Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  A watering can and small spade lay just underneath the sill. The weary man grabbed them, his mood picking up as he meticulously tended to each plant. When he was done, he put down his gardening tools, and turned to face the long table.

  The rich mahogany surface was barely visible under the charts and books strewn across its length. The man’s eyes flitted across the parchments and tomes lain there, finally settling on a map of the vast mainland, Laurentia.

  Bold lettering paralleled the shore on the southwest side of the great continent. The Pirate Coast. It was the unofficial home of the thirteen clans of the pirate nation. The pirate coast stretched five hundred miles along the shore, all the way from Kaniron down to Isandor.

  Isandor. The stout man’s eyes drifted to the country that stretched across the southern end of Laurentia. Images flashed through his mind of a life that used to be.

  Rows and rows of armored warriors lined up in front of him in perfect formation.

  A robust man with surprisingly gentle eyes astride a magnificent throne.

  An impulsive young boy with a mop of thick black hair, barely old enough to hold the wooden training sword in his small hands.

  A sudden knock on the door interrupted his melancholy thoughts. “Captain?”

  The Emerald Blade cleared his throat while wiping the stray moisture from his eyes. “Ahem. Come in, Mr. Siithe!”

  The first mate of the Dark Halo stepped through the door. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Captain. We scoured the ship from top to bottom and took anything of possible value.”

  “What cargo were they carrying?” the captain rumbled.

  The first mate listed off a number of items they found in the hold, which included food stuffs, kegs of wine and ale, a few small chests filled with silver and gold coins, and a variety of lesser-valued items. In the middle of his tally, another knock came at the door.

  “Come in!” the captain bellowed once more.

  The cook entered the cabin carrying a steaming tankard in his hands. He scurried over to the captain and gingerly held it out to him, a stray eye going to the first mate as he did so. “Your—drink, Sir.”

  A thin smile split the captain’s thick red beard as he took the tankard. He lifted it to his lips, blew on it, then took a brief sip. His smile spread wider, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “Ah, that’s excellent. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Captain.” The cook beamed as he turned to leave. His gaze strayed once again to the first mate as he scurried back out of the cabin.

  Mr. Siithe watched the cook go with a single eyebrow raised. His glance briefly passed over the steaming mug, but otherwise he made no comment. The captain seated himself in an ornate chair and waved for the first mate to go on while he continued to sip from his tankard.

  Mr. Siithe finished his litany of items they’d procured from the merchant ship. When he was done, the captain sat forward and placed his tankard aside. “Is everyone off the ship?”

  “Just as you ordered, Sir.” Mr. Siithe nodded. “What about the ship itself?”

  The captain gently stroked his beard as he mulled over the fate of the merchant vessel. “It’s rather slow… and it can’t hold more than two cannons on either side…”

  His mouth wrinkled as he reached a decision. “Put some distance between us and sink her.”

  Mr. Siithe grinned. “Aye, Captain.”

  The captain reached for his tankard again as the door slammed behind his first mate. He took another sip as his eyes went back to the large map in front of him.

  “What an awful way to drink one’s tea,” he murmured to himself.

  Once a proud nation, the Saricordi’s lands had been poisoned and broken during the fall of the Baleful Moon. With the world in complete disarray, no one would take in a displaced people. They survived only by the grace of Zesstara, the goddess granting them dominion over the seas.

  The clans of the Saricordi built a fleet of ships that stopped and demanded tribute of all those who traversed their watery territory. Unfortunately, their claim to the seas was disputed by most of the world. Thus, the clans took to force in order to gain what was rightfully theirs, and were soon labeled pirates of the coast.

  With their questionable standing, the clans hid their homes from the rest of the world. Thus, the Dark Halo now glided through a well-hidden water cave that connected the seas to Loch Dasati.

  The Emerald Blade stood at the prow of the ship, trusting his navigator to steer them through the dark, narrow waters of the cave. A flat smile graced his lips when they finally re-emerged into the sunlight. It was not exactly home, but it was still quite beautiful.

