The silent tribute

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place. On the way, they meet up with a lady of the wood whose husband has succumbed to the vile magic of the pirate's witch.


Baram watched the fire smolder in silence. She may have wished for immediate revenge, but none came to investigate the source of the black smoke that curled up into the bright blue sky. None that we saw, at any rate. The forest was never quiet; creatures stalked at the edge of our clearing making small but innocent sounds. Now and again a bird soared overhear, some of them quite large and black, but whether they were spies of the Mountain Witch or not, we had no way to determine.


None of my companions wanted to disturb the Daughter of the Wolf as she watched her husband burn. I took note of the single trail of tears that flowed unabated and undisturbed. I was reminded of a day, long ago, when I saw similar smoke, smelled the same stench of scorched flesh and mourned one who had meant the world to me. I was just a young girl, then, clinging terrified to my wailing father's shirt. My mother had been all I had known. I saw no way forward without her kindness to ease the sting of my father's hand or harsh words. I understood Baram's grief--I suppose, in a way, we all did--but did not think that gave me the right to intrude on it.


Instead I flipped through the pages of Harfigorn's log, seeking clues to our destination or, at the very least, our foes. the idea that the pirate himself was the lesser evil was still growing in my mind. I thought it possible now, that he was merely a puppet for a stronger, blacker power. Perhaps even the witch Athelane did not know what she trifled with.


I found troubling accounts of battles against gigantic creatures, ambushes on hapless merchant vessels and the blood-soaked rituals that followed. It was a circle of horror; the fluids and pieces of those doomed traders called the dark things that lay wait below the surface of the Big Seas to the surface. Some fought and died, others were allowed to return to their gloomy domain. I could see no pattern in it.


Merrick appeared beside me, tugging his sparse beard. "Anything?"


I shook my head. "The tales are wild, but not too informative. They detail the witch's power and depravity, but not her purpose."


A grunt. "I suspected. Those who crave this dark knowledge rarely let us know why. For us, it is enough to know they exist and must be stopped."


"Do you think we'll be able to? If she has found a way to harness Ewl's power, or gain his favor, all the weapons we have might not be enough." I stared at Seymuhr as I spoke. He sat warming his feet by the pyre and munching on a dried spider leg as long as his arm.


"My--our--companions are stout fighters, and I've a few tricks up my sleeve," he said. "But there is no way to guarantee success in any battle. We can only prepare ourselves, bolster our own spirits, and do our best."


I nodded. Sound philosophy, of course. I had always followed it--and that was how I found myself bereft of coin and home and at the mercy Merrick and his agents of the Ministry of Human Preservation.


"That, and hope my luck changes," I said.


Baram bowed her head. I heard a few murmured words and then a deep sigh. She stood, brushing the grass from her backside and the tear trail from her cheeks.


"Enough," she said. "Let's be on our way. My sword is still dry and my soul hungers for vengeance."

The cleansing flame

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman. Now, they ponder their next move.


Later, we gathered wood for a fire and Seymurh placed Ranfyrd's body on it.


"You are certain of this?" I asked Baram. She had been quiet since she had instructed us not to bury the body of her husband, her gaze alternating between his shriveled, misshapen corpse and the blue mountains to the north. "Our errand is urgent, but we still have time to bury your man, perhaps build a small shrine...?"


"I am sure. Under other circumstances, I would be honored to give his body back to the land, so that he may sustain it for those who still live." She met my gaze and I saw a quiet rage there. "The evil the mountain witch infected him with must be contained. I would not want it to poison the land, or the creatures who may pass through here. It must be the fire. That is another crime this Athelane must suffer for--denying Ranfyrd his rightful place in the soil."


Merrick had drawn a short, thick vial from some hidden pocket. He shook it, dipped a finger in it and then inspected the green liquid that coated its tip. Satisfied with what he saw, he crouched over Ranfyrd's body, mumbling something, as he drew a quick circular pattern on unfortunate man's forehead. Then he closed his eyes and brought his hands together in front of his chest, took a deep breath and held it for so long I wondered if he would ever take another one.


HIs eyes flickered open and he flashed me a smile with no humor in it. "Merely a precaution," he said. "The flames should cleanse what the soil cannot."


Broo Fang Tane stood on the other side of the pyre, his head bowed in prayer. Seymuhr swatted a few more insects. I was not sure what, if anything, I should say, so I shifted my weight and held my tongue.


