Bones of the Empire

by Jim Galford

  Estin put aside the idea of getting a real meal right away. He thought he might rest in the hopes that when he woke, the island would be cooler and he would have a little more energy. Plus it would be far easier to hunt in the dark. In the meantime, he knew he had a few scraps in his pouches from his last meal before reaching the temple. Morsels were still better than nothing.

  Making his way to the shade of the nearest tree, Estin flopped onto a patch of grass that he thought might stay in the shadows for hours. He tried to make himself rest but could not calm his mind. All he could think about was how he was going to get back to the mainland and find out where he was. He would have to swim or build a raft of some sort, but he could not see anything beyond the water, giving him no clear direction to go.

  As much to distract himself as to soothe his stomach, Estin pulled out the few bits of dried fruit and salted meats from his pouch and ate them slowly. With each bite, he tried to remind himself that until he had done some exploration, those few morsels would likely be his last meal. He probably could have eaten them in seconds, but instead made them last as long as he could in an effort to convince himself he had eaten more than he had.

  Once the food was gone, Estin scanned the horizon again, straining to find something he could use as a landmark or guide. During his first sweep of the island, he realized a large cloud that was rapidly dissipating hung twenty feet over the land—thankfully, no storm seemed likely. On a second pass across the waves, a faint dot in the distance drew his gaze. He initially thought it was one of the birds or a trick of the bright sunlight on one of the white-crested waves. The more he stared at it, the easier it was to see it was riding the water, the clouds in the distance helping to hide large white sails.

  A boat. Salvation after less than an hour lost. Perhaps his luck was turning around after all. With even more luck, in a few hours he could be back on land and searching for his family.

  That left Estin with a new issue. The ship was at least a mile out. The likelihood of the crew seeing him was extremely slim, unless they were actively searching. He guessed that would not be the case. He needed something they would see, no matter how far off. Without magic, he would have to find whatever he could use quickly, before they were out of sight.

  Estin’s attention darted between the trees and grass nearby. Aside from a few dried old fronds, he had nothing available to him. Some of the greener fronds might create smoke sufficient to draw a little attention his way. The dry ones would be enough for a very brief fire, if he could find a way to light them.

  He got up as quickly as he could, grabbed a handful of the fronds with one hand, and tucked them under his arm. Limping to the next tree—his hip aching, making it more difficult than he would have liked—he gathered more of the leafy branches as he went, the dry bits crackling under his elbow. He threw the pile of dry fronds on the sandy beach, where he hoped the smoke would be visible.

  Estin placed his palm over the fronds and concentrated. It would not take much magic to ignite the already-dry branches. He pushed himself until his hand trembled over the fronds, his mind hurt, and he had to pant to cool himself off in the hot sunlight. Frustrated, he closed his hand into a fist and looked back at the sea. The ship was halfway past the island. He was rapidly running out of time.

  Swearing at himself for relying too much on magic that kept failing him, Estin ripped a strong piece of wood from one of the branches. Running back up to the edge of the grass, he searched until he found a chunk of bark. He took that back to the fronds, placed it in among them, and set the stick on it. Rubbing the two together as quickly as he could, he managed to get a thin stream of smoke and then a flicker of flame. That spark spread to the fronds, and within seconds the dry brush began pouring out smoke faster than Estin had expected.

  Estin slid away from the burning fronds, patting out several spots of his fur that were on fire. He stood a safe distance away, watching the distant ship as it continued away from him. It did not appear to be turning, and within twenty minutes, the last of the fronds had burned out, leaving only a thin line of smoke. Still he did not give up hope as he stared at the slowly departing vessel. When he was almost certain the ship was far enough away that he would not be seen, the sails shifted, and Estin realized they were turning around.

  “Don’t panic, Estin,” he told himself, sitting beside the ashes of the leaves. “Get a ride, find out where you are, and then you can go looking for Feanne. One step at a time. You’ve fought Turessians. This should be easy.”

