The Sorcerer's Legacy (17 page)

Azerick swung off Horse to meet them and was immediately wrapped in a fierce hug by his former captain and shipmate.

“Where have you been, lad? Did you fight that dragon? What happened?” Zeb and Balor asked excitedly.

“It’s a long story. Let’s talk over a drink,” Azerick suggested.

“Toron,” Zeb said, “tell the men to finish unloading F
reedom
and meet us in at
Barnacles
.”

Zeb and Balor took Azerick to
Barnacles
, a favorite tavern of the sailors and dockworkers. Azerick was impressed with the establishment the moment he entered. Although not as fancy and quiet as the Golden Glade, the tavern was big and clean. The bar was a large square where two bartenders catered to the dozens of customers that were already keeping them busy even at this early hour. When the sun set, it was all they could do to service their customers efficiently with the four bartenders and six serving women that worked the nightshift. Even with the number of patrons already eating and drinking, the trio had no problem finding an open table.

“Now tell me what all happened after you went to face that scaly monster,” Zeb urged.

Azerick shook his head. “No, if I tell you now I will have to repeat everything a dozen times by the time everyone else gets here. You tell me what happened to you all after you set sail,” Azerick insisted.

Zeb leaned back in his chair, his expression making it clear he would be more than happy to talk about his ship. Technically the ship belonged to a large portion of the entire crew since most of the men had a hand in building it, but they all unanimously voted Zeb as captain. Most of the men that crewed
Freedom
Winds
had sailed with Zeb before and escaped from the psyling city with him and Azerick.

“We christened the ship
Freedom Winds
the day after you left to have at it with that dragon. We loaded up a good amount of raw iron and topped off the hold with timbers that we cut ourselves. We guided her downriver for several days before we hit the first big town in the plains along the river.”

Zeb had to pause and take a hefty swig of beer. “We dropped anchor at a town called Bruneford’s Mill. We made a good amount of coin and still filled our hold with dried wheat, oats, corn, and rice. The river kept getting wider but lost depth the further we sailed downriver. Twice we had to throw out lines and pull the ship off a sandbar, and once we even had to pay a man to hook up his mules to pull us free, but we made it.

“Once we reached the sea, we had a choice of going to Southport or North Haven. Even though I could get a better price in North Haven, I chose Southport because they have a larger market and a better chance of finding another load of cargo. Since then, we’ve been running cargo up and down the coast. She’s got a shallow draft, having been built to get down the river, so we stay pretty much in site of land, but we’re making it. A couple of years and we may have enough to get us a proper seagoing ship.”

Azerick leaned forward in his chair. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. How would you like to have five ships under your command with me as a silent partner?”

“What are you saying, lad? It would take a king’s ransom to float that many ships. I know of a few decent boats that some of the merchants are being forced to sell because of the lousy economy right now, but even at auction, you’re talking thousands of gold crowns. Where would we get that kind of money? None of us even have enough collateral to get that kind of credit.”

Azerick leaned back in his chair once more. “You don’t think I just grabbed my own stuff in that dragon’s cave do you?” Azerick asked smiling.

Both Zeb and Balor sputtered in their beers. “You mean to tell me you got a dragon’s hoard of gold?” Balor whispered sharply. “How in the devils did you manage to haul it all the way over here?”

“That is my little secret, but trust me, I have the capital to make us the largest shipping company in North Haven,” Azerick assured them.

“Do you know what that means, lad?” Zeb asked conspiratorially.

“What?” Azerick asked.

“It means you’re buyin'!” Zeb and Balor both barked.

Azerick saw Toron and the rest of
Freedom
’s crew walk in and take up seats near him, Zeb, and Balor. The sorcerer got up and walked over to the bar.

One of the bartenders finished pouring a man his ale and approached Azerick as he waited patiently.

“What can I get you, sir?” the barkeeper asked in a friendly voice.

Azerick dropped a three-inch stack of gold coins on the bar.

“As long as my shipmates are in this bar, everyone drinks on me!” Azerick shouted jubilantly and tossed and extra gold coin to the bartender.

Azerick’s declaration was met with a round of cheers and applause as the bartenders and serving women began getting flooded with orders. Azerick took two trays loaded with beer and ale to his former crewmembers who cheered and patted him on the back but not until he set the precarious beverage-laden trays down for fear of him spilling them.

“Lad, there’s gonna be a few captains and dock foremen that’s not gonna be pleased with your generosity,” Zeb told him humorously.

Azerick spent the next hour telling his friends about his battle with the dragon, his time spent with the dwarves, and how he took over the keep outside of the city.

“Only you could have pulled off antics of that magnitude,” Zeb told him. “I think the god’s have an interest in you, son, whether for good or ill, they are looking at you.”

“I just wish they would mind their own damn business and leave me alone. I have found a sense of peace and I would like to keep it that way,” Azerick replied irritably.

“So are you serious about financing that shipping business?” Zeb asked.

“Absolutely. Do you know a former sailor named Ewen?”

“Is old Ewen still kicking about? He was first mate on one of your father’s ships when I was just a young sailor,” Zeb replied.

