Calis The port of Dagastan surprised first time visitors from Avryn, who thought of everywhere else was less civilized or cultured. Calis was generally held, by those who had never been there, to be a crude, ramshackle collection of tribal bands living in mud or wooden huts within a dense and mysterious jungle. It shocked most when they first laid eyes on the massive domes and elegant spires rising along the coast. The city was astonishingly large and well developed. Stone and gray brick buildings sat densely packed on a graduated hillside rising from the elegant harbor that put Aquesta's wooden docks to shame. Here, four long carved stone piers stretched into the bay, along which stately towers rose at regular intervals, facilitating the needs of the bustling trade center. Masts of more thampress iundred ships lined the harbor, nearly all of them exotic merchant vessels.
Hadrian remembered the city the moment it came into view. The heat of the ancient stones, the spice-scented streets, the exotic women-all memories of an impetuous youth that he preferred to forget. He had left the east behind without regret and it was not without reservations that he found himself returning.
No bells rang in the towers along the harbor as they entered, no alarm signaled as the blood red sails of their Dacca-built tartane entered port. Merely a pilot boat issued out and hailed them at their approach.
"En dil dual lon duclim?" the pilot called to them.
"I can't understand you," Wesley replied.
"Vaat ez dee name of your vessel? And dee name of dee captain?" the pilot repeated.
"Oh, ah-it doesn't have a name I'm afraid, but my name is Wesley Belstrad."
The pilot jotted something on a hand held tablet frowning. "Vere ez you outing from?"
"We are the remaining crew of the Emerald Storm, Her Imperial Majesty's vessel out from the capital city of Aquesta."
"Vaat ez your bidness 'ere and 'ow long staying vill you be?"
"We are making a delivery. I am not certain how long it will take."
The pilot finished asking questions and indicated they should follow him to a berth. Another official was waiting on the dock and asked Wesley to sign several forms before allowing anyone to set foot on land.
"According to Seward's orders we are to contact a Mister Dilladrum. I will go ashore and try to locate him," Wesley announced. "Mister Deminthal you and Seaman Staul will accompany me. Hadrian you will be in charge here until my return. See to it that the stores are secured and the ship buttoned down."
"Aye, sir." Hadrian saluted and the three disembarked and disappeared into the maze of streets.
"Wonderful luck we've had in picking up survivors, eh?" Hadrian mentioned to Royce as he met his partner on the raised aft deck of the ship.
The others remained at the waist or the bow, staring in fascination at the port around them. There was a lot to take in. Unusual sounds drifted from the urban landscape. The jangle of bells, the ringing of a gong, shouts of merchants in a strange musical language, and above it all the haunting voice of a man singing in the distance.
Dockworkers moved cargo to and from ships. Most were dressed in robes of vertical stripes, their skin a tawny brown, their faces bearded. Bolts of shimmering silks and sheer cloth waited to be loaded, as did urns of incense and pots of fragrant oil whose scents drifted on the harbor breeze. The stone masonry of the buildings was impressive. Impressive designs of flowers and geometric shapes adorned nearly all the constructions. Domes were the most prolific of the architectural styles, some inlaid in gold, others in silver, or colorful tiles. The larger buildings displayed multiple domes, all featuring a central spire pointing skyward.
It was the first time in three days they had the opportunity to speak alone. "I thought you showed great restraint and was impressed with your diplomatic solution to our little civil war," Hadrian told Royce.
"I'm just watching your back, like Gwen asked." Royce took a seat on a thick pile of netted ropes.
"It was a stroke of brilliance appointing Wesley," Hadrian remarked. "I wish I had thought of it. I like that boy. Did you see the way he picked Staul and Wyatt to go with him? Wyatt knows the docks and Staul knows the language and possibly the city. Perfectly sensible choices, but they're also the two who would make the most trouble out of his sight. He's a lot more like his brother than he thinks. It's a shame they were born in Chadwick. Ballentyne doesn't deserve them."
