Blood Of The Righteous

by J. E. Sandoval

  Two of the barrels had found their way to David’s cabin, where he had quickly tapped one. He couldn’t stand the strong mead that the crew drank, and the water had quickly gone tepid in the hold barrels. David longed for a cup of his father’s sweet wine, but such a fine luxury might raise some eyebrows of the crew, and even make him the object of ridicule. Anytime someone complained or acted like they were too good for what was available, crewmen heckled the man and quickly put a stop to the offending behavior.

  David took a bite of his hardtack, left over from Doc’s skillygalee and dandyfunk prepared for dinner. He washed it down with the final drink of his cup of cider. Although Corwyn had considered the dishes “good grubbin’,” to David, they left a lot to be desired. Then again, Fyke had always used the phrase “good grubbin’” when describing anything he ate.

  “Planning your next mercantile conquest, Davey?”

  David jumped, startled at the sound of Fyke’s voice, almost sliding off of the jib boom. He swung his legs around, facing the flamboyant first mate. “Of course, Mr. Fyke,” he replied, sliding back down to the deck. “Nothing like the sound of gold in one’s pocket to keep a crew motivated, eh?”

  “Indeed,” said Fyke. “Quite a bit of haul you’ve brought us over the last month. And I have to say, talking Wembly out of the salt contract, then getting him to thank you for it, quite a bit of masterful fast talking.”

  David shrugged. “He wouldn’t have made any money off of it. New Portsmouth has probably already fallen without a battle. Lord Eddington will align himself with whoever he thinks the victor will be. In fact, he probably welcomed the Aragil army with open arms and a kiss.”

  Fyke chuckled. “Hey David, do you have anything on you? Doc shorted me on the dandyfunk and I’m a might peckish.”

  “Oh, certainly.” David reached into his pouch and pulled out several hardtacks. “Here you go. Plenty more if you want them.”

  Corwyn broke a piece off and popped it in his mouth. “Ah, good grubbin’. Here, watch this.”

  Fyke looked around to make sure Doc was nowhere in sight, and crumbling one of the hardtacks, he threw it over the side. When the crumbs hit the ocean, the water looked to come alive as scores of fish came to the surface to feast upon the remains of the biscuit.

  David grinned at the sight, as he had never seen anything like it before. The more he got to know the sea, the more he loved it. From the dolphins that would jump in their wake to the large sea turtles and mantas he would catch glimpses of, everything fascinated him like a child receiving gifts on the morning of Christ’s birth.

  “Funny stuff, eh Tanner?” said Fyke with a grin. “Just don’t let Doc catch you doing that. He gets a might pissed when anyone wastes any of his good grubbin’.”

  “Mr. Fyke, where did you pick up that phrase, good grubbin’?” asked David.

  “Ah, just something they used to say a lot back home.”

  “Home? Where do you hail from?”

  Fyke cocked his tricornered hat and looked off into the distance, scratching his bearded chin. “I grew up downwind from the Ordures Blanches, leagues southeast here. Quite the simmering stink pot, but it is home. My family settled there right after the Rain of Fire, and most of them never left. Of course if you stay, by the time you are 30 you no longer have a sense of smell.”

  “How old were you when you left?”

  “About 16, I guess. I don’t know, Tanner. I’ve lost track of the years.”

  David suspected Fyke had lost his sense of smell long before he left home, given the gloppy gruel he would often proclaim as good grubbin’.

  “Well, if you will excuse me, Tanner, I’ve a need of something with which to wash down that there hardtack.” With a grin and a nod, Fyke excused himself.

  David turned his attention back to the sea. He crumbled up a hardtack and threw it into the water as he had seen Fyke do. The water came to life with many more fish than before as they competed for the precious bits of biscuit, bringing a grin back to David’s face.

  “’Ey, Tanner,” Edge called from atop the forecastle. “How’s about I teach ya how ta throw some knives t’morrow?”

  “Anything you say, Edge!” he hollered back.

  “Good! Come find me after yer mornin’ meetin’ with the Cap’n!” Edge turned and jumped down back to the spar deck.

