Quendalon/Session26ZeraInterlude
Sea spray sparkled in the bright morning sun, as the prow of the merchant ship Dawnbreak cut through the waves. Despite the chill of the early hour, bare-chested men moved with purpose across her broad decks, checking lines and manipulating sails at the behest of a tall, dark-coated man with a pointed beard that left his upper lip bare.
Five soliders stood at their ease on the back deck, burnished mail glinting and their Imperial banner rustling in the stiff breeze. Their two officers stood across the deck, one gesturing animatedly and speaking heatedly, the other watching her impassively. The last member of the passenger party hung half over the rail not too far away, emptying his belly noisily. One of the soldiers pointed and made a joke, her blonde braid swinging as her shoulders shook with laughter. The others joined in, but never kept their eyes off the horizon.
This inlet, which wound its way around the entire Blessed Isle and served as the major sea-trade route for much of the Threshold was much safer to traverse in years gone by. The Imperial Navy was ruthless in its pursuits of privateers, pirates, and rogue water spirits alike. It was joked that three Linowan children could pole a skiff laden with jade blocks from Cherak to the Lap unmolested. Since the Scarlet Empress’s disappearance, those metaphorical Linowans would have a rougher trek indeed. The pirates were all too aware of the Navy’s internal woes and power struggles, and trade was beginning to suffer.
As all good soliders and adventurers are wont to do, Lord Ledaal Corvan had taken a bad situation and made it work to his advantage. It wasn’t any trouble at all finding a merchant captain that would drop them off in Chiaroscuro for no other passage fare than protection from pirates. Zera Thisse pushed himself away from the rail and scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. He had never been on a ship before, and his first impression was not exactly favorable. The decision to take this route had been sudden, and he cast his mind two days back, to the streets of Kirighast.
The boy from Thorns pulled himself from the depths of sleep, groping in the dark for his daggers. Someone outside was pounding on the door to his room so hard the hinges were beginning to creak in protest.
“Wake up, boy! The sun’ll be up in minutes, and you don’t want to keep the Talonlord waiting, do ya?” Doma’s voice sounded like rocks grating on a good day, and this early in the morning it sounded like a mountain falling down. Zera sat up and rubbed his eyes groggily.
He had stayed up later than he intended, as he played his flute for the patrons of The Wild Plains Rose, and likewise drank much more free ale than he intended. Sitting up wasn’t any easier on his head than laying down, so he didn’t think standing would be any worse. He gathered his things, and tottered uneasily across the room, following Doma into the unforgiving sunlight.
Zera was not the only one who expressed confusion when the Scale assembled at the Harbor Quarter of Kirighast. They were several days behind, and they should have already cleared the gate and been finding the trail anew. The remaining men and women of the Scale talked quietly, shooting curious glances at the impassive Doma.
They fell into a trained silence immediately as Ledaal Mya and Lord Ledaal Corvan strode into view. The two Dynasts stood next to the gruff bannerman; the look of consternation on Mya’s face indicated that they’d had another of their now-infamous arguments this morning. She glanced away, as the Talonlord cleared his throat, and turned to address the soliders.
“We have come to a decision.” Mya grimaced silently as Corvan continued. “The majority of the Scale is to remain here for a period of four months. You will await word that we have completed our mission, which will preceed us. In the event that a missive is not received in the time alloted, you will charter a ship back to the Blessed Isle and report my failure directly. I ask for five volunteers to accompany myself and Lady Mya, who will take ship with us in the next hour to proceed to Chiaroscuro.”
The silence of the fighting men and women hung like a cloak over the bustle of the busy harbor. Men dressed in rough canvas and bearing coils of rope or tarped-up bundles squeezed by the soldiers with mumbled apologies, catching the mood and wanting no part of it.
A rough grunt issued from the weathered bannerman. “I’ll take a spear in my guts ‘fore ye leave me here with this rabble, my Lord.” His grin displayed an incomplete set of teeth, and Corvan nodded solemnly. “Anyone else?”
Two of the archers, who also happened to be brothers, stepped forward almost simultaneously. The taller of the two dark-haired lads, a cheerful sort by the name of Nalsin spoke. “Me and ol’ Jace here will come along, by yer leave. Ye’ll need some bow-work before this is done.” Jace, younger and a bit shy, only nodded.
Aleia tossed her lance to a companion and patted the shortsword at her side. “No one’s leaving me out of this. Besides, I love the sea. I wouldn’t mind a chance to sail all the way to Chiaroscuro.” She winked at Zera, and the boy felt a touch of sadness at her decision.
