by Jason Jones
Her sobs only hurt her wounds more, feeling the burn now, a burn from her shoulder to her ear and across the right of her face, increasing her cries of anguish and misery. Only her left eye would open, and she could see the candlelit bedroom of the prince, she knew it well. Being his adopted daughter had privileges and pains, being bought usually does. She got up, trembling from sharp burning spikes of pain, feeling her womanhood raw and painful from something rough that she had not been conscious for. Vanessa wrapped the sheets around her and stumbled toward the large mirror across from the bed.
Her scream at the horror of her face could have awoken the dead, and she fell to the ground in the fetal position, screaming and wishing she had not survived. The young wizard had seen the right side of her face in a faint light, but it was enough to see the damage the lightning had done. Her flesh was blackened, what was left of it, her eye was swollen shut, her neck charred and burned with her shoulder, the shiny muscle and flesh that used to be covered with skin exposed and dark as crimson midnight. Her youth and beauty were tarnished along with years of forcing herself, and being forced upon, by her supposed adopted father, Prince Johnas Valhera. Her screams continued bouncing off the walls in the immense bedchamber of her captor and master. She searched for her wand, her staff, her rage and pain needing to unleash through powerful magicks on something.
The door flung open, priests of the prince, witchdoctors with titles was more accurate, scoured over her, holding her down, spreading ointments on her wounds. She struggled, cried out, begged for them to stop. A flint piece was struck, and she could smell the smoldering opium rising in the air. They held her down, she was powerless, and as she gasped, the smoke entered her mouth, burning as it went into her lungs. She coughed and held her breath for as long as she could. Her eyes wandered in the silence of the chaos, meeting his eyes in the doorway, watching, his head lowered.
Johnas was there, but he did nothing but stare, and then he walked away from the girl he had raised and pleasured himself with since her youth. She had been more vulnerable, beautiful, erotic, and obedient than any of the others. He rewarded her with study in the arts, gifts and magical trinkets, power, and his bed. He trained her with steel and stealth, and secretly named her one of the Eight of the White Spider, named her the one no one would know of, until it was too late.
Now, all she had known besides Balric was walking away when she most needed someone to explain what had happened, and comfort her that all would be fine. She received nothing, and as her breath gave out in dire need to inhale, the opium bag opened and filled her chest with smoke that numbed it all, producing her silence, and then a wide-eyed sleep.
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Prince Johnas stalked once more around the pit, staring at the hornless body of Heathen that lay face down on the spikes. Kaya and Chalas had left for Devonmir and the Queen Sapphire had followed the fugitive ship with Farrigus in charge. His woman was less than pleasurable with all her injuries, though he made use of her anyway, when the opium was in effect and she seemed willing enough. Heathen was dead, Gregore and his coven of shapechangers were well placed and following the ships with those from Altestan. With Gerram and Dasius dead as well, Johnas began to feel a bit lonely in his throne room. He needed entertainment, he needed blood, and he desired to wield his power over someone or something. He had tired of the boring conversations with the corpses in the pit, said all he had needed to say there, and now he was hoping for something to happen, anything.
The door behind the throne opened, his priests walking out, shaking their heads. Each silently bowed to the Prince standing by the pit, knowing that conversation with him while near the site where his displeasures resided was most unwise.
“What of lovely Lady Blackflame, my indentured and overpaid priests?”
One of the older men spoke up, his hands tucked in his black robes, “She sleeps, your highness, but her burns are severe. We will try all we can to tend to them, but she will be scarred forever. I would recommend letting her rest over the next few weeks as we do all we are able.”
Johnas looked at the priests, then to the pit, then tapped his blade, and then glared back at the priests.
“We will convene now, my lord, and see what else may be of assistance to the young lady. Come brothers, I have some ideas for young Vanessa. There are a few arcane tricks that an acquaintance of mine may have, let us try that.” He motioned the others back into the bedchamber, quickly.