  Before them stretched a long blue lake, its calm waters like some vast mirror seated in the earth. Its surface perfectly reflected the tall, craggy peaks that surrounded the loch on all four sides. Over on the western shore sat a comely town nestled at the foot of one of those peaks. It was Renere, home now for more than a thousand years to the Dasati clan.

  Long docks jutted out from Renere into the still waters of the loch. A number of tall ships were moored there. The Emerald Blade recognized each and every one of them: The Black Cat, Red Cry, Honors Break, Blood Tears, and the flagship of the fleet, the Midnight Manta. A few ships were missing from their berths, but they were most likely out patrolling the open waters.

  The Emerald Blade remained at the prow as the Dark Halo pulled into port. The docks bustled with activity. Plunder was offloaded from the moored ships, replaced with supplies for further voyages. Folks milled about at the edge of town—it was always an event when the ships came in.

  The Emerald Blade’s eyes were drawn to a group of young teens chasing each other around the docks. They were still young enough to enjoy play, but only a few years from being inducted into a crew.

  “Ahoy there, Captain,” a voice called from below.

  The Emerald Blade glanced down to see a tall man staring up at him from the pier. Garbed in a blue coat with gold buttons and trim, the man had a commanding presence. Tharne Ozden.

  Tharne was the Lord Captain of the Dasati. A hard man, he was merciless to his enemies, but fair to his men and those who surrender to him. He was a man the Emerald Blade could respect.

  “Greetings to you, Captain Ozden,” the Emerald Blade replied.

  Once the gangplank was lowered, Tharne made his way up onto the ship. Keen brown eyes darted across the deck from a well-weathered face. A sparse beard and mustache decorated the lower half of his features. Long locks of frayed brown hair overlaid the collar of his blue long coat.

  Tharne strode over to join the captain as he surveyed the spoils waiting to be unloaded. “It seems you brought back a good haul.”

  The Emerald Blade shrugged. “We did our best.”

  Tharne laughed heartily, placing an arm around the stout captain’s shoulders. “Don’t sell yourself short, my friend. Your ‘best’ is typically better than most,” he dropped his voice, “and a sight less bloody, I dare say.”

  The Emerald Blade merely nodded at the compliment. “Life is too short as it is. Why end that which will be gone tomorrow anyway?”

  Tharne let out a sigh. “I wish you could teach that wisdom to the rest of my captains.” He headed back toward the gangplank, pausing at the top. “Anyway, when you are done here, I was wondering if you would join me for a drink? There’s a small matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Will there be tea?” the Emerald Blade asked hopefully.

  A knowing smile crossed Tharne’s face. “Yes, my friend, there will be tea.”

  “Then I’ll be there,” the Emerald Blade responded.

  Tharne gave him a brief wave, then disembarked the ship.

  Outwardly, the Emerald Blade remained stoic, but something about Tharne’s invitation made him feel uneasy. He sensed something more behind Tharne’s invitation than just a simple discussion. Still, he didn’t perceive anything threatening. Tharne had always been rather good to him. Two years ago, without knowing anything about h
im, Tharne had given him a place on his crew. A year later, it was Tharne who promoted him to captain.

  Once the Dark Halo was unloaded, the Emerald Blade left the ship. At the edge of town, he passed by the group of teens who had been running around the docks. Two young women led the band—one with long black hair and a light tan complexion, the other nearly the twin of the first, except that her hair was light brown. He immediately recognized them as Kortiama and Solais—Tharne’s daughters.

  Tharne had no children of his own, but adopted and raised the girls, nonetheless. The Emerald Blade respected that. Family was extremely important to him. In fact, his own nephew would be about the same age as them by now.

  The girls suddenly darted away from the rest. The one wasn’t watching where she was going and nearly collided with him. The Emerald Blade caught her just in time.

  Completely unfazed, Kortiama peered up at him with her dark bright eyes. Her smile lit her entire face. “Thanks for the assist, Captain.” Before he could respond, she was off again, the other teens chasing after them.

