Death March

GRALLIK’S DAY IN PORT

Grallik weathered the hostile stares of Saro-Saro’s clan as he headed to the shore and turned west, toward the town in the distance. As he approached, he could see that the town was larger than he first thought, built on a low hill and apparently sectioned into estates. The harbor was extensive, and so many dozens of masts stood out against the sky that Grallik did not try to count all the ships.

He was pleased for the opportunity to leave the smelly, noisy horde of goblins behind for a while. That was his first taste of freedom since joining Direfang’s army.

He pulled off his boots and walked barefoot in the sand. His sore feet still ached and were riddled with blisters that he doubted would ever fully heal. After half a mile he threw the well-worn boots into the sea. The uncut gems in the pouches would buy him the best boots in the town-would buy him anything.

He couldn’t help but smile.

Another man, even Horace no doubt, would have absconded with the gems and booked passage on a ship, fled the damnable goblins, whose number seemed to multiply at every turn, leaving them all behind, stranded at the mouth of the river. Horace might even believe that Zeboim had gifted him with the gems and freedom. But Mudwort was right. She knew Grallik would return, hoping she would share her magic. And because Direfang trusted Mudwort, the wizard had been given the task and allowed that blissful time alone.

“I really should leave them all,” he mused. “Forget the magic the little red goblin casts. Live like a prince.” But he knew he would do as he had promised. Magic meant more to him than the gems. And the magic that Mudwort practiced was priceless.

“Where did that goblin get all of these gems?” Reorx’s Cradle, of course, he realized, thinking it over. No one in Steel Town possessed such valuables. And she had more. Grallik had seen the two other pouches at her waist. “That little monster has a fortune.”

Away from the goblins, the air smelled better; it was salt-tinged from the sea and redolent of fish. The sea air was such a welcome change that Grallik breathed as deeply as he could.

The early sky was empty of clouds and growing bluer as the sun peeked farther over the horizon. The breeze was faint and came from the west, bringing with it a hint of baking bread. The wizard’s stomach rumbled.

“New boots,” he said. “A warm meal and wine. New clothes and … clothes …”

He examined his threadbare undertunic, which was stained, ripped, and bloody. His hair was matted and filthy, and the stubble on his face was thick. If, looking like that, he approached any shopkeeper in whatever passed for the town’s merchant district, if he sought out any ship’s captain, any sane person would think him a beggar. If he presented even a single gem to buy something, they would most certainly declare him a thief, call the watch, and throw him in a dungeon. They would confiscate the fortune he carried.

“A raggedy, raggedy man I am,” he said, almost merrily, thinking over the problem. “Whatever to do about it?”

He skirted the waterfront and slipped down an alley between a rickety tavern and a bait shop. He hugged the wall and waited, his mind whirling. He smelled garbage; enough of it was piled outside the tavern’s side door. But he also smelled cinnamon, and he scanned the street beyond and spotted a bakery. Again his stomach growled. It hadn’t taken him long to walk there, and it was still so early that not many people were walking around. Behind him, toward the dock, sailors and fishermen had begun working on their boats, and smaller ships were putting out to sea. But toward the heart of the city, people were just waking up-or still slept.

Grallik waited.

Minutes later a merchant strolled past the corner where he was crouched, and the wizard was quick to act.

“Good sir!” Grallik remained tucked in the alley but reached out a hand and motioned to the stranger.

The merchant stopped and stared, made a move to keep going, then held his place when he saw Grallik hold up something that caught the light.

“I’ll part with this gem for some coins, good sir.”

The merchant edged closer, gazing down the street to his right and left, then looking back toward Grallik and peering behind him to make sure no one else hid, waiting in the alley.

“I’ve need of some coins, good sir.” Grallik didn’t have to work very hard to get an edge of desperation in his voice. “Help me out. I beg you.”

The merchant’s eyes gleamed. Greed, Grallik recognized. Finally, the man came close, and Grallik handed him one of the smaller gemstones.

“How did you come by this?” The merchant stared. “A sapphire.”

“Yes, it is a sapphire. I’ve more.” Grallik stepped deeper into the alley where the shadows were especially thick.

The merchant hesitated only a moment then followed Grallik. A few minutes later, Grallik was donning the merchant’s jacket and trousers and shoving the man’s singed body behind the mound of tavern refuse in the alley. Flies, momentarily disturbed, were quick to swarm anew. Grallik put on the merchant’s boots, finding them tight and hurtful. He clutched the man’s coin pouch and jangled it.

