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Kamil Dravan wrinkled his nose at the smell of the alley that he and Kirstin wandered through. To both sides of him were carts and open doors with fish of all kinds hanging from strings and hooks. Kamil had never in his life imagined that there were so many different kinds to catch. It seemed that every shopped had another variety of fish, be it large or small, or speckled, or feelers of some sort growing from the top of its head. As wondrous as he found it all, the smell was enough to make him want to gag. Then there was the sight of men with short bladed knives cutting and flaying the fish, some right out on the streets, some as customers even watched them! At least he didn't feel so bad when he noticed that Kirstin was turning a touch green and putting a hand over her mouth, green eyes flicking this way and that, not content on watching anything that they found.
Quickening his pace, Kamil took Kirstin by the arm, hoisting her along with him. He felt the fool, in part. He had stopped at the first of the Shoppes that sold so many fish, just a small one story Shoppe that reminded him of his father's Shoppe back in Hamla. He had asked the man across the counter if he or the other fishermen had ever caught a deep god. The man laughed at him until tears spilt from the corners of his eyes, as did the two customers that were in his Shoppe, examining a chilled basket of black, almost oily fish that were the size of Kamil's finger length. Face turning red all over again from the memory, he redoubled his already fast pace.
"Why are you dragging me, Kamil?" Kirstin asked at last, pulling free of his grip and slowing when they cleared the alley, looking out on the vast sheet of light blue that formed the Turbades Ocean. There were no waves that day, only the faintest scent of salty air coming in over the gut wrenching smell of fresh fish.
"We're in a hurry, aren't we? Father Alohm wants us at the peer before the midday bell tolls, right?"
"I suppose so," Kirstin shrugged, "I don't suppose you hurrying had anything to do with those people laughing at you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Kamil growled, quickening his pace even further than what it had been. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know deep gods weren't hunted by fishermen, rather the other way around. He remembered Blain Crestworn's tale, the old man that lived as a hermit on the plains north of Twin Port. The old man had fear in his voice, thick as any tangible thing, when he spoke of his near death at the hands of that sea legend.
"Kamil, do you have any idea why Cameron wants us to go north? I wonder if this place wasn't safe, then what makes him think going there will help us at all?"
"I don't think that Cameron came up with this idea. From what I heard, the father has wanted us to go north for some time. I think it has something to do with a dream that he was having or something to the effect."
"Speaking of dreams," came another voice from their side, "I must be having one myself. Is that you, Kamil?" Kamil and Kirstin both turned as one, Kirstin taking on a pleasant smile while Kamil's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. A line of peasants parted, heading into the alley where the pair had just come from, revealing a beautiful young woman with pale skin and dark, tightly tailed hair running down her back. She had her hands clasped at the front of her tunic, the soft leather glittering a trifle with metallic beads that were woven into it. She smiled warmly at Kamil, her eyes never wavering from his.
"Sar...Maria?" Kamil stammered, his eyes broadening and his hands falling to his sides. Kirstin's smile turned cold, but she maintained it. It was the proper thing to do, after all. Kirstin recalled the last time that Kamil had seen her, when they had first met in the village of Casteel. Cameron had become very bitter when he learned that Maria had taken him to the local tavern, and got him drunk as well. She prayed that Kamil wouldn't follow this woman off a second time, not when the father had made it so clear that there was no time to waste.
"I can't believe my good fortune, finding you in Twin Port at the same time that I am! I don't suppose that you will be in the city for long?" she asked him, her lips curled into a smile, one slight hand reaching out and taking hold of his own. Kamil swallowed once before speaking.
"I'm afraid not, Maria. I'm going north, along with my...brother and sister...to someplace that's safer than here. We were at Cromley Tower shortly before the army of Dagoth came riding in to siege them."
"That would explain why the banner of the blade and anvil flies across the city walls. Kamil, there are Dagothian soldiers crowding the northern section of the city. Are you in danger from them?"
"We all are," Kirstin interjected, getting a hot stare from Maria, she hastened to continue, "And if there are soldiers then there is even more reason for us to hurry, Kamil."
"Of course, you're right, "Kamil replied without looking back at her. He stepped close to Maria, taking her other hand in his free hand, "Come north with us, Maria. This place can't be safe for anyone if the king of Dagoth is putting sentries here. I've seen what he orders those men to do." He shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes at the memory of him, running down the street in Hamla while his father fought and nearly died in his stead. Never again would he play the coward. He would learn to fight his own battles.
