Pure sunlight streamed through a few light clouds, high in a pristine blue sky. Gruvrik stared up at the picturesque scene, pretending he was back in the forested hills of his homeland. He enjoyed quiet moments of rest under the summer sky. Gulls called out in shrill tones, shattering Gruvrik’s carefully-constructed, fragile peace.
He swore and kicked the side of the tiny skiff, where he huddled as far from the water as he could. He licked his lips, grimaced at the taste of salt, and grabbed Taras’s arm. “We almost there yet?”
“Aren’t you the oldest one here?” Rashana teased, poking him in the ribs with a sharp, metal toe. “You’re acting like you’re only four! Another hour and this will all be over. You’ll never have to set sail again.”
Gruvrik groaned. “An hour!”
“I agree with the dwarf,” Taras said, staring out over the water in the direction of the city.
Gruvrik stopped moaning for a moment and sat up, squinting one eye at the old justicar, as though he could draw out the man’s secrets if he stared long enough. Why speak up now? He’d barely spoken the entire way back, taking up the rear guard to ensure that he was as far away from Errol as possible. At least they’d agreed to settle their differences after they reported back to Grimhilt, but their argument had dragged down everyone’s mood.
Hails from a ship brought a rush of relief. Gruvrik stared at the approaching vessel. Best not sink before it reaches us! As soon as the sailors tossed ropes over the sides of the ship and secured the skiff, he scrambled up to the larger vessel. The rest of their passage across the water went smoothly enough, but the rocking motion made his stomach lurch with every wave.
Errol gathered them into his cramped cabin once they’d stowed their gear. He gestured to their newest member, the heir to the Dell’Atti fortune. “Stefano’s offered to help us convince Indara of the dangers of the Stormorb. Before we report to Grimhilt, however, I’d like to ensure we’re all of one mind.”
Gruvrik bristled. “She cannot expect us to just give over this power.”
“Agreed,” Errol said. “But we need a plan. Otherwise, they’ll split us up when we arrive, whisk away the Stormorb, and ensure we never get to lodge a complaint. What do you think will happen to us if we protest? They’ll make sure no one ever finds us.”
“They wouldn’t dare!” Jarkoda growled. He clenched his fists, snorting a puff of flames from his nostrils. “Stefano is a peer of the city. Taras is a famous retired justicar. They can’t just make us disappear.”
Stefano shook his head sadly. “No one even knows if I’m still alive.”
“And we venerate heroes after they’re dead,” Taras interrupted, “but not when they’re old and inconvenient. As much as I hate to admit it, the Shark is right.”
Gruvrik snorted. Taras wouldn’t even look at Errol. As far as he was concerned, all’s well that ends well. He shrugged. “She can’t have it. Simple. Don’t need much of a plan.”
“What’s going to happen to us if this goes wrong?” Aravind asked. He stood nearby, his hand on Meri’s shoulder. The two had accompanied their team at Errol’s instance, since he had offered to pay for whatever healing Meri required to safely undo the soulbond and restore him to good health.
“Cedric can help,” Errol replied at length. “I haven’t seen him since I entered Shark Clan and he started up that newspaper venture, but he’s your best chance to spread the story.”
Aravind’s brow furrowed. He pulled Meri closer protectively. “And why would we want to spread the story? I’d rather keep quiet, in case we must flee. From what I’ve heard, your Seer is likely to claim this power for her own. If she’s as ruthless as Stefano claims, then we may need to go into hiding.”
To Gruvrik’s surprise, Taras stepped into the conversation, taking up Errol’s position. “He makes a decent point,” the old justicar grumbled, gesturing toward Errol. “It’s difficult to move against someone in the public eye.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but what’s a newspaper?” Aravind asked.
“Well, it’s a big sheet of paper with . . . news . . . on it,” Rhae supplied, beaming up at the perplexed-looking man.
Aravind shook his head, muttering. “I see that I have much to learn. Only our Seers even know how to read, but they inscribe runes on bones. Sometimes they write on hides. This paper you’ve shown me, with your maps drawn on top, must exist in abundance.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Jarkoda said. “It’s a big world out there, but you’ll learn quickly. I suspect you’ll do better than we did when our situations were reversed a few days ago. We’re lucky to be alive after our time on the Bridge.”
“I don’t read the paper,” Taras interjected, “but I’ve heard from others that it has gained popularity—even among the nobility, although they might deny that they subscribe until it’s more fashionable to admit that they share an interest with commoners. Cedric will turn Meri into the face of the Bridge: an entire people we all thought long-dead, now rediscovered and returned to the fold. People love hearing about survivors. Who’s a more unlikely hero than a child who’s not supposed to exist? Yet he survived an attack from an Eel and is journeying to a strange land in the company of famous warriors. That’s a story that will sell!”
