Betrayal

Chapter Sixteen Abraim’s Tempest

“Foolish thing to do at night,” the half-elf grumbled. “Gettin’ dark up here, sun settin’ an’ all. Darker down there. We ain’t got a lantern. And we ain’t got a rope. Never mind that we can’t see the treasure. How we gonna get to it?”

“Gotta be a twenty-foot drop to down there,” Varek judged.

The sivak shook its head. “Thirty.”

Rikali tapped her foot. “Pigs, some thieves you are, Dhamon, Mal, comin’ on a treasure hunt an’ not coming prepared. How’m I gonna get down there?” She anxiously paced around the hole. “Not even a torch.”

“I can see well enough,” the sivak pronounced after a moment. “I do not require a lantern.”

“But you can’t fly down there, Ragh,” the half-elf continued. “Neither can we.”

I can see well enough, too, Dhamon thought. He could make out the forms of five ships, none of them wholly intact. There were other shapes farther back, perhaps rocks or more ships. He heard something down there, too, a sound faint and hard to discern over his companions’ talk. Sand falling from the cavern ceiling, pebbles bouncing off the ships, he decided after a moment. A stone shifting—all from the aftereffects of Maldred’s spell.

Rikali stopped pacing and glanced at Maldred. “Can you make some steps with your magic? We could walk right down an’…”

Maldred shook his head. “You know my magic is not that precise, especially with… dirt.”

“How about some light?”

“That I can do,” he said, “though it won’t last long.”

“Right—clothes will help.” Dhamon slipped away toward their meager supplies, pulling spare trousers and shirts from their satchels, a long dress from Riki’s sack. Despite Varek’s and the halfelf’s protests he began ripping the clothes into thick strips and tying them together. He wound a small strip around a dry branch he picked up. “It’s not a proper torch,” he told Maldred, handing it to him. “It won’t last long, but it’ll have to do.”

They had one blanket among them, which Varek had taken from the spawn village for Riki. This, too, Dhamon tore into strips, adding the length to his rope. When he was finished, he looped one end around a rock a few feet away and tested its strength. “Should work,” he said. Maldred was holding the makeshift torch close to his chest, caressing it, mumbling to it. For a brief moment heat pulsed in his chest, then his arm. The cloth around the end of the branch caught fire. Dhamon glanced at the sivak. “You’re the heaviest, so you’re last. But you are coming.” So we can keep an eye on you, he added silently.

“I’m light. I’ll go first,” Varek volunteered.

Maldred made a move to stop him, but Dhamon put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. With a nod to Riki, Varek grabbed the torch and was quick over the side.

“Your magic loosened the earth, Mal,” Dhamon said in a hushed voice. “Nothing wrong with our over-anxious young man being the one to test just how sturdy the ground is below.” He watched as Varek reached the end of the cloth rope, then jumped the remaining ten feet. Varek walked in a tight circle before motioning for the others to follow.

“Can’t see much!” He yelled. “Maybe one of these ships has a lantern!”

The half-elf made a grab for the cloth rope. “Ladies next,” she said.

“No. You’re staying up here,” Dhamon told her, taking the rope out of her hands. “Someone needs to keep an eye out for any Legion of Steel Knights, maybe for the farmer who owns this land.”

The half-elf slammed her foot against the ground. “There’s been nobody come by the whole time we’ve been here—not that you’d know that with all of your gallivantin’, Dhamon. You just don’t want me to see what’s down there, do you? Don’t want me to have a proper share of the treasure. I want what’s due me, Dhamon Grimwulf. You ain’t leavin’ me behind again an’—”

He put a calloused finger to her lips. “I don’t want anything happening to you, Riki. See Varek down there? The rope didn’t reach all the way. He had to jump.” He dropped his finger to her rounded stomach. “You’re not in any shape to be doing this.”

“Don’t want anything happenin’ to me,” she repeated softly. “Then why’d you leave me stranded in Blöten?”

“Riki, I…”

“I didn’t know you cared, Dhamon Grimwulf.” Her tone was skeptical. “Didn’t know you cared about anyone ’cept yourself.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. A moment later he had disappeared into the hole.

“Pigs, but I was in good enough shape to save you and Mal from them thieves,” Rikali fumed.

“Saved your worthless life. I’m pregnant. I ain’t an invalid. I can jump, Dhamon Grimwulf, an’ I can—”

“You’ll get more than your fair share of any treasure we find, Riki,” Maldred said. “If there’s any treasure to be had.” He made sure Dhamon was off the rope before he started down, frowning as he saw the makeshift torch had been tossed on the ground and was burning out. “We won’t cut you out. I promise. Now, keep an eye out.”

