Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (26 page)

The ship groaned as the weight of the mast crashed down onto the deck where Dawn had stood a moment before. She came up from a roll and hurled something towards the water where the beast had returned to the sea. Lightning arched from the now dark clouds above and lanced into the water a half dozen times. Rogen and Warton had just managed to pull themselves clear of the waves before the electricity coursed through them.

Vonka reached to help steady them as the ship rocked and righted itself after the beast’s departure. Rogen stood, keeping his balance with ease, and ran to the edge of the deck, axe in hand, waiting for the beast to emerge from the churning waters. Lighting struck again and again, leaving blue-white streaks across his vision. The beast floated to the surface, scorch marks showing down the length of it body.

Dawn saw that her target no longer moved and set to righting the atmospheric effects she had conjured. She felt the intensity of the energy she had gathered. The air crackled with it around the ship. She dispersed what she could and untied the knots of energy she had conjured. She felt a rumble under the ocean and knew it was too late.

“Brace yourselves!” she warned the crew. She turned to find something to hold onto, since the mast had shattered the railing between her and the main deck. She heard a call from Bezel and turned to catch the rope he threw to her, having secured it to the deck cleats. Cite still floated a yard above the deck, his hair flying in the winds Dawn was now trying to disperse. Conald was there too, crushed between the bowsprit and the mast when it fell. She turned away to check on the rest of her crew.

Warton grabbed the rope leading to the monster, secured it to the remaining stump of the main mast and then secured himself. Vonka braced himself on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck. Rogen grabbed the unconscious form of Tart, slammed his axe into the deck to hold onto, and with one arm wrapped around its haft, tied a rope around the bleeding stump of the lad. Treat and a dozen other men were nowhere to be seen. Kytson looked around, knowing he could not hold onto anything with his hands. Tildan grabbed him and pinned him with his own body against the wall of the forecastle, grabbing the bracket of the smoking lamp to anchor them.

The ship began to gently rock as the first bubbles reached the surface. The sea exploded. Huge shockwaves shook the vessel and she was raised twice her own height as the water shot upward in a geyser. Everything fell silent as the water rushed out from under the Lady Luck and she hung there in the air for a moment. The ship plummeted from the sky, hitting the ocean hard with the sounds of timbers shattering and wood shifting. Water rushed over the sides of her and washed atop the crew, swirling around them and threatening to tear them away and into the sea.

The ship settled into a relative calm. The crew could see the ripples emanating outward from the Lady Luck and growing taller as they became waves. The ship listed to the starboard side, riding low in the water.

“All hands on deck,” shouted Dawn, taking on her role as Captain.

“All hands on deck now!” Tildan echoed in his role as Quartermaster.

Cite lowered himself to the ground and almost collapsed. He saw Dawn staring at him with a hard look and felt her thought:
‘Stand up, don’t look weak now. They need to know everything will be well. You will have time to rest when they know that.’
He nodded as he stood and took deliberate and determined steps down to the main deck. Treat dodged past him, appearing from nowhere. Bezel took Cite’s elbow as he went down the stairs to help steady him. When they reached the main deck, Bezel let go as if nothing had happened and joined the crew.

Tildan stood in front of the line of men. Warton still held the rope that was wrapped around the broken mast and trailed into the sea. Vonka stood next to Kytson and Bezel. Rogen knelt beside Tart, who was unconscious. Cite joined the line. Dawn stood on the forecastle deck and looked down on her crew.

“Vonka, take Warton and Treat below and fix any leaks. Kytson, go below and check on Cutter. Tildan and Rogen, see what it will take to either patch that mast or dispose of it. Bezel, get some clothes on.” Bezel looked down at his torn and stained nightshirt and nodded. “Then join Cite and myself up here to check for other damage. You all have your assignments. Dismissed.” Dawn waited for Bezel and Cite to join her on the forecastle as the others went about their duties.

“You heard the Captain,” Tildan roared, “let’s get this ship seaworthy again.”

Dawn sat with her head in her hands. Bezel set a glass on the table in front of her and patted her on the shoulder. “You did well, Captain. I do not think anyone else could have done better.”

“Vonka has the wheel and Rogen is taking extra watches so the men can rest. It will take an extra day to limp to port with all the damage we took. I am down to half a crew with all the injuries and losses.” Dawn sighed as she leaned back and sipped at her drink. “Tart may never recover. Tildan is covered with burns; it is incredible that he stayed on his feet all day.”

“He is an incredible man.”

