Path of the Stonebreaker

Chapter 105

Drifting Towards the Storm

After a few days on the ship, Femira fell into a rhythm. She took full advantage of the ability to train with Nyth as she wasn’t sure when she’d get the opportunity to do so again with so much space. It became a familiar sight to the crew and her training eventually stopped pulling their attention.

As for the rest on the ship, the days were filled with activity. Connie and Sleek would take turns at the helm, and the rest of the crew busied themselves by adjusting sails, and watching for other ships or dangers in the water. Meals were often shared together, Cowbell as it turned out was a surprisingly good cook.

From previous trips at sea that Femira had taken, she had to accustom herself to the simple fare of salted meat and hardtack biscuits. By contrast, Cowbell took great pride in his task of feeding the crew. Despite the limited resources and kitchen space available to him, he did his best to create satisfying meals for the crew and passengers. There was almost always someone fishing off the side of the ship and Cowbell would fry up any catch, tossing in some beans and lentils with an assortment of spices. Femira found herself enjoying the food on the ship almost as much as the palace in Epilas.

In the evenings, when the work was done, the crew members gathered to share stories and sing songs. Sleek was a somewhat decent lute player and would often regale the crew with songs. The crew would tell tales of daring escapes and close calls working on the ship, or of past crewmates.

Sleek had the commendable ability to lure the newcomers into a sense of trust. By the third night on the ship, he had the other newcomers telling their stories of how they had come to be on the execution procession. Connie had begun affectionately referring to them as the ‘throne-dodgers’. There were six of them—including Sleek and Cowbell—that were the previous crew members that Femira had rescued. Out of the other criminals who had fled Krastac’s Hall, another three had tagged along with Sleek and Cowbell, opting to take the chance of fleeing the city altogether.

One—Beras—had been the muscle for a small-time skaga dealer, he’d gotten caught in a raid from the city watch. Another—Felix—was a young man who had been a thief, he’d tried to break into Avriem's palace and got caught by the guards. Femira liked the kid’s brazenness. He reminded her of herself, back when she’d been a thief, only he didn’t have an earthstone to make the job easier. Femira decided to hold off until another evening to ask him for more detail on how he’d gone about the break-in. The third—Hest—was reluctant to open up about his crimes and Sleek didn’t push him.

“We’ve all been given second chances,” Sleek told him, “well, some of us are on our third or fourth.” He nudged Cowbell who didn’t return the laugh.

“We’ve got our own personal saviour to thank for that,” Sleek winked at Femira, “how about it, Femira?” he asked. “Care to give us your story?”

The rest of the crews’ eyes turned on Femira. The ship’s timbers creaked and groaned as they waited in anticipation for her to speak. She didn’t trust these people yet, and the less they knew about her the better. They already know far too much as it is.

“I’d love to know how you came across that strange sword you use,” Connie probed, “it looks like nythilium. Even in our trade, that’s a very rare metal.” Femira didn’t immediately reply. The sail flapped and the waves continued to lap, filling the silence.

“Sorry,” Femira said eventually, “I’m not much of a storyteller.”

“Another night perhaps,” Sleek grinned and jumped to move the banter forward again, “how about a song then?” He posed to the group, picking up his lute.

Sleek wasn’t a fantastic player, he knew barely any songs and often made mistakes with the ones he did but the crew didn’t seem to mind. They clapped and cheered as he went from song to song. His voice was raspy from years of smoking pipe weed, it gave a scratchy quality to his singing that worked well with the songs he played.

“You’ve not got a bad voice,” Sleek said to Lydia after she’d joined him in the chorus of ‘Jolly Tar’.

“I’ve been known to sing a song or two,” Lydia said coyly.

“Oh yeah? Right so, what’s your best then?” Sleek sat up straight and prepared to start playing again.

“Do you know the Tower of Limiria?” She asked. It was a very common song for sailors. Even Femira knew the words to the chorus.

“Oh, uh,” Sleek fumbled, “yeah, ‘course I do. But ehm… maybe we’ll play a different song, eh?” Femira noticed some other members of the crew also shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s fine,” Connie said, cutting the tension, “honestly, Sleek. It’s fine” Femira was confused and she could tell that Lydia and the other newcomers also weren’t sure what was going on. Not just me then.