"It's not looking good, you know that, right?" Royce asked. "What with the weapons and Merrick's payment going down with the Storm and everyone in charge now dead, I don't see where we go from here."
Hadrian took a seat on the railing beside Royce. Water lapped against the wooden hull of the tartane and seagulls cried overhead.
"But we still have Merrick's orders and that letter. What did it say?"
"I didn't read it."
"Weren't you the one who called me stupid because-"
"I never had a chance. Wyatt grabbed the orders first, and then there was this little incident with a burning ship and lots of swimming. Now Wesley has them and he's hardly slept. I've not had an opportunity."
"Then we'll have to stick to that letter until you either get a chance to take a peek or we solve this riddle. I mean, what is the empire doing sending weapons to Calis when they need them to fight the Nationalists?"
"Maybe bribing Calis to join the fight on their side?"
Hadrian shook his head. "Rhenydd could beat Calis in a war all by itself. There's no organization down here, no central authority, just a bunch of competing warlords. The whole place is corrupt and they constantly fight each other. There is no way Merrick could convince enough leaders to go fight for the New Empire-most of these warlords have never even heard of Avryn. And what's with the elves? What were they doing with them?"
"I have to admit, I'd like to know that myself," Royce said.
Hadrian's glance followed Thranic as he came topside and laid among the excess canvas at the bow, his hood pulled down to block the light, his arms folded across his chest. He almost looked like a corpse in need of a coffin.
Hadrian gestured toward the sentinel. "So, what's going on between you and Thranic anyway? He appears to really hate you-even more than most people."
Royce did not look in his direction. He sat nonchalantly, pretending to ignore the world as if they were the only two aboard. "Funny thing that. I never met him, never heard of him until this voyage, and yet I know him rather well, and he knows me."
"Thank you, Mister Esrahaddon. Can you provide me with perhaps a more cryptic answer?"
Royce smiled. "I see why he does it now. It's rather fun. I'm also surprised you haven't figured it out yet."
"Figured what out?"
"Our boy Thranic has a nasty little secret. It's what makes him so unpleasant and at the same time so dangerous. He would have killed Wyatt, might even given you a surprise or two. With Staul added to the mix, and Defoe slinking about, it wasn't a battle I felt confident in winning, even if I didn't have Gwen's voice echoing in my head."
"You aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"What would be the fun in that? This will give you something to do. You can try to guess, and I can amuse myself by insulting your intelligence. I wouldn't take too long though. Thranic is going to die soon."
Wesley returned and trotted up the gangway to address them. "I want volunteers to accompany me, Sentinel Thranic, Mister Bulard, Doctor Levy, and Seaman Staul inland. We will be traveling deep into the Calian jungles. The journey will not be without significant risks so I won't order anyone to follow me who doesn't want to go. Those who choose to stay behind can remain with the ship and upon my return, we will sail for home where you will receive your pay."
"Where in the jungle are you headed, Mister Wesley?" Banner asked.
"I must deliver a letter to Erandabon Gile, who I am informed is a warlord of some note in these parts. I have met with Mister Dilladrum, who has been awaiting our arrival and has a caravan prepared and ready to escort us. Gile's fortress, however, is deep in the jungles and contact with the Ba Ran Ghazel is likely. Now, who is with me?"
Hadrian, who was one of the first to raise his hand, found it strange he was among the majority. Wyatt and Poe didsurprise him but even Jacob and Grady joined in after seeing the others. Only Greig and Banner abstained.
"I see," Wesley said with a note of surprise as well. "All right then, Banner, I'll leave you in charge of the ship.
"What are we to do while yer gone, sir?" Banner asked.
"Nothing," he told them. "Just stay with the ship and out of the city. Don't cause any trouble."
Banner smiled gleefully at Greig. "So, we can just sleep all day if we want?"
"I don't care what you do as long as you protect the ship and don't embarrass the empire."
Both of them could hardly contain their delight. "I'll bet the rest 'o you are wishing you hadn't raised your hands now."