Merrick bent and picked up a log that jutted from the fire we had started nearby. The end smoldered, ready to give birth to new flame. He held it up to Baram. "It is time," he said, his voice soft and filled with compassion.


Wordlessly, she took the torch and held it below the shriveled corpse of her husband. the dry wood caught quickly, the fire spreading in great crackling leaps. the body was consumed in moments as the flames reached toward the clear blue sky. The black smoke curled upward, tinged with a bizarre, bright green.


I glanced upward, noting three large black birds that were circling overhead. the smoke would reach the top of the trees soon, and be visible for leagues.


"Will the smoke draw the attention of our enemies?" I whispered to Merrick, who shrugged.


Baram must have overheard. "Let them come," she said.


We watched the flames and readied our weapons.

Ranfryd's last Sojourn

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship—found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman...
 

I felt a pang of sympathy for her. It was bad enough to see such an unnatural thing done to a man; how much worse would it be to know the poor wretch, to have loved him, to have seen him in better days?
 
"I'm sorry."
 
She dismissed the gesture. "It is none of your concern. Thank you for releasing him."
 
"An..yt...ime," Broo Fang said. "Had I known...that...you were.........near....I would not...have...kicked him...so hard."

Baram grunted. Seymuhr slapped his forehead. I gave the Daughter of the Wolf a tight apologetic smile. I had already apologized for the manners of my companions and didn't see the need to do it again.

"What I think my companion meant to say is that he would have been more gentle with his release," I said. "How did he come to this sorry state, if you'll pardon the question?"

She glared at me, but Seymuhr stepped in, standing in front of me in what could have been a protective gesture. That was odd. I thought it was unnecessary and wished he could have stood downwind.

"We are searching for this mountain witch, as you call her," Merrick said. "We know her name, which is Athelane, and seek to destroy her if, in fact, she still lives."

"She exists. What you see is proof. There is more further north, closer to the mountains. It is there that my husband went, seeking the source of an evil that is permeating our land. He left in the night, while I was asleep, under the misguided impression that he was protecting me from danger."

I glanced at Seymuhr, who still stood in front of me. I stepped aside and waved some fresh air toward my nostrils. "How did he know where to go? Can you take us?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. He might have just ventured north, with no clear direction in mind. Her evil—you will see it soon enough, if you continue your course—should not be too difficult to follow."

"You...followed your hus...band this far. Could....you..."

"Yes, I can," Baram said. "If you truly seek to confront this evil, then I will accompany you. I would have done so long ago, and I urged my husband to be patient, as well. For the mountain witch has found great power in her hidden domain and ending her reign will be difficult."

"More than your husband could handle," Seymuhr said. I winced, and wondered at the lack of compassion in the man. I started to protest, but Baram stopped me.

"Indeed, more than he could handle, as you said." She looked down at his shriveled body and paused. For a moment, her eyes gleamed, but then she blinked the wetness away. "He was a stout man, strong of heart and limb, with the fierce blood of a warrior in him. It was not enough."

"We are four, where he was one," Seymurh said. He cocked his head from side to side, stretching the muscles there and his fingers crackled as he tightened them into fists. "And I've not met a foe that I could not send to Ewl's dark domain."

"We are five, not four," I snapped. "Even you've enough fingers to count that high..."

"Save your strength," Merrick broke in. "And you as well, Seymuhr. For if this Athelane still lives after all this time, it may be that she has already visited—or been sent—to the dark god's realm and found the power to escape death's embrace."

Daughter of the Wolf

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman...





As a woman, the figure who emerged from the forest was everything that I was not. Tall and lean, with strong limbs, a flat stomach and a figure that drew appreciative stares from all of my recently-found traveling companions. Her hair was dark and long, with strands that glinted like gold in the afternoon sun. The pelt of some unfortunate woodland creature covered her rounded hips and ample bosom—barely—and boots of faded leather hugged her calves. She released the tension on her bow, pointing the arrow toward the ground as she approached.


Nobody spoke. I cleared my throat and Merrick snapped his mouth shut, ran a hand through his tangled hair and sheathed his sword.

"I am Merrick, and these are my companions," he said. "Seymuhr, Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Esmiralda, a freelance historian in the loose employ of Queen Phedera. May I ask your name? How did you come to this place, and what knowledge have you of this mountain witch?"

