Exiled Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Gwilt spent his morning fighting impatience. He either watched while Chesney slept or stood on his favorite niche at the cliff face and watched the stranger while he labored to bury dead and drag leather-bound chests and wooden barrels high onto the beach. He noticed Caleath paused to rest and watch the sea’s irascible mood. Nothing about his actions indicated he would appreciate company.

Frustrated, Gwilt gnawed the back of his thumb. He rested against the wolf’s warm coat while the wind spiraled around him with decreased intensity.

***

“Where am I?” Chesney’s outcry caused Gwilt to step backwards. Throwing back the bearskin Chesney struggled upright. Dark eyes glanced around the small hut. His dark brow lowered over shadowed eyes and Gwilt watched a disgruntled frown settle into place. “Where are the others?”

Coarse and demanding his voice disturbed the wolf. Using the wall for support the older man struggled to his feet. Cyd started to growl and placed himself between Gwilt and the stranger.

Without understanding the speech, Gwilt grabbed a bowl of stew.

“Relax. You are safe now. Here. There is plenty of food,” Gwilt offered the bowl. He spoke with calm he didn’t feel. Chesney rubbed sunburned hands over stubble on his weathered face and lifted hooded eyes to meet Gwilt’s gaze. Raising his eyebrows, the older man accepted the bowl and spoon.

“Thank you,” Chesney spoke in Gwilt’s dialect. “Where are we? Who governs here?” The old man seemed less than enthusiastic about the food.
Nothing suggested he suffered from starvation.

“Water would be good,” Chesney prompted, handing Gwilt the untouched stew.

“Water?” Gwilt moved to comply. He hid any confusion he felt. “How do you know our language? You are not from around here. We are north of Riversend. In Allorn the Council of Mages governs if that’s what you call their method of keeping order.”

“Allorn?” One eyebrow rose higher. Taut flesh around aged eyes relaxed as the man took a greater interest in his surroundings. “Allorn? I’ve never heard of such a place.” After a thoughtful grunt, Chesney chuckled. “By the Blade, perhaps he was telling the truth after all.” He smiled but his expression of delight didn’t impress Gwilt.
Sunburned skin stretched tight when his smile expanded into a broad grin. “I tell you boy for once in my life I took a risk and I think my actions have paid off!” When he looked up his eyes reflected the morning light. “Where are the others? Adder’s spit! I am glad I speak your language, my boy. I have traveled a great deal in my life. Strangely, your speech is not so different from my native tongue. I am alive and that is a miracle. I need my story told. What happened to the Albatross must not pass from memory!”

“The others?” Gwilt hesitated. “One other survived. There are three dead on the rocks.”

“What!” Chesney’s gasped. “Truly boy?”

Gwilt watched the older man’s color drain as his expression flickered from despair to calm.

“Fools,” Chesney sipped his water and licked his lips. “I could have been one of them.” He straightened, as if worried by inner turmoil. “What if he was right? How? How did he know?”

“Please tell me.” Gwilt found curiosity overwhelm restraint. He yearned to know everything about the strangers. The idea of having access to knowledge beyond the tales swapped over winter thrilled him to the core.

“Huh?” Chesney gave the water a thoughtful swirl. “Do you have anything else to drink, lad? Some ale or wine to help restore my memory?”

Gwilt hesitated. There was a barrel of wine laid down for winter. Gai would not approve of him opening the casket but with goods salvaged from the wreck, they would have coin enough to replace their whole store tenfold. With a grin, he moved to fetch the wine.

“You say one other survived.” Chesney settled his bulk against the wall. “Where is he?”

Gwilt looked around, comparing the other man’s strange behavior. Chesney seemed like any of the locals from the village.

“Burying the dead.” Gwilt shrugged. “He didn’t ask for help.”

“Ahh, I should perhaps offer my aid but I need to recuperate. The dead will wait. I can see you’d enjoy a good yarn.” He eyed the small barrel. “Aye and true, that as well,” he added getting comfortable. Gwilt worked a chiseled bung free and watched as full bodied wine poured like an invitation into a large chipped mug.

“Where I come from lad,” the older man began. “We all serve Karadorian masters.” Chesney took a sip of the wine and smacked his lips in appreciation. The gleam in his eye and the sigh as he slopped the rich fluid around his palate showed pleasant surprise. Stretching sunburned muscles, he made himself comfortable and continued. “I’ve been a blacksmith so I am useful and that helps when you have to survive under Karador’s rule.”

Gwilt grabbed a stool and leaned forward on the table, where he could listen and refill the smith’s mug. He prepared for a good tale.

