Book 2 of The Chronicles of Aertu
Here is a sample from the second of the series. Copyright 2014 and 2025, Julian E Benoit, The Bardiche Press
Prologue
Zorekday, Day 18, Haymaking Moon, 8765 Sudean Calendar
The Nameless One sat brooding upon his throne of black obsidian, as he did each day for over four thousand and fifteen years. The only light was not light at all, but the blue glow of elvish magic emanating from the chains and wards holding him to the throne and imprisoning him in his fortress all these millennia. Though no light penetrated his abode, he sensed each passing day with absolute clarity. The cursed elvish sorcerers assured that in the configuration of their wards. He looked down to the bare hands at the ends of his armored forearms, the steel vambraces cleanly cut above the wrists, bare because they were absent when the elves chained him here and now regrown, sheathed in shining black reptilian scales and tipped with sharp red claws. All of his skin beneath the ancient black armor now sported the same scales and his unblinking eyes bore blood red irises with vertically slit pupils. Though he had lost the power of transmutation the Allfather held, he could still slowly transform himself through red magic. The years gave him ample time to consider the form in which he would return to Aertu, and he chose one that would strike terror into the hearts of his opponents. Soon my son will return with Zadehmal, and my power will again be complete. He thought back on the fateful day that brought him to his current circumstance.
I step into the light of day from my obsidian stronghold and cross the courtyard, steel clad boots clanking upon the flagstones. The black iron gates swing open upon my command, and I stride upon the field of battle. The armies of elves and men pushed my forces all the way back to my stronghold of Immin Bul. The ranks of goblins and trolls close behind me, and I hear the orders to march forward, bellowed by the captains. These are all the new breeds I created over the past three decades, the goblins larger and stronger, the trolls smaller and faster and both more cunning than their predecessors. Breeding my creations to men resulted in new hybrid forms of surpassing ability. I still have use for the brute strength of the cave troll and the sheer reproductive capacity of my original goblins, but my new creations allow for more advanced tactics on the field. The halfblood sorcerers I bred from captive elves and men are interspersed throughout the formations, each with a bodyguard of trolls to shield them. This force will crush the men and elves that dare to defile my realm with their presence.
It’s unfortunate that my elves are still a generation away from completion. The one-eighth goblin generation should suffice to cull the unpredictable nature of the quarter goblins I have now. The project is moving slowly because each generation is slower to reach reproductive age than the last. My son and his cohorts are just now in their teens, still children and unable to wield power. It will be at least another decade before any eighths manifest their powers. An army of elves, fighting on my behalf would seal the outcome of this battle.
Clearing the gate, we advance at a trot. My beleaguered forces fight in disarray before the ordered formations of my enemies. Countless arrows rain down upon goblin and troll, leaving carnage and blood. There is fighting on all sides; we are surrounded, but I sense where the enemy is strongest, most likely to push through, and we move to intercept.
Clouds form, roiling angry red, as my sorcerers and I call down lightning upon our enemies. Domes of blue energy spring up to shield them as elves and halfbloods move to defend. Slivers of blue energy reach out in answer to our attack, slicing through the mass of goblins ahead, but rarely making it through to my advancing force. I sense all my sorcerers are still with me and now I see the banners of Elvenholm and Sudea straight ahead. The strongest knot of enemy holds the biggest prize, it seems. Channels of crimson spear outward from our line, in answer to the enemy’s attack and many expendable goblins and trolls, caught in the crossfire, perish for the cause.
We will remove the head from this insufferable creature known as the “Free Peoples” and it will shrivel and die. Only then, will my vision for Aertu come to fruition. The inefficiency of individuals governing their own lives will be over, replaced by my rule. Everyone will do as they should, no longer burdened with having to choose between right and wrong. Those who find themselves incapable of compliance, I will eliminate.
As we close with the enemy, the remaining goblins make way or find themselves crushed between the hammer and anvil. Some even turn on us in their desperation to survive, for my forces to cut down, as they would any obstacle. We stride over the dead and dying, goblins, trolls, elves, and men alike. Trampling boots and blood have turned the rust red soil into crimson mud. Within moments, we are face to face with the massed ranks of elves and men. My great axe, Zadehmal, sings through the air, shattering armor and shields before me and swallowing the souls of all whose flesh it touches. When I gain full dominion over Aertu, all souls will join with me rather than my father, when their mortal life ends. I feel my strength grow as Zadehmal absorbs the spirits of my enemies. The carnage yields boundless amounts of the red energy of death and decay, for my sorcerers to draw upon, though I feel that many of their number have fallen by this time. Meanwhile, I feel the blue energy of life ever dwindling, curtailing the power of my opponents.
