by Brad C Baker
“Wanda, sorry if I disappointed you, but my daughter…”
“You’re forgiven.” Wanda helped him down onto a lashed down cask. “Let’s put the unpleasantness behind us. How do we move forward?”
“I dunno. You’re the expert in divinations, not me. I play with nature and mess people up,” Crallick muttered.
“I knew you walked in light,” smiled Kittalae.
Wanda laughed. Her laughter was infectious, and soon the others, one quite drunkenly and unaware of what he was laughing at, sent peals rolling across the deck. Getting control of her humour, Wanda said, “Allow me to find the stone inside you. Then, from there, I should be able to track the residue from the passing of others like it.”
“Do what you got to do,” Crallick said.
It took until the dawn breaking for Wanda to break down the basic elements of the slave jewels.
As dawn bathed the water and the ship in blazing gold, the Flamerunner looked all the part what her name suggested; a magnificent swift ship, leaving a blazing wake in her passing.
Wanda gathered Vlados, Crallick, Drake, and Kittalae together on the roof of the aftcastle cabin. With a wide yawn, she began, “The breakdown of the magic is as follows: there is an abjurative spell that prohibits a desire for violent action towards one another. A clever way to protect both owner and slave from one another. Second is a one-way empathic dweomer that allows the slave to feel the owner’s emotions. Only vaguely mind you, there are no details conveyed. The third is a transmitting pulse that chirps, if you will, the life force of the slave. This is received by both the owner and the slaver.” She looked pointedly at Crallick, “You’ll always know where your little slave girl is, Cral.”
He began to protest when she interrupted, “Save it. I’m buggering your mind. This situation won’t get old for a long time, I suspect.”
Resigned, Crallick grunted and leaned back against the smooth rail of the ship.
Kittalae snuggled herself against his side for warmth in the tepid morning breeze. “That’s okay Crallick, I like that you can find me.”
Vlados couldn’t hide a grin, even under his thickening beard. “That’s nice Wanda, how does that help us?”
“Every pulse leaves an imprint on the etherea. If Crallick knew what he was doing with more than just his sword…” She let the double entendre hang in the air for a few moments. “He’d actually have an easier time tracking them than I would, as he draws most of his energies from Jyslin’s realm. As it sits right now, this is their direction.” She pointed west-northwest.
Vlados and Drake both swallowed; Vlados incredulously chiming in. “Are you sure, girl? There’s nothing out that way but open water.”
“I am. After I get a few hours sleep, I’ll check again, then spend some time casting an incantation to enchant a pendant, or chain, to track them with.”
“All right then. Mr. Drake, make for that heading. We have a plan, and a means to execute it. Now let’s catch those sons of bitches.”
“Aye, Captain.” With that, Mr. Drake flung himself over the cabin roof to land beside the helmsman, in order to give him the instructions.
Wanda retired below decks.
Vlados said, “Alright, you two get some sleep. I’ve slept all night in my new cabin and love it! Nice and cozy, just like the mountain halls back home. You two fen pigeons have been up too long. You’re also,” he directed at Crallick, “too drunk. Sleep it off. I’ll get ye if anything comes to pass.”
With a mocking “Aye, aye”, Crallick stumbled his way to his new cabin.
Kittalae mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Vlados before she swiftly followed Crallick, subtly making sure he never overbalanced.
Once alone in the cabin, she asked, “Isn’t this lovely?”
Crallick dragged himself over to the lower of the two cots and threw himself onto it, letting the momentum of the sway of the ship counter his dropping form. “Sure,” he grumbled, already half asleep.
Kittalae drew the shades over the windows and then, as she undid the lacing on her blouse, she pulled a sheet up over her master’s prone form.
Crallick half noted that her tail was quite nimble. Wait. Had she a tail? “Where in Etheria did you hide that?” he slurred the query.
Smiling, Kattalae swished her tail around her waist, forming an almost invisible belt. Topless, she curtsied, “You like?”
A snore greeted her.
