Hero Of Slaves (Novella)

by Joshua P. Simon

  “Yeah, he’s one of the few good ones.” Raker’s voice turned serious. “But you haven’t had to take down a mage yourself yet. It ain’t fun.”

  “So, how do you do it?”

  “Easiest way would be to have Krytien handle the situation.” He chuckled. “But if you can’t do that, it’s all about distraction. Unless he’s got a lot of experience on him, a mage can’t be everywhere at once. Make him break his concentration, eat away at what’s protecting him, and then make your move.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” asked Cassus.

  Raker slapped him on the back. “Well, then you’re dead.”

  * * *

  A Byzernian sat with his ear against the door. He raised a hand and whispered. “He’s just coming down the stairs.”

  Cassus gave the signal. Several of the slaves yelled and pounded their fists into the walls.

  The guard called out over the racket. “What in the name of the One Above is going on in there?”

  Cassus quickly got into position behind a wooden post as the guard fumbled with his keys.

  The door swung open, and the guard stepped inside. “I thought you Byzernians didn’t believe . . .”

  Cassus leaped from behind the post as the guard entered the room. His hands, interlocked into one large fist, came down on the back of the guard’s head. The man dropped like a piece of severed rope.

  Snatching up the keys, Cassus handed them to Yenaz who unlocked his manacles before passing the keys off.

  As the others quickly unlocked themselves, Cassus asked. “How much time do we have?”

  Yenaz shrugged. “Hard to say, but only a few should be up at this hour and they should be too busy with their own duties to notice the guard is missing.” He looked at the unconscious man. “What do we do with him?”

  “Chain him up and gag him for now.” Cassus snatched the man’s sword and strapped it to his waist.

  The Byzernians split into two groups, carrying their old chains as weapons. Quai led one group to the crew’s sleeping quarters. Cassus needed them to prevent the sleeping guards from coming up to the main deck when engaging those on watch.

  Cassus and Yenaz took the second, larger group up one level. Along the way, they picked up anything they found that could be used as weapons.

  Yenaz led part of the group to a set of stairs on the starboard side while Cassus led the rest of the group to the port side.

  Cassus cautiously ascended the last steps leading to the main deck. The glow of the moon and stars shone brightly as he poked his head above. Past most of the ship’s cargo, two dozen men congregated at the ship’s bow.

  More than I expected.

  Roshan stood in the center of the men by the railing, practicing sorcery in the night sky. The crew appeared fascinated by the spectacle.

  Cassus cared little about the display. The blades hanging at the waists of the crew concerned him more. He ducked and looked back at the ragged men behind him wielding only pieces of wood, rope, and chain.

  One Above, help us.

  A brilliant ball of blue light erupted from the bow of the ship, illuminating the sky. Roshan intercepted the first ball with a second flash of green. Some of the men cheered while others grumbled. Money started to exchange hands.

  Men will bet on anything if you let them. The Hell Patrol sure used to.

  A hiss jarred him from his thoughts. He turned starboard. From the other stairwell opening on the other side of the deck, Yenaz gestured at the crew with a questioning look.

  Waiting for me to make the call.

  The original plan had been for Yenaz and the sorcerers to make their way to Melchizan’s and Roshan’s rooms under the stern castle. Cassus knew Yenaz and the others had a much better chance of taking the green-robed mage while he slept. While Yenaz took care of the leadership, Cassus had planned to seize control of the deck from the night crew.

  Now we have to not only cross half the ship to reach Roshan, but also get through two dozen armed men.

  Cassus thought about what his old friends would have done in that situation.

  Jonrell would have intimidated half the crew with his icy stare. Kroke wouldn’t have hesitated half as long as I have. He would have just pulled out his knives and started stabbing, hoping someone else would figure the rest out. And Raker would have just gone out there and spat in their face while waving his mace around like a lunatic.

  None of those things had ever been his way. He had killed men before and could defend himself if he had to. Yet fighting was the part of being in the Hell Patrol he had liked least.

  A mercenary who hated to fight. What a joke.

