The Dark Sea Beyond

by Rye Sobo

  “Can you imagine the yili of a thousand men in battle? Ten thousand men?” he continued. “With that much power, what could you do?”

  “Anything,” I said before my mind processed the question he had asked.

  “And yet there it is, for you to take,” Reno said making a grand sweep of the Azurean Sea. “What would you do with it?”

  “Is that where battle mages get the yili?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes and traced a sign in the air with his right hand.

  “Fireball off the larboard side!” he thundered.

  The crew on deck spun toward the larboard side as an orb of flame five fathoms across erupted from thin air over the open water. The force of the blast sent a hot breeze back toward us, caused the sails to flutter before they snapped taut once again.

  From the forecastle of the ship Blake Bly let out a maniacal howl. “Thanks for the warning!”

  “How?” It was all I could utter.

  “You have felt it already,” Reno said. “Just yesterday, I am certain. Once you have tapped into the source of the yili available, it is a simple matter of agoti.”

  “Oh, a simple matter of agoti,” I said. “I will a giant ball of fire to exist, and there it is.”

  “You can will an image from the ether, can you not?” he responded. “You will sound amongst the crowd during your shows. Just yesterday you willed the waves to rise from the sea and strike me. Why do you now believe a flame is any different?”

  My eyes searched out over the waves.

  “Sebi. Yili. Agoti,” he said. “Focus, energy, will. That is all there is to it.”

  “And the hand gesture?” I asked.

  “You shouted the arcane word for water, and the water rose. I traced the alchemical symbol for fire, and the fire came. Each caster has his own method for projecting his agoti,” the brute said. “Now, create a fire over the waves.”

  I closed my eyes. The ship rocked back and forth on the waves. My sebi set. The energy swirled all around me. The sun, the waves, the men on the ship. The sense of the waves crashed over me, the deep churn of the sea filled my mind. I felt the yili of the waves build. I’ll show Reno how strong of a mage I am.

  I shouted the invocation for fire and thrust my hand out toward the horizon and opened my eyes.

  Nothing.

  “You released your sebi too soon,” he said. “You wanted to show off.”

  “How could you know that?”

  “You smirked just before you released the invocation,” he said. “Do it again!”

  I huffed and adjusted my shoulders. I was a trained arcanist with decades of study in the University and I was being showed up by a tattooed gorilla.

  “Sebi. Yili. Agoti,” he shouted.

  I closed my eyes and focused once again on the waves. The yili filled my mind just as quick as it had before. I raised my hand. My whole mind went white as the force of a massive palm struck me on the back of my head and nearly sent me over the rail.

  A roar of laughter came from Reno, “You must block out everything. Your life, the lives of your men depend on your ability to cast that spell. Again!”

  I sneered and adjusted my neck. The back of my head still stung from the last strike.

  “Sebi. Yili. Agoti,” the massive man shouted.

  I was reluctant to close my eyes again. I tried to set my sebi with my eyes open, but just couldn’t do it. I closed my lids and focused on the arcane Fabric. The sense of the yili around me was comforting. Without opening my eyes, I thrust my hand out to the horizon and shouted the invocation for fire in a guttural yell. I sensed the energy of the sea flow through me into the sky at the point I selected.

  As I opened my eyes, I could see a small flame flickering on the horizon, the ball of fire no larger than a cooking fire. A loud pop reverberated over the water as the Fabric released the excess energy. My father called them the Novice’s Thrum, a spell with too much yili pushed through a thread. It was a clear sign of how inefficient the spell was.

  “Good,” Reno said. “I expect you to do that anytime I command it, understood?”

  I nodded.

  “Jabnit! Let us raise the stakes,” the brute said as he pulled his cutlass from his waist.

  The orc, leaned against the mast, pulled his own cutlass and a dagger, and approached.

  In the days I had been on board the Delilah Fritzbink I had grown accustomed to rounds of combat with Jabnit and even occasionally Reno, but never had I tried to fight both at the same time.

  It’s just like drunks at the Sextant. Breathe and dodge.

