Bounty

Posted by Cynthia on August 13, 2009

Bounty

By Cynthia Rodiana

Copyright: September 2006

“Ahhh!” Larisse exclaimed, startled. Heart pounding, her hands flew up against her chest.

A wiry man dressed in black swung through the open window into Brogan’s room. He grinned as he saw her quickly pull up her chemise to cover her bare breasts.

“Ponti, you squid,” Brogan said, opening one lazy eye to look at his former shipmate. “This isn’t the common area of the quarterdeck.”

“Ponti?” Larisse questioned. Chemise clutched in one hand, she finished smoothing oil into Brogan’s back as he lay stretched out beneath her. “Is this the fellow who spent the night unconscious on the broken tower?”

“Aye,” Brogan answered. “A fair payment for leading me a harpooner’s chase for my Letter of Marque.”

“You didn’t have to hit me so hard,” Ponti complained, rubbing his temple.

Larisse laughed. Given Brogan’s stature, it was a wonder he didn’t kill the little man.

“Maybe it should have been harder,” Brogan growled. He pulled Larisse down on the bed beside him. He yanked the ribbon of her chemise, closing it more like a potato sack than a garment. “Sorry,” he said, when she frowned at him. He kissed her as he caressed one cheek.

“I can come back later,” Ponti said.

“Later it will be something else,” Brogan grumbled. “Go on.” He nearly pushed Larisse from the bed as he sat up to find his clothes.

“I’ll go too,” Ponti said, following Larisse. He knew that scowl meant trouble.

“No, stay.” Brogan waited for Larisse to close the door. “I want details about this bounty Captain Dodd put on my head. How much am I worth?” He smoothed his shirt over his chest and stood to pull on his breeches.

“Fifty gold, alive.”

“Dead?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Brogan paused, one foot halfway in a boot. “A traitor’s death is it. Which one; keelhauled or hung on the yardarm and used for target practice?”

Ponti shrugged, paling visibly.

 “I ask you again, think you can take me?” Brogan asked.

“I spoke true. I came to warn you,” Ponti said, earnestly. “I am your man, not Dodd’s.”

“Then unless you were followed, I have nothing to fear. Monroi Pass is a far pace from the sea, even for fifty gold,” Brogan said, buckling his belt.

“I don’t think I was followed,” Ponti mused. His uncertainty wasn’t lost on Brogan. “They have hunted down some who were on your side.”

“Cowards. Let’s hope the rest signed on with another vessel and are long at sea.” Brogan locked an elbow around Ponti’s neck and led him stumbling to the door. “You ruined my fun. Try not to spoil breakfast.”

Brogan pointed out his usual table and Ponti slid onto the bench. Brogan disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a heavy tray and apple cider.

“The wenches are more presentable than usual,” Ponti said.

“Leave them be, unless they approach you. They aren’t what you think.”

“What does that mean?”

“This is a way station for caravans, not a tavern and whorehouse. Some are wives of quartermasters and outriders. Gives them a safe place to be and a few coins,” Brogan explained.

“Then why does she visit your bed?” Ponti nodded to Larisse, who served another table.

“Because I am special.” Brogan grinned, his golden tooth gleaming roguishly.

“That luck again.” Ponti caught a hunk of bread tossed at him.

“Loneliness more like it. Her husband was killed a couple of winters ago.”

“And you take his place?”

“Not really. What good is a privateer in a mountain pass?” A cup of cider washed down a mouthful of bread. “It is about time to head for the Tsomaiku Ocean. I have seen some valuable things pass through here from there. A recovery cut would put a man in fine circumstances.”

“When do we leave?” Ponti asked, eagerly. Maybe Brogan wasn’t concerned, but he didn’t want to be caught by bounty hunters, just in case.

“Soon.” Brogan smiled when Larisse stopped at the table.

“Don’t forget, today is bread day,” she said. “Caravans are expected tomorrow, so bring up double.”

“Soon,” Ponti mumbled, grinning, and sat back against the wall. “More like a winter or two.”

“What?” Brogan said, trying to split his attention between the two of them as Larisse bent and whispered in his ear. “What?” he said again to Ponti, when Larisse left.

“Since when does Brogan Laroult, a first officer in Deaxa’s Lion Marines, take orders from a woman? Your sails are slack you are so smitten with her.”

“I am not.”

Ponti snickered and quirked his brow making Brogan look over his shoulder. He saw a nearly empty room.

