Dragon Sacrifice (The First Realm Book 3) (6 page)

I tend to pack light anyway. Meerwen, of course, had stashed one of her backpacks in my room, so she was good to go.

“You’re not going to get in trouble with your dad?” I asked her. “More important, is he going to think I’m kidnapping you?”

She laughed. “I wrote a note in his feybook. He’ll understand.”

“That I’m kidnapping you? Come back here!”

After a few hours sleep we assembled in the courtyard. Dagonet had a packed a bag as well.

“You’re not coming with us,” I said. “This is a combat mission.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I think we know that I can handle myself.”

“I didn’t hire you to fight for me. I wouldn’t feel good asking you to risk your neck.”

“And yet, you’re bringing your girlfriend into it.”

We looked at Meerwen, who was in full armour. Her helmet was moulded to her head, like something built up over a swim cap and domino mask. It was a lot more substantial though, with enchantments to keep her brains in the right place. In all that black steel and leather, she was more battle-ready than I was.

“It’s not negotiable,” I said.

Dagonet sighed. “I’ll hold the fort, then.”

Everyone else piled into the carriages. Mina motioned me to join the first one and I pulled

Heronimo in with me. I said goodbye to Uncle and Auntie and off we went.

“Did you hire the fastest ship available?” I asked Mina.

“I did. We got lucky. I’m told it’s the fastest ship, period.”

“That sounds familiar,” Heronimo said.

Mina looked at me. “Angrod. Why are we doing this? Why are we throwing ourselves into danger?”

“A hundred innocent people dead,” I said. “And here we are, the most experienced wyvern hunters in Brandish.”

We hadn’t always been. It surprises me too, but thirty years of doing it as a public service added up to a lot of hunting trophies.

“Wonder what happened to Marcus Wyrmsbane,” I said. The professional hunter had disappeared after our first and only adventure together.

“I heard he retired,” Mina said. “He couldn’t charge as much as he used to, and of course he was dead to the halfling community.”

“Trying to backstab a party member will do that,” Heronimo said. “I still can’t believe it.”

“That he tried to collect a reward on my head?” I asked.

“No, that you survived. He was an artist with the knife.”

We fell silent, remembering that first wyvern hunt. It was also the only time we encountered throwbacks. The mother and its offspring had ravaged the countryside before we could put them down. I’d needed to destroy a good part of the wilderness to do that.

“It’s good that we’re doing this to save lives,” Mina said. “I can’t stop thinking about the political implications.”

“It
is
a nice chunk of land,” I said. “And it comes with a title.”

“Jarl of Folkvang,” Heronimo said. “Sounds familiar.”

“This can only help your bid for the throne,” Mina said. “There’s the added prestige, of course. There’s also the extra revenue.”

“An elven chieftain of the Northlands,” I said. “You know, of course, that this can only complicate the political situation there.”

“A monster on the loose,” Mina said. “A hundred people dead.”

“Don’t remind me. Hey, does this mean we’re finally meeting your father?” Mina’s father was chieftain of the Ironore Dwarves.

“Don’t remind me,” she said.

Chapter 6

Corinthe Harbour isn’t as nice as Drystone Harbour, but then we don’t have the same seafaring traditions. Northlander raids were a constant danger for much of our history so we built with an eye to defensibility.

We stopped in front of a dock. It was morning and the sun was lighting up the ocean.

“There it is,” Mina said. She pointed to the ship at the end of the pier. It was a trimaran sloop, a single-masted main hull with an outrigger on either side.

“I’ve seen this before,” Heronimo said.

“Ninety feet at the waterline,” I said. “She’s a sleek little thing.”

“That she is.”

I turned and stared. We all did. We weren’t quite sure what we were seeing. The man was huge. I’ve fought Northlanders (hell, I live with one) so I am not intimidated by large men. This man, though, was easily as massive as two humans. His hands reached to his knees and looked like they habitually crushed skulls. He was a fortress of flesh, a bulwark of muscle and bone.

“Would you be the passengers?” he rumbled, through his beard. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You’d be the captain, I’m guessing,” I said. Who could possible boss around this walking mountain?

He tossed his head back and laughed. “Oh, no! I’m the quartermaster. Hogan Hardberger, at your service.”