  Reno’s heavy cutlass arced wide on my left side. I twisted and allowed the blade to crash into the deck. Jabnit had closed the distance faster than I had expected and was close enough to swing his cutlass toward my midsection. The height difference made it easy to use my dagger to deflect the blade into the deck.

  “Fireball, starboard side!” Reno shouted.

  I extended my arm and launched a pathetic flame that flickered over the open water, then turned back to see Jabnit’s dagger race toward me. I spun on the ball of my foot and used the orc’s momentum to pull him off balance and across the deck.

  “Sebi. Yili. Agoti,” the battle mage shouted. “Fireball, larboard side!”

  I focused on the flame, but the flat of Reno’s sword struck my arm as I attempted the invocation.

  “Sebi! Yili! Agoti!”

  Jabnit feigned a low strike with his cutlass and brought his dagger across the front of my chest. I rocked backwards, but the sharp blade found purchase in my tunic and cut a small gash across my chest.

  “Master Dufor, I believe it’s time for your combat lessons!” Reno shouted up to the quarterdeck then extended his massive boot into my chest.

  Still off balance from Jabnit’s attack, the boot connected and sent me sprawled to the deck near the ladder to the quarterdeck. I looked up and saw the Cort, blade drawn, leap from the ladder to strike down at me. I rolled, and his cutlass crashed into the deck.

  “Water Column, starboard side!” Reno shouted.

  I anticipated the next command, but the call for water caught me by surprise. I let a flame go over the waves. It sputtered and collapsed in an instant. “Dammit,” I said.

  “That does not look like water, Master Alsahar,” Reno shouted. “There is water all around us if you need a reminder.”

  He had taken up a position near the forecastle, with Jabnit on the starboard side and Cort on the larboard.

  Jabnit slashed at me with his cutlass, high and wide, as Cort followed with a low thrust to my midsection.

  I stepped closer to Jabnit, inside his reach and struck him in the thigh with my open hand as I deflected Cort’s blade with my dagger.

  “Fireball, starboard! Water Column, larboard!” Reno shouted.

  I released a ball of flame no larger than my fist and used the motion of summoning the water column to connect a punch across Jabnit’s chin. The fist connected but managed little more than a strong wave.

  Jabnit reeled backward from the unexpected punch, and Reno took a step forward and hurled a harpoon at me. I stepped left and shoved Cort as hard as I could.

  I shouted the invocation for wind and thrust both hands forward. A breeze caught the sails, enough to heave the ship forward and throw both Reno and Jabnit off balance.

  “Good!” Reno shouted as he regained his footing. “Use the environment to your advantage.”

  Cort found his balance as the ship swayed and pressed me with a series of wild swings which forced me to retreat.

  “Pull your yili from the surrounding commotion,” Reno shouted.

  I adjusted my sebi, pulled the yili from the energy of the battle, and gasped. It was as though Cort and Jabnit moved at a fraction of the speed they had been fighting. I found their attacks sluggish, easier to deflect, and could even find opportunities to riposte Jabnit.

  “Fireball, starboard side!” Reno shouted.

  I released the yili over the starboard sid
e in a fist-sized ball of flame and another Thrum.

  My attackers used the sudden release of energy to attack with renewed speed. Jabnit rushed forward and landed a strong right cross to my chin that sent me backwards. Cort lashed out with his blade. He managed a strike or two before they slowed again.

  “Lightning, larboard side!” the brute bellowed.

  Lightning? I don’t even know the right word to call. I used the arcane word for spark and brought my fist down to the deck as a flicker of purplish energy crackled against the water only a fathom from the rails. An observer would be hard-pressed to call it lightning, but the Thrum was deafening.

  The two combatants rushed forward. I parried a strike from Cort and dodged an offhand blow from Jabnit. I rolled underneath the ladder to the quarterdeck as the two attackers slowed again.

  I focused on the motion of the ship, on the movement of my sparring partners.

  From the stern of the ship came a thunderous roar and beating of massive leathery wings. An enormous red dragon hovered over the stern of the ship.

