Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  Viktor was astonished to hear that the elf’s voice was even more serene than their appearance, soft and tender, on the deeper side yet still ambiguous, and Viktor found that it conveyed a sense of leisure in him, as if listening to this very voice could instantly put him at ease from his darkest troubles.

  Percyval was pacing around his tent, still clearly troubled by the witch’s revelation.

  “My apologies, Skye… But I cannot leave Zahrra’s side. What is it you need?”

  The elf made brief eye contact with Viktor Crowley, a moment that made the man feel both nervous and tranquil all at once. “A few men were spotted by the river this morning,” said the elf. “They were taking a girl prisoner… And they had the mark of the Brotherhood. Something tells me their camp is nearby. We must be wary.”

  “The rogues?” Percyval grew an alarmed look on his face.

  “What did the girl look like?”

  “Never mind that, brother Antonn,” Percyval interjected, strapping a blade to his belt. “First Balthazar’s troops start to march, now this? I’m making the announcement… We must prepare to march back to Wyrmwood tonight. We can’t afford to lose the men we’ve managed to gather.”

  “Sir Percyval?” Viktor called. “If I may sugg-”

  But the knight was halfway out of the tent before Viktor could finish.

  And soon after, Sir Antonn and Zahrra followed him.

  Viktor Crowley was left alone with the elf for a brief moment, and it was a moment that Viktor felt had lasted for hours. His heart skipped a beat when he suddenly realized he had not yet introduced himself.

  “Pardon my manners,” he leapt to his feet and held his hand out. “I’m Viktor Crowley.”

  “I know,” said the elf with a smile. “I’m Skye.”

  Their hands touched…

  The elf’s hand was gentle and smooth and icy cold.

  Viktor’s was rough and callused and sweaty.

  “Skye… what?”

  “Just Skye.”

  “I see,” Viktor said, clearing his throat nervously for what felt like the hundredth time

  At that same moment, Sir Percyval walked briskly back into the tent.

  “Forgot my map,” he muttered. “Damn Woodland roads.” He gave them a quick glance, only to see the golden eagle and the elf locked in a handshake. “Right. Pardon my rudeness. Skye, this is Sir Viktor Crowley.”

  “I know,” the elf repeated with a subtle grin.

  “Skye’s an ice mage from the northern Woodlands,” Percyval said to Viktor. “Recruited just a few nights ago. Best decision I ever made.” And then he walked out of the tent, leaving the two of them alone again.

  After a brief silence, Viktor decided to ask, “How far north?”

  “Far enough…”

  Viktor Crowley had never been a prejudice man. If defending the young witch Syrena from the peasants of Val Havyn felt right to him, shaking the hand of the graceful elf that stood before him felt more than right. He felt a rush in his spine that he hadn’t felt in a long time. And he found himself, for a moment, not wanting to let go.

  “It’s a pleasure, Skye.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Sir Crowley.”

  “Please,” he said. “Just Viktor.”

  * * *

  Borrys Belvaine, the rogue mercenary and newly appointed second-in-command, stumbled inside the captain’s tent, bringing with him a trail of stench from several days of not bathing. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked stronger than usual. He slumped into an old wooden chair near Robyn Huxley, who was sitting on the dirt against a pile of junk with her hands and feet bound together by rope.

  She looked up at him with her weary eyes, swollen and red from the lack of sleep, her teeth pressed together so as to suppress the outraged shivering. The man was quiet at first; he used his nail to remove something from his teeth and then took heavy gulps from a bottle of what Robyn suspected was whisky, based on his awful breath.

  “Hello ‘gain, beaut’ful,” he said to her with that heinous smile of his, revealing the rotting mold on his upper front teeth. He then pulled out an old rucksack and began fumbling through it.

  Robyn recognized that rucksack…

  It was old, torn, and patched up with wool. It was hers.

  He pulled out a sour green apple and took a bite.

  “Quite tasty, this,” he said, his eyes squinting. “Where’d you steal it from?”

  Robyn kept up her silence.

  Rot in hells, she thought.

