The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1)

by Michael Mood

  And, just like that, while musing about the guards, he was inside. Sundown was a busy time, apparently. People were leaving, their business done for the day. Where theirs was ending, Krothair's was beginning.

  Finding where Ti'Shed lived wouldn't be so hard. With the reins grasped tightly in one gloved hand, Krothair led his horse through the streets.

  “A boy with a sword that size could have any lady he wanted,” some woman yelled to Krothair. She stood outside of a dilapidated looking house. Krothair could see more women through the dimly lit windows. He looked at the woman who had yelled at him, nodded politely, and kept walking. There would probably be lots of whores here. No sense in getting distracted. Does Kelin Lightbearer get distracted by women? They're probably always bothering him about his sword, Warbreaker. It is a really great sword.

  Krothair turned left at the Finch Tavern, a place Germon had labeled on his crudely drawn map. He could smell the ocean more strongly now, and as much as he longed to look at it there would plenty of time for that later. He didn't want to stray from his goal.

  The house he eventually came upon was smaller than he would have expected. It was in a nice section of town, lush with plants and gardens that looked like they had been tended. Yet the small abode he stood before now didn't look like the dwelling of a sword master. Where will we train? In some adorned courtyard?

  Krothair tied his horse to something he thought might have been a hitch and knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately.

  Inside stood an old man, but Krothair didn't for a second think that it wasn't Ti'Shed Hawkethorn. The boy wouldn't make an embarrassing mistake and say something stupid like, “I'm looking for Master Hawkethorn. Have you seen him about?”

  For starters, everything about the man was dangerous: the way he stood, the slight scowl he wore, even the speed with which he had opened the door. And then there was the grip he had when Krothair shook his hand. The boy felt his eyes widening in shock at the iron force that was crushing down on his fingers.

  “You're Krothair Mallurin,” Ti'Shed said. His voice was smooth as ice and didn't sound as old as he looked. “Am I saying that right? Mah-loo-rin?”

  Krothair nodded.

  “Slight accent on the 'loo', then? Places your birthplace farrrrrr west of here. Ah, yes, but you've been orphaned. So perhaps whoever named you simply has a western sensibility. Around here it would probably be mal-yoo-rin, with the 'mal' accented. Come in. Didn't expect you so late, but here you are.”

  “My horse,” Krothair said clumsily. He felt like an oaf in front of Ti'Shed.

  “We'll take care of her,” Ti'Shed said, peering out at the beast. “Has a gimp leg.”

  Krothair didn't think she did, but Ti'Shed had probably been around warhorses all his life and was certainly a much better judge of horseflesh.

  “A little,” Krothair said.

  “Ah,” Ti'Shed said. “That's our first lesson, then. If you think someone's wrong, tell them you think they are wrong. Your horse looks fine.” He stepped into the house.

  Krothair followed him, his face hot.

  -6-

  “Not much light left today,” Ti'Shed said, gazing out a window. The old man walked over to a wood-burning stove and retrieved a kettle off the top. “I've heard much about you,” he continued. “The wandering swordsman, yes? The orphan savant?”

  “Something like that,” Krothair said. “Germon told me to give you this. Has his seal on it.” Krothair started to dig in his pocket but Ti'Shed stopped him with a gesture.

  “No need. Germon always was a little too caught up in formalities for my taste, even in his training. I believe you are who you say you are, and I believe you have come here for the reasons Germon said. You wish to train with me.”

  “More than anything."

  Ti'Shed chuckled lightly, but he still had a hard look on his face. Even when he was being jovial he looked that way. It's just part of who he is.

  “More than anything,” the old man echoed. “More than you'd like to don the crest of the Kingsguard?”

  Krothair was silent.

  “Another lesson. Exaggeration is a dangerous thing. It is entirely too close to lying for my tastes.”

  “I would like to train with you,” Krothair said quietly.

  Ti'Shed set the kettle down on the table. “I hate tea,” the old man said, “and that is no exaggeration.”