"You realize there's only about a week's worth of rations below, right?" Wyatt mentioned. "You might want to eat sparingly."
A worried look crossed Banner's face. "You're gonna hurry back, right?"
Wesley led them off the ship and into the city, setting a brisk pace and keeping a sharp eye on the line of men. The old man, Antun Bulard, was the only straggler, but this had more to do with his age than his wounds, which had turned out to be only superficial cuts.
Loud-colored tents and awnings lined the roads of Dagastan from the harbor to the square. Throngs filled the paved pathways as merchants shouted to the crowds, waving banners with unrecognizable symbols. Old men smoked pipes beneath the shelter of striped canopies as scantily dressed women with veiled faces stood provocatively on raised platforms, gyrating slowly to the beat of a dozen drummers, bell ringers, and cymbal players. There was too much happening to focus on any single thing. Everywhere one looked there was dazzling color, tantalizing movement, intoxicating scents, and exciting music. The city taunted the senses, bewildered the mind, and blurred the eye. Overwhelmed, the little parade of sailors marched in step with Mister Wesley, as he led them to their promised guide. He and his team were waiting along a paved avenue not far from the city's Grand Bazaar.
Dilladrum looked like an overweight beggar. His coat and dark britches were faded and poorly patched. Long, dirty hair burst out from under a formless felt hat as if in protest. His beard, equally mismanaged, showed bits of grass nested in its folds. His face was dusky, his teeth yellow, but his eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. He stood on the roadside before a train of curious beasts. They appeared to be shrunken, shaggy horses. The animals were loaded with bundles and linked together by leads from one to the next. Six short, half-naked men helped Dilladrum keep the train under control. They wore only breechcloths of loose linen, and clattering necklaces of colored stones. Like Dilladrum, they grinned brightly at the sailor's approach.
"Welcome, welcome, gentlemen," he warmly addressed them. "I am Dilladrum, your guide. Before we leave our fair city perhaps you would like some time to peruse our fine shops? As per previous arrangements, I and my Vintu friends will be providing you with food, water, and shelter, but we will be many days afield and as such, some comforts as could be obtained in the bazaar could make your trek more pleasant. Consider our fine wines, liquors, or perhaps an attractive slave girl to make the camps more enjoyable."
A few eyes turned appraisingly toward the shops where dozens of colorful signboards advertised in a foreign tongue. Music played-strange twanging strings and warbling pipes. Hadrian could smell lamb spiced with curry, a popular dish as he recalled.
"We will leave immediately," Wesley replied, louder than was necessary for merely Dilladrum to hear him.
"Suit yourself, good sir." The guide shrugged sadly. He made a gesture to his Vintu workers and the little men used long switches and yelping cries to urge the animals of the caravan forward.
As they did, atterspotted Hadrian and paused in his work. His brows furrowed as he stared intently until a shout from Dilladrum sent him back to herding.
"What was that all about?" Royce asked. Hadrian shrugged, but Royce looked unconvinced. "You were here for what-five years? Anything happen? Anything you want to share?"
"Sure," he replied, with a sarcastic grin. "Right after you fill me in on how you escaped from Manzant Prison and why you never killed Ambrose Moor."
"Sorry I asked."
"I was young and stupid," Hadrian offered. "But I can tell you that Wesley is right about the jungle being dangerous. We will want to watch ourselves around Gile."
"You met him?"
Hadrian nodded. "I've met most of the warlords of the Gur Em, but I'm sure everyone's forgotten me by now."
As if overhearing, the train worker glanced over his shoulder at Hadrian once more.
"Everywhere landward from Dagastan is uphill," Dilladrum was saying as the troop walked along the narrow dirt path through farmlands dotted by domed grass huts. "That is the way of the world everywhere, is it not? From the sea, we always need to go up. It makes the leaving that much harder, but the returning that much more welcome."
