Survivors

by Dave Willmarth

  Lisa completed her class training and joined him just as he finished updating his new abilities with his own trainer. They elected to spend the rest of the day crafting, Lisa went to visit the leatherworking trainer while Griff made his way to the smithy.

  *****

  Mace and Shari met for a quick early breakfast, gobbling down a couple Pop Tarts and a protein bar each. A glass of water to wash them down and a quick cleanup later, they were headed for their pods.

  It was just beginning to grow light outside when they left the inn and headed for the dock. Jorin was waiting near the helm as they boarded, waving them over.

  “Good morning, you two! Ready for a nautical adventure?”

  Mace scowled at him. “Depends. Are you going to tease more leviathans into attacking us?”

  “Ha! One was more than enough for me, lad. I prefer my ship and myself in one piece.” Jorin smacked Mace on the shoulder. “We’ll be ready to get under way in a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable. The lake is calm today, and the sailing should be a breeze.” He stared at them a moment. When he got no response, he said, “A breeze. Get it?”

  Shari rolled her eyes and kissed the old half-elf’s cheek. “Your jokes need work, elder.”

  She softened her words with a smile. Mion, not to be outdone, bounded onto the captain’s shoulder and gently licked his face. The old man beamed and rubbed her tummy with one finger. Mion decided she liked it there and remained with him as Shari and Mace went to find seats among the crates and bags on the deck.

  Mace was about to settle onto a large grain sack when Snuffles beat him to it. The pig curled himself up like a dog and let out a satisfied snort before laying his head down and closing his eyes.

  Mace gave the pig a look, then settled for a crate nearby. Shari and Layne simply sat cross-legged on the deck, leaning their backs against the rail, while Lila strung a hammock from the rail to a loose nail in a crate and hopped in. She let out a snort nearly as loud as Snuffles, which caused the others to chuckle.

  Mace looked around unobtrusively, but saw no sign of Ian. He just had to assume that the rabbit had made it on board and stowed himself safely somewhere.

  Within moments, the captain called out to cast off the mooring lines and they were on their way. Sails were raised to catch the breeze and pull them out into the deep water. Jorin and the helmsman steered carefully around the shallow water obstacles jokingly referred to as leviathans by the crew. Dead trees and sunken ship’s masts, large rocks, any object solid enough to sink a ship that clumsily stumbled into it.

  The group settled in for a quiet ride. Barring any leviathan attacks, the trip across the calm waters of the lake and down the river to the first port should be uneventful.

  Mace quickly got bored and moved to stand by the captain near the helm. “Mind if I observe? I’ve always wanted to learn how to sail.”

  Jorin motioned toward the wheel. “Take hold. No better to way to learn than by doing.”

  The helmsman stepped aside, holding the wheel steady with one hand until Mace had a solid grip on it. The captain spent the next hour showing him how adjustments to the wheel moved the rudder at the stern of the ship, causing the water passing under the ship to alter its course and turn the ship. They discussed the various ways of keeping the wind in the sails and controlling the speed of the ship. At the end of the hour, Mace had a decent grasp of the basics.

  New skill acquired: Sailing, Level 1

  Mace thanked the captain and returned to the others. Layne was telling a story about a battle fought long ago between the humans and the cyclops race.

  “Cyclops have never been a race to reproduce quickly. It is rare for a child to be born more than once a decade in any tribe of cyclops. So their numbers remain small, whilst humans reproduce like bunnies, having children every year or two in their prime, sometimes producing two or three at once. So while the cyclops were much larger and more powerful than the primitive humans of that time, they were vastly outnumbered. The cyclops fought with both brute strength and magic, while the humans had spears and arrows with stone tips, and slings that threw rocks at great speed. They had little concept of strategy, other than to overwhelm the cyclops with numbers. Many humans perished for each cyclops that was taken down, but in the end, numbers won out.” Layne strummed a sad tune on her lute as she spoke. “The cyclops, one of the elder races of our world, were all but wiped out as a race. They fled to the mountains and deep forests where the superstitious humans feared to venture.”