"I find it charming that you care for my safety, Kamil. But you forget that the king's men will not harm me, even if they desire to."
"Why is that? Do you have protection from them, Maria? Asylum, perhaps?" Kirstin questioned from behind Kamil, already scanning the open streets that lay out before them, imagining a host of Dagothian soldiers swarming down them, swords raised, ready to strike them down on the king's command. Kirstin was taken aback when she finally noticed the dark menace in those brown eyes of Maria's. The woman glared into her, seeing right through her. Kirstin felt suddenly cold under those eyes, wishing she and Kamil weren't there. The woman was trouble.
"I have reasons for not fearing them, girl, and Kamil knows well those reasons, don't you?"
Kamil nodded, his jaw held tight, and strained a smile to Kirstin, "We had better go then. I am glad that I could see you again, Maria, if only for a few moments," He raised his hand, cupping hers, to bring it to his lips but she stopped him, pulling him closer until she laced a single arm around his neck and kissed him, a passionate, if brief touch of her lips against his, leaving Kamil breathless.
"Do me a favor, then Kamil," Maria smiled prettily at him, ignoring Kirstin's sorely disapproving look, "Give yourself a shave. You are starting to become prickly."
"Of course, m' lady," Kamil gave an awkward bow that widened Maria's grin while deepening Kirstin's frown at the same instant.
"Then I shall see you again, Kamil. This I swear to you."
"Until then, Maria, do well," Kamil replied, rubbing a hand over his chin as he spoke.
"Farewell, Maria," Kirstin said, getting barely a nod as a reply. Kirstin had to drag Kamil away as Maria began to saunter down the street, making her way north, the main gate of the city as they picked up a jog for the docks. She realized that without horses, the trip through the north lands was about to become much more difficult. They had lost everything in Cromley Tower. Trost Lefield had died for her there, to grant her perhaps nothing more than a few more moments of life. It was the most unselfish thing she had ever seen anyone do for her. Something that she would cherish the rest of her life, along with her brother Huros's sacrifice.
They found father Alohm and the others at the end of the peer, speaking with a pair of rough looking sailors, one of which was missing a hand on his right arm. Verion hung to the back of the group, more interested in the look of the light blue waters then he was in the conversation the humans were having. He did, however, crane his head swiftly when they were within a few paces of him. He wrinkled his nose and gritted his teeth, looking right at Kamil.
"There is the smell of death on you."
"Small wonder," Kamil replied, looking at the dark skinned man uneasily, "I was just wandering through the fish market."
"That is not what I mean, Kamil Dravan. And I believe that you realize this. Be wary what games you incite, because you do not always have as much control as you believe you do."
Kirstin cast the centiant a wondrous look but Kamil stared back at the man sternly, eyes locked on the others. She thought that the pair of them might begin fighting each other right then and there from the looks that they were giving each other.
"Father," Benmont's voice was deep, making Kirstin start, she had not seen him from where he stood near the priest, "Here comes Cameron now."
Damien turned his attention from the sailors to Cameron, who was trotting down the docks, head pivoting this way and that like he was searching for something. The warrior stopped cold when he saw a small, lean crafted vessel docked on the next row of planks, a banner of high nobility waving on its front mast. A plank had been set off to the dock and a regiment of men wearing light plate armor and shields led the way for a haughty looking noble man, hair curled and blonde, framing a face that more pretty than handsome. He wore no weapons on his person, and the loose collared clothes he sported offered no protection to his person. Cameron gritted his teeth and swore under his breath, trailing back to cut off the noble man before he left the peer. At the foot of the docks was a convergence of merchants, gathering their wares in two wheeled carts and making ready to shove off into the city. The priest found it odd that better than a dozen merchants would all be gathered on the docks. Were they holding some type of conference? He had heard that the larger villages had guilds of that type, from smithy's guilds to silver guilds and everything in between. Perhaps they were only meeting to go to their guild hall, nothing more.
The Cameron was shouting to the guards, something about deception, and the merchants were moving toward the knot of guardsmen and the noble, casting aside heavy coats and cloaks and brandishing thin blades that gleamed white in the sunlight. Damien wasn't exactly sure who recovered first, but then Kamil and Kirstin were charging down the docks, swords already free of their scabbards. Benmont wrenched his own blade free from his waist but the father stopped him.
"Benmnont, you and Ferrin bring our things onto the ship and hurry, alright? This action will surely bring the garrison down on us swiftly and I want us to be ready to board the ship in haste. Will the pair of you do as I ask?"
