Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel

by James A. West

  Ulmek seemed unperturbed. “Then we will follow.”

  “We do not know how to sail a ship!” Halan protested.

  “No,” Ulmek agreed, “but our captives do.”

  Telmon laughed all the harder. “I’d not help you if—”

  Ulmek caught Telmon’s ear and wrenched his head to the side. His dagger flashed, and Telmon fell screaming to the rain-washed deck.

  “You will help us!” Ulmek bellowed, flinging the severed ear into the Kelren’s face. “By the gods good and wise, you will sail this wallowing tub, even if I have to cut pieces off you until you do.”

  As Telmon blubbered his newfound willingness, Leitos watched a foaming wave take the Kelren’s ear across the deck and over the side. What little pity he retained in his heart went with that bit of bloody meat. He let it go. For the sake of his Brothers and his father, he could not suffer any such feelings to stain his conscience.

  Chapter 8

  For two sleepless days and nights, the gale blew and raged. By day, under leaden skies, the Night Blade always sailed ahead of the Bloody Whore, a misty shape at the edge of sight. At dawn of the third day, the Brothers found that the ship had vanished.

  Now nearing sunset, the swells still wore foaming white crowns, and the rain came sporadically in pounding sheets, but the worst of the storm had passed. In the time since the night of the raid, four more Kelrens had lost their ears to Ulmek’s blade, before the rest decided that sailing the ship without objection was the better option.

  “I still believe they yielded too easily,” Leitos said, looking down the deck. From this vantage, they could keep an eye on the sea-wolves busy sailing the Bloody Whore.

  “Perhaps,” Ulmek allowed, haggard of face and eye. A wave boomed against the hull, sending up a curtain of salty spray. He caught a rope tied about the foremast to keep his balance.

  “They cannot be trusted,” Halan said.

  “Of course not,” Ulmek snapped. “I suffer them to live out of need alone.”

  “And after our brothers are with us again, what then?” Halan asked, his bluff features drawn, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes.

  Ulmek scrubbed a hand over his face. “When we have rescued Ba’Sel and the others, I will strike off the heads of these sea-wolves until my sword breaks.”

  Halan looked to a rosy slash of clouds hanging low over the southern horizon. By the coming dawn, the storm would be a memory. “We are not seafarers,” he said slowly. “We are far from home, and getting farther by the hour. Kill the sea-wolves, and we will remain far from home.”

  “Then I suggest you learn from them,” Ulmek said. “Make them believe we mean them no harm.”

  Leitos turned his eyes on the five slavers who wore bloodstained bandages around their heads, those who had lost their ears. He doubted they would ever make the mistake of believing they were safe in the hands of the Brothers of the Crimson Shield.

  Telmon glanced at Leitos, bared his rotten teeth in a grin. Sumahn, standing nearby, slapped the back of the slaver’s head. Telmon flinched, looking like a feral animal about to lash out, then abruptly bent back to coiling rope.

  “What if we do not find the Night Blade?” Halan ventured.

  “We have no choice but to trust that we will find her where Telmon promised,” Ulmek said.

  After discovering the disappearance of the Night blade, Ulmek had threatened to chop off a few more precious pieces of Telmon if he failed to explain how a ship could disappear. The slaver admitted that his comrades had likely dumped their cargo to make better speed. “To the south, there is nowhere else to go. I tell you true, they sail for the hunting grounds,” the slaver asserted, all the more believable because Ulmek had been a hair’s width from blinding the sea-wolf with the tip of his dagger.

  “As do we?” Ulmek asked. The Bloody Whore sailed south, to be sure, but as none of the Brothers had ever ventured beyond sight of land, there was no way to know for certain if the Kelrens were sailing them where they claimed.

  Telmon leered. “Soon, you’ll know Telmon does not lie. By midnight, unless the Whore strikes a reef and founders, she’ll be riding anchor beside the Night Blade….”

  Ulmek interrupted Leitos’s grim study. “The storm is letting up. You, Halan, and two others go and get some sleep.”

  “What of you?” Halan asked. “As our leader, you can ill-afford to neglect yourself.”

  Ulmek’s fierce expression left no room for argument. “I will take rest when our men are safe among us.”

