Zork (8) by Peony D Beckside.

 

Zork

Peony D Beckside

 

In appreciation of, and with thanks to John Norman for creating the wonderful world of Gor, in which this story is set.
Illustration by Arizona Wanderer

 

Chapter Eight: A Boat Of Our Own

 

At Holmesk. a town on a significant tributary of the Vosk, I hold back.  Grunthon, Kiki and Cadmus enter the town.  They return with what appears to be good news.  There’s a sturdy boat for sale.  They think that they can sell the wagon and tharlarion and still have enough coin to stock up on supplies.  It will however call for the two of them, and Kiki to have to walk again from the point where we decide to depart from the far side of the Vosk river.

They tell me that the boat will be quite cramped.  There will be little room to spare, given my size. The boat however is small enough to be portaged if necessary.  It will be necessary for all three of the puny ones to paddle the craft as my paw will be too big to grasp a paddle.  They seem willing to do that.  I for my part will theoretically have a lazy voyage.

While they’ve been in the town investigating onward travel options, I’ve been reconnoitring the surrounding countryside.

“There’s a small shingle beach about eight pasangs north of the town on this the western bank of the river.  I wait there for you.”

“Very good, Zork.  It’ll take a couple of days to finalise matters here in Holmesk, and ‘store’ the boat

for the journey.”

“I will be waiting.”

True to their word, the puny ones arrive as it is getting dark on the second day.  We camp the night at that spot.

Grunthon is using Kiki for his pleasure, Cadmus considering it rude to deny his friend this boon. Kiki it would seem appreciates the attention given her, or at least that’s how I interpret her moans.  For such a small puny one, she’s very vocal in such situations.  Eventually the two of them subside.  I sleep.  Even in my sleep, a part of my mind is alert for danger.  This is I believe a survival adaptation.  I’m rarely consciously aware of it.

In the morning, as the puny ones rouse and consume their hideous vegetable matter, I catch a small wild boar.  I can’t be bothered getting the puny ones to cook it; I want to get moving on the river, as soon as possible.

The boat is barely wide enough to contain my rear end.  I sit at the back of the vessel.  There is little freeboard spare.  We must be very careful of rough water.  Fortunately the river flow is gentle at this point.

The passage of the day is pleasant enough and the scenery pleasing, but by the end of the first day I begin to become bored.  Also I find the slowness of our passage tedious.

“Grunthon, you come with me.”

I remember that amongst puny ones, it is polite to add a word that has no referent in my own language

“… please.”

I sense his fear as I pick up my axe.  I laugh.  Grunthon relaxes, he recognises that the sound I make equates to the one his species denotes humour.

“I not kill you today, Grunthon!  Got a job for you.”

We wander from that night’s camp site.  I find a small tree that I believe will serve.

“I bored of doing nothing in boat.  You make, carve me a paddle; Kur size paddle?  This tree wide and stubby enough?”

Grunthon thinks.

“Sit by the tree, please, Zork.”

I do so.

Using parts of his body as measuring devices, Grunthon decides on suitable dimensions for the paddle.  With his knife he makes two nicks in the bark of the tree, one close to the base and one at about my shoulder height.

“Yes, Zork, it’s possible.  My tools are mostly suitable for working metal, but I think I’ve something that’ll work.  I’ll need you to chop the tree twice, at each of the marks.  That’ll give us the raw material.  I might also need you to trim it some more to get the basic shape.  I can take it from there.  Working in the late afternoon and evening when we stop to camp it might take two to three days.”

“Good, I chop tree, bring wood piece back to camp.  Your food nearly ready, I think.”

This tree is of a particularly solid and heavy wood.  It takes more blows with axe than expected to extract the marked log.  I like the heft of the log, as I carry it back to the river bank.  If heavy timber, I decide to see if the loge will float.  I don’t want the paddle to sink if I’m forced to drop it.  It floats better than expected.  I hand it to Grunthon to work on it.  He starts marking it where he’ll have to start trimming away excess wood.  By the time it’s getting dark, he seems satisfied that he can start shaping the log the following day.

 

We are making good time!  We have covered more than twice as much distance in the last two days than we did in the first four.  That’s a function of the extra thrust I’m giving the boat with the paddle Grunthon fashioned for me.  The paddle is perfect.  A joy in the paw.  One knows when something is right, it becomes as much a work of art as a functional object.  We are lucky to have Grunthon with us.  He has that quality of making just about anything, and it will have that added extra touch.

