Chapter One: Escape from the TurmerisSea
Waves caressed the old wood, their soft splashes breaking into her consciousness gently, as if from a great distance. Tentatively, Meradonna opened her eyes, searching her memory for any traces of the events that brought her to the dark, damp corner where she now found herself. It was difficult to discern much about her surroundings in the dim light, but she sensed an easy swaying motion that could only mean she was aboard some kind of ship, and that the ship was not docked at a port.
Where was she being taken, and by whom? Why? She searched her memory and drew a complete blank.
Gingerly, she got to her feet and mentally took stock of herself. There didn’t seem to be any injuries aside from a tender spot here and a bruise there, things that may or may not have happened over the last few days without her taking notice. Whoever had brought her to this place had apparently not harmed her, but they also had not provided her with any comforts or even necessities of life, no blanket for warmth and no food or water had been left to ensure her survival.
The pack which she had been carrying upon her back was no longer there, and a quick search of the room confirmed her fears – it was gone. That pack held her life, at least what was left of it since she had abandoned her parents’ farm and walked away from her childhood in search of her path of spirit. The last traces of the life she had led before were now lost, and there wasn’t even anything in the pack that would have held value for anyone but herself! Gathering her inner strength, she swallowed down a sob that threatened to overwhelm her and straightened herself up as best as she could manage. Her best hope was that her pack was still intact somewhere, and that she might lay her hands on it once more, doubtful as that may be.
At least she was still clothed and seemingly unscathed, making it safe to assume that she had not been raped by her captors. That thought did help to improve her state of mind, and before long she began exploring the confines of her prison. The small, cramped quarters were barely big enough to be labeled a room; in the near darkness, she could make out no shapes of furnishings other than a few wooden crates that were stacked up in one corner, and no lantern or torch was mounted on any of the walls. Small slivers of light crept in through several cracks in the ship’s hull, the only suggestion of the daylight beyond.
Quietly, she crept over to the door and pressed her ear against it, listening intently. No one was moving about or speaking nearby, and although distant voices were audible from elsewhere on the ship, she could not make out what was being said. Knowing it was too much to hope for and yet needing to try all the same, she grasped the tarnished brass door handle and gave it a turn.
Locked, just as she expected.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the door and surveyed the room again, considering her options. She could make some noise and attract attention, then make an escape attempt, but where would she go if she did manage to get away? There was no way of knowing how far from land the ship had sailed or even how long they had been at sea in the first place, and while she was an excellent swimmer thanks to a lifetime in the seaside town of Port Shavelt, it might not prove to be enough. And what if her attempt was unsuccessful? She might actually find herself in worse circumstances than now; she could be hurt or punished, even killed. Who knew what these people, if they were people at all, might be capable of?
Perhaps, Meradonna thought, she might call out and see if anyone came to open the door to check on her. Maybe she could talk to them and try to at least find out why she had been kidnapped. Or she could sneak out somehow, giving her an opportunity to assess the ship and its crew from a position of anonymity, which seemed like the best option the more she considered it. The fatal flaw, however, was how to escape from this room to set this plan into motion?
A thin shaft of dusty sunlight slipped through a long crack in the hull and glinted off the buckle of her brown leather boot, reflecting itself onto the wall in a myriad of tiny pinpoints of light that caught her attention. An idea began to take shape in her mind and she reached for it, leaning down to unbuckle the boot so she could slip her hand inside.
Praise the gods, it was still there!
Carefully she drew the thin stiletto from its hiding place in a secret sheath sewn into the lining of her boot. This weapon had been one of her father’s last mementos of his adventuring days, the days from which her bedtime stories had been crafted, and just having it resting in her palm made her feel reassured. He had declared it hers “for luck” and she had wondered at the time just what kind of luck he thought she might be in need of along her way, a memory which caused a smile to lift the corners of her lips.
Her fingers explored the engravings and gemstones on its hilt, the sigils invisible in the dimness of the room but completely visible in her imagination; she recalled the exact contours of the black onyx stone which formed the centre of the stiletto’s handle design. How many times had she played with this special treasure as a girl, while her father regaled her with tales of his paladinhood? She could hear his voice in her head in warning, take care, my young lady, that blade could tell tales the likes of which would shock even the most seasoned of bards!
