Shiver the Moon

by Phillip M Locey

  “Whew, that could have been a disaster,” Cyril said as he appeared at the head of the stairs. “I think the agent bought it, but we shall have to be careful. He arrived first-thing this morning and stayed all damn day, scaring away most of the customers. I took it as a sign of your success, but one never knows.”

  Rogan relaxed and moved aside as Cyril passed him and headed for the kitchen. A pot of soup already warmed over the hearth fire, and he ladled a bowl for each of them.

  “How would a spot of wine suit you?”

  “Wonderfully,” Rogan answered as he took a seat at the table.

  “So you managed to actually pull it off? I cannot say I wouldn’t have wagered against you. Is the Lady Saffron well?” Cyril’s attempt to keep his concern subtle failed, though Rogan played along, letting him pour the wine and delaying an answer until he had his cup in hand.

  “Well enough, I suppose. I left her and her sister in Crioc.” Rogan raised his cup as Cyril held his own out to propose a toast.

  “Here is to sticking it to Ebon Khorel, one victory at a time.”

  “I will drink to that.”

  “So,” Cyril’s voice carried an edge of excitement as he also sat, “you must tell me all about it. I have wondered what the inside of the King-priest’s island palace looks like. Are the walls encrusted with jewels?”

  “Haha, whatever gave you that idea?”

  Cyril shrugged, a slight look of embarrassment crossing his face.

  “Well, the pleasure garden was a little extravagant,” Rogan conceded, playing to the interest of his host. “It had a huge fountain, trees, and women – scores and scores of the most beautiful women.”

  “Ahh,” Cyril sighed, looking out into space as his imagination wandered.

  “But tell me about things on this end.” Rogan hoped he had done enough to placate Cyril’s particular fondness. He felt unsure about sharing the details of the previous night’s endeavors just yet. “Did the Blood Tear Brotherhood give you much trouble? Are we still on schedule for our ships?”

  “As I expected, after your little raid last evening, questions were certainly asked. You can bet the Brotherhood will want to find some answers before word of the incident reaches the King-priest. Of course I am not the only one my informants will talk to, and apparently they sang pretty quickly about my inquiries, when pressured by Blood Tear agents.

  “What they found out I do not know for certain, but they arrived this morning demanding to search the premises. I even had to let them into the War Room, though of course I had already moved some of the more sensitive contraband to another location last night.

  “They had the place staked out all day, and you can bet they will be watching for a few more, even if more subtly. We need to be careful about where we go when we leave here, Rogan, at least for a while.”

  Rogan nodded his understanding. “I suppose it is to be expected. I am sorry we put you in such a predicament. I know how frustrating the lack of freedom in the Empire can already be, without additional scrutiny.”

  “Ahhh,” Cyril dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand as he took another sip of wine. “Think nothing of it. It is the price to pay for fighting back, no? I suppose you have been enduring it for years?”

  “Well, things are a little different when you’re trying to remain hidden. You have a business to run.”

  “Businesses, actually,” Cyril countered, “which is lucky for you. I have already contracted the two ships for transport. Your friends will be riding upon the Riverdog and Cutthroat. The names should give you an indication of the kinds of people I am forced to work with, given the circumstances. We will be travelling under the guise of a major logging expedition to Moeria, for which I have already submitted the request for a charter. I had to spend a little extra coin making sure it is expedited and ready for our departure.”

  Rogan nodded as they both took a break from talking to spoon soup into their mouths. His belly grumbled greedily in anticipation. It seemed Cyril was coming through after all, though he wondered how much of that had to do with helping a friend, and how much was the lure of the fortune to be made off an illicit shipment of uril-chent.

  “However,” Cyril finally continued after emptying half his bowl, “given the watchful eyes of the Blood Tear Brotherhood, we cannot have your army showing up at the Silver Trumpet, even if only a few at a time. It will look too suspicious.”

  Rogan had not thought of that, but had to agree. “Where, then?”

