Saltwater and the smell of faint, acrid, charred wood still filled the air. Elec’s foot tapped a fast tempo against the floor of the wagon as he reined up near the spot where the road dipped low enough to the beach. Hopping down, he drew out his pack before hitching the horse to the same tree and making for the wreckage. Many ridiculous worries troubled him since he left, such as the vessel floating back out to sea with the tide or disappearing altogether, being the most ridiculous of concerns. Now that he had returned, and the ship had not ‘sprouted legs and walked away,’ as his mother often said, he fought to get his breathing in order as he made his way across the sand. The beach was as he had left it: Eerily quiet, other than the constant roll of the waves, the cry of gulls, and the crunch of sand beneath his boots. The field of debris lay strewn across the sand, much as it had been.
Elec walked to the overturned longboat and propped one side up with a plank so he could maneuver under it. He shivered as he met the gaze of the body underneath. The milky white eyes pleaded with him as if he were the one who had robbed him of his life. He patted the deceased man’s foot a couple of times, afraid that he would suddenly come awake like the survivor. The sailor responded with continued stillness. When his jitters passed, Elec righted the body, laying the man on his back. He wiped the clinging sand off his hands on his pants. The body bore an expensive-looking uniform, now in tatters, and similar to the surviving sailor’s. Stitched to the collar was an insignia of a crescent moon behind a cresting wave. He did not recognize the symbol, but he was also unfamiliar with maritime organizations. He searched the coat’s pockets with shaky hands and revealed a handful of silver coins, a bone whistle, and a small leather case. Opening the case revealed an ornate compass, brass inlaid with gold and pearls. The exquisite frame bore strange glyphs that Elec did not recognize, despite the many books and several languages he was familiar with. Opening its lid revealed a needle that spun erratically. Now and then, the needle stopped dead on a random heading before spinning on. Pointing, turning, and shaking the compass in various ways yielded no definitive results. Each time the needle paused, it pointed to something, somewhere, out across the sea. After a while, it refused to settle on any heading at all. Curious, he replaced the device in its case and slipped it into his pack.
Elec picked around in the various barrels and boxes strewn about, but nothing seemed to give any other sign. Just random expensive-looking goods, all broken and/or spoiled. Unsatisfied with the results, he dropped his pack onto the sand and waded out between the splintered ribs of the shattered hull. The semicircle of shadow fell upon him as he gained the inner hold.
*
Roderick watched as the impatient mercenaries formed a rough half-circle while the bandits continued to argue. One at a time, they stepped out of the brush, ruining the element of surprise in favor of a dramatic show of force. The problem was that there were about ten of the criminals lounging around their campfire and only five mercenaries.
“What’s this now?!”
“Who the hell’s you lot?”
The bandit who stood closest to the fire dropped the remains of the lantern they had been arguing over. He opened a pouch on his belt, rubbed the contents between his hands, and thrust those hands out at the approaching sellswords, chanting. They glowed brightly, and before any of the mercenaries could react, a fiery sphere formed between the outstretched hands. It flew into the face of one mercenary, and the explosion echoed through the trees as a burst of flame obliterated the man’s head.
“Sera! Mage!” Roderick said.
The warrior yelled as he charged, the shield’s edge raised to just under his eye level. Seraphine stabbed the rapier into the ground, something Roderick hated, and unslung her lute. She began a song of constantly shifting word patterns and cadence, the magic swelling and filling the area. As the melee began, the bandit mage raised his hands again, but the telltale glow was missing this time as he found his incantations slurred. The mercenaries bypassed the spellcaster, giving the man a wide berth in favor of the other targets. Roderick barreled into the man as he began reaching for another pouch at his belt, knocking him off his feet with his shield. The sword slipped into the fleshy stomach of the bandit wizard, his cries joining the other noises of the battle. The warrior withdrew the sword and slashed the man’s throat, silencing him.
