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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Twenty-Seven: By His Toe

Returning to Sovik’s hut after a fruitless search, the frustrated Kirsta shoves the door open. Jarae follows along, carting the now filled jug of water in her arms. As the two women enter, Mairlynn retrieves her Leinehn Egg, checking the time. They’d been gone for nearly an hour.

“No luck?” Sovik cheerfully asks.

“Rrrr, stupid son-of-a... Can’t even turn my damn back on that little piece of... I’m going to tear his graying hair out and break his damn arms, that worthless sack of...” Kirsta grumbles to herself.

“Nope!” Jarae grunts as she carefully sets down the heavy water jug. “Has he woken up yet?” She glances to Valan.

“Nope!” The old elf chirps.

“Sovik! Sovik!” A squeaky voice cries out.

“Hm?” He turns his head.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, startling Kirsta. She whirls around, pointing her crossbow pistol at the young girl who barges into the hut.

“Sovik!”

“What is it, child?” He approaches her, looking her over for injuries. “Are you alright?!”

“I’m... Fine...” She gasps for breath, pointing at the women. “Their friend... Sent me...”

“Irzain?!” Kirsta asks.

“Don’t know... His name... Was... A Helngar...”

“That’s Steingar!” Mairlynn sits up, her attention thoroughly peaked.

“Your human friend... Was dragged off... The Helngar asked me... To fetch you...”

“I knew it! After I kill whoever’s got him, I’m going to murder Irzain!” Kirsta snarls.

“Who has our friend?” Jarae asks the girl.

Straightening her back and wicking the sweat away from her brow and pointy nose, the young girl stretches.

“Mmm-just a couple of jerks who come here from time to time. A human and a Lahnyt half-breed. I think the said they’re hunters or something. They don’t look like they can hunt; all they seem to do is talk a lot, and pick on everyone.” She answers.

“Can you take us to Steingar?” Kirsta asks.

“Sure!” She chirps, “He paid me to bring you back, after all!”

“Are you coming?”

Kirsta and Jarae both turn to Mairlynn, who sits within arm’s reach of the unconscious Valan. She looks back at him, then at the two women. The dainty elf shakes her head.

“What?! Why not?!” Kirsta gasps.

“I’m not a warrior.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you kill before! You even tried to fight that brutish human, back at that inn with the dungeon in the basement!” Kirsta retorts.

“And you saw how well that worked out for me. I can kill, sure, but I’m the sneaky type. I can’t let anyone see me coming or know my intentions or I’ll lose. You have fun playing soldier. I’m going to be here when Valan wakes up.” Mairlynn waves a hand dismissively.

“Suit yourself. Let’s go.”

Jarae stares at the sleeping Valan, a pensive look on her face. She seems a thousand miles away.

“Hey... Are you coming? ... Jarae!” Kirsta finally yells, pushing the Jaliscan’s shoulder.

“Huh?! What?!” She turns her head, snapping out of her trance.

“... Let’s go. Lead the way, girl.” Kirsta instructs.

Looking down at her feet, the pre-teen child seems to dwell on something. Eventually, after a moment, she turns her eyes toward Kirsta, who waits expectantly.

“... Well?!”

“How accurate of a guide do you want?” The girl asks, holding out a hand.

“Unbelievable...” Kirsta sighs, digging out a silver coin.

“Didn’t he already pay you?” Jarae raises a brow.

“I’m an entrepreneur.” The girl smiles, snatching the coin.

“Heh... Youth.” Sovik chuckles.

“This way!” The girl chirps, waving the women along.

Crouched behind a stack of old crates, Steingar and the bounty hunters shout back and forth at each other. They trade obscenities and insults, while casually negotiating. The hunters desire a pathway to the docks, while Steingar counter offers to let them live if they leave Irzain behind on their way out. They make these same offers for some time, never changing anything except the wording. Neither party gains any ground, either figuratively or literally; Naemen and Nemlik never venture from the safety of their house, while Steingar never dares reveal himself.