She watched Maldred scramble down the rope, her anger building, then watched the sivak climb awkwardly after him, the rope of cloth strips straining and threatening to tear.

“I don’t want to be left behind again,” she said too softly for the men below to hear. “I don’t ever want to be left behind again.”

They were moving away from the opening, as the torch burned itself out. She couldn’t see them any longer, and the light from the setting sun was waning.

“Ever, ever again.” She took a deep breath, waited a few moments, then followed them.

* * * * *

“By my father,” Maldred gasped. He’d fashioned another torch and lit it, the feeble light revealing that the three men and the sivak stood in a cavern so large that they couldn’t see it all.

“It stretches a few hundred yards in that direction,” Ragh informed them. As they moved forward, their light caused shadows to dance across stone and earthen walls and over the ancient wooden hulls.

“Ships,” Varek said, his voice cracking with awe. “I can see a dozen of them, I think. It could take days to search all of them.” He was standing motionless, transfixed by the sight of so many ancient ships. He didn’t hear the half-elf jump to the cavern floor and pad up to his shoulder, didn’t hear her gasp of amazement.

Rikali’s eyes were wide, her mouth gaping. She struggled to absorb it all, her mind filling with possibilities when Maldred dropped this torch and watched it burn out.

“Pigs but I can’t see nothin’ now,” she said. Her hand flailed about until she touched skin. A moment more and her fingers had fluttered down to grasp a hand. “Dhamon?”

He made no move to release her hand. “I told you to stay up top.”

She tugged free and groped until she found Varek.

“Ragh?” Dhamon peered through the darkness.

Maldred was on his hands and knees, feeling about for a dry piece of wood. The sivak was moving away from them, toward the closest ship.

“Ragh!”

Within a heartbeat it had disappeared inside the hull.

“Damn draconian.”

A few moments more and Maldred had a piece of wood burning merrily. “This isn’t going to work, Dhamon,” he said. A flash, and the wood became a long, glowing ember. “Wood’s so dry down here it goes up like kindling. We’ll have to backtrack, go to Wheatland and get some torches, lanterns. Might as well get that wagon while we’re at it, and…”

His words and the last of the light died.

“Pigs but I don’t like all of this dark. It’s creepy. And it’s so cold.”

The half-elf was right, Dhamon realized. He’d been so caught up in the discovery of the ships that he hadn’t paid attention to anything else. The cavern was noticeably colder than the land above. The air was downright chill, raising goosebumps on his exposed skin. His senses acute, he felt the hair on his arms teased by a faint breeze—as if the cavern were breathing. It was an unnerving sensation, made more so because of the darkness. After a moment he realized what was causing it—the warmer air from above seeping in and displacing some of the colder air. In a way, he mused, the cave was breathing.

“Pigs, but I don’t like this,” the half-elf hissed.

“Then you should have stayed above.” This stern response came from Maldred, who a heartbeat later had coaxed a long plank into flames.

The draconian was back, carrying a rusty but merrily burning lantern in one claw. The handles of three unlit lanterns were looped over his other arm.

“A handy beastie you have, Dhamon,” the half-elf said. She was quick to take one of the lanterns from the sivak. “Pigs but this is filthy.”

“There are a few small barrels of oil in the hold of that ship,” Ragh told Dhamon. He handed Dhamon an unlit lantern, then passed the others to Maldred and Varek. “There was not much else of value that I could see.”

Rikali held her lantern high and sucked in her breath. “Look at all of this. I’ll have somethin’ wonderful to tell my baby,” she whispered in awe. “All these ships, so far beneath the earth and so very far away from the sea. This is … well it’s… unbelievable. She glided forward, one hand outstretched. “Such a tale I will tell you, baby, ’ specially if we find treasure on each and every one of these ships. Gems and strings of pearls. You’ll grow up in a very, very fine house.”

“Riki,” Maldred cautioned. “Wait for us. There’s no telling how stable the ground is.”

To the south was a squat-looking ship, one that appeared nearly as wide as it was long. It was a cog with a largely intact main mast. The topmost part had snapped off, and the hold was buried deep in sand and dirt.

“This way,” Dhamon said as he moved toward the cog.

The sivak narrowed its eyes. “I said there was nothing of value on that ship.”

Dhamon didn’t reply for a moment. Instead, he gestured to Maldred. “No harm in all of us looking,” he finally told the sivak. “Besides, I could use some oil in this lantern.” He hurried ahead of all of them. He didn’t want them to see the uncharacteristic wide smile painted on his face and the excitement that had been so long absent from his eyes.

