Chapter 1

A Dread Tide Rising, by Walt Shuler

A Dread Tide Rising is a pulp-flavored, epic fantasy novel set in the world of Thalrassa. It follows the Talon, a group of mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers, as they come face to face with an ancient enemy intent on the destruction of the Rakkian Empire.

Catch up on all the chapters here. You can learn more about the members of the Talon here and explore Thalrassa-related lore here. The map of Thalrassa can be found here.

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Darkness settled over the compound. Silence came with it, thick like sea fog, and even the distant surf grew quiet.

Torches along the walls punctuated the night here and there. Valder patrolled the yard alone, keeping a desultory watch. Another guard on the wall nodded in sleep, propped against a merlon. The night was quiet, and there was nothing to fear. Who would bother with a half-deserted way station in the back end of nowhere? Raiders were rare in these waters. Most preferred the richer pickings around Scyline’s Cross at the northern tip of Aeth.

Valder was more interested in thoughts of his new woman, Elna, than in his duties as a guard. He grinned as he thought of her long, red hair and longer legs. She was one of the few bright spots in his otherwise dull life.

Not for the first time, he wondered how he’d ended up a nobody doing nothing of real import. It certainly had not been how his childhood fantasies had played out. Then, he’d always been the hero, welcomed home with praise after slaying the dragon or whatever threatened the town. Frowning, he kicked a stone out of his path, sending it skipping across the courtyard. No, this was nothing like he’d expected.

Lost in his musings, Valder missed the muffled thump as the sleeping guard slumped into a deeper stillness. He reached the front gate and turned, stopping to scratch vigorously at an itch in a rather uncomfortable place.

In that second of inattention, a shadow slipped over the wall, moving toward a deeper pool of darkness at the courtyard’s edge. Another followed, and then a third. While Valder soothed the irritation to his derrière, the invaders slipped along the edge of the light, moving toward the iron-studded door that gave entrance to the station proper.

As the shadows raced toward the portal, Valder started, alerted by some small sound or a flicker of movement in the wrong place. His leather baldric creaked as he gripped his sword hilt.

“Who’s there?” Valder called out. The night pressed in, the silence suddenly close. His thoughts of glory were gone, replaced by uncertainty.

“Malachi? Is all well?” he called again, but Malachi was completely oblivious to the goings-on, his cheek pressed to the cold stone of the wall walk.

One of the shadow shapes detached itself from the courtyard wall, closing the distance with the hapless guard in mere seconds. There was a flash of movement, and Valder dropped like a sack of laundry. Now unopposed, the figures raced for the door and access to the interior.

As they arrived, the door swung open silently, dim light from within revealing a young woman clad in dark leathers, curly hair tied back. She sketched a caricature of a bow and waved them forward.

“Your way station awaits.” She grinned, holstering a single-handed crossbow.

“It’s not ours yet, Wynn,” one of the raiders snapped. He glanced back into the courtyard, double-checking that no unwanted eyes marked their progress. “And we don’t need a gods-cursed way station in the first place. Just what’s in it. What we came for,” he continued, dim light picking out short, dark hair and a lean, angular face.

“Aw, Mac, I was only kidding,” Wynn protested.

Mac did not reply. Instead, he rounded on one of the others.

“You didn’t have to kill him, Gorm.”

The giant shook his head. “Guard’s not dead,” he replied, light glinting from his shaved pate. “He’ll have a splitting headache when he wakes, though.”

“Thank Mali for small blessings,” Mac sighed, invoking the goddess of luck and the sea. He snapped his fingers at the rest of the group. “What are we waiting for, the rest of the guards to come up for their shifts? Let’s be about this!”

The figures slipped through the open door, whisper-quiet in the dark, all but two. Gorm caught Wynn’s arm gently.

“Don’t worry, Wynn. Mac’s proud of you. You did a good job getting into the place. He’s just on edge. You know how much tonight means to him.”

Wynn nodded, sniffing, and Gorm patted her on the shoulder. “Good. Let’s get going. Wouldn’t want them to have all the fun.”

The way station’s door opened into a short hallway that ended in a small antechamber, with a corridor opening to the north and another to the west. Here, the interlopers gathered.

“We split up,” Mac said. “Hax, you and Pax take the left corridor. Gorm, you’re with me. Wynn, let us know if you spot any unfriendly folks.” He looked them all in the eye in turn. “And remember what Molly said. The treasure’s underfoot, so we’re likely looking for a loose flagstone or some other hidey-hole.”

“Hack and Slash on their own?” Wynn wondered aloud but nodded and tucked herself in the shadows to stand watch. Hax and Pax moved toward the west-facing corridor.