  “Someone, meaning you, since they won’t recognize anyone else, will have to wait along the road and catch them before they reach Talon Barge.” Cyril gave a moment to let the notion set in before continuing. “I will take you to my warehouse tomorrow, and you can lead them directly there. I have arranged to store some logging equipment there to appear legitimate, should the authorities decide to stop in.”

  Rogan sighed. It would be hard to give up his comfortable bed for indeterminate nights on the roadside, but he knew Cyril was right. They did not want to invite further intrusion by the Brotherhood, and the Order wouldn’t trust a stranger to deliver such a change in plans. He figured he could spare another three days of indoor luxury before starting his watch.

  “Alright.” Rogan tipped his bowl and drank the last of his meal. “I am going to take a long-overdue bath, and will see you in the morning.”

  Rogan spent the next few days helping mind the store, freeing Cyril to continue making arrangements for the journey to Blackthorn. The morning of the fourth day, Rogan borrowed a horse and rode east out of the city, taking a few days’ worth of rations and his bedroll. He found an amiable farmer, with property adjacent to the road, who let him board his horse and sleep in his barn in exchange for a few hours of labor a day.

  The rest of the time, Rogan kept an eye out for travelers. After two days with no sign of the Order, he began to worry they had run afoul of Chelpian soldiers, and pondered riding on to find them.

  The next day, though, while shoveling a mixture of manure and hay at the top of a hill, overlooking the trail to Talon Barge, he spotted a contingent of three riders and a dozen footmen, donned in drab travel-cloaks, approaching from the east. Rogan dropped his pitchfork and bounded down the far side of the hill, keeping out of sight until he traversed most of distance between them. He considered calling out before showing himself, but did not want to startle them, or worse, give himself away if these were not his men.

  The group halted as Rogan finally wound into view, staying elevated from the road in case he was mistaken. Despite his care, his haste left him too winded to speak, though he raised his palm to request a moment’s recovery. One of the riders drew back the hood from his head and spoke in surprise.

  “Baron Rogan?” It was Sir Kilborn.

  Upon recognition, Rogan felt at ease. He explained the change in their situation, asking them to wait while he retrieved his steed from the farmer’s stable. He led them into Talon Barge and took them directly to the warehouse, which had been outfitted with basic living amenities and room for their horses.

  Sir Kilborn, gruff as he came across, was obviously more at ease after having a chance to share the story of their journey with Rogan, and seeing firsthand the plan was advancing without too much interruption. For his part, Rogan felt more comfortable leaving Sir Kilborn in charge, knowing he would keep his men disciplined and not let them wander off to cause trouble in the wide city.

  The concern was real. Imparting upon a group of young men just how different a Chelpian city was from the Northern Provinces remained a difficult task. As brash as fresh soldiers tended to be, it was a recipe for trouble.

  For the next week, a routine developed. Not wanting to risk the attention of sending messengers back and forth too far along the road, Rogan would ride to the farm to await the next group, then lead them into Talon Barge. Some had stories of passing enemy troops, but kept their composure, their foes too intent on reaching their destination to harass them much. The cover of hunting wa
s reasonable enough to dissuade action, even if suspicion was present.

  Sir Golddrake’s contingent was the last to arrive, and they held a quiet celebration in the warehouse once all the members of the Order were safely accounted for. Sir Golddrake led a prayer, thanking Creisha for her protection over their journey, and Rogan found himself joining in. Surely it could not hurt.

  He asked after Palomar, noting the Aasimar was not present. Sir Golddrake told him he waited some ways off, and would fly directly onto the ship under cover of night, once they put-out to water.

  Mating Day was fast approaching, and the Riverdog and Cutthroat both put into port at the docks, awaiting their cargo. After his counter-surveillance left Cyril confident the Blood Tear Brotherhood no longer kept constant watch on him and his shop, he showed up at the warehouse to inform them it was finally time to board.

  The horses were led on first, and as expected, they were a bit uneasy stepping onto the ships. Rogan climbed the scaffolding of a building under renovation, some distance away, and took up position on the roof. From that vantage he continued to watch the Order of the Rising Moon as they boarded and carried on supplies, looking to see if he could spot anyone else who appeared interested in their activities.