“Right well,” Sleek said, then played the familiar tune of the Tower of Limiria. Femira had heard it many times before, the lyrics told of a tower beneath the waves that was rumoured to hold vast treasures. The melody was simple and was thus popular as the crew were able to bang their fists on the timber to the beat.

The evening went on with a mixture of casual conversation and songs. Femira found herself enjoying the easygoing atmosphere of the group on the ship. No one pushed her for any details of her background, and were eager to tell her of their own exploits and lives.

Femira felt her chest tighten when Farns mentioned a story he’d heard just before they were arrested.

“The Blightwind and one his elites,” Farns recounted the story with every ounce of enthusiasm as a professional storyteller, “Annali Jahar of Keiran. They fought a draega at Temple Beach.”

“A true draega?” Sleek gasped.

“Aye, from the sounds of it, was a kraken.”

Cowbell grunted in agreement, apparently he had been with Farns when he’d heard the story in a tavern.

“I heard it was a kragal,” Femira put in, her heart skipping beats as she spoke. There was something very thrilling about talking about the fight she’d had with kragal without anyone realising it was her.

“A kragal? Wha’s that?” Farns asked.

“Type of draega,” Connie replied to Femira’s surprise, “not too different from a kraken, but without all the tentacles. You heard the story too then?”

Femira nodded, “Annali Jahar and L—Blightwind. They fought its offspring all the way up the coast of the Tidewall until eventually facing and defeating the thing.” Femira was reminded of Selyn and Drad as she spoke. How her arrogance had led them to their deaths. Landryn had told her to shake herself of that guilt, that she couldn’t carry it with her if she intended to keep fighting on. But she didn’t find it easy to do that and often found that she didn’t want to be rid of it.

Femira had been overconfident in her ability then. But now, with the advantage of Nyth, Femira wondered how she would fare if she came up against another one, even without Landryn. She was positive she could handle a few kraglings solo, but the fully grown kragal itself? Maybe. For the first time since before the battle, she felt eager to face one again.

Farns had resumed the telling of the story he’d heard where the monster had been a kraken. Described how Landryn the ‘Blightwind’ and Annali Jahar had lured the kraken onto land and used their powerful runewielding to cut the many tentacles from its body before eventually killing it. No one seemed to make the connection between Femira and Annali Jahar despite both of them being Keiran women and demonstrably powerful runewielders.

The next morning, Femira was up with the dawn. The crew tended to be noisy about their business and Femira saw no point in sleeping in herself. She worked through her newly devised sword dance with Nyth. It was heavily based around her preference for duelling daggers but also incorporated the forms that she’d learned of the sword, spear and shield whilst training with the bloodshedders. With Nyth’s assistance, her metalshaping skills were so fast that she could alter and adjust her weapon mid-stance.

After a few hours, she could smell Cowbell cooking up the morning catch and her stomach began to rumble. She halted her practice to join the crew for an early lunch. Connie was manning the helm and Sleek was on look-out.

Femira noticed that Lydia was also by the helm having a conversation with Connie. Femira hadn’t ignored that the two women were often having hushed conversations together. Today, however, it seemed heated. Connie had an exasperated look on her face and Lydia was trying to argue some point. In fact, she was becoming quite passionate about it.

After a few minutes, Lydia gave up the argument and descended to the cabin below. Femira watched her go then decided she wanted to know what was going on between the pair. But first she finished the fish that Cowbell had cooked up, savouring the combination of spices the man had used. Once she was done, she thanked the big silent man, hopped to her feet, and made her way to the helm.

“What was that about?” Femira asked Connie as she approached, her eyes narrowing. Connie matched Femira’s expression. She gave Femira a scrutinising look before eventually sighing. “Do you distrust me?” Connie asked bluntly.

Femira wasn’t taken aback by the question. In truth, she did distrust the woman, she was a smuggler that specialised in smuggling people rather than goods. That meant there was a very real possibility that she was also a trafficker.

“I have concerns about you…” Femira admitted, “and your intentions.”

“I’ve not given you any reason to distrust me,” Connie said with slight annoyance, “If anything, you’re the one who hasn’t been entirely forthcoming… but, as I’m feeling accommodating this morning, how about we clear the air, hmm? I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Femira was surprised by this. Connie could be brazen at times, and she did often display a lack of patience with her crew for tasks. Perhaps her argument with Lydia had pushed her patience to breaking point and she truly did want to dispel any misunderstandings Femira had.