“A fairly wealthy man, were you?” The jacket was of fine material, yet it was old; the same for the trousers. “You should have spent some of your coin on clothes.” Grallik adjusted the shirt and closed the jacket over a burned patch on the chest; Grallik had been forced to aim his fire spell at the man’s heart. He looked inside the pouch. “My, my. This will certainly do. You wouldn’t spend your coins on clothes, but I will.” The merchant had a cap, so Grallik put it on and tucked his filthy hair up and under.

Making sure the man’s body was reasonably well concealed, Grallik stepped out on the street and looked around for a clothier’s. The outfit wouldn’t suit him for very long; someone might recognize it as belonging to the now-deceased merchant. However, it was better to walk around in than his ruined undertunic.

His gait felt stilted because the boots were so tight. He shuffled past a small district of stone and wood buildings, only a few of them two stories tall. Some were residences; most were businesses, marking the place as a thriving port town. The town seemed to offer a little of everything, and Grallik’s next stop was a public bath, where he used the first of the merchant’s coins. It wouldn’t do to bring out any of the precious sapphires there; just one would have paid for a thousand baths.

He slipped into the warm copper tub and washed the salt and dirt and dried sweat off, allowing his mind to drift for several long minutes as a young woman added perfumed oils and began to cut his hair. He’d enjoyed no such bath in years. He’d been afforded few luxuries in Steel Town, nor in his previous post. Though, in his days with the black-robed wizards, he’d enjoyed plenty of costly unnecessary extravagances.

The woman was speaking to him in a low, musical, pleasant voice, but he paid no attention. Instead, he thought about the red-skinned goblin and her promise to teach him her peculiar earth magic. He had no doubt she would live up to her end of the bargain … provided he could help lead the goblin horde to the Qualinesti Forest.

“So long I’ve been from home,” he murmured.

“Pardon, sir?”

He stared at her. She was not as young as he first thought, a little plump, and her nose was crooked. Her eyes seemed too small for her face, but it was a sweet, kind face. And her hair was a dull shade of brown that had been cut too short for his liking.

“A shave too.”

She was quick to comply, briefly staring at the scars on the left side of his face as she worked, noticing the scars on his left arm and side as well. His beard had grown unevenly because of all of the scars, and he imagined he looked vile to her.

“You’re half-elf, sir.” She was trying to make polite conversation, though his scars worried her. “Where are you from?”

He wondered if he should answer honestly. “Steel Town,” he said after a few moments. “Iverton.”

“I’ve never heard of that place, sir.”

“And no one will ever hear of it again,” he said softly.

He closed his eyes and felt the razor continue to move slowly across his cheeks. He ought to purchase a shaving kit-two because Horace would also be pleased to be given one. Grallik decided he would not allow himself to look so unkempt ever again.

He refrained from purchasing the woman’s company for anything else, though he was sorely tempted. Perhaps, if there was time later, he would return to that soothing bath house. Perhaps there would even be a more comely and younger woman available.

His next stop was at the finest tailor shop in that part of town, one whose windows displayed completed garments. It had been too many years since Grallik had felt soft, new fabric against his fire-scarred skin. With a dozen coins, he purchased a padded linen shirt with brown trim at the elbows and down the front. The shirt fit too loosely, and the tailor offered to take it in. Grallik had spotted nothing in the shop small enough for his gaunt frame.

“I will grow into it,” he mused softly, “when I eat properly again.” The breeches were green and stopped at mid-calf, inches above the tops of his too-tight boots. The hoodlike hat he purchased helped to conceal his facial scars and matched the breeches. “Can you refer me to a cobbler? The best in town?”

The tailor was quick to give Grallik directions, and the wizard purchased two more outfits before leaving. He burned his purloined clothes in another alley and replaced the stolen boots at the cobbler’s. The new ones were soft leather, dyed a brown so dark that they looked nearly black. They laced up to his knees, where he could tuck his breeches in. He bought a pair of comfortable slippers, three pairs of leather gloves, and a backpack to carry his other clothes, the gloves, and the slippers.

The only thing left before finding passage for the goblins was to fill his stomach.

“The finest place to dine in this neighborhood, please,” he told the cobbler.

The recommendation was nearby.

Only minutes later, fruit preserves and fresh cheese were sitting in a polished oak bowl in front of him. Grallik had asked for the table farthest from the door so he could watch the rest of the establishment and inspect all the customers as they arrived. The aroma of the place was intoxicating- from the polishing cream used on the walnut furniture, to the scented candles, to the fruit, to the many delights simmering in the kitchen.