“I’ll talk with Captain Shiori,” Errol volunteered. “She’ll hide you when we reach port.”
Aravind crossed his arms. “What if she gets in trouble on our behalf with this Indara? It’s not worth the risk to involve another person.”
“I’ll ensure she’s compensated for her role,” Errol said. He looked away, staring out over the water, and whispered the next words so softly that Gruvrik barely heard it, even with his big, sensitive, Dwarven ears. “It’s the least I can do.”
The team dispersed to prepare for disembarking at the docks. Errol led Aravind and Meri toward the captain’s quarters, along with Stefano, who also preferred to remain hidden from the public eye until he decided if he wanted to meet with his father and rejoin society as the heir to House Dell’Atti.
When they disappeared below deck a moment later, Taras sighed and leaned up against the railing. He gripped the wood hard with strong hands, but his body sagged. His jaw clenched and unclenched, as though he was wrestling with something.
Gruvrik sidled up to Taras, grateful that the railing was tall enough to prevent him from a direct sightline to the sea down below the boat. “You like the boy, despite everything.”
“We asked too much of him. It’s a wonder he did as well as he did,” Taras growled. “His mistakes will haunt him until his dying days.”
“Aye, I have a few of those, too,” Gruvrik said softly.
Taras let out a heavy exhale. “We all do. Right or wrong, I made the choice to believe it will make him a better man in the end. He’ll do his best to make amends, but who knows what the future will hold.”
“You made the right decision. Never regret mercy.”
“I’ve regretted it more than a few times. I’d never admit it to anyone else, but there’s the truth of it, from one old codger to another.”
“Then make sure this time is different. Become his ally, not his enemy.”
“Aye, maybe,” Taras said. “Maybe. But where is the justice in all this?”
Gruvrik clapped Taras on the back. “Questions for a wiser man! Let’s prepare to leave this oversized, floating coffin. I’m going to kiss the ground when I’m back on the shore.”
=+=
Errol had rejoined the Captain on deck, his crew in tow. The ship slowed, barely drifting in the water now as it approached the quay. Dockworkers hailed the ship and secured the hawsers. A bustle of activity cut off any chances at conversation as the sailors readied the ship’s gangplank and scurried up and down the rope ladders, rolling up and tying back the sails. They’d docked at last, but Errol couldn’t shake the feeling that the most difficult encounter was still to come.
He inspected the team, ensuring that they’d collected their items, and proceeded down the ramp. Two ornate carriages awaited them at the docks, surrounded by a detachment of guards in heavy plate and halberds, decked out in Indara’s personal colors. Captain Grimhilt sat astride a big chestnut stallion, which stamped at the ground and wickered with barely-contained animosity.
Errol strode to the front and bowed. “Captain Grimhilt! You flatter us by bringing Indara’s honor guard instead of the city watch for our escort.”
“Indara has instructed that I bring you to her private palace at once for a celebration and a retelling of your adventure. We wouldn’t want to misuse the city watch in such fashion. Now, if you’ll please board the carriages, we’ll be off at once.”
“I’d rather hoped to stop at the bathhouses first,” Errol quipped.
Grimhilt gave him a tight smile, one cheek twitching slightly. “It’s imperative that we join her with all haste.”
Errol made a show of looking around. “Are you worried about prying eyes, Captain? Who would possibly be on the lookout for your humble servants?”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Gruvrik walked up and kicked him in the shins. “You’ve made your point, lad. Let’s get on with it.”
“Very well,” Errol sighed. “Load up! We’ve got one more responsibility to take care of, my friends. Let’s hope we’ve earned our keep.”
He climbed into the carriage, noting that a contingent of guards sat inside each carriage. Was this escort a show of honor, or a prisoner transport? He stuffed his concerns deep inside. The ride to the palace passed in tense silence.
Once everyone arrived, Grimhilt ushered them inside to meet Indara. A banqueting table with a lavish spread of seared meat, roasted vegetables, and piles of pies and pastries captured the team’s attention, but Gruvrik and Taras hung back with Errol.
They all locked eyes, frowning, confirming a shared sense of unease. Gruvrik edged in their direction, speaking in low tones. “Trust the plan a little longer, but be ready for a fight if it all falls apart. No one wants to give over that artifact to her.”
Indara rose from an engraved throne on the dais, resplendent in a shimmering dress of black silk shot through with silver. “I’m dying to hear about your adventures! But first, please eat. You must be tired of the rations you carried with you on the Bridge.”
Servers led them to their seats. Gruvrik shrugged at Errol and bounded over to his seat. He tore into a perfectly-cooked turkey leg, dripping with glorious gobs of grease.
Errol crossed his arms and refused to allow himself to be seated. “If you please, Indara, I’d like to get straight to business.”
Indara graced him with a dazzling smile, her laughter bubbling up like a garden fountain. “Ah, but you’ve grown, little shark! Very well, let’s hear what you have to say.”
