As Kaelith descended the ship's stairs, greeted by the scent of saltwater, rotting wood, and sour sweat, his mind ticked relentlessly like a restless clockwork.
To break the prisoners' chains, I need to steal the key from either the first mate or that damn captain himself. But how? What if it's not on them? Think, Kaelith, think...
When he reached the first deck—the low-ceilinged dormitory just above the lower hold—he melded into the shadows. This was the den of the mercenaries, hired for a potential naval clash. The stench of cheap rum, unwashed bodies, and damp leather hung heavy in the air. It was impossible for such a valuable key to be left out in the open in a cesspit like this. However, loosening the crew's tongues was a much safer gamble than barging straight into the captain's quarters.
His eyes found Rajan, a dark-skinned soldier from Ebonpeak, yawning lazily in his frayed hammock in the corner. Plastering a fake yet flawless smile onto his face, one that didn't look entirely out of place, Kaelith stepped into the dim light.
"Oh, Kaelith!" Rajan said, sitting up slightly, surprised to see him. "What's up? You don't usually come down our way."
"You're right, Rajan," Kaelith replied, adding an apologetic tone to his voice. "Talking much isn't really my style. I can't help but tense up when there are so many people around that I don't know. It's not something I do on purpose."
Rajan flashed his tobacco-stained yellow teeth and let out a loud, careless laugh. "Come on! Kaelith, look, we don't hold back around each other here. There's no need to act so cold like one of those noble girls, we're all mates here. Don't be shy, spit it out."
"Those prisoners on the lower deck..." Kaelith dropped the bait, his tone as flat as if he were discussing a mundane porter's job. "Which one of us is looking after them, Rajan? After all, they are Kuluzswka's cargo, they shouldn't perish. It's been four, maybe five days; I haven't seen anyone take a bowl of food down to that hole."
A mocking, crooked grin spread across Rajan's face. "Kaelith, you're clearly very new to these waters. That's not how things work. We just transport the goods. If the person receiving the prisoners wants them plump and healthy, he pays Master Kuluzswka extra gold. He tells Captain Bojr, and the captain passes the order to us. Only then does a piece of stale bread pass down their throats." Rajan shrugged nonchalantly. "But as it turns out, the buyer for this batch didn't open his purse. That means he won't be 'using' them; as long as they're breathing, it's enough."
A cold spark ignited in Kaelith's mind. If he isn't going to use them, why would he want them? A sacrificial ritual? Slave labor? Just as he was about to turn and leave, he rolled the dice one last time. "Hey Rajan, do you know where these poor wretches were gathered from?"
Rajan scratched his scruffy chin and laughed. "A few were dragged from pillaged coastal towns, weak things of no real use. Others are just common street rats they rounded up. Worthless, all of them! Insignificant scum. You better get used to this, you'll be seeing hundreds like them tomorrow!"
Kaelith mentally cursed Rajan's cheerful cruelty as he walked away. He had gotten his first clue: So the Captain passes the order to us, and we do the checking. Then the key must be with one of us.
As he walked toward the stairs, he began unlocking the mental doors one by one. First option: The leader of the mercenaries, Turakya the Carrion-Eater. A sneaky bloodsucker. Second option: The two guards trailing Turakya like shadows; especially the mage, who might carry the key on him. He slowed his steps. Third possibility... İlker. If he was still conscious after that Dwarf attack, Kaelith could rip the most accurate information straight from his throat.
His target was set. He began to climb to the upper deck, accompanied by the salty lashes of the ocean wind. The roar of the ropes and the massive sails masked his footsteps. After skillfully learning the whereabouts of İlker from the guards with a clever excuse, he slipped into the secluded corner behind the barrels where the wounded man was resting.
Seeing Kaelith from where he lay wrapped in bandages, İlker tried to sit up with a painful yet undiminished, arrogant smirk. "Well, well... Kaelith. Welcome. But I guess the roles are reversed, huh? Now you're the one looking down at me."
"Don't ask, İlker," Kaelith said, lacing his voice with feigned compassion. "How are you? Are you in a lot of pain? How did this happen... Where is that Dwarf who did this to you?"
İlker laughed, baring teeth stained with the taste of blood, but the laugh turned into a phlegmy cough that shook his chest. "The Dwarf? Ha ha! He's long dead. We threw his carcass into the ocean for the sharks to feast on."
Kaelith frowned. "Dead? Did our guys take him down?"
İlker groaned in pain, leaning his back against the damp wooden wall. "Kaelith... These things are First Mate Aektal's doing. He saved me, bless him. He's a very good man, Sir Aektal..."
