Sea Queen (3 page)

McGillus put an arm around the angry slave owner. “Tell you what, Charles, the first two rounds are on me. Come, my friend, I need a good drink and hot meal before we set out for Hornhollow.”

“Turn my back on this one for two seconds, he’ll be runnin’ off again,” said Charles.

“I’ll have my man bring him to your wagon. Come, let’s end a good day of business with a drink.”

The two men walked off toward the inn, and the sailor who’d caught the slave now led him further into town. Talon ran to the end of the alley and came out behind main street’s buildings. Pig and chicken pens ran adjacent to them, and the smell told him that many bedpans were emptied back there. He ran from alley to alley, trying to keep an eye on the sailor and slave. He eventually lost track of their whereabouts, but it wasn’t long before he spotted the sailor handing off the Skomm to a man guarding a big caged wagon. On closer inspection, Talon discovered that there were three other Skomm slaves already inside—one young woman and two men.

There seemed to be only the one guard watching the recently purchased slaves. Talon snuck back through the alley and quickly made his way across the street so that he could approach from the opposite side. Carefully, he snuck up to the wagon and let his heart slow for a moment. The guard stood motionless on the other side.

One of the four Skomm slaves noticed him. It was the young man who had tried to run. Talon motioned him closer, and the others looked on with wide eyes as they huddled to obstruct the guard’s view.

“How did you get away?” the first slave asked.

“It’s a long story,” said Talon. “I need to ask you something.”

The slave just stared at him curiously.

Talon proceeded. “Have you seen a red haired girl of seventeen on the slave ship? She has a light scar from cheekbone to chin, and a lot of freckles too.”

“Maybe…maybe not,” said the slave. He nodded toward the others. “Them might’ve seen her too. Who’s to say? It’s hard to remember things when you got chains on your feet and ain’t eaten good in days. You help us escape, we might remember something about your red-haired beauty.”

“I can’t,” Talon mouthed.

The young man shrugged his shoulders, and his face said,
Oh well
.

“Feikinstafir, man. If you know something, tell me.”

The guard suddenly banged on the bars and, without bothering to turn around, yelled for the slaves to keep quiet.

“Get them keys and we’ll talk,” the slave whispered, gesturing over his shoulder.

Before Talon could argue, all four slaves turned their backs on him. He thought about leaving, but if they knew something…

He eyed the guard again and tried to come up with a way to get the keys off his belt—how was he supposed to get that close?

Squatting, he peered under the wagon at the guard’s legs on the other side. He made up his mind and kissed his ring. Carefully he dropped to his knees and crawled under the wagon. Stopping only inches from the man’s legs, he took a moment to steady his breathing. From this angle he could clearly see the keys.

What the hells am I doing?
He wondered.

Slowly, steadily, he reached up and gently took hold of the keys, hoping that they wouldn’t jingle. He dared not tug, and found himself leaning precariously. With his right hand he steadied himself on one of the wagon’s bottom beams, and with his left, he began to work on the key ring. A wide grin spread across his face when he finally lowered it down.

“Gotcha!”

A strong hand suddenly grabbed his wrist as the guard bent to grin at him with blackened teeth. He yanked on Talon’s arm and pulled him violently from beneath the wagon, but Talon jumped to his feet and threw the keys to the slaves. The guard’s eyes followed and then turned back with a glare. “Why, you little son of a bastard!”

Grabbing Talon by the shirt with both hands, the guard lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the bars of the wagon.

As the guard pinned him with one hand, and brought back a big fist to smash his face, Talon felt Kyrr’s power fill his body. He grabbed the hand that held him and, with all his might, twisted it down and away from him. There was a sharp crack of bone, and a howl escaped the guard as he tore his hand away.

“Leave us alone!” said Talon, walking backward to the door of the wagon. The slaves had all unlocked their shackles, and the one Talon had seen first was trying to work the key through the bars.

The guard cradled his arm with a painful grimace. Soon rage returned to his eyes and he unsheathed a sword.