“Damn,” she pouted. All her showmanship and effort was for naught. Next time she would woo and impress, of that she was certain. Her Chessintran-blooded nature nudged her desire to crawl into the bottom cot with him. No, she chided herself, that would have to wait. Let him wake to the tease of seeing her splendours sleeping above him. Smiling wickedly, she shucked the rest of her attire and swung herself up into the cot above. She allowed herself one personal pleasure of contact with him. She slid her tail between the ropes to find his hand and twined into his fingers. In this way, along with the sway of the ship, the distant cries of the laboring crew, she fell into the sweetest sleep she’d had for as long as she could remember.
Chapter Ten
''Twas the drake of fire who threatened to break the lines.
Cunning was he, staying aloft, out of harm's reach.
With strafing flames, he tried to break Bannathyr's spine.
General Skywyn plotted, then began his dire speech.”
Verse 11: Ballad of Ser Crallick Carnage-born
Thirty days into their pursuit of The Chess’s Blight found the toll wearing hard on the crew of the Flamerunner. The high summer heat sweated men dry. Day after day, the tedium of not seeing sign of either land or mast wore on everyone’s nerves. Things that seemed trivial inconveniences roused fits of anger, flaring tempers to temperatures that rivaled the midday sun.
It was around the 26th of Ariois, high summer, when the taut sing of rigging and the creak of masts loaded with full sails went quiet. The only sound was collapsing canvas impotently losing whatever wind it had once gathered.
“Ah, what fresh buggery is this?” Vlados asked, squinting up through the glare of the mid-afternoon sun. “Why aren’t we catching any wind, Mr. Drake?”
“We’re foundered in a doldrums, ser,” the shirtless Amorallan responded.
“A what, you say? Do we need Crallick to kill it?” Vlados suddenly asked, adrenaline beginning to spike.
Laughter erupted from those close enough to hear the exchange, including Erik Drake, who, not unkindly, answered. “Ah, if only that were so, Captain. You see, doldrums are a mysterious death of the wind. We usually run into them around high summer, and in the tropics. It’s where Asha’s heat is so strong, she even manages to kill Aarison’s winds. So unless Crallick can kill the goddess of fire...” He smiled broadly at the thought of such a lark.
“Aye, I see now,” said Vlados glumly. “So how do we catch the wind?”
“I’d have to be pretty damn drunk to take that woman on,” said Crallick, topless, lying in the shade of the foredeck, but alert enough to overhear the conversation. One could see the rippling muscles across his frame, crossed by several jagged scars from lucky strikes of long-dead foes.
Ignoring his friend’s weak attempt at humour, Vlados prompted Mr. Drake, “Well, mate?”
“Well, the Flamerunner has one advantage that our prey does not. We’re small and light enough to carry sweeps. I’d suggest we drop and secure all canvas, to reduce any drag, then scull after the blighters who are stuck with only sail. We may gain on them, though the men will not enjoy their time,” Drake warned.
“Like they’re enjoying it now?” Vlados scoffed. “Assemble all hands to the main deck.”
“Aye ser!” Mr. Drake spun about, and as Vlados mounted the aftcastle cabin roof to address his crew, Drake began crying out, “All hands to main deck! Send it below. All hands to main deck!”
Soon a chorus of the cry was taken up, then the scurrying of sailors, not rats, flooded from every corner of the ship to the main deck,
facing aft. The only exceptions were Mr. Drake and Mr. Pallan, who flanked Vlados; Crallick, who never bothered to move; and his slave girl who seemed to only recognize his sole authority. The final exception was the stoic fixture at the helm, the massive Jacob Martine, who continued to hold his post under Vlados’s preferred podium.
Once all assembled to his liking, Vlados began. “My friends, firstly, my deepest thanks for your excellent courage and stalwart resolve in these dire circumstances. I could not have asked for a better crew.” This was answered by weak applause. “We have become befouled by doldrums. Our quarry has undoubtedly suffered the same fate. We have the advantage! We can gain on them! But I have to put to you a severe task. In this hot weather, I know I ask much, so I shall reward as much as I ask. I need the sweeps run out and we need everyone able to scull us after our quarry! Everyone who takes a watch on the sweeps shall be given an extra ration of fresh water, an extra half meal ration at breakfast, and an extra half rum ration at night!” His grand speech was met with disgruntled grumbling and general comments of malcontent.