“Why do you look?”

“Avast!” Brogan scowled, feigning a blow. Ponti ducked then hurried to catch up to Brogan’s long strides as he walked to the back of the room and disappeared down a flight of stone steps to do Larisse’s bidding.

“What is this place?” Ponti asked, entering a huge underground chamber lit by dozens of oil lamps hanging from iron hooks hammered into the stone walls. An old man sitting on a bench smiled as they passed.

“It used to be the keep’s prison,” Brogan answered. “That is what this place was before they built the new fortress. See, there are still cells with iron bars and locking doors. The cartwrights and blacksmiths keep wagon repair supplies secured in them.”

“Who is the old man?”

“Beni. He keeps the lanterns lit and repaired. Don’t need a fire down here.”

“A strange place to keep bread.”

Brogan rolled his eyes as he rounded a wall built of bean sacks and headed to the far wall.

“Not bread, flour. Think you can handle one?”

“Oofff!” Ponti gasped as Brogan pitched a sack at him. Catching it high in the chest, Ponti staggered back into the wall behind him. Sounds of splintering wood and falling rock made Brogan turn in time to see Ponti disappear with a yelp into the darkness beyond.

Brogan ran to the hole and peered into blackness. He heard Ponti grunting and cursing. It sounded like he was rolling down a flight of stairs. His voice was stifled by a resounding splash.

A moment later Brogan heard more splashing as Ponti surfaced and spat water.

“Are you hurt? Can you climb back up?” Brogan called to him.

“Aye,” Ponti answered, barely able to make out the steps in the faint light. “I don’t think coming here was a good idea. I could have been miles out of Fen Way by now.”

“Wonder where this water comes from and where it goes? It smells fairly fresh,” Brogan mused. “I’ll get a lantern.”

Ponti stood just inside the door hoping the puddle growing around him wouldn’t wet the flour sacks. The lantern’s light brightened as Brogan turned up the wick. He stepped out onto a stone landing holding the lantern high. Ponti followed.

“It looks like another sublevel of dungeons,” Brogan said, sweeping the light through the darkness. “Sounds like flowing water…somewhere. The river isn’t far. It must have changed course and flooded this area.” He turned around to look at the opening. Large splinters of humidity and time-rotted wood pulled away easily from what was left of an old door and frame. “Wonder why they walled this up?”

“Must be treasure down here,” Ponti suggested. He took the lantern and went down the steps.

“Probably nothing more than rats and parts of a decaying building, but…” Brogan paused. Looking down over the edge of the stairs, he saw the faint whiteness of the bag Ponti dropped. With half a grin and a gleam in his eye, he said, “I have keys to the cages. It wouldn’t take much in supplies – and I doubt anyone would notice – to build a raft and float down a little way on a tether…”

“A cure for boredom and this heat and dirt.”

“Aye, I have missed the water and the sea caves where the biggest crabs live.”

“A tiny bit of piracy…”

“A bit of crossing the line for security purposes,” Brogan agreed. “Goblins live in many of the caves around here. We wouldn’t want them finding a way in.”

“Goblins?”

“Ugly, smelly creatures that are best met on the end of a sword.”

Ponti ran back up the stairs. Side-by-side they hurried though the broken doorway nearly knocking Larisse over.

“What have you done?” Larisse asked as Brogan steadied her. She pushed passed him to peer into the dark.

“It was an accident,” Ponti said. “I stumbled against the wall and it broke.”

She glared at them. “I don’t believe you, or those innocent looks on your faces. What are you up to? Never mind, I’ll go tell Master Quinn that his wall needs repairing.”

“No, wait,” Brogan said, taking her hand and pressing it. “We’ll bring up the flour then no one will need to come down here. We want to see where this goes. Might lead to some goblin cave. Better to find them before they find us.”

“And there might be treasure,” Ponti added, sincerely.

Larisse rolled her eyes and yanked her hand away.

“Probably not treasure,” Brogan said, shooting Ponti a look.

“No, really, there could be,” Ponti insisted. “I talked to some men yesterday and they told me there was treasure buried here.”

“He’s gullible,” Brogan said and shrugged, trying to head off Larisse’s ire. “He’ll listen to any tale.”

“Stupid is what you are,” she hissed at him then turned on Ponti. “Treasure? You think there is treasure in a flooded, crumbling dungeon? Do they train you at privateer school not to leave any dark and dangerous corner unexplored, because there might be a coin or two? Any valuables would have been removed by the Protector who built the new fortress. Goblins wars and stupid pirates, this is what my life has come to.” She hurried back down the aisle.