Another woman broke the ranks of the lancers, and handed her lance off as well. She was tall and lithe, with skin the color of jet. Her brown eyes peered calmly from the depths of her helmet, and she caressed the handles of two straightswords that protruded over each shoulderplate. She was Rhielle, a woman originally from Chiaroscuro, and Corvan and Mya both nodded with approval as she stood with the other four.
Zera glanced at the others, and met the eyes of the two Dynasts. He sighed loudly, and shrugged. “So, when do we leave?”
Two more days passed, and Zera mostly stayed out of the sailors’ way and did his best not to incur the wrath of Captain Kore any more than he already had. The man was a lifelong sea dog, and he harbored nothing but contempt for “landlubbin’ sons of tree-climbers” and the like. He played the flute for some of the men at night, and told stories of some of the places he’d been to the East. In return, the sailors told him about the seafaring peoples of the Coral Archipelago and Abalone, and about the fanciful creatures that seemed to populate the depths of the ocean.
He also began to find his sea legs, and decided to take turns watching from the crow’s nest. He was a woodsman at heart, and the ropework and wheel-tilling was lost on him, no matter how patient the man or woman was who tried to teach him. He was just retreating from a crusty sailor named Ulae, who had been trying to show him how to tie a sheepsfoot knot for the last two hours, when he ran almost headlong into Ledaal Mya.
“Pardon, Lady. I should have been watching whe-“. She raised a hand commandingly. “No matter. I was careless as well. Walk with me for a moment, Master Thisse.” Zera sighed and shrugged. Her moment of vulnerability out on the plains was long gone, and she was just a commanding officer at this point. He followed, as she threaded her way to the back deck, where she stopped to stare out at the open water.
“Why are you here?” The question was quietly spoken, but her tone could cut granite at a hundred paces. Zera raised a questioning brow. “Why wouldn’t I be? I was hired to track General Derelann, and help you sheep-footed soliders get through the wilderness alive.” A slight grin cracked his face, and died when Mya didn’t share his mirth. “When we next port, I want you off this boat, Zera Thisse. This is non-negotiable. We’ll pay you what we owe, and enough to take ship back to Thorns besides.” Zera opened his mouth to argue, but the proud lieutanant had already turned away and started walking back to the cabin. The archer from Thorns just grinned. “Like hell, Sir.”
A week later, the Dawnbreak found itself in a small port town named Aeleren’s Rest, roughly halfway between Kirighast and the capital city of Yane. It was of a moderate size, surrounded by heavy wooden palisades and containing a bustling marketplace and harbor. There was even a stone keep atop a small hill, overlooking the rest of the town. A banner depicting crossed swords over a full-sailed galleon flapped lazily in the sea breezes. It was a welcome respite indeed from open waters and the rough shouts of Captain Kore Rojian.
Zera walked down a broad, cobblestoned avenue, arms loaded with provisions and barely keeping up with Aleia as she threaded through the crowd. Jace and Nalsin had already fallen a full bowshot behind. She turned and grinned at the struggling archer, as hawkers cried out their wares and services, and townspeople haggled for the same.
“Come, farmboy, our quarry will reach Gem by the time you get that dried meat aboard!” Aleia laughed at her own wit, and Zera unleashed the blackest look he could muster. The forms of the two Imperial archers could be seen in the distance, sweating and cursing. “Is everyone from Lord’s Crossing as charming as you, solider?” Aleia only laughed the harder at Zera’s barb. “Not even close. Now hurry up!’ The boy could only curse and follow as best he could.
After the provisions were hauled aboard, the Talonlord Ledaal Corvan gathered his small force on the rear deck, and addressed them. “I estimate that we have gained several days on our target. In light of this, and because the journey was less than pleasant, I am granting everyone a day of leave. You will receive your standard pay today, and you may do whatever you wish. Just be back here by daybreak tomorrow, and ready to sail. I mean to reach Chiaroscuro before the General.” Cheers broke out among the rank and file, and Doma shrugged. Battle or beer – it was all a good time to that worthy solider. Ledaal Mya sighed and disappeared back through the cabin door, her face unreadable.
Night fell over Aeleren’s Rest, and all along the streets and avenues the darkness was chased away by the light spilling through open doors. The Dynasts had luck with them, as they reached the town during the Festival of Aeleren. The town was named after a outcaste Dragon-Blood who chanced upon the village over three hundred years ago. The town had been plagued with bandits and worse, and she convinced them to rise up and fight for their safety and for their future. She died in the battle, the victim of the bandit lord’s First Age weapon, but was quickly avenged. The townspeople were now notorious for their self-sufficiency and pride, and they venerated the noble Dragon-Blood every year.
