by Rye Sobo
***
Captain Azpa’s cabin made up the aft of the main deck. The dark interior lit with warm, amber mage lamps in large brass cages which swayed with the pitch of the ship. Ornate rugs from Aeromon covered the deck. Against the larboard bulkhead stood his bunk, a berth with a thick down mattress and adorned with silks. Next to his bunk was a sturdy oak chest filled with uniforms.
In the center of the cabin was a thick wooden table with legs carved to look like creatures of the deep. Charts, books, and navigational tools covered the table, and a single spindle chair sat across from the hatch, a thick oilskin coat draped over the back.
The captain stood, head hung over this desk as I entered his cabin.
I stood straight and silent, unsure of what he would say. The waves crashed against the hull. He beat his fist into the wooden table.
“You have put me into one hell of a position here,” he said at last.
“He’s been beating the hells out of me since we left port,” I said. “I didn’t think—”
“No, you did not. Did you?” He ran his hand over the company crest on the leather cover of a ledger.
“Not for one damned moment have you thought about anything. Have you? I instructed Reno to go hard on you during training, not to hold anything back.”
“Why would you do that?” I gripped my hands to hide the tremor.
“Because piracy is real in these waters. Because they will kill me and the crew. Cort, he will he wish he was dead when they get through with him,” he said as he turned to face me, his face contorted and deepened to a dark red. His eyes were glassy as if he was about tear up.
“You, you they will take and ransom. Or perhaps, if they are foolish, kill you to spite your mother. Your death would lead to hundreds of others. Zori would torch every harbor on the Azurean Sea.”
I was so wrapped up in my escape, in what I would do when we encountered the Watch in Whyte Harbor, I had never considered an attack on the ship.
“And then you decided to be creative,” Captain Azpa continued. “You used magic to attack Reno, in front of the whole damned crew.”
“It was just a little water,” I said. “He’ll be fine.”
“You do not get it, do you?” he said. “Use of magic to attack a crewmate is expressly forbidden. Anyone who breaks that rule is keelhauled. That’s straight from Zori.”
“Keelhauled,” I said, almost a whisper. I read about the punishment once while I was a student at the University. Back in the old days it was a punishment reserved for the worst offenses. They lashed a line to a sailor’s arm, run under the ship and lashed it to his other arm. They then threw the sailor over the side and pulled under and back up the other side. He’d be given just long enough to catch his breath, if he was lucky, before being tossed overboard again and again.
My stomach twisted. That was my punishment?
“Now, I think you see the position I am in,” he said. “And every member of the crew knows it.”
Captain Azpa let out a deep sigh and rapped his knuckles against the sturdy oak table.
“Even in combat training?” I said. “If I’m expected to train to fight for my life, one would expect a trained arcanist to use every skill at my disposal.” I was grasping, but the alternative was too horrific to even consider.
Captain Azpa stood silent for a moment and considered the alternative. “You would still need to be punished for using magic unsafely.”
“But not keelhauled?”
“No, but you are not going to like it,” he said with a nod. “Come with me.”
He pushed past me and through the hatch to the officers’ mess and then out onto the main deck. I squinted as I emerged from the dark interior into the bright light on deck.
“Sergeant Leon,” the captain shouted. “Ten lashes for Master Alsahar for the uncontrolled use of magic during advanced combat training. Tie him to the mast.”
My faced dropped at the ruling. That brute was about to get ten good strikes against me.
Two of the crew, Bek Bly and Fawz Khouri, escorted me to the mast. Bek, a sailor I had met a few times at the Rusted Sextant, asked me to remove my tunic and shirt.
“Don’t want to get any blood on it, Mate—err, Sir,” Bek said.
I undressed to the waist and handed my clothes over. The two sailors bound my arms, waist, and feet to the mast.
“Here, bite down on this,” Fawz said to me in Drakkan. He held out a block of wood, which I took between my teeth. “Gods with you, my friend.”
By now the other members of the crew had made their way on to the deck to watch. Out of the corner of my vision I could see Tomas wringing his hands.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The warm sun beat down on the deck, and I could feel the sweat bead up on my forehead and roll down my face. The ship rolled with the waves, back and forth on the choppy seas. The salt in the air burned my nostrils. I focused, tried to block out everything. My body shifted as the ship rocked.
The sergeant said something I couldn’t hear above waves, then let loose his first blow.
CRACK.
I could feel the leather strips of the cat-o’-nine-tails rip across my bare back. Could feel my skin part and the sting rush through my body. I tried to focus harder. Do not give this bastard the satisfaction!
Images of the medical text Tomas had given me flooded my mind. Arcane charts, anatomical maps of the Fabric and thread lines rushed through my head. The waves crashed into the ship. I tried to remember the incantation for wound closure and recited it through the block in my teeth.
The whip came down again and again. I could hear muttered words among the crew, quiet at first then grew louder with each strike. I shut out the noise. Focused on the waves, on the sun, on the texts.
I felt a blow so strong my body shifted. But I didn’t feel the pain. The next blow was even harder. The leather straps wrapped around my neck and face.