I sense victory within my grasp when I see the King of Men and the Prince of Elves converge on my position. These pitiful mortals think to defeat me with their weapons wrought of elvish magic. Aleron’s greatsword and Aelwynn’s halberd crackle with blue energy, infusing their bodies and causing their eyes to glow blue as well, just as my own glow with the red of death. I am death embodied and I will add these two souls to my collection. I feel all the others writhe in agony as I shout, “Behold, Zadehmal, Cleaver of Souls and the instrument of your undoing!” I trade blows with the pair, fighting to a standstill, as the battle rages all about us, until the king lands a lucky blow to my left shin, the blade becoming jammed into the steel of my greave. The gash burns like the hottest flame, though I ignore the pain to take advantage of the king’s mistake. My axe splits him from left shoulder to right hip, but wait, there is no soul to feed Zadehmal. The cursed halfblood must have known he was about to die and released his spirit into the blade. The moment of my discomfiture is enough for the elf to hack my hands off at the wrists. A scream erupts from my mouth as I witness black blood shoot from the stumps of my arms, only to be cut short by the burning blade passing through my throat, after which everything goes black.
My return to awareness finds me bound to my own throne with elvish chains that burn against my skin, even through the armor. I bask in the excruciating glow of elvish magic all around, from the wards they used to seal me within my fortress. My magic can do nothing against these wards, as I long ago gave up the ability to wield forms other than the red. I find myself regretting the decision, though the red power of death is the most powerful of all the forms, it can do nothing to dispel well-constructed wards of the other powers. Had I chosen to remain a wielder of all powers, like my siblings, I could never have risen to the strength I had just a fleeting time ago, but could I still wield the blue, I would dispel these wards in an instant. There is nothing to do now but work to regain and increase my strength. Elves and men will rue the day they thought to lock me away. Someday I will escape these bonds, there is no doubt, and that day will be one that Aertu will not soon forget.
As he sat, he thought, Zormat now sails to the frozen waste to retrieve Zadehmal. When he returns, he will use it to free me and together we will conquer Aertu. I will not be as benevolent as I originally planned when I gain dominion over this world. The men I will enslave and the elves I will destroy, to the last child. With my son’s people numbering in the millions, I have no use for them, not even as breeders.
Chapter 1
Carpathday, Day 28, Squash Moon, 8765 Sudean Calendar
Aleron awoke in the darkness of the cellar they called home for the last two days. Some light filtered between the floorboards, so he could dimly see his companions. They managed to remain hidden whenever the tavern staff came down for supplies and nightly forays to the kitchen yielded the water necessary for their continued survival. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone discovered them, so they needed to move on soon. He still had no inkling of even a sense for the magic he knew must be all around him, so they needed to find a way to spirit themselves out of the city without it. In the early hours past midnight the day prior, he and Geldun ventured out into the city, while Barathol and Eilowyn stayed to guard their hiding place. They managed to find some clean men’s clothing that would fit Eilowyn, left hanging on the line from the evening prior. This morning Geldun and Barathol prepared to find some boots that would work better than the slippers she wore from the palace. He hoped that they would find something early, so they could move out before sunrise. Every day brought them closer to discovery if they did not move. He understood Kolixtlani fairly well and eavesdropping on the tavern patrons revealed talk of house-to-house searches conducted by palace forces, searching for the murderers of the king. He also overheard news of Ehacatl’s coronation in two more days and that the priests would sacrifice the fugitives, if captured, in his honor. The voices upstairs were becoming fewer, and he knew the tavern would close soon. Barathol and Geldun were ready to move out, their faces freshly blackened with soot, unarmored and armed with only their long knives, for stealth.
“So, if we find boots, we head straight for the harbor and try to steal a boat?” Geldun verified.
“And, if that doesn’t work out, we hole up in a warehouse or something, until tomorrow night,” Barathol continued. They could not go east, toward Castia, as the Palace complex lay in that direction. The river blocked the way west and that direction only took them to the Central Jungle, crawling with goblins and wild men. South to the dwarvish kingdom required they cross the bulk of Kolixtlan by the longest route. The fastest way out of the city of Kolixtla was north, to the harbor and then west, by boat. The marines had enough experience, feasibly, to pilot a small fishing vessel and that lay at the core of their plan. With Aleron unable to transform them, or even cast glamour over their features, there was no way for them to blend in with the local populace, so for now, darkness was their only defense.
Aleron just murmured agreement. Since the incident, the other two took the lead on most things. He seemed unable to break out of the funk he was experiencing since the magic left him. It’s like being blind, he kept thinking to himself. I suddenly can’t see what I’ve been able to see plainly for over five years. I should be able to see colors all around me down here, but instead it’s just dark.
“Snap out of it, Al,” Geldun hissed. “We need you on top of things if this is going to work. Stop moping, or we’ll never make it. We need you working with us, not just tagging along.”
