Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  “It is as Ezila said,” said Dril, “We are leaving this land just as she suggested. Perhaps Black Water isn’t where we’re supposed to go after all.”

  “I’m going to Black Water,” Neth’tek said evenly, “It’s your choice whether you come with me or not; I hold none of you to any oath or bond that ties you as companions of mine.”

  Dril’ead looked into the trees as they walked, and there, standing in the shade of the rising sun, was a familiar figure. Translucent as he was, Vaknorbond Vulzdagg was only visible to Dril’ead during his visits to his son. He watched them walk by, and Dril saw him nod his head to him as he passed, as if giving permission.

  “You know where I stand, brother,” Dril’ead said. “No matter where you go or what enemy you stand against, I will always stand beside you. We’re brothers, after all.”

  He looked over his shoulder, but Vaknorbond’s ghost had gone.

  23

  A Matter of Time

  Vexor and Kane washed ashore an island somewhere off the coast of Port Hemingway. They could see the land of Aldabaar rising from the horizon in the east, but they didn’t have the necessary equipment to float across the ocean that lay between them and their desired destination. The piece of driftwood from the wreckage of The Praise had broken apart and sunk in the sea just as they found shore, and they were forced to swim the rest of the way.

  They got to work right away on constructing a small raft with which they might traverse the remainder of ocean before Aldabaar, both being expert seamen. They crafted axes and hammers out of rocks by fastening sharpened stones to the ends of sticks, and used them to hack at palm trees and hammer makeshift nails into boards that they secured with reeds and strips of bark.

  Vexor built a fire to cook what fish they could gather from the shore, and Kane made a small net that he used to toss into the shallow water and snag whatever swam there. They did what they could to survive for the time being.

  It wasn’t two days before Minarch black bow tracked them to the small island, having learned through his dark art that The Fallen he was hunting had not been slain in the initial assault. He ordered a small band of pirates to land on the far side of the island and ambush Vexor Hulmir and whoever accompanied him, catching The Fallen completely by surprise.

  Minarch went with them, to make certain the task was done properly.

  They moved out in the dead of night. Having avoided being seen from the coast of the island by sailing round to its other side as Minarch directed, and swam ashore before making their way to the camp of Vexor and Kane, just as they were about their nightly chores fishing and stoking the fire.

  Kane tossed his net out into the water and reeled it back in, drawing a handful of mackerel from of the shallows. He picked the small fish out of the net one by one and dropped them into a bag he had fashioned out of bark and grass. He turned about to make one more toss when he came face to face with a crewman of The Sea Snake.

  The man went at him with a knife, but Kane’s reflexes were tuned beyond what the pirate had anticipated, and he spun out of the knifes path and caught the arm of the pirate in both hands. He twisted him at the shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon, and then slammed his fast down into the shoulder, dislocating it.

  The pirate screamed, signaling the others to come out of their hiding places attack the man. Kane tossed him to the side and picked up the dagger, rushing to meet those who came charging out of the trees.

  “They’ve found us!” he cried out, warning Vexor, hoping The Fallen hadn’t already been discovered.

  He ducked under a clumsy swing and slammed into the waist of a pirate, lifting him from the sand and shoving him into the one behind him. He turned, catching the blade of the other with his own, and knocking it out of his way he stabbed him in the throat. That pirate fell to the sand, clutching at his bleeding neck, and lay still.

  Vexor came out of the trees hiding their camp just in time to see Kane surrounded by the pirates and driven back into the water, one pirate falling into the sea, warm blood rising to the surface, but the other stabbed Kane in the shoulder as his defenses fell. Kane fell backwards, tripping on the body, and Vexor watched in horror as the remainder of them made sure he was dead.

  “No!” he screamed from where he stood, and then immediately realized his mistake as they turned in his direction and began to charge.

