by Ben Hale
Torn between finishing the game and following Mae, he hesitated, but Braon solved his dilemma. “Don’t worry about it. This is what you would have done, right?” The young man proceeded to play both sides of the board, and within twenty seconds his elves won. Glancing back at Trin, he looked sheepish. “That was the best you could have done anyway.”
“Do you know everything your opponent is going to do?” Trin exclaimed in exasperation.
Shrugging without answering, Braon swept the pieces into his bag. “Let’s go see what the fuss is about.”
Trin stepped into the bright sun and blinked to let his brown eyes adjust. Regaining his vision, he saw most of the sailors leaning out over the rail to look east. He slipped through the throng to join Mae at the front of the ship and finally got a look at what was going on.
At first he thought they must be approaching land, but after peering towards the horizon for a few moments he was able to make out that it wasn’t the coast, it was ships—thousands of them. By the different sizes of the sails, it looked like everything from small schooners and fishing boats to larger sea-going vessels and cargo ships. There were so many that they blocked out the horizon.
“By Skorn . . .,” Trin breathed.
“Something isn’t right.” Mae spoke quietly beside him.
“You got that right!” Erix exclaimed from the other side of him. “Get back to your posts men, and stay sharp!”
The men went about their business, but an air of tension prevailed all over the Sea Dancer. Trin remained rooted in place with Mae at the front of the boat and watched the approaching fleet.
Braon appeared beside him. Seeing the cause of the commotion, his face went ashen. “Something happened to Terros.”
“What?” Trin asked sharply. “How could you know what happened in Terros?”
Braon answered without looking at him, “If it was an army, there wouldn’t be small ships. If it was something normal, there wouldn’t be so many. They are retreating . . . and by how many . . . I would say it’s practically everyone in the eastern kingdom.” He finally turned to Trin with an expression like death. “They’re refugees—and they’ve been driven out.”
Trin could only stare at him. To his surprise, he realized he trusted him completely. If there was anything he knew about the young man, it was that he knew strategy. Braon was right.
“Let’s go tell Erix.” Trin grabbed his shoulder and led him to the helm. “Tell him,” he said, giving the young man a slight push.
Braon explained his theory well, but Erix’s response was skeptical. “How can you possibly know that?”
The young man opened his mouth to reply, but it was Trin that answered first, “Trust him captain. He knows what he’s talking about.”
At Trin’s firm tone, the captain seemed taken aback. Then he came to a decision and nodded. “OK . . . that changes things a bit.” He looked ahead and seemed to consider his options before saying, “Tell Mae to go below; I don’t want to spook anyone with an elf on board. Trin, go to the front of the ship and try to hail one of the vessels. We need to find out what happened. I know you left Terros when you were a kid, but keep an eye out for anyone you might know. Braon, go with him and let me know immediately if there is anything else you see.”
Jumping to the front of the ship, Trin let Mae know her role. She grimaced but didn’t complain as she left the two of them watching and waiting. After several minutes of silence, Braon asked, “Do you have family anywhere else in the Griffin Empire, or just in Terros?”
He felt his heart tear as he thought of his father and brother. Would he ever see them again? Were they already dead? A sense of loneliness swept over him, causing him to swallow against the growing knot in his throat. The sliver of fear felt sharp and painful, and it took all his effort to quash it. Doing his best to keep his voice even, he said, “Just in Terros.”
A few moments passed until he added, “You?”
“Same,” Braon answered in a surprisingly even tone.
Glancing at the young man he realized that he was hiding his emotions well, but the way he rubbed his left thumb into his forefinger betrayed him. Trin placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed, but if Braon recognized it he gave no sign.
The two of them watched the approaching ships in silence until they got close enough to see faces—but seeing their expressions only made things worse. Haunted eyes looked back at them with no hint of warmth, and when he tried to hail them, there was no response. After a few attempts he fell silent, realizing the effort was futile. Ship after ship passed them on their way west, without a single soul saying a word.
