Peril & Profit Read online

  Dragonsign

  Peril & Profit

  M H Johnson

  Copyright © 2018 by M H Johnson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Thank You

  1

  "We did it, Sorn! We fought off pirates, blew up enemy ships, chopped up bandits, and now we're going to help a besieged city feed their hungry while they feed our fortunes!"

  Sorn gazed fondly at his cousin as they stood upon the prow of the gently rocking ship, Lieberman's smile the mirror image of both his siblings, silver-gold hair rustling in the breeze, their mithril hauberks and sabers shimmering in the brilliant moonlight as they approached the ancient fortified city of Caverenoc, the lone holdout in a continent-wide campaign of conquest executed with such precision that the northern territories had not the slightest inkling that anything was wrong.

  It was only by dint of careful calculation and a hunger for profit that revealed the deception, the daring Captain Halence having somehow deduced the nature of this mysterious campaign of conquest. And the captain was not going to let anything, not even an opposing army, stop him from obtaining the vast fortune in gold he hoped to accrue. It had been obvious to Sorn when he had first met Halence in the port city of York that the captain had a plan as lucrative as it was daring. And what could be more profitable than selling a ship full of grain to a starving city?

  Things hadn't quite worked out as the captain had hoped, for all that his roguish smile, lean warrior's physique, and dangerous eyes had no doubt put more than one trader off his game, consoling and intimidating at the same time. But he had no such luck with Sorn, who had insisted on coming along. Not as a passenger or ship's help, but as a shareholder in the grain the daring captain had been so desperate to purchase. And lucky for the captain that Sorn had his way. For despite all their efforts to sneak past the blockade they had feared was in place, one sailor's foolishness had almost doomed them all. Halence and his crew had escaped certain death only because Sorn and his cousins had been fighting by their side.

  Sorn gazed back at the blazing funeral pyres that were all that was left of the enemy cutters that had tried to sink them. "Our story is getting off to a fantastic start, cousins, and our adventure has only begun! Just remember what we spoke of regarding control. We've come too far to risk losing everything we hope to gain, just because someone lost control of their hunger."

  Fitz pouted, looking genuinely hurt. "We would never do that, Sorn. Halence and the crew are our friends, after all!"

  Sorn nodded. "I know, Fitz, I know. And as long as we keep that truth first and foremost in our minds, all will be well." He took a deep breath, exhilarating in the feel of salty spray against his skin, the sharp iodine tang of the sea.

  As they drew closer, the youths found themselves gazing raptly at the immense arm of rock jutting out into the sea from the mainland, serving to encircle a great deal of the port. The channel they were approaching was guarded by gigantic keeps built of stone on top of the jutting arm, with numerous holes carved into the rock face itself from which they could make out gigantic crossbows, all pointed towards the sea.

  The captain roared into a long leather cone that served to amplify his voice, apparently to be relayed to the keep. "To the keep of Caverenoc! This is Captain Halence of the ship Redoubt, seeking to enter your port! I come with ten wagonloads of grain! I repeat! I am here with a shipment of grain!"

  Shortly thereafter a voice could be heard telling the captain to lower his sails, and Halence complied immediately. He was then told to stand easy, that an inspector would be sent out, and shortly thereafter a small boat rowed by six men approached the captain's ship, and several soot-streaked men helped them aboard with a ladder of rope and wood.

  Dressed in dark cotton uniforms, they all wore light cutlasses and stood at attention with military precision. The last one to board had what looked to be copper pins on his shoulders, appearing a burnished red as they caught occasional flashes of flickering light from the two still merrily burning pyres now some distance away. Sporting a salt and pepper mustache, the man’s steely gray eyes slowly looked over the ship. If he was at all disturbed by the scorch marks or other signs of battle on the deck he gave no sign of it, though his nose did crinkle at the pungent aroma of charred wood and flesh that hung over the battle-scarred ship as a grim reminder of a terrible fate just barely avoided.

  "I am Inspector Sworthlin. And who would be the captain of this ship?"

  Rich brown eyes met steely gray as Halence caught his gaze and slowly nodded. "Greetings, Inspector Sworthlin. I am Captain Halence, and this is my ship. Forgive the smell, if you would." Halence grinned at the man's obvious olfactory discomfort. "We just ran the blockade and none too easy, let me assure you. We lost three men, and we have another two in dire need of healing as we speak."

  Sworthlin's hard gaze softened. "Then I shall make the inspection as quick as possible and, should all prove well, point you to a most excellent healer at port who has treated our own injured men before."

  Halence nodded politely. "That would be much appreciated, Inspector."

  Halence quickly led the inspector and his men to the cargo hold where the ship's grain was stored, but a sharp-eyed Sworthlin quickly noted the damaged bulkhead leading to the passenger quarters. "My, what occurred here, Captain? It looks like the bulkhead hatch was almost completely torn off."