They walked two abreast, with Wesley and Dilladrum, Wyatt and Poe, Royce and Hadrian, in front, while Thranic's group followed behind the Vintu and the beasts. It was disconcerting to have Thranic and his crew behind them, but it was better than having to walk with them. Dilladrum set a brisk pace for a portly little man, stepping lively and thrusting his bleached walking stick out with practiced skill. He bent the brim down on his otherwise shapeless hat to block the sun making him look comical even while Hadrian wished he had a silly looking hat of his own.
"Mister Dilladrum, what exactly are your instructions concerning us?" Wesley inquired.
"I am contracted to safely deliver officers, cargo, and crew of the Emerald Storm to the Palace of the Four Winds in Dur Guron."
"Is that the residence of Erandabon Gile?"
"Ah yes, the fortress of The Panther of Dur Guron."
"Panther?" Wyatt asked.
Dilladrum chuckled. "It is what the Vintu call the warlord. They are a very simple folk, but very hard workers as you can see. The Panther is a legend among them."
"A hero?" Wesley offered.
"A panther is not a hero to anyone. A panther is a great cat that hides himself in the jungle. He is a ghost to those who seek him, deadly to those he hunts, but to those he doesn't, he is merely a creature deserving of respect. The Panther does not concern himself with the Vintu, but stories of his valor, cruelty and cunning reach them."
"You are not Vintu?"
"No. I am Erbonese. It is a region to the northwest, not far from Mandalin."
"And the Tenkin?" Wesley asked. "Is the warlord one of them?"
Dilladrum's expression turned dark. "Yes, yes. The Tenkin are everywhere in these jungles." He pointed to the horizon ahead of them. "Some tribes are friendly, others are not. Not to worry, my Vintu and I know a good route. We will pass through one Tenkin village, but they are friendly and familiar to us, like the one you call Staul, yes? We will make it safely."
As they climbed higher, they entered a great plain of tall grass that swayed enchantingly with the breeze. Climbing a large rock, they could see for miles in all directions except ahead where a tall, forested ridge rose up several hundred feet. They made camp just before sundown. Hardly a word passed between Dilladrum and the Vintu, but they immediately set to work setting up decorative tents embroidered with geometric designs and neatly bordered canopies. Cots and small stools were set out for each, along with sheets and pillows.
Cooked in large pots over an open fire, the evening meal was strong and spicy enough to make Hadrian's eyes water. It was tasty and satisfying after weeks eating the same tired pork stew. The Vintu took turns entertaining. Some played stringed instruments similar to a lute, others danced, and a few sang lilting ballads. The words Hadrian could not understand, but the melody was beautiful. Animal calls filled the night. Screeches, cries, and growls threatened in the darkness, always too loud and too close.
On their third day out, the landscape began to change. The level plains tilted upward and trees appeared more frequently. The forests that had lined the distance were upon them and soon they were trudging under a canopy of tall trees whose massive roots spread out across the forest floor like the fingers of old men. At first it was good to be out of the sun, but then the path became rocky, steep, and hard to navigate. It did not last long, as they soon crested a ridge and began a sharp descent. On the far side of the ridge, they could see a distinct change in the flora. The undergrowth thickened, turning deeper green. Larger leaves, vines, thickets of creepers, and needle-shaped blades encroached on the track, causing the Vintu to occasionally move ahead to chop a path.
The next day it began to rain. While at times it poured, at others it would only mist, but it never ceased.
"They always seem content, don't they?" Hadrian mentioned to Royce as they sat under the canopy of their tent watching the Vintu preparing the evening meal. "It could be blazingly hot or raining like now and they don't seem to care one way or the other."
"Are you now saying we should become Vintu?" Royce asked. "I don't think you can just apply for membership into their tribe. I think you need to be born into it."
"What's that?" Wyatt asked, coming out of the tent the three shared, wiping his freshly shaved face with a cloth.
"Just thinking about the Vintu and living a simple existence of quiet pleasures," Hadrian explained.