  “Then why drink it?” said Krothair.

  “Drink it?” said Ti'Shed, looking amused. In a split second he had the kettle back in his hand and in one smooth motion flung it towards Krothair's head.

  The boy's hand was on his hilt in the blink of an eye. The dull training sword screamed out of its sheath and caught the kettle in the side, deflecting it with a loud ping. It clattered to the ground spilling not a single thing.

  Because it had been empty.

  Ti'Shed nodded as Krothair stood incredulous.

  “You used your sword when dodging might have been easier, but your reflexes are as fast as any I have seen on one your age, save for those who would become master thieves. I like to encourage goodness. You may train with me starting tomorrow." Ti'Shed smiled just a tiny bit. “Now, you look hungry. Do you want something to eat?”

  -7-

  The house had four rooms and Krothair's bedroom was one of them. He had a bed that was almost too small for him, a table, and a trunk. He had hung his sword on a peg and put his clothes in a trunk. Moving in had been an easy task.

  Supper had consisted of sourdough bread, crab meat, and coconut milk. He had never had any of these things before and had felt like a king dining there with Ti'Shed. The old sword master had turned out to be something Krothair never would have expected. He was wise and solemn, but trickery danced just behind his eyes. It was hard to see it through the scowl that seemed to have frozen itself in place, but Krothair still noticed the jester within his master.

  Now, under the thin sheets of his bed, Krothair shuddered, excited for his training and excited that he had passed the tea kettle test. But he was on guard. Are there going to be tests in the middle of the night? He shifted under the blankets and they made a soft swishing noise. He could hear the faint noises of the city outside. Its never-ending bustle would take some getting used to.

  A knock at the front door.

  Krothair froze for a moment and then got lightly out of bed, but before had taken two barefooted steps towards his bedroom door, he heard Ti'Shed open the front door. Had the old man even been asleep or was he just that fast?

  Krothair sneaked over to his door and opened it silently. He could see out into the larger room where the tea kettle still lay on the floor. Ti'Shed held a candle, and the light it threw gave the scene a sinister look. Had Ti'Shed been expecting the door-knocker?

  No. He's wearing nightclothes. He looks half asleep. His white hair – what little was left – was disheveled. He had either been asleep or was going to great lengths to look like he had been. Krothair was jumping to conclusions.

  This isn't a test, Krothair. Just the odd midnight caller.

  He had a hard time hearing what was said, if anything. The person outside the door held something through it on his upturned palms. The slant of his arms told Krothair that the person was kneeling. Ti'Shed reached out and grasped the long thin object: a sword in a beautiful scarlet sheath.

  Ti'Shed stood perfectly still, the candle in one hand, the scarlet sheathed sword in the other. All was stone for a moment. Only the candle flame danced, seeming more like liquid than flame. The door-knocker's arms withdrew out the door and it closed with a click.

  Krothair saw the candle flicker and heard a slight hiss. Had water fallen onto the flame? He traced a vertical line up, but directly above it were Ti'Shed's eyes.

  Not water.

  Tears.

  The sword master was crying.

  Chapter 5 – The Lonely Ship

  -1-

  “Here it is!” Halimaldie shouted, running down the beach.

/>   The ocean breeze whipped his long brown hair into his face, pieces of it tangling in his close-cropped beard. Was there a storm coming? He scanned the horizon, but it was too dark to tell anything much. He liked to make it his job to know everything, but sometimes that just wasn't possible.

  But he had found the ship just where the scout had said it would be.

  The Lucky Maid wasn't supposed to be washed up on some faraway beach. It was supposed to have been at the Haroman docks three days ago. Halimaldie had been there waiting for it. Normally he didn't show up for the loading and unloading of his vessels, but this was quite possibly the largest and most profitable shipment he had ever been a party to, and when it hadn't shown up he had feared for the worst.

  Now he stood on the beach in the wavering torchlight. Twenty sell-swords stood behind him. He had hemmed and hawed briefly on the correct number of people to bring. He wanted as few eyes as possible on this debacle. Rumors were dangerous, and a botched operation could undermine his empire. Especially an operation of such importance.

