Elec made his way to the waterfront docks, the waves glistening in the morning sun. The salty air mixed with the aroma of fresh-caught fish and weathered wood. His stomach growled in response to the scent, despite the hearty breakfast Dalia had provided him. The docks bustled with activity: fishermen hauling in their morning catch, merchants haggling over prices, and sailors preparing their ships for the day’s journey.
It didn’t take long to find Old Merin perched on a rickety wooden crate near a pile of tangled nets, nursing a flask and muttering to himself. Deep lines marked his weathered face, and his watery blue eyes suggested decades spent staring at the horizon. As Elec approached, Merin glanced up at him with suspicion, rubbing his squinting eyes.
“What’s this, then? Don’t reckon I’ve seen you down here before, lad. What you want with an old salt like me?”
Merin’s voice sounded rough as sandpaper. Elec offered a friendly smile, despite the rank smell of the fisherman’s breath.
“Good morning, Master Merin. Dalia from the Westwind Inn mentioned ye might know a thing or two about the strange things near the coast. Mind sharing a tale with a curious rancher?”
Merin snorted, taking a swig from his flask before replying.
“Rancher, huh? Dalia…That one is sweet, but talks way too much. But aye, I’ve seen ’em. Strange lights they are. Flickerin’ like will-o’-the-wisps out by the old wreck. Most folks say to steer clear. It’s bad luck to meddle with what you don’t understand. But I reckon you’re not the type to heed warnings, are you?”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“They say it started weeks ago. The lights…they weren’t there before. Could be spirits, could be smugglers, or could be somethin’ worse. All I know is that no good comes from that place.”
Merin took another swig, then fixed Elec with a piercing gaze.
“If you’re set on goin’, best be careful. And if you find somethin’ out there… don’t bring it back here, you hear me? This town’s got enough trouble without addin’ cursed treasures to the mix.”
Elec thanked the old fisherman and tossed him a silver coin. Old Merin caught the coin with surprising swiftness for someone his age, his gnarled fingers closing around it until his knuckles whitened. He gave Elec a toothy grin, revealing a mix of yellowed and missing teeth. With a raspy chuckle, he slipped the coin into a pouch at his belt.
“Much obliged, lad. Best of luck to ya, though you’ll need more than luck if you’re messin’ with them lights.”
He raised his flask in a mock salute before taking another swig and returned to muttering to himself, his attention already drifting back to the sea. Elec turned away, the cryptic warning and Merin’s words lingering in his mind as he gazed out at the harbor. Shadowy figures? Strange lights? Cursed treasures? Have the Silent Ones already reached our shores, he wondered. Were they really ghosts or just well-disguised smugglers?
The Entdecker des Westens. The old shipwreck. He forgot about the original novelty spot on their cozy island amidst the recent events. Legend told that the community’s founders were lost at sea for several months until the ship dashed to bits on the shallow, rocky shore. His father, being one of the actual founders, explained that where the port is now is where they landed, being the best beach to send longboats. To evade discovery by treasure hunters or other adventurers, they relocated the ship into the cove. The vessel, neglected for twelve months, sank and became a recurring inside joke regarding responsibility for its upkeep.
Elec sighed, thinking of the conversation with his parents yesterday. He knew they kept most of their history from him. While they never outright lied to him, which he knew from his own skills, what they withheld seemed much vaster in the light of what little he had been told. Father took to this spot often when he was little, and there was more of the old ship to look at. He shared many of his more ‘heroic’ exploits in those outings, but now they seemed like candles in the dark void of the truth. Maybe things are better this way, he thought. Although Kaiyalth’s family inspired fear in the other cattle owners’ livestock for their voracious appetites, the townsfolk adored his parents and their friends. Despite facing bullying for being different in his youth, he generally maintained good relationships with everyone on their island.
He lifted his eyes from his feet and back to the road ahead. The cove itself was about an hour’s hike in the opposite direction of his family lands, which suited his purposes fine. More importantly, the lights in the sea, the lights on the beach, shadowy figures, the Silent Ones; he had to find out if they were connected. His day was free, and what better way to occupy it than with a goose chase?
