Fast Fiction: Flight to Antonica (Part 7)

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Malphus rolled over and pounded the dirt. He spoke in a defeated tone, "We need to get to the harbor."

Baelerwyn stood rigid with hardly suppressed rage. "First, we bury Gregabor."

Zalmo wore an alarmed expression. "I don't think--"

"Aye." Malphus interrupted. "First we bury him."

Zalmo fell silent.

"C'mon lads. Let's be quick about it. Before I bleed to death, would be nice."

Baelerwyn faced the gnome. "See to his wounds. I'll be done by the time master dwarf can stand."

*

Saminel laid on his bed staring at his fishing cane. He had been stuck inside the rocking wooden lodge all day. The storm had finally let up, the walls no longer swayed, but it was still raining. "Can I go outside, now?"

Roybin had been scribbling in his log book. Eleven black-gilled mackerel. Twenty seven tiger-trout. Eighteen snapper-sturgeons. Four mage-fin tunas. One sunbreacher, and two hundred twenty-eight sandfish. "It's nearly dusk."

"So..."

Roybin sighed. "Not till the rain is done, Saminel."

"But father there's hardly any. The storm is over. Can't I fish, now?"

His father continued scribbling.

The boy harrumphed and poked at his fishing cane.

Roybin removed his spectacles and regarded his son. He blinked with affection. "Come over here, son."

Saminel stomped over with his head hung low. He stood in front of his father without looking at him.

His father patted the chair next to him. The boy plopped into it with a groan. Roybin lifted the boy's chin to look him in the eye. "I know it's no fun being stuck inside. I know you love to fish."

Saminel turned his head away.

"And that makes me very proud of you, son."

The boy looked up. "I do love it. I want to be just like you, father. But the storm. How am I suppose to be any good if I can't do it?"

Roybin entertained a thought. "C'mon. Let me show you something."

Saminel shot out of his seat, "I'll get my cane!"

"Not just yet."

The two stood outside at dusk. Fat droplets of rain thudded against the pier with the failing light of the sun at their backs. Roybin noted the fleeting storm clouds. "Looks like it heads east."

"Well, good." Saminel scoffed. He squinted. "Kinda south too."

"Aye, south-easterly." Roybin mussed up the boy's hair. "You know, it's important for you to learn a thing or two about weather patterns. When you're out at sea on your own some day, you'll need to know what you're doing."

Saminel thought about that. He turned to look to the West; a direction that usually held little interest for the boy. The weather, the clouds, the storms, even the sun and moon. They all moved around. Changing the land here and there. "Father..."

"Yes, son?"

Saminel looked into his father's eyes. "Do you miss mother?"

A pained expression spread across the man's sun beaten face. "Aye, son. Every day."

"I miss her too." He looked down at his feet and the wet sand on the pier. "Do you think she's watching us?"

Roybin's brow furrowed. "I do." They listened to the rain and the sea for a moment. The fisherman clapped the boy on the shoulder. "So, what do you think tomorrow's going to be like? Think we'll catch any? Big ones? Little ones?"

It was Saminel's turn to look pensive as he peered into the horizon. "I think tomorrow's going to be different."

*

Zalmo had stayed with Malphus in one of the harbor's dilapidated buildings. He did his best to nurse the dwarf back to health. The goblin's knives hadn't hit any major organs. The loss of blood and tissue was substantial as the future scars would foretell. The gnome had cleaned out the gashes for now, applied his herbal concoctions, stitched, and wrapped him up. Still, the dwarf needed rest. Something that was always in short supply.

Once Baelerwyn had scouted the area he focused on gathering materials. By the grace of the gods, an old schooner rested in the sand at the edge of the harbor. It seemed to the elf that during the Dragon War too many ships had launched at once in a frantic exodus. Many were damaged. Zalmo had done most of the patch work. Malphus was awake enough to continuously reiterate that they must leave as soon as they could.

