Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  Rikton blanched, his throat bobbing several times as he fought his fear of the dreaded woman.

  Murmurs flowed through the onlooking crowd. Some were just as fearful as Rikton, while others were excited to watch the captain be put in his place.

  “Eboneye placed the Mandate on me before he died,” Kortiama continued, drawing attention back to her. She needed to ensure she wouldn’t be ignored. “He named Tharne as acting captain until I came of age. That day is here, even after a combat trial.”

  “One ye didn’t win yerself.” Rikton’s eyes snapped to her, his lip curling into a sneer. “Why would anyone follow an unproven li’l girl who needed another to fight in her stead?” His eyes flicked to Eyro, who now struggled to his feet. “A gardener, who claims to be a man said to have perished several years ago. Ye expect me—”

  “You expect me to believe your claim would have been any more valid, had your champion won?” Kortiama held her head high. She wouldn’t allow her uncle to undermine her.

  Murmurs picked up in the crowd, and she continued. “You didn’t even have the backbone to fight my champion yourself. I would have, had I not been inconveniently delayed. But you”—she snorted—“you stood here like a coward, instead of facing the Emerald Blade yourself.”

  More murmuring around her. Some agreed with her, while others argued about Kortiama’s claim of Rikton’s cowardice.

  Kortiama placed a hand on Eyro’s shoulder. “The Emerald Blade never died. He merely offered his alliance and guidance, choosing to go with a false death story of his own fruition.”

  She really hoped that was true, or at least close enough to it that the truth wouldn’t come back to bite her. Making this up as she went wasn’t easy for her. Staying strong and confident under the dark gaze of her uncle was tough as it was.

  “What Captain Kortiama claims is true.” Eyes fell behind her to the new voice calling out. Kortiama turned to see Tharne forcing his way through the cluster of people. Uncle Tharne… When had he gotten here? Had he been here the whole time and decided to watch? Was this a plan between him and Eyro?

  Tharne glanced Liadha’s way for only a brief moment. “Not that Liadha hasn’t already confirmed as much. Kortiama is Eboneye’s blood daughter, and rightful Captain of the Dasati.” His eyes leveled with Rikton, a deadly glint in his eye. “Any disloyalty to our lady captain will be met with swift justice.”

  An eruption of supportive cheers took Kortiama by surprise, though she did her best to mask it. She did not expect that kind of reaction. Rikton had one thing right, Eyro fighting in her stead did not do well to strengthen her claim. She would always have Tharne’s support, and Liadha’s, which subsequently meant the whole Ramulos clan, but that wouldn’t be enough to keep the Dasatis in order.

  Her eyes scanned the onlookers to take in who else supported her, finding most were well-known supporters of Tharne. Whether they merely offered their support to her because of him, or because they truly backed her, it didn’t matter. She’d prove herself to them, and in turn, they’d help her keep order among her people.

  Rikton looked about, taking in her supporters. From the disgusted look on his face, he did not expect this reaction, either. He ground his teeth and spat on the ground, spinning on his heels. “She ain’t no capt’n o’ mine.”

  Her brooding uncle stalked away. He wasn’t the only one, though. More captains, those known to be loyal to Rikton, followed suit. From a quick count, Kortiama calculated half the ship captains were with him. This was going to make her life that much harder.

  Tharne took a step forward to reprimand the retreating captains, but Kortiama stopped him with a firm hand. He glanced at her, his brow cocked, and she held up her other hand, finger extended, in response. Muttering the same incantation she had to puncture the tower door, and summoning the energy to do so, a single bolt of arcane leapt from her finger and slammed into the back of Rikton’s head.

  The older man stumbled, but didn’t fall. His hat flew off in a wayward direction. He snarled and snapped his gaze back at Kortiama. Before he could bite out a retort, she beat him to it. “A warning, Rikton. I’m not some harmless little girl. You cross me, and you will regret it.” She gave pointed looks to the other insubordinate captains. “That goes for all of you.”

