The Maker of Entropy

by John Triptych

  Todrul didn’t betray any emotion. “I shall remain here. As protector, the crew of the expedition is my burden.”

  “Watch over them,” Orilion whispered as Lorrt began to lead him away. “I shall return.”

  Lorrt held the dagger close to Orilion’s throat as he led the nobleman from Lethe out of the Great Cavern. The moment they had made it into the tunnels Lorrt quickly sheathed his weapon and they both started running. Orilion hoped the stratagem would be enough to shift the blame away from his own people. Nevertheless, a growing dread had begun to take root in his mind, for he had a sense a hidden enemy had yet to reveal themselves, and everything would be brought to ruin.

  The conspirators ran past the cave entrances and out into the clear darkness of eventide. Looking down at the base of the mountain, Orilion could see two sand sails tethered near the outlying boulders. Multiple loud horns could still be heard, echoing out from the numerous holes of the looming peaks above.

  By the time the two of them had made it onto the bronze gangplank of the second vessel, the first land ship had already unfurled its sails and was maneuvering out and into the flatlands. As Orilion got onto the deck of the vehicle, someone standing beside the ship’s wheel started walking towards him. Since there were no torches to light anyone’s faces, all Orilion could make out were shadowy outlines as the crew continued scrambling around him to get the sand sail up and running.

  Only when the man stopped in front of him and held out his bony hand in greeting did Orilion finally recognize who it was. The chief of the Tooan tribe himself stood before him. “Welcome aboard my vessel, Orilion. Do you not recall who I am?”

  “Chief Cinil, a pleasant eventides to you,” Orilion said. “I had thought you were with Lord Vorconis.”

  “We were in separate holds yet remained in communion,” Cinil said as he pointed to Lorrt, who now stood beside him. “But this ploy was all his doing.”

  Lorrt was giddy with excitement. “When that fool of a bond brother and my stupid sister had told me they were going to announce a surprise feast, I began a surprise of my own! I added the names of the Tooan tribe as part of the invitations and told Chief Cinil here of my plans.”

  By now the second sand sail had managed to catch the wind as the wheels beneath the hull turned and the entire vessel started to make its way along the wastes. Within moments, the base of the mountain began to recede from their line of sight. The lead ship was already up ahead by a few hundred paces.

  “A most welcome opportunity indeed,” Cinil said with apparent relish. “I have only half a dozen men wounded and accounted for, while more than thirty of the Zaash were killed. First blood and a good omen for our side.”

  One of the crewmen pointed towards the port side. “Look, another sand sail is pursuing us.”

  Cinil let out a curse as he took out a long metal tube from the folds of his cloak and held it over his right eye. Focusing crystal lenses extended the range of his vision as he studied the muted colors of their pursuer. “I recognize her. It is the Famit, a Zaash sand sail. It must have been serving as a sentinel while the rest of her tribe’s fleet accompanied the Khan.” The chief of the Tooans snapped his fingers. “Captain, increase our speed.”

  The captain of the vessel they were riding in nodded. He began gesturing at the crew to shift the sail at a better angle. “Aye, Chief Cinil.”

  Lorrt’s bubbling confidence began to evaporate. “C-could they catch us?”

  The captain nodded. “Aye. Our pursuer is a smaller ship, and has more sails.”

  Cinil spat on the deck. “Our enemy is indeed faster, but we have more men on this sand sail.” He turned and gestured at the remaining ones on the deck who were not working on the ship. “Prepare yourselves for battle.”

  The men on the deck began to reload the muskets they had used during the feast. Lorrt walked over to one of the men who stood by the hold and whispered something in his ear before making his way back to Orilion and Cinil.

  “If they mean to get onto the deck then I may as well fight them too,” Orilion said. “Could you spare a weapon for me?”

  One of the men started laughing as he carried a bulky leather covering and placed it on the deck beside the three of them. Unrolling the sheet, he revealed several sets of cutlasses and daggers, their metal glinting from the moonlight. Picking up one of the swords, Orilion swung it in the air a few times in order to familiarize himself with its weight and grip.

