Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One Page 11

  The woman approached Rogen and Cite and stopped in front of them; hand on her hip as she inspected them. The crew watched, some of them smirking or smiling. It was obvious that they enjoyed the surprise of their guests.

  “I am Dawn Redblood, Captain of this vessel. I see you have already met my quartermaster and uncle, Tildan,” she said and they nodded. “He tells me you paid in advance. There is space below decks to sleep if the weather gets rough, but I expect it won’t be an issue.”

  Cite looked at her as a man will look at a woman when they meet. He decided she was not beautiful, though not unattractive by any means. She was confident and carried herself as if she knew each step she took would bring her closer to whatever it was she wanted. He looked past her and at the crew. He felt his mental abilities clicking in his head. Faith, respect, and loyalty were in their hearts; they were very protective of her, especially the two that had met them at the gangplank and the cook who was watching them both with a scowl. He felt the twinge of envy from one or two of the crew, but could not place which ones felt it. He looked back at her and saw she was staring at him.

  “What were you looking at just then?” she asked Cite, as she glanced over her shoulder.

  “Your men love you. I mean, they care for your safety,” he answered, shuffling his feet under her gaze.

  “I know, it sometimes gets in the way, but usually works out well enough.” She stared hard at him, and then looked over to Rogen. “And you are the great Rogen the Plague? You are shorter than I imagined. Still eat men whole and shit out mindless killing machines?”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Rogen scoffed. “Though they do give me indigestion often enough. I am sure you know the value of rumors, gossip, and such. It becomes myth and legend. And that helps out now and then.” She nodded with a smile that softened her weathered features. “But have no worries, I am not working now. My blade and hammer are yours if you need them while we are on your ship.”

  “You two should be easy passengers. Keep out of the way and follow orders if it comes to a fight or a storm. Other than that, grub when Warton calls it, smoke only when the smoking lamp is lit and enjoy the trip.” She turned away and continued her inspection of her ship.

  5854 – Thon – Quebal – Uthr

  The trip was mostly uneventful and Rogen occupied most of their days practicing with Cite and his daggers. The crew watched with interest. Rogen was an expert weapons master and Cite was novice. The two men who met them when they first came on the ship, Tildan and Maurence, came over to offer their help. They learned that the hairless olive skinned man was the Master Gunner, personal guard of the Captain, a mute, and a eunuch.

  The sailors offered the use of belaying pins in place of daggers, to cut down on injuries to the pupil. Instead of cuts, Cite gained many bruises from the three of them over the next two weeks. By the time the trip would be finished, Cite would be well versed in the weapons he was given. Over the course of the voyage, he learned about the staff and sword as well, and knew which weapon best-suited different situations.

  When not training, Cite passed the time by carving. He asked Tildan for a bit of wood and a whittling knife. Tildan introduced him to Conald, the ship’s carpenter. Cite spent hours making various instruments as he watched the waves. He carved a flute from some bamboo, and a guitar from scraps of wood. He used the catgut wires - used to patch sails - for strings, and the rest of the parts were rigged from other supplies that were available.

  In the evenings, the crew would gather to swap tales or sing to pass the time. Cite gave the guitar to Cutter McGee, the ship’s surgeon, and joined the sailors at night, playing along to their singing with the flute he had made. The young man had a knack for the tales and listened intently, penning the ones he liked most into his journal, and practicing later until he had them memorized. He would often seek out one of the sailors the next day to get more details about a tale or song he had heard the night before.

  Rogen fit right in. At night, he shared tales of his life and his people, and often added his deep baritone to the music while drumming along on a barrel. During the day, the Rokairn took his turn at any task available, from swabbing the deck, to cooking, to taking watch. Some of the crew watched him with suspicion, but most just appreciated a little less work.