  Her uncle watched her for a moment, and Kortiama swore she caught a flash of respect cross the man’s eyes. “Be careful who ye trust, lassie.” He retrieved his hat, then nodded toward Liadha. “I’d wager ye haven’t been told half o’ the truth by that one.”

  Rikton placed his hat back on his head, then spun on his heel and stormed off. Kortiama’s brow furrowed. What had he meant by that? She snuck a quick look at her mother, but Liadha’s dark eyes were fixed on Rikton, her expression stone cold. Korti felt a brief shiver run up her spine, but then she shook the question away. More than likely, he was trying to get under her skin.

  Liadha joined her side, placing a hand on her head. “Not bad for a beginner. Your execution could use some work, but nothing that can’t be easily fixed.”

  Kortiama smiled. The praise was much appreciated in such a tense moment.

  The witch’s eyes leveled with Tharne. “You’re late.”

  Her uncle let out a deep sigh and shook his head. “Yes. I was waylaid by Isandor ships.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient.” No one could miss the dark tone on Liadha’s words. Kortiama agreed with her. Isandor caused problems with their ships every now and then, but the timing was too good.

  Tharne placed both hands on Kortiama’s shoulders. “I’m sorry it happened. Are you okay?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Eyro spoke quicker. “Oh sure, ask if she’s okay when I’m the one who did all the fighting against that ugly brute.” He grinned and waved Tharne off as the tall captain reached out to him. “No, I’m fine. Don’t need any assistance at all.”

  Kortiama chuckled and rushed over to her precious gardener, offering her shoulder to lean on. “Thank you for standing in for me, Eyro. Though, I’m surprised it was you.”

  Tharne scratched the side of his head. “Aye. I had prepared to step in as your champion myself.”

  Kortiama placed a finger on the side of her cheek. “Well, I’d expected to see Solais. She’s the one who locked me in the tower so she could fight on my behalf, after finding out about the challenge somehow.”

  Tharne’s eyes widened. “She did what?”

  Kortiama looked around, looking for Solais. Where could she possibly be? There’s no way she wouldn’t have been able to get here on her own if she missed the boat leaving the village.

  Eyro chuckled. “Solais is crafty, but she hasn’t mastered the ways of a fox yet.”

  Both Kortiama and Tharne looked at him, their brow furrowed.

  Eyro smirked. “How do you think she found out about the Grand Choosing to begin with? Such information just doesn’t lie about for anyone to see.”

  The creases in Kortiama’s brow deepened. “You told her?”

  “Told her? No.” He laughed as he shook his head. “But I may have left a certain book lying about for her to find. And made sure she overheard Tharne and me discussing it one day prior to leaving a trail.”

  “But why?”

  “To test what she would do.” He nodded slowly, stroking his beard. “She did what I suspected, and thus I was forced to step in before she got herself killed.” He shook his head again and murmured to himself, “The reckless girl.”

  Is that why I can’t find her? Korti frowned, her hands going to her waist. “What did you do with her, Eyro?”

  “Knocked her unconscious and locked her in the broom closet!”

  Kortiama almost fell over. He looked so damned proud of himself about that fact, too.

  Tharne shook his head. “Well, that solves that part of the mystery. But, if Eyro didn’t let you out, Korti, how did you escape the tower? Knowing Solais, she was sure to make that difficult on you.”

  Kortiama scratched the side of he
r face and managed a weak smile. “Yeah, about that. Um… we need a new door to the tower. I may have… blown it apart?”

  Her uncle stared at her with a blank face for a moment, then hid his face in his hand and let out a deep sigh. “Of course…”

  Liadha stifled an amused chuckle while Eyro grinned widely. “That’s our Korti.”

  Kortiama’s attention waned when she heard the voice of her sister, pushing her way through people. Everyone turned just as Solais burst through into the circle. She looked around, eyes wide. “Where is Korti?”

  Her eyes fell on her younger sister. “You’re alive!”

  Solais rushed to Kortiama and wrapped her up in a tight, back-crushing hug. The uncharacteristic behavior took Kortiama by surprise. It didn’t take long for her older sister to snap back to her senses and let go. “I’m, uh, glad you’re okay, Korti.

