Death March

DIVIDING THE SPOILS

Three survivors from the Shinare’s Prayer. All goblins. They’re below.” K’lars paced in the captain’s cabin. “It wasn’t just the storm that got them. One of the mates on The Elizabeth said the sorceress from the Dagger had done something to twist the wood of their hull, split it wide. Sorceress would’ve looted the ship, no doubt, but the storm helped it under too quick. The Dagger followed, praise Zeboim.”

“And the sorceress?” Captain Gerrold regarded K’lars.

“Nowhere to be seen. Didn’t see her in the water. Nothing.”

Gerrold sat at his table, an array of jewelry spread in front of him, all glittering in the light of a lantern that hung from the ceiling and swung with the movement of the ship. They were past the storm, but the sea was still choppy in the strong wind. Everything outside the windows still looked gray.

“She used her magic to get free, I’ll wager,” the half-ogre continued. “Maybe got some of her men free with her. Couldn’t tell if any longboats had been launched. Don’t know how many the Dagger had. We found only a few survivors, but they didn’t survive long.”

Direfang sat opposite the captain, staring at the jewelry not because he was interested in such gewgaws, but because it was something to fixate on that didn’t move. Grallik had hovered behind him for a time, but the hobgoblin had dismissed him, telling the wizard to go help Horace tend to any goblins and sailors who’d been injured by being tossed around in the storm.

K’lars’s pacing was rhythmic and seemed to echo the sweep of the lantern. His course took him around the table, to the bay of windows, and back. “Don’t like the notion that the sorceress is still out there, somewhere, mad now. Could come for us, you know, Captain. Such as she would look for some measure of vengeance.”

“She’d have to get herself another ship for that, wouldn’t she?” Captain Gerrold steepled his fingers under his chin and stretched his legs out under the table. He brushed his feet against Direfang’s and shifted to give the still-silent hobgoblin more room. “And if Grallik N’sera was able to sink her ship once by bringing down the storm and sheering the mast and poking a hole in the side, I think she’d avoid the Clare for all the rest of her days.”

K’lars stopped pacing and stood against a side of the table. His gaze shifted from Direfang to Gerrold. He tapped a thick finger at the edge, a gesture also in time with the swaying of the lantern.

“I’ve got Leath in charge of repairing our mast,” K’lars said. “Lost one of the longboats. Lost two men before that. A couple of them goblins went flying over the port rail. Don’t know who or how many exactly.” He looked at Direfang when he said that.

The hobgoblin continued to stare at the jewelry, though he winced at the report.

“Some losses on Linda’s Grady; bosun’s mate on The Elizabeth went over. We’re sailing with two masts at the moment. Slower going, but at least we’re going. The other ships are ahead of us, but we’re keeping them in sight.” K’lars tapped two fingers and sucked in a breath. “That priest …”

“The Ergothian’s name is Horace,” Gerrold supplied.

“Yes, Horace. Fine. He’s seeing to Dargweller and Nate. They got hit by a spar when the mast broke. Nate’s got a bad gash. I figure it was the sorceress what did it. Mast was shorn clean, like someone’d taken a big saw to it. Not a break caused by the wind, that’s for certain.” K’lars cleared his throat. “So this booty …” He nodded toward the jewelry then cocked his head backward to indicate the other seven chests stacked near the captain’s bunk. “Who’s it belong to … us … or him?” He nodded to Direfang.

Captain Gerrold placed his hands on the table, cupping the edge. He waited until Direfang looked up.

“What’s customary?” the hobgoblin asked.

Gerrold’s smile reached his eyes. “Not that we’re pirates ourselves, mind you. The Clare’s a respectable ship, a merchantman. But typically such booty is divided among the crew. Three shares to the captain, four to the owner, a share and a half to the first mate and the healer, that would be the priest in this case … that’s customary.” He leaned close. “But you haven’t told me,” he added confidentially. “How did you learn to speak Common? You speak it as well as any of my men. As well as any man I know, for that matter.”

The captain had asked the question after the goblins boarded yesterday, but Direfang had ignored it then.

“The priest doesn’t get a share.” The hobgoblin dropped his gaze to the jewelry and told Gerrold and K’lars a little about his capture by the ogres, his life as a slave in Steel Town, and their escape. He made it clear that the priest and wizard were beholden to him and wouldn’t get special treatment. He did not mention how many goblins had died along the way to reach the shore of the New Sea.

“So you learned Common by listening to the Dark Knights?” Gerrold seemed genuinely impressed. “Do you read too?”

Direfang gave him a nod.

