Severed Empire: Wizard's War Page 7

  Short, but brawny, Helix had thick shoulders and arms. The muscle came from the manual labor involved with working ropes on ships all of his life. Cearl couldn’t stand the beard. The hair was coarse and, more often than not, showcased pieces, or even chunks of food.

  “Stare at her arse all you want, but at least listen to me. I’m not sittin’ here with you talkin’ just for the sake of hearin’ my own voice, you know? I’m tryin’ to tell you somethin.’” Cearl lifted his pint to his lips. There was barely a full sip at the bottom. It wasn’t warm. No ale sat in front of him long enough for it to become warm. However, becoming empty was an on-going issue.

  “Well, what, then? I’m listening now. You’ve anchored my attention. It’s your ugly face I get to stare at now,” Helix said.

  “I’m not ugly.” Cearl leaned back in his chair. He thought the wood legs seemed loose. A chair shouldn’t wobble the way his was. He figured Mercer should stop down, take a look at the carpentry inside the tavern. The man was amazing with a piece of wood and a file; could sculpt a vessel out of… out of a broken barroom chair, if the need be there.

  Helix pointed toward the backside of Jett. “Trust me, son. Ya’are.”

  Cearl shrugged. Point was made. “We need more ale,” he said.

  “Round’s on me,” Helix said.

  “It’s not what I meant to tell you,” Cearl said.

  “Ah, but it is what you said first. You go ahead and formulate what is you’ll be wantin’ to tell me while I fetch us s’more.” Helix snatched the pint from Cearl’s hand. He looked inside, then cocked a questionable eyebrow toward Cearl. Without as much as an insult, Helix polished off what little remained in Cearl’s mug. As Helix turned toward the bar, Cearl heard the man snap his tongue against the back of his teeth three times, tsk, tsk, tsk.

  Cearl sat forward, convinced the chair was about to give way under his weight, and dropped elbows onto the table. He let out an inebriated sigh, his lips vibrated from the escaping breath. He saw two of Helix at the bar, and quite possibly three on the man’s return walk to their table.

  “I don’t care what Jett says, she likes me. You know how you can just tell? Yeah? Well, I can tell. It’s in her eyes.” Helix set the drinks down on the table. Frothy head rocked back and forth on the brim of the pint, and some slid down the side. Using a finger, Helix captured as much of the suds as he could and sucked them off his hand. “Be a shame to let so much go to waste.”

  “Don’t think I can drink anymore.”

  Helix snickered. He still stood by the table, holding his pint in hand. “You have the tolerance of a child, and that’s probably an insult to children across the Old Empire!”

  Cearl wouldn’t argue the assessment. He enjoyed ale, and rum. There were limits. He understood them. In an hour or so Helix would be palm pressed to a building halfway on his way home vomiting onto the walk. It would become a spectacle. Somehow he’d have to keep his friend walking. At least Helix only lived a few blocks away. “Could you sit down, please? You’re making me dizzy.”

  What should have been simple became an ordeal. Helix set his mug down beside the second pint. He gripped the sides of the table with both hands. His eyes opened wide. It looked like they were bulging out of the sockets. Helix let his tongue handle out of the side of his mouth as his left foot traced the wood floor for a few feet, and then the right followed. As he lowered himself, he wiggled his behind until his cheeks found the arms on his chair, as if a hand searching for a glove. When finally he sat, Helix released his death grip on the table and looked up, smiling, clearly proud of the accomplishment.

  The tavern door opened. Sunlight streamed inside. Cearl was too tired, too intoxicated to raise even his hand as a shield for his eyes, and instead just winced.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” Richard, Derecho’s gunner, eyed the pints of ale on the center of the table.

  “What can we do for you, mate?” Helix said.

  Richard ran his tongue over his lips. “I just got word. Gov’ner Hobbs is meeting with the Captain.”

  “What’s Governor Hobbs want with Sebastian? We reported on everything the Mountain King did. It was that creepy wizard that tipped their hand favorably! If he hadn’t of had her casting spells on our ship and on us, we’d never have followed his commands!” Helix punctuated his statement with pounding a first on the table.

