The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Fourteen

"Your elf's looking a bit green at the gills," Stepan said, inexplicably smug.

"Are you okay, Mirthal?" Tracou asked him in Aodehsh.

Shaking his head, Mirthal started breathing through his mouth. "The smell and the way the ground is moving... ugh."

"Do you want to go outside?"

"Maybe. Not yet."

"He says he's feeling seasick," Tracou explained to Stepan, eyes stuck to Mirthal.

Stepan let out another singular 'heh' and got off of his stool to retrieve something. He came back with some ginger and his wand, which he claimed to have made from the backbone of a sea monster. With a practiced hand, he carved out a small slice of ginger with magic and offered it to Mirthal.

"Tell him to suck on this—it'll make him feel better."

Skeptical, Tracou relayed the information to Mirthal, who took the bit of ginger and shoved it into his mouth. His face screwed up in displeasure, but he didn't spit it out.

If simply sitting here bothered Mirthal to this extent, then Tracou had to finish this quickly.

"So, Stepan, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Sitting down on the stool, Stepan grunted, expression grave.

"Have you heard about the sailors?"

"None of them have passed through Ergakan recently."

"Right. The ships haven't returned to port, either."

The port nearest to Ergakan was small, but useful enough that the Royal Navy used it. Not many people lived there due to the traffic in the port only picking up twice a year—once when the ships set off in the spring and again when they returned in the fall. Other ports sprinkled the Dezmerian coast, but the one near Ergakan offered easy access for sailors from their region. The bigger ports sat closer to Zeibr territory and Winlea.

"Are you sure they haven't just gone to other ports?"

"I had Serpouhi write letters for me to ask."

"And?"

"Several ships are missing. All the ones that have returned to port arrived early, earlier than normal."

Tracou tried to keep his face neutral, but none of this mattered to him. "What do you think is the problem, then?"

Pleased to have been asked, Stepan leaned forward. "Something's happening out in the ocean, Lord Vartanian. Something that's making entire ships vanish. No wreckage has washed up and, if there was trouble, familiars would have been sent out to ask for help or explain what happened. Something's happening and it's bad. Maybe it's even instant."

"Maybe..." He shouldn't trust anything that came out of Stepan's mouth, but what he said made him taste dust on his tongue. Winlea wanted better access to the ocean. With that powder, they could do as they pleased to dezmek ships.

But he couldn't tell Stepan that. He would spread the word to all the other villagers within hours and cause a panic. At some point he had to tell someone, but not yet. Not yet. He couldn't bare it.

Dread ate at his gut.

Stepan frowned and went for a different angle.

"So! Lord Vartanian. I'm asking that you fund my expedition. I want to find out what's happening."

Tracou's mouth fell open. Fund an expedition, indeed! Stepan was quite keen on the ocean and the navy and all that, but he apparently had no idea how much it would cost to fund his flight of fancy. Tracou lived comfortably, but he wasn't royalty.