“Thank you, Father,” she whispered aloud.
Now, how could she make use of it?
She cast another sweeping glance around the small room, and this time her eyes came to rest with curiosity upon the crates stacked on top of each other in the corner. It was highly unlikely that her captors would be careless enough to lock her in a room with crates full of useful escape tools, but even less likely still that she would find any if she did not at least look. Since she had nothing better to do, Meradonna walked around them, looking for a label, a lock, anything that might hint at what their contents would be, but she found nothing outwardly identifying.
I suppose I shall have to pry them open then, she decided, readying the stiletto.
The topmost crate sat slightly below her eye level, and now that her vision had adjusted to the dimness there was just enough light filtering in through the cracks that she could discern that the lid was on, but not fastened down. With great care, she wedged the tip of the stiletto between the body of the crate and its lid, hoping that it wouldn’t snap from the weight of the wood as she pried it up an inch so she could get her thumbs underneath and heave it open.
The lid was not quite as heavy as she’d expected it to be, however, and when she pushed it off to one side of the crate, the gathered momentum caused it to slide right off the back, crashing to the floor with a sudden resounding thud that shattered the relative silence. Startled, Meradonna darted behind the crates and crouched down into the shadows, listening intently.
After a short while, when she could hear beyond the sound of her own rapid breathing, it became apparent that either no one had noticed the noise or no one cared. No footsteps echoed in the hallway beyond the door, and no voices approached.
Cautiously she crept out from her hiding place, and returned to her examination of the highest crate. Placing her toes on the top edge of the bottom crate, which was sticking out just a bit from under the second one, she climbed up to get a better vantage point and peered over the edge. Very little light found its way inside, rendering it impossible for her to make out what might lay within, and she questioned the wisdom of plunging her hand in blindly without a clue as to what she might find. What have I got to lose? Resolutely, she reached over the side, letting her hand hang down into the dark interior of the crate.
Hay – it felt like old hay, dry, thin sticks – possibly horse feed, she surmised, although she had so far not noticed any other signs of horses on board the ship, nor had she recognized any of the telltale smells of stablery. There had to be some other purpose to a crate full of hay.
Perhaps there was something packed in it, she thought hopefully. Leaning farther into the crate, she groped about with her hands, expecting at any moment to encounter something solid, but it appeared to be filled with nothing more than hay. Maybe whatever had been packed in the hay had already been removed, she considered thoughtfully. That made perfect sense, especially since there was clearly room in the crate for something rather large to have been nestled within for shipping.
A quick peek into the remaining two crates revealed the same circumstances: un-fastened lids covering boxes full of hay, no other apparent cargo. Replacing the lids as quietly as she could, Meradonna stacked them back up so it wouldn’t look like she had been snooping, pushing the top two crates over a few inches so that she could sit on the exposed corner of the bottom one, instead of on the floor.
Now what? The room held nothing other than the crates, as far as she could make out.
How long I have been caged in here, she wondered. When would her captors be returning to bring her food? Surely if they had not killed her already, they must be keeping her alive for a reason. What if they had forgotten about her, and she was left alone in this dank little closet to starve, her journey in the world over before it had even begun? What if no one ever came back for her at all?
Despair stole over her like a cloud passing over the sun, blocking all light and warmth. Overwhelmed by the sudden need for freedom, she got to her feet once more and returned to the door to inspect it again.
Below the handle a standard keyhole was positioned. She figured it was possible to get her stiletto into the tumblers, but having never had the experience of learning to pick a lock in her life, she had no comprehension of the mechanisms of the lock or what needed to be done to spring it open. Dejected, she sank down to the floor and accepted the simple fact that she was trapped. Until someone came for her, she would just have to sit and wait to see what fate held in store for her. There wasn’t anything else she could do.
The stiletto abandoned on the floor beside her, Meradonna buried her head in her arms and sighed with resignation. Life was not turning out at all the way she had pictured it. In all the tales of her father’s big adventures he came out of every terrible situation relatively unscathed, walking away from each challenge he faced down ever stronger, ever the crusader. It seemed that wasn’t the way it was to be for her.
