Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  Chapter Nineteen

  The harbor master’s office wasn’t very roomy, Phen observed. It stank of pipe smoke, and the desk before him and Captain Trant was overcrowded with logbooks, scrolls, and other loose pieces of parchment. There was a great oak table in the middle of the room behind them. It was covered with documents. Maps, charting tools, and open volumes, all held in place by matching fist-sized brass bells, covered its top. Beyond the table was a big window that looked out over the bay. On either side of the window decorative nets full of rare shells, dried spider-fish, and other ship’s paraphernalia hung from the ceiling. Behind the harbor master’s desk was a series of shelves with even more stuff piled on them, including a perfectly replicated miniature of a six-masted cargo vessel that kept drawing Phen’s eye. The harbor master himself, Phen decided, had probably been a real pirate at one time. He wore a patch over one eye, and had a knife scar that ran from his gnarled ear down to his throat. He was an old man. If asked, Phen would have guessed him to be a hundred. Nevertheless, he was sharp, grouchy, and talked like a proper pirate should talk.

  “...fourteen barrels o’ water, and three o’ rum,” he read Captain Trant’s list of needed provisions back to him. “...eight o’ salted beef, and how many rounds o’ cheese?” He peered closer at the parchment, scowled, then looked up at Trant. “Where you going from here, Captain, that you’ll only need two weeks’ worth of rations? They told me your hold was near to empty. You’re not planning on going to old Westland are you? I can tell you, you’ll find no welcome flying the Blacksword there.”

  “No, sir,” Trant answered. “We’re going south to a little spring island that’s off the charts.” After he said it, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have, but there were a dozen islands too small for human habitation about two days south of Salazar. He hadn’t said which one.

  “What in all the hells for?” the harbor master asked with eyes full of genuine curiosity.

  Trant wasn’t sure what to say. He had thought about this conversation at sea, but his respect for the man before him wouldn’t allow him to even try and deceive. Phen noticed the Captain’s hesitation and spoke.

  “We’re searching for a rare plant called silverleafedskullrella. My master wants to find a new source of it. It’s used in casting spells.”

  “And you think this plant grows on the Pirate Isles?” the harbor master asked.

  “The pirates are all Dakaneese,” Phen said. “Master Sholt used to buy our silverleaf from the Isle of Borina, but the Red Priests have gone crazy since Pael called up his demon. The plant grows in the warm humid climate of the islands.”

  The harbor master looked at Phen for a moment then burst into laughter. “Where did you get this little turd, Trant?”

  He stamped Trant’s request, still chuckling. “What a bunch of nonsense. The pirates are all Dakaneese...” He was laughing now. “If it’s not my business, boy, just say so. You can’t lie to the devil.”

  Phen grinned sheepishly. “Sir, can you tell me whose banner is the eagle holding the snake? Their ship is huge. And who flies the lightning star?”

  “The eagle is from the land of Harthgar. It takes more than a season to sail from here to there, and it’s open sea the whole way. They say that there be walkin’ talkin’ people covered in fur, with tails like a cat’s livin’ in the hills there, but I ain’t never seen one.” He paused and handed Captain Trant his approved loading ticket. “The lightning star is the Dragon Queen of New Westland’s.”

  “She’s not a dragon queen anymore,” Phen said with pride. “Hyden Hawk stole her dragon and set it free.”

  “Yes, well, try telling her that, lad. She’s a tariff-happy witch is what she is. They have all the good lumber, and most of the good meat in Westland. Dragon or no, she’s not afraid to make us pay for it all.”

  “Off the record, Ralphal,” Captain Trant interrupted and changed the subject, “do you still have those old code legends you used to keep. Show him, Phen. Show him the transcription you’ve started.”

  Phen took out the log book he had been copying and handed it to the harbor master. The old man squinted his good eye at the page, turned it, and squinted some more.

  “This is old script,” he muttered. “Not pirate, but Elvish... Amazing. Where did you come across it?” he asked Trant, then turned his gaze on Phen.

