“Don’t open it now, you dolt!” Bermin yelled.

  The owner of the mine jerked his hand back as if burned. “I wasn’t gonna do it here!” he lied. The barrel-chested man backed away but was stopped by the weather-beaten wall of the single roomed shack he operated his mine from. His eyes flicked toward the shovels and picks lined against the wall to his right, but he looked back at Bermin and his guards again, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

  “The one thing I asked of you was that the obsidian could never be touched by sunlight,” Bermin said with a low voice, poking his finger in the man’s chest. “Did you or anyone else violate this provision of our deal?”

  “N-no, sir!” the man said firmly. “I swear on me mum’s life!”

  “And is your mum still alive?” Bermin asked.

  “Yes, sir. She lives right close by, she does,” the mine owner said.

  “Then you are indeed swearing by your mum’s life,” Bermin said with deadly seriousness. Bermin hooked a thumb over his shoulder, drawing attention to the four menacing undead knights standing behind him. “They will do their worst to you and yours should we find out you’ve lied to us and the obsidian has been contaminated. Then they’ll kill you horribly. Then you’ll find yourself much like they are, only in much less pleasant circumstances. Forever.”

  “On second thought, I’d like to take a bit more time to make sure the crates are nice and tight,” the dusty man said. “Methinks I’ll add a couple of layers of cloth to the boxes, too. Can ye give me ‘til tomorrow to make sure it’s all packed up right?”

  Bermin held the man’s gaze for an uncomfortable moment. “I can allow that. Make sure all the chunks are at least as large as my fist, too, in case you’ve forgotten.” Bermin said, holding his fist under the man’s nose.

  “Aye, sir. Just like ye said,” the mine owner said, holding his arms out in a placating gesture.

  “Tomorrow,” Bermin said as he turned and left the shack. His four undead guards followed obediently.

  Disgusted, the miner grabbed up his favorite pickaxe. “So much fer th’ easy way. Bloody, flamin’ undead. Let that whelp come here withou’ his minions. I’ll pack that ‘fist sized’ obsidian up his bloomin’ arse, don’t ye doubt. Won’t see the light of day then, they won’t.”

  Bermin was still barely within earshot, and realized he should have asked Raynold for guards when he first made his deal with the miner. He doubted the man would have tried to do less than he agreed to do if he knew the consequences from the beginning. The miner was less than discreet with his ramblings as he went through the back door of the shack and strode to his mine, but as long as Bermin got what he wanted, he didn’t care what the man said.

  The shack was outside the protection of the walled town, but it didn’t matter so much here on Kraken’s Rock. The volcanic island was isolated by miles of ocean and therefore not overrun with monsters like the rest of the world was. Occasionally a flight of stroks would hunt here, but the pirates knew how to handle threats like those. Bermin walked down the cart path through the dense, dark forest back to town quickly, thinking about what he would have for lunch. Unnoticed, a silent shadow disengaged from a tree and followed behind at a safe distance.

  -----

  The quartermaster trembled. “Sir, I don’t have much more,” he said in his bravest voice. It only squeaked a little.

  The quartermaster was a small man with a hunched back, and he sat on a high stool behind his shop’s counter. Bermin knew full well that he had to climb a step to sit in it. This tactic sometimes gave the quartermaster an advantage in bargaining, but it failed miserably today with the four undead knights glaring balefully at the shopkeeper. Even his two bruisers shifted nervously from foot to foot behind the counter. The quartermaster gestured to his very lightly stocked shelves.

  “I know you have more,” Bermin said. “You keep only this much out on the shelves to prevent theft and so you can charge more for things you magically find hidden in your storerooms.”

  “Well, perhaps I’ll go and…” the shopkeeper began.

  Bermin cut him off. “Do you know how ogres celebrate their festivals?”

  “Uh…”

  “No? They loot and pillage. They start blood feuds for fun. They spend their happiest times stealing, killing, and slaving. In fact, they spend almost all their time fighting, killing, and eating. What do you think they’re doing when they’re not eating?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Any guesses? Do you want that ship full of ogres to get hungry?” Bermin pointed out the front window where the side of the war galley could be seen no more than a hundred feet away.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “Um. No. No, I don’t. That wouldn’t be good at all,” the quartermaster said, getting the point. “I’ll check with another herdsman right away.”

  “You’d better. The ogres know your shop is where the food comes from,” Bermin said. “They wake up around dusk.”

  “I’ll make it my top priority,” the quartermaster said. He paused. “If I may ask, sir… How long will you be in port?”

  “Another two or three days, then we’ll need provisions to get us to Grim Hold,” Bermin said.

  The quartermaster calculated quickly. “There ain’t enough livestock to last the entire journey. If Captain Bloodbilge doesn’t return from, ah, foraging before then, your vessel won’t make it to the first continental village, either.”

  “I doubt that will be a problem. For me. Ogres like the taste of human flesh,” Bermin said pointedly.

  Bermin turned and walked out of the small shop whistling a jaunty tune, satisfied with the way that discussion had gone. With that bit of business out of the way, he had plenty of time for smoking dreamweed before dinner. He was already contemplating which of the slave girls he was going to purchase for the evening. He wondered which one was the most limber. Bermin had to admit that he was having a good time here. Sure, it was a town full of the most disreputable and dishonest scoundrels and villains on the southern coast, but no one dared to complain about anything he did as long as he paid for it and as long as he had undead knights as a personal bodyguard. In fact, he liked the place so much, if he didn’t have to be leaving on King Karnas’ business, he’d have found a way to get himself installed as the governor or something.