“Kytson can’t use his hands. Puffer and Conald are both dead. Not to mention Maurence and Jumper.”

“Captain,” Bezel said, “you had a crewmember replaced with a doppelganger; kill another crew member; frame someone else and that almost tore the ship apart; stopped a kitchen grease fire; fought the shape shifter only to have it jump into the ocean and be swallowed by a creature that should not exist that it may have summoned on purpose; fought that beast even though it was almost as big as the ship itself; and managed to keep the Lady Luck afloat and keep the corpse of the monster. I say you did well enough. Wouldn’t you agree, Cite?”

Cite opened his eyes and shut them again. Night had fallen and it was no longer so bright that he was in constant pain, but even candle light hurt and made his head flare. “Yes, she did great. I am just sorry that I didn’t find the Troöd before it could get as far as it did.”

Dawn looked at him. “What exactly is a Troöd?”

Cite rubbed at his forehead as he explained. “Troöds are an ancient race. For centuries people thought they were myths; I had not seen one myself. A society of reptilian bipeds who are highly intelligent, more intelligent than humans according to some. It depends whom you talk to, but some say they have been around since before mankind. Others say they came from another place and tried to take over this world. Man has run across primitive versions of them in swamps occasionally. From what I have learned, they can adapt as well as humans to almost any climate though. Like us, they can use magic, but I suspect they may have a few more years of practice than our species.”

“How do you know all this stuff about them if they are so secretive?” Dawn asked.

“I like to read a lot, and collect strange tales from travelers. Due east and north of my village is a mountain range called the Wandering Hills. We have known about societies of these creatures for a while now. We have even had some trade with them. It is rumored that a couple of hundred years ago a dragon took up residence.” Cite paused as he saw the looks on their faces. “I’ve never seen it. It may be something the Troöds call their leaders, or it may be truth, I don’t know. Anyhow, they built a city there and drew humans in with promises of gold, jewels, protection, and all the other things that people want. All the people had to do was provide the Troöds with food. Not sacrifices, just grains, fruits, and meats. No different than serving a Lord.”

Dawn gasped and the men turned towards her. She stared at a wall, her face drained of all color. “Are you unwell, Captain?” Bezel asked.

“I have seen one of those things before. I think Tildan has, too. It was in Duke Malvornick’s ritual chamber, just before I became captain of this ship.”

Chapter 15: Well Laid Plans

“I had a plan once. Worst five minutes of my life!”

Wanderly

5854 - Thon – Talsā – Lasin

The town of Edgewater was in sad shape. When the tidal wave hit two days ago it washed away buildings and left broken ships littered along the shore. People only had a few minutes warning before the thirty-foot wall of water crashed into their dock district, killing dozens of people. Farmers who came into town afterwards told tales of flooding more than two kilometers inland.  People huddled in taverns and pubs with pints of ale and wine, blaming the Talisman for the event.

It was the day before the holy day for Chanian and the Changing Wheel and the autumnal equinox. Cyril and Gruedo sat in the common room of a hotel near the city gates called the Red Door. When they returned to town this afternoon they had found that the Loose Goose had been wrecked when a sailboat sailed through the windows facing the quay. Rooms were not easy to come by either, because of the extra crowding since many places now sat in ruins. People had lost their homes, their places of business, and more in the disaster.

The Red Door had once been a lovely, homey place with well-polished wood and glass mugs to match the gingham cushions and round face proprietor. Now, the wood floors were soaked and smelled of fish. Extra chairs and tables were set haphazardly around the room to give the crowds a place to sit and eat. They had lost three of their serving maids, and the remaining staff ran around serving what food hadn’t been ruined by the water.

A tall, thin man rushed through the door and shouted, “They caught a dragon down at the docks!” and hurried back out again.

Gruedo smiled at the urge of certain people to be the first one to tell fresh news. She hit Cyril on the arm with the back of her hand, knocking lump of potato the priest had on his spoon back into his soup bowl. “Hey, wanna go see what they are hooting about?”

Cyril looked at her with an even stare. “I traveled three days in constant rain, fought a horde of undead, a werewolf, got burnt, injured my leg, rode back three days with said injuries, arrived today and have had to trade a small fortune for a dust filled attic to sleep in. And now you want me to go see some mythical beast that a drunk screamed about through the door?”

Gruedo nodded and beamed a wide grin. “Yeah, I wanna go too. Let’s go!”