Femira’s largest concern was that Connie would try to sell her to some slaver. That wouldn’t be a major issue as Femira could easily escape but it would delay her mission which she couldn’t allow. A deeper, more anxious, part of her worried that Connie might sell information that might somehow make it back to Garld. Femira knew that Garld had a network of agents in both Reldon and Rubane. Who’s to say he doesn’t have any in Athlin too? Connie wouldn’t likely outright admit any of this, so Femira needed to try to tease out bits of information that might give her an inkling of Connie's motives.

“You’re pretty young to be running your own game,” Femira disclosed, “You’re what, thirty?”

“And a few,” Connie smirked, “but close. You’re quite young yourself for the skills you have,” Connie said suggestively.

“How did you pay for this ship?” Femira asked, driving the conversation back to her own questioning.

“I inherited it.”

“From your parents?”

“Yes.”

“They were smugglers too?”

“No… My parents were treasure hunters. An unusual vocation, I know.”

“So they were thieves?” Femira asked with an arched eyebrow.

“My parents were not thieves,” Connie said defensively.

“Well, think about it. What do treasure hunters do?” Femira asked playfully, “they go around searching for valuable items that are often hidden or protected. They break into ancient tombs, raid sunken ships, and dig up artefacts that belong to other cultures. All of that is just stealing, but with a fancier name.”

"It's not that simple,” Connie argued, “yes, treasure hunters may have to break a few rules to get what they want, but it's not like they're just stealing for the sake of it. They're searching for historical artefacts and relics that have cultural value. They're preserving history, not just taking things for themselves."

"That's a flowery way of looking at it, but it doesn't change the fact that they're still taking things that don't belong to them,” Femira said, but then threw her hands up, “I’m not judging. I was a thief myself for a long time.” Shit. She hadn’t meant to reveal that. Connie’s mouth pulled into a deeper smirk.

“And how did a thief become such an accomplished runewielder?”

“So, what kind of artefacts were your parents hunting then?” Femira abruptly shifted the subject back.

“They mostly took contracts from noble families. Sometimes they’d be looking for lost family heirlooms, but a lot of the time they were looking for Krastac’s relics.”

“What were those?”

“You’ve not heard the stories? Krastac crafted many powerful artefacts.”

“Krastac isn’t that famous outside of Athlin, you realise,” Femira pointed out, “being honest, I’d never even heard of him before coming to Port Novic.”

Femira noticed Sleek sliding down the rope from the masthead. He made his way over to them with a lively step.

“I can take helm for a while if you want to get some food, m’love,” Sleek said to Connie. He often referred to her as that and it made Femira wonder if it was a casual term he used for his close friends or if there was something more between the two. Femira hadn’t seen much affection between them beyond Sleek’s use of the term.

“Krastac made a lot of things, and the nobility are always willing to pay an extortionate amount to get their hands on them,” Connie told Femira, stepping away from the wooden wheel and letting Sleek take over. “There’s the Red Throne for one, possibly his most infamous,” Connie continued, “but many of his fabled works are lost.”

“Ah Krastac’s Relics,” Sleek put in, picking up on their conversation, “It was said that he gave his most powerful warriors daggers that could cut a man’s soul from his body.”

“Seems like a regular dagger could do that easily enough,” Femira remarked.

“A lot of them are just stories that don’t make a lot of sense,” Connie waved off. “A key that can unlock a gateway to the moon or a mirror that can capture the memories of anyone who looks at it. Most of it is all nonsense. But believe me when I say the highborn pay a lot of gold for these relics.”

“So what happened to them?” Femira asked, “your parents?”

“They were fools,” Connie shrugged, “they went looking for a fairy tale—the Limirian Tower—and never came back.” That explained Sleek and the crew’s behaviour the previous night when Lydia asked to play that song.

“But this was their ship?” Femira pointed out.

“One of them,” Connie admitted. “They had a few but the others were all sold to cover their debts. All I was left with was this one… and my waterstone.”

“So why did you get into smuggling? With your wavecalling skills and this ship, you could’ve easily gone legit?”

“There’s no fun in that,” Connie smirked, “and not nearly as much gold. Besides, I suppose you could say that smuggling is a bit of a family tradition. My parents used their ship and their runestones to smuggle artefacts and relics from all over the continent. I guess you could say that it's in my blood.”

