by D C Ware
“The Ferret huh. I have not heard that name in a while. And I have not felt what I feel now in just as long a while.”
“Hate?” Swift said knowing the answer to the question before he asked it.
“At least,” said Granger still pacing. “And I take it you intend to ask me to find him.”
“I do.”
“And kill him.”
“If possible.”
Granger stopped pacing and took a deep breath. “What do you know of his last whereabouts…and his prey?”
Maddox erupted and grabbed the Gray Ranger by his arm.
“My God man, By The One! Tell me you do not mean to track down that mad man?” Maddox’ expression was fierce and his grip on Granger’s arm was tight. Had it been any other man seizing him in that manner Granger would have put his long knife in his throat three seconds ago. But Maddox had as much right as he to loathe the very idea of setting upon The Ferret. Maddox continued, “Granger, you know I have followed you for more years than there are moons in this month and I would follow you to the depths of Sheol but we cannot pursue this man. His craft is death and his workmanship is carnage!”
Granger was silent. He slowly removed Maddox’ hand from his arm and gave him a short, hard stare. He was resolved and Maddox knew he could not and would not be swayed.
“Swift, I also need to know what you know of his accomplices or who else might be assisting him? And also, who hired him, of course.”
Swift handed Granger a rolled parchment. “All I know is inscribed on this. But sadly, not his prey. But know this, I am convinced that your man Maddox is correct. This Ferret does not merely intend to kill. He has been tasked with carnage and I fear who or whatever is his prey may be; he is near.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Actions
There was nothing for it now. They were going back for Oxley. Dead or alive Maverick had promised Lyla that they would go back and get first hand word of his fate. It was the only thing that had consoled her and gotten her out of the street. When he said it he hoped he could talk her out of it later but he had tried twice and both times she was adamant about returning. He had even brought up her brother Tristan and how long they might be away but she had sent the money they earned from selling the compass back to him and her father by way of a paid messenger.
So now Maverick was at the tavern waiting for news he had requested on a lead regarding Oxley’s whereabouts. Bess, the ‘proprietor’ of the Bouncing Bess, had told him she entertained a lot of sailors and pirates and Maverick had sent word to her asking about the last known whereabouts of The Adamante and its crew.
Lyla was still at the inn they had booked rooms at for the night. She was changing into what she called her “fighting clothes”. She had even used one of the healing potions she had been saving for an emergency so she would be in, as she called it, “top shape” if there was trouble.
“Top shape?” thought Maverick. If there was trouble with pirates and she found herself “on top” that alone would be a good sign. Oh Lyla had spirit enough for a fight. Maverick had seen that plenty of times back in Milestill. But that was standing up to local bullies or ignorant lugs like…well like Oxley! Lyla was no fighter. The crossbow pistol she had secreted with her from her father’s trove would come in handy and might even take down a pirate or two in a rush. But in a rush, one or two is all the shots she would get off. After that it would come to close quarters. And Maverick had fought at close quarters. Fought for his life at close quarters, like every fight at that distance is. And these would be pirates not bullies or oafs. They fought and killed for a living. And they knew every dirty trick and despicable tactic in the book to come out on top in a close quartered fight.
What Maverick needed was some more muscle in case there was trouble. He had asked around the square about any sell swords for hire but news was that there were only one or two laid off fishermen looking for that type of work. And while they looked gruff enough when someone pointed them out Maverick had no doubt they would take off in a second when ruthless pirate put a cutlass to their throats. And that would be worse than having no help at all.
So that is why he had sent for more information. If they could locate Oxley and talk to him, even under duress, there was a chance he could convince Lyla that he wanted to stay with the crew. That he had found a new home and a new life. Of course Maverick didn’t believe any of that for a second. A lug like Oxley would likely be swabbing the deck right about now and then killed taking part in the fighting on the first ship they boarded. But if he could at least get a chance to talk to Oxley alone, and let Lyla see him talking to her, that is exactly what he intended to tell her he said.
“Are you Maverick?” The lady was shy with a lyrical accent common to people from the north and the lands above Fire Castle.
“Yes I am Maverick. Did Bess send you with word on my inquiry?” Maverick finished his ale and put the cask down hard.
“I have word of your inquiry. But Bess did not send me sir. Bess is dead!”
Goliath was angry. Angry and wet. The encounter with The Ladies Three had deprived him of most of his food. He had left in such a hurry when Kane hired him that he had always planned on hunting for his evening meals. But the hunting had been scarce in the mountains and the goat was the only game he had caught and killed since setting out.
But he had surrendered that to The Ladies Three and had not eaten since that encounter two nights ago. He had tried to hunt in the open country since leaving the mountains but most of the game in this area was small and fast like rabbits and foxes, none of which he had been able to catch.
Now however there was nothing to be done for it. If the last known location of the knight and the healer that Kane gave him was correct, they would be crossing the second of the three forks of the river today. He had hoped to catch them as they crossed the first fork as that would have given him a second chance to intercept them if they fled upon sight of him. But again, the delay with The Ladies Three and the day he had spent resting from not eating had stole that opportunity as well.