She replaced the arrow in her quiver and slung the bow over her shoulder. She looked at each of us in turn and her gaze lingered on Seymuhr, who wore the glazed expression, as usual, of a horseman who been knocked from his saddle by a low branch. The woman's eyes were darker than any I had seen before and they conveyed age and wisdom in a way her lithe form did not.

"I am called Baram d'Lupene, and this is my domain," she said.

"d'Lupene," I found my voice at last, and translated the name as I spoke it. "Daughter of the wolf?" I had heard tales of a forest queen who counted herself among the greatest of the woodland hunters. A legend that could not possibly account for this woman's presence.

"The same," she said.


"Daughter of the wolf?" Seymuhr asked. "Doesn't that make you a bi..."
 
"Show some class," I admonished him. "My apologies. My companion knows little of the courtesies most people extend to one another."

"I care little for them, and would expect no less from one of his kind," Baram said. 

"Men, you mean," I clarified, sensing a kindred spirit. Tane gave me a wounded look, but Baram answered before he could say anything—not surprising, considering the slow, erratic way he formed his words.
 
"I do not." She looked down at the corpse, and sadness flickered across her eyes. She prodded it with her foot.
 
"He won't be getting back up," Merrick told her. "At least, I think not. Our companion saw to that. Do you know who...or what...he is?"

She nodded. "I have answers to both of your questions. I know little of the mountain witch, as you call her—although her work is more and more common in my forest. As to this poor creature, who he is and what is he are the same. He is a puppet, or was, before your companion 'saw to that,' an aberration and evidence of the black power she wields. Before that, he was my husband."



NEXT: Ranfryd's last Sojourn

What manner of evil?

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with. Enraged by swarming insects, Seymuhr knocked himself unconscious in a vain attempt to rid himself of the flying pests. Meanwhile, Mira and her companions get a strange visitor...




The main swayed at the edge of the clearing, eyes vacant and arms hanging loosely in front of him. Drool glistened at the side of his mouth. Insects crawled over his face, but he made no move to brush them off. A fat fly paused on his open eye.  


Merrick was the first to react. His pulled his blade halfway from its scabbard and took a step in front of me in a protective gesture that I did not appreciate. I snorted, indignant, and moved to get a better view of the man and to see if he was alone.


"State your name and purpose," Merrick demanded.


The figure tilted his head, but made no other move. Breath bubbled from his throat. His hands curled into claws.


"Turnnnnn backkKk." The sounds were harsh and wet, as if the man was unfamiliar with the way the words were formed.




"Who are you?" Merrick demanded.


"How do you know where...we...are go...ing?" Broo-Fang asked. He had appeared on my right. HIs feet were set slightly apart, his left in front of the other, as if he expected to fight.


The shambling man gave him a look that might have been quizzical, had there been any light behind his eyes. I noticed a faint smell that reminded me of moss.


"TurrnNn back," it repeated. Its right arm twitched and the fingers on the hand jerked as if pulled by strings. It occurred to me that this thing--for if it had been a man, it surely was one no longer--was trying to raise its arm and point in the direction we had just come. My stomach hitched and I tasted bile. What manner of evil was this?


Then both of its arms raised in front of it and it shambled forward, fingers reaching toward me. A bolt of ice ran down my spine and I stumbled back, fumbling for my longknife. I needn't have worried. Broo Fang was in motion, spanning the distance between himself and the twitching once-man in a single, lithe leap. The ball of his foot crashed into the side of its skull, staving it in and sending it sprawling in a convulsing heap. Ruined and oozing, the pathetic creature still tried to push itself back to its feet. Broo fang looked down, a disgusted expression on his face, then silenced it with a vicious blow from his staff.


"Bones of Barnok," I breathed. A cold sweat had formed on my forehead. Broo Fang poked at the dead man as Merrick cautiously approached them. Seymuhr was looking to the west, a curious expression on his face. He lifted his head slightly and looked like he was testing the wind like a hound.


I moved toward the twisted form that had once been a man. The mossy smell grew worse; it filled my lungs and mouth like a cloud of stagnant dirt. My eyes watered as I looked down at the vacant eyes that stared up from its shattered skull.


"The evil we track is a potent one, indeed," Merrick stated.


I covered my mouth with my sleeve. He and Broo Fang did not appear to notice the stench--or, at least, they weren't bothered by it. Perhaps that was because they had traveled with Seymuhr longer than I had and were more familiar with foul odors.


