Heroes of Time Legends: Murdoch's Choice

by Wayne D. Kramer

  “Says he’ll talk only with you. But he did tell me it’s enough to pass the bar…and he’s already talked to ol’ Seadread.”

  Hearing mention of his long-time rival only galled Zale all the more. Captain Garrick “Seadread” Rummy—or Captain Puffypants, as Murdoch often called him—was also within striking range of the mastery bar this year. Cheating ratbag, Zale seethed at the thought. He was certain Garrick had somehow bribed the guilders into boosting his tally.

  Zale downed the remainder of his ale and pushed back from the bar counter with a guttural moan.

  “Look alive, Dippy. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

  “Captain Murdoch,” the man greeted with a tilt of his head, his voice like slick oil. “I’m pleased to see I finally garnered your attention.”

  Murdoch eyed a black amulet around the man’s neck as he sat down, skipping the formality of a handshake. “To Gheol with your pleasure. Why are you speaking of my family?”

  “Relax,” the man replied coolly. “We all need our edge, Captain…and mine is knowledge.” He motioned for a server. “Let’s have drinks. Wine, perhaps?”

  “Ale for me,” Zale replied. “Helps me think.”

  “Make that two,” said Dippy.

  A young male server arrived, and the man ordered. “Two of your…standard-fare ales…and a glass of Eidyn oak-leaf for me, chilled.” The server left them. “It is good you came to speak with me. I am here to make the choice of your next job much easier.”

  Zale raised an eyebrow. “Life is full of choices. I always say, choose the one with the best payoff.”

  “Indeed.”

  “My associate tells me you’re affiliated with nobility,” Zale said. “I can’t help but feel a bit…skeptical.”

  “Guild Chief Dugard Pratt can affirm my station, should you feel the need. By the time we’re through here, I rather doubt you will.”

  Zale stared at the man. Not only was he supposedly from across the kingdom, but now it seemed he had some familiarity with Warvonia’s leadership.

  “Who are you?” Zale demanded.

  “I am Vidimir Tefu.”

  Zale paused, waiting for more. Finally, he said, “Should that name mean something to us?”

  Vidimir looked amused, his smarmy grin reminiscent of a triangle. “The name of Tefu is among the Great Lineage delineated in the accords of our province. But I’m sure a fully dedicated seaman such as yourself has little time for the inner workings of nobility.”

  Zale grunted. “Why would a man from Brumm in league with nobility venture all the way out to our quaint seaside village?”

  The server returned with their drinks. Vidimir waited for him to leave before continuing. “I come to your town, because in the entire Grandtrilia continent, there is no stronger band of seafaring…merchants…to be found.”

  “Flattered,” Zale replied. “So, what are we after here, fine silks? High-value minerals? A nice trinket for your baron’s sitting room?”

  Vidimir swirled his wine and took a delicate sip. “This is of far greater importance than our baron, Captain. More than the capital baron…more than the grand vizier…more, even, than the king himself. This concerns the heart of our realm, the divine blessing bestowed upon the Patriarch when the days of the Shadow Age were chased away.”

  “Now you speak of fable,” Dippy chimed in. “Shadow Age doomsayer, Cap’n. Mayhaps we should let Seadread take this one.”

  Zale nodded. “I’m inclined to agree. Believe what you will about the Shadow Age. If that’s what this is about, we don’t have the luxury of chasing mythical trifles.”

  “This concerns the Light of the Land itself,” Vidimir said.

  The Light of the Land was an energy source, said to be within a holy hall of the Palace. It was established long before even the kingdom’s existence, as a sort of blessing upon the land from the Ethereal Realm during cataclysmic days of the past. It’s what many believed gave the entire Grandtrilia continent, of which Tuscawny was a part, its right to exist.

  Vidimir continued. “Divine benediction might have been vital in the days of Birqu Umis and our conquering kings of the past. But, it would seem, the divine is moving on, and the blessing that once ensured our stability now wavers. The once-stalwart brightness of Zophiel’s Light, these days, is more like a flicker. It’s a matter of time before it gutters out completely.”

  Zale fixed the man with a hard look. “This sounds more like a matter for the divine than a seafarer. Have you tried praying lately?”

