Oil lamps suspended from the ceiling on swaying chains lit the chamber. Though the room was somewhat cramped, the woodwork was ornate and expertly carved. A rope hammock swung slightly on one side of the room and on the opposite wall was a shelf of scrolls and charts. In the center of the chamber was a small but exquisitely crafted desk where Skulpa’s map of human skin lay unrolled with the captured gladius on top. Three short wooden stools were in front of the desk, while behind was a throne-like chair with red cloth cushions on seat and back. Upon the wall behind the desk hung a beautiful tapestry depicting the image of the Tarranian goddess Kaleesh, with her six arms and six legs, holding tulwars in each hand. Just below the tapestry was a table with a water basin, silver goblets and two small casks of wine. Next to the table were chests reinforced with straps of iron and securely sealed with a key lock.
Amahl put on a vest of fine red material with golden dragons embroidered on the lapels and back. With no shirt on underneath, his very fit frame was showing some scars from battles and encounters past. He wore tan pantaloons with a fine leather belt about the waist and a pair of calf-high black boots.
Amahl sat in his chair behind the desk and studied the map. “Well, Hajish, it appears there is true substance to this legend of Skulpa’s treasure after all.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Hajish. “So you can actually read those symbols?”
“Indeed I can, my friend,” answered Amahl. “And what I have read is very interesting. The map itself is a chart showing where the island is located, and then the glyphs give specific directions from a bay on the west coast of the isle to the cave where the treasure lies. It says here the treasure cannot be seen unless you bring the sun. I am fairly sure that means we will need the light of fire. It also goes on to say that upon the rocky finger of death is where what one seeks can be found. The last glyphs read as a challenge to survive the wrath of the magik demon that was raised from the abyss to protect the treasure.”
As Hajish eyed the chart section of the map, Amahl noticed the bloody state of his first mate’s armor. “You fought well today, my friend. As did the others. Let us hope it was worth it. What of our casualties?”
Hajish straightened up. “Fourteen dead and as many wounded. A few of the injured will most likely perish before the morrow.”
“And Kaleeb’s arm?” inquired the Prince.
“It is being attended to as we speak. The Aiser is outside your door under guard. You requested him brought to you for some reason,” Hajish said, somewhat confused. “I understand your urge to free our brother Tarranians from enslavement, Amahl, but what care do you have for the Aiser? They are but barbarians and are no concern of ours.”
Amahl stood up, adjusting his vest. “Let’s just say for now that I have a curiosity. Bring the north man in and dismiss the guard.”
“Dismiss the guard, my Prince? But…”
“You think that I and an ox of a man like you cannot handle one Aiser?”
Hajish stepped towards the door, exclaiming, “Your will, my hand, but I must tell you that when we arrived to free the slaves from the oars, he had already broken loose and killed most of the Camorians that were in that section of the lower deck single handed.”
Amahl thought for a moment. “Did he resist you and your men?”
“No, my Prince. Maybe it was our numbers, or the fact that we were killing Camorians also and freeing some men from the oars.”
Amahl motioned with his hand. “Well, bring him in and let us have measure of this barbarian. And Hajish… the guards will not be needed.”
Hajish opened the door, muttering, “Your will, my hand.”
Hajish brought in the large Aiser who was now clean but still wore only a tattered loincloth. The well-sculpted muscles of the north man’s thick arms and legs rippled with every movement. He seemed to be close to the same age as the young Prince but stood a head taller.
The first mate dismissed the three corsairs that had accompanied him, but not before whispering to them to remain close at hand. After closing the door Hajish stated firmly, “Know your place here, barbarian. You are in the presence of Prince Amahl Hammid Ahkba, seventh son of Drakos Saleem Ahkba, Grand Malik of Tarran.”
Amahl chuckled. “You must excuse the manner of my friend Hajish. He just loves saying that. We were both raised in a much different atmosphere than this. You may call me Amahl.” Hajish, with hand on sword hilt, rolled his eyes, shaking his head back and forth slightly. “And what shall we call you?” asked Amahl.