The Prince smiled, enjoying his lonely power, pacing again around the pit. “Do you gentlemen wish any company? A few priests might make for interesting and inspiring conversation for your current predicament.” He stared at the bodies in his pit. His laughter rolled through the vast chamber, even putting the doppelganger guard at much unease.
“Patience is not my strength, it is not, I admit. I have webs and plans and schemes in abundance. So many nations, yet patience to see the fruit of my endeavors, well, that is the challenge. So, you all keep me pleasantly distracted now and again. Then, some of you die, and we have these talks. You all must truly work on your skills, conversations should be both ways, you realize.” Johnas paced, talking to Heathen and Dasius, Gerram and Ellaird, as if they were merely uncooperative at the moment.
“Blackflame, yes, the name suits her now, I suppose. Scars and blackened flesh and all, get your laughs, gentlemen, get them if you can. She still lives, and I will find Balric of Harlaheim, and the scroll, you will see.” Johnas continued talking to the dead bodies far below. The green imperfect stone in the hilt of his blade shone eerily, hummed, and let Johnas know it was listening.
“Altestan ambassadors? They do not concern me. I will pin their fates on the church, on the king, on Harlaheim for all I focking care. They should have had more respect.”
The blade throbbed and flashed brightly this time.
“Your disapproval is noted, but I fear it is too late to remedy the situation.” Johnas walked toward the throne of onyx and jade, across the spider mosaic, picking up a glass of red wine off one of the many tables. He set the blade in his seat on the thorne, still in the scabbard, and took a drink.
“Rest, you need your rest now. I will handle everything.” Johnas spoke calmly to the green glow, to the stone in the sword, and finished the glass of wine.
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Farrigus stared at the ships in the distance through the spyglass, unable to tell details, but seeing enough. He could tell the ships that had headed off the Bronze Harpy were royal vessels of Chazzrynn by the flags, and that they were splitting up. One was heading his way, toward the Queen Sapphire, the other out into deeper waters. The Harpy had lifted anchor, and was again heading north toward Harlaheim.
“All right, captain, resume your heading north. Let’s try and pass by the ship from Loucas, see if they stop us.”
“Surely will, Farrigus, they are looking for something or someone. Never seen two royal galleons together searching the coast this close to Valhirst. We are going to be boarded for certain.” The captain was nervous, more because of the ship and what they would find below than because of this foul murderer of the Prince that ordered him around.
If inspected, the captain worried that the seven doppelgangers below would stand out, since most of them did not speak any Agarian at all. They were having much difficulty getting them to remain as crewmen in appearance, and they had no idea how to act on a ship, so they were kept below deck where they practiced changing into things, strange things. They did not like visitors, and they ate things that they should not eat, including one crew member already.
“We will be fine, captain.” Farrigus worried too, having only a thousand gold coin in bribes available, should the inspection reveal the young and inexperienced shapechangers that he was given by the prince of Valhirst.
“Either way, we head north. If I have to kill some royal captain and sink his ship, so be it.”
The navy vessel approached quickly through t
he bright and breezy winter afternoon, its flags now visible. The captain leaned toward the bow, spyglass in hand. He took another look, and then another, hoping he was incorrect in his vision. He was not. Unmistakably it was the heir Prince of Chazzrynn, Bryant Salganat, with heavily armed royal guard that was upon them, and watching their every move.
“Lord Farrigus, sir, it is the MorningHawk of the Chazzrynn fleet, two flags raised, which means royalty aboard! I think I saw Prince Bryant on the bow of the ship! Not the king himself, or there would be three flags, but from the capital in Loucas for certain! What do we do?!” His nerves were on edge. He would kill a naval captain for Prince Johnas, yes, and he had done much that was less than honorable in his service. This, however, was much different. Going up against a royal vessel was not just treason, it was certain death.