He has no idea what sort of weapons they have, if any, though he knows that he’s outnumbered and wields and inadequate weapon for the task. He’s fought more men at once, and with less, but the key to being a successful warrior is the right combination of courage and wit; a smart warrior doesn’t charge into battle without knowing all that he can about his enemy, or at least without having a clear advantage. Right now, Steingar has neither. Thankfully, the bounty hunters haven’t come charging out of their house. Had they done so, he may very well have had to let them go.

As the time ticks by and their insults are recycled, Steingar can see the young girl leading Kirsta and Jarae. Both women hold their crossbow pistols, ready for a fight. Seeing Steingar behind the crates, the three females duck down and make their way closer to him.

“Finally! It feels like I’ve been waiting all day!” He growls.

“It’s a long run, okay?!” The panting girl exclaims.

“What’s the situation?” Kirsta asks, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Don’t even try coming in here! We’ll kill your friend and then we’ll kill you to!” A voice yells from within the house.

“Two jokers who think they’ve struck it rich. They’re threatening to kill Irzain if I don’t let them go, but they know that we know that they’re full of shit, and I made sure they knew that.”

“Good.” Kirsta sighs. “Escape routes?”

“Yeah! We’ll really do it! ... So don’t try anything foolish! ... Okay?!” Another voice calls out from the home.

“I’ve circled the house, but it only has one door. They want to get to the docks, so I’m assuming they have a boat there.”

“Oh!” The girl suddenly exclaims, a look of realization on her face. “They hired some locals to ferry them around. They’re the only ones who do that sort of work. No one really likes them either; they’re troublemakers.”

“Interesting.” Steingar scratches his chin with his ebony claws.

“... Hello?! Are you still out there, mister?!” A voice calls out to Steingar.

“We’re still here, you little sacks of shit! I’m just resting my voice, and my gang doesn’t feel like yelling!”

“Oh! Okay! ... So, can we go?!”

“Hell no!” Steingar snarls. “Sorry about that.” He casually remarks to the women.

“It’s alright.” The grinning girl replies.

“Which boat is it?” Kirsta asks the child.

“Can you describe it?” Jarae interjects.

“Hmm... My memory is a little fuzzy...”

The girl pantomimes the act of thinking, scratching her chin and turning her eyes toward the sky. Her other hand reaches out to them. Sighing, Kirsta hangs her head, while Jarae finds amusement in the pre-teen’s audacity.

“You need to live in a city.” Steingar smirks, passing the child yet another coin.

“I know.” She says as she pockets her third, silver vasarik. “Come on! I’ll show you the boat they use!”

Leading them away, the Helngar warrior pauses, turning back toward the house for a moment.

“Don’t even think about leaving, or I’ll rip your guts out and decorate your house with them! It’ll be the only thing you worthless swine were ever good at!” Steingar rather cheerfully shouts at the house.

“Go to hell, you son of a whore!” A voice yells back at him.

“Yeah! You aren’t going to trick us into a fight! Not until our backup gets here!” Another exclaims.

Content that they won’t venture outside for a while, Steingar catches up to Kirsta, Jarae and the human girl. Leading them to the docks, they find six boats of varying sizes, including three skiffs, one of which is theirs.

“It’s that one!”

The girl points at a rather intricately decorated skiff. Covered in two-tone, black and red paint, the sides bear the words “R&D Travel Arrangements” in gold lettering.

“It’s time to revoke their business license.” Steingar remarks, cracking his knuckles.

“... What?” A perplexed Jarae raises a brow.

“I don’t know. It seemed like something clever to say... Anyway!”

With the village girl watching them, sitting comfortably in the grass near the docks, Steingar sets fire to the tips of Kirsta’s and Jarae’s crossbow bolts. The women aim their crossbow pistols at the rolled sails, shooting their flaming missiles into the bundled fabric. After reloading their weapons, Steingar reignites their bolts. These projectiles are fired into the main deck, near what appears to be a bucket of paint used to touch up the craft’s surface. The flames soon reach the can, igniting the contents. The fire grows exponentially, consuming the can of paint. It suddenly pops, splashing the flammable chemicals all over the surrounding deck. The group watches with considerable amusement as the boat is soon engulfed.

“No!” A voice yells.

