Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

“Howland is gone,” Malek said.

Carver stepped out of the ring of curious villagers. He looked up and down the length of the common and saw none of his comrades.

“The bounty hunter elf and Raika too?” he said, already knowing the answer. The farmers nodded mutely.

“They left me!”

“We thought you were dead,” said Malek.

The kender thrust out his small chest. “Takes more than an army of bandits to kill Carver Reedwhistle!”

A bucket of water was brought, and Carver set to washing. When his hands and face were clean, he clapped his small hands together, rubbing them briskly.

“Now that we’re alone, just us friends,” he said, grinning. “Tell me about the treasure.”

Neither Raika nor Robien questioned Howland about their destination until they were well away from Nowhere. Once they were alone on the open plain, Raika said, “Where are we bound, captain?”

“Sergeant,” he corrected. “I mean to find the iron mine Rakell was operating and free any slaves still working there.”

“What about the Throtian Mining Guild?” asked the elf.

His tone was grim, unbending. “They’ll see reason once I tell them Rakell is dead and his band dispersed.”

“And the red dragon-what’s his name?” Raika said.

Howland did not answer. His plan for dealing with the powerful guild and the even more powerful Overlord was the same: Creep in quietly, do what needs to be done, and don’t attract too much unfriendly attention.

They were only three against unknown odds. A month past Raika would have called the enterprise mad, but after their amazing victory, she counted nothing Howland said impossible. She shrugged. It sounded like a worthwhile adventure.

On they rode. Howland didn’t offer to stop or make camp. His companions stayed by him, unwilling to disappoint him by asking for rest.

Under a patchwork quilt of stars and wisps of cloud, they reached the high range, the last of the plains before the mountains rose in the east. Raika nodded in the saddle, letting her bandit-trained horse follow Howland’s mount as she dozed. Robien might have napped too, but some hours past midnight he reined up.

“Whoa … what is it?” Howland said. Raika’s horse fell to cropping the coarse broom straw at their feet.

“Someone’s following us,” the Kagonesti said.

Howland rode back to him. “How many?”

“Just one, on foot.”

A glimmer of recognition lit up Howland’s tired countenance. “One, eh? Why do I think I know who it is?”

If Robien knew, he didn’t say. With Raika’s horse still obediently following, Howland and the elf sauntered back the way they’d come. In less than a mile they spied a single figure wading up the center of the trail they’d made in the grass.

“How can you sense someone trailing us by half a mile?” asked Howland.

“The grass is dry. I heard his footfalls.”

Howland wasn’t sure if the Kagonesti was pulling his leg or not. They waited, reins slack, until the person on their trail was within easy earshot.

“Ezu! Is that you?” called Howland. Raika snorted and woke up when he shouted.

“Greetings, Sir Howland!” answered the familiar, cheerful voice.

He was wearing another one of his bizarre outfits-a short kilt made of some dark, checkered cloth, leggings, and a hip-length wraparound robe in red and gold. He had on a wide, stiff-brimmed felt hat and a pair of saffron-tinted spectacles. An enormous bundle was slung on his shoulders, and he balanced his load by leaning on a long hardwood staff.

“What are you doing here?” asked Howland.

“Still traveling-”

“Seems to me you’re following us.”

“We happen to be going in the same direction. I am circling the world by traveling east.”

“You’re welcome to come with us,” the old soldier said. “You’re a man who makes things happen.”

They put Ezu’s bag on the packhorse, and he rode double with Robien, the lightest of the three.

“Why do you wear those glasses?” asked Raika.

Without answering, Ezu unhooked the gold wire frames from his ears and offered the spectacles to her. She put them on.

“Sink me! It’s daylight!”

Robien said, “What do you mean?

She gave the glasses to him. “Try ’em yourself!”

The elf slipped the springy wire hooks around his ears. When he raised his gaze to the horizon, he was startled to see the landscape of the high plain was bright as day. He could see Howland riding a few steps ahead, Raika, everything, as clearly as if it were noon.

He removed the dark yellow lenses and gave them back to Ezu.

With a smile, Ezu tucked the spectacles into his robe.

As the night wore on, Ezu told them stories of his travels, such as his visit to the island of Kernaf.

“Kernaf is inhabited entirely by pirates,” he said. “They elect a chief to rule over them from a conclave of ships’ captains. The current chief is a fellow named Gramdene, widely reputed to be the handsomest man in the world.”

“A handsome pirate? Not likely!” Raika said. “Buccaneers lead too rough a life to be pretty.”

“Well, I met him, and while I don’t claim much taste in such matters, he was a most striking fellow,” Ezu remarked.

Gramdene, he said, was not yet thirty, with olive skin, bronze colored hair, and eyes of different colors.

“How’s that possible?” asked Robien.

“I cannot say, but I can vouch for them. One is darkest brown, like Raika’s, and the other pale gray.”

From plundered ships Gramdene acquired a rich wardrobe and never went out without being garbed in the finest silks, velvets, and brocades. He had a personal entourage of five fierce female pirates, whom he called his “Hand,” who’d sworn blood oaths to defend Gramdene at the cost of their own lives.

“His wives?” Howland asked.

“No, indeed! The Hand are also sworn to chastity, lest jealousy of each other lead them to shirk their duty to protect Captain Gramdene.”

Raika smirked. “Has this handsome fiend no lovers, then?”

Ezu shrugged. “It’s a subject of much speculation. While I was on Kernaf, he was said to be paying court to a female captain named Artalai, granddaughter of pirate queen Artavash.”

Raika twisted in the saddle to face him. “Does her line still exist? She was from Saifhum!”

Howland said, “I never heard of her.”

“She was a bold and wicked woman, with hair like flame and a temper to match. The ruler of Saifhum, the Grand Mariner, obtains office by buying it. Whoever pays the largest sum to the inhabitants of the island wins the title for life. She tried to become ruler of Saifhum by pledging the greatest sum to the people but was outbid in the end by a moneylender, Pertinex.

“When Artavash lost, she led her fleet of sixty galleys away, sowing fire and destruction all along the north coast until her rage abated. Still hankering for a kingdom, she tried to capture the great city of Palanthas but was defeated. Eventually she reached Kernaf with her fleet. She massacred the natives living there, peaceful fishing folk, and proclaimed herself queen.”

“A proper monster,” said Howland. “Was she ever brought to justice?”

Raika shook her head. “Not in the way you mean, but she did meet a hard fate. She grew older and infirm, but she was still a hard-driving taskmaster. When the War of the Lance broke out, Artavash led her fleet against the draconian invaders. She perished along with most of her ships, but the draconians had to abandon the conquest of Kernaf.”

“They still revere her there,” Ezu added. “There is a colossal copper statue of her in the harbor, bright red metal despite years of weather and sea spray.”

“How can that be?” asked Robien. “Copper usually turns green when exposed to sun and rain.”