  Four days into the journey, Cite found Rogen leaning against the rail. Cite joined him and stared at the horizon. There was a storm far in the distance, dark clouds passing to the south. Lightning danced in the clouds as thunder rolled across the waves. The gulls had settled into the rigging, and the air was cool. They both stayed that way for a while, in silence except for the background chatter amongst the sailors and the waves on the hull. Finally Cite spoke.

  “I want to practice the other abilities I have,” he said, still staring across the water at the distant horizon. Rogen looked up at Cite and studied the boy’s face. Cite leaned closer and continued in hushed tones, “I can move things with my mind. I have practiced a little when I had a few moments alone. I have moved my dagger to my hand from a short distance away. I have made a canvas ripple when there was no wind. I have tapped a crewmember on the quarterdeck on his shoulder while I was on the forecastle deck. I know it worked ‘cause he blamed it on a guy twenty feet away in the rigging.” Cite looked down at Rogen with a smile, only to see Rogen frown. “Don’t worry. I know how superstitious sailors can be, so I haven’t done it again. I can also read minds, and perhaps place my thoughts into others’ heads.” Cite hesitated.

  “You want to test that one now, eh?” Rogen asked and Cite nodded and looked at his feet between his elbows.

  “I can single people out here to practice. In a city, there are always lots of people around. Here they are only a couple dozen, and they are often in an area away from others. It is as close to an ideal training ground as I could find. Also, I have felt subtle things from the crew,” Cite dropped his voice even more, “about the Captain.”

  “Look, Cite,” Rogen said, looking back towards the storm front, “I have done many things in my life, some things that most folks would despise, but it was necessary. You have a gift and you need to learn to use it. You are intelligent enough, and seem to be good enough not to hurt someone using it. I say do what you must do. If you learn nothing except how to use your gift and which sailor shot his load into the fish we ate for dinner that night, fine. You at least get to practice your gift. This will also let you know if familiarity makes it easier or harder.” Rogen noticed Cite’s surprised look at the last idea. “Cite, you are a guy with a big heart and a gentle soul. There is a chance the more you trust or care about someone, the more you will block yourself without even knowing you are doing it.”

  Rogen turned around and put his back on the railing, crossing his arms in front of him. “Besides, the Captain seems nice also. It is odd for a woman to keep control of a ship full of men. There may be more about her that we need to know. If you find she is a good person, then you bring the truth to her if you find any plots against her. If she is doing something to the men here, well, we decide then if we should get involved.”

  During the conversation, Cite had been focusing on Rogen. Feeling his way into Rogen’s thoughts. He did find his way in. It did not show pictures in his head, it was more like ideas that come to you when you are on the edge of sleep. It was hard to focus on what was being said and filter through the extra information. Cite would find out later it is best to collect the ideas, and then using his infallible memory, sort through it all later.

  He caught touches of fish and smells; he actually smelled the sea twice, once from his nose and again from Rogen’s vague impressions that he skimmed from the shorter man’s mind. As he spoke to Rogen, he felt warmth that was a representation of a growing trust the man had for Cite. This made Cite stop for a second and look surprised. When Rogen continued Cite gathered wispy urges to protect the worthy and destroy, not hurt or stop, but to utterly destroy the deceitful.

  “Of course you can practice
on me also.” Rogen was saying, again surprising Cite and making him wonder if his intrusions had been felt. Rogen looked up at him and grinned. “Not that I could tell if you have been, but I would have been doing it. Now your face tells me you are not so different from me.” Rogen outright laughed as Cite’s face ran a gambit of emotions, from guilt and surprise then trying to regain control and hide his feelings. “Go ahead, son, send me one, let us try giving me a thought. Like you did when I brought you the bag and chest.”

  “Relax,” Cite said. “When you are expecting it, it is like your mind disappears behind a wall. If you expect it, I may have issues sending thoughts to you.” He stared at Rogen and realized the man would not allow someone in his mind when he knew it was coming. Cite changed tactics and thought about a tickle on the bearded man’s chin, breathed in and pictured Rogen scratching his chin as he released the breath.

