by Azalea Moone
“Of all the times I’ve confided in you—”
“But this is different. Those times... we were...” Fithel wavered. “Together.”
Sawyer’s heart panged. It’d been two years since he abandoned his position as Fithel’s lieutenant. And as his lover. The reasons at the time were right—his dreams of the past, of Kohaku and the battle—were all that mattered. He’d never thought how much it could hurt; he and Fithel had been together almost every day since he was introduced to castle life at the gentle age of twelve.
“I’m sorry.” Sawyer breathed. “We haven’t spent hardly any time together since I came back.”
Fithel let out a slight chuckle. “Haven’t had time. I’m always out of the castle, you were healing your wound, and Kohaku... Well, I didn’t think I should bother you.”
“We’re still friends, or at least, I hope we are.” Sawyer grabbed the mug and slurped a drink. “You know if you need me, I’m always here.”
He let the quiet air sneak in between them. Fithel tapped his fingers on the countertop; Sawyer debated the issue at hand. He should be up in his bed sleeping beside Kohaku. He was expected to be at the docks by sunrise to watch for incoming ships. Instead, he couldn’t stop staring at Fithel’s solemn look. Of all the years he’d known the elf, he’d never seen him so down.
After taking another sip, he set the mug down and pushed it away again. He glanced around the room. The last time he was here, he’d chased Kladus into the backroom, prepared to arrest him.
A tremble ran through him remembering the previous battle against his father, and against the spell running through him. The reddened marks the curse had made were gone, but the scars remained. The dastardly magics always there, lurking just underneath his skin. If he weren’t careful, it could devour him. It could make him a mindless killer, again.
He let out a sigh.
Fithel raised a brow. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He paused a moment, glancing around the tavern. “Where is Kohaku?”
“Asleep.” Sawyer cupped his face in his hands.
“And how are things with you two? Good, I assume.”
“He’s become a bit distant lately. I’m sure it’s just castle life. He’s not used to it,” Sawyer admitted.
“Hmm, if he leaves, it’ll be a shame. He’s quite revered by the queen as her finest warrior.”
“He’s determined to get used to it though.”
Fithel grinned. “I see.” It drew silent again. Fithel tipped his mug to drain the rest of the ale, then stood from his seat. “You two should consider coming with me to Qeoca instead.”
“What?”
“They say the drug originates from there, right? We’ll have better luck finding its source than taking down petty ships and arresting captains.”
“But...” What of Kohaku? “The queen had assigned us this mission, we can’t just go against her wishes.” Though Fithel had a point.
“I’m sure she’d be much happier if we take out whoever it involves. And Kohaku is from Qeoca, correct? I’m betting he’d love to visit his home country once more.” Fithel gently cupped Sawyer’s shoulder. “Let this be our last mission together, as commander and lieutenant.”
Sawyer quivered under Fithel’s touch. It’d been almost a decade since visiting Qeoca, a country he admired for its beauty and charm. But it wasn’t the original plan: he were to keep to the queen’s mission—destroy the drug coming in on ships, while the armies investigated the source and sought the happenings with the emperor. Yet, it’d been too long since he was part of the troops, something he once missed.
Besides, Kohaku’s family had come from the foreign land, so had the gorgeous flowing kimono he wore so well. Matter of fact, it’d been too long since Kohaku had worn it.
“I... shouldn’t.” He jerked away from Fithel’s touch.
Fithel glowered, then turned on heel, back to Sawyer. “Very well. There’s no harm in trying, right? Enjoy yourself and luck to you, my friend.”
As Fithel staggered toward the door, Sawyer remained frozen on the stool. Maker’s mercy, Fithel, what has gotten into you?
Brisk winds whipped large snowflakes sideways as Fithel rode his horse down the southern path and out of Raifut. He’d let his troops run ahead of him, leaving his lieutenant in charge, with the promise they’d meet again at Sakor’s Keep at the border. Taking a brief rest in Raifut proved to only be a time waste, though, as the thoughts of the last twenty years came to mind. Drinking didn’t help much, either. The alcohol only fueled his anger, frustration, and sadness.