  “And I’ll teach you to talk so you don’t sound like you have a head full of rocks,” he said under his breath. David climbed back up onto the jib boom, letting his mind once again become lost in the rhythm of the ship upon the sea. It would soon be dark, but David didn’t worry. He hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks, and he suspected he wouldn’t again in a long time. Finally, he felt safe.

  * * * * * *

  A warm breeze from the sea blew in through the open stained glass windows, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks outside. An ancient oak carved table sat in the middle of the room under the domed ceiling. It was filled with delicacies from Ulster to Rome. Stuffed pheasant under glass, steaming beef seasoned with exotic spices, legs of lamb, suckling pigs, and a variety of bread dishes cut a sharp contrast with the skeletal guards that lined the walls. Laughter and merriment echoed, mixed with the rolling of waves. The fifteen men rose from their seats, lifting the fine crystal goblets in a toast to their success.

  Sagaroth took a deep drink of the dark red wine. To him, it tasted bitter and sour, although he had been told that it was a fine, exquisite vintage from southern Gaul. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, in spite of his country being famous for its vast vineyards and wineries. A tall pint of ale or dark beer was more to his liking, or a strong whiskey.

  He watched Kadeus take a dainty little sip of the wine. The man still confounded him. Something about him made Sagaroth feel drawn to him, yet repulsed by everything in his being.

  Eight of the other men in the room were apprentices to the Great Necromancer. One of the remaining six one wore a royal adviser’s robe with the colors of Elgannan. Sagaroth guessed he was a member of King Nicolae’s high council. Another dressed in a manner he didn’t recognize, but he surmised the man was most likely from Gylinia. Yet another wore the markings of the Caledonian royal court. The red cloak of a Fallen Holy Defender draped the shoulders of the next. Standing next to Dameus was a hulking barbarian dressed in animal skins, biting into a large fowl leg. The man was wielding a large axe that emanated power like Sagaroth’s sword. The final man in their circle wore a long, hooded robe that marked him as a member of the church. The hood and the shadows masked his face from view.

  The barbarian examined his goblet and glanced Sagaroth’s way. “You enjoy this swill, general?” The man’s voice was loud and gruff, with a thick Scandinavian accent.

  Sagaroth smiled. “I have to admit that my tastes run more towards dark beers, but Dameus here tells me this is good as far as wine goes.”

  “Bah!” The barbarian emptied the contents of his goblet on the stone floor. “In my lands, we drink soured goats milk with hard grain mash and ox blood! That is the drink of a man, not this spoiled grape juice.”

  Several of the necromancers shook their heads and chuckled. “Lord Odin, your rusticated mannerisms never cease to entertain,” one stated.

  The Norse warrior blinked, not quite understanding what was said. His attention was quickly turned back towards his food.

  Kadeus set his cup down on the table. “I am happy to admit, gentlemen, that my early underestimation of General Sagaroth was in error. Minimal bloodshed with maximized results. Most impressive!”

  “Hear, hear!” echoed several around the table. Dameus rolled his eyes.

  The Great Necromancer continued. “I spoke with King Dorian this morning. He is prepared to execute the second part of our operation. The loss of the Blackrock mountains will strike a critical blow to Elgannan’s war effort and return things to a stalemate. K
ing Nicolae will be forced to plead with the church for aid.”

  He turned to the man in church robes. “And you are sure the archbishop will refuse?”

  The churchman gave a nod. “Yes. Neither he nor Bishop Sentius will act for fear of bringing the church into scandal.”

  “What of the Fallen?” Kadeus asked the man with the red cloak.

  He shook his head. “Nah. Much too busy cleaning up the church’s messes to be a threat.”

  The man in the Elgannan livery spoke up. “My agents will be sure to incite the commoners. The blame for their continued war strife will lie squarely upon the church.”

  Sagaroth was beginning to become confused. “Lord Kadeus, to what end is all of this intrigue? I have to admit to feeling a bit lost.”

  “Souls, my dear general. Souls.” Kadeus took another sip of his wine. “The Rain of Fire and the following upheaval were a mistake. Sudden disasters tend to cause people to turn to the enemy in droves. We lost many souls to heaven in that grand blunder, but Necromancer Tetramon will be paying for his errors for all eternity,” Kadeus said with a smarmy smirk. “This time, we shall do things a bit differently.”