  The ship continued to grow larger, and Estin could soon make out details he had been unable to see originally. The ship’s wood was blackened both with pitch and age. Its twin sails were white, though a third was black with what appeared to be a skull, which he hardly took as an ideal crest for any realm. He knew of no nation that would put a white skull on black cloth as their banner. Estin had never seen anything like it before, but he had never seen a ship larger than a canoe either.

  Estin had nowhere else to go and no way to make the crew unsee him. All he really could do was sit there. He watched the ship grow larger by the minute, until it was close enough that he saw an anchor thrown over the side. Seconds later, an eight-man fishing boat was lowered and a half-dozen human-shaped figures climbed down to it on ropes. They began paddling toward the shore, while the ominous larger ship remained farther out at sea, its deathly sail flapping in the ocean wind.

  When the smaller boat had gotten close enough that Estin could see those on board, he realized the men he assumed were sitting low in the boat were actually all dwarves. On the main ship, he could make out figures of varying heights—likely a few humans among the dwarves.

  The ship slowly bobbed its way toward Estin, and when it reached the shallow waters just off the shore, he stood and made his way to meet them. The crew rowed straight toward him, and a single dwarf walked up onto the peak the boat’s front beams to stand above the others. The stout man watched Estin as they rowed right up to the shallow sand near shore. That dwarf wore a long leather coat and a three-pointed hat with the same skull symbol as the larger boat’s black sail. He had bits of metal jewelry fastened into the single thick braid of his beard, which hung past his belt. A leader or captain of some sort. Estin might not know who these people were, but knowing who to show the most respect to was a valuable bit of knowledge, familiar from his time in Feanne’s pack.

  As Estin reached the water, the dwarven crew settled their boat and hopped out. They held it in place as their leader stepped off the boat and into the water, which came up to his waist. The little man waded up the shore to the beach, marching right up to Estin. He stopped and eyed Estin up and down several times as he slowly grinned through his unkempt beard. From what Estin could see, he had replaced nearly a quarter of his teeth with gold or silver.

  “Ye be needin’ a ride, ye tall monkey?” the dwarf asked, leaning slightly to stare at Estin’s sheaths, which no longer held weapons. “Long way to shore wit’out some help, ye think? Ye lucky we find ye ’ere.”

  Estin knelt, bringing himself slightly below the dwarf’s height. It was something he learned in the first days among the wildlings. The shortest among them never wanted someone standing over them. Estin was far from tall, even among wildlings. But he had no intention of ruining his rescue by presenting even the slightest bit of intimidation to his savior. It was a time for humility.

  “I just need help getting to the nearest city,” Estin said, making sure to keep the top of his head below the dwarf’s hat. “Please…”

  The dwarf laughed at Estin. “Aye, that I figured. Ye don’ get this far from anythin’ real and not need a ride. Ye got a name, monkey-thin’?”

  “Estin.” He did his best not to sneer at being called a monkey. He had taken that as an insult most of his life. He had to let it go if he was going to get off the island. He had definitely been called worse.

  The dwarf’s smile fell away for a moment, then slowly crept back. “Ah, Estin, eh? Fine name for so
fuzzy a critter. Gimme a reason to be takin’ you off this lump o’ dirt, or yer name is about all I’ll take back to land. Convince me.”

  Estin looked the man over and saw his clothing did not match. No two pieces appeared to be from the same lands, though all of it would have cost a fortune anywhere Estin had gone. Thinking quickly, he dug into one of his pouches and threw a pile of coins from Urishaan and elsewhere onto the ground at the dwarf’s feet. “It’s everything I have,” Estin said. “It’s yours. My notes on healing are yours too.”

  “We already got us a sawbones on me ship.”

  “No, I’m a healer…not a herbalist or bone-setter,” Estin insisted.

  The dwarf giggled, accentuating his chipped, missing teeth. “Magic? Yer a funny one, monkey. Ye got anythin’ else?”

  “I didn’t bring much with me. It wasn’t a planned trip.”

  “Eh,” the dwarf grunted, picking up the coins. “Will do fer now. Where ye from?”

  “Altis, Corraith, and anywhere in between.”

