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  Death Flag

  Written by: Richard Haygood

  Copyright © 2018 by Richard Haygood

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Appendix

  PROLOGUE

  Huge waves slammed against the galleon, causing the ship to shudder under the force of their impact. Dark clouds rolled overhead, spitting out violent bursts of lightning that pierced through the inky veil of night to cast a surreal, evil light on the struggling vessel and its crew. The second mate desperately clung to the highest mast of the ship and fought to shield his eyes from the frenzied spray of salt water and driving rain that seemed to come in bursts as the ship pitched back and forth on the waves. The awful combination of stinging salt spray and a cold, frigid wind had left him blinking away tears and fighting to clear his vision without losing his grip on the heavy ropes that he had used to lash himself to the mast. An unfortunate series of events and a furious captain had forced the sailor to spend the miserable night on watch, hoping against all ill luck that he would find either a path through the storm or spot the safety of land. He considered both to be unlikely, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter at this point.

  The ship had left the safety of harbor almost a week earlier, charting a path toward the northern continent. The Southern Ocean was known for the ferocity of its winter storms this late in the season, and making the journey had been risky, but Dedrick had signed on as the ship’s navigator despite knowing the dangers of the hazardous passage.

  His thoughts drifted to his wife and daughter at home, his impetus for risking the voyage, and the sailor smiled despite the wretched conditions he found himself in. They would both be sound asleep in bed, safe and warm, and that was worth whatever price he had to pay in the freezing cold. His daughter was just now reaching the age where she was constantly underfoot and asking questions, and he had received news the week before that his wife was expecting again. The medicine-woman who tended the small village had predicted that he would finally be blessed with a son—and twins at that. The old woman had an uncanny knack for correctly foreseeing children, and he had been spurred by the news to find new work and a way to provide for his quickly-growing family.

  As such, when a ship had arrived and set anchor in the town’s harbor, he had immediately begun making not-so-subtle inquiries about the nature of its destination and the status of its crew. No one seemed to be forthcoming with information on either subject. The vessel, its crew, and its captain were entirely unknown to anyone in the village. That, in and of itself, wasn’t entirely unusual. Although the village didn’t normally play host to ships of its size because of the somewhat narrow nature of its harbor, it did happen from time to time. Sea-weary vessels of all sorts would put in for provisions or to take on water, and it provided a more-than-modest source of income and trade for the slowly-developing hamlet.

  Normally, whenever a ship made port, its crew would quickly hustle to the local tavern and fill it with boisterous stories of far-off lands and harrowing tales of adventure. Since the ship had arrived near midday, Dedrick was certain he would quickly have answers to all his questions by dust. He had excused himself from his family, skipping dinner, and made sure he was sitting on a bar stool, sipping a stout ale as quickly as he could. Strangely, and against all expectations, however, the crew had remained on board all afternoon and the ship remained dark. They hadn’t even sent out a longboat to take on goods or to make trade. So, the bar remained quiet all night long, filled only by its usual patrons, and wild assumptions about the ship sitting in the harbor began circulating as the night waned on. Rumors of war to the north had begun trickling in a few days earlier, and though the claims were often outlandish and absurd, they still lit a fire in the bellies of men eager for any news or gossip of happenings in the outside world.

  Finally, at some point after midnight, the burly first mate came ashore. The one-room building was filled with a smoky haze and drunken laughter by that point, but everything came to a standstill as the huge man entered the room. Conversations died down, and curious expressions were turned to him as he made his way to the front of the room, although he was seemingly unfazed by the open stares. He was at least twice as large around in the chest as any man Dedrick had ever seen, and though he wasn’t standing, he was also certain that the sailor was a full head taller than him as well. His head was shaved, he was dressed in simple black breeches and shirt, and there was something about the man’s visage that tugged at a memory that he couldn’t quite pull forward due to the alcohol he had consumed. Dedrick was far from drunk, but his brain was foggy from the ale having worked its magic.

  The man reached the bar and picked up the mostly-full glass of beer sitting in front of old Nathaniel, who was too drunk at this point to properly register what was even going on, and downed it in two massive gulps. “I’m looking to take on an experienced sailor who knows these waters,” he began in flat, matter-of-fact tones. “We’re going north around Drowned Man’s Point, and any man who steps forward will be responsible for navigating around it.”

  Drowned Man’s Point was a rough and rocky coastal area on the northern tip of the island that jutted westward into the ocean and was best avoided entirely by larger vessels if at all possible. Dedrick had served on fishing trawlers in his younger days before he was married and knew the area well. The seabed there was erratic and uneven, filled with reefs and debris from unfortunate ships, but it also offered some of the best fishing in the area as a result. Because the peninsula of land hung so far out into the open ocean, it was also often the focus of the terrible storms that formed farther out and pushed westward. He had promised his wife after their second child that he would find safer work, something closer to home that didn’t keep him on dangerous waters for months at a time, but his desperate need to provide for his family had forced him to break that promise.