"What makes you think they're content?" Royce asked. "I've found that when people smile all the time they're hiding something. These Vintu are probably miserable-economically forced into relative slavery, catering to wealthy foreigners. I'm sure they would smile just as much while slitting our throats to save themselves another day of hauling Dilladrum's packs."
"I think you've been away from Gwen too long. You're starting to sound like the old Royce again."
Across the camp, they spotted Staul, Thranic, and Defoe. Staul waved in their direction and grinned.
"See, big grin," Royce mentioned.
"Fun group aren't they," Hadrian muttered.
"Yeah, they are a group aren't they," Royce considered. "Why would a sentinel, a Tenkin warrior, a physician, a thief, and…whatever the heck Bulard is, go into the jungles of Calis to visit a Tenkin warlord? And what is Bulard's deal?"
Wyatt and Hadrian shrugged in unison.
"Isn't that a bit odd? We were all on the same ship together for weeks and we don't know anything about the man beyond the fact that he doesn't look like he's seen the sun in a decade. Perhaps if we found out, it would provide the common connection between the others and this Erandabon fellow."
"Defoe and Bulard share a tent," Hadrian pointed out.
"Who's Defoe?" Wyatt asked.
"That's Royce's pet name for Bernie," Hadrian quipped.
"Hadrian, why don't you go chat with Bulard," Royce said. "I'll distract Defoe."
"What about me?" Wyatt asked.
"Talk with Derning and Grady. They don't seem as connected to the others as I first thought. Find out why they volunteered."
The Vintu handed out dinner, which the Storm's crew ate sitting on stools the Vintu provided. Dinner consisted mostly of what appeared to be shredded pork and an array of unusual vegetables i ifick, hot sauce that needled the tongue.
After the meal, darkness descended on the camp and most retired to their tents. Antun Bulard was already in his, just like he always stayed in his cabin aboard ship. The light in Bulard and Defoe's tent flickered and the silhouettes of their heads bobbed about, magnified on the canvas walls. A few hours after dark, Defoe stepped out. An instant later, Royce swooped in.
"How you been, Bernie," Royce greeted Defoe who flinched noticeably. "Going for a walk?"
"Actually, I was about to find a place to relieve myself."
"Good, I'll go with you."
"Go with me?" he asked nervously.
"I've been known to help people relieve themselves of a great many things." Royce put an arm around Defoe's shoulder as he urged him away from the tents. Once more Defoe flinched. "A little jumpy, aren't we?"
"Don't you think I have good reason?"
Royce smiled and nodded, "You have me there. I honestly still can't figure out what you were thinking."
The two were outside the circle of tents, well beyond the glow of the campfire, and still Royce urged him farther away.
"It wasn't my idea. I was just following orders. Don't you think I'd know better than to-"
"Whose idea was it?"
Defoe only hesitated a moment, "Thranic," he said, then hastily added, "but he just wanted you bloodied. Not dead, just cut."
"Why?"
"Honestly, I don't know."
They stopped in a dark circle of trees. Night frogs croaked hesitantly, concerned by their presence. The camp was only a distant glow.
"Care to tell me what all of you are doing here?"
Defoe frowned. "You know I won't, even to save my life. It wouldn't be worth it."
"But you told me about Thranic."
"I don't like Thranic."
"So, he's not the one you're afraid of. Is it Merrick?"
"Merrick?" Defoe looked genuinely puzzled. "Listen, I never faulted you for Jade's death or the war you waged on the Diamond. Merrick should have never betrayed you like that, not without first hearing your side of it."
Royce took a step forward. In the darkness of the canopy, he was certain Defoe could barely see him. Royce, on the other hand, could make out every line on Defoe's face. "What's Merrick's plan?"
"I haven't seen Merrick in years."
Royce drew out his dagger and purposely allowed it to make a metal scraping sound as it came free of its scabbard. "So, you haven't seen him. Fine. But you're working for him, or someone else who's working for him. I want to know where he is and what he's up to, and you're going to tell me."
