The King's Ring (The Netherworld Gate Book 2)

by Sam Ferguson

  “You forget who put you in the governor’s mansion,” Amdur replied sourly as he dropped the crate. Talon sniggered as the wooden crate broke apart and several glass bottles shattered, spilling their liquid onto the road.

  “Now you have done it!” Kimmel said. “You can’t help breaking things can you?”

  “If you hate it so much, then why don’t you go back to Blundfish?” Amdur asked.

  “Where are the men you said would meet us?” Kimmel snapped. “I want to know where your men are. You said you had everything arranged!”

  Talon stopped listening now. If the taller man really was the governor in Blundfish, then perhaps he would be able to shed some light on how Talon’s war plans had gone. It would be nice to see if his handiwork had done the job or not. Besides the information, there was food in that wagon, and a horse in front of it. Talon had killed for less gain before.

  He stepped out from the woods and smiled as the two men stopped arguing and looked at him. Governor Kimmel chewed with his mouth open, gawking and pointing at Talon, while Amdur turned quick and clambered over the side of the wagon.

  Talon moved in fast. As Amdur spun around with a crossbow in hand, Talon drove his blade through Amdur’s chest.

  “Ah, now that is a pleasant way to wake up!” Drekk’hul exclaimed.

  “Please, take what you want!” Kimmel said as hunks of half-chewed sausage fell from his mouth and he held his hands up in front of himself.

  Talon dropped Amdur to the ground and turned to Kimmel. He stepped forward and took the sausage from the man, taking a large bite as he aimed the tip of his sword at Kimmel’s throat.

  “I have money,” Kimmel said as he pointed to the wagon. “Money and food, if you like.”

  “You are the governor of Blundfish?” Talon asked after he swallowed the first bite.

  Kimmel eyed the sausage and then glanced to the blood-stained blade in front of him. He shook his head. “No, no, we were just—”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Talon said as he pressed the tip of the blade into Kimmel’s throat. Kimmel backed away.

  “I used to be, my good man, but not anymore. I am afraid that Blundfish has fallen under Shausmatian control now. We are nothing more than fleeing refugees.”

  Talon glanced into the wagon. He could see the two strong boxes in the back, nestled between a pair of sacks. “What of Kobhir?” Talon asked. “Is there war in the capitol city?”

  Kimmel shrugged and shook his head nervously. “I don’t know,” he said. “All I know is when I saw the soldiers coming for Blundfish, there were too many of them. So, we escaped.”

  Talon took another bite of the sausage. As he turned away he shot his right arm out and slashed Kimmel’s throat.

  “That was delicious.”

  Talon went to wipe the blade, but saw that the metal drank in the blood. He could feel the lust and rage growing within the sword. He flipped the weapon over in his hand and sheathed it. Drekk’hul tried to say something, but Talon broke the connection before it could.

  The assassin then went to work unhitching the horse. He fashioned a pair of saddlebags out of the gunnysacks in the back of the wagon. He filled them with food and then tied the tops together so he could sling them over either side of the horse. Then he went for the strong boxes. They weren’t overly large, but they were heavy. The wood was reinforced with iron bands and thick, strong hinges. The giant lock on the front was unlike most locks he had seen before. It was thick and had a dozen rivets holding the frame of the lock together. A thin, flat sheet of metal covered the keyhole and was held in place with a tiny metal hook that swiveled into an iron loop. The box weighed roughly fifty pounds, telling Talon that there was plenty of coin inside. He hefted it up and brought it over to Kimmel’s body. Then, he searched the two corpses for keys. After finding the key, he opened the strongbox and smiled widely when he saw it was filled with gold coins.

  He divided the coins into the two saddle bags. Then he took the second strong box and stuffed it into a hollow log, along with the key. He wasn’t particularly intrigued by the idea of coming back for it, but he thought it was better to plan for it just in case.

