The Dark Sea Beyond

by Rye Sobo

  Duk climbed into the carriage, and the two men took their places on the back. His eyes were wide with horror as he watched me put on my trousers.

  “What?” The jostle of the carriage as we rushed through the streets of Drakkas Port toward the Dragon Gate did not sit well with my stomach. “You look worse than I feel, Duk.”

  “A stark nude Fatin Tuhon just asked if I would be her gnomedaddy since you were leaving.” Duk refused to make eye contact, just stared at the empty seat across from him.

  Duk’s secretary snickered.

  “Told you, cockblock.”

  “How did you run up a seventy-five silver head tab in just three days?”

  “I’wassa good party.”

  “For seventy-five heads the food better have been served by nude elven maidens on golden platters.”

  I smiled at my brother. Duk was eighty-five when the empire collapsed. At the end of his second century, he had little patience for my antics. His own children were about my age, and he often treated me more as a child than his brother.

  “You did not.” His voice became shrill when he was stressed.

  “That’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll remember it for next time.”

  Duk let out a deep sigh. “We need to get you cleaned up. You can’t go to the Enclave looking like you have been on a ten-day bender.”

  “It’s been closer to seventy days, so—thank you.”

  Duk shook his head and sighed.

  The secretary leaned her head out of the window of the carriage and shouted, “Merrywood.”

  “Yip,” came from behind me, the driver.

  “You will need to look like the youngest son of Ignis and Zori Alsahar when we arrive at the Enclave,” Dem said, “not Madam Tuhon’s gnomedaddy.”

  “I thought that was you now.”

  “I am not,” Duk’s voice rose an octave in protest.

  The carriage passed through the Dragon Gate and was enveloped by a darkness never experienced by the denizens of the city. As the carriage swayed toward Merrywood, and Duk rambled on, I fell into a deep slumber.

  ***

  The path to the Dwarven Enclave of Stormreach was a road little bigger than the carriage which ran along a high cliff. I pressed myself into the seat, careful not to look out the window, and took a swig of whiskey. The better part of the last three days of travel was a drunken haze. Ignis met us at Merrywood the morning after Duk and I arrived. They tossed me into a bath, after which I shaved, and dressed in Duk’s clothes, constricting and uncomfortable.

  By midday we were on our way toward the Stormreach Mountains with a considerable entourage: servants; drivers; guards; Duk’s personal secretary, Orlina; and five scholars from the University eager to gain access to the reclusive Enclave for a few days.

  As we passed through the massive stone gates of the Enclave’s outer walls, we found the ancient mountain city decorated for festivity. Crimson and gold flags of the Commonwealth were a stark contrast to the cloudy gray skies.

  I thought the flags, banners, and bunting odd, since everything I had ever read about the dwarves showed they were a fierce warrior culture with little interest in festivities that didn’t involve bloodshed.

  “They won’t make me fight, will they?”

  “It’s not that kind of event,” Duk said.

  The carriage pulled through the gates of Pallinar, the palace of the famed King of the Enclave. Just beyond the rising bronze domes of Pallinar, the Great Spire pierced the thick grey clouds.

  My father stepped from the carriage, and a burly dwarf with a beard the same color of the clouds embraced the elder gnome. My brother followed, and the dwarf gave him the same reception.

  “Here we go.” I handed my drink to the Orlina, took a deep breath, and took the two steps of the carriage with grace and poise.

  Duk’s carriage, however, had three steps. I clipped my heel on the final rung. The cumbersome clothes Duk had dressed me in made any form of maneuvering impossible. I tumbled face first into the stone at the foot of the dwarf who let out a deep laugh before offering a hand.

  “Ofta great start, lad. Least Lulu wasn’t here to see it. Auch, ye got a bitta red on ye.” The dwarf offered me a cloth to wipe the blood away. “Ye wee ones break so easy.”

  Duk rolled his eyes, then spoke in a near falsetto, “Balfour, we appreciate you inviting us.”

  I know that name. Why did I know that name?