“For three summers now, seems like three lifetimes, we have served under Governor Elensor on campaign. We were in Sandor when the emperor recalled Elensor. Not the sort of news we wanted to hear. Still, no one asked us our likes or dislikes. We set sail on the Albatross over a month ago. Wrath sailed with us.”

“Wrath?” Gwilt prompted when Chesney, with an unexpected sigh, subsided into deep thought.
“Governor Elensor’s prize-fighting gladiator who people say is immortal. Nasty business but very profitable and the rogue was supposed to be kept well under control. At least that’s what we thought,” Chesney sighed and ran salt encrusted fingers through his coarse stubble.

Gwilt remained transfixed, while the other man’s mind appeared to wander.

“You don’t gamble do you? You wouldn’t understand how much this one man meant to the governor’s wealth and ours. We made a lot of money from watching him fight, win or lose. He fought for our entertainment and that meant money. So it was that Wrath traveled with us on the Albatross.” Chesney wiped his mouth and indicated for Gwilt to refill his glass.

“Go on,” Gwilt urged. Chesney nodded, settling back.

“Wrath needed to be controlled. Two dread lords watched him. Powerful wizards. Always. They were never far from him. They considered Wrath too valuable and too unpredictable. Terrible temper, understandable the way Elensor treated him. There was talk of dark sorceries involving the warrior. Elensor won too many of his battles before blood began to flow.

“A darkness surrounds those mages and no doubt some of their malevolence effected Wrath. However, the mages became almost useless once we put to sea. Rumor says salt water lessens the power of their magic.

“Elensor and his few men fought seasickness and boredom by drinking and whoring. The governor permitted Wrath to walk free among the crew and the mercenaries who faced the prospect of leaving on campaign again. The mood I guess was right for his subterfuge.”

“Subterfuge?” Gwilt pouted, drawing his legs under him and getting comfortable while the wolf leaned against him.

“Anyhow, for three weeks things were fine.” Chesney ignored the youth’s comment as he continued. “We sailed southwest toward The Islands of Irthalarnd and then we turned south. Wrath took to remaining on deck. Our navigator found the slave skilled and willing to share his workload. Wrath worked hard, he didn’t tire and was always on hand. It was only later we discovered why.” Chesney paused.

Gwilt leaned forward, displaying a genuine interest in the smith’s tale. Despite not understanding references to people or places, he listened in rapt awe, silently urging the man to continue. The boy realized the garrulous smith enjoyed the luxury of a captive audience and the excess of fine wine.

“The wind favored us and all seemed well. Unknowingly we sailed toward the edge of the world.

“Meanwhile on the deck Wrath captivated us with talk of freedom. He described a land where we could live beyond Karador’s reach. Even though no one believed him, he was already planning his escape.

“I don’t know how long it was before the navigator and captain found the instruments for navigation sabotaged and the charts damaged. We sailed toward our doom.”

Gwilt frowned. His limited nautical skills came from watching the ocean in all her moods.

“Elensor was furious. The soldiers and the crew were afraid. They accused Wrath of sabotage and gave him no opportunity to deny his guilt. Elensor had him beaten. We watched while he sustained injuries enough to kill any other man. The superstitious crew wanted to throw him to the sea gods but to Elensor he remained valuable. Wrath said we would find land.” Chesney paused. “We have but we never thought we would. They threw Wrath into the hold and controlled him again by the iron shackles and spells of the dread lords.

”The captain and crew tacked all day, turning the Albatross time and again. On the second day, things got worse. The wind stopped. Becalmed, men started to panic. They said it boded ill being so close to the Edge and all. We tried rowing, praying, the wizards tried who knows what. Nevertheless, the boat drifted south caught by the current.

“Tempers reached screaming pitch and Elensor was forced to consider all options, the storm broke. Morale was non-existent. We knew we sailed to our doom. Wrath’s treachery would kill us all.”

Chesney met Gwilt’s intense gaze. Gwilt nodded, spellbound. His rapt expression seemed to encourage the smith. The older man lowered his focus into the red wine swirling in the bottom of his cup.

“Five days and nights, we fought to hold the ship together every moment fearing the final fall from the edge.”

Gwilt knew the ferocity of the ocean well. He tried to imagine being at her mercy.

“The ship began to break up. We jettisoned the last of the cargo. We tried to plug leaks but the water came in too fast…” He caught his breath as he relived his dismay. “I was last out of the hold. I stopped to block the hatch in a futile attempt to keep the sea out.

“I heard a scream. Blood curdling. Primal, like nothing you can imagine. My heart stopped. For seconds I froze and then the cry came again. It was Wrath. They left the poor wretch to drown with the ship. I don’t know if I thought things through but I knew I couldn’t leave without trying to give him some chance of surviving.