  After he hid the second box, he mounted the horse and rode off at a steady pace, smiling at his tremendously good fortune. The war between Zinferth and Shausmat was going better than even he had envisioned, and it would certainly take the attention away from the southern coasts where he would need to land with his army once he had it. Beyond that, he was able to increase the total number of governors he had killed, not to mention the hefty amount of coin he had liberated from the dead politician. Now he had a horse and would arrive at the Tower well before he had originally planned. It was looking to be a fine day for him indeed.

  CHAPTER 10

  Kelden sat upon a rectangular crate that was four feet tall and six feet long. His legs dangled loosely over the side, just over a single latch that was held in place with an iron pin. From his vantage point on the main deck of Zinferth Navy’s flagship, the Arioness, he could easily watch as the sailors rushed about like an army of ants up and down the gangplank. The men varied in age. The older, more salty men barked orders and called out locations while the younger men scurried back and forth. Many of them joked with each other, apparently excited about their upcoming voyage and the chance to sea battle at sea. Others wore expressions that showed they were clearly in over their heads. Kelden watched one such young man, with his brown eyes opened wide and his mouth slack as he glanced between two of the older men that barked out orders. The young man turned to his left with his box, bumping into another sailor who was hurrying to get back down the gangplank for more supplies.

  “Not that way!” one of the officers shouted at the frightened young man. “Get moving over here! Put that box down there!” Kelden watched as the young man averted his eyes to the floor and rushed toward an open hatch with his box. The old man that had ordered him around gave him a quick, side kick in the rump to spur him along faster. The young sailor apologized and disappeared down the hatch with the box. Kelden guessed it was likely the young sailor’s first time on a ship. He didn’t look a day older than seventeen.

  Kelden took in a breath and watched the other sailors as he leaned back on his hands.

  Some carried barrels of food, others carried crates with supplies. Kelden would have helped, but he didn’t know his way around ships, and he decided it was best just to stay out of the way. Along the docks there were seven other ships similarly being prepared by other sailors. They bustled about in their white shirts and tan pants. Each of them boarded a ship only to disappear into the cargo hold and reemerge with empty hands. The work went on for hours.

  The last thing to be carried onto the ship were great missiles. They were somewhat like spears or harpoons, except they were thicker in the shaft and longer than any spear or harpoon that Kelden had seen before. On the butt of the shaft the missiles had fletching, like an arrow would. The large missiles were tied into bundles of four, and each bundle was carried by two men. They carried them to the front of the ship and then untied the bundles so they could place the missiles into iron racks next to a great contraption that looked somewhat like a gargantuan crossbow set upon a pedestal of iron and brass. Kelden had seen ballista launchers before, but this one was much larger than any he had previously seen.

  He marveled at it for a moment and then he heard some rustling coming from within the crate below him. Kelden kicked the side of the crate with the heel of his boot gently. “Quiet down,” he whispered.

  “It’s hot in here,” Pinhead moaned.

  Kelden sighed and shook his head. Pinhead had argued the merit of stowing away on the ship in the first place. He didn’t see why he and Redbeard couldn’t walk aboard the vessel like everyone else. Kelden saw it differently though. With Tehrigg and other powerful men turning out to be traitors to the queen, Kelden wanted to keep things close to the chest. If there was a spy on board the ship, then he thought it best the dwarves remain
a secret.

  “You promised rum!” Pinhead snarled from the crate.

  Kelden smiled. He had indeed promised Pinhead a jug of rum for the journey. He slipped off the side of the crate and removed a small hole in the wall without turning around to face the dwarves. “I will get it later tonight.”

  “You better,” Pinhead said.

  “Shut yer mouth!” Redbeard whispered. “We’re supposed to be hiding!”

  “I hide better when I have drink,” Pinhead insisted.

  “Keep quiet,” Kelden instructed. “We are soon to be underway.” He replaced the plug into the hole and leaned back against the crate. He folded his arms and looked up to the sky to see a trio of seagulls circling around the center mast. They squawked and called out playfully as they flew. Kelden moved around the crate and leaned upon the railing, looking out to the vast expanse of blue water. He had often fantasized about sailing east. He wondered what might be out beyond the island of Jibham. Silently, he promised himself that if he lived through this unholy war, he would take enough time to do just that.