Breakfast was being served, but another dozen coins convinced the cook to whip up more substantial fare. His first course was smoked fish on toast rounds. That was followed by roasted turnips, an onion tart, and sauteed cabbage. He had to wait quite some time for the salomene-the rare, twice-cooked fish in a light sauce, complemented by saffron rice and tiny sausages. His feast ended with sugared pears, wafers, and grape juice.

Grallik staggered from the inn, stuffed and sated. His stomach had so shrunken while in the company of the goblins that he was not used to eating so much. On his way to the docks, he stopped in another alley and leaned against a wall and pressed his hands against his stomach. He fought to keep the rich meal down.

“Horace could have shared it with me. He would have enjoyed it.” Grallik moaned. “Too bad he couldn’t have joined me on this little adventure.” Yet the priest might have objected to killing the merchant for his clothes and coins and for putting personal needs-the bath and the meal- ahead of the main job: seeking passage for the goblins. Grallik thought Horace evinced too many scruples for a Dark Knight. But then, thinking it over, again he wondered whether the priest might have gotten it in his head to bolt with the gems, knightly honor notwithstanding.

Grallik chuckled to himself, despite his stomach discomfort. “We’re not Dark Knights any longer, though the goblins still think us such. We’re hardly men anymore.” Grallik and Horace had left the Knighthood when they left Steel Town. They’d left scruples behind.

They’d left everything.

Grallik looked toward the wharf. It was late morning, he guessed, by the length of the shadows. He couldn’t spot the sun from his position. But when he looked up and stared around, he spied gulls circling, their cries mingled with the sounds coming from the docks-ships creaking against timbers, sailors shouting, the clomping of boots against the planks and decks.

The odors of fish and shrimp were strong, and while they were not unpleasant, they made his eyes water. That, coupled with his struggling stomach, was too much. Grallik finally stopped resisting and bent over behind a crate of refuse, retching until he felt better. His throat burned and his mouth was filled with a horrid taste, and he was annoyed with himself to have wasted such a fine meal.

“But there will be at least one more fine meal before I leave,” he vowed. And it would not be fish; he had a taste for beef, which he hadn’t eaten for a long, long time. Yes, he’d return to that inn or, more likely, another on recommendation. He wasn’t about to go back to the goblins without having dined well a second time, as he didn’t know when he would ever get such an opportunity again.

Grallik swallowed repeatedly in an attempt to get the sour taste out of his mouth. It helped only a little. He brushed at the front of his new shirt and adjusted it at the waist so the folds were more even. Then he headed down toward the wharves.

The gulls were more plentiful as he drew closer, and they acted braver. They dipped down to snatch crumbs from the street that ran parallel to the shore, and they waddled behind passersby, squawking for treats. Pelicans were perched atop timbers and on the roof of one of the bait shops. All over were barrels of fish being off-loaded from boats just arriving. And every place Grallik looked, he saw men working on sails and rigging, painting trim, and hurrying from ships to the shore and back again.

Grallik felt almost dizzy, drinking it all in. He’d been in port towns only a few times, and those were in years long past. He’d not been so interested in the ships then; he’d preferred the inland for his Dark Knight postings. So he’d never really paid attention before to the activities along the docks. It was a blur of sound and color, and he simply stood and gaped for a time.

If the red-skinned goblin were looking in on him-as he well knew she could do with her seeing spells-he hoped she was watching him right then. He had needed a bath and clothes and something to eat. Then she would see him going about the business of transporting Direfang’s followers to the Qualinesti Forest.

Grallik had few fond memories of his former home, and he had never expected to return there. But Mudwort sought something in those woods, and whatever interested her interested him. He steepled his fingers and looked from one ship to the next.

Now there was an amazing vessel! The largest in port, it bore four masts with blue pennants flying from the top of each one. There were three crow’s nests, with men atop each of them, even though it looked as though the ship were not leaving anytime soon. Grallik walked along a plank sidewalk so he could better see the ship. The Mercy Corvan, it was called, and along the top at the back were ornate carvings of horses pulling a man riding in a chariot. The carved man was dressed in a flowing robe; his left shoulder and arm were exposed. Birds with human faces were perched on his arm, all expertly rendered and painted garishly. There were windows rather than portholes, and the glass gleamed like diamonds in the bright sun.

Sailors steadily worked on the deck, some painting rails that looked as if they were in no need of painting. Most of the sailors were dark skinned.