  He did not detect any unwanted attention after an hour of surveillance, so he climbed down and let Cyril know he was leaving to gather Saffron and Dhania. Catching the midday ferry across the river, he planned to return that evening in time for them to cast off. Rogan was astounded everything was turning out. In his experience that almost never happened, especially with stakes so high. The thought put him on edge, as he expected each passing moment to be the one something went unexpectedly wrong.

  Neither of the ferry rides provided such an occasion, however, and by sunset he had reunited Saffron with Sir Golddrake and the rest of the Order. To a man they received her enthusiastically, and her sister garnered plenty of attention herself:

  “I simply must plan a trip to Begnasharan when this campaign is over – seems like the perfect place to find a wife.”

  “Lady Saffron, you did not warn us how beautiful your sister was. Your father must be a proud and weary man, watching over the two of you.”

  “I’ll give you one warning,” Rogan broke in as a circle of admirers closed around the Furasi sisters. “Remember your oaths, lads.”

  He made sure to smile as he spoke, fighting his jealousy as the soldiers embraced the women in greeting. He knew they had not been in the presence of the fairer sex for some time, and these women in particular were intoxicating, but the lustful stares Saffron and Dhania evoked pricked his self-control.

  For her part, Dhania played right back at them, and it took both Rogan and Saffron’s full vigilance to ensure the flirting and innuendo did not escalate. He took comfort in Saffron’s like-mindedness, and working with her to contain her sister made the task less burdensome.

  Stars poked through the evening canopy as the Cutthroat and Riverdog eased away from the merchants’ wharf of Talon Barge. Rogan paced the deck of the Cutthroat, unable to breathe easily as they approached Hope’s End. He was grateful Dhania was below getting some rest, and not present to see its imposing shadow looming on the horizon.

  A stretch of over eighty leagues remained before the landing at Blackthorn Prison, and the ship’s captain promised they would make the trip within two days, “’less the world flipped upside-down.” That was not a lot of time to plan, but plenty of time to think. Rogan had now been freed from Blackthorn longer than he spent there, but his incarceration still held power over him. Some nights he would wake and forget where he was, convinced the last few years were a dream and he remained locked inside his tiny room, the heat and stench of the mines clinging to him.

  He feared after showing up and fighting his way in, he’d find the Dampers already dead. Cyril assured him there were monthly uril-chent shipments coming upstream, but that was far from a guarantee the Dampers were alive. Not only did Rogan owe his freedom to a Damper, he was determined to help them because no one else would.

  A sudden flapping noise startled Rogan, and he turned to see the ghostly pearl skin of Palomar flash past him as the Aasimar alighted on the ship’s deck.

  Members of the crew Cyril hired on to do the sailing gasped and cried in alarm at the arrival of the strange, winged creature.

  “Do not be panicked,” Rogan yelled, raising his hands. “He is a friend, and of no danger to us.”

  “I am sorry if I alarmed you, Baron. I have been hiding my presence for days.”

  “Palomar! It is most excellent to see you again.”

  The gawking and murmurs continued unabated, though once it seemed unlikely Palomar was going to be harpooned, Rogan ignored the men’s astonishment. Only a few lanterns were lit on the forecastle, but Rogan caught the glint of metal upon Palomar’s chest.

  “I see you have made an addition to your wardrobe.”

  The Aasimar looked down and realized Rogan was speaking of his shield-harness. “Yes, it suits me, I think. I do not understand the will of Criesha as some of my new brothers seem to, but for now I trust in the virtues of the Order to guide my path.”

  Rogan could only shake his head at the oddity of such an outsider following a goddess of men. But then he felt it altogether odd that beings no one could see appeared to have such profound influence on the world these days.

  “My harness is not the only thing new,” Palomar admitted. “See what else Sir Golddrake has given me!” Palomar reached behind his head and drew forth the largest greatsword Rogan had ever seen. “A shield made flying too awkward, and this seems to be more my style, anyway.” The blade looked to be nearly as tall as Rogan, and its hilt long enough to accommodate both of Palomar’s ample hands.

