Hawkwood laughed. “Soothsayers are all charlatans. They either tell you that great fortune or great doom is right before you. They never give you the real answer, that life is full of tedium, boring hours, and a cruel nothingness that awaits all men. Well, almost all men.”
Vikarskeid wasn’t listening, so lost in his own maddened thoughts. “I have nightmares. Gathelaus is coming.”
Hawkwood folded his mighty arms across his chest. “Double my fee and I’ll rid you of these nightmares.”
Vikarskeid nodded, turned, and ran his dagger across Bartleby’s throat, silencing the wailing minstrel’s horrible cries. “It is done. Leave immediately.”
***
From behind the closed shutters in the attic of a large warehouse in Hellenaik, they watched Hawkwood board a swift ship and sail down the river. The mercenary captain was heavily armed and had his most trusted warriors with him, more than two score deadly blade masters. The oars of his longboat beat white foam against the dark blue as he sailed into the setting red sun.
“Where is he off to in such a hurry?” Niels asked himself.
YonGee stood beside him and glanced between the slats. “He certainly is making haste.”
“Maybe if we are lucky, Hawkwood is done with his employment under Vikarskeid.”
“We best find out and soon. I shall have Tang Shook consult the spirits.” With that, YonGee motioned to his apprentice, a mage of Shang Henj named Tang Shook.
The mage’s hands hid inside his long silken robe, but he withdrew them and opened a satchel. He pulled his incense and other articles for use in having communion with the deceased from inside the bag.
Niels looked upon such magics with disdain, but the dire situation at hand made him feel like it was the lesser of two evils, and he greatly desired to find a purpose and plan what course of action he should take. And now, as much as he despised and distrusted the very idea, he swore he would do as the spirts commanded so that he might make his way in the world again.
Mist plumed from the braziers that Tang Shook had spread across the floor. They simultaneously smelled repellant and fragrant. YonGee noticed Niels’ nostrils flaring. “It is an interesting earthly contrivance that spirits prefer sweet smells, but I must also keep foul things such as sulfur nearby when it comes time to banish them. We don’t want them hanging around any longer than we need them. Sulfur is among the scents they despise,” he explained. “And this time, keep your mouth shut!”
Niels didn’t understand half of what YonGee was talking about but trusted that the hoary old spymaster was adept in such things.
“Come, come you children of the nether, come and treat with me. I, Tang Shook, have called you forth!” boomed the mage.
Niels watched in amazement as a form materialized within the mist.—a vague colossal face, born in the mad immensities of night. Niels could even see its eyes as it looked about the room.
“Why have you summoned me from my long dark sleep?” it asked with a cavernous voice.
“I would to know but three questions. Answer them truthfully and I shall release you.”
The face snorted and showed it monstrous teeth, but within a moment nodded its acquiescence. “Ask,” it demanded.
“Does King Gathelaus live?”
“Yes,” it said.
“Where is he?”
“He is moving upon the face of the great waters.”
Niels took YonGee by the shoulder. “These questions, while heartening for their news, are too vague for us to do anything with. We need a solid answer to direct our course of action.”
“Tang Shook, let the temporary commander advise us less learned men on these matters.”
The mage was confused at YonGee’s sarcasm at first but then caught on with a generous nod.
Tang Shook looked to Niels and said, “Sometimes a vague truth is better than a certain lie. But if you wish to ask the final question, so be it. But I caution you to be aware of the implications. Spirits are not above telling you a truth if it will make you think a lie.”
Niels asked, “Can I ask it a two-pronged question?”
“Yes, but that may only muddy the waters. It may lead you down one path to destroy you on the next.”
“I have to take my chances.” Niels stood before the billowing spirit of smoke. It regarded him coolly, as if speaking with him was an opportunity to do harm.
“I am asking you one question in two parts.”
“Very well.”
“Does Hawkwood, the mercenary commander, know where Gathelaus is and is he going after him?”