  “That is the truth,” Cearl said, his head nodded in agreement perhaps a little too agreeably. The room bounced in and out of focus, as well. “Do you want my ale, Richard? I cannot drink another drop!”

  “Are you sure, Lou?”

  Cearl nodded. “I am. Have at it, gunner.”

  Richard took a healthy swig from the pint and then ran the back of his sleeve across his wet lips. “Oh, the reason I hear Sebastian is meeting with the Gov’ner has nothing to do with King Cordillera.”

  “Then why bother the Captain?” Helix said. He furrowed his brow, and inflated his lips, an animated way of expressing confusion, Cearl supposed. However, he thought the boatswain, respectfully, resembled a hairy hog.

  Richard squatted next to the table, his forearms crossed in front of him, his chin on his arms. “I heard the Derecho is setting sail again,” Richard said.

  “When?” Cearl said.

  “Soon.”

  Cearl smiled. “That is good news.”

  “And we’re bringing on a quartermaster,” Richard said.

  Cearl lost his smile. He was second in command. He handled all of the things a quartermaster was placed in charge of, and then some. “Am I not strong enough to handle discipline, handing out punishments? Our tars are not unruly. We’ve always run a tight ship. The Captain and I keep the Derecho operating as smoothly as its own city when we sail the Isthmian!”

  “I wasn’t in charge of the recruiting, and I didn’t do the hiring.” Richard held up a hand. “Don’t look at me. In this case, I’m merely the messenger.”

  “What is this job?” Helix said.

  Richard raised the mug to his lips and for ten seconds drank the remaining ale. He smacked his lips together, and then belched. He punched a first into his chest, and shook his head recovering. “Someone is flying some sort of red flag at the edge of Delta cove,” he said.

  Cearl said, “And why do we concern ourselves with some flag? Is it our sigil? We don’t have red in our colors.”

  Richard shook his head. “It’s not ours.”

  “So how come we’re responding? What’s to say it’s not that crazy king and his witch waiting in ambush? That seems quite likely to me!” Helix said.

  “You’d have to ask the Gov’ner, I suppose. Like I said. I am just telling you what I’ve heard,” Richard said.

  Cearl said, “But who did you hear from? Not the Captain, right?”

  “No. He’s with Zeta Hobbs now, as we speak,” Richard said.

  “So,” Cearl said. “You want us to believe that you heard about a new quartermaster?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that you know of a new job that will take us to Grey Ashland because of a flying red flag—could be a child’s kite caught in some tree for all we know—but that’s what you heard?”

  “Again, that is right.”

  “See, this is where I get confused. Right now our Captain is just finding all of this out?”

  “It would seem that way.”

  “But you already know it all? Heard it from some source?” Cearl pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, and half his mouth rose in a crooked smile. “Can you understand why I am not putting a lot of my faith in your announcements?”

  ***

  Sebastian regarded the governor with cautious glances. She’d offered him a glass of whisky, which he’d declined, but now regretted. Sitting across from her at the desk he tried relaxing, to no avail. The nameplate set in front of him read: Governor Zeta Hobbs. Writing something inside a ledger, she ignored him for several minutes. The captain thought it might be on purpose, a way to unnerve
him. He wasn’t positive.

  The room was large. Tall clear glass windows were on the west and east sides, with natural light effectively illuminating the entire office. The rest of the walls were lined with bookcases. A pile of books were stacked on a small, round table in a back corner. The desk was crafted from fine wood. It was so large and boxy that it made the governor appear small, but not fragile. Behind her was an unlit fireplace, with a mantle that showcased a longsword on a rack, and matching daggers on the racks above the sword. Impressive steel on display. Although he’d heard the stories about Hobbs, Sebastian wondered if the weapons were once hers, or just for show.

