The Emerald Storm

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “What is it?”

  “Company,” Royce told him, “Wake everyone.”

  “What’s happening?” Wesley asked groggily as the camp slowly came alive.

  “Quiet,” Royce whispered. He crouched with his dagger drawn, staring out into the darkness.

  “Ghazel?” Grady asked.

  “Something,” Royce replied. “A lot of somethings.”

  The rest of them heard it now, twigs snapping and leaves rusting. They were all on their feet with weapons drawn.

  “Backs to the river!” Wesley shouted.

  Ahead of them a light appeared, then disappeared, then another blinked. Two more flickered off to the right and left, and sounds of movemen grew louder and closer. Dovin Thranic stumbled back into camp, causing a brief alarm. Several people looked at him oddly, but said nothing.

  Everyone’s attention remained on sounds from the trees.

  Shadowy figures carried torches within the thick weave of the jungle. Slowly they climbed out of the brush and into the clearing around the riverbank. Twenty approached from all sides at once. At first they appeared to be strange monstrous beasts, until they fully entered the clearing revealing themselves as men; stocky, bull-necked brutes with white painted faces, bone armor, and headdresses of long feathers. They moved with ease through the dense brush. In their hands were crude clubs, axes, and spears. They circled in silence, creeping forward.

  “We come in peace!” Hadrian heard Dilladrum shout in Tenkin, his voice sounding weak. “We have come to see Warlord Erandabon. We bear a message for him.”

  As they grew nearer, they began hooting and howling, shaking their weapons. Some brandished teeth, while others beat their chests or stomped naked feet.

  Dilladrum repeated his statement.

  One of the larger men, who carried a decorated war axe, stepped forward and approached Dilladrum. “What message?” the Tenkin asked in a harsh, shallow voice.

  “It is a sealed letter,” Dilladrum replied. “To be given only to the warlord.”

  The man eyed each of them carefully. He grinned and then nodded. “Follow.”

  It was clearly the best they could expect, although Dilladrum mopped his forehead with his sleeve as he explained the situation.

  The Tenkin howled orders. Torches went out and the rest melted back into the jungle. The leader remained as they quickly broke camp. Then with a motion for them to follow, he ran back into the trees, his torch lighting the way. He led them at a brisk rate that had everyone panting for breath and Bulard near collapse. Dilladrum shouted forward for a rest, or at least a slower pace. The only response was laughter.

  “Our new friends aren’t terribly considerate of an old man.” Bulard panted in between wheezing inhales.

  “That’s enough!” Wesley shouted, and raised a hand for them to stop. The crew of the Emerald Storm needed little persuasion to take a break. The Tenkin and his torch continued forward, disappearing into the trees. “If he wants to keep jogging on without us, let him!”

  “He’s not,” Royce commented. “He’s hiding in the trees up ahead with his torch out. There are also several on either side of us with more than a few to our rear.”

  Wesley looked around then said, “I don’t see anything at all.”

  Royce smiled. “What good is it having an elf in your crew if you can’t make use of him?”

  Wesley raised an eyebrow, looked back out into the trees, then gave up altogether. He pulled the cork from his water bag, took a swig, and passed it around. Turning his attention to the historian, who sat in the dirt doubled over, he asked, “How you doing, Mister Bulard?”

  Bulard’s red face came up. He was sweating badly, his thin hair matted to his head. He said nothing, his mouth preoccupied with the effort of sucking in air, but he managed to offer a smile and a reassuring nod.

  “Good,” Wesley said, “let’s proceed, but we will set the pace. Let’s not have them exhausting us.”

  “Aye,” Derning agreed, wiping his mouth after his turn at the water. “It would be just the thing for them to run us in circles until we collapse, then fall on us and slit our throats before we can catch our breaths.”

  “Maybe that’s what happened to the others we spotted. Perhaps it was these blokes,” Grady speculated.

  “We’re going somewhere,” Royce replied. “I can smell the sea.”

  It was true. Hadrian had not noticed it until that moment, but he could taste the salt in the air. What he assumed was wind in the trees, he now realized, was the voice of he sea.