  Eventually, Kelden spotted the captains leaving the naval offices which sat off beyond the docks. They were dressed in their fine blue jackets, bright white pants, and shining black boots. Admiral Crillion walked behind them. Kelden knew it was him by the large blue feather sticking out from over his ridiculously large hat. As the seven officers made their way to the docks, sailors stopped to salute them. The officers paid the men no mind. They just kept moving for the ships. When they reached the docks, captains peeled off to their respective vessels and Admiral Crillion continued on to the ship Kelden was on. As he made his way up the gangplank, Kelden got a good look at the man.

  He was older than Kelden had imagined. Maybe early sixties, judging by the white hair and the wrinkled face. The two tendons under the admiral's jaw stuck out in his neck and seemed pulled tightly enough to snap if the man moved his head the wrong way. Liver spots covered the backs of his hands, and it was obvious that the man’s shoulders were much narrower than the tasseled shoulder pads made them appear. Still, he carried himself with his head high, his jaw set tight, and with a determined gait. One hand rested across the hilt of his sword, and the other swung at his side. Not with the lazy swing of an aimless amble, but with purpose.

  “You are the merchant guard,” Admiral Crillion said as he went straight across the deck to Kelden.

  Kelden slid off the crate and stood straight. “I am. The name is Kelden Ferryl.”

  “Aye, I know your name.” The admiral stuck out his hand. “I am Crillion, Admiral of the Zinferth navy.”

  Kelden tipped his head forward. “You need no introduction,” Kelden said.

  Crillion smiled. “True, but I like saying it aloud. It has a good ring to it, I find.” He winked his left eye and then pointed to the rear of the ship. “We will be casting off soon. Shall I invite you to my cabin for a brandy? I find it is always best to start a voyage at sea with a brandy.”

  “I am not much for drinking,” Kelden replied.

  Crillion frowned. “I don’t know whether I can trust a man who would refuse a free brandy,” he said. “Come, I will drink them both if I must.”

  Kelden followed Crillion back to the cabin and closed the door after them. A musty odor assaulted Kelden’s nostrils. He sniffed once, and then he looked about the cabin. A bed was bracketed to the portside wall. A dresser stood near it. A green couch was fastened to the starboard side wall. A trunk of clothes sat beside it. Kelden guessed it was the trunk of clothes that stunk up the room, but he kept his mouth shut about it and followed Admiral Crillion to a small table in the rear of the cabin next to the large stained glass rear wall. The sunlight broke through the colored glass, casting vivid dots and stripes along the wooden floor.

  “You sure you won’t take one?” Crillion pressed as he pulled the stopper from a bottle on the table and poured himself a drink.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Kelden said.

  “So, why are you aboard then?” Crillion asked. The old man pulled a wooden chair out and promptly sat down and kicked his feet out in front of him on the floor, crossing them at the ankles as he slid down in the chair. He swished his brandy around the glass and looked at it through the light.

  Kelden smiled and took the chair opposite Crillion. “The queen thought it best if I remain discreet.”

  Crillion touched the glass to his lips and took the smallest of sips. He cocked his head back and smacked his lips together as he looked to the glass and exhaled. “It’s good brandy,” he said. He pointed one last time to the bottle. “Are you sure?”

  Kelden shook his head and put a hand in the air, palm facing the bottle.

  “So you won’t drink with me, and you won’t talk with me either.” Crillion took another small sip and swished it around in his cheek before swallowing. He narrowed his green eyes on Kelden. “What am I to think of you?”

  Kelden shrugged. “I mean no disrespect.”

  “A merchant guard normally travels by land. Merchants who travel by sea usually have their own mercenaries with them. So why is it you have to get to Khatthun so quickly?” Crillion took another sip, swallowing it almost immediately, and then he slowly struggled forward to set the glass on the table. “I don’t need to know your mission. Frankly, I am too old to care about skullduggery and all this cloak and dagger balderdash. However, if you need it, you have only to say the word and I can assign body guards to you.”

