Chapter Fifty-four

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain should have been having second thoughts about what she was doing. No part of her wanted to die, no part of her wanted to risk being taken to some ork-riddled barbarian lands to be a slave. Who would want that? Not her, that was for sure. Yet, she wasn’t having second thoughts. She wanted to do this. To get on that ship, and to destroy the lot of them as thoroughly as possible, risk be damned. She had Kevin, and together they would see this through, she was sure of it.

After an hour in the darkness of the cave — maybe even two hours — as the barbarians dragged the prisoners out to the beach, it felt like the late afternoon sun stuck a pair of knives into her eyes and twisted them for good measure. She tried to lift her shackled hands to shield her eyes, and her reward for the effort was one of the barbarian elves hissing at her and shoving her forward.

When her eyes finally adjusted to the light, she looked around.

The three captured women marched next to her — they had the same, simple restraints on their hands as she had. Young, beautiful, worn, battered, their bodies covered in more bruises than the tattered remnants of their clothes could hide.

Krissintha swore silently. If this was how raiders treated their prisoners, she shuddered to think what awaited them on the ship, and in the barbarian land.

One of the women, the one walking right next to her, lifted her head, glancing at Krissintha. They locked eyes for a moment. Pain, despair and maybe a tiny speck of hope — that’s what Krissintha saw in the almost golden, bloodshot eyes of the woman.

The sole man among the captives, a ranger, was tied up so tightly that one of the orks had to carry him on its shoulder. Krissintha wasn’t sure if the man was conscious or not.

Can you see us? Krissintha asked, sending her thoughts out to her comrades.

Yes, we’re watching you. Dimal replied. Two rowboats are coming, they’re almost at the shore. Is the ranger … still alive?

Krissintha sneaked a peek at the ranger on the ork’s shoulder. The green marauder marched a few paces in front of her, the man like a sack of potatoes on its shoulder, but she couldn’t tell if he was alive.

I can’t tell. Krissintha said.

He’s alive. I can see him breathing. Kevin reported. Do you know him?

I can’t tell from here. Maybe. Dimal said. Listen, when you get on the ship, there may be more captured rangers. They could help, if they’re in good enough shape to fight.

Or they could freak out when Spirit-man starts eating the crew. Sini joined in, and Krissintha was sure she could hear the woman rolling her eyes. But she had a point.

Let’s get there first and see what the situation is. Then we … will … Krissintha started to say, but she was suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence. There was that word Kevin liked to use, and it was the last thing she wanted to utter.

Improvise? Kevin offered the word. Because of course he did.

Yeah. Krissintha said, making great effort not to sound disheartened.

Do what you have to do. Dimal said with an encouraging tone. The rowboats reached the shore. Six humans and a green each with a lot of room to spare.

Krissintha lifted her head, stretching her neck, looking in the direction of the sea. Even with the green barbarians in front of her, blocking the view, she could see and hear the commotion as the boats ran aground.

I see them. So … this is it. Krissintha said, and she almost gulped.

This was really it, no turning back.

Good luck. Dimal and Sini said to her.

Pirate ship, here we come. Kevin hummed, almost happily.

***

Ah! This smell! Unbearable. Krissintha complained, wrinkling her nose.

See? This could easily be you if you skip your baths whenever you don’t feel like moving. Kevin scolded her.

The source of the stench weren’t just the orks, although they certainly contributed. The six human slaves working the oars were in a state Krissintha could only compare to some of the poorest beggars she’d seen back home, living on the streets, probably not even knowing what a bath was. She wasn’t sure if she should feel sympathy for the men, or just view them as barbarians who would eventually need killing.

Krissintha was sitting between one of the captured women and the tied-up ranger, on an obviously ork-sized bench-seat, right in the middle of the rowboat. The woman was the same one who had looked at her before, the one with the brownish yellow, almost golden eyes. She was staring at her own feet, trembling and sobbing quietly. The ranger … well, Krissintha wasn’t sure if the man was fully conscious. His face was bloodied and swollen, and she couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open on not.

She leaned a bit forward and turned her head, partly in hope that the breeze over the sea would help her endure the stench, and partly to see the other two elves in the second boat. The other boat wasn’t far, maybe twenty paces or less, and she could see the two women, sitting there in the oppressive company of the rowing men and the laughing, greenskinned monstrosities.