  She spotted Rikton’s dead champion over Kortiama’s shoulder and then whined. “Aw man. I missed seeing him get run through? Who did it?”

  Kortiama snickered. “The same person who locked you in the closet.”

  Her sister’s eyes fell on Eyro. “You?”

  The old gardener smiled. “Me.”

  Solais crossed her arms and huffed, muttering mostly to herself, “I wanted to be the one to stick it to Rikton. Why’d you have to steal all the fun?”

  This got most of the people laughing, including those hanging around and listening in.

  Tharne shook his head. “We should get back to the village. With so many captains siding with Rikton, there’s much to discuss.”

  Kortiama patted Eyro’s shoulder. “And we can get you some healing and tea for a job well done.”

  Eyro hummed, his eyes squinting. “Tea sounds heavenly.”

  “And you owe me some explanations.”

  “Ah, yes. And you shall have them.” He gestured to the quarter deck. “But first we must get home to do so, don’t we, Captain?”

  Warm excitement bubbled up through Kortiama. This was her big moment. Everything she’d trained for—everything she’d dreamed of since she was a child. It was now here. “Helmsman!”

  A scraggly fellow with a gnarly bearded peered over the quarter deck railing. “Aye, Capt’n?”

  At least he was showing her some respect. Only time would tell if it stuck as she fought to prove herself rightful leader of her people. “Unfurl the sails and hoist the anchor. We’re setting sail.”

  A toothy grin spread over his weathered face. “Where to?”

  “The best place for us to revel in drink after a night like tonight.”

  The deck erupted with cheers and the helmsman nodded. “Aye, Capt’n.”

  Kortiama hoped he understood that meant home. But if not, she’d roll with the fallout of her vague order.

  Liadha left the Dark Rider in the hand of her first mate, opting to stay with Kortiama, and Eyro refused to go rest in the captain’s quarters, claiming he wanted fresh air. Kortiama chose not to fight his stubbornness and worked with Tharne and Solais to assist the rest of the crew.

  While she’d managed to hold onto her birthright this day, Kortiama knew she had a long road ahead of her. Rikton and his followers were going to buck her at every turn. The next few years would not be easy, but she’d prove to them in any way she could that she was fit to be Lord Captain of the Dasati.

  Price of Honor

  F. P. Spirit

  1

  When You Least Expect It

  The wave crashed over Seishin’s head before he could catch his breath. His lungs burned; his body ached to draw in air. Yet if he did, it would not be the life-giving ether that filled his lungs.

  Spots appeared before his eyes. He began to feel lightheaded. Let go, Seishin, a small voice sounded inside his head. Let go. It will be easier that way.

  Seishin nearly listened to the voice, but something inside him railed against it. No. I will not. Not when so many are depending on me.

  He screwed his mouth shut even tighter, but the urge to breathe continued to grow. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, the water around him finally subsided.

  The young Shin Tauri was at the beach, or perhaps more accurately, in it. Sand covered him all the way up to his neck. The late morning sun beat down on his matted mop of thick black hair. The sounds of the sea permeated the background.

  “That’s what ya get for tryin’ to woo one of our own!” The ugly mug of a hulking pirate stared down at him.

  A second large raider smacked the first on the arm. “Now don’t go pickin’ on him, Narl. He did it all for love!”

  Both men chortled with glee at his expense. Still, they were not wrong.

  Seishin had been an idiot. He had let his feelings get in the way of the most important task of his entire life. As the next wave came crashing over his head, he remembered where it all went wrong.

  Seishin sat in the midst of a dingy tavern, the smoke-filled air reeking of rum and ale. Dim light filtered down from overhead fixtures and sconces that lined the wood-framed walls. The dozen or so tables scattered around the place sat empty as the tavern’s seedier denizens engaged in a typical drunken brawl.

  “Tell me you don’t you miss this life?”

  A lean young man sat across from him, an ironic smile on his boyish face. He wore the brown and scarlet tunic of an Isandor soldier. Tobin had been Seishin’s best friend during his time in the army. They had been inseparable until Seishin’s abrupt discharge two months ago.