  “Well, s’not mah decision to make,” Balfour said. “But it might be a short trip fer ye.”

  Duk’s sharp breath blew two clouds of steam from his nostrils like a dragon. Even in the summer the Enclave was at an elevation that remained cold year round.

  “Has Remus made it back?” Duk’s voice raised another octave.

  “Won’t make it, sadly. He’s headed to Maropret,” Balfour said as he led us into Pallinar. “C’mon, let’s get ye some drink and calm ye nerves. Any higher, Duk, and the dogs’ll be howling.”

  Balfour led us through the wide stone hallways of Pallinar to a spacious room decorated with a menagerie of taxidermy creatures, large comfortable chairs, and a massive stone fireplace. With drinks in hand, Duk, Ignis, and Balfour set to discussing Drakkan politics while I perused the library.

  A turn after we arrived in the great room, a young dwarven woman entered, flanked by attendants. Perhaps only eighteen years old, she wore a green dress in the traditional dwarven style. She had green eyes that sparkled in the firelight, brilliant red hair, and a short, braided beard.

  We all stood as she entered the room.

  Balfour walked over the young dwarven woman and kissed her forehead. “Allow me to present my daughter, Lusia Stormjaw, Princess of the Reach. Lulu, this is Professor Ignis Alsahar and his sons Dukhan and Ferrin.”

  Ignis and Duk gave a nod of respect to the young woman.

  I raised my glass in salute, “Princess.”

  Ignis slumped and rubbed his temples. Balfour’s face soured, but regained his composure. “Lulu, would ye like to show Ferrin the gardens?”

  ***

  By the time we returned from our walk, four turns had passed. As we entered the great hall, I could hear the talk of politics as though we had just left. How are they still at it?

  “Well?” Balfour asked with a practiced look of pained understanding already on his face.

  Lusia looked to her father with a smile, “I like him. He could be fun to break.”

  Balfour raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise, “Are ye sure?”

  “It is so,” she said.

  Balfour nodded, “Well then, it is so.”

  “It is so,” I echoed. “Just don’t call me gnomedaddy.”

  Lusia let out a delicate chuckle, “Daen’t worry about that.”

  Duk’s voice returned to a falsetto, “And with that, we should retire for the evening.”

  “Right.” Balfour looked at me over once more, then turned to Ignis. “We’ll sort out the specifics later.”

  Ignis nodded and several dwarven attendants led us to a comfortable suite of rooms where we found the rest of our entourage.

  The following morning, the reason for Ignis’s trip sorted while I was away, we prepared to leave for Drakkas Port. Lusia did not appear to send us off, as I hoped she would, but Balfour was there with a large toothy grin. He embraced us each and waved as our carriage departed.

  When we passed through the massive stone gates of the Enclave, Duk turned to address me, “What in ten hells did you say on that walk?”

  “We talked about Pallum and the history of the city,” I said. “She was impressed by how much of the history I knew. We talked about life at the University. She’s attending now. Things like that.”

  “Well, at any rate, congratulations, Fer,” Duk said. He poured a healthy glass of whiskey and placed it in my hands.

  “On what? Not making a fool out of you? Did you sort out whatever you came here for? I was expecting to be there for a few days.”

  “Ten
gods among us, Ferrin, did you listen to anything I said on the way here?”

  “As little as possible, Duk.” I took a swig of the whiskey.

  “Congratulations on your engagement to Princess Lusia, son,” Ignis said.

  I spat my drink out, covering Ignis and Orlina in a fine mist of the eighteen-year-old whiskey. I coughed as the liquor burned my throat. “My what?!”

  “King Balfour agreed to let Lusia consider you as a suitor. The wedding won’t be until after she completes her studies at the University,” Duk said.

  “Which will be in three to five years,” Ignis added.

  “But what of Madam Tuhon?”

  “To the hells with Tuhon,” Duk shouted, his voice raising in pitch.