Ferrin slapped Damien's side, grinning at him broadly before taking the pack sack from the priest's shoulder. Benmont took up the other two of the heavy leather satchels and hauled off after Ferrin, heat fairly rising out from him. Verion cast the priest a cool look.
"You cannot keep him from battle, father. If he has chosen this way to die, then there is nothing you might do to prevent it. A man makes his own fate in life; that is the belief of the centiant. Benmont Grimnight has chosen his fate. Where will yours take you?"
"I know not, Verion. Only that my God calls me and I obey as I have my entire life. I need Benmont for this, I'm sure of it. I cannot have him throw his life away fighting men for no reason other than to quell the rage in his heart. Stay with him now and ensure that he does as I asked him to. Will you do that, Verion?"
"I will, father. I owe you that and more."
"The One be with you, Verion of the centiant," Damien called after the big man.
"And may the sun's shadow never find you, Father Damien Alohm," Verion replied, running at incredible speed to the barge like ship that their party had booked passage on. Trying to gather his thoughts, Damien hiked up his travel coat and ran for the children, leaving two befuddled sailors in his wake.
Cameron stopped on the stone foundation of the peer, brandishing his blade before the lot of men in draping dark clothes and leather armor. Several of them held the dock's edge, barring him from coming to the aid of the nobleman and his guards.
"The Silent Brotherhood, I presume?"
"How...?" one of the men sputtered, then raised his thin bladed sword and growled out, "Take him down!" Two of the thieves’ guild came for him, stalking quietly with deadly grace, pivoting their swords from one side of their bodies to the other. Cameron had seen this technique employed before, used to disorient the prey, make them less certain in battle. He smiled at them, making his way to the right, locking blades with the first man and parrying his blade low. Cameron let one hand free of his blade and punched him in the head, making him stagger back. The other thief was on him fast, not even letting the other man fully falter before launching a stab at Cameron's left side. The warrior parried it with a back hand, feeling a lance of pain as the tip tore through leather and sliced skin. Lines of red dyed the deep green of the armor as Cameron back peddled, trying to make distance between him and the man. Sneering, the thief leapt in, cutting down with a two handed stroke, only to have it stopped short by Cameron's upturned blade. He let his grip slide on the hilt and the sword went left, letting the thieves’ slide off of it. Swords flashed four times, a rain of yellow sparks as one man fought to outdo the other, twisting low and high in a macabre dance. Then Cameron swept the other man's blade aside with a burst of strength and cut into him, dropping him in one blow to the chest.
Kamil raced into the battle, seeing the other merchant sneaking up on Cameron as he battled a man. Kamil made no warning as he came in, simply thrusting his blade and finding flesh on the man's back. With a strangled cry the other man fell, the tip of Kamil's sword jutting out from his belly. Kamil wrenched free, wheeling around to look for another foe to battle. Save for the one man that held the dock's edge, the rest had taken off after that noble in a frenzy. Kamil wondered what that man had done that was so black that he had been sentenced to mob justice. He shook his head, focusing on the last man guarding the end of the peer. He gathered that there would be time for questions and answers later, after the threat had passed. Raising his blade, Kamil advanced on the dark clothed man, lunging in with a two handed stroke only to have it blocked and turned away with one swipe of his opponent's sword. Shock flared in his eyes as the man turned the tables, swiping once and again, making Kamil stagger back or lose his sword arm. A third attack was narrowly turned back with a wild stroke, and then the man's sliver of a blade was coming down again, right for Kamil's head.
A sigh of relief escaped Kamil's lips as Kirstin leapt in, putting the length of her sword in between the man's swing and Kamil's face, blocking it with a resounding ring of metal. The older man snarled at her and wrenched away, taking a fast slice at her side, which Kirstin turned down on the point of her sword, sliding the tip straight in and stabbing the man in the side. Crying out, he fell away, hand turning bright red from his own blood. Spitting on the ground, he stepped in and slashed down at her in a near blinding arc, his sword catching the sun in it and making it shine wildly. Kirstin brought her own sword, Trost's sword, in and locked hilts with him, trying to place her foot forward in an attempt to topple him as Cameron showed her. The man twisted with her shove and let her fall to her stomach, delivering a kick to her ribs that made her cry out hoarsely.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Kirstin rolled onto her side and put her sword lengthwise over her head, feeling her arms jar when her opponent slammed his blade down onto it. Then Kamil was there, slashing at the man's back with a stroke that tore a grunt of effort out of his throat. The man rolled nimbly over where Kirstin lay on the ground, avoiding the blow and getting to his feet, ready to fend off Kamil's next attack. Kirstin rolled from her back to her stomach and over again, reaching the man just as he leveled the blade for Kamil. He gave her a stunned look as she shot her sword up, straight into his belly and very nearly out his back. Shock gave way to a glossy look, and Kamil leapt forward to keep the man from crushing Kirstin under his weight. She scrambled off the ground, wiping her wet blade off on the man's travel coat, eyes already scanning for other attackers.