“I’ll try, Gel. It’s just been hard, not being able to see anything anymore.”
***
Ehacatl paced the halls of the uppermost level of the royal palace, which housed the royal family. He hardly slept at all, these last two days, since the Sudeans killed his father and laid waste to the palace grounds. So many details needed attending. The king’s funeral, for one, scheduled for mid-day tomorrow and then his own coronation, scheduled for the next day. Repairs to the walls damaged two days ago were another priority to occupy his mind. He refused to compromise the defensibility of the palace, not in the wake of the last attack. How the Sudeans managed to spirit such a powerful sorcerer into the heart of Kolixtla was a puzzle he intended to ferret out if it was the last thing he did. That was truly what kept him awake into the early morning. I will avenge my father and my men that were lost. This sorcerer will not get away with what he did to my kingdom. I will pursue him and his accomplices to the end of Aertu if need be.
They found few witnesses to the incident, as all those in the courtyard perished, but a few of the kitchen staff recalled three armed men and a woman, all foreigners and light skinned, but one. The servants attending the Princess recalled nothing of the event upon waking from their stupor, as if someone erased their memories of everything that happened.
***
The foray for boots panned out as they hoped. They actually located a cobbler’s shop and found Eilowyn a pair that fit passably well. They even found her a knife for her belt. She and Aleron were fully dressed for their journey now, their faces and hands blackened like the other two. It was two or three bells before dawn, and they needed to strike out before the early-morning workers started moving about.
They exited the cellar into the alley and Barathol whispered, “Now, we planned this out. Let’s just hope we have the street layout memorized properly and nothing changed since the map update we studied.” He led the way westward and then to the north when they came to a side branch. He soot-blackened the blade of his glaive as well, to minimize their chances of detection. The others kept their weapons sheathed for now, with all shiny surfaces blackened or wrapped against glare.
“I hope this works, Barry,” Eilowyn whispered. “I don’t really want my heart cut out two days from now.” Not waiting for a reply, she continued, “How are you doing, Aleron?”
“I’m fine, Ellie,” he replied. He brought up the rear, his sharper senses and faster reflexes making him the most logical choice for that position. He wore Andhanimwhid strapped to his back. Though the sword was now dim, he was certain it was due to him losing his powers and not that it was damaged in any way. At least, he hoped that was the case.
They navigated back alleys, many times taking cover from patrols sweeping the city. At one point, as they all crouched within an alcove, a pair of foot soldiers approached their position, swords drawn. The fugitives huddled together with hoods drawn as far over their faces as possible, no one moving and all attempting to look like bundles of merchandise. Suddenly, Barathol’s glaive snapped out twice, severing the throats of the hapless soldiers. They quickly shoved the bodies into the space they had just occupied. They could do nothing about the stench of blood though, so they put as much distance between themselves and the corpses as they could, taking a few turns they would not have chosen otherwise. Two dead bodies would certainly alert the Kolixtlanis that the Sudean fugitives were on the move. At least, it seemed so far, the Kolixtlanis didn’t employ tracking hounds.
Eventually, they came to a wide avenue, running east to west. Geldun crossed first, followed by Barathol a few seconds later. They spent several minutes reconnoitering the alley and then motioned the others to cross. Eilowyn moved first and then Aleron, with one last check of their rear guard, crossed behind her.
They found themselves in yet another dark alley, this one more squalid than the ones closer to the palace. After the storefronts lining the avenue, the remainder of the city in this direction made up the waterfront neighborhoods, a mix of warehouses, foundries, tanneries, and rude dwellings. Every city of men had such places, even Arundell and they usually held those who performed the most menial labor, close to where their work took place. Aleron briefly wondered to himself why this was the case, when it was not so for elves and dwarves. He did not have much time to ponder such mysteries, as they quickly moved out again, picking their way around trash and debris, as well as the occasional drunkard, passed out on the cobblestones.
One notable detail was the complete lack of soldiers patrolling these alleys. Apparently, this was not a part of the city where they felt particularly welcome. He hoped they did not run into any of the trouble the soldiers chose not to face. He was quite certain that a couple of the supposed drunkards they stepped gingerly around would not have woken up if he kicked them in the ribs. He still could not see the energy of life or death, but some other sense told him they were dead. Perhaps everyone had such a sense, or maybe his ability had not disappeared completely; that thought cheered him immensely. Hadaras warned me about burning myself out, but I let fear and anger get the better of me. Now, because of my stupidity, we may not get through this with our lives. Sorcerers often burned themselves out, attempting to focus too much energy at once. Often, the outcome was fatal and equally often, the sorcerer lived, but never regained their ability. With extreme rarity, an individual recovered to some extent, but usually not to their former strength.