  Cassus gestured that his men would go first. He hated to be so cold about the matter, but none were skilled in sorcery. For their revolt to succeed, Yenaz’s group needed to live.

  He waited for Roshan to throw out his next spell, something that lifted a barrel off the deck and into the sky. Men laughed as three members of the crew pulled out their bows, and tried to hit the freewheeling piece of cargo. Cassus saw his chance. He bounded up the last several steps as quickly and as quietly as he could. He ducked low and raced to a large stack of crates on the port side of the ship.

  He inched his way toward the bow, glancing back to ensure the Byzernians followed at his heels. The last of his group made it safely out of the stairwell while the ruckus of the crew continued.

  Cassus peered around the corner of the last crate just as Roshan set the barrel down. One of the men had managed to hit it with an arrow.

  Roshan seemed to be enjoying himself, like he was almost one of the crew, and the men loved him for it. Everyone joked around as bets were paid off and new ones taken.

  The scene made Cassus hesitate.

  It’s like I’m staring into the past. That could almost be Krytien in Roshan’s spot and Raker leading off the bets while we all argued at his crummy odds.

  A touch on his arm snapped Casus out of his thoughts. The Byzernian looked worried.

  He’s got every right to be. I’m taking too long.

  Cassus held up his hand, and counted off backward. As each finger dropped, men squeezed their weapons and clenched their jaws. He couldn’t tell if they did so out of determination or fear.

  As his last finger closed into a fist, he spun around the crate and raised his sword as he ran. His thumping footsteps caused the crew to turn his way. Coins dropped to the deck as hands frantically went to their belts, searching for their weapons.

  For a moment, he worried that the slaves might not follow through with the plan—that he’d have to face everyone alone. But those thoughts vanished as he reached the first man still fumbling with his sword. The sailor looked up, eyes wide with fear. Cassus’ sword came down and bit into the man’s neck at the shoulder. Blood spurted upward and the ocean spray turned into a red mist.

  Cassus wrenched his sword loose as the man fell.

  A Byzernian rushed by him wielding a loose board as a club, shouting. Others followed at his heels. The first several Byzernians met a grim fate as most of the crew lashed out with gleaming blades. They easily turned away the first wave of inexperienced slaves. Yet, the Byzernians kept coming.

  They went through with it. People will be talking about this for centuries. The day the Byzernians stood up for themselves. And I’m part of it.

  The deck became a tangled mass. Men screamed, swore, cried, and choked on their own blood. Weapons slashed, hacked, stabbed, and bludgeoned. Sorcery shimmered, flamed, and pounded the air. Cassus wondered briefly if the historians would color the battle at sea differently than the ugly and awkward clash it had turned into.

  Cassus fought against the largest sailor on board—a man well-prepared for anything Cassus could throw at him. He ducked under, dodged around, and countered every trick Cassus had picked up from over a dozen years as a mercenary and ten years with his weapons master.

  A new wave of shouting joined the maelstrom of bodies on deck. From the corner of his eye, Cassus saw
Yenaz leading his group into the melee. Cassus and his opponent were jostled about, and temporarily split from one another.

  He took the chance to scan the deck and immediately wished he hadn’t. More than a dozen sailors had died, and over twice that many Byzernians. The remaining crew had managed to reform around Roshan.

  Roshan lifted the barrel the crew had used for target practice and flung it at Yenaz’s group. Men dove to either side before the projectile crashed into the chest of a man Cassus knew had been talented in sorcery. The Byzernian fell backward to the blood-slickened deck.

  A thick roar jarred Cassus. He ducked and rolled away from a sword stroke that struck the deck where he had been a moment before. The large sailor he had fought with, had managed to find him. The man charged and Cassus deflected his next strike while climbing to his feet. The man moved with surprising speed and Cassus barely managed to turn his blade in time to deflect the next blow. The man pressed relentlessly as each attack came faster than the last.

  Cassus had faced death many times before, but that didn’t make it any easier to stare it down again. The hardest of men might act as though they weren’t afraid to die, yet even they fought with everything they had in order to see one more day.