Leaning back against the door, she blinked back the humiliating tears which trembled in her clear green eyes, threatening to fall with the slightest provocation. Why had she ever thought she could make it out in the world on her own? Her father had tried to warn her, but as usual her stubborn single-mindedness clouded her vision beyond all rationality, and she had been unwilling to listen to his counsel. Because she was his only daughter, his only child, and it had been foretold to him at her birth that she would be destined to follow in his footsteps, he had relented before long and given her his blessing on her journey, in the form of the stiletto that lay beside her on the bare wood floor.
Some help it has turned out to be so far, she thought bitterly, swallowing her tears. By the Gods, I am not going to cry like some little girl!
Suddenly, she was startled from her thoughts by the unmistakeable sound of boots clomping down a stairway somewhere nearby. Scrambling to her feet, she armed herself with the stiletto once more and scurried back into the corner behind the crates, trying to blend into the shadows as best she could. She could hear one distinct set of footsteps approaching, accompanied by the sound of soft whistling as the treads drew closer to the door. Knowing that this could be her one and only chance, Meradonna threw all the plans she had previously conceived out to sea and readied herself for the imminent attack.
After a moment the whistling stopped, followed by the sound of keys jangling against each other on a ring. A key slid into the lock, turned, and withdrew. Coiled like a viper preparing to launch a fatal bite, Meradonna held her breath and steadied herself as the handle turned.
The heavy wooden door eased its way slowly out into the hallway with a drawn out groan that betrayed its age. A long shaft of lantern light illuminated the room, barely kissing the top edge of the crates with its warm amber glow and sending the corner where she crouched into deep shadow. The silhouette of a large man filled the doorway, casting a menacing elongated shadow onto the floorboards and partway up the far wall.
He took a step into the room.
“I know you’re in here, girl. It won’t do you any good to hide from me,” he declared in an ominously low tone. “Come on out. I promise not to hurt you.”
Slowly, the large pirate approached the stack of crates with the lantern raised at shoulder level. As soon as he came into her line of view, Meradonna silently shifted herself further around the crates, her only instinct to stay away from this man any way she could. With each step, he drew ever nearer to her hiding place, the stench of him invading the room like a swarm of insects. She mirrored each of his steps with one of her own in the opposite direction, cautiously backing away from him to the far side of the crates.
All of a sudden, she found herself out of crates to hide behind and crouching right out in the light which was spilling in through the open door. By this time, the man had made his way behind the crates and was poking around in the corner she had just vacated. Seizing this small window of opportunity, Meradonna quickly and quietly backed through the doorway, keeping her eyes glued to his broad back, hoping against hope that he wouldn't look up and spot her, wouldn’t notice the shadow she cast into the room blocking the light of the hallway beyond.
She eased into the space between the open door and the wall behind it, trying valiantly to still her rapid breathing as she flattened herself against the wall. The man continued his progress deliberately around the crates, and through the crack between the door and the wall she could see light glinting off the sharp steel of the dented dagger he held clenched in his left fist. As she watched with bated breath, he searched the small room twice, finally scratching his head with the side of the dagger and sitting down in confusion on the corner of the bottom crate where she herself had sat moments before.
Meradonna closed her eyes and prayed to the gods in the hope that one might be listening, that he would not close the door when he departed and reveal her out there in the open, glued to the wall behind it. Finally, apparently satisfied that no one was to be found in the room, the man stood up and returned the dagger to the well-worn sheath at his hip, sidling off down the hall. Her heart stopped as he passed her, but whether through godly intervention or sheer dumb luck, he chose to leave the door ajar.
After what seemed like forever but was actually a few moments, she heard his whistling start up again. She stayed exactly where she was, until the distant sound of his footsteps at the top of the stairwell at the opposite end of the hallway had vanished, leaving nothing but his pungent smell lingering behind. Finally, she let her breath out in a tremendous sigh of relief and sagged against the wall, gathering her courage about her. Creeping to the edge of the door, she dared a peek around it to the hall beyond.
Two wall-mounted sconces cast twin circles of amber light onto the worn floorboards, overlapping slightly at the outer edges, and on both sides of the hallway stood two more open doors much like the one she was still partially hidden behind. Lantern light lit the upper half of the stairway, casting the bottom into semi-darkness.