  “Korti, that isn’t just any captain—that’s the Emerald Blade, you idiot!” he heard Solais admonish.

  “Is it? He’s shorter in person.” Kortiama glanced over her shoulder and gave him another dazzling smile.

  The Emerald Blade chuckled to himself. Tharne’s daughters are certainly full of energy.

  A wave of homesickness abruptly washed over him. This Kortiama reminded him of his nephew. He continued to watch until the teens disappeared down the crowded docks. The stout man let out a long sigh and continued onward into town.

  For the Lord Captain of the Dasati, Tharne Ozden’s house was a modest dwelling. Set behind a short fence on a busy street corner, the two-story home was lined with tall-paned windows. A wide porch wrapped around the front of the house, with a hexagonal tower rising over one end. A dormer jutted out of the roof next to the tower, which in turn was capped with a widow’s peak.

  The inside of the house was not overly large. The first floor consisted merely of a center hallway, parlor, library, dining room, and kitchen. If there was anything ornate about the interior, it was the décor. Rich blue satin drapes framed the windows. The parlor contained a matching sofa and chairs arrayed in front of a wide fireplace. The dining room set was made of a vibrant cherry wood and had seating for twelve. A large cherrywood desk sat in the middle of the library surrounded by four walls of matching cherrywood bookcases. Trinkets lined most of those shelves with a few books scattered here and there.

  Tharne turned out to be a gracious host. His cook had prepared a small afternoon repast of seafood delicacies for the two men. The conversation remained mundane, however, until they adjourned to the library.

  Tharne sat behind his ornate desk, holding a glass of brandy in one hand. As promised, the Emerald Blade had been provided with a delicious cup of peppermint tea. Tharne sent all his servants home, leaving the two men alone with their drinks.

  The Lord Captain took a sip from his brandy, then carefully laid the glass on his desk. His lips pursed as he fixed his guest with a curious gaze. “We’ve known each other for over two years now. How do you judge me?”

  The Emerald Blade felt a tingling sensation in the center of his brow. Again, it was not threatening, but he sensed the need to be cautious here. He took another sip of tea, then responded in a measured tone. “I believe you to be a man of your word.”

  The corners of Tharne’s mouth upturned slightly at the compliment. “More so, I’d wager, than when you first signed on.”

  The Emerald Blade finished another sip. “That is a wager you would win.”

  Tharne broke out into a full grin. He grabbed his glass, sat back, and finished his brandy. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m not blind, you know. I can tell you’re not happy.”

  The Emerald Blade’s brow twinged again. “Happiness is relative. Is a stone happy sitting in the sun? Is the water happy, lapping against the shore?”

  Tharne let out a hearty laugh. “There you go again, waxing philosophical. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you used to be one of those priests from Isandor.”

  A brief flash of anger welled up inside the Emerald Blade at the mention of the Isandorian priesthood. He quickly pushed it back down, his voice remaining even. “That is a wager I’m afraid you would lose.”

  Tharne sat forward again, his eyes narrowing. “You know, I’ve been watching you for some time now.”

  The twinging turned to pulsing in the Emerald Blade’s brow.

  “You follow a strict code of honor. You never draw a real sword, and you handle that blunt-edged one like an expert.”

  The Emerald Blade continued to calmly sip his tea, though the pulsing in his head had become pounding.

  “And the decorations on the blade, the violet lotus flowers—that is the mark of the House Kazari, first family of the finest clan of Shin Tauri clan warriors in Isandor.”

  The pounding had now migrated to the Emerald Blade’s heart. Still, he managed to keep a calm demeanor. “That is a great compliment you pay me. To be compared to the premier warrior clan of Isandor is praise indeed.”

  Tharne sat even farther forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s also interesting that you appeared about a month after the King of Isandor’s assassination. In fact, it was only a couple of weeks after Isandor’s greatest general, Draigo Kazari, was driven out by the priesthood.”

  Anger rose inside the Emerald Blade again, but he immediately quelled it. His eyes dipped slightly as he mapped his exit route from the house. “You seem to know a lot about Isandor and this General—Draigo, was it?”

