Lasgaleth had seldom been out at sea, and never on such a grand and refined vessel as the Morning Sailor. Though finding sleep on a rocking hammock in the hold with all the creaking, scraping and screeching was nigh impossible at first, the rest of the day was pleasant enough. Late in the morning of the seventeenth of Ora-Sín, he and Dwolic arose and groggily dressed themselves. The fresh salty air was mixed with a terrible musty stench from sweat and something that must have been rotting inside the walls or under a table. There was very little light, for no one had bothered to open the flaps of the portholes. The hold below deck was nearly empty but for them; the only other occupant was an off-duty ship hand reclining against the wall and slumbering with his arms folded and his large hat covering half his face. This one must have worked the night shift and was no doubt exhausted from his duties.
He and the rest of the leader’s company found life at sea to be of a scrupulous kind, in which one was always in the company of his betters; there was a hierarchy and an obligation to one’s station, and a routine to follow with utmost vigilance. They observed the hard, monotonous exertion that filled the gaps between rest and boredom for the crew, and were impressed that no complaints were raised about any ill-treatment on Captain Enavon’s part. The captain had lived by the sea his entire life and was never properly educated but in ships, seafaring, and warfare. He was a just, well-merited captain and one of the few who allowed both dwarves and men to enlist as crewmembers. Each of the shipmates was filled with pride to be serving under him, and they put every effort into their work because of it. They were a fine bunch, and much to their benefit, since there’s little room to hide from each other if two mates were at odds. Fights rarely broke out, and none which were not quickly impeded by the generous captain or made to count for something by him. This was the case the second night when one of the men had accused an older elf of thieving his sheet during sleep hours, which of course the elf refuted with gentle words and pointed out the number of blankets he had already to keep him warm. But the affronted human acted physically and caused a ruckus among those present. The captain showed up promptly and determined that they settle it with a duel, and of course the elf bested the man with little effort.
One of the men came down to the hold and dug in a barrel among the stores for an apple; it took him only a moment and he was back up the ladder to the main deck. He had taken one quick look at Lasgaleth and Dwolic and nodded to them, but there was no joy in his face. He and his counterpart, though normally in high spirits, were now in utmost despair. Since they had heard the word about their country and the defeat of their kind, they had not been their normal selves. Not only had they lost family in Gemdals, but their entire race was now endangered. In hearing that there were survivors of the invasion, they were wholly committed to the leader’s mission to free the hostages.
The elf and dwarf followed the man up and out a square open hatch to the main deck. Now topside, for so they learned to call the upper decks, they breathed the fresh sea air and stretched.
It was the time of day when in the ampleness of breeze all the main sails were out, two to each mast, as well as the foretopmast sail attached to the bowsprit at the front of the vessel, and the ship labored of herself at full speed. There was such smoothness to their progress that the masts did not even groan from constant rocking, as was usually the case; the waters were serene, like a large blue canvas on which they brushed a linear course by their long wake. So the ship hands filled their time by cleaning the decks. Against the port rail was the elven boatswain on break, his arm around one of the metal cleats atop the rail. He tipped his feathered cap to Lasgaleth and Dwolic, revealing a colored brow sodden with sweat.
Yet another elf leaned with both of his elbows upon one of the capstan around which a heavy rope was coiled. “Welcome upon deck,” he stated leisurely. He seemed to be chewing on something, but they could not tell what. They nodded to him and moved on.
“Lasgaleth, being out to sea is like one long dream I can’t wake up from.” There was truth in the dwarf’s saying so. Their time aboard so far felt like nothing more than a reverie, their minds sure about nothing but the next sunrise. They had traveled without any sign of the black ship, and were beginning to wonder if they were even following the right course.
Up on the bridge, wearing a look as stern as his stance, Captain Enavon handled the helm. Perhaps they could fish a few answers from him. Dwolic climbed the stairs to the bridge first while Lasgaleth bent over the rail and for a moment watched the water graze the sides of the ship.