  "I will be honest with you, Inspector," Halence said with a measuring glance at Sorn and his cousins, "I have no idea what happened to the bulkhead. We were in the middle of a pitched battle, trying our damnedest not to be killed by flaming pitch or crossbow bolts."

  Sworthlin gave a wry smile at that. "I quite understand. No matter. Strange things happen in battles that no man for the life of him seems able to account for later. Come, let us take a quick look-see at the grain."

  With assurances of expediency, Sworthlin and his men quickly but thoroughly checked the hundreds of sacks filled near to bursting with grain in the cargo hold. A cautious man, he even made a cursory inspection of the captain’s quarters and his guest quarters in addition to checking the bilge, supposedly to make sure there were no enemy soldiers seeking to be smuggled in there. This Halence wryly told a bitter looking Vaughn, grizzled face set in a concerned frown, worried as he was for
poor Bates.

  The inspector was, however, surprisingly swift given the thoroughness of his inspection. "Well, all looks to be as it should, Captain Halence. I shall give the order at once for you to be allowed to pass through," Sworthlin confirmed at last. Surprisingly, he then favored Halence with a polite bow. "Though I don't know how you managed to get through, and I admit to being surprised as to how two ships were reduced to burning pyres quite visible from the keep, and you without a single mounted crossbow that I can see. Nonetheless, Captain, please know that our city is very grateful to you indeed for the grain shipment. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you received an invitation from the council hall for a personal word of thanks from our king."

  With a final nod, Sworthlin bade his leave, leaving one of his men behind to direct them into the harbor and to direct them to a healer, a service which Halence admitted he would be grateful for. Shortly thereafter, the keep, with a terribly loud rattling noise, could be heard lowering the huge ropes of chain that blocked the entrance into the harbor, and their ship made its way through.

  To his credit, when Sorn made their needs for sustenance known, Captain Halence had unhesitatingly made bowls of fresh fruits, smoked meats, even pickled fish appear as if out of thin air. A rich red wine had seemed to fill their crystal goblets as if by magic whenever their cups ran low. In truth, Halence had exercised the courtesy of playing the consummate host, respecting what was this evening the single-minded intensity of their appetites, refraining, despite what must have been overwhelming curiosity, from asking questions about the battle that had come so close to spelling their doom. A grim fate that had been avoided only by the most unlikely of interventions, feats of magic most often the privy of dukes and fairy-tales. Halence had, however, given Sorn and his cousins any number of measuring glances. Sorn appreciated the captain's forbearance, not only in terms of courtesy, but also because it gave him time to think.

  After they had consumed the rather tasty victuals that had been provided for them, Sorn politely begged fatigue on behalf of his cousins, giving them a pointed look at their raised eyebrows, though no argument came from them. Halence, of course, was too polite to do other than acquiesce to their needs, though his carefully veiled impatience indicated that he had been hoping to discuss things after the youth's repast.

  "Good wine, Sorn," Fitz declared with a burp as Sorn led them from the captain's table. The burp, of course, elicited a pair of giggles and even louder burps in turn. "At least the captain knows the importance of food in the belly!"

  "Indeed," smiled Sorn. "You all fought bravely and well. And what is, as you all know, the sweetest reward to battle after a well fought victory and a full belly?"

  "Loot?" Hanz queried.

  "He means sleep, brother," Lieberman said with a world-weary sigh that made Sorn grin.

  "Oh. I knew that, that was the obvious answer!"

  "Of course."

  With that, Sorn escorted the still excited but somewhat weary triplets to their quarters, ostensibly to bid them a goodnight before heading back up to the deck for his inevitable meeting with the no doubt increasingly impatient Halence. "Well, my cousins, I leave you all to a well-earned rest. I am sure we will hit port soon enough, wherein Bates will be rushed to a healer straight away, so you need not worry about that. In the mean time, I have to, ahem, put the spin on things in such a way that the idea of us shooting fireballs and being mundane apprentices somehow meshes."

  "Good luck, Sorn!" snickered one of Sorn's cousins.

  "Yeah, good luck!"

  "We're mages extraordinaire, and we kick ass!"

  "Yes we do, brother!"

  "Yes we do!"

  "Anyway, I will leave you to your late night musings, and bid you a good rest." With that Sorn had made his way to the prow, knowing he would have to speak to the captain sooner or later.

  "Well, Sorn," Halence began as they both stood at the prow gazing at the port slowly unfolding before them, lamp and torchlight giving it a cheerful cast despite the hour, and reminding Sorn of some things that now, hot blood cooled, he would rather forget. "That was a tad bit more potent than your everyday magic missile, no?"