Three hundred years later, in the tavern called The Drunken Gull, the five soliders and the boy from Thorns got to know each other better, amidst the din and the laughter and the sounds of fife, lute, and drum. Barmaids balanced impossibly-laden trays and evaded pinching hands with a dancer’s grace. Voices raised up in song, creating that dissonant harmony that only drunkeness can create.
“So, I leveled me bow at the man, and I says,” Jace interrupted his own tale to swig at his dented tin mug of ale. Foam blew from his lips as he continued. “And I says, you’ve got two choices, me boy. You can lay that sword down and leave, or I’ll put more feathers in ya than a goose-down pillow!” Laughter and cheers raised from the soldiers, all fans of the bravado-filled tale. Nalsin smiled a little, which seemed to be the apex of emotion he could show.
Aleia called for more ale, and defly pinched a cleaning lad as he ghosted by with a broom and broken crockery in hand, all while balancing precariously on Zera’s lap. Rhielle spun around the room in the arms of a rough-but-pretty mercenary woman, dancing a jig as the makeshift tavern band reeled through “Toss the Feathers”. The song ended, and the crowd clapped for the dancers. People began to shove tables and chairs to each side of the room, catching the desire to dance from the sword-scarred couple.
Doma whispered something to Zera, who grinned and worked his way out from under the lancerwoman, pulling his flute from his pouch and making his way to the other musicians. After a quick word, they started up a new tune, which Doma began to sing along with in a raspy, whiskey-throated voice.
“It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all
by the campfire at night, where the wild woves call but there’s nothing so morbid, so drear Than to stand at a bar of a pub with no beer,
Now the publican’s anxious for the quota to come There’s a faraway look on the face of the bum The maid’s gone all cranky and the cook’s acting queer What a terrible place is a pub with no beer!”
Hoots of laughter sounded as the rest of the soliders joined in, followed shortly by the other patrons of the bar. Zera snatched his flute away to sing particuarly favorite lines.
“Then the swordsman rides up, with his dry, dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar and pulls a coin from his coat The smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer When the barman said sadly the pub’s got no beer,
Old Billy the blacksmith – first time in his life He’s gone home cold sober to his darling wife He walks in the kitchen, she says ‘you’re early, my dear’ But he breaks down and tells her, the pub’s got no beer!”
It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all By the campfire at night, where the wild wolves call But there’s nothing so morbid, nothing so drear, Than to stand at a bar of a pub with no beer!”
Doma swayed arm-in-arm with Aleia and Jace as he finished the last line, and the room exploded with laughter and catcalls. Nalsin grinned as wide as his thin lips would allow, and promptly dropped his head on the tabletop, snoring loud enough to cut the din of the room. Sides shaking with mirth, the massive Bannerman and the irrepressible archer Jace picked up the sleeping lad and began to drag his limp, slumbering form up the wide staircase.
Aleia slipped an arm around Zera’s shoulder as he put the flute back into its leather case. “Still playing hard to get?” Zera grinned. “Race you upstairs!” As the pair shoved and tripped their way to reach the staircase first, a black-haired man with one hard gray eye and one empty eyesocket watched them go, a cruel grin on his face.
Three days and good, strong winds left Aeleren’s Rest far behind the wake of the Dawnbreak. Zera was just starting to feel well again, and this time he was not the only one hanging from the sides of the ship. Jace had made more than one joke about the sickness, saying he may as well have tossed his silver over the side and not wasted the ale. Corvan and Mya did nothing to discipline the sorry state of their armsmen, knowing as well as the soldiers did that it was likely no one aboard was going to see the Realm again.
Having recovered enough to resume taking watches, Zera narrowed his eyes and shaded them from the sun with a cupped hand. “Captain! Ho there, Captain . . . I think I see another vessel.” The black-coated, black bearded man glanced up with more than a touch of irritation. “Aye lad, we’re not the only craft floatin’ about, making trade down this way!” He shook his head, cursing his decision to let the boy up there, until Zera finished his sentence. “Captain . . .they’re flying no flag. Doesn’t every ship need a flag so you can identi – “
The boy was cut off by the Captain’s rough shouts. “To arms, ye sons of landlocked cur dogs! Privateers off the stern side! To arms!” The soldiers grimaced, and formed a line along the rear deck. Doma motioned for Jace and Nalsin to find perches up in the rigging. Zera climbed hand over hand down the ropes and found his own perch, pulling his bow off his back and stringing it as fast as he could.
The crew quickly divided, leaving only barely enough to keep the ship moving. The rest drew notched boarding swords or curved gaffs, and fear mixed with determination in their eyes. Despite the best efforts of the skeleton crew, the sleek black craft began to grow larger, drawing closer by the moment. The Captain banged on the cabin door, and screamed for the Dragon-Bloods to emerge.