“Remarkable. I have to admit … Direfang … that until I’d met you, I’d considered goblins foul little creatures. Hobgoblins too … though not so little.”

“Rats what walk on two legs,” K’lars interjected.

Direfang’s lips curled imperceptibly.

Gerrold cut the half-ogre a cross look. “But you’re civilized. Not what I expected. So I was wrong about hobgoblins, I admit that. And Grallik N’sera and the priest answer to you?”

“My slaves now,” Direfang said.

“A fair turnabout,” Gerrold replied evenly. “More than fair.”

Silence settled among the three for a while. The ship groaned softly as it continued to rise and fall with the swells; the handle that held the lantern creaked in time with it. From above came the sounds of men walking across the deck and working on the mast, the snap of the sails, and the occasional shouted order.

Fainter, from below, came goblin conversations; only Direfang could understand the jumble of words, and he pushed the chatter aside. Beyond the door to the captain’s cabin, footsteps sounded in the hallway and the clank of pots was heard. The faint smell of meat and potatoes cooking tickled the hobgoblin’s nose.

Finally, Gerrold spoke again. “I lost my first mate a few months back. Never replaced him. K’lars has been filling the role as needed and occupies that cabin. He merits his share and a half. I’ve moved a few sailors into the bosun’s quarters, but I’ll order them out. Give you the room. Not as nice as this, but it’s … customary … for the captain to have the best accommodations.”

Direfang shook his head.

“He’d rather stay with the rest of them,” K’lars growled. “It’s better that way,” Direfang admitted. “The clans are not taking this voyage well. No way to know how the clans on the ships are faring.”

“Yes, the voyage to the Qualinesti Forest.” Gerrold rose, still keeping his hands on the table. “Why there, if I may ask? And-”

“And why this ship?” Direfang finished for him. Gerrold shook his head. “No, I’ve figured that much out. Taking the Clare and these others is far faster than walking. And the Clare, The Elizabeth … they were all that could be bought.”

Direfang laughed bitterly.

“Two weeks, and we’ll have you on the forest shore, luck willing. Maybe less than that, but this storm has set us back.” Gerrold stepped away from the table and walked to a cabinet. It was latched to keep the doors from banging open on rough waters. Everything in the cabin seemed latched or nailed down. “Would have taken you two months, maybe a little more, if you’d try to walk there.”

“Months?” The word came out as a croak. Direfang’s throat went instantly dry. “Only two months?” The hobgoblin had thought the world so vast on the Dark Knight maps that it could take two years at best. With a stony look, he said no more-one more mistake he’d made.

Gerrold returned with a map, unrolling it and spreading it on top of the jewelry. He fished underneath it, coming up with four heavy bracelets to set on the corners.

It was like one of the maps Direfang had remembered from the hours he spent hovering around the Dark Knights in Steel Town. But there was more detail to Gerrold’s, and the light was better so he could read the names of towns and rivers and other landscape features.

Direfang bent over to peer at the map. “Is this one of the maps the wizard bought?” the hobgoblin leader asked.

“No, those are over there. With several packages he said were for you and the priest. I would like to take a look at those maps too … with your permission.” He gestured to the corner where a jumble of scroll tubes, satchels, and bundles nested.

Direfang did not even look where Gerrold pointed; his gaze remained fixed on the map.

“We’re here.” Gerrold stabbed his finger at a spot close to the northern shore. “The wind blew us here, and so we’re following the coast. It’s deep all along this part, so we ought to be fine. We’ll cut toward the center as we near this island, Schallsea. I’ve signaled to the other ships also to head for Schallsea.”

Direfang spotted a scale, something he’d not been close enough to see on the Dark Knight maps. It made the world smaller than he thought. “Two months.” He laughed aloud at his own stupidity. “Walk, walk, walk. Should have walked.”

“Certainly you would have avoided seasickness,” Gerrold averred. “Saved you quite a few of those sapphires too.” He turned his head and listened to something overhead. “Sound’s like it’s up.”

“Aye,” K’lars said. “I’ll take a look.” He left, closing the door behind himself, his footfalls receding.

The captain removed the bracelets and rolled up his map, replacing it then walking over to another cabinet. He retrieved a fluted red bottle and two thick glasses, brought them back to the table, and sat heavily.

“Sweet cherry wine,” he said, pouring Direfang a glass first, then one for himself. “With a little extra: rosemary, fennel seeds, sage, lemon peels-distilled and aged to perfection.” He took a sip and closed his eyes appreciatively. “I’ve some stout and pine drink too. But they pale to this.”

Direfang copied him, finding the liquid heady and like warm syrup on his tongue. It would be easy to down it in one gulp; he’d never tasted anything so sweet. But he’d seen men in Steel Town after too much drink, and he didn’t want to dull his senses or show any weakness to the captain.