“I was given the name of Mottar Gundarson,” said the north man. He had once again fixated upon the green eyes of the Prince while answering. His body seemed to tremble as he spoke to the Prince. Amahl quickly sensed that the man was deeply afraid of him, yet the Aiser still stared intently into his eyes.
Amahl reached out to put his hand upon the man’s shoulder, saying, “What is it, man?”
The barbarian backed away from Amahl’s touch, stumbling backwards into the shelf of scrolls and maps. In a fearful tone, Mottar replied, “Are you not a demon? Are you not about to eat my soul?”
Hajish broke out in laughter. Amahl backed away from Mottar, explaining, “I assure you I am no demon. Just a man who has no use for your soul, lad. Come, sit down and we shall drink.” Amahl motioned for Mottar to sit on one of the stools as he circled the desk and poured three goblets full of wine. “I have questions for you, and I am sure you have questions for me.”
Mottar composed himself and slowly sat on the center stool before the desk. Amahl raised his goblet. “Let us drink to our victory today and to your freedom.”
“Freedom?” asked Mottar, puzzled.
“Why, yes,” replied Amahl. “What thought you, man?”
“I presumed I would be enslaved at your oars. That is until I saw your eyes. I have never seen the likes but I have heard tales of soul eaters. Demons with green eyes that feed on the souls of men.”
Hajish laughed again, wiping wine out of his beard.
“That sounds like my father,” exclaimed Amahl as he took a big gulp of wine.
Hajish raised his goblet. “I will drink to that, my lord.”
“You, my friend, would drink to anything,” Amahl jested. Hajish laughed a bit again, nodding in agreement as he took another pull off of his goblet.
Mottar took a drink and relaxed a little as he began to realize that Amahl was no demonic threat. After a taste of the wine he downed the remainder from his goblet in two big gulps. Amahl refilled the goblets as Mottar spoke. “May I ask of you a question?”
“Of course. I expect you have many, as do I.”
“Well, my lord Amahl,” said Mottar, “I understand why you would free the men of your own lands, but why me? There were many others from other lands chained to the oars of that ship that went to a watery grave. Why is it that I did not share the same fate?”
Hajish looked at Amahl with curiosity, saying, “I, too, would like to know this.”
Sitting back in his chair, cradling his goblet, Amahl pondered for a moment before answering. “What I am about to tell you I have not shared with anyone. Not even my best man here, Hajish.” A very interested look came upon the burly first mate’s face. “Some time ago we captured a Camorian merchant ship much like the one we just lost today,” Amahl continued. He drank his goblet empty and slammed it down onto the desk top. “By the many arms of Kaleesh, I would like to kill that bastard steersman all over again. What was his name?”
“He was called Sirhan, my Prince,” answered Hajish. Amahl filled his goblet again.
“Well, let it be known that henceforth no man of that name shall ever be allowed on my deck again. I didn’t like him anyway. He had the look of an assassin.” Amahl took another drink from his wine and resumed his tale. “As it was, that merchant ship was one of Morro’s, and the captain’s tongue loosened quickly in trade for his life. It was then that we learned of Morro possessing Skulpa’s fabled map. He was also kind enough to tell us what port city in Camoria Morro frequented
the most.”
“So did you spare the captain’s life?” asked Mottar.
Hajish and Amahl both laughed. “So to speak. We did not kill him but we put him ashore on the Isle of Red Death off the coast of Tarran. The island is where victims of the plague are shipped to from our homeland. After selling the merchant ship and the cargo for a good sum of silver at the Port of Bahglesh in Tarran, we refitted the Seventh Son and made sail for the coast of Camoria. We anchored in a cove a distance south of the Camorian port city of Barros. Even though Hajish objected strongly, I put to shore alone and set out to sneak into the city in hopes of acquiring information of Morro’s whereabouts. My plan was to pass myself off as a Khoshite merchant, but I was careless and I’m sure my accent gave me away. It was the first time I had ever set foot on a western kingdom’s soil, and the dialect of Arcanian that is spoken in Camoria is slightly different than what I was familiar with. When found out I made a good showing of myself to my aggressors, but a lucky blow to the head rendered me unconscious. When I awoke I found myself in chains.