That or being chased like a goose by an angry innkeeper, he thought to himself as he took the route out of town. His boots crunched on the well-worn country road as the cobblestones ended just after the last building of the town proper. He knew the location well and smiled at the memory of those moments, listening to the deep, rolling voice of his father. The dramatic pauses here and there emphasize key points of battles or speeches. Elec couldn’t help but recognize that much like his parents, he too had been withholding information in order to keep everyone safe. While he shared enough to do his civic duty for the mayor, query a ship from Hamish, and to impress Dalia, he had to keep the finer details from them for their safety.
The ancient skeleton of the neglected ship came into view in the ethereal glow of the morning sun, the sounds of crashing waves filling the air once again. Elec chuckled, realizing the island possessed two shipwreck coves now. However, the somber nature of the second wreck tempered his mirth.
Elec approached the cove, the terrain becoming rougher, the sand giving way to uneven stone and clusters of weathered driftwood. The cove itself was a secluded inlet, surrounded by cliffs that seemed to loom over the area. At the heart of the cove lay the wreckage of an ancient ship, its skeletal remains protruding from the shallows like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Years of salt and sun bleached and splintered the ship’s frame, and barnacles clung to every available surface. The occasional gull and the rhythmic crash of waves filled the air of the otherwise quiet area. He descended to the beach, his sharp eyes tracing the sand for any noticeable disturbance. The damp, compacted sand near the water’s edge was unmarked, save for the occasional tracks of seabirds and the lazy slither of seaweed left behind by the tide.
Faint footprints beat a trail from the dunes and the base of the cliffs. They were recent enough to still hold definition, but the rising tide threatened to erase them. The prints appeared Human, smaller than his own, and led away from the shipwreck toward a rocky outcropping on the cove’s edge. Near one of the larger rocks along the trail, Elec spotted something glinting in the sunlight.
Elec approached the shiny object, his senses alert for any signs of danger. The half-buried item reflected the sunlight as he neared. Kneeling, he brushed the sand away to reveal a small, ornate brooch. It appeared to be made of silver and shaped like a crescent moon, with intricate etchings of stars along its surface. The trinket showed exquisite craftsmanship, far beyond what one might expect of a simple decorative piece and not from any of the local jewelers. A closer inspection revealed something more: the brooch possessed a small, concealed hinge. Elec turned the brooch over in several directions, but the latch and hinge were far too small for him to manage without damaging it. More importantly, and to his disappointment, it lacked any of the characteristics of the pendant or dagger. He placed the brooch in his pack before continuing.
The trail of footprints led toward the rocky outcropping, where the jagged stones rise like silent sentinels against the sky. The prints grew fainter as they transitioned from sand to the uneven, rocky surface. Faint traces of the path, like the slight scrapes on moss and soil from boots, were visible.
As he climbed toward the outcropping, he saw what appeared to be a narrow, well-hidden path that wove between the rocks. The trail’s placement seemed deliberate, aiming to avoid detection.
From the top of the outcropping, Elec surveyed the area. One side showed the ocean extending outwards, the opposite side featured a coastline bending towards thick woods. Below, near the base of the outcropping, there appeared to be a small cove partially obscured by overhanging rocks. The faint sound of splashing water carried from the direction of the cove, mingling with the cry of gulls and the gentle hiss of the waves. Elec crouched low, moving with practiced silence as he navigated the uneven terrain. The jagged rocks and overhanging ledges provided ample cover, allowing him to approach the cove without exposing himself. The sounds of splashing water grew clearer as he neared the edge, mingled now with faint murmurs, though he could not yet make out their words over the crash of the waves.
Two figures wandered near the water’s edge. Both clad in dark cloaks, their faces obscured by hoods. His heart raced as worry set in. He stared at them long and hard, wondering if they were real. If they were the Silent Ones, in fact. Their actions appeared normal enough as they sorted through a small collection of items laid out on the sand, perhaps scavenged from the wreckage of the Waveshear, though he doubted this, as the tide would not have brought such insignificant items this far. Their presence and movements gave Elec the impression of them being mortal, simply strangers to the island.