Indeed, I seem to be doing all the work, or the majority of it.  Grunthon and Cadmus seeming only to be keeping us on course.  Kiki has been instructed to lay her paddle down, her efforts disturbing the most efficient regimen.

The puny female laughs with delight.  She likes the air rushing through her long hair.

“Why do you laugh, Kiki?”

“The joy of the speed is exhilarating, Master.”

Even though I am not human, she still calls me Master.  She is a slave, I, though of a different species, am classed as a free-person.

“It’s like being in a speedboat!”

“What is ‘speedboat’?”

“In barbarian lands the word ‘boat’ means a craft that goes on water.  This…”

She indicates the vessel we are in,

“… is then a ‘boat’. ‘Speed’ refers to the rate that someone or something travels.  A ‘speedboat’ then is a boat designed to travel very fast over water.”

“You speak barbarian, Kiki?  Are you from barbarian lands?”

Is she originally from the slave world, the one with the foul air and crazy people?

“Yes, Master, didn’t you know?”

“It not mentioned by Cadmus or Grunthon.  They know?”

“Master Cadmus has not talked to me about it, but I believe he knows.  I would be surprised if Master Grunthon didn’t know!”

Doubtless though, they do now.  The boat is small enough that any conversation in it will be heard by all. Kiki seems worried.

“Does that matter, Master?”

“Not to me; me just curious.  Not think Cadmus and Grunthon bothered either.”

“Thank you, Master”

I see her relax again.

I don’t think it’s important, she’s just a slave, a menial.  She keeps Cadmus and Grunthon happy. Sometimes when I hear her rutting with one of the men, I feel lonely.  The sooner I am among my own kind the better.

 

Slave Kiki’s narrative

 

I’m aware of a low hissing sound.  I see ahead a mist.  It’s midafternoon.  The day is hot.  Mists tend to be morning phenomena.  It puzzles me.

“Masters?  Why is there a mist ahead of us?”

Cadmus looks up from his paddling.

“Shit!  Pull for the shore, everyone, urgently.  You too Kiki.

I reach for my paddle.  There’s something, some warning, some danger implied in his voice.

“Waterfall!  Rapids, maybe.

That explains it.  We put everything we have into paddling.  Cadmus and Grunthon, trying desperately to turn the boat shoreward.  There’s a small sandy beach.  We aim for it.

“Zork, when we ground on the beach, you need to hold onto the boat so it doesn’t get pulled away by the current.  You’re stronger than us.  We may not be able to hold it.”

“Got it, Cadmus.”

I feel the soft scrape of sand under the keel.  Zork steps out into the shallow water, the boat almost tipping over.  He’s just in time, the stern of the boat is swinging away downstream.  Zork and the men pull the boat further up the beach so that it is out of danger of being carried away.

“That was close.  Grunthon, reconnoitre the area.  See if there’s a way round whatever the problem is.”

Grunthon returns shortly.

“Waterfall.  Big one.  The boat would have been broken.  We’d have died if we’d gone over.  The good news is that there’s a path from this very beach past it.  It’s clear that this is a frequently used portage route.  With Zork’s help we should be able to get the boat round the falls pretty quickly.”

Zork grunts his agreement.

Cadmus and Grunthon start unloading the boat of our supplies.  It’s soon empty.  They load me up like a pack mule.  I can hardly stagger, but there’s still a fair number of items left on the beach.  Not least Zork’s mighty axe.  I doubt that I could even lift it an inch, but it’s academic.  As a slave, it’s death for me if I ever so much as touch a weapon.

“We’ll leave the supplies here and come back for them.  We need to get the boat down first.  How far is it to calmer water, would you say, Grunthon?”

“A couple of pasangs^[1], at a guess, Cadmus.”

I wonder if I can stagger that far, loaded as I am.

“Zork, if you can take the stern of the boat, and bear most of the weight, Grunthon and I can probably manage the bows.”

Zork says nothing, he just grabs his half of the boat and lifts it as if it were mere flotsam.  Master and Grunthon struggle, but get the front half onto their shoulders.  The party moves off slowly, I following as quickly as I can.