Even with the day he had spent resting he was still weak. As a giant he ate twice as much as an average man and suffered twice as much when he went without food. But food could wait. Right now he was angry. Angry and wet and he meant to take it out on the knight and his companions.
Goliath stopped walking. Something was ahead, less than a mile. Unknown to most people, giants had poor sight. In fact they could usually never see little more than what was directly in front of them. Even still Goliath was sure he saw a robed figure kneeling in the distance. Goliath started to trot toward the figure to get a clearer look. As he did, his vision focused and he was almost sure it was a monk. The robes were clearly not elaborate enough to be those of a wizard and Kane had informed Goliath that the knight was last known to be traveling with a healer. Goliath began to run. He did not know if the healer had spotted him yet but he wanted to cut them off before they could escape back across the second fork of he river.
At his size and girth running required a great amount of exertion on his part and he began to sweat and get winded. He did not want to reach them exhausted and tried to run quicker to close the distance all at once. Just then, out of nowhere, a huge flame and black smoke ignited directly across his path. He lurched back just short of running full sprint into it and being consumed.
Goliath stood covering his eyes with his arm to ward against the heat from the flames and tried to locate an alternative route around the flames. But where had the flames come from? He did not see any tar or oil at the base of the fire to indicate a trap had been set before he arrived. Was the robed figure a wizard after all? If so, were these flames real or an illusion? It was well within a wizard’s power to do either.
If the flames were but an illusion he could walk through them like a morning mist and they would be gone without so much as singeing him. If they were real, on the other hand, his hairy skin and furs would go up like wood kindling and he wo
uld be consumed before he could raise his spear. There had to be another way around. He was simply too close to the flames to tell. He would need to back track some fifty feet to get a better view. But he had barely went back twenty feet when the flames just disappeared. His way ahead was clear. He moved forward and suddenly the flames erupted once more. He went back. The flames were gone. He came forward. The flames returned. An illusion.
With an angry roar Goliath gathered up his spear and lash and dashed straight into and through the flames!
Sir Ebros waded out of the ford behind Boris and Midas. It was the second fork of the river they had crossed. They had one more crossing to ford before making a straight shot to Kings Castle. He was wet and the sun was starting to set so it would be getting cold soon. He called ahead to Midas.
“Midas, tell Boris we are making camp. We will make the last crossing in the morning. It would not do to be stuck out there in the dark.” Midas rose from where he had been praying, and waved back at Sir Ebros to acknowledge his instructions. Just then as he turned to call out to Boris he saw the large former constable stumbling and running toward him in a panic.
“Boris! Boris! Slow down man, calm down. Boris hold!!” Midas braced himself. Boris was running in a headlong panic straight toward him threatening to run right into him and send the both of them into the rapid rush of the river. “Boris please what is it! Stop man!” Midas closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer to The One.
Midas heard Boris topple off to his left and roll on the ground in a thud. Midas opened his eyes and saw that Sir Ebros had cleared the ford and tripped the large Constable moments before he collided with the healer.
Sir Ebros strode up to him and grabbed him by his collar. He slapped Boris across his face three times. Front handed, back handed and front handed again. Sir Ebros was furious.
“Heaven damn you man, you almost killed that man. And yourself along with him.”
Boris looked up, eyes wide and stammered “a giant! A giiiiaaant is coming this way!” He was hysterical and shaking. Sir Ebros slapped him again but it did no good. Boris was sobbing and clutching onto the knight’s leg for dear life.
Midas ran to the bank of the last fork of the river. Approaching from its head stream, from the mountains, he clearly saw a man of enormous proportions. He was clothed in bear furs, bearded with a furious mane of black hair and carrying a spear the size of a banner pole. A giant! Midas turned and hurried back to Sir Ebros.
“Sir Ebros! Sir Ebros! He is right. A giant is upon us and we have no escape!”
Sir Ebros dropped Boris and ran to where Midas stood. Just as he did the giant came into his view as well. Ebros stood and studied him for a moment. Taking in his build, complexion and clothing.
“Goliath. It is the giant Goliath.” He whispered.
“You know him then?” Midas said with some hope that Sir Ebros and the giant were comrades.
“Know him? No. I know of him and of his deeds. He is wanted for great crimes. And he will give account for them this day.”
“Give account? We are but three and less than that with Boris in the state he is in. And take note knight, you are not mounted or wearing your armor.”
Sir Ebros looked down at himself. Midas was right. He had taken off his armor and tied it to Starlight before fording the river.
“You are right healer. You and the constable must delay him while I arm myself.”
“Delay him! Are you mad! How are we, am I, to do that?”
“You must healer! Otherwise we stand no chance at all. You must!” Sir Ebros squeezed Midas’ arm to emphasize the point and then made a high pitched whistle to his warhorse and ran off to meet the mount.
