The Deepcombers

Chapter Nine

That was too much for Jarl, "...and what do you know? You're rich-kin, son of a baron. Is that what's going on? Has he bought passage already?"

Silence. Nobody spoke as Lon considered the big cat's absurd insinuation.

"Nephew." Clyde corrected the minor point and broke the tension. "My father and grandfather are... Mental invalids. They require that medicine Lon, the smals. But yes, my uncle is likely among the wealthiest feigor alive. He's disowned me. We're all in this creek together."

"Lonny?" Jarl wanted to hear it from the lad. "Why?" The big cat wondered aloud why their brother captive sheltered the enemy. The disparities couldn't be more obvious than in this moment. The two freshly liberated slaves were emaciated and weak, dressed in rags while Clyde was puffy and pink-skinned and wore a lovely silk gambeson with matching leggings and nice leather boots. He had deep pockets in which to store food.

Jarl must have been quite perplexed as to who or what Lon had become, and why he would choose to protect the Crol who'd personally led his execution. And also, why the clerk would rebel against his powerful master in the first place? This whole turn of events was too much for either of the runaway slaves to resolve. They were so recently liberated from bondage they could not comprehend all the mitigating circumstances in their first few minutes of freedom. Both stared at the mysterious sacrifice-who'd-survived. In their memory he was the most cowardly rodent on the ship. Everyone hated him because of the mistake he'd made. Yesterday they'd seen him be sailed away to his death by this clerk and two executioners. How could he possibly be here now and lead them like this? And how did he come to have the wealthy noble at his side, serving him?

"Lonny," Tharus began; he stood knee deep in water and supped on the tender Masra leaves, "are you sstill a feigor?"

"Last I checked," the young lad answered. And as proof he displayed his well-scratched arms, "I bleed like feigor. And I too hunger for meat." Lon knelt and washed his arms and face, "But yesterday when I was with it, I didn't."

Jarl and Tharus exchanged glances, and Clyde stared at Lon in awe; he wanted to know more but must have decided it'd be better not to ask.

"And this Crol priest?" Jarl turned and inspected the noble; he ran his eyes up and down his expensive outfit and then gazed longingly at his boots. "He's only going to slow us down."

"He's not a priest like them. If he slows us down..." Lon cast a glance at the noble clerk. "We'll leave him behind." He saw Clyde wince.

"We should kill him now," Tharus said, "I hate priesstss"

"No. He's Clyde Tolden of Barobell, and he's not a priest. He knows things." Lon could see the two older captives were not convinced, and so he knew he needed to drive the point home. He stood tall and held his saber before him and said, "he lives until I say otherwise, and if anyone harms him, they answer to me." The muscular young lad looked into Jarl's eyes, who turned away. Lon glared directly at the swampkin next. He couldn't believe he'd said it like that. He'd never have had the courage to stand up to these two older and wiser feigor before. But he had to be strong for Clyde's sake. He remembered how his stepfather had justified his harsh rules in the logging camps. Wild feigor need a firm leader the same way they need a good breakfast, lunch and dinner. He needed to be that strong leader now to keep them all alive.

Clyde smiled Thanks to Lon and then he merrily continued harvesting sea cabbage. Jarl scowled again.

"He knows things about the relic?" Tharus asked. "And what happened to you?" 

The sea drover only nodded. He didn't have anything to add, and neither did Clyde.

"So, what's the plan Lon?" Jarl asked, sufficiently impressed with the lad and willing to continue under his leadership. "Assume we live past tonight? Tomorrow? Are we going to build a boat?"

"I could ssswim around to the port and get help and come back." The swampkin was probably only thinking about the marathon-swim and not how difficult it would be to get help in a foreign port with no money or possessions. Jarl chuckled and even Clyde smiled discretely at the notion. Lon had other ideas.

"We just need to get to Ligne and," Lon pointed at Clyde, "the world's richest nephew will pay our way home."

"Happily," Clyde agreed without ceasing his sea cabbage harvest and silk-pocket containment.

"And to get the port we're going overland," Lon pointed at the waterfall that loomed in the distance over his shoulder, "we're going to scale that cliff and follow the water."

"That's four-hundred feet or more," Jarl studied the attraction as he voiced his objection, "we've no rope or any tools."

"It's not possssible," said Tharus as he stepped naked from the pond. His ribs were visible.

"I can do it.. You can come with me." Lon turned and used his saber to draw a path up the mountain. "Over the Pillars and to the port."

From where they stood it was hard to gauge the climb but the shelf from which the water poured looked challenging. Lon traced out the route again as Tharus dressed. He'd just finished navigating them up the cliff again when they all heard a distant  trumpet issue a pursue signal.

"A hunt?" Jarl recognized the horn call and all eyes shifted to Clyde.

"The elite guard," the noble said with a hint of apology as though he was still in some way responsible for the enemy's efficiency. "They'll make a sport of hunting us."

Lon nodded. Despite being grim news that was good information. "Come on then" he said, and he led the group away and on toward the not-so-distant waterfall.