Elec knew exactly what they meant to do while he was gone, but his spirit soared despite this knowledge. He hurried up the stairs to his room. His heart raced as he threw open the dark wood armoire and drew out the weathered leather backpack. The sturdy companion saw him through countless hikes and camping excursions. It rattled with the various contents he had left in it from his previous outings: a skinning knife, a trowel, a pry bar, rope with a grappling hook, and a spool of narrow leather binding, to name a few. Despite the added weight from the extra items, he opted not to remove them from his pack. His father’s words echoed in his head, and he might need some of them on the way to town. He grabbed his leather-bound journal and a stylus from his desk next to the window and added them amongst the contents. Tightening the straps, he threw it over his shoulders as he headed downstairs.
In an anteroom, just off the study, their home possessed a small but tidy apothecary. Elec whistled to himself as he refilled the waterskin from the corner cistern and picked out three narrow vials from the glass cabinet. I really should start learning the art of potion-making as well, he thought. He memorized the ingredient list years ago because of his frequent trips to fetch them from nearby fields and forests. Except for his parents and his friend Lily, potions were difficult to come by in these parts. He reckoned he could make a killing if he put in the effort and learned the steps to craft them himself.
Elec gave a yip as he ran through the living room and out the front door. He couldn’t contain his excitement at the prospect of seeing friends, sailors, merchants from the mainland, or the infrequent traveler from across the sea. With a hop, he landed on the bench of the open wagon, reins in hand. He opened the small box beneath the seat and slid his pack into it among the blankets and other miscellaneous items left over from other trips. Elec gave a gentle flick, and the horse began a steady trot.
The trail from their property was bumpy but well-maintained. His parents refused to allow ruts or holes to develop, even in the roadway between their house and town. If they were in a hurry, they used magic to smooth out the troubled spots. When they weren’t, which was more frequently the case, they had him do it. The wheels rumbled along the road, taking a sharp turn towards the coastline. Soon, he gazed upon the favorite view from his property.
The trees surrounding the couple of acres around their home proper gave way to an expansive view of the eastern sea. Elec frequented the spot, whether to write poetry in his journal or share that same with a young lady he hoped to kiss under the stars. The fifty-foot-high cliffs descended to meet the ocean as the trail sloped down with them to the beach below. Where the cliff, trail, and beach met was a decent cove, good for swimming when the waves were not too choppy.
The wagon creaked and bumped along, its wheels passing the signpost and banner marking the edge of their lands. New shapes emerged from behind the swell of the hill. Wooden poles and slats peeked out above the grass. Elec flicked the reins, urging a little more speed. When the trail met the sandy hills near the beach, he saw the wreckage of a massive and once beautiful trading ship. He stared in disbelief as more and more of the ship revealed itself the closer he got. Elec pulled the reins as gently as his excited hands could manage, the horse obeying without argument. He hopped down and petted the animal, leading her to a young tree. Elec marveled at the sight, his hands fumbling the simple knot twice. He blinked hard as if the vessel might disappear in a moment. He was halfway to the beach before he doubled back to the wagon and dragged his pack out from the box under the seat.
Visions of treasures and mysteries filled his mind as his feet pulled him toward the wreckage. His boots crunched into the sand at the edge of the beach as he took in the scene. The vessel lay canted and mangled, with parts strewn up and down the beach. The masts lay twisted and snapped like twigs, while the waves lapped at its hull. Still upright, the hull split wide open like a gigantic skull lying on its side with its mouth agape. Elec hurried to the wreckage, looking at the various barrels and boxes scattered around, wondering where he’d start searching first. His eyes fell upon an overturned longboat further down the beach. The cracked and pitted sides of the small wooden vessel’s hull gave testament to how dangerous the seas were during the storm. Further up the beach, a thick line of churned sand led from the high-tide line to the base of the cliffs. There, in the overhang’s shade, lay a body.