  The dwarf looked up at Estin and grinned again, casually shoving the coins into a bag hanging from his belt. “Ya, that is good enough, I say. Ne’er been to Corraith, but always wanted to. Altis I ne’er heard of. Neither is anywhere close that I know of. Two weeks to Nirideth. Ye think that be close enough for ye? May be backward hole, but I thinkin’ it would be closer to anywhere ye be wantin’ to be than this rock is.”

  “That’s more than kind,” Estin said, lowering his head farther in a polite bow. “Take me anywhere you can on the mainland. That’s all I ask. You can pick the location. Whatever is along your way. Can I at least have your name, so I know who to thank?”

  The dwarf grinned even more broadly at that. “Me friends call me Captain. Me enemies call me Shortbeard. The others be callin’ me nothin’ more than a bloody pirate. Those who cross me…they be callin’ me nothin’ at all. Yer smarter than them if ye found yerself all the way out here, I thinkin’. Don’ prove me wrong. Till ye do, ye can take a spot on me ship. Consider it me good act for th’ year.”

  Estin started to rise, only to have the dwarf grab him by the shoulder.

  He said more softly, “Don’ make me regret me soft heart. I ain’ seen one o’ yer kind this far off shore in years, and I don’ wanna be regrettin’ takin’ ye on me ship. My boys is superstitious and don’ like change much.”

  “You won’t. I swear it,” Estin replied.

  The dwarf released him and nodded toward the small boat and its crew, all of whom were eyeing Estin suspiciously.

  Estin got up and limped toward the boat, with the short, bearded man following him the whole way. When he reached the water, the remaining dwarves all put hands to their sides, where he could see long curved knives. One man at the back had some form of metal tube on a wooden hilt that Estin had never seen before, though he touched it the same way the others touched their blades. Even if he could not identify it, he knew well enough that it was a weapon.

  Stopping at the side of the boat with his feet sinking into the sand, Estin surveyed each of the rough-looking men. All watched him the way the wolves had back in Feanne’s pack—as prey. They were either intending to rob him or eat him. Of those options, eating him seemed the only likely possibility, given he had already handed all of his coin to Shortbeard. It was not a boat he had any business setting foot on.

  “On second thought, I’ll wait for the next…” Estin turned and found the leader standing in his way with a knife drawn.

  “Can’ be leavin’ a stranded…whatever ye are…all th’ way out ’ere,” Shortbeard said, waving the dagger toward the boat. “Get ye in th’ boat. I insist.”

  “And if I don’t want to get on the boat anymore?” Estin asked, trying to gauge his chances of running. The path was clear to either side, but he would be going through shallow water. If any of the dwarves had magic or bows, he was dead. Not that there was a lot of island to run toward.

  “I don’ think I gave ye much choice, but I is askin’ nicely. Get on th’ boat, an’ it don’ have to go this way. Ye go under yer own power, an’ ye don’ get tied up till port. Ye argue, an’ we split yer skull an’ take yer carcass to land. Yer choice. I ain’ averse to either.”

  Estin inched to his right, only to have Shortbeard move with him. He panicked as hopelessness set in. “So you’re going to kill me if I refuse to go with you?”

  A creak of the wooden boat just behind him was the only warning Estin got before he was struck across the back of the head. He hit the water and tried to pull himself up, but he was so dizzy and disoriented that he could barely manage to move his arms and legs. By the time he thought he might be able to right himself, he was being lifted by strong hands and was dropped face-first into the boat.

  He lay there, trying to make his limbs respond. He heard paddles hit the water and someone draped something around his neck. When he finally got his arms to move, he slid his hands near his head in an attempt to push himself upright. He realized the dwarves had put a leash on him, which abruptly yanked him backward, choking him. Whoever held the end eased their hold after a moment.

  Estin lay there long after he could have stood, not really wanting to feel the leash again. His whole body shook with fear and shame. Deep down, he knew another tug on that rope would be more than he could manage to bear. He already wanted to lash out wildly, to attack anyone who tried to keep the rope on him. Memories of his children being leashed came unbidden, and it took all his control to keep from jumping up and grabbing the nearest man. Keeping his eyes on the floor was safer with him outnumbered, lacking weapons, and his magic still absent. He needed these people, no matter their intentions. He could endure, at least for a little while.