  Shari was leaning toward the bard, her eyes wide like a small child at story time. “Are there any left today?”

  Layne nodded. “Those who fled to the mountains have not been heard from as far as I know. They may have fallen victim to the trolls, ogres, or other darker races that call the mountains home. But a few took shelter with the elves for a time. I have been to one of their villages, in this very forest, in fact. It was small, only about a dozen of them living there. They grow crops and herd cattle and sheep. And their crafters, once world-renowned makers of weapons and armor, still create wondrous items that they trade with us.”

  The talk of weapons reminded Mace of something. He waited patiently until Layne was finished with the cyclops story, then produced his enchanted dagger.

  “Layne, I purchased this from a smith in the grey dwarf city I passed through. He called it ‘soul-forged and it seems to drain energy from anyone I use it on. Anyone living. It had no effect on the undead. It also seems to transfer some of that energy to me. And it almost… speaks to me sometimes. The smith said it could gain sentience. Do you know anything about this type of magic?”

  When he tried to hand the dagger to her, the bard leaned back and held up her hands as if to ward it away.

  “Please, I don’t wish to touch it. I have indeed heard of this soul-forging. It is an ancient magic we had thought lost to the world. And we did not mourn its passing. While that weapon you hold is not inherently evil, its predecessors were almost universally used for evil purposes.”

  She paused and took a deep breath. Gripping her lute tightly, as if for comfort, she twanged out a few harsh notes as she continued.

  “We believe its origins stem from a form of necromancy. Ancient practitioners of the art sought ways to store the souls of their victims in order to use them later to raise them in other, less damaged bodies. And while the weapons did drain and store the souls, they would not release them when commanded. They somehow made use of the energy to make themselves stronger, and eventually were able to create a sort of soul of their own. Which allowed them to communicate with their wielders. And in some cases, control them. Their lust for more victims was insatiable.” She shuddered visibly.

  “Wow.” Mace set the dagger down on the deck in front of him and stared at it.

  “I mean… I’ve felt its hunger during fights. It clearly enjoys being fed, and has encouraged me to kill. But I haven’t felt like it was controlling me.” He looked at the thing with trepidation and no little amount of suspicion.

  Layne nodded. “Your pairing with it is still new. I imagine as you claim more souls with it, your connection will deepen.” She too stared at the dagger as its grey surface seemed to ripple and swirl slowly.

  Shari put a hand on Mace’s arm and he looked up to see a concerned look on her face. “Maybe you should put it away? Sell it? Maybe destroy it?”

  Lila hopped down from her hammock to take a closer look. “Are you kidding? A weapon that kills nearly instantly, provides a buff to its user, and will only get stronger with time? Where can I get one?”

  She had that Lootmonster look on her face again, which made Mace chuckle and lightened the mood a bit.

  Layne changed the tune to a more light-hearted strumming. “As I said, the weapons were not inherently evil. There were those who were of stout heart and morals who wielded them with honor. And they became a powerful force for good. They were just rare.”

  Shari let out a deep breath. “Mace has a good heart,
” she ventured in a hopeful tone.

  He favored her with a smile, and was about to reply when a call came down from the lookout in the crow’s nest: “Ship ho!”

  They all looked up and then followed his pointed arm out to the south and the horizon. Mace’s drow sight could make out a set of sails quite a distance out. Too far away to tell for sure, but he thought the boat might be moving their direction.

  He looked to the captain, who was already inspecting the other boat through his looking glass.

  “Merchant ship. Flying colors from Graf’s merchant guild. She’s in a hurry. Full sails and running high in the water.” He looked grim as he lowered the glass. “Make ready your weapons! But keep them out of sight for now.”

  Mace got to his feet along with all the others. “You think they’re trouble?” he asked the captain.

  Jorin scratched his head and looked thoughtful. “Not sure. She’s riding high, which means her hold is empty, or nearly so. No merchant willingly travels without cargo to sell or trade. And she’s a Graf ship. Most merchant ships of the Graf guild only travel up and down the river, from Port Bjurstrom at this end or to the western ports and back to Graf. And she seems to be in a big hurry.”