  “It’s from an old text I purchased from a juju wizard on Kahna,” Phen lied.

  The old man laughed again. “Juju wizard...” he was still chuckling as he rose and hobbled across the room to a shelf on a wall that Phen hadn’t noticed earlier. “I don’t know how much use this will be to you. The dwarves used to inhabit all of Highwander. Old Port was a dwarven port long before the humans came along. Them short bastards never could get the hang of the sea. The elves used the port more than any. This is an old dwarven, elven, human translation. It was popular before the common tongue of man replaced the other languages. It’s a rare volume and I covet it, but if Captain Trant will guarantee that I’ll get it back when you return from your hunt for magic plants, I’ll let you borrow it.”

  “He will,” Phen said over Trant, who had started speaking.

  “I can guarantee that, I think,” the Captain glared at Phen. After a moment, he added: “I can assure you, Ralphal, your text will stay in my cabin exclusively. Our young turd can use it there, where I know it will remain safe.”

  “Very well,” the old pirate said in a way that told them he had other matters to attend to. Captain Trant took the translation and said his goodbyes, then Phen thanked the harbor master for his help and they were on their way.

  Once they exited the building and started back toward the docks to find Deck Master Biggs and the crew, Trant cuffed Phen on the back of the head. Phen didn’t like it, but he knew he deserved the correction.

  “Silverleafedskullrella?” Trant asked incredulously. “You must be daft. What were you thinking? And that talk of Borinian priests... Bah!” He shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.

  That evening they all dined in a place frequented by captains and lesser lords. The fare was fantastic and the drink strong. They roomed at an inn called The Sword of Salt, in a section of the city where people, mostly from the eastern part of the mainland, caroused. The Captain explained that there were Dakaneese, and Westland sections of the city as well, but that they wouldn’t be welcomed there. “You might find yourself among a crew of inked up Seawardsman over here, even a Valleyan horse trader or two, but that’s far better company than you’ll find anywhere else on the Isle of Salazar.”

  Phen didn’t doubt it one bit. He had seen the aggressive looks that some folk gave them as they made their way back to the ship earlier.

  ***

  The whole of the next afternoon Phen was in the Captain’s quarters translating. Hyden invited Brady, and Oarly to take a walk through the trading lanes. It took only a short while for them to realize that Oarly was a spectacle for the sailors to jeer at. To avoid trouble, they made their way back to the inn and proceeded to get drunk in the common room.

  Hyden didn’t overdo it. In the morning, they were to leave port for the little island that lay four days to the west and south of Salazar, the island where Claret had told him they could find Barnacle Bones’s ship. Then the Captain appeared and told him that, later, the two of them would be dining at Lord Buxley’s manor with a couple of notable ship builders. Hyden had no idea who Lord Buxley was, but Trant spoke of him as if he were a powerful man in the greater scheme of things.

  It gave Hyden a chill just thinking about what he had to do after they found the skull. If it was up to him, Zorellin’s gourd could stay where it lay, and the ring Gerard took into the Nethers could stay where it was, as well. The goddess of his people had told him to go after the ring, though, and to do that he needed the Silver Skull. She had helped him and Mikahl destroy the demon-wizard Pael and his minions. There was no way he could deny her. If she said that it must be done, then he would do it.
She was a goddess after all.

  Phen came down late in the afternoon looking for something to eat. He was excited to see Hyden there, and as soon as he asked for some meat and bread, he took a seat next to him and started telling what he had learned so far.

  “The dead man in the cavern, the skeleton with a key around his neck, was an elven consort, whatever that is?” Phen said quickly. “His name was something like Heart of Leafy Oak, or Leafy Oak Heart, in our language. The ring he was carrying was a gift from the elven king or queen of the time.”

  Hyden nodded in appreciation of Phen’s efforts as much as at the royal nature of the gift.

  “The book is his journal. He started it the day he left the Heartswood. I guess that’s where the elves used to live.”