  “Let’s continue, shall we, gentlemen?” Wesley said and moved them out. As they did, the Tenkin’s torch appeared once more and moved on ahead. Wesley refused to chase it, keeping them at a comfortable pace. The torch returned and after a few more tries to coax them, gave up and matched their stride.

  Travel progressed sharply downward. The route soon became a rocky trail that plummeted to the face of a cliff. Below they could hear the crashing of waves. As dawn approached, they could see their destination. A stone fortress rose high on a rocky promontory that jutted into the ocean and guarded a natural harbor hundreds of feet below the rocky edge. The Palace of the Four Winds looked ancient, weathered by wind and rain until it matched the stained and pitted face of the dark granite upon which it sat. Built of massive blocks, it was inconceivable that men could have placed such large stones. Displaying the same austerity as the Tenkins, it lacked ornamentation. Ships filled the large sheltered bay on the lee side of the point. There were hundreds, all with reefed black sails.

  When they approached the great gate, their guide stopped. “Weapons are not allowed past this point.”

  Wesley scowled as Dilladrum translated, but was not surprised. This was the custom even in Avryn. One did not expect to walk armed into a lord’s castle. They presented their weapons, and Hadrian noted that neither Thranic nor Royce surrendered any.

  Thranic had been acting oddly ever since stumbling into camp. He had not said a word and his eyes never left Royce.

  They entered the fortress where a dozen well-equipped guards looked down from ramparts while another dozen lined their route. The exterior looked nearly ruined. Stone blocks had fallen left broken on the ground.

  Inside the castle, the decor was no more cheerful. Here, too, the withering decay of centuries of neglect left the once great edifice little more than a primordial cave. Roots and fungi grew along the corridor crevices, dead leaves clustered in corners where the swirl of drafts deposited them. Dust, dirt, and cobwebs obscured the ancient decorative carvings, sculptures, and chiseled writings.

  The Tenkins had strung crude banners over the walls, long pennants that depicted a white Tenkin-style axe on a black field. Just as in Oudorro, row upon row of shields hung from the ceiling like bats in a cavern. A massive fireplace occupied one whole side of the great chamber, a massive gaping maw of a hearth in which an entire tree trunk smoldered. Upon the floor lay the skin of a tiger whose head stared with gleaming emerald eyes and yellowing fangs. A stone throne stood at the far end of the hall. The base of the chair had cracked where a vine intertwined the legs making it list to one side, its seat draped in a thick piling of animal skins.

  A wild-eyed man sat upon the throne. His head sported a tempest of hair jutting in all directions, long and black with streaks of white. Deep cuts and burns scarred his face. Thick brows overshadowed bright, explosive eyes that darted about rapidly, rolling in his skull like marbles struggling to free themselves from the confines of his head. He was bare-chested except for an elaborate vest of small-laced bones. His long fingers absently toyed with a large, bloodstained axe lying across his lap.

  “Who is this?” the warlord asked in Tenkin his loud disturbing voice echoed from the walls. “Who is this that enters the hall of Erandabon unannounced and unheralded? Who treads Erandabon’s forest like sheep to be gathered? Who dare seek Erandabon in his den, his holy place?”

  A strange assortment of people surrounded him and all eyes were o
n the party as they entered. Toothless tattooed men spilled drinks while women with matted hair and painted eyes swayed back and forth to unheard rhythms. One lounged naked upon a silk cushion, with a massive snake coiled about her body as she whispered to it. Beside her, an old hairless man ellow nails as long as his fingers painted curious designs on the floor, and everywhere the hall was choked with the smoke of burning tulan leaves that smoldered in a central brazier.

  In the darkest shadows were others. Hadrian could barely make them out through the fog of smoke and the flickering firelight. They clustered in the dark, making faint staccato chattering sounds like the whine of cicadas. Hadrian knew that sound well. He could not see them, merely the suggestion of movement cast in shadows upon stone. They shifted nervously, anxiously, like a pack of hungry dogs, their motions jittery and too fast to be human.

  Dilladrum shooed Wesley forward. Wesley took a breath and said, “I am Midshipman Wesley Belstrad, acting captain of what remains of the crew of Her Imperial Majesty’s ship the Emerald Storm, out of Aquesta. I have a message for you, Your Lordship.” He bowed deeply, which looked comical to Hadrian that a lad of such noble bearing should bow before the likes of Erandabon Gile who was just shy of a madman.