  He retreated into the trees, grabbing the half made raft and tossing it into a small cove of rocks just as someone grabbed him from behind. Vexor used the mans momentum to fall over the rocks and on the raft, though the kicked the man off of him and into the water as they floated away and into the sea off the island coast.

  “He’s getting away!” he heard men shout as he lay on his stomach, paddling with his hands.

  It was then that Minarch set the tip of his arrow on the figure lying on the raft as it floated away, taking in a breath as he did so. Minarch black bow, the dark ranger who never missed his mark. Vexor heard the twang and zip of the arrow behind him, and realizing his doom he rolled over on the raft and fell into the water. However, he felt a sharp pain in his left side. The arrow had stuck him in the shoulder, though not exactly where Minarch had been aiming.

  “Destroy the camp,” Minarch commanded the pirates. “Leave no evidence of their being here and head back to the ship.”

  They did as he commanded, though the ranger did not take his eyes off of the raft as it floated into the sea, the silver light of the moon shining across it. He knew Vexor Hulmir would live.

  But Vexor struggled under the water a moment, his blood draining from his body and his wound stinging him where the arrow shaft stuck from his shoulder. He grabbed for the surface of the water, but could not bring himself up to breath. He held his breath, offering a prayer to whatever god ruled this country, just as he was beginning to slip away into the darkness of the ocean depth.

  He felt a hand grab him from above and pull him from the water with incredible strength, though when he came up sputtering and climbed onto the raft he saw no one about.

  Strange, he thought as he lay on his back breathing heavily, coughing water from his lungs. He floated eastward along the shore of the island, toward the coast of Aldabaar.

  *****

  “Vexor Hulmir? I released The Fallen, a man by the name of Kane Leeson bought him from my dungeons nearly a decade ago,” said the warden. “If you’re looking for them, I’d try Port Hemingway. Kane is the captain of a ship called The Praise, a merchant vessel that usually goes west around this time of the year.”

  “Do you think he’ll still be there, or do you suppose they’ve already taken their journey along the coastal trading route?” Duoreod asked, arms folded as he stood before the warden.

  They were outside the walls of Valdorin, the dungeon located without the city so that any escaped prisoners would be trapped wilderness rather than free inside among the people. It was early in the morning, a days ride from the Silver City, and the grey light of dawn shone on the dew of the nights mist.

  The warden shrugged, jerking his thumb over his shoulder where the city walls rose. “Doesn’t hurt to go that way and find out,” he said.

  Nodding, Duoreod turned around and walked back to where he had left Whiteshadow. “Thank you for your time,” he said over his shoulder.

  The warden waved him goodbye and then went back inside the dungeon keep, shutting the metal door behind him with a click.

  Duoreod swung himself up and onto the saddle, and steered her back onto the road from where she had been grazing in the long grass of that place, and they made their way toward the city gates. They were open, people passing in and out as they went to and from work; whether their labors were within the city, and they lived in homesteads without, or they worked at lumber mills in the woods and returned to their families inside. Valdorin wasn’t nearly as crowded as Duoreod had expected. He had heard rumor that many of the people had gone east into the valley of Narthanger during the evacuation, when Diamoad as the Ur
den’Dagg destroyed their homes and drove them into the wilds to be hunted by his followers, The Fallen Adya.

  Guards patrolled the streets, and he once saw a man being forced to the ground next to a merchant cart, a sack pulled from his hands as a merchant pointed and yelled for all to hear. It was apparent that the man under assault was a thief, caught by the guards, and now the merchant wanted every passerby to see and take note of what happens to those who steal from him. Many of the people stopped and stared in wonder, but Duoreod pushed through, pretending not to take note in order to keep his common disguise.

  However, Whiteshadow attracted much attention, and people would watch him pass in awe. If they didn’t already recognize her as property to the king of the Adya, then they most certainly thought he must be some rich prince or noble family member of king Brestoe, or one of his governors.

  That’s good enough, he thought, though with so many of the enemy’s servants about in these fair lands, it’s dangerous to even be known as having any form of power in this world.