  He paused to let Mace and the others consider his words.

  Mace finished his thought. “And the last merchant ship we’ve seen up here was commandeered by the Black Flame. You think this one is the same?”

  “Aye, lad. That’s just what I’m thinking. We could steer clear, head off to one side of the lake or another and let them pass by.”

  Shari shook her head. “That would leave them free to attack and take back Darkstone, or to attack Lakeside. Or both. And we don’t have a way to warn them.”

  Jorin grinned at her. “Had to offer. Been a while since I’ve fought a decent sea battle! There’s no crew better than mine anywhere on the water.”

  He smiled as he watched his crew of mainly elven sailors arm and prepare personal weapons. Several of them hauled three ballistae out of the hold, bolting them to special deck plates at the fore, aft, and amidships. They were quickly covered with tarps to disguise them. A bow and quiver of arrows, along with a small oil pot and igniter, were hauled by rope up to the crow’s nest where the lookout sat.

  Jorin looked at Mace. “That wind magic you performed for us the other day. Can you do it again?”

  Mace nodded. “Sure. Better now, as I’m a higher level with more mana. You want me to make us go faster?” He was already turning to face the sails. But Jorin stopped him.

  “No, lad, we’ve plenty of speed and the wind at our back. And in a battle between ships, speed and maneuverability are what win the fight. What I’ll want you to do is slow them down. Take the wind from their sails if you can. Or send your own wind against the front of their sails to slacken them and cost them momentum. Even a few seconds will give us the advantage.”

  Mace grinned. Yesterday he wouldn’t have understood what Jorin meant, but after his lessons this morning, he could picture exactly what the captain wanted.

  “You’ve got it. Just tell me when. I need about two seconds to cast the spell, and I can channel it for maybe a minute.”

  “Save your mana, my boy. Ten seconds, maybe twenty, should be plenty. Don’t need to stop them dead. I’ll shout loud and clear when I need you.”

  Mace and his party prepared themselves as the crew did the same. The two ships were approaching each other more quickly than he had expected.

  When they were maybe a mile apart, the captain shouted for a signal flag to be run up. At almost the same moment, an identical flag went up the line of the other ship. The two ships changed direction, both now heading at an oblique angle to the other. Mace could see that the new courses would slowly bring them alongside each other.

  “We’ve called a parlay,” Jorin called down. “Common courtesy among passing merchant ships. I’ve not met this captain, so be ready for anything. Though fighting under a flag of parlay is taboo among sailor folk, who knows whether others on board will honor the traditions.”

  In a short time, the two ships were running on a parallel course about thirty yards apart. The captain of the other ship raised a cone to his face and shouted, “Good day to you! Where’re ye bound?”

  Jorin raised a similar cone to his own mouth to amplify his reply. “South to Bjurstrom! Goods to trade from Lakeside! What’s your destination?”

  The other captain hesitated, and a man wearing a bright red leather breastplate said something to him. He finally replied, “North of Lakeside! My passengers here are looking for a lost survey crew! They were exploring the area looking for an old mine.”

  Jorin snorted. He lowered the cone and looked down at Mace. “Survey crew. Ha! That’d be the slaver party you folks took care of. Which likely makes the man in red a Black Flame. One of them must have been able to report the attack before they died.”

  Mace climbed the stairs up to the helm and stood next to Jorin. He motioned for the captain to hand over the cone while saying, “Looks like you’re going to get that fight. Are you sure you want it?”

  Jorin spat over the rail. “I want every slaver everywhere sinking down to be leviathan food. But don’t destroy the ship if you can help it. This captain may have had no more choice than the last.”

  Mace nodded and raised the cone. Taking a deep breath, he shouted, “Survey crew? We haven’t seen them. They must have been killed by the Black Flame slaver party we found near Darkstone. If it helps any, we killed every last one of the slavers!”

