Lassel’s Voyage
Circa 195 summer- early 196 NC
SETC Ships
Lassel (Imperial war Galleass)
Captain Lanthdor
Crew 150 (Zilan and Humans)
Marine complement (at least 100, the 9th Imperial Marine Unit)
Gonodir (Leader)
Pathon (1st Squad)
Feredir (2nd Squad)
Tirior
Glavon
Acharon (Engineer)
Peldir (Medic)
Fat Libby (Heavy Barque)
Captain Archibald ‘Birdseye’ Tidus
Crew around 200 (mostly humans)
Devon (First Mate)
Manfred (Helmsman)
Chino (Carpenter)
Nery
Shamil
Taranir (passenger)
Support vessels
Petulant (SETC Schooner 1)
Captain Pheles (Lai Zel-Ka)
Crew around 50 (mostly Cofols)
Express (SETC Schooner 2)
Crew around 50 (Mixed. Cofols and humans)
Captain Zuberi
‘Lame’ Zaine
Ab
*An initial cargo of twenty tons of barreled wine included, plus supplies, various other goods and weapons. The Lassel carried twelve Scorpios (six per side) and four mounted catapults alone, with another four Scorpios packaged in its cargo hull.
-
Shamil Al-Bagi
SETC | Safe Sojourn
Part II
-Fer king n’ coin kid-
“I’m here Riston,” Luvon informed his loyal assistant that had just entered his dark office. Luvon hadn’t used the lightstones on the desk lamp, opting to spend the time with his thoughts in absolute darkness. The large three-story bank building quiet now, after the working crews had left for the night. Only the first floor was finished and despite their efforts most of the offices and the main hall remained under-furnished.
The working day though never stopped. While presently it is nighttime in Goras, the sun is up somewhere else, Director Helven used to say at the start of the evening meetings. The Imperial Bank’s people were very dedicated. While it had lost some of its privileges under Queen Baltoris, the reformer Queen couldn’t stop the Imperial Bank’s activities that had branched out on Jelin and Eplas already through intermediaries and investment firms. After the Fall some of its human associates had taken the opportunity to fill the void and eventually replace the physical institution Helven had built, with their own versions of it.
The principles remained the same though.
A gold coin has no father, but it always has many suitors, Luvon thought harking back to the young Mclean scion’s sincere greeting words and rolling the square gold coin in his fingers. The engravings worn out a bit, but still visible just as the date on it. M3190-EQB, the shiny coin read on its visible side and Luvon’s eyes could discern it in the dark. Minted in the Imperial year 3190 at the Bank’s main workshops in Elauthin, during the reign of late Queen Baltoris.
Absent other decorations.
“Master Luvon,” Riston said standing in front of his office respectfully. “You’re finally back sir. How did the meeting go in Morn Taras?”
Luvon slid the square coin his way over the table and Riston caught it before it went over the polished surface’s edge.
“All courts seem the same, but they are not,” Luvon replied thoughtfully.
“I see.” Riston replied examining the old coin. “This is one of ours? People still unearth them under the ruins.”
“Mclean’s scion gave it to me as a gift at Scaldingport,” Luvon replied. “It comes from their vaults in Atetalerso. It was a warning hidden in a gesture of courtesy. He means to fight us for every single piece, other than this one.”
“The Mcleans still run the office?”
“The younger brother does with Merck, but he’s withdrawn somewhat to placate human sensitivities.”
“Hah. How did Federico pulled that off?”
“My working theory is Saereg, secrecy and lots of ingenuity.”
“That half-breed Nord was always shifty. Where did he found the initial capital? All ships returned when the Issirs invaded.”
“Found the old base and looted a half-sunk transport at Hissing Cays.”
“Why was a transport still loitering in the middle of nowhere?” Riston queried a little surprised.
“Hidden rebels trying to escape to Jelin in the confusion, but the tremors finished them off. Instead of an assassin’s knife they fell to the brines, or something of a much more sinister nature.”
“Those were violent times sire. Who was going to help them on Jelin? No Zilan made its base there and the humans in the know butchered anyone that had migrated as fast as they could spot them,” Riston noted in his unruffled manner.
“Mclean had nothing but tales to offer and his assurances he committed no crimes. If you believe that then I have a bridge over Serpent’s Canal to sell you. It’s almost working. Anyways, they are still looking, but now it’s not as important to them,” Luvon replied. “They had fashioned a plan that assumed the Bank was history, buried under mud and piles of relics. The Mclean assumed they had all the time in the world to bring it to fruition. Looking to usurp and build upon older plans they were privy off. Loot and pillage uncontested. Now they have to reconsider and regroup. But we shan’t give them the time. Next man is up Riston and this person is me. The old Board is gone, but we’re back in business after this brief respite. Much work to do and lots of adversaries to consider this time around.”
“So the Lesia humans have a collection of old coins?” Riston asked a little amused after a moment of silent contemplation, whilst examining the gold coin’s sides. “These are the later ones. Yes?”
“Uhm. Baltoris didn’t want the fanfare also,” Luvon agreed. “Nor favored the fact I guess that we used the other side to showcase the bank’s leadership and accomplishments.”
“Such wonderful pieces of art sir, the old coins,” Riston expounded reminiscing and Luvon nodded quite moved himself.
“The wyvern King won’t agree to have his noble visage carved on the new ones,” Luvon said sarcastically and watched Riston igniting a small spotlight to illuminate the east walls and parts of the large austere office. “But while self-absorbed and surprisingly rude, he’s a practical man that doesn’t dwell much on the minutiae. We can work with that. Lanthdor departed?”