“Ergothians,” Grallik said to himself. “Horace’s people.” The wizard was glad then the priest hadn’t come along on his errand. Horace had made it clear he wanted to return home, and that vessel would have lured him. Ergothians were noted for their ship building, and the Corvan put the others in port to shame. But what was such a fine, fine ship doing in that small town? Grallik wondered about that, briefly, but knew, more important, that a ship of that impressive size could easily accommodate a significant number of goblins and hobgoblins. That was the ship for him.

Grallik hefted one of the pouches filled with sapphires, about to make his move. Then he hesitated. That particular ship was too …

“Perfect,” he pronounced. “Too fine and fancy.” While it would well suit him-and it would delight Horace-it would be too conspicuous for a cargo of goblins, so he moved on, looking.

Grallik knew nothing about ships other than which ones looked bigger, flashier, or cleaner. He couldn’t put a name to the type of any of them. He couldn’t guess how fast they’d run, how seaworthy they might be. He knew he was not well suited to his task, while the priest would have been the right man. Ergothians were all sea barbarians, at home on the waves. How Horace got stuck in a desolate, dry mining camp in the middle of Neraka was puzzling. Grallik would have to remember to ask him about that later.

Grallik required several big ships, not just one, anyway; they needn’t all be as huge as the Mercy Corvan. Again he wondered briefly just what a ship that size was doing in the New Sea, particularly at a town so far to the east. But it wasn’t his concern, he decided, so he moved along to the farthest dock west.

“That could do.”

The ship he was staring at had a similar form to the Mercy Corvan, but it was not as long, and it did not seem to sit as heavy in the water. It boasted three masts, though the sails were down on all of them, and only one pennant, which was blue and white striped and fluttering dog-eared from a post at the back.

“Clare could be just one of those I’m looking for.”

For that was the ship’s name, painted in red, flowing script on the bow. Another name had been initially etched beneath that, but the paint had been scraped off so only a trace of a few gray letters could be seen. The Clare was not in the same tip-top condition as the Corvan; her paint was peeling on the trim, looking like fish scales baking in the sun. The wood appeared more weathered, lines were frayed here and there. Not as seaworthy, Grallik suspected, but seaworthy enough for the New Sea.

Not so many sailors were busy on her decks, and those he could see were in well-worn clothes.

“Perfect indeed.” He headed toward the Clare.

The crew looked … well, they looked hungry, needy. The ship was definitely in need of funds, and his would be a well-paying venture. There wouldn’t be many questions asked, Grallik hoped. And perhaps the sailors would point him to other ships that could be just as easily rented.

“Is the captain here?” Grallik cupped his hand over his eyes and peered up to the rail.

“Aye. Whatcha want with ’im?” The sailor who answered was a half-ogre with thick stubble on his chin.

“I’ll take that matter up with him,” Grallik returned brusquely.

“You’ll find ’im in the Tattered Sail,” the half-ogre shot back. “Ask for Gerrold.”

Grallik remained on the dock for a few more minutes, pacing up and down and giving the Clare a closer inspection. She could certainly hold a lot of goblins. Across from the Clare rested a ship of similar length and draft called The Elizabeth, and next to her, an ungainly looking vessel, obviously a merchantman, called Linda’s Grady. Would the three be enough? Probably not, he mouthed, recalling an image of all the goblins frolicking in the surf. He glanced around at other ships that were near and far.

“Gerrold is his name,” the half-ogre called, rousing Grallik from his reverie.

The wizard nodded and went in search of the tavern, found Gerrold, and made a deal that would put Gerrold in charge of the expedition.

Later in the afternoon, he visited several shops and steadily paid out small sapphires to purchase plenty of barrels of water, one hundred crates of dried meat, sacks upon sacks of fruit, bags of flour, hundreds of chickens-all he could find in town-and a few milking goats, and had all delivered to Gerrold at the Clare, who had the rest dispersed among The Elizabeth, Linda’s Grady, Star of Lunitari, Wavechaser, Shinare’s Prayer, and The Balifor Breeze.

Six ships, he’d settled on. Well more than enough. Grallik had decided to err on the side of excess in the event one or more of the captains backed out when they laid eyes on their passengers.

Back in the heart of the merchant district, he purchased the entire stock of several clothiers’, everything the city’s dozen cobblers had, and all the blankets three weavers displayed, along with crates of spun yarn in the hopes some of the goblins could learn how to knit. Rumors flew around the port about the wealthy, scarred half-elf who was buying enough to feed and clothe an entire town. An entire army was more like it, Grallik thought, bemused.

The rumblings made the citizens keep their distance and show him respect, so he did nothing to squelch the rumors.