“Fine day, is it not, dwarf?” came the voice of the captain, whose head did not turn. His hands grasped the sturdy wooden knobs of the ship’s wheel, and his face was only slightly higher than the top of it (which was one reason, of course, why they did not allow the other dwarf to steer).
“How did you know it was me?”
“Only one other person aboard has such a heavy step, and that’s Tronal. Since he’s spying the waters from the crow’s nest, it was quite clear to me who had just come up those steps.” Lasgaleth looked up and saw the tubby arms of Tronal holding a scope up to his eyes. “For a dwarf, he does well with heights.”
Dwolic grimaced at the bigoted remark, but Enavon consoled him with a grin.
The elf and dwarf stepped to the captain’s side and looked out across the far-reaching sea.
“This vessel was once called the Aröl Dératur,” said Enavon. “She sailed for years under the feared name of the Sea Dragon, an unmatched warrior in these waters. But one fateful morning, we were attacked by a giant sea creature over the eastbound currents. The ship took much damage, and we barely managed to row her ashore to be repaired. After two weeks of renovations, we set sail toward the rising sun. It was then that she came by the name of the Morning Sailor.”
“Proper,” the dwarf said.
“We never saw that creature again. I suspect it’s found peace in devouring smaller fish in the deeper realms of the sea. But I’ve seen other strange things in these waters, frightening and vicious monsters of all kinds. Some would tear apart a ship in minutes.”
Lasgaleth noticed Dwolic tighten the grip on his axe.
“But it’s not sea creatures you should be afraid of, mind you. Nothing tears a ship harder than the storms that pass through. They say it’s not the whales, but the gales; and it’s not the squids, but the squalls.”
“And do these storms come often?”
“Not regularly, though sometimes they creep up on you unawares. Bah, I’m not tryin’ to frighten you, dwarf. Just speakin’ from a stream of conscience.”
“Captain,” said Lasgaleth, “have there been any sighting of the black ship?”
“Nay, I’m afraid. I was told by the leader to head straight west, so that’s what I’m doin’.”
Frustration coursed through the Barasen’s veins, but he suppressed it. Instead he thanked Enavon for agreeing to their endeavor, and asked discreetly whether there may have been another reason he agreed so quickly. For a few moments the captain kept silent, staring austerely at the waters. At last he said, “Back when this was the Aröl Dératur, there were some among the crew who did not share the same attitude as the rest. They considered all of our dealings at sea to be ultimately for our gain, whereas I saw ourselves as servants of the free world. They thought us no different from the other pirates of the North who roam the waters. I felt it my duty to explain otherwise, and I might have dealt a little harshly with them. They considered my manner an injustice to their liberty and constitution.” Enavon shook his head. “Wretched souls. So the crew eventually split between the faithful and schemers. At last, when they were at the end of their wits, the cowards arranged a mutiny and accused the rest of us of treachery and oppression against their so-called ‘liberty.’ They chose to live a life of submission to the values of self. I tell ya’, friends, what they deemed as freedom was really a life of slavery. They caused me more grief than I would care to tell.”
“Do you suppose any of the crew thinks that way now?” asked the intrigued dwarf.
“I surely hope not. Although, we all have that conflict inside us, don’t we – that tendency toward self-interest? My want for vengeance has since increased. I would have the Northern way of life destroyed altogether so that I am not myself tempted by it.”
So far Lasgaleth had developed quite a respect for the captain. His experience and ways of thinking lent much-needed encouragement.
“Now, is it just me,” said Dwolic as he shaded his eyes with his hand, “or does it seem like the farther we sail from shore, the brighter the air and skies become?”
Enavon stared on with eyes slightly squinting. “Aye,” he answered, “that’s been known to happen.”
Just then, they heard a bellow of excitement from above.
Tronal bent over the rail of the crow’s nest. “Ay, Captain! Northwest on the horizon!”
The captain called for another shipmate to take the wheel. He then pulled out a small telescope and peered through it in the direction that Tronal indicated. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “There’s your ship, that!” He handed the scope to Dwolic, who took it eagerly and jabbed the knob of his eye against it. The dwarf lowered the scope and squinted, unsure of what he had just seen, and then brought it up again.
