“I don’t know,” Jenna said, leaning against the bars separating their cell from the hallway outside of it. “I dragged as many of you out as I could until I collapsed,” she said. She looked to Rosh and scowled at him, “you need to lose some weight, trying to save your heavy arse did me in.”
Rosh looked at her, ready to show some genuine appreciation, and noticed for the first time her state of undress. He leered at her instead, unable to stop himself.
Jenna muttered something in Elvish at him and looked away, prepared to ignore him as long as necessary. Dexter opened his mouth to say something to Rosh, but realized it would do little good. Dexter glanced over at Bekka and was surprised to see her taking in Jenna’s nudity as well. He shook his head and groaned at the pain it caused him; he only wished he felt well enough to appreciate the view himself.
“What of Jarnella and Keshira?” Dexter asked his elven arms mistress.
“Keshira helped me,” she grudgingly admitted. “I don’t know where she is now though.”
“Did she behave differently?” Bekka inquired.
“Differently?” Jenna asked, confused.
“Aye, I think that even though she was bonded to the captain, she was still linked to Ormitor as well. He was her father, after all.”
“Father?” Dexter asked, adding to the confusion.
“Well, maybe not father, but her creator,” Bekka conceded.
Jenna thought about it for a moment, remembering her brief discussion with the golem. Keshira had told her that she knew, through her bond with Dexter, that he cared for Jenna, and because of that Keshira would do as she bid her. Jenna shrugged, still needing to think about that revelation. “She might have been a little odd, but more than that I don’t know, there wasn’t enough time.”
Bekka nodded, lapsing into silent thought.
“So where in the void is she?” Dexter wondered. “And what’s happened to the ‘Hawk, Kragor, and Jodyne?”
“