One bandit broke away from the fray and made for the bard. In a flash, the lute spun around behind her body, and the tip of the rapier popped up like a magic trick itself. Roderick cut down another bandit in time to see the attacker raise his ax against her, only for her narrow blade to slip into the man’s armpit and beneath the heavy breastplate. The ax fell out of the bandit’s grasp, and Seraphine stuck him several more times before he fell. Satisfied she still had her edge in combat, Roderick turned his focus to the remaining battle, hearing the man’s groans as both he and the bard moved on to the other threats.
*
The hull groaned as Elec climbed the splintering, jagged, and weathered planks. His boots found precarious purchase among the internal frame. He preferred climbing barefoot, but upon viewing a few saltwater-rusted nails, he urged himself otherwise. The hold had little in the way of remaining cargo. Most of the contents that did not float away on the currents contained various waterlogged goods ruined in the chaos. Elec collected several scraps of documents and parchment pieces floating about, storing them in his shirt before the climb. He hoped the captain’s quarters would prove more useful and would contain clues as to who had attacked their ship and why. Once inside, he found the compartment very cramped, even more so because it had partially collapsed. The air inside smelled of salt, mildew, and faint traces of something metallic.
The room itself was in complete disarray. A sturdy wooden desk tilted against the wall, its drawers spilled open. Papers and maps lay scattered across the floor, waterlogged and torn. A smashed lantern hung above a smashed chair. The remains of a bed rested in the corner, stained and torn. The big iron-bound chest rested in the corner next to the door, which also suffered severe damage. He tempered his curiosity with caution, turning his full attention to the chest only after gathering up all the loose documents. He lifted the broken lid. The rusted covering ground noisily on its dull metal hinges. Once opened, the weird grinding noise continued, coming from the back of the chest. Elec leaned back, cocking his head to discern the source of the noise. What in the world could that be, he thought, looking around the chest.
Several hook-like spikes sprang forth from the inside of the lip and outside the lid of the chest. If his hands were in the chest or near the edge, the spikes would have shredded them. He examined the hooks further. The sharp metal points appeared damp with a sap-like residue that smelled of a mixture of almonds and sweet bread: poison.
Elec hesitated a long moment, mortified and intrigued simultaneously. He stood a little to get a better angle on the opening before reaching into the chest and retrieving the contents from between the deadly spikes: A couple of maps, a manifest, a fragment of a letter, a small pouch of coins, a curved dagger, and an object bundled in a cloth. The ship groaned around Elec as he marveled at his findings, threatening to shift against the rising tide. He tucked the documents into the ledger and the various findings he placed in pockets and pouches. Holding the ledger above his head, he jumped back down into the lower hold.
Elec dropped and splashed into the submerged hold. While he tried to hold the ledger above the water, it still got considerably wet. Where he landed, the chest-deep water became warm. The gentle lapping of the current flowing into the hold ceased, and the usual noise accompanying it was replaced by a growing hum of energy. He shifted in the water; the din seemed to seep into his body, making it vibrate at the same frequency. Runes appeared around him in the shattered hull, just above the waterline. His mind wandered, whispers beginning to fill his ears. Visions and images flared into view every time he blinked, and his body felt like it was dissociating itself, with his mind threatening to pry free of his active consciousness. He fought the weird sensation as he rushed against the resisting water back to shore, struggling to control his body’s movements. Once he was clear, he looked back. No other trace of what had happened remained. Everything seemed normal once more.
Elec sat down on the sand next to his pack and produced his journal. He made sketches of the scene, annotating his encounter with the survivor and the body underneath the longboat. He made a brief note of the weird episode he had just experienced and inventoried his artifacts. His heart thundered like the waves against the cliffs, and his hands shook as the stylus marked the entries.