The smell of the sea steadily gained in intensity, telling them that their goal lay close at hand, but brightening of the eastern sky told them they were running out of time. Geldun suggested, in a low whisper, “I think we should try to break into one of these warehouses. We don’t have time to make off with a boat now.”
“I agree with Geldun,” Eilowyn concurred. “We should find cover.”
“The only problem with that is,” Aleron countered, “those dead bodies we left on the other side. That will tip them off that we’re moving, and they may push patrols into the waterfront.”
“Al’s right,” Barathol agreed. “We should at least try. If we don’t succeed, we can hole up somewhere closer to the water.”
“Try what?” came from the darkness, in heavily accented Sudean. A man stepped forward, from the doorway in which he was shadowing. He was dressed crudely, but with clothing in good repair, typical of dockworkers. He armed himself with a long, heavy bush knife. Four hulking figures materialized behind him, dressed similarly, and armed with heavy cudgels and staffs.
Aleron checked behind and saw five more of the thugs, again with staff and cudgel. “We don’t want any trouble. We’re just trying to get to the harbor.”
“Ah, this one speaks Kolixtlani,” the stranger announced to his companions, “and he doesn’t want trouble. I’m afraid, my friend, that you have found quite a lot of trouble, whether you sought it, or not. You all need to see the boss now. You are welcome to come quietly, or we can beat you all senseless and drag you. Several more thugs, some armed with bladed weapons now, as well as a few bowmen, joined the group, placing the companions at a distinct disadvantage, numbers wise.
“He wants us to come with him and see his boss,” Aleron told the others. “It doesn’t look like we have much choice.”
The others nodded in agreement and Geldun replied, “Dead now or dead later, at least we have a chance if we pick later.”
“He says we’re seeing the boss, whether he has to beat us senseless, or we go willingly.” He addressed the leader again, “We’ll go willingly.”
“Good choice, my friend. Now you give your weapons to my colleagues here.” Two of the men stepped forward, one letting his club dangle by a loop around his wrist and the other keeping his staff in the high guard position.
“Hand over our weapons,” Aleron directed. “If they wanted us dead, they would have been all over us by now.” Aleron began unbuckling his sword belt. Geldun did the same and Barathol grudgingly lowered his guard and held his glaive out to be collected.
After the thug collected all the weapons, including Andhanimwhid and Eilowyn’s belt knife, the leader directed, “Follow me,” and to his men, “If they attempt to run, brain them. Now, let’s go.” They continued along the alley, toward the water and then turned right between two warehouses. Eventually they came upon a nondescript dwelling, in amongst the warehouses. In the dim light of pre-dawn, they saw it was a low wooden structure with walls of rough sawn vertical boards and a widely overhanging roof of split wood shingles. The leader opened the door, and they entered what looked like the kitchen area of a modest hovel, but no one was present cooking, as would be usual for this hour, in a working-class home. The leader knocked on an inner door and someone answered with a low murmur. He murmured something back and the door opened. He motioned them to follow him into a well-lit and elegantly furnished office. Two armored guards stood to either side of an ornate wood desk, behind which, sat a well-groomed Kolixtlani man, in his middle years. Three more of the men from the alley followed them into the suddenly crowded office. The fugitives from the palace, Sir,” the leader announced, before stepping to one side. One of the men from outside set down the bundle of weapons they confiscated from the group on the floor and began unwrapping and wiping off the soot, they used to conceal them.
“So, my Sudean friends, it looks like I have a prize the palace will pay generously for,” the man behind the desk stated, in clearly enunciated Sudean. “Why should I not turn you over and reap a rich reward? Oh, but I am remiss; allow me to introduce myself. I am Cipactli and I own this sector of the harbor. Nothing moves here without my knowledge, not even fugitives from the crown’s justice.” It occurred to Aleron then, that the lack of patrolling soldiers on this side of the city had less to do with fear and more to do with jurisdiction.
“We have some gold. We could pay you for our passage,” Aleron offered.
“I doubt you can carry, all four of you together, the amount of gold Ehacatl would pay me for his father’s murderer,” Cipactli replied, chuckling, “not to mention the undying gratitude of the crown. What else can you offer, in exchange for your lives?” It was at that point, that one of the men unwrapped Andhanimwhid, exposing the glittering sapphires set in the electrum bound hilt. “Now what have we here? That might help sway my decision, but of course, I can just take all you have and turn you in to the authorities and claim my reward as well. Tell me, what became of your priest who destroyed the palace courtyard? It seems that if he were of your number, we would not be standing here together.”
“He died,” Geldun answered quickly. “He must have overreached or something; he fell dead right after the blast.”
“I have heard of such things happening to priests when they overstep themselves. To whom does this exquisite weapon belong? The rest is all standard issue trash, next to worthless.”