Corvan emerged clad only in breeches and boots, belting on his daiklave as he eame through the door. His hair was disheveled and he rubbed sleep from his eyes as he joined his underlings on the deck. Mya strode into the sunlight fully armored and already wearing her own weapons. She joined the rest silently, grim faced and ready.
Barefoot men scrambled all about the decks of the Dawnbreak, pouring buckets of seawater onto the brightly-blazing torches the pirates threw aboard, or doing their best to push the boarding planks off the rail before the cutlass-bearing pirates could get aboard.
Rough-clad, seaworn men howled as they vaulted over the rails and laid about them with their swords, hacking down whatever moved around them. Their faces were twisted with the glee of doing murder and the greedy dreams of what the holds contained below. Boarding swords clashed as the deckhands abandoned all posts and rushed to meet the invaders, and soon the deck was slippery with blood and salty water.
The Dynasts threw themselves into the fray with efficency and precision. Everywhere they pressed, pirates died or ran screaming and bloody. Rhielle danced from deck to deck, a blood-covered angel of the sword. She spun and pirhouetted, and her ebony blades dealt death to all that challenged her. Jace, Nasin, and Zera sent one flight of arrows at the initial rush, and followed with precise shots when the flow of battle allowed. Doma and Aleia fought back to back, grimly holding their own as wave after wave of adversaries came across the boarding planks.
Corvan and Mya alone held the foredeck from all comers, until the rogue captain swung aboard with his three bodyguards. All three were surrounded by the same anima banners that swirled around the two Dynasts, and suddenly their battle didn’t seem nearly as easy. They touched blades together for luck, and split apart, pressing the attack. Wind and Wood met Water and Fire, and soon the deck howled and blazed in the wake of their power.
Zera ducked a thrown hatchet and loosed another shaft, taking his enemy in the chest and dumping him over the side of the ship. Jace and Nalsin had already emptied their quivers and swung down to join the fray, shortswords flashing in the sun. He only had three arrows left himself, and his eyes cast about to see where he could do the most good. Judging by the lights and winds and flames on the foredeck, there was nothing he could do there.
He continued to scan the frothing melee on the deck, and saw a knife-wielding pirate creep up behind Captain Kore, who held off two men with his gem-hilted cutlass. The arrow flew true, and Zera was already seeking his next target. The next took a pirate threatening Nalsin in the throat, and suddenly Zera found himself falling. The hatchet had almost cut the rope supporting the boom he stood on, and his weight finally pulled the rope apart. He sought to grasp the rigging around him, but his flight was too fast, his reflexes only human. He crashed to the deck and the world went black around him.
He awoke to silence, and for a few brief moments entertained the notion that he had died. He soon realized he was in a bed in the captain’s cabin, naked under the blankets and in a great deal of pain. A bandage of rough cloth was wound tightly around his head, and it was still damp with his blood. There was only the gentle rocking of the ship cutting through the waves, and the creaking of timbers. Something didn’t seem right, and finally Zera indentifed the feeling of wrongess. The smell of char and burning wood hung faintly on the air coming through the porthole, almost lost amidst the salt and brine.
Gingerly, he pushed himself to his feet and glanced around the room, finding his clothing folded neatly next to the bed. He pulled his breeches on and stamped into his boots, and opened the cabin door. Jace and Nalsin, the former wearing bandages of his own around his chest, stood guard at the entrance, and each put a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, mate. You don’t want to be walkin’ around just yet.” Jace said, his eyes touched with sadness. Nalsin nodded emphatically. “Just sleep a bit more, we’ll wake you in the morning.”. There was something to his voice Zera didn’t like, and he was about to say so when Doma’s voice floated from the shadows. “He liked her, lads. He should send her off with the rest of us.”. Somehow, Zera liked the tone of Doma’s voice even less. After the other two nodded their acquiesence, he followed the three of them unsteadily to the back deck.
Ledaal Corvan, Mya, and Rhielle stood waiting for them, the former still shirtless and his chest and left arm swathed in heavy, bloodstained bandages. Mya had her left leg-plate off, and finished tying the tourniquet around her own wound. Rhielle was completely untouched, but tears leaked from her large brown eyes. At their feet was an unmoving mound swathed in a black cloth. Zera wondered almost madly why they’d keep the enemy captain’s body in such a respectful state. His eyes traveled to the horizon, and saw the flames of the pirate ship in the far distance. All their bodies would be aboard, as per custom.