  “People tend to get complacent in their spiritual lives when they are war weary, or especially if they are fat and happy, general,” said Dameus. “Here’s to a fat, happy, and spiritually deprived world!” Dameus raised his glass.

  “Hear, hear!” several of the necromancers said, draining their goblets. Skeletal servants ambled over to refill their cups.

  “I want no more of your putrid vinegar, vile stack of bones!” Odin said when one of them tried to pour.

  The necromancer Tolinar, seated directly across from Sagaroth, leaned forward. “What if the enemy decides to inspire the people by raising up a hero?”

  Kadeus gave a cocked smile. “That, my first apprentice, is the reason we shall have to remain ever vigilant.”

  A hushed silence came over the group. It was an uneasy silence that no one wanted to break. They began picking at their food, even though they were all gorged.

  The man in the Elgannan colors stood up. “Lord Kadeus, I think you for the wonderful meal. However, I must be going before I am missed. I have a meeting with King Nicolae in the morning, and my assistants will wish to brief me before nightfall.”

  “Yes, I must retire as well,” said the Caledonian lord.

  “Very well,” said Kadeus. “I shall send you all messages as needed. You all have your assignments. Meet with your operatives, and we shall gather again in two months to discuss any further developments.

  With a small commotion, the party began to break up. Most of the necromancers led the guests out of the room to transport them back to their homes. Aside from the skeletons cleaning up the remnants of the feast, Dameus waited until he and Kadeus were the only two left in the room.

  Dameus waited until Tolinar closed the large double doors behind him on his way out. “My lord, I believe I deserve some of the credit for what transpired in Lystra. It was I who did most of the dirty work. And while I wouldn’t dream of contradicting you in front of the others…”

  Kadeus interrupted. “Yes, I know. But General Sagaroth is relatively new to the upper echelon, and I want him to feel appreciated. It is he I shall be counting on if King Dorian decides to stop out of line. And besides, military types need to be talked up. We both know your contributions, and so does the master.”

  Dameus nodded, taking a large drink from his goblet.

  “Please, Dameus. Pouting doesn’t become you.”

  “I’m just cleansing my palate after sitting next to that barbarian Odin all night. I swear those people never bathe.”

  “Is there something else?” asked Kadeus.

  “Yes, there is,” said Dameus, slamming goblet down harder than necessary. “Sagaroth has an odd obsession with purity, and I am concerned about his dedication to the cause. He knocked out several of my teeth because Lady Ki Kalendeen was slain in the attack.” He leaned over and pointed at Kadeus. “I tell you, my lord, he wanted to bed her because of her purity and goodness. He is of two minds, that one. I am certain he is going to be a problem. I say we kill him now.”

  Kadeus thumped his chest with the top of his fist, freeing a belch. “Oh, Dameus, don’t be so extreme. The master wants the General in place to deal with any problems that arise in the south.”

  Dameus exhaled in frustration and sat back in his chair.

  “Ah. I see. Well, my second apprentice, if you feel so strongly about it, I had better heed your warning.” Kadeus took another dainty sip from his cup. “I suppose we had best keep Lord General Sagaroth under close surveillance.” He turned to Dameus and gave him a gloating smile. “I shall send you back with him.”

  Dameus sat straight up. “What? You can’t be serious! My lord, what about my research? I am so close to creating the new undead! Please, my lord! I must stay here!”

  “Tolinar will continue your research. He is much more capable and contented than you are. There will be less chance of things getting out of control with him, unlike with what happened on your last attempt. Now go.”

  Standing up quickly, knocking his chair over backwards, the second apprentice stormed out of the banquet hall without a word.

  Kadeus snickered, taking another sip of his wine.

  * * * * * *

  David leaned upon the poop deck railing at the Waverunner’s stern, watching the city of Port Maynard become little more than a speck on the horizon.

  It was another amazingly successful trip, resulting in enough money to buy some Gylinian luxury items such as wines, fine ales, and beers that would sell handsomely in Port Cauldwell. However, given the small amount of money left over for the crew after buying the commodities, David had received some angry stares. Still, the choice of more money later or a small amount now kept them from having to hire on more crewmen. Fyke had told him that with the exception of Captain Karinga himself, there wasn’t a decent sailor to be found in Gylinia’s southern port city, partly due to the war and partly due to the fact that they were mostly farmers. Decians, however, were natural born sailors, so David had concocted the plan to keep all of the current crew on board. Not one had of the men had cashed out and left.

