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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Chapter 7
Somewhere, a bell tolled.
The moon was cresting the tops of the buildings when Murphy gathered his men and Kye. They traveled from the warehouse, across town toward the river. Kye found the chaos of the docks somewhat comforting. Dilapidated storehouses rubbed shoulders with new merchant stalls, and people were everywhere despite the hour.
It was nothing like Rakka’s streets, but the docks had their own peculiar chaos. Stevedores, carters, porters, baggage men, and ship crews mixed with merchants and whores, beggars, and city guards. The stench of the place was more than a little off-putting, though; the odor of cooking food mingled with excrement and the smell of river water. Over it all lay the dank smell of black river mud.
Eventually, they made their way down to the riverside, where they found a flat-bottomed boat tethered and waiting. It was loaded with tight-lashed barrels and crates, stacked to the height of two men. At the aft end stood a small cabin, large enough for perhaps three or four people. A freshening breeze from the west blew away most of the riverfront stench, and Kye breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Up aboard ye get,” Murphy said, ushering Kye onto the boat. It rocked gently as she set foot on the weathered planks. “Get the gear stowed, lads. We’ll need to be underway soon’s there’s enough moonlight to steer,” he urged his men, grasping Kye by the elbow and leading her toward the small aft cabin. Pausing at the door, he opened the portal. “Yer ladyship, yer accommodations await,” he laughed. Kye frowned but entered, and the door slammed shut behind her. The sound of wood scraping wood told her Murphy had barred it. A quick shove, and she knew the truth.
“Damn,” she muttered, slamming one hand uselessly against the door. She was a prisoner. Murphy had lied.
Tears burned in her eyes, and a single sob escaped her throat, but she choked it back. She’d survived worse than this. She only had to keep her wits about her. A locked riverboat cabin was nothing compared to dangling from the side of one of Rakka’s hanging villas with nothing but empty space below.
Kye scanned the small cabin and sighed. There was not much to work with. A single narrow cot stood against the rear wall, a battered chest at its foot. The port and starboard walls hosted a bunk each. The bow-facing wall was dominated by the door, flanked on the starboard side by a small table, holding a wash basin and a clay pitcher she assumed held water. A table littered with charts and maps stood in the center. She rifled through the papers, half-hoping to find something she could use as a weapon, but there was not so much as a paperweight. That left only one place to look.
The trunk was small, only a few feet in length. The wood was scarred from years of hard use, and the metal banding rusted. No lock secured the lid, but that didn’t mean there was nothing of value inside. She reached for the lid as the cabin door banged open. As Murphy stepped through, Kye did her best to look frightened and alone. She knew most people took her for a helpless child and nothing more. It had worked to her advantage many times, saving her life at least once. It could work here, too.
She let her body slouch, leaning on the frame of the cot. She sobbed, pressing her hands to her face. Murphy stopped mid-stride, staring at her. Behind him, the door stood ajar. This was good. A little more, and maybe she could manage to get around him. She sobbed again, hunching her shoulders, attempting to curl herself into a ball. Murphy’s laughter cut her sobs short.
“Nice try, girl,” he spat. “Might work on some fool fresh off a caravan, or some merchant’s wife in the city, but not this time. Not on me.” He stepped closer to her, and thick, dirt-smeared fingers gripped her hair. He pulled her head back to leer in her face. “I know you. Word’s been put out. You’ve got the death mark on you, you have. I’d prefer to deliver you to the Faceless alive, but dead will serve just as well. Remember that. It’s a long, watery way to the great city, and there’s plenty of chances for a careless girl to slip and fall. And who’d mourn your loss then?”
He released his hold on her hair, smirking. “Thought that might change yer tune.” The last of the light in the sky died, plunging the river into darkness. In the small cabin, sparks flew as flint met steel, and then a small flame grew. Murphy lit a taper, and then a candle, snuffing the smaller flame as stark shadows swam across his face.
“You stay quiet, ye’ll live to reach Rakka. Not that ye’re likely in much rush to get there!” Murphy laughed, drawing an imaginary blade across his throat. Kye nodded mutely, doing her best to suppress a shudder. A slit throat would be a blessing compared to what the Faceless most likely had in store for her. With luck, perhaps she could slip away sometime in the night. She hesitated at the thought of swimming in the dark river. While she could swim, she had always preferred drier pursuits.
The barge lurched slightly, loud thumps coming from the deck. The sound of raised voices carried on the night air. The door was open, but the port wall blocked her view. Murphy scowled, half drawing the dagger he wore on his belt. Glancing at Kye, he snarled, “You sit put. It’ll go worse if ye make trouble.” He paused at the door for a moment before stepping through and slamming the portal shut behind him.
More thumps sounded, punctuated by a scream of pain. Kye pressed against the door, trying to tell what was happening by sound alone. There was metal on metal as blades clashed, then a hard thwack, a scream, and then muffled voices.
Finally, she heard it, cutting through the cries of pain and the dying sounds of conflict. Mac’s voice rose above the din. “Where is she, Murphy?”
“Girl’s gone already! Knifed her meself!” Murphy shouted back, but there was a ragged edge to his voice. Wounded? She could only hope. And Kye would be damned if she let the lump of a man pull the wool over her friends’ eyes. She threw herself at the door hard enough to rattle it in its hinges.
“Mac! Mac, I’m in here!” she screamed.
The cabin door flew open, but instead of Mac, Murphy stood there, blood spilling out from a gash in his shoulder. His eyes were wild in the guttering candlelight. He lurched into the cabin, grasping Kye with one hand. The other pressed a dagger to her throat. The wounded thief tightened his grip and faced the door.
“Ye’re not going to take her alive, I can promise that,” he growled, the tip of his blade pressing hard against Kye’s neck. “What’s more, you won’t live to step more’n three paces off this boat.” Beyond the door, she could make out Mac, followed by a giant shadow that could only be Gorm. Somewhere out there, Hax and Pax lurked, and Wynn watched the night.
“Oh, I’ll be taking her alive, Murphy,” Mac said, stepping through the doorway. He’d sheathed his sword and drawn his own dagger, the better to take advantage of the close quarters.
“Ye’re killing her!” Murphy warned, driving the point of his blade deeper into Kye’s neck. She sucked in air but did not cry out. “What do you care what happens to her, then? Ain’t you high-born or some such? What’s it matter to you if there’s one less thief to cut a purse, hey?”
Mac shook his head. “Ain’t no thief you’re dealing with there, Murphy. Let’s be clear on that. Whatever might have come before, she’s a member of the Talon now. She’s one of us.” He looked her in the eye. “Family.”
A warm feeling welled up within Kye. Mac barely knew her, and yet here he stood, ready to fight for her life. She tried to picture any of those in the Faceless doing something similar and mostly failed.
With strength that surprised Murphy, Kye twisted in his grip, spinning about in his greasy embrace and bringing her bony knee up into his groin with all the force her street-honed muscles could provide. She felt it connect with a crunch. Murphy’s face went pale, and his eyes rolled back. The dagger fell from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter on the floor.
Quick as thought, Kye bent and retrieved the blade, then sheathed it in the man’s right eye, sinking the blade to the hilt.
“That’s for lying,” she growled, then spat in his face.
Mac’s hand was gentle as he pulled her away. “Good job there. Might be we need to work on your sense of proportionate response, though.”
Kye said nothing as he led her from the cabin and off the barge, back toward their rooms at the inn.
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Blunt knife or there’s more give in the neck than the movies show! I almost wish Kye escaped and met Mac on the dock. She’s not your standard damsel in distress!