  “Dwarves are surprisingly comfortable with extramarital relations,” Ignis said. “Do whatever you wish to Tuhon, but once your mother finds out, expect to be caught in flagrante.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Iwas adrift, alone on that door for days. I discovered a wooden tankard floating on the waves. It took days of trial and error before I discovered the arcane words to desalinate the seawater.

  The nights grew longer. It would soon be Nexis soon, if it wasn’t already. This far north the sun might not rise over the horizon for spans.

  Each time a piece of wood drifted close enough to reach, I fastened it to the door with a strip of cloth from my shirt.

  When night came, I recited the same prayer:

  Commander Ferrin Alsahar of Drakkas Port died in service the Southern Empire Trading Company. Though we commit his body to the deep, we ask Lady Nex to guide his spirit to a peaceful slumber. Blessings upon you, Father, Lord of the Deep. I am but a humble sailor, cast upon your waves. Lord Aequor, god of the seas, I have offered you everything I have but my life. I humbly ask that you watch over me. Protect me, until the day you call me home. Perhaps this is that day.

  ***

  Eleven days after the Kraken pulled the Delilah Fritzbink beneath the waves a large chunk of mast moved close enough to my raft for me to grab hold of it. Draped over the spar was the body of a man, Claudio. I pulled the mast section to the raft; he groaned as the waves jostled him.

  He was alive!

  I pulled Claudio onto my raft of debris, closed my eyes and pulled the yili of the sea into me and felt stronger, more alive, than I had in days. I set my sebi on the captain and spoke the words I learned in Tomas’s book. The energy of the sea flooded into the near-dead man. I held him so he wouldn’t roll into the water. He inhaled and coughed.

  “Where?” it was all he got out.

  “No idea, drifting east for the last eleven days,” I handed him my tankard of fresh water.

  He slurped it down and opened his eyes. “Still you,” he said with a sigh.

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  He laughed. “Could be worse.”

  “Than floating adrift on the open sea after the Kraken ripped your ship apart and left you for dead?”

  “When you put it like that.”

  I laughed.

  “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Occasionally a fish will move close enough to surface to grab.”

  “Reno, you taught him so much, but nothing useful,” Claudio said. He closed his eyes for a moment. At first, I thought he had fallen asleep, then he shouted an arcane phrase in a graveled, broken voice. A large fish materialized in his open hands.

  My eyes widened. I had subsisted off bait fish for a span. With a word Claudio had conjured a feast.

  ***

  After fifteen days adrift, sails appeared on the horizon. I used all the energy I had to will the current toward the ship.

  As the sails grew larger on the horizon, Claudio conjured a bright, colored flare above us.

  The ship, a sloop from Maropret headed toward Whyte Harbor, hoisted its sails and pulled us from the water.

  They were certain we were dead. The crew had found several corpses along the voyage, along with the debris of several destroyed ships. They dragged us aboard, and gave us food, water, and dry blankets. I found a comfortable spot on their deck and fell asleep for what seemed like days.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  There was a knock at the door of the cabin Claudio and I shared. A young human boy, no older than Cort, opened the door without waiting for a reply.

  “Captain Azpa, Sergeant Leon, the captain said to tell you we will arrive in Whyte Harbor in about a turn,” the boy said. He withdrew as quick as he entered, off to continue his tasks.

  “Of all the names—”

  “His was on the manifest.”

  “There were others.”

  “No one would believe for a moment you were a deckhand.”

  I snorted at the accusation.

  We had been aboard the King Ta’Ruh for twenty-five days. Claudio, ever cautious of my capture, identified me as his first mate, Reno Leon. The crew dismissed my confusion when they called me by the name of my dead shipmate. Two spans on the open ocean without food or water can do that.

  Even now, a month under the assumed name, my stomach still knotted to hear it.

  We had no personal items to collect, the notification was more a formality in our case. Captain Franciz Isem would report her two castaways to the Harbor Master as the law required her. The Watch would want to interview us, verify we weren’t victims of a mutiny.

  “As soon as the gangplank is across, we make our way to the Empire,” I ran through our plan one last time.