Halfway through the pack they began to see the wounded.
Men, women, and children, wearing makeshift bandages, were crowded onto the heavily laden vessels. Blood soaked rags covered injuries of every size and shape. Each vessel they passed carried more wounded, and by the stillness of some forms, not all had survived. Many mourned over the wounded or dead, their grief too intense to voice.
The sight grated at Trin’s heart in a way he’d never imagined possible, clawed at his natural born faith with such power it threatened to engulf him. Somehow his hope fought back, walling itself deep inside where the despair could not touch, where it would have a chance to survive. Numbness then began to replace the anguish, until Trin, and everyone on board the Sea Dancer, joined the refugee armada in bleak silence.
Two hours crawled by, and to Trin it felt like an eternity while the dull ache settled deep and refused to budge. Finally the mass of ships began to thin, until only a few stragglers passed them, loaded to the brim with the bloody and the lifeless.
Erix appeared at Trin’s side. “We have to find out what happened.” His voice echoed unnaturally after the lack of sound, and Trin wasn’t the only one that winced.
“How long until we get there?” Trin whispered to the captain.
“An hour, no more.”
“So whatever happened, happened this morning.” Braon said, his face drawn.
Erix nodded at him, his expression stony, before turning away and heading towards the helm. “Ero save us,” he said under his breath as he turned away.
Still frozen in place, Trin felt Braon switch feet and end up closer to him than before. The two continued to watch the coming horizon without a word, and barely noticed when Mae joined them a few minutes later.
She was the first one to see the smoke.
“Something is burning,” she said, leaning forward.
“Are you sure?” Trin asked.
A second later someone called down a warning from the nest, and a few minutes later Trin and Braon could see the smoke as well—but by then it was difficult not to see it. No land was in sight, but vast plumes of black smoke lazily drifted skyward from the eastern horizon.
Braon’s words mirrored his thoughts: “Terros has been razed.” The avowal was offered with no emotion, but a glance at his hand revealed the skin of his thumb was white as it rubbed his fingers. Trin waited for tears from the young man, but none came.
“We should not get too close to land.” Mae’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp.
Braon instantly agreed with her. “Whatever or whoever did this is probably still nearby. We need to come about.”
“No,” the captain said, appearing behind them again. “We must see what happened, so we may bear witness.” His gaze was so intense that Trin briefly wondered who in Terros the old sea captain had cared about.
“But—” Braon started to protest before the captain stopped him with a glance.
“We will get close enough to see the city—but not too close.” He paused, and then added, “Just close enough to see.”
Three solemn nods answered him, so Erix left to organize his men. Mae caught Trin’s eye and hissed, “Every moment we delay, we put ourselves in danger.”
“I know, Mae, but we have to trust the captain.”
Mae shook her head in disapproval but returned her gaze to the column of smoke witho
ut another comment.
As if the Sea Dancer itself could feel the increasing tension, it began to pick up speed. The wind started to gust and howl, and many sailors around them cast fearful looks at the darkening sky. Ash and soot drifted down to them like warm snow, tingeing the air with its acrid scent, and the very air began to pulse with the mounting tension of the crew.
It didn’t take long to see the burning structures. As they got closer, they were finally able to see the portions of the capital city of Griffin that were still on fire. Most of the city wasn’t actually burning—but very little was left that could. Every stone building that wouldn’t burn had been violently torn down. In many places it was impossible to tell what the structure had been. Debris and broken stones were scattered over the remains of the city—and some stones looked to be shattered . . . or even crushed to dust. Taller buildings were no more than piles of blackened wood and rubble. Defensive walls and living quarters alike had been utterly devastated.
Trin’s mouth widened in horror and he couldn’t imagine the destruction being any worse—until the haze slowly cleared and the corpses came into view. Bodies of men and women littered the ground like fallen autumn leaves. Thousands of them lay broken and still bloody, smashed under rocks, buried in rubble, or torn asunder. Behind him someone gasped, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the carnage to find out who.
