Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (14 page)

'Confound yer all! You'll regret…'

'Shhh.' Tarent walked up to him and pulled each arm down in turn before removing the rings and slipping them into separate pockets to keep them from touching. 'I'll just take these. Never know when they might come in handy!' he flashed a grin at Loras.

'I'll hunt yer down and cut yer…' began the Pirate Captain, but Magician Falk interrupted him with a wave of his staff before the furious pirate could finish. The Captain's arms flew up in the air again, and his flamboyant velvet breeches dropped round his ankles, a sight that several of drunken pirates found hilarious, Loras and Tarent joined in with the laughter.

'No, I don't think you will be hunting anyone ever again,' said Magician Falk with a smile as the spluttering pirate struggled to drag his breeches back up. 'We're taking your ship and will be informing the King's marines where to find you; you have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. We shall, however, leave you with a little dignity if you answer the one question that my young friends asked you back on the boat. Did you recently sight a ship in these waters named
The Esmerelda?
It would have been heading north?'

'A curse on yer and yer question,' spat Tregawn. 'You haven't heard the last of…' But they had heard the last of him because Loras conjured a flapping fish into the pirate Captain's mouth and all he could do was splutter.

Somewhere to the east, the sun was rising behind a covering of steely-grey clouds threatening another day of rain. They left the pirates on the beach, some trying to pull the fish from the Captain's mouth while the others searched franticly for their missing treasure chest.

They wouldn't have much fun waiting for rescue. The long boats they had gone to shore in would sink as soon as they pushed them into the sea, Loras had made the planks shrink away from each other to allow water in, and thinking this a good idea, he had then spelled their clothes to shrink slowly, as well. They would be marooned like this, almost naked with no means of escape until the King sent a boat of marines to find them, a fitting end to the pirate threat in the northern waters.

The Jenny
found the wind as it came out into the open sea, and with the big black ship following, bewitched by Magician Falk, to follow blindly and unmanned wherever
The Jenny
led, they headed north, only a day short of where they would be meeting the others. Below decks, in his cabin once more, Tarent wrote in his copy of the book,

Half a turn of the glass later and a reply came back, which only caused him concern, what were his friends doing?

* * *

Thunder crashed overhead, and waves exploded on rocks unseen in the darkness, the noise was almost deafening as it echoed back from the dark, towering cliffs. Lightning preceded each colossal clap of thunder sending crackling streaks that ripped across the sky, briefly turning night into day. In these fleeting moments, the broken white tops of gale driven waves revealed themselves, mountains of violent storm thrashed water looming up over the little ships briefly illuminated before darkness plunged them back into a blind and savage world of violent motion, noise, spray and fear.

Earlier, as the light had faded and the conditions worsened,
The Jenny,
closely followed by the unmanned
Black Destiny
, had been forced to sail closer to shore in search of where Quint's last communication promised sanctuary. The crew battled bravely to keep
The Jenny
on course and off the rocks while the storm fought and howled through the rigging like some possessed banshee, seemingly doing all it could to drive the little ships beneath the icy black water.

Now, in the heart of the storm, it was terrifying. The gale drove icy rain and spray from the mountainous waves back across the exposed ship, stinging the eyes of those on deck as they clung on with cold, numb hands, searching the darkness for some sign of deliverance. When the ship rose upon each unseen wave, that
The Jenny
became a wild beast bucking and falling beneath them, moaning and groaning under the stress that the storm was placing upon it, each rope, sail and plank of wood holding for the moment, yet promising possible failure as the next wave picked them up and offered them to the Chaos God of the storm.

Every crack of lightning gave fresh vision to the nightmare, bringing home the shocking reality of where they were and what they were doing as the waves pushed them terrifyingly close to the tall cliffs and jagged rocks of the Barbarian coast. White foam washed back around the two ships as the next wave loomed up out of the darkness, threatening to take them with it as it surged on to beat against the teeth of the cliffs, but the ships were committed to their course; there was no turning back.

'Yer friend had best be right, young sir.' The Captain of
The Jenny
had to shout to be heard above the storm, his face reflecting his doubts and fears for his ship and his crew. He had felt obliged to trust his strange passengers after they had delivered them from the pirates, but that trust was stretching mighty thin right now. Tarent nodded and gazed ahead, reaching out to grab hold of a safety rope as the deck of
The Jenny
rose up beneath him only to drop alarmingly away meeting the ocean with a juddering crash that shook every timber sending water sweeping the deck around his feet. Quint had promised a light, but for all their searching, none had been seen so far. This was the spot, Tarent was sure of that, but… there it was!

'There… a light… as promised Captain.' Tarent pointed, a big grin splitting his rain washed face as his hand came up to brush the water from his eyes, praying to the Source that they weren't deceiving him. A moment later, a similar cry was repeated by a lookout, high above in the crows-nest and the relief was plain to see on the Captain's face, even in this low light.