  Vidimir sipped his wine, his eyes amused. “Fate is a dogged mistress, Captain. My first whim was to find you here… and here we are.”

  “We tend to prefer bounties a little more on the tangible side,” Zale said. “Real, as it were.”

  “If money is your concern…” Vidimir reached under the table and lifted a canvas bag. He set it down with an unmistakable jingle of coins. “…I assure you the reward will be more than enough to shatter your guild’s mastery bar. A bar, by the way, which has already been raised.”

  “Complete blarney!” Dippy yelped, nearly jumping from his seat.

  Zale chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir. The bar is never raised till after Agust. Anything else is against the long-standing code of our guild.”

  Vidimir shrugged. “You’ll soon see for yourselves. But I fear you’ll find it quite an insurmountable goal in such a short time. That is, unless you accept the offer at hand.”

  Zale had to admit, Vidimir’s account was intriguing. He might indeed be of the nobility class and thus more knowledgeable than most about lore surrounding the Light and the kingdom’s foundation, but this claim about the mastery bar was especially hard to believe. For one, why would this man from Brumm know about it before even Zale? It was a matter Zale intended to verify the first chance he got.

  “For the sake of humor, what is it you want?” Zale asked.

  “The ancient shard of Ni’shan-qa Til’la-ni’tha…perhaps better known as the Grimstone. It is a fragment of the Great Celestial Entry which ushered in the Shadow Age. In the right hands, the power within this fragment can be harnessed to keep our land stable, even as the Light fades. You are to deliver the Grimstone to me at the port of Miskunn, from which you will sail with undoubtedly the single greatest payout of your career.”

  “Dark to replace Light. There’s a twist,” Dippy spoke wistfully.

  Indeed, there it was again: the Shadow Age. If someone wanted to cast doubt on the legitimacy of a job, there was almost no better way than to center it around the Shadow Age. Even kingdom historians couldn’t agree that such a time had even existed.

  Zale stared into Vidimir’s expressionless face and tapped absently on the table. “Look, we pull in shipments of pyritite for making household fuses. If it’s luminous flocalcite ore you’re after, we’re your crew. We can pillage foreign crops, clear out mines, make off with livestock, or find you a nice gulobeast for a pet. You speak in fairy tales, and we’re not very good at catching fairies.”

  Vidimir slid his glass to the side. He lifted his fingers before him, as if he were about to start knitting. Something disturbed the air around his hands, like heat distortion on a sultry day. His index fingers came together with a dark spark, and right before them he drew a tiny, purple rectangle in midair.

  With a thrust of his palm through the rectangle, a flare of violet fire burst out and caught upon the table, spreading slowly. Dippy jumped back with his chair. Zale remained still, keeping his hands clear of the fire. He expected to feel the normal heat of a fire. This fire radiated an unsettling chill.

  Vidimir slammed his hand down into the fire, extinguishing it. A cold gale of wind rushed through the tavern, momentarily snuffing lights and blowing over his wineglass.

  Silence fell in the tavern. Every head turned toward their table.

  Zale looked around at the faces staring in their direction. Then he burst out into a great laugh. “Ah hahahaha! That’s some parlor trick, men!
”

  The general riffraff returned to their business. Zale spun back around to Vidimir. “Okay, so, is that some odd variety of flamethyst, or…?”

  Vidimir eyed him darkly. “That is but a faint glimmer of energy reminiscent of the Grimstone. In the right hands, the potential of this object is the envy of all lands.”

  “And supposedly where is this object located?” Zale asked.

  “This is where I must face embarrassment.” Vidimir stared at the table. “We were hot on the trail, certain we had found the Grimstone’s location.” He looked back up at Murdoch. “Our crews became lost in a tangle of uncharted islets near their destination. One ship returned in retreat. The other was ambushed by one of the black ships of Gukhan. It was my mistake. The crews I sent were not the best.”

  Dippy shuddered. “Gukhan?”

  Gukhan was the one nation within the Great Crescent that most sailors went out of their way to avoid. Many crews that sailed too close never returned, and the reclusive Gukhanians were known as being especially hostile to outsiders.