  “Dragon astern!” Bly shouted from the forecastle.

  “No shit!” Lieutenant Bitar said as she threw the tiller to one side. The Delilah Fritzbink listed hard as the ship tacked starboard to escape the dragon.

  Jabnit and Cort dropped their weapons to the deck, their eyes transfixed on the serpent.

  The dragon lowered its head, level with the ship and snorted a puff of air that stunk of sulfur and burning cinders.

  Reno stood full upright and applauded. “Enough!” he bellowed. And just as at it had appeared, the dragon was no more.

  I stepped out from underneath the ladder and Reno clapped me on the back and laughed.

  “The sulfur scent was a nice touch, but dragons don’t smell like cinder close up,” he said.

  “What the fuck!” Bitar shouted from the quarterdeck.

  “Just an illusion,” Reno replied. “A damned good one too.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Each day we drew closer to Whyte Harbor. Each day I grew somewhat more confident in my abilities to defend myself. It became a routine. Wake up, wash, eat, fight.

  I would tend to any wounds on the ship, most often my own, for a few turns. After my rounds, I got an evening meal, followed by more fighting. We battled until the glow of fireballs exploding over the water was the only light we could see.

  Parries and ripostes filled my dreams. Day after day, eight turns of combat training as the Delilah Fritzbink glided toward the inevitable. Toward my fears. Toward the unknown.

  I can never repay Reno and Captain Azpa for keeping my mind occupied during those days. There wasn’t enough time to fret over what would happen when I got to Whyte Harbor. I had to stay focused for the next attack that could come at any moment.

  Jabnit proved to be a deep well of wisdom on the art of the blade. I soon learned foundational positions of the Orcish War Dance, a series of movements intended to teach young orcs how to use a blade in combat.

  By the third day of intensive training I was as comfortable with a blade in my hand as Cort. Much of my confidence in combat came from years of dodging fists in Dockside. Soon, Reno encouraged other members of the crew to fight one-on-one or in pairs, all under his watchful eyes.

  First was sailmaker Kane Cloud, a burly Aeromonian who smelled like he had just a crawled out of a tobacco jar. His swings were wide, uncontrolled, and allowed me to climb easily inside his reach and land attacks with my dagger, a move Jabnit called Burrowing Rabbit.

  After the sailmaker came the carpenters, Suud Amari, the dark-skinned Drakkan, and the one-eyed Elazaro Wion. Suud preferred dual daggers while Elazaro opted for a rapier. Suud tried his best to circle behind me while the cyclops tried to dazzle me with flourishes and motions Jabnit described as useless dancing.

  If his flourishes provided any tell, it made it clear Elazaro had never battled a gnome before. Each of his ornate strikes ended two hands above my head before he returned to his starting position with a swish of the thin blade.

  “Movement,” Jabnit explained, “should be deliberate. You should conserve your energy, your body ready to react, to strike.”

  As Elazaro twirled into me with a fresh series of strikes, I stepped to my left and pulled the yili from his blade. The well of energy grew inside me and the blade slowed. With a deliberate step I closed the distance between us, set my sebi and thrust my heel into the instep of his foot and shouted the arcane word for rock. It was my own take on the Angered Mule position. The sound of bones snapping reverberated on the deck followed by the screams of Elazaro as he fell.

  I pulled back to a defensive stance, Greedy Goblin, but as I set my feet, I felt the sting of steel rip across my back. Suud found an opportunity while I was distracted and struck. The Drakkan pushed through the blow to knock me off my feet. As I tumbled, I felt the second dagger slide between my lower ribs.

  I opened my mouth to scream but could only taste blood. I tried to gather the yili, to set my sebi to seal the wound. As my knees hit the deck, I felt cold. Darkness consumed my vision. Somewhere in the distance I heard shouts. Someone called for the surgeon.

  ***

  “When I said I would see you after the midday meal,” Tomas said, “I did not mean as a patient.”

  Once again, I woke in the doctor’s bed. The round, red-faced medic stood over the console and poured himself a glass of a whiskey. On the floor next to me lay Elazaro, unconscious, his foot wrapped in a splint.