We pass between two large rocks.  There is a flash of movement!  Zork screeches loudly and drops the boat.  There is the sound of cracking wood.  I look up at Zork.  From his shoulder projects what I take to be a crossbow bolt!  He rushes past me back up the path, knocking me to the ground.  I’m horrified, more than that saddened.  Zork hurt!  I’ve come to like this dangerous, but kind to me, beast.  I recall how terrified I’d been of him when I first came into contact with him.  I am very worried for him.  I don’t know how badly he is hurt.  Has the bolt done internal damage that might even kill him, as it might have a mere man?

We are surrounded now by a group of some eight men; at least six of them wielding crossbows.

“Damn you Crixus.  You were meant to shoot the beast in the throat.  More likely that’d have killed it.  Now it’s wounded.  More dangerous than ever.”

“It’ll probably bleed to death, Phorgo.”

“You’d better hope it does.  I doubt though that it’d want to attack us, given our numbers.”

Phorgo examines the boat.

“Pity!  However we can probably use the timbers to repair our own galley.  Petiron, tomorrow morning bring a chain of ten oar slaves and have them carry this boat down to our beaching point, and to collect any supplies this sorry lot left at the top beach”

I see Cadmus and Grunthon look at one another, misery on their faces, at the mention of ‘galley’ and ‘oar slaves’.

“Crixus, add these two men to the slave chain.  Hopefully they’ll learn how to draw an oar quickly. I’m sure the lash will teach them.”

Phorgo turns to me.

“This little vu lo can help about camp, cooking, fetching water, etc. when she’s not keeping our beds warm at night.”

Cadmus calls out.

“Do whatever they tell you Kiki, but remember that ultimately you belong to me.”

A man strikes Cadmus in the face, knocking him to the ground.  I start forward intending to help him but am prevented from doing so by Phorgo.

“Let me help him please, Master…?”

“No.  Follow the path down until you get to a beached river-galley.  Give your load to the slave Hulia and beg her to put you about your duties.  Don’t even think about disappearing into the bush.  Your death would not be pleasant!”

“Yes, Master.”

I obey.  My Master has given me an order.  Obey this oaf of a man, Phorgo.  Some half an hour later, I see Master and Grunthon brought into camp, bound.  I watch surreptitiously as they are chained along with some twenty other men.  I do not see where the key to chains of these men is kept; but I’d be surprised if I could.  Gorean men are not careless in how they keep and handle either male or female slaves.

It is night now.  Phorgo took me to his furs first.  Rank hath its privileges, I assume.  By comparison with Cadmus, or even Grunthon, he’s a tharlarion rather than a panther; crude, rough, lacking in skill or finesse.  He forced a surrender of sorts from me, but it was painful and barely satisfying.  We lie together, he has not dismissed me.  I am ankle chained to a peg hammered into the ground.  I think that he’s more worried than he lets on.  He has reason to be, I suspect.  A wounded animal is twice as dangerous as one that is not.  Unless Zork has died from his wound, I believe that he is likely to harry this group of river pirates. After all, he doesn’t want to have to walk all the way to Torvaldsland, if he can stay with the river, and that needs a boat.

The galley of these pirates is seriously damaged.  It has several planks stove-in.  Even cannibalising our boat might not be adequate to fix it.

“Tell me about the monster, kajira.”

“I’m not sure what there is to tell, Master.”

I continue, not wanting to be beaten for evasiveness.

“I believe that his species is called ‘Kur’.  I have no idea as to where he comes from.  I believe that he’s travelling to Torvaldsland, where he thinks there is a colony of his kind.  He is not a mere beast. He is intelligent.  He is called Zork.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Yes, Master.  He can be very dangerous when roused.”

I want to add ‘and you’ve pissed him off big-time’, but as a slave I can’t afford my comments to be seen as criticism.

“To me, though I was terrified of him at first, he is gentle and kind.”

“And what is it to the two men you were with, and they to him.”

“Simple travelling companions, I believe, Master.”

“Is it likely to simply move on, or will it attack us?”

“I honestly know not, Master.”

I hope though that Zork will decimate these evil men, but I don’t tell this oaf that.  After all, of what value are the hopes and wishes of a slave-girl?  Men only will do as they wish and I as kajira must accept the consequences of that.

There is a cry from outside the tarpaulin’d lean-to that’s serving as a tent.  Phorgo is out of the sleeping-furs like a startled tabuk.  The cry has come from one of a couple of men sat around the camp fire.