The cracked beams at the stern made the ship easy climbing, and within moments he was standing on a deck that creaked with each step he took. The wood was so old and weak, the planks bowed under him, and Dhamon knew he might crash through to the decks below at any moment. He spotted the hatch to the cargo bay, which was partially covered by a thoroughly yellowed square sail. He crept toward it, moving the rotting fabric and ropes aside so it would be easier going. He noted claw marks on the door and handle, the sivak’s work. The sivak had been here first. A ladder descended into darkness, and Dhamon held his breath and gingerly started down, counting on his luck to keep the rungs from breaking. “If they held for the draconian,” he said to himself, “then they’ll…”

Above him the deck creaked ominously, signaling the arrival of his companions, the heavy tromping coining from the sivak. “In here!” he called to them as he continued down. “Watch your step!”

“The search might take days, Varek?” Maldred laughed as he headed toward the ladder. “Indeed, I hope it takes many days. Weeks!” A grin was splayed across his tanned face, as his dark eyes danced merrily. “And if there’s any treasure to be had here—oh, and there certainly must be treasure—may there be so much of it we never have to steal again, not once in the rest of our hopefully long lives.”

They searched the hold for nearly an hour, finding several more lanterns and the oil the sivak told them about. They filled all the ones they carried, but decided to light only one at a time—to preserve the oil as best they could.

There was nothing else of value on the cog, and Ragh gave Dhamon an I-told-you-so look. There were plenty of bones, and barrels that contained foodstuff so petrified they looked like odd-colored rocks. There must have been two hundred skeletons in the deep-bellied ship, Dhamon guessed by eyeballing the skulls, and all of them in pieces next to ankle chains affixed to beams and columns.

“A slave ship for certain,” Dhamon said with a grim shake of his head. “I didn’t know pirates trafficked in human cargo.”

“At least their slavers died with them,” Ragh said.

Dhamon and the others were quick to explore the ship’s other two decks, finding a dozen more skeletons. There were only a few trinkets worth taking, a gold chain here, a jeweled brooch, a few buttons and belt buckles. Perhaps the cog’s wealth had been the slaves, and the captain didn’t have time to sell them before the Cataclysm struck. Or perhaps someone had already found their way down here, decades ago, and looted everything.

The only sounds were the ones they themselves made, moving crates and chests, clinking metal objects against each other, wood snapping here and there beneath their weight, their muted conversations. When they stopped and stood still, the eeriness of the place settled in. Quiet as a tomb, Dhamon thought. Indeed it was one, one vast tomb. It felt surprisingly dry, though the air had a strong staleness to it. Until they got used to breathing the underground air, they all returned to stand beneath the hole and gulp in the warmer fresh air that slowly spilled in. Maldred selected the next craft to explore, this one a three-masted sohar with a hint of once-sleek lines, despite the broken timbers that were jutting away from it. The ship was nearly ninety feet long, and the sides had been painted green, but only chips of the color remained, giving the hull the appearance of dried fish scales. There was a gaping hole near the bow, where something had struck her.

“Bring the light, Riki,” Maldred called. “I can hardly see anything.” He made sure everyone was following before he slipped inside the rent in the hold.

It took more than a day to thoroughly search the first few ships, and Dhamon guessed the sun was rising again, judging by the light filtering in from the hole above. They had been moderately successful in his search of the sohar and of one caravel, finding a small but heavy chest filled with gold coins—not the steel pieces that had been used as currency in most of Ansalon for at least the past two dozen decades. These were thin and round, with holes in the center. On one side were raised stalks of wheat, on the other was writing none of them could decipher.

“Very old,” Maldred simply pronounced. “Valuable for their age if not for their metal.”

Too, there was a cask filled with rare spices that had somehow weathered the passage of time. The big thief claimed this—he intended to hire a cook who would use it to expertly prepare his meals. Varek and Rikali found a small hammered silver box filled with tiny emeralds, and Dhamon suspected the half-elf had found more and had filled her pockets with other things. Varek gathered quite a few old maps that had been rendered on cloth, certain that a collector would pay good coin for the antiquities.

Ragh dutifully followed them everywhere, lifting things that were pointed to or thrust upon him and gathering all of the recovered goods in a pile. They didn’t intend to take everything up to the surface, just the choicest items, and the most valuable. Maldred said he could seal the entrance and they could always come back for more.

