DarkFyre Ch. 13

When dawn broke over the horizon, the snow had relented, but it was just as cold. Rael and Silmaria sat, huddled deep in their heavy cloaks and thick, warm clothes, and took some of the travel rations they'd brought with them, and broke their fast. They passed strips of salted elk and beef, thick, tough carrots, and handfuls of toasted nuts that Silmaria actually found very pleasant. They watched as the sky over the distant SkySpear Mountains to the west blossomed with light and pigments. The heavy clouds still overcasting the sky were aglow with lush purple like a deep, colorful bruise, then brightened, bleeding into a stunning orange, then pink. Red emerged, vibrant and deep and powerful, filtering into the rest of the colors, until the whole sky was a great blend of otherworldly shades, dancing together in blots and smears of color in the clouds.

The sunrise was a marvel, unique in all the world, and destined to fade after all too brief a moment of fiery glory, much like the snowflakes in the night.

"Beautiful," Silmaria murmured softly, her breakfast forgotten for a time as her eyes followed the heavens.

"The gods are painting with a mighty fine brush this morning," Captain Jemmings agreed.

Jemmings joined them for the meal, then, and surprised them both with a large loaf of good bread, and a fresh block of cheese, both of which he broke into chunks and shared. They gave him some of their beef and nuts, and the strange trio ate in almost amiable silence.

"So, you're the poor sod they've got the city locked down for, eh?" Jemmings said when they'd finished, and wiped the crumbles of bread from his beard.

Both of them froze. Silmaria looked, wide eyed, from Rael, then to Jemmings, and back to the Nobleman again. Rael said nothing, just stared into the smuggler's eyes, hard, with his hand once again at the hilt of his short sword.

Jemmings met Rael's icy gaze for a moment, then gave a snort and waved his hand dismissively. "Leave off that. What, you think I'm going to betray you? Bit late for that. If I were going to turn you over to the guard, it would've been before we shoved off, not after. And I'm not going to be taking you down myself. I'm no fighter, and even if I were, I hear tell you're not one to be taken down by less than about half an army. No. You're secrets safe with me, no fear."

Silmaria let out the breath she'd been about to choke on, and relaxed.

Rael didn't. His glare was unwavering.

Jemmings didn't seem particularly phased. He tugged at his beard slowly and leaned forward, watching Rael intently with his sly, critical eyes. "Them things they say you did, to your folks and all that. You did it?"

"No."

Jemmings studied the Nobleman, searching his flinty silver stare for something, a lie, a tell, a sign of remorse or hint of satisfaction, something.

At last, apparently satisfied by what he did or did not find, Jemmings nodded and smirked mirthlessly. "Fine enough. I've smuggled blackhearts as much as good folk. But I like good folk better."

"Just get us to the other side of the lake," Rael said through gritted teeth.

"Aye, Cap'n," Captain Jemmings said with a mock salute, and returned to the wheel.

For the rest of the voyage, Rael's mood was black.

***

When the Cutter butted up to shore on the western bank of Lake Glasswater it was mid noon. The clouds had, if anything, clustered even more densely, choking the sky and blocking the sun from all view. Snow had begun to fall once more, but more lazily now, a light little flecking that wouldn't do much to add to the thick, airy powder already packed thickly onto the ground and dusting the tall pines and ferns dotting the shoreline.

Rael had calmed somewhat, but he was still clearly on edge, and his eyes followed Jemmings, always. Silmaria wisely kept silent and out of his way, sensing he was wound tight as a spring and wanting no chance that she would set him off. He'd never been unkind to her, but tension such as his did strange things to a man.

Captain Jemmings looped a line around one of the smaller trees nearby, then hopped ashore. Rael and Silmaria grabbed their packs and followed. Silmaria leapt off the side of the small boat, landed on the shore, and promptly crumpled in a heap to press herself to the ground, snow and all.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Gods, I promise to never take something as beautiful and perfect as solid ground for granted ever again!"

Rael smiled briefly as his companion, but quickly sobered. He rearranged his packs, and made no effort to hide his greatsword now, purposefully strapping the frightening length of killing steel to his back, along with the full quiver of arrows and his longbow. His cloak was pushed back, and the short sword at his hip was in full view.

Many deep, gulping breaths later, Silmaria stood and took in her surroundings. There were clusters of trees at the shoreline, and spread out farther west, but for the most part the Dale opened up before them; sweeping plains covered in thick, shin deep snow, pure and untouched save the occasional tracks of deer or mountain yaks or other wild creatures. Here and there, large stones broke up the bleak, empty spaces of the plains, their rough, rocky faces wearing the white of falling snow like winter coats.

"Well, here we are then," Captain Jemmings said with a toothsome grin. "Safely arrived, and before the day's out, as promised."

Rael regarded the man closely, his sharp silver gaze boring into the jovial smuggler's face. Then, at last, he held out one huge hand. "Thank you. For your service. For getting us safely free."

Jemmings threw his head back in a short bark of laughter, then shook Rael's hand energetically. "I like you, Lord IronWing. You're a mite serious for my taste, but you're a good sort. For a Noble. Now, if you'll humor me, there's one last thing, and then I'll be back on the Glass, and you can be on your way to...wherever it is you're off to."

Rael, still wary, replied, "Go on."

