A Murder of Necromancers

Chapter 17:A Rough Crew

The room filled with a soft chuckle as Nauro detached himself from the shadowy corner. The fireplace crackled as Gynefra fell silent, pausing to sip from her canteen. "I suppose it was a surprise. One to me as well. I still cannot believe your comrade talked me into it." The ship captain looked faintly embarrassed, in marked contrast to his swashbuckling clothing. His three earrings jingled as he nodded toward Darius in the front row. "He can be quite convincing."

"Oh?" Gynefra asked. "What do you mean?"

Nauro grinned. "Perhaps you should tell them."

Darius grunted, making no immediate move to rise. He waved his hand to indicate Gynefra and the others. "Well, we made it out alive... tells you enough, doesn't it?"

The High Magister rose, and murmuring died away, even as servants added a few fresh logs to the fire. Night had fallen, and yet the room was still crowded, those in attendance sitting with pursed lips and concerned frowns.

"Indulge us, if you will. We deserve to know the foe that we're fighting, after all."

Slowly, Darius rose to his feet and shuffled forward, turning to face the audience. Gynefra yielded her spot easily enough, leaning against the wall, grateful to have finished her part of the story. He tilted his head, pursing his lip for a moment.

"Well, a few of us survivors fought our way clear to Captain Nauro's ship," he began, gesturing to the man, "and we managed to set sail without much difficulty. There was some debate about just where to go, and the Captain made it clear we'd be headed to Ravenar, as there was no way the undead could cross the waters." Darius shifted uncomfortably, finding himself the new center of attention as the audience remained silent. "It wasn't long before we came across another ship. One that I recognized..."

***

"That bastard," Darius grumbled. Beside him, Captain Nauro lowered his eyepiece and glanced over.

"What?"

"I was on that ship just a few days ago. We held the port so the survivors could make it free..." Darius scowled. "Some Altian soldiers joined us at the end, under the command of a High Inquisitor. And what a rotten bastard he is."

"Oh, was he now?" Captain Nauro said, blinking in surprise. They were streaming toward the ship in the distance, which now veered toward them. The afternoon light shimmered off the armor and weapons of at least a dozen soldiers milling around on the other ship's deck. They had clearly noticed Nauro's approach and had unfurled their sails. A party of crewmen were even now tossing the anchor into the waters as the ship drifted closer. Nauro turned, snapping orders of his own, and his ship gently curved to the side as it slowed.

"Damned Inquisition," someone muttered from behind them, and the curse was repeated.

"Captain, should we really parley with this lot?" a sailor asked. "If what he says is true..."

"Mm. We are all on the side of the living now," Captain Nauro said, though it was less than convincing. He grasped a bronze speaking trumpet, setting the cunningly crafted device to his lips. His next words were pitched in a ringing shout as the two ships neared. "Ahoy there! Well met!"

A black-clad figure pressed forward through the assembly of soldiers, and Darius felt a sinking feeling in his gut as he took in the same nose, scarred features, and burnt ears. "Well met," Inquisitor Varus' voice boomed out over the waves, as the two ships closed in, Captain Nauro's crewmen bringing it to a halt as well. The Inquisitor had a voice for the courtroom and needed no amplification. "Are there injured aboard?" he asked warily, tilting his head. "Sick... infected?"

"You mean are we turning into any undead biters?" Captain Nauro replied with a snort. "I can assure you we left their kind on the shores when we set sail. And how about you? I don't doubt you must have seen more than your fair share as well."