  David smiled and turned, heading for his cabin. He had bought some sweet rolls and dried beef when they were ashore, and he was anxious to partake of the treats.

  A hard, wet object struck him in the back of the neck. A scrub brush landed on the ground next to him and skidded across the deck. David spun around to see who threw it.

  All six of the men were busy tending to various mizzen ropes that controlled the sails at the aft of the ship. All six were also trying to hide their snickering.

  He turned and continued towards the forecastle, when someone said “Popinjay!” in a falsetto. David stopped and walked over to where the men were working.

  “Do one of you have a problem?” he said, trying to show as much authority as he could muster.

  One of the deckhands, about three years older than David although much thinner, stepped forward and pushed the young Yeoman in the chest, shoving him a few steps back. “Never has to do any work, always lounges around dreaming. Now we’re not getting paid for our last trip!”

  “I assure you, you will get paid once we reach Port Cauldwell. Probably more money than you’ve ever had at one time in your entire life. Now get back to work and don’t bother me again!”

  The crewman glared daggers at David. “Oh yeah, you little fop? What if I want to do nothing like you do?” He shoved him again, driving the point home. A few other crewmen had come up from the quarterdeck to watch the altercation.

  “Don’t do this,” David said, trying to remain calm. “I am in no mood to explain my function on this ship to the likes of you. Now get back…” His words were interrupted with a stinging slap to his face.
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  David hesitated a second while the anger was unleashed within his blood, and he was on the older boy in an instant. He jumped, wrapping his arm around the boy’s neck. The crewman’s greasy hair enabled him to pull his head free and he punched David square in the stomach, making him stumble backwards.

  The boy picked up one of the wooden anchor pegs in the railing, sending a strand of rope flying upwards. A mizzen sail high above lost its wind and began flapping uncontrollably. Brandishing the peg like a club in his right hand, he stepped forward to pummel the young Yeoman. David, however, was ready for the strike. Recalling his martial lessons, he blocked upward with his left forearm impacting upon his attacker’s wrist, stopping the blow. Quickly, he reached up behind the boy’s arm with his right, and placing his right hand upon his left, David forced his arm back at a bad angle, popping the crewman’s shoulder out of the socket.

  The crewman dropped the peg anchor and screamed as David slammed him backwards to the ground. Instantly, David jumped upon his chest, straddling him. Grabbing a handful of greasy hair, he began to slam the boy’s head against deck. “Damn you! You bastard!” David’s screams carried across the entire ship as he released his pent up rage on the young sailor.

  A strong pair of hands pulled David from the battered crewman. “Enough, Yeoman! Its over!” Edge held onto David, waiting for him to stop flailing.

  “What in the hellfire is going on here?!?” screamed Captain Karinga as he climbed the ladder from the quarterdeck. Veins were popping from his neck as his face turned a deep shade of crimson. “You!” he said, pointed to one of the six poop deck crewmen. “Tell me what happened or I’ll throw you overboard!”

  The crewman shrank from Karinga’s gaze. “Young Georgie got a bit hot under the collar because he be workin’ all the time in the hot sun while Tanner stands around and does nothin’ all day!”

  Edge set David down, satisfied that he had finally settled. “Cap’n, Yeoman Tanner told them ta get back ta work, an that lad slapped him. Then Tanner beat the live long piss out of ‘im.”

  The captain looked at the boy, lying on the deck, arm twitching uselessly by his side. “Edge, pop his arm back in. Then give him five lashes for striking an officer and throw him in the brig! We’ll put him to shore when we reach Port Cauldwell.” Karinga turned and shouted to the rest of the crew. “And any other of you who have a problem with Yeoman Tanner’s duties aboard this ship, feel free to put some chum around your neck and swim back to Gylinia! The next person who disobeys his orders or dares pick a fight with him or any other of my officers will find themselves worked over so badly they’ll be wishing their pappy had pulled out early! Now back to work!”