  “Long Erandabon ’as waited for vord,” the man upon the throne spoke in Apelanese. “Long Erandabon ’as counted dee moons and dee stars. Dee vaves crash nightly, dee ships approach and gather, dee darkness grows, and Erandabon vaits. Sits and vaits. Vaits and sits. Dee great shadow is growing in dee north. Dee gods come once more bringing death and horror to all. Dee undying will crush dee vorld beneath deir step, and Erandabon ez made to vait. Vere ez dis message? Speak! Speak!”

  Wesley took a step forward as he pulled the letter from his coat, but paused, noticing the broken seal. As he hesitated, an overly thin man dressed in feathers and paint snatched the letter away. He growled at Wesley like a dog showing his teeth. “Not approach dee great Erandabon vis unclean ’ands!”

  The feather man handed the message to the warlord who studied it for a moment, his eyes racing madly back and forth. A terrible grin grew across his face, and he tore the note into pieces and began eating it. It did not take long, and while he ate no one said a word. With his final swallow, the warlord raised his hand then and said, “Lock them away.”

  Wesley stood stunned as Tenkin guards approached and grabbed him. “What’s happening?” he protested. “We are officials of the Empire of Avryn! You can’t—”

  Gile laughed as the guard dragged them down the hall.

  “Wait!” another voice bellowed. “It was arranged!” It was Thranic, who deftly dodged the guards advancing on the warlord angrily. “My team and I are to be given safe passage. I am here to pick up a Ghazel guide who will take us safely through Grandanz Og!”

  Erandabon rose quickly to his feet faster than he looked. He raised his axe, halting Thranic mid-step. “Veapons did you bring? Food for dee Many did you deliver to Erandabon?” the warlord shouted at him.

  “It sank!” Thranic yelled back. “And the deal wasn’t based on the weapons or the elves.”

  The chattering sounds from the darkness grew louder. The noise appeared to disturb even the Tenkin. The hairless man stopped drawing his designs and shuddered. The woman with the snake gasped.

  Erandabon remained oblivious to the rise in their tenor as he gibbered in glee. “No! Based on dee open gates of Delgos! Vaat proof of dis? Vaat proof does Erandabon ’ave? You vait ’ere. You stay sealed and if Drumindor does not fall, you vill be food for dee Many! Erandabon decrees it! Ou are you to defy Erandabon?”

  “Who are you to defy Erandabon?” chanted the crowd. The warlord waved his hand in the air and the chattering grew loud again. The guards moved in with spears.

  ***

  “Now we know what the empire has been doing with the elves they’ve been rounding up,” Royce muttered as he ran his fingers lightly along the length of the doorjamb. Hadrian noticed Wyatt turning away sharply.aboenkin locked them in cells buried in the foundation of the fortress. There were no windows. The only light came from the small barred opening of the door beyond which torches mounted in iron sconces flickered intermittently. Hadrian and Royce were fortunate enough to share a cell with Wyatt and Wesley, while the others were in similar cells within the same block. The sounds of their independent conversations echoed as indiscernible whispers.

  “It’s ghastly,” Wesley said, collapsing on the stone floor and dropping his head in his hands. “Admittedly, I’ve never held any love for those of elven blood,” he gave Royce and apologetic glance, “but this—this is loathsome beyond human imagining. That the empire could sanction such a vile and dishonourable act is…is…”

  “And now we also know what that fleet of ships in the bay is for,” Hadrian said. “They’re planning to invade Delgos, and it would appear we delivered the orders for them to attack.”

  “But Drumindor is impregnable from the sea,” Wesley said. “Do you think this Erandabon fellow knows that? All those ships will be burned to cinders the moment they enter the bay.”

  “No, they won’t,” Royce said. “Drumindor has been sabotaged. The spouts are blocked and when they vent at the next full moon there will be an explosion, destroying it and I suspect Tur Del Fur as well. After that, the armada can sail in unopposed.”

  “What?” Wesley asked. “You can’t possibly know that.”