Turning back, Steingar’s eyes grow wide as he stares at the brothers, Rian and Dian. They stand at the crest of a hill, about sixty feet away from them. Seeing the gut-wrenching agony on their faces as their beloved boat burns only brings the Helngar even more joy. Rian falls down to his knees, raising his fists into the air and crying out in horror as he watches his livelihood being consumed by the fire. Dian snarls, drawing a pair of wheellock pistols.

“Cover!” Steingar shouts.

He grabs Kirsta and Jarae by the shoulders as Dian charges, pulling both of them backward and nearly dragging them behind a nearby stack of crates and barrels.

“Rrr! Damn you all to hell!” Dian roars.

He fires his wheellock pistols, sending the rounds flying from the smoothbore barrels. One ball bores through an empty crate, leaving a hole mere inches away from Kirsta’s head. The other whizzes by Jarae’s snout, passing just above it and causing her to fall against her human companion. Reloading their crossbow pistols as quickly as they can, both women move from behind their concealment, but as they take aim, preparing to fire at Dian, they find that not only is he barely forty feet away from them, he’s discarded his pistols and drawn two more.

“Die, you rotten whores!”

He fires again. This time, a round grazes Kirsta’s right bicep. The other misses the women entirely. Both women fall backward in terror, shooting their bolts harmlessly into the air as they land atop the wooden boards with a hard thud. Steingar readies for a fight, but an arrow zooms past his snout and sticks into the boards of the dock, just beside his tapering, prehensile tail. Peeking around his concealment, he can see Rian has taken his bow from his back and now fires high-quality hunting arrows at him.

The Helngar is forced to crumple into a ball, hiding behind the containers. Kirsta and Jarae cower beside him, struggling to hide as the arrows fly by with regularity. Kirsta tries to draw her sword, knowing that at any moment the enraged Dian will be right around the corner.

“You’re going to pay for that!”

Bang! Another shot rings out. Did Dian have even more firearms?!

“By the Seraphs! No!”

A loud thumping sound perplexes the crew, who remain hidden behind the crates and barrels. Bang!

“Argh! Damnit!” Rian cries out.

“Yeah, you’d better run!” A familiar voice yells.

Once again peeking out from behind the crates and barrels, the crew are stunned to see Mairlynn watching Rian fleeing, unarmed and clutching firmly to a leg. He hobbles as he moves, bleeding from an obvious wound. Beside her, Valan holds his custom-built pistols, each with a smoking barrel. He stands shirtless, only wearing the trousers that Jarae had bought for him; Mairlynn clutches to his new shirt, along with a small, clay jar, capped with a matching clay lid. Still covered in visible wounds, his skin appears glazed from Sovik’s healing salve.

“Is that Valan?! What happened to him?!” A shocked Steingar asks his companions.

“It’s hard to say. Ask him and judge for yourself.” Kirsta answers.

Hearing their words, Jarae swiftly emerges from their hiding place. There, she finds another, much more gruesome sight. Lying face down on the docks, only about ten feet away from the trio, Dian bleeds from a hole in his head. A chunk of his skull is missing from his forehead and bloody tissue, medium gray in color, oozes from his gaping wound. His corpse twitches, his hands holding a set of wheellock pistols. She takes a few excited steps toward the gunman, though she pauses when she sees the look of rage on his face.

“V-Valan?!” She calls out to him.

“You’re damn right!” He snarls.

Marching up to them without a hint of fear, Valan acts as if he was their father, catching his children misbehaving.

“What the hell where you thinking, leaving us back there like that?!” He screams, standing before the trio.

“We were just-”

“Shut up!”

Valan slaps Kirsta across the face, interrupting her. As her blonde hair whips with her head, it’s clear from the look on her face that she’s never been struck in such a manner before. Kirsta freezes, her sapphire eyes wide, her hand covering her reddening cheek.

“I’m sick to death of you and your bullshit! So, Irzain got himself captured, and you abandon the other half of your crew?! Are you serious?!”

“Hey, take it easy.” Steingar steps forward.

“Or what?! You’re going to pin me down or throw me against another table?! Don’t you threaten me, and don’t you dare defend that bitch!”

