Andalon Awakens

by T B Phillips

  “I cuh… cuh… could use a dri… drink.” Smiling up at his friend he added, “Or tuh… two.”

  A simple cart waited for them at the foot of the ship’s brow. They strode toward the driver, giving orders to take them to the keep. The ride across loose cobblestones nearly jarred the teeth from Braen’s head. The sun warmed his face as he tried to clear his mind of the things he had seen during the battle against the Esterling queen’s fleet. Knowing the creatures existed did not bother him, but he wished that his men had not seen the Kraken as it appeared to come to his aid.

  The entire week’s return to The Cove earned him even the most loyal crewman’s amazement. Surely, they knew that Braen had no effect on the sea creatures, but the prophetic words he had told Artema Horn were overheard and rumors spread faster than lice in a whorehouse. “I’ll use that to my advantage,” he had told the pirate king at the time. Obviously, word had reached The Cove and Braen noticed that even the carriage driver could not help glancing back in awe. He would celebrate the night as “the man who had driven the man who called forth the Kraken.”

  The carriage finally rolled to a stop before the massive doors of the keep, and Braen and Sippen strode up the stairway then made their way to the grand hall. The cut stone of the walls were remarkably well crafted. Not as well built as Fjorik Castle by a stretch, but Braen never failed to muse that surely the long-lost builders of the city employed guild artisans. As he opened the iron doors his ears welcomed the sounds of feasting and merriment that rushed out. His stomach betrayed his irritation by growling at the smells of roasting meat and spilled mead.

  As he crossed into the room a cheer went up from the pirate rabble. Someone in the room shouted, “The man of the hour has finally arrived! Three cheers!” The revelers clapped, laughed, and then turned up their mugs to the large Northman.

  Artema Horn sat on a simple wooden chair so no one would confuse him for a nobleman. Despite his best efforts his regal stature betrayed him, and he prominently stood out at the head of the feast. His people revered him as the king, and he did nothing to dissuade their allegiance. He looked up from the busty blonde sprawled across his lap and locked eyes with Braen. “I hope you don’t mind that we already started?”

  “By all means, Artema, don’t let me hold you up.” The blue eyes of the large Norseman settled on the flag opposite the hall. It was a blue square adorned with a black squid. Braen frowned when he realized the squid was crushing several small ships in its tentacles. The king watched Braen’s eyes wander.

  “I commissioned your new sigil, Sir Braston!” Artema stood quickly, tossing the blonde to the floor as he rose. “Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you Braen Braston, prince of the northern waters, king of ice and snow, exile to The Cove, and now lord of the Kraken!” The hall erupted in laughter as a topless woman dressed as a mermaid presented Braen with a scepter made of driftwood. Another adorned him with a crown made of seaweed. The two women then draped a wool blanket with a painted squid across his shoulders.

  Braen caught the smile in Horn’s eyes and breathed a deep draw of smoke-filled air before shooting his master a cool look. “Lord Horn, I graciously accept my new title!” Braen bellowed out his acceptance amid the good-natured laughter. “Whatever new duties that it may entail, I swear my protection to my watery realm and will ravage all mermaids I encounter!”

  “You damn well better!” Horn thrust a frothy mug into Braston’s huge hands and gestured toward an empty chair at his side. “Now drink!”

  Braen seated himself and leaned in towards his liege. “Word travels fast, I reckon?” He whispered into the smaller man’s ear.

  “Aye, it does indeed.” Artema agreed.

  Smiling, he lightheartedly whispered, “Shove off. You know I can’t control those beasts.”

  “Shove off, my liege, Braen.” Artema corrected with an even bigger smile, emphasizing the words with a slight wink.

  “Ok. Shove off, my liege. You know I can’t control those beasts.”

  “I do. But do you see the effect that rumor has on the entire cove?” He gestured at the revelers. “They love their new nobleman. The fact that you arbitrarily may or may not have influenced a pod of Kraken during battle is something that even a pirate king is smart enough not to question.” Artema spoke the last statement with a finality that stung Braen.