Elec’s heart sank as he walked towards the cliffs. Upon closer examination, the marks along the rails and edge of the deck were too sharp to be wave and debris damage. Sharp weapon marks slashed into the sections of the rail still intact, and claw-like gouges traced the edges and down the sides. Not only did the storm bring ruin to the ship, but also a battle.
Elec approached, but remained a little further off. He had never seen a dead body before, and he found his feet suddenly rooted in place. The excitement he felt before was now a distant memory, trading places with a sense of guilt and growing shame as he mustered his courage.
“Hey? Are ye alright?”
Trembling, Elec rebuked himself for his choice of words. Of course, the person wasn’t alright, thinking of the shipwreck. The figure’s hand moved, and the movement caused Elec to flinch. It planted its hand and tried to push itself up. The person’s head rose with a groan. He could not make out the person’s features because of the tangle of hair falling across his face. Closing the distance a little more, he could see that the figure was a Human man, middle-aged with sun-weathered skin. His torn and soaked sailor’s uniform marked him as a member of the crew on a ship of somewhat high importance. With difficulty, the sailor’s chest rose and fell, and his breathing was shallow. A blood-crusted gash across his forehead was visible as the man’s head lolled to the side.
“The storm…” The sailor said, “crew…attacked…wasn’t… natural…”
He drew closer still, as the sailor’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. When his eyes landed on Elec, the sailor gave a start. The half-closed eyes rolled up into the sailor’s head as he slumped back into the sand.
“No, no, no, no,” Elec said, “Stay with me. Stay with me!”
Elec shuffled up towards the sailor, slid his pack off his back, and drew out one phial of Narehresta. He propped the man up on his lap and tilted his head way back to prevent him from choking. He uncorked the phial, and a sweet smell of flowery herbs and fresh rainfall emanated from the small container as he trickled the contents into the corner of the man’s mouth. The distilled herbal remedy contained a small portion of magic that could bring about swift healing, if he wasn’t too late.
“Come on, drink it. It’ll help ye. Don’t go…” Elec said, rubbing his knuckles against the man’s sternum.
For a while, nothing. Elec’s brow raised in quiet desperation. The man’s shallow breathing continued, but he did not show any signs of improving for the moment. Then he stirred, a shade of color returning to his pale, drawn face. His breathing strengthened, and Elec let out a sigh of relief as the man’s hand moved around again, this time grasping his arm.
“Easy now. Yer in a rough spot, but I’ve got ye.”
“Where…where am I?…the storm…the ship…”
The man’s raspy voice seemed to strengthen despite his exhaustion. His eyes opened once more and settled on Elec. His countenance appeared lost and haunted, as if he were still trying to piece together what had happened.
“Ah, yer in Hintersonville…sorry…The island of Hinterson’s Vale. A storm hit us all pretty hard last night, and it looks like yer ship didn’t make it. Ye washed up here with the wreckage and are lucky to be alive.”
“Hinterson’s…Vale? I’ve never heard of it. We…weren’t even near land when they attacked.”
Elec’s eyes flashed with concern and interest. The sailor confirmed some of his suspicions.
“Yer ship was attacked? Truly?”
“Yes. Dark, ghostly figures with glowing eyes…and the storm hit us hard right after. It was as if the sea itself had turned against us. The others…my crew…are there any more survivors?”
A newfound clarity and desperation filled the sailor’s still weak voice as he looked about the beach. The Narehresta worked to revive him further, but with the increase of his recovery, so also came the increase of awareness.
“If yer well enough for me to leave for a moment, I can take a quick look.”
The sailor nodded weakly but remained propped up on his elbows. Elec moved back towards the wreckage itself, finding nothing but scattered cargo and debris. He looked under the overturned longboat and found another sailor, only this time he wasn’t so lucky. The lifeless figure lay twisted underneath, the face a grotesque distortion of abject fear. The slashes and claw marks on the body and longboat matched the damage to the hull of the ship itself.
“Did you find anything?”
Elec looked up from the overturned longboat to see the survivor sitting upright now, his eyes settled on him. Elec gazed at the body once more to steel himself before looking back.