  Cassus’ sword rang against his opponent’s. The shock reverberated up his arms. He remembered his friend Raker.

  “When all else fails, do the stupidest thing you can think of.”

  “And then what?” Cassus had asked.

  The Hell Patrol’s engineer had grinned a wide smile of yellowed teeth. “While he’s trying to make sense of things, cheat. Spit in his eye or kick him in the balls. Do whatever comes naturally. Honor don’t mean anything in the end. All that matters is if you’re the one left breathing.”

  Tendrils of blue light danced overhead. The lines descended haphazardly, blasting the deck between them.

  What’s the stupidest thing I can think of?

  Cassus took Raker’s advice literally and jammed his sword point down into the deck as the sailor took a step toward him. His opponent paused in confusion with his sword arm cocked into the air. Cassus spat into the man’s wide eyes and followed it up with a kick to the man’s crotch. The sailor’s mouth opened in pain and surprise. Cassus flipped his sword up from the deck, and ran it through the sailor’s chest. Bones crunched as he twisted the blade. The man crumpled.

  I can’t believe that worked.

  Only six crewmembers remained, standing in a half-circle around Roshan while the mage picked off the slaves. The Byzernians did their best to protect Yenaz.

  He’s the best chance to take Roshan down.

  The slaves still had superior numbers, but unless they reached the mage soon, that would change. Cassus took a step forward to join the press, but stopped when he realized that the second Roshan saw him, he’d be dead.

  They don’t need another body. They need something to distract the surviving crew.

  He ran over to the foremast and began hacking away at the rigging of the lower mast sail. The white canvas flapped as Cassus cut away the last bit of rope. The sail dropped, blocking out the glow of the night sky. Eyes turned upward.

  Cassus rushed into the fray. He shouted and pushed his way to the front, passing Yenaz. “Follow me!” he bellowed while tugging the man’s arm.

  Cassus threw himself forward as the sail enveloped the group. He stabbed a crewmember in his way, pushed aside the cloth, and stabbed again where he thought Roshan would be. He hit only air. Fear gripped him as a black mist began to encircle his arm.

  He swore.

  At least he tried to, but the black shadow moved upward and wrapped itself around his throat. He fell to the ground, hands passing through the black form. Feet shuffled next to him as men fought with each other and the loose sail. Several stepped on him or kicked him. He barely noticed as black flecks floated across his vision. His lungs burned, denied the air he needed.

  Just give me one more breath. One more to keep fighting.

  His eyelids slowly closed, and the raking hands at his throat fell away.

  * * *

  Cassus shifted and grimaced.

  One Above, Melchizan did a number on me this time.

  His leg slid across the soft bed and he froze.

  He slowly opened his eyes. The dimly lit room came into focus.

  Melchizan’s quarters?

  Cassus remembered the feet kicking him and the black shadow strangling away his last bit of life. He pushed himself to his elbows. Yenaz sat in a chair to his left. He stirred at Cassus’ movement.

  The Byzernian forced a weary smile.

  “I take it we won?” Cassus croaked.

  “In a technical sense. Yes.” Yenaz handed Cassus a cup of water which he greedily drank.

  “What happened?”

  “Your move with the sail worked. When Roshan tried to attack me, his creature of shadow took you instead. I was able to lunge forward and grab Roshan’s arm.”

  “So, reversing the healing process worked?”

  “It was not . . . pleasant.”

  Cassus thought about Roshan’s burns and shivered. “Then what?”

  “The last of the crew surrendered. Twenty-two of them died. We lost thirty-four of our own, including seven healers. The survivors with a talent for sorcery managed to save our most severely wounded, including you.”

  “I thought I died.”

  Yenaz shook his head. “Almost. When Roshan died, his shadow creature dissipated. I did just enough to stabilize you before moving on to others in worse condition. I hope you’ll understand, but I’ll have to tend to your other injuries after I’ve regained some of my strength.” He sighed, hanging his head low. “Freedom comes at a heavy price.”