Defoe shook his head. "I-I really don't know anything about Marius or what he's doing nowadays."
Royce paused. Every line of Defoe's face revealed he was telling the truth.
"What have we here?" Thranic asked. "A private meeting? You've strayed a bit far from camp, dear boys."
Royce turned to see Thranic and Staul. Staul held a torch, Thranic carried a crossbow.
"It's not safe to venture too far away from your friends, or didn't you think about that, Royce?" Thranic told him and fired the crossbow at Royce's heart.
"Antun Bulard, isn't it?" Hadrian asked sticking his head in the tent.
"Hmm?" Antun looked up. He was lying on his stomach, writing with a featherless quill worn to only a few inches in length. He had on a pair of spectacles, which he looked over the top of. "Why, yes I am."
The old man was more than just pale-he was white. His hair was the color of alabaster while his skin was little more than wrinkled quartz. He reminded Hadrian of an egg, colorless and fragile.
"I wanted to introduce myself." Hadrian slipped fully inde. "All this time at sea and we never had the opportunity to properly meet. I thought that was unfortunate, don't you?"
"Why, I-who are you again?"
"Hadrian, I was the cook on the Emerald Storm."
"Ah, well, I hate to say it Hadrian, but I was not impressed with your cooking. Perhaps a little less salt and some wine would have helped. Not that this is any great feast," he said, gesturing toward his half-eaten meal. "I am too old for such rich foods. It upsets my stomach."
"What are you writing?"
"Oh, this? Just notes really. My mind isn't what it once was, you see. I'll forget everything soon and then where will I be? A historian who can't remember his own name. It really could come to that, you know. Assuming I live that long. Bernie keeps reassuring me I won't live out this trip. He's probably right. He's the expert on such things after all."
"Really? What kind of things?"
"Oh, spelunking, of course. I'm told Bernie is an old hand at it. We make a good team he and I. He digs up the past and I put it down, so to speak." Antun chuckled to himself until he coughed. Hadrian poured the man a glass of water, which he gratefully accepted.
After he had recovered, Hadrian asked, "Have you ever heard of a man called Merrick Marius?"
Bulard shook his head. "Not unless I have and then forgotten. Was he a king or a hero perhaps?"
"No, I actually thought he might have been the man who sent you here."
"Oh, no. Our mandate is from the Patriarch himself, though Sentinel Thranic doesn't tell me much. I'm not complaining mind you. How often does a priest of Maribor have the opportunity to serve the Patriarch? I can tell you precisely-twice. Once when I was so much younger, and now that I am nearly dead."
"I thought you were a historian? You are also a priest?"
"I know I don't look much like one, do I? My calling was the pen not the flock."
"You've written books then?"
"Oh, yes, my best is still the History of Apeladorn, which I am constantly having to append, of course."
"I know a monk at Windermere Abbey who'd love to meet you."
"Is that up north near Melengar? I passed through there once about twenty years ago." Antun nodded thoughtfully. "They were very helpful, saved my life if I recall correctly."
"So, you're on this trip to record what you see?"
"Oh, no, that's only what I've been doing so far. As you can imagine, I don't get out much. I do most of my work in libraries and stuffy cellars, reading old books. I was in Tur Del Fur before setting off on this wonderful trip. This has been an excellent opportunity to record what I see firsthand. The Patriarch knows about my research on ancient imperial history and that's why I am here. Sort of a living, breathing version of my books, you see. I suppose they think if they put in the right questions, out will pop the correct answers, like an oracle."
Hadrian was about to ask another question when Grady and Poe poked their heads in.
"Hadrian," Poe caught his attention.
"Well, isn't my tent the social center tonight," Antun remarked.
"I'm kinda busy at the moment, can this wait?" Hadrian asked.
"I don't think so. Thranic and Staul just followed Royce and Bernie into the jungle."
Royce heard the click of the release and began to move even before the hiss of the string indicated the missile's launch. Still his reflexes could not move faster than a flying bolt. The metal shaft pierced his side below the ribcage. The impact thrust him backward where he collapsed in pain.