“His terror sounded greater than mine ...and I knew why. They said he was immortal. He thought he couldn’t drown. I broke open the hatch to the aft hold. Water already filled the place. Wrath fought the wizard’s chains like a fox in a trap. I couldn’t leave without trying to help him.

“The ship rolled on her side as she began to sink. I am a smith; I know how to pick any lock and enough about how wizards work their bindings to free him. Although the water rose over Wrath’s head, I worked to free him. My own survival no longer concerned me. Death seemed inevitable. Nor am I big on doing good deeds. Don’t get me wrong.
However, something in his desperation touched me. I freed him. It probably did him no good but I couldn’t live with the idea of him being trapped alive.”

***

At that moment, Caleath stepped into the room. Gwilt watched his deliberate actions. He moved as though his bones were made of glass although he no longer looked disheveled. Dressed in garments taken from salvaged wreckage he wore colors of deepest green. A sword and brace of daggers hung with familiar ease beneath a heavy cloak. A swathe of bandages covered both wrists and marred the perfect fit of laced cuffs. Polished boots finished an outfit fashioned to grace any nobleman or warrior.

“Wrath!” Chesney upset his stool and dropped his empty wine cup. He grabbed the bearskin as it fell from around his shoulders and used the rug to shield himself. “You’re not dead!”

“If you thought I could die,” Caleath’s expression narrowed. His words were in a strange tongue but Gwilt understood his meaning when Caleath’s brow lowered into a frown. “You would have left me to drown, don’t look so surprised. My name is Caleath. ‘Wrath’ was Elensor’s creature.” Gwilt felt his color drain as he recognized several of Caleath’s words. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He saw Caleath’s mood darken as the younger man threw the smith an accusatory scowl.

“What happened to the others?” Chesney ventured making an effort to speak in local dialect. “How many died for you to gain your freedom?”

Gwilt watched Caleath wince as if the old soldier touched a nerve. There was no hiding the guilt the other man carried.

“Three. Gods know where the others lie but I buried three,” Caleath placed a salvaged chest on the floor beside the fire. Showing a disinclination to prolong the discussion, he took a stool and placed it against the wall opposite the open door. With a sigh, he sat and leant against the wood. “May they lie in peace.”

Gwilt placed the stranger in Chesney’s tale.

Uncharacteristic behavior now made sense. The expression on Caleath’s face surprised him. The stranger showed no relief at the other man’s recovery. His demeanor seemed wrought by exhaustion and Gwilt sensed Chesney’s reaction governed Caleath’s reaction. Gwilt felt that a word from the smith could appease the young man’s guilt. If the responsibility for so many deaths rested on his shoulders, it was no wonder the stranger appeared ill at ease.

The wolf sensed rising tension in the room and allowed a low growl to rumble free from his throat.

“You are responsible for the livelihood of over two hundred men,” Chesney turned his head, watching without flinching when Caleath recoiled.

Gwilt knew then, the smith offered no clemency and he watched the burden of guilt settle on weary shoulders as Caleath accepted the smith’s judgment.

“I tried to offer them freedom and life. But they chose to panic and they made their choice clear, smith.”

“Where are we then?” Chesney looked through the open window.

“We are on the southern continent of Sharyac. We didn’t fall off the edge of the world,” Caleath grimaced and kneaded the inside of his left arm where. Gwilt had noticed a strange tattoo. When he caught Gwilt watching him, Caleath made a show of taking Chesney’s discarded stew and devouring the food.

“I feel lucky to be alive,” Chesney said. “How is it that you knew so much? Are you sure no one else survived? That is unthinkable.”

Caleath continued to eat while the smith grabbed a stool, retrieved his dropped cup and refilled it. As if an afterthought, he poured a second mug, sat at the table opposite Caleath and offered him the drink.

“The storm may have washed them further along the coast. They may have been killed, Chesney. I had nothing to do with it,” Caleath whispered. “It took all my resources keeping you alive but don’t thank me,” he swallowed. “I have ensured your survival and you have your freedom so any debt you think I owe you is paid.”

“Ahh Caleath, I have lost everything.” Chesney’s hands closed around his cup. “I should have returned to Karador a wealthy man able to buy my freedom.” He leant forward and ran his finger over the black chain mail shirt Caleath now wore. Gwilt estimated the garment would cost more than a year’s wages. “Now I am shipwrecked on a strange shore it is for me to decide if you remain in my debt.”

Recoiling Caleath broke contact with the smith.