She stood and pulled Cyril to his feet as the priest was trying once again to get the piece of potato into his mouth. The potato dropped to the floor and a bedraggled dog snatched it up and ran off before anyone could kick it. With a sigh Cyril dropped his spoon, picked up his cloak, and flung it across his shoulders. The two went out the door and made their way to the docks.

Cyril was amazed how at well the stone braziers had stood up to the tidal wave that had washed away so many other things. Cleanup had already begun. Odd things were clean now and other things had a dirty clutter to them. Alleys were swept clean by the water, but the streets were littered with odds pieces of furniture, clothes, and household goods. You couldn’t smell the reek of fish or the stench of human waste anymore either. Enterprising people shouted as they pushed their carts, selling fish for a brass sharp, scarves for a copper flek, or a coat for a silver pek.

A few pubs had already opened back up for business, and people crowded in their doors or stood in the street outside. Men didn’t seem to need chairs to drink and swap lies. Perhaps the owners liked it better since there was no furniture to break if a fight broke out. Men also brought their own mugs from which to drink, since many of the taverns lost all of their lighter weight items, like plates, cups and flatware. Cyril could hear the tales pouring out as freely as the wine. People talked about the ones they lost and how they don’t know how they will go on without them, or sometimes how they felt the other deserved such a horrid death.

One old woman was telling the tale of her young grandson. They had been homeless and begging on the docks when the water receded, leaving boats on dry land and of fish lying on the floor of the bay. The young boy had run out and started collecting fish. He waved one at his grandmother, she told the crowd with tears in her eyes and a break in her voice, and yelled how they would not go hungry tonight, when the wall of water appeared in the late afternoon sun. The woman tried to rush to the boy but someone had dragged her away. The last she saw of her only living grandchild was as the boy turned and saw the wave towering above him then turning back to her and screaming for her to save him as he ran towards her, only to be overtaken by the wave. The woman had broken down and stopped telling the tale and the crowd passed coins and food to her in sympathy.

Gruedo led the way, keeping her pace slow so that the limping priest could keep up. The crowd was thick on the stone docks. People crowded to the edge to catch a glimpse of what could only be described as an impossibility. Children were lifted up onto people’s shoulders. Inns, taverns and shops that had a second story balcony, windows, or even a porch roof had people crowding out onto them.

Gruedo pushed her way through the crowd. Cyril watched the girl’s hands to see if she was practicing her shadow skills of purse lifting. He had not caught her doing it yet, but Gruedo always had money and didn’t ever stop to pick up any extra coin. The crowd didn’t seem to notice Gruedo as she passed, but they did turn and look at Cyril almost before he brushed against them. He was used to this. He let his holy symbol show and had an air about him that people noticed. Most folks turned away almost as soon as they noticed him, but one figure followed the priest’s progress through the crowd with interest.

Gruedo led him to a building that already had new windows. It was painted a purplish color and the heavy red curtains blocked the view of the inside. Gruedo nodded at the large man standing outside the door as she approached. The man didn’t seem to notice either Cyril or his shorter companion as they entered the building. Inside was plush and incense covered the musty smell of the water that still soaked the carpets. An exotic slim woman in a sheer purple robe greeted them. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, and when she smiled her teeth appeared very white next to her sultry red lips.

“Little sister, good to see you made it safely through the odd storm.” She hugged Gruedo and ran her painted nails across the girl’s cheek.

“Marisa,” Gruedo hugged her in return and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, “I need a room for a little while. I want to show my friend here something he has never seen before.”

Marisa grinned at the way she phrased her request. “I can show him many things he has never seen before.” She licked her lips and looked past Gruedo to the priest. Cyril gripped his own hands and he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. With a laugh, Gruedo came to his rescue.

“No, sister, no need for that. He just wants to see the biggest lizard ever handled by man.”

The madam laughed, a practiced soft and tinkling noise. “Follow me then, I know the perfect room for such a revelation.”

She led the two past a sitting room that had a dozen women in various revealing outfits and poses and up the stairs. The hall was dim and smelled heavily of perfumes. It reminded Cyril of some of the quarters of higher-powered religious men he had visited. The more he looked around at the silver candlesticks and pieces of art, the more he saw similarity in the style and tastes of a whorehouse and an inner sanctum of a church. The biggest difference is the churches had less carpeting. Marisa opened a door at the end of the hall and stepped aside to allow them access.

“You know how to ring my bell if you need anything, little sister.” Marissa closed the door behind them.

“Little sister?” Cyril asked.