“It just came flying through the air, like a thrown stone…”

Even chained as I am, by the firelight I can see Phorgo pick up a severed head.

“Phorgo, It’s Petiron!”

“I can see that, Crixus!  The head’s been neatly severed, as if with one stroke of a sharp sword.  From what direction did it come?”

“You two, get weapons and search in that direction.”

I can tell that the two men are shocked and frightened, but they obey Phorgo.  He comes to me, clearly annoyed.  He cuffs me twice.

“The monster is armed!  What with?”

I am not allowed to lie, and remaining silent may get me killed.

“He has an axe.  A large one, as big as a man.”

“And you chose not to tell me this?”

“It never occurred to me, Master.  I couldn’t carry it, it’s too heavy.  It was left at the beach with our other stores while the boat was moved.  I didn’t know that Zork would go back to the beach to get it.”

“Stupid slave!”

He cuffs me again.

“Yes, Master.”

The first traces of the coming day are beginning to show.  An hour and a half later, the two men sent out return dragging the remains of a body.  The two men look rather nauseous.

“He’s been eaten, Captain!  You can see the teeth marks!”

Phorgo too is visibly shaken.  He thinks quickly, calling all men in the camp together.  He details men to go out and join the remaining perimeter guards.

“From now on, no-one leaves the camp alone.  You go fully armed in pairs.”

Ten minutes later the man I believe is called Xagros returns carrying a second crossbow.

“I can’t find Brangari anywhere, boss!  I found his crossbow where he was supposed to be guarding!”

Panic is clearly setting in.  Work on fixing the galley goes into fever pitch.  I sense that the chained oar slaves are being rather skittish.  I hear Cadmus trying to reassure them, advising that the ‘monster’ is an intelligent and honourable creature.

Half an hour later a man, Brangari, I assume, wanders into the camp.  He has a shocked, glazed expression.  His arm is badly gashed and hangs uselessly at this side.  He lurches over to Phorgo.

“Captain, the monster captured me.  I thought I was dead.  I felt its teeth at my throat.  It released me and sent me with a message.  It will parley.  It has some kind of talking box, that translates what it says to us and we to it.  You the leader, and another will immediately go to the edge of the small clearing five ehn’s walk to the west.  You will also take the slave-girl, Kiki.  You will not take extra men.  You will not attempt an ambush.  Failure to comply will result in the deaths of all your men.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“You don’t, Captain.  I asked the monster that question.  It said that ‘If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead’.”

Phorgo thinks briefly.

“I will talk with it.  Where does it want to meet, and when?”

“At the beach above the falls.  In two hours time.”

“Tell Crato I want him armed and I want to see him.  Loose hobble, bracelet and leash this slave.”

“Why does it want you along, kajira?”

“I know not, Master.  Doubtless that’ll become clear in due course.”

 

The hobble chain does not restrict me much.  I cannot run in it, but I can walk quickly.  I need to take about two steps for each taken by these big brawny men.  We reach the beach.  All of the supplies Cadmus, Grunthon and I had unloaded have gone.  Presumably down into the lower camp.

“Where is it then, kajira?”

I’m about to say that I don’t know, when I hear the slightly mechanical voice of Zork’s communication device from behind.  The two men spin round, reaching for their weapons.  Such stealth!  None of had seen it, heard it, or smelled it as we came up the path, and now it’s behind us, cutting us off from the camp!

I see that the crossbow bolt is still in Zork’s shoulder, and that dried blood stains his fur below the wound.  He does not seem particularly impaired by it, though I suspect he does still have some pain.  I am moved by compassion.  Once I had thought him evil, now I know him as kind, honourable, and cultured, within the constraints of his biological needs.  I would go to him, bathe his wound, give what comfort I could, but bound as I am, I cannot.

Zork speaks

“Commander, you and all your men are dead-meat.  My species has the tracking ability of your sleen. I have memorised the scent of each and every one of your men.  I will gorge on each and every one. You will be last, so you realise the full horror of what awaits you…”

He pauses.

“If you would stay the execution of your men and yourself, you will listen and obey.  Do as you are bid without tricks, and you may yet survive.”

The one called Crato is unimpressed.

“Screw you, monster!”

Faster than I can believe, faster than Phorgo can draw his sword, Zork leaps forward grabs Crato and retreats back to his original position.  Crato screams as Zork lifts him up to his mouth.  The cry ceases as Zork bites into Crato’s throat.  Zork drops Crato’s body.