“They did,” Riston replied. “But Captain Tidus will leave in the morning and meet with them south of Vermilion’s Peak to avoid witnesses.”
Humans. We have to work with what’s available.
“How many vessels?” Luvon asked.
“Three,” Riston replied. “The transport is full of supplies and materials. I had to pay Rybel a year in advance to get a hold on some of his crews too.”
“You’ll place them in Mussel amidst the other crews. Fill the books with orders for Mussel, but this practice won’t go on forever. We need to distance ourselves from the court’s sphere of influence Riston.”
“Of course Master Luvon,” Riston agreed. “What about the Gish?”
“Few Gish reside in the outer ring of isles Riston. Hopefully the waves finished them off.”
“I doubt the Gish are gone sir. They might cause trouble,” Riston insisted. “Then there are the gems to consider. The heart of gold.” Luvon grimaced and rapped his fingers on the table while Riston continued. “In the great earthquake that shaped the lands,” Riston recited, a well-learned high-level associate of the Imperial Bank himself that knew when to speak and what to say at the correct time most of the times. “The great ocean peak cracked in three, birthing a strange lake with brine poisonous waters and a burning bottom of liquid gold that was the mountain’s heart. Ilvilix that first dived in the deep cracks was flushed ashore with boils and horrible wounds, some parts of his body turned to gold.”
“That’s ancient history.”
“Which means the gold should have cooled off by now,” Riston retorted with the hint of a smirk. “Most wyverns look for food and sport, but certain people perceive the land with different, much greedier eyes sire.”
“The Bank’s employees will stay the course and follow our tight schedule.” Luvon insisted, not amused. “They are not there to loot, not there to go hunt for trophies, or treasure, but to prove that the journey is feasible. We need the route opened.”
“The journey is feasible sir,” Riston said. “But the company is still very young and with untrained, not yet fully-committed personnel. They might lose their priorities so far from home for different reasons. Human and Zilan alike.”
“The Company is the Bank’s only child. I worked on this for a year damn it!”
“Young children misbehave sire,” Riston insisted and Luvon eyed him tensely. “Stray off the path.”
“Send for Master Naug,” he finally decided and reached to open a drawer at his heavy mahogany desk to search inside. “What he wants, he’ll have, as long as the expedition is successful.” He found the gold lapel pin, similar to the one he’d given the King earlier and took it out.
“Master Luvon,” Riston protested, when the Director slid the ornament towards him. “That’s too much power. I was thinking of shouldering the task myself. The Collector is Helven’s relic and he had to cast him aside.”
“Next man up mentality Riston. You’re a bureaucrat and I need you here. We can’t exactly look for new talent at this junction. Get him to the docks in time,” Luvon ordered, his face hardening.
-
About a month later
20th day of the 1st summer month (Sextus)
The narrow gap (Canal) at the Tits Isles chain
South mouth,
Scalding Sea’s southeastern wind streams
Ancient ‘Dark Tapestry Trail’ aka Coin Route’s 1st leg
Early Morning
Aboard SETC’s heavy Barque ‘Fat Libby’
The soaring frothing waves rose over the guardrails of the upper deck, splashed over the deck-boards, moving loose barrels this way and that, whilst thoroughly drenching the blinded and puking through his mouth and nose Shamil, from his threadbare sandals to the dirty thin shirt.
Washing the worst of the vomit away.
“GAAH!” Shamil grumbled ineligibly, coughing up seawater and the remnants of his meal. “Argl… gargrl…” he slid and dropped to a numb thigh, as ‘Fat Libby’ started descending, bowsprit pointed towards the base of the large wave, now resembling a slowly-opening gigantic beast’s black mouth as he moved that way, his fingers slipping their grip on the soaked rails.
The heavily laden ship groaned alike a living thing, joints creaking and pregnant sails flapping, Nery the lookout, who had taken over from Shamil at the turn of the hour, screaming at the top of his phlegm-filled lungs. His hoarse voice coming and going, lost behind the savage weather and the sound of the waves crashing on the transport.
“LAND AHOY!”
“Again?” Captain Tidus cursed, leaving the helm to the wild-eyed Manfred, in order to slide down the quarterdeck ladder lithely. The helmsman behind their captain using both arms to keep the wheel from turning, his veins bulging at the neck and bleeding at the mouth where the stubbornly resisting wheel had smacked him earlier. “Give me a bloody reckoning Nery!” Tidus bellowed managing to stop his forward momentum abruptly by grabbing a line near the main mast, about a meter from the slowly-gliding upturned like a clumsy turtle, towards the bow of the ship screaming Shamil. The Captain stopped the young Cofol planting a boot on his chest, almost breaking the protesting Shamil’s ribs.
“Heading Southeast!” Nery yelled and Tidus grunted afore giving the yelping Shamil a kick to send him towards the side rails again.
Shamil traveled on the soaked with brines deck-boards, seeing brief flashes of the ship’s crew desperately trying to stay on their feet, coiled ropes, upturned barrels and the approaching guardrails. The angry sea behind them and beyond that coming out of the frothing waters, the giant black and gold dragonhead-shaped bow of the Lassel. He extended a pair of strained arms and legs to grab on to something, but found nothing and screamed his way towards the large gap where one rail was missing.
Oh, desert fiends be singing alleluia! A panicked Shamil thought and clenched his teeth manically, for the inevitable dive into the cold seas and certain death. You’d think one choosing to make his living in the sea would know a thing or two about swimming, but you’d be sadly mistaken. Nobody had told Shamil it was needed for starters and even if he wanted to learn how to do it, the teenager had grew up in a desert.
Rocks and sands they had aplenty, but the sea facing the Shark Isles everyone had warned the young teenager to stay clear off, since… well, it had more sharks than fish in it.