"Lucky we found you, Bernie," Thranic told the startled thief as he moved away from Royce's body. "He would have killed you. Isn't that what you said bucketmen do? Now, don't you feel foolish for saying I couldn't protect you?"
"You could have hit me!" Defoe snapped.
"Stop being so dramatic. You're alive, aren't you? Besides, I heard the conversation. It didn't take much for you to give me up. In my profession, lack of faith is a terrible sin."
"In mine, it is all too often justified," Defoe snarled back.
"Get back to the camp before you're missed."
Defoe grumbled as he trotted back up the path and Thranic watched his retreat.
"We might have to do something about him," the sentinel told the Tenkin. "Funny that you, my heathen friend, should be my stalwart ally in all this."
"Bernie 'e dinks too much. Me? I am just greedy, and derefore trustworzy. We going to just leave dee body?"
"No, it's too close to the path we'll be taking tomorrow and I can't count on the animals eating him before we break camp. Drag him away. A few yards should be enough."
"Royce?" Hadrian shouted from behind them on the trail.
"Quickly, you idiot. They're coming!"
Staul rushed forward and, planting his torch in the ground, lifted Royce and ran with him into the jungle. He only traveled a few dozen yards when he cursed.
Royce was still breathing.
"Izuto! " the Tenkin hissed, drawing his dagger.
"Too late," Royce whispered.
Hadrian led them into the trees the way Royce went earlier. Ahead he spotted the glow of a torch and ran toward it. Behind him Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning followed.
"There's blood here," Hadrian announced when he got to the burning torch thrust in the ground. "Royce!"
"Spread out!" Wyatt ordered. "Sweep the grass and look for more blood."
"Over here!" Derning shouted, moving into the ferns. "There up ahead. Two of them, Staul and Royce!"
Hadrian cut his way through the thick undergrowth to where they lay. Royce was breathing hard, holding his blood-soaked side. His face was pale but his eyes remained focused.
"How ya doing, buddy?" Hadrian asked, dropping to his knees and carefully slipping an arm under Royce.
Royce didn't say anything. He kept his teeth clenched, blowing his cheeks out with each breath.
"Get his feet, Wyatt," Hadrian ordered. "Now lift him gently. Poe, get out front with the torch."
"What about Staul?" Derning asked.
"What about him?" Hadrian glanced down at the big Tenkin whose throat lay open, slit from ear to ear.
When they returned to camp, Wesley ordered Royce taken to his tent, which was the largest and originally reserved for Captain Seward. He sent Poe for Doctor Levy, but Hadrian intervened. Wesley appeared confused but, as Royce was Hadrian's best friend he did not dispute his wishes. The Vintu were surprisingly adept at first aid and under Hadrian's watchful eye they cleaned and dressed the wound.
The bolt aimed at Royce's heart had entered and exited cleanly. He suffered significant blood loss, but no organ damage, nor broken bones. The Vintu sealed the tiny entry hole without a problem. The larger tearing of his flesh at the exit was another matter. It took a dozen bandages and many basins of water before they got the bleeding under control and Royce lay calmly, sleeping.
"Why wasn't I notified about this? I'm a physician for Maribor's sake!"
Hadrian stepped outside the tent flap to find Levy arguing with Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning who, at Hadrian's request, guarded the entrance.
"Ah, Doctor Levy, just the man I wanted to see," Hadrian addressed him. "Where's your boss? Where's Thranic?"
Levy did not need to answer as across the camp Thranic walked toward them, alongside Wesley and Defoe.
Hadrian drew his sword at their approach.
"Put away your weapon!" Wesley ordered.
"This man nearly killed Royce tonight," Hadrian declared, pointing at Thranic.
"Thatens not the way he tells it," Wesley replied. "He said Royce attacked and murdered Staul over accusations the Tenkin made about Royce killing Drew aboard the Storm. Thranic and Seaman Bernie claim they were witnesses."