  Port Hemingway was on the far western coast of Aldabaar, and as he traveled from Valdorin he noticed that the population increased dramatically. Here seagulls cried from overhead, resting on rooftops and the sails of boats parked in the harbor. Rats and other rodents scurried in the street, grabbing whatever people dropped and taking it down into the metal grates that were the sewers.

  He stopped in the district area of the port, the markets and harbor ahead at the seaside, and dismounted. Duoreod tied Whiteshadow to a post outside of the local tavern, the words Seagull Inn and Bar swinging from a sign in the side of the building, and walked up to the open door and passed within. He went straight to the counter and met the innkeeper, a heavily muscled man with a brown beard and greasy apron leaning on the desktop to meet him.

  “I’m looking for a ship called The Praise,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. “I hear the captains name is Kane Leeson, but I’m looking for one of his crewmen. I heard he lives around here. Vexor Hulmir. Ever heard the name?”

  “The Praise left harbor about two days ago, friend,” said the innkeeper, his mouth hardly seeming to move under his thick beard. “But yes, I’ve heard the name.”

  “I see,” said Duoreod. “Any idea when she’ll return?”

  “A week, maybe two at the least,” said the man, and he scratched his beard. “Can I offer you a drink, or maybe a bed for the night? You look exhausted.”

  “I’ll take the bed,” said Duoreod. He thought for a moment, contemplating his options. “You don’t suppose you can point me in the direction of Vexor’s house, do you? I’ve got something I need to deliver to him.”

  “A messenger, aye?” said the innkeeper, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You don’t look like your from around here, so I can only assume so. Unless you’re some hired assassin!”

  Duoreod swallowed nervously, though he did not show fear in his expression. The man, though, only laughed and smacked him on the arm playfully. “I can point you toward that strangers house, sure thing!” He leaned over the counter, as if sticking his head out his door, and pointed down the street toward the harbor. “He lives in the warrens under the harbor. Most of the sailors and shipmates don’t come up this way unless under business of their captains. They live on their ships, you see.”

  “I see,” said Duoreod. He thought the man was odd, and the people of the port as he looked about the bar and noticed their behavior and loud speaking. “Thank you for your help. I best be going.”

  “Keep an eye on that pocket of yours,” said the innkeeper as he walked out his door.

  He mounted Whiteshadow and steered her pack onto the road, heading toward the docks. The place got emptier and more dirty as he went; men in rags running this way and that through alleyways, as if avoiding being seen by those on the road. He noticed the lack of guards posted here, and figured that this side of town had gotten too out of hand that the chief of the guards, whoever he was, had given up completely and left them to themselves. Duoreod didn’t think that was right, if it were even possible for something so unruly as that to occur.

  But the houses were dirty, and so were the people. He promised himself that as soon as this crisis was over he’d come back and help set things right for the people of Hemingway – If he succeeded, that is.

  At the docks he found many ships in harbor and some pulling out to leave, their sails up and spread as the winds filled them, carrying the boat away across the sea. He thought of what the innkeeper said about the men living on their ships and figured it must be a good life, the freedom and solace that was rewarded to those who can master the tempests of the vast ocean.

  He dismounted and tied Whiteshadow to another post, this one part of a fence along the harbor. Duoreod didn’t fear men steeling her. In fact, he feared what Whiteshadow was capable of doing to men who attempted to take her as their own. As all men should know, an Adya’s horse is as deadly as the warrior who owns it.

  As he walked to the cliff side where a path was made of wood and mud, he noticed an odd figure among some of the sailors on one of the ships. The man wore all black, a hood pulled over his head to hide his face, and seemed to be conversing with the ships captain. He produced a small pouch from beneath his cloak and handed it to the man, nodding and then turning away to head up the way Duoreod was going down.