  Another man dragged a bound and gagged Tozhem out from beneath the ship’s hold and onto the deck. Pushing Wulfgen’s son over to where the three men stood, the man took the leather scarf off Tozhem’s mouth after forcing the young man into a kneeling position.

  Tozhem coughed for a short while before staring up at his captors. “You … you will all regret what you have done. Betrayers!”

  “I had you brought up here just so you could witness your tribe’s vain attempt to rescue you,” Lorrt said, pointing to the sand sail behind them.

  Tozhem hissed. “You have betrayed your own family, Lorrt! I will enjoy watching you die when justice is finally done.”

  Grimacing with anger, Lorrt threw a punch at his bond brother’s chin, knocking Tozhem to the deck. “The only thing you will witness is your family being slaughtered, fool.”

  Tozhem began screaming. “Leave my wife and child alone!”

  Lorrt kicked him in the stomach. Tozhem writhed in pain while on the floor and began groaning violently.

  Cinil placed a restraining hand on the Lorrt’s shoulder. “Enough. Let him be.”

  Lorrt growled as he reached over to the weapons that were laid out on the other side of the deck and picked up his own cutlass. With its thick curved blade and large knuckle guard, the sword was an ideal weapon for fighting onboard the sand sail.

  Orilion had looked away when the two young men began fighting. Staring at the pursuing sand sail behind them, he could see a number of men forming a line behind the gunwale of the wheeled vessel, their muskets primed and ready.

  Cinil strode over to where he was standing and tugged at his elbow while crouching down behind the gunwale. “It is best you get some cover, as we are almost at range of their muskets.”

  Realizing how vulnerable he was, Orilion immediately got to one knee, just as a whizzing noise zinged past the top of his head. Crying out in alarm, he bent all the way down until his head was a few inches away from the bronzed deck flooring. He could hear the captain blowing through his bone horn, alerting the lead Tooan sand sail ahead of them.

  The chief of the Tooan began to chuckle. “Do not grovel too much, lest the Maker think you are but a sand beetle.”

  Breathing heavily, Orilion got back into a kneeling position. He had drunk a little too much wine during the feast, and now his head was beginning to spin from all the excitement. “Why are they attempting to catch us? Do they not see we are a larger land ship with more men?”

  “The Zaash never retreat from battle- it is part of their notoriety,” Cinil said. “And they realize we are holding Wulfgen’s son and bond daughter. They will sacrifice their own lives for his safe return if need be, lest they face the wrath of their own chief.”

  Within the few moments, both sides began to fire volleys of musket fire at close range. Several people fell to the deck, the blood from their wounds staining the bronze flooring of the ship. The Tooan captain applied the brakes to his own land ship, and the pursuing sand sail nearly collided with its stern. Both vessels were now so close an untrained eye watching from a fair distance could have sworn they were but one ship.

  Screaming their war cries, the Zaash leapt out from their ship and rushed forward onto the deck of the Tooan sand sail. The defenders quickly dropped their spent muskets and drew blades as a desperate fight began.

  One of the attackers ran towards Orilion, who quickly held his cutlass in a middle guard position, his high grip extending out at the level of his chest. The nobleman from Lethe did have some training with swords, but never re
ally had any experience in actual fighting. His opponent had a similar weapon and swung the blade in a downward strike towards Orilion’s head. His lack of confidence in his own abilities made him timid, and Orilion parried the blow as he began to move backwards. When his attacker pressed forward and thrust the blade to the inside gap of Orilion’s sword arm, the point of the enemy’s cutlass pierced into the Lethean’s right bicep. Orilion let out a cry of pain as he inadvertently dropped the blade he was wielding.

  Just as the other man strode forward for the killing blow, a shot rang out behind Orilion. His attacker grimaced in pain as he fell to his knees, his left hand clutching a now obvious stomach wound. Orilion bent sideways, picking up the fallen cutlass with his left hand. After getting a good grip, he swung it downwards to the top of the other man’s skull, cutting right through the cranium’s frontal bone and deep into the brain matter. The mortally wounded man fell sideways, his hands twitching spasmodically as the death throes began.