“It is good indeed,” Direfang pronounced, thinking he should say something about the drink.

“Aye, it is that.” Gerrold held his finger against his lips. “Shh. I don’t share it often. Not even K’lars knows I have this.” He took another sip and held it in his mouth, savoring it before finally swallowing. “So tell me, Direfang, why all the secrecy? Why the Qualinesti Forest?”

The captain was not one to let a question go unanswered, the hobgoblin decided. He took another careful swallow and set the glass down on the table between two gold necklaces. “The place is supposedly empty of elves,” he began. “A place free of ogres too. A place to be free. Mudwort says we should go there, says it is the best place. And Mudwort is to be trusted.” He held onto the base of the glass, his thumbs slowly circling against the smooth crystal. “It is a place to build a nation, and a place to be left alone.”

Direfang surprised himself, confiding in a human. It couldn’t be the drink; he’d not yet had enough to muddle his senses. But the captain had a genial, easy nature … when away from the ship’s wheel. And he spoke to Direfang as an equal, in a manner that not even the Dark Knight priest and wizard exhibited. Perhaps it was that easygoing manner that coaxed so many words out of the hobgoblin.

He told Gerrold tales about the difficult work in the mines, and after he finished his first glass and they’d both started on their second, he revealed some of the atrocities he’d witnessed, including a Dark Knight priest magically slaying Graytoes’ unborn baby.

“Not all men are so ugly,” Gerrold remarked. He ran his finger around the lip of the glass, producing a faint humming sound. “Though I trust that you’re making a good move, heading to the forest. Big enough to lose yourself in, despite the thousands of goblins you’ve with you. And the elves abandoned the forest, most of them anyway. Not all men are ugly, you should know. But most of them are thick with prejudice and won’t accept you and your kin. Keep on hunting you and enslaving you. Best that you do as you prefer, go to Qualinesti, build a nation and hide away there.”

“Why so sympathetic?” Direfang hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud. He thought it bordered on being rude, yet he blurted it out.

Gerrold shrugged then tipped his glass up and drained it. “My father served on a ship, not quite so fine as this one. He was pressed into the work, never to see me or my mother again. I don’t know if he’s still alive. So I understand slavery. And I understand men. The body is a shell that conceals the inside, Direfang. Mine, yours, K’lars’s. See, K’lars doesn’t get on well in most places. People don’t like the looks of him. The minotaurs on the Wavechaser, they have it worse in spots. I’ve other mates of mixed … parentage. It’s what’s inside the shell that counts, I’ve learned.” He poured the rest of the wine, dividing it between his and the hobgoblin’s glasses. “Was it this priest who killed the baby?”

Direfang shook his head and glanced down, seeing his reflection on the surface of the wine. “This priest was the least of Steel Town’s evils.”

Gerrold worked a kink out of his neck and wrapped his right hand around his glass. The fingers of his left hand played slowly over the links of a thick necklace. “The priest … Horace … I don’t think he wants to be a slave anymore. He wants to join my crew.”

The hobgoblin looked surprised, turning the glass, his reflection distorted by the ripples in the wine. “Fine. But only after the Clare reaches the Qualinesti Forest. A slave until then.”

“And the wizard … Grallik N’sera?”

Direfang took a long pull on the wine, letting it ease down his throat. He felt warm, and his tongue felt thick. He’d not planned to drink so much that his senses whirled.

“The wizard bought this ship,” the hobgoblin said. His words sounded thick too.

“Bought it for you, Direfang, I understand. With gems worth more than our take from the Blithe Dagger.”

“Won’t need the ship beyond the Qualinesti Forest.”

“Then I could buy it back from you,” Gerrold suggested. “Everything I have here for the Clare. Though that would be a bargain for me and a bit of a loss for you, given what you paid the original owner.”

“So be it. Fine.” Direfang took another pull. The wine had relaxed him. He didn’t mind quite so much the rocking of the Clare anymore.

“And I ask again, the wizard? Grallik N’sera?”

Direfang raised an eyebrow. The captain was a persistent devil.

“What about the wizard? Why does he interest you so much?” the hobgoblin asked.

“Will he remain your slave after we reach the Qualinesti Forest?”

Direfang finished the wine and rose from his chair, careful to hold on to the table to steady himself. He’d not had anything so strong since … well, probably never, he realized. He grunted at the captain. Some questions he still wouldn’t answer. The hobgoblin leader shuffled over to the corner where the packs and scroll tubes were piled up, and began to riffle through his treasures.