“I will eat the rest of him later.  Now you listen.”

Phorgo seems to be in shock as to the speed and ferocity of Zork.  He nods rapidly.

“Kiki, take note.  Tell Cadmus and Grunthon what happened here, what was said.  Full details. Leave nothing out.”

“Yes, Lord!”

Given Zork’s power, even when wounded, I sense that the word ‘Master’ is no longer adequate.  Zork is beyond being just a free-being, he’s a natural leader.  ‘Lord’ is therefore much more appropriate.

“Phorgo, you will go back to the camp.  You will unchain all of your slave captives…”

“Then they will kill us!”

“Kiki, tell them that if any of them attack Phorgo’s men, they too will become fresh meat for me.”

“The one called Cadmus shall be in charge and his deputy will be Grunthon.  Everyone, your men and the released ones will work on fixing the big row-boat as soon as possible.  Once it’s fixed, you, your men, and as many of the released ones as wish will take the boat down the river into the bigger river.  At a port on the far side of that river, you and your men will be given half a day’s start to go where you will.  The formerly chained slaves will temporarily become the property of Cadmus.  Cadmus will legally manumit each of them.  I and my party will leave the ship.  The former slaves may then go where they wish on the river.”

Phorgo seems about to expostulate.  Zork reminds.

“It’s a question of just how much you and your men wish to live.  Any attempt to betray this deal, attack me, or to run off into the bush by any one of you, will doom the rest.  Clear on that?”

“I decide my own fate, and as commander it is my right to decide that of my men, but given the manner of their potential deaths, this I must talk over with them.”

“Agreed.  If you choose to accept this proposal, you will fly a yellow flag from the mast of the damaged ship, and carry out the precepts of the agreement.”

“Kiki, You know you are forbidden to lie.  Lie, and I will eat you.”

I remember the first time I saw Zork he’d been eating my previous Master.  I almost lose control of my bowels in fear.

“You will reassure this man that when I give my word, I stick to it.  My honour demands this of me.”

I turn to Phorgo.

“Master, what Lord Zork says is true.  Not once since I became part of his travelling group have I seen him do anything contrary to what he has agreed to.  Punctiliously so.”

Phorgo grunts.  Zork reminds.

“Kiki, are you clear on what you will tell Cadmus and the rest of the chained ones?”

“Yes, Lord!”

Phorgo takes my leash and leads me back to the camp.  Zork takes Crato, his meal and silently disappears into the bush.  I am sent to Cadmus as Phorgo calls all of his men to council.  I relate to him all that happened, all that was said, repeating it to the whole group of chained oar slaves, ensuring that they all understand that if Phorgo’s men agree to unchain them, they will not attack their erstwhile captors.  In the background I hear raised voices from the river pirates.  There’s a significant section of them that are unhappy with the proposal.  They wish to search out and fight Zork, believing that with larger numbers they will succeed in killing him.  After all, to a man, particularly one who perhaps was once of the Warrior caste, surrender is anathema.  Better to die in battle.  When all have had their say, it’s clear that the majority have decided to accept the offer.  Phorgo reminds all the men that they must stick to the terms of the agreement, or Zork will see that as a betrayal and will kill and eat every one of them.  Taking a bolt of looted yellow silk he cuts a suitable length off, ties it to a halyard and raises it to the top of the mast.  He comes over to me, a key of some kind on a lanyard round his neck.

“You have told them the terms under which they are to be freed?  They have all agreed to abide by those terms?”

There is much grumbling and resentment among the chained oar-slaves.  Some of them clearly would prefer to get their hands on the men who had enslaved them.

“You!  Cadmus?  You will be in charge of the camp and the repairs.  Can you keep these men under control?”

“Yes.  I believe that I can.”

“Be sure!  It won’t be just my men that the monster will eat!”

“I’m sure!”

“Here’s the key to the chains.  You are in charge now.  The sooner we are moving downriver the better.  I for one don’t like being under the threat of death, particularly one as hideous as that of Petiron and Crato!”

Cadmus gets busy.  He takes control of the situation.  I’m amazed at his mastery of the situation.  He’s a natural leader!  I’ve always thought him a kind of mild-mannered scholar, in Earth terms a ‘bookworm’.  I’m seeing new qualities in him, I never believed he had.

“Kiki, go onto the river galley and see if you can find any medical supplies.”