  Zale grunted. “Are you trying to help the kingdom or plunge it into a war with hellhounds? We don’t poke at the secretive soldiers of Gukhan. Unwritten rule of survival.”

  “A rule or not, the need is real. An opportunity is before you, Mister ‘the Gale.’ Someone will retrieve the Grimstone for me and become a chapter in this land’s redemption.” He pushed back from the table and stood. “Whether or not you are that person is the choice you have to make.” Without so much as a backward glance, Vidimir left the tavern.

  CHAPTER 2

  RAISING THE BAR

  7/22/3203

  Zale seethed within as he ascended a narrow cobblestone alley of Warvonia. He’d gotten very little sleep after last night’s encounter with Vidimir. As he tossed and turned into the morning hours, he could not stop thinking about the mastery bar.

  Dippy trailed in his wake. “Do you really think they raised the bar, Captain?”

  Zale had eyes only for the road ahead. “I hope not…but I have a sneaking suspicion that something’s amiss.”

  He moved as fast as his legs would carry him, which was not terribly fast, more of a swift hobble. Low groans escaped with his breaths, as much from angst as breathlessness. If there was current mischief concerning the mastery bar, he intended to get to the bottom of it.

  The alley opened up into a vast plaza surrounded by gallant, columned structures of local governance. The largest of these was the residence of Warvonia’s lord mayor.

  Zale flashed it a glare and turned toward a much smaller but no less extravagant building of dark-green marble and gilded trim. Most of the seafarers in this town tended to keep a low profile in society, but the guilders who controlled them flaunted their power with nauseating arrogance.

  In particular, within this building was the office of Dugard Pratt, chief mercantile guilder of the Rocknee province. Zale brushed sweat from his brow as he approached, exasperated over Vidimir’s claim that the bar had been raised. If true, it marked a move by the guild as extraordinary as it was underhanded.

  Zale’s hand slid across a thick railing of burnished gold as he ascended the stairs. Not bothering to knock, he pounded through the door, stomping into a reception room of an-tique-green wood paneling. Two clerical ladies jumped from their desks with yelps of surprise.

  “Master Murdoch,” one of them sputtered. “To what do we owe—?”

  “Dugard,” Zale rumbled. “Is he in his office?”

  “Chief Pratt is currently with someone. We can request an appointment.”

  Zale trudged forward. He didn’t have time for this nonsense.

  “Oh! Master Murdoch, please wait!”

  He left Dippy in the foyer and pushed through a set of tall doors into an opulent office furnished with large, cushy chairs, shelves of record books, and console tables littered with local maps. This was the spendthrift office of Dugard Pratt.

  Two familiar men stared back at Zale with round eyes. One was Pratt himself, a square-faced man with spiked hair and a thick beard of bright red and white, almost like snow on fire. Garrick “Seadread” Rummy sat across from Pratt’s desk, a pockmarked, dour sight of a man with a lazy eye. Somehow the man’s beard had managed to turn white with age, whilst the hair of his head remained perfectly black.

  “Murdoch!” Dugard exclaimed in a big voice. “What in hell’s fury are you doing?”

  Zale weighed his response. Seadread’s presence had taken him aback. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation in front of his long-time rival.

  “Captain Rummy,” Zale nodded. “Have the winds fared you well?”

  Seadread got up from the chair, standing nearly a full head taller than Zale. His lazy eye twitched in focus and his mouth worked a long, wooden churchwarden pipe.

  “I need a word, Dugard,” said Zale. “It’s urgent.”

  “We’re in the middle of something here. It’ll have to wait.”

  Zale opened his mouth to protest, but the crackly voice of Seadread spoke instead. “No need to wait.” He turned toward Dugard. “Most like our purposes here align.”

  “The mastery bar,” Zale said cautiously.

  “Ah, you see!” Seadread said.

  “Is it true then, Dugard? Has it been raised?”

  Pratt rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. “It’s true.”

  “This is an outrage!” Zale shouted.

  “Aye,” Seadread hissed. “How fancies ye a nice, friendly mutiny to get the point across?”

  “Can it, Rummy,” Dugard snapped. “Your crew might be one of the most ruthless to sail the seas, but your campaign would be short-lived against the Royal Guard.”

