The cells beneath the Grey Wind were silent; so silent Visir could hear his breath falter shakily. It snagged and caught as he inhaled until he jammed his mouth shut, his teeth driving against each other like battering shields in a melee. He could hear a chip of tooth snap off, feel it tumble down his tongue and into his depths. He dared not cough it up. No, that would ruin the plan. It needed to be silent, as it was. And it shall stay silent.
His thumbs curled around each other under the red torchlight, the embers twinkling on his shoulders like stars soaked in blood. The panels of wood beneath his body creaked slightly with a remote shift in position, but nothing stirred. All was silent. Aandil lay deadly asleep in his cell, the grim shadows consuming all with its long spidery grasp. The old man’s cell did not have a torch or candle. Nothing burned, and nothing glowed. Visir was lucky in a sense to have received one, being granted warmth and light during the chill, raw hours of a presumable night. He looked over at Aandil twice more, his black, robed silhouette barely discernable in the mantle of shadows. Only his pale, splotchy head shone through, with his faint wisps of snowy hair. Visir reckoned he did not even care if it was dark in his cell, for he was a blind old man, beaten with time and age. Like great white moons the man’s eyes flashed like lightning before Visir’s own, seeing nothing but eternal darkness. They had a certain eeriness to them, and so they haunted Visir.
He thought of Arstain too, wherever he might be. Visir presumed he was just in another cell down in the hull, bidding his time in the darkness. He was used to that though, Visir assumed. The Darkness, that was his home, he’s back in it now, I suppose. The thought sparked his mind to life again, bringing him back to the plan at hand. It had taken him a long while, longer than he wished to rid himself of his dream. Or had it been a dream? He did not wish to linger on it, but it was hard not to. So many questions were left unanswered. Too many, Visir continually told himself. After… after this is all over I will find out. He hadn’t told Aandil yet, fearing what he might say. Screw it, fancy he already knows anyway.
The Beast sat like a bear in the far corner of his cell, half his body dancing with pale candlelight. He was garbed in mangled, sable roughspun wool and cotton, fixed with leather lacings and worn breeches, soaked with piss. No matter how scented the candles, the smell of human waste always ruled. Visir’s crooked nose wrinkled at the ghastly smell.
The monstrous figure looked half-asleep, with his burly, corded arms crossed over his bulging chest and his thick head hanging so that his bearded chin slept on his breast. Visir had never seen anyone so big, so muscular. He had heard stories of the giants up in Vorae, in the Frozen Forests, and in Nordh, but they were not in the Lands of Winter. They were far from it. Was this man a giant? Aandil had told he’d came from Vaegon, though, and there were no giants in those isles across the Endless Sea.
The other prisoner in Visir’s cell was surely asleep. His dirty blond hair hung in oily strands over his eyes, like blades of grass. His face was red from the glow of the torch, with a deep black tattoo running down the side of his face, inked across his gaunt cheek. He was a slave, the man, most likely from Erediath. All slaves from the southern realm were marked with an E along their faces, and the initials of their master whom they serve. However, this slave’s tattoo was nothing more then a black smear. It had been burnt off, with his selling from his old master to Shaalad’s cells.
The iron bars began to grind, then the piercing screams abated, with the small breast of water that had risen under the ship’s belly. They were at port, anchored in some bay, Visir presumed. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know where, but he did know they were not sailing the salt sea. That much was made clear by the lack of movement he felt as he rested on the wood. He didn’t sway with the waves, or feel them crash against the wooden walls of the galley, violent and aggressive. Neither did he hear the seamen grunting and chanting as they pulled with their oars just above the cells in the upper holds.
Visir bit at his lower lip, sucking like a suckling babe at the tit, calculating circumstances before they happened and analyzing escapes from those select circumstances. He knew the plan well enough. Aandil and him had created it about two days ago, by his memory. Aandil would always say that if it went wrong, for any reason, Dreaher would save them. Visir did not entirely believe him, but his recent dream drew him closer than ever to at least try and believe. Whatever god is out there, whoever you truly are, whatever name, ability, anything, please watch over me. He was rambling, and he knew it, he often did when he spoke of gods. He hardly even believed in them, but this feeling was so new, he didn’t know what to feel.
