The draconian gave him a skeptical look, then returned his full attention to Fiona. He crawled forward to wipe the sweat off the Knight’s face, then returned to his post behind her. Dhamon dragged his tattered sleeve down his left cheek, trying to wipe away the trickles of sweat, but this garment was soaked and did nothing to help matters. Thirsty again, he thought. I need more fresh water, maybe more rest. I need to stand on the shore and catch the breeze. Dhamon was not about to allow himself any of those luxuries, for of his three companions, the draconian was the only one he believed he could trust, the only one to his knowledge who had not betrayed him.
Fiona squirmed and tried to spit the gag out of her mouth. Ragh poked her with the tip of the sword again.
“Stay still, Knight,” Ragh warned her with a growl. “Unless you want to—” With his free hand he parted the ferns. “Dhamon! Another boat. This one’s turning to shore.”
Dhamon shifted so he could peer through the leaves and watch the New Sea. The sea was black near the shore from dark algae growths that swirled like oil on the surface. Farther out the water was a brilliant blue, mirroring the color of the cloudless sky. The waves were a little choppy from a slight wind. Sunlight flashed on the surface.
A boat was indeed cutting toward them. It was small and with a single square, dirty-white sail, so, Dhamon guessed, it was a fishing boat. As it neared, he could smell the fish and chum. His sharp eyesight picked out nets gathered along the sides, a long gaff hook propped against the rail, and the open barrels of bait near spools of line.
“Got a nibble,” Ragh said in a hushed voice.
“Don’t be so certain yet,” Dhamon returned. “Let’s see how close it comes.”
Dhamon knew that it must look like a trap. The Solamnic Knight sitting on the shore with her hands tied in front of her and a gag in her mouth. It screamed trap, especially given that she was in the Black’s realm where all manner of malicious men and creatures held sway, none of whom would hesitate to use a beautiful victim to lure others into their savage clutches. And now we take our place among those malicious creatures, Dhamon sadly thought. At the moment we are no different than Sable’s minions.
But what choice did he have, he reminded himself. Fiona would not willingly help them gain passage, and she had to be treated as a renegade. Fiona… unblemished Fiona. After he’d regained consciousness, he had asked her why she attacked him and also what unearthly force had healed the acid scars on her face and neck. To the first question she replied, “Seeking justice.” To the second she said simply, “The sword healed me.” Dhamon knew the sword was not capable of restoring her looks, so the mystery persisted.
Repeatedly he had pleaded with her to help them attract the attention of a ship. “Never, never, never,” was her reply.
So she was helping unwillingly. He would not permit Maldred to don his human guise.
“No, let no one be deceived as I was,” he bitterly told his onetime friend. “You are an ogre.”
He or Ragh, with their scales, would scare away any passing ship, so they had settled on this plan, this obvious trap that might catch some chivalrous soul’s attention.
They’d been waiting since dawn and finally had snared this small fishing boat.
Come closer, Dhamon willed it.
Three other ships had drifted near earlier, one a ferry and the other two piled with merchant crates.
All wisely steered clear. Dhamon had considered swimming out and taking one over by force, but he was still too weak for such adventurousness.
This boat was coming closer still. He saw only four men on the deck. The man on the bow looked to be giving the orders. He had some years on him, his hair was a mix of black and gray, and his close-cropped beard showed white streaks, but the sun-weathered skin of his face didn’t sag and his eyes were clear. He watched the Solamnic Knight, his jaw set firm.
“Aye, a man with some age to him, but not an old man. A chivalrous man too, from the look of him,”
Dhamon whispered.
The man certainly carried himself proudly, though Dhamon noticed he paced about the deck with a limp.
“C’mon,” Dhamon urged. “Come and rescue the poor woman. That’s it. Closer.” He glanced at Ragh, hoping the draconian would keep in hiding until the last possible moment. This was a perfect boat, small enough to sail on their own. “Closer now.”
Fiona wriggled against her bonds, and Ragh prodded her again. “Don’t move,” the draconian whispered. “Don’t move or I’ll cut you like you did Dhamon.”
Long moments passed, the boat was close enough now for Dhamon to hear the captain without expending much effort. The captain directed his men to be wary, urging one to scan the trees and shallows, another to listen closely for any suspicious sounds.
“It’s a trap, Eben,” one of the men warned.
“Obviously,” Dhamon muttered under his breath.
The captain nodded. “Probably,” he said, drawing a long knife from his belt. “I doubt that whatever beasties tied her up and set her there just walked away. They’re hiding.”
“We should walk away, Eben. It’s a trap.”
The captain firmly shook his head. “I’ll not let whatever foul creatures set that trap keep the girl.
We’ll get her free.”
“We’re fishermen, Eben,” another cut in. “We’re not warriors. We’re not heroes.”
“Heroes? Fishermen? We’re men, aren’t we?” the captain returned. “You can stay on the boat, the three of you cowards. I’ll go in for the girl and take care of it m’self if I have to.”
Chivalrous and foolish, Dhamon thought, and good for us that he is. “C’mon. Closer,” he breathed.
One of the four fishermen was a half-elf, who was paying particular attention to the trees where Dhamon hid. Dhamon sucked in his breath and glanced at Maldred with narrowed eyes. The ogre-mage sighed and looked away. Dhamon still didn’t trust him.
“I don’t see anything, Eben.” This was the half-elf, who continued to stare at the foliage. He snatched up the gaff hook. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”
“Oh something’s there, Keesh. I’m sure of it,” the captain returned flatly. “Probably some lizardmen or bakali. There’s enough of either of them around here. Maybe some slavers working for the Black—using one human as bait to catch more. Doesn’t matter, though, let’s get this wreck closer.
Maybe whatever’s there won’t put up much of a fight. Maybe we can chase them off. Let’s get the girl and be away from this place.”
They dropped sail and lowered anchor about forty feet out, at the edge of the blanket of black algae.
Dhamon watched as the captain released a deep breath and gave a shake of his head, as if scolding himself for what he was about to do. Then he awkwardly heaved himself over the side, knife still in one hand. Two of his fellows elected to follow. But the one who’d objected so strongly to the risky endeavor hesitated a moment before announcing loudly what a big dose of stupidity this was and reluctantly joining them.
The fishermen cautiously sloshed toward Fiona, who was squirming vigorously despite Ragh’s prodding. The half-elf was in the lead, still intensely scanning the ferns and trees. His eyes widened as he spotted a flash of silver—the sun caught the blade held by Ragh.
“There, Eben!” The half-elf pointed with the gaff hook. “Something in the ferns behind the woman.”
At that moment Ragh exploded from his hiding spot, dashing by Fiona and purposefully knocking her over as he went, clawed feet tearing up the marshy ground. In a heartbeat he was in the water and plunging toward the half-elf, who was wading forward to meet him, twirling the gaff hook.
“There’s no reason to kill them!” This was shouted by Maldred.