"An emissary from the pirate's witch?" I asked.


"It must be so," Merrick answered, bending toward the thing on the ground.


"Indeed it is," said a new voice. We all whirled toward its source. A woman had appeared from the trees, clothed in brown and brandishing a bow with an arrow at the ready. "The bigger puzzle is why would the mountain witch expend such energy to send it. Who, exactly, are you?"

From an ancient book, I took a clue

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...




Later, I looked down at Seymuhr's inert body. A swollen, purple knot showed where he had knocked himself cold in a vain attempt to kill a  persistent insect. Even so, he wore a peaceful smile and I wondered if he dreamt and what those visions were. A land without insects, probably.


I sat on a fallen tree and ignored the rumbling in my stomach. Nearby, Broo Fang practiced what looked like a form of structured dance, moving his legs and arms in slow, graceful arcs that simulated punches, kicks and blocks. Occasionally, those steady, fluid movements would end in a sudden, violent snap and sharp exhalation of breath that would have made me chuckle if not for the power evident behind them. How could anything sound so silly and look so dangerous at the same time? That thought summed up our little band, I suddenly realized.


I pulled out the log book and propped it open.


"Do you think we'll find more clues to our destination?" Merrick stopped in front of me and rested a boot on the fallen trunk. He chewed absently on a dried spider leg.


"It's doubtful," I admitted. "This tome was left behind. There is no reason to believe that its author knew where Harfigorn and Adelane were heading." I was more interested in the history contained in the pages than anything else. As a historian myself, I wanted to compare the accounts within the book to the tales I had heard of the time. Besides, if some of them could be taken out, verified and sold into the Queen's Record, I would gain some coin as well as notoriety. Take that, Connell Malak.


"True," Merrick agreed. "The pirate or witch who made their plans known would be a strange one, indeed."


"And not as successful as Harigorn, most like. Still, I find the account of their voyage fascinating."


"Oh? You found something?" He leaned in and I could smell his musk mingling with the leather of his breastplate, a not entirely unpleasant scent.


"Look here," I said, turning the book around. "If I read this right, Harfigorn..."


But a peculiar feeling took hold of me and froze the words on my tongue. It felt as if the land was suddenly dipped in shadow, although the sun remained bright overhead. The wind stilled, the forest grew silent. Merrick gasped. Broo Fang stood as rigid as a statue, then a sneer formed on his lips.


"You seek me?" He said in a voice that was not his own. "Fools...."

The trek continues

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...


Our trek continued. I fell into an easy silence, lulled from the dangers that awaited us by the lilting tune that Broo Fang plated on a wooden flute. I was impressed with his dexterity; I had little of the grace one expects in my sex and tripped continually over exposed roots or the gnarled vines that spread across the forest floor like twisted ropes. Broo Fang avoided all obstacles and kept a steady, if mournful, tone with his music. He never stopped smiling.


Ahead, Seymuhr smashed his was through the growth like a soldier determined to break down a siege wall. He constantly jerked his head to shake off the flying pests that surrounded him. His maces, one in each hand, struck tree from root as he cleared a somewhat northern path for us to follow. Merrick walked behind me, quiet and contemplative.


We headed toward the mountains in search of a lost pirate, his evil sorceress and, I hoped, vast wealth. I enjoyed my role in the land of Korin as a falcuhn, a historian of sorts who traveled in search of the stories and customs that would have been otherwise lost to the annuls of time. It was a noble occupation, a worthy cause, yet it often failed to fill my pouch with coin and I grew weary of wondering where my next meal would come from. And I had given up hope that I would be rescued from that fate by some knight or prosperous merchant--or even a farmer in need of a womanly touch. I was too old, too heavy, and too difficult to get along with for extended periods of time. A forgotten treasure trove was my best option, at the moment.


Sad.


As the day wore on, I grew hungry, but not hungry enough to call for a rest or to ask for one of the dried spider legs that Seymuhr had been munching on since we left the site of Harfigorn's shipwreck earlier in the day. He still had a fistful of the things stuck into his belt and if their stubbly, arm-length size was not enough of a deterrent, the proximity to his smelly hide was. Rarely in my life had I encountered an entity--human or otherwise--that filled the air around it with such unpleasantness. He was like a skunk, regaling in his own stench.