  “With any luck, the station manager here will be competent enough to help us evade more prying questions,” Claudio said.

  “What if the army is still patrolling the harbor?”

  “Then we will just have to improvise,” he said. “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  Claudio and I left the cabin and climbed the narrow ladder to the deck of the Ta’Ruh. The Whyte Citadel perched like a beacon high atop the island just off our bow.

  We joined Captain Isem and navigator Ensign Vela at the tiller. I studied the shape of the Citadel. No dragons perched atop the battlements, a good sign. Just below the Citadel was the bulk of the city, a few temples, the telltale trappings of a marketplace, and a thick cluster of houses. Along the harbor rose large trading houses and lines of warehouses along the waterfront. No walls.

  The icy water lapped against the hull of the sloop. Much like the Pomsta, the deck of the Ta’Ruh was low to the waterline with three masts along her centerline. Her sleek profile and light displacement helped with fast runs between islands—fast being a relative term. The Fritzbink, for example, had a deep draft and the power of a single sail. She could never run against the Azurean Current on her own, even with two casters filling her canvas the entire route.

  Our return trip from Whyte Harbor, had things gone to plan, would have taken us around Whyte Harbor and down the western side of the archipelago which dotted the map from Drakkas Port to Whyte Harbor.

  ***

  No sooner than when the mooring line met the iron cleat did we bid farewell to Captain Isem. We reminded her again she could find us at the Empire. Returning two Empire crewmen, officers no less, to port would earn her and her crew a comfortable payment from Zori.

  The harbor was a tangle of people from all ports moving with the same swiftness of Dockside. I followed Claudio as he pushed through the crowds and attempted to stay clear of the Watch and the Harbor Master’s tower.

  “Have you thought about where you will go next?” Claudio chatted nervously as he maneuvered the throngs of people.

  After all of this, I wanted to go home. “Drakkas Port,” I said.

  “You will face certain imprisonment if you return, no?”

  “Whatever I face there, it is far better than what I’ve experienced,” I said, “storms, pirates, the fucking Kraken!”

  Claudio just laughed.

  I fixated on one ship, near the quay wall: a vessel crafted of dark timbers and an unusual design. The markings on her hull were out of
place, neither Imperial nor Drakkan. A sailor came from below decks on the strange ship. He was pale-skinned with golden hair. That’s when I realized the markings were in Eisiger. This was a Nivalean ship. My heart raced. Had the pirates come here? No, that was ridiculous. They must be traders from the northern continent.

  Claudio turned at the sea wall and followed a line of warehouses.

  “You said you wanted adventure, my friend,” Claudio continued his conversation again as we pushed closer together around stevedores with carts of cargo. “What life is waiting for you back home? Even if the Watch does not throw you into prison?

  “My life,” I said.

  “Sharing someone else’s tales in a seedy tavern? Bedding barmaids and merchants’ daughters?” Claudio laughed. “You could do that in any land, as a free man! And they would be your own stories to tell.”

  We reached a towering building with a familiar crest above the door, The Southern Empire Trading Company.

  “Just something to think about,” Claudio said as he pushed open the polished oak door of the trading house.

  “Good morning, gentle—ten hells you are dead!” The thin clerk behind the desk leaped to his feet, and rushed toward the both of us.

  “We are not dead, Barnaby, just—detained,” Claudio said opening his arms to embrace the clerk.

  Barnaby ducked under Claudio’s arms and ran to the door, hefted a large oak plank and slid it into iron brackets on either side of the frame, barricading the door. He turned back to us.

  “You don’t understand. You are dead,” he panted as he ducked under Claudio’s still outstretched arms and back to his desk. “I filed the paperwork a month ago. The Harbor Master declared the Delilah Fritzbink lost in that massive storm back in Panis.”

  The clerk shuffled documents on his desk, searching for something, perhaps proof we were not permitted to still be alive. He paused and looked at the two of us. Claudio put his arms down, resigned to the fact his clerk had declared him dead and was not happy to see us debating the fact.