  "Why yes," Sorn allowed with a bantering smile to Halence's question. "I suppose you could say that was a tad bit more potent than your everyday magical missile. Nothing but the finest magic missiles from my crew! If you want the ultimate in potency and explosive power from your magic missiles, you need look no further than the Sorn missile! Cast by a friendly mage near you."

  Halence chuckled softly, eyes deadly serious. "I'm no fool. I don't need the flippant ramblings of a cocky adolescent. I need to talk to the man who cast those spells."

  "And what, pray tell, would you have me say? Dare I say it, you seem quite knowledgeable yourself in the Arts Arcana."

  Halence shrugged. "I know only what a good commander would know about what to expect from his troops. And a third order fireball, which in fact I have only seen once in demonstration, to terrible effect to the tree it was cast upon, I might add, is a spell cast by a full mage. It is a level of arcane power only a fraction of wizards can even aspire to, and I have never heard of such a mage being any less than a man in his thirties. Forgive me for saying so, but you look to be about fifteen, Sorn, though I'll grant you the arrogance of a prince. And believe me, Sorn, far better than wizards, I know princes."

  Though Halence was smiling when he said this, still his words chilled Sorn for reasons he doubted the captain could even guess at. "So," Sorn said, thinking quickly, "what your saying is that I don't exactly give the impression of the meek little first-year apprentice." He deliberately tried to make his voice sound arrogantly derisive as he said this.

  "Not hardly, Sorn, not hardly."

  Sorn smirked. "So how long has it been apparent that I wasn't exactly your everyday student mage fresh off the farm?"

  Halence chuckled. "Oh, that's easy, Sorn. You haven't played cowed, meek, or humble since the second I laid eyes on you! Any first-year apprentice mage would have been wowed and a bit overwhelmed by York, unless he was a native, which you were not. You were, in fact, just headed to the academy this month by your own admission. Yet you didn't flinch in the least at going head to head with me, bargaining for as large a slice of the pie you could get, and dare I say it, you were clever enough to buy out your weakest link, that trader Kalek, and bargain with me from a position of strength.

  "Who would have thought you would decline an immediate profit for a profit share? With Kalek out of the way, you were able to do so, and cleverly too. I hardly saw it coming! And truth to tell, Sorn, it was obvious that Kalek was terrified of you, not that I am asking why, mind you. Even Kalek's captain seemed to have a lot more respect for you than the very trader he worked under! These are not such occurrences as would happen with a commoner, Sorn. I am not such a fool as to be unable to see that.

  "Now, Sorn, I am not asking for your story. Your confidences are your own. I can only think, however, that whatever abilities or resources you do have that have given you access to the power you have brought to bear on our enemies this night, whether it be some arcane artifact, or whatever, could never have occurred had you not, at one time at least, been of sufficient rank as to befit the training or possession of said items. What I would like to enquire of you, and I trust on your honor to answer as honestly as you can, is this. Should folly in the form of enemy cutters intercept us upon running the blockade on our way out of here, will you be able to call upon these resources at your disposal a second time, and if so, how much of a risk are you putting us under in doing so?"

  "Ah," Sorn said, nodding to himself, glad that had he had allowed the captain to speak first of his concerns and suspicions. Ultimately, it was always best to shape one's story around another's image of the truth. He kept his silence for a minute or so, as one would who was deep in thought, or grappling, perhaps, with uncomfortable revelations having been made.

  "Well, Captain, I certainly do appreciate your respect
for my confidences. And as such, I am sure you can understand if I choose not to comment upon your observations or your suppositions. Instead, 'on my honor' as you put it, and dare I say it, I almost feel manipulated, as you know damn well the value I place on my honor and my word, I will say this: Should cutters attempt to engage us a second time, I do have the resources to address the issue. Am I happy about it? On the one hand, I am not, because there is, as you have deduced, a risk. Though I will not discuss the nature, it is significant. It is, I think, in our best interests as a group if as few arcane demands are placed on me in the succeeding voyage as possible. It would be, I fear, a very bad idea to unduly stress my resources. Does this answer your question to your satisfaction, Captain?" Sorn said, doing his best to give his voice the mildly acidic inflections of a noble exasperated at having been outfoxed, but a good enough sport to concede the point.

  Halence just nodded slowly, staring out to port. "Whatever you may think, Sorn, life as an exile does not have to be equated with bitterness." Halence left a thoughtful pause, presumably to let the weight of his words carry their meaning before he continued. "Life, young Sorn, really is what you make of it. Out here, on the sea, you can truly choose your destiny. Captain of your own ship, you are answerable to no man. Even a king must give way to you on your own vessel. It is a freedom unmatched anywhere. For not only do you have the freedom of choice, you are also released from the burdens of administration and command, save for your own crew. Have you ever studied history, Sorn?"