Stepping closer, Steingar reaches out a clawed hand. He grabs Valan’s shoulder rather gently, hoping to calm him down. Instead, Valan pulls away. He steps to the left, only to abruptly bash the grip of one of his pistols into Steingar’s opposite side. It knocks the wind out of him. As he leans forward, gasping for breath, Valan grabs his outstretched arm. With startling strength, he throws the Helngar to the ground. Steingar lands atop the wooden boards of the dock with a hard thud.

“Don’t think I’m playing games with you, Steingar! I’m done with that!”

“Valan, we-”

And that goes for you, too!” He growls, interrupting Jarae as he glares at her and Kirsta. “I don’t give a damn what’s going on. Don’t you ever leave us behind like that again, not unless you plan on sailing away for good, because if you do and I ever find you...”

He points a finger, moving it slowly between the disturbed Jarae and stunned Kirsta. Without finishing his threat, he steps back. Paralyzed from shock, they merely watch for a moment as he returns to Mairlynn’s side. He pats her shoulder gently before continuing past her. The dainty Falmun woman sticks her tongue out at the trio, tauntingly waving her fingertips before racing to rejoin Valan. He looks down at the now horrified young girl who’d fetched Kirsta and Jarae on Steingar’s behalf, asking her a question in a voice quiet enough that even Steingar can’t make out what he’s saying. She points, answering him right away, and without requiring a bribe. He nods and thanks her before walking away.

“Wait! Where’re you going?!” Jarae finally shouts after him.

“To get Irzain back!”

“I knew I was going to like that guy.” Steingar smirks.

“H-he... He hit me...” Kirsta chokes out.

“We’ve all wanted to hit you at one time or another.” Steingar says as he rises to his feet. “At least give him credit for having the balls to do it.”

As the trio race to catch up to Valan and Mairlynn, Steingar only pauses to collect the empty wheellock pistols beside Dian’s still twitching corpse, before stealing his coin purse as well. Jogging a short distance behind Valan and Mairlynn, the crew make their way directly to the bounty hunter’s house. Valan reloads his pistols as he walks, using the supplies on his belt. Suddenly, he grabs Mairlynn and pulls her toward the corner of a nearby house. His hand rests just over her chest, pushing between her modest bust while still clutching firmly to his loaded pistols. He drags the Falmun off, her face visibly flushing at his dominance as they take cover.

Steingar, Kirsta and Jarae follow his lead, hiding behind another house, several doors down and across the well-worn pathway. Taking a little peek, Steingar now sees why Valan and Mairlynn hid. With a bound and gagged Irzain between them, Naemen and Nemlik keep their eyes peeled as they head for the docks, unaware of what’s transpired there. Nearing the corner that the gunman and his elven companion are tucked behind, Valan readies his guns. He pulls Mairlynn along the building, keeping her little body pressed against his. Her reddened face darkens as she appears to gleefully push herself against him.

They move around the other corner before the bounty hunters can see them. Steingar readies for a fight, keeping his only blade handy. With Jarae now holding the four, empty pistols, Kirsta wields both crossbow pistols, freshly loaded and ready to fire. Stepping out from behind the house, Valan takes aim. Bang! With the pull of a trigger, he shoots Nemlik in the back of the head, killing the human without hesitation. Before he can do the same to Naemen, the hybrid Lahnyt reacts. He whirls around and heaves Irzain into him, causing Valan to fire his second shot into the air as they both fall to the ground.

Steingar doesn’t need another hint. Charging out from behind their concealment, the Helngar roars, stealing Naemen’s attention away from Irzain and Valan. Kirsta emerges a split-second later, firing both crossbow pistols at the bounty hunter. However, with his back turned, she only strikes Naemen’s thick, swishing tail.

“Ow! By the Seraphs!” He growls, spinning around and glaring at the warriors.

She tries to reload one of her weapons, only to freeze when the enraged Naemen charges at her. Leaping for her, he’s struck in mid-air by Steingar, who also leaps, but in the opposite direction. They fall to the ground, making Kirsta jump back as they wrestle mere feet away from her. Planting a foot on Steingar’s chest, Naemen pushing him off, before swinging out his legs, heaving his body, and springing to his feet like a trained acrobat. He draws a short sword from a frog on his belt. Pushing themselves up, Valan and Irzain move around the fighters, followed closely by Mairlynn, who’s careful to keep a safe distance.