Then he halted, abruptly and let out a growl that might have been a profane curse.


"What must I do to rid myself of these pests?" He waved his arms wildly, disturbing another cloud of the humming things. "I've no more blood to give them!"


"You could try bathing," I suggested, before I could stop myself. "They might not be so attracted to you if they didn't think you were a rolling pile of fresh dung dropped by a sick cow in a field of rotting fish."


He paused and glared at me, his lip curling into a snarl. I stopped, fear prickling my belly. Seymuhr was a warrior of some repute, a man (I guessed) of great strength, with a twitchy disposition. Had I gone too far? It would not be the first time my tongue, unfettered by reason, had brought trouble to my feet.


Then he started to chuckle and I relaxed somewhat until another insect, this one large enough to cast a walnut-sized shadow, buzzed close to his ear. He shouted again then waved his maces in incoherent fury, bit only succeeded in felling two saplings and knocking himself cold.


"Well. I guess we....will....rest....here," Broo Fang said, flute poised at his lips. He was a monk and an optimist, who spoke slowly and with an unusual rhythm.


"Indeed." I was grateful. I looked around for a stump to rest on. "I, for one, am not wiling to try to carry him. I would never get the smell out of these clothes."

The unlikely son

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had vanished long ago. Following clues in a log book they find in the pirate’s quarters, they hope to discover clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...




We walked on through a forest that was still damp from the previous night's storm. The trees were alive around us and the air was occasionally thick with swarms of biting flies that hung in gray clouds at chest level. They bothered Seymuhr more than Broo Fang, Merrick or I, for he was the shortest of our odd company and where we could brush the pests away from our chins, he ended up with a face full of them.
 

What a strange person, I thought, not for the first time. Obviously I had only met these three companions only a few days ago and still knew very little about them. The prodigious strength Seymuhr had shown during our brief battle with the Hunyn and the ease with which he had carried me out of the city did not match up with his diminutive stature. I wondered if it matched that of the giants themselves and if he came by it from some form of sorcery. He picked at his teeth and spat another wad of spider flesh into a clump of weeds, then scratched at his backside. I waved a hand in front of my face, as much to chase away the insects as the sudden overripe human smell.

 
"Where did you find him, anyway?" I asked Merrick, who walked beside me. Merrick was the tallest of our group. He carried a knotted staff carved into a smooth orb at the top. Merrick chuckled.

 
"It was a bizarre encounter," he cautioned.

 
"I would expect nothing else," I muttered. 

 
"In truth, it wasn't entirely bizarre--although you may find it a bit difficult to believe. It was a day like any other day and I was traveling far south of here, in the kingdom of Nicaria--you know the place?"

 
"I know of it, although I have hardly ventured very far beyond its borders. It is aptly named." Indeed, it was rumored that the Enothopian explorer Grolly Ann had named it thus when she first caught a glimpse of it after a brutal winter traveling through the Mountains of Sineb. 'This now, is a nice area,' she said, according to several historical tomes I was familiar with.

 
"Indeed. The reasons for my errand in that fine country are not important. I walked along the main road, and was just coming up a low, gradual slope when I saw a strange shape ahead of me: a gigantic mass with a horse-shaped head walking steadily toward me on two stubby legs.

 
"I had never seen the like," he continued, "and I am not ashamed to say I felt a bolt of fear churn in my bowels and threaten the cleanliness of my underclothes. I looked for a place to get off the road and hide, but the country was wide open, with nothing but tall grass on either side. I drew my blade, uncertain of what to do, when I saw another appendage break free from the figure and wave."

 
Merrick looked ahead to see if Seymuhr was listening, but if he was he gave no sign. Tane led the way, ducking away from errant branches and avoiding the clouds of stinging insects as if he was one of their own.
 

"I could scarcely believe my eyes when this figure approached. It was not one creature, but two: a man and a horse traveling together, but inverted. Seymuhr--the man--was carrying the horse."

 
"That's impossible."

 
He shook his head. "So I thought and I would not believe it either, had I not seen it myself. The horse had gone lame, and Seymuhr was carrying it to a temple or smith to see if there was anything that could be done for the poor beast."
 

"A horse. An adult horse?"



"Aye."

 
"A big horse?"

 
"Big enough, I'd wager. Well, I immediately saw that he could be of assistance in my...pursuits, so I introduced myself--and immediately wished I hadn't."