  “Skullduggery, sir?” Kelden repeated.

  “Bah, don’t try to play me for a fool, boy,” Crillion said. “I have outlived two kings. I know a spy when I see one. Though, I must say I have not seen one before under the queen’s reign. I am a patriot though. I am loyal to Zinferth, and to Queen Dalynn. I am dyed in the wool true blue through and through.” Crillion reached up and pulled his hat from his head. He flopped the thing on the floor. A bit of feather fell away from the hat and Crillion had to blow it away to keep it out of his face. “Hate that hat,” he mumbled.

  “I don’t need anything, sir,” Kelden said. “Just passage and a place to lay my head at night.”

  “First you refuse my brandy, and now you refuse my help.” Crillion whistled through his teeth. “Things were done a bit differently when I was your age.” He smoothed his snow white hair to the right side of his head and then he reached for the glass of brandy again. “Yes indeed, things were done differently.”

  “I meant no disrespect,” Kelden offered again.

  “Well then,” Crillion said as he raised his glass. “A toast to respect, to honor, and to wars that I didn’t bloody well start. May our enemies respect us, our honor never falter, and the blasted royals burn in the hellfire of Hammenfein for the blood they have committed to spill.”

  Kelden bristled and watched Crillion drain the glass. When the admiral finished he tossed the glass aside and Kelden could see tears in his eyes. “I thought you said you were a patriot?”

  Crillion looked up and met Kelden’s gaze with a fiery glare. “I am, son, I most certainly am. I was also a father, once, and a grandfather. My son died along the borders near Blundfish during a skirmish the eve of my fortieth birthday. His son died exactly twenty years later on the same contested border. My daughter in law killed herself for grief, and my wife has since gone mad.” Admiral Crillion rose to his feet and pointed down at Kelden. “I am here because I want to take Shausmatian scalps. I want their ships to sink to the bottom of the seas. The soldiers on land may call out to Basei, the demi god of battle, to vanquish their foes, but I prefer to send the Shausmatian dogs down to Osei, the demi god of the oceans. Let Osei feast upon the bloated flesh of their dead sailors. Then, I want to look King Sarito in the eye and ram my sword down his gullet. So don’t sit there and question my patriotism. I am truer than any you are going to meet on these ships.” Crillion turned away and ranked on the back of the chair he had been sitting in, slamming it to the floor. “The nobles and their damned wars,” he grumbled. “If not fo
r men and their greed, we could all live in peace. There is plenty to be had and shared among all, if men could but open their hearts.”

  “Forgive me,” Kelden said. “I did not know.”

  Crillion turned over his shoulder, still glaring with those piercing green eyes. “Not much of a spy are you? Can’t even do your research on an old sailor.”

  Kelden rose silently to his feet and made his way for the door. His hand seized the knob, but he stopped short when the admiral whistled. He stood still, turning only an ear back toward Crillion.

  “I have a reputation among my men,” Crillion said.

  Kelden shook his head. “Our conversation stays between us,” Kelden promised.

  “See that it does,” Crillion warned. “In the meantime, think on my offer. I have a pair of men that I would trust with my life. Give the word, and I will assign them to you for whatever you need.”

  Kelden nodded and exited the cabin.

  He walked back to the large crate he had been sitting on and leaned against it. He exhaled slowly and scanned the nearby area. All of the sailors were busy launching the ship. Some were untying ropes that held the sails, others were unmooring the ship and others were working a great crank to draw in the anchor. Kelden gave a distinctive knock on the crate. A small section of wood was removed near Kelden’s arm to form a minute circle.

  “Any trouble?” Redbeard asked.

  “No,” Kelden answered in a hushed whisper.

  “Any mead?” Pinhead asked.

  Kelden smirked. “No, but he did offer some brandy.”

  “Where is it?” Pinhead asked.

  “Shut up!” Redbeard chided. “You don’t drink brandy anyway. It makes you sick.”