Aleron saw Barathol bristle at the implication that his glaive was nothing but trash. “The sword is mine, Sir, a family heirloom, of sorts.”
“The palace is no great friend to me, as you may guess, so I will make you a deal. For your gold and this sword, I will put you and your friends on a boat and out of the city.”
“No, Aleron!” Eilowyn exclaimed and he saw expressions of horror forming on Geldun and Barathol’s faces.
“Sir, I cannot, with good conscience, give that sword to you. It has been in my family for hundreds of years.”
“Young man, Aleron, is it? Is your good conscience worth your life and the lives of your friends?”
“I’m afraid it has to be, Sir.”
“All of you leave us, except Aleron here,” He directed his men. “Yes, you as well, he directed the two guards flanking his desk. I can take care of myself and if he harms me, you will kill his friends. Take them and hold them in the outer room,” he directed the leader of the men who captured them.
“Let’s go,” the leader told Aleron’s companions, as Cipactli’s men turned to exit the office.
“It’s all right, go with them,” Aleron told them as they looked about to protest. “He wants to speak with me alone.” Apprehensive over what was to follow, he thought of how he might quietly overpower the man behind the desk, but he could think of no way that would not endanger his friends. They could play the hostage game as well as he and he dared not risk Eilowyn’s life in such a gamble.
When the door closed behind the last of them, Cipactli said. “They may not know what this sword is, but I do.” At Aleron’s suddenly wide-eyed expression, he continued, “The last time I saw it personally, it was stuck in the back of a throne. Were you the one to remove it?”
“I’d rather not say…When were you in Arundell?”
“I’ve heard that this sword will serve no other than its true master,” he stated, ignoring Aleron’s question and hefting the greatsword. Suddenly, he swung it in a wide overhand sweep toward Aleron, but the sword erupted in a flash of blue light and Cipactli dropped it as if it was white hot. He uttered an exclamation under his breath that Aleron was sure wasn’t in Kolixtlani and examined his singed palms. “It looks like that is indeed the case. Now, you do the same to me.”
“I would rather not, Sir.”
“You will, or I’ll order all your friends killed. I will see this before I send you on your way. Do not worry; I will duck before you can hit me.” Aleron picked up the sword, hesitantly, readied himself and then swung at Cipactli in a wide, high, and easily dodged sideways swing. He was surprised at how deftly the Kolixtlani boss dodged the shot, regardless of how easy he made it. “No singed palms I see, should I say, Your Grace?”
“I would rather you didn’t.”
“Sorry, but I had to assure myself that you are worth the trouble. Let me let you in on a little secret, Aleron. I used to be a smuggler, once upon a time and then they caught me crossing into Castia. Do you know what happens to smugglers who get caught?”
“They are either deported, or brought into Castian intelligence,” Aleron replied.
“Exactly and deported smugglers are executed, so come to your own conclusions. I will do my best to see you on your way, but it needs to look believable for my men. You need to agree to give me the sword. I will find a way for you to keep it, but you need to make it look like you gave in to my demands. I will not be the man to turn the King of Sudea over to Ehacatl and his priests, but I can’t speak for my men if it doesn’t look right.”
“Will you be able to get us to the east shore and close to the border with Castia? We are trying to get back to Arundell as quickly as possible.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The east shore is too heavily patrolled, as is the Castian border. I haven’t been able to get a message through in over a year. I have to send messages through Sunjib now and that’s where you will need to go, as well, unless you wish to attempt the Northern Kingdom, which I also would not advise. That is too much of our country to cross undetected.”
“Sunjib will take us months out of our way.”
“I don’t think you have much choice, my friend. To go east is to assure your capture and south is simply not feasible. I can get you far up the west shore and upriver, close to the Sunjibi border. From there, you can make it into Waban and the coast.”
“It seems like we don’t have any other options, so yes, I accept your offer,” Aleron conceded and added, “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it, my friend. As I said before, I hold no great love for the crown or their priests, for that matter. Let us go out and give your friends the good news. We should get you cleaned up, as well; you smell like you’ve been living in a cellar.” Cipactli moved from behind the desk and to the door. As Aleron turned to the doorway, he happened to notice the white raven symbol painted over the door.
Chapter 2
Sildaenday, Day 29, Squash Moon, 8765 Sudean Calendar
You will deliver this to my associate in Sunj, just as we discussed,” Cipactli instructed Aleron, handing him a long bundle. Aleron took the bundle, setting it on his shoulder and then reached down to pick up the small haversack at his feet. “Tell him that should settle our debt. From there you can make your way downriver into Waban. Perhaps you can work for passage on a ship from there.”
