Chapter 6 - Interlude in Dark Waters

The voyage was four days long.

On the second full day on the water, a storm slammed into them, tossing the ship around on the surf like a child’s toy. The sheer amount of vomit spewing across the deck from the crew members astounded Elanor, but eventually the seas calmed and they raised the sails anew to resume their journey.

On the third morning, Elanor and Raven stood on the deck, speaking quietly as they watched the ocean churn.

Not ten feet from them, a scuffle broke out between two crewmen.

Apparently it was over a gambling debt, and the loser was forced to give up a full month’s wages to cover both the debt itself, and—as the captain said, “the embarrassing spectacle.”

During the journey, Elanor had tried asking Raven questions about where they were headed, but he always hushed her.

On the evening of that third day, she found out why. With one more full day left on the water, she got a sudden strange feeling. Like she was in danger.

It all happened so fast that she could barely remember the details, but she had been walking through the hallway belowdecks after chatting with Raven in his cabin.

A primal sense of danger flared in her gut, and she pulled the dagger out of its sheath when the door to a cabin had flown open. A man leapt out silently and thrown a rope over her head. She had just enough time to raise the dagger up and cut the rope before it tightened around her neck.

She spun around, but he punched her in the solar plexus, slamming her back against the narrow wall, unable to make any sound. He jumped on top of her, and she stabbed forward, but he evaded the strike, punching her in the face.

Her nose cracked under the blow, warm blood flooding down her chin and onto her new tunic.

Elanor rolled to her back, raising her legs and, using every ounce of strength she had, pushed her feet up against the man, sending him backward. She scrambled upright and flashed forward using Staccato Step. The movement brought her within range of the man again, and she stabbed down with her dagger. She was aiming for his heart, but he spun to the side and she caught his right shoulder.

He swung a wild fist and caught her in the face again, but Raven had heard the commotion and had come out of his room. He caught the man from behind, and holding him firmly in place, he made eye contact with Elanor as he twisted the man’s neck.

She saw his body go limp, his life snuffed out in an instant.

He ruffled through the man’s clothes quickly.

“Grab his feet,” Raven whispered.

She sheathed her dagger and picked up the man’s legs, following Raven up the stairs to the main deck. They looked around, and the captain ran over.

“What happened to Korrin?”

Raven dropped the top of the man’s body unceremoniously, causing Elanor to fall forward. Raven reached out and caught her, but the captain saw the blood covering her face and chest.

“He attacked me,” she said, still gasping for air from all the exertion.

“What? Why would he do that?” the captain asked, still looking down at the corpse.

Raven looked at the captain.

“May I ask how long he’s been with your crew?”

The captain shrugged.

“He came on board just after you two did. He only had enough coin to cover half the journey, so we gave him duties on the ship to make up the rest. He really attacked you?”

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Elanor had seen Raven sort through the dead man’s clothes before they dragged him up the stairs, and she knew he had taken what looked like quite a heavy coin purse, and a stack of papers in a leather folder.

She mentioned none of this, of course, as Raven said, “He’s been staring at her the entire journey. I told him twice to keep his hands off of my daughter, but apparently he didn’t get the message.”

The captain nodded and Raven continued.

“She was heading back to her room from visiting me and he tried to take her quietly. Here’s the rope he used.”

Raven produced the length of rope.

The captain just looked down at the man and back up to Raven, then at Elanor.

“Lass, I’m sorry you had to go through that. What say we toss this bastard overboard and fetch you a proper ale to help wash away this bad night?”

The shocked look on her face caused both Raven and the captain to laugh a bit, but Elanor agreed quietly.

Raven stood back as she grabbed hold of Korrin’s legs again, while the captain took his shoulders. Swinging him back and forth, he counted to three, and they threw him over the side of the ship.

Elanor leaned over, looking into the dark water, but before his head even broke the surface, a massive set of jaws erupted from below and dragged him silently into the deep.

The captain laughed heartily.

“Yes, the ocean in these parts is no joke. I’m truly sorry. I’ll see to it the Quartermaster refunds the cost of your journey. Both of ye.”

Raven waved his hand.

“No, captain. There is no need for that. We will accept the ale, and if you allow us to search his cabin before they clean up, we’ll consider it settled.”

The captain looked him up and down for a minute and then agreed to the proposed terms.

Raven said he’d be back in twenty minutes and headed to Korrin’s cabin to search for anything that might explain his attack.

Meanwhile, the captain took Elanor to his own quarters, and she had her second alcoholic drink in just a few days.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. On the morning of the fifth day, they sailed slowly into the bustling harbor of Elethrae, capital city of Namarien. The elven kingdom rose from the sea’s edge into sweeping hills and mist-shrouded mountains, its white-stone towers gleaming in the sunlight like polished ivory.

A soft breeze rolled over the water, carrying with it the scent of sweetcakes and other delicacies, so rich and inviting it overpowered even the brine of the sea. Elanor’s stomach growled audibly.

Both Raven and the captain chuckled.

The captain, who had grown fond of them over the past few days, barked an order to one of his crew. The sailor disappeared belowdeck and returned moments later with a tray of fresh bread and honey.

“It’s not much,” the captain said, “but while the lads tie us to dock, what do you say we break bread one last time, eh?”

Raven and Elanor exchanged a look, then nodded.

A crate was pulled over to serve as a makeshift table. The three of them sat down for a final shared meal. Skoggs, their cheerful, broad-shouldered captain, had taken a shine to Elanor after the midnight body-dumping incident. She reminded him, he’d said, of his own daughter, who was just a few years older.

As they ate, tearing chunks of bread and dipping them into honey, Skoggs told them of his route. He would be picking up one last cargo load in Elethrae before sailing home to Brightmoor, a kingdom ruled jointly by men and dwarves.

Elanor noticed they’d finished mooring. The quartermaster was already on the gangplank, speaking with a dock official while unrolling parchment scrolls.

Skoggs reached into his coat and pulled out two bronze coins. One side bore the image of an axe, the other an eagle.

“This is the Mark of Brightmoor,” he said, handing one to each of them. “If you ever find yourselves on our shores, show this. You’ll be treated well. Tell them Skoggs gave it to you,” he winked, “and they’ll treat you even better.”

Raven arched an eyebrow. “Skoggs? But I thought you were dead!”

The captain waved the comment away with a grin. “Stories tend to get embellished as they’re told.”

He turned to Elanor.

“Remember that, lass. It’s a tool of the best bards in the land. When you find a legend worth telling, try to stick to the truth, eh?”

She nodded, finishing the last bite of her bread.

Skoggs leaned closer, his tone gentler now.

“Any bard can spin a web of lies to entertain a crowd. But a true bard?” He tapped her shoulder lightly, just over her heart. “A true bard sings the truth in a way that no one else can. That’s what touches people. That’s where your real power comes from.”

Elanor listened to him speak with wide eyes. And she knew, deep in her marrow, that he was right.

She had always played the songs she’d learned from others: folk tunes, well-known ballads, cheerful jigs that brought smiles to weary faces.

But the one time she wrote one herself, etched from the depths of her shattered soul, the effect had been undeniable. Her pain and fury had silenced a hundred men.

For others, truth in music might be a burden, demanding more skill than the artful spin of lies.

For Elanor Veralyn, the Songweaver and Discordant Virtuoso, it was her birthright.

It was her destiny.

She tucked the bronze coin into her pouch and sealed Skoggs’ lesson deep in her soul.

From this day on, she resolved:

She would always tell the truth in her songs.