*
Seraphine felt the wild rhythm of her thundering heart as she watched the warrior smash the edge of his shield into the face of another bandit. The one he just felled gripped the blade of his sword, keeping him from pulling it from his dying body long enough for his friend to take advantage. The other swordsmen were faring well enough, but there would be a need for a lot of recovery time after the battle. Even Roderick was not without a wound or two. Seraphine tucked her body low and began her advance on the bandit troubling her friend. Roderick swung his shield again, but the strike went wide. The bandit raised his sword in a two-handed strike meant for the gray-haired head. Her rapier slid into the back of the man’s knee, sending him screaming backward with his momentum. The man landed on the ground, clutching his leg with one hand and flailing the sword with the other. His screams joined the throng of cries, clashing steel, and curses being hurled around them. Roderick took the time to wrench his sword from the dying bandit and leveled it on the top of his shield. He pressed forward to the downed man. Seraphine menaced him from the side with the point of her rapier, edging closer to the man’s torso with every step. The bandit flailed, crawled, and fell onto his side, tucking into a fetal position.
“I give! I yield! Please don’t!”
Roderick did not strike, but continued to hold the shield and sword in place as he scanned around. Seraphine took a moment to survey things as well, her breath heavy in her nostrils. They were down to four sellswords. One mercenary lay dead, smoldering from summoned fire. She choked back the urge to gag when she caught the smell of the body’s burnt flesh. Another swordsman sat teetering on a crate, bleeding from many slashes and gouges. The other three were busy hacking away at a musclebound brute who would not seem to go down. Seven bandit bodies were visible from her position. One must’ve fled, she thought as she continued to look, maybe after the first several fell, her attention still on the surrounding brush.
“Roderick?” She asked.
“A few cuts, but fine. I’ve got this one. Go help our guy on the crates.”
Seraphine flicked the blood from her blade before sheathing her rapier and moving to the man swaying on the box.
“Don’t use any of that musical nonsense on me. Give me a potion.” The mercenary grunted.
“The critic, eh?” She said, unslinging the lute and adjusting the tuning of a key. “It’s this or just the bandages. We’ve been out of potions since arriving at the frontier.”
Before the man could protest further, Seraphine began a soothing elvish melody, the magic flowing once she and the mercenary found the groove. The man’s wounds closed, and most of the bleeding slowed to just a slight oozing rather than the free flow it had been. She broke off the song and tossed him a bundle of bandages.
“You’re welcome.” She said.
The bandit brute surrendered. Neither he nor the three mercenaries who had been battling him made any headway. The group stood, resting their hands on their thighs, panting as they surrounded the massive criminal. Meanwhile, the warrior continued his interrogation.
“Where is your leader, Axor?”
While the warrior did his usual routine, his sword arm poised like a coiled cobra, Seraphine moved from the wounded sellsword to the nearly decapitated mage. A search of his pouches revealed ingredients for his magic spells and other trinkets, neither of which was of any apparent value. She palmed a decent-sized bag of coins into her pocket, avoiding any attention. Her foot clinked on something just as she was about to move on to one of the other bandits they had felled. The twisted remains of a lantern that had once been beautiful and very exotic lay before her. She knelt down, examining the very intricate swirling pattern in its cage. The glass fragments shone with an otherworldly glow and color, which changed slightly as she turned it over in her hands. As she continued to look upon it, faint runes appeared, glowing despite the daylight. Ice shot through Seraphine’s chest as the ancient and malignant writing shimmered.
“Roderick! Let me see your pack.”
Roderick remained poised to finish the supine man while the bard opened and rifled through his belongings. Among these was a split crown from their first contract together. When the bard compared the etched runes, they not only matched, but they glowed as well.
“Where did you get this artifact?” Roderick asked.
The bandit remained on the ground, holding his wounded leg.
“I told you…We raided some smugglers who had trespassed on our turf several nights ago. Had a crate of things, but they were all busted up. They tried to use the lantern on us when we mugged them. It made us see strange things. Otherworldly things. Axor tried using it last night on the settlement southeast of here…but there was some weird pulse in the sky during the storm, and the thing exploded. We lost almost every one of our crew except for the lot you slew. I was watching the road when the explosion happened. The rest of ‘em were here watching the camp.”