Aleron knew there was no associate in Sunj. The bundle consisted primarily of twigs from a rare and valuable shrub, known only from Kolixtlan and the Central Jungle and highly sought after by medical practitioners. Concealed within the bundle was a certain greatsword that was supposedly still in Cipactli’s storeroom. He also supplemented their food stores for the journey and provided them with a light bow, to aid in their foraging. Eilowyn carried that, since she had no large blades to carry. Aleron knew her to be a passable shot and since she never trained in sword, it made for a good fit. It was approaching the midnight bell and they were the only movement on the docks. His companions, along with three crewmen, were already aboard the twin-rigged “fishing boat” that Cipactli provided for their escape. Shallow drafted and slim, with a tall prow and stern, its design suited it for river travel as well as calm seas, perfect for a smuggler. A cloth tarp roof at the stern was the only place to store goods and equipment or to sleep, out of the weather.
“Thank you for your help; I will not forget it,” Aleron promised.
“Think nothing of it, my friend. Now travel safe.”
As Aleron turned to the gangplank, something slammed into his left shoulder, driving him to all fours, the bundle falling to the dock. Gasping to catch his breath, he looked over to see a bodkin point protruding from the front of his shoulder. He looked to his right in time to see one of Cipactli’s men falling into the water, two arrows sticking from his chest.
Cipactli grabbed the bundle, hurled it onto the boat, heedless of injuring anyone aboard and then grabbed Aleron by his good arm. “Get to the boat, now!” he shouted, as he hauled Aleron up to his feet again.
The haversack forgotten, he stumbled onto the gangplank through the fog that slowly crept into the edges of his field of vision. It was difficult to breathe, much less talk, so he simply put one foot before the other as fast as he could manage, hoping he would maintain his balance. He could feel the Kolixtlani smuggler’s hands steadying him but then suddenly falling away. He heard a splash behind him as he took the last couple steps into the boat. He turned to see a body float past, two shafts sticking from the back of a fine silk coat.
Geldun had his shield up and his sword out, while Barathol covered behind him with his glaive in a reverse grip, over the top of Geldun’s shield. Together they shielded the other occupants, as the crew scrambled to untie the boat. The lamplight from the docks allowed just enough visual warning for them to swat the shafts away. No one remained alive on the docks, as far as Aleron could see.
One of the crew shoved off from the dock with an oar, while the other two grabbed an oar each and started pulling for all they were worth. The one who pushed off dipped his oar to help steer the boat, one side or the other, as needed.
As they pulled away from the docks, Aleron allowed himself to sag against the side, his right arm hooked over the gunwale for support. He couldn’t move his left arm at all without searing pain, but he was able to keep the tunnel vision at bay, just so long as he didn’t move and breathed slowly.
As soon as the boat was out of range of the archers, Barathol dropped his glaive and picked up an oar, set it in an oarlock on the starboard side and signaled the odd crewman to do the same on the port side. “Tend to Al now, he looks like he’s fading fast.” With four men pulling on the oars, the boat cut across the water, straight toward the center of the bay.
Geldun and Eilowyn moved to where Aleron hung by the gunwale and Geldun began probing the injury as well as he could in the darkness. “Corball’s balls!” he exclaimed. “It punched through his shoulder blade. Do you taste blood?” he asked.
“No,” Aleron grunted. “It just hurts to breathe.”
“I’ll patch you up the best that I can, but I don’t dare take it out yet, not until I can see.” He took out a small knife and began to score around the shaft sticking out Aleron’s back.
“What can I do to help?” Eilowyn asked. She straddled Aleron’s leg and held him to her, to help support his weight, while Geldun went to work, one arm holding his head to her shoulder.
“Undo his belt and then just keep doing what you’re doing; this is going to get a little rough.” He scored the fletched portion of the arrow and then the point end, snapping both off, leaving three finger widths of exposed shaft protruding, front and back and then pulled the chainmail over the ends. “Now, Al, I need to get this chain shirt off you, so I can bandage you up. Try to relax and I’ll lift your arm now.”
“Aarrgh,” Aleron grunted in pain, as Geldun slowly pulled his arm to a hand raised position and grasped the sleeve of his chain shirt. The steady rocking of the boat on the water made the process that much more difficult.
“Let go of his side for a moment, Ellie. Al, when I let go of your hand, you need to pull it through the sleeve; got it?” He released the hand and grabbed the other side of the sleeve, as well. With a low moan and the occasional grunt, Aleron pulled his arm free of the sleeve. Geldun gave him a few seconds to catch his breath and said, “Now we’re going to get your other arm free and pull the shirt over your head.” He and Eilowyn worked the other arm out of the chain shirt and pulled it over Aleron’s head. They repeated the entire process for the padded gambeson he wore beneath the chain, Aleron grunting in pain with each movement and Eilowyn doing her best to steady him. “You’re lucky it didn’t puncture your lung, and I don’t feel a lot of blood either. Let me get my bag so I can bind that up ‘till morning.” Geldun left to retrieve his pack and returning, opened it to retrieve dressings he kept for just such an eventuality. He wrapped each exposed end of the shaft for padding and bound them tight with a long roll of cloth, from his left shoulder to the opposite armpit. Tying that off, he used another to bind Aleron’s left upper arm to his chest, fully immobilizing it. He then fashioned a cravat to support his forearm from his neck. With Aleron’s wound bound, they worked the gambeson back over his head and his good arm through the sleeve, so he would not catch a chill in the cool early morning air.