"We don't claim anything, we saw it," Thranic said, coolly.
"And how do you claim this took place?" Hadrian asked.
"Staul confronted Royce, telling him he was going to Wesley with evidence. Royce warned him that he would never live to see the dawn. Then when Staul turned to walk back to camp, Royce grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. Bernie and I expected such treachery from him, but we couldn't convince Staul not to confront the blackguard. So, we followed. I brought a crossbow, borrowed from Mister Dilladrum's supplies, for protection. I fired in self-defense."
"He's lying," Hadrian declared.
"Oh, were you there?" Thranic asked. "Did you see it happen as we did? Funny I didn't notice your presence."
"Royce left the camp with Bernie not Staul," Hadrian said.
Thranic laughed. "Is that the best you can come up with to save your friend from a noose? Why not say you saw Staul attack him unprovoked, or me for that matter?"
"I saw Royce leave with Bernie, too, and Thranic and Staul followed after them," Wyatt put in.
"That's a lie!" Defoe responded, convincingly offended. "I watched Royce leave with Staul. Thranic and I followed. I worked the topmast with Royce, I know him better than anyone here. I was there the night Edgar Drew died. Royce was the only one near him. They were having an argument. You all saw how agile he is. Drew never had a chance."
"Why didn't you report it to the captain?" Derning asked.
"I did," Defoe declared. "But because I didn't actually see him push poor Drew off, he refused to do anything."
"How convenient that Captain Seward is too dead to ask about that," Wyatt pointed out.
Thranic shook his head with a pitiful smile, "Now, Wesley, will you actually take the word of a pirate and a cook over the word of a Sentinel of the Nyphron Church?"
"Your Excellency," Wesley said, turning to face Thranic. "You will address me as Mister Wesley or sir, is that understood?" Thranic's expression soured. "And I will decide whose word I will accept. As it happens, I am well aware of your personal vendetta against Royce Melborn. Midshipman Beryl tried to convince me to bring false charges. Well, sir, I did not buckle to Beryl's threats, and I'll be damned if I will be intimidated by your title."
"Damned is a very good choice of words, Mister Wesley."
"Sentinel Thranic," Wesley barked at him. "Be forewarned that if any further harm befalls Seaman Melborn, that is even remotely suspicious, I will hold you responsible and have you executed by whatever means are at hand. Do I make myself clear?"
"You wouldn't dare touch an ordained officer of the Patriarch. Every king in Avryn-why the regents themselves would not oppose me. It is you who should be concerned about execution."
Wyatt, Grady, and Derning drew their blades and Hadrian took a step closer to Thranic.
"Stand down, gentlemen!" Wesley shouted. At his order, they paused. "You are quite correct, Sentinel Thranic, that your office influences how I treat you. Were you an ordinary seaman, I would order you flogged for your disrespect. I am well aware that upon our return to Aquesta, you could ruin my career or perhaps have me imprisoned or hanged. But let me point out, sir, that Aquesta is a long way from here and a dead man has difficulty requesting anything. It would be in my best interest, therefore, to see you executed here and now. It would be a simple matter to report you and Seaman Bernie lost to the dangers of the jungle."
Defoe looked worried and took a subtle step away from Thranic's side.
"I would have thought I could rely on your family's famous code of honor," Thranic said in a sarcastic tone.
"You can, sir, and you are, as indeed that is all that keeps you alive at this moment. It is also what you can count on to have you executed should you threaten Seaman Melborn again. Do I make myself clear?"
Thranic fumed but said nothing. He simply turned and walked away with Defoe following after.
Wesley exhaled loudly, and straightened his vest. "How is he doing?" he asked Hadrian.
"Sleeping at the moment, sir. He's weak, but should recover. And thank you, sir."
"For what?" Wesley replied. "I have a mission to accomplish, Blackwater. I can't have my crew killing one another. Derning, Grady, take a few others and bring Staul's body back to camp. Let's not leave him to the beasts of this foul jungle."