  “Well, I’ll be an executioner’s bucket... that is a huge weapon. Are you able to wield it?”

  “I am getting the knack. Jaiden Luminere has kept me practicing during our journey south. He is an expert swordsman, and a fine teacher.” Palomar waved the blade in a circular motion above his head, then brought it down in a chopping motion to demonstrate. Seeing the uneasy look on Rogan’s face at having such a large piece of sharpened steel swinging before him, Palomar stowed the weapon once more in its harness.

  “Not to change the subject, but how many ships are in your armada?”

  “What do you mean?” Rogan asked reflexively, not ready for the question. “We have two caravels. You are on board the Cutthroat, and the Riverdog behind us carries the rest of the soldiers.”

  “And the smaller ship behind her?”

  “What smaller ship?”

  “Granted, there was more distance between them, and it was difficult to spot with its black sails, but I certainly passed a third ship.”

  Rogan scrambled to the aft of his boat and peered upstream, but he could not see past the Riverdog. “You are certain?”

  Palomar nodded.

  “Perhaps it is a part of the King-priest’s fleet, heading toward Hope’s End.” Rogan looked east at the silhouette of the island structure. Their ship steered close to the western shore to give the palace a wide berth, and they were just passing it. His theory made sense given the recent infiltration, but Rogan felt a return of the uneasiness he experienced prior to Palomar’s arrival.

  “Once we’re a little further downstream, would you check to see if it is still following us?”

  Palomar bowed his head, “Of course.”

  Rogan could not help peering back into the darkness every minute or so, until finally his obsession was too much for even Palomar to bear.

  “Alright, I shall see if the boat is still behind us.” The Aasimar stretched his feathery wings and leapt into the air, flapping them downward until he gained enough height to clear the sails. The moonlight painted his feathers a greenish blue, not unlike the sea on a summer day. Rogan followed the arc of Palomar’s flight until the dark and distance consumed him. Then, he could only wait.

  The seconds passed achingly slow
ly. Was it a minute without word? Two? Rogan stared into the sky to catch the first sign of the Aasimar’s return, but Palomar’s telepathy reached him first.

  “Sound the alarm, Baron! They are here and they mean us harm.”

  Rogan waved his arms frantically and shouted to catch the attention of anyone on the deck of the Riverdog, but the wind swallowed his voice, and the heavy darkness rendered his gestures useless.

  He ran to the helmsman. “We need to warn the Riverdog they are in danger from another craft. Can you slow the ship and bring us alongside? I am sure the captain would approve.”

  The sailor shot him a smug look before calling out, “Aye-aye.” He turned the wheel starboard and yelled, “Drop the foresails! Coming about! Act lively on the aft look-out! Signal the distress, rouse the captain!”

  Aboard the Cutthroat, Jaiden was disappointed to find Saffron had been taken to the other boat, but he eventually realized it might be for the best. His song, while close, was unfinished, and the most challenging battle of his life drew near. The mission came first, and such a distraction might rob his focus. Brave deeds would speak better than any words he could muster, and the time for wooing was after such a display. Should he fall, he might also be spared making a fool of himself. Yet he still wondered if Saffron wanted to check on him and was unable before boarding, or if she had forgotten and no longer cared.

  The ride south from the Caves of Criesha to Talon Barge shaped a change in his perspective. Impossible to hide the deteriorating condition of his wounded appendage from Palomar, he confided the truth to both the Aasimar and Sir Golddrake. He was unsure he wanted to go on living without his leg, but realized keeping it would likely mean his death. It might already be too late. He implored them with how badly he wanted to do something meaningful, and how this mission was his last chance to achieve such a goal. He was half-expecting to die, and fully prepared for their pity when he told them so.

  Pity, however, was not what he received. Sir Golddrake stated that, while death was a possible outcome for all on this mission, he firmly believed it was not Jaiden’s time. He believed Criesha had a special plan for him, and that he should have faith in the course of the goddess. Jaiden did not mention he had visited with Criesha several times in his dreams, but that lately she had abandoned him.