“I will not bore you with all the details, but it was an Aiser who enabled my escape and in more than one instance saved my life. I offered this Aiser reward for his service, but all he requested of me was to extend the same kindness to any other north man that I may meet in my travels. This is why you have your freedom now. I promised this man, my savior, to treat all other Aiser as brothers in arms. But according to our own Tarranian traditions, that man still owns my life, and I told him so. If it ever were necessary I would spend my life for his.”
Hajish walked around the desk and poured himself another drink. “And why by Neptula’s tentacles did you not tell me of these events?” he grumbled. “You told me you just had a run in with the locals at a tavern.”
Amahl gave a quirky smile answering, “Well, that was truth. I just did not tell the whole of the tale, my friend. You would have never let me hear the end of it.”
“Oh, I promise you, my lord, the end of it is far from heard now for certain,” Hajish spat out.
Amahl filled Mottar’s cup again. “So now, how it is you came to be a slave on a Camorian merchant ship?”
Mottar looked up, still amazed by the emerald eyes of the Prince. “There is little to tell, my lord. When I was young my father taught me how to fight. He was a hunter, and then a leader of men when the clans stood up against the invading Arcanians. It was for naught, though. The Arcanian Legions were too vast in numbers to be repelled. My village was sacked and burnt to ashes. When they came they had my father’s head upon a pike. We tried to fight them, but it was mostly the aged along with women and children left in our village. The men had all gone to defend us to no avail. I did my best, but I was young and was subdued. I did kill two of those Legionnaires before they took me, though.” Mottar was becoming agitated and tense, but he quickly changed his demeanor after taking a deep breath. He continued speaking in a shallow voice. “I saw my mother raped and then gutted like a deer. The old and the infants were all slaughtered. The young girls and boys, I among them, were all tied together and led for many days’ journey to the coast. It was there that I was put on the auction block and sold to the highest bidder. That happened to be Morro. I have been on that ship ever since.”
The three men were silent for a few moments before Hajish blurted out, “They must have fed you well!”
Mottar looked at Hajish with a hint of a grin. “My father was a big man and the rowing has kept me fit.”
Amahl grunted with a bit of a laugh. “How is it that you speak Tarranian so well?”
Mottar extended his empty goblet. “I learned from the men you freed. What will become of those men?”
“They will be given the choice of joining the crew or returning to Tarran the next time we make port in Bahglesh,” said Amahl, filling Mottar’s goblet. “We have another destination first, though. In the meantime they will be well provided for and given duties among the crew to earn their keep. You see, I don’t believe in slavery. Even our oarsmen upon this ship are a part of the crew and get fair shares of the booty.”
Mottar took another drink. “So what becomes of me, then?”
Amahl spoke with the air of sincerity. “My brother, in your case your will is my hand. You are a free man now to choose your own fate. We can put you ashore in the north of Aiseria where the Arcanians have not ventured if it is your desire. Maybe Bahglesh would be more to your taste. I can offer you fine quarters and lifestyle there. Or if you see fit, you may join us. Roam the seas in search of booty and adventure and spill the blood of Camorians and Arcanians whenever possible. You don’t have to decide right now. You will have ample time to ponder your future.”
Mottar stood up and placed a closed fist upon his chest. “I need no time to ponder such a choice. I am yours, my lord. You freed me from bondage and I somewhat understand your ways and I shall honor them. Therefore I owe you my life and freedom. Most of my days have been spent on the sea. Maybe it is the Fates that have provided me to you.”
Hajish rolled his eyes, saying, “Just what we need, another philosopher.”
Amahl stood up and extended his right arm in friendship to Mottar. “So be it then. Welcome aboard the Seventh Son.” They clasped each other’s forearms in a brotherly embrace across the desk.
“There is something that puzzles me, my lord,” asked Mottar. “Why does the son of the great king of Tarran lead a band of pirates on the seas?”
“I prefer to call ourselves corsairs,” answered Amahl. “Pirate just sounds so base, don’t you think?”
Amahl sat back down at his desk. “Hajish, I think all is good here now. Get yourself cleaned up and remember, all mates here at sunset.”