One figure gestured toward the pile, holding up an object that glinted in the light, possibly another piece of jewelry or a small artifact. The other nodded, responding in a low voice that Elec could not quite catch. He advanced with practiced stealth, moving from cover to cover. As he neared the figures, he strained his ears to discern their whispered conversation over the noise of the waves and birds.
“This should fetch a good price…captain should be pleased… we recover enough from this haul…just need to hurry…town notices…saw a farmer…” Said the taller of the two.
“…shouldn’t linger…might draw someone…the storm scattered more of it farther…get the rest…” The shorter one said.
The two cloaked figures continued their search of the shoreline. A farmer, Elec thought, toying with a notion. He remembered the many times he went cow-tipping with his friends, and with him being well known by sight alone, felt it better to continue in disguise. Hunkering down in his hiding spot, he focused his magic, weaving an illusion around himself. His features shifted, ears changing and the complexion of his now bare skin darkening to mimic a tanned farmer. The appearance of simple homespun clothes replaced his fine attire, complete with patches and dirt smudges. Once satisfied with his disguise, Elec waited for the opportune moment to catch them close enough with a sleeping spell.
The two cloaked figures split off just as he was about to put on his act, each taking a direction and moving along the beach. Elec settled back into his spot and continued to watch as they meandered along, searching for more of their scattered loot. Now and then, one would stoop to check something, only to toss it into the waves. The shorter one stopped, stooped, then dug, and then kicked at something buried before hollering to the taller one.
The taller figure trotted over and helped in the excavation. After several long minutes, the pair produced a large crate bearing what looked like the branding of the Mariner’s Guild. They righted the crate and produced tools to work the lid open. The figures, oblivious to Elec’s observation, opened the crate. With each exchange, their quiet talk escalated in excitement. Satisfied with their discovery, the strangers placed their small pile of trinkets into the crate and closed the lid.
With his quarry in sight, Elec followed at a distance, using his innate stealth and natural agility to remain hidden, his eyes just cresting above the tall grass like a predatory cat. As they moved further and further from the crash of the waves, their conversation became clearer.
“This should be enough to keep us from getting our throats cut.” The shorter one said, the voice sounding slightly feminine.
“Throats cut? The storm is the reason everything went sideways. They can’t blame us for the damned weather.” The taller one responded, the voice deeper.
They made their way across the beach and towards the woods. While the men slowed their pace, the weight of the crate seemed to catch up to them.
“Hang on a moment, my hand is slipping.”
The two figures set the crate down once more, Elec ducking down. As they focused on each other and their grips, Elec closed the distance of a stone’s throw, the pair still not noticing him moving along the tall grass. He called upon his powers, reaching out to them with his magic, focusing on the idea of relaxing momentarily and amplifying it to the idea of sleeping peacefully in a hammock while the waves crashed nearby. He focused these feelings into a tiny ball in his hands and sent it out to the pair.
The taller figure stood up too fast, fingers slipping from the crate as he stumbled mid-step, the movements becoming sluggish. With a groggy groan, the man collapsed to the ground, cloak billowing around him. Simultaneously, the shorter man did not have time to react before his knees buckled and he fell into a heap in the grass, fast asleep. Elec waited a moment, checking his hands to ensure that the illusion was still in place. The two cloaked men snored where they had landed. Elec closed in on the pair, his footsteps careful on the hard-packed ground and his hands stretched out before him.
*
The trail grew firmer the further south they traveled. The humidity still clung to the air like a heavy blanket, threatening to smother them were it not for a gentle breeze. While the main road eluded them still, the old sword’s march progressed onward. He jerked at his chainmail, the rings binding uncomfortably under his pack. It was bad enough that the man’s family died in front of him. It was bad enough that another relic like Drelk’s crown surfaced. Worse still, the man took his own life. Though he did not consider himself religious, he understood that suicide never earned eternal peace.