By the time Eilowyn and Geldun finished with Aleron, the others had stowed the oars and the three Kolixtlani began unfurling the forward sail. Barathol shifted to help, and he and Geldun picked Aleron up and carried him to the stern. Eilowyn laid out one bedroll among the stowed gear and they laid Aleron out, propped on his right side, for comfort. “Ellie, you should lie with him, to help keep him warm,” Barathol suggested. “If he goes into shock, we might not be able to bring him back. Here, let’s get his legs up on this bundle.” He scooped up Aleron’s ankles with one burly forearm and shoved a bag under his knees.
“All right,” she agreed. “Aleron, my love, I’m just going to settle in behind you. Don’t worry; everything will be all right.” She set herself behind him and clung tightly, while Barathol pulled another blanket over the top of both. Aleron was already asleep by the time the blanket made it to his neck, Eilowyn’s face pressed into his shoulder. The two marines settled in on either gunwale, each facing the other to see all directions, partly to spot approaching danger and partly to watch the crew. They could not guarantee their loyalty, with their boss apparently dead in the water, back at the docks. Both men had their weapons out and lying across their knees. With Aleron asleep, there was no way to communicate with the crew, other than through gestures. The starlight was enough to see by and one of the crew came to them and gestured to the stern, where the steering oar lay. Geldun motioned him to proceed, and the man picked his way between them, carefully, to the stern. The crew had both sails up and a steady westward breeze had them slicing across the water faster than the Sudeans thought possible, from their initial assessment of the craft. There was nothing to do now but wait for dawn and hope the others were not planning to betray them.
***
Ichtaca, Captain of the City Guard addressed the young officer facing him, “How could you let a boat shove off, Lieutenant? You were supposed to kill all the crew and apprehend the Sudeans.”
“Sir, in the darkness, the archers could not tell the Sudeans from the crew, aside from the woman. It caused them to hesitate.”
“Then, your archers are idiots, Lieutenant and that is a reflection on your leadership. In turn, it is a reflection on my leadership. Are you familiar with the old saying about excrement, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, that it rolls down-hill?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, it certainly rolls down-hill. That means that whatever I receive for punishment, you will get double, and I expect you to hold your men accountable as I do you.”
“Yes Sir, understood.”
“Good, now get this mess cleaned up. I want the initial report on my desk by morning. Have the informant identify the bodies. Dismissed!” He watched as the Lieutenant turned smartly and moved off to supervise the cleanup. The informant would be useful in the future. He wanted Cipactli’s operation, so he didn’t even ask for a reward for the information that his boss was a Castian operative, harboring Sudean fugitives. Now, my only concern is painting this in a good light for my boss. Failure is not well tolerated of senior Kolixtlani officers.
***
The first rays of sun crept over the eastern horizon, as the boat sped northwestward from Kolixtla. “He feels hot,” Eilowyn stated, her hand on Aleron’s forehead. He fidgeted restlessly in his sleep and his face appeared flushed, even in the cool morning air. “We need to get this arrow out of him. It’s making him sick.”
“You’re right, Ellie,” Geldun replied. “Wake him up and we’ll get him ready.” He rummaged through his bag for more supplies and Barathol came over to help Eilowyn.
They roused their friend and Barathol asked, “How are you feeling Al, you look sick.”
“I just feel cold.” He clung to himself and shivered, huddled in the blanket.
“You’re not going to like this, but we need to get that shirt off you again, so I can get that arrow out of you,” Geldun informed him. He nodded feebly and released his grip on himself and the blanket. Eilowyn lowered the blanket from over his shoulders and then untangled the tails of his gambeson, so they could remove it. Barathol pulled it over Aleron’s head, while Eilowyn steadied him. He shivered uncontrollably for a few moments, as the cool air hit his fevered skin but managed to control it, after the initial shock. Geldun untied the cravat and began removing the dressing from the wound, rolling the cloth back up, to save it for later. He did not have an endless supply of dressings in his pack. Exposing the wound revealed the problem; red streaks radiating from the puncture, a sure sign that the wound was beginning to fester. “It looks like it’s festering already. I wish we could have pulled it out last night and let it bleed, but it was too risky in the dark.”