Yeah.
Shamil thought of his poor mother, who had cried overcome with earnest sorrow, when her son had told her he was leaving with the next caravan and Umar Al-Bagi, his older brother, was to work the family herd by himself.
‘I’ll never see you again just like your father,’ his mother had said in between sniffles, when Shamil had asked why she was mourning for him. His father had been killed by the desert and Shamil had tried to explain to her for long that she was wrong, but fast-forward a year and some change into the future, he realized that perhaps his mother had been right all along.
Close your mouth, Shamil advised himself and then yelped forgetting all about it, just as he was about to be launched out of the ship’s port side, feeling a rough hand grabbing him by the nape and pulling him back.
Someone put a savage knee on his shoulder, the edges of a drenched longcoat, smelling of grease and smoke, slapping him in the face and the Zilan’s glowing silvery-red eyes found his.
“We are out of the mouth,” the Zilan told him in a raspy voice and pretty passable Common. “Not long afore we land ashore.”
Shamil had brines in his mouth, nose and tearing eyes, and got even more all over his body, as another wave splashed over the rocking Barque's decks that had leveled again in the meantime.
“How do you know?” He croaked trying to see who the Zilan was and his savior pointer a long, thin finger at a small bird that had landed on a swinging back and forth over their heads loose piece of mast. Its small head looked right and left curious, and then with its small beady eyes blinking rapidly, it let out a high-pitched chirp in greeting, afore flying away.
“That’s a pink-feathered sparrow,” the Zilan replied and easily lifted the miserable Shamil upright.
“Its feathers were brown?” Shamil groaned with a cough, whilst desperately grabbing a line with a shaking hand.
“Uhm.” The Zilan replied cryptically, either in agreement, or not.
“Ye done puking kid?” Devon asked him with a crooked grin, slapping his chest an hour later. “Wanna go up there and help Nery?”
“Leave that little prick to get some more air. Caught him in my liquor box again yesterday,” Tidus ordered, coming near them, wild beard covered in brines and bushy eyebrows furrowed. He’d a bad eye their Captain, the pupil on it tiny alike a black dot and blinded by fever, or something. “I need the kid to handle the sounding line. Move now and give me a depth every minute.”
“Aye Captain,” Shamil croaked and saluted much to Tidus’ amusement. The Captain wasn’t amused enough not to land a blow with a wet open palm just below the ear that sent Shamil reeling.
“Quit wit them funny gestures kid, lest ye need another one coming’,” Tidus warned and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “You want to play at a soldier, jump out and swim for the Lassel. You gesture a man aboard Fat Libby the wrong way, or gods forbid he takes it differently, yer getting a fist in the face best case, or a cock up the arse, if yer unlucky. Ye seem the unlucky type to me.”
Shamil nodded with clenched teeth and run to find the sounding line, while their ship slowly sailed out of the weather towards the misty shores ahead of them.
“You like this little anchorage Devon?” Tidus asked gruffly, standing next to Manfred, the latter now with a bandage wrapped around the lower part of his face like a mask.
“Can’t say I do Birdseye,” Devon retorted, torso stooped over the edge, on the starboard side of Fat Libby.
“Tough luck then,” Tidus grunted and slotting mid-finger and thumb in his mouth whistled loudly. “This is it, our safe sojourn. Toss the anchor Chino!”
“NEED A MINUTE!” Chino yelled from the bow.
“Ye fucking rascal,” Tidus cursed and rushed down the ladder to head towards him. “Making me cross the plaguing ship, I swear to Allgods…”
“I said a minute not an hour!” Chino protested irate.
“I don’t have an hour! Kid?” Tidus asked pausing next to Shamil, who had the line in his hands. “Depth?”
“Eh,” Shamil hesitated caught unawares.
“Six meters,” the Zilan said under the brim of his leather hat. “He just told you.”
“I forgot,” Tidus snapped eyeing their passenger.
“So did he,” the Zilan replied evenly and everyone moved back and forth as the dropped anchor caught the bottom. Fat Libby creaked as it angled starboard side and Devon yelped going overboard. A moment later hitting the waters with a huge splash.
Tidus sighed and hang his messy head in desperation. “Drop the sounding line kid and toss him that rope. If he doesn’t grab it within a minute, you’ll jump in there to get him out. That motherfucker knows shit all about swimming.”
“Aye Captain!” Shamil yelled and went to help the desperately thrashing about Devon out. Whilst returning with the coil of rope, it dawned on him, he knew fuck all about swimming too.
But Shamil chose not to make a big deal about it.
Lanthdor was a sober tall Zilan captain, and Gonodir the leader of the 9th Imperial Marine unit a more muscular version of him. The massive Galleass Lassel moored further back behind the Fat Libby and lowered eight large boats that started unloading the rest of the Marines ashore. Acharon, the Zilan engineer came with them, along with another Zilan named Peldir, the healer.
Tidus got every passenger out of the Fat Libby as well, using six boats that made several trips to unload supplies. Most of the crew following with the last of them ashore.
“A’right,” the now drier Devon said, he’d successfully caught the line Shamil had thrown him earlier and made it safely back on the ship. “At least we have good weather. Sun is up, it’s warm. Very warm. Fuck… hey captain, where is that water source? I found something dead in the barrel.”
“Was still breathing!” Chino elucidated, carrying a heavy bucket away from the splashing waves. “But might have been a fart.”
Tidus furrowed his brows and set his sole good eye on Devon. “Do I look like a plaguing seer? That’s as far as I know of this fucking place!”
“The beach?” Devon probed.
“Aye.”
“So you know nothing?”