A few hours had passed in reaching the harbor. A few more since, and their daylight was almost completely gone. Sailing by night wasn't totally undesirable. Getting away from Faydwer's coast unseen had its advantages. Darkfall had come when the remaining three shoved off.

Baelerwyn watched the coast drift by as the others stayed below deck. The Stalker Malphus had confessed about, stuck in his mind. It had to be an agent of the Ring of Scale. It had kept to the shadows and utilized its familiars to find them repeatedly. It had coaxed the surrounding hordes, in one way or another, to do its bidding. Their company had been fighting an invisible enemy without knowing it until the hundreds had finally dwindled to a mere three. It would still be hunting them. Even if the seas didn't stop it, at least Baelerwyn knew he would finally get to meet his foe face to face.

Malphus rested asleep in one of the beds. His war hammer still in his grasp. Zalmo tinkered nearby with the rune stone, or rather, he stared at it. He could activate it, yes, and make it hover. But, was that the extent of it? The concentration required just to do that was enormous. He had done it with the pixies, but they weren't goblins or orcs. There weren't any arrows whizzing by or some monster twice his size charging forward with deafening roars. Why was it so difficult? He slumped, disappointed. He just didn't have what it took to be a real mage. The gnome chided himself for his arrogant and delusional ambitions concerning magic. There were always mages who could master it better than he. Just as there had always been. The mindset the stone demanded simply to wake the thing up was so very difficult to hang on to. It was slippery, elusive, violent, even chaotic at times. He sighed as he held it up. "I suppose you and I just don't understand each other." He pocketed the stone as Malphus's voice arose.

"Zalmo."

The gnome shook with a start. "Oh...yes master dwarf?"

Malphus sat up and put his feet on the floor. "Don't be doubting Mister Tannick so."

Zalmo affected a modest smile. "I'm just not sure how much of a mage I'll ever be."

"Did damn fine when I saw ya."

"Yes well. Those were tricks. Just like you all said. Real magic, that's...different."

The dwarf looked stern. "That's why I use a big hammer. But, not even that would have saved me if not for you figuring out that topaz worked so well with it."

Zalmo shrugged, "Effective, yes."

Malphus pointed at him. "Like I said. Don't be so hard on ya'self, lad. You're the only mage I know still breathing."

Zalmo couldn't hide the gratitude he felt. He'd never met a dwarf quite like Malphus Grimgander. "I don't know if we're going to make it to Antonica, or what things will be like there if we do. After all we've gone through, though, I'm glad to have met you. It's been...something of an honor."

Malphus smirked. "Don't get too fuzzy on me. You're starting to sound like Baelerwyn." The dwarf rested his weight on his hammer and stood half way. He grunted in pain and sat back down. "Maybe not yet."

Zalmo looked compassionately on the dwarf. Malphus returned the look with disdain. "Alright, enough of ya. Get up there with that elf that won't die. Make sure he doesn't sail us to Kunark."

Zalmo Tannick made he was on deck and took in the salty air. Thunder rolled overhead. He saw Baelerwyn at the bow of the ship, starring into the encompassing storm ahead. The wind picked up. Zalmo hollered, "Shouldn't we stay below?"

The wood elf didn't answer. Zalmo approached. "Baelerwyn. Wouldn't it be safer out of the wind and rain?"

"I wouldn't be much of a scout if I did that."

"Well, yes, I suppose. But, can you really see any better in the storm?"

The Feir'Dal turned towards the gnome. His features were like polished sandstone. "He's coming. I can feel it."

The color drained from Zalmo's face. He wanted to protest, but there was nothing but absolute certainty emitting from Baelerwyn Nodyra.

The Stalker watched the ship from Butcher Block's harbor. It waded silently into the ocean's waters. Its cloak rose to float on the surface as clouds of dark magic hissed like steam around it. The phantom sunk a foot lower with each step until there was nothing but empty black shrouds left resting on the subtle waves. A long finned reptilian tail flicked the surface as it propelled into the depths.

To be continued...

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Go to Part 8 - 6 minute read

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