Steingar holds his exotic blade, preparing himself for a fight. Naemen charges, swinging his sword. Steingar blocks him, whirling around as the pair trade places. Naemen swirls his sword in circles before him, soon waving his swishing blade back and forth, treating it as if it was a shield. He carefully steps from side to side, never missing a step or mishandling his sword. Steingar can see his adversary’s level of training; he’s clearly an experienced swordsman. Moving closer, Naemen swings high. Steingar blocks the blade with his own, swinging his arm and parrying the strike, but Naemen is clever.

He kicks Steingar in the gut at nearly the same time. Steingar stumbles back, holding up his blade and sidestepping as Naemen takes a swing at the Helngar’s neck. Thankfully, the hybrid Lahnyt misses. Soon, Naemen and Steingar are back to where they started. Raising his exotic blade, he points the tip with his arm, aiming for Naemen’s throat. His fingers flex on the crossbar as he prepares for Naemen’s next move. Bang!

“Argh-shit!”

Steingar jumps, feeling the blood spatter across his face as Naemen falls to the ground in a heap. Dropping his sword, he writhes in the grass before them. Standing only feet away, Jarae holds her little pistol, Valan’s gift to her. Smoke plumes from the barrel as she lowers the weapon, looking down at the screaming Naemen, who bleeds from a through-and-through gunshot wound to his upper torso. Checking himself, Steingar is amazed that he wasn’t struck by the projectile as it exited Naemen’s body.

“Thank you! I thought that was going to last forever!” Valan remarks.

“You’re welcome.” Jarae flashes a little smile at him.

“Why’d you do that?! I haven’t had a good fight in months!” Steingar growls.

“Are we done here?” Kirsta asks as she frees Irzain from his bindings.

“You could’ve shot me, you know!” Steingar continues to rage.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here!” Mairlynn chirps.

Jarae squats down beside the writhing and whimpering Naemen, pulling his coin purse from his belt before claiming his fallen sword.

“You’re going to rob him, too?!” Steingar gasps.

“You did the same thing earlier.” She retorts.

“That’s different. He was clearly dead; this guy is not.”

“With a wound like that, he might as well be.” Kirsta murmurs.

“Alright, already. Can we get the hell out of here?” Valan grumbles, resting a hand on Jarae’s shoulder as he walks by her.

The crew begin making their way back to the docks, leaving Naemen to his fate. Irzain, however, is troubled. Not over what they’ve done or what they might yet do, but because Boala is on his mind. He made a promise to her, a promise made all the more significant because of a genuine fondness, however infantile, that he feels for the Helngar woman. Irzain stops in his tracks before they ever come close to the docks.

“Wait!” He exclaims.

“What?!” Kirsta grumbles.

“I need to go back to the inn first.”

“What the hell for?!” She demands.

“I made a promise.”

“By the Seraphs...” Jarae rests her face in her palms.

“We don’t have time for this!” Valan growls.

“Agreed!” Steingar adds.

“Yeah, Irzain, we kind of made a mess here.” Mairlynn adds.

“Please! I just need to do one last thing... Five minutes! That’s all I need!” Irzain pleads.

Seeing the pained look on his face, Kirsta’s demeanor softens. With pursed lips and closed eyes, she hangs her head.

“Alright, fine... Let’s go.”

“I’ll go with you. Make sure no one else tries to collect that bounty.” Steingar adds.

“This is stupid.” Mairlynn remarks in shock.

“Yeah, but if we’re doing this, then let’s all go together, and not leave anyone else behind.” Valan insists.

The crew invade the inn, just as bystanders come to Naemen’s aid. They drag him off to the other village, likely to be treated by Sovik. The crew can sense the hostility and mistrust in the air around them. It’s a feeling they’ve rightly incurred, but with their numbers and weapons, none dare to so much as look at them for too long. Irzain finds Boala at the inn, visiting her in a back room. She’s visibly elated to see him, likely as pleased that he’d kept his promise as she is to have a chance to spend more time with him.