“Seeing as it’s my first visit? Ayup,” Tidus retorted.
Shamil left them behind and approached the Zilan military officers gathered in a separate group.
Lanthdor was speaking to them reading from a note book. “I want groups of five setup immediately. You spread out and secure the perimeter. Get in the woods and flash out any nose-less prick lurking about. Keep traveling west until you find drinkable water. If you find nothing that goes down and doesn’t immediately come out… report back. This might be a short god darn trip! Here, I laid it out sweetly for you! What do you need Acharon?”
“We have precut wood for the workshop, but I want more timber. Start cutting trees down and clear out the ground at least a hundred meters inwards. This is a good spot to build docks, but I want a warehouse erected at a safe distance from the water before sundown. Look for a marker left behind, if you can. Else we’ll have to figure out the tides ourselves.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Get the humans to dig, they work for the Company.”
“So are you Lanthdor and I trust our own to do this properly,” Acharon retorted and slapped the silver badge the Captain sported. The lower-ranking officers and employees carried a bronze one. It was a type of a square lapel pin, alike a coin but bigger that you could secure on your coat. If you had one. Shamil still hadn’t gotten one, since he was ‘a work in progress’, but mostly because Tidus was looking to give the younger recruits half-pay for as long as he could get away with it. “Flardryn’s orders. You work for the Company now.”
“The Bank you mean.”
“No. The company. Build me that warehouse Captain, or step aside and Gonodir will do it.”
Lanthdor pursed his mouth and stared at the Marine leader. Gonodir shrugged his shoulders. “I can split the lads. One day of hard labor earns you a trip in the jungle.”
“Are there Gish around Gonodir?” One Marine asked in a mirthful manner.
“I see you’re still an idiot Pathon,” Gonodir retorted gruffly and eyed the Zilan soldier. “You know the drill. First cunt that opens his mouth gets the axe.”
“That’s not the fucking saying sir!” Pathon protested.
“You’re right.” Gonodir agreed and then added with an evil smirk. “Start cutting trees down now.”
“Hey, you!” Lanthdor grunted catching Shamil watching them with a big smile on his face. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I signed up for the Imperial Army in Ta-Ne,” Shamil explained raising his fist and the Zilan stared at him numbly. “Hail King Garth! Long may he reign!”
“That’s all well and good but this is the Marines kid,” Lanthdor replied gruffly. “The Navy. You heard the man, we are working for the company now.”
“King and coin kid,” Acharon said with a polite smile. “Take solace that you were half right.”
“Bullshit he is,” Lanthdor grunted. “Pathon you got yerself a helper. The rest grab any human loitering about and put them to work.”
“I’ll take the kid to the woods,” the Zilan from before said and approached, a long-shafted axe resting on his shoulder. “He’ll help me out.”
“You are looking to chop wood down Taranir?” Lanthdor queried tensely.
“I’ll start with that,” Taranir replied and stared at the silently watching him Zilan. “Don’t let me keep you lads.” He added and turned to Shamil. “You have an axe lad?”
“It’s Shamil, but people call me Sam,” Shamil explained.
“You have an axe Sam?” Taranir asked in the same tone.
“No?”
The Zilan gave him the one he carried. “Keep it away from your face. I just had it sharpened.”
“Uh!” Shamil grunted swinging the axe with both hands. The blade thudded at the thick tree trunk and chopped pieces of it away. “Uah!” He kept alternating the growls in his swings and many swings later the second blue-colored needle-like in its leaves spruce dropped next to the one Taranir had fell earlier.
The Zilan approached the cut stump and used a small dagger to gather the dripping resin inside a small bronze canister. He’d done the same with the previous spruce.
Shamil asked him about it.
“Good for glue. It was a Fir by the way, the previous one. Easy to mix up, but look at how the needless are attached to the stem with suction-like cups? You don’t have that in a spruce,” Taranir explained.
“How come this part is full of them?” Shamil asked.
“Elevation,” the Zilan explained. “We’ve been climbing for a while now. Beyond this forested ridge there is a steep incline that leads to the Sparrow Lake.”
“Whoa,” Shamil gasped and sat at the edge of the cut stump in order to rest. His arms were burning from the effort. “You’re a botanist, or something?”
“I tend to a large strawberry garden and a couple of fields near the Narrow Gulf. Some vines, little bit of grain, a touch of barley. Enough to make my own liquor and sell it.” Taranir reached inside his coat and got an angular piece of yellow cheese out. He tossed it to Shamil that caught it on his chest with both hands. “A couple of sheep and a goat,” Taranir added with the thinnest of smiles.
Shamil sniffed at the hard cheese and then took a bite.
“Next time chew on some of that and the sea-sickness will go away,” the Zilan said.
“I know of goat cheese,” Shamil said wolfing everything down.
“Luzi Hokar spawn. Desert herdsman,” Taranir murmured looking at the thick trees surrounding them.
“Only it burns and it’s very salty?” Shamil coughed trying to swallow.
“Um. I spiced it up a bit. I’ve a pretty tough to appease palate,” Taranir explained and got another large piece of cheese in his own mouth. Occasionally he’d sip some whiskey from a small silver flask in between measured chomps and several swings later, now seemingly quite satisfied, the Zilan returned everything in a bag he carried and slotted a small cigar in his mouth.
“Just tobacco,” Taranir told the watching his every move Shamil. They could hear the workers chopping down trees at the edges of the forest and the groups of marines passing nearby searching the thicker parts. “Never cared to dull my senses.”
“You know of Luzi Hokar then?”
“Ten plinth houses and plenty of goats is the Luzi Hokar I know,” Taranir murmured and lit up his cigar.