“We close with them, open fire, and continue our course north. If they follow, we lose them in Taberlo Pass and around Cat’s Eye Isle, right? I do not understand the confusion here, Captain.” Farrigus drew his longsword and dagger, checking for the edge and any nicks that he may have to sharpen out. His wounds tended, but not healed, he felt the pain in his legs and stomach force him to lean on the rail. His mind went to the elven woman, and his hate brewed, giving Farrigus strength to withstand the tormenting lacerations.
“Farrigus, this is the prince of the kingdom, not some routine port inspection. Firing on them is treason, as is avoiding them. This is suicide, for even if we were to sink them, they have their orders from another…”
“And your orders are from Prince Johnas Valhera, enforced by myself. The king is old, and if his only heir should perish accidentally, who would rule this kingdom when Mikhail is gone? The T’Vellons of Southwind Keep? No, they are bastards like us. The Lazlette family in Vallakazz? Or perhaps you think the other fat nobles in Loucas will? Johnas will one day be king of Chazzrynn, and you'd best be aware of the future, Captain. Treason now, for honor and reward later. Now, set our course to hit them straight on, unless you wish to challenge my authority on the matter?” The scarred assassin twirled his blade once, then twice, smiling through his unkempt beard and squinting with his dark eye.
“Are you so eager to die, Farrigus?”
“Not as eager as you obviously are, Captain.” He turned slowly, twirling his dagger between his fingers. “Do you challenge?”
“No, sir.” The captain marched off to the aft of the Queen Sapphire.
“The fish smell prince, I smell prince, so I say we drown a prince.” Farrigus sneered and adjusted the patch over his eye.
“Set course due north, stay to the coast! Ready the men for attack!” The captain of the Queen Sapphire had no argument with dying later for treason, as opposed to dying right now at the end of that man's sword.
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The Persistence rocked ahead, then to the sides, and then steadied. The waves of a coming winter storm capped white with foam hit the hull again, yet the ship pressed on with the king on the bow.
“Fire another!” yelled Mikhail Salganat.
King Mikhail had another trebuchet bolt fired toward the giant trireme vessel of the Altestani armada, tipped with a tied white flag, which was known as a peaceful hail. It was the third one that the Alltestani crew most undoubtedly had seen, and still they headed further northeast, avoiding any and all contact with the Persistence. The old king wondered what business they had in Valhirst with such a large ship, a warship, and also in following the Harpy north toward Harlaheim. The flags that waved symbolized the flagship of the King of Chazzrynn, and even foreign visitors were obliged to honor and respect that on the open sea. The third massive bolt landed far away from the warbarge of Altestan, yet its flight and height surely caught the eyes of the northern vessel. There was no response.
“Full sail ahead, Captain. I want to see these trespassers up close. Head them off at deeper waters and let them see that we do not intend to be ignored. Ready our weapons and men to board.” Mikhail did not like invaders in his waters, not that six hundred men could pose a threat to his kingdom, but nonetheless he was the king, trade flags or not.
“Your majesty, they must have at least three hundred men on that warship. May I suggest not appearing intent on battle when we are so outmatched?” The captain, never failing an order in over a decade, was concerned going after a ship twice their size in such deep depths.
“You may suggest it, Captain. That ship holds twice what you think. Now prepare the men.” The king thought back to the days when Harlaheim and Chazzrynn were at war over the very waters they traveled on now. Outmatched and outnumbered, but once the knights and soldiers of Chazzrynn boarded a Harlian vessel, the tide always turned. Many times he had the chance to back off, to allow size and numbers to dissuade him from fighting against an enemy. Even when his sons were killed in the last weeks of the Harlaheim War, he had not turned back. The battles that took place in the Iron Gulf and Redcliff Bay on the Carisian Sea were legendary, despite having begun twenty years prior, when Bryant was not yet born and the king still had a queen.
“Five hundred feet, your majesty.” The captain spoke with a tightness in his jaw, knowing they were now in range to be fired upon.