“The slaves are escaping!” he yelled, to any who would listen, and then came at Talon.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, as Talon ran around the back to escape the angry guard and stumbled, but just as the guard got close, the slaves pulled back the heavy iron door and slammed it into his face. He went down with a cry, and the slaves leapt out of the wagon and on top of him. Together they disarmed the man and turned his sword on him.

“No!” Talon yelled, as the blade came back red with blood. He looked around and realized that nearly a dozen villagers had witnessed the attack. The slave he’d spoken with cut the guard’s coin purse and ran past with the others.

“What the feikinstafir you doing? Come on!” he yelled to Talon.

“Slaves are escaping! They killed their guard!” someone yelled. The village seemed to come alive then. Lights illuminated windows, and men with torches began to descend on the wagon. Talon wasted no time in heeding the slave’s words. He turned and ran with them through an alley and up a short hill into the woods.

I fear his heart, so pure and bright in a world cold and dark, will find him many troubles. Good intentions cause him much strife. –Gretzen Spiritbone, 4985

Talon took the lead and they ran into the darkness, through the forest. The echoed baying of hounds followed on their heels, and by the sound of it, about a dozen men had joined the hunt.

The forest was mostly pine and easily traversed. Still, the slaves were quickly falling too far behind. They clearly hadn’t eaten much as of late and had no energy. There was no way they could outrun the dogs.

Talon thought of Chief. “Go on, hurry, hurry,” he said, and stopped to usher the slaves by, but the one he’d first seen trying to escape, and who still held the guard’s blood stained sword, stopped as the others had passed.

He offered his hand to Talon and said, “Name’s Tyson.”

“You always introduce yourself during the worst times?”

“I like to know who I’m dying beside,”

“It’s Talon—but we aren’t dying tonight.

”They quickly shook hands and hurried after the others.

From his pocket, he took the figurine and called to Chief.

Tyson glanced at the figurine curiously, and his eyes shot wide when it began to glow and the blue mist swirled out. “Thodin’s beard! What’s that?”

Talon ignored him as Chief solidified, already pacing them.

“We got a bunch of men with hounds after us, boy,” said Talon. I need you to slow them down, but don’t kill anybody.”

Chief barked and turned to mist once more. Not long after, the baying of the hounds turned into frightened yelps, and the men, too, began to cry out in terror. Chief was outdoing himself.

Tyson panted behind him. “What the hells was that?”

“Run now, questions later.”

They ran through the forest of birch and pine, and soon came out into a cornfield. The female slave was helping one of the other men, who seemed on the verge of passing out. Talon got under his arm and urged him on faster. Tyson eventually switched out with the woman, and together, he and Talon carried the man. They turned into a farmer’s field, travelling through shoulder-high rows of corn. The sounds of their pursuers had been replaced by silence.

When they finally came to the edge of the field and found a road, Tyson urged them to follow it east. “They’ll track us through that corn easy enough—like a trail of bread crumbs. We gotta find water to cross and lose them hounds.”

“Don’t worry about the hounds,” said Talon. “They’re a mile off by now. Chief took care of them.”

“Chief?” asked Tyson, and gave a sidelong glance that moved from Talon’s eyes down to his pocket.

“Come on,” said Talon, “we need to find a place to rest.”

They went on in silence, and soon their run turned into a determined march of fatigue. They went on for hours, following the road.

Only once did they have to duck into the high grass—a single donkey and wagon had lumbered by on the rutty dirt path, driven by a fat bearded man who sang as he rode along. Talon had ever been a fan of music and song, and though he was not blessed with a beautiful voice, he had often taken part in many of the singing circles in the commons. The Vald barbarians’ songs spoke of power and strength, dominance and blood, their rough voices and pronunciations anything but melodic. It was in the Skomm village that he had first heard beautiful, mournful voices—songs of hardship and toil, misfortune and pain. The driver’s tune was none of these, for he seemed to speak of Akkeri.

Her pillow of hair helps rest my head

Her lips, oh how they glow

Her eyes hold mine and will not let go

Her hips, oh how they lure

Her voice, it calls me night and day

Her smile, oh how it shines

Her beauty beheld is the envy of gods

Oh how can she be mine?