“Would you by any chance be a dwarf?” Mina asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “He’s taller than I am—” But then I saw it. No elf or halfling had proportions like he did. Not even humans were halfway as stocky. But dwarves were.

We were looking at a dwarf. A dwarf that was six feet tall.

Hardberger laughed again. “My mama was a dwarf from Ironore. She wanted me to be a miner but I hated the low ceilings.”

I could hear cheering coming from the ship. It sounded like the crew were in the middle of some kind of game. There was a whoop and Hogan looked up.

“If you’ll follow me aboard, I’ll see if I can drag him away,” he said.

We made our way up the gangplank, then over the wing that connected the outrigger to the main hull. Several of the crew hurled a ball across over a net, which stretched over the deck. Several more crewmen caught the ball and hurled it back.

“Yeah!”

“Back up, back up. Here it comes, here it comes.”

“Ugh! Whoo!”

From the way they threw it with both hands, the ball was a hefty one. It flew back and forth anyway, the players more than strong enough.

“That’s good!”

“C’mon, c’mon, slow down.”

“Serve!”

“Ungh, give me that!”

There was a dark elf, a regular-sized dwarf, a pair of half-elves, and a couple of halflings.

“Which one’s the captain?” I asked.

Hardberger sighed. “The one with the pink hair. The dark elf. He loves his hooverball.”

“That’s a medicine ball,” Meerwen said. “Looks to be six pounds.”

“Why do they call it hooverball?” Heronimo asked.

The captain had light pink hair and dark blue skin. An uncommon combination, but magic does that. He didn’t seem to exert himself as much as the others, but his team was winning.

“You guys’re animals!”

“Good serve, good serve.
Woo-hoo!
All right!”

They batted the ball back and away, the leather ball a blur. Hands reached and caught it, arms swung and hurled it.

“Trebuchet! Waauugh!”

“That’s game! We won!”

High-fives all around. They were still whooping when the dwarf spotted me and threw the medicine ball at my face.

Whap.

The elven captain teleported beside me, stuck out a hand, and caught the ball inches from my face.

“This isn’t how we greet guests aboard this ship,” he said.

“Sorry, captain,” The dwarf said. “My hand slipped. You know how it is, no depth perception.” And he tapped his eyepatch.

“See that it doesn’t happen again, bosun,” the captain said. He spun the ball on his finger. “Sorry about that, folks. I normally don’t take any passengers, but these are special circumstances. Here are the rules for guests—”

“You!” Heronimo said. “Serrato Alva!”

The infamous pirate raised an eyebrow. “I’m trying to explain something here. Again, this is your captain speaking. Firstly, thou shalt not hog the deck chairs or the theatre seats. Mind your manners in the dinner queue. Secondly, thou shalt follow the dress code. Basically, wear something. And thirdly, thou shalt not make noise in the hallways or have loud sex in your cabin.

No exercising before daybreak!”

“Is he really Serrato Alva?” I asked.

“We’ve met,” Cruix said.

“… Fourthly, thou shalt control thy children or they shall be tossed overboard. Filthy, thou shalt not ignore rules regarding personal cleanliness, food, or fires. Smoke only on the open deck! Sixthly, thou shalt take the safety drill seriously. Keep the fuck out of the crew’s way.”

Serrato Alva had been cruising the seas since before I was born. He was a thief, a reaver, and a slayer, but he had never committed atrocity. Compared to the humans who sailed the coasts for slaves and plunder, the elven pirate was a respectable scoundrel.

“… Seventhly, thou shalt learn ship speak. This is a ship, not a boat. The Painted Harlot is a
she
, never an
it
. Port is her left side, starboard her right. Fore is her front, aft is her back. Got it? Eighthly, thou shalt take turns buying the wine. Remember to tip your server. Ninethly, thou shalt be punctual for all activities—”

Meerwen stepped forward. “Why shouldn’t I arrest you on the spot?”

“Because I’d fight, and you’d lose. And because mine isn’t just the fastest ship, it’s the only ship.”

Sure enough, Corinthe Harbour was awfully empty. There wasn’t another mast in sight.

“What happened to all the other ships?” I asked.

Serrato grinned. “Finally, thou shalt preserve your sense of childlike wonder,”