“I haven’t found anyone else. I’m sorry.”
Elec moved away to the longboat as casually as he could. He hated himself for lying to the man, but knew he was still on death’s doorstep. He did not want to trouble the man’s heart with the truth without him being under expert care. Kneeling before him, he saw the sickly pale pallor of his skin and the troubling hitch in his breathing.
“Right now, we need to focus on getting ye to a healer. I’ve a friend nearby. She’ll know what to do.”
Weakly, the sailor nodded, bracing himself. Elec placed an arm under the sailor’s shoulders and the other under his legs. Leveraging against the sand, he lifted the man and carried him up the shoreline. The horse snorted and shifted its weight as he approached. Elec sat the weakened man at the tail of the bed before he climbed aboard. He adjusted the tarp and slid the tools away to clear a space for him to lie down. Elec grabbed a travel blanket from the supply box underneath the bench and draped it over the man.
“Thank you, sir. I owe you my life.”
With the sailor settled and secure, Elec untied the horse’s reins and climbed onto the driver’s bench. He flicked the reins, gave a yip, and directed the wagon towards the property next to his. Like a tiny creek, the last remnants of the storm trickled along the edge of the road while the wheels splashed down the way.
*
The creek that had been the road continued to trickle between his clammy boots. Little warmth came from the weak sunlight, which struggled through the clouds and canopy. The light did nothing to aid his wet clothes and armor. Roderick spied a few clusters of exposed roots from trees that had fallen in the night, but so far none lay across the road. He kept an eye on Seraphine as the elf made her progress up a tree. Each limb she cleared shook more and more rain from the leaves and branches. She insisted on retrieving her cloak, despite his contrary efforts, while the rest of the caravan made their preparations. Untying wagons. Hitching horses and donkeys. Re-securing loose boxes and barrels. The merchants and caravan drivers made hasty repairs to what they could so they could set out within the hour.
“I don’t care what the contract says, old man.” The whiner said. “We’ve lost our one wagon and a lot of supplies with it.”
Roderick looked back at the wagon in question, two of its wheels busted as it lay in a tangle of bushes a little way off from the trail. He then turned back to the swordsman, his face impassive. The other sellswords seemed to register this properly.
“You are not in charge here. You…”
“You can go then, but leave us the contract,” Roderick said.
He spoke with firmness but without emotion. An unsteady silence fell among him and the rest of the mercenaries. Roderick held the man in his gaze, crossing his arms. There came a hearty, wet smack of feet on mud from behind the group, making half of them jump. Seraphine landed on her feet with a loud ‘oof’, having leapt from the middle branches. She shook out and inspected her soaked cloak as she approached.
“So, are we running away from the paycheck yet?” She said, her voice dripping. “I’m ready to go back to an inn, get cleaned up, and play for some easy coin.”
The bard wrung the water from her cloak, feigning disinterest.
“This one seems to have your backbone when it comes to discomfort,” Roderick said.
Seraphine snapped the cloak, holding it up high to make sure it was still sound. She canted her head to look the whiner up and down. The young man, shivering in the cool morning, tried to look as menacing as Roderick. She brushed her still-wet hair back behind her pointed ears and gave the older warrior an incredulous look.
“Hold on.” She said, her hands on her hips. “You’re saying I’m as weak as these guys?”
Roderick held his focus on her with the same impassive look. The bard looked from the other mercenaries and the old sword. Her face became flushed with anger. The swordsmen exchanged nervous glances with each other under their implications.
“Fine! You…you know what!? Fine! We’ll go take care of the bandit camp alone.” She said, flinging the cloak at him as she stormed off. “Maybe the extra coin can get me a new set of clothes to go with replacing this ruined cloak.”
Roderick turned his attention back to the five sellswords before him. They stood up straighter now as they tried to hide their embarrassment. He cocked an eyebrow at them, and they all nodded. With a nod, Roderick turned toward the muttering bard as she continued to stomp further down the muddy trail.