  Duoreod immediately felt fear, as if a wave of cold water was thrown over him. This man, whoever and whatever he was, was not a natural visitor to these lands. He even saw the captain of the ship watching him as he left, a look of fear in his eyes. But the hooded man passed right by Duoreod, hardly taking note of him being there, and vanished into the alleyways behind him.

  Duoreod did not bother watching the man go away, but instead continued down the ramp to the dock. Along the base of the cliff was the shore of Port Hemingway, crude construction built into the rocky face of the cliff.

  That must be the warrens the innkeeper was referring to, he thought.

  He walked toward them, another ramp zigzagging upwards to each of the separate dens built into the face of the cliff. A man leaned on a lamppost at the bottom of the ramp, smoking a pipe and looking across the ocean with a distant expression.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the man, “can you tell me which of those... homes belong to Vexor Hulmir?”

  The man didn’t look at him at him as he spoke, but blinked and slowly turned his head toward him. He blew out a puff of smoke before removing the pipe from his mouth and looking Duoreod up and down. “You mean The Fallen,” the man corrected him.

  “Well, if he has a name I shall use it,” Duoreod replied.

  The man shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” he said looking back toward the ocean, “The Fallen is dead.”

  “What?” Duoreod demanded, “How? When? Why hasn’t the city done anything about these heinous crimes?”

  “The city?” the man said, looking back at him, “What city? This is a port, and a port is both lawless and free. We do as we wish when we wish, and those who are found dead remain dead. There’s nothing we, or anybody for that matter, can do about it. And who are you to even wonder? All men know that Hemingway is not the port it once was, nor ever will be.”

  Duoreod cursed under his breath, turning away as if to leave. But he stopped, looked up at the ships, and spun back round. “At least point me toward Vexor’s house,” he commanded the man, “I am on business that cannot be delayed by your reckless words!”

  The man looked at him as if stunned by his words, and then turning slowly around he pointed with his pipe toward the warrens. “Middle row, third from the right,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Duoreod growled, and then pushed past him and went up the ramp. The sunlight was blotted out here, hidden behind the face of the cliff. He noticed an awful stench rising from the water below, or was it from the warrens themselves?

  He went to where the man had indicated, and stopping at the third door from the right he knocked. No one answered, so he k
nocked one more time. When their came no response to either of them, Duoreod tried the doorknob, or what was an attempt at a doorknob, and it clicked before slowly opening. The inside was mostly empty, save for a desk and chair set in one corner and a mat and blanket in the other.

  He walked inside, carefully, the floor feeling unsteady and the whole place seeming to sway with the wind. Duoreod checked the desk, a small stack of papers lying next to a quill stuck in a cup of ink, and taking up on of the leathery parchments he read the small lettering that had been inscribed there. It seemed like a biography of Vexor Hulmir’s life.

  Kane is a good man, the first paragraph of the page began, He taught me how to fish and mend the nets today, although these are but a few of the traits he has promised to teach me on the sea this morning. I can’t help but fear for him, though. I overhear some of my shipmates talking about him, and they aren’t always kind words. I know Kane isn’t perfect, none of us are for that matter, but he’s a good man and I hold him in the highest regards. There are those of the port who don’t seem to take kindly to him. I’m afraid one of these nights he wont come around through the alleyway as usual, but will rather be found dead in the gutters with the rest of the good men like him. And the City Watch does nothing about it. I think they’ve given up, or at least that’s what I’m told by those who care to remember the “old days”.

  I dreamt of Neth’tek Vulzdagg again. The poor child was lost in the forests somewhere I can’t name. He seemed happy for the time being, but there was something following him in the shadows, something that felt familiar and yet strange, as if I’ve dreamt of it before. I have strange dreams, as I have already spoken of. But this one felt real somehow. I can remember Neth’tek still, so full of rage and anger. I could never understand where it came from, or if he had reason to be angry at all. All I know is that I could feel the rage while I was with him. I hope some of the words I spoke to him are true, that he lived after the war and has found peace somewhere. If not, I hope he finds peace...