  The gangway lowered to the beach, slamming down with a loud thud, causing Halimaldie to jump. It was too dark to see much else so he grabbed a torch and moved farther forward, the sell-swords walking slowly behind him, their weapons clinking quietly.

  “Tell yer boys to stay back,” a voice hissed, making Halimaldie jump again.

  Halimaldie squinted into the darkness behind him.

  Telin Fucking Lightbearer, he thought with a silent groan.

  The Kingsguardian stood just a few steps behind Halimaldie, but even in the torchlight it was hard to pick him out. Something about him wavered and seemed to reject the light. Halimaldie had heard that Telin was a Servitor, but had to admit he really didn't know much about those powers, or even if they were real. Some Servitors have the ability to bend time? Is that true? Seems like an exaggeration. In Halimaldie's business he had always appreciated the benefits that exaggeration could bring to the table, and certainly didn't begrudge others the same luxury.

  But now the Kingsguard was involved in this. Damn. What interest does the crown have in this shipment other than skimming their taxes off the top? And how did he find out, anyway?

  “You have authority here?” Halimaldie asked. Now he was rubbed completely the wrong way.

  Telin nodded. “Aye, D'Arvenant.”

  It rankled him that Telin had addressed him by his surname, but Halimaldie turned to his sell-swords and gave them the signal to back off. A few of them looked confused, but they obeyed.

  The water rolled along the shore in its rhythmic pattern as the men retreated into the night.

  Shh shh shh.

  Shh shh shh.

  Shh shh shh.

  "I don't understand. I hired the best crew for her," Halimaldie said, looking at the ship.

  “Ah, yes,” Telin said. “The best crews are always running ships aground.”

  Halimaldie actually found himself getting nervous as he waited. It was a sensation that he didn't feel often. Nothing was happening. He feared the worst. There should be someone. Anyone. A person from the crew should be coming down that sloping gangway.

  “The hell,” Halimaldie muttered. He heard Telin sniff the air behind him. “Telin, do you see anything?” As long as the Kingsguardian was here, Halimaldie might as well use him. But when he looked where the man had been, Telin was gone. Silent as a shark in the water.

  The gangway creaked as Halimaldie stepped onto it. He wore two daggers - one on each hip - but he rarely used them. He wasn't even sure if he knew how to use them. His plan had always been to thrust them at whatever he wanted to die, but he knew there was much more to it. One dagger had an ivory hilt with a silver blade, the other had an ebony hilt with a gold blade. He was convinced they had saved his life on one occasion, but mostly he wore them because they were from his father.

  They didn't look half bad either.

  At the top of the gangway Halimaldie had to resist the urge to vomit. Body parts lay scattered about. Halimaldie couldn't really think of them as corpses. The scattered limbs and torsos would have to have been attached together for these things to be corpses. The remains were definitely human. The breeze blew the smell directly into his face.

  Halimaldie paled and turned around, waving his torch and calling his sell-swords back to him. He didn't care what Telin Lightbearer had told me. This wasn't something he could deal with alone. “Search the ship," he said to them as they approached. "Make sure it's safe. This reeks of pirates.”

  “This is probably something to report-” one man started to say.

  “Do as I say!” Halimaldie snapped. He'd already gone to great lengths to keep this a secret. He wasn't reporting to anyone. “In the morning you go back to doing whatever it is you wish, but for tonight I'm paying you and if you don't do as I say you'll wish you were these people.” He indicated the body parts. “Start with the deck and work your way down. Find the cause of this.”

  Halimaldie had many questions. His brain always surged with questions. Who did this? What happened? Why? How can I cover this up with a Kingsguardian poking his nose around in it? But most important to him: is my shipment still intact?

  -2-

  “No one?” Halimaldie asked.

  “There's nothing alive on this entire ship,” the sell-sword said. “Most of the . . . er, mess . . . is up here on the deck, but there are a few corpses in the cargo hold as well.”