Gruedo laughed as she moved to the window and opened the curtains, the carpeting making wet noises with each step. “She isn’t really my sister. We have a bond, but it is not blood. I helped her out of a tight place once a year or two ago. She kind of adopted me, lets me sleep here if I need, and helps me if I need information or stuff like that. The flirting is just a thing she does. She is not really my type.” Gruedo went silent as she stared out the window.

Cyril crossed the room to look. What he saw silenced him also.

Dawn stood on the deck of the Lady Luck with Tildan on her right and Cite and Rogen on her left. “This is why I don’t mess with the weather too much.”

Looking at the town they could see the damage that had been done by the wave they had witnessed the creation of. The waterfront was in tatters. Some businesses looked as if they were operating, but most looked deserted and looted. A crowd began to form on the stone quay as people realized what the Lady Luck was towing behind it.

They were looking for a place to dock in Edgewater, but most of the slips had been destroyed in the wave they had caused. Those that had not been destroyed were all full. The corpse of the sea monster trailed behind them like a small island and flocks of seagulls circled above it or landed on it, digging out bits of decomposing flesh. The crew had seen sharks feeding on the underbelly earlier that morning.

“Dawn,” Cite hesitated and they all turned and looked at him, “I dreamt of you. I have meditated on the dream and I believe it was you. I think we are to meet two others here. I am not sure for what purpose though, but I think you are meant to come with us.”

Dawn nodded and looked over her ship. The bowsprit would need replacing as well as the mainmast. The hull would need some work also. She turned to Tildan.

“Uncle, after speaking with you last night I thought about this. I think it is time you captained the Lady Luck. I need to stop running now. I have business to attend to on land, a debt to pay to one man.” She watched Tildan’s face as she spoke. He watched the shore, his large hands gripping the rail. “We both know it was Malvornick that sent the assassin.”

“Hush, niece, there is no need to say that name aloud,” Tildan said.

“I will not live in fear any longer, Uncle. I have something he wants, and I will no longer wait for him to come to me.”

“You plan to go hunt him then?”

“No, not yet,” she shook her head, “but Cite and Rogen are possibly the best chance I have of bringing the fight to him. Perhaps not right away, but one day. Until then, I will follow Cite’s visions. They seem to point the right way, like a compass in a fog.”

“I can come with you.”

“No. I need you here.” Dawn said. Tildan began to interrupt, but she stopped him with a light touch on his arm. “Uncle, you saved me once. You gave me my father’s ship. You kept the crew for me until I learned to do it myself. I cannot give the ship to anyone else. Father would want you to take the helm until I return. Bezel is not a leader, Warton is not a sailor, and Vonka is a fine pilot but he is no captain. I need you to watch my ship, in case I need to be saved again.” Tildan nodded and took her smaller hand in his and squeezed. “You have the coffers, repair the Lady Luck and get another crew. Sail the waters, find ships flying the flag we despise and continue to strike at our enemies.”

Tildan looked at her for a long time, and then nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Drop the longboat. I am going ashore. I will be back, and to prove it, I will take Bezel with me. He is pretty good at bartering for supplies.”

“Warton should go with you also; you will need a strong back to carry supplies. I expect that prices here will be pretty high, considering what they just went through.” Tildan said and Dawn nodded.

“While I am gone, see who wants to stay and who wants out. I will have Bezel look for a few new crew members and good carpenter.”

Tildan looked behind them at the behemoth. “What should I do with that?”

“What do you think is going to pay for your repairs, Captain Redblood?” Dawn asked with a smile.

Nomed stood in the midst of the crowd, watching. He was not watching what everyone else was though. He was looking back and forth between the two in the window and the approaching longboat. He knew Rogen on sight. The boy with the bearded man must be the one who Dragonblood told him about. The woman, though, was a mystery. He felt he should know her, or at least about her. He looked past the longboat to the ship and read the name, though it was too far for most people to read without a looking glass. Lady Luck. He would find out what that meant to him.

Turning his gaze back to the second story window he saw the two in the whorehouse window were deep in discussion. He could almost hear the gist of their conversation. The short, dark-haired girl would be convincing the noble priest that they should meet these people, so that they could be agents in the selling of the prehistoric beast they had brought with them. The man would have no reason to disagree, but would feel they should stick to their mission of heading into the woods. Which saying was truer? Children will listen or children never listen? It didn’t matter.

Looking through the crowd, he spotted the other hulking cloaked figure also watching the window and smiled. He turned to go and swirled his short cape with flair. The old woman who had lost her grandson fell back with a small screech, throwing her hands up in front of her and staring at the man in terror. People passed by the two, not noticing the exchange.