A Middle Earth Story: The Corsairs of Oros

Chapter Six: The Nightshade /Part One

"Captain!" Brandt called. Oros appeared underneath Brandt's elbow. Fendwall rose from his makeshift seat on the stairs and wandered over. Estella watched curiously.

"What?" Oros demanded. Brandt showed him an anchor line cut cleanly through.

"This was Dahari's line. It did not break. It was cut."

Oros bushy eyebrows drew together. "Hmph," he muttered, "I had wondered. Ropes like that don't just break."

"I'll find the rat that did this!" Fendwall said. Oros held up a hand to forestall his first mate.

"Wait, Fendwall, there is more I believe."

Brandt nodded. "This was Talf's," he said, holding up a second line that was only partially cut through. "And Len-," he paused and frowned.

"Lendethiel," Fendwall finished for him. Brandt nodded again. Only a little of the she-elf's line was cut and what was cut was ragged and fraying, as if done in a hurry. Oros' frown deepened. He paced shortly back and forth, muttering indistinctly to himself.

"Fendwall," he said at last, "I do not want this made known to anyone else. If whoever has done this thinks they will get away with it they may grow bolder and more careless. It will make finding them easier."

"I don't like it," Fendwall said. "We are putting the lives of crew members at needless risk. I can find who did this."

"At what cost?" Oros asked. He gestured to the crew. "They are finally beginning to trust each other. If we question them now that will be gone. A crew that trusts is a crew that survives."

"And what if they are successful? Who dies?" Fendwall demanded.

"I believe," Oros said slowly, "that Elves are much harder to kill than our traitor here thinks."

"I still don't like it," Fendwall growled.

"Neither do I, my friend," Oros said.

...

It was five days passed the storm that had nearly killed them all and the ship was finally cleared of debris and repaired. Calen, eager to see what lay on the horizon, climbed the ratlines. If she had been expecting to see anything besides league after league of flat open sea, she was sorely disappointed. The sails, normally billowing and stretch taunt with the power of the wind lay slack, barely moving.

Hugging the mast, she wished desperately for something exciting to happen. Coming aboard with Livian and Qrow she had expected adventures too numerous to count and strange folk from far lands. While the latter was true, for some folk were truly strange, they were hardly predisposed to talk at all. Even Morien, who listened to her stories with an eager ear, refused to share his own.

Pulling herself up into the crow's nest she breathed in the warm southern air. The sun beat down hot on her head, reminding her of how slowly they moved across the sea without wind to push them. She turned around and looked back the way they had come. Without land marks, there was little way to tell how far they had come. For all she knew they had traveled perhaps a league, maybe less, in four days.

She sighed heavily. Someone above her laughed. She spun around and saw Dahari standing above her on the yardarm with his hands at his side. He dropped down beside her without a sound.

"Is the sea not to your liking?" he asked. Calen gaped before finding her voice.

"I thought it would be more exciting," she admitted. Dahari glanced at her queerly, his grey eyes sparking.

"And here I thought the storm was more than enough excitement for one hundred years." He chuckled darkly.

"How many storms have you seen?" Calen asked, hoping he was in a sharing mood.