They continued on down the road, passing quiet farmhouses—but for the occasional barking dog. All the while, the driver’s song played in Talon’s head on an endless loop. Some of the words he forgot and made up his own. The corn fields gave way to wheat, blowing lazily in the mild breeze beneath the faint light of the moon. Wheat fields eventually turned to grass, and an abandoned windmill came into view to the south.

Tyson urged the man he and Talon carried. “There! Come on, Markus, just a little further.”

A light rain began as they pushed on toward the windmill. He hadn’t noticed the turn in the weather as they ran, and hoped that the rain would cover their tracks a bit. The door to the windmill hung from the top hinge at an angle. Many of the bricks had fallen and lay scattered to the left of the door. It had been many years since the windmill turned. Now only rotten beams remained, with sheets of tattered fabric hanging from the frame. They hurried into the wide base and collapsed to the floor in exhaustion.

Lightning lit the fields as Talon searched for pursuers. Panting, he slumped against the door frame. Beside him Tyson was likewise trying to catch his breath as he too searched the night.

“You killed that guard,” said Talon, when his breath and heart had settled enough. It felt good to finally get it off his chest.

“Yes, I did,” Tyson said proudly.

Talon searched his eyes and found the same.

Tyson scowled at the scrutiny. “What? He was the enemy. They were slavers. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Talon thought about it. Tyson had done what he himself couldn’t do. He’d gained an advantage over his enemy…and he killed him on the spot—no hesitation, no regret. If Talon had been able to do the same to Fylkin, Jahsin would be alive and Chief would not be in limbo. Akkeri…she would be with him. “I guess you did what you had to do,” he said finally.

Tyson seemed to become disinterested in watching out for pursuers. He sat with his back against the brick wall and focused on his new sword. Talon could tell that the man had never handled one before now. He didn’t hold it the way the Vald did. The thought occurred to him that Jahsin would’ve liked Tyson. They had the same rebellious spirit.

“So,” said Talon, perking up. “Have you seen the woman I described? Red hair, lots of freckles, scar on her cheek.”

A guilty shadow crossed Tyson’s face and his eyes shifted from Talon and back to the blade once more.

“Sorry, friend, I ain’t seen no one like that.”

Talon stared at him, crestfallen. He looked to the others. The woman shook her head as she rubbed her feet. Markus was out cold, but the other Skomm seemed to be pondering.

“Red hair, you say?” he asked.

“Yes!” Talon got up and moved to sit beside him. “Have you seen her?”

The young man didn’t answer at first, but sat there pondering. The anticipation was torture.

“Well, you seen her or ain’t you?” the woman pressed.

He offered her a scowl. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. I saw someone like that a few days ago when the slaver stopped at a town called Dreyton…well, I saw the red hair at least. She was with a group of lookers—you know, the ones being sold to the whore mast—“

“Feikinstafir, we get it!” said the woman. “You thinkin’ he wants to be reminded where the lookers end up?”

The man shrugged.

Talon’s heart pounded and his mind raced. A week ago? Could it be her? “Where was this?”

“West of here. Dreyton, like I said.”

“Was she sold?”

“Can’t say, but I didn’t see her on the slave ship after that—though that ain’t saying much. There’s hundreds held down in the dark below deck. You can’t see who you’re pissin’ on, much less what color hair they got.”

“Where is the slave ship headed now?”

“I ain’t for knowin’. Ain’t been away from Volnoss but a week—when we was sold to the slavers.” The man extended his hand. “Name’s Thorg. That feisty tart is Windy. The one you carried be Marcus, and you met Tyson already. We’re from Dragon tribe, originally. How about you?”

Talon didn’t answer. He realized that he’d been duped. He stood and faced Tyson. “You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t. I said if you helped us escape I would tell you if I had seen your girl—and I told you.”

“You knew you hadn’t seen her. It’s the same as a lie!” The spark of hope withered and died inside him to be replaced by the fire of anger.

“And so! We were being held as slaves. You wouldn’t have helped if there wasn’t something in it for you! What’s that say about yourself?”