He looked again quickly at The Beast, wary of his size and physic. It intimidated him, something so big, something so strong. The plan began when he slunk like a mouse across the wooden panels, trying to pass silently enough that The Beast would not stir. He passed surreptitiously into the outer rim of shadows and followed the iron bars, avoiding the torchlight he had come to enjoy so much. His legs, which were weak and gaunt traveled him quickly along, his nimble toes prancing across the healthy wooden passes, until he stepped on a dead panel, which screamed and moaned in anguish. Visir cursed fervently, his heart thumping in his throat and his teeth stabbing into the soft flesh of his mouth. He could taste the salty, hot blood lay across his tongue.
When he was beside The Beast, consumed by his massive body, he slithered up next to him, and whispered in his ear with a gruff, yet silky voice. “Oathbreaker, traitor, cunt,” he cursed. “Beast.”
The Beast stirred slowly, grumbling from deep within like the dragons of old. Visir was hidden in the shadowy mantle he wore, veiled from view. The Beast sunk back down, his breath spilling out in a great flush. The steamy, grotesque odor rank so bad it could kill an animal. Visir held his nose as it crinkled and shielded his face. He relaxed as The Beast dropped into sleep again, until he felt his throat tighten so suddenly he almost fainted. The Beast leaped to life, his body a black blur, churning as he held Visir, his fist clenching tighter and tighter. Visir squirmed madly, his legs kicking and his arms pushing down the Beast’s, but to no avail. His throat closed and he squeaked out, “I’m trying to get out of here. I’m trying to break out. I’m trying to save you.”
The Beast’s grasp tightened harder and harder, until Visir throat was almost as thin as a twig and his vision saw only black with a red circle in the fuzzy corner. The veins in his neck bulged like corded wire, until the grasp loosened and Visir dropped to the ground, writhing in agony, his head lightheaded and dizzy. When a drop of energy came, he struggled to his knees and coughed, but only air came out, until he felt nauseous and swayed. Vomit surged out of his mouth, throat burning with dry flame. The grey-green liquid drenched the wooden, crawling through the panels like worms.
“How?” came The Beast’s response.
Visir smirked in the shadows, his mouth mutilated. It worked.
“You’ll have to die.” Visir’s eyes flushed black, darker than pitch.
Out from under his ratty sleeve, he ripped out a crude, iron shank he
had sharpened from when they were in O'ea. The tip was piercing still, having been sharpened against stone. The metal flashed and glimmered darkly as he drove it into The Beast’s side, and felt the blade cut through flesh and ring against bone. Visir wretched it out and stabbed again, up the stomach, the shank dripping with blood and his hands gleaming with red as the torchlight danced along his flesh. He saw the Beast’s eyes grow pale, and heard him grunt, but never scream. The monster of a man struggled to his feet, but his wounds would not allow him. Visir plunged his shank into The Beast once more, and watched the deep black gush out like a river, soaking his clothes and the wood until the cell reeked of death and salt. The Beast fell dead in a heap, the ground quivering from the weight as he thundered on his side, clenching his wounds. Life seeped out of him as he lay there, but life suddenly sprang into those around.
A shout shrieked out at the sight. Then another, until the two were fighting, fist and fist. Visir slunk back away into the shadows, watching them fight and waiting until the next move. The two prisoners were bound with shackles, great iron rings with heavy chains. The one drove his head into the other, ramming him into the iron bars with a rippling whisper of metal. The men grunted as they fought, until others soon crowded around to fight, until there was a great brawl in the heart of the cells, with punches being thrown and teeth skipping along the wood floor and blood spraying to and fro.
Visir watched another man strangle his opponent with his iron chains, then turned with a blind eye and was clobbered in the side of the head. He collapsed to the ground hard, with a rumble, where he was kicked in the ribs and stomped until his mangled body beat into the blood-soaked wood. The cells rocked and sang with fighting, the grunts, the curses, and the shouts. Men fought, and men died, the wood floors drinking their blood vehemently like a vampire, chugging it down until the blood only pooled above in certain spots of mass chaos.
The two guards quickly pounced, dashing over to interfere from their posts. They were strong, burly pirates with iron plates tightened over their shoulders with long fine red cloaks and a leather belt with three weapons clasped at their waist. A dirk, cutlet and longsword all dangled, and they loped out their dirks first, stabbing at prisoners who attacked them as they tried to silence the fighting. Visir’s eyes caught the glint of the keys, singing like birds in the forest during the early morn.
