Erik shrugged. ‘It gets close down below sometimes.’
‘And sometimes a man likes to be alone with his own thoughts, isn’t that true, Erik?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Erik. Not knowing why, he said, ‘But I don’t dwell much on things. It’s not my way. Roo, now, he worries enough for a whole family, but …’
‘But what?’
‘Maybe it was my mother,’ said Erik, suddenly missing her. ‘She was always worried about this or that, and, well, I never really had much on my mind most of the time.’
‘No ambitions?’
‘Just to earn a forge of my own someday.’
Calis nodded, the gesture half seen in the dim light of a nearby lantern. ‘A respectable goal.’
‘What of you?’ Erik was suddenly embarrassed at his own presumption, but Calis smiled.
‘My goals?’ He turned and leaned upon the rail, both elbows resting on it as he gazed into the darkness. ‘It would be hard to explain.’
Erik said, ‘I wasn’t trying to pry … sir.’
Calis said, ‘Start calling me Captain, Erik. Bobby’s our sergeant and Charlie’s the corporal, and you’re part of the Crimson Eagles, the most feared mercenary band in our homeland.’
‘Sir?’ said Erik. ‘I don’t understand.’
Calis said, ‘You will, soon enough.’ Looking at the horizon, he said, ‘We’ll be there shortly.’
‘Where, sir … Captain?’
‘Sorcerer’s Isle. I need to speak to an old friend.’
Erik stood silently, uncertain what to do or say next, until Calis relieved him of that burden. ‘Why don’t you go below and join your companions,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, Captain,’ said Erik and started to move, but stopped. ‘Ah, Captain, should I salute you or something?’
With a strange smile, what Owen Greylock called ironic, Erik thought, Calis said, ‘We’re mercenaries, not the bloody army, Erik.’
Erik nodded and turned away. Shortly he was back in his bunk. While Jadow regaled the others with tales of women he had known and battles he had single-handedly won, Erik lay half listening, half wondering just what Calis had meant.
‘Captain!’
Erik paused as he secured a line. The sound of the lookout’s voice had carried a troubling note with it.
‘What do you see?’ came the Captain’s reply.
‘Something dead ahead, sir. Lights or lightning. I don’t rightly know.’
Erik quickly made the line fast and turned to look ahead. It was near dusk, but the sun off the port bow made it hard to see anything. He squinted against the sunset glare, then saw it: a faint flash of silver.
Roo came to stand next to his friend. ‘What is it?’
‘Lightning, I think,’ said Erik.
‘Great. A storm at sea,’ said Roo. It had been pleasant sailing for almost a month as they had fought a tacking course out of Krondor toward their destination. One of the sailors had said that had they been heading the other way, they could have made the trip in one third the time.
‘You boys got nothing to do?’ came a familiar voice from behind them, and Erik and Roo were back up the rigging before Corporal Foster could inform Mr Collins that they needed to be assigned more work.
Reaching the top yard on the mainmast, they began securing lines that really didn’t need securing. They wanted a look at the coming storm.
As the sun lowered beyond the horizon, there were no clouds ahead, but they could clearly see arcs of incredible brightness. ‘What is that?’ asked Roo.
‘Nothing good,’ said Erik, and he started making his way back down toward the deck.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To report to Mr Collins I’ve secured the lines and to get orders. No sense staring at whatever’s ahead, Roo. We’ll get there soon enough.’
Roo hung back, watching as the bright arcs reappeared against the darkening sky, silver bolts that arched into the heavens. He imagined they carried thunderous booms or sizzling discharges, but from this distance they were silent. He felt chilled, yet the evening air was warm. He glanced down and saw that half the crew was straining to see what was ahead.
He lingered a moment, then headed down after his friend.
Throughout the night they drew closer to Sorcerer’s Isle. Near dawn the first of the cracking sounds that accompanied the energy displays could be heard. By the time the day watch was to be roused, no man on the ship was asleep.
Word of their destination had circulated through the crew, though Erik had told no one what Calis had told him. Sorcerer’s Isle, home to the legendary Black Sorcerer. Some called him Macros, while others said his name was a Tsurani one, and still others said he was the King of Dark Magic. No one knew the truth, Erik decided, but everyone who spoke knew of someone who knew someone who had talked to another who had barely survived a visit to the island.
Terrible stories of mayhem and horrors so vile that death was the least of them were passed around between sundown and dawn, so by the time Erik and his companions came up on deck, the mood of the ship was fearful.
Erik almost exclaimed at the sight that greeted him. An island lay off the starboard bow, large enough that it would take hours to sail around, and dominated by a high wall of cliffs. Atop the highest point of that cliff face, a black castle – a malignant-looking thing of four towers and stone walls – rose high against the sky. It sat atop a massive stone chimney, an upthrust finger of land, separated from the rest of the island by tidal action, which had cut a cleft as impassable as any moat. A drawbridge could be lowered to cross the cleft, but it was presently raised.
The castle was the source of the terrible arcs of energy, silver flashes that rose high into the sky, vanishing in the clouds, accompanied by a sizzling whine that hurt the ears.
Blue lights shone from a high tower window overlooking the ocean, and Erik thought he detected movement upon the walls. ‘Von Darkmoor!’ Robert de Loungville’s voice brought the young smith out of his revery.
‘Sergeant?’ said Erik.
‘You, Biggo, Jadow, and Jerome will come with Calis and me. Get the longboat over the side.’
Erik and the others named, aided by four experienced sailors, got the longboat off the davits and over the side in quick order. Calis came up on deck and without a word to anyone scampered down the ladder to the boat. De Loungville and two sailors came next, then Erik led the designated prisoners.
As Erik reached the rail, he was handed a sword and scabbard and a shield by Corporal Foster. He slung the baldric over his shoulder, secured the shield to his back, and went down the ladder. This was the first time he had been handed a weapon when it wasn’t a training exercise, and it made him nervous.
The boat pushed away from the ship and headed toward a small beach that swept away from the rocky pinnacle upon which the castle rested. The sailors were experienced, and Erik and Biggo were strong, so the boat made quick time getting in to shore.
When they landed, Calis said, ‘Keep alert. You never know what to expect here.’
Robert de Loungville nodded, a wry smile on his face. ‘That’s the gods’ awful truth.’
Suddenly a figure reared up out of the bushes near the top of an overlooking ridge, beside a small path that led up from the beach. The creature was easily ten or eleven feet tall, clothed in black and