Ale and mead had all but replaced Sawyer’s company. Coupled with the few men he’d lain with since Sawyer’s unexpected departure from the castle two years ago, his manner of letting go had been more like avoidance than recovery. The truth of it was, twenty years of friendship and love wasn’t something so easily forgotten.
Sawyer sure acted like it, though.
Good for you, Fithel thought. He was happy for his ex-partner; Sawyer had finally found the reason for his nightmares and the summoner who had appeared in those dreams. If only you’d told me the truth before.
Twenty years of nightmares, and only could Sawyer confide the truth with his lover until after the fact. Fithel remembered the day all too well: He was on a mission in Raifut, one year after Sawyer had taken his leave. It was a thankful reunion, or so Fithel had hoped. When he’d attempted to embrace Sawyer, he’d jerked away suddenly and told him of the summoner in his dreams. The strange man who was donned in red, heavy armor matching that of a dragon’s, with a long, glistening sword, and equally long hair. He’s gorgeous, Sawyer had said. I think I’m in love.
Fithel’s stomach dropped just as it had on that day. “What’s wrong with me?” Fithel grumbled to himself. “You must’ve forgotten everything.”
Snowflakes fell around him faster, harder, making it difficult to see the road ahead of him. The blizzard was already there...
Chapter Four
Strange Concoctions
The early dawn’s light seeped in through the window, awaking Sawyer to a sense of forlorn. This morning they were to investigate incoming ships at port, but he’d struggled to fall back to sleep with Fithel’s proposal running through his mind. It’d been ages since he was part of the militia; once a great, passionate lieutenant, he traded everything he cherished about combat for love.
Kohaku sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his boots up over his faded riding trousers. His long red hair spiraled down his naked back. Flawless skin—lacking battle scars—Sawyer had run his hands over it so many times, reveling in how smooth and delicate Kohaku was. Yet, not so weak at all.
“Good morning,” he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingers through Kohaku’s lengthy hair.
Kohaku tilted his head. Paused in his movements. Enjoyed the attention. “Morning.”
“How did you sleep?” Sawyer grasped him around the waist, pulling him closer.
“It was difficult, but a few hours should suffice. You?”
“Okay.” Fithel’s words came back to him—would Kohaku be up to such a challenge? “I was think—”
“Wait.” Kohaku stopped him mid-sentence. “I wanted to ask a favor before we set off this morning.”
Sawyer’s gripped loosened. “What is it?”
“I’d like to search for the agate stone myself, today.”
“The stone?”
Kohaku tugged at his necklace, twisting it around until it was properly situated on his neck. “For the talisman. Remember?”
“Yes, but should you need assistance?” Sawyer crawled to sit next to him. “Or should I need yours?”
“There are guards I’m sure will lend you a hand.” Kohaku continued to lace his boots. “And I promise not to travel too far. There are a few abandoned mines around Raifut and down south closer to Sakor’s Keep.”
Sawyer sighed. He supposed he couldn’t stop Kohaku now that his mind was set. “Very well. It will save us time, yes?” Grabbing his tunic fr
om the edge of the bed, he slipped it on. “Plan to meet back here before dark.”
“Yes, sir.” Kohaku chuckled. Sawyer’s jaw dropped at his comment. Sir? “Honestly Sawyer, you should know to trust me. If I have any trouble along the way, I’ll call upon Malrith to help.”
“I... do trust you.”
“Good. Now hand me my sword, will you?”
Sawyer leaned against the dock, awaiting the arrival of the next cargo ship. By the position of the sun above him, he predicted it was early afternoon. He’d searched the early morning ships, but came up empty-handed. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for; he studied the books of every ship, and nothing seemed strange. The next one, he nodded his head in assurance; it had to be the next one.
In the far distance, the figure of a vessel appeared around the bend. As it grew closer, Sawyer narrowed his eyes on the small craft—manned by three scraggly sailors. The ship’s flag showed Qeoca’s common colors: a red and white triangle atop a black background.
The craft headed for the dock. Sawyer straightened and approached with his hand out. One sailor stepped onto the dock with the securing ropes. “Is this a raid?” the sailor asked with a heavy accent.
