be a fine companion on the road.”

  “Thanks, Bartimo. We’ll try to make our way to Refugio once I’ve returned the dagger.”

  Bartimo nodded. After a final hug with his sister, he turned and boarded the ship.

  Stin turned to Bellasondra and smiled at her. He said, “Come on. Let’s go find the Forlorn Dagger.”

  They walked down toward the warehouse with Kirt following close behind.

  -+-

  Mita stood with Oldstone on an outcrop of rock. The flying castle stood on a chunk of flat mountaintop that coned downwards. The ledge they stood on broke away from the rest of the mountain and sailed down toward the island below.

  The wind whipped around them, and she felt cold. Oldstone had explained they were far to the north, in an uninhabitated part of the island chain. Instinctively, she grew her magical armor from its band around her wrist to cover most of her body, protecting her from the cold wind. Oldstone seemed unperturbed by the chill. Perhaps he had cast a warming spell on himself, she thought.

  She reached down and felt her middle, through the armor. The skin was smooth again. She had no more scars. Somehow, once she had figured out the mind monster was a product of her own making, the damage it had inflicted on her no longer manifested itself. She had cast a final healing spell on herself and felt completely whole, inside and out.

  Below them, an angry blue sea crashed against a rocky shore, frothy white wave tops splattering against a barren coastline. She tried to make out more of the land’s features, but inland was covered in a thick, featureless fog.

  Quickly they descended, the ground seeming to rush up to meet them. The ledge alighted on a rocky cliff top, the ocean far below and the fog spread out before them. Oldstone stepped off, and Mita followed, her feet touching the island for the first time.

  She said, “You know we can fly, Master.”

  He nodded. “The question is, will you be able to fly afterwards?”

  His statement sent a chill through her, despite the warmth provided by her armor. He had steadfastly refused to offer any hints about what the tests involved. This was the first time he had mentioned potential danger, although intellectually she had always presumed part of the trials would involve mortal peril.

  Before them the fog parted, and a stone archway seemed to materialize out of the mists. Beyond it, she could see nothing but gray whirling clouds.

  She said, “I take it that’s the way to go?”

  Oldstone nodded.

  “Any parting words of wisdom?”

  He shook his head.

  “Has anybody ever failed their trials? Anybody die trying?”

  In response, Oldstone pointed at the arch again. He said, “Go and earn your stone. I’ll be here when you return.”

  She nodded, knowing that further attempts at conversation would be futile. She walked to the arch and looked back. He stood there watching. He nodded, as if urging her to continue. She turned and stepped through.

  On the other side, she felt completely immersed in the mist. It seemed almost like a liquid, swirling around her. Damp and cold, it filled her vision and her lungs. Even her mind.

  At last it thinned and seemed to allow a globe of
empty space to form around her. Outside the boundaries of clear air, mist swirled. Its motion seemed malevolent. The smell of peat smoke filled her nostrils.

  The mist turned darker in front of her. Murky tendrils swirled into a large circle, forming a face. Eyes formed, the size of dinner plates. A cruel mouth appeared, surrounded by a dark curly mustache and a short pointy beard.

  The smell of burning peat grew worse. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the stench.

  The misty lips moved, and she heard a whisper that seemed to be in her head more than her ears.

  “Princess Mita. Welcome. I’ve waited a long time for someone of your abilities to challenge me.”

  The face opened its mouth and a dark misty tongue lashed out like a whip, striking her head. She reached up to cast a spell . . . and passed out.

  -+-

  Dudge walked along a narrow mountain trail, three guards in front and three following. The guards were a nuisance, but a tolerable one. And after the attempts on his life, the new guards were determined that no future attempts, however remote the chances, would be successful.

  Indeed, several aspects of Dudge’s life had lately required an adjustment of preferences. Previously he had mostly traveled and worked in relative anonymity. But in Port Osmo, everyone knew him. There was nowhere he could go without being recognized.

  For the most part he had been able to banish obsequiousness, which he detested. Several dwarves couldn’t seem to help themselves, though, even with his constant reminders to dispense with royal affirmations. And while he was willing to overlook the occasional fawning from somebody in the population meeting him for the first time, he had no tolerance for it in his guards.

  “Jus’ do yer job,” he’d snap whenever one of them bowed too formally or offered flowery speech in his presence. These unearned accolades were something his brother might enjoy, but as far as Dudge was concerned there was too much work to be done in Osmo, and too little time for useless formalities and frivolities of court.

  There had been little time for anything besides going through all the records he could find, and settling down into the city’s administrative routines. Countless decisions had to be made as he brought himself up to date concering the vast web of bureaucracy involving dwarven trade flowing through the city. He set about the task of maintaining order, sorting the books, and effectively governing the place.