  “Still is,” Hyden explained. “The Heartswood is a forest that lies in some secret elven land, but it’s magical. When the elves are in the Evermore Forest, it’s because the whole Heartswood is in the Evermore.” Thinking about elves made him sad, leaving his expression uneasy.

  Sensing Hyden’s discomfort, Phen picked up where he left off, just as cheerily as ever.

  “He wrote his name, and his family lineage, which is two whole pages long. Then he wrote what his mission was—all on the day he started the journal. I haven’t gotten to how he ended up in the serpent’s lair yet, but I skipped forward and found a little bit about the king he was delivering the gift to.” Phen stopped as his bread and meat, and a big goblet of ale arrived before him. Hyden poured most of the ale into his own cup then sent the barmaid after some fresh milk.

  “You have to stay alert for these two,” Hyden indicated the weaving form of Oarly perched next to Brady at the bar. Brady was sitting with this face down, passed out on the planks. “Deck Master Biggs will be around tonight, but Captain Trant and I are having dinner with a shipbuilder.” He turned to Phen and grinned. “You and Talon get to watch over the drunks while we’re gone.”

  “I’ll be in Captain Trant’s room working,” said Phen through a mouthful of bread. “Master Biggs can watch ’em.”

  “Aye,” Hyden laughed at Phen’s studiousness. “At least keep an eye on Talon, then. Take a chunk of meat for him when you go.”

  “Aye,” Phen replied. He took a long sip from Hyden’s goblet when Hyden was looking away. When he had Hyden’s attention again he told him he should probably take a bath before he went to a formal dinner.

  Hyden laughed, but left to find the innkeeper. Phen took a few more sips of the ale. He was too intent on learning everything he could about the ring and the oak-hearted elf to let himself get drunk, but the fact he had distracted Hyden enough that he could get drunk if he wanted pleased him to no end.

  ***

  Lord Buxley’s table was set with golden dinnerware in a dark, candlelit, wood-paneled room that sported several grand seascapes and a fireplace the size of a small cottage. Hyden thought it was silly drinking from a golden cup and eating with solid gold utensils. It was nerve-wracking for him. He found himself worrying about proper manners with every word he spoke. Phen always called him a mountain clan hick, but hadn’t taken the time to instruct him on etiquette. What few manners he did possess, he learned from Mikahl, who had been raised in a Westland castle, and Queen Willa, who, like an overly concerned mother, seemed to correct his every public move.

  The fare was freshly killed game hens and honeyed pork with butter-soft rolls and vegetables. The wine was sweet, smooth, and very potent. Hyden managed not to embarrass himself through the feast and was glad when the conversation turned from technical shipbuilding jargon and general news from ports afar, to him.

  Four men, all important to the shipping industry in one form or another, shared the lord’s table with him and the Captain.

  “So, they say you stole away Queen Shaella’s dragon,” the pudgy, but kind lord of the manor said to him. He obviously wanted to hear the story firsthand.

  “Aye, uh, yes, sir,” Hyden stammered. “The dragon—Claret is her name—wasn’t serving her by choice. Shaella tricked her into a binding collar. She controlled the dragon through a similar collar that she wore.” Hyden leaned back in his seat feeling awkward. “It was just a matter of getting the collar from her neck to mine.”

  “How, pray tell, did you do that?” another man at the table asked.

  “I shot it from her neck with an arrow,” answered Hyden seriously. “Of course, I asked the dragon to keep still when I did it.”

  “Of course,” Lord Buxley shared a glance with Captain Trant and the others that showed his disbelief.

  “Impossible,” one of them said.

  “Preposterous is what it is,” suggested another.

  Captain Trant shrugged. He was beginning to see that this dinner was not going as planned. He hadn’t realized how out of place Hyden would be in a formal situation. An idea struck him. “You have a bow or two about, don’t you? Let us see just how good our hero is with one.”

  An hour later Hyden was amazing them all with his talent from a balcony that overlooked the well-kept wooded garden at the rear of Buxley’s estate. The sun had set and it was growing dark outside.

  “Three this time,” Hyden said confidently.

