Yerdan paced back and forth. After the captain passed out, they returned to their home base: a bay sheltered by cliffs and forests. The base lay within a system of caves that was normally only accessible by water, were it not for the wooden bridges that led to the bay. The sloshing of waves against the cliffs and the tang of salt in the air recalled life at sea and without them, Yerdan could not sleep.
“He asked who burned the galleon,” Yerdan yelled, his voice echoing through the stone chamber that the two of them called home. A bed and wardrobe were the only furniture they had, except for a cabinet of booze. They spent most of their time at sea anyway. In the corner of the chamber stood a large chest that held their share of the spoils. Yerdan’s eyes lingered on it. It should have overflowed after today. “He wants to–”
“Will you keep your voice down?” hissed Ornea. “He doesn’t have to know.”
“You expect me to lie to him? It’s the captain.”
“He’s not going to make it. There’s no magic in this world that can save him. He’s too far gone. The only thing that telling him will accomplish is getting me killed. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Of course not, but–”
“We tell him that the Mahearean mage did it. It’s a reasonable conclusion. He set fire to our ships. He could’ve scuttled his own.”
“I…” Yerdan did not know what to think. No one would question the lie, as no one saw what happened except him and Ornea. But it was still a lie, and he owed his captain. “I don’t know, Ornea.”
“Think about it. He lost his entire fleet, and he’ll die soon. He has nothing left. Getting me killed will get him nothing, and I’ll be dead. Gone. For saving your life, Yerdan. I did it to save you. Or do you not remember closing your eyes? You gave up, but I saved you.”
That was true. She did it to save him. Maybe Captain Drebbin would understand if he explained what happened. Maybe he would see the folly of revenge. Maybe…
No, he would not. He would kill her. Perhaps torture her first. He might even blame Yerdan as well, and then they would both be dead. And the gold would still be gone. His men would still be dead. His ships would still be lost.
Was that true, or was he simply trying to convince himself? “I need to think about this.”
“I understand. Please. Just don’t do anything rash. Yea?”
“Captain Drebbin?” Yerdan entered the captain’s quarters. The captain lay upon his bed, his sheets red from his wounds. Ulf sat at his side in a cushioned armchair, his wounded shoulder dressed with a bandage.
“Come in, Yerdan,” said Ulf. His eyebrows were low, and wrinkles lined his face.
“The healers are here,” Yerdan said as he stood aside to let the three mages in. They were mercenaries, and they were each promised a small fortune for their arts. One was an alchemist, the other two battlehealers.
The mages circled around the bed and motioned for Ulf and Yerdan to give them some space to work.
“What were you and Ornea talking about?” Ulf asked.
“When?”
“The other day, in your room after we returned to base. You took off in a hurry.”
Did he know? Did he hear? “We just needed a moment alone. She wanted to be sure that I was alright.”
The alchemist shook his head. “This is beyond my abilities. Even the strongest, rarest concoctions could do no more than ease the pain.” He paused. “Or end his suffering.”
“No,” wheezed Captain Drebbin. “No death… Live. I live.”
The alchemist shared a worried look with the other two mages. “We can stop the bleeding and give you a bit of time to get your affairs in order. A month, maybe. That is all. But it will be a painful existence. Your body is failing, and there is nothing we can do to mend it.
“Well,” interjected one of the battlehealers, “there is one thing that we may try. The sooner the better. Have you heard about the strange magic that is innate to mermen?”