One of the Kolixtlani crewmen came over to investigate and Barathol reached for his weapon. The crewman raised up his hands, palm out and said, “Please, I mean you no harm. You speak our language, do you not?” he asked of Aleron.
“I do,” he replied, hoarsely.
“Tell the big one that he kept us alive, and we will do as much for you.”
“He thanks you for helping them stay alive,” he translated for Barathol, “and he pledges to do the same for us. Is that all you wanted to say, friend, or is there something else?”
“The bundle you carry for the boss, this is what it is for. Take a few twigs, no one will notice.”
“That will help my sickness?”
“Yes, it is used for fevers and putrid wounds, which is why it is valued so highly. Strip some of the bark, chew it and apply it to the wound, under the bandage. Then, chew some more, for the fever. If you do, I can assure you that you will recover, but if you do not, you may die before we reach the Acatlpol.”
The Acatlpol River was over three-hundred leagues distant, and they would need over five days to reach it. At least I know now that they plan to make good on their deal to carry us as far west as they can reach by boat, Aleron thought to himself. “He says we should use the stuff in the bundle for the wound and the fever,” he said with effort, after managing a deep breath. He says I need to chew the bark for the fever and put some on the wound to keep it from festering.” He started shivering again, as another fever chill hit him. Barathol took the cue and went to find the bundle.
Geldun took position behind Aleron and said, “I’m going pull it out from the back Al, so I don’t drag any bone chips deeper. Are you ready?” Aleron nodded in affirmation and took a deep breath. “Good then, Ellie, use this for the bleeding,” handing her a wad of clean cloth. “It will probably bleed a little when I open the wound up again. Brace yourself Al; on the count of three, I’ll yank it out. One…two…three.” He pulled sharply and Aleron gritted his teeth, as he felt the wood grate against the bone. Blood slowly oozed from both sides of the wound. Eilowyn and Geldun quickly pressed the wadded cloths to the wound and Geldun inspected the bloody stub of the shaft and stated, “It looks clean; I won’t have to go digging for any splinters. Let’s get you wrapped up again.”
Barathol returned with one of the twigs, shaving a long strip of silver bark with his small knife. “Here, he said to chew this, right?” he said, handing Aleron the strip. Aleron took it fed it into his mouth, chewing as he went. “Wait on wrapping him up, Gel. He’s supposed to have this under the bandage.” Aleron finished chewing, spat the wad into his palm and held it back to Geldun. He was already finding it easier to breath, with the shaft removed, but a throbbing ache replaced the sharp pain he felt a moment ago and he still felt nauseous from the fever. He had a bitter taste on the back of his throat from chewing the bark. Barathol handed him another strip and he repeated the process, handing the second wad of pulverized bark to Eilowyn, as Barathol handed him a third strip to continue chewing. Geldun had Eilowyn hold both cloth pads, with the chewed bark poultices underneath, while he replaced the wrap to secure them in place.
The crewman returned, saying, “Change the bandage twice daily and chew a little of the bark all the time; that should keep you well enough to heal. My sister is a healer; that is how I know. If we had the means, we would dry the bark and grind it to powder, for the wound and make a tea for you to sip, but for now, chewing will have to do.”
“It’s good that you’re not coughing any blood or bleeding much from that wound,” Geldun stated. “You should heal up from the flesh wound pretty fast if it doesn’t fester. The hole in your shoulder blade will take longer though. What did he tell you?”
“He just said to change the bandage twice a day and keep chewing the bark, for my fever,” Aleron replied, following with, “Thank you for everything,” to the crewman, who just nodded in acknowledgement. They were about to replace the gambeson and cover him with the blanket when he suddenly broke out in a sweat. “Leave it off for a bit, my fever just broke. This stuff really works.”
Eilowyn, Geldun and Barathol set to tidying up the cargo area, from the events of the night prior. Once complete, Aleron settled in to rest again, with Eilowyn beside him. Barathol and Geldun joined the Kolixtlani crew, to allow them some rest as well. Both men knew how to sail and hand gestures were communication enough to operate the boat. If the wind held out and they sailed straight through, they would round the peninsula, into the Kolixtlani Sea, in another day. Their pursuit would be well behind them, and they hoped there was no way the Kolixtlani authorities could send word to other ports in time to send out interceptor ships.
“Aleron, do you suppose the Kolixtlani priests can speak over distance, like elves do?” Eilowyn asked him.
“Rare, from what Grandfather told me,” he answered wearily. “Something to do with the lack of precision in red magic. Only those with extreme levels of ability can manage it. I think we killed the only one in Kolixtla likely to be that good.”
“We can hope, at least. Now try to sleep, Love.”
https://www.audible.com/pd/Sign-of-the-White-Raven-Audiobook/B0DP1GZL88