For a few moments, she stood still behind the door, listening intently. Hearing nothing, she began to sneak down the hall as silently as possible considering the groaning, sea-rotted planks beneath her feet. Fighting the urge to make a wild dash for the stairs and hurl herself off the ship toward freedom, she ducked into the first doorway she came to and quickly surveyed the room for anything she might be able to make use of. It resembled the room she had been caged within, except this one was a bit larger with a small round porthole offering an opaque glimpse of the sea outside. No land masses were visible beyond, at least on this side of the ship. A single iron-framed bed with a stained, bare mattress on it rested against the left wall, and several crates were stacked in the far corner. A cursory glance revealed that none of these crates appeared to be nailed shut either.
Finding nothing useful whatsoever, she poked her head around the door frame and scanned the hallway to ensure that she was still its sole occupant. Satisfied, she quickly made her way into the next room. She had barely set foot inside when the sudden sound of several sets of rapid footsteps tumbled down from the top of the stairwell, accompanied by raised voices. Wedging herself quickly behind the door, the stiletto gripped tightly in her hand, she readied herself once again for the possibility of battle. From her position no more than twenty feet from the bottom of the stairs, the gap between the door and its frame allowed her a slim view of part of the bottom step.
“I swear on my mother’s grave, Captain, the girl isn’t in there. I’ve searched every corner of the place a few times over, and there’s no trace of her! It’s like she vanished into thin air.”
Deliberate footsteps descended the stairs, and Meradonna caught her first glimpse of her captor, the captain of the ship. He swept purposefully down the hall, stopping outside the now open door of her former prison. An aura of intense power surrounded the tall, slight man, despite the fact that his face was intentionally hidden within the hood of his darkly hued robes. Pouches and bejeweled hilts flashed in and out of her field of vision as he moved, suspended beneath the deep purple sash at his waist. The engravings on what she could see of his blades' hilt looked somehow familiar, but she couldn’t get a good enough look at them before the folds of his robe concealed them from view.
“Gantius, was the door standing open like this when you came down here?” the Captain demanded, turning ominously toward the burly pirate she had seen before.
Gantius looked uncomfortable, dodging the question. “I told you before, sir. She escaped.”
The Captain’s eyes glinted like cold metal from within the darkness of his hood. “Of course she did, you fool! You let her out.”
“But Captain, when I got down here the door was locked, and when I opened it up she wasn’t in there.” Gantius stammered, desperately attempting to avoid the mage’s piercing gaze.
“I charge you with the task of retrieving her. I do not intend to spend another year of my life searching for her. Do you understand me?” he commanded in a tone that left no room for opposition or argument.
Turning on his heel, he stalked past Meradonna’s hiding place and up the stairs out of sight, leaving the shaking pirate and his mate alone in the corridor. Gantius slid a sideways glance at his fellow crewman, who was turning to mount the stairs behind the Captain. “Where do you think you’re going, Deakin? Get over here and help me!” he said, a surly tone in his voice.
With a shrug of indifference, the other pirate replied, “The Captain said it’s your job, mate,” and carried on up the stairs out of sight.
Knowing that it would not take much time to search that tiny room, or the next one, or even this one for that matter, she panicked. Her mind raced. Adrenaline surged through her. This could be her only chance to get up those stairs and make her escape, and she could be spotted at any moment. Surely the pirate was not so stupid as to miss where she was hidden for long.
She cast a desperate glance around the room, willing there to be something, anything she could use to aid her escape, but it only contained more wooden crates, some heavy, musty-smelling wool blankets piled up against one wall, and a long narrow box which resembled a crude coffin. Nothing useful at all, she declared. Easing out from behind the door, she looked down the hall again. The surly man was tromping around moving crates and muttering to himself inside her room still, hay flying out through the doorway by the armload.
She seized the moment. Silently, she crept out of the room toward the stairs and quickly scaled them at a crouch, cresting the top in an instant with her stiletto ready to strike. No one came into view, and she realized that given the plodding rate at which the pirate was scouring her room, she likely had a bit more time than she had estimated before his pathetic attempt at a search was called off. Still crouching low, she snuck out onto the deck and found herself at the rear of what appeared to be a rather large ship.