There were delicate ceramic rose vases that had been protected in a thickly padded crate, some of them practically as thin as parchment. The half-elf had pronounced them “sellable.” There were miniature game pieces carved of jade, depicting dragons and knights, a sextant inlaid with pearls, ivory belt buckles, vials of perfume, a few captain’s logs that Maldred favored, a pair of bejeweled tankards, daggers with jade handles, and more.

By now two dozen lanterns illuminated the growing treasure, lit from flasks and small barrels of oil they’d found on another cog. From the looks of it they wouldn’t have to worry about not having enough light to search by. The problem would be how to haul their find. It was midway through the fourth day when Dhamon disappeared into the sohar’s hold on the pretense of looking for a crate. Maldred followed to find his friend curled up in the dark, teeth bared and hand pressed against his thigh.

Maldred said nothing, standing watch until the episode passed. “The map led us to Riki and to this treasure. It will lead us to the healer,” he reassured his friend. Dhamon’s hair was plastered against the sides of his head from sweat, and his fingers fumbled as he tried to count the growing number of smaller scales on his leg. “You said she was expensive, Mal.”

“The emeralds should please her.”

“Maybe.”

The big thief extended a hand to help Dhamon up. “There’s still a good bit of cavern to search and a ship we’ve not explored.”

“Aye, perhaps we’ll find something grand yet.”

When they emerged from the ship they saw Varek and Rikali curled up on a bed of the blankets. The sivak was sleeping soundly nearby. They hadn’t ever seen him sleep much, but they’d been working him hard these past few days.

“Surprised he’s still with us,” Maldred mused. He yawned and looked for an inviting stretch of dirt to lay on.

“He probably has nothing better to do,” Dhamon said. “Get some sleep, Mal. You need it.”

“And you? I don’t think you’ve slept in two days.”

“I’m not tired. See that small cargo ship? The one we haven’t touched?” Dhamon pointed to the back of the cavern. “I’ll rest when I’m done there. There’s a tunnel back there, too. Perhaps it leads to something.” Maybe to something more than we’ve found, Dhamon added to himself. Maldred looked as if he intended to argue with Dhamon, but he thought better of it and settled down on his back. He was sound asleep before Dhamon was halfway to the ship. Dhamon wasn’t tired, despite not sleeping much in the past few days. He actually felt invigorated, though he told himself this was nervous energy over their find. He made his way toward the back of the cavern, then climbed onto the cargo ship’s deck. Letters on the bow were so faded he had to concentrate to read them. ABR__’S T_MP_ST, was all he was able to make out. He quickly headed toward an open hatch and found his way down to the crew’s quarters. The galley was filled with skeletons and a petrified banquet scattered across the table and the floor—made eerie by the soft lantern light that played across the scene. It was as if the men had gathered for one last meal and hadn’t been able to finish before all hell broke loose—and the gods taking revenge on the Kingpriest. Plates and goblets were strewn everywhere, benches were overturned, but there was a great silver platter still in the middle of the table. Some of the skeletons had rings and neck-chains amidst their bones, and Dhamon passed over these, perhaps not wanting to disturb any spirits who clung to the dead. Probably Riki would snap up the trinkets tomorrow anyway. He moved toward a cargo hold only half-full, and this with crated bolts of silk that were too riddled with insect holes to be of any value. At one time, they would have fetched a high price in practically any port town in Ansalon. Now they shredded like cobwebs when he touched them. He spent longer than he intended in the crew quarters, searching through rotted sea chests that contained clothes, jugs, personal mementos, and a few musical instruments. He left all of these behind and found his way to the captain’s cabin.

It was impressively furnished, with a bed of polished mahogany and a tall-backed chair artfully carved and inlaid on the arms with brass. Despite the condition of the rest of the ship—and of the other ships Dhamon had visited—this room looked as though it had been frozen in time. There was a writing desk, bolted to the floor, and a stool tipped over.

There wasn’t a hint of dust anywhere, and the polished wood floor he walked across was strong and didn’t creak.

Dhamon set the lantern on the desk and righted the stool, sitting and shuffling through papers that he had expected to crumble at his touch. They felt crisp, as if new. There was journal in a niche, and he gently tugged this out. Why it interested him he wasn’t certain—he’d paid little enough attention to any other papers and maps he’d come across. Nevertheless, he hefted it, then traced words on the cover that had been rendered in gold leaf.

The Journal of Abraim’s Tempest, Dhamon read. He opened the book to the middle, where a winered ribbon marked the page. Placing his finger to the first line, he began to read, stopping but a second later when he heard the cry of a sea bird. He swivelled to stare out a brass-rimmed porthole—which was open—showing a bright blue sky. There were gulls dancing low across the waves, and their cries sounded musical.