 
"Why, what happened?"

 
"He dropped the horse when he shook my hand. We had to put the poor thing out of its misery then."

 
"I see."

 

"Magnificent animal, too. It deserved a better fate."

 
"Don't we all." Now I couldn't help but be offended. Hadn't Seymuhr complained when he had me thrown over his shoulder like a...like a horse? "I've never heard of a man who possesses such strength. How did he come by it?"

 
"Ah. Well. Speaking of bizarre tales...you'll have to ask him about that."

The journey, continued

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had long ago vanished. They find an old log book in the captain's quarters and decide to take it into the light, where they hope to discover more clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...


Later, much later, we paused to rest and take stock of our situation. Seymuhr pulled a pair of dried spider legs out of his pouch and offered me  one. I declined as politely as I could, struggling to keep the contents of my stomach where they were. He shrugged and bit noisily into one of the scorched appendages, making that internal struggle that much more difficult.


Merrick stopped beside me, resting both hands on his thick staff. "What are you thinking?"


I was caught momentarily unaware. It was strange for me to be asked such a blunt question. I was a Falcuhn, a historian, known for recording thoughts and actions, places and things. It was mildly flattering to be asked what I thought of them. I glanced again at my companions, Broo-Fang Tane, the Optimist Monk; Seymuhr: short, squat and smelly, but a warrior of fearsome ability and Merrick, whose service to the crown was secondary to his service to the human race.


"I wonder if we're heading in the right direction," I said honestly. The wrecked ship was far behind us. Ahead, I saw only trees and, beyond them, the white-capped peaks of the Mountains of Vemt.


He nodded. "As do I. It only stands to reason, however, that our quarry headed toward a more remote location. In any other direction, they may have encountered towns, villages or the like--and the people that inhabit them would likely have taken notice of such a strange group so laden with treasure."


"Hmm." Most of what he said was true. But if people were to notice odd groups, we might as well have been carrying a wooden target on our backs.


"I don't know what you're so worried about," Seymuhr said. He wiped the last traces of spider juice off his grizzled chin and flung it to the ground, where it slapped against a clump of grass. "It matters not where we walk. 'Tis a good day for it, anyway. Most likely we will find nothing but a moldy corpse in a deep cave--if that."


"And if we find more?"


He gave me a hungry smile and tapped the maces that hung on either side of his hip. "Fear not."


I nodded. I had seen him wield those weapons before, and was comforted--of a bit sickened--by his ability.


"Let's hope they will be as useful against this enemy as they were against the Hunan," I muttered. With that, I signaled toward the mountains and we started off once more.

Strange company, indeed

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had long ago vanished. They find an old log book in the captain's quarters and decide to take it into the light, where they hope to discover more clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...


Soon, the fire was doused and we set off to the north, toward the gray misted peaks of Gyst and the hidden dangers that awaited us there. It was a mild day, and the land was still fresh from the previous night's rain. The sky itself had been cleansed free of clouds and songbirds rustled in the leaves above and called out their musical warnings across the canopy.




Merrick took the lead, humming a vaguely familiar tune as he planted a thick branch in the earth in time with every other step. I stayed close behind him, my stomach still churning from my spider-limb breakfast. I smelled Seymuhr directly behind me. Broo Fang, silent as the forest creatures themselves, took up the rear.


The forest was silent, but my mind raced. Imagine: the lost resting place of Harfirgorn the Merciless! It was every Falcuhn's dream to make such a discovery, to record it for all time, to plug a hole in the history of the land or, more importantly, to close the tomb door and lock away a particularly dread evil. It was hard for me to believe that, mere days before, I had been down to my last coin, peddling maps for money to buy bread and ale. Now I was on a quest that could bring fame and, if my life-long luck changed, fortune.


"Do you...think that...this is a vain qu...est?" Broo Fang had appeared beside me so silently that I nearly yelped in surprise. I looked down at his wide, inquisitive eyes and disguised the stutter in my step as a trip over a root.


"I do not know," I answered. "I am hopeful, but it seems odd that someone so careful, plotting and devious as Harfirgorn is reputed to be would leave such a map behind. And his witch? Adalane...?"


He nodded. "I a....gree. Yet it is poss....ib...le that they did not know of....it." His speech was so slow that I was tempted to finish his sentences for him. "Their evil made them arrogant enough to...o...verlook the chance for de....feat."