“And Pax,” Mac called to their departing backs. “No killing unless you’ve got no other option. This is a simple job with a clear target. Let’s find what we came for and get out. No need for unnecessary casualties.”

An unmistakable hand gesture from Pax as they disappeared into the gloom told him exactly what she thought about that idea.

“You really think the twins will stay their blades if there’s a chance for a little bloodshed?” Gorm asked, following Mac into the north corridor.

“They’d better. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll follow orders and keep their heads down. This is simple.” He glared at the departed pair. “Easy money,” he muttered.

The distant crash of shattering crockery echoed down the corridor, and Mac groaned. “We’d best hurry,” he said. “If the rest of the place isn’t yet awake, those two will make sure they are soon.” Gorm chuckled but followed Mac into the hall.

The corridor led deeper into the way station, past storerooms and dusty alcoves. The place was deserted, at least at this time of the year. Fewer traders made their way north with winter closing in. The season was winding down, with perhaps one more big shipment to build up essential stores due to arrive. Dust blanketed almost everything, a sheet of uniform gray grime that lay almost everywhere. Except for a trail of footprints that ran the center of the hall, deeper into the place.

They passed through what might have been a lounge. A broad flagstone fireplace dominated one wall, and rat-gnawed, dusty chairs and tables filled the rest of the room. Finally, they emerged into the kitchens; the acrid bite of cookfire ash vied with the stale aroma of cooked food.

Mac saw no sign of anyone, nor any indication of recent activity beyond footprints in the dust. Even those were muddled now, with other prints joining the trail they had followed, creating a welter of confusion.

“Where are we going?” Gorm asked. He slid a trencher across the top of a table, kicking up a cloud of dust that made him cough.

“There must be something here. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Likely something not covered in cobwebs and dust!” Mac kicked at a table leg and grunted when he stubbed his toes. Then something caught his eye.

“Over here, Gorm. Help me with this!”

Together, the two men shifted one of the heavy tables out of the way, revealing a piece of gray canvas that almost perfectly matched the color and texture of the dust coating everything. Someone had laid it on the floor and then moved the table over the top. Mac raised an eyebrow at Gorm, who grasped the edge of the canvas and snatched it away, revealing a wooden trapdoor with an iron rung set at one end.

“Mali might smile on us yet!” Mac laughed, reaching for the handle to raise the door.

“That’s sort of what I’m worried about,” Gorm muttered, but Mac either did not hear his misgivings or chose to ignore his reference to the goddess’ sometimes perverse sense of humor.

Mac heaved the door open with the soft groan of aging hinges. A set of stairs ran roughly twelve feet down from the room’s floor, ending in a path of crushed stone. Dim, flickering light came from somewhere out of sight.

Gorm gripped his quarterstaff and took the stairs two at a time. Mac was close behind, sword unsheathed and ready. At the bottom, the two followed the path forward. The passage was perhaps six feet wide and rough, with tool marks still visible on the walls. Crushed gravel crunched softly underfoot as they walked, heading toward a curve in the corridor and what they assumed to be the source of the diffused light.

Rounding the corner, they found themselves facing a room carved from the living rock. It was perhaps twenty feet wide and twice that long, with a low ceiling. A handful of torches sputtered fitfully on the walls, with two on either side of a closed door. A massive table dominated one wall, loaded with packs and gear. What caught their attention was the presence of three people. One, small and lithe, hooded and bound, was chained to the wall. The other two were burly men in the same leather armor and uniform as the guards in the courtyard, both well-armed. Neither appeared amused by the presence of visitors.

Gorm roared into action before their opponents fully registered his presence. They scrambled to meet his attack, losing precious seconds trying to draw their weapons. Whirling his staff, Gorm brought it crashing down, catching one of the men in the shoulder. The force of the blow spun him like a top, sending him crashing backward into a wall before toppling to the floor. At the clash of weapons, the figure chained to the wall screamed, the shrill tone sending chills up Mac’s spine.

Mac made good use of the confusion. While his opponent watched Gorm’s attack wide-eyed, Mac stepped forward, bringing his sword up from low guard. It would have been a clean blow, but the man recovered just in time. Metal grated as the two blades met midair. Still, Mac had the advantage, and he pushed through, blade weaving down, then up, then down again.

His opponent struggled to defend, beating back Mac’s attack once, then twice. He was not so lucky the third time. Mac’s blade slid into his chest, piercing his heart.

His fight done, Mac turned to see how Gorm fared. He needn’t have. The other man lay unmoving where he’d fallen, a trickle of blood oozing out from beneath a tangle of dark hair. His chest still rose and fell, though, which was a good thing. One dead man was too many, really.