  The side of Tharne’s mouth drifted upward. He waved a hand to the books on the shelves behind him. “These are all on the art of war. I’m a student of the craft, and General Draigo is a master tactician. As for my knowledge of Isandor, news gets around if you have the ear for it.”

  The Emerald Blade grunted as he slowly put down his tea. “Hmm, I see. And these speculations of yours—have you shared them with anyone else?”

  Tharne’s eyes danced with amusement. “Do you seriously think anyone else in this town reads, let alone cares about the politics of other nations?”

  The Emerald Blade abruptly gave up the idea of running. His hand carefully edged toward the sword at his side.

  Tharne, however, was quite observant. He caught the slight movement and immediately sat back with his hands up. “Hold on, my friend. There’s no need for that. If I’d wanted trouble, I wouldn’t be sitting here alone with you now.”

  The Emerald Blade eyed him for a few moments, then withdrew his hand from his sword hilt. “So, what is it you want?”

  Tharne’s mouth twisted sideways. He grabbed the bottle of brandy on his desk, and poured himself another glass. He then downed the whole thing in one long gulp. After letting out a slight gasp, Tharne put the glass down and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Ah, I needed that.”

  His gaze turned back to his guest. Tharne’s expression appeared earnest, yet there was a twinge of desperation in his eyes. “The truth is, General Draigo, or not, you are still one of my best captains—and one of the few I trust.”

  Draigo Kazari weighed Tharne’s words carefully. He sensed the ring of truth behind them. He was also curious as to Tharne’s motivation for bringing this up now. Still, he had not been ready to reveal his secret past to anyone. In the end, he decided to let this play out and see where it went.

  Draigo met Tharne’s gaze evenly. “Trust has to go both ways.”

  Tharne pursed his lips. “Indeed. You’re aware of my family situation?”

  Draigo responded with a curt nod. “Your older brother, Rikton, feels he should be head of the Dasati.”

  An ironic smile crossed Tharne’s lips. He slowly got up, clasped his hands behind his back, and started to pace. “Aye, that’s the truth of it. The only thing keeping my head from a pike right now is my wits and my dead brother’s wife.
”

  Liadha Rowan, the dark witch of the Ramulos clan—the widowed bride of Tharne’s eldest brother, the Pirate Warlord Eboneye. Liadha wielded a power blacker than the night. Every pirate in every clan feared her, even Tharne’s brother, Rikton.

  “Liadha is a powerful ally,” Draigo agreed, still wondering where this was all going.

  A hollow laugh escaped Tharne’s lips. “She’s just using me to further her own dark ends.” He stopped pacing and faced Draigo, his expression turning solemn. “I know your secret—now I’m going to entrust you with mine.”

  Thirteen years ago, the pirate warlord, Eboneye, united the clans of the coast. He led them across the seas in a full-scale invasion of the wealthy city of Penwick. The clans sustained huge losses during that long, bloody raid, and in the end were driven out. Eboneye had fallen as well, but not before producing an heir—a girl born during the siege. Moreover, he named her next Lord Captain of the Dasati when she came of age.

  Rikton had railed against the decree, thinking himself next in line. Yet he had been a supporter of the costly raid, in direct violation of the mandates of Zesstara. Tharne, who had been against the invasion from the very start, was chosen acting Lord Captain in his stead. However, not all agreed with Tharne’s selection, and thus a rift formed within the Dasati.

  The rift left Eboneye’s heir in a precarious position. If anything were to befall her before coming of age, the title of Lord Captain would again come into question. Hence, Liadha hid the baby to keep her out of harm’s way.

  Tharne let out a huge sigh as he sat back down and poured himself another brandy. For the first time that evening, Draigo noted the dark circles under his eyes. As Tharne downed another glass, a thought came to Draigo.

  “Your daughters, Kortiama and Solais, they’d be about the same age as Eboneye’s daughter.”

  Tharne put down his glass and fixed an eye on him. “Aye, they would be.”