The dead man drifts in a rudderless dark haze. He has been dead for decades, since he washed up on that Sarry beach after the storm, and the bluecoats took him and threw him into that cell in the prison hulk back in Mazirin. Dead inside, dead to the wide world.
But he never told them who he was, until she came along.The only sunlight he has seen, outside of his dreams, has been her face--the daughter he didn't realize he had. He knew about his son, of course, but he expects that one died young, in the mean streets of the Maze. Corbie used to say the son looked just like him, but Corbie was always saying sentimental things like that.
He sometimes wonders what became of his offspring, but mostly he is too afraid
to think of them much. He is older now, and weaker, and he is not the man he
was.
Weeks ago, they came for him, fighting their way into the Governor's prison
hulk, seizing him with cold hands, and bearing him into the night. Not bluecoats,
he was sure. He felt cool air on his face for the first time in years, smelled
the familiar scents of foggy Mazirin where he was born, before a hood was thrown
over his face and a blow to his skull shattered his world.
And then he lost all track of where he was, and the days and nights pass in a murk, and when he at last knows himself again, he knows he lies in foul straw in a tiny cell below decks...perhaps back in the hulk again? No, this ship is at sea. He could never mistake the rocking of the waves. Perhaps, as a dead man, now he sails on one of Korda's death ships: a great spectral vessel like they used to tell of, gathering souls for the Lord of the Far Fields.
Belay that, Raven, he thinks, some part of him, as he is suddenly alert and aware. You are not dead yet.
"He's waking, my lord Valkris..." rumbles a voice.
Blurry figures loom over him in the dark cabin, clad in black. But one stands before him, much smaller than the others. "Thank you, Quarus." The small figure stoops before him. "Are you well, Captain? Can you speak?" The voice is high-pitched, gentle even, the accent refined. His questioner is no more than a child. A child with very pale skin, dark hair and eyes--eyes that are the eyes of an old man. Much, much older than Raven.
Raven rubs his face. He plucks at his stringy prison beard and ragged, unkempt hair, and is aware, for the first time in a very long time, how filthy his clothes are. "I think so.." he says, hoarsely.
"Your reputation precedes you, Captain. I do apologize for any rough treatment you may have received," the child-lord purrs. Two fangs are visible in his upper jaw.
Raven realizes just what manner of thing this child is. Now he knows he is truly a dead man. He swallows before he says, "If you're going to kill me, do it quick."
The child--they called him Valkris--shakes his head, chuckling. "No, no, good Captain. If we wanted that, why, it would have been an easy matter, and we went to a lot of trouble to bring you. You're an honored guest. We're not going to harm a hair on your head, nor turn you to our cause without your willing it. You are a gentleman of fortune, are you not? We are that, as well. All you need do for us is one thing, for which you will be well-rewarded. Sail us to the King's Own Treasure. That's not too much to ask, is it, to take us to the most legendary hoard in all these seas? Afterwards, you'll be free to go your way with your share."
Raven wishes he had shut his mouth to that daughter of his. She probably spoke to the Governor she claimed to have wrapped around her finger, and he to his underlings, and...well, the Governor's Palace leaks secrets like his old Morrigan used to leak water. By now, he wagers to himself, everyone in the Maze has heard about it!
Valkris says, "We're bound for Deadeagle. From whence...the ship will proceed under your direction."
Raven blinks. "My direction?"
Valkris nods. "As Captain, of course. I will remain owner-aboard, of course, but you will her master. I should think you'd be glad to be in command of a ship once more. Perhaps not as fine as your ship Morrigan, of course, but she will serve, I am sure. The crew is yours to command, the course yours to set, the journey yours to lead. Get us to the destination and you will be richly rewarded. You will not lead us astray..." Valkris bares his fangs. He tells his underlings, "Show the Captain how honored he is..."
A tray of food is placed before Raven. Roast hen, rich black bread, and a goblet of Mazirin Red. A modest enough repast, but he has not eaten anything but thin gruel in years, and the smell of a real meal makes his mouth water, and his head spin.
Raven stares at the tray, so humble yet so full of promise. He weighs his options: Another day, another year in the rotting bilge. Or...food, drink, and freedom. Feel the wind on your face under full sail, and seek the next horizon...Like you swore in the Oath, once, The sun and two moons to be your only roof. Live free. Die free! Perhaps a chance to find his daughter or his son. And at the end--maybe the greatest treasure in all the Seven Kingdoms...
"I'll do it." He pauses, and finds the strength to add, "But--but I have my own conditions, my lord." He sits up a little straighter. He has surprised even himself, to find that still has the iron inside that once made him the terror of the Crimson Coast.
Valkris narrows his eyes. "As do we all. Very well, Captain. Say on.."