“Are you certain?” asked Hajish.
“Yes, I am certain. And check on Kaleeb while you’re at it, and send food and more wine. We shall all dine in here tonight.”
Hajish slowly exited the captain’s quarters saying, “Your will, my hand.”
Amahl let out another partial grunt and laugh. “He says that when he questions the wisdom of my decisions. You see, Hajish grew up with me in my father’s palace in Serba. He is a bit older than I and his father was one of my father’s greatest commanders. We both learned the art of war together at the hands of the finest swordsmen in all of Tarran. I consider him more friend and brother than any of my own family. My father, Drakos, was also the seventh son of his father. As you can imagine, being the seventh in a line to the throne you would think there is little chance of ever assuming the title of Malik. As it was, two of his elder brothers met their doom in battle against the Khoshites in the days when we were trying to invade Khosh. As his own father drew closer to death from old age, his brothers, one by one, died of questionable circumstance. There were nine brothers in all. Not all of the same mother, though. You see, we are allowed many wives where we are from. Even the two younger brothers met an untimely and suspicious demise. And so Drakos became Grand Malik upon the death of his father. Oh sure, people secretly think that Drakos usurped the throne from his siblings and made sure none did that to him by removing the threat of his younger brothers as well. But no one dares speak of it openly. My father rules with an iron fist and all who oppose him usually regret it.
“I had a normal life of a Prince until a sorcerer by the name of Morbis gained my father’s confidence. Morbis used my acutely different eyes as an excuse to cast suspicion upon me. You see, my father’s eyes are also green. So with Drakos being convinced of a possible future in which I would repeat his evil deeds to gain the throne, he exiled me to the city of Bahglesh. Hajish was commanded to accompany me as my protector and my brothers were forbidden to enter the city. Of course I had all I needed there, but my life was becoming a bore. I had studied and trained all my life and for what? To sit in a palace mansion in Bahglesh for all my days? No. The call of the sea and adventure was too strong. So I had the Seventh Son built. Hajish and I mustered a good crew and off we went sailing into the Sea of Baal. Since then
we have profited greatly from our adventures and amused ourselves with living a life on the open sea where we choose our own path in life. I speak of freedom, Mottar, son of Gundar, and it is sweet to the senses even if you have to fight for it.”
Mottar sat back down, cocking his head sideways. “I feel a bit strange, my Lord.”
“It is the wine, my friend. You will get used to it.”
A loud rap upon the door and the bellowed announcement “Hasahn” resounded simultaneously. The cabin door flew open and a mid-sized Tarranian man of good build burst through the doorway. He sported no shirt, only a gold medallion on a chain about his neck. High top black boots he wore with white pantaloons tucked into them, accompanied by a wide leather belt with scabbard and scimitar about his waist. “Did you see how my men handled those Camorian bilge rats?” Hasahn threw himself up into the hammock, continuing on without waiting for response. “They didn’t have a chance against our Tarranian steel.” He unsheathed his scimitar and stuck it into the ceiling, still babbling on. “Kaleeb and I ended many lives today, but I think he is slowing down. You know he took a wound today in the arm. The barber says he’ll be all right, though.”
Amahl broke Hasahn’s ranting. “This is Mottar, son of Gundar… Mottar, this is Hasahn, my third mate and reader of the stars.”
Hasahn jumped out of the hammock, leaving his sword waggling in the ceiling. Abruptly sitting down on a stool beside Mottar, he put a hand to his chin as if to ponder something. “Ahhhhh. So this is the Aiser. I hear we are to be friends.” Slowly Hasahn’s ponderous look turned to a smile. With a sudden slap on Mottar’s back he exclaimed, “Well then, welcome to the Brotherhood of the Red Corsairs.”
Amahl handed Hasahn a goblet of wine. “Do I not get to announce anything on this ship?”
“Nope. Hajish tells all,” said Hasahn, taking the goblet. Ah, good, I’m starving.”
At that moment two beautiful dark haired Tarranian women entered through the open door, carrying large silver trays of fruit and fish. Amahl cleared the gladius and map from the desk top. He handed both to Hasahn as the women placed the trays upon the desk.
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