Huge coils of heavy rope spilled out of a barrel against the outer railing, and several similar barrels stood alongside. Cautiously she stole over to the edge of the railing and peered over the side. No land was visible beyond the wake of the ship, not even a small island. She stretched up to her full height and filled her lungs with fresh, salty sea air, savoring the sensation of freedom for a moment, and then dropped back into a crouch position to further investigate her escape possibilities. From this vantage point, she could tell there was no point in jumping overboard, in spite of her intense desire to, as there was obviously nowhere to go. In all likelihood she would drown, and she wondered for a moment what would be worse – to be killed by the sea, or killed by her captors.
Shielded from view by the stairwell, which had a second flight leading up from the main level to the upper deck, Meradonna took a quick look around the corner. A seagull cried out loudly, startling her, as it made one wide sweeping circle around the ship before landing on top of one of the barrels. She made her way carefully and quietly along the outer wall of the stairwell, acutely aware that it would take no more than one lone pirate to happen along this area of the vessel, and she would be discovered.
It’s clearly a big vessel, with a correspondingly large crew, she thought to herself as she tried to see to the other end of the boat from where she stood. An idea took hold of her and, heading over to the side railing, she peered hopefully over its edge.
There it was! A dinghy hung from the ship’s hull, suspended by ropes which held it in position ready in case of capsizing, just as there always was on large boats. Wasting no time, Meradonna vaulted over the railing, located the handholds which were affixed to the side of the boat, and climbed down as quickly as she dared. Using the ropes for support and the ship's nameplate as her final foothold, she dropped into the dinghy with a soft thud.
Swiftly, she loosened the ropes, keeping a wary eye on the ship’s deck above her for any activity as she pulled the leaver to release the pulley above her. With a lurch, Meradonna and the small craft dropped straight down into the cool waters of the sea below, accompanied by an audible splash.
Unfortunately, the splash did not escape notice. Immediately, faces began appearing along the upper railing of the Royal Arkonn as Meradonna fumbled blindly under the seats in search of the oars, tossed like a rag doll from one side of the small craft to the other as the dinghy drifted into the wake of the larger vessel.
“There she is!” a voice called out from above, and crewmen began darting back and forth on deck, attempting to turn the Royal Arkonn around.
Dragging the oars up onto the bench one at a time, she pushed them into the round iron holders mounted on either side of the dinghy, and then commenced rowing in the opposite direction with grim determination. Though she was hungry, weak and tired, and blinking fiercely in the bright light of the midday sun, she was filled with resolve. She was not about to let herself be locked up again, not as long as there was any power within her to resist such a fate.
From where she sat, she could clearly discern the figure of the mage Captain standing on the ship’s upper deck, his arms moving high above his head in smooth, deliberate motions. In the blink of an eye, the vast sails of the Royal Arkonn began to billow and flap as the wind suddenly changed direction, dropping out of the canvas, and the ship creaked and groaned as it leaned heavily to the right. Slowly, it turned ominously perpendicular to her position in the sea below.
Arrows pelted the water around her like hail, some landing in the boat, and a few of them grazing her arms as archers fired from their positions along the upper railing. Meradonna ignored all of it, propelling the tiny craft farther and farther away as quickly as she could while the huge ship struggled to change course. She closed her eyes and prayed to the god of the sea for protection, drawing upon every ounce of strength and faith to fuel her escape.
As if in reply, the conjured winds abandoned the Royal Arkonn as suddenly and mysteriously as they had come. Their momentum lost, the heavy sails fell, hanging down in lifeless, useless heaps of fabric. The ship grew still, moved only by the motion of the ocean itself.
By the time the sun had begun its inevitable descent from the golden sky of late afternoon, she could no longer make out the figures of her captors on the silhouette of the distant boat; indeed, it appeared that their efforts to reclaim her had been abandoned for the moment. The vessel slowly turned, its sails recapturing the wind and pushing it away from her until finally it was no longer visible at all. Then, and only then, did Meradonna finally stop rowing.
The muscles in her arms trembled from exertion, the oars now as heavy in her hands as if they were made of solid iron. She gratefully allowed them to drop onto the bench beside her, rubbing the blisters which were already appearing on her hands and inspecting the scrapes on her arms where she’d been nicked by arrows. There didn’t appear to be any sign of poisons or any such thing, and for that she was thankful. What now? she wondered, the rush of terror and escape dwindling as exhaustion claimed her.