“Wait, Larisse,” Brogan said, going after her and grabbing her arm. “Give us the day then Quinn can repair the wall. If no one knows, then no one will follow and –”

“And what if you get lost or hurt down there?” she argued, a hint of tears in her eyes. “Bring up the flour and do what you want.”

Brogan kept Beni occupied by finding half a dozen lamps that required cleaning and repair then spent the next hour gathering supplies and building the raft. Ponti, meanwhile, went to retrieve the lengths of rope he had left tied about the inn from his activities the night before and gathered Brogan’s weapons. He found more rope in the large cellar and used its thick coils to hide several lanterns he took from the old man’s reserve stock.

“This should keep us afloat long enough,” Brogan said as he finished braiding a length of rope around the center support beam and between the gaps of the boards nailed to it. “Not like it’s going to see waves or weather and it won’t keep us dry by any means.”

“I think I saw a couple more coils. Be right back.”

By the time Ponti returned, Brogan had stripped down to wearing only his breeches and belt from which hung several long daggers. His two bandoliers, each with seven daggers, crisscrossed his chest and his sword was secured in the baldric. While Ponti undressed, Brogan carried the raft down to the water. He threaded the rope through iron guide rings and found a broken stone pillar to use as a mooring point. A slip knot in front of one ring kept the craft from floating away. He lit four lanterns and hung them on long iron hooks fastened at each corner.

“Ready!” Ponti said, and grabbed up two long poles for steering and pushing off.

“Get on, and go to the front. I have to stay near the center. Don’t you have more weapons than that?” Brogan counted two long daggers, plus the whip Ponti used as a weapon, being too slight in stature to effectively use a sword against most men.

“I didn’t know it would cost so much to get here.” Nimbly, Ponti climbed onto the raft, sat down and pulled the first coil of rope next to him.

“I left you with enough coin to stay away from the docks for a while, or get to another port. Should have been enough to get here.” A rush of water flowed across the boards as Brogan boarded and sat down. He loosened the slip knot and the raft floated into the darkness.

“I know, but I lost it on one of Fischer’s schemes. You know how it is. Some work, some don’t.

“Hmmph,” Brogan mumbled. And oft times you don’t tell the whole truth. Half a dozen scenarios ran through his head, all of which ended with Ponti caught by Dodd’s men and using the coin to buy his freedom and selling an unwitting path to him.

The four mounted lanterns and the one Ponti held did a fair job of lighting their way. Nearing the end of the first rope, the scenery had changed little. What had been a vaulted stone ceiling had long ago collapsed exposing rock and earth, but the stone walls and various support columns remained. Expertly, Ponti attached another length of rope.

“I hear water flowing faster up ahead,” Ponti said, holding the lantern higher. “I think we’re at the outer wall of the dungeon where the earth gave way.”

“When we get closer, I’ll hold position and you make sure we aren’t going down a cascade we can’t pull ourselves out of.” Brogan let out the rope little by little as the water tugged the craft. He held tight where the wall ended and an irregular hole opened up.

“Looks good. No foam, no drop offs that I can see.”

“Faster than I can pull?”

“You, no. Me, yes.”

“Watch ahead. Any sign of too fast, we go back. There won’t be a tide to lift us up.”

“I know.” Ponti nodded. “Watch your head.”

Brogan let out more rope feeling the craft tug against him as the swift flowing water tried to sweep them forward. The water had eroded the earth out of fissures in the granite rock forming a rocky tube. The lantern’s light reflected on patches of mica that twinkled around them. They cleared the channel quickly and floated into a larger chamber.

“Brogan, look up!” Ponti exclaimed. He held the lantern higher. “I’ve never seen those in a sea cave. What are they?”

“I have no idea,” Brogan answered, feeling the same sense of wonder. He clamped down on the rope and picked up his pole. Reaching up, he tapped the pole against a white-orange structure that grew cone-like from the ceiling. It made a thudding sound and sent a quiver down the pole.

“Seems like some kind of stone,” he said, tapping a little harder.

“Do you think anyone has seen these before?”

“Hard telling. Many things are different here compared to what we are used to,” Brogan answered, mesmerized by the hanging stone forest.

“You should bring Larisse,” Ponti suggested. Brogan laughed.

“I wouldn’t get her down the steps. Keep watch, tie another length.”