One burly hobgoblin, named Alexandr, called out, “Is that the orders of the green behind the ears land-hugging dwarf captain?”
“Secure that! It was his decision under my advisement!” bellowed Mr. Drake.
The raised voices set a match to the tinder. In less than a heartbeat, men and women alike were screaming and hurling threats at each other like feathers at a maid’s coming out party. That is to say, things began to spiral out of hand until a woman’s clear, resonating voice pealed one word in a volume to rival a thunderclap over the tumult. “PEACE!”
Everything froze at Wanda’s word. She then spoke again, unaugmented by divine will. “Everyone is on the same ship, literally,” she smiled. “We are all taken with the heat. And we all want to be quit of this voyage. If we make haste, we may overtake our foes and end our journey early. Focus your rage, hatred and frustration on those who forced us to drag you out here. Not your shipmates.”
Suddenly, seeing that her words had silenced the animosity that seemed to be roiling in the heat, Vlados hit on an idea from his youth. “Look here!” he cried. “When I was a lad…” After the chorus of groans that began, he swiftly interjected, “Bear with me! This is relevant! When I was a lad growing up in the mining community where I lived, during the summer, the great forges never ran around the heat of the day. Thus, I suggest that the watches rotate to one bell after midday to one bell before midnight, and the opposite. So no one swelters through the heat of the midday!”
At the sound of more complacent murmuring, Vlados continued more softly, “I’m not here to drive you to an early grave. I am here to ensure thirteen daughters aren’t taken to theirs. Now are ye with me?”
The chorus of assent was weak, but it was there.
It was seven more days before trouble again reared its head for the gallant crew of the Flamerunner. There was a sudden heavy drag to the scullers’ oars, and the ocean began to seep up through the hull-boards into the hold. This sent the sailors into a panicked fit. Casks were destroyed and pitch applied until the mysterious leaks stopped. The damage, psychologically, had been done. The crew viewed this as an ill omen.
Vlados’s officers still held their convictions with him, Sylethra being the most high-praising of him to all she tended with their maladies.
Among those who used to hold the day watch, now the watch that ended just before noon, Jacob, the stoic helmsman, was beginning to wane in his faith of his captain, though he still stood by him. Tandi, the quartermaster, proved dwarven loyalties were as strong as mountain roots, and gladly voiced her opinions to all.
The hobgoblin, Alexandr, was downright mutinous, seeking to find like-minded crew to take the ship and return her to port, “While we still can.” He had managed to rally Argent Quanthee, the metal ephemorae, as well as Izzy Nunez, Menshirre Orran, and the Vitani Callath Bierntree to his cause.
The deckhand and rigging rat Jarrol, along with Glip Glip, both seemed determined to keep their heads low and not get involved at all.
The lookout Robert Marquis, the Vitani rigging rat Nespyran Oakroam, and the human deckhands Achmed and Fransisco Nunez, remained loyal to the captain of the ship.
The afternoon watch was even more bipolar. Those loyal to Vlados held less conviction, while those opposed harbored greater grief. Three seemed determined to just work and not involve themselves in any manner.
‘Marc’, the lithe young woman masquerading as a deft male rigging rat, Puraji, Brom, and Jetten the Monitorman, all threw their lot in with Vlados.
The Komodoman helmsman, Bargress, Mahar, and Gregor were content to focus on their jobs.
While a frightening six – the deckhands Jarrod, Lavarth, Ronald, and Henry, the lookout, Lawrence, and the Jaraguaman, Biq – all supported the seditious talk of Alexandr. This meant he had the ear and the hearts of eleven of the thirty souls on board. At least the thirty that everyone knew about.
A vengeful aquan remained aboard. It had an inner sense of navigation, and an awareness of how little land there seemed to be around, based on the taste of the air and the roll and sounds of the waves on the ship. He had worked pitch loose, and he had caused leaks for the crew’s inconvenience. He could sense the unease of the mammals and land dwellers. Now, he felt, would be a good time to take a life.
It was shortly after the beginning of the afternoon watch, when Vlados had three sweating men crammed into his smaller cabin with him. Mr. Drake, Mr. Pallan and Crallick were all there to discuss the rising tensions among the ship’s crew.