The dinghy held no food, no fresh water, and she still did not have her pack. All she had was her father’s stiletto, which lay on the floor of the boat where she had dropped it, sharing a puddle of seawater with several stray arrows. She picked up the weapon, wiped it off on her damp, dirty trousers, and slid it back into the sheath inside her boot, reassured somehow by the presence of it against her calf.
What good would a stiletto be, out here adrift at sea? What good with this small boat be either, for that matter? she thought with resignation.
Resting her back against the bow, she stretched the length of her sore body out and stared up at the sky. There was so much she did not know, so much she needed to find out, and she had no idea where to begin searching.
The Captain of the Royal Arkonn surfaced unbidden in her mind, his voice haunting her as she sank into the welcoming unconsciousness of sleep. Instinctively, she knew that this was just the beginning.
First off, I have taken your
Ok, so
Reading through Jimmys comment, I actually agree with a lot of the things he said.
Except: And why would the pirate be stupid enough to leave the door open and unlocked on his way out? Just because he couldn't find Meradonna doesn't mean she wasn't there--in fact, it's remarkably stupid of him to believe so! Not to say it's totally implausible, but it saps some of the drama from the proceedings. It makes it look like her captors are rank amateurs. It also diminishes her character--she didn't escape the room due to her cleverness or quick thinking, but just because she was able to hide in the dark. It doesn't make her look good.
I totally disagree. I think It made her look smart, not messing up the lock and taking full advantage of the stupidity displayed by Gantius, as any woman truly would. Well done.
Hahaha, I was actually a little worried when they started comming down the stairs, and then when you described the captain I was like, Oh shit, this is a mage.......
And he was!!! I'm so smart.
I am for the first time in years, when it comes to fantasy, actually engaged and wish to read more!!!! So for that I give you some kudos.
It was-really reminisent of my younger days, when dragonlance and forgotten realms was the only tthing my brain was willing to touch. It was almost nostalgic. Hahahaha!!!!!
Anyway, I truly enjoyed this, not in the brown noser way, but actually. I'll be reading more as time allows, I dont want to let this one slip, its interesting. :)
Thank you for the comments, both of you
I just would like to point one thing out - just because a thing happens NOW that may seem implausible, that does not mean it will not be explained later...Meradonna herself has power, but at this stage in the story she does not know that yet, nor does she recognize when she is calling upon it. I don't want to be too obvious with that at this point, but perhaps I need to make it clearer that something else is going on besides "dumb luck".
If the general consensus is that I suck at dialect, then I will consider changing it. What's so wrong with being cliche anyway? Some things just ARE cliche, and a bunch of bumbling, uneducated, greedy pirates hired on to man a vessel by a mage who could care less about hwo a boat operates - well perhaps it IS cliche. "Grating" and "distracting" is another thing, however, and that I would take seriously.
I'd agree with Jimmy that
I also agree with Copper in that this actually kept me engaged all the way through. Well, I didn't get into it so much at first but once she got through mooning over the knife and managed to figure out the crates had been packed with something and were now empty (you might have spent too much time there and made her take too long to figure it out--it detracted from her supposed intelligence and really slowed down the pace of the story) I started to get into it.
I have to admit, it's the rare book chapter/long short story that can hold my attention all the way through on here, mostly because I hate reading long chunks of small text on a computer screen, so you've already done better than 85% of the projects on here.
I would suggest revamping the characters' dialogue a bit, speeding up the pace of the first few paragraphs, and perhaps a more dedicated rescue attempt to go get her from the mage. He proclaims that he's been searching for her and blah blah blah, but then leaves an obvious idiot to go find her. Also, when she escapes on the boat he could send out another lifeboat to hunt her down--with a few sailors to man the oars they could have easily caught her. That can't be the only lifeboat. All in all, for all the mage said he's been working for years for her capture, he shows a lot of ineptitude and doesn't present himself as a very formidable enemy.
Continue reading...I think
I'm glad you are enjoying so far, I'm giving serious thought to dumping the whole dialect thing.
Edited to remove dialect and