  Eventually the boat slowed. It continued to rock on the waves as the dwarves pulled it to the side of the larger ship and tied off the ropes to the canoe-like boat. Whoever was atop the larger ship pulled it out of the water with a sharp tug that flattened Estin to the floorboards. Inch by inch, the boat rose toward the upper deck. Estin tried to keep his eyes on the wood beneath him. He slowly dug his claws into the boards as he struggled to ignore the pressure of the leash on his throat. That simple cord felt as though it weighed more than his whole body.

  The steady lurches of the boat soon stopped. Estin heard the tromping of the dwarves climbing out of the smaller ship onto the deck of the larger. The leash did not move, so he did not either. He stayed on his knees, waiting to be told what to do. He had spent long enough as a slave near Lantonne to know not to take any initiative.

  “Yer mad that we don’ give ye any real choice?” Shortbeard asked, tromping up beside Estin and taking a knee. “Or ye mad about gettin’ smacked in yer head? I like to know why people be upset wit’ me, even if’n I don’ care ’bout fixin’ it.”

  Estin turned his head just enough to glare at Shortbeard, who held the end of the leash in his hand. “I can forgive almost anything. The leash, I won’t. Take it off me.”

  “Was nothin’ personal.”

  Sitting up, Estin asked, “Would you take it personally if I leashed your family or put them in a cage?”

  “Don’ have a family, other than me crew,” Shortbeard replied, though Estin could see he understood by his fading smile. “Ye gonna throw a fit if I were gonna say yer quarters on th’ ship is a cage?”

  “I’d rather you tie a rock to me and throw me overboard. I won’t live like that. I’ve done it before, and I would rather die than do it again. Kill me right now, if that’s your intent.”

  “Can be arranged,” Shortbeard answered, dropping the leash. “Ye promise not to cause trouble, an’ I might change me mind about th’ rope and th’ cage. Give me reason to regret it, an’ ye go in th’ cage until we find land or we test yer skill at swimmin’ wit’ a rock on yer neck. We understandin’ one another?”

  “Anything that gets me out of being treated like an animal.” Estin bowed his head below the dwarf’s in hopes that the man would remove the leash. Instead, Shortbeard
threw the length of rope across Estin’s hands and then hopped onto the larger ship’s deck.

  Estin held the rope in his hands, unsure whether he had gotten himself in more trouble than he had the strength to deal with. He was vastly outnumbered, and if they wanted to hurt, kill, or enslave him, there was remarkably little he would be able to do about it. He was trapped on a boat without weapons or magic—leaving him with little more than fangs and claws. He slowly pulled the leash off his neck and remained where he was, sliding it through his fingers. He stayed there even after he heard Shortbeard clomp away in the distance on the deck of the main ship.

  After a few minutes, Estin turned and threw the rope off the side of the boat. Once he heard it splash into the ocean, he got up and took in his surroundings.

  The deck of the main ship was far more active than Estin had expected. Crew members—nearly all of whom were dwarven, with a few humans among them—were running around the ship barefoot, grabbing ropes, and moving pails of tar. Many looked to be working very hard at appearing as though they were working very hard. Most appeared to have more than enough to do, while those who did not were doing their best to not look lazy.

  High over the crew, Shortbeard stood at the rear on a raised section of the deck that gave him a view of the seas ahead and the crew below. He watched Estin as he leaned against a large wheel Estin guessed was for steering the ship. Behind it, a sturdy wooden box had been bolted to the deck to act as a step for Shortbeard.

  “Oi, don’ jus’ stand around gapin’ at me crew!” Shortbeard shouted. He motioned to several sailors, and they ran off through a door on the lower deck. They returned a second later with a cage easily large enough for Estin. “Ye wanna work or ye wanna rest in yer quarters?”

  Estin swallowed hard as he stared at the cage. The iron bars were rusted and made him shiver, thinking of some of the places he had been over the years. He was close enough to the side of the boat that he could likely try to swim away if he had to, but there was really nowhere to go.