Forging of a Knight: Rise of the Slavekeepers

Chapter 8

“My friends, the Sea of Swirling Mists,” Visandus said, directing from the bow of the ship. The knights stood as one, observing the thick layer of grey fog that floated just over the waterline ahead. The sky and clouds above disappeared, as the churning haze enveloped their ship. Some of the Turinthian soldiers, unused to such travel, stood about in awe, for the puffy substance obscured all sense of direction. The mist was wet, and beads of moisture dripped over sails and banisters. All was silent and still.

“How long do we travel through this soup?” Glaive inquired.

“Six days,” Visandus responded.

“We are in your hands, captain,” Bartholomew said.

Visandus smiled. “Do not fear. Our course is straight. The sky will eventually reappear and our bearings are confirmed,” he said, waving a dark-colored scroll.

“We shall need to be careful, all of us. This cloak will only serve to shield our spy or spies further,” Bartholomew said to the others. “Do not take any chances.”

“The smoke will probably aid your Mezzolankean spies in doing more mischief, wouldn’t you say, Richard?” Euric joked.

Richard showed little response, looking away with disinterest. “It matters not. It is all the same to me.”

“Eh?” Euric replied, surprised at Richard’s even response.

“We will catch them soon enough, I am sure,” Richard added.

“Our Lord Ruflix stated to me he had worked up something for us. Let us go see,” Visandus said.

As the knights shuffled towards the wizard’s quarters, Euric pulled Glaive aside.

“What the devil is wrong with Richard? He’s been too serious as of late!”

“He’s probably had his fill of you,” Glaive said.

“Who hasn’t?” Jesepha quipped, walking past them.

The entourage entered Lord Ruflix’s cabin, and was immediately beset by stinging scents and suffocating smoke. A large table was decorated with an assortment of glass vials and bottles. Tubes curled through them all, feeding liquids from one container to another. Books lay about in untidy assortments. The wizard was singing to himself, humming cheerfully. He pinched herbs and salts into small folds of cloth, wetting them with drops of colored liquid. He arranged them in single file, spacing them out neatly.

“This place smells worse than an orcne, and I can truthfully say that!” Glaive complained, as the group was overcome with fits of cough.

“By the sea gods, open some windows, before you poison my entire ship!” Visandus gasped, rushing over to unlock the interior wooden shutters that barred release.

“I don’t see what all of you are making so much noise about,” Ruflix replied, seemingly unaffected by the smell of his chemicals. “Laymen,” he complained to himself.

“You said you had news for us,” Visandus said, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hopefully of a positive nature,” Jesepha added, struggling to breathe.

The wizard turned to face his visitors. “As I said before, I cannot work my best here and cannot be expected to work miracles. I trust you will let Lord Mountebank know of this!”

“Yes, yes, we promise,” Bartholomew said as he walked over to one of the open windows to seek out cleaner air.

“I am no Arch-Mage. Having me on this journey is a waste of my time,” Ruflix continued.