Braon broke the silence, his words horrified. “The army tried to protect their escape.”
At his words, Trin noticed that the majority of the dead wore broken armor and tattered uniforms. Many of them lay on or near the docks. They had bravely given their lives to allow the ships to escape, knowing they would never survive.
Was his father or brother among them?
Mae suddenly asked, “Where are the attackers?”
Someone behind him cursed, and he glanced back to see half the crew peering into the gloom surrounding the city.
But that wasn’t what Mae had meant . . .
“Where are the bodies of the attackers?” she hissed furiously.
Trin spun back and scanned the dead. Panic bubbled inside him when he realized that there were no bodies of those who had killed them—none at all. All the men looked to be Griffin defenders. There were no bodies of any other race lying with the dead.
Who could have done this?! Trin thought in horror.
“We must leave this place,” Braon yelled, “or we will join them!”
His remark seemed to release everyone from their hold. Panic and utter terror engulfed the men. Scrambling, they leapt to the sails or the helm, their eyes crazed and full of fear. Several men roughly shoved the captain out of the way and struggled to turn the helm. Stumbling, Trin grabbed a railing as the Sea Dancer listed sharply to port in response to the sailors’ actions. Whipping around, the ship groaned in protest to the sharp turn. Without orders, men raced around the ship in chaos, shouting and yelling, mad with fear. Some leapt to put every scrap of sail onto the mast, while most of the sailors lost control and began exchanging blows. Within moments the ship dissolved into a brawl.
Trin fought to keep his feet under him and saw Braon grasping the rail. “Find a place to hide kid, I don’t want you getting hurt,” he yelled.
The young man nodded, his self-control obviously shattered by the chaos, and began working his way towards the stairs. Without warning the ship swung in a different direction and they all lurched to the side. Someone at the helm had almost succeeded in turning the ship around before another man tried to knock him out of the way and the two began throwing punches. With so many hands to guide it, the ship began to careen in either direction at the slightest touch.
“Wait!” Mae shouted beside him as she clung to the rail.
Trin turned to her in astonishment, but instead of responding she pointed out to the water.
Looking where she directed, it took him a moment to spot what she had seen—a rowboat, and it had a single passenger lying in it. It was so close he couldn’t imagine how they’d passed it, but then, no one had been looking at the water. Looking around he saw there was no chance to stop the ship, and they only had moments before they would pass him.
“There’s a man down there!” he cried desperately, but even if they could have heard him over the screaming wind, no one could have done anything.
“They aren’t going to stop!” Mae yelled over the commotion.
Trin staggered away from the rail, trying to keep his balance as the ship careened out of control. Grabbing a rope for support he looked at the helm and saw that four men were fighting to control the wheel. “They’ve gone mad!” Mae shouted beside him.
Some part of Trin’s mind wondered how they had kept their wits while everyone else had lost theirs, but a wild-eyed sailor came out of nowhere and lunged at him. Ducking the blow, he came up behind the man and without a second thought elbowed him in the back of the head. Watching him drop like a sack of potatoes gave him an idea.
“I’ll knock out the crew. Mae, hook that rowboat. We can figure out how to get him on board as soon as we have the ship under control.”
Without waiting for a response he lurched towards two men trading blows nearby. Drawing his sword, he quickly smashed the hilt against each sailor’s head in turn. The men crumpled to the deck and he looked for someone else. Hunrin abruptly appeared at his side and Trin turned to defend himself.
“I’ll help,” Hunrin growled though clenched teeth, and without waiting for an answer he leapt to a group of crazed men.
At least someone kept it together, Trin thought.
Without warning the deck swung to the side as one man got knocked headlong into the group at the helm, causing them all to go down. Spinning freely, the wheel caused the Sea Dancer to bounce wildly north.