  He could not guess her age. Her silver hair was pulled back tight, and banded off in a long ponytail. It still exhibited a shine that the hair of most older people lacked. Her skin looked milky, smooth. Blue eyes were bright, lively, but also crisp, and cold. Her lips remained full, reddish-pink. Not thin, and flesh colored like his own mother’s had been. Before she sat behind the desk, he’d noticed long, toned legs, a narrow waist, flat stomach, and ample breasts. It didn’t seem accurate calling her beautiful, because she had to be at least twenty or thirty years his senior. Calling her less than beautiful would be insulting.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Just one moment more,” she said.

  “Of course, governor. No problem,” Sebastian said.

  “Thank you, Captain. I just want to finish this while it is on my mind,” she said, and dipped the tip of her fountain pen into a small jar of ink, and scrawled out several more lines of information before gently lowering a lavender marker between the pages and closing the ledger. She replaced the pen in a stand, and then folded her hands on top of the ledger, giving the captain her attention. “I am sure you are curious why I’ve called for you?”

  “Curious, yes,” he said. “Whatever you need, I’ll do my best.”

  She smiled, showing off straight white teeth. “I appreciate that.”

  “I assume this has something more to do with the Mountain King?”

  “Cordillera? No. That matter, for now, is concluded. He will get what’s coming to him, trust me. The sea is ours. I’m not sure who that man thinks he is. He will not get away with his crimes. The time will come when he least expects it, and punishment for his actions will be swiftly dealt with. As it is I’ve cancelled any trading in his ports. Let’s see how ambitious he feels in a month or so when his personal stocks dwindle. I’m sure he’ll call for some kind of meeting, or truce. Having the last laugh is sometimes more rewarding, I think.”

  She was relentless. Sebastian admired her stance, and backed her position. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “No. The reason I’ve called you is because a sort of distress signal has been raised.”

  “Distress?”

  “At the edge of the Delta Cove there is a red scarf flying. It is a signal to me, personally. I don’t wish to get into specifics. The point is, I need you to ready the Derecho for another voyage. I’ll give you specific instructions when you reach the cove.” She stood up and walked toward her window. She pressed the back of hand against clear glass. “A beautiful day out, really. Won’t be many of these left, I suppose.”

  “The winter months can be particularly harsh,” Sebastian said.

  “The what?” she said, facing him.

  “The winter.”

  “Oh yes, I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

  Sebastian was confused. Seemed better to keep his mouth shut, and opinions stifled.

  Governor Hobbs walked back to her desk, sat on a corner, and crossed her arms across her chest. “How soon can the Derecho be ready to sail?”

  Sebastian sat up straight in the chair. He wasn’t comfortable with how high up Hobbs sat. It made him feel less secure. “The carpenter, Mercer, has been working with a team ensuring she’s more than just seaworthy. I was out there yesterday talking with him. Said he’d repaired all of the damage from the battle with Cordillera’s Shadow. The best I can tell, she’s ready now. By morning at the latest,” he said.

  “Good. That sounds perfect. I’d suggest one of the other vessels, but I know you prefer captaining your own ship. And I don’t want another captain in charge of this voyage. Let’s say morning. This will give you time to round up your crew. Does that seem fair?”

  Sebastian stood up; he assumed the meeting was coming to a conclusion. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I want you and the others in Class A uniforms,” Hobbs said.

  “Class A?” He knew where his was. Didn’t think it was in the best of shape. The wrinkles might be as much a part of the dress uniform as the material itself. “I don’t see wh—”

  “First, is because I said so. That alone should be reason enough. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  “Second, this is kind of an important pick up run you’re making. It is more than fishing, or hunting sea serpents.”

  “Aye.”

  “And before you leave, I do have one other thing.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “I am assigning a new person to her crew. A quartermaster.”

  “Quartermaster, ma’am? I have a lieutenant. Cearl is one of the best sailors I know, and a perfect second. I’m not sure we’ve a need for a quartermaster.”

  Zeta Hobbs gave him a smile. It was anything but warm, and reassuring. She stood up and walked around to the back of her desk. She sat down, clearly not intimidated by height. “The decision has been made for a quartermaster to ride on every vessel.”