  “Art, I told you I’ve no interest in leadership. Those days have passed, and several ships have sailed off with any aspirations I may’ve once had.”

  “Then you’re more suited for the job than you even realize. Anyways, what is done is done and there is no changing my mind. If you don’t want it then don’t let the reef sink your ass on the way out.” Artema turned from his chalice and his eyes met Braen’s with that look of leadership that could force the most rebellious of men into kneeling. “We have a meeting of the sanctum in an hour. Don’t be late.”

  Looking more like a regent by birth rather than happenstance, Artema Horn rose from his chair. He paused to tear a turkey leg off the roasted carcass on the table then strode toward the door. As he rose to leave, the entire room leapt to their feet and emitted a cheer of praise. In his other hand he grabbed the busty blonde by her arm and turned to escort her from the hall. Pausing first to kiss his companion, then to rip off her corset, he turned his head and hollered back to Braen, “Better make it two hours!” The men cheered even louder.

  Braen scanned the merriment. Across the table Captain Pogue nursed his drink. The man, usually lighthearted, wore a heavy burden on his face. “You aren’t enjoying the feast, Alec?”

  The man looked up with eyes red from grief. “Mattie and the girls left, Braston.”

  “What? When? I thought she was happy in The Cove.”

  “Apparently not. I came home from a late watch and they’d left. She packed all their belongings and slipped out while I was on duty.” Tears misted his eyes. “She always hated it here. She felt isolated on the island and always talked about returning to Eston.”

  “I’m sorry, Alec.”

  Lord Nevra had been listening intently to the conversation and interrupted. “That kind of thing happens all the time in The Cove. Wives leave their husbands because they can’t handle the pirate life.”

  Braen had never heard Stefan Nevra speak. The chief advisor to Artema Horn avoided conversation with anyone not in the inner circle, and his interest unnerved him. He looked the small, aged man over and the effort made his stomach queasy. Pox had pitted the man’s face at an early age and the scars forced the northerner’s eyes to look elsewhere. His head was mangy and patched without any pattern to the hair loss. Worst of all, was the way that his voice made the listener’s skin crawl as if infested with insects. Braen swallowed hard and addressed him. “Yeah. I’ve seen it before. I just never thought that Mattie would leave Alec.”

  Pogue downed his mug and tried to refill it, finding the pitcher dry. “Braen, you’ve never been married, have you?”

  “No. I came close once, but fate steered me south.” The bearded man’s thoughts flashed to Hester, and how she had once promised to share the world with him. She now lay with his brother Skander, the northern king.

  Braen liked Pogue but let out a sigh of relief when the surly man rose to move to another table, carrying his nearly empty mug to find more ale.

  “Thank the gods that depressing man left.” Samani Kernigan had spoken, also a member of Artema’s Inner Sanctum.

  He started to defend his friend, but movement in the hall caught Braen’s eye. Peering into the shadows he caught a glimpse of a small woman adorned with a black fur cloak with a hood raised on her head. Closer inspection revealed that the hood was the head of a wolf. “Sam,” he said over the merriment. “Sam,” he nearly shouted. Lord Samani Kernigan glanced up from anther busty mermaid astride his lap.

  “What?” He asked with half interest.

  “Who is that woman?�
�� Braen gestured toward the shadows but the fur cloaked woman had disappeared.

  “I see many women, Norseman. Just grab whichever one catches your eye.” He answered with disinterest. The brunette was doing a fabulous job of keeping his eyes on her. With a dismissive gesture around the room he added, “According to Artema you’re the man of the hour, and I doubt that he’d mind if you claimed any that aren’t lying with him at the moment.”

  “That is not what I mean,” Braen persisted. The woman intrigued him even though he had spent the past several years avoiding women. True, he had quenched his physical thirsts from time to time, but he steered clear of the treacherous reefs of long-term involvement. The large, quiet man had loved only one woman. Hester had been his friend since youth, and it was never a secret that the pair had been betrothed as soon as they could walk. No matter how many women he had taken to bed, Braen had loved only his lady of the north.