"Where did Cameron go?" Kirstin demanded, head craning this way and that.
"He charged down the docks after the rest of these men. Do you have any idea what is going on here? Did the whole world just go insane or am I just imagining things?"
"Let's find Cameron, Kamil. Then we'll find those answers."
Cameron came from behind the battle; the noble's guards were forming lines, fighting a host of thieves that slashed and stabbed at anyplace that the shields failed to cover. Two of his men were trying to lead him back to the vessel that he had come in on, all the while trying to be aware of anything that might impede them. It didn’t take long to find something that did just that. Three of the men that fought to kill the noble broke through the ranks of the guardsmen and made haste for their target. Both of the plate suited guards mouthed heated curses before closing line in front of their charge, pulling steel free of their scabbards.
Wasting no time, seeing another of the guards fall under the thieves swift assault, Cameron cut hard down on the back of one of the men, splitting his spine clean in two. Uttering a strangled gasp, the man stumbled and fell head first into the water, splashing and sinking even as one of the thieves spun on his heel, slashing at the same instant. Cameron blocked, kicking the man in the head with a booted heel as he turned on another, cutting his sword arm with a deft stroke of his blade. Then the man he had kicked was back up on his feet, leaping straight into a standing position, throwing a small dirk as soon as his boots touched the dock's surface. Cameron lowered his center of gravity some and batted the dirk into the ocean with his blade before closing in on the thief, dodging the first stroke offered and locking hilts with the second. The thief glared at him with wild eyes, ripping back his sword and striking for Cameron's legs. Gauging his motion, the warrior waited only an instant before kicking again, this time catching the man right on the sword arm, staying the killing stroke completely. Not waiting for the man to recover, Cameron lodged his sword into the man's throat, ensuring that the blow was a killing one.
Hearing a rush of hissing air against his back, Cameron dropped low to the dock, letting another thin bladed sword flow right over him, cutting only air. Craning to the right on his knees, Cameron slashed into the thieves’ side, making him scream as steel found muscle and flesh, chewed it open. The warrior was up on his feet in a flash, the ocean at his back as he faced off against the thief, soldiers fighting and killing on either side of him. The thief ignored the gaping gash on his side, exposing raw muscle and nerves, and clenched his hilt in both hands, one hand slick with red. Then came the ring of battle. They rang blades, and again, then three more times, the thief using his grace and speed to match Cameron's battle wisdom. Cameron thrust and the dark clothed man turned it away. The thief slashed straight down and Cameron side stepped, waiting only a fraction for the lethal caress to pass before swinging back in at the man. It seemed that neither man would find a telling blow, but it was only a matter of time until the loss of blood that the thief was enduring caught up to him, slowing him, making his reflexes miss Cameron's blade as it raced in to take his face. Cameron rebounded as his sword found bone, making the sword ring hard and an ache race along his arm. The thief cried out and dropped his blade, finding death when one of the noble's guards planted a sword in his back, puncturing his lungs.
Then, just as swiftly as it had begun, it was over, leaving only an echoing silence in its wake. It seemed that their battle had scared away both merchant and sailor alike. Or more likely they wouldn't want the militia to implicate them with what had just happened here. Only a handful of this noble's men were standing, and half that were bleeding from wounds that thieves had dealt them. The Silent Brotherhood didn't allow poor fighters into its ranks lately, it seemed.
"You there," a voice rang in the silence, mellow and even, with a touch of fear staining it, "Who are you? Why did you help me? Are you a part of the garrison here? What is your name, fellow?"
"I have my reasons for helping you. I have no desire to see a man killed simply to make a statement to the kingdom of Dagoth. And my name is Cameron Reol. What would your name be then, sir? It is the least you can tell me, after what my charges and I have done for you."
"My name is Creed Soames, lord proper in the city of Bastual. I am here to visit an old friend of mine. Now that I have answered your question, what in the name of the One do you mean making a statement? My death here would make a statement? Can you explain this?"