  Rogen scratched at his chin. “I am relaxing, go ahead anytime you are ready, I am open and willing.” Rogen lowered his hand back to his side. He looked up at Cite and seeing a slight smile on his face asked, “What has got you?” He stopped suddenly as a small belch escaped his mouth, then he heard in his head ‘redfish sing badly’.

  “Redfish sing badly?” Rogen echoed out loud, and Cite looked away with a straight face. “What the hell does that mean?” Rogen said, squaring his shoulders to face the younger man, “If you are going to put shite in my head, at least make it useful or interesting!”

  “By definition, if it is shit, wouldn’t it be wasteful?” Cite asked in a weak voice, winced, and raised his hand to his forehead.

  “Aw, do not feel bad, son.” Rogen said, laying a hand on Cite’s arm, “I do not mind. That was you though, was it not?”

  Cite nodded and rubbed his temples. “Yeah, it was me. You wouldn’t open your mind for me to place a thought, so I triggered unconscious reactions from you, the scratch and belch.” Rogen tilted his head at this. “Then when you relaxed your guard in your surprise, I was able to put a thought in your head. I think I need to go lie down.”

  “Are you all right?” Rogen asked, putting a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

  “I think that it is bruised, my mind that is. Like when we train with the daggers. You block, you hit back, and even without all that my muscles ache because they aren’t used in that way. I think my mind is like that now, but it shows in the form of a headache.” Cite shook his head and stumbled from the movement. Rogen put an arm around Cite’s waist, and guided him towards the forecastle and the door that led below deck.

  “You rest for now, practice more later,” Rogen told Cite as he helped him.

  Dawn stood on the quarterdeck and watched the two with curiosity. She had seen the ease in which they had befriended the crew. She knew the myth of Rogen the Plague, but what she saw in front of her was very different from what she had heard. How could she even know if this was the legendary slaver? It was said the man always traveled with a small army and could take over whole kingdoms without so much as a second thought. If rumor were true, he was as much of a threat to any government as Nomed, a part man, part demon, part fae that supposedly roamed the land. Also, rumor never mentioned that Rogen was one of the Stone Folk.

  The Rogen that paid for passage on her ship was a man with presence; when he walked by, the men watched him. They found him charismatic and helpful. He cheered them with his tales of heroes and beasts, helped them fold sails and coil ropes, and took a turn on the watch saying he did not need as much sleep as humans. He joined them when it was offered and stood aside without complaint when they did not invite him. She had seen him at work with Cite with the weapons training, and Rogen was quick and solid.

  She had seen him tend his weapons every day for any sign of wear or rust. She had also seen him checking the ships weapons and tending to them. She had checked with the first mate and verified that he did this without being asked. She made sure that anything he touched was double-checked, in case he was up to no good. So far, he seemed only to be helping and left anything he touched in better shape than it had been before he picked it up. He reminded her of her father. Both men took pride in their work and expected everyone to do the same, and put in equal effort. Her father had gained trust and respect of everyone he dealt with.

  She wanted to trust Rogen, but had to wonder if he was truly the man he said he was. He had equipment that was quality, he paid with fine gems and everything showed he was a man of means. But that did not tell her if he was truly the man who ruled an empire. Why was he traveling alone, with only Cite for company?

  She looked to the sky and breathed deeply. That storm to the south would turn and would be coming tonight; her senses felt it. It would not be so bad, but she would have the men prepare for it. She listened to the wind and felt the words of her crew upon it, as she had felt the words of Cite and Rogen. She leaned back against the railing and thought about the tides. They were in place and moving them at the best speed they could hope. They would reach Paradise Island tomorrow before the sun reached its zenith at this rate. She smiled and opened her eyes again. Her uncle Tildan was watching her. She nodded at him and turned to check the instruments to let him know she was on deck and in control, though they both knew she needed no instruments to do her job, or any other job on this ship.