“Yeah, it’s a port now. We’ve ships coming in every couple of months,” Shamil praised his birthplace. “We still have a lot of goats though.”
“Um.”
“I joined the Navy to serve the wyvern king,” Shamil said after a while. “He kicked the Horselords out of the Peninsula.”
“I thought they are still there.”
“For the most part.”
“Ah. How you ended up working for the Company then?” Taranir asked evenly.
“Well, we still work for the King,” Shamil argued, still a little miffed about that. “After I get my reps in, Tidus will give me a bronze badge. Do you have one? It writes SETC on it and has a scale with a compass on one side and the Crown of Horns on the other. Anyway after we return I’ll get one and Nery will as well.”
“It’d be a while afore this journey ends Sam.”
“We found the port,” Shamil argued. “No Gish in sight.”
“When you stand at the ridge,” Taranir said, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “Beyond the lake, you’ll see land in the mist and a mountain. That’s Grilix Isle and Sirondil Peak.”
“Is that where the Gish live?”
“The Gish live mostly behind Sirondil, this main island chain was once a big single island. But to answer your query, the Gish live everywhere on the Isles. Wouldn’t you?”
“I guess.” Shamil replied and voices of alarm interrupted their respite.
The arriving Lanthdor grimaced and then paused to evaluate the situation. Shamil could see the clear waters of the lake at the bottom of this forested basin and beyond it, now that the sun was fully up and the atmosphere had cleared, the mass of the nearby Grilix Isle. The path the soldiers had discovered poorly-maintained by local folk and wild animals.
One of them, dragged near the Zilan Captain by Pathon. His wiry body twisting and turning and that mess of pink hair hiding the bizarre face.
“Friendly!” The little Gish squeaked in strange half-Imperial half-Common whilst trying to free himself from Pathon’s grip at his nape. The Zilan’s long fingers wrapped around the Gish’s neck. “I love Corsairs! Ask Bafix!”
“Can we widen the road? We need to bring a couple of boats to this lake,” Lanthdor asked Peldir the medic and the sweaty Zilan puffed out in exasperation.
“I’m not an engineer Lanthdor, but I imagine we can. Why am I here?”
“Someone sounded the alarm. It’s standard procedure to bring a healer along,” Lanthdor retorted. “I want the road reaching the anchorage before the week is over,” he ordered the marines present.
“The road is fine,” Pathon argued and slapped the Gish’s hand away from his dagger. “Gonodir needs to be informed.”
“I outrank Gonodir Marine!” Lanthdor barked.
“Not whilst on land, you’re not. We need to secure the isle first captain,” Pathon countered.
“Against that thing?” Lanthdor growled and stepped forward. “Are there more here?” He asked the ogling scared at the imposing Zilan male Gish.
“You’re not hu-mans. Eh. You’ve got big ears mate. Just a non-threatening observation.”
Lanthdor glanced at the rest of the Zilan present. “What the fuck is this? Is he retarded?”
“Answer the Captain Gish.”
“Name’s Rabix,” the young Gish with the shifty face explained and set his eyes on the curiously watching the exchange Shamil. “I’ll speak with the Corsair brother.”
“What?” Lanthdor grunted and twisted around to stare at the stunned teenager. “Is this true?”
“I’m Shamil Al-Bagi,” Shamil explained. “My family runs goats in Luzi Hokar, but I worked to gain entry—”
“You’ve told us that already you imbecile!” The Zilan roared irate. “Do you know the Gish?”
“Eh. I never met a Gish in my life,” Shamil blurted out defensively.
“Sammy boy,” Rabix chuckled nervously and winked at him with red-rimmed pinkish eyes. “Come on, I’m a friend of the Corsair of Ducuril! You don’t remember me?”
Lanthdor pursed his mouth, suspicion written all over his long face.
“I don’t know him, or you,” Shamil insisted nervously.
“No, he’s lying!” Rabix cried out. “I’ve seen him afore, on me word long-eared dudes!”
“Pathon, cut his thumbs off,” Lanthdor grunted and Rabix recoiled in horror.
“Not the thumbs!”
“Fine, pluck an eye out,” the Captain retorted.
“PLEASE. SAM! Don’t do this man! I… don’t… feel…” Rabix protested hoarsely and then fainted abruptly. Pathon let him drop on the ground with a shake of his head, the rest of the Zilan bursting out laughing at the scene. Shamil blinked, still horrified at the disturbing turn of events and when he opened his eyes again, Rabix was legging it for the trees.
“Fuck!” Pathon cursed, a bit stunned at the rapidly running away small Gish.
“Damn it! After him for fuck’s sake!” Lanthdor cursed. “He’s about to warn the others!”
“What others?” A Marine asked while several made an effort to run after the Gish that had disappeared in the wilderness surrounding the path and the lake.
“Where there’s one, there are more!” Lanthdor growled. “Gods damn it! Pathon send word to Gonodir to post patrols along the whole coast! Find that short bastard!”
…
Well, that small Gish disappeared near the lake and despite their efforts the Marines couldn’t find him. After exploring the shores of the large freshwater lake, Shamil returned to their main camp with the unperturbed about the events Taranir, although the Zilan gardener of sorts, did remain silent for the remainder of their trip.
Acharon had finished his wooden warehouse by sundown and the mixed crowd of humans and Zilan worked to bring the cut timber near the shores, in order to start construction of the rudimentary docks the next day. The Company men slept near big fires in the cleared-out area at the edge of the forest and a meeting was held to discuss their next plans.
