The girl helped Rolan unbar the cellar door. "I hope they're alright down there," she said, stepping back as he pulled it open.
With some trepidation, he descended the narrow, creaky steps with care, stopping at the bottom to take a good look around the dark, musty smelling room. Seeing no telltale eye-glow made him even more pensive.
The young ones could still be here though; Dark elves were smart enough to realize that their eyes could give away their presence in the dark, even to those with limited daylight vision. When startled or threatened, a reflex caused them to bow their heads and close their eyes, making them near invisible to all with daylight vision-Their acute hearing and sense of smell would then take over. Rolan fervently hoped this was the case here.
It was deathly quiet, nothing moved, yet he felt a faint presence. Whoever was here listened and waited. "Clu, are you here? It's Rolan," he whispered, daring to hope they were alive and uninjured.
He was about to return to the ground floor to get a lantern when a shadow detached itself from the wall, its eyes were glowing red. Four more pairs of eyes appeared around him, as if by magic. At a sharp hiss from the figure in front of him, all the eyes winked out at once.
"Are we to be banished?" the tension in the girl Clu's voice expressed her anger. "Have you come to take us back to our death in the darkness?"
No, no... this is your home now," Rolan said, trying to reassure her. "That boy upstairs talks from ignorance and hate. He speaks for himself, not for us." He felt that cutting through the knot of her betrayed trust was an impossible task, but he had to try.
"I am not convinced." Clu's reply held a regret that was not common to the drow. "We will wait, surfacer, we have no choice." She stepped back into the shadows, her eyes disappeared from his view.
He could not think of a thing to say that would make sense. He was about to turn and leave, when he felt a tiny hand slip into his. Kneeling down brought him face-to-face with a little one, he wasn't sure which one.
"We don't have to leave, can we stay?" she asked, her hopeful emotion was there, it hadn't been trained out of her... yet."
Her question made Rolan's heart ache. "You can stay, sweetheart, I promise," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Stay here just a little longer. I'll come back and get you when it's safe."
The cellar door was once again safely barred. The drunken sot was still out cold in his cell. Rolan's next move was to see the matron—Where did she fit into all of this?
When he returned to the common room, Rolan noticed that the children had been organized and cleaning up was in progress. A few of the elder ones were sorting through the litter for anything that could be salvaged. The matron was conspicuous by her absence. The girl he'd talked to before his descent, her name was Elspeth, showed him the way to the office where they'd met the ogress yesterday.
After he knocked on the door and gotten no answer, Rolan looked down to see a large iron key in the lock. It was on the outside of the door, effectively blocking escape from this room. She'd been locked into her own office.
The matron was standing with her back to the door, apparently looking out the window. "'tis a sad day when a child locks me into my own office," she said turning to address her savior. Rolan now realized how serious things were by her injuries; A cut on her forehead hadn't quite stopped oozing blood, and numerous bruises on her face and arms would take a long time to fade away. "Maybe it's time for the ogress to go home," she said sadly, shaming Rolan for using the undeserved moniker.
He gave her his remaining healing kit; She'd waved him away when he tried to treat her. "What in the hells is going on?" he asked, wondering how this could happen in such a large settlement—Port Llast was much larger than his village of Highcliff. "Where's the Town Watch? It's their job to keep the peace."
"We're behind on paying our taxes," she replied, her speech clipped by her anger. "So the almighty Haeromos has informed me that we are on our own, and will be until we are paid up. Can you believe that? It's insane... He's insane... and it's making me insane." She buried her face in her hands. "Why do I keep trying?" she asked the room in a small voice.
"Because you'd never think of quitting," his sharp answer brought her head up. "Elspeth is starting to clean up. His majesty, the prince of savages, is locked in where he can't get out, until I get the Town Watch to come get him. Haeromos needs to be shamed into getting off his lazy ass." Rolan's statement was punctuated by a firmly closed door.
Rolan's anger was barely under control as he approached the Port Llast garrison. The two heavily armed town watchmen stationed at its front door made him think twice about just barging in and demanding action from the watch.
A notice tacked to the bill-board on his left, erected to screen the Cracked Anvil's forge from the street, caught his attention. Under a well detailed line-drawing of a ship under full sail was a flowery invitation to 'young men of stout mind and body' to enlist in the adventurous life of a sailor. Rolan's mom was fond of saying that whoever wrote these posters had no idea how much of an adventure being a sailor really was—She'd forbade him from even discussing it with her when the seagoing bug had bitten him. To keep the peace, his father'd reluctantly agreed with her. At the bottom was the name; His Majesty's Double Eagle, Captn. Wellend Way—Fleet Recruiter. Port Llast, berth #2.
