At last, Cron paused at the forest’s edge, allowing Tulk to catch up. Tulk looked out at a large, reddish blob in the distance. He had no idea what he was looking at.
“Where are we?” Tulk asked between gasps for breath.
“That ship down there,” said Cron. “It’s Stench’s place.”
Tulk was confused. His eyesight wasn’t great but he certainly wasn’t overlooking the river. They were facing dry land. “What ship?”
“You really are blind, aren’t you, old man?” Cron said.
“I see you well enough to knock in your teeth, boy,” said Tulk.
“That big rusting thing down there… It’s a ship. It’s ancient. It’s on land now but centuries ago they say the river flowed through here.”
“Is it Stench’s place?” Tulk asked. He’d heard of the tavern many times, but having spent most of his life in captivity, had never had the pleasure of drinking an ale there. “I’ve heard that it was made of iron. I never believed the stories.”
“It’s true,” said Cron. “A priest of Kamon told me it was once a ship that could sail the oceans, built by humans before they angered the gods and fell from grace.”
Tulk felt as if he’d been slapped.
Cron, apparently sensing the offense, said, “What?”
“You spoke the blasphemous name.”
“Oh,” said Cron. “You’re one of them.”
“You’re a Kamonite?” Tulk spat after saying the name to remove its evil from his tongue.
“I’m not saying,” said Cron. “I take it you are a follower of Ragnar that you find such offense in his name?”
“Kamon is an abomination,” said Tulk, spitting again. “His lies have corrupted thousands. He turns people from the true path and preaches that dragons are divine things, the offspring of angels. He wants us to be inferior and subservient to dragons.”
“True. And you followers of Ragnar believe that we’re to fight the dragons at every turn,” said Cron. “We see how well that philosophy is working out. Men are inferior and subservient to dragons. The world will be a better place for everyone once we swallow that.”
“You mock Ragnar’s teachings?” said Tulk. “Speak truthfully. You know Kamon’s-” Tulk abruptly stopped speaking in order to spit, “-heretical philosophies, but of course, so do I. I will not condemn you for mere knowledge. But to practice his teachings is beyond all decency. Are you, or are you not, a follower of that foul prophet?”
Cron sighed. “I don’t think it’s any of your business. Besides, we have other things on our minds than a discussion of philosophy.”
“I am duty bound to slay followers of Kamon,” said Tulk, stopping to spit once more. He clenched his fists. He had to know the truth. Traveling further in the company of a Kamonite could risk his very soul. “We travel no further until you answer my question. Ragnar himself would slit my throat if he knew I’d traveled this far in the company of one of the fallen. Do you follow Kamon’s teachings?” He spit once more.
“If you keep spitting,” Cron said, “you’re going to turn to dust.”
“I’d sooner be dust than the companion of a heretic.”
“I don’t see any guards around Stench’s place,” said Cron, turning away from Tulk. “I’m making a run for it.”
The young man sprinted off. Tulk followed, afraid of being stranded. They dashed across the open ground that led to the red, boxy blob. As Tulk got within a few dozen of it, he could see that Cron had spoken the truth. Stench’s place was shaped like a ship, a hundred feet long, lying on its side. Could such an enormous structure have ever floated on the water? If it had been seaworthy once, it was no longer. Age had rendered most of the ship into a mound of rust. Holes gaped in what had once been solid plates of iron. The rear of the ship had collapsed under its own weight at some point. What had once been a hatch in the deck now served as a door, reachable via rickety wooden stairs.
“Stench!” Cron cried out as he vanished into the dark reaches of the hold.
“I’ll be damned,” echoed a reply from the darkness. “Cron! Is it really you?”
Tulk carefully made his way up the stairs and poked his head into the dark doorway. The first thing he noticed was, unsurprisingly, the stench. Swamp water saturated with the bloated corpses of skunks was the only odor he could compare it to. No wonder dragons steered clear of this place. He’d heard their sensitivity to smell was more developed than that of humans.
What had once been a hold of the giant ship had been converted into a bar. The room was long and thin; a wooden ladder led down to the floor, which at one time, Tulk assumed, had been a wall. A half dozen patrons sat around, too drunk to move, slumped against the wall on low couches. A wooden plank at the end of the room served as the bar itself. Behind the bar was a metal barrel full of some sort of flaming liquid. The smoke rising from the blue-green fire carried the horrible odor that permeated the place. A bald, withered man stood next to it, smiling a toothless grin.
“I see you brought a friend,” the old man said. “Tulk, I’m guessing. I heard you both escaped.”
“Word travels fast,” Cron said. “Is there a price on our heads yet?”
“Could be,” said the man who Tulk guessed to be Stench.
Tulk climbed down the ladder. He said to Cron, “If there is a price on our heads, you shouldn’t be reminding people of it.”
“We’re all friends here,” said Stench. “No one will turn you in. Besides, I’ve been told to treat you well by someone I’d rather not mess with.”
“Venderex, right?” Cron asked. “The wizard. He saved us. Why’s he doing this?”
“Can’t say,” said Stench.
“I’ve heard he has a human companion,” said Tulk. “I thought I saw a girl at the ceremony. I kept trying to make her out. I can’t be sure, though.”
Cron chuckled. “I noticed you gawking. Next time you’re in the presence of Ragnar, ask him to fix your eyes. That girl stood out at the ceremony. There were more eyes on her than on us, I wager.”
“You saw her?” Tulk asked. “It’s true? The wizard has a human for a pet?”
“Raised her like a daughter, I hear,” said Stench.
“That’s horrible,” said Tulk. “I’d rather be a slave than a pet.”
“Lucky you wound up in the right line of work, then,” said Stench.
“I don’t think it would be so bad to be a pet,” said Cron. “And, if humans and dragons are both God’s creation as Kamon teaches-”
“Again you speak his name!” Tulk said, his voice echoing against the metal walls.
“Take care,” said Cron. “This is a bad place to be sympathetic to Ragnar. Right, Stench?”
“Look,” said Stench. “You’re both in a bad place, period. Cron, you know I’m a loyal Kamonite like you. Every man in here is. But none of us have the luxury of squabbling about religion right now. If the king has his armies looking for you, I’ve got to get you both far down the river as soon as possible. You can spend the night here in my hidden room. Tomorrow, I’ll smuggle you downriver in a fishing boat. But when you reach the sea, you’re on your own. Tulk, if you do follow Ragnar, put aside your hatred of Kamonites long enough to get to the ocean. And Cron, can you not provoke him? It’s like you’re trying to pick a fight.”
“Sorry,” said Cron. “I’m not in the best of moods. I’ve spent all day expecting to be murdered at any second. Knowing that it might be a fellow human that does the deed is a bit much to swallow.”
Tulk couldn’t believe this cruel twist of fate. Alone in a den of Kamonites. To be faithful to the teachings of Ragnar would mean certain death. How many could he kill before he died, especially since he had no weapon? He gazed at the fire barrel. Perhaps he could somehow… then he dropped the thought. He didn’t want to get any closer to that smoke than he already was.
“In the name of all that’s holy, what are you burning?” Tulk asked, nearly gagging as he thought about the odor.
“My own special blend of herbs and skunk glands dissolved in hundred proof alcohol. You like it?” said Stench. “There’s pockets of stagnant water all through this place. Without the smoke we’d be sucked dry by mosquitoes. And as a bonus, it keeps dragons away. People get used to the smell. Dragons never do.”
“No,” said a loud, deep voice from the other side of the wall. “No, I don’t think I could ever get used to this