Seraphine noted the bandit’s words as she looked off into the dense wood-line.
*
Elec read the words aloud from the ruined ledger as he copied down the entries into his journal:
“Day 21 – Course adjusted slightly southward. Cargo secure. Crew uneasy and superstition creeping in. Compass behavior is still erratic, though it’s led us true thus far. Fynn insists we’re close.”
“Day 24 – Sighted strange lights on the horizon last night. Impossible to tell if they’re natural or otherwise. The crew’s nerves are fraying. Fynn claims this is a confirmation of our destination.”
“Day 25 – Compass points true again, but it’s pulling harder than ever. The runes grow brighter. Fynn’s excitement is infectious, though the first mate has voiced concerns. Something is…watching. We are close to finding the last relic…”
“Day 26 – Disaster struck after midnight. Storm rose without warning, sea black as pitch. Strange gloom surrounded the ship…unnatural. Shadows attacked. The crew fought bravely, but they overwhelmed us. Strange creatures breached the hull. Fynn disappeared amidst the chaos. I fear the worst.”
Elec shook out the cramp in his hand periodically, replacing the charcoal tip of his stylus before moving on to the loose parchment.
“Constrictor Snake. Giant Crab. Flying Ape. Harpy. Owlbear…Okay, enough of the exotic animals…Volatile Tinctures…Probably explains the burns and smell…Fine Silks. Relic (Secured)…”
Some of the more elusive bits of information came from the scattered loose parchments and ruined journals. A symbol made of concentric circles with lines radiating out. The sigil gave Elec the impression of a spider’s web, but the flow of the image was such that it drew one into the center rather than caught on the lines. The fragmented letter contained cryptic passages mentioning ‘hunting down the missing artifacts,’ ‘The Sovereign’s Call,’ and ‘seek the harmonic gate.’ Journal entries mentioned ‘beware the depths,’ and ‘are awaking.’
Elec had spent the better part of thirty minutes sketching out the maps in his journal using the combined charts, notes, and entries. There were several spots marked on the mainland, and the intended route the ship took was closer to the Valais shoreline. Elec opened the small cloth pouch and discovered the relic mentioned in the ledger.
Smooth and egg-shaped, the amulet shone with a golden, brass-like sheen, seeming to shift with many hints of color. Like lamp oil on water. The runes carved into it were enigmatic, belonging to a language so old it predated even some artifacts Elec had encountered in his family’s home and archives. As he held the amulet, his fingers tingled with a deep energy. The markings on the amulet shone brightly and matched those on the compass.
He compared the two relics to the dagger. Altogether, the curved blade appeared to be from a distinct style and period. A darker metal formed the handle and blade, giving it a deep gray color that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The runes, though equally foreign and ancient, did not match the other two items. The inscription along its curved blade felt darker and had an acute, inherent wrongness that felt evil as he continued to examine it.
*
Roderick looked up from the cold and evil-looking relics as the music critic continued on, his arms and chest crisscrossed with bandages now. Seraphine applied a medicinal salve to a mean bruise on the old sword’s collar that didn’t heal fully.
“Now, I’ve had enough of you two. We either kill them here or they help carry the stolen goods back, and the constables back in town deal with them.” The music critic said, “Regardless, we aren’t going to no settlement.”
“I think I should’ve let him bleed out.” Seraphine said, “So, now you want to follow the contract? I could’ve sworn you all were ready to tuck tail just earlier. Now that we have shown…”
“The contract states that the bandits are to be killed. Not follow up on some shiny bit of whatever.”
“The contract said to bring Axor AND his bandits to heel,” Roderick said, “Axor, or what’s left of him, is at the settlement.”