So Flinn's retired too, Rolan thought. Time marches on. Captain Flinn was an old friend of his father from way back. He couldn't remember any other master of the Eagle. Yet, now that old sea-dog had retired and a man named Way had taken his place. Good name for a ship's captain, Rolan mused, with a chuckle, the Eagle would be under Way even when moored to the pier.
It didn't say good character, just sound mind and body, he thought as the answer to the orphanage's problem hit him. He turned toward the waterfront, sketched a snappy salute at the watchmen. "Mornin' 'cloaks," he said cheerily. After they nodded curtly and returned to staring at the well across the square, he set out to find a ship.
Rolan stood at the gangplank and looked up at H.M. Double Eagle's taut rigging. She was one of the best ships in Lord Nasher's fleet, having survived more than her share of cataclysmic storms. Good design, good seamanship, and a damn good crew who served on her were the secrets to her success. After his father retired as master of H.M. Northern Falcon, this ship took Nasher's pennant, and became the flagship of the fleet.
"Mornin', Master Edgewater," a short half-elf cabin-boy he recognized from the Eagle's port calls in Highcliff greeted him. "What can we do for ya' t'day?"
"Is Cap'n Way aboard? I'd like to speak to him, if he has the time." Rolan's anger at the situation at the orphanage was hard to conceal.
"Nothin' bad serious, I hope," the cabin boy wondered aloud. Gathering information about possible trouble was any sailor's second nature.
"No... I just need his help," Rolan's distracted answer got him a quizzical look.
"Watch's just changed, he shud be below, in his cabin. Ya know," he gave Rolan a conspirator's wink. "Follow me, Master."
They crossed the freshly washed, holystoned deck and entered a hatch in the sterncastle, leading below to the captain's cabin, near the stern. "Be back in a flash, guv," the cabin boy knocked firmly on the door and entered.
"Go right in guv," the cabin boy ushered him in and stood at the door, he was the ears of the ship now. Anything that went on here would be broadcast throughout the belowdecks area in no time.
The captain stood and held out a hand, saying, "Martin Edgewater's son, Rolan is it?" His grip was firm, but not crushing, that of a gentleman. "Martin and I were on the cutter that captured the Drow Princess. She was later re-rigged and named the Northern Falcon. We were decorated by Lord Nasher for that bit of work—The Princess was manned by the nastiest band of cutthroat bastards on the Sword Coast. Some say they were undead, but they were men just like the rest. We proved that when we put them all to the sword—No trial. What can the Eagle do for you, my friend?" he asked gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.
It took Rolan some time to explain the conditions at the orphanage and their cause. He finished by proposing his idea, inspired by the Eagle's recruiting poster.
Captain Wellend Way sat back in his chair and considered his options. Finally, he put forth a plan. "If this boy is near his majority, like you say, his matron can enlist him with an Article of Indenture." He opened a drawer and drew out a written form. "This document will bind him to service on this ship for, oh, lets say three summers. The Master will retain a right to renew on good behavior." His eyes had a hard glint. "And his survival will be on good behavior. Discipline is something we are very good at."
Rolan's heart was lifted at this news. "There is one thing, though, Captain; Some of the children at the orphanage are drow... dark elves. Will that be a problem?" He wasn't prepared to have his hopes dashed by anyone's hatred of the drow.
"No problem at all. You'll see," he said gesturing to the cabin boy lounging near the door. "Fifer, round up Mister Gray. Tell him I want a shore party with two layabouts, the ship's carpenter, and the surgeon. Have them collect a day's rations. They are to stand by the gangway, while the surgeon and Mister Gray report to me here. Got that? Good... Move out."
A knock on the captain's door rattled it in its frame. At the command come, the largest man Rolan had ever seen entered, ducking to avoid braining himself. "Ya called, Cap'n?" This grey skinned giant's voice was like doom itself.
"Mister Gray, meet Rolan Edgewater, Martin's son," Captain Way introduced his visitor. "Rolan, this is my Master at Arms, Mister Gray. I stole him away from the Falcon... after your father retired, that is."
The grey orc shook his hand with great care, stepping aside to allow a very petite, very beautiful dark elf woman to enter. The orc was obviously entranced by her.
"And this vision of elven beauty is our surgeon, Caeryth, who stubbornly refuses to tell us her house-name," the captain's affection was obvious as well.
She took Rolan's hand and replied, "Please, call me doc, everyone else here does, for some obscure reason." Her sensual voice and dazzling smile reminded him of his Lillith.
Indeed, Rolan did see why the drow children would be no problem. "My Lady, it is a pleasure to meet you," he said with as much charm as he could muster.
"Well, it's nice to meet someone with manners," the surgeon winked at the captain and smiled at Rolan.
"Mister Gray," the captain's eyes sparkled with mirth. "There's a young man at the orphanage here in port who hears the call to a seafaring life, but needs some advice about how to heed that call. What do you think?" he asked.