Cameron looked along the docks and saw the last of the guards closing in on him, swords still in blood stained gauntlets, their faces determined, ready to defend their lord. Sighing, Cameron slid the blade back against his hip and watched anxiety drain on the faces of the guardsmen. Kamil was on the other side of the wall of guards, with Kirstin right on his heels. Damien Alohm was behind them as well, kneeling on the ground where Cameron had fought the first of the thieves, reciting the Prayer of Passing to him in all likelihood. The guards raised swords and linked shields when they noticed Kamil, sword out before him, an almost murderous look strong on his face. Kirstin's hand was quick to her own blade when she saw them turn for her. She bit at her lip nervously.
"Stop them, Lord Soames, or I will tell you nothing of what I know. Those children and the father are with me. They helped fight against these men."
"As you say, Cameron Reol. Cease and fall away! Form on me and stand at the ready!" The soldiers were quick to obey, falling past Cameron and standing in line before Creed, "Now, I would like to know what you meant. If you would. What kind of bandits were they?"
"No bandits at all, Lord Soames. From word on the street they are the second incarnation of the Silent Brotherhood, the thieves’ guild that was brought to justice by Gabriel Warreck during his rule as the king of Southcross. From what I hear you were only a mark of convenience, something to sting the noble houses to the north. You were a simple message, I think."
"The Silent Brotherhood? Where did you hear such nonsense? You are swift with a sword, my friend, but I fear that you need new avenues of information. If this were the Silent Brotherhood, or any other guild for that matter, they would have done this in a much more discreet way. Not like a lot of barbarians that has drank too much mead." The last comment provoked a laugh from the guards under Creed's command.
Cameron stooped low to one of the bodies, pulling open the loose fitting shirt that he opted to wear and took the body almost half was free of the vest. There was a long, dark tattoo on his left shoulder, running down his back. The symbol was of a split edged sword that ran into a sun, the blade wavering in sheets of heat. Cameron said nothing, only propping the body up and letting Creed see with his own eyes. Laughter died on the lips of his men as they all noticed the bodies tattoo. Creed pursed his lips together and gave Cameron a thoughtful glance.
"What's going on here, Cameron?" Damien demanded as he came trotting up, concern marring his face.
"I'll tell you in a moment father," Cameron replied quietly.
"That could mean anything," Creed began, his voice not as mellow as it had first been, "I cannot believe that it is what you say it is. Why would they begin again after nearly a century? Why would they be so brazen as to attack me in broad daylight, with this many people to bear witness to it?"
"Perhaps they were expecting you to be easy prey. Perhaps they wanted the peasants to see you fall here. I think that it was good fortune that I happened to be here with my charges when I was, or it may not have gone so favorably for you."
"Granted, you did us a great favor, and your words ring sense to me. But, I will have to learn more with my own ears."
Shouts came from the alleys past the warehouses and carts moved, horses panicking as men struggled to move their goods away from a veritable army of men came moving in on foot, shields and swords at the ready, a front man waving the rolling banner of the Rook before them. Two peasants stopped long enough to share words with the front men in the patrol, crooking a finger toward the sleek sailing boat where Cameron and the others were standing. Almost immediately they broke into a jog, forming lines of three and heading straight for them. Shouts of "Hold there," and "Stay where you are," began to float over to them on the wind.
"Oh great," Cameron mouthed, waving his hand for Damien and the others to join him, "We need to go. Now."
"But our ship is on the other dock, Cameron," Damien informed him, "As is Benmont and Ferrin. We can't just leave them here." Kirstin nodded her agreement, giving Cameron a stern look.
"They will be safer on that ship, Father. The Dagothian soldiers are looking for the escapees from Cromley Tower and they've found them. That means that Benmont will be safe so long as the big lummox knows enough not to talk too much."
"Grim?" Kamil laughed nervously, "Talk too much? You must be thinking of someone else."
"Lord Soames, it seems that we are in a spot of trouble here. Dagothian soldiers are after us for reasons that I cannot explain now. I ask that we might use your ship to escape them, or young Kamil and Kirstin here are good as dead. Please, it is the least you owe us."
"Dagothian soldiers?" Creed declared, waving a hand at them as if he would bat them away, "I have heard what King Steelbreeze has done to those that defy him. You would expect me to risk his wrath for two youths that I do not know?"
"Where is your sense of honor, man?" Damien called out, pushing past Cameron and shaking his hand at Creed, "We are in need and you would turn us over to men that would end our lives? Does your heart only know blackness, Lord Soames? I beg of you, in the name of the One God, please let us board your ship."