  Orilion turned. Standing not far from him was Cinil, who had just fired his flintlock. He gave the Tooan chief a nod of acknowledgement for saving his life.

  Cinil shook his head as he began to reload his pistol. “Are all you Letheans that weak in battle?”

  Orilion shook his head. His right arm hurt and he started to rip the sides of his tunic to act as an impromptu bandage. “Only the nobles such as myself.”

  The Zaash were outnumbered, but they seemed to be holding their own due to the intense ferocity of their zeal. As the battle on the deck continued to rage, the second Tooan sand sail had turned around and was now coming to the rescue. Chief Cinil extolled his men to fight harder, and they slowly began to press back the now desperate Zaash. Mere moments later, the second Tooan sand sail had now traveled alongside the two other ships, and more of Cinil’s men began pouring onto the bloodstained deck.

  Even though their fate had now been sealed, the Zaash fought to the last man. The Tooan took no prisoners, and used their daggers to finish off the wounded. Once the fighting had stopped, the crew began tossing the dead over the gunwale. Cinil ordered a small contingent to seize and crew the unmanned Zaash sand sail, and they now were a fleet of three vehicles.

  Orilion winced while tightening the covering over his wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped, and it didn’t look like any bones had been broken. The pain however was distracting, and his right arm felt weak.

  Cinil stood beside him and patted his left shoulder. “I have a very good healer at my hold. We shall be there before the dayspring arrives.”

  Orilion nodded. The after effects of the wine and the subsequent battle had dulled his senses somewhat, and he was slowly regaining his full bearings. “Where is Lorrt?”

  As if on cue, Lorrt made his way up from the ship’s hold. His belt had a flintlock pistol and cutlass attached. There was a bit of blood on his formerly white tunic.

  Cinil snorted as the youth walked up to them. He never liked Lorrt, but the reason why he sided with him was because he liked the Khatun and the Zaash tribe even less. “Were you hiding in the hold, Lorrt?”

  The Khan’s son shook his head. “I pursued one of the Zaash dung worms down below and killed him. I did my part when it came to this battle.”

  Cinil holstered his gun and held onto the side of the gunwale as the ships untangled themselves and began to lurch forward again. “There are no other pursuers so it means we have succeeded. Now we can bargain with Wulfgen and see just how much he values the life of his son.”

  The land ship captain staggered nervously over to them. He pointed at something on the deck. “Chief Cinil, look!”

  All three of them looked down to where he was pointing at. Lying on the deck was Tozhem, his mouth wide open. The embroidered tunic he had worn for the feast was stained with blood, and his lifeless eyes stared back at them with a silent curse.

  Chapter 15

  Even though the sun was directly above them, the Istas was surrounded by thick mists, and the land ship traveled slowly across the ice fields of the Frozen Desert. The six-man crew had been grumbling for days ever since Captain Chrac had ordered them to journey towards a new heading with nary an explanation. Nevertheless, they had served together for many cycles, and their trust with Chrac continued to hold up, despite the uncertainties of their destination.

  The crew not assigned to the main sail stood right at the bow of the ship, their wary eyes trying to peer out through the thick haze, ready to sound an alarm in case the Istas were to collide with a jutting piece of rock, or encounter a patch of rough terrain up ahead. Despite the relentless pace, much of the crew was exhausted from the constant watch and there were times when the captain had to stop the sand sail in order to give his men some hours of rest.

  Rion squinted as he leaned over the gunwale. It seemed the deeper they got into the Frozen Desert, the less visibility there was and they could no longer see the horizon up ahead. He had heard whisperings amongst the crew, stating they were now in the Land of Mists, an accursed place where no sand sail had ever returned from. Last eventide, he was awoken from his sleep by a strange bellowing noise coming from somewhere in the distance. The crew was terrified, and torches had been lit to try and find where the disturbing cries were coming from, but it all soon receded into quietude once more, and so they continued onwards, ever deeper into the unknown.