  “I know that route,” Dedrick responded, trying to size up the huge man. “It’s impossible to make that run this time of year. You’re better off sailing south around the island and coming up along the eastern coast by the capital.”

  The other man’s head swiveled to face him as Dedrick spoke. “And lose weeks in the process,” he said evenly, as if he were stating the obvious—which he was. “Can you do it or not?”

  “Only a fool would take that route,” Dedrick repeated. “It’s suicide.”

  “My captain is no fool,” he replied coolly.

  “Wad cap’n?” old Nathaniel slurred from beside the man, reaching for the empty mug that once contained his beer.

  The first mate ignored the drunk and stepped closer to Dedrick at the end of the bar. “He also knows the dangers, and he is willing to pay well.”

  Dedrick’s mind may have been fogged by what little ale he had drunk, but he was also emboldened by it—especially at the mention of payment. “Two hundred gold coin
s, and I can do it. I won’t risk my life for anything less.” The sum was outrageous. It was over ten times what the average pay for a navigator would be during the spring or summer months.

  The large man stopped just short of where Dedrick sat. “Do not mistake me. My captain is generous, but he isn’t daft. Insult me or him again, and there will be a problem.” The man’s voice was a steady tone didn’t break, and he wore a small grin, but there was a deadly glint in his eyes.

  “I . . .” Something about the look in the man’s eyes tugged at a memory again that he still couldn’t recall. It gave him pause and left him unsteady, suddenly uncertain as his false bravado left him. “I can do it, but—”

  “Good.” The large man reached forward and took the ale from Dedrick’s hand. “Report to me before dawn. We set sail then.” He downed the glass of ale as he had the other, slammed the mug down on the bar top, and turned and walked out, leaving the now-open-mouthed patrons of the establishment to stare in wonder.

  The entire exchange had lasted only a handful of minutes, but it had been a fateful encounter that Dedrick had grown to regret ever since. He was the kind of man who would do anything to provide for his family. Nothing else in life mattered if a man couldn’t even do that much—but no man could provide for his family after he was dead. Dedrick had reported for duty just before dawn the next day. The deal had been struck so late in the evening that he barely had time to wake his wife and inform her that he was leaving before putting together a small kit and hustling toward the bay.

  -----

  The sailing for the first two days had been smooth and routine, quickly lulling him into a false sense of confidence and security, but the relationship he developed with the crew was cordial at best. He learned rather quickly that they had been sailing together for quite some time, and while no one was ever overtly hostile to him, they weren’t exactly welcoming or forthcoming with information either; and, as far as Dedrick was concerned, that was fine by him. He had been hired for a single, specific purpose, and he was more than happy to do his job without fraternizing with the rest of the men on board. The way things were going so far, he’d be able to make the run without any trouble, catch a ride on a frigate headed south to the capital, and be back home in a few weeks’ time.

  That said, the day-to-day operations aboard the ship had an almost clandestine feel to them. One of the first things that had been made clear to Dedrick after he came aboard was that he was to stay away from the passenger quarters. He had been threatened under penalty of a rather nasty death if he so much as set foot beyond the heavy wooden door that separated off that part of the ship. That was fine. He had worked on sailing vessels of all different types before where rather picky and private patrons paid lavishly so that they wouldn’t be bothered by the crew. Sometimes they were royalty, sometimes they were nobles, and sometimes they were simply merchants who wished to conduct business and negotiations while at sea without having to worry about being spied upon or constant interruptions. None of that would have been irregular by itself. What made things strange was that none of the crew seemed to know anything about who the passengers were—and if they did, they weren’t talking about it. His limited relationship notwithstanding, a general knowledge of who and what a ship was carrying was common enough small talk aboard most vessels that it shouldn’t have raised any red flags. Whenever he tried to broach the subject that first day, however, they all grew nervous and quickly made excuses before finding unfinished chores that needed tending to.

  After dark that first night, Dedrick realized why. Just before sundown, the chanting started. It was a long, low, and mournful dirge that started with a single voice and swelled into a symphony from the bowels of the ship that carried on throughout the early twilight hours and well into the middle of the night. He couldn’t understand a single word of what was being said, but the language prickled the goosebumps on his arms and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The hymn wormed its way into this head as he lay awake unable to sleep that first night, and even after the last man had stopped singing, certain verses kept repeating themselves unbidden over and over again in his head in an unknown language.

  He woke up the next morning after a restless night feeling unrested, tense, and uneasy, and he suddenly understood what the rest of the crew had already known: he didn’t want to know anything about what was below decks. He just wanted to do his job, get paid, and get off the ship as quickly as he could. In fact, he was certain after that first night that the crew would have bolted at the last port if they hadn’t been so loyal to the captain. The crew might have been tight-lipped about most things, but not a single one was reluctant to sing the praises of the captain. He was apparently well known to the crew as a more-than-knowledgeable seaman, and Dedrick even picked up on rumors that circulated on the first day that he may have had a darker mercenary past. Whatever the case may have been, he certainly ran a tight ship, and he had the respect of everyone on board.