  More than food, the opportunity of rest pushed Leitos below decks to collapse into a smelly hammock in the crew’s quarters. The night of his testing, the battle against the Kelrens, and the many long hours standing on the deck of the Bloody Whore, all seemed distant, memories so vague as to be someone else’s.

  As soon as he closed his eyes, Zera materialized before him, clad in snug leathers. The scorching heat of her green eyes dwindled to reveal a glow of sorrow. She seemed smaller, childlike, vulnerable in a way that he never could have imagined when she strode at his side across Geldain. He reached for her, hands dripping the cooling scarlet life that had once flowed through her veins. When he touched her, she became as smoke and ash, and drifted away….

  Leitos startled awake and stared up into the gloom. It was not the first time he had dreamed of Zera, but each time it was as if it were the first. He feared his grief for her loss would always remain as fresh and raw as an unhealing wound.

  Gradually, he became aware that the ship rode the sea more smoothly. They had passed through the storm. The door to the crew’s quarters stood ajar, letting in murmured voices and a little light. He thought it might be the handful of slavers Ulmek had ordered chained to the rowing benches, until he made out the voices of Sumahn and Daris. Leitos clambered out of the hammock and strode from the crew’s quarters.

  He found Sumahn and Daris sitting on a pair of upended casks, swords out. They cut off talking when he came into sight, as if caught saying something they should not. Sumahn grunted in greeting, then went back to using the tip of his sword to scratch some figure into the deck.

  Daris made busy honing his blade with long, even strokes. “About time you woke up. The rest are already topside. According to that Telmon, we are soon to drop anchor.”

  “Take a seat,” Sumahn offered, and rolled a third cask Leitos’s way.

  After settling on the small barrel, the trio sat listening to the whoosh of the sea passing along the hull, and the soft metallic whisking noise of Daris honing his blade. The longer they sat still, the more Sumahn’s face twisted.

  Daris said, “Might as well let it out.”

  He had barely finished before Sumahn began speaking. “I’m tired of always running about like bumbling lackwits. What are we doing, what is our purpose?” He stabbed the tip of his sword into the center of his crude design.

  Daris glanced at Leitos. “You tell him, little brother. I have—many times—but it seems my words are wind.”

  Leitos shrugged. “We are trying to rescue Ba’Sel, my father, and all the rest of our brethren.”

  “I know that much,” Sumahn snapped. “What I mean is, what are the Brothers of the Crimson Shield doing in Geldain and in the world? For as long as I can remember, we run and hide, pricking the Faceless One where we can, but never causing real harm. We take in the rare urchin or escaped slave, but only those who are deemed worthy to fill our ranks. Ba’Sel speaks of some ancient treaty between him and a forgotten ice-born king, but adheres to that treaty only when it suits him.”

  “I suppose you side with Ulmek, then?” Daris asked, thumbing the edge of his sword. “All that proud tripe about being the ‘tip of the spear that pierces the Faceless One’s heart’ … even if in the piercing, the tip is destroyed?”

  Sumahn looked around the shadowed deck. “Better a broken spear than this,” he said bitterly. “After we save Ba’Sel and the others, what then?” He did not wait for an answer. “I’ll tell you what. We
will go back to Witch’s Mole, or maybe Giant’s Head, or some other rock in the sea, or maybe even return to Geldain, and there we will burrow into another cave. We will train for a war that we will never join, and scrounge and hunt to survive. In time, we will grow old and die.” He paused, looking for an argument that never came, then went on.

  “All the while, Ba’Sel will replace us, one by one, and keep blathering about the world before the Upheaval and the Faceless One. He will rouse new Brothers, train them. In time they, too, will go to unmarked and unremembered graves. Perhaps another will rise up to take Ba’Sel’s place, but not before he trains that warrior to be just like him—weak, indecisive … useless.”

  “Those are dangerous words,” Daris said with a frown. Leitos wondered how many of the others felt the same.

  “And words they will remain, until you do something.”

  All three jerked at Telmon’s voice. Sumahn jumped to his feet, and thrust the tip of his sword against the slaver’s neck. “What are you doing here?”

  Telmon traced the length of the blade with bland eyes. Still bound at the wrists, he slowly raised a wooden cup of water past the sword, and sipped. “Your leader, Ulmek, sent me to fetch you. Thought since I was down here, I ought to take a drink.”

