The Dark Sea Beyond by Rye Sobo

Author:Rye Sobo [Sobo, Rye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

Hu’rah, Hu’rah to you Drakkan Ladies.

Hu’rah, Hu’rah to your warm golden shores.

With glory and gold we return to you, ladies.

Once again ladies we’ll darken your doors.

The number of times I’ve led the house in a round of that song, the ale flying as sailors swayed and sang.

The ship pitched hard, and Cort heaved, the heavy seas just too much for him. He rushed to the basin in the corner of the cabin and spewed. Just like back home.

“Shit! Hold fast!” Bitar shouted from the decks above. “Hold fast!”

The ship dipped and rolled to the starboard side. Cort heaved again.

“Man overboard! Starboard side!” a shout from above.

“Hold Fast!” Bitar shouted again as another massive wave crashed over the ship.

“Wave! Hard to Larboard!” Azpa yelled over the storm and waves.

“Brace! Brace! Brace!” the crew yelled.

I remember it sounded like an explosion on the main deck. A thick shard of wood pierced the overhead, not more than a hand from where I lay. I flew from my hammock into the bulkhead. My head thrummed with pain. The world spun.

***

The sun was warm on my face. Below me was solid soil. My eyes were closed, but I could hear the chattering of birds in the air. Peering out from heavy lids, I saw only a few wispy clouds in the brilliant blue of the sky.

I took in a deep breath. The sweet scent of fresh cut tobacco drying. I love that smell. It reminds me of family. Of home. Of sitting in the study with my father and brother as they discussed the happenings of the city.

I looked to my side. I was in the grass, a stone’s throw from Merrywood, the plantation where my brother lived, just outside the massive walls of the city. The tobacco fields had been in my family for generations, a thousand years at least, handed down from father to son. When Ignis refused to leave the University, my grandfather gave the lands to Dukhan, my brother, instead.

Duk inherited the Merrywood ten years before the Collapse. At seventy-five, he was the youngest Alsahar to be master of the plantation. He toiled in the fields, cared for each plant. It showed in the finest gnomish tobacco ever grown in the Auster Islands, perhaps the world.

The year he turned eighty an imperial missive arrived from Fortis to his surprise. The emperor planned to winter in the Black Keep, as usual, and requested Dukhan provide enough loose tobacco and rolled cigars for the winter court. He was to be the Imperial Tobacconist. A position short lived. Fortis fell, and the emperor vanished. All that happened years before I was born.

I sat up, grass stuck to my hair and back. The clouds grew darker, not clouds, smoke. Thick columns of black smoke rose from the drying house across the field. The sweet smell of tobacco mixed with the scent of rot as a hot wind blew across the fields. Through the black smoke peered the terrible scaled face of a red dragon in armor.

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