Azerick nodded. “He is in the city, living with his family. They moved out of Southport about a year ago. He said I should invest my wealth instead of just letting it gather dust and my accountant agrees with him.”

“How do you want to go about it?” Zeb asked.

“The next chance you get, come up to the keep and meet with my accountant, Simon. Better yet, I will send him to meet you down here with scripts of purchase. You can bid on ships at auction, buy them outright, or commission some to be built, whatever you think is best,” Azerick explained.

“We’ll need crews, supplies, and equipment,” Zed stated anxiously.

“Again, I will leave it all up to you and Simon to work out the details. I am a silent partner in this.”

Azerick and Zeb continued to hammer out the details until late that afternoon when the sorcerer finally bid him and his friends farewell and returned to his keep.

CHAPTER
7

Langdon’s Crossing was a quiet, medium-sized town whose greatest commodity was its wool exports. Massive herds of sheep and silkwool goats roamed the open grasslands under the watchful eyes of their herders and trained dogs. It was also the primary southern trading town between many of the smaller towns in the southern portion of the Habberback Plains and the desert nomads of Sumara.

The Sumaran nomads traded for the raw wool and silkwool and made extravagant carpets of unparalleled quality, which they would then return with the next year, and sell at the markets of Langdon’s Crossing. From there, the carpets and tapestries would find their way into the homes of nearly every wealthy merchant and nobleman in Valaria.

This made Langdon’s Crossing a rather wealthy town for its size. The hotter weather made for thick morning fog as a cold front blew in over the river as it emptied into the sea. This allowed for General Baneford and his brood to ride within a quarter mile of the gates unseen. Every bridle, weapon, and any other metallic object whose rattle and clank would give them away had been well muffled with strips of cloth. As the dark outline of Langdon’s Crossing’s sandstone walls became visible, General Baneford signaled his man to sound the charge.

A brief clarion shattered the early morning silence. The minimal guard force manning the walls and gates hesitated in confusion and indecision until the thundering of hooves brought home the reality of what was happening. Watch sergeants sounded orders to secure the gates and called for the rousing of the entire city’s guards. Unfortunately, for the guards of Langdon’s Crossings, a score of men under the attacking general’s command had infiltrated the town days before and moved without hesitation.

Light but voluminous cloaks that were commonly worn in the region concealed the armor and short bows of the general’s men. Arrows from the disguised attackers abruptly cut short many of the orders the watch commanders barked. The infiltrators rushed the northern gate through which General Baneford and his men hoped to charge virtually unopposed.

The success of the entire daring raid hinged on the loyal men inside the town to keep those gates open. Otherwise, even the small militia that endeavored to defend the town would crush the raiders against its sandstone walls.

The men inside rushed the gates with swords drawn and hacked at the guards who were trying to secure them. The sharp ringing of steel against steel mixed with the duller thumps of swords cutting and piercing the leather and chain brigandines of the defenders echoed off the walls. Shrill cries of men rent the air as their lifeblood flowed from mortal wounds. Two of the infiltrators went down under crossbow fire and a third was run through by a guard’s spear, but the rest were able to take control of the gates and force them wide.

Seeing that the only apparent source of the attack came from the north, hastily armored guards flowed from bunkhouses and all but a handful of spotters deserted their posts to reinforce the northern section of Langdon’s Crossing.

The knot of surprised and disorganized guards and militia reached the gates just in time to run head-on into the charging cavalry of Baneford’s Brood. The defenders put up a determined but futile defense as the mounted attackers cut through their ranks with brutal efficiency.

Within thirty minutes, all but a few sporadic and pitifully short battles had ended. Langdon’s Crossing was now in the hands of Baneford’s Brood to pillage at their leisure. Men began kicking in doors of shops and homes, carrying out armfuls of valuables amidst the fearful and angry screams of the owners.

“Get a detail to secure those horses!” the general commanded, pointing towards a corral that held at least two dozen of the valuable animals. “Procure some wagons and hook some horses up to draw them.”

General Baneford turned towards the sound of a woman’s scream close to his left. He saw a young woman with a torn blouse try to run from a nearby house only to be grabbed and dragged back through the doorway by a pair of his men. The general swung off his horse and stalked towards the home and the continued sound of screaming with a white knuckled grip on his longsword.

The burly commander stepped through the open door to find one of his men tearing the clothes off the woman he had thrown onto a bed that lay in the far corner of the small home. The other man stood leering, apparently waiting his turn.

A young man, probably the woman’s husband, lay dead on the floor with an obvious stab wound he had received trying to defend his wife. General Baneford snatched the surprised voyeur by the back of his armor at the neck, easily parried the soldier’s reactionary sword swing, and threw him bodily out the door. The other soldier, too engrossed in his own activities to notice his accomplice’s plight, fell heavily across the nearly naked woman as the general struck the flat of his blade upside the man’s head.

The woman shoved herself fearfully into a corner of the room as General Baneford dragged the unconscious soldier out of the house by his right ankle.

“Officers to me!” the general bellowed, his verbal order relayed by a bugle call.