“Just a search,” Sawyer answered. “By the order of the queen, I’d like to look at the books.”
The sailor tilted his head, giving his other mates a firm nod. “Sure thing,” he said, glancing back at Sawyer. Another sailor handed Sawyer a small parchment. “So what’re you looking for?”
“The usual.” Sawyer scanned the scribbled handwriting, much of it foreign and too difficult to understand. Sawyer groaned. “What do you typically carry?”
“We’re a fishing vessel, sir. Carp from the southern Wyst. Trout. Mussels. Clams. You name it.”
“All from Qeoca?”
The sailor nodded.
Sawyer sighed. If he didn’t make an arrest soon, they may have to stay another day in Raifut. It could take a few days for his target to arrive. Just as he was about to hand back the parchment, something strange made him hesitate. “What’s Suir... What does this say? Suir’ive?”
The sailors glanced at each other in silence. “A rare fish, sir.”
“Is that so?” He handed the captain his parchment. “Do you mind if I look at what’s in your hold, then?”
“If you must.” The captain stepped further onto the dock, allowing Sawyer to brush past him into the ship.
Cautiously, Sawyer made his way around the ship’s deck, keeping his sights on the other sailors. They nervously moved away as Sawyer found the ladder leading into the hold. A rotten scent wafted in the air when Sawyer stood at the doorway. Fish. He cringed but continued his way down; the smell grew worse the further he went.
Stepping to the bottom floor, Sawyer held his sleeve to his nose. The scent was vicious, of dead fish, possibly rotting in barrels that covered the entire floor. With barely any room to walk through, he chose the closest barrel and pried open the lid—revealing a layer of shells mixed with fish heads. And the awful scent that made his throat burn. Sawyer choked back the bile and immediately secured the lid on.
If that wasn’t the most disgusting thing I’ve seen in a while...
Footsteps sounded from behind. One sailor stood with his head cocked to the side, his lips drawn into a fine line.
“Tell your captain all is well,” Sawyer said, in slight disappointment they’d have to spend another night. The sailor hesitated. “Did you hear me? You’re good to go.”
The sailor yanked his sword from its scabbard and swung haphazardly at Sawyer. He side-stepped the attack. Countered another with his own sword; his metal hand working like clockwork to grip the sword tight, though he sometimes missed the feel of the coarse hilt on his fingers.
“What are you doing?” Sawyer yelled as the sailor stepped around him, blocking one of the barrels.
“Having problems, sir?” The captain asked from above.
“Your man here is guarding one of these drums.”
The captain stepped down the ladder. “Wakai, aypio suases.” With the captain’s orders, the man sheathed his sword and backed away. “Foolish, Wakai is. Picked him up on a vacant coast near Cheopo along the way.”
Sawyer glanced at the young sailor, his face and clothes covered in muck. Then, he focused on the barrel the man had been guarding. Sawyer jerked the lid off, cringing at the revolting smell of fish, and picked one up by the tail. Behind him, the young sailor grunted.
“Fish, huh?” Sawyer murmured. He grabbed another, and another, tossing them on the floor as he dug deeper in the drum. The rustling behind him, the groans, and foreign words warned him to prepare for any oncoming attacks. The pile of dead fish grew, and near the middle of the barrel, he picked out a strangely moist woven bag. “What is this?”
When there was no answer, he peered inside the bag at the black, grainy substance. “Suir’ive?” A harsh earthen scent replaced the fish stink inside the sack. “Is this...?”
As he turned around, the captain and sailor drew their swords. “It’s nothing, sir.” The captain furrowed his brow.
Sawyer threw the bag into the barrel and drew his own sword. “Nothing, huh? Importing illegal drugs into Anscien isn’t nothing. It’s unlawful to do so. Now drop your sword.”
The captain trembled. His crewmate didn’t show the same tension. “I believe you are mistaken. It fetches a fair price among the people here.”
“Is that right?”