From a small cabin under the forecastle deck, Leader Delenas emerged and passed the workers to join them by the helm, and found them all fixing their eyes on a speck on the horizon.
Enavon gave Delenas the telescope. “They must have stalled for a while, or taken a long detour. Black sails o’er yonder, my lord!”
With his eye to it, Delenas affirmed, “To be sure. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise!”
“My lord, be wary,” warned the captain. “That ship is what the Northerners call a ‘Lenchor’. It’s a deadly batch of wood, I tell you.”
Lasgaleth was next to peer through the scope, and he distinguished immediately the ominous profile of the hefty war vessel with black sails, a broad stern, and a flag atop the rail exposing the Possessor’s mark in red.
“At least we’ll be able to reach them before they turn ashore,” said Lasgaleth.
“So it seems,” Delenas bluntly replied, who was less certain than his Barasen friend. “Lenchors are incredibly quick, but … there’s hope. We’ll need a plan.”
The wind brought the Morning Sailor ever closer to the black Lenchor, and all day she sailed on swiftly over the still waters. The day was past when the sun set, but the skies grew no less dark. When Lasgaleth asked the captain about it, Enavon reminded him that they were coming upon the wonderful Island of Light. “You can see it even now,” he said, pointing westward past the Lenchor, to a glimmer of light brighter than the moon had ever reflected. There were few in the world who did not know of that renowned isle, especially since it was the only island in the Royal Sea. Yet nobody knew the reason why it shown like a diamond in torchlight.
When first Lasgaleth’s eyes detected the far off isle, a most distasteful feeling came upon him, as if a heavy stone pulled his heart down by a rope. The mystery of such a place tugged at his past and invoked certain memories he would have wished to forget. If he were given the choice, he would stay far away from it.
All hands stopped their laboring to have a look ahead. As the island neared, it became so bright and beautiful that the black ship ahead of them began to fade away within the consuming light. Before long, they were forced to turn away their eyes.
“How is this possible?” one of Elveran’s warriors asked.
“The legend is,” said Captain Enavon, “that a star once dropped from its resting place above and landed in the sea, and the world was not dark enough to subdue its light. Now, we must be prepared if the villains should go ashore. I expect if we plan this right, we’ll be able to engage them on land. There is a chance they may not know we’re trailing them, so we have the advantage.”
He lent the wheel to another and pulled the leader and Lasgaleth aside. “Listen, my lord, once we’ve reached the island, you’ll need as many fighters as possible to overcome the Slyvelians. I’ll be sure to join you and bring as many hands as are willing to fight. And we mustn’t leave any alive, or they’ll come after us again.”
“Suppose these Slyvelians came from Gemdals. If those in Gemdals now were to find out that their ship never returned, they may send a larger force.”
“Aye, that’s a risk you’ll have to take, my lord. It’d be wise to postpone any judgment of the situation until we return to Elveran.”
With a fresh grimace on his face, the leader thanked the captain and went below to the hold for his things.
As the gap between the Morning Sailor and the island closed, the captain and five others, including Lasgaleth and Dwolic, stood together on the bridge, bracing themselves for anything unexpected. The light was still too intense to see anything further than twenty yards, but their eyes were gradually adjusting. Soon they noticed the current streaming out of a large grotto underneath the island, and they could tell by the water-flow that the cave ran the length of it.
“Might the Lenchor have sailed directly into the cave?” Lasgaleth asked.
“No doubt,” the captain replied. “Take up the oars, mates! Break the sails! We’re headin’ for the cave.”
The lines and lanyards were pulled by strong and able arms, belayed to the bitts, and the sails were lifted to the yards. This slowed the vessel considerably, and in good timing, for the arced entrance was upon them. A few hands had gone below to handle the oars so they could better navigate through the tunnel.
With eyes sharp as an eagle peering into the murky cave, when few others could, Enavon expressed, “And the mouth of the bear opened wide to receive its prey, first the head, then the foot, consumed by light of day.”