  “Is he well?” I asked, my head still spinning.

  “Physician, heal yourself,” Tomas said with a chuckle as he sipped his drink. “He will be fine, though you broke his foot in four places. It took a turn to set the bones. And that was after I closed you up.”

  He collapsed in the chair next to bed with a huff. “You may have a yili as endless as the sea,” he waved his drink for emphasis, “but I am spent.”

  Within a moment the heavy breath from the chair became a snore.

  I reached down and touched the bare side of my chest. There was a raised scar, about the size of my thumb, between my ribs on my lower left side. A few ribs higher and Suud would have undoubtedly received a medal from the Watch: For Service to the Commonwealth.

  The waves crashed against the hull. I concentrated on the water, the rocking of the ship, found the yili, and pulled it inside. With the warmth of light inside my chest, I set my sebi on Elazaro and began the incantation to fuse the broken bones. There was a sickly pop as a fracture Tomas had missed moved into place. Elazaro shot up on his bedroll with a piercing scream.

  Tomas, shaken from his slumber, looked around confused. Elazaro was panting, wide-eyed from the pain.

  “I—I set the foot,” I said. “There was a missed fracture. I was trying to help fuse the bones, perhaps get him walking again. I didn’t expect there to be an unset fracture.”

  Tomas walked around to where the carpenter sat next to the bed and knelt to examine the foot. Elazaro winced in pain. The doctor prodded and ran a firm finger down the instep.

  “I will be damned,” Tomas said. “I will be damned. Well, it looks like you will be walking again in no time, Zaro!”

  The doctor turned to me, “And if you are well enough to heal others, you are well enough to recover in your own cabin.”

  “So, I can go?” the carpenter asked.

  “You can,” the doctor said. “Cort!”

  The hatch opened, and the shaggy haired boy stuck his head into the cabin.

  “Get a few men and have them help Mister Wion to his bunk,” the doctor said. “And then come claim your cabinmate.”

  “Yessir,” the boy said and darted from the room. A moment later he was back and helped me to my feet.

  As we stepped into the passageway, my right arm slung over his shoulder for support, he said “You can sleep in my rack tonight. You’ll tear your wounds open again if you climb up there.”

  I nodded, too weak to argue with him.

  “By the way,
that’s four.”

  “Four what?”

  “Shirts. That’s the fourth shirt of mine you’ve slashed and bled on. You know it’ll be colder in Whyte Harbor. I’d like to have a few when we get there.”

  “Cort,” I said as I pulled my legs onto the soft hay mattress and lay back, “When this is all over, I’ll buy you a dozen shirts and the nicest boots in Drakkas Port.”

  “If you insist,” he said and climbed into the hammock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  On the sixteenth day of the voyage, I awoke in my hammock to the rhythmic swaying of choppy seas. In his usual fashion, Cort dressed and headed to the main deck before my feet touched the timbers of our cabin deck. I washed my face and noticed the stubble was filling into a full beard.

  I had given up shaving in the mornings a few days after the whipping. In part it was to let the wounds on my neck heal, but I thought it a small form of rebellion. They could have their uniforms and regimented days. I would have a beard.

  After a span of growth, the short black scruff and my brown skin made me look older, like a sailor, like the old salts that often floated into the Rusted Sextant with the tide. I wasn’t the only crew member with a beard. Bly and Elazaro both wore full beards, and Captain Azpa had a neatly trimmed goatee. But this was my rebellion, worn openly, flaunted.

  Blessings to Lar, I had figured out a way to wash my only pair of pants. I lathered them with a lye soap, tied them at the leg with a line, and cast them overboard. By the end of the first span they smelled worse than the lower decks. I also was more careful of damaging Cort’s shirts. Though in a three-on-one spar with Reno, Jabnit, and Suud, I lost another when Reno caught my shirt with the tip of his cutlass and tore it from my body. Cort had fifteen shirts when he left Drakkas Port. Now he was down to ten. At the rate I was going, we would both be reporting for training bare chested soon.