The smaller cavern opened into a vaulted cavern so high the light couldn’t reach the ceiling. The walls slowly receded into the darkness until they were floating in a blackness that sucked the light away from them. The profound silence was finally broken by the sound of falling water.

“I’ll steer us to the sound,” Brogan said. His voice sounded oddly hollow in the vastness of the space around them. He discovered the water was shallow as the pole pushed against the bottom.

“I think I see something. Push again,” Ponti said. They drifted closer and saw a shimmering falls cascade down glistening walls. “Something is piled at the bottom, but it doesn’t look like rock.”

Brogan strained to see and pushed them again. A puzzled frown creased his forehead. “More like bones. Maybe animals fell in from outside.”

“Hold position,” Ponti said, jumping onto a sandy beach. “Looks like deformed people.” He held a misshapen skull up to the light.

“Goblins,” Brogan said. He looked up. No light, no sound came from above. He frowned at Ponti, who was using his pole to rummage through the bones. “What are you doing?”

“I told you there was treasure,” Ponti said, smugly, putting the lantern down. His feet kicked old bones aside and his hands moved through the shadows. Brogan caught glimpses of shiny objects. “Lots of treasure. Forget hauling flour, now we go east.”

When he returned to the raft, his forearms were hung with every kind of bracelet and necklace imaginable; pretty things, odd things, but gold, silver and gems nevertheless.

“So much for the Protector moving his treasure,” Ponti said. He cut two lengths of rope and split the trove between them before they tied the ropes to their waists.

“These didn’t belong to the Protector,” Brogan said, testing his knot. “Seems like an old burial and I doubt this pile was intentional. A storm must have washed the bones down here. These creatures are scavengers. Nothing looks like it came from the same place or time.”

“Gold is gold,” Ponti said, shoving off.

“Aye,” Brogan agreed. He wondered how they would sell the pieces in Monroi Pass without questions asked. “Let’s head back.”

“A little further. There are still three good lengths. Maybe we’ll find more.”

“That’s how you always lose your treasure, looking for something more.”

“And your caution has Dodd hunting you, because you wouldn’t let us kill him.”

“Fine,” Brogan sighed. “Tie on.”

They drifted two more rope lengths, staying closer to the wall. As Ponti attached the last rope, strange, faintly glowing spots appeared on the walls that closed in around them.

“Is that sunlight coming through cracks? Ponti asked.

“Doesn’t seem bright enough. Looks like another beach ahead. We’ll stop and have a look,” Brogan said as they bumped the sandy slope.

Ponti grabbed his lantern, jumped off and made his way to the wall. Brogan scooted off the raft and secured the mooring. He lifted a lantern from a hook.

“Glowing lizards,” Ponti announced as Brogan stepped behind him.

“I think they call them salamanders, but I never knew they glowed.”

“We could catch some and sell them,” Ponti said.

“No more schemes.” Brogan looked into the intense darkness behind them. While he was glad to have seen what he saw, a second trip had no appeal.

Ponti looked closer at the pale, wet creature with little pads on its splayed toes that helped it cling to the damp walls. “Its eyes are almost white like its blind. Let’s follow the beach a little ways.”

“Not far. We need to get back.”

Brogan followed at a slower pace. Ponti’s light faded from sight. The spots of glowing light reminded him of starlit nights at sea; too much lately reminded him of the sea. It was time to go before his rigging got too tangled with Larisse’s. Or perhaps it was too late and that explained his reluctance to head east.

“Brogan!” Ponti’s scream pierced the silence, startling him from his thoughts. “Help me!”

Brogan lowered his lantern and searched for footprints in the mud.

“Did you fall?”

“It’s coming! I’m trapped!”

As Brogan hurried toward Ponti’s voice he saw a glow that was much brighter than his lantern. He ran down a short tunnel and slid to a stop at the entrance to another chamber nearly dropping his lantern in shock. Emerging from another tunnel came a salamander the height of a man. Its feet made sucking sounds as its weighty bulk glided easily across the muddy ground. Its phosphorescent glow filled the room. Ponti dodged a flick of its sticky tongue. Neither man missed the rows of sharp teeth.

“Stay low and run this way,” Brogan said. He put the lantern down and drew his sword.

