CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MY MOTHER RETURNED to her nereid family beneath the sea after my father broke her heart. She walked us into the waves one day without a backward glance. Her brother and sisters took us in, gave us safety and love but, couldn’t erase my burning need for vengeance.
Captain’s Log, Mayhem
Captain Fraser Connell
“Gahan, deliver me from meddlesome mages.”
“Captain?” Bishop paused, letting the oars drag in the water. The tiny rowboat was just big enough for the two of us. Cramped, but the trip from the beach under the cliff to Mayhem’s quay wouldn’t take long.
“Nothing. Just complaining out loud,” I muttered, staring out across the water, my dark thoughts a match for the inky depths. Bishop resumed rowing.
Finally found him. I’d stepped up the search for my old friend since learning Ozora and I got two very different stories from Gordon, five years ago.
I didn’t need to consult with mages on how to deal with him.
My hunt had nothing to do with them or magecraft.
It was none of their business, and the less I talked to either of them, the better off I was.
Especially Ozora; the last thing I needed or wanted was to complicate our lives more, and if I lingered too long around her, I wouldn’t be able to resist her pull.
I can be honest with myself at least. I wanted her again.
It was just as bad an idea now as before, but with my memory refreshed, my need grew louder.
The only option was to drown it out with other duties.
When we realized the extent of the sigil network, hunting for Gordon became paramount.
He had to know something about the Cilirians, and I had questions of my own.
Besides, just because I didn’t talk to them, didn’t mean I hadn’t told Cassyrra.
The dragon and I got along just fine, and she knew I hunted for Gordon.
We knew the city began to fail a couple of years ago, around the time Gordon vanished, but which came first: The sigils or Gordon’s disappearance? And where was the mage who’d cast them?
++ These are the questions I’d like to find out, Fraser. ++ Cassyrra had said when I left that morning.
“Me too, Cassyrra. And a lot more,” I told her as I headed into the city.
I could search for sigils at the same time as I searched for Gordon’s whereabouts, and both kept me out of the keep and away from the mages.
There were plenty of sigils, but Gordon?
All I found were empty buildings and dead ends.
I’d ordered the crew to search as well but, their luck matched mine. Until Bishop brought good news.
“He’s been spotted, Captain. In the old brewery.”
By the time we got there, the brewery was empty.
“I trust the fellow who found him. Known him since I lived here before,” Bishop said.
“He told me this is where Gordon sleeps. Why don’t we come back tonight and grab him after he passes out?
” It was a solid plan, and we arranged for him to pick me up on the beach below the keep that night and take me to Mayhem to collect the rest of the crew.
“I do not want him getting away again. Make sure you bring enough men, Bishop.”
He nodded, a toothy grin splitting his face. “I’ll send word when Gordon’s spotted again.”
The message came that evening. Bishop would be at the beach by midnight.
After dinner, I left Taenya and Ozora to their celebrating.
Ozora was giddy after completing the map, even if Taenya had no luck searching for Cilirians, mages or otherwise.
I figured at the rate they were going, they’d both pass out before I left.
Really wish they didn’t catch my exit. I ground my teeth but set my eyes on the fast-approaching harbor.
Mayhem rested several slots away. Bishop pulled us up alongside the massive stone retaining walls that divided the water of the bay from the city, right next to a steep stairwell up to the street.
“Where’s the crew?” I asked.
“Already waiting at the brewery. This slip is closer than going all the way to Mayhem and walking back,” he answered, voice muffled as he bent to tie up the boat to the metal rings sunk into the stone.
Finding out Gordon had sunk to sleeping in an abandoned brewery shocked me, but most of what I’d found in Hastrior shocked me.
The sigils that blanketed the city had Ozora convinced the Cilirians had something to do with the city’s downfall, and Cassyrra was inclined to agree.
We all had a lot of questions for my old friend Gordon Derryngton.
The man I’d known before would never have slept in an abandoned brewery or let the city deteriorate. My friend stayed to keep Hastrior thriving, and that man would’ve fought to prevent this from happening. What had gone so wrong that he’d abandoned it to the Cilirian’s spells?
