The Black Dragon
Copyright © 2001, James L. Snyder. All Rights Reserved.

The waves rushed swiftly over the sand, as if rolling in to devour him.  As the cool water met his warm feet, the sensation brought a smile to his face.  The coolness engulfed his toes, then his ankles, splashing his legs.  Teron let out a slight laugh.  The mid-morning sun reflected off the bay, and brought warmth back to his feet as the water retreated.

Soon he would board the Black Dragon, to set sail past Nujel’m to the deeper seas, and look for lone ships, or perhaps vessels of the Royal Fleet.  Maybe even merchant trade boats that would be fine pickings for the crew.  Whatever Captain Windhammer so desired.

“Windhammer the Black” as he was known to justice was one of the most wanted and feared pirates of the Den.  It was said that to even look into his eyes would drive strong men to the brink of insanity.  Teron knew only that he was extremely privileged to serve upon the Black Dragon.  He had never been close enough to Captain Windhammer to see his face, much less his eyes, for Teron spent most of his hours below deck, working with others on the nets that trailed the Black Dragon.

If he was lucky, he would spend hours each day slicing fish into steaks that the cooks would season, and dry into rations for the crew – and to be sold back in Buc’s Den.  If he was unlucky, the catch would be slow, and he’d spend more time tending the nets.  In either case, if he got particularly lucky, he would be ordered into a boarding party.

While he was still unskilled compared to the senior pirates of the Black Dragon, he gave the middle-classmen a good workout.  He had some sort of natural ability with the scimitar, and Vyrd, his weapons instructor, had high hopes for him.  Teron knew someday he would rise out of the nets, to a life above deck.  Greater treasure, and greater glory, would be his someday.

Until then, he would just keep working.

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Thwack.  The head of the fish fell off the cutting table, into the basket below.  Another slice, and the tail fins fell into another basket.  Teron switched knifes without pause, and ran a skinning knife quickly through the fish, discarding the remainder of the inedibles.   Hefting the butcher knife again, he sliced the fish into steaks ready for the cooks, and then piled them on a tray.

Grabbing another fish, he repeated the process.  Again and again, Teron sliced away tirelessly, whistling a tune he learned as a child.  The nets were dragging in many fish, and this voyage would surely be profitable on fish alone.

“Teron, me lad, tis time fer yer break,” a gruff voice called from behind.  “Ye have a few moments t’ clean up ‘n’ rest, an’ then ye shouldst report t’ Vyrd.  He be wantin’ t’ train wit’ ye.”

Teron turned to Arik, smiling.  “Are ye shur ye haf enuff men on da knife?”

“Aye, lad, we have plenty.  Go have fun.”

Teron tossed his knives into a bucket and quickly threw his apron onto a hook.  “Tank ye, Arik.”

As Teron rushed to the rope ladder that ran to the main deck, Arik punched him lightly in the arm.  “He make a pirate outta ye yet.”

Teron climbed up to the deck, and grinned as the twin moons met his eyes.  He’d been asked to work the night, and had lost track of time.  On deck, he stood, and looked out over the blackened waters.  The waves were calm, and he allowed himself to become mesmerized by the soft sound of the waters splashing against the side of the ship.

“Arrrr tharrrr, Terrrron.”

Teron turned with a grin upon his face.  “Vyrd, how be ya?”

“Well, Terrrron, I figurrrred we should have some morrrre night prrrractice with the scimitarrrr.  Not,” Vyrd said as he tossed a blade to Teron, “that ye need much prrrractice.”

Without thought, Teron reached out and grabbed the hilt of the weapon as it came towards him.  Turning the blade upright in a single motion, Teron adjusted his hold on the scimitar so that he could wield it in battle.

Vyrd took a swing at Teron, but he quickly parried it with his blade.  “Verrrry good, Terrrron.”

Teron was about to strike back, when suddenly the deck rushed up to meet him.  As he fell, he heard Vyrd let out a sharp breath and call out “By the seas, what the hells is that?”

Teron regained his senses as he was falling and held the scimitar to his side, rolling the opposite way.  He was quickly back on his feet and standing next to Vyrd.  The skies that he had just been staring out upon were brilliant and alive with an energy that he had never seen.  Those streaks of light that dashed across the sky were not his concern though, for another vessel was very near.  One believed to be myth.  As he stared at the splintered masts and holed sails, a tattered yellowing flag that bore a red skull waving in an unfelt wind, Teron stood, knowing real fear for the first time.  It was no myth.

“Yes, Terrrron, it is rrrreal.  I had hoped neverrrr to see it again in me life.”

The tone of Vyrd’s voice made brought Teron out of his fear, and he knew they would have to fight.  Teron could make out the master of the ship, the Lich-Pirate Quelas Tahl, standing at the bow, outlined in an evil light.  He could also make out the figures of skeletal buccaneers ready to board, ancient plate armor draped upon their vile bones.   Teron gave one last glance upward at the now energetic skies, wondering if there was some powerful magic at play that had summoned the ghost ship.

It seemed like hours before the undead vessel was close enough to board.  The alarm had been raised, the nets had been drawn hastily in, and the entire ship stood ready to fight a boarding party that was already dead.

“Lad, herrrre,” Vyrd said as grappling lines began to fly from the hands of bone pirates.  Teron turned to face his mentor, and saw him holding a second scimitar.  “This will serve you better.”

Teron quickly hefted the shiny blade, and looked at its well polished surface.  “Is it...?”

Vyrd interrupted.  “Aye, lad.  Silverrrr.  I’ve been prrrreparrred for this day forrrr a long time.”

Teron turned back to face the skeletons that would soon be boarding.  So be it.  Teron would fight a legend, with Vyrd at his side, and they would win.  The forces began boarding, and Teron joined in the fight.  The world had narrowed down to just him and his enemies, and the growing magical storm overhead.  He swung swiftly, cutting through the skeletons, watching them disintegrate.  From time to time,   he could see Vyrd fighting in a frenzy, or the lich lord looking over his minions.  It mattered not.  He knew the skeletons would be driven off.

*          *          *          *          *

Waters lapped against the side of the boat, and Teron opened his eyes, the sun forcing him to squint.  He was very disoriented.

The storm had grown ferocious.

The skeletons had been followed by undead he had never seen.

Vyrd.

Teron looked around, and realized he was alone.

It came to him with clarity, and brought a tear to Teron’s eye.

Vyrd had stayed behind.

“Lad, ye must flee.  We will not surrrrvive, but ye must.  Ye must live to tell this tale,” his teacher had said, and released him in a longboat.  Teron had argued as the boat fell to the waters, but then he rowed until his arms were too sore to continue, until his arms refused.

He looked at the floor of the boat, the silver scimitar lying there.  It was all he had left of Vyrd, the Black Dragon... his life.  He knew the Black Dragon had fallen.  Come night, he would have to use the stars to get back to the Den.  He wasn’t an expert, but he’d either reach the isle or the mainland.  Either would do.

He realized he was facing opposite of the boat’s slow movement.  Turning around, almost as if something had willed him to, Teron’s mouth opened wide.  There was the shore of a land he had never seen.  He could make out tall structures of metal, and a huge structure floating in the air.  He was still some ways out from it all, but what he saw he knew he should not see.  He had been in these waters before, and this had never been here.  It seemed to go on endlessly, this new land.

It was land though.  And where there was land, there was hope.

Teron knew his sea voyage would soon be over.

And his life, perhaps had just begun.

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Intro • [1]