  Thinking of Hester brought images of Skander to mind and he boiled with rage. He was about to push Lord Kernigan about the cloaked woman when Lord Nevra spoke again. “You mean the maiden dressed in black? She who danced through the shadows with grace and intrigue? Was she the one, Lord Braen?”

  He jumped when the small man spoke, having nearly forgotten he was there. “Yes. You saw her too?”

  “Stefan. Please call me Stefan.”

  “Do you know her, Stefan?” Braen’s eyes still scanned the room but she had long disappeared into either the shadows or the crowd.

  “Her name is death, Lord Kraken. You’d do well to remember.” The rat faced man laughed until he began to choke on his wine. Braen looked away with disgust and again checked the crowd for the mysterious woman.

  “Oh, you meant the Lady Eusari,” Lord Kernigan said with disinterest. “I know of none other who bears the name of death as well as she.” Although he spoke, he did so without diverting his gaze from his mermaid. “She’s part of our Inner Sanctum.”

  “I’ve never met her. I’ve never even seen her before now.” Braen scanned the room as he spoke.

  Nevra commented, “She handles the ‘darker’ business of the guild. Like Samani and myself, she reports directly to Artema, but even we don’t know about all of her secret missions.” Stefan seemed put out at that fact.

  Kernigan finally looked away from his whore to flash a sly smile toward Nevra. Then, he turned seriously toward Braen and warned, “She truly is named death, Braston. If she was here, and you actually saw her, then you missed seeing her eunuch. Sa’Mond never trails far from his mistress. The story is that she gelded him with her teeth.”

  “No, Samani,” Stefan interrupted, “her gelding was already cut as I heard it. He fed his previous captain’s stones to her during a mutiny.”

  “Either way, Norseman, she’ll cut the balls from a man and devour them while he watches in fright.” Lord Kernigan finally looked away from his mermaid and added with a stern narrowing of his eyes, “Steer a wide berth unless you relish losing your entire rudder as well.”

  Braen finished his meal in silence. After a time, he stood from the table and strode toward the door through which Artema Horn had exited. No guards barred the way, but he knew that two were posted within. He pulled on the heavy oaken handle and slipped inside the narrow passageway. Blinking in the torchlight, he focused on two brutes lurking in the shadows.

  “Tired of being king for the day, Braston?” The larger, more muscular of the two men spoke with a western accent.

  “Greetings, Amash. Yes, Artema needs the attention returned to him. Do you reckon he’s finished with his blonde?” Braen liked this man. Of all the pirates in The Cove, very few sought out books for study with as much zeal as the large man from Weston.

  “With as much beer as he’s consumed, most certainly.”

  The smaller brute quipped, “I hope he’s left her with an appetite. I wouldn’t mind a go at her myself.” This man was one who Braen disliked. He watched as the guard licked his lips lecherously, most likely thinking of her ample bosom.

  Amash slapped the man in the small of his back. “She likes sausage, Turat, not that pathetic green string bean you’re always pulling on.”

  “You two are missing out on the party,” Braen observed, “I hope that your watch ends soon and without incident.”

  “Well met, Northman,” Amash offered.

  “Well met.” Turat grumbled while glaring at his larger companion.

  Braen followed the winding corridor past several turns. Although the torches lit the way, he knew that murder holes lay in the darker shadows, with men silently watching his passage. Braen felt an unnerving claustrophobia as the hidden eyes followed his movements. He was a great fighter in single combat, but assassins posed a different kind of threat. He forced down the panic and kept his pace slow and confident. Finally, after only several minutes that felt an eternity, the sea captain emerged into another antechamber of light. Another pair of guards cleared the path, opening the door to allow him into the private quarters of the pirate king.

  Artema sat at a table that could easily accommodate six persons. He was not alone. To his left sat the small woman dressed entirely in the black leather armor of a night thief. On her back was a furred cloak that terminated into a hood made from a wolf’s head, and her hands were clothed in thin black gloves. Directly behind her, about two paces back from the table, stood an extremely large man with skin as black and tough as leather dried and aged in the sun.