  “Ulmek sent you alone?”

  A watery trickle of blood escaped the bandage around Telmon’s head, rippled over the brands on his neck and down one side of his equally scarred chest. “Where am I to go, what am I to do, when my ship is overrun with such warriors as yourselves?” The indolent look in his eyes, his condescending tone, belied his praise.

  “Maybe I’ll take your advice, and begin by ridding you of that ugly head of yours,” Sumahn growled, twisting the tip of his sword deeper into Telmon’s neck. A drop of blood sprang from the wound.

  “Aye, you could,” Telmon said. “But you won’t.”

  “And why not?”

  Telmon’s eyes narrowed, and he pressed against the sword. Blood pooled on the flat of Sumahn’s blade. Telmon smiled broadly. “Because you need me, and all my fellows, to get you home.”

  A murderous light sparked in Sumahn’s gaze. “We can make do with one less sea-wolf,” he growled. He abruptly shifted his weight to his back foot, preparing to thrust.

  “Hold!” Ulmek bellowed.

  “None of you,” Telmon whispered, “dare follow your convictions. You bow and scrape to this Ba’Sel, an impotent old man who would better serve your Brotherhood if you gave him over to vultures.”

  “Get back above, vermin,” Ulmek ordered Telmon, “or I’ll let the boy have his way.”

  “As you command,” Telmon said, bobbing his head in mock deference. He sauntered away, making no hurry to climb the ladder to the main deck.

  “My orders were to keep these ill-begotten scum alive and hale,” Ulmek said after the slaver vanished. “Those orders stand, unless you think to displace me?”

  Sumahn looked at his feet, shaking with rage. “No,” he said stiffly. “Never.”

  “Away with you,” Ulmek said, moderating his tone. “And you, too, Daris. Leitos, with me.”

  Sumahn jammed his sword into the scabbard strapped across his back, and went topside. Daris went with him, casting a curious glance at Leitos, before he disappeared through the hatchway.

  Ulmek eyed the chained Kelrens. All had come awake by now, and they looked on with varying degrees of contempt.

  “We need answers,” Ulmek said, fingering a burlap sack tied to his belt. When he brushed the bulge at the bottom, it shifted and squeaked.

  “So you no longer believe Telmon?” asked Leitos.

  “As you suggested, why would a sea-wolf, a man who puts red-hot irons to his skin as a matter of course, turn against his brethren at the mere loss of an ear? Together, we will find the truth.”

  Leitos looked to that squeaking sack again, and with a shudder wondered what Ulmek had in mind.

  Chapter 9

  Ulmek chose out the biggest of the sea-wolves, a man with countless brands covering slabs of lean muscle. The Kelren peered through ropes of knotted hair with startling blue. Unlike Telmon, his grin held white teeth, if crooked.

  “Tell me,” Ulmek said, “what will your fellows do when they reach these hunting grounds? Will they drop anchor and go ashore? Do you have a fortress there, some defensible ground?”

  The sea-wolf shifted, rattling the short length of chain securing him to the bench. The rest of the slavers watched, eyes glittering with a strange anticipation.

  “You will answer me,” Ulmek warned, his voice more menacing for the softness of it.

  “Here’s an answer,” the man growled, “go bugger that boy at your side.”

  Ulmek knelt down. “In the shipmaster’s cabin,” he said to Leitos, eyes locked with the Kelren’s, “you will find a small pot of honey on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Bring it to me.”

  The slaver laughed. “You think sweets will loosen my tongue?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Leitos heard Ulmek say, before striding into the galley and out of earshot.

  In the shipmaster’s cabin, Halan sat next to the bed, using a damp cloth to wipe Ke’uld’s feverish brow.

  “Ulmek wants honey for the sea-wolf,” Leitos said.

  Halan winced, and thrust his chin in the direction of the wardrobe. “Whatever you see,” he said in a cryptic tone, “it is best not to think too much about it.”

  Leitos retrieved the honey, then looked to Ke’uld. “How is he?”

  Halan shook his head in answer, and Leitos silently left him to tend his friend.

  When he returned, the now unchained slaver lay on his back, mouth slack, a large knot forming at his temple.

  “Open the hatch to the hold,” Ulmek ordered Leitos.