  She was waiting for any abrupt movement on his behalf, so that she could use her legs to strike him with as much force as she could muster. But Borrys did not get close to her. He placed one of his muddy boots on a nearby stool and slouched even more, the inebriation overtaking him.

  He took another sloppy bite from the apple and then aimed at her with his finger.

  “You don’ like me,” he said, as if it was new information. “I can sees it…”

  Robyn felt her stomach turn. She couldn’t help it. She had to say something.

  “You killed him…”

  “What?” he seemed honestly confused.

  “You killed Nyx,” she felt a knot in her throat.

  Fight it, Robyn. Don’t you dare let a single tear drop.

  “What, the crow?” he asked, on the verge of laughter. “You cryin’ over a damn crow?!”

  Had her hands not been roped, she would have leapt on him and punched him in the jaw.

  “He was my friend!” she nearly shouted, her eyes glaring at him furiously.

  “He was a stupid crow, girl! Hells, I’ll fetch ya another one later.”

  She said nothing, finding it best not to reveal any more. Though she had known Nyx briefly, she’d felt an instant connection with him, perhaps because he was the only thing that reminded her of Elbon. He made her feel secure, as if she’d brought a piece of home with her.

  Only now he was gone… taken from her…

  Mister Beckwit had sent his loyal friend to look after her and in a split second he was dead.

  The girl always had a humble heart, much like her mother and brother. All her life she had been a bold and free-spirited soul, but she never dreamed she would one day long to kill another human being.

  After that day, however, something within her had changed…

  There was a deep hatred in her heart that seemed to be growing by the second.

  She wanted Malekai dead. She wanted Borrys dead.

  She wanted an arrow to pierce through their hearts and she wanted to be the one to shoot it. She wanted to watch them as they died, the same way they watched as Nyx gasped for his last breath. She remembered the way Old Man Beckwit would say that she often doubted herself and that this was the reason for her mishaps during training. At that very moment, however, there wasn’t the faintest sign of doubt in her heart. She had never felt more ready…

  Suddenly there were footsteps approaching just outside.

  The sun was still out, and Robyn could see the looming shadow of the man, approaching the tent.

  Captain Malekai Pahrvus stepped in, eye bandaged and dagger at hand, looking deadlier than he ever had. Both Robyn and Borrys froze in silence, and the mercenary sat up straighter, slightly panicking, trying his best to appear sober.

  “Er… Just keepin’ an eye on her, cap’n, like you asked,” Borrys said, his nose twitching nervously upon realizing his poor choice of words.

  “Leave us,” Malekai said to Borrys, but his eye was fixed on Robyn. “And fetch us a bucket.”

  The man scurried out of the tent, leaving the captain and the young archer alone.

  Robyn could smell the hot blood on Malekai’s face from a distance.

  She was afraid, she knew that much. But the rage in her chest was far greater.

  He was glaring at her, and she returned the glare right back.

  Say something, you bastard, she thought to herself. Go on… Say something…

  Except he didn’t, his s
ilence was far more menacing and he knew it.

  He walked closer to her, dagger still at hand. Robyn’s neck could only bend so far and so her eyes became lost for a moment, as Malekai towered over her.

  Stay away from me, you filth…

  Once again, it was as if Malekai could read her thoughts and did exactly the opposite. He bent down on one knee, close enough so that she had no choice but to stare right at his face, half of it smeared in red just underneath the drenched cloth covering his left socket.

  He moved the dagger closer to her. Her heart raced.

  What are you doing? Get away!

  She pressed her eyes shut and breathed heavily from the angst. Only, there was no pain. All she felt was a tug and then suddenly she could feel her wrists again. Malekai had cut her loose and was doing the same with her feet, carefully so as to save most of the rope. She felt confused for a moment, but she didn’t fight it.

  Good, she thought. It’ll make killing you far easier.

  “Cap’n?” Borrys Belvaine’s head peeked inside the tent. “Where do I leav-”

  “Just drop it anywhere,” Malekai growled. “Now go prepare the iron.”