Krissintha looked ahead. The barbarian ship was in full view — it wouldn’t take long to reach it now, ten minutes maybe.

How many more prisoners do you think are on that ship? Krissintha asked Kevin.

We’ll see when we get there. More important question: how many spiritualists are on that ship. The spirit replied.

We’ll see when we get there. Krissintha said, sighing loudly while sending the thought.

The elf woman lifted her head, glancing at Krissintha. Then she whispered to her in Treini.

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‘We will be rescued. I’m sure of it,’ she said, the words barely audible.

The golden eyed woman may have remembered that most humans didn’t speak Elvish, but she had certainly forgotten that most humans also didn’t have hearing as great as elves. Under the circumstances, it was the least of Krissintha’s worries. She looked around — if any of the barbarians had noticed, they weren’t bothered by their prisoners mumbling between themselves.

‘I have no doubt,’ she whispered back to her.

***

Krissintha gawked at the barbarian ship as the two, small barges touched its hull, finally arriving at their dreaded destination. She had only seen a few ships in her life, had been on even fewer, but none of them even resembled this monstrosity, besides the fact that they were ships.

People — humans or elves — were climbing up and down on the rigging. On the hull, not far above the waterline, a row of windows stretched almost from bow to stern, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the tips of oar blades were sticking out of those windows.

‘What kind of ship is this?’ Krissintha whispered, looking up at the masts and stowed sails.

Wow! It’s a galley. Kevin said, sounding quite amazed.

Krissintha tried to remember if she had heard the word before — she had heard enough sailor talk from Quenta and Tommi, but never the word “galley”. As far as she was concerned a ship was a ship, even if it was a strange looking one.

What’s a galley? She asked, unwanted, badly timed curiosity welling up in her.

A giant rowboat, basically. Just like in Ben Hur, but this is bigger. Much bigger. I bet there’s an ork with a drum to set the rhythm for the rowers and yelling“ramming speed”.

I understood “giant rowboat”. Krissintha said, rolling her eyes.

The galley had a number of metal handles along the hull — the human slaves used them to pull the barge along to the stern of the galley, the other boat’s crew doing the same, going the opposite direction. After a minute they stopped under two, thick beams sticking out above them from the top deck. Or was it called quarterdeck? She couldn’t recall.

Krissintha saw someone up there, fiddling with something at the end of one of the beams. A crane to pull the small boat up. Four, thick ropes or cords with hooks came down. And a rope-ladder. The orks in the barge stood up, bellowing something at their cohorts up at the deck, then without any warning they grabbed their would-be-slaves, Krissintha included, threw them over their shoulders, and climbed up to the ship. They were on the deck before the crew could even begin hoisting the barge up.

As soon as the stinky ork put her down, she took a look around. She didn’t have much time to soak in the sight — the orks quickly handed their prisoners over to three humans and an elf — but she saw enough.

This “galley” was long, perhaps a hundred paces from front to back. No, even longer. But it was narrower than she’d expected. Weird ship, sized for orks, and orks were plenty. There must have been forty, maybe even fifty of the greens on the deck: all of them armed with bows or axes, some of them better dressed and barking orders at crew members, some just lazing around a fire in a metal brazier — which seemed like a dangerous thing to have on a ship made of wood. Slaves were just as numerous: humans and elves alike were rushing up and down, working with ropes, climbing the two masts, or doing things of indeterminate purpose. Before she could get to counting them, their new jailers marched them to a hatch near the back.

Are you on the ship? I can just about see them pulling the dinghy up. Krissintha heard Dimal’s thought-voice as two of the slave-crew went down the ladder, and another one nudged her to get going. Being in the midst of enemies, it was strangely comforting to know that someone was watching, even if from a mile away through a spyglass.

I’m on the ship. She reported.

They’re going to leave as soon as they haul the other boat up. Dimal warned. That soul-guzzling orgy you were planning? Do it fast!

Got it. She replied, and she stepped on the ladder before the elven slave behind her could push her. She wished she had felt as confident as she sounded.

Kevin? She asked, hoping for some encouragement, as she clambered down the ladder as awkwardly as someone with tied hands could.

The spirit was silent, not a word.