  Things had started to go wrong just before dawn on the third day. The lookout at the time, a spirited young man from the coast, had eagerly shouted down reports of what he thought were sails on the southern edge of the horizon. At the report of sails, the captain had summoned both Dedrick and the first mate to his private quarters. Dedrick was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes—what little of it he had managed to nab after the chanting stopped—but he had been at sea long enough to act on instinct alone when he was aboard a ship and follow orders without question. Whatever effects the sleepless nights might have had on the rest of the crew, they didn’t seem to have affected the captain in the least. He was a gruff man who presented everything in a no-nonsense manner. He gave orders, and he expected results. He was a little over six feet tall, and though he had a good bit of grey streaked through his oily, black hair, he seemed to be as spry and as strong as any man half his age would have been.

  Unsurprisingly, the captain wanted to know what the risks of sailing east and running even closer to the coast would be. Whatever the cargo was below deck, whether it was man or monster or undead god, he was hell-bent on protecting it and getting it to its destination as quickly as possible. Dedrick seriously doubted that the captain was the type of man who would drop the sails and run at the first sign of trouble, so it spoke volumes about his intentions that he was willing chart such a dangerous course over the prospect of what might have been nothing.

  Sudden shouts from the starboard side of the ship jerked his attention back to the present. The cold and the rain and the need for sleep had threatened to consume him, drowning him in more pleasant memories, and he had almost succumbed to their allure. Through the heavy rain and the inky night, he could make out the dark shapes of several men on the deck below who were leaning against the railing. They appeared to be pointing off into the dark of the night toward the horizon. Dedrick pinched himself to make sure that he was awake and focused and then turned his attention in the direction they were pointing. He strained his vision for everything it was worth but couldn’t see a single thing beyond the rising and falling of the waves. He pressed his frost-coated knuckles into his eyes and attempted to rub the drowsiness out of them, but it didn’t help any. He was half frozen, and he couldn’t see a damn thing.

  An instant later, the pitch-black night exploded in a burst of light and flame as a massive ball of fire seemed to well up from the depths of the ocean. The ball of fire carved its way through the torrential rain and howling winds, arcing just above the surface of the water as it sped toward the ship. Just before it exploded, the grisly light emanating from the ball of death gave off just enough light for Dedrick to see the deck below him clearly. The ship pitched sideways on a massive wave, and for a split second, the sailors there were presented directly into the path of the fireball as if they were an offering to an angry god. A white-capped wave crashed over the railing, and the fireball hit the deck at the exact same moment.

  Dedrick felt a blast of heat and steam bellow up from the ship as
the fireball crashed into the vessel, and he heard a thunderous explosion that was accompanied by the violent breaking of timber. Columns of boiling flame shot upward into the night sky and rolled over the railings of the ship before disappearing into the sea. His vision was seared away by the blinding light, and the last thing he saw for several long moments was the afterimage of the sailors as they were presented up to be consumed by the flame.

  “What in the hell?” he swore loudly. He grasped about blindly, trying to grab ahold of something, and he was suddenly glad for the fact that he had lashed himself to the mast. “Attack!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Attack!” The warning was far too late and absolutely worthless since anyone on the desk or below in their quarters would be aware that they were under attack at this point, but the need to do his job was ingrained into him.

  His vision started returning to him in bits and pieces as his eyes readjusted to the dark of night. The shipped pitched to the side again as it crested another massive wave, and he was able to make out the hulking form of a ship bearing down onto them directly through the dark waters. He stared at it through the pitch-black night, straining his eyes for all they were worth against the driving rain as he tried to make out any detail that might give away who was attacking them.

  One . . . two . . . three masts . . . square rigging . . . My God . . .

  “The Alliance is attacking!” he screamed again, so loudly his voiced threatened to go hoarse under the stress. “It’s the Alliance!” It had to be them. There was no other organization that he could think of that would be able to field such a massive and well-armed ship.

  What in the world is aboard this ship that the Alliance would be after? Much less that’s important enough for them to send a galleon with a complement of mages?

  He grabbed at his belt with numb fingers, fumbling around with the leather restraints there that held his knife in place until he had a solid grip on its handle. Once he did, he quickly severed the ropes that he had used to tie himself to the mast and began working his way down to the deck below. A bright light pierced through the night again, accompanied by a new series of shouts, and Dedrick looked up just in time to see a second ball of fire crash into the topmost mast. He was covered in a spray of cinders, glowing-red embers, and splintered wood, and he quickly hugged himself to the mast, squeezing his eyes shut to protect them from the falling debris.