  A vagrant held his tin cup up to Bermin where he sat under the window in front of the quartermaster’s store. “Spare any change, sir?” he asked in a wheezy voice.

  “Piss off, you wretched bum,” Bermin casually said as he walked by.

  The vagrant withdrew his cup and watched Bermin walk around the corner towards the better brothels and smoke halls with his frightful minions. After a few minutes passed, the vagrant got up and walked the other way. When he turned the corner into an alley behind the next shop over, his appearance seemed to shimmer before changing into the form of a young woman with short, brown hair. Mira hurried around a few other buildings, taking a circuitous route to the Kitchen. The others were probably already waiting for her. Mira strode into the establishment past the poor slave girls that worked as waitresses here. She found her three friends sitting at their normal table with goblets of wine in their hands.

  “There you are!” Jamor said happily. He gave Mira a kiss as she took her place next to him. “Where’ve you been all day?” he asked as he pointed to a goblet of wine.

  “Running some errands,” Mira said evasively before taking a sip. “Did you order for me?”

  “Yeah. Tona saw you come in. I’m sure she’s getting our food together now,” Jamor said.

  “Good. I missed lunch,” Mira said.

  “So, we were thinking about our next endeavors,” Tibek said, looking at Jamor significantly.

  “Yes! Our next endeavor, as they say,” Jamor said. “You’ve heard about the evil King of Radcliff, right?”

  “Yeah, everyone in Yeshir was talking about his aggressions on their shipping lanes,” Mira said.

  “Well,” Jamor said, “How would you feel about us doing our part and aggravating Radcliff’s shipping industry a little bit?”

  “You mean attacking his trading vessels? Piracy?” Mira asked, clearly uneasy.

  “Jamor, quit joking like that,” Shawna quickly said.

  “Gotcha!” Jamor said, chuckling at his own bad joke.

  “You know we could never do such a thing,” Shawna said.

  “Of course not. I couldn’t be part of something that hurts innocent people like that,” Mira said.

  Just then, Tona arrived at the table carrying four plates of food on a tray. While everyone’s eyes were on the food, Tibek knocked Mira’s goblet over, spilling the wine to the table and floor.

  “Damn!” Tibek cursed. “So sorry about that!”

  Tona set the tray of food down on the next table over and began wiping up the wine with a hand towel she was carrying.

  “It’s all right. I’ll get another one,” Mira said.

  “This was my clumsiness, Mira,” Tibek said as he stood. “I’ll get you another one right away from the bar.”

  Without waiting for her response, Tibek got up and strode quickly to the bar. He placed the order with the barkeep and when he got the new goblet of wine, he began to hand the man a silver coin, but clumsily dropped it behind the bar.

  “So sorry about that, friend,” Tibek said. “It’s not my night.”

  The barkeep made a dismissive gesture and bent down to get the silver. As he did so, Tibek deftly plucked a small pouch out of his shirt pocket and quickly dumped its contents into the goblet. He picked up the goblet as the barkeep straightened up, then casually dropped the pouch on the floor on his side, unnoticed by the other patrons. Tibek walked back to the table and sat down, handing the goblet to Mira as he did so.

  “Thanks,” Mira said.

  “You’re welcome. And sorry about that,” Tibek said.

  They all began eating, chatting, and having a good time.

  “So, what have you been up to today, sweetheart?” Jamor asked.

  “I ran into some old enemies, but they didn’t see me,” Mira said, taking a deep draft of wine. “I’ve been trying to figure out what they’re up to, and I think I have a good idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. They’re with the ogres and goblins on that galley outside. They’re here to buy obsidian, and then they’re going to Grim Hold. They’re probably going to create a whole army of undead soldiers at the ancient battlefields there.”

  The others paused for a moment to think. Mira let it sink in.

  “Seriously?” Jamor asked.

  “Serious as a heart attack,” Mira said. “We’re leaving in the morning to bring warning.”

  “This sounds a lot like panic talking, Mira,” Tibek said. “Besides, that’s someone else’s problem.”

  “It’s going to be a lot of people’s problem,” Mira said. “No one else knows. I have to do something to stop it.”

  “Of course, you do,” Shawna said. “We’ll do our part to help.”

  “Thanks, Shawna. I’ll need help with the piloting if we’re to make good time,” Mira said. She started to feel a little dizzy. She wished she had some lunch earlier. This was some strong wine.

  “It’s nothing,” Shawna said dismissively.

  They talked about some of the things they did and saw during the day for the rest of the meal. Mira was feeling very drunk by then. She looked around, trying to focus her vision on just one thing at a time.

  “You all right, sweetheart?” Jamor asked. He hovered close by in concern.

  “Um. I dunno,” Mira said sluggishly. “I think I’d like to sleep now.”

  Mira passed out right there at the table, her head hitting the table with a “thunk”, looking to all the world like she had had too much to drink.

  “Ready to go?” Tibek asked the others.

  “Yeah. How much did you give her?” Shawna asked Tibek.

  “The whole pouch, of course,” Tibek replied.

  “The whole thing? Well, it’s safe to get her back to the ship for now. She’ll be out of it the whole night for sure. Maybe until lunch time tomorrow,” Shawna said.

  “Good,” Tibek said with an evil grin. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to do before we’re on our way.”