After only a few minutes alone, speaking privately with her, the crew are forced to collect Irzain; they force him to leave before the animosity between themselves and the villagers becomes any worse. It simply isn’t safe for them to remain on Bremen any longer, not after all they’ve done. Regardless of whether the bounty hunters were disliked or not, the crew have proven their perniciousness, as well as Irzain’s value. Returning to the docks, the crew boards their little, unassuming skiff, and hastily cast off. Using the spring powered motor, they drive the boat into the open ocean.

Traveling around the edge of the island, they soon see the Arona-Dahl, waiting patiently for their return. Still anchored in the same place, they swiftly reach the stagnant ship, locking their skiff into the cubby at the aft of the craft. As they hastily make their way up from the lowest level, they pause at a most delectable aroma. Entering the lounge, they find Trellan standing just inside of the galley. Humming a little tune, he cooks a fish dinner on a brass skillet. Twenty more fish, all exceptionally large, hang on a long line that stretches across the room. They’ve already been gutted, their meat cut into strips for air drying.

“Wow, that smells good!” Steingar exclaims.

“Oh! Hello! Back already?!” Trellan asks with surprise.

“Already?! We’ve been gone for nearly four days!” Kirsta replies.

“Huh... Well, I’ll be damned... Time flies, it would seem.” Trellan smirks. “So, any news?”

“Yeah. We have a new place to go.” Kirsta answers.

“Irzain finally remembered something useful?” The old Vizhek chuckles.

“Yes and no.” Mairlynn remarks.

“Actually, this is Mairlynn’s lead.” Jarae interjects.

“Really?!”

“Can I see your maps, Trellan?”

“Absolutely!” He chirps.

Wiping his hands on an old cloth, he heads for the archway and leads the diminutive Falmun from the lounge.

“Oh, and help yourselves to the fish!” Trellan calls out from the hallway.

The crew examine the hanging fish, all of them hesitating to more. Eventually, though, Steingar steps forward. He licks his lips with his long tongue as his glowing, golden eyes scan a sixteen-inch strip of raw meat.

“Now this is a feast!” He exclaims, waving a hand over the string of fish. “Why don’t we celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?” Jarae raises a brow, still holding the empty wheellock pistols.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a very smoot operation.” Kirsta adds as she makes her way into the galley.

“You can say that again...” Valan murmurs, taking a seat at the dining booth.

“I did recall a few more things!” Irzain chirps.

“You’re all being too negative, except for Irzain, who’s always far too positive...” Steingar chuckles.

“Oh...” Irzain hangs his head.

“None of us are dead, and Irzain wasn’t captured! Hell, we’ve done such a good job of lying low that the Crown might not even know where we are! They certainly don’t know where we’re going!” Steingar cheerfully explains.

“Well, you have a point there.” Jarae concedes, eyeing a couple of fish from the line.

“I could eat... A lot.” Irzain remarks.

“That’s the spirit! Grab the knives from the cutting block. This is going to be good!”

Swirling through the air and striking the wall with a loud thunk, the razor-sharp blade sticks into the wood. The startled young Jaliscan woman jumps, nearly dropping what she carries as she stumbles backward.

“Don’t drop them!”

She stares at the towering Helngar who storms up to her. Narrowing his glowing, ice-blue eyes, Einyr ‘Icefang’ silently snarls, baring his teeth as he collects the wine tray from the trembling servant. Thunk! Another knife strikes the wall beside them.

“Haha! Bullseye!”

“Very good throw, my Lord!”

Pulling the knives from the wall, Icefang returns the blades and the wine tray to his King, presenting them to Vashalak. The youthful Vizhek, all of thirty-years-old, is barely an adult by Vizheki standards, and yet he now rules the Erie Isles. He takes the knives into one hand and an empty, golden goblet with the other. He waits expectantly as he holds out the bejeweled cup, while Icefang takes the other goblet; his is made of undecorated silver. The quaking servant girl races to fill their cups, being very careful not to spill even one drop of the expensive wine from the crystalline pitcher.

“I could be a warrior, couldn’t I?” King Vashalak asks.

“Of course you could, my Lord.” Icefang calmly replies before taking a sip of wine.

“... Couldn’t I?!” King Vashalak growls at the servant girl.