Creed muttered something under his breath that Damien couldn't make out, made his soldiers stir, then rose his voice to address them again, "Board then, quickly! We will never get out of here if we do not move now! But you will have a lot of explaining to do when we are at sea."
"The One bless you, Lord Soames," Damien said as he ushered Kirstin and Kamil past him, a wary eye fixed on the knot of soldiers that were trotting toward them all. Creed was barking orders to his men, telling them to raise anchor and weapons alike to repel enemies. Cameron was last, sword back out of the sheathe, waving this way and that as he tried to keep an eye on all of the soldiers at once.
"Cameron! Come along!" Damien shouted from where he stood on the deck of the ship. Already two men were trying to haul the planks back from the dock. Cameron turned and ran for the planks, taking only two steps on the heavy wood before skidding to a stop on the deck near the father. Soldiers cast off, putting cold blue ocean between the side of the ship and the docks that ran it for nearly forty yards. Dagothian soldiers were on the dock itself, breaking into a dead run at the command of their leader, yelling at the men on board to return in the name of their kingdom. When they realized that shouting was falling on deaf ears, bows and arrows were produced from the fifth and sixth ranks. Other soldiers sparked the tips of the arrows to life, making them flame and crackle in the wind.
Creed bellowed orders to ready water buckets to fight fires even as the first volley flew, striking with solid thumps into wood, through a porthole below deck, even through the canvas of the main sail. Small flames gave way to larger ones as the sea breeze fanned them, catching them in seasoned wood. Black, choking smoke began to fill the air as men panicked, frantic to douse the half dozen fires that had sprouted upon their ship
Cameron found Kamil and Kirstin near the stern and ordered them to go below deck where it would be safe. Kamil was all too ready to make way for the stairs but Kirstin put up a spirited, if short lived argument before following her brother. Damien went running by him, bucker slopping water in his hands, heedless to the next hail of arrows that threatened to burn the vessel into the water. Cameron spurred himself on as well. If the ship went into the ocean then they were as good as caught.
"Make way out to sea!" Creed screamed through the smoke, "You, captain! Take us straight south for now! Just enough to take us away from these accursed archers!" The captain only nodded, ducking fast as a hail of arrows nearly found their way over his head, streaking yellow flame as they passed.
"More water on the port bow! If we burn hard at sea level then all of this is for naught! Now move faster!" Creed pointed to the sheet of yellow and orange that seemed to come from nowhere, eating away at the wood and leaving only charred ash behind. Creed mopped a layer of sweat from his face, leaping down the stairs of the captain's hold and stripping his shirt off to reveal a chest nearly white a snow, lacking pigmentation. Creed was in the midst of pulling up another bucket of sea water when another volley of burning arrows streaked in, one catching him on the shoulder and twisting him like a rag doll, depositing him in the cold waters of the Turbades Ocean.
"My lord!" One of the soldiers screamed with a raw voice, stripping his armor off as fast as he could manage, livid with grief that he could not move fast enough. Cameron was at the edge, leather armor already abandon as he fought the flames on the ship. Without another word he was over the edge, hands cupped together to break the surface of the water. Then he was gone. Damien scrambled to the edge, right beside the soldier that fought to undo the straps of the plate armor that he wore, tears streaking down a smoke covered face.
Cameron, bring Lord Soames to the side of the ship! I will help you up! Hurry!" Cameron broke the water's surface, in the heavy foam of the ship's passing with the limp form of Creed in tow. One handed, he began to swim for its edge, but the vessel was swift, and even on fire it outdistanced him easily. Damien called out for help, and men were there with a coiled rope in hand. Two of them tossed the end of the thick rope out to Cameron, nearly landing it on his head. The warrior paused only long enough to catch it up in his hand, shouting that he was holding it.
"Pull them in now!" the priest told them almost frantically, "Hurry before Lord Soames bleeds to death!" Four of the men hauled hand linking over hand until the length of rope was so short that two of the burly men could reach down and grab for Cameron. They hauled up Creed first, putting him gently down on the deck, chest and face even more pale then they had been, if that were even possible. An angry red wound stood out on his right shoulder, a gash that had been half cauterized from the arrow's passing. Calling for silence, Damien knelt over the man and ran cold hands over his chest. Frowning, the priest cleared his throat of the itch that burned in it and began to speak.
"My God, name of the One, I beseech you as your faithful servant and bringer of your word. I would ask favor to heal this man in your name so that he might live his life to its fullest. I am sure that there are things he has yet to do. I pray that you grant me the power to return health to him, in the name of the One God. Amen."
