Jean Rabe - Redemption

He or Ragh, with their scales, would scare away any passing ship, so they had settled on this plan, this obvious trap that might catch some chivalrous soul’s attention.

They’d been waiting since dawn and finally had snared this small fishing boat.

Come closer, Dhamon willed it.

Three other ships had drifted near earlier, one a ferry and the other two piled with merchant crates.

All wisely steered clear. Dhamon had considered swimming out and taking one over by force, but he was still too weak for such adventurousness.

This boat was coming closer still. He saw only four men on the deck. The man on the bow looked to be giving the orders. He had some years on him, his hair was a mix of black and gray, and his close-cropped beard showed white streaks, but the sun-weathered skin of his face didn’t sag and his eyes were clear. He watched the Solamnic Knight, his jaw set firm.

“Aye, a man with some age to him, but not an old man. A chivalrous man too, from the look of him,”

Dhamon whispered.

The man certainly carried himself proudly, though Dhamon noticed he paced about the deck with a limp.

“C’mon,” Dhamon urged. “Come and rescue the poor woman. That’s it. Closer.” He glanced at Ragh, hoping the draconian would keep in hiding until the last possible moment. This was a perfect boat, small enough to sail on their own. “Closer now.”

Fiona wriggled against her bonds, and Ragh prodded her again. “Don’t move,” the draconian whispered. “Don’t move or I’ll cut you like you did Dhamon.”

Long moments passed, the boat was close enough now for Dhamon to hear the captain without expending much effort. The captain directed his men to be wary, urging one to scan the trees and shallows, another to listen closely for any suspicious sounds.

“It’s a trap, Eben,” one of the men warned.

“Obviously,” Dhamon muttered under his breath.

The captain nodded. “Probably,” he said, drawing a long knife from his belt. “I doubt that whatever beasties tied her up and set her there just walked away. They’re hiding.”

“We should walk away, Eben. It’s a trap.”

The captain firmly shook his head. “I’ll not let whatever foul creatures set that trap keep the girl.

We’ll get her free.”

“We’re fishermen, Eben,” another cut in. “We’re not warriors. We’re not heroes.”

“Heroes? Fishermen? We’re men, aren’t we?” the captain returned. “You can stay on the boat, the three of you cowards. I’ll go in for the girl and take care of it m’self if I have to.”

Chivalrous and foolish, Dhamon thought, and good for us that he is. “C’mon. Closer,” he breathed.

One of the four fishermen was a half-elf, who was paying particular attention to the trees where Dhamon hid. Dhamon sucked in his breath and glanced at Maldred with narrowed eyes. The ogre-mage sighed and looked away. Dhamon still didn’t trust him.

“I don’t see anything, Eben.” This was the half-elf, who continued to stare at the foliage. He snatched up the gaff hook. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

“Oh something’s there, Keesh. I’m sure of it,” the captain returned flatly. “Probably some lizardmen or bakali. There’s enough of either of them around here. Maybe some slavers working for the Black—using one human as bait to catch more. Doesn’t matter, though, let’s get this wreck closer.

Maybe whatever’s there won’t put up much of a fight. Maybe we can chase them off. Let’s get the girl and be away from this place.”

They dropped sail and lowered anchor about forty feet out, at the edge of the blanket of black algae.

Dhamon watched as the captain released a deep breath and gave a shake of his head, as if scolding himself for what he was about to do. Then he awkwardly heaved himself over the side, knife still in one hand. Two of his fellows elected to follow. But the one who’d objected so strongly to the risky endeavor hesitated a moment before announcing loudly what a big dose of stupidity this was and reluctantly joining them.

The fishermen cautiously sloshed toward Fiona, who was squirming vigorously despite Ragh’s prodding. The half-elf was in the lead, still intensely scanning the ferns and trees. His eyes widened as he spotted a flash of silver—the sun caught the blade held by Ragh.

“There, Eben!” The half-elf pointed with the gaff hook. “Something in the ferns behind the woman.”

At that moment Ragh exploded from his hiding spot, dashing by Fiona and purposefully knocking her over as he went, clawed feet tearing up the marshy ground. In a heartbeat he was in the water and plunging toward the half-elf, who was wading forward to meet him, twirling the gaff hook.

“There’s no reason to kill them!” This was shouted by Maldred.

Dhamon glared. “Don’t you move, ogre. Stay put until this is done.” He snapped up the great sword in one hand and hefted the glaive in the other. Both were two-handed weapons, but despite his wounds he felt agile enough to wield them both.

“There’s no reason to kill them,” Maldred repeated.

I’ve no intention of doing so, Dhamon thought. He pounded across the ground, rushing toward the fishermen.

“Monsters!” the half-elf shouted. “Two of them!”

Dhamon shuddered at being called a monster.

“A pair of draconians,” the one named Eben cried. He waved his long knife in the air and rushed up to the half-elf’s side. “Such creatures are dangerous, my friends. Worse than lizardmen. On your toes!”

Ragh brought the long sword up to parry the gaff hook, then gripped the pommel tight and twisted the weapon while bringing up a clawed foot and kicking the half-elf in the stomach. The half-elf fell back into the water, stunned and disarmed.

“Don’t…” Dhamon started to admonish.

“I wasn’t planning to kill them,” Ragh answered as he ducked beneath the sweep of Eben’s long, glittering knife, “though I think their intentions are otherwise.”

When the fishermen saw Dhamon, registering his scaly appearance, one of them whirled and headed back toward the boat, nearly knocking over the half-elf in his rush.

“Captain!” Dhamon shouted, sweeping the glaive menacingly just above the water. “Drop your knife!” Dhamon gestured toward the other armed man. “You, too.”

Both men hesitated.

“We could easily kill all of you,” Dhamon threatened, “and I think you know it, but we’d prefer to let you live.”

When the captain hesitated another moment, the half-elf made a move for the abandoned gaff hook.

Ragh was quicker, grabbing the makeshift weapon and hurling it a few yards away. The half-elf didn’t quit, pulling a knife from his belt.

“We won’t hurt you, I say!” Dhamon continued.

“Damn draconians,” the captain spat.

“That one’s a spawn,” the half-elf said, indicating Dhamon.

“Drop the knife, Keesh, William,” Eben advised the fishermen. “We’ve no choice.” He lowered his own knife. “My fault, men.”

“We shouldn’t’ve come in to shore,” the half-elf said with angry eyes fixed on the captain. “You knew it was a trap. You’re a fisherman now, remember? You’re not a Knight anymore.”

“I had no choice,” Eben repeated.

“Drop the knives,” Dhamon warned again. He pointed the great sword at the captain. “I’m in a considerable hurry, and I’ll not ask politely again.”

The older man shook his head. He thrust the knife in his belt. His two companions copied the move.

“Good enough,” Dhamon said. “We’ll not hurt you. I give you my word.” He looked to see the retreating fisherman climbing on board the boat. “Keep that one from leaving, Captain.”

“If you want to live,” Ragh interjected.