  Seadread answered with a derisive snort.

  Zale spread his arms. “How can you do this? And now, so close to the deadline?”

  “Me?” Dugard gave a disparaging chuckle and took a seat behind his desk. “I’m on your side here, gentlemen. I can’t remember a time when two crews were so close to the goal. This order came from Fort Morga—from the capital baron himself, on authority from Metsada Palace. It seems, for now, that the crown wants the two of you to remain in full service.”

  “And what business does Lycus Char have with the seafaring guild?” Seadread asked.

  “Baron Char takes a keen interest in all the guilds throughout Sharm and Rocknee, not to mention an ever-tightening rein,” Dugard replied.

  Zale knew he spoke truth here, dissatisfying as it was. The baron’s seat in Fort Morga was known in the kingdom as the capital baron. He was the only baron to preside over two provinces, Sharm and Rocknee, which also happened to be the two most populous provinces in the kingdom. Sharm contained the kingdom’s capital city of Miskunn on the southeastern coast.

  “This does not sit well with me at all,” Zale grumbled. “It’s completely against the code!”

  “An ancient code,” Dugard fired back. “You’re lucky they haven’t abolished it completely. Allowing entire crews to forego quotas for reaching an arbitrary goal, all while taking greater pay? It’s a concept steeped in antiquity.”

  “Abolishing it might yet be their goal, methinks,” said Seadread.

  “No other guild has any such thing,” Dugard continued. “The kingdom might not pander to your lot quite as in days of old, but it seems the crown still has a soft spot. Despite mounting pressure—not the least of which is the constant possibility of starting war with other nations—they still want you scallywags to remain in service. At least for now, you’re still considered relevant. Come now, gentlemen. You should be flattered, not dismayed!”

  “How can we be assured the goal won’t change again?” asked Zale.

  Dugard shrugged. “You can’t. But this is an unprecedented move, and I suspect the officials know when they’re overplaying their hand.”

  “What has the bar been raised to?” Zale asked.

  “It is now over ten million lyra,” Dugard said.

  Zale felt f
aint. More than one million lyra higher than before. In one fell swoop, he felt his hopes of respite slipping away. He had but wanted time to settle, to take only the jobs that most interested him, to spend his later years quietly with his family and granddaughters.

  “And this be not overplaying their hand?” Seadread asked.

  “You’re still both within reach,” Dugard said. “Squeeze in the right one or two jobs, and you’ll make it. Well…one of you, anyway. Now, get the blazes out of my office—both of you!”

  Back in the foyer, Dippy eagerly hopped to Zale’s side. He nearly tripped over a desk at the sight of Seadread.

  “So,” said Seadread as they descended the steps outside, “do ye fathom what job ye might pursue, Murdoch?”

  Zale turned to face him. “Not as such.”

  Seadread took calm steps toward Zale, stopping right in front of him. “Best pick a mighty coffer, Zale. ’Tis a high bar to surpass.”

  “I’m still awaiting the strike of serendipity, as it were. And you, sir—have you picked up an apt assignment as of yet?”

  Seadread’s lazy eye seemed to shiver. “Might be that I have.” He added a low grunt, his breath like old cabbage.

  “May the best crew win, Captain,” Zale said.

  Seadread gave a dreadful, yellow-toothed smile. “Aye, just so, Zale. Best hope yer serendipity strikes fast. The seas of hesitation are filled with the carcasses of those who, at the brink of decision, waited and died.” He clapped Zale on the shoulder as he made to leave. “Fair winds to ye, Murdoch. Ye never know which way they’ll blow.”

  Murdoch threw open the door to the rickety, sheet-metal meeting room where his crew officers had been assembled. Dippy had arranged everything, from securing the wharf-side locale to rounding up the officers. Shards of loosely mounted flocalcite minerals provided dim lighting from two of the room’s opposite-facing walls.

  “Look alive, men!”

  Zale shuffled his way toward a chair at the end of a long table that looked like a tall, smooth door sanded down and rolled over with brown paint.

  He took stock of the other old salts seated around the table. It was time to make some decisions about their next job. He also needed to rally his crew around the challenge of the mastery bar situation, assuming they didn’t first incite a riot.