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Chapter 19. Dabar |
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hate it in here,” grumbled a voice above the low groaning of wood and the angry snarls of the creature on the other side of the flimsy wooden wall. At some point Pendaran had stopped throwing up and passed out. Now as he opened his eyes, he wished he were still blissfully unconscious. His stomach lurched, reminding him that while he may have had doubts about his current choice of careers, being a sailor would have been a bigger mistake. How could he still be this nauseous when there could not possibly be anything left inside of him? “Are you going to vomit again?” “I don’t have much choice in the matter,” he croaked, sitting up with a moan and gazing blearily at the narrow bars of his cage. His vision swam and a sharp pain pounded between his temples and behind his crusted eyes. Gods, kill him and get it over with. In the pale light that shafted down through the hatch above them he could finally see his new quarters. He was in a small enclosure strewn with the feathers of its last occupants. Chickens, he assumed. On one half of the floor some planks had been bound together so that he need not lie or sit upon the metalwork of the cage floor that was still crusted with bird droppings and the leavings of his stomach. The cage was lodged against the curved wall of the ship and wedged between two wooden walls so that he could only hear but not see the other creatures penned on either side of him. Fortunately he was several hand-spans above the liquid filth that swilled below him, but its odor did nothing to improve his nausea. The prior occupants had not required a tall cage. He could kneel and crawl, but his hair had been snagged in the ceiling of the cage several times now and it was a chore to relieve himself. As a final but practical indignity his clothes had been taken away and all he had was a tatty blanket that smelled like an animal had repeatedly marked it. Of course, the holding area itself was heavy with a complex layer of disgusting odors to which he was now, thankfully, inured. When the corsairs had first placed him there, however, he had choked and retched in disgust. Before the puking started. “I vomited a few times on the first night, too,” said the voice conversationally. It came from further down toward the ship’s stern. “I see,” Pendaran replied, uncertain how he was supposed to answer that, “Are you imprisoned as well?” “Yeah. I’m bored out of my mind, too. No offense, but I was glad when I heard them putting you in the cage. At least I have someone to talk to now. I’m afraid the tiger is very anti-social. Smelly, too.” “I’m Pendaran Caradec,” he said, realizing that while he was talking to the man he was not dwelling upon his nausea. “I’m Dabar Coalshanks. You have a nice name. Very proper sounding. Where are you from then?” “Tyria. Ascalon originally.” “Never been there. I’m from Elona. Have you been to Elona?” “Never had the pleasure, no. My teacher is from there.” “I miss it. You should go if you ever get the chance.” Pendaran stared at the cage bars miserably. Chance was putting it mildly. Even if by some miracle he managed to get out, they were gods only knew where in the middle of the ocean with an unknown number of corsairs. “Have you tried to escape?” Dabar snorted. “I know better than to cross Nezrah. If I thought I could get out of here I’d turn this place to cinders. She’s being nice to us, you know? She doesn’t much like magi. Assuming that’s what you are.” “Yeah.” “What element you favor then? I like all of them, myself, but fire is more in demand. Lightning is lovely and vindictive and ice puts your foe where you want them. Now earth is underestimated if you ask me.” “I don’t use elements… much.” “Oh! Don’t tell me. Do you use hexes?” “Yes.” “Necromancy? You aren’t into dead things I hope.” Pendaran grinned despite his current level of misery. “No, I am not a necromancer, although I have dabbled a little in that art.” “You’re not one of those fancy stuck-up sorts that wears a mask? I hate them.” “Lucky me,” Pendaran sighed. “Ah, you are then. You seem alright, though. I just never know what it is your lot does exactly other than stand around and look pretty.” Pendaran rolled his eyes. Why did he have to get jailed with the flame-flinging fool on top of everything else? “I’m joking,” Dabar chuckled, “Lighten up, man. One of my best friends is a mesmer. Wouldn’t go anywhere without her.” “Are you always like this?” “Oh no, I’m a lot worse than this,” Dabar laughed, “This is me when I’m depressed and thinking I’ll never be free again. Still, nothing wrong with a good laugh, eh? Gets one through the day, no matter how deep you’re standing in it.” Pendaran looked sadly at the viscous ‘it’ swirling around beneath his cage and decided that he was glad he was not being made to stand in it. The tiger on the other side of the wall rumbled angrily and the part of him that knew he was made of meat shuddered. But the nausea was gone at least. “Thanks,” he said, hunkering down in the far corner of his cage. “Feeling better? I could say it can’t get worse, but in my experience it often does.” “Unlucky?” Dabar laughed. “You could say that, yes.” “I think I am, as well.” “Oh dear. Well, this could be fun. Maybe we can drag the corsairs into it.” “Yeah, it would be nice if I could spread it.” “So… if by the odd chance we do somehow manage to escape,” Dabar said, hesitating. “I’ll help you.” “Same here. I’ll burn them and you tear up their minds. That’ll teach them.” It seemed a feeble promise and yet Pendaran was comforted that he was not alone in his misery. And he liked Dabar. He knew he could trust him and right now that was enough.
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