Errol strode to the center of the room, angling his body so that both Indara and the team could see and hear him as he spoke. He paused, back straight as a spear, meeting eyes without flinching. “You’ve all seen the breaking of the Storm. We have succeeded in freeing the Bridge from the tyranny of its oppressors. Yet I cannot call this mission a success.”
He let the words hang in the air, staring straight at Indara in the sudden silence. The chancellor leaned forward, an eyebrow quirked. Her horns pulsated rapidly for a split-second, but she soon brought the color under control, barely giving away her distress. “All right, you’ve piqued our interest. Go on!”
“We made quick time traveling back to the landing zone once the Bridge’s structure was no longer shrouded in darkstorm. The difference was, as the saying goes, like night and day. In the place where darkness reigned and fear lurked, we found flowers starting to bloom. We may be simple hunters, hired to retrieve an item for you, but we want good things to flourish for our city and its people. After what we’ve seen and felt, we do not believe the Stormorb will lead to good things. It can only bring darkness and destruction in the end.”
“Your passion is admirable,” Indara replied blandly. “But rest assured, I’ll do everything in my power to properly use such a magnificent artifact. I will control the wind and rain. No one in Laurentum will ever again have to fear storms. Drought will be a thing of the past. Our region of the Empire will flourish like never before—”
“I have no doubt of your intentions,” Errol interrupted. “But we’ve seen firsthand the way its power corrupts. What guarantees can you give us that you’ll safeguard yourself against the tainted draw of this kind of power?
“The Stormorb is an abomination against nature! It twists not only the weather, but also the soul of whoever tries to control it. Instead of remanding it to your care, the team has agreed that it should be destroyed before it can cause more harm.”
Indara motioned two servers forward. “Perhaps you should sit and eat. Your long journey has made you irritable. My servants will see to all your needs.”
The servers tried to steer him to the table, but Errol batted their hands away. “Dismiss us at your own peril. The Stormorb can control the weather, yes, but it was made to conjure up the might of storms. Elumunor created it for that purpose! He may have died before seeing through his plan, but his legacy is unavoidable.”
“How do you know that name?” Indara demanded, her horns flashing blood-red.
“Ah! That struck a nerve. You should have told us about him before you sent us to die on the Bridge.”
“You’re quite clearly alive,” Indara retorted. “And I had no idea that Shark Clan raised up street brats to become scholars. Tell me about this Elumunor you know so much about.”
“I’d rather talk about your plan to create new Eels now that the darkstorm is gone,” Errol replied, finally walking over to the table and sampling a bite of roast. He chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving Indara’s horns. He was flinging darts in the dark, hoping for a hit, so he decided to go for broke. “It must pain you to lose such a valuable resource.”
Captain Grimhilt strode forward, his hand on his sword hilt. His face gleamed darkly with tightly-controlled rage. “You will not speak to the Chancellor with such impudence any longer! Be silent or meet my blade.”
“Stand down, Grimhilt,” Indara commanded, her tone suddenly ice and steel. “I will hear what this Shark has to say. Privately.”
Indara stood, dismissing the guards and servants, and summoned Errol to follow her to a sitting room nearby the main chamber. When he arrived, she was puffing furiously, a long pipe in her hand. “Sit, boy.”
Errol sank into a cushioned chaise lounge. “As you command, Chancellor.”
“Ha! Don’t mock me. Now is a fine time to rediscover your manners.”
“I have no wish for enmity between us,” Errol said. “But we cannot simply turn over the Stormorb and trust that the Imperial mages will do what’s best for us all.”
Indara’s lips curled up into a slow, predatory smile. “Who said anything about turning it over to the mages? I don’t intend to let it out of my sight. Now, tell me what you know about the Eels.”
Errol shrugged. “Do you still have our vital readouts?”
“Ah, you lost your abilities. You want to find a way to regain them?”
“No. That ship has sailed. But I’m curious what you were planning with Shark Clan, and why you’d risk losing your current method of creating Eels just to recover the Stormorb.”
Indara tamped down her pipe. She blew out a mouthful of blue-gray smoke. “Tell me. Are you loyal to the Sharks?”
“After what I’ve witnessed on the Bridge? Less than I was,” Errol admitted.
“An honest answer. Rare these days! I commend you. But let me give you some advice: in the days to come, you’re better off aligning with me than with your Sharks. I am on the cusp of power they can never dream of attaining. Join me. I’ll ensure you rise in the world.”
Errol shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid that I don’t share your ambitions. But I’m glad to know that I made the right choice, sinking the Stormorb underneath the Bridge.”
Indara whirled on him. “You what?”
Errol smirked. “For a politician, you’re not very good at avoiding trickery. Of course we didn’t take that risk. Who knows which creatures might find it below the depths? The last thing we need is an Adaro invasion. Imagine the tsunamis they could summon! They’d submerge the entire city before we could defend ourselves.”