  The other boat went into a frenzy upon hearing his words. The captain shrank back as the man in the red breastplate shouted something and the deck was quickly swarmed with fighters of mixed race and class. The majority were melee fighters wearing light or medium armor, but Mace spotted at least six tanks or front-line fighters wearing plate. And a dozen archers took up position near the stern.

  Jorin laughed. “Well, you certainly got their attention.” He turned to his crew. “Battle stations! Prepare the ballistae! Fire on my mark!”

  Mace watched the other boat as Jorin’s crew took up the weapons each had stashed nearby. In seconds, they were fully armed and prepared. The tarps were pulled off the ballistae and four-foot-long pikes with jagged steel tips were loaded into them.

  The one at the stern had a rope attached to its back end. Mace looked at the captain questioningly and the old elf just grinned.

  “You’ll see. Get ready. As soon as they’re about to fire, I’m going to want you to slow them down. Any second…”

  Mace held his hands ready as he watched the archers on the other boat draw and prepare to fire. A sailor passed in front of each of them with a torch, lighting their arrowheads on fire. As the last one was lit, Jorin shouted, “NOW!”

  “Ventus!” Mace shouted as he flung a gust of air at the front of the other ship’s sails. He continued to channel as his wind pushed against the wind that was propelling the ship forward. After about three seconds, the sails luffed a bit, then went slack.

  The effect was immediate. The other ship slowed drastically just as the archers fired. As they’d been aiming at basically a ninety-degree angle across their deck toward Jorin’s Sea Sprite, the arrows all passed behind them as they shot forward.

  Jorin shouted, “Aft! Fire!” and the ballistae at the stern fired its bolt with the rope spooling rapidly out behind it. The bolt struck the rear mast and embedded itself, but didn’t appear to do much damage.

  Shari and the other sailors on board were firing at the Black Flame archers with much more success. Mace took a cue from the other boat’s playbook and shouted, “Infier!”

  A fireball screamed across the distance between the ships and exploded among the archers. Two were knocked overboard with their armor in flames while the others were scattered by the impact and took more minor burn damage. The rearmost rigging lines caught fire and the flames began to lick their way up the ropes toward the sail. Sailors braved the barrage of arrows to grab axes a
nd swords to try and cut the lines before the flame could spread.

  Mace was distracted by a loud crack and his gaze was drawn back toward the rear mast. The Sea Sprite, now much faster than the other, had pulled forward and cut across the bow of the slower boat. The rope attached to the bolt stuck in the mast was now raking across the deck, shattering crates and knocking down anything in its path as Jorin’s boat continued to turn. Sailors and fighters who weren’t fast enough to duck were knocked off their feet or crushed against something as the rope tightened. The lead end of the rope wrapped around the bow of the ship and was eventually pushed underwater.

  Jorin’s boat was now on the opposite side of the other ship from where they’d started, and was moving quickly toward its stern. The captain spun the wheel and Sea Sprite turned away as he shouted, “Keep firing!” to his archers.

  The two other ballistae fired their massive bolts, which each cleared a path through the fighters, who were just getting to their feet. At least a dozen of them were killed as the missiles blasted through them. Shari and the other archers had finished off the archers on the other boat and were now focusing on any casters who revealed themselves.

  As Jorin’s boat pulled away from the other, the rope that attached them creaked loudly and sprang tight as a laser. The other boat began to groan and list away from them as the rope pulled the rear mast toward the water. Again, most of the Black Flame fighters lost their feet as the deck tilted under them. A few slipped and fell into the water, but most found something to hold on to.

  The rear sail now had several small holes burned through it and was flapping in the wind. The boat had lost nearly all its momentum and the fighters were holding on as the deck continued to tip.

  Suddenly, Jorin shouted, “’Ware the line! Get down!” and everyone dropped to the deck as the rope snapped. It whiplashed briefly before disappearing overboard as it was dragged to the other boat. Which was now rapidly righting itself.

  The deck rocked back to its original position, then continued to list toward Jorin’s boat as the inertia and weight distribution took over. The Black Flame fighters were thrown around the deck again. Many were injured as they slammed into each other or items lashed to the deck. Jorin’s crew were back on their feet in seconds, firing away.