“Y-yes, my Lord!” She exclaims with a shaking voice, her head bowed and shimmering eyes staring at the floor.

“That’s what I was thinking, too... But, alas, I must rule!” King Vashalak feigns a disappointed sigh.

“Someone must. Who else could direct this land and her people? Who else could write our law but you, my Lord?” Icefang coolly fawns over the young King.

“This is true, Einyr! I am the only one... Speaking of laws, I was thinking of bringing back an old one! Do you know the one I mean?” King Vashalak chirps, smiling sinisterly.

“Heh... Yes, my Lord. I know the one.” Icefang nods. “You’ve mentioned it before... However, if I were an advisor, I’d recommend waiting until we’ve completed phase two of our plan.”

“But that could take years!” King Vashalak whines.

“Yes, but you have more than a century to make up for it!” Icefang chipperly retorts.

“True...” King Vashalak lets out a disappointed sigh. “Fine! Slavery will remain illegal... For now...”

“My Lord! My Lord!”

A voice frantically cries out from the end of the hall. Furling his brow, King Vashalak narrows his golden eyes at the swiftly approaching human soldier. Icefang wastes no time; dropping the silver chalice, with wine still in it, he draws his Helngarian saber with one hand and his exquisitely decorated wheellock pistol with the other.

“Wait! Please!” The soldier stops, throwing up his hands in surrender.

“How’d you get in here without an escort?!” Icefang demands.

“I-I was let in, because of my story, but I couldn’t wait! I left them behind!” The soldier explains.

“Well, I’m intrigued! Let him speak.” King Vashalak grins, clasping his hands before his lips.

“Rrrr... State your business, and be quick about it!” Icefang snarls.

“I-I have urgent news!”

“... About?”

“I’ve seen him!” The soldier shouts.

“Seen who?! Start making sense, or else!” King Vashalak demands.

“Okay...” The soldier takes steady breaths, calming himself. “I’ve seen Steingar.”

“Who?!” King Vashalak cocks his head.

“The traitor, my Lord. He’s the one who tried to blow up one of our flagships, remember? ... It was in that letter.” Icefang whispers to his King.

“Oh, right! Silly me!” King Vashalak gently slaps his forehead. “... So?! That’s not worthy of an interruption!”

“B-b-but h-he wasn’t alone, my Lord! H-he was with a group, and they had a ship, and! ... And he was with them! That man you want!”

“I have a long list of targets, my little pawn. Please, refresh my memory.” King Vashalak sighs, growing increasingly frustrated.

The soldier looks around the room for a moment, his eyes scanning the decorations on the wall. His eyes suddenly grow wide as he sees the target affixed to the wooden portion.

“Him! That’s the one with Steingar!” The soldier points at the target.

With his eyes bulging out of his head, King Vashalak grabs the soldier by his armor, pulling him close.

“Are you certain?! You’d better be certain...” He growls, his pointy nose touching the human’s.

“I-I’m certain! I saw him with my own eyes! I sailed here right away to tell you, my Lord!”

Pushing the solder back, King Vashalak approaches the target, staring intently at the poster bearing an expertly drawn image of the middle-aged, human scribe. Setting his golden, bejeweled goblet atop a marble end table, he takes one of the knives from his other hand. With a hard throw, King Vashalak roars as he hurls the blade. Spinning through the air, the tip digs deep into Irzain’s sketched forehead.

“I’ve got you now...” King Vashalak murmurs, chuckling sadistically at the thought of capturing him. “Take my little pawn to the map room, Einyr. Have him show you where he saw them. As soon as he does...” The King glances back at them. “Reward him handsomely, and send as many ships as you have at your disposal to that sector. No mistakes this time.”

“Yes, my Lord! Come on, you...” Icefang growls, grabbing the solder by his breastplate and dragging him off.

King Vashalak approaches the poster, stepping over the spilled wine without saying a word. The terrified servant girl hastily cleans the spill from the marble floor of the palace. The young King rests a hand on the poster, slowly stroking the outline of Irzain’s face with his fingertips. His pointy, gold painted and manicured nails crease the paper, which is covered with dozens of holes, made by his knives.

“Soon... Soon, you won’t be able to keep it from me, and then nothing will stand in my way...”