  After doing so, Leitos helped Ulmek drag the groaning Kelren to the opening. Together they lowered the groggy sea-wolf into the waiting murk. Ulmek descended first, holding aloft a firemoss lantern, and Leitos followed. Ulmek hung the lantern on a peg overhead.

  “What do you mean to do?” Leitos asked uneasily.

  Ulmek glanced at him, features bland. Instead of answering, he said, “While I see to his arms, you tie off his legs.”

  By the time they finished securing the ropes, the Kelren was on his back, arms and legs pulled tight. When Ulmek cut off the man’s grubby trousers, leaving him bare as a newborn, Leitos remembered Halan’s wince at the mention of honey, and steeled himself.

  Ulmek used a pail to splash some thick, dark bilge water over the Kelren’s face. He came awake, sputtering and cursing. Ulmek then took the pot of honey from Leitos. With a little work, he pried off the lid.

  The glassy eyed sea-wolf watched it all. “We’ve oft wagered between us whether you Brothers preferred laying with goats or men.” He brayed mirthless laughter, and thrust his hips obscenely. “Now I know. But there’s no need for honey—many a maiden has told how my nectar is sweeter than a child’s dreams.”

  With a disquieting lack of emotion, Ulmek poured the thick amber fluid over the Kelren’s loins. “Tell me your name?”

  “What is it to you?”

  “When I tell others about this, your name will remind them of whom I speak … keep things clear in their minds.” Ulmek dropped the empty pot, and slowly drew his dagger.

  “Guess,” the Kelren snarled.

  Ulmek held the blade before his face, admiring its edge. “Just a name,” he whispered, moving to stand over the sea-wolf. He abruptly sliced the dagger across his palm, then clenched his fist. Blood squeezed between his fingers, dripped onto the man, covering him with small crimson coins.

  “Your pain does not frighten me,” the Kelren scoffed. As Ulmek’s blood continued to drip, the sea-wolf’s bravado gradually vanished, until he began bucking against the restraints. “What are you doing? What do you want?”

  “Your name,” Ulmek said again, as if it were the simplest of requests. He shook the sack at his belt. Whatever was hidden within the burlap prison sti
rred, making the coarse fabric dance. “For the moment, a name is more than enough.”

  Looking at the sack, the slaver’s eyes bulged. “Rallin,” he blurted. “Rallin of the Blackfish.”

  Ulmek cocked an eyebrow at Leitos. “Surely, he jests?”

  Leitos shrugged uncomfortably. “Why would he?”

  “ ‘Tis true!” Rallin bellowed.

  Ulmek knelt at the slaver’s side. “You have done well, Rallin of the Blackfish. Now I need to know the best way to get aboard the Night Blade.”

  The sea-wolf stiffened, resoluteness replacing the panic in his stare. “I’ll never tell, you accursed—”

  Rallin’s retort became a short scream when Ulmek thrust the dagger under his kneecap. When he stopped digging, Rallin’s head dropped back. “You cannot break me,” he panted.

  “You mistake me,” Ulmek said; Leitos had never heard or seen the man look so serene. “I do not want to ‘break’ you. I want to rescue my men. Surely you understand?”

  The sea-wolf held silent, and Ulmek worked the blade deeper into the joint, steel grinding through gristle and sinew. The sound set Leitos’s teeth on edge.

  Sweat sprang from the slaver’s pores, and a stink of terror wafted from his skin, an odor Leitos knew all too well from the mines of his childhood. He felt no pity, for men like this had chained his people and countless others, all without a care that most would suffer horribly and eventually die in the hands of Alon’mahk’lar.

  When Ulmek canted the blade, prying up Rallin’s kneecap, the man lost control of his bladder. Ulmek’s nose wrinkled in distaste, but he did not relent.

  “Tell me how to take the Night Blade, and I will leave you with the ability to walk. Hold your tongue, and….” Ulmek levered the dagger. A hissing screech burst through Rallin’s teeth.

  “I do not think my dagger will loosen his tongue,” Ulmek said, and withdrew the blade.

  The sea-wolf lay gasping. His rolling eyes found Leitos. “Kill this inbred bastard for me, free those above, and I’ll see that you are safe among my people for the remaining days of your life.”