As the edge of the grotto passed overhead, darkness swallowed the warship. From the sharpest brightness to a significant dimness the light dealt brutally with their weary eyes. At once, a sheet of mist covered their faces, but it did not last long. The crew lit lamps in order to see further down the channel, but all they saw were the walls of the cave and a long strip of sandy ground on either side. To the quiet sound of steady splashes as the oars steered them on, they moved along at a snail’s pace, and another minute went by with no sign of the Lenchor.
“Do you suppose the Northern vessel’s gone ashore, or passed through to the other side?” Lasgaleth inquired of the captain.
“In all my years, no ship has sailed to the Island of Light without landing aground. I would bet my station they’ve anchored in here.”
“Perhaps that is what they would want us to think, just to trick us.”
Their doubts were laid to rest when the tunnel was joined on the left by another route, and when they passed it, Lasgaleth saw that it was rounded off with no further outlet, and the line of sand at the edge had grown twice its width.
In a fierce undertone Enavon urged his sailors, “Douse the lights! Stop the rowing!”
When Lasgaleth looked again down the leftward passage, he perceived against the far side the large outline of their vessel of chase. While Delenas’ company froze at the sight of it, the crew labored in their most scrupulous endeavor of silence to put out the lamps and quiet their course. When the light went out, and the oars stopped splashing, they glided on in almost complete darkness while the cavern to the left passed by. Then, when they had fully slipped away, they ventured to find the nearest beach to run aground. Coming then to an adequate line of flat sand at the cave’s edge, they threw anchor.
At the port rail Lasgaleth waited with the leader and Dwolic, until the gangway was lowered and set to the ground. Delenas was the first to descend, and when the soft mix of sand and dirt was beneath his feet, he bent down, grabbed some, and sifted it through his fingers.
“We must hurry!” the leader called to the others.
Lasgaleth was next to disembark, and he was followed by the captain, Dwolic and Tronal the dwarves, twelve elves including the four warriors of The City, and the two humans who were clad in chain mail and armed with large swords at their sides.
Lasgaleth had his back to the ship when a sequence of soft and hurried steps sounded on the boat deck. When he turned to look, he was much surprised when a she-elf appeared and swung her arms over the ship’s rail. She wore a pretty blue traveler’s gown, and her pants were cut just below the knees. On her neck was a golden necklace and behind her hung a small, white scarf. Her natural beauty and graceful posture brought his heart to a stand. Why had he, or Delenas, or Dwolic never seen her before on the ship?
“Captain, let me go with you,” she pleaded. Even her voice was sweet.
The captain too seemed shocked to see the she-elf standing there. “Lady, you should be in bed!” he called up to her. “And we don’t want a female involved in this.”
“I feel much better. I’m coming down.”
As the she-elf descended the gangway, the captain leaned over to Delenas, Lasgaleth, and Dwolic. “The lady Nelethoneth has been in the sickbay these last few days.”
Lasgaleth had once gone into the room through the door on the starboard side of the hold beneath the bridge and quarterdeck and taken a quick glance at the four sick passengers. He had not expected any of them to be female.
The lady approached the captain in a self-assured manner. “How many times have I told you that I am just as capable to go wherever the others do?”
“I do not like it, but there’s no arguing with you, Nela. If you believe you are healthy enough, you may come along. Please, meet the leader of Elveran and his companions.”
Nelethoneth presented her leader with a gentle curtsey, and took hold of the hands of Lasgaleth and Dwolic. Her eyes stayed a moment longer on Lasgaleth. They possessed a kind of self-confidence that became her well, marking her as a true she-elf.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said the Barasen, and Nelethoneth smiled in return.
The captain called for one of the crewmates on board. “Saralar, you and the others stay with the ship, and if ever you see the Lenchor, blow the ship’s horn. We’ll come as soon as we can.” Saralar nodded and immediately took to passing the news to the rest on board.
Without further delay, the party hurried away toward the access of the tunnel.