Closer now, Mikhail used the spyglass to see who was at the helm of the great trireme of the northern empires, and if they were prepared for battle. To his surprise, they had not a weapon loaded, and the men aboard seemed busy and were completely ignoring the threat of the king on his flagship, The Persistence.
“They act as if we do not exist. I do not understand it, Captain.” Mikhail took another look. “Are they fleeing us or simply intent on heading north?”
“Shall I keep distance, sire?”
“Yes, Captain, this is close enough.”
Mikhail put the spyglass higher now, looking toward the helm and bow of the ship known as the Headhunter. He saw the three likely candidates for leadership, their fine clothes and robes, darker skin and beards long and braided under white turban wraps, and covered in jewelry. Long curved scimitars and thinner shamshirs decorated their hips as they ordered around crewmen like themselves, or paler skinned slaves from their vast homeland made up of dozens of countries and cultures all owing servitude to Altestan. They moved slowly to deeper waters, avoiding the conflict or any chance of meeting entirely. Mikhail would be hard pressed to head them off, but he fully intended to make the effort. He watched the flags of the three eyes and three dragons of Altestan flit in the winds as they drifted further out, away from his kingdom.
“Your majesty, they head deeper. Shall I maintain proximity?” The captain did not like being drug out this far, alone, with a storm approaching. He watched as King Mikhail stared. He knew never to ask a question twice. The captain followed the eyes of his king, watching distant glares between the two ships.
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Gregore turned to the men, its guise as royal ambassador and son of a prince, Alamud Kaven Sa’oom, was perfect after only a few days with the Altestani man. It had watched his mannerisms, the way he spoke and moved, his facial expressions, even how he slept. After they left port, Gregore used arcane magic to place him in a deep sleep, and cut his throat with a bladed bone that it formed from its wrist. The minion fey kinsman dumped the body and several others that night, and his children had assumed many functions throughout the giant trireme vessel.
The doppelganger imitated most of his clothing with its own flesh, but took the jewelry and weapons of the northern lord, just in case it would need them. Items of an enchanted nature, despite the ancient years of practice in the arcane, could not be duplicated. The elder shapeshifter, skilled above its race for centuries, now only had to keep up appearances to the crew and slaves. Samiri, the entrusted bodyguard of the former Altestani lord, had not caught on to anything yet, but was getting closer by the hour with the Chazzrynn ship approaching.
The Headhunter continued further out to sea, the Persistence still moving to head them off
, and firing giant trebuchet harpoons high in the air, with white flags to hail them. Gregore ignored them, knowing and caring little for the politics or etiquette of kingdoms or the sea. He concentrated his energies, silently forcing the arcane to do the shapechanger's will without others noticing, which had taken decades of self training. The winds filled the sails, at the being’s command, while slaves of various cultures manned the oars.
Further east they sailed, putting more distance between them and the Chazzrynn vessel. The solid black eyes twitched, sensing the approach of the bodyguard, Samiri. Gregore had also studied language for over a century in its many travels and murderous excursions. It knew the Altestani tongue well. The creature had even taught it to many of the children it had aboard the ship.
“Cousin, why is it we sail further when we have nothing to hide here? Certainly you do not fear such a puny ship and crew, no matter who would be at the helm?” The royal guardian had never seen his lord avoid a chance to meet a foreign noble, as his arrogance and superiority had led him to great heights for God Yjaros and his Emperors. “To meet with infidels, in a superior position is an honor to God and Altestan. Should we show fear, it is a disgrace upon---“
“No, no. You see, cousin, this ship has weapons armed and we wish to avoid such trivial meetings with frontier kings as live here in the south. Yes, yes.” The doppelganger did not face the curious human, ensuring its eyes were not noticed.
“We need the scroll, yes,” Gregore hissed to himself.
“Scroll? My lord, that scroll is a myth, a lure to place us in awe of what Johnas could hear of and ascertain. It is a false relic, you know this.” Samiri was confused as they had spoken of this many days previous, in Valhirst.