The salamander hissed as it sensed Ponti’s movement. Its tongue lashed out catching Ponti by one leg whipping him around to dangle upside down. Ponti screamed and flailed as the creature tried to position him for swallowing. Thick saliva puddled around its tongue. It oozed out of its hungry mouth making its sharp teeth glisten and hung in gooey strands.  Ponti’s lantern crashed against the stone, its fire flaring brightly as the oil slick flowed down the wet wall before fading as the fuel burnt off. Brogan charged the beast with sword overhead. A downward stroke lopped off a chunk of gooey flesh. Ponti fell on his head.

“Run!” Brogan shouted. The creature hissed in pain and shook its head. The oozing tongue disappeared only to return looking for prey. Another bloody chunk fell to Brogan’s sword and into the mud. The creature hissed louder; a shiver shook its body. “Run, damn you!” he shouted, and kicked at Ponti, who was slow to get up and run.

“We have to kill it,” Ponti said, stumbling to his feet.

“Just run!”

“No! It will swim after us.”

“I don’t think they swim.” Brogan dodged a snap of it jaws. Ponti’s whip snapped tearing open a bloody gash in the salamander’s pale skin. The creature leapt with surprising agility as the whip cracked loudly. “Stop! You’re going to get me crushed!” Brogan shouted, dodging heavy feet and wildly snapping jaws.

Ponti heard, but overcome by panic, the whip’s strokes were relentless. Glowing bits of flesh littered the dark floor. Brogan leapt again, fingering the daggers in his bandolier. They were too short. Palming a longer one from his belt, he hurled it and struck the center of the creature’s thick neck. The salamander’s hiss turned to a raspy wheeze. The dagger fell and was smashed into the mud. Brogan threw himself behind a boulder as the thrashing tail hammered the wall overhead. Bits of rock and mud fell on him. Ponti’s lashes drove the creature in a frenzied circle. The throat was Brogan’s again and he hurled his last long dagger. The beast staggered, wheezing louder. Light exploded as the tail smashed Brogan’s lantern and plunged them into near darkness. The whip cracked; a sickening sound of flesh tearing and bursting followed. Fluid gushed; a peculiar smell filled the cavern. The great salamander stumbled. Its head dropped.

Brogan leapt from behind the boulder. His sword arced, ripping through the soft, fleshy throat. Blood and gore sprayed him from head to foot. A reverse slash brought the creature crashing to the floor where it lay still, gasping and dying. He ran to Ponti, who was shaking and staggering with fear. With his sword, Brogan snagged the whip on the backstroke and jerked it from Ponti’s hand.

“Enough!” Brogan said, breathing hard and looking down. A bloody, viscous stream oozed from the side of the beast making a puddle where hundreds of tiny glowing babies twitched in the throes of premature birth. “It’s enough.”

“It’s dark. How do we get back?” Ponti’s voice shook.

“Stand back.” Brogan tossed him the whip and hacked off a length of tail. He sheathed his sword and hefted the glowing tail with both hands. “Come on. This may not last long.”

Holding it near the ground, Brogan was barely able to see their footprints. Ponti clutched Brogan’s belt. Shimmering spots of color on the walls made him shiver with fear. As the glow faded from the dead flesh, they rounded a corner and saw the welcoming light of lanterns.

“Pull faster. I don’t want to be down here anymore,” Ponti urged, looking behind again. The slip of cold jewels hanging around his belly made him jump.

Brogan ignored him, keeping a steady hand-over-hand rhythm. Unlike others who plied their privateer trade, his truth buried deep, Brogan found no pleasure in killing. He still didn’t think the salamander could swim nor get through the tunnel.

“Hang on, we’ve reached the fast water,” he said, finally. Water raced across the boards as his effort to pull them up sank the leading edge of the craft.

“Let me help.”

“Sit.” Brogan growled. Muscles straining, he concentrated on not losing his grip that might snap the rope or break off the guide rings. He breathed deeply, relieved as they crested the rise and back into the flooded dungeon.

He could hear Larisse’s voice chastising them for coming back filthy. Looking toward the door, his slight smile faded. He held position.

“Something isn’t right,” Brogan said. Ponti scooted forward to look over his shoulder. “We didn’t leave anything on the landing.”

Brogan pulled them closer.

“It’s Larisse,” Ponti said. “She’s waiting for us.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“But she was worried.”

“We’re off. Blow out the lanterns.”

Ponti tossed a trailing length of rope around a broken column and pulled them to the walkway. Once off, Brogan pulled up a length of rope, tied it to a guide ring and let the craft drift back toward the stronger current to keep the rope taut as if they had not returned.