“There is more than enough for you to recover your losses, smith. In truth Gwilt has salvage rights,” He turned and met Gwilt’s gaze. “I have taken only what I will need.” With a scowl, he glared back at the mercenary. “Good fortune so much washed ashore. All I have is yours when I am dead, Gwilt. You have no need of it yet.”

Gwilt shrugged. He cared little for the tone of conversation and wanted nothing in return for his hospitality.

“You are welcome to whatever. I didn’t mean you to take what I said before seriously.”

Caleath appeared to ignore the boy’s generosity. His attention remained riveted on Chesney.

“I will take my freedom Chesney.” The words sounded like threat. He reached across and grabbed the front of Chesney’s shirt, brought the old soldier’s face to within inches of his own.
“Accept your life as a gift and be grateful. Don’t make me regret the effort I spent keeping you alive.” His voice was an even whisper but the hair at the base of Gwilt’s neck rose. He sensed Caleath’s calm formed a brittle facade. “Do not squander the bounty belonging to these peasants.”

“There is no need is there? We can make a fortune with your skill. No one around here will know of your reputation. I think you and I will make a fine team Caleath. You wanted to be here, wherever ‘here’ is. You gave me little choice. My life is a bonus but my retirement, my wealth and freedom can you put a price on them. I intend becoming wealthy with your help.”

Gwilt watched tension in the white knuckled fist cramping the fabric of Chesney’s shirt. Muscles corded at the side of Caleath’s neck and the fingers of his free hand curled around the handle of a lethal dagger. Despite Caleath’s outward calm Gwilt sensed a wave of rage rise to engulf the cottage.

Afraid for the first time since discovering the strangers, Gwilt extended his mind to touch the anger battering his senses. In a single heartbeat of contact, he knew Caleath was unaware of the maelstrom of emotion he exuded.

Chesney’s gaze locked with Caleath’s, his lips curled and his eyes creased in a smile as if he savored a dream of future successes. The smith appeared unaware of the passion he aroused.

More from instinct than from design, Gwilt endeavored to calm Caleath’s outrage before the cobweb of his control disappeared. Gwilt’s ability to read and at times affect the emotional state of another being came as a natural talent. He had no training or mentor to hone his skill.

“Stop this!” Gwilt tried to shout but his voice caught in his throat. Moving forward, he threw his arms around Cyd before the wolf could lunge forward.

Caleath spun without releasing his hold on the smith. Gwilt glanced from where he held Cyd to see Caleath brace as if expecting a blow to land. The stark blue of his eyes seemed to pierce Gwilt’s skull, the intensity of his gaze demanded answers to unspoken questions. Unable to meet the revelation of guilt and self-loathing in those orbs Gwilt lowered his head. Between one heartbeat and the next, glacial calm blanketed the atmosphere in the hut.

As Gwilt watched, Caleath turned to meet Chesney’s hopeful grin. Tension evaporated, the hand supporting the smith no longer curled into a fist.

“Count me out of your plans. I will no longer fight for another’s pleasure smith.” Caleath rolled his shoulders, loosening strained muscles in his neck and back. “I give you the opportunity to live free of Karador’s rule. Take your chance or leave, it means nothing to me. Don’t include me in your schemes or...”

“Or what?” Chesney placed his hands flat on the table and faced Caleath. “Is that some sort of threat? Is that how you repay a debt?”

Caleath recoiled and took a deep breath. Gwilt could feel the tension ease while Caleath lowered his shoulders and forced himself to remain relaxed. Releasing Chesney’s shirt he brushed away an imagined speck of grime. Even the innocent action bespoke threat. Veins corded across the back of Caleath’s wrist were the only indication of the anger banished beneath this outward calm.

From his moment of shared perception, Gwilt understood the effort it took Caleath to overcome hostility. He empathized with Caleath’s struggle to subdue the persona of Wrath, Elensor’s warrior slave.

For a heartbeat, the silent battle raged. Chesney appeared unaware of how close he came to facing Wrath’s unleashed rage. Gwilt realized any hope of redemption for saving the smith’s life, dissipated.

Appearing to relax, Caleath dropped his gaze and released a deep sigh as though he accepted that he was in no position to dictate codes of behavior to the smith.

“Me? Threaten you?” Caleath sighed. “No,” his voice held no rancor. “I rely on your sense of decency. On my life, I know you possess more compassion than most.” He stood with little effort. “Accept my apology.”

Without even a sideways glance toward Gwilt, he walked to the door where he paused but didn’t turn.

“Don’t fill the boy’s head with nonsense Chesney. There is a lot he doesn’t need to know.”

Without another word, he hawked, spat and strode toward the forest.

***

Continued in "Exiled Chapter 3"