I set off to obey hearing behind me Master asking if any of the rowing slaves that he’s unchaining, have any medical training, any of the skills of the Physicians.  I hear one man announce that he’d once been of the physicians, before being enslaved.  Clystemous, I believe he called himself.

I find a wooden box with a symbol on the lid.  The symbol, I take to represent the Caste of Physicians.  I carry it back to Cadmus.  He opens it.  His eyes light up.

“Grunthon, go up the path to where Kiki said Zork had last appeared.  Call out to Zork.  Ask him to come down into camp, so we can deal with his wound.

“Clystemous, what will you need to remove a crossbow bolt from the shoulder of Zork?”

Clystemous gathers together cloths, water, a sharp knife, pincers, and medicinal alcohol from the box.  He’s just about ready when Grunthon returns, Zork lumbering behind.

The erstwhile physician indicates a spot where he has laid down a large sheet.  Zork reclines.

“Cadmus, how do I speak to this beast?  How will I make him understand what I’m going to do and why?”

Cadmus is quick, not wanting Zork to be offended.

“No mere beast, this, Healer.  Zork is a cultured and honourable being…”

Zork cuts off Cadmus, emitting a string of sibilants and gutturals, the translating box speaks in its usual monotone way.

“I hear you perfectly well healer.  Ask me whatever you want, directly.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry Sir.  I’m assuming that you are male?”

“Very much so, Healer, though the distinction is not binary in our culture, as it seems to be for you puny ones.”

“Tell me Zork, your wound is in your shoulder. You don’t have any vital organs in your shoulder do you?  In humans it is not so, it is simple muscle and ligaments; is it the same with you?”

“Similar.  Nothing major in shoulder.”

“You seem to be able to use your arm, so I assume no broken bones?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“Can you turn on your side, please, so I can look at your back.”

Zork rolls over.   Clystemous feels over the back of Zork’s shoulder.

“Zork, given the size of your shoulder blade, we can’t push the bolt through and out the back.  It’s gong to have to come out the front.  I don’t know if the bolt is barbed.  If it is, then unless we are lucky and we can align the path of the bolt going in with that of it coming out then getting it out will tear your muscle.  That will be very painful for you.  The best outcome will be if the bolt isn’t barbed, but there will still be pain.  I can give you something to deaden the pain.  It might put you to sleep, but I’d be guessing the dosage, and there is an outside chance of a reaction to the medication.”

“Understand.  No pain medic…  I not sleep.  I make sure Phorgo and men not kill me in sleep.  I make sure, chained ones not kill Phorgo and men.  I may make some noise.”

“That’s brave, Zork!  I don’t know that I’d have the courage for that!  So be it.  Cadmus, find a hefty stick for Zork to bite down on!”

Clystemous kneels beside Zork.  He offers a short but solid tree branch.  Zork take it between his teeth.  He cuts away part of Zork’s now less than clean one-piece clothing.  Taking the pincers he reaches as deep down into the wound.  Zork hisses loudly.  Grasping the shaft of the bolt as low down as possible, he pulls upwards with all his might.  Zork screeches!  Twisting the bolt slightly he tugs again and almost falls on his back, the bolt held firmly in the pincers.  Zork howls again.

“It’s your lucky day, Zork!  It’s out, and in one piece too.  Now to clean the wound and wrap it in cloth.  There’ll be a bit of pain when we pour the alcohol into the wound, but we must do this.  You don’t want the wound to rot.”

“Understand.  Do it.”

Zork hisses again.  In short order Clystemous has rigged a bandage to protect the wound from future infection.

“You good healer, Clystemous!”

“No, only a lucky one!  Kiki,  Get Zork some food.  He needs to regain his strength!”

“On it, Master.”

Fortunately there’s a tarsk cooking on the fire.  Cadmus assigns surrendered weapons to a group of three technically legal slaves and sends them out to hunt for more meat.  The rest of the slaves he assigns to Phorgo, to help in repairing the river galley.

There is only one fight between one of Phorgo’s men and one of the slaves.  Zork growls menacingly at them.  They stop fighting and separate, going back to different duties.

Within a week the galley is repaired and stocked with what food supplies could be caught or gathered.

Cadmus is in overall charge, but Phorgo due to his sailing experience is made ‘sailing master’.  The rest of the party including Grunthon, take it in turn to crew and row on a rota basis.  I of course, am tasked with supplying everyone with water and food, in addition to my intimate tasks for Cadmus.