He took care to find garments and boots that would likely fit Horace and the near seven-foot-tall Direfang. He hoped that would put him in better stead with the irascible hobgoblin leader. The special clothes he ordered wrapped in canvas and tied securely with twine to keep them separate from the rest of the goods.

From listening to the men on the dock, he learned he needed rum to mix with the drinking water in order to keep it from becoming fouled during the journey. So he purchased dozens upon dozens of casks, and he added to that a case of the finest wine the port town offered, on which he scrawled his name.

He returned to the tailor’s he’d visited early in the morning and had him sew a secret pocket into his shirt. There he hid some of the fortune remaining-a dozen small sapphires-in the event he needed them at some point in the future.

There were a few more stops: a chandler for cases of candles and oil, which might come in handy; bakers for loaves upon loaves of bread, which would have to be eaten relatively quickly while they were fresh; he doubted that would be a problem; and a blacksmith’s for an assortment of tools simply because Grallik thought hammers and nails and such might be useful eventually.

He purchased lanterns, goose-down pillows, wheels of cheese, tins of tobacco, three hundred pounds of hard candy-all that the candy maker had on hand-three hundred tanned cow hides from a merchantman who had just come ashore, and two shaving kits and several bars of soap, which he tucked in his backpack for himself and Horace. He also acquired several maps-of the coast around the New Sea, the Kharolis Mountains, the northern section of the Qualinesti Forest (he could find none of the entire territory), and an old map of what the world had looked like before the Chaos War. He expected Direfang to be quite pleased with the maps.

Finally, he purchased several chests of books; he didn’t bother to look at the topics or titles. Grallik had lost all of his precious tomes in the earthquakes in Steel Town; many of them were spellbooks, but some were simply interesting treatises on the Dark Knights, Nerakan history, or tales of the gods. He relished reading and knew Horace did too. And he could justify the books, saying that Direfang himself knew how to read; he might even want to use the books to teach some of the goblins to read also.

One last stop: a cook shop recommended by Captain Gerrold. Exhausted from his extensive shopping expedition, he settled at a table far from the door, a habit he’d picked up in Steel Town’s only tavern. His timing was excellent; after the serving girl brought out a plate of bread, soft cheese, and quince marmalade, people started arriving in droves for the evening meal.

Grallik was careful not to eat too much, limiting himself to the venison custard. There were bits of bacon in it, and bacon was something he hadn’t enjoyed since his posting to Steel Town. There was also wine, cinnamon, ginger, saffron, dates, and prunes; he savored all the ingredients. He finished his meal with a torte made of ground cherries, cheese, sugar, and rose petals.

“Aye, it will be a long while before I have such divine fare,” he told the serving girl. “A glass of wine, and I’ll be on my way.”

The sun was just setting as he made his way back to the Clare. He strode up the plank and greeted Gerrold, giving him the signal to motion for the crew to make ready to leave the port. The other five ships he’d made arrangements with were waiting in the harbor; they would follow the Clare. The wind was strong, and the sails snapped and billowed as they were raised.

“Everything’s loaded in the holds.” That came from the half-ogre Grallik had met earlier. His name, he had learned, was K’lars, and he served as the bosun’s mate. “A lot of food, you’ve bought. All manner of things. Quite a lot of ships you’ve acquired too.”

Grallik stood at the rail, wrapped his long fingers around the wood, and looked up to see the sky full of gulls and blackbirds.

“We’re picking up many passengers,” Grallik said when he heard K’lars step closer. “Captain Gerrold is well aware of the arrangements.”

“And these passengers …”

“Just set your course for the mouth of the river to the east. I don’t know the name of the river.” Grallik hadn’t even bothered to ask the name of the town. He knew he could find the town later, though, if he wanted. It would be on one of the maps he had bought.

“All these passengers are waiting there, at the river?”

“Yes,” Grallik answered tersely.

“Didn’t want to come to town to get on these ships? What’s the matter with ’em?”

Grallik had already begun to dislike the half-ogre who was too curious for his own good. He turned and glared at him. “You’re being paid to crew this ship,” he answered. “Paid better than you ever were paid before. But I’m not paying you to ask questions.”

“It’s your ship,” K’lars admitted, bowing slightly. He walked away, barking orders to the men in the rigging. “These are all your ships.”

“Only until we reach the mouth of the river is this my ship,” Grallik muttered under his breath. “Then Foreman Direfang will reclaim the leadership of this ship and all the others, for certain.”

But K’lars was right. Grallik hadn’t simply purchased passage for the goblins. He’d purchased the ships outright.