“Quiet,” Brogan cautioned as he separated the metal objects around his waist.

Keeping close to the wall, they hurried forward. Brogan felt a sense of dread seeing Larisse sprawled across the landing, one hand hanging limply over the stairs. They hid in the shadows, listening. The murmur of three distinct voices drifted out to them. Brogan saw fear whiten Ponti’s eyes.

“Recognize a voice?” Brogan whispered.

“Shamus.” Ponti sank back against the wall. Bounty hunters.

Brogan nodded. “He’s an excellent shot. I’ll force his hand. I’m not going to let them take me. Stay here. Likely you’ll live.”

“Let me tell them you were lost.”

“You’re not a good liar. But,” Brogan said, picking up the flour sack, “I have an idea.”

Brogan crept up the steps holding the flour sack over his chest. He paused a few steps down and leaned sideways to get a look at the men’s positions. Shamus on the right and two men he didn’t recognize on the left. A glance to Larisse told him she lived, just unconscious. Relieved, he took a breath to steel his nerves and charged.

Brogan burst from the doorway. Startled, Shamus tried to take aim, but the bow caught on his sleeve, the missed shot skittered across the floor. A quarrel from Brogan’s left tore into the flour sack ripping it open. Brogan barreled into Shamus knocking him to the floor as the flour poured into his face choking him. Brogan turned and kicked at the man who had yet to shoot. The shot went awry. Brogan staggered. Stabbing pain stole his curse as the quarrel pierced his outer thigh. Suddenly off balance, Brogan crashed into the man. Brogan grabbed the hunter’s shoulders, pulled him forward and slammed his head savagely into the wall, shattering bone. Brogan drew his sword and pulled a dagger from the bandolier. Pain screamed through him as he tried to step away from the wall. He slashed at Shamus, still on the floor, and knocked a dagger from his hand. The other man, now armed with a sword, advanced. Brogan hurled the dagger at him. It was repelled by a leather breastplate beneath his shirt. The man grinned as Shamus rolled to his feet spitting flour dust and drew his sword.

“We’ve got you, Laroult. Drop it,” Shamus ordered.

“No quarter,” Brogan growled. Beads of sweat caused by the stabbing pain rose on his brow as he glared at them.

“Shamus!” the other man shouted, pointing too late.

Ponti’s whip coiled around Shamus’ arm and Ponti pulled him back to the floor. His sword dropped. Brogan pulled another dagger and threw it into the other man’s throat, sending him to his knees, blood bubbling from the wound. He wheezed, but not as loud as the great salamander. Brogan forced himself forward, his sword cleaved into the man’s neck.

Brogan turned to see Shamus scrambling for a weapon as Ponti’s whip circled the bounty hunter’s neck. A sharp crack. Shamus collapsed, neck broken.

“Thought you could use some help,” Ponti said, grinning as he freed the whip and coiled it.

Eyes closed, teeth clenched, Brogan leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor. “Get Larisse out of the way then dump them in the water. I’ll not be accused of murdering them.” He took a hold of the quarrel and pulled. Tears welled in his eyes as he choked down the pain and blinked away the blackness that threatened to overtake him.  He threw the bloody shaft at Ponti.

“Who else,” he gasped, “has followed you?”

*  *  *

“Hurry, footsteps!” Ponti exclaimed, grabbing up coins scattered on the table.

Brogan limped to the bed and fell back on the pillows. He moaned as the door opened. Larisse came in and eyed them suspiciously. The effects of her knock on the head had disappeared with a good night’s sleep several days earlier. Ponti tried to block the table, but she saw the dice and knew what they had been doing.

“That’s it!” She pointed a finger at Brogan. “I am through with your conniving, your false pleas for sympathy and your friends.” She glared furiously at Ponti. “Go back to the sea!”

“No, wait!” Brogan said, pushing himself from the bed. He caught her as she reached the door. “Just wait.” He limped to his sea chest, opened it and pressed a silver bracelet into Ponti’s hand before shoving him out of the room. “The one that smiled at you, her name is Jessica. You’re on your own.”  He closed the door and slid the bolt.

“Don’t even try to bribe me with your disgusting goblin treasure!” Larisse said, angrily, trying to leave.

“How about this?” Brogan said, catching her in his arms and kissing her deeply.

“Did you mean that?” Breathlessly, she looked up at him.

Ponti was wrong. His sails weren’t slack, but were filled with a mighty desert wind.

“Honor says,” he whispered.