Midas stood there dumbfounded. The giant would be upon them in ten or fifteen more minutes at most as he was less than a half mile away. Midas had to get Boris up and bring him around to his senses. Speaking of Boris, where was he? They had turned their back on him when they spotted the giant. Midas’ stomach stuck in his throat as he slowly turned around to where the constable had last been lying on the ground sobbing.
Boris was gone. Whether he had forded the river again or simply thrown himself headlong into its rush he could not tell. But he was gone.
Midas scoured his head. There had to be something he could do. Any of his healer abilities? No they were all healing based.
What of the few Cleric skills he had been shown? Again no, even if he could pull any of them off, none of them would aid in a combat.
He had one last area of training to draw upon. As a boy, growing up in Milestill, he had been taught some parlor tricks in the local tavern. Little more than magic but quite convincing when done properly. One was a type of illusion where you could make a person see something that was not really there. In fact, it was the trick he was about to brush up on when Boris met him at his lodging in Milestill right before they left. And it was not a particularly hard trick to pull off provided you had the proper lighting, sleight of hand and angles. He would try it.
But what? What illusion could forestall a giant long enough for Sir Ebros to don his armor and mount his warhorse? Fire! A large fire! If Midas could give the appearance of a roaring blaze blocking the giant’s path then maybe he would pause long enough to go around it or wait for it to burn out.
Midas ran to where Boris was supposed to make camp. Grabbing some wood and tinder he hurriedly lit a small fire.
“Come on, come on.” He said as he waited for the fire to gain strength. “Good.” He thought when it reached about the height of his calf. That would have to be large enough for the illusion.
Looking up at the sun and using the shiny side of his small blade Midas was confident he could enlarge and project the fire and its flames directly into the giant’s path of approach. The trick would be to get the timing and placement right. He laid the blade down and took out a ceramic drinking mug. He broke the bottom end off creating a funnel with a large opening on the bottom and a small opening toward the top. He positioned this next to the fire with the small end by the flame and the large end toward the river so the sound of the fire would hopefully carry on the water and in the direction of the giant to enhance the effect of the illusion. That was it. That was the best he could do. Now all that was left was to wait for Boris to get close enough to see the projection and wait for Sir Ebros to hurry back mounted and armed for battle.
Captain Tartoga meant to kill the whore from the start; whether she talked or not. But he would have preferred to have offered her to his crew before doing so. Instead, she had talked well enough when he cornered her in her room but she had adamantly refused to leave with him and return to his ship, The Crimson Oar. So he cut her throat.
He had already relayed the information she provided to Quartermaster Karf and the ship was again underway. This time heading for the port at Kings Harbor. If what the whore had said was true there was some fat runt aboard that ship that had recently come into a fist full of gold courtesy of Captain Milan.
The same Captain Milan that rumor had it had recently made an abrupt detour to Kings Harbor right before a massive storm struck off the coast of Zafton. A storm he could not have predicted without Tartoga’s weather compass.
“His ship is called The Adamante.” Karf handed Tartoga a parchment. “One of the men, Einar, sailed with him last year.”
Tartoga took the parchment and studied the specifications.
“Sixteen guns? A Brigantine?” Tartoga handed the parchment back to Karf. “Well she could put up a good fight if it came to that. But I hear she is still at port. And it is a high crime to fire upon a ship at port in Kings Harbor, so this will be a straight boarding action. We board her, decimate the crew and get my compass back.”
Karf started to walk away.
“And one more thing. I want the fat one alive! I mean to know how he came upon my compass and just how many others know of its existence.”
The contest with The Lady had left him weak. Morcai had not prepared himself for a struggle w
hen he invited The Lady to meet him in the dream world. He had merely sought to impress her. Maybe even scare her and win her allegiance. But she had withstood him. She had even wounded him and he had been forced to tap into powers that not even one such as herself could gain access to. An access he had gained at a dear price. A price that, in fact, had to be paid each time he tapped into them.
So he had punished her. He had punished her in a way that she was unaware he had the power to punish her. He had stripped her of her ability to enter the dream world - the dowlite as the Elves called it. A far greater loss than one who had never had such an ability would appreciate. Because to lose the ability to enter the dream state not only deprived one of access to that world, it deprived them of access to the power that could be drawn from that world. So not only had he wounded her for her arrogance but he had also weakened her. She had sought to test him and take the measure of his abilities but instead it was she who had been wounded and it was her abilities that had been dimmed.
Now he was resting. Alone in the highest chamber in his citadel. A room that was barely more than a circular cove. He was naked but for his ring and bracelets. And he was sweating. Profusely. He sat in a pool of warm sweat and took slow deep breaths. He was coming. Morcai knew he was. He had the right to come. Morcai had called on his aid to access the power he needed to chastise The Lady and now he would come.
The warm puddle of sweat under his buttocks began to bubble and then seethe. It burned his skin and he wanted to cry out. To stand and bolt out of the room but he did not dare to do so. To do so would give him free reign to the entire castle and anywhere else that Morcai ran to. He could destroy or consume as he pleased. No. Morcai had to remain in as closed a place as possible and no matter what he endured he could not run!