  Miri stood beside the boy near the bow of the land ship, her spear at the ready. She had been using her mindsense to detect any hostile thoughts in the area, and she too was concerned when she had felt a faint presence shadowing them when they encountered the wailing during the eventide. Her mental probing indicated it might have been a beast of some sort, but instances of the fleeting thoughts she encountered in the air seemed odd. The crew was already at their wits end, and she withheld the information from them, lest a mutiny would erupt. A part of her wanted to discourage Rion from continuing the quest any further, but it was clear the boy would not be dissuaded from what was written in the telling stones he carried.

  Captain Chrac walked over to them, his shoulders covered by a ragged leather cloak. The further north they went, the colder it seemed to get. “I must ask that we stop and rest again. It shall be eventide soon, and my crew is very troubled.”

  Miri nodded. “Very well, Captain. You may rest your men.”

  Chrac walked back towards the ship’s wheel and made a low whistle. A few sighs of relief and thankfulness erupted amongst the small crew. A fair number of them went down into the hold to get some rest, while the remaining ones warily sat down near the ship’s quarterdeck, hoping to reinvigorate themselves with food and some free time.

  The boy turned around and gently shook her elbow. “Miri, I believe we are getting close to the Valley of Shadow, if you can encourage the crew to continue onwards then we may get there by the morrow.”

  Miri bit her lip. She was starting to feel guilty over using her Vis to influence the crew. Her voice was at a low whisper so they would not be overheard. “I can sense a fair number of them are already at their breaking point. The occurrence which happened last eventide was a harrowing one for all.”

  Rion looked down. His own conscience was also bothering him. The boy didn’t want to be responsible for leading these men to possible doom. “Perhaps it is best we leave and travel on foot instead?”

  She let out a deep breath. “We do not know what lies about. If we remain with the sand sail, at least it forms a sort of protective shield, and whatever is out there would have to climb up the sides of the hull to reach us.”

  “That strange sound we heard in the gloom last eventide, was it a beast of some sort?”

  Miri shook her head slightly. “I am not certain. It seemed to have the same set of instincts like what most beasts I had encountered in the Silt Sea, but a fragment of it felt like … something else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A part of it seemed … human.”

  The boy turned and looked out into the grey fog that perpetually
surrounded the vessel. “You mean what we heard came from a human?”

  Miri scowled. “I … cannot be certain. Perhaps it may have been human once, but it may have somehow … transformed itself into something not quite like us.”

  “Like an orla?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes, the jumble of sensations and thoughts reminded me of an orla, but it was still quite distinct.”

  Rion gave out a disappointed sigh. “If it is another killer beast then we are endangering the men who travel with us.”

  “We must weigh the advantages of having this sand sail at our disposal over making the trek on our own,” Miri said. “What makes you so certain the Valley of Shadow is close by?”

  The boy pulled out the telling stone from beneath his the folds of his cloak. “The glyphs say it is six days of swift travel across the unseen lands. These mists that beset our vision must pertain to the very place that is written in this stone.”

  “But did you not say six days of travel? We have only encountered the haze but two days ago.”

  “The telling stone must refer to the length of travel by foot,” Rion said. “We are traveling much faster on this vessel.”

  “But how are you certain our path is true? We can barely see at an arm’s length ahead of us.”

  Rion licked his cold lips. “Do you recall when I gave directions to Captain Chrac?”

  She nodded. “Yes you did. You have been telling him to make minor adjustments at the ship’s heading for the past several days now. Is your guide just the telling stones?”

  Rion shook his head. “No. Ever since we ventured into the mists, I could sense a presence in my own mind as well.”

  Miri’s eyes opened wide. “Another Striga is mind probing you? Why did you not say something to me?”

  “No, I do not believe it is an attack,” the boy said. “The patterns are unlike any other I have felt. I do not believe it is the work of another Striga either. It seems to be nothing more than a faint echo in my mind.”