  Seishin shrugged. “I do miss some things. This is not one of—” He abruptly ducked as something flew over his head. A glass smashed into the wall behind him.

  “Now this is getting out of hand.” Tobin rose from his seat and pulled a short wooden rod from his belt. The corner of his mouth lifted as he gazed at Seishin. “Want to lend a hand for old time’s sake?”

  Seishin stood and pulled a similar rod from his belt. Without another word, the two of them waded into the fray.

  Seishin wedged himself between a pair of combatants, catching one in the knee with his foot, while slamming the butt of his rod into the other’s face. A swift elbow to the chin finished the first man. Both fell to the floor, out cold.

  Tobin grinned. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.”

  Seishin shrugged once more. “Guess it’s in my blood.”

  Seishin stemmed from an ancient clan known as the Kazari. They had been Isandor’s finest Shin Tauri warriors before a tragedy in the nation’s capital a couple of months ago. What followed included the discharge of every Kazari from the army.

  Tobin appraised the fighting around them. “It’s getting worse. We’d better split up if we’re going to stop this.”

  The two men exchanged a nod, then went in opposite directions.

  Seishin swept through the crowd, disabling one rowdy brawler after another. It was exhilarating. He hadn’t felt this alive since the loss of his commission.

  Seishin had trained his entire life to be a Shin Tauri warrior. He had felt lost after his discharge, but a few weeks ago he was given a new purpose. The Queen herself had tasked him with finding his missing uncle, Draigo. The former head of the army, Draigo might be the only one who could set things right in Isandor.

  As Seishin broke through the crowd, all other thoughts were driven from his mind. A striking young woman with long raven hair stood alone at the bar. Garbed in black with a frilly white shirt, she casually twirled a thin pointed blade in the one hand, while dangling a bottle of rum in the other.

  A rough-dressed sailor nearly twice her size leered at the young woman menacingly from a few feet away. The muscles in his arms bulged as he brandished a long, jagged-edged sailing knife.

  The woman did not appear the least intimidated. A mischievous grin adorned her lightly tanned face as she carefully circled around her opponent. She moved with an almost cat-like grace—not a stride too long, and not a drop spilled from her bottle. She finally stopped and casually taunted the hulking sailor. “So, are you all talk an
d no action?”

  The big man moved with a speed that belied his size; Seishin found himself too far away when the sailor lunged for her. He started forward, but halted as the young woman elegantly side-stepped the brute.

  She could have easily run him through, but instead chose to slam the butt of her sword into the back of his neck. The big man fell head-first into the bar as the young woman danced away with a quick swig of rum.

  A bell-like laugh escaped her lips. “Ha! You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Two sailors near Seishin stopped their fighting and glared at the woman.

  “She can’t do that to one of us!”

  “Let’s get ‘er!”

  Seishin intercepted the duo before they had taken a couple of steps. He caught the first in the gut with his club, doubling him over. He then used the man’s back to vault over to his companion. Seishin landed a flying kick directly into the second man’s torso. The sailor went flying into a nearby table, not to get up again. Seishin then finished off the first sailor with a quick chop to the back of his neck.

  The young woman eyed him with a strange expression, then gave him a quick smile. Despite the frantic situation, Seishin found himself smiling back.

  “Slippery one, ain’t ya?” Over at the bar, the huge sailor had recovered. He rubbed the back of his neck with a large-hammed hand. “Jus’ ya wait ‘til I get me hands on ya—”

  He lunged at the woman with surprising speed, but again she proved too fast for him. The brute went flying into the crowd, taking down at least five other brawlers with him. Everyone nearby stopped fighting at that point, their attention riveted on the battle at the bar.

  If this keeps up, they’ll do my job for me, Seishin thought with wry amusement. Deciding to see how things played out, he placed himself in a strategic position to keep any others from intervening.

  The big man slowly rose to his feet, shoving a few onlookers out of the way. His balance seemed slightly off as he turned and growled at the waiting woman.