It took a little while to catch up to Seraphine. When he finally stepped in front of her to bar her advance, they were quite a way away from the hasty camp. Seraphine beamed at him.
“Those guys are too easy.” She said, “So did the whiny one walk away?”
“No, he was counting on the others to join him.”
“Well, there goes that extra percentage. How far do you think the bandit camp is?”
“Not far. According to your information, this is about the area where most caravans get hit.”
The other mercenaries caught up, marching at a steady pace as he and the bard conversed. Roderick returned the cloak to her, reminding the grinning Half-elf she was supposed to be furious. Her face shifted instantly from a wide grin to a fuming scowl. They both took up their proper positions in the formation and began marching down the trail.
*
The country road forked off onto the narrow but well-worn trail. Elec steered the wagon onto it, his mind racing over the details of what he had encountered just moments ago. The excitement presented itself again, tempered by his responsibility to the man who lay sleeping in his wagon. Battles on the seas. Storms with purple and green lightning. Ghostly pirates with glowing eyes. He thought back to the books in his father’s library, trying to make a connection between what he saw and what he had studied. He remembered stories of sea dragons and kraken attacks, but such monsters pulled the ships they attacked to the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again. Wizards and elementals could’ve conjured up the storm, but its source was many leagues out to sea, and still it reached their tiny island home. This meant something even more powerful than both and more ancient. The mention of claw marks and glowing eyes brought to mind passages of Sahuagin raiders, amphibious humanoids known for attacking ships, but the storm would’ve affected them as well. Wouldn’t it?
The cart jolted on a rut in the trail, bringing his mind back to the present task. The pleasant aroma of smoke from Lily Fenwater’s cozy cottage chimney reached him long before the cottage itself was visible. As the wagon bumped along, the home and its surrounding herb gardens were revealed, their aroma creating a relaxing atmosphere for anyone who came to visit. Lily’s small home rested on a large parcel of land. The cozy structure of stone and wood stood only slightly fazed by the typhoon. The golden hay of the thatched roof looked churned, and swatches of the thick layering had slid off in places, giving further testament to the chaos of the previous evening. Otherwise, her home looked as welcoming as ever. The cliffs and hills between her lands and ours must’ve helped protect her, he thought.
“Is this…the healer’s place?” The sailor asked.
The man’s voice sounded weak as he stirred beneath the blanket. Elec looked back at the sailor, his pallor not much improved. The effects of the potion must be wearing off, he thought.
“This is the residence of Mrs. Lily Fenwater, the herbalist. She’s the best healer around these parts. That and the closest. Otherwise, it’d be another half hour at our rate to get ye to the priest in town.”
The sailor nodded, though his expression remained weary.
“I trust you. Thank you for everything.”
“Wait here just a moment.”
Elec walked over to the door and gave a rhythmic couple of knocks. Moments later, the door creaked open, and a petite woman in her late fifties peered out. Age lined her smiling face, but it radiated warmth and competence. Long swathes of grey streaked through her otherwise dark hair as she adjusted the herb and flour-smudged apron she wore.
“Why, I knew it was young Elesandar,” She said, “What brings ye out here so early? And after a storm, no less?”
Elec’s heart sang at the sound of her light but curious tone, despite her insistence on using his full forename. His childhood friend beamed as he hugged her, lifting her off the ground as she stepped out onto the porch.
“Good to see ye too. Looks like I’m going to have to fix yer thatching again. And your drive. More importantly, I have a sailor who needs yer attention. He washed up along with a shipwreck, not but a mile from home. Can ye help him? He’s alive but pretty banged up.”
Her eyes darted to the cart and widened when she saw the injured man inside.
“Of course. Bring him in. We’ll get him warm and tended to.”
Lily stepped to the wagon with practiced urgency. Elec assisted the sailor out of the wagon and up to Lily’s porch. The older woman held the front door open and ushered them into the main room. The older lady set up a cot near the enormous fireplace, piled with thick blankets. With gentle ease, Elec helped Lily tuck the sailor in between the layers. Pulling back the top blanket, she addressed the man’s wounds.
