Leth took a deep breath. “I was three when my father fell into a coma. My oldest brother, Carth, being of age, took command of the Grand-Duchy. Carth was… young, at the time. He didn’t expect the challenges he faced. We were closely tied to the Runium trade. When the Purge came, our House took a hit. A big hit. Carth tried to shift the family investments to other businesses but failed miserably.
“By the time I was twelve, we were broke; illegally stealing public money to cover our expenses. Carth became obsessed with returning the family to its proper status. ‘The most powerful family in the east!’” Leth scoffed. “He grabbed every opportunity to get some gold into our coffers. Accepted every bribe, associated with anyone rich enough, criminal organizations included—especially the Abdaleen cartel.
“That was when Nalwar entered into disarray. The economy collapsed. Crime and poverty became rampant. My second oldest brother, Aramn, tried to intervene. Carth accused him of treason and arrested him. Me and my two remaining brothers didn’t know what to do. We were scared. Carth was too far down the Abdaleen cartel’s pocket to ever turn back, and he was becoming paranoid, so we each made a decision. Erum and Seligh became Carth’s lapdogs, and I… I openly opposed him.” He swallowed. “Do you know what it’s like to live in your own home and never know if a knife is waiting for you around the corner? If your food has been poisoned?”
Aric stared at his friend. “Goddess… Leth, I don’t know what to say. What about your mother?”
“Oh, she didn’t know what to say either. Or what to do. So, she said nothing. Did nothing. Except maybe drink. Lamash was Seligh’s idea. He persuaded Carth it was a more ‘elegant’ solution to the problem. When Seligh came to me, he told me it was the only way he could keep me safe—you know, because hunting dragons is so harmless.” Leth shook his head. “And I caved like a coward.”
“Leth, you were just a kid…”
“I am a son of House Ranraik!” Leth snapped. “The worthy among the great.” He looked overboard, breathing heavily. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve done my duty. Not hide in the desert like a coward.”
“I don’t think anyone would ever call you that.”
“I do. Every day.”
Aric stood up and walked down the stairs until he was face to face with his Lieutenant. “Well, that’s because you’re an idiot.”
Leth chortled.
A flash of lightening blinded them for a moment followed immediately by the loud crack of thunder. Thick droplets of water hit Aric’s forehead and he looked up.
“I suppose we should get below,” Leth said as the rain intensified.
“Yeah,” Aric agreed. “And Leth. Thanks for telling me.”
* * *
Aric woke up with the entire ship tilting to one side with a loud creak, sending him rolling out of his hammock and slamming onto the floor.
“What in the mother’s name is happening?” Orisius yelped.
There was a single oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, swaying madly, but it allowed Aric to see his whole company scrambling, trying to find something to hold on to as the ship lurched further and further to starboard, the hull groaning loudly.
A whistle blew frantically somewhere up above, and finally, the ship swung back into position, sending them tumbling over each other.
Feet thumped on the stairs as the dragon hunters tried to once again regain their footing and one of the crewmembers appeared, his eyes wide. “Everyone up top! The captain wants all hands on deck. We’ve reached the storm.”
* * *
“Heave, lads!” a boatswain yelled, pulling a rope along with three other sailors.
Rain fell nearly horizontally, thick as a waterfall, leaving Aric’s vision a blurry mess no matter how many times he wiped his face. A wave crashed into the side of the ship, water flooding the main deck. It caught Trissa and Tharius and they slipped, sliding across the deck until they slammed against the larboard railing. All around them, the sea had come alive with a vengeance, waves rising and falling steeply, some of them so tall they dwarfed the ship.
Grabbing onto hanging ropes, railings, and masts, the dragon hunters waited for captain Griggor to finish handing out orders across the deck. When he was finally done, he stumbled over to them.
“We caught up to the storm faster than I expected,” he yelled over the howling winds. “It just crept on top of us out of nowhere.” He aimed a finger at the sails up top. “There’s too much wind. We need to furl those sails or we’ll be dismasted, but I don’t have enough men to do it fast enough.”