“That is two questions and I will only answer one,” said the smoky face.
“Well?” Niels folded his arms and gave a stern look to the wafting face.
“Yes.” The spirit laughed ominously and began to swirl and twist like a shaft of whirlwind and then it was gone.
“I told you. They enjoy lying to us if they can. For they are greatly offended that we have bodies and they do not. If they can in any way torment those who command them, they seek to do so.”
“Command them?”
“Yes, well we human beings are they only sentient creatures in the universe that cannot be summoned by the use of our true name. Spirits are so bound, and they greatly resent us for it.”
“No, about what the spirit said. It said ‘yes’. So, either Hawkwood knows where Gathelaus is or he is going after him. Either way, that yes, gives us something to go on,” explained Niels.
“But my boy, that ship has already sailed. We have not the forces to fight him let alone overtake him,” said YonGee, pointing at their rag tag group of men. They had perhaps a dozen trusted swordsmen and almost twice that from the palace household, but certainly not enough to sufficiently overpower a warlord captain like Hawkwood.
Tang Shook held a hand up with a wry grin. “Nay, you’re wrong wise one. Maybe we cannot outfight Hawkwood, but we can overtake him. Come with me. I have been working on something.”
***
Dark grey clouds smashed together as pouring rain beat down like the drumbeats of the gods. The Gilded Saber tossed back and forth on the rolling chaos as lightning flashed overhead in bright arcs of crackling doom. The sailors did their best to drop the sails before the wild winds tore them to shreds, but still two were taken overboard and lost to the roiling waves.
Gathelaus and the other rowers were locked to their benches and had but to endure the terrifying ride. The crazed motion made the hull floor thick with vomit and seawater.
“Is it always like this?” Gathelaus asked the man beside him.
The long haired old man shook his head. “No, trips down the Invisible River are the only times I rest at sea, the current takes the ship so swiftly, oars would be a burden. But this storm…”
“What about it?”
“I’ve heard tell every generation it flips for some reason and goes the other way, north and west. That’s what this is, I fear.”
“And?”
“It means we could end up in the Ice Sea or even worse, across the other side of the world.”
“Other side of the world?”
The old man nodded. “No one can just cross the Invisible River. It’s too swift a current. Even if it could be done, you would be several thousand miles off course.”
“How does that matter to a slave?”
“Rowing against it? I’d die before making such a crossing.”
“And this storm?”
“We are doomed. I’ve heard few tales of anyone caught in the reversal living to tell the tale.”
“Maybe they just didn’t return but lived out their days on the other side of the world?”
“Perhaps, but I find the simpler answer to be death.”
Gathelaus grimaced. He had too much to live for to accept such an end.
The ship tossed about in every direction as the winds raged. Soon, night came and blanketed them with perilous shadow broken only by the crack of thunder and flash of lightning.
&
nbsp; By midnight the tempest died down, but the general fear of the crew pervaded as they hoped to sight stars and learn their position, but the storm would allow no such reckoning and they were lost upon the heaving waters.
Grey overcast skies kept them from divining their position and the prevailing winds and ocean current drew them along at an incredible pace until finally dropping them upon a sea of still waters where the rowers returned to their work.
Tariq finally took coordinates from the stars and made the men row hard. He determined that they were on course and near to the port of Menkares. But the doubt of other crew members was murmured enough that Gathelaus drew his own conclusions.
Their water rations were low and if they could not find more, the rowers knew they would be the first to be cast overboard so the crew might survive a few days longer.
The third morning after the great storm, possibilities beckoned from a forest covered black mountain.
The Silent City
“Land ho!” cried the weasel from the crow’s nest.
Tariq strode to the edge of the gunwale to look with his spyglass. The first mate spoke loud enough for Gathelaus to hear over his own rowing exertions. “There isn’t anything in these waters, we must be far off course.”
“We are not,” snapped Tariq. “I saw us by the dark malefic star last night, we are near enough to course, by five degrees.”