She almost fell to the floor as she arrived on the deck below. The stench of sweat and piss overwhelmed her in an instant, and she could barely resist as the urge to throw up ambushed her. She managed to look up, retching, her eyes tearing up, and for a moment she was unable to understand what she saw.

The rowers’ deck. The grilled ceiling and the openings for the oars let enough light in to see the hundred … no, two … no, at least three hundred human slaves, sitting in long trenches on either sides of a raised walkway running from back to front. Five rowers clinging onto each oar, almost naked, fidgeting, murmuring, poisoning the air with their smell.

A few elves were walking up and down between them, wearing little more than the rowers, cloths tied around their painted faces, whips in their hands. And there really was an ork with a drum. The green bastard sat somewhere in the middle, leaning against a thick support post, large drum in front of him. It wasn’t the only one: in a hammock between two other posts, just a little behind the drummer, lay another one, seemingly asleep.

The woman with the bright, yellowish eyes arrived behind Krissintha, stumbling off the last rung of the ladder. Krissintha caught her. The woman looked at her, then quickly covered her nose and mouth with both her hands. Then the two human slaves came, carrying the tied-up ranger down with as little care as possible.

Krissintha would have expected Kevin to comment, but he was still silent. Maybe one of the orks was a spiritualist and he didn’t want to draw their attention? That must have been it.

The man behind her barked an order. The closest rowers turned their heads as they heard him, their chains clanking, giving the man looks of hatred and disdain. Perhaps there was some sort of hierarchy even among the slaves?

Some of the words their captors spoke were clearly Treini. She recognised the words “down” and “go”, but the rest was not only foreign to her, but harsh and gruff, similar to how his ork masters spoke. She looked down at a large hatch, leading down to the deck below. Or was it called the “hold”?

As soon as they were down in the hold, Kevin whispered.

Huh. No spirits down here. Good. But man, three of them up top on the quarterdeck, and the one snoozing in the hammock has a familiar, too. They were all looking at me funny.

And? Krissintha asked, suddenly worried the orks’ familiars might be a more immediate problem than she had expected.

Nothing. My costume is on and I was quiet, so all good. For now. Kevin whispered his report.

Four spiritualists? Can you handle that? Sini’s worried thoughts came through.

We’ll see soon. Kevin answered her.

How soon is soon? From what I can see the other boat is up now. Dimal cut in, sounding as anxious as Sini.

Soon is soon. We need to see where they’re taking us. There will be more of your kidnapped people there. Kevin said.

Krissintha agreed. No one knew how many elves the marauders had managed to kidnap, but they had been raiding for almost two weeks now. Somewhere in this long and dark part of the ship elves were waiting for a rescue.

Only a few, sturdy looking glass paned lanterns provided any light along the passageway. One of the humans and the one elf marched Krissintha and the golden eyed woman towards the middle of the hold, the other two humans were dragging the ranger after them. Crates, barrels and sacks of all kinds lay stacked along the hull on both sides. Lumps of dried meat hung on strings from the beams overhead, all along the way. Then, they reached their destination.

Krissintha could only see dark silhouettes, but she had no doubt they just found all the captured elves this ship had taken. At least twenty of them hung from the overhead beams by their shackled hands, their feet barely touching the floorboards. Most of them women, some of them men, a few children, all of them naked. The fucking marauders hung them up like larger pieces of dried meat, or freshly slaughtered animals in an abattoir’s storeroom. But they were alive — Krissintha could hear their faint groans and whimpers.

The elf woman with the golden eyes gasped in horror, stopping for a moment as she saw the scene. The punch she received to her belly from the barbarian elf sent her to the floor. There was laughter. Two people came forward from the hanging forest of slaves, pushing them aside, leaving them swinging and groaning. Krissintha could just about make out the long, pointy ears of the two newcomers, or guards, or whatever they were doing down here. Elves. They were elves. And they were laughing. The ones that had brought her here joined in, cackling like madmen at the most tasteless of jokes.

‘Kevin,’ Krissintha said out loud, her voice low and raspy, filled to the brim with her fury. Sending thoughts just wasn’t enough. This had to be said out loud. ‘Kill them!’

With pleasure. Her familiar replied without hesitation.

The laughter vanished. Six bodies — three humans and three elves — thumped to the floor, as if the gods themselves had struck them down.