Men watched with a mixture of awe and fascination as the burn wound on Creed's shoulder began to lose the deep red color and return to the pale white that he normally possessed. Flesh closed over the wound, leaving only s slight blemish on his shoulder to show that he had ever been struck there. His breathing became strong and a moment later the Lord Soames opened his eyes. Men gasped and backed away from Damien as if he were dangerous, wonder strong on their faces. A soft, almost serene white glow faded from the priest's hands, and he sank back, knees folded under him, murmuring thanks to his God.
"What...?" Creed blinked, his tone mellow once more, "How did I...?" The he paused, giving Damien that considering stare, "Thank you, father. I suppose that I have you to thank for this. I would say that I owe you, but things being as they are, I would say that we are even, yes?"
"Not quite so, my Lord," Damien responded slowly, smiling a touch, "I would greatly appreciate if you could do us just one more favor. We need to go north, and I am assuming that after this failed attempt to pay a visit to this friend of yours you will be returning there. I ask that you bring us to Goran with you, or at the least bring us to the port village that is near it."
"I give my word, father. If my men declare that my vessel is still sea worthy after this, I will bring you north with me. I cannot begin to understand what it is that you seek in the north, but I will question," Creed stood; face and chest dripping sea water, and called to the captain, "Set your destination. We sail north, to the village of Bostual."
"Thank you, Lord Soames," Damien patted the man on the arm as he stood. He breathed in deep, allowing himself to take in the view of the ocean. He did not know what awaited him in the north, only knowing that his God had given him the dream, and that he would follow it to its end. He prayed as well for Benmont, Ferrin and Verion. He hoped that they would be well. It was going to be a long voyage to Bostual.
Torches burned on sconces deep in the underground of Twin Port. Where tunnels for sewage and sea water began to unwind and find ending near the back of the city, nearly under the main gates, began a lattice work of tunnels that had naught to do with the dispersal of water or waste. A maze of passages and rooms, tunnels and hidden doors that had as many triggers to open as there were traps to kill the unwary, it was the foundation of a thieves’ guild that struck fear into the hearts of the populace nearly a century past. They were the stuff of legends, killers in the night that took what they desired and left no one to know who it was that took them. Four six years they had begun anew, spreading malevolent influence through the land, even as the seeds of war were beginning to reap a harvest. Cantam was a faction of their guild on the north western coast, along with the city of Debla further inland. With the fall of Southcross it was only a matter of time before the guild had men in every city from Fahl to Bordertown.
In those tunnels, where the guild was at its strongest, a single figure darted in and out of the shadows, never touching the line of oil slick water that trailed in the center of the tunnel. He wore a heavy fur coat of black despite the heat of the surface, and soft leather boots that cut short at his ankles, allowing him free movement. A crescent shaped sword hung on his back, the hilt becoming visible at his waist, where the man could wrench it free back handed if he needed to. He had no hair on his head, or any for eye brows, having shaved himself bald.
Stopping at a crossing in the tunnels, he pressed to the right, lowering himself to keep from striking a single, taught wire that stretched the length of the hall at chest level. The wire was razor sharp, and poisoned for any foolish enough to attempt these tunnels. In the dark a man would never see it coming.
Again he stopped, knocking twice on a wooden door set into the rounded wall, then once again. Pausing, he knocked three more times and a draw bolt slid from behind the door, allowing him entry. There was light from a single lantern on a small table in the back of the room, giving life to the shadows that seemed to fill the room. He knew there were men in the corners of the room, waiting in silence for their master's orders. He didn't bother looking at them; he knew well that they were there. Another man knelt at the back of the room, his back to him, a cloak of deep blue hung over his shoulders. Sandals clung to his dark flesh and a braid tightly knotted fell to his waist. A line of grey smoke wafted up from ahead of this man and he breathed it in, let in stir in his lungs, and released it.
"Master," the first man began evenly, "I did as you ordered and sent men for the nobleman Creed Soames. His vessel came to port just as we heard it would." he paused only for an instant, searching for words that wouldn't get his head taken from its shoulders, "There have been complications," he said at last.
Releasing more of the pale grey smoke from his mouth, the man stood and faced him. Along with the braid that he sported, he also had grown a long, dark moustaches that drooped past his chin, finely trimmed. There was a displeased look on his face.
"I do not want to hear this," the master spoke in a deep voice, rumbling from somewhere deep in him, "Report to me what has happened, Varn. Leave nothing out."