  5854 – Thon – Quebal – Dunwith

  They sailed down the wide slow river that led to the center of Paradise Island. The rain from last night had dissipated in the early morning hours and had not slowed their trip at all. The river opened into a lake that was miles across that created the illusion of an island of water surrounded by the ocean of land rather than the reverse. On the shoreline were various small towns. They sailed towards one near the middle of the far shore. Jumper had told the truth about some of the island at least; there were waterfalls. They dropped showers of water hundreds of feet into the lake. A volcano that had died had made the island long ago. One side of the volcano had collapsed into the ocean, opening a waterway to the center where the crater was waiting to be filled. Natural underground aquifers had surfaced under the lake in time and between them and the natural runoff from rain, the lake became a tropical freshwater paradise. Cliffs rose up above the lake on more than a third of the surrounding area; the rest had gentle sloping ground. The whole island was fertile from the volcanic ash that had settled to create rich topsoil.

  The small towns on the lake were run independently and didn’t answer to any government from the mainland. No kingdom or country with a naval power was close enough even to try to take the island for its own. Various councils, dictators, pirates, or mayors ran each town. Each left its neighbors alone, just looking to live an easy life. Everyone knew if they attacked their neighbor, everyone else would turn on them, and that kept the peace.

  The Lady Luck docked and the Captain took to her cabin, letting her men enjoy an evening of shore leave, taking only the name of Captain Redblood to mark her existence. Tildan stayed on the ship with Maurence and a few volunteers to make sure the ship was not troubled while the crew was gone. Cite also volunteered to stay, but Rogen said he had business to attend to on land and would be gone for a few hours. Cite didn’t know how the man could have business on an island that he hadn’t even known he was going to, and even if he had known there had been no way to get word here before he had arrived.

  The minstrel watched his friend and crew bounce down the gangplank to the dock. Looking beyond them, he watched the people of this small town. Everyone wore light clothes that caught the sea breeze, and they smiled easily and often. Shopkeepers stood outside talking with customers, traders stopped on the street to chinwag with other merchants, and women gathered in small clusters to gossip. Children ran through the streets, some on errands, and others just running free and laughing.

  Cite smiled at the activity, and began to hum a small tune, putting words to it in his head, and making a song that would capture the spirit of this place.

  Rogen waved at the crew as they parted ways.
As they turned towards the Lusty Lilac - a tavern, gambling house, and brothel all rolled into one – the Rokairn headed for an alley between a cartwright and a blacksmith. A shadow separated itself from the wall, and Rogen was approached by a tall lanky man with a limp.

  “Master, I am Handle, your humble servant. You trained me to raise horses, and teach them how to ride into battle.”

  The Rokairn looked at the man, who wore the clothes of a merchant and dressed in shades of scarlet.

  “Yes, I remember you, “Rogen said, looking up at Handle, “you have grown since I last saw you.”

  “Yes, I was but a lad of thirteen when I was in your care.”

  “How did you end up on an island which only has a handful of horses, and none of them meant for war? That cartwright makes wagons for people and goats to pull, I doubt he has made one for a horse in the past year.”

  “Tis a long story, but it involves a rogue knight who employed me after I gained my freedom and a woman.”

  “Ah, enough said. Did you get the messages from my people in Tarnish?”

  “Yes, and I have the information you asked for, and your meeting room set up. Would you care to follow me to someplace more private?”

  “Lead on, Handle, I am eager to be done with tonight’s business.”

  The two men wound their way through the small village and out the other side. The tall man led Rogen to a hut on the edge of volcano wall, which towered hundreds of meters above them. A tiny wrinkled woman poured brandy when she saw them approaching, and then disappeared around the side of the hut.

  “My grandmother,” Handle explained, “I sent for her once I arrived here. I had been sending her money, but she was getting on in years and this seemed like a good place for her to enjoy her twilight years.”