“I thought you said you didn’t smuggle goods? Only people.”

“Lately, yes.”

“How did that start?” Femira asked. She was still suspicious of Connie, despite the fact she didn’t seem to be holding back, answering each of Femira’s questions with little reserve.

“Riots and unrest are common enough in Port Novic,” Connie replied, “Avriem’s a shit ruler. He’s not liked among the population of the city. But he’s got buckets of money, and significant influence with the nobility. As you can imagine, this leads to a lot of people trying to get in and out of the city without Avriem knowing about it.”

“So,” Femira said, leaning back on the bench, “you do work with the revolutionaries.”

“Sometimes,” Connie shrugged, “they know I can be discreet. They need a lot of things smuggled. But their leaders know I won’t take most of the jobs they send my way.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t support their cause. They know that.”

“You support the Duke?” Femira asked, surprised.

Connie barked a laugh, “hardly. I’ve no love for Avriem. But I also never wanted the streets of the city to turn into a battleground.”

“You’re anti-fighting then,” Femira realised.

“Exactly. I started smuggling people a few years ago when I realised that there were people out there who needed help. People who needed to escape dangerous situations, or who were fleeing persecution from Avriem’s men. Sometimes even people who needed out from the revolutionaries.”

“And you just decided to risk everything to help them? That seems a little too noble for a smuggler.”

“Well, I do have a bit of a soft spot for people in need,” Connie said playfully, “and I have quite a lot of experience and resources at my disposal. I know how to avoid detection and get people to safety.”

“I'm not buying it,” Femira protested. “Seems like a lot of risk for very little reward. Why not just stick to smuggling goods and make a profit?” Sleek continued steering the ship, keeping the course but Femira caught his disapproving glances her way.

“Money isn't everything,” Connie replied with a serious tone. “Sometimes it's about doing what's right, even if it's risky. Helping people that need it is rewarding in its own way. You should know that, otherwise you never would’ve freed Lydia and the others outside of our deal.”

“I suppose,” Femira granted. “But how do you know that the people you're smuggling are really in need? How do you know they're not just criminals or terrorists trying to escape justice?”

“I have ways of vetting my clients to make sure that they're not a threat. And I only take on clients who I believe are genuinely in need of help.”

“How did you vet me?” Femira asked, pointedly.

“I didn’t,” Connie admitted, “I had just met you. But I had lost my crew and you claimed to be able to free them. I probably wouldn’t have agreed to take you unless you told me what you were really doing.”

“So that information is usually a stipulation?” Femira asked.

“Usually.”

“I see, and what do you do with that information after you’ve delivered the person to where they want to go?”

“Are you asking if I sell it on?” Femira could hear the exasperation building in Connie’s tone.

So far, it felt to Femira that Connie wasn’t hiding anything from her. But still she had a niggling part of her mind that warned her to be wary. She felt a little secure knowing that Nyth could shield her from any emotional tampering from a mindstone, but the fact she even felt that meant she was still distrustful. The hurt of Garld’s betrayal was still too raw for her to accept this woman’s word at face value.

“It’s imperative that my journey to Rubane is kept a secret,” Femira stated, already uncomfortable with divulging that much, “no one can know.”

“Why is it so important?” Connie asked.

“I…” Femira’s eyes moved between Connie’s and Sleek’s, “I can’t say. But the lives of thousands are at stake.”

Femira felt conflicted revealing that much. She resolved to guard herself from letting anything else about her trip become known to Connie but she was hopeful that the woman was being honest, that she truly did want to help people. If that was true, then she would help Femira… and if not, then Femira might have to do something she really didn’t want to.

It disgusted her that she even considered it, but there was a reality here she might need to face. Connie and her crew already knew far too much about her. They knew her skills, abilities, and her appearance. All of that was more than enough to lead Garld’s agents to her.

Nine people. Ten including Lydia. Could Femira really live with herself if she killed ten—somewhat innocent—people? Did the lives of the people she would save outweigh those she would have to take? And for what? Because there was a chance they might sell the information on? It feels like something that Garld would do, Femira realised.

No. Femira decided. Whatever happens, I won’t resort to that. Not unless any of the crew were foolish enough to actually attack her. For now, she would simply need to watch and listen, and trust that these people were exactly what they claimed to be.