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.
That afternoon, we trekked solemnly north.
I tried to ignore the stench of the fire that clung to my damp clothes. I did not mind the smell of a natural fire, of course, but a funeral pyre carries a distinct smell that lingers for days and I could not help but be reminded of the shambling thing that was Baram's chosen man. Even the dignity of the fire had been stolen from him. If the smell bothered me, how much worse would it be fore her? Yet if she noticed it, she gave no indication. If she felt compelled to look over her should to see the last white tendrils carrying his soul to the beyond, she did not show that either.
Then a new smell invaded my nostrils. I glanced up, repelled, to see Seymuhr's lopsided grin.
"Hello," I said. I wondered if I could lift my shirt to cover my nose without risking his ire. I decided not to.
"You are a storyteller," he said, his voice as raspy as ever. "A Falcuhn?"
"As I've said, yes."
"You know things of wordcraft, then. Of language."
I felt an absurd glow of pride that he--brute that he was--recognized such a thing. Then I realized that he was asking a question, not stating a fact.
"I like to think so." I kept my voice cool, somehow.
"I've come up with a new poem, I'd like you to hear it. It describes our fight with the giants."
Oh dear. I felt cold, weak and a little ill. I had head Seymhur's poetry before and the sound left me wanting to scratch my ears off. What if he wanted my honest opinion? The maces that hung at either side of his hips swayed menacingly.
"Have you, now? That's good. A man should stretch his mind as often as he stretches his legs."
"Would you like to hear them?"
"Them?" Bones of Barnok, there was more than one. That figured. "Would these be of the Nogovian sort? Like the others?"
A grunt and a nod. "They are, but not like the other. My poems are like belches. No two are alike."
I had to give him that one. It was probably an adequate description. "Very well."
He cleared his throat and paused. Baram, Merrick and Broo Fang Tane also stopped, Tane with a mild smile on his face and Merrick wiping sweat from his. The tang of his perspiration hung in the air.
"They came through the trees
hungry, tall and hideous
I hit them; they fell."
"Wonderful," I said, my voice flat.
"I struck first and their
ruptured flesh and splintered bones
made a foul, red swamp"
"Pretty," I glanced at Baram, who flashed me a quizzical expression. "Like a tapestry the size of a wash rag."
"Crows gathered nearby
summoned by the ghastly, shrill
womanish death cries."
"That about describes it," I said, clapping him on the back. "Well done. If the fight had not been fresh in my mind already, your words would bring it there."
"I like the...part a....bout the rup......tured flesh," Tane added, slowly.
"Ghastly and shrill, like a woman," Merrick mused. "Sounds like someone I knew, for certain." He winked at me and I turned away.
"Crows will be gathering nearby once more," I put in, "if we are not soon on our way."
"There's more," Seymuhr said. He cleared his throat again and his eyes took on a wistful look, as if he were staring at a plate filled with beef and nuts.
"Why don't we save them for the fire tonight?" I said. "If we need to pause, we'll have use of some cheerful words to keep the dark at bay. And if we don't start moving, we'll indeed have to spend the night in these woods."
Seymuhr considered. "Good. That will give me time to hone them a little more."
"One can hope," I said.
We set off again.
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