Jean Rabe - Death March

A shout from above roused him.

“Foreman! Trouble’s coming!” It was the priest, Horace, calling to Direfang from the top of the stairs. “You’d best hurry.”

Direfang hadn’t meant to, but he had fallen asleep in the hold. The sky was lightening as he climbed up on deck. Above him the sails snapped, startling him, and the ship rose on a wave. He couldn’t keep his balance and dropped to his knees; a pair of sailors working the lines nearby laughed at his clumsiness.

“The beastie has no sea legs,” a gangly human chortled. “They’re all puking below. I heard a lot of them giving up their dinner last night.”

“Two weeks and we’ll be clear o’ them,” his companion said. “Then we’ll scrub the hold three or four times to make sure we get all the fleas. Bet The Balifor Breeze is faring worse. They got most of the hobs.”

Direfang stood, bracing himself when the ship rode up on another wave. He sneered at the two men, who were oblivious to the fact that he understood their tongue. They continued to deride the goblin passengers as Horace hurried back from the wheel and took Direfang’s arm.

“Foreman, you need to see the captain.” Horace tugged him toward the wheel. “There’s trouble, I say!”

The ship rose again, the bow coming down just as a wave washed over it, the spray washing over Direfang and Horace and making the deck slippery. The hobgoblin tugged his arm free and lengthened his stride, coming up to Captain Gerrold just as a sailor in the crow’s nest barked down “Still following us, she is! Following all o’ us!”

The captain turned at Direfang’s approach. His eyes were hard, and the lines on his tanned face reminded the hobgoblin of tree bark.

“What trouble?” Direfang steadied himself as the bow rose again.

The captain raised an eyebrow and twisted the wheel to port. “You speak Common?”

“If that’s what you call your language, yes.”

“The storm is one trouble,” the captain replied. “It’s coming up quick. A sharp freshening, feel it? The wind shifted on us, and we’re tacking through it, but it’s going to be rough sailing for a while. You’ll need to explain that to your … fellows. I pray my counterparts will be able to handle the others.”

Direfang looked up through gaps in the sails, spying a thick bank of clouds and smelling a sweetness in the air that hinted at heavy rain. He saw the sails of the other five ships, spread out and drawing close to the Clare . In fact, it appeared that the five were gaining and were going to overtake the lead ship.

“The storms here … on this inland sea … they ain’t so bad as what you’ll come into on open water.” Captain Gerrold forced the wheel to starboard and closed his eyes as another wave washed across the bow. “This is nothing for the Clare…”

“Foreman Direfang,” Horace supplied. “His name is Direfang.”

The captain made a humming sound, as if to say that was an interesting name. “What concerns me is that ship that is following us … Foreman Direfang. That’s why I’m slowing, letting the others catch up and get ahead. We’ve got a wizard with us, I know, and so we’ll need to organize a defense if such is needed.”

Direfang turned, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the masts and lines, and the men moving around on the other ships. The water looked as gray as the sky, broken by only chunks of white foam.

“Oh, she’s back there, Direfang.” The captain paused. “How is it you know Common, may I ask? I’d not think your kind-”

“This ship that follows us,” Direfang said, ignoring the question. “Why is it of concern? Aren’t there many ships that sail this route?”

The captain wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the king spoke. “She’s a sloop with one mast, not close to Clare ’s size, not as big as any in your armada. But her bowsprit’s as long as her hull, and I’d wager she could make double our speed in fair weather. She’s built for the shallows, her draft but a whisper. If the wind weren’t against her, she’d easily overtake all of us. But she’s been catching up, and with the freshening, she will.”

“And that is what she intends to do?” That came from Horace. He squinted into the grayness of the sea and sky. “What makes you think that?”

Captain Gerrold gave a clipped laugh. “Her name’s the Blithe Dagger . I saw her in port yesterday. She pulled in for supplies, left a few hours ahead of us. Thought she was gone from these waters, but she must have been waiting for us. Must have caught word that Grallik N’sera bought the Clare , bought five other ships and lots of things with the gemstones he was spending around the docks. Drew quite the interest, all those sparkling blue stones.” Gerrold paused and looked up at a flight of gulls struggling against the wind. “The Blithe Dagger ’s full of your kind, Horace, if you don’t mind my saying. Sea barbarians from Ergoth.” He let the silence settle a moment. “Pirates, Direfang. The Blithe Dagger will pose a far greater threat than the storm. Even though we’re five ships, she can come in and pick us off, one at a time.”

Horace’s eyes grew wide.

“They know they’ll get a good haul from us, worth the risks,” Captain Gerrold continued. “Whatever gemstones Grallik has left, the hold full of supplies, goblins that can be sold as slaves.”

“You sound already defeated.” Horace’s face showed a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Oh, I’ll not give up without a fight,” the captain averred. “I’ve ordered all my men armed. But we’re a merchantman, all of these ships Grallik bought are merchantmen, not men-o-war, and the Blithe Dagger’s captain … well, she’s an old Black Robe. Her spells alone could well sink us-that is, if they wanted to sink us.”

“A Black Robe.” The words hissed out between Direfang’s teeth. He spun, nearly losing his footing on the slippery deck. “Skull man, where is the wizard?”

“In the captain’s cabin,” Horace answered quickly. “Sleeping.”

“Well, it’s time to wake him up,” said the hobgoblin as he turned and headed toward the second level, struggling to keep his footing.

The ship pitched with a high wave. Lightning flickered overhead, looking like thin, gold threads against the gray sky. Direfang could barely hear the thunder over the flapping sails, and he worried about the other ships. “Walk, walk, walk,” he remembered Skakee saying. “Indeed,” he said, looking around gloomily. “This army should have walked.”

He approached an ornate door on the second level at the end of a narrow corridor faintly lit by a lantern that constantly wobbled and clanked. Direfang’s shoulders rubbed against the walls, and he turned sideways to avoid knocking the lantern down. He stopped midway as the half-ogre K’lars exited a nearby bunk room and tried to squeeze by. In the end, K’lars stepped back, letting Direfang pass.

“Wizard!” The knob was polished brass and in the shape of a ship, too small for Direfang’s big hand. He fumbled with it then shoved the door open just as the ship’s bow rose so high, it pitched him off his feet. He tumbled forward, into a table that had been bolted to the floor. “Wizard!”

Direfang pulled himself up and leaned against the table. He could barely stand upright in the room, less than an inch separating the top of his head from the ceiling. Everything was polished mahogany, smelling and looking rich-the table, desk, the large bed from which the wizard was rising. At the back of the room, windows looked out onto the sea; the roiling waves setting the hobgoblin’s stomach to spinning.