Zera turned to Doma. “So, who’s under the . . .who’s . . . .oh no. No.” The Bannerman only nodded roughly and laid his huge, scarred hand on the boy’s shoulder. Corvan eyed the lad with the merest touch of sympathy in his eyes, and began to speak.
“Lancerwoman Aleia Karavas served in my Talon for eleven years. She served with honor, taking wounds at the battle of Daran’s Ford, and again repelling a Arczeckh raid. She had personally saved my life on two occasions, and was the daughter of a proud merchant’s house. She has seen her final battle, and will find comfort in the embrace of the Dragons and the sleep of the dead.”
Zera cried out, and made to move forward to the body under the shroud. Doma’s hand became a painful trap, and the lad was held immobile, left only to wipe the stinging tears that fell from his eyes and left trails in the dirt and blood caked on his face. Corvan sighed, and continued.
“It is typically our custom to send the remains of our soldiers and heroes of the Legion back to the Blessed Isle, so they make their way to Sijan for preperation and interment. Aleia spoke to me personally before this sojourn, and made her wishes clear, should this happen. She loved the sea as a child, and wishes to rest in her arms. And so, we commit the body of this proud hero of the Fifth Legion to the sea. Doma, Zera, approach.”
Zera looked almost as shocked as Doma did, but managed to hobble forward to stand where Aleia’s head and shoulders lay under the black sheet. Rhielle wiped her own eyes and nodded with grim approval. The others said nothing, only watched with a mixture of grief and soldierly stoicism. Doma gripped the bottom edge of the shroud, and after a moment, Zera managed the same.
With the sheet lifted away, the wind picked up strands of Aleia’s blonde hair, and Zera found himself smoothing them back under her steel helmet. Her eyes were shut and she still wore her armor, which bore a large rent from the chest to the waist. The edges were still stained red, and Zera had to turn his head from the sight.
“The bearers will lift the body.” Corvan no longer spoke with the proud tones of a comrade-in-arms, but with the respect-commanding air of a Sijan Funerist. Zera slid his hands gently under Aleia’s limp shoulders, and lifted as Doma did the same with his hands around her ankles. “The bearers will commit the body to the waves.” The two men swung their bodies back, and then violently forward, releasing the body.
With a splash, the armor-clad figure disappeared beneath the waves. The two Dynast archers and the swordswoman Rhielle turned immediately away and disappeared from sight. Mya and Doma whispered quiet prayers, and followed their comrades. Corvan stood side by side with the bereaved Zera, silently staring at the water where Aleia took her final rest. “Play for her, archer. Play her the saddest thing you know.”
Zera pulled his flute from his pack. Wiping his tears aside, he put the tin instrument to his lips, and soon the haunting notes of “I Am Stretched on your Grave” floated out on the wind, away from the ship and over the lonely waves. Corvan knew the song, yet he did not sing the words. He simply shut his eyes and listened, wondering how many more times he would ask to hear that song before they reached the end.”
Later that night, Zera stood on the spot where Aleia had fallen. Doma had told him how it happened – one of the rogue captain’s Dragon-blooded bodyguards had fled from Corvan’s wrath, and skewered the lancerwoman as she tried to stop him from reaching the gangplank. It was brave almost to the point of stupidity, and Zera felt a well of pride for having known such a warrior.
He couldn’t shake a sense of guilt, as he toyed with the last arrow that had lay in his quiver. He could have done something if he’d only reached the rigging, if he’d only been a little faster. He could have at least distracted the Dragon-Blood until Mya or Corvan got there. If he had been more than a weak little boy playing at adventurer, he could have saved that woman’s life.
“Last shaft, Zera?” The boy looked up in surprise, as he’d only heard Nalsin’s voice a scant few times on the trip. He nodded. “I don’t know if you know much about us Legionnares, Zera, but we each have some traditions. Things that separate us from the other squabs in the other units. I hear it’s the same with merc groups and those lads up in Lookshy.” Zera said nothing, turning his gaze to the star-lit waves.
“We archers of the Fifth have one you may be interested in. We’re a tight bunch, and don’t like losing any of our lads. If we do, and the enemy isn’t yet defeated, we take whatever shafts we have left, and we paint them black. Arrowheads and all. We save them arrows until we’re up against the unit that bloodied us. Then we let them have those black arrows. . . . there’s been times when that’s been enough to break their lines, just for fear of our anger. Good night, Zera Thisse.” Nalsin turned and walked back the way he came, to where his brother waited by the main mast. Zera turned back, and saw that the archer had left him a small jar of pitch on the railing. With silent thanks for the quiet soldier, he unscrewed the lid, dipped his fingers in, and began to coat that last arrow.