One of the guards was slammed in the face with a stony fist, knocking him to the ground, where he was spit at and cursed at. Blood ran in a raw and bright arcing line from his temple down to his ear. The guard rose and drew his longsword, the blade gleaming a pale red, almost a pink as the torches cast their light on the cold steel. As the blade sang from out its scabbard, the prisoners jumped back, until one lunged through the bars, with his arm and thrust toward the guard, who chopped off his hand in a single clean slash. The bloody hand fell to the ground with its fingers limply curled and Visir saw the man it belonged to scream crazily and collapse to his knees, watching the rivers of blood pour out of his wrist.
More prisoners challenged the guards, and more were felled. Some had their hands cleaved, and some had the sword driven through their stomach or throat. As the sharp steel sword rapped against the iron bars, Visir saw blood cascade off it like a waterfall, spraying across the floor and men like rain. Another prisoner lunged at the pirate with his fist, but found steel chimp into his stomach, but he turned and pulled back, ripping the blade out from its owner’s hands. As he stood, bent and hunched, the blade stuck out of either side of the prisoner, and he collapsed to the ground stiffly. Chaos ensued soon after, when the other guard smacked onto the ground with a shank quivering between his eyes. His limp, dead body twitched on the ground before the gates, and Visir sprang to life.
Hidden with shadow, he swept through the pugnacious band of slaves and prisoners until, after having stabbed another in the leg with his shank, crouched low along the bloody floor and reached under the iron gates to find steel. His fingers tickled the key ring that hung from the guard’s waist, trying to free it from its clasped hook. The latch finally snapped and he pulled it free, rising as he received a hard, firm blow to the ribs. He brushed it off as he inserted the key into the keyhole of the cell and slipped out silently, shutting it just as fast.
When the others saw him, they shouted, and banged against the bars. However, he did not turn back around to free them. Instead, he unlocked Aandil’s cell, who was waiting by the door, with his eyes grey and dim. “On with the plan,” he said in his elderly voice. Visir nodded, arming both Aandil and himself with the guard’s longswords, racing with tears of red. They were simple and heavy, but were still swords. It could still kill. It feels nothing like Frostbite, Visir though, recounting his beloved blade. Soon I will be with it.
Visir led on, finding the stairway up from the lower hull to the upper, where the oars slept like skeletal ribs, barren and lonely. The crew was up on deck, washing and maintaining the masts. He went to turn down again to the lower cells, where they kept his sword, but Aandil tugged on his shoulder and ripped him back.
“We so not have time to go down there,” his voice croaked. “It would not be wise to prolong our escape when he already do not have much time. Like I said, Visir Redback, Time is chasing all of us. If it catches us…”
Visir remembered the line clear enough. We’ll be dead. “And it will have to chase some more,” Visir hissed, forgetting his ancient sword. It was hard for him, to let it go. But life was far more important than steel. Steel cannot bring my mother what she wants; only I can. And if I’m dead, I do not have a very good chance.
He raced up the stairs of the upper holds to the main deck, where the ship bobbed softly, and the salty breathes of wind brushed through Visir’s mangled, knotted hair. The soft, balmy hand caressed his cheeks as he looked around, seeing dozens of other ships docked all around them and a red shingled city expanding out on a thousand shattered isles. The City of Exiles… why would they dock here? The question would have to wait, as he saw out of the corner of his eye a blur like lightning hammer down on him. His actions were too delayed to meet it, so he braced, clenching his shoulders, but kept his eyes open. A silvery flash sparked before him, the two blades smacking against each other with the high clap ringing in Visir’s ears.
It was Aandil’s blade that stopped the blow, and it was Aandil who was fighting the pirate. The old man moved with such grace and agility, swinging with the blade as if it was his arm, jabbing like it was a snake armed poisonous fangs. The elderly man blocked, then lunged, twirled his wrist and drove the sword into the heart of the pirate. Visir watched him fall, his chest ripe with red, soaking into the cloth. Aandil looked back at him.
“How?” was all that escaped Visir’s mouth. He was blind! He marveled in disbelief.
“A man wears many masks—“ but before he could finish a figure behind him clattered his blade over his head and he crumbled to the ground lifelessly. Visir tried to charge, but he could feel the sudden, cool steel kiss his back and pain erupt in thousands of shattered splinters. When he collapsed, he looked up to find a pirate looming over him, but it wasn’t Shaalad.