That silenced the first mate and Gathelaus strained to see what land might help grant him freedom. But the drum and whips continued for another hour without him being able to see anything.
“Belay oars!” shouted the taskmaster.
As the ship rocked in gentle blue waters, a verdant green contrasted with stark basalt peaks shrouded in mist. It was an island but not a very big one.
“No sign of folk, captain.”
Tariq scanned the beach and lone volcanic mountain for himself. “Agreed.”
“Might be nice to get fresh water and see if there is any fruit or maybe hogs?” said the first mate, hopeful.
Tariq nodded. “Take eight men and go ashore. Return by twilight.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the first mate, rather pleased with himself. He shouted to a half dozen of his fellow crewmen and they lowered the longboat to go ashore.
Still chained to the iron rings and the rowers’ bench, Gathelaus didn’t see how this could benefit him yet, but at least he had a welcome respite from rowing. He rested his aching muscles and soon enough, he fell into a troubled, dreamless sleep.
***
The noonday sun had reached its zenith when the longboat cracked against the hull. Two men clambered aboard shouting in glee. “Captain Tariq! We are to be wealthy as kings! There is an abandoned city there and jewels as big as pomegranates and gold coin of curious workmanship.” The sailor held up a handful of gleaming coins with unknown script upon them. A square hole had been cut neatly in the center of all of them.
Tariq’s eyes widened in great interest. “How much, you say?”
“Muza is counting it even now as others are trying to find any means of carrying it back here. There were some chests, but we would have to have them filled only halfway for they are too large for anyone to carry. It will take many trips.”
Tariq stroked his goatee. “Many trips, eh?” He glanced at his men. Most all of the Dar-Alhamran’s were wiry, lean and strong—but not compared to the rowers, especially the one he planned on using as a gladiator. “That one could carry one of the chests, do you think?” he asked the sailor as he pointed at Gathelaus.
“Aye, captain, he is big enough. It would save us many trips, for there are no wagons nor any other vessels to be seen.”
“Then let us go ashore and plunder this lost city of the dead.”
An older man with a long, thin grey beard and only one eye shook his head. “I’d advise we keep going captain. Leave Muza and whomever else behind to appease whatever dark gods they have surely insulted. If we leave now—”
Tariq wheeled, cutting off the old sailor’s warning. “Do you hear yourself? Leave both my men and treasure? Over what? Superstitions? Old wives tales?”
The old man stood defiant. “Sailors may be more fearful than others because we see the changes quicker than other men. We watch the tides, and see the sky out in the dark, we notice weather first because our lives depend on it. Mark my words captain, if there is treasure there, it is a blood trap, set to catch greedy men like us unawares and have us fed to unwholesome things that lurk in the dark beyond.”
“What do you base that assertion on?”
The old man gave a pained yet wry grin. “When I was a lad, my grandfather told me about an island near enough to these waters. Said that they found an island with a lost city too, it had treasure and jewels heaped up like a dunghill.”
Tariq snorted. “Dunghill?”
The old man shrugged. “He had never seen anything else piled so high as that.”
“Go on,” muttered Tariq, rapping his fingers impatiently across the rail.
“Twenty men went to that island, thinking they’d be rich as kings. Nineteen men remained, never to breathe again, only my grandfather made it back home and he was missing an arm, eye, and toes.”
“What befell the others?”
The old man gave a dark chuckle. “He didn’t know. Never saw what took the others, just heard their screams. I’ll tell you something,” he paused a moment and shut his eye, and almost whispered, “In the darkness, as he fled through the moonless jungle, something—something smaller than a man, took a lot of bites out of him. I saw the scars, looked like nothing I’ve ever seen before in my life and I’ve sailed the world over.”
Tariq stopped him brusquely putting a hand on his shoulder. “And you think this is the same island?”