Fat Libby’s Captain’s logs
Supplemental
22nd of Sextus 195 NC (3401 IC)
Safe Sojourn anchorage, Worm Isle
Expedition ‘Dark Tapestry Trail’
Day 19
Master Acharon setup a field hospital and a kitchen. Most men were glad with the latter, but the small infirmary also made ‘Doc’ Peldir happy. Lanthdor wants to take the Lassel around Worm Isle towards Grilix Isle. The Zilan believe there be iron deposits there and good stone, which Worm isle lacks. It has clay though near the north sides of the lake and some of the men constructed a kiln today so we can produce bricks.
25th of Sextus
Almost a week on Worm Isle. A week at Safe Sojourn. Plenty of banana trees on the west side, some mango, wild peppers and what looks like sour mandarin. Good ground to grow grain and two fields were cleared near the camp. Not much of local fauna but for a type of water pig that tastes like mud without plenty of seasoning. Fortunately we have a lot of that. Gonodir declared the Isle ‘clear of danger presently, but difficult to maintain that status without widening the perimeter.’ Some of the Zilan are pretty interested in going to Grilix Isle that’s less than fifty kilometers away and you can see its mountain from the top of the ridge. Some of the lads too, but I have the notion it’s for a different reason. Devon who talks with them, believes some of our blue-haired colleagues ‘are pretty old in the tooth.’ The way Devon said it, gave me the fucking chills.
26th of Sextus
Lanthdor wanted to take the Lassel around the Isle but agreed to wait for after the rest of the ships arrive. The ‘Petulant’ and the ‘Express’ are lengthened Schooners, pretty fast, but they’ve left Mussel three days after we cleared the Reefs and they are late.
The trade Schooners did arrive early in the afternoon. They are part ‘of the Sopat buy in payment’ per their marching orders. I know Captain Pheles of the Petulant from Lai Zel-Ka, and Captain Zuberi of the Express is a serious Cofol with a mixed crew. Apparently they had to recruit fast to be ready for the journey. So they have some fellow Lorians, and a number of shady Issirs, in their predominantly Cofol crews.
‘The Trade Company is the great gathering of all peoples’ as Pheles declared impressed at what we have constructed in short notice. It’s all great, but I’m worried to have a military head in charge. Lanthdor is a good ‘silver badge’ but this is an exploratory mission.
27th of Sextus
Captain Zuberi of the Express will take Gonodir and a group of Marines to Grilix Isle on a resources scouting mission. Peldir would follow along but Lanthdor won’t join them, which was weird to me. Nevertheless, due to the need for additional crew I’ve ordered the kids Sam and Nery to help out. Some of the crew on the Express is downright weird and shifty-looking, especially that Zaine character, his petite aide and their old dog. On another peculiar note, Zuberi told me they caught sight of a ship staying behind them through the reefs when they approached. ‘Hull white as snow,’ Zuberi recalled, ‘but we lost it during the night, afore the Tits canal turn.’
The Zilan almost laughed the Cofol captain out of the newly constructed conference-room. ‘The day the Gish build anything larger than a bathtub, is the day I’ll call it quits and wed a princess. I’m not jesting darn it!’ An animated Lanthdor told Zuberi and while we were all interested to learn which princess the naval officer meant -given the bold statement, he sagely left it at that.
…
28th of Sextus
Grilix Isle rocky approaches,
Sinking Isles main island chain east side,
‘Land between the lake’s legs’,
Ilvilix River Lake south delta, north side
Expedition Day 25
Aboard the SETC Schooner number 2, called the ‘Express’
“REEFS PORTSIDE!” Nery yelled, the Cofol tied with a rope on the main mast and swinging back and forth dangerously. “TURN RUDDER LEEWARD!”
“Rudder starboard bow!” Captain Zuberi yelled, and Shamil grabbed a line to stabilize himself on the narrow deck. Waves splashed at his soaked feet, the boards turning slippery and Taranir helped him clasping at his elbow tightly.
“Nine meters!” The Cofol sailor taking the depth roared.
“Keep it steady!”
“SEVEN!”
“Ready anchors!”
“That’s a big bloody mountain!” Shamil yelled, with a mouth full of brines the moment their ship stopped shaking right and then left, with any unsecured stuff tumbling about and people yelling with enthusiasm for still breathing. The dog barked once in reply and the short sailor standing over it gave a nod with his hat-wearing head. Short was an understatement perhaps as Shamil was already taller than Ab and Nery had another head over him, despite the man's claims that he was nearing thirty winters.
“The mountain was always the same height,” Taranir explained, his eyes searching the abandoned pebble-covered beach that they could now see. “We are just closer.”
“Time to get wet!” Gonodir barked casting a glare at his squad. “I want four-limbed fish in the fucking water and then on that beach in twenty minutes! Pathon, you volunteered?”
“No sir,” Pathon grunted.
“Great, that’s one then,” Gonodir rustled and eyed the rest of the ten man group. “Who is next? Glavon, Tirior and Feredir. I see yer eager to taste the soup,” he picked them out afore they could reply. “Secure your gear and dive in lads! Come on now, my balls are freezing! MOVE!”
-
2 hours later
“Fucking rocks be burning thru our soles soon,” a sailor cursed carrying a crate with some supplies out of their boat. Shamil had made it ashore with the help of Taranir as the boat couldn’t fit everyone inside. “Hey, sir Captain, is the sun closer, or something?”
“The spot is plenty shaded in the afternoon,” Captain Zuberi replied and stooped to pick up something from the beach. “Hmm.”
“Was that a nail?” Taranir asked and got another short thin cigar out. The outer tobacco leaves black and dipped in paste made out the rare outside of the Peninsula chocolate tree fruit’s seeds, in order to darken them up. Of course the Zilan had told Shamil that all fruits and trees thrived inside Nesande’s Garden, so ‘stuff ain’t that difficult to find, or grow’.