  Cassus swung his legs to the floor, wincing as he turned his body. He placed a hand on Yenaz’s arm. “Just think of all the lives you saved.”

  “It’s hard to see that right now. There’s so much blood. So much death.”

  Cassus squeezed Yenaz’s arm. He understood. Many soldiers felt the same when gazing upon the aftermath of their first battle. Each man had to come to terms with those scenes in his own way if he ever wanted to make peace with himself.

  A thought struck Cassus as he caught sight of the small desk. “Melchizan?”

  Yenaz’s somber face turned to one of disgust. “We found him in his quarters. Somehow, he had managed to sleep through the whole thing.” He clenched his jaw.

  “So, he’s dead?”

  Yenaz looked away, almost in shame. “No. Even after discovering that he had forced one of the women to share his bed, I couldn’t do it. I think I have tasted enough death for one day.”

  Cassus rose shakily to his feet. “I haven’t. Take me to him.”

  Without a word, Yenaz stood and led him from the room. Cassus followed, picking up his sword on the way out.

  He noted that the sun had only been up for a short while. By the light of day, the aftermath of the fight appeared more gruesome than Cassus had imagined. The surviving Byzernians swabbed the deck, washing blood and gore over the side in long red streaks. Cassus looked over the railing as they walked toward the bow. Sharks whipped the water into a bloody froth.

  While the Byzernians worked, crewmembers brought from below by Quai manned the ship and repaired damaged rigging. They did so in chains while under the watchful eyes of several Byzernians. The remaining crewmembers remained locked in the ship’s hull.

  Past the cargo on the main deck sat Melchizan, tied carefully at the arms and legs.

  The slave trader looked up at Cassus. “Should have listened to Roshan and just had you killed.”

  “Probably.”

  Melchizan chuckled. “Well, I guess you lived up to your name, huh? Hero of Slaves and all that. I’m sure they’ll be telling this tale for some time.”

  “For a man in your position, you seem to be in high spirits.”

  Melchizan’s face darkened. “You want me to beg?” He spat. “You can go to the One Below, L
over of Slaves.” His eyes brightened for a moment. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “And when you get there, give Jonrell my regards.”

  Cassus drew his sword, and sliced it across Melchizan’s throat in one motion. Blood gushed down his chest and stomach, forming a puddle at his legs.

  Cassus knew he should have felt happy, but he only felt numb.

  “Where do we go from here?” asked Yenaz.

  Where indeed?

  Thinking of Jonrell, only one place came to mind. “Home,” whispered Cassus.

  Chapter 7

  Cassus and Jonrell walked the field of battle, taking an account of casualties.

  “They almost had us a few times,” said Cassus.

  “It was definitely close there for awhile,” said Jonrell. “But we came through.”

  “It was because of you. You held us together again. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “Trust me, you’d manage. One day I’ll die and someone will take my place. The Hell Patrol will move on.”

  “Maybe.” Cassus paused.

  “I’m not irreplaceable.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure the Hell Patrol will move on. But if you’re not around, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I’d do.”

  “Thanks for the sentiment, but you’ll be fine. In fact, I’m sure you’ll be more than that.”

  Cassus snorted.

  Jonrell grabbed Cassus by the arm and stared at him with those cold, gray eyes. Eyes that seemed to change into a sheet of ice when he meant to get someone’s attention. “Trust me. You’re better than anyone here, whether you believe it or not.” He jabbed a finger in Cassus’ breastplate. “In here. One day you’re going to be a hero whose name will live on long after all of us are dead. Of that I have no doubt.”

  * * *

  Water lapped against the shore. Longboats slid onto the coarse sand. Cassus breathed deeply as he stepped onto land. The corners of his mouth tugged at a slow smile as he looked at the peaceful village.

  Many of the freed slaves ran on ahead to speak with the residents of the village.

  Yenaz clasped Cassus on the shoulder. “We made it.”

  They had been at sea for three more days before sighting one of the outer islands.