“Roderick?”
Roderick marched, though his thoughts played over and over. Although they couldn’t help it, they arrived too late to save the settlers. Too late to save the sole survivor. He still felt as if he had failed. Not just those people, but Them. His wife and son, again. Seeing the man’s dead eyes brought him back many years ago. Before the siege of Larkinth. Back when he was just a sword with no real direction, but the next job after finding his revenge. A year of marching, a year of killing thieves and murderers, he was at the point where he had considered the noose himself, seeing none of the bandits he had hunted could do the job right.
“Roderick, I need a break.”
Rodrick stopped and turned on his heel. The Half-elf stood there sweating, but otherwise more annoyed now than tired. He knew she was as upset as he was, but he did not want to deal with it. At least not with his own emotions clouding his thoughts. Rather walk it out than have her stir things up further, trying to help. He cast his eyes up and considered the time of day, thinking back on the distance they had covered. The two of them traveled much faster and further than he intended, given the distance they were expecting to go. They traveled much more carelessly as well, as he had spent the entire morning in his own head. I’m being a little unfair to her, he thought. It’s probably better we stop and collect ourselves for the moment rather than continuing while distracted. He nodded and tilted his head towards the trees to his left.
Thankfully, the road had been quiet. The frontier lands seemed to have more grazing animals and a lot fewer people. It had been ages since they encountered any orcs, goblins, or other groups of the more troubling aspects of wandering the countryside. The frontier exhibited an uncommon peace compared to the eastern regions. Roderick figured it might result from a lack of people. The settlements and farming communities were smaller and much more spread out than any of the other regions and kingdoms they had traveled through. Granted, there the encounters didn’t always end in battle either; most of which ended in the groups giving each other a wide berth before continuing on their respective ways.
Seraphine played a tune on her lute. Roderick did not protest, and despite his reserve, was looking forward to reaching Pelavora. Talk to people again. Take a moment to regain his bearings and find out more about these artifacts and where the smugglers acquired them. And most importantly, to see civilization.
“Pelavora is a port town,” Roderick said. “There are some pretty basic services available, but it is a trading hub and a stopping point for transport ships and caravans. We should be able to find the Silver Drake and its captain within a few days of arriving there.”
Seraphine continued to play for a while longer before speaking.
“We can get some supplies, but after that, our coin will be running low, even after the decent pickings from the other day.” She said, continuing the tune.
“I’ll ask about some odd jobs in the area.”
“I’ll do my usual.”
For a while, they sat, lost in their thoughts. Roderick rose and regained the road, Seraphine following suit. She continued to play the instrument, but the old sword did not tell her to stop. They had another night and a day before they reached Pelavora, and the road was weighing even more now that it had been in a long time.
*
Elec stared at the sleeping figures for some time.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Elec said, surprising himself that he said it out loud.
Elec stood transfixed, looking from one stranger to another. Obviously, they were not supernatural pirates, having fallen under a simple sleeping spell. Now what do I do, Elec thought. Check their pockets, of course. Shaking his head, he knelt down and examined the taller individual, a Human male with very tanned skin. The man possessed a rolled scroll, a dagger, a club, and a pouch of coins. While he searched him, the smaller one, a male Half-elf with dark brown skin, snorted and rolled over onto his side. Elec froze, hands shaking. Maybe the spell had not been as effective, he thought.
He immediately changed his approach and began cutting lashings from their cloaks. He took the rough materials and bound their hands behind their backs. Cutting some more, he bound their feet together as well. He slipped off his pack and brought out the roll of leather lashing. Cutting several small lengths, he reinforced the bindings and tied their hands to their feet to limit their movement further. He searched the Half-elf next, revealing similar armament, but a very expensive and well-used set of lock picks and tools. Elec marveled as he detached the rolled leather kit from the man’s belt and set it aside. A set like this would cost over a hundred gold coins in its current state, even if any of the shops were to carry such. A brand new set, however, he couldn’t fathom the cost. Despite his parents’ teaching, and his mother forbidding him from possessing lock picks altogether, he took it before replacing the rest of the men’s personal effects.