The sailor attempted to catch Sawyer off guard with a slash to the gut, but Sawyer stepped quick and knocked the sailor’s sword from his hand. “Drop your sword next, and I’ll go easy on you both.” Sawyer pointed his blade at the captain.
“Wakai, taubu oumya ayois,” the captain said as his sword clattered to the floor. “Yurahi!” At the captain’s last command, the sailor lowered his head, all manner of resisting gone.
“By the order of Queen Adaline of Anscien, I hereby place you three under arrest.” Sawyer pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt. Damn, he’d have to call a guard for help.
The captain glanced at the ladder with a smile. “Don’t worry about the other. Lily-livered mongrel high-tailed it out of here when you first stepped aboard.”
“Damn it,” Sawyer spat.
He restrained the sailor in case he tried to escape and led the two men out of the hold. On the dock, whispers through a gathering crowd made Sawyer tense. Two guards had joined the onlookers in curiosity.
“You there,” Sawyer called to them. “Take these two to the city’s prison.”
The two guards darted to him as he led the criminals on the dock. One of them gasped, “Mr. Guinne?”
“See to it you write their crime as illegal drug traffic—”
“It really is you!” The guard yanked a pair of cuffs from his belt and seized the captain. “I’d heard rumors you were back. Didn’t believe any of them.”
Sawyer nodded. “Enough babble, now, and off with you.” Sawyer waved them away. He still needed to investigate the other drums, though the thought of the stench awaiting him made his stomach turn.
“Do you know who that is, Herston?” The guard raved to his companion as they hauled the criminals away. “Sawyer Guinne, second commander of the royal army. That man is a legend. You’d do well to learn a thing or two from him.”
Sawyer gasped a breath. A sudden chill ran through him. Second commander of the royal army... Didn’t they know he didn’t maintain his old position in Fithel’s squad? He didn’t want to. No, those days were over, but now he was back, everyone would think he’d keep his position of lieutenant.
In a moment of frustration, Sawyer shooed the crowd of onlookers away and dashed back aboard the small ship and down into the hold. The stench drowned his reservations as he began searching each drum for more of the strange drug.
Splash! The woven bags sank on impact into the water of the Wyst. Sawyer had thrown over twenty bags over the side of the boat. The one left in his hand, he debated keeping it as
evidence against the captain and crew. Or he could have it examined to find out exactly what it was.
The scent of dead fish stuck to the bag, but there was always another distinctive smell—of earth and dust. A million questions ran through his head: how do you consume something like this? Even the queen seemed confused and unsure; he could take his findings back to her. But then, with such dangerous effects of the drug, what would happen if he introduced it in the castle?
He paced back and forth on the dock, the onlookers long gone now, but he garnered a few side-long glances his way even now. The raid had taken up a good part of the day; the sun now radiant from the west, it wouldn’t be long before it set. He’d felt the tiredness from lack of sleep long ago, now he was forcing his own eyes to stay open. His thoughts a whirlwind of what to do next, and Kohaku, and sleep—his stomach grumbled angrily.
“Shit!” he cursed silently to himself.
After focusing on the bag in his hand, he tied it to his side, deciding...
“We’ll have better luck finding its source than taking down petty ships and arresting captains.” Ah, yes, but Fithel had a point. He’d done his job, but how many more ships will come around the bend? How many captains and crew could he arrest before it was all over?
Sawyer glanced toward the inn and raised a brow. Kohaku wasn’t back yet. His fingers flicked against the hilt of his sword. It’d been a while since he felt the need for a fight—something that wasn’t drawn from a curse, but the passion infused in him from years of training. Well, I’ll be damned, Sawyer thought to himself as he hopped up on his horse and rode south through Raifut, praying he could find Kohaku and talk him into this alternative plan.
“It’s no use.” Kohaku sighed, resting upon an old, dusty mining cart.
He’d been searching all day for the fire agate stones, the hunt taking him across the entirety of Anscien’s border and into Qeoca. Each cave he explored was different, some of them already mined of their gold and gems, and some of them stock full of glistening jewels. Bandits, which he decided not to tangle with heavily guarded a few. One was full of miners, who claimed there was a small deposit of agate, but they’d mined it months ago.