“Now then, Mr. Pallan, don’t hold back, how bad is it getting on the afternoon watch, truly?” Vlados was saying, his strawberry blond beard dyed dark from perspiration.
“Six are blatantly talking disfavourably about ye, ser,” Mr. Pallan informed him. “I got three ignoring everything but their work, and four we can count on.”
“Ouch,” muttered Vlados. “Mr. Drake?”
“That shite disturber has rousted up four to his cause. Two are biding their time. And six stay loyal.”
“You know there is a very fast solution to this,” Crallick began.
“No!” Vlados exclaimed. “There is a process, and I’ll not have random acts of violence carried out without due course.” His words had just left the air when a frantic tapping at the door came.
“Come,” Vlados called.
The door swung open, jostling Drake in the process, to reveal a nervous rigging rat. Marc looked at the room of men, swallowed and spoke, “H-h-he’s dead, sers. The mutineers tore his throat out while he slept.”
“Who’s dead, Marc? Who?” Vlados demanded.
“Deckhand Eli Puraji from Jherrim, ser. I found him when he didn’t rouse for his shift. I came right away,” Marc swallowed.
“That’s fine now. Ye did right. Run to the surgeon. Get a saber from the quartermaster, and guard the surgeon,” Vlados instructed.
“Aye ser,” and she was gone.
Crallick grinned. “Now can I kill the hob?”
“Aye, ye can, but we got to make it a legal spectacle,” Vlados cautioned.
Mr. Drake cautioned, “Aye ser, but I’m not sure how to safely go about that without firing up more resentment. If Ser Crallick can finish this in a quiet fashion, they might just go to ground for fear of similar reprisals.”
“No. We are not cowards or assassins,” Vlados stated dourly.
“I am a hunter. Pure and simple,” Crallick growled.
“I’ll call all hands. You can judge him then,” Vlados said.
At the coming protests of his mates, he added, “We’ll be armed. They will not. Will that assuage ye fear for me safety?”
They disassembled to fetch weapons and met back on the aftcastle, where Crallick stood apart from the rest, without anything other than his ringmail. At the rousing call of hands to the main deck, sluggish and grumbling men came together to glare at the gathered officers.
“Vlados, by what right do y
ou drag us out into Asha’s inferno of a hot box to listen to yer dwarvish whining?” Alexandr blustered.
Unable to contain his fury any longer, Vlados erupted on the insolent hobgoblin. “Ye bite yer festering tongue ye scabrous dog! What kind of a shite-eating worm kills his shipmate to make a point! Eli is dead for yer nefarious ends. Now ye’ve gone and roused up good Ser Crallick to take a stake in events!”
Scoffing, Alexandr blew back, “So what if I did? Not that I would! You’re framing me to be sure. See what desperate tricks they fall to!”
“Shut up,” came Crallick’s quiet retort.
Billowing up on his own confidence, Alexandr drove on, stepping closer to the separated Crallick. “Or you’ll what? You elvish knight? I’m unarmed, what’ll you do?”
It took three heartbeats for Alexandr to realize his folly.
One, the greatbow appeared in Crallick’s hand, with an arrow nocked.
Two, the sing of the bowstring, and the powerful tug at his jerkin, blasting the air from his lungs.
Three, Crallick’s mocking voice coming through what seemed to be a lengthening void, “That’s knight-ranger, you arrogant shite, and I’ll do whatever needs doing to solve things.”
There was no fourth heartbeat.
For the rest of the crew, the shocking, bloody display held them all in a paralytic trance. Crallick walked over, among them. Nonchalant. He forcefully yanked his arrow out of the corpse. Then, with his foot, he unceremoniously shoved the cadaver over the side of the ship to the waves below. Then, with his back to the crew, he further admonished, “Think of raising a hand to hinder me in my quest to retrieve my daughter, and I shall deal with you no less kindly. Mark well my words.”
With that, he turned, smiled broadly and asked, “I’m thirsty, who wants a drink?”
Feeling that this mad, half-drunk elf was not worth the fight, the entire crew, teetotallers and all, took an offered helping of rum.
After all the crew had a warm feeling in their bellies, Crallick took their measure and addressed them again. “I fear the murders haven’t ended with the death of Alexandr.”