"Our good friend Galin told me you have a peculiar dagger. Show me, if you please? He was very insistent I see it."

Rael stared at the man hard for a moment, then pulled his dagger from his belt.

It was, indeed, a peculiar sort of dagger. It had been his father's, and his father's father before him. The blade was straight and double edged, with a wicked, fine point. It was Leftin steel of the sort forged by the great Empire's finest Dwarven smiths, and enchanted by their Elven weapon masters to make the edge keener than any common steel in the world. The blade had a strange bluish tint to it, and the IronWing family crest had been emblazoned into the fine, curving crossguard, and the Dragon of the house crest sported tiny twin eyes of twinkling sapphire.

Captain Jemmings whistled softly as he held the blade, reverent and careful, running his eyes over it with obvious appreciation. "I'm no man of arms, but this...this is amazing, truly. A blade fit for a king, I've no doubt."

The smuggler looked up at the Knight, and there was almost an apology in his dark eyes. "I'm sorry to do this. I know how important this blade must be to you. But Galin has a plan. A plan that requires your dagger as proof of your recent death."

Rael stared at the man incredulously. "What? What the hells can he be thinking? Why wouldn't he have spoken of this before we left?"

"Because he knew you'd argue with him. He said you'd have argued and fought and balked and talked until he went mad with it and changed his mind just to shut you up."

Silmaria, listening closely to the exchange, covered her mouth with one hand and pointedly glanced over to some very interesting snow pit-pattering its way down a nearby tree's low hanging boughs.

Rael scowled and shook his head. "Damn that old bastard anyway."

"I know you don't want to be parted with it. But if all this weren't pretty grievous serious, I don't think you'd have gone this far out of your way in the first place, yes? So perhaps it's best to give our friend's plan a chance. It may make a difference in your necks being saved. Literally."

Rael took a deep breath and, begrudgingly, nodded. "Very well. Give it here," He growled, and held his hand out for the dagger's return.

Captain Jemmings looked confused, but did as the Nobleman asked.

Rael gripped the dagger and, without a word, ran the devastatingly sharp blade along the palm of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Silmaria gasped as she swiveled around just in time to catch Rael's bold act.

"The dagger alone won't be enough," Rael said, grimacing slightly. He gripped the dagger's hilt with his bloodied hand, smearing it, and then tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt and bound his bleeding palm tight. "It's true that anyone could recognize this as being mine...but if they are as serious about the price on my head as I'm sure they are, they will want something more convincing."

"Mages," Captain Jemmings said, understanding lighting his face.

"Exactly," Rael nodded. "Only a bare handful of the sorcerers and mages in the realm have the power and knowledge of blood magic sufficient to identify this as my blood, but the people after my head seem to be desperate for it, so I wouldn't doubt if they hunt one down to do it. This isn't definitive proof; nothing short of my head would be beyond question. But it may just be enough."

He handed the blade back to Jemmings, who took it gingerly, trying not to touch the blood, or cut himself, in the process.

"You're a crafty man, Lord IronWing. Well then, I do believe our business is concluded. I wish you safe, quiet, hidden travels. May our little sham be accepted and bring you reprieve from whoever hunts you."

"Thank you, Captain Jemmings," Rael nodded. "But it's more than a reprieve I want from them, and it's more than a reprieve I shall have."

"Mm. Well, gods speed, in any case," Jemmings nodded, then turned his mirthful smile onto Silmaria.

"Well, little miss, I thank you kindly for not capsizing my boat, as women onboard are wont to do. Mayhap one day you can learn to swim a bit. You might even enjoy it! I've heard cats like fish very well."

Silmaria poked the man in the chest with one clawed finger, hard enough to nearly draw blood. "You're an ass. Worse, you're an ass that smells like fish, and not in a way that even a cat would enjoy. But thank you for getting us safely just the same. If the boat had gone under and I drowned, I'd haunt you to your dying."

Jemmings laughed heartily, and hopped away and back onto the Cutter. He began to undo the line keeping his small vessel docked, calling, "Why, little miss, if the boat had capsized, I would have downed myself! Don't you know? Most sailors can't swim for shit, and me no better than any!"

Silmaria looked at the sailor turned smuggler turned potential savior with a mix of amusement, perplexity, and annoyance.

They watched the Cutter slide off, gliding over the tranquil surface of Lake GlassWater.

"If they find out he helped us, he could be killed for it, couldn't he?" Silmaria asked.

"Absolutely," Rael nodded. "It's safe to say anyone who helps us, or is even passingly linked to us, could be killed at this point."

"He's taking a lot of risk, for total strangers," she observed as she shouldered her pack.

"He is," Rael agreed. "But I think he's used to risk taking. Galin chose wisely after all; he knew, I suppose, what he was getting tangled up in. And it doesn't seem he much minds."

"Sailors," Silmaria said by way of explanation. "Anyone who would willingly go scooting around on a glorified block of wood over any body of water bigger than a duck pond has a deathwish to begin with."

***

Thank you to all my supportive readers for patiently waiting for this chapter. Work and training and family matters got away from me a bit these past few weeks and slowed my progress a bit. I hope to finish the next chapter much sooner, but if it does take me awhile, know that it is still most certainly coming.

As always, comments, questions and critiques are welcome.