He sputtered and rose, walked over to the porthole, and shook his head when the vision disappeared. The silence of the cavern and the ship closed around him, and he smelled the staleness of the air again.

Had he only imagined the birds and the smell of saltwater?

“I am tired,” he told himself. Still, he returned to the stool and the book, again glancing at the page and finding that the ship seemed to once more move beneath him, as if it was riding waves in a wind-tossed sea. “Impossible,” he said.

The ship’s timbers softly creaked with each swell, and a lamp that hung from the ceiling suddenly lit and swayed with each rise and fall of the bow. Dhamon slammed the book shut, and the room returned to its ancient emptiness.

“Abraim’s Tempest, ” he repeated. The book’s title would match the letters on the bow. Was Abraim the captain of this ship? Was he a sorcerer? Or had he merely acquired a grand magical book? Once again Dhamon returned to the journal, this time starting at the beginning of the pages. Immediately he heard the snap of billowing sails from the deck above.

“The book relives the ship’s journey,” he said in a whisper. “Remarkable.”

He settled on the bed, finding the light from the lantern above more than sufficient to read by and the mattress comfortable.

The sound of the gulls grew louder, the creaking of the timbers and the snap of the sails joining in. There were footsteps on the deck. A bark of orders: “Trim the mainsail! We’re running fast, boys!” and later, “Tack, mates! Head her into the wind to change course.”

Dhamon lost himself in Tempest’s exploits, feeling as if he were part of the crew—boarding merchant ships with bellies so heavy they rode low in the water, hauling the cargo into the pirate’s hold, finding pleasure in the arms of one wench after another, standing on the bow and turning his face to catch the splash of seawater.

Hours passed, and still he kept reading, skipping pages here and there, vowing to go back and read them all later. A magical book such as this should fetch an incredible price.

“A singular book,” he murmured. This is what he would give to the healer, and it should be sufficient to meet her price for curing him.

But first he would read just a bit more, savoring it. “Only one more page,” he told himself, but there was another and another. With the next entry he felt as if he’d been tossed into the Abyss. He found himself staring into the face of Abraim, a tall hook-nosed man harshly weathered by the sea and the sun. Abraim was frantically waving, calling for the men to lower the sails, to tie down the water barrels. The wind had picked up without warning as they made their way down the river to the pirate port.

“So you were a pirate, Abraim,” Dhamon said softly, “and this book is your greatest treasure.”

The men were worried they’d run aground, but Abraim took the wheel and threw his strength into keeping the ship on course. His lips began to move, and Dhamon recognized a spell. The sorcerer-captain was trying to calm the wind about the ship. For several minutes it seemed as if he’d accomplished that, and the crew on deck relaxed.

The wind kicked up with an even greater velocity.

“Reverse course, Captain?”

Abraim shook his head and continued his magic, one hand on the king’s spoke, the other gesturing to the sky. Again the wind calmed, but not for long.

The wind came at the Tempest with gale force now. Too late the captain realized he should have reversed the course and headed out to sea. Dhamon felt the man’s fear rising into his own throat, felt his temples pounding, hands gripping the spokes tighter.

“My magic can’t counter this! Below decks!” the captain barked to his crew. The brutal weather was caused by angry gods, and no man—no matter how much magic he commanded—could stand up to it. When the earthquakes started and the river bucked like a maddened thing, when the squall chased them up the river, the captain gave up. He turned and saw a wall of water rising high above and behind Tempest.

Dhamon heard the thunderous roar of the water and the faint screams of the men washed overboard. He heard wood splintering as the mainmast snapped, heard a great rumbling from the land on either side of the river.

He heard and saw only water above him and earth below where the river parted, felt a great force pushing against his chest, plunging him into eternal darkness. Dhamon gasped and shook his head. There were a few more pages in the book, but they were blank. The story ended with the death of Abraim and Tempest. The cabin had grown dark again, save the lantern that glowed only faintly on the desk, the oil all but consumed. Dhamon rose from the bed and steadied himself, gingerly tucking the book under his arm, and left to rejoin his companions. This book will more than pay the healer, he thought.

He and Mal could leave in the morning to find the healer. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he patted the book. To be free of the damned scale. Rikali and Varek—and the sivak for that matter—could stay and explore the rest of this place for as long as they liked. He climbed down from the Tempest and peered toward the back wall of the cavern, to the narrow tunnel he and Maldred had first noticed two few days ago. He and Maldred could leave in the morning… but they might take a quick look down there first.