Aric nodded, wiping water from his eyes for the hundredth time. “Just tell us what to do.”
With remarkable efficiency, captain Griggor assigned each of the dragon hunters to one of his sailors with very specific orders. Some were sent to help pull the braces running along the main deck, others to climb to the yards of the fore and mizzen masts to raise the sails. Aric was paired with first mate Naquad, who signaled Aric to follow him.
With the grace of someone who had done it thousands of times, the first mate swung onto the lattice of rope tied from the deck railing to the main mast, his body dangling over the water.
“Try not to fall,” Naquad said coldly, then sprung up, scaling the rigging like a cat.
Bending, Aric looked overboard. It was at least a ten-foot fall into the raging black swirl beneath, which was nothing compared to where he had to climb. Not that the height mattered. If anyone fell into that sea, they weren’t coming back.
Aric swung to the rope, imitating Naquad as best he could and climbed after him. The first mate looked comfortable as if there was no storm raging around him. Aric had fairly calloused hands from handling his weapons, but he still felt the rope burn his palms as he hung on for dear life when the ship first climbed, then dropped down a wave so steep it was nearly vertical. It took him at least twice as long as Naquad to get up there, and when he did, he was out of breath.
“Hurry, hunter,” Naquad greeted him, his hands already grabbing the sail. He waited for Aric to prop himself on the yard. “Grab onto the canvas like this, then fold it onto itself.”
There was only one other sail above them. The height was dizzying. Aric nodded and wiped water from his eyes, gasping. The sky flashed, followed by a roll of thunder.
“Quick!” Naquad urged. He and two more sailors beside him had already started.
Aric obeyed, mimicking the first mate’s movements. It was hard to fold the sail while hanging over the yard without sliding off or losing his footing on the precarious rope. If only the ship would stop moving. Unfortunately, being up on the mast only amplified the vessel’s swaying.
The wind blowing around them suddenly seemed to pick up even more strength, and Aric was forced to stop his task to make sure he didn’t fall. He heard a deep, loud groan as if the entire ship had come alive, leaning to starboard. The side of the ship hit the surface of the water and a wave climbed inside, the vessel shuddering as if it had struck a wall.
There was a scream, and out of the corner of his eye, Aric saw the shape of a man being dragged overboard, disappearing in the swell. Who was that? Was it one of his hunters?
“Keep pulling!” Naquad shouted. “We need to raise these sails!”
Aric focused on his task and resumed folding the canvas, his muscles beginning to ache. They rolled the last inch of sail and began tying it to the yard. Looking around them, Aric saw most of the other sails had been furled, but still, the ship remained nearly on its side, creaking and groaning like a sea monster on a rampage.
Beside Aric, Naquad looked up. The sail above them was still down, three sailors hanging from the ropes around it, pulling on them like mad.
“Goddess damn it, Roajid! Get that t’gallant up!” Naquad barked.
The sailor looked over his shoulder and down to the first mate, a look of despair in his eyes. “It’s stuck. The halyard won’t budge.”
Naquad cursed and an alarm bell began to toll hysterically.
�
��Land ho!” The voice came from one of the other masts, nearly inaudible due to the wind. “Two points off starboard.”
“What?” Aric asked. “That’s impossible. We’re hundreds of miles away from the mainland.” Yet he looked over his shoulder and there it was; a set of boulders jutting out of the water like dragon fangs.
Aric heard several sailors muttering “Dancing Isle” as if they were afraid of the words.
“Hard to port!” Griggor bellowed somewhere in the aft castle.
The ship began to turn. Slowly. Too slowly.
Naquad aimed a finger at Aric’s face. “This is your fault!” His nostrils flared and he bared his teeth. He looked up at the stuck sail then back at Aric. “We need to furl that t’gallant or it’ll drag us under water.”
“I’m right behind you,” Aric assured him.