Mac had hoped to get in and out without any casualties. He wiped blood from his blade on the dead man’s trouser leg. Seemed like that wasn’t to be, he thought, giving a silent prayer that the job was not going entirely sour. With Mali’s blessing, they could still get out. Mac would personally make an offering for the dead guard’s soul at the first shrine they passed.

“The goods?” Gorm asked, indicating the laden table. Mac glanced at it, taking inventory and dismissing each sack, pouch, and crate with practiced efficiency.

He shook his head. “Not here. Let’s hope Hax and Pax have better luck.” His gaze moved to the figure chained to the wall.

“Let’s see what we have,” Mac said, indicating the hooded, struggling figure. Gorm nodded, then bent and searched the unconscious man at his feet, grunting when he found what he sought.

Gravel crunched underfoot as Mac approached and the screaming redoubled. “It’s all right, calm down. We’re not going to hurt you,” he said. All that gained him was violent thrashing added to the mix.

“Now, look here. You need to be quiet. Elsewise, we’re going to be up to our ears in guards, and that’s no good for you nor me.”

The small figure kicked and heaved, jerking like a marionette with a drunken puppet master. There was no more screaming, though, a fact for which Mac was profoundly grateful.

Gorm approached with a jingle of metal. The kicking and punching stopped.

Gorm tried a couple of keys before landing on one that slid easily into the manacles. A twist and they released, clinking as they struck the floor. Mac caught the prisoner as the body, deprived of the iron chains that had supported it for untold hours, toppled forward.

“It’s all right,” he muttered again, lowering the prisoner down. The lightness surprised him, little more than skin and bones. A whimper escaped from beneath the hood as he eased the captive to the floor.

At a glance, Mac took in the prisoner’s condition. The hands were small, blue-tinged from lack of circulation, and chapped. The clothes were soiled and ripped, little better than rags. In fact, the only piece of fabric in better condition was the rough canvas hood. Mac reached out and tugged the edge up to reveal a spill of red-brown hair. Another tug and the hood moved farther, then it slipped free, showing them the face of the fearsome prisoner the guards had chained to the wall.

It was a young girl.

She squinted, then opened her eyes wider as realization dawned, showing startling green against olive skin. With her release came sudden fear, and her mouth opened wide to scream once more.

“Oh, I’ve had just about enough of that, by damn!” Mac clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her screams in her throat. He leaned over to look her in the eye. “Now, you listen to me. We’re not going to hurt you. Azair’s hells, we don’t know you, don’t have any feelings about you one way or the other. No reason we can’t all get along. So, I’m going to take…”

Footsteps pounding down the stairs and then up the short corridor cut him off. Hax and Pax entered at a run, the twins so dissimilar in appearance but alike in appetites. Hax’s blade was out, edged with blood. Pax’s twin hatchets remained sheathed, but she carried a leather satchel in her hands. It was heavy, with double-reinforced straps and bottom; the type couriers and diplomats were fond of using when visiting areas with rough terrain. Behind the twins came Wynn, darting glances behind her as she hurried.

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones that had some fun,” Hax said, noting the two guards and the spreading pool of blood. “What’s with her?” he asked, gesturing with his sword at the girl.

“Don’t really know yet. Haven’t had a chance to do more than introduce ourselves,” Mac replied, careful to keep his hand in place. “Kill many?”

Hax shrugged, glancing at Pax. “Only two,” she replied, voice thick with disgust. “Hax thought we should get this back to you rather than hunt down the rest of them.” She tossed the satchel toward Mac. It landed with a crunch next to the prisoner’s head. The girl flinched as dust and bits of rock peppered her face. “Found that tucked under a loose flagstone in the chapel,” Pax explained.

“We’re going to have company in a few minutes, Mac,” Wynn warned. “I shut the trap door behind us, but it won’t take them long to figure out where we’ve gone, and there’s no way to bar it from down here. There must be eight or nine of them, and they’re out for blood.”

“Wonderful.” Mac sighed, then looked back at the girl on the ground before him. “Look, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream since it’ll only bring the guards that much faster. Agreed?”

She glared but nodded. Mac slowly pulled his hand away, half convinced she’d start screaming anyway. She didn’t. Thank the gods for small favors.

“What’s your name?” Mac asked, moving away so she could sit up.

“Kye,” came the reply. She hunched forward, rubbing life back into her hands while casting suspicious glances at the five newcomers.

“I’m Mac,” he replied, then introduced the others. Her eyes widened when he got to Gorm, and the massive warrior actually rose and bowed at the waist. Well, he usually had that effect on people.