"True." Then it hit me. I suddenly understood why the monk was such a trained fighter and why I had rarely seen anything but a smile on his face. "You're an Optimist!" I exclaimed.


He bowed slightly, his eyes half closed and his smile growing. He never broke stride.


Indeed, that would explain it, the philosophy and the training went hand in hand. In these troubled times, anyone who traveled the world trying to spread good cheer and sunshine had better be able to defend themselves.


"I had no idea," I murmured. Indeed, I had never seen one. Optimist Monks were as rare in these lands as were the agents of the Ministry of Human Preservation that Merrick belonged to. He had, indeed, put together a strange company. Again, I wondered at the forces that brought me to them.


Was there some higher purpose at work? If so, should I follow, or leave as soon as I was able?


"I know of no....other way," Tane said quietly.


"How did you come to, er, take up the robe?" I wasn't sure how to ask the question.


"It is the only 'robe' I've known," he said. "I was aban...doned as a small child. The priests at the Temple of...the...Sun told me they found me one day, squealing and red....faced with fistfuls of my mo....ther's hair. That...is...all."


I was silent. I could envision the scene and the thought behind it. A harried young woman, unable to deal with an enraged infant. I guessed that the monks at the Sun Temple saw something in that yowling babe that his own mother could not. Whatever the reason, it was understandable that Broo Fang Tane would cling to their doctrine of hope despite daily evidence to the contrary.


"Well," I said, a bit awkward. "I am glad they brought you in."


He smiled again, pressed his palms together and bowed. We walked on.

The Wet God's Directive

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that had long ago vanished. They find an old log book in the captain's quarters and decide to take it into the light, where they hope to discover more clues to his final resting place—and the treasure that he is most likely buried with...


I tried to focus on the book spread across the large rock in front of me. Seymurh continued to be a distraction, tearing into the roasted spiders with a childish abandon. I cringed at every pop of scorched flesh, slurp of leaking juices and belch of intestinal protest.


Merrick leaned in, a curled spider limb protruding from the corner of his mouth like a pipe. He chewed on it noisily.


"'North to the hills' is a vague direction," he said. He wiped a smear of gray ichor from the side of his mouth and licked the spider juice off his fingers. My stomach protested. I was hungry and disgusted at the same time.


"True. And any path they may have followed has long since been swallowed by the forest," I said.


"Path?" Seymurh approached, another curled spider leg in his grimy hand. "If you ask me, all of this is a waste of time. There's no way of knowing how long this wreck has been here. This is a legend now, not a danger."


"It could be," Merrick acknowledged. "But it has been my experience that evil does not fade on its own."


Seymuhr belched and snorted.


I turned away, looking to the north and the mountains that rose above the treetops. Their peaks were shrouded in mist, their slopes scattered with brush. It would take a lifetime to search them--even if we knew what we were looking for. Still, Merrick's words rang true. I envisioned some ancient, hateful thing growing beneath the surface of those majestic peaks and shuddered.


"There are towns up that way," I suggested. "We may find some clues along the way. A library or temple, perhaps, that would hold some record of their passing."


"Are you...sure you are not hun...gry?" Broo Fang held up a twisted spider the size of a small dog. The fire had not burned all of the fuzz from its legs and he absently plucked the hairs with his other hand. "We have pl...enty, and can always get.....................more."


"I ate some leaves earlier. I'm not really hungry."


He shrugged. "The taste is not so bad, a bit like pick......led beets."


"Thank you for the insight, but not right now."


"They are....bet....ter when they're warm," he added, wiggling the dead thing slightly.


"I can only imagine."


He shrugged and buried his face in the belly of the thing and I turned away from the dreadful crunch of charred, breaking skin.


"We should strike north then," Merrick said. He held up a hairless spider leg and I took it, reluctant but grateful. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad with the spines removed. "I have a feeling that we working toward a higher purpose here. Perhaps Sluth, in his rage, tossed this vessel too far from his own domain to exact his own vengeance. He had to wait for someone to carry it out."


I was skeptical. I looked at Broo Fang, slight and quiet, Seymuhr prodigious in strength, no doubt, but of questionable mind. Merrick seemed the only one with a proper head on his shoulders, but he was no fighter. If the Wet God Sluth was waiting for the likes of us the world was in greater peril than anyone thought.