  Royce said nothing.

  “Yes, he does,” Hadrian said.

  Realization crossed Wesley’s face. “The seal was broken. You read the letter?”

  Royce continued exploring the door.

  “How is it going to explode?” Hadrian asked.

  “The vents have been blocked.”

  “No…” Hadrian shook his head. “Only Gravis knew how to do that, and he’s dead.”

  “Merrick found out somehow. He’s doing the same thing Gravis tried. He’s blocked the portals and when they try to vent during the harvest moon the gas and molten rock will have nowhere to go. The whole mountain will blow. And that’s what Merrick meant about turning the tide of war for the empire. Delgos supports the Nationalists, funded largely by Cornelius DeLur. When they eliminated Gaunt, they cut off the rebellion’s head. Now they will cut out its legs. Destroying Delgos will mean the New Empire will only need to deal with Melengar.”

  “But those ships we saw in the harbor were not just Tenkin. The vast majority were Ghazel,” Hadrian pointed out. “Gile thinks he can use them as muscle, as his attack dogs, but goblins can’t be tamed. He can’t control them. The empire is handing Delgos over to the Ba Ran Ghazel. Once they entrench themselves the goblins will become a greater threat to the empire than the Nationalists ever were.”

  “I doubt Merrick cares,” Royce opined.

  “You stole the letter from me and read it?” Wesley asked Royce. “And you had us deliver it to the warlord knowing it would launch an invasion?”

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t have? Those were your orders, sanctioned by the regents themselves.”

  “But giving Delgos to that…that…insane man and the Ghazel, it’s…it’s…”

  “It’s your sworn duty as an officer of the empire.”

  Wesley stared, aghast. “My father used to say, ‘A knight draws his sword for three reasons: to defend himself, to defend the weak, and to defend his lord’, but he always added, ‘Never defend yourself against the truth, never defend the weakness in others and never defend a lord without honor.’ I don’t see how anyone can find honor in feeding a child to goblins or handing over a nation of men to the Ghazel horde.”

  “Why did you let him deliver the letter?” Hadrian asked.

  “I just read it tonight during the water break. It was my last chance to get a look, and I figured if we showed up completely empty handed we’d be killed right away.”

  “I won’t be party to this…this…atrocity! We must prevent Drumindor’s destruction,” Wesley announced.

  “You realize interfering wi
th this would be treason?” Royce told Wesley.

  “By ordering the delivery of every man, woman, and child in Tur Del Fur into the bloodthirsty hands of the Ba Ran Ghazel, the empress has committed treason to her subjects. It is I who remain loyal…loyal to the cause of honor.”

  “It might comfort you to know that it is highly unlikely that Empress Modina gave this order,” Hadrian told him. “We know her—met her before she became empress. She would never sanction anything like this. I was in the palace the day before we sailed from Aquesta and she is not in charge. The regents are the ones behind this.”

  “One thing’s for sure, if we foil Merrick’s plan we won’t have to look for him anymore. He’ll find us,” Royce added.

  “This is all my fault.” Wesley sighed. “My first command and look where it has led.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You did fine.” Hadrian patted him on the shoulder. “But your duty is done now. You completed the task your lord set for you. Everything after this is of your own choosing.”

  “Not much of a choice, I’m afraid,” he said, looking around their cell.

  “How long before the rise of the harvest moon?” Royce asked.

  “About two weeks I would guess,” Hadrian replied.

  “It would take us too long to travel back by land. How long would it take us to get there by sea, Wyatt?”

  “With the wind at our backs, we’d make the trip in a fraction of the time it took us to come out. Week and a half, two maybe.”

  “Then we still have time.”

  “Time for what?” Wesley asked. “We’re locked in the dungeon of a madman at the edge of the world. Merely surviving will be a feat.”

  “You are far too pessimistic for one so young,” Royce told him.

  Wesley let out a small laugh. “All right, Seaman Melborn, how do you propose we sneak down to the harbor, capture a ship loaded with Ghazel warriors, and sail it out of a bay past an armada, when we can’t even get out of this locked cell?”

  Royce gave the door a gentle push and it swung open. “I unlocked it while you were ranting,” he said.