The giant had heard this before, so he joined right in. "Cap'n, the crown has outlawed press gangs..." he said with apparent regret. "and barring another war with Luskan, they won't be back. It gladdens my heart to hear he wishes to join us." His smile was predatory.
Captain Way passed the rolled up document to the dark elf. "Doc, you're in charge. The matron was roughed up some, she may need some attention. Get her mark on this and bring our recruit to me. Take all the time you need, even if we delay sailing. If the carpenter needs more time, leave him and the layabouts there and return to my cabin. That is all."
He turned to Rolan and continued, "There is one thing I'll need from you. The labor of my crew is gratis, that goes without saying, but materiel and food to rebuild what was damaged... I hope you understand." He was embarrassed to ask, but his ship was a business.
Rolan understood immediately. "Agreed, captain, I'd even pay for the labor. It's that important. What do you need from me?" he asked; He was familiar with merchant negotiations, that was his job at his father's trading firm.
The captain waved his hand. "Just the word of Martin Edgewater's son is more than enough. I'll present the draft in Highcliff the next time we call there." He stood, spit in his hand and extended it. "Thanks for bringing this to my attention."
He took the captain's extended hand, sealing the deal. "I can't thank you enough, Captain-Fair winds." He followed the surgeon and Mister Gray topside where the rest of the shore party waited.
As soon as Rolan stepped through the sterncastle hatch, it seemed as if the hells had come to The Double Eagle. The watch bell on the quarterdeck was ringing constantly, while a powerful voice rang out; All hands... repel boarders... port side, now...repel boarders... port side, now.
He was not one to volunteer for anything, but salt water ran in his veins. "Mister Gray," Rolan called to the Eagle's Master at Arms. "Where do you want me?"
The grey-orc was in the process of arming what few sailors were still aboard, most were ashore on leave. "Take yur bow to the foc'stle," he said, pointing toward the bow of the ship. "Keep them bastads of'n the waist. If they get aboard, we're done fur."He turned back to the arms locker, passing out blades and clubs, while directing his meager forces to their posts.
Rolan climbed the ladder to the forward deck, just aft of the bow, called the forecastle by most seafarers. The marauders were approaching from the seaside, on the left, called the port side. As he readied the hunter's bow, he counted three longboats, each pulled by two pairs of oars, manned by two men at each oar. With that much man-power those boats would be very fast. One boat was already alongside, close enough to make the watch keeper in the crow's nest aloft sound an alarm.
There was no question the pirates were attacking this ship. No boat was allowed within an arrow's distance without first hailing the watch, approaching after permission was given. These boats had ignored the ages old convention.
At the word to attack from Mister Gray, who was amidships on the lowest open weather deck, called the waist, Rolan's first arrow took the tiller man on the longboat that had drawn alongside.
"Let Mister Gray's crew take the ones alongside." the ship's surgeon was beside him, like most drow, she was as quiet as a whisper. "We need to concentrate on those other boats," she said above the clash and clatter of sharpened blades below.
Though she was a healer, she could take a life as well. Her bow took out two successive pirates from the helm of the second boat. Each time a brigand moved aft to take control of the tiller, Doc's arrow would send him to the hells where he belonged.
She tolerated Rolan staring at her shortbow for another moment, then said, "Get to it, sailor, those faithless sons of Luskan whores will be here shortly... move it." She stepped closer to the rail and loosed another missile. "The far boat... pepper it. Kill them." The blood lust was upon her.
He stepped closer to the rail and drew his arrow back. Taking a short breath, he sighted on the steersman and released. The arrow flew true and found its mark. One down, nine more to go, he told himself. He'd forgotten to count his arrows, there were maybe twelve or thirteen left—Each one counted. After loosing off four more, Rolan's score was four pirates dead, one wounded, for five missiles spent. The far longboat had now slowed considerably.
There was now a lull in the battle. All of the marauders that boarded the Eagle hadbeen dispatched by the defending deck hands; Their mutilated corpses thrown back into their longboat to be burned later. The remaining boats, not willing to admit defeat, had withdrawn to just beyond bow range. They appeared to be waiting.
Rolan looked over his shoulder, taking a quick count. "I've got eight arrows left... hope that's enough," he said, looking down to the lower deck where the captain and Mister Gray were mustering the crew and assessing the damage done by the pirates' surprise raid.
"I've got ten," the dark elf replied. After a quick scan of the two remaining boats, she lowered her bow. "Keep an eye on those boats. Fire on them if they even look like they're too close. They may need me below—Stay sharp." She turned back from the ladder leading down to the waist. "You're pretty damned good with that hunter's bow, even though you're not used to it." She winked at him, and without waiting for a reply, nimbly slid down the handrail on her rump to the lower deck.