I focused on the waves. On the wind. On the sway of the ship. The strikes continued. Each time the blow would force me against the mast, against my bindings. Each time I blocked out the pain.
“Enough,” the Captain shouted.
I inhaled sharp through my nose and opened my eyes. There was no noise except for the waves against the hull. The crew stared at me. I looked from face to face for some sign of what happened. Was I that badly beaten? I could feel the rush of pain wash over me like a pot of boiling oil and bit down hard on the wooden block.
“Cut him loose,” Azpa said. Bek and Fawz rushed forward and cut the bindings. “Doctor Flores, take him below.”
I felt someone lift me off my feet as my vision went black.
***
I awoke in the bed in Flores’s cabin. The bed linens against my skin burned, and I winced in pain.
“Well that was one for the books,” the doctor said from his chair.
“How bad was it?”
“Devastating,” he said. “Especially for Reno.”
I looked over at him, my skin on fire with the movement. “What does that mean?”
“I trust you have been reading Medela,” he said.
“Every night,” I said. “What does that have to do with my beating?”
“I would expect anyone who received ten lashes, especially from Reno Leon to be a mangled mess by the time they got here. They cut you down without a drop of blood on you,” he said.
I looked down, the white linens of Flores’s bed were pristine. My dark brown arms were crossed with pale lines, fresh scars.
“I suspect you were healing your own wounds as your received them,” he said. “How, I do not understand. The amount of yili needed to do that would be immense. As far as the crew, they think you are a demon, or perhaps a djinn.”
“What about Reno?” I asked.
“You now have his attention,” he said. “You will have to see if that means you have his respect. But, since you are uninjured, there is no need for you to be in my rack. Get up and study.”
CH
APTER SEVENTEEN
Iawoke the following morning to nausea and a searing pain in my back. The Biomancy allowed me to heal each wound as it opened, but it did nothing for the pain inflicted.
The netted hammock did nothing for the pain either. Thin lines digging into fresh wounds only made the discomfort worse. To his credit, young Cort had offered his rack to sleep in. But, unsure of how well I had mended my wounds, I feared I may bleed in the middle of the night and did not wish to ruin his linens.
As I lowered myself to the deck, I felt the bile rise in the back of my throat. I would face Reno in a mark in the mess.
I concentrated on the yili in my chest; it was brighter than before, stronger. Unsure of what that meant, I ignored it for the moment. I set my sebi on my stomach, just as the Medela instructs, and muttered an incantation to settle my queasiness.
“Are you doing magic again?” Cort asked.
“Just a little healing to help me feel better.”
“Do you think you could show me sometime? How to feel better I mean,” he said as he pulled his blue wool tunic over his head.
“Have you ever done it before? Magic?”
“No. Never. But I see you do it, and Reno, and Doctor Flores.”
“Not everyone can,” I said. “It takes years of study to attempt the simplest magic.”
His eyes lowered to the deck, “I know.”
“But,” I said with a moment of hesitation, “we could try to practice some simple illusions.” Cort’s eyes widened, and a large grin wrapped around his face.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
He finished fastening his boots and sprinted out of the cabin.
My stomach at ease, I headed to the wash basin in the corner of the cabin. I peered into the small metal mirror nailed to the wall. I saw the thin lines that wrapped around my neck. A single line extended to the jawline near my left ear. They would grow darker with time, an ever-present reminder. I pulled my dagger and scraped the black scruff from my chin, taking extra care around the new scars. I splashed water on my face and ran a comb through my dark hair.
I was procrastinating. Just the thought of pulling the thick wool tunic over the fresh scars on my back made me hurt. The rumble of my stomach snapped me out of my thoughts. Cort had brought a small amount of supper to our cabin last night, and if I didn’t make it to the mess within a mark, I’d have to go without until midday.
I pulled the cotton shirt over the scars and tucked it into my pants before pulling the blue, wool tunic over top. I fastened my belt and dagger around my waist, leaving a little more room than usual to keep it from pressing against the wounds, then pulled on my boots.
I took a deep breath. The air was thick with the stench of a dozen men, the tar waterproofing, and salt of the sea. I opened the door of the cabin and made my way to the ladder and up onto the main deck.
Topside, I found everyone’s attention drawn not toward me, but toward the horizon aft of the ship. Rising above the distant waves was the telltale silhouette of a massive dragon.
The ship glided along in the water, silent. The dragon, a dozen leagues away, floated without effort past us. It moved along our starboard side at what must have been an unbelievable pace. Within a few moments it was abeam with the Fritzbink. Within a few moments more, it glided over the horizon off our bow. For the first time, I understood the value the army had placed in those magnificent beasts.
“Messengers,” Jabnit said once the serpent had flown beyond the horizon. “Not uncommon in Commonwealth waters to see them flying official missives between islands. If they ever figure out how to get a dragon to carry cargo, sailors will fill the streets of Drakkas Port begging for coin.”
“That one’s headed to Whyte Harbor?” I asked.
“Looks to be,” he said with a nod and continued hoisting the mainsail.
I felt a chill run up my spine. Official dispatches between the islands, like information on a man accused of killing a family member of one of the most powerful people in the known world.