He nodded. “Sounds like it. To hear my grandfather describe it, I think the bites were tastes from the biting tongue of a jungle god. He always said he thinks he was allowed to escape because he alone had not yet touched any of that cursed treasure.”
Several of the other sailors listening cringed.
“Why didn’t you give me this awful warning when we first sighted land?” asked Tariq, accusingly.
The old man shrugged. “Hoped I’d be wrong. I’d like some fresh ham and water much as the next man, but you’ll notice I didn’t volunteer to go to the island either.”
“Your boldness suits you,” mocked Tariq.
“I got nothing to prove.”
“Well I do,” snarled Tariq. “Let’s get moving. Everyone well-armed, bring that big rower and those other two, they might could manage a chest between them. Grand-dad here and four others can remain with the ship.”
The taskmaster scowled at Gathelaus and unchained him from the ring that bound him to the bench. But the shackles on his feet and hands remained. They were thick and heavy and Gathelaus knew if he fell overboard their weight would drown him before he could hope to make it to shore.
“Climb into the longboat, dog,” growled the taskmaster.
Gathelaus ate his rage and did as he was commanded, dropping the last couple feet into the longboat causing it to tilt heavily on his side.
“Damnit, have him sit in the middle,” grumbled Tariq. The rest of the sailors reshuffled their positions. “We may as well have him row,” said Tariq. “After all, that is his job until we reach Avaris and the gladiatorial arena, isn’t it?”
Gathelaus kept his wrath in check. There was nowhere he could go just yet. The shackles on his feet were kept short allowing for only a shuffle as he walked, but because he had to have range of motion for rowing, the length of chain on his hands was equal to the length of both his arms and a half. He set to work rowing, noting that he could make good time with the longboat as opposed to the bench. Soon enough they reached the beach and Tariq had Gathelaus pull the longboat ashore and then further inland to account for the tides.
“This way,” said the lead sailor. He led them through waist high grasses until reaching a canopy of pal
m, eucalyptus, banyan and a curious looking palm-like tree with roots that jutted out well above ground as if it could walk along the jungle floor if it so chose.
Gathelaus took in everything, ever watchful for anything that might benefit him in his escape. Here and there on the forest floor they would see patches of smooth fitted basalt stone as if there had once been a road here but had been reclaimed by the jungle a very long time ago.
“We’re almost there,” said the sailor.
A curtain of greenery draped at the edge of the forest before parting to reveal the walls of city made of the same black basalt. The stones were polygonal and had many angles fitted together to make a curved half-moon of a wall that stood some twelve feet high protecting the city beyond. The rest of the city was enclosed within a fissure retreating into the mountain. The gates, if there ever were any, had rotted away long ago leaving the city wide open. Multiple squat towers were visible above the wall like jutting teeth and farther back sat a temple or palace with dark spires made of the same cyclopean stone.
They passed through the mouth-like gate expecting to see their comrades but there was no sign of the men who had remained. A broad courtyard was strewn with dry palm leaves and detritus. The black holes of empty windows and doors from the many short towers and chambers leered at them like hungry ghosts. Gathelaus expected to hear birds or men cursing one another, but there was nothing. Only silence greeted them. There were no roofs upon these dwellings, it appeared they had once been wood and jungle thatch but all of that had long since decomposed.
Gathelaus felt as if he were being watched by more than his captors but that didn’t mean it was a bad thing. He scanned the city for any sign, but saw nothing.
“Where are they?” asked Tariq.
“These homes and barracks had little that was not ruined by the jungle,” said the sailor, “but in the palace, there were jewels and gold coins piled high.”
“Like a dunghill?” asked Tariq.
“Uh, yes? Muza and the rest of the men must all still be there numbering the treasure.”
“Take us there, now.” commanded Tariq.
They strode through the narrow city streets toward the temple palace scanning every vacant doorway and shadow for danger. But aside from the scattered remnants of the jungle itself, fronds, dust and insects, —there was no sign of life.
FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2) Page 7