'Two points to port,' came the cry from above and the two helmsmen responded, fighting with the ship's wheel to bring them sluggishly round towards the cliff and what looked at first to be certain catastrophe upon the rocks. It was only as they edged closer that a fold became visible in the rock face, a feeble light placed high on a rock on the weather side.

Loras glanced back from where he and Magician Falk stood at the side of the ship and waved to Tarent, a huge smile of relief upon his face. Despite their magical abilities, both Magicians were soaked to the skin and as ready as any of them to find shelter and rest.

The two ships rushed through the mouth, riding the surging waves, the timbers of
The Jenny
rumbling as she slid against the sheer cliff before entering the hidden harbour. As they passed, Tarent gazed across at the small oil lamp that was their signal, a tiny speck of light in the storm, perched precariously upon a rock. How they had found their way here and seen this light had to have been a miracle of the Source, a balance to the Chaos of the storm? How Quint had placed it there must surely have been another miracle.

Once inside the protection of the anchorage
The Jenny
and
Black Destiny
moved into a different world, the wind immediately dropped to a distant ghostly wail and the water became relatively calm. Frequent flashes of lightning continued, revealing two other ships at anchor, the larger of which was easily recognisable as
The Esmerelda
.

A short while later and the crew were united and sitting around a rather impressive dining table on board
The Esmerelda
, the portly figure of Bartholomew Bask sitting as host at the head of the table, beaming down its length at the row of silent faces staring back at him.

'Oh, the irony of life eh, lads, there we were chasing each other ter hell and gone, and here we all now sit, brothers in arms, so ter speak.' Sweat beaded the fat merchant's brow and his smile threatened to split his face as he waited for some kind of response.

Tarent tore his gaze away. 'Is there anything you feel you should tell us, Quint, anything at all? Because this feels very strange to be sitting here with…' he motioned with his head, '… him.' Before Quint could answer, the doors to the galley swung open and a line of stewards bearing trays of food marched in and the serious business of filling hungry stomachs became the priority. Between mouthfuls of baked potatoes and grilled fish, Quint told of their journey over the Massif, with details later added by Mahra and Pardigan, and then eventually by Bartholomew Bask.

'So here I am, playing on the other team, as they say. I wants me vengeance on that… that… deceiving…' His hands began ripping a small roll of bread into crumbs as he tried to explain his hatred for Matheus Hawk. 'I've told yer where the Skulls are and swear by the Source ter do all I can to bring that evil soul to justice. I have, as they say, seen the error of me ways.' The smile was back in place, and he hastily brushed the remains of the loaf onto the floor as if he had only just noticed it.

Magician Falk cleared his throat and looked up the table to Bartholomew. 'You are aware, I trust, that King Hugo Payne has placed a warrant for your arrest on charges of treason? You were clearly identified leaving Sterling temple on the night of the theft in the company of one Matheus Hawk, another man wanted by the crown.'

'Treason?' Bartholomew's bottom lip began to quiver, and a trembling hand clutching a clean white lace handkerchief came up to dab at his mouth. He looked as if he was about to cry. 'But I was tricked, conned, coerced, and it was all down to these… these…' He flapped his hands at the other occupants of the table.
'They stole my property!'
He stood up waving his arm, and then shook a finger in the face of each in turn. Pardigan, the guilty party, had slunk back into his chair at the mention of the theft.

'Merchant Bask, I am a close advisor to the King and will speak on your behalf,' continued Magician Falk, '
if
, that is, I feel you are aiding us fully in the recovery of the skulls and the capture of Matheus Hawk. I cannot promise that all charges will be dropped against you, but aiding us will certainly go well in your favour. Now calm down and be seated. Tell us all you know of the skulls locations.'

Realising he possessed few other options, Bartholomew began a rambling account of Morgasta's camp and the twin cities of Bedlam and Mayhem. The crew listened with growing dread as he spoke and wondered what perils awaited them.

Meanwhile, the storm continued to rage outside as the crew made plans for the following weeks. They had two missions; the first and most important was to reclaim the skulls. The second, if it were possible, was to stop Morgasta's army from invading the Kingdom, something that would be no small feat.

Either the skulls were in Morgasta's camp or, more than likely, were by now in the twin cities of Bedlam and Mayhem. For all of them to go after the skulls, would not only be pointless, but extremely dangerous. Eventually, after much debate, it was decided that they would remain in the same two groups. Pardigan would be best suited to infiltrating the camp. Mahra and Quint would go with him on
The
Griffin to get them out quickly if they got into trouble. The problem of Morgasta's horde of invading Barbarians would be left to the team of Tarent, Loras, Magician Falk and the latest, and most unlikely recruit to the team of
The Griffin
, Bartholomew Bask.