I hadn’t considered that by the time I arrived in Whyte Harbor the Watch would already expect me there. Did they know the ship was headed for Whyte Harbor? Were they sending dragons in every direction? I supposed I would never know the answer to that. But I had to assume that anywhere I went in the Commonwealth, they would hunt me.
I looked off over the sea in the direction the serpent had flown. They would wait for me.
“They are a very good omen,” Jabnit said as he tied off the line.
The mess was quiet as I entered. The notion of an officer scourged did not seem to sit well with the others.
I prepared a bowl of porridge and a cup of ale in silence. Gone were the fresh fruit and breads which were staples of each meal on the voyage.
The captain and lieutenant avoided so much as a glance in my direction as I sat at the far end of the table. Tomas gave me a sheepish smile. Reno gave a solemn nod but otherwise said nothing. Cort, used to being ignored at the end of the table, vibrated with excitement as I sat down.
“Did you see it?” he asked. “Did you see it? It was huge! It has to be a good sign. The sailors say seeing a dragon on your voyage is a sign of good fortune.”
I stirred my porridge. “I’ve seen them before.”
“He’s on his way to Whyte Harbor,” Cort said.
“Probably.”
Cort continued, but I didn’t hear him. I knew where that beast was going. What he wanted when he got there.
He wanted me.
The Dragon Riders, the most fearsome military unit in the known world. It was the force that laid waste to the Eisig Empire. The beasts that raised first the Fortean Empire, then the Drakkan Commonwealth, to dominance were hunting me. How does a single gnome stand a chance at finding the truth when the might of the Commonwealth is brought to bear on him?
I thought of my mother and father being brought to the Black Keep for questioning. They were respectable people. In the days after the Collapse they held the city together while other cities rioted and burned. I thought of soldiers and Watchmen arriving at Merrywood, the family farm. Weapons and armor gleaming in the hot Drakkan sun. I thought of them dragging my brother Dukhan from his home, in front of his wife and children. Would they march him back to the city? Would they throw him in an interrogation chamber, beat him until he told them where I was?
I looked up, the other officers cleared their bowls and returned them to the crate for the steward to gather and take below decks.
“Master Alsahar, my chambers?” the captain said.
“Yes, captain,” I said as I took my bowl, still half-full of cold porridge, to the crate.
***
“I trust you understand already the message the Dragon Rider was carrying to Whyte Harbor?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I looked down at the thick rugs spread across the deck of the captain’s chamber.
“We are fortunate,” he said in his smooth Laetian accent. “Now we know they will be waiting. We have a span and a half to prepare.”
He paced across the length of the cabin, reached the bulkhead, and turned back toward me. “So, what is your plan?”
“I—I don’t have one.”
He nodded as though he expected as much.
“I have made the importance of your combat training clear to you, yes?”
“Yes, sir, you have,” I said. I ran an absent-minded hand over the fresh scars on my arms.
“The road you are going down, it will be important that you can defend yourself,” he said.
“Against dragons?!”
“They will not attack you with dragons,” he said with an incredulous air. “They want you alive. You are no good to them burned to a crisp. So you must defend yourself against men.”
“How do I do that?”
“To start, no more navigation or training at the helm. You will train with Reno the entire morning,” he said.
I scoffed, but he paid no attention to my prote
st.
“You will stand watch in the infirmary with Doctor Flores, I suspect his training is more effective than you currently realize,” he continued. “After supper, you will spend another four hours with Reno and anyone he sees fit to include. I expect you to be an able swordsman when you step off this ship. Reno and I will also work with you on battle magic. Have you ever studied arcane combat?”
“I read a few books at the University,” I said. “I could never seem to wrap my head around it.”
“It is not a simple skill to read and learn,” he said. “Perhaps that is for the best. Drakkas Port would have been destroyed a thousand times over by curious magelings if it could.”
“Does Reno know why he is teaching me these things?”
“Beyond what I have already told him, no,” Captain Azpa said. He looked me in the eye. “That is not my story to tell.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sun was blinding as I stepped through the hatch from the officers’ mess onto the main deck. One hand was on my dagger as I expected Reno to take advantage of the glare to attack.
As my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I saw the hulking man stood along the larboard rail. He watched the waves crash against the hull of the Delilah Fritzbink. A board in the deck groaned under my foot. He turned, saw me, and motioned to join him.
“Do you know the secret to unlimited yili?” His voice almost inaudible over the sound of the water. The question was more philosophical than I expected from the brute.
“There is no such thing,” I responded. “Yili is energy. It is everywhere, but a mage cannot create it, only transfer it from one thread to another. A mage that tries to control the yili will drive himself mad.” The rote response of decades of arcane training poured out of me.
He nodded but did not take his eyes from the water. “That is good to remember. The yili in a man is not enough to drive a biomancer insane. Nor is the yili of a fireplace or bonfire enough to consume an illusionist,” he said. “But can you imagine the yili found in the entire sea?”
Just considering that amount of energy was enough to make my head hurt. Based on my studies with Tomas, the amount of yili required to mend a wound was less than that required for a single heartbeat. I looked out at the waves rolling in the open water, and I considered Reno’s question.