  Here it is, Robyn. Here’s your chance.

  Borrys dropped a bucket half-filled with water on the ground and left.

  Meanwhile, Robyn’s hand moved slowly towards the dagger.

  She underestimated the captain’s speed, however. Malekai gripped her wrist before she could even touch the cold blade. He snarled at her, pulled her up to her feet, and threw her across the tent with a force so strong that Robyn felt her knees scrape open as she fell.

  Too slow… Damn it all to hells, why are you so bloody slow?

  She sat back, caressed her wounded knees, looked up at the vile man almost as heatedly as he was looking down at her. Malekai reached into his satchel and pulled out a smelly old sack, about the size of a coinpurse, and he tossed it at her feet.

  “Stir it,” he said.

  Robyn did nothing at first, her eyes examining the tent.

  There must be something. Anything.

  Except there wasn’t… Unless a quill could kill a man, she had nothing. And Malekai was blocking the entrance so running was not an option…

  Not that the girl wanted to run just yet.

  Soon, yes… But he dies first… Then, I run…

  “Are you deaf, girl?” he took a step closer. “I said… Stir. It.”

  She snatched the smelly old bag from the dirt and knew what was inside it before she even untied the knot on the string. Callis root, just like the kind her mother kept back at the farm in the case of a wound. She stirred some into the bucket of water as Malekai dragged a wooden chair closer to her, sat on it, and untied the drenched rag from his head.

  Robyn was far too distracted to notice. Her eyes were on the bucket and her mind was elsewhere. It wasn’t until Malekai threw the bloody rag at her and it splashed over the water that she looked up at him, and she nearly yelped from the shock. She didn’t know what was more repulsive, the bloody socket or Malekai’s other eye glowering at her, the hatred and hunger almost radiating from it.

  “Clean me,” he ordered her.

  Robyn felt her stomach turn again. Clean yourself, you filthy pig.

  He placed his dagger on the table next to him; the girl’s eyes followed it. When she didn’t obey him, he leaned in gently, rested his elbows on his knees, and said, “I can make this very easy for you, girl… Clean me. Now. Or you’ll be cleaning your own blood off the floor…”

  Robyn fought through the rage. She had underestimated the patience she would need with a man like the captain. She dipped the bloody cloth into the bucket, tried to clean it as best as she could, but there was still plenty of blood on it when she drained it. Malekai rested his back against the chair, waiting patiently for her.

  She got to her feet, her weakened knees shivering, and stepped closer.

  His odor was sickeningly overwhelming, a pungent blend of sweat and blood.

  She pressed the wet cloth against the tender skin around his socket.

  He hissed from the pain, shivered mildly, bit his own tongue to keep himself from shouting… Robyn knew too well the effects of callis root, having been treated with it many times. The sting was unbearable at first, it took minutes to numb the wound. Malekai, however, appeared slightly annoyed from the sting, at best.

  Used to pain, are you? I’ll make sure to fix that…

  She rubbed harder. Some of the blood on his cheekbone had dried and turned into scabs. She picked at them until his bruised skin was clean, dark brown tainted with a purple hue, and she could tell he was in pain, his hands shaking as he gripped his own knees. For a moment, she was confused by it all… this power he had given her over him, how easily she could have made the pain worse, how effortlessly she could have poked at his already horrid wound. Perhaps it was a trial of some sort, to see how bold she was, how impulsive…

  Focus, Robyn… Don’t let him meddle with your mind…

  Every movement of hers was gentle and careful, but her eyes were glancing all around, from the wound to the water bucket, the dagger on the table, even Malekai’s wrists… She saw it there, the infamous tattoo… The mark of the Brotherhood, the Aharian scorpion, just as she had imagined it after all of the stories her mother had told her. Malekai must have noticed her staring at it, for he shot her a sudden grin.

  “You know this mark?” he asked her, his tone softening, as if it gave him great pleasure to see her frail and meek. “It’s usually the last thing people see before they die, this mark. You should consider yourself lucky.”