For the next several minutes, he made notes and sketches of the two men. Elec paid particular attention to the scars on the taller man and the tattoo on the shorter Elf’s forearm. He unrolled the scroll to find a hand-drawn map of the cove and surrounding areas. He copied down the map and the following inscription:
The shipment will arrive by the next high tide after nightfall.
Ensure the cove is secure and that the items are in place.
The watchers will signal from the cliffs.
Do not fail.
Our benefactor does not tolerate delays or mistakes.
Signal will come with a green light.
Meeting point is marked on the map.
Elec glanced back at the sleeping smugglers. Both continued to be oblivious to his continued activities. He cut another swatch of cloth from their cloaks and stuffed them into their mouths for good measure. He then turned his attention to the crate. It bore the Mariners Guild insignia, but not from Hinterson’s Vale. The scroll below the emblem read Port of Draystone. Elec didn’t recognize the name, nor did he stop to ponder. Lifting the lid, he rummaged in the contents. He saw the small pile of expensive trinkets nestled atop bolts of very expensive fabric. Inside, he also found various knick-knack boxes, parchment-wrapped boxes, and spices. Then he found what made the two smugglers ecstatic. First, a velvet pouch containing seven expensive gemstones. A very large silver chalice bore the markings of the religious order of Thalie, the Lady of the Waves, to whom Lily prayed. And last, a medium-sized lockbox with expensive inlays. Tucked into the side of the crate was a ledger bearing the Draystone Mariner’s Guild insignia.
Elec cast a glance at the sleeping strangers who still showed no signs of waking. Elec placed the gemstones, chalice, and ledger into his backpack, ensuring they were packed to avoid noise or damage, though the lockbox stuck out of the top. With practiced stealth, he moved away from the cloaked figures to a safe distance. Confident that they remained incapacitated, Elec broke into a quiet run, retracing his path back to the town. The quiet thudding of his feet was the only noise in the quiet calmness of the Vale’s countryside.
*
Roderick found the hike pleasant, but the calmness of the region still disquieted him. The trees spread out further and further, with the terrain becoming rockier as they walked. He felt he had finally shaken the gloom hanging over him as they walked in the morning sunshine. He might have been kidding himself, but he thought he could almost smell the salt in the air from the sea already. The old sword was not fond of the sea, nor did he dislike it. He tried to blot the morning’s scene from his mind, but could not help seeing the carnage that had taken place. Drelk’s crown gave insight and drew together the darker parts of society, but the lantern destroyed those people’s minds. Both had the same type of lettering on them, connecting them to the same craftsmanship. But who? And from where?
Seraphine walked ahead of him. She tried to brush the bird’s nest out of her hair a while ago, but gave up in frustration. It fell in a bright red heap just behind her pointed ears. He worried about her. She was young, but the last four years had worn her down. In truth, he was furious with the whole troubling scene. It shook them both as badly as Larkinth. Maybe even worse than the siege, because of the utter futility of it.
Suddenly, the bard jumped back, her hand flashing to the hilt of her rapier. Roderick gripped the hilt of his sword, but withheld drawing when he saw her tilt her head. He followed her line of sight into the shrubs and saplings, spying a fluffy grey pup. Next, a pair. Then several. Further back, the wolf mother was with them. His grip on his hilt tightened, his other hand reaching for his shield. For a while, the two women regarded each other in tense silence. Seraphine reached into her pocket and produced the half-eaten dried beef from last night. She held it out, showing it to the wolves for a moment. Then she gave it a slow toss. The curious pups soon were tugging on the ends of it while the mother did not move. Seraphine rose slowly, backing away without turning. Roderick came alongside her, the statue-still wolf watching as the distance between them grew.
“You’re too trusting when it comes to animals.” He said.
“And you don’t trust them enough.” She said, smiling. “Many old tales begin with kindness towards animals and nature.”
Copyright © 4 June 2026 James Christopher Gilliam
All rights reserved.
James C Gilliam 