“Yeah, a good nail this. For a shoehorn. Mule I gather, or donkey.” Zuberi replied. “Any sign of that Gish Gonodir?”
The marine officer paused drawing at his map and stared at the captain. “You don’t believe the Gish made it across the straits? That’s a big swim even for a Marine.”
Kilometers of seawater surely worth a bigger moniker that just ‘a big swim’, Shamil thought, but stayed out of the officers’ discussion.
“You tell me,” Zuberi argued. “You saw it. How did it make it across in the first place?”
The Zilan smacked his lips and noticed a scarfed ruffian-looking Issir sailor reading the map he was drawing, while standing over his shoulder. The Issir showed him two-rows of dull yellow-teeth with plenty of gold ones mixed in. It was a grin.
“Back away,” Gonodir warned and the Issir bowed, maintaining his smile and friendly demeanor.
“I’m an artist meself,” he explained.
“It’s a map. No art involved,” Gonodir grunted. “Go do some work Issir. It better involve a lot of heavy-lifting and no art at all.”
“Apologies. I be leavin signor,’” the Issir replied and limped away with difficulty on the pebbled beach.
“Who hired an invalid in the company?” Gonodir asked Captain Zuberi and the Cofol shrugged his shoulders.
“They came in a group back in Mussel. I guess the local office was in a hurry to get rid of them, given how busy they are. He does know a bit of night steering. Worked the night shift without problems.”
“Does he have a name?” Gonodir asked watching the Issir return near his short friend that tried to setup a shade for their supplies, working slower than a pregnant woman.
“Zaine. ‘Lame’ Zaine,” Zuberi replied still examining that nail. “This is forged steel by the way. It came out with barely any damage.”
“Do Gish work with steel?” Shamil asked and Zuberi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know about Gish, but this is an Issir nail-type. See the square head? I’ve seen the type made in Rida.”
The Marine patrols returned an hour later. The two, five-soldiers per, groups found no sign of Gish, but they did discover a trail leading to the plateau and a copse that showed signs of civilization given it had been worked on to have only a type of tree growing. An indigenous type of large oak.
“You think the Gish are nearby?” Gonodir asked the tired Pathon.
“A Gish can hide pretty well,” Pathon replied.
“Not many of them that I’ve seen lately,” Gonodir admitted. “Glavon? You visited Folen’s brothel didn’t ye? There’s word in the ranks you’ve bedded a male Gish.”
“It was a group thing sir,” Glavon spat with a glare at his colleagues. “I hooked up with a couple of fine Zilan lasses mainly.”
“An orgy you said?” Gonodir barked. “Both girls and the tiny cinaedus?”
“A trio. You need four to have an orgy usually.”
“Ah. I’m sure their mothers will be proud.”
“The mother was present sir.”
“Aha. There’s something to chew upon gentlemen. Now, how did the Gish make it to Wetull soldier?”
“I didn’t think to ask,” Glavon admitted sheepishly.
“I want more groups created,” Gonodir decided with a sigh. “We’ll try again in the morning. We’ll venture inland, search the plateau and the nearby copse again. Follow the mountain side until midday, then return here to regroup. Those that stay to guard the camp will gather stone. We’ll bring samples back.”
“Should we make a fire sir?” a soldier asked.
“It’s a hot day Feredir and the night is fixing to be pleasant,” Gonodir replied. “We’ll manage without it.”
The night was cool near the water and the tired Shamil, sat near the smoking Taranir at the edge of the beach. Drones of insects arrived at sunset from the nearby delta, mosquitos and crickets mainly, and most of the sailors returned to the ship when the rising tides covered most of the beach, with the marines opting to hang near the rocky inclines leading to the plateau.
The first sentries for the night were Feredir and Tirior.
“Got any smoke to spare?” Zaine asked coming to sit near them. He found a crate and used one corner, cunning eyes skirting right and left to watch the shadows that had crept up on the flooded beach. The whole place had turned into a marsh, at least half a meter deep on average, but with some treacherous deep spots here and there. “Nasty place this, haunted.”
“You favor tobacco mister Zaine?” Taranir asked and offered him a cigar.
“Anything is better than nothing. You don’t seem the military type. Are you in the roster?”
“Are you?” Taranir retorted calmly.
“Eh, a man does what he can to make a livin’ right?”
“Um.”
“What is it you do yerself?”
“I craft gardens.” Taranir replied and Zaine lit his cigar with a lightstone after sucking on it a couple of times. “Grounds, other things. Trim the stems and gather what’s gone missing.”
“Mmm.” Zaine nodded. “Little bit of everything. I’m like that too. I call it treasure-hunting haha. That’s a fine cigar signor. Weird shitty flavor, but not unpleasant.”
“Most don’t recognize it immediately,” Taranir retorted mockingly. “Without prior turd knowledge.”
“Yeah. True that.”
“Yeah,” Taranir agreed and set his eyes on the short sailor talking with Nery. The one-eyed dog standing on its arse and staring in turn directly south with a forlorn expression. “Your friend is a Gish.”
“What? Haha,” Zaine gasped and Shamil glanced at the Zilan perturbed. “What made you think of that?”
“The eyes?” Taranir replied calmly. “The lack of a nose.”
“It’s a condition. The eye-thing. The nose is there, just flattened in a work accident… ayup. Not easy working the seas. Nope. Slippery decks, things put in the wrong place, not tied up. Yep. It’s a fucking mess really.”