"We made contact with the noble at the dock where his ship had come ashore. Many of the men were curious why you chose to employ such a blatant tactic, master, but were ready to serve you," Varn waited only a second, hoping that he would hear an explanation why they had been sent in broad daylight to assassinate a man that had given them no grievance. He was used to moving in the dark, lurking in shadow for his victims. Hadn't the master stopped to consider what the ramifications of this attack would bring, even if they had succeeded in slaying this Creed Soames?
Licking his lips, he continued, "The Lord Soames had guardsmen, of course. We were able to deal with them, mostly, or would have, if it had not been for the interlopers. Two men and a woman came to the aid of the nobleman, master. One of the men was quite good with a blade. Casualties ran high, master." Varn nearly choked trying to say the last part of his report, but managed in a strangled voice, "We were unable to slay our target sir. Only I and three others escaped from the docks. We fled because the militia had come waving the banner of Dagoth."
"You failed," the man sighed deeply, one hand rising to rub his moustaches between his fingers, "You failed because three people came to the aid of these fool guards. I know that these men were not trained as we are! You should have been able to take them! You should have been able to take them all!"
Varn kept a straight look on his face but felt his stomach turning knots on him inside. Gathering courage he asked, "Master, why would you send us on this deed? Surely we would have better served in the night, when we could have traced his movements and taken him when he slept. There would have been no witnesses to the act, and no casualties on our side."
"Perhaps I did this as a test of loyalty, Varn," the master gazed intently at him, "Perhaps I did this because we have been dormant for too long. For six years we have rotted in this hellhole, feeding like paupers when we should own this city! The old ways are dying, if not dead, Varn. I have taken the mantle of guild master, and I will find us a way to survive, even if we must strike with the sun! The Silent Brotherhood will be a force to be reckoned with once more, as it was so long ago! And it should matter not to you why I chose the morning for this deed, only that I did. Or do you want to challenge me for my place as guild master? Is that it, Varn?"
"No, master. I was only being cautious. A good thief is always cautious, is he not?"
"That he is, Varn. Until the time comes when caution must be abandoned. That time is coming, but not now. There are blood debts to be paid, then. Creed Soames is a wealthy man, and his brother is a gambler. Take word to his brother in the eastern province of the inner city and tell him that Creed lives by my grace alone, despite what he may have heard for gossip. Tell him that debts owed to me and to my guild are to be paid hastily, or Creed, and any other family that insolent whelp has will suffer. Make this clear to him, Varn. You can handle this task, can you not? Or should I send slaymasters to inform him?"
"No, master. I will tell him, master. What is the name of Lord Soames' brother, master?"
"Ask for Cray Soames. He is well known in the taverns that are near his homestead, I hear," that last part was delivered with a touch of mirth, but the sound never reached his eyes.
"Of course, master," Varn replied humbly. This was over a gambling debt? Was that it? Ten of the guild had died on those docks, in a battle that proved depressingly pointless, for this? Varn supposed that this Cray had to be shown that the Silent Brotherhood mustn't be trifled with, but this wasn't the way to go about it! Not like this! Not wasting another word, he turned and left the room, shutting the door tight behind him.
Gaidin Moonswallow, master of the Silent Brotherhood, watched Varn exit with a face carved from ice. His plans had turned sour on the vine. Men dead at the hands of interlopers. Creed Soames alive. Rage boiled in him, and he fought to control it. Slaymasters were watching him, and he dared not show weakness in front of them. Cray Soames had called his brother to Twin Port for coin, the twenty five thousand coins that he owed Gaidin, and therefore the guild, for one wild night of gambling with cards and drinking. Moving in the light should have been construed as a bold maneuver. Now it would be seen by other guilds as a reckless act, performed by a rank amateur. Damn them all! Burying his nails into calloused palms, Gaidin craned his neck to look at one of the slaymasters.
"I have a man on Creed's ship. He is trusted, having been under him for months now. He will tell us where to strike, and when. You are to go north and kill Lord Soames. I want him to suffer and scream until he can scream no more. Then you will find these outlanders that interfered with my plans and do the same to them. The land of Umbriel will learn that the Silent Brotherhood is a force to be reckoned with. They will! Now go!"
"Yes, master," three emotionless voices spoke as one, then three silhouettes shifted in silence, graceful as the shadows that they chose to hide themselves in, exiting the room, leaving the master of the guild to his own thoughts. Three slaymasters should suffice in this task, no matter how skilled with a sword the one was. Debts to be paid and a reputation to repair. Clutching the bridge of his nose as a migraine overcame him, Gaidin laughed silently at how plans sometimes went so far from where you would have them be.
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