Zork, being unable to go below decks due to his physical size finds a section of deck by the mast and commandeers it, using the mast as a backrest.

We slide past the town of Teslit at dusk five days later, pulling up at a beach some eight miles north of the town. Cadmus sends out a hunting party, making sure that there is a balance in numbers and weapons between Phorgo’s men and the slaves.  Zork on hand to ensure that no-one does anything stupid.

In a week we are approaching Ar’s Station at its confluence of the river with the mighty Vosk river. Cadmus decides that we should seek to pass into the Vosk river at dawn.  His reasoning being that at that time of day the guards and watchmen will not be at their most wakeful, and may be slow to send out intercepting boats.  His reasoning is sound.  We are past and being carried rapidly by the Vosk current before the ships of Ar’s Station can prohibit us.  We have a mild shower as stones from a trebuchet atop a tower of the fortress.  None of the stones strikes the ship or swamps it.

Zork’s wound heals quite quickly.  He picks up his axe and using it as a strengthening and training device proceeds to swing it through every possible combination of moves.  At first it’s clear to me that he’s finding it painful when using the arm on the wounded side, but the exercise strengthens Zork’s muscles and improves his coordination.  The crew naturally are sufficiently concerned with and appreciate Zork’s skill.  They keep the peace, fearing Zork’s wrath.

By the time we get to Jort’s Ferry, some ten days later, Zork seems fully recovered.  The pirate galley seems to be the fastest vessel on the river, at this point, so it’s a shock to the local populace when such a ship bearing a ‘monster’ arrives at the town’s jetty.  Quickly a rag-tag group of men with a variety of weapons. Cadmus goes ashore to reassure them that Zork will remain on the ship until He, Grunthon, Zork and I are ready to depart the town, heading north.  The townsfolk leave a guard, or watch, to see that Zork stays aboard.

On board the ship, there’s a small coffer of coins.  Cadmus sends Grunthon ashore to negotiate the purchase of a small wagon, a tharlarion, and stores for the onward portion of our journey.  As he’s about to leave, Clystemous enters the main cabin.

“I would speak with you, Cadmus, and you Grunthon.”

“You may speak freely, Clystemous.”

“Whence do you go, please, sirs?”

“Essentially North and West, ultimately to Torvaldsland, why?”

“I am exiled from my city.  Some of my medical research was considered dangerous.  I cannot return. I have nowhere specific that I need or wish to go.  I wondered if I could join your party?”

Cadmus glances at Grunthon, as do I.  I catch his brief nod.  I of course am not asked. I am only property.

“Grunthon, buy extra rations for Clystemous, too.”

“Thank you, good sirs!”

 

True to his word Zork allows Phorgo and his men to leave.  He sends them off individually in different directions giving each of them a share of the coins from the coffer, that have not been expended by Grunthon.  Phorgo himself being allowed to keep his own slave, Hulia.

Cadmus, being a scribe, prepares manumission papers for the former rowing slaves.  He can do this, him and Grunthon never having been formally enslaved, only merely being captives.  There being no slave-papers on either of them, anywhere.  The mood on the ship is ecstatic.  I do not regret that there are no manumission papers for me.  I know that I would not survive as a free-woman without anyone to protect me. I have no home-stone.  I’d be within someone else’s collar within a day!

The following morning, Grunthon pulls up our wagon with its load of supplies to the jetty.  Cadmus hands over command of the ship to the most capable of the former rowing slaves, and we depart northwards. The town inhabitants follow us doubtless to be sure that we do actually leave their fair town!

The wagon is a big one.  Not big enough to carry Zork, but he doesn’t seem to mind that he will have to walk.  Given the length of his stride he manages to maintain the same speed as the wagon.  The wagon seat is wide enough for the three men.  I am neck-tethered to the rear of the wagon.  I’m not looking forward to being tugged on a leash all the way to Torvaldsland.  Cadmus lifts me up, dropping my bottom onto the back of the wagon, my legs hanging over the rear.  There’s just a nice gap between the cargo and wagons edge; perfect for the size of my bottom.  But then, I suppose that I too am cargo!  Why then, shouldn’t I be allowed to ride on the wagon, along with the suls, bedding rolls, tarpaulins, etc.?

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[1]              About a mile and a half in Earth distance.