Just as İlker was about to boastfully explain how Aektal had known, Kaelith had already figured it out.
"I see. Right, okay."
İlker narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Kaelith. The mocking glint in his gaze was replaced by suspicion. "Glad you understand, Kaelith. But what's going on? You don't look like the soft-hearted type who'd come all the way here just to check on my health. I'd say I've figured your character out a bit over these four days."
You haven't figured me out in the slightest, İlker, Kaelith thought to himself.
The mask of fake concern on his face shattered in seconds. His gaze grew as dark and icy as the bottom of a stormy sea. "You're right, İlker. I have a question for you. Do you know where the key to the prisoners on the lower deck is? It's time for us to take them their food."
The smirk on İlker's face froze. "Yes, I know. But unfortunately, I can't tell you that, Kaelith."
"Why 'unfortunately', İlker? Is there a problem?" Kaelith's voice was a whisper, yet it carried a threatening weight.
"Of course there is. You're lying to me right now. If it were feeding time, we would check on them day by day and ensure their health didn't deteriorate. Yet, I haven't taken a single bite to that scum for three days."
Kaelith paused. This arrogant confession was definitive proof that the keys were İlker's responsibility. The atmosphere instantly grew heavy; even the howling of the wind on the deck seemed to sense the deadly tension between them and pull back.
Kaelith's body language tightened like a predator preparing to lunge at its prey's neck. "Where did you put the keys, İlker?" His voice was as sharp as a dagger.
"I told you... I can't tell you."
"Then I'll search the area."
"I'll scream!" İlker said, trying to mask his desperation with anger.
Their eyes met. The staring contest was shorter than the time it took for a raindrop falling from the clouds to hit the deck. Before İlker could even form the first syllable of the word "Help-", Kaelith lunged forward like a shadow.
His strong hands clamped around İlker's throat like a steel vise. He slammed the man against the wooden wall so hard that the dull crack of İlker's damaged ribs mingled with the sound of the wind.
"Shhh..." Kaelith hissed, bringing his face dangerously close to the breathless man's face. There was not a shred of mercy in his eyes. "No screaming here, İlker. You're going to be a good boy and tell me where it is... Or I'll have to kill you right here, before you even become fish food."
İlker's face turned red first, then a suffocating purple. His pupils dilated as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. His hands desperately clawed at Kaelith's wrists, trying to dig his nails into the skin, but against Kaelith's raw strength, he was no different than a broken branch. His lungs burned like fire, the veins in his temples throbbing.
"I-I... w-will... t-t...e...l...l!" he wheezed, spitting as he struggled.
Kaelith eased the pressure by a millimeter just enough for the man to spill the words, but his fingers remained as taut as a deadly lock. Amidst bloody coughing fits, İlker confessed that the keys had to be taken down to the second deck, hidden inside one of the cargo crates destined for Silverpeak.
Receiving the information, Kaelith looked deep into the man's eyes. What if he's lying? What if he calls the guards behind my back while I'm searching the wrong crate? Too late, İlker...
"I didn't want to kill you," he whispered into the man's ear. "But you left me no choice."
He ruthlessly increased the pressure again. Neck muscles snapped. After a few seconds of a hopeless, final struggle, İlker's body collapsed into Kaelith's hands like a lifeless sack drained of its soul.
Kaelith gently laid the corpse onto the hard floor. Shaking the invisible blood off his hands, he left the area without wasting a single second. He had to get down to the second deck unseen. When he reached the first deck, Rajan was still snoring like a pig in his hammock. With the silence of a ghost, Kaelith glided past him and reached the dark stairs leading to the lower level.
Crates destined for Silverpeak... Which one could it be?
In the damp cargo hold with its low ceiling, echoing with the scurry of rats, he began to examine the seals on the crates. After about fifteen minutes of a tense, breathless search, he heard the clink of that cold metal inside a sturdy chest covered in cobwebs in the corner. The heavy, rusty keys were in his hand.
With the sharp thrill of victory, he descended to the lowest deck, toward the pitch-black dungeon where the prisoners were held. As the heavy air of the dungeon, reeking of human filth and despair, filled his nose, a faint, dark smile appeared on his face. Looking at the timid, glowing eyes behind the bars, he whispered to himself, "Yes... I told you I would keep my word. Now I'm here to get you out of here."
Right at that moment, the sound coming from the pitch-black darkness just behind him caused an ice-cold sweat to pour down his spine. All of his muscles locked up, instantly shifting into a combat stance.
Tsk... tsk... tsk...
A deeply threatening sound, echoing to the marrow of his bones, made by clicking a tongue against the teeth.
Kaelith was not alone in this darkness.