We passed no one coming or going, and no magelights shone from the buildings or street lamps in this empty part of town.
The brewery sat several blocks back from the harbor, and the walk was short, but dark.
There weren’t any open shops at this time of night but the ones that were still in business were several streets away, where the city’s magelights were still lit.
“Don’t light up, sir. We don’t need that,” Bishop cautioned when I tried to ignite a small luminous crystal.
The tiny magelight gave a narrow beam, but bright.
“Don’t give him any hint. Our men are in position.
They’ll be ready.” The further moon had nearly set, poised to dip below the horizon, but there remained enough light for us to see our way through the dark streets.
The shadows deepened as we entered the brewery. Wide cargo doors stood open like a hungry mouth, but the sinking moon’s light didn’t pierce very far.
We walked about fifteen feet into the deeper shadows of a wide-open warehouse space. Our footsteps echoed, bouncing between the slab walls and giant vats that loomed at the edges. Scarcely distinguishable from the night sky, they stood in front of tall clerestory windows lining the top of the wall.
Brilliant magelights flashed, blinding me.
“I did not expect that to work.” I blinked to clear my vision, but that voice was too familiar.
“You just walked right into it. Have your wits gone soft out there on the island? Or is it just the mage that’s made you stupid again?
” It took a few more moments to see Gordon Derryngton standing some ten feet in front of me, flanked by a half-dozen men.
I was all kinds of a fool.
“There he is. Now he’s coming about.” My head rocked back, and I stared up at Gordon, my braid pulled tight in his fist. “It’s been a long time, Captain.” He sneered the last word. “I thought we had a deal. You go play with your water ponies and in return, Hastrior is mine.”
His fingers tightened at the base of my skull, pulling my temples taut.
Everything hurt. It took all of them to knock me down.
I’d cast a shield spell so their knockout spells didn’t work, but that didn’t stop them from taking their turns beating me.
There were two on each arm by the time I cast the shield spell.
They didn’t hold me long, but they were smart.
One of them cut my sword from me, or the fight would’ve gone differently.
Another swung a club, and the others piled onto me. Don’t remember anything after that.
Gordon pulling my hair was nothing.
My gaze roved, seeking clues to where they held me, but all that I could see was the ceiling and Gordon’s face.
He had me bent back in the chair I was bound to, a simple upright backrest on a hard wooden seat, holding me only by my hair.
My neck and back arched in his grasp. I wrapped my hands around the wooden dowels and pushed to take some of the strain off.
The wood rolled under my hand and squeaked, then stopped.
“So, why are you back here now? Blowing up ships, taking over the keep. Why do you care what happens here?” Gordon released me and slapped the back of my head, making it rock again.
This was bad.
I scanned my surroundings. This didn’t look like the brewery or anything near it.
They had me in a rundown ground-floor room of an old house.
I faced a large picture window but it was grimy with dust and spots; between that and the glare from the magelights, I couldn’t see outside.
In the room, two lackeys stood guard at doors on opposite sides; both were closed.
The edge of a brick-surrounded fireplace was barely visible behind me if I turned my head, right at the edge of my vision.
Across the room, a table held my effects but, aside from that, and a bench along one wall, there was no other furniture.
“More, why are you looking for me and learning magic?” He paused his pacing to bend over and look me in the eye. “Along with your pretty little mage?” When I didn’t react, he straightened and tapped his chin. “You remember, the one who sank Skirmisher? Why are you so friendly with her now?”
“Someone’s been telling tales,” I said. I’d known Bishop for years, trusted him. Shawn vetted and vouched for him, yet he still betrayed me.
“Everyone has a price.” Gordon’s grin stretched wide.
“Bishop’s wasn’t much. Those sigils sure helped.
” In my rush to capture Gordon, I didn’t think to scan Bishop for a sigil when he came to me with the good news I wanted to hear.
Ozora would’ve remembered. I grimaced, and not from the pain of my new bruises.
My conscience would never let me live that one down.
“Yeah, what’s up with those?” I wanted him to keep talking. My chances of figuring a way out only increased the longer I lived. Perhaps he’d drop a clue that would prove helpful, especially if I asked the right questions.