The other mercenaries grumbled at this response. Seraphine always marveled at how the older warrior could convey so much with so few direct words. She pulled his mail and collar back into place before tossing the stick away and wiping her hands on her pant legs. She rubbed the spot further, working the pungent-smelling medicine into his skin.
“This one.” The critic said, pointing to the body of the bandit mage. “This one said he was in charge after Axor died. If Axor is dead, this one’s head should be enough to fulfill the contract.”
Her eyes darted back to Roderick. The warrior stared silently in response.
“You two are free to go bugger each other in that frontier hovel, but we are going back now and are going to keep the bounty for ourselves.”
“Fine. We keep what we find on the bodies of the bandits we felled.” Seraphine said.
The bard could sense an argument forming as the man mulled it over, as the original arrangement was to split all earnings equally. She tallied up the number of bandits each had dispatched. Two for herself. Three for Roderick. There were two who surrendered. The mercenaries killed three. An even split, five for five, depending on which bodies had coin on them.
“That’s not what…”
Roderick took a slow, deep breath, exhaled with a bit of a growl, and flexed the muscles of his chest and shoulders. The fabric of his sweat-and-rain-slicked jacket groaned and creaked in the action. The calculation in the mercenary’s mind now went from dividing the loot between six purses to the probability of two capable, and still fresh, swordsmen defeating four less skilled, exhausted mercenaries. Considering the gore-splattered fighter and the blood-streaked bard, the sellsword didn’t appear pleased with the odds.
“Fine. Good riddance to you two then.”
Seraphine waited for the other mercenaries to get a respectful distance from them before she spoke.
“I looked through the smuggler’s crates earlier,” She said. “The items looked exotic enough, but they were all destroyed. We would have to haul all the crates in their entirety to a buyer who would probably only give them coppers per pound.”
From the five bandits she looted, she found a decent amount of coin, which should cover most expenses for the next few days. She nudged the warrior now, showing that they should divide their haul. The warrior shook his head while taking an oil rag and wiping down his blade before handing it to the bard.
“Keep it. I’ll just need a little for supplies or something later. You’re going to need new armor and gear like that is likely more expensive in these parts.”
Seraphine took the rag and wiped down her sword. She obtained the leather armor she wore from a fallen soldier right before Larkinth. While it served her pretty well, the many repairs and cleanings were becoming more and more bothersome. While she rarely took a hit, it was apparent that it would no longer hold up very well in sustained combat.
“I was hoping to be heading back to town after this,” Seraphine said.
Without looking back, the mercenaries marched away. The two captives carried a couple of the crates of sorted loot with the group. The bard figured that after a couple of days, the brute would brain one of them with the bigger crate and slay the others in the middle of the night. She handed the oil rag back to Roderick, who placed it back in the pouch on his side.
“The settlement is closer. There will be at least a roof and a hearth for us. We’ll be able to dry off there.”
Roderick studied the two shattered relics in his hands for a little while longer. The energy between the runes seemed spent, as the runes were no longer visible. He wrapped them in the same bit of cloth and placed them back in his pack. Seraphine continued to marvel at her stoic companion. Hated his doggedness, but he was a marvel, nonetheless. Her hand rested on the hilt of her rapier, her thumb tracing the crest pressed into the guard. Though it had been about four years since the siege, that battle had changed her life. Roderick’s too, though you’d think it’s just another day of the week by the look of him. She never thought she would have seen so much death and carnage. Lives lost. Women raped. Families butchered. It was then that the songs she had learned, songs of valor, of honor, of loss, of victory, and remembrance, took on new meaning. She forced the memories and emotions back down.
“I’m ready to go look for that roof to sit under. When you’re ready, that is.”
Roderick sat for a moment longer, lost in his thoughts as well. After several minutes, he turned his weathered face towards her, his cool blue eyes meeting hers. With a nod, he rose, and they set off in the direction the bandits had mentioned.
Next – Chapter 4 – Before Respite
Copyright © 7 June 2026 James Christopher Gilliam
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James C Gilliam 