  Robyn refused to give him the courtesy of a response. She was so fueled by rage, she could hardly stand to listen to his voice. She pressed at the wound harder, but the callis root had started to take effect, and there was no sign of a reaction from Malekai.

  “Do you know the story behind it?” he asked.

  I don’t care.

  “It goes back a hundred years or so,” he went on. “Captain Halbard Elkerim, the very first captain of the Rogue Brotherhood, was bitten by an Aharian scorpion.”

  Good. And now he’s dead. Just as you’ll be, very soon.

  “They’re said to have the deadliest poison ever known to man. Elkerim should’ve died. Only, he didn’t.”

  Shit.

  “People thought he was a devil of some sort. ‘Made a pact with death’, they said. But there was no pact. The Aharians figured it out ages ago, the only cure strong enough to kill the poison… It’s how he managed to survive and go on to form the Brotherhood. But folks will believe what they want to believe. So the scorpion became the mark of the guild as a way to remind the people… You don’t meddle with the Brotherhood. And if you do? Why, you’re just as dead as if you were bitten by an Aharian scorpion.”

  Robyn had nearly finished cleaning the wound. Her hand wouldn’t stop, however. Time was a gift in situations like these, and she was concerned about what would happen next once she finished.

  “You going to say anything, girl?” he asked, his patience running short.

  She ignored him at first, focusing her attention on the wound. It may have been nauseating at first, but slowly she began to accept it. As menacing as he looked, he was nothing more than an injured man. And seeing him as anything more than that certainly wouldn’t help her. She breathed, slowly and calmly, before finally deciding to speak.

  “If you’re going to kill me anyway… Save me the speech and get on with it.”

  Her words stung him, she could tell. Even with one eye, it was obvious.

  Malekai Pahrvus did not like being challenged. Then again, Robyn had never met a man that did. Despite the pounding in her chest, she tried her best to remain observant. If she was to get out of this alive, she would have to be smarter than him, she would have to learn to manipulate him.

  His reaction was calm…

  First there was his usual grin, then a chuckle, and finally a scornful head nod, as if underminin
g her. “Kill you? Now, why would I do a thing like that, girl?”

  “If you don’t, you will regret it,” she challenged him even further. “Because when I get out of here, I’m going to kill you.”

  Malekai did it again… A grin, a chuckle, and a head nod…

  You’re new at this, I can tell, she realized. You don’t intimidate me for a second.

  “You’re more stupid than you look if you think you’re ever escaping,” he said.

  Is that all? My mother scares me more than you, you bastard…

  “Face it, girl,” he licked his lips. “You’re done for. You belong to me now.”

  “I belong to no one.”

  “Oh, but you do,” he chuckled. “You will clean my boots when I tell you to, shine my blade when I tell you to, if I’m thirsty you will fetch me ale.”

  “I’ll spit on it.”

  “Mmm. And I’ll cut your tongue off to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Robyn’s hand began shivering, and so she threw the cloth back into the bucket to prevent him from noticing it. “I’m done,” she said.

  Malekai began to feel the damage with his fingertips. It was a brief moment, but it was one that Robyn took to gawk at the dagger sitting on the table.

  One move, she thought. Just one swift move and I’ll have him.

  “I’ll have you moved to another tent to start making me supper,” he said, his mind preoccupied examining his tender wound. “And if you’re good, perhaps I’ll let you eat the scraps.”

  This is it… Grab the dagger, Robyn…

  “Otherwise, I’ll have to cut off a finger for every time you try to run.”

  You’ll run out of fingers, you sick bastard…

  “And if you keep running, then I’ll start taking toes. We’ll see how fast you run then,” he chuckled, loudly and overly confident as he wrapped a piece of clean black cloth around his head.

  Grab. The. Dagger. NOW!

  And so she did… One rapid move and she snatched it, pressed it against his bare neck, and glared down at him… She stopped in her tracks. He didn’t appear surprised at all, as if he had set her up and she had fallen into his trap. In fact, the edge of his lips began to curve slightly again.

  She wanted to cut him… Every one of her muscles urged her to…