Which, as he thought about it, Varis realized that most of the men who had joined up likely had a similar story. He didn’t miss any of his companions nearly as much.
In those two years, his crew had jumped ship, swimming through the still waters, avoiding the lacemaker beasts that lurked below, only to die crashed upon the sharp rocks of the shore. Eventually the ship drifted, crashing against a drifting vessel until it took on too much water, grounded itself on an outcropping, and lay in wait for port authorities to eventually come seize the vessel or rescue the contents.
Day by day, fewer men stayed on board with Varis. Until the first winter came and the sea froze solid. So many men tried to brave the walk across the ice. So many men had fallen into the frozen waters to their doom.
Varis had made do over the seasons, swimming from one sinking and abandoned ship to the next to steal supplies. Lacemaker beasts never bothered him, and if they did? He’d welcome death. A man with no nation was as good as dead. But as long as he held onto the royal cargo, he had a chance of making a claim when the war died down.
As supplies dwindled, so did new ships, and the once-thriving ports had become a battleground. A military outpost had, also, dwindled to nothing.
Until the present day.
Something had changed on the shores. The ports were actively being repaired; a new kind of fire had risen, one burning the refuse and waste that littered the shores. The tides had changed, and Varis knew that someone would come, and he’d have to present his cargo. He only prayed they didn’t see his markings and ship him back to Kaliman.
If that was the case, he’d happily end his existence. Alim would never claim his ash.
But as the bitter memories passed, he hefted his spear and whipped his legs into motion, jettisoning toward a school of fish, not his desired snack but a meal all the same.
Here was hoping they at least got to have a little weird fish sex before they got skewered. Would suck if his meals were virgin sacrifices to his gut.
He no longer would be. He’d made sure of that his first night offshore.
He climbed back on board and stoked a fire, his tinderbox running dangerously low.
“Fish again.” He sighed, and somehow it was still better than being sacrificed.
As he cleaned his catch, a shadow blotted the moon, and he looked up, catching a glimpse of a great white wyvern—not one like the Rammolians bred. These were saurian royal beasts; ones he’d only heard tales of.
His heart clenched as he watched the creature jettison past, an intense longing to be up there in the sky coiling in his belly. Perhaps whoever it was would stop by and offer him rescue, supplies, or finally take his cursed goods.
It circled him twice before doing the same to other abandoned vessels, and with its shadow went a little piece of Varis’s heart.
Chapter Three
Ghreid
Ghreid wandered the halls of his new estate, taking in bare walls and the scent of mildew. He wasn’t very surprised they’d done nothing to prepare for him, but the loneliness was overwhelming.
The retinue that had come with him brought furniture, clothing, money, and a slew of help that would aid him in making the place serviceable—the bare necessities. More would come as he ordered it, but for the time being, he was stationing himself there.
The kitchens were empty, the scent of dankness ripe. The basement was damp, mildew seeping in, and the magic in the desalination well had gone foul—the gold in it was near black from expiration. He supposed that would be his first duty that evening as the only dragon in his retinue.
As he walked the estate, climbing stone stairs, his footsteps echoed back at him from bare walls. Not a drop of gold ran through them, and he’d spend forever with his own magic and the magic of the court’s spellcasters making the place as dragon-centered as possible. His mind reeled with the costs, but the profits would outweigh it, for certain. Rath may not have been the genius with money that Ghreid was, but he could sniff out gold a mile away.
The estate had been built into an embankment, the first story the majority of the living estate, as the upper served as libraries, offices, and more. The underground feeling of the place made it suitable for him, especially as buildings near the shoreline often were the victims of tidal storms. Though, everything had held up for far longer than he’d imagined. Partsof the keep were well over three-hundred years old, and the wood hadn’t even rotted.
When he got to the end of the upper offices, an open staircase led into a transition of stone with two gated metal doors open wide, and it led to an observatory with windows rising as high as his dragon with a spiral staircase leading to a mezzanine and lighthouse beacon. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
An attendant made notes as he followed, scratching things down as he tapped walls and made commentary. The stairs creaked, and he made note to have them reforged of a stronger metal. Still, he climbed them and made his way to the central light column, the crystal within barely aflicker with magical glow. “Add that to my list.”
Still, he slid his hands into the cage and traced his fingers over the crystal. It still had the capacity to hold magic. With a careful sigh, he infused his magic into the core of it, letting it flow and bring about the beacon of light to signal to ships.
The rotating light gave Ghreid a pulsing view of the world, his own light blinding before swinging away, letting him see the dimming expanse of the ocean.
Instead of the endless sea into the horizon, the sight that greeted him was abysmal. The surf foamed and churned with broken cargo, floating detritus, human waste, and in the distance, beyond the markers of territory, lay a graveyard of sunken ships, masts protruding from shallower waters, the odd hull bobbing with the waves. Amid a few rocky outcroppings near a sea stack lay the saddest sight of all: white flags fluttering in the wind, all made of clothing and pieces of sail, green with moss and algae from the long years of disuse. “What are those?”
Ghreid placed his fingers against the glass and fumbled to open a window, letting the harsh breeze whip through—cold and unforgiving.
“I’ll ask, Your Highness.” The snippy tones of his assistant, a young human male by the name of Rydel, made another note before descending the steps with anything but delight in his pace.
