Gods and Mortals by Various Authors

Author:Various Authors
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-21T16:15:51+00:00

GRAVESEND GOLD

C L Werner

Captain Brokrin leaned on the portside railing that framed the Iron Dragon’s deck and stared out across the cloud-swept skies. The ironclad was flying high above the desolate wadis of Droost and the dying sun set fantastic lights glimmering from the metallic desert sands. He always found the display somehow eerie, like something from another world. Those Kharadron who traded with the human inhabitants of Arlk said that the lights created strange mirages to befuddle those travelling across the desert on the ground. Brokrin was at least glad he had a sturdy ironclad to keep him well away from that hazard.

While he still had her, that was.

Brokrin tightened his grip on the rail, as though he could vent all the frustration and despair he felt by twisting the metal into a knot. ‘Ghazul’s curse,’ he muttered to himself. The ironclad had escaped destruction in the monster’s claws, but the bad luck that had dogged it ever since was starting to make even him start to believe in the jinx. The current voyage was looking no better than the three before it, the holds only half-filled. Crop blight, orruk raiders, even a religious festival had each made their ports of call less advantageous than they should have been. By the Ancestors! He was running out of excuses to offer his backers for their poor return on investment.

The sound of steps on the deck behind him brought Brokrin around. Old Mortrimm was favouring his good leg; the artificial one had been seizing up on him recently. Another weight added to Brokrin’s burden of responsibility. If these last voyages had been as profitable as they should have been, Mortrimm’s share would have been big enough to get the aether-work mechanisms inside the leg overhauled.

‘A word with you, cap’n?’ Mortrimm asked when he approached. Brokrin nodded and the old navigator continued. ‘Skaggi has evaluated what is in the hold,’ he said, referring to the ship’s logisticator. ‘He calculates that…’

‘After we share out to the backers and re-provision the ship we might each get enough to buy a flagon of beer, so long as it isn’t top-shelf stuff,’ Brokrin grumbled. He clenched his hand into a fist and banged it against the gunwale.

Mortrimm shrugged. ‘Maybe not as bad as that. Probably three flagons and a trencher of broiled goat.’ The navigator ran his fingers through his beard. ‘That was a joke, cap’n.’

‘I’m not in a jesting mood,’ Brokrin replied. ‘The crew has worked hard on this voyage. They deserve to have something to show for their efforts.’

‘So do you,’ Mortrimm said. ‘But the knucklebones didn’t roll so good this time. Everybody knows there is some risk and they accept that when they sign the charter. A bit of good luck and you get a good share…’

‘And a sting of bad fortune sees you with an empty belly, a dry throat and boots so worn-down they can double as sandals.’ Brokrin fixed Mortrimm with a questioning look. ‘I thought things would turn around by now.

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