“Why did they have you chained to the wall? How long were you there?”

She glanced at the manacles and shuddered. “Caught me stealing from the stores and strung me up four days ago. I think they were going to kill me.”

“That’s a pretty safe bet. You’re on your own, then?”

She did not reply. There was really no need. She was obviously alone, without any friends. Maybe without family.

Mac grunted, then turned to Gorm. “We need to find a way out of here and to somehow slow any pursuit. You check that door. With any luck, it’s a way out. Hax, Pax, you two guard the stairs. Kill anything that comes down.”

Pax’s bloodthirsty grin chilled his blood as it always did. At least she was on their side. For the time being.

“What about me?” Kye asked.

“I think it’s best that you go with us, at least until we’re safely away from here. Assuming we get away, of course. Maybe we can drop you off somewhere a little more civilized.”

Kye said nothing as she mulled it over. Mac figured she was weighing whether it was safer to go with them or hand them over to the guards in hopes of some leniency. She might even get a couple of hot meals out of that particular deal. Or a sword blade through her stomach.

Kye nodded, her mind made up. She would throw in with them. Now they just had to find a way to save their own asses.

“What’s with that door, Gorm?” Mac called.

Gorm grunted, then, “Locked and neither of these has a key.”

“Great. Well, see what you can do. Let me know if you need Wynn’s help. You still got your kit?” This last was directed at the lithe crossbow wielder, who crouched nearby. She nodded.

“Good.”

Thumping and scraping came from above them, and Mac warned Wynn and Kye to silence. The guards were scouring the kitchen but had not yet noticed the trap door. It was only a matter of time.

Mac glanced toward the other side of the room where Gorm knelt in front of the door, quietly working a probe in the lock. A glance back the other direction showed Hax and Pax, weapons drawn and ready, tucked into the shadows behind the stairs. The footsteps grew louder, hobnailed boots scraping on the wooden floorboards. It was a matter of seconds now. Sweat beaded on Mac’s brow, and he loosened his sword in the scabbard. He muttered a fervent prayer that luck would be on their side this once.

A shout from above told him the guards had found the trap door. Damn, he thought. It didn’t seem like the Lady of Shadows was listening. Or, if she was, she was laughing at them. Probably the latter, he figured.

“Got it!” Gorm said quietly. The door at the back of the room clicked open, letting in a gust of fresh night air, heavy with the scent of autumn.

“Out! Everyone out!” Mac hissed as he helped Kye to her feet. The girl wobbled, stumbled, and would have fallen, but he caught her. Wynn darted past, crossbow in hand. She posted herself at the door, weapon pointing back the way she’d come to cover their escape. Hax and Pax abandoned their posts and dashed for the door. Gorm was the next through. Mac glanced at the girl, then back toward the stairs, and then again at the open door at the rear of the room.

“Dammit.” There was nothing else for it. “Hold on,” he told Kye, as he first scooped up the leather satchel and then put his arms around her. He heard her gasp in surprise as he lifted her. She was as light as he remembered, but draping her over his shoulder wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. He took a deep breath and ran for the portal, turning his torso to avoid bashing her skull in on the doorframe as they ran through.

Gorm slammed the door shut as Mac, Kye, and Wynn cleared it.

Mac paused, getting a feel for where they were before setting the girl down. It smelled of stale hay and horse. The stables? As long as it was a step ahead of their pursuers, they would take it. Mac deposited Kye in a pile of only slightly mildewed straw. Gorm kept his bulk pressed against the door. Their pursuers would be there any second.

A thud and grunt from Gorm announced that the guards had discovered their escape and wanted to have words about it.

“Help me find something to barricade that shut,” he called. While Gorm held the door, the others dragged barrels, tack, saddles, and other oddments in front of the door, keeping it wedged firmly closed. The pounding from the other side slowly subsided when the guards realized it was not going to open. Silence dropped then, thick enough that Mac could hear his own pulse hammering in his ears.

“We get the goods?” Hax asked, nodding at the satchel Mac had slung over his shoulder. “Awful lot of trouble to go through not to see any gain if not.”

Mac unslung the satchel and unbuckled the flap. Inside, dim shapes sparkled with reflected light. There was no time to verify now, but it looked right. “It’s there,” he replied.

“Good!” Pax interjected. “Nice coming out on the winning side for once.”

Shouts came from the night around them, a sure sign that the guards had decided to venture around the way station to catch them outside.

“Time to go, Mac!” Wynn called from her lookout point at the stable entrance. He had to agree. It was definitely time to go.

“All right. Talon Company, it’s time to call it a night.” He helped Kye to her feet and steadied her as they escaped into the darkness.

Next →

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