“A terrifying proposition,” Indara murmured.
“Now you understand why we can’t just give you the Stormorb? It’s too great a risk. But if you let us help you study it, then we’re prepared to make a deal.”
“Of course,” Indara snorted. “It’s always about the gold, isn’t it?” She waved him on with the silvery stem of her pipe.
He took a deep breath and laid out their plan.
=+=
Rashana smiled, watching Jarkoda dash about, double-checking the cart that would take them out of Laurentum to a nearby monastery. After deliberations, Indara had agreed to sequester herself with them to further study the Stormorb. They’d keep each other in check—and Rashana would have a chance to get to know Indara, her creation seed, better.
Jarkoda was always so serious, so certain of the righteousness of his actions. She didn’t always share Jarkoda’s strict views of the world, which made him the perfect leash to rein in her baser instincts. She walked over to help him pull the last strap tight on the cart, and he gave her a return smile in gratitude.
He would balance her out, help to restrain her bloody impulses, while they worked with Indara to figure out the power of the Stormorb. Everything could be tamed, given enough time. Indara had promised her that.
Perhaps there is hope for me yet.
Rashana waved goodbye to the city as they departed. It was time for a new adventure in a new place. And if the artifact proved too powerful to investigate safely, then she would do her duty and show why she’d adopted her new name: The Executioner’s Blade.
=+=
“I’ll miss you, Uncle Gru!”
Gruvrik tugged his beard, scowling at Rhae. “That name better not stick. I’ll never hear the end of it back home.”
Rhae’s horns pulsated with faint violet and rose—colors he’d come to associate with her sense of embarrassment. She shook her head. “Don’t worry! I can’t leave the school for another couple years after I return from this grand adventure. By the time I graduate, I’ll be too old to call you my uncle. You’ll have to get used to the older, sophisticated version of me.”
“Not likely we’ll see each other again, lass. You did well, but I prefer solitude. Back to the peace and quiet of nature with me.”
“Won’t you come visit? We have some beautiful wildlands North of of Fair Haven. I could take you on a dragon watching tour!”
“Dragons and dwarves don’t mix too well,” Gruvrik said, chuckling as he recalled some of his interactions with the beasts in the past. “They want our treasures, we want theirs—come to think of it, I guess I could be convinced if you’re up for a treasure hunt.”
“I’ll be the best treasure partner you’ve ever hunted with, I promise! I’ll even write a song about it when we come back victorious. Nothing can stop you and me, Uncle Gru.”
“No, I reckon not,” Gruvrik said.
=+=
Errol unfolded the scrap of parchment he’d gotten from Telyim. He tapped the sketches of the map with a finger. A final, parting gift from the dead Great One: the name and location of her original teacher. A way forward, perhaps, now that he’d given up his power. Shark Clan had welcomed him back, but he hadn’t missed the looks of derision after they’d heard about the way he’d given up his abilities.
As Aravind and Meri were learning, it was a big world, full of mystery and adventure. He had gold in his purse and a few extra levels under his belt. Why not see what was out there, far beyond the confines of Laurentum or the Bridge? This was his best chance to explore. Perhaps he could still make a name for himself, even without his Storm-given abilities.
Errol shouldered his bag, already packed in case he decided to go, and set out from the Clan compound. Long habit made him check for the state of the Darkstorm out over the bay to see if he’d need to throw on his oil-slicked cloak. The clear blue skies still made his breath catch every time, even two weeks after they’d destroyed the Storm.
He wandered down streets he had travelled as a child, stopping to stare at the crumbling tenement where old Pendelton had died. He sighed, a twinge of loss in his chest as memories rushed through him.
No one still remained from back then. Poor old Pendleton had suffocated on a candied sweet that Errol had brought him, all alone in his dark, cramped apartment. His father had died of a wasting illness; they hadn’t been able to afford medicine, if a cure even existed. And his first boss at the fishery had been cut apart by a rival gang. So much death. This city was nothing but a cauldron of suffering. Laurentum didn’t hold his interest anymore.
Still, as the day dragged on, Errol kept turning away from the city gates, tugged back into the city by some inscrutable force. He moseyed through Selinsgrove Market, browsing through the wares for sale and sampling hot, spicy foods from the street vendors. After he’d eaten his fill, Errol stopped by Munsey Fountain to soak his feet and watch the passersby toss coins in the wishing well. He trudged through old haunts in Hubbard, eating dinner at a tavern he’d always been terrified to enter as a boy, just to prove he wasn’t scared anymore.
When evening fell, he found his feet taking him along familiar streets, back to the Clan compound. He laughed at himself, shook his head, and went inside.
No matter how much some things changed, Laurentum was his home.
THE END