Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Vennet’s voice came from right behind him, so close that it made the shifter jump. He twisted around, his teeth bared out of instinct. Vennet raised a hand. “Easy,” he said. “Sorry to startle you. If you’d prefer to be left alone …”

Geth hesitated, then relaxed. He’d been alone with his thoughts long enough, and he’d seen little of Vennet through the voyage. By day the captain manned the wheel, controlling both the ship and the elemental. A junior officer, also a bearer of the Mark of Storm that gave House Lyrandar its distinctive powers, took over by night. Geth patted the rail beside himself. “Stay,” he said. “Plenty of room.”

“I’d thank you for such a gracious invitation, but she is my ship.” Vennet leaned against the rail, his back to the sea. In one hand he held a bottle. He offered it to Geth.

The shifter accepted it and took a cautious swig. The liquor inside was strong and harsh. He passed the bottle back to Vennet. “I would have expected something a little better of the captain,” he wheezed.

“It’s crew rations,” the half-elf admitted. “But it’s how you can tell a working windwright from a pampered drizzle-whistler in House Lyrandar.” He raised the bottle to the starry sky. “We sailors develop a fondness for the rot.” Vennet took a drink, then ran his gaze over Geth. “You’re looking better than you have been.”

Geth grunted. “It would be hard not to.”

Vennet chuckled and put the bottle back in Geth’s hand. “We missed you at the table tonight. I thought maybe you’d come now that you’d found your sea legs.”

The shifter made a sour expression as he took another pull at the bottle. “I like it better on deck,” he said. “Why? Have I missed anything?”

“Not much,” confessed Vennet with a shrug. “The run from Yrlag to Zarash’ak is generally pretty much the same every time, although this voyage isn’t going particularly well for Natrac. Some of his ‘clients’ have been getting out of hand, and he’s finally realized that Singe works for House Deneith.” He grinned. “He’s been groveling like a goblin all night. Singe is drinking it up.”

“I’m sure he is,” Geth growled.

He drank again, then returned the bottle. Vennet looked at him over its end as he drank as well. When he lowered the bottle, he commented, “There’s no love lost between you two, is there?” “We served together,” Geth said curtly.

“Ah.” Vennet turned around to look out across the sea. “Where?”

The way he asked the question made Geth glance at him with new respect. When conversations turned to the Last War, he’d found over the years, people generally asked about his experiences in one of two ways. If they’d managed to stay out of the fighting, their questions tended to be curious and polite.

If they’d seen fighting themselves, on the other hand, their questions were blunt, tempered less by curiosity and more by a need to share their own experiences. While he’d avoided discussing the War through his years in Bull Hollow, Geth found himself opening up to Vennet. “All over,” he said. “That’s how it was with a Blademarks company.”

“Was?” Vennet raised an eyebrow.

“Singe stayed in the Blademarks. I left.”

Geth didn’t offer anything more and Vennet didn’t ask. “I can understand moving around,” the captain said. He looked back at the water again. “I earned my commission doing transport work along the coast of the Bitter Sea, from Aundair across the Karrnathi coast to the Lhazaar Principalities. Sometimes a run down Scions Sound to Cyre or Thrane. That was a touchy trip.”

The shifter gave him a smile. “I manned a ballista on the Cyran side of the Brey River for five months, shooting at any ship trying to make that run.”

“Did you ever hit anything?”

“Did you ever get hit?”

Vennet laughed and they swapped the bottle again. “Where else?” he asked.

Geth dug into his memories, trying to remember the best of his time with the Frostbrand. “All over northern Cyre. Up into Karrnath. A little bit on the Talenta Plains. Wherever our commander drew a contract.” He looked at Vennet. “Transport work sounds more peaceful.”

The captain shook his head. “I saw trouble enough. It’s hard to catch a Lyrandar ship if the captain doesn’t want to be caught, but there are always pirates and hostile ships willing to give it a try. Lyrandar doesn’t float warships, though. We leave the hard fighting to those on land-and they’re welcome to it.” Vennet rubbed his thumbs across the bottle. “There was one assignment. Transport accompanying an Aundairian raid on a Karrnathi logging town. After the Eldeen Reaches broke away, Aundair came up short on quality timber for shipbuilding, but Karrnath’s forests were still thick.” His voice dropped. “The town should have held out against the raid, but somehow the Aundairian soldiers broke through. I didn’t get any further from my ship than the docks, but it was like they turned into monsters when they got into that town. What they did …”

Geth’s mouth went dry. A queasy nausea returned to his stomach. “You’re talking about Narath.”

Vennet looked at him with haunted eyes. “You’ve heard of it.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Of course you have. Who hasn’t?”

“Aye,” said Geth. He drew a rough breath. “I wouldn’t mention that story to Singe.”

“Because it was Aundairians who did it?” Vennet grimaced. “I know how he feels. Believe me, I don’t talk about it often either. For a long time, it was like a stain on my soul.” He took another long drink from the bottle, then offered it to Geth again.

This time the shifter shook his head. Vennet nodded and shoved a cork back into the bottle’s neck. “Enough for tonight,” he agreed. He clapped a hand across Geth’s shoulder. “Maybe when we reach Zarash’ak, though? There’s a tavern I know-”

The sound of running feet on the deck saved Geth from having to decline the half-elf’s offer. Both men turned at the same time as one of Vennet’s crew slid to a stop in front of them. “Captain! Trouble in the aft hold!”

Vennet’s eyes flashed angrily. “Natrac’s gang again?” The crewman nodded and Vennet cursed, then looked to Geth. “I wouldn’t normally ask a passenger to step into a fight, but some of Natrac’s clients are brutes. A veteran of the Blademarks would be a good person to have at my back.”

The prospect of a good fight stirred Geth’s spirit. “I’m with you,” he said.

“Good man.” Vennet stuffed the bottle into a pocket and strode toward the stern of the ship, sparing a hard glare for the crewman. “Natrac’s in my cabin. Tell him to get his backside aft!”

The crewman saluted and dashed off.

Lightning on Water ’s crew were gathered around the top of the ladder-like steps leading down to the aft hold-they leaped back at Vennet’s approach. The sounds of a roaring brawl thundered up from below. One of the crew called out to Vennet. “They’ve been arguing for a while, captain, but the fighting only just broke out.”

The sudden splintering of wood punctuated her report. “Kol Korran’s wager, if they damage my ship, I’ll take the price out of Natrac’s gray hide!” spat Vennet. He pointed at two burly sailors who stood by with thick wooden pins. “You and you. After us.”

He thundered down the steps into the hold with sure-footed ease. Geth sprang after him, ready for anything.

At least he thought he was ready for anything. At the bottom of the stairs, he froze and bared his teeth. A snarl tore itself out of his throat.

The dim, magical light that lit the hold shone on a dozen bodies, most struggling, a few stretched out senseless on the floor. In the center of the chaos-fighting in a whirlwind of fists, feet, knees, and elbows-was Ashi!