Shamil made to probe the Issir further, but Taranir stopped him. He brought an index finger to his lips and pointed at the top of the plateau now lost in mountain Sindoril’s shade. Shamil narrowed his eyes but he couldn’t see anything. Taranir used the finger to touch his left ear annoyed with Shamil.
“What is it signor?” Zaine whispered and extinguished the cigar at the heel of his boot.
“Listen,” Taranir ordered in the same manner. “That’s a donkey. Been hearing it for a while. The sentries have already reacted to it, though they failed to raise the alarm.”
It took them ten minutes to reach the top and by that time several other Zilan had coalesced there, amongst them the medic Peldir and Gonodir himself. The first thing Shamil spotted was the donkey drawing a small boat and the injured Feredir getting looked after by Peldir. Tirior was there as well, but needed no help at all, given that his head was squashed horrifically and the Marine was sprawled dead in a pool of dark blood and mashed brains.
“What in Abrakas tentacles is this malarkey Feredir?” Gonodir growled checking on the donkey furious. “The fuck happened here?”
“The Gish,” Feredir grunted, his right arm broken and face swollen. “He’d two kids with him and that darn donkey.”
“Two little Gish pulverized poor Tirior’s head?” Gonodir snapped irate. “Did you have yours checked out? Peldir examine his thick skull for any cracks!”
“A tool did it,” Peldir hissed glaring at the officer. “A heavy sledgehammer I’d wager,” the medic added and Feredir nodded with a groan.
“The little Gish, or that short cunt we lost days ago, swung a blasted sledgehammer at Tirior?” Gonodir grunted unable to fathom what had happened. Shamil followed after Taranir who had stooped to check on the donkey’s horseshoes initially and was now examining the saddle, along with the harness dragging the small boat behind.
“That was no little… Black skin and red-black hair, thick arms like a gorilla. They were in the boat and we didn’t see them. Fucking little bitch distracted us,” Feredir groaned in pain as Peldir set the forearm back. “Damn it doc! The darn thing is still attached!”
“Shut up,” the male healer retorted and got a wooden a stick out of his bag to use on the broken arm.
“How tall?” A perturbed Gonodir asked. “Was it a beast?”
“No beast. A tad taller than the kid,” Feredir replied through his teeth. “There were two of them.”
Gonodir stared at Shamil. “That’s not very tall. Could it have been a Gish you reckon?”
“That was no… plaguing Gish!” Feredir grunted irate and in terrible pain.
“That’s an Issir-type saddle and this boat,” Taranir told the distracted Shamil snapping him back to the present. “Is just part of a bigger one, put back together rather skillfully I might add. Even has the name of the ship it belonged to on the sides. The Aconite. Aye.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a blue flower. Wolvesbane. Darn right poisonous, but it’s good for the shivers in small doses,” Zaine replied sucking at his teeth thoughtfully.
“You seem troubled mister Zaine,” Taranir noticed.
“Eh. There’s a tale circulating certain circles about a lost convoy. The name rang a bell,” Zaine replied.
“What ship was it?” Taranir asked.
“A brig.”
“What type of convoy?” Shamil queried rubbing at the nervous donkey’s mane.
“A coin fleet,” Zaine replied reluctantly.
“Pathon,” Gonodir grunted several meters to their right. “Get the boys ready. This atrocity needs to be addressed decisively. We lost one of our own.”
“Aye sir,” Pathon saluted and then whistled loudly to gather the rest of the arriving Marines. Now nine of them.
“Find me that murderous Gish Pathon.” Gonodir ordered gruffly and Taranir stepped forward shoving the startled Zaine aside.
“Belay that order Gonodir,” Taranir said evenly and the Marine officer glanced his way in shock. Most of the soldiers did in fact.
“Who the allhells—?” Gonodir exploded and recoiled when Taranir snapped his arm forward abruptly, the leather sleeve rustling as it moved, only to fold again and open the first button of his coat to get a small badge out. Taranir turned it this way and that to find the fa?ade, afore he secured the large lapel pin over the right side of his longcoat.
Shamil felt Zaine’s eyes on him but when he turned towards the shifty Issir, Zaine was staring straight up ahead faking at indifference.
“You’re in the board of directors?” Gonodir grunted in bewilderment. “Are you fucking serious?”
“You’re putting too much stock on labels lad. Worked with Mirthral for the precursor of this… enterprise on another position. You can say I’m freshly out of retirement,” Taranir explained coolly. “If it’s any consolation Lanthdor learned about it very recently and was equally sad.”
Gonodir blinked and then pursed his mouth.
“This is a military matter mister Taranir,” he hissed clenching his jaw.
“Call me Master Naug,” Taranir cut him off and eyed the rest of the sober soldiers austerely. “This is a Company matter first and foremost. Fer King and Coin. But we can’t begin having any of the latter unless we keep on the move. We’ll deal with the Gish at a later time. Now we have a tight schedule to keep.”
“What about the fact they just murdered one of our own?” Gonodir protested with a scowl.
“Ask Feredir to recall the events better. The Gish will only attack in self-defense, and I’ve yet to meet a Zilan, or a human that can claim the same restraint. Especially when they perceive the opportunity too-enticing to pass,” Taranir replied his voice hardening. “Do it, else I’ll do it for you.”
“So,” Zaine asked the impressed Shamil treading carefully. “Who’s the big-eared dude again?”
Shamil cleared his throat and then replied just as Taranir lit another of his small cigars, while the sullen Marines prepared to carry the injured Feredir, the corpse of Tirior and the donkey, back to their camp.
“He’s a gardener. You heard him,” Shamil replied and added after a small thoughtful pause. “Mostly.”
“Bugger me arse wit a hot poker and call me honey,” Zaine retorted nigh impressed and the dog barked once in agreement.