“Elec, please fetch me a kettle’s worth of water from the well and bring me those bandages from the shelf…”
Elec stepped through the back door of her kitchen and made his way to the well. In the wet morning, the wooden shelter covering it smelled pleasantly of moss and clover.
*
My word, could this stink even more, Seraphine thought to herself as Roderick helped her don the still-soaking-wet leather armor over her equally wet arming shirt. Even the older warrior wrinkled his nose as he tightened the pauldron straps criss-crossing her chest and back. She helped strap Roderick’s steel pauldrons on just moments prior. He always wore the shirt of chainmail underneath his jacket, but he donned his shoulder, arm, and shin protection only once they got near their objective. To cut down on the noise when we travel, he had told her.
Their group huddled in the brush not far off the road, making their final preparations. One of the other mercenaries spotted a glyph carved into a tree as they marched down the lane: a rough couple of circles, one inside the other, on top of an X. She continued to stare at it ever since Roderick had pointed it out. Months of false leads were behind them, and only now she felt they were finally on the right track. It didn’t take long for the scout to find traces and footprints leading deeper into the woods. Once ready, Seraphine unslung her lute.
“There’ll be none of that, Elf.” One of the other mercenaries said, not the whiner. “You’ll give away our position.”
“We don’t know how many or how skilled they are.” She said, “We need every advantage we can muster.”
“Touch those strings, and you’ll be wearing that lute upside your head.”
Roderick shook his head, Seraphine giving a disappointed sigh. Instead, she tapped the lute’s edge softly, kneading out an intricate rhythm as she sang in a whisper to herself. Roderick listened to her song of focus and inspiration, nodding with his eyes closed. She saw by his slight sway. The warrior moved with the wonderful and strange magic her music brought forth. The others left before the song was complete, short as it was. At least Roderick appreciates it, she thought as they followed the other swordsmen. She saw by the determination in his eyes that the song had done its trick, making the warrior much sharper, more alert, and fluid in his movements. She too felt these benefits as she made her way to her spot in the center of the group.
They crept along at a slow, stalking pace, keeping low to the brush. Seraphine felt that something was off. We should’ve seen a sentry or two by now, she thought as they continued to sneak along. Her thighs burned from the constant crouching, even though the terrain remained level. The group pressed on, creeping low. For the moment, the loud, arguing voices seemed to mask their gentle rustling. Seraphine froze and lowered her body until she was just below the level of the surrounding brush. She smelled the damp earth and the leafy smell of the weeds and plants around her as she hid. She could still hear the other swordsmen, but they were not stealthy enough to continue approaching without being noticed. The bard crept forward, slower than the rest. She strained her ears to determine how many voices she could discern.
“…are not staying anywhere near that crate. It’s cursed!” Said a voice.
“Calm down, there are plenty more crates to haul in.” Said a second voice with an air of sophistication. “We need to figure out…”
“Get rid of that damned thing!” Said the first.
“Will you two shut up? I am trying to think.” Said a third. “We need to move all the loot somehow.”
“Who died and put you in charge?” Said another.
“Axor, you idiot.”
“If anyone is to be in charge, it will be I,” Said the second one.
The discussion devolved into a full-blown argument, and Seraphine lost track of who was speaking or how many there were. She hazarded that there were at least five in the bandit group ahead of them. This, according to Roderick’s estimates, meant about fifteen total. The mercenaries advanced when the discussion devolved into an outright argument, with several scuffles being heard. Roderick approached Seraphine and tapped her gently on her pauldron before continuing. She matched his pace but remained a suitable distance behind. She knew the tactic, as she had followed his lead into many battles before. Muscle up front, support behind, and be ready with a blade when things go south. Not if, when.
Next – Chapter 3 – Relics, Ruins, and Warfare
Copyright © 4 June 2026 James Christopher Gilliam
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James C Gilliam 