A lithe figure caught his eye as he grabbed the mast for support. Mae danced down the tilted deck like it was flat ground, knocking people out with quick, sharp blows as she passed. Stopping at a boat hook strapped to the railing, she yanked it free and deftly tied a rope to the end.
Trin was forced to catch himself when the deck jerked again. Looking toward the bridge he saw Erix, with a bleeding lip and swollen eye, back at the helm—his face white with fear and fury. As the ship straightened and curved back west, Trin regained his footing just in time to ward off a blow from a makeshift club.
Training took over and he dodged behind the mast to avoid another strike. Whipping his longsword out and up, he smacked the flat of the blade against the man’s leg so hard it buckled under him and he cried out as his knee hit the deck. Reversing the blade, he rotated around the mast and smashed the pommel into the back of his head.
A half-second later he felt something tug on the ship. Staggering he looked back at the burning city, afraid they had been attacked, but then saw that Mae had thrown the boathook like a spear, hooking the rowboat behind them.
Seeing she had things well in hand, Trin turned to help Hunrin—who had just been tackled to the deck by two men. Leaping to his aid, he tried to kick one man off—but the attacker shrugged it off. The two men continued to pummel Hunrin mercilessly for the precious seconds it took for Trin to incapacitate them. Shoving the unconscious sailors off, he reached down and pulled Hun to his feet. His face was bleeding in several places and bruises were beginning to form, but the knife thrower simply shook his head.
“Is that all of them?” he asked, spitting blood through his teeth.
Looking around, Trin saw that most of the fighting had stopped. The first mate and the few others who hadn’t lost their heads were finishing up.
Erix suddenly began issuing crisp orders: “Frey, tie up anyone who caused trouble. I don’t want them freed until we know they’ve come to their senses. Mae, get up here and tell me why you threw a spear overboard. Hun, clean yourself up and help Frey tie ̓em up. Anyone else who hasn’t gone crazy, get this ship moving!”
Without specific instructions, Trin followed Mae to the rear of the ship and listened to her explain about the boat t
o the captain. Glancing behind them for the first time, he saw the body in the boat and nodded. “Trin, Mae, grab the rope and pull him in. Find out if he is alive. If he is, take care of him and, by Ero’s staff, try to find out what happened to Terros!”
The two fighters sprinted to follow his instructions. Mae reached the rope first but she needed Trin’s strength to pull the small craft closer. Huffing, he pulled for all he was worth until the little boat bounced in the wake behind the Sea Dancer.
“We won’t be able to pull it alongside us with just the two of us,” Trin exclaimed. “Let’s drop a rope off the back and bring him up.”
The elf beside him nodded in agreement and they set about rigging a harness to pull the man up. As soon as they were ready, they hurried to the rear of the ship and lowered it. In moments Mae slid down the rope and lightly dropped into the bucking rowboat. Wrapping the makeshift harness around the man’s arms, she quickly climbed back to the ship and helped Trin pull the man up. As soon as he could, Trin reached over the railing and grabbed the man’s tunic. With a grunt he managed to roll him over and onto the deck.
The captain glanced back. “If we don’t need that boat, cut it loose. We need every bit of speed we can get.”
Mae stood up. “I got it,” she said as she turned towards the rope, drawing her short sword.
Trin rolled the man onto his back and bent to examine him. The man was alive, but barely. Two shallow wounds were visible. His head had been smashed against something and was still bleeding a little. The shoulder wound was a little more severe, but still wasn’t bleeding enough to account for the man’s condition.
Looking closer at the right thigh, Trin realized there was a thick bandage on the man’s leg that was soaked with dark blood—old blood. By the coloring it looked like it was a few days or even weeks old. Peeling back the torn leggings, he saw that whatever had cut him in the leg looked to be poisonous—his leg was streaked with dark grey lines where the veins should be.
As the man’s head lolled to the side and his black hair was lifted by the breeze, something caught Trin’s eye. A long, ugly scar on the left side of his neck ran from ear to shoulder.