  “Three?” Lord Buxley exclaimed. “And in the moonlight no less.” He looked over the rail, down at a young boy who was just catching his breath from his last retrieval. “Keep your eyes peeled, Dannor. He’s going for three this time.”

  Behind him, Hyden heard Captain Trant making another wager. He had won several already, but none as large as the one he was making now.

  “Are you ready?” Lord Northall asked from beside them. Northall owned a company that specialized in making barrels, crates, and other containers for shipping.

  “Aye,” Hyden said, feeling completely at ease now.

  Lord Northall threw one apple, then another, and a final one into the air, high over the garden. An arrow loosed as soon as the first apple was away. Hyden pulled his next arrow from where he had lined them across the flat top of the balcony rail. He nocked it quickly, then drew and fired high into the air. The third arrow he loosed at a downward angle as the last apple fell into the trees.

  Captain Trant, who had seen Hyden Hawk successfully pull off this very feat from the rail of a rolling ship, had wagered a sizable purse against two of the shipbuilders this time.

  “Go, Dannor,” Lord Buxley ordered like an excited boy.

  The young cook’s son tore off across the lawn toward the woods to search for the fallen apples.

  While they waited, Lord Northall brought up the subject of conversation they had all been waiting for.

  “Captain Trant tells us you have an idea that might help us get the iron work we desperately need back under way. As you know, production has all but stopped here on the island.”

  “Aye,” Hyden nodded. “It’s simple really. Start buying back the Wildermont slaves from the Dakaneese.”

  “Were not slavers man!” Lord Buxley said indignantly. “We’re honorable men.”

  “Let him finish, Morgan,” one of the others demanded.

  “Found one!” Dannor called up in a thin voice. “It’s cored.”

  One of the gamblers moaned.

  “Still two to go. He couldn’t have gotten all three,” muttered the other.

  “Go on,” Northall urged Hyden to continue what he was saying.

  “There are so many Wildermont slaves that, if you bought them from the slavers in quantity, you could get them quite cheaply.”

  “We have been hearing that a mercenary named Dreg is already trying to use slaves to mine the Wilder Mountains and work the forges,” Northall said kindly. “And as Morgan just said, Sir Hyden Hawk, we are not slavers.”

  “Dreg won’t be in business much longer, I assure you,” responded Hyden confidently. “I doubt he will live to see midsummer. He is too far away from Dakahn, and King Jarrek is deadly determined.” Hyden unstrung the bow and leaned it against the rail as he continued. “I don’t want
you to be slavers. I want you to free the slaves you buy. Give them the coin to get to their homes and back to work. They are the miners and smiths you need. It won’t be long before your supply is restored and they would owe you their freedom. Your investment would be returned, men would be freed, and without bloodshed.”

  “I found another!” a voice carried from the edge of the woods. “The arrow is still in it!”

  “Haw!” Lord Buxley laughed.

  “Start stacking it,” Captain Trant told the men he’d wagered against.

  “Not just yet,” one of them grumbled. “There’s still another out there, he may not have gotten it.”

  “Just start counting,” the other gambler said dejectedly. “Don’t you know when you’ve been had?”

  Lord Northall was staring intently at a place in the moonlit sky. His expression showed that he was contemplating Hyden’s idea. “We would need protection for those we freed so that they could work without being molested by sell-swords from Dakahn or skeeks from Westland.” He turned back to Hyden. “This High King, is he a good man?”

  “Mikahl is as honorable as they come,” answered Hyden. Though he spoke with a proud reverence for his friend, he couldn’t forget the incident with the squat weed. “He will find a way to protect those you free. I’ll arrange it myself when I return from this trip. But I’m thinking King Jarrek will have it worked out long before then. If the rumors are true, he has already killed half a dozen Dakaneese overlords and freed thousands of his people.”

  “You’re a rare kind of man, Sir Hyden Hawk,” Northall said. “Most men would be trying to turn a situation like this into a profit for themselves.”

  “Found it!” Dannor yelled breathlessly. “It’s hit. That’s three for three!”