Feeling like he had nothing better to do, Rolan took a watchman's tour around the foredeck. The first thing he noticed was the pier the Double Eagle was moored to was deserted. Where in the nine hells is the damned town watch? His opinion of Haeromos' leadership ability, already woefully low, dropped even more.
The second thing; When he returned to his station near the forechains, a bundle of cables that supported the forward mast, the remaining longboats were pulling away, showing their sterns. "Run, you cowardly curs," Rolan couldn't help shouting at their retreating backs. Several sailors looked up at him and smiled—They shared his fighting spirit. Nobody cheered, though, the odds were even that the ship that sent those boats out would make an appearance... soon.
Doc was back before Rolan even missed her. "Very few injuries, compared to their losses. Mister Gray's hellions got all ten in the first boat, I killed four in the second boat, and you got four as well in the third. Maybe the one you wounded will die, we can always hope. That makes eighteen, maybe nineteen out of thirty," she reported. "But they may be just testing our defenses. As soon as we're sure they're gone, we'll shove off for the orphanage... I promise."
"You're still going to the waif's home?" Rolan was mystified. "After all this...?"
She looked back at him with barely suppressed amusement. "We've had battle drills that were tougher than this lot," she scoffed. "We sent those scabrous dogs back home with only one third of our full complement," she said with pride. "We are sailors, Master Edgewater, not traders," she said, showing more drow than he'd seen in a long time, even from a furious Lillith.
"Thank you, Captain Way. I'm honored," Rolan said, as he accepted the beautiful, captured cutlass presented to him by the ship's crew. Turning the scabbard over, he pointed to a small brass plate fastened near the hilt. On it was an intricately engraved image of a dragon on the wing. "This came from the armory on the Sea Dragon; The scourge of the southern Sword Coast," he said, wondering if the longboats they'd fought today came from that legendary privateer.
Doc laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. "I took the liberty of consecrating your new blade to our Lady Silverhair's service," she smiled knowingly. Grasping the hilt behind its carefully polished handguard, she pulled the sword far enough out for Rolan to see the image of Eilistraee she'd engraved on the blade with magic just a few moments before.
"You honor me as well, Lady Priestess of Eilistraee," he said solemnly. He'd noticed a pendant she wore at her throat that bore her goddess' image. The future for the little ones at the orphanage was as bright as its gold disk.
Shore party to the gangway, the bosun's resonant voice called from the quarterdeck. The Sea Dragon had declined to engage The Double Eagle and withdrew to maybe fight her another day. Knowing this, the shore party shoved off to another engagement... at the Port Llast orphanage.
The Double Eagle's shore party was gathered at the waif's home front door. With two human able-bodied seamen, an elven ship's carpenter, and the ever imposing grey orc Master at Arms, Mister Gray, there was plenty of muscle, if needed. Though they weren't expecting any trouble, the seamen carried truncheons with stern orders to use them sparingly.
Doc and Rolan met the mistress in the entry hall. She seemed to be in a better mood, even sparing a nervous smile for her returning son-in-law. "Things are almost back to normal now," she said with what she thought was a look of relief. "We won't need the watch, now—Daniel is... still resting."
Rolan hoped that in spite of her change in attitude, she would follow through. Ignoring this situation wouldn't make it go away. "I think I've found a solution to... Daniel's problems, but we'll need your help." He felt that indenturing the miscreant would turn his life around—Daniel just needed some guidance.
"If you think it will work," she didn't seem to be convinced. "Tell me about it and we will see," she stated—To challenge was this dwarf matron's nature.
The dark elf stepped up and said, "We want to enlist this young man. He will serve aboard the Double Eagle for three seasons, giving him a chance at a better life. He will not be a stranger to hard work and discipline." Doc's reply was better than any recruiting poster. To sweeten the deal, she added, "Our Captain Way has started a new program that returns a tenth of the recruit's pay to his orphanage, in the belief that we should never forget where we came from." Her stern demeanor assured that the boy would be in good hands.
The matron absently put her hand to her head and winced when it encountered the bandage that had been hastily applied. "He needs the kind of discipline that I cannot give him," she lamented. "What do you need me to do?" She'd made up her mind.
Doc looked at Rolan and smiled. "First, let me see... " she replied, gently pulling the dwarf's protesting hands away to take a look. "Hmm... that cut will need stitching. You don't want a scar, do you? Come with me," she said, opening the door to the matron's office. "Oh Rolan," she said, turning back. "Would you tell Mister Gray that young Daniel needs help packing and saying good bye?" Her sly wink finished the thought. "And tell Gray, I said, mind the little natives." Again, a wink that was not-quite salacious.
"Aye, Lady," Rolan responded at once. "Right away." He turned to begin the assault of the orphanage.