'
Me!
' Bartholomew spluttered, spraying good berry wine all over the table when he heard his name mentioned. 'You can't be serious, why me?' His voice dropped to a pitiful whine 'What can I possibly do to stop those filthy Barbarians? They almost killed me last time… and, if you remember, I came bearing gifts then.' He nibbled his lace handkerchief nervously.

Loras shook his head in disgust. 'I think he should go with Pardigan. It was him that…'

'
Loras!
' Pardigan hushed his friend and offered a big smile to Bartholomew who glared at him suspiciously. 'It makes sense, Loras, think about it. We're going to have to sneak into Morgasta's camp and maybe into these horrible sounding cities. Could you ever imagine Mr Bask sneaking anywhere?'

Loras reluctantly shook his head. Nobody, not even Bartholomew, could imagine that.

Loras was first up on deck the next morning. The weather had returned to a dull cloud cover and a fall of miserable drizzle. He shivered as he walked to the side of
The Esmerelda
and took his first real look at the anchorage.

They were in a large natural lagoon that could have easily accommodated four, or even five more ships. It had a small pebble beach and was surrounded by high cliffs. He glanced back to see where they had entered the night before and was amazed at how narrow the gap was between the towering rocks. Enough of the open sea was visible to see that the dark turbulent waves of the night before still hadn't calmed, they were still swelling and crashing on the entrance, the sound carrying into the lagoon, echoing around the cliffs.

Crossing to the other side of the ship, he glanced down at the steep shingle beach that rose out of the water beneath him and saw a narrow winding path leading up towards the top of the cliffs to somewhere high above them. Some large birds were circling near the top, their plaintive cries as cold as the weather.

Loras shivered again and pulled his cloak tighter about him. He could see where the birds were nesting by the white smears painting certain areas of the rocks. He watched them for a few moments, his thoughts lost to the possibilities of flight. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned around to see Tarent come up out of the hatchway.

'Thought you might like this,' said Tarent holding two steaming mugs of brew. He offered one to Loras, which he gratefully accepted. 'Have you had any thoughts about how we're supposed to stop a whole army from invading the Kingdom? It seems like a pretty tall order, even for us.' He took a sip from his brew and sighed as the sweet liquid warmed him. 'We should have just gone fishing.' He looked up at the grey clouds speeding past overhead. 'I bet it's a wonderful day at Minster Island, not like this.' He ran a hand through his hair, which was already wet. 'Come on; let's get below in the dry. The cooks are making ready for us to break our fast.'

'All right, I'm coming,' said Loras, moving towards the hatchway, 'and actually, I do have an idea how to stop them, but I need to speak with the others about the Bolt. It's there that Morgasta will try to bring her army through, so that's where we need to go.'

Bartholomew's cooks, who were accustomed to catering for their master's legendary appetite, had set out a feast that the crew hadn't witnessed since they had been guests of the King. They entered the dining room and gazed in wonder at the dishes laid out before them on a starched linen tablecloth, napkins folded to resemble little birds set neatly by each place – and then they noticed their host and the sight immediately took all of their attention.

Bartholomew was already seated and had been happily eating alone. He smiled when he saw them and waved a fork full of syrupy pancakes by way of welcome. The crew stood, amazed by his efforts to fill his mouth as much as possible while humming to himself at the same time, totally absorbed by the task in front of him. Egg yolk decorated his shirt; there was a brew stain on his sleeve and the syrup that ran down his chin just added to the impression of a pig at a trough.

'Eat, eat up and get big and strong like me!' he thumped his chest with one hand and crammed more pancakes into his mouth with the other.

'I don't think I'm that hungry actually,' said Loras. 'I suppose I could have maybe just a bun and some juice,' he added seeing a frown cross Bartholomew's face. 'Thank you, Mr Bask.'

'Nonsense, steward, fill this young man's plate with a wholesome breakfast, he's far too skinny for his own good. I'll not have it said that any guest of Bartholomew Bask walks away from the table hungry.' He smiled at Loras and waved his fork again, sending a dribble of syrup across the tablecloth, indicating they should all sit and begin. Then, feeling his duty as host had been fulfilled, he returned to the serious business of filling his own face, once more humming a happy tune around mouthfuls of food.

The crew sat and had a light breakfast, speaking very little as everyone watched, fascinated by the entertainment at the end of the table.

It was mid-day before they were ready to leave. They had waited around, not exactly eager to depart the warm dry confines of the boat and travel in the rain, which had gradually turned to sleet as the morning wore on. On reflection, it didn't look as though it was going to improve, so eventually Quint decided they couldn't wait any longer and called for
The Griffin
.