Jean Rabe - Death March

Grallik staggered toward Direfang, finding a lashed water barrel to hold on to. “You should’ve ordered him to stop … told the captain to keep them all here. This storm is bad enough.”

Direfang closed his eyes and fought to stay conscious. The tumultuously rocking deck was sapping his strength and making him dizzier by the minute. The wizard continued to shout at him, but the hobgoblin shut out the words, listening instead to his own pounding heart.

“A horrible mistake,” Direfang muttered.

“What’s a mistake?” Grallik shouted.

“This. All of this. Captain Gerrold just told me that Shinare’s Prayer went down in the storm. Well more than five hundred goblins lost, wizard. Well more than that.”

Three survivors from the Shinare’s Prayer . All goblins. They’re below.” K’lars paced in the captain’s cabin. “It wasn’t just the storm that got them. One of the mates on The Elizabeth said the sorceress from the Dagger had done something to twist the wood of their hull, split it wide. Sorceress would’ve looted the ship, no doubt, but the storm helped it under too quick. The Dagger followed, praise Zeboim.”

“And the sorceress?” Captain Gerrold regarded K’lars.

“Nowhere to be seen. Didn’t see her in the water. Nothing.”

Gerrold sat at his table, an array of jewelry spread in front of him, all glittering in the light of a lantern that hung from the ceiling and swung with the movement of the ship. They were past the storm, but the sea was still choppy in the strong wind. Everything outside the windows still looked gray.

“She used her magic to get free, I’ll wager,” the half-ogre continued. “Maybe got some of her men free with her. Couldn’t tell if any longboats had been launched. Don’t know how many the Dagger had. We found only a few survivors, but they didn’t survive long.”

Direfang sat opposite the captain, staring at the jewelry not because he was interested in such gewgaws, but because it was something to fixate on that didn’t move. Grallik had hovered behind him for a time, but the hobgoblin had dismissed him, telling the wizard to go help Horace tend to any goblins and sailors who’d been injured by being tossed around in the storm.

K’lars’s pacing was rhythmic and seemed to echo the sweep of the lantern. His course took him around the table, to the bay of windows, and back. “Don’t like the notion that the sorceress is still out there, somewhere, mad now. Could come for us, you know, Captain. Such as she would look for some measure of vengeance.”

“She’d have to get herself another ship for that, wouldn’t she?” Captain Gerrold steepled his fingers under his chin and stretched his legs out under the table. He brushed his feet against Direfang’s and shifted to give the still-silent hobgoblin more room. “And if Grallik N’sera was able to sink her ship once by bringing down the storm and sheering the mast and poking a hole in the side, I think she’d avoid the Clare for all the rest of her days.”

K’lars stopped pacing and stood against a side of the table. His gaze shifted from Direfang to Gerrold. He tapped a thick finger at the edge, a gesture also in time with the swaying of the lantern.

“I’ve got Leath in charge of repairing our mast,” K’lars said. “Lost one of the longboats. Lost two men before that. A couple of them goblins went flying over the port rail. Don’t know who or how many exactly.” He looked at Direfang when he said that.

The hobgoblin continued to stare at the jewelry, though he winced at the report.

“Some losses on Linda’s Grady; bosun’s mate on The Elizabeth went over. We’re sailing with two masts at the moment. Slower going, but at least we’re going. The other ships are ahead of us, but we’re keeping them in sight.” K’lars tapped two fingers and sucked in a breath. “That priest …”

“The Ergothian’s name is Horace,” Gerrold supplied.

“Yes, Horace. Fine. He’s seeing to Dargweller and Nate. They got hit by a spar when the mast broke. Nate’s got a bad gash. I figure it was the sorceress what did it. Mast was shorn clean, like someone’d taken a big saw to it. Not a break caused by the wind, that’s for certain.” K’lars cleared his throat. “So this booty …” He nodded toward the jewelry then cocked his head backward to indicate the other seven chests stacked near the captain’s bunk. “Who’s it belong to … us … or him?” He nodded to Direfang.

Captain Gerrold placed his hands on the table, cupping the edge. He waited until Direfang looked up.

“What’s customary?” the hobgoblin asked.

Gerrold’s smile reached his eyes. “Not that we’re pirates ourselves, mind you. The Clare’s a respectable ship, a merchantman. But typically such booty is divided among the crew. Three shares to the captain, four to the owner, a share and a half to the first mate and the healer, that would be the priest in this case … that’s customary.” He leaned close. “But you haven’t told me,” he added confidentially. “How did you learn to speak Common? You speak it as well as any of my men. As well as any man I know, for that matter.”

The captain had asked the question after the goblins boarded yesterday, but Direfang had ignored it then.

“The priest doesn’t get a share.” The hobgoblin dropped his gaze to the jewelry and told Gerrold and K’lars a little about his capture by the ogres, his life as a slave in Steel Town, and their escape. He made it clear that the priest and wizard were beholden to him and wouldn’t get special treatment. He did not mention how many goblins had died along the way to reach the shore of the New Sea.

“So you learned Common by listening to the Dark Knights?” Gerrold seemed genuinely impressed. “Do you read too?”

Direfang gave him a nod.

“Remarkable. I have to admit … Direfang … that until I’d met you, I’d considered goblins foul little creatures. Hobgoblins too … though not so little.”

“Rats what walk on two legs,” K’lars interjected.

Direfang’s lips curled imperceptibly.

Gerrold cut the half-ogre a cross look. “But you’re civilized. Not what I expected. So I was wrong about hobgoblins, I admit that. And Grallik N’sera and the priest answer to you?”

“My slaves now,” Direfang said.

“A fair turnabout,” Gerrold replied evenly. “More than fair.”

Silence settled among the three for a while. The ship groaned softly as it continued to rise and fall with the swells; the handle that held the lantern creaked in time with it. From above came the sounds of men walking across the deck and working on the mast, the snap of the sails, and the occasional shouted order.

Fainter, from below, came goblin conversations; only Direfang could understand the jumble of words, and he pushed the chatter aside. Beyond the door to the captain’s cabin, footsteps sounded in the hallway and the clank of pots was heard. The faint smell of meat and potatoes cooking tickled the hobgoblin’s nose.

Finally, Gerrold spoke again. “I lost my first mate a few months back. Never replaced him. K’lars has been filling the role as needed and occupies that cabin. He merits his share and a half. I’ve moved a few sailors into the bosun’s quarters, but I’ll order them out. Give you the room. Not as nice as this, but it’s … customary … for the captain to have the best accommodations.”

Direfang shook his head.

“He’d rather stay with the rest of them,” K’lars growled. “It’s better that way,” Direfang admitted. “The clans are not taking this voyage well. No way to know how the clans on the ships are faring.”