“I might have,” said Talon, though he had not had any intentions to do so initially.

“Dragon shyte,
you might have
. I’m sorry I deceived you—I wish I did know something about her. But you still helped the four of us escape, and that’s something, ain’t it? Besides, Thorg said he saw her.”

“I
might
have,” said Thorg.

Tyson wiped down his blade. “Likely it was her. How many red haired Skomm you see on Volnoss?”

“Wolf and Bear Tribe got a red-haired streak in ‘em. Ain’t so rare as you think,” said Windy.

Tyson shrugged, conceding the point, and then said to Talon, “You got any food or drink? Marcus, there, ain’t doin’ so well. He ain’t gonna last much longer without eatin’.”

Talon glanced at Marcus, who slept fitfully beside Windy as she stroked his forehead.

“Perhaps that wolf of yours can rustle up some game,” said Tyson, motioning to Talon’s pocket.

Thorg perked up. “Wolf?”

“That what caused all the commotion and helped us escape?” Windy asked.

“I’ve got some food here,” said Talon. He shrugged off his pack and ignored their probing about Chief.

He took out two long slabs of dried meat and his brick of goat cheese. The slaves gathered round, all but Marcus. Talon took a swig of the water skin and passed it off to Thorg. The thirsty slave tipped it back but had it torn from his grip by Windy, who brought it over to Markus. “You
would
drink before the sick,
wouldn’t
you?”

“Well it makes a hells of a lot more sense than drinkin’ after the sick, don’t it?” he argued.

Windy offered him a withering glare and cupped Marcus’ head to help him drink. He coughed his first drink all over her before keeping the second one down. She took a swig after, and gave him another before handing off to a sour-faced Thorg. He shook his head and wiped the spout before drinking greedily. Tyson snatched the skin from him and took a long pull before handing back to Windy.

Talon divided his meat into five, and likewise split half his brick of goat cheese. The runaway slaves looked on eagerly licking their lips. When he passed the food around, they all tore into it with ravenous hunger. Seeing their state of starvation, he tore half his loaf of bread into five pieces as well.

Thorg offered muffled thanks through a mouthful of meat and cheese, and Tyson nodded agreement. Windy chewed long and slow, and broke off bits of bread to gingerly feed to Marcus. The food roused the man, and he took his piece of the loaf and ate vigorously.

When they had all eaten their fill, they passed the skin around again until it was empty. Water would be easy enough to replace, but the food had been meant to last Talon a few weeks, and the four of them had eaten half of it already. Tyson was right—Chief would need to find them some game.

Marcus passed out again shortly after eating, and Windy and Thorg soon followed, leaving Talon and Tyson to keep watch. Tyson was not far behind them, however. His drooping eyes told Talon that much.

“What’s your story?” Tyson suddenly asked. “How’d ya escape the slavers?”

“I didn’t. I escaped from Volnoss on a raft.”

“Dragon shyte, you did. Nobody escapes Volnoss.”

Talon shrugged. “Here I am. Why would I lie about the how?”

Tyson shook his head and regarded Talon with renewed respect. “And what’s with the wolf? That was magic if I ever seen it.”

As fun as it would be to tell someone the tale of Chief, and as much as part of him wanted to brag, he didn’t trust Tyson. He got up and slung his pack over his shoulder. “I’m going to guard for the night.”

Tyson eyed the pack. “No need to lug that around. I’ll watch over it.”

Sure you will,
Talon thought.
And you wouldn’t mind making it lighter I bet.
“None to worry. Get some sleep—you look like you need it,” he said, and stepped out into the night.

He walked around the windmill and then stretched out his tired muscles, wishing he would have made camp instead of going into the village. When he was finished he settled down to the left of the door where he could keep watch to the north—the direction from which they’d come. Chief was out there somewhere, and Talon worried that he had gone too far from the trinket. He wasn’t sure how far the spirit wolf could go from his earthly anchor, or what would happen if he did. Lifting the trinket up before him, he wondered if Chief could hear him through it. He brought it to his lips and whispered, “Chief, you hear me, boy? Come back if you can.”