  It sounded like the governor wanted spies on every vessel. Sebastian kept the thought to himself. He wasn’t sure how other captains ran their ships; on the Derecho it was clean, honest. The tars earned their keep, and he couldn’t recall a disciplinary issue that went beyond a severe scolding by either himself, or his lieutenant.

  “Your new quartermaster is Reed. He’s getting his gear together now. He’ll be at the docks ready to sail at dawn,” she said.

  “Reed, ma’am? I’m not familiar.”

  “He served on Berserker for a while.”

  “With Salinger?”

  She didn’t respond. Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of her silence.

  “Is there anything else, Captain?” she said.

  Sebastian knew now he was being dismissed. He nodded his understanding, and went toward the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he turned around. “And my lieutenant, ma’am?”

  “Cearl? He may remain your second. I have no issue with that. You just see to it that Reed is given the introductions and respect a quartermaster deserves.” She opened the ledger, lifted away the marker, and dipped her fountain pen in more ink. “You may close the door when you leave.”

  Chapter 7

  Leaving Coil near the castle, but out of sight with the weapons and horses, Mykal, Blodwyn and Eadric approached the thin forest of tree stumps surrounding the large wall of Nabal’s keep. Mykal’s grandfather had explained it made a siege much more difficult since there was no clear, direct path for attack. A man-dug moat served as additional protection from attacks, as well as the rumors of a beast that swam circles around the keep. Since his encounter with the serpents from the Isthmian, Mykal now gave the legend some regard, though he’d never seen any signs of anything under the surface.

  Knights patrolled above on the wood walkway between crenellations inside the compound. As they approached the giant wall, knights stood at either side of the barbican, in front of the lowered drawbridge. Their footfalls echoed on wood. Ushered into single file, Mykal and the others passed under the raised spiked, wrought iron gate. At the end of business, the keep was sealed up tight.

  Inside the walls of the keep all eight bastions were visible, but clearly Nabal’s castle was the highlight. Magnificently constructed it sat on a hilltop just above the back end of the walls of the keep, and was outlined by a deep moat of its own.

  Vendors ruled the marketplace. Aromas of stew and meat cooked over open flames
came at Mykal from all directions. There were carts with fresh vegetables, and fruit for sale or trade, as well as necessities such as oil for lanterns, and coal. Dueling mandolins played a song Mykal knew, but could not recall the name of. He wondered how long his father played an instrument, and if he’d ever have the chance to hear him strum out a tune?

  Blodwyn took lead inside the keep, with Eadric and Mykal close behind. Eadric barely kept up, his eyes drawn to nearly every item up for sale, and every person around him. Several times Mykal nearly walked into his father. “Keep moving.”

  Finally, Blodwyn stopped toward the back of the keep, close to the gate leading toward the castle moat. He stood with one hand on his staff, his other arm hidden under his cloak, and blatantly watched two knights by the gate. “That is our way to the castle,” Blodwyn said.

  “We know that,” Eadric said. He pointed at the castle. “Not much of a secret.”

  “No,” Blodwyn said. “I mean them, the knights. They are our way to the castle.”

  “The escort you’re hoping for.” Eadric spun around slowly, as if assessing how much attention they were receiving. Clearly they looked peculiar standing at the edge of the marketplace staring at the knights, huddled close together, and whispering.

  The two knights were dressed in mesh chainmail under sleeveless tunics with the king’s sigil embroidered on the breast. They wore brown leather gloves, and a belt that hung low from holding their swords.

  “I would like to talk with them first,” Mykal said. “I know it sounds hopeless, but maybe if we give them just enough information, they will have no choice but to bring us in front of the king. How would it look if they knew a war was coming and did nothing to warn him?”

  “Futile, I’m sure, but worth a try,” Blodwyn said.

  The three of them walked over to the knights. Both guards stared at them, hands on hilts. “Halt,” one demanded.

  Mykal noticed archers on the wall, arrows nocked, aimed at the three of them. He held up his hands, showing he was not armed. “We have news. It is imperative we speak with the king.”