  The woman and the king sat with their heads hunched closely together in private congress, obviously disputing a matter with passionately quiet words. The small woman was outwardly agitated and flashed a look up toward Braen. Her eyes conveyed both anger and disgust. Artema regarded the northern captain with a bemused smile, nodded, then whispered a few words that succeeded in clamping the woman’s mouth shut. She sat steaming with anger with her arms crossed against her chest, most likely with dagger hilts close to her gloved fingers.

  “Braen!” Artema gestured toward the other two people in the room with beckoning arms. “Meet Eusari, lady captain of She Wolf,” He inclined his head and gestured with his eyebrows to the eunuch. “And this huge hunk of meat is her bondsman, Sa’Mond. Please join us!”

  Braen nodded to the lady and her man. “It’s my pleasure to meet you both, My Lady. Sir Sa’Mond.” He drew a chair from the table and sat across from the small woman. She did not answer his greeting, and instead shot him an icy glare that caused him to shiver slightly. He glanced up at Sa’Mond, who still had one hand on the hilt of his curved blade.

  Artema quickly got down to business. “Eusari has a special cargo in the hold of She Wolf. Your raid on the Esterling stores was a distraction to draw their fleet away from the real operation, the kidnapping of a high-profile Imperial agent.”

  “I was a distraction, Artema? That would’ve been nice to know at the time.” Braen felt the anger rising inside. He had fully trusted Horn’s earlier motives for the raid, which nearly cost him valuable men and ships. Only his respect and admiration for the man held his temper in check.

  “Yes. I couldn’t let you know at the time, since your capture and questioning were a possibility.” Something else hinted with Horn’s words.

  “What if we had failed? Would our deaths and the loss of the ships have been worth the extraction of this agent? Who is so important they’re worth losing ten ships, including your own flagship? Much less the loss of the highly skilled and irreplaceable crews?” Braen stood up from the table, unable to further hide his anger as it grew.

  A soft voiced purred out of the mouth of the woman in black, “Marcus Esterling. Youngest son of Lady Crestal Esterling. The second heir to the Esterling fortune and potential ruler of the Empire.” Eusari never looked at Braen as she spoke, looking down at the table. The words seemed to growl as they left her mouth, heightening her feral persona.

  Slowly, her eyes rose to meet his. Go
ds! Was she smiling? Beneath her beauty was a dangerous, if not rabid woman waiting to attack her prey. Braen could not help but wonder if madness loomed behind those eyes. “You. You kidnapped the second heir of Andalon?” Braen felt a surge of panic rise at the implications of their bold move. Lady Esterling would surely be launching the largest fleet ever amassed. “Gods, Artema! That boy is a whelp of only, what? Fifteen?”

  “Sit down, Braen.” Artema Horn rarely lost his smile, but he cast the Northman an icy glare when he again spoke. “She thinks someone else has her son. One of her vassals has been plotting against her and has donated much to our cause. The disappearance of Marcus Esterling won’t be traced to us in any way. Also, I assure you that he has been treated well.”

  Braen quickly sat down. He respected Artema and admired him greatly. In truth, he owed his life to him. After he had fled Fjorik, Horn had been his only option to which he could run.

  Artema kept his eyes trained on Braen, voice flat and calm, “You and Eusari are to work together on a top-secret mission. I want you to sail with her in three days, when she takes the Esterling pup for the exchange. Tell no one of your destination. This is clandestine shit that I normally give only to Eusari.”

  “Then why am I going?”

  “Because I need you to do that ‘kraken trick’ that you did last time off Estowen’s Landing.” Artema laughed as if he had been saving the joke up all evening.

  Braen hated thinking about those monsters being real. Even worse was the thought that he had felt something from them when they swam under his ship. It was almost as if he could sense them. Not their presence, but their sentience, as well.

  “But seriously tonight, you are elevated into my Inner Sanctum and become one of my most trusted advisors. If you are to know my secrets, then you will need to trust those whom I have believed in for years. Foremost of them being Eusari. She has been like a daughter to me and handles my ‘darkest’ business. I want you to see how she operates firsthand. Tell no one, not even that weird little Sippen, where you’re going.”