  Halimaldie scowled. He took a handkerchief out of the pocket of his heavy jacket and held it up to his face. “Stay up here and don't let any of the men off the ship yet,” he said from behind it. The smell was getting to him. “I'm going to check the cargo hold myself. If the manifest is undamaged we'll need to transport it ourselves.”

  “But these people . . .” the sell-sword began to say.

  “They're not going anywhere.”

  Halimaldie started down the stairs to the hold, passing a few sell-swords coming up. He said nothing for now, but gave them a look. He didn't trust other people to do a good job, especially not this sort, but he had hired who he could on short notice.

  Everything beyond the reach of Halimaldie's torch was menacing darkness. He felt claustrophobic. Storerooms and basements were tight quarters and as he walked he felt as if the walls were a thousand bands thick on each side of him. If he would have thought about it he would have realized there was open air just twenty feet in any direction. But here in the belly of the ship his chest tightened.

  He knew the layout of the ship. Despite almost never unloading these things, Halimaldie always made it his business to know everything he could about his operations. He knew the dimensions of each ship by heart, planning routes and cargoes using raw math and logic. Sailing was for the men who loved it. The details were for Halimaldie.

  In two more corners he would turn into a cargo hold that would contain tens of thousands of crown notes worth of gems. The war was over, trade with Shailand was open. Many merchants had jumped at the opportunity. Halimaldie had been one of the ones who had jumped highest, using his family's name and resources to buy, convince, and connive his way into his current position.

  He walked into the tight cargo hold. It held many things: food, wine, beer, lumber, supplies for sea journeys. It held other crates of trade goods as well, but these were far less important than the gems. He quickly located these most important crates. They were stashed near the back under an unassuming tarpaulin.

  He set his torch in a sconce on the wall and hauled the massive tarpaulin off. The top of the nearest crate fell just below his chest. It was then that Halimaldie knew even he had underestimated this shipment. It was the first of many, but it was the largest by far. It was important to flood the market early to deal with the ravenous demand of the people, then keep the flow maddeningly underwhelming as the demand burned like embers just below the surface of peoples' hearts. That was his plan anyway. But the volume here . . . how had the workers mined so much? He would have to see their pay increased sl
ightly.

  It would probably take a crowbar to open the crates and Halimaldie didn't have one on him, but a quick inspection told him that nothing was out of place. Well, except this corpse anyway. How the hell did manage to wedge himself under the tarpaulin? Did he run here for cover?

  Moving the corpse was difficult; not physically but mentally. Grabbing the dead flesh felt awful, but Halimaldie was able to tip the poor fellow (who was missing a good portion of his head) forward. The corpse ended up slumped over in an incredibly unnatural position. Something squelched out of some orifice, but Halimaldie wasn't going to check exactly what.

  Something wasn't right about the section of the crate that the dead man had been covering. The wood was broken away and Halimaldie could see inside. He reached his hand in and felt around for what should have been his precious cargo, but instead was so slimy that Halimaldie almost retched. He forced himself to grab a handful of the stuff anyway.

  He withdrew his hand from the crate and looked at it in the torch light. The things he held looked like gems, but they were black and oily, not red and lustrous like they should have been. They also stank. He could almost see the impurities swimming in them, as if the stones had been tainted by something.

  Halimaldie had never heard of anything that could cause gemstones to react this way, but he suddenly had a feeling in his gut that this had not been a routine pirate job.

  A thought occurred to him. Halimaldie had heard stories of magics – even of magic that could be wielded by rich men, somehow - but the stories were so contradictory that he hadn't really believed. But this isn't natural. For Halimaldie, seeing was believing.

  And now he was seeing. And smelling. And. . .

  One of the other gem crates shuddered slightly. Halimaldie heard a muffled scraping sound coming from within it. Before he could grab his torch from the wall, before he could even move, the side burst open. A slimy cavalcade of cracked wood and oily-black gemstones skittered onto the floor and something man-sized tumbled out.