Naquad faced the remaining sailors. “Down! Everyone get down below!”
“But sir—”
“We’re about to crash, you idiot, get to safety!”
The sailors acquiesced and started down the ladders. Aric followed the first mate up to the topgallant and saw the bow of the ship plunge under water, disappearing for an uncomfortably long moment. Beyond it, no more than a few hundred yards, the teeth of stone were getting closer and closer.
The two of them propped themselves on the yard of the topgallant sail, their heads level with the tip of the mast, as tall as one could get on this ship. At that height, everyone down on the main deck looked as small as an ant. Raging gusts of wind threatened to rip the sail apart or thrust them off the yard pole and Aric wondered how far he’d fly if he lost his precarious grip on the wooden structure.
Naquad began pulling on a rope coming from the top of the mast and through a sheave. Aric joined him.
“On three,” Naquad instructed. “One, two, three.”
They pulled and pulled until their hands were on fire and the veins on their necks seemed about to pop, but the line did not slide an inch.
“It’s jammed,” the first mate snarled, panting heavily. “There’s no use.”
“What can I do?” Aric asked, struggling to be heard over the storm.
The first mate considered the question, measuring the shrinking distance to the incoming rocks. Beneath them, the ship groaned as it began to tilt sideways once more.
“There’s nothing else to do,” Naquad said. He unsheathed a knife from his belt. “This is all your fault.”
He was right. It was.
Aric didn’t move. He simply stared at the knife and waited.
“Damn you!” Naquad lunged forward, but to Aric’s surprise, bent over himself and started cutting at a rope beneath their feet that tied their own mast to the tip of an adjacent one.
“What are you doing?” Aric asked, confused. The rope Naquad was cutting was as stiff as a wooden beam, tension keeping it absolutely still despite the furious storm around them. “What are you doing!?”
“What I have to,” Naquad replied grimly, his knife already halfway through the thick rope. “This is your fault, so I’m taking you with me.”
There was a crack and Aric looked at the portion of their mast beneath his feet. The wood was splintering, ragged lines spreading across the wooden surface like fingers of lightning.
Realization hit Aric like a punch in the gut. He grabbed Naquad’s arm, stilling his blade. “Stop!”
“If I don’t do this, we will all sink. This is—”
“My fault, I know,” Aric finished in his stead. He unsheathed his own knife. “So get down below. I’ll do this.”
Naquad just sat there, staring at Aric, the rain cascading down his face.
“Hurry up, you fool!” Aric shouted. “While there’s time!”
For a moment, Aric questioned if the man had even heard him, but Naquad finally nodded, sheathing his knife. “When you cut the line, there won’t be much time,” he warned. “Let yourself fall and grab one of the ropes if you have to.”
Aric nodded and Naquad began to descend the rigging. Taking a deep breath, Aric resumed cutting the already fraying rope. As the tiny threads of the bundle snapped one by one, Aric studied the nearby rigging, trying to choose a direction in which to fall where he’d have something to hang on to when—
CRACK!
The mast exploded, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Time stopped for a moment, and Aric felt completely weightless, an ice-cold hand reaching into his chest.
No, he thought. This can’t be.
His hands and feet flailed, trying to grab onto something, anything. The ship was slipping further and further away at an impossible speed. He heard himself scream, and when he looked down, all he was was that scream, that despair, that disbelief.
The last thing he remembered was the dark, foam trimmed whirlwind racing up at him just before he hit the water.
16
The Sacred Fire
The landscape had changed significantly after they had sailed past Augusta. As they penetrated deeper into the Arreline Valley, the green fields had slowly grown into taller and taller hills, which threatened to become snow-covered mountains soon enough. They had been gliding across the Saffya for three days now, and the journey had been as boring as it had been uneventful—which, considering Doric’s usual luck, was fantastic.
Sitting on a pile of fishing nets in the middle of the barge, Doric turned his father’s sword in his hand, wondering why he’d brought the damned thing. It wasn’t like he had suddenly learned how to use it, but at the time, when he had packed for this little adventure, bringing his mandolin instead had seemed like a really stupid idea.
He looked around the barge, at the rest of their crew. Andon snored lightly, curled into a ball next to the ship’s single mast. At the aft of the ship, it was Hagon’s turn to hold the rudder while Debra teased him with relentless questions, batting her eyelashes like an infatuated youth. Not that the poor idiot could even tell she was interested.
The latest addition to their team, Emrys, stood at the bow of the barge, arms crossed at his chest, staring out at the twists and turns of the Saffya as if that would somehow make the ship go faster. He wasn’t much of a talker, but Doric had squeezed some information out of him during their paltry meals. He was apparently some kind of mage spy or assassin working for Persea, but he had refused to provide any more details, despite Hagon’s insistence.
The ship turned a wide bend in the river, and as it did, brown city walls came into view, tall towers creeping up to the sky behind them.
“There it is!” Doric said, standing up.
Hagon exhaled loudly. “Finally!”
Something in the way he said it, like spotting the walls was a relief, made Debra frown.
Next to the mast, Andon stirred, waking up. “What?” he muttered groggily. He sat up, scratching his several-days-old stubble. “We there yet?”
Emrys looked over his shoulder. “The river gates are open, but if the guards stop us, this is Hagon’s ship, and we’re his passengers.”
“Where did we board?” Doric asked.
“Debra and Andon came all the way from Niveh,” Emrys replied. “You and I joined them in Augusta.”
The group nodded and they waited silently as the gates grew closer. Red banners cascaded from the tops of the walls every couple of feet. There was no insignia of any kind on them, just flat, crimson banners running almost the entire height of the walls.
A cheerful guard standing on a wooden platform under the arch of the gate waved at them. “Happy Sacred Fire!” he called.
Doric waited for Emrys to reply, but the mage simply stared back at the guard with a confused frown.
“Happy Sacred Fire, friend!” Doric said, jumping to the front of the ship and smiling as wide as he could.
The guard pointed at the piers just beyond the archway. “You should dock right here,” he suggested. “The city is bursting at its seams with travelers. You won’t find any available docks beyond this point.”
“Don’t worry
, we know the drill,” Doric assured him. “We come every year.”
The guard nodded as if that was to be expected. “Have fun!”
“We always do!”
The two of them shared a knowing laugh, then waved each other goodbye as the ship glided past the gate.
“What was that all about?” Hagon asked.
“No idea,” Doric replied. “I just played along.”
Emrys directed his frown at Doric. “You’re a good actor. I guess you might be of some use to the expedition, after all.”
“Thank you, Emrys. Has anyone ever told you how delightful you are?”
“Believe me,” Emrys said, returning his attention to the river ahead, “I was not brought here for my personality.”
“No, that’s just an added bonus,” Doric said, yanking a chuckle from Hagon, Debra, and Andon.
They tied the ship to one of the few available piers, then paid a hefty docking fee to a customs employee who was, quite clearly, heavily intoxicated. And he was not the only one. Around them, people sang, laughed, and yelled. There were musicians playing on street corners, jugglers strutting down the street flipping all manner of objects in the air, and salesmen handing out bottles of wine or burning water everywhere.
“Merciful goddess,” Doric said, astonished. “I’ve found paradise.”
“What in the mother’s name is going on?” Hagon asked.
“Some kind of local celebration,” Emrys replied. “Religious, judging by the guard’s greeting.”
A pretty girl in her twenties strutted towards them, smiling wide. She laid a crown of flowers on Doric’s head. “Happy Sacred Fire!” she said, then splashed his face with the bottle of burning water in her hand before scurrying away, giggling.
The whole group was paralyzed for a moment.
“Pharyzians are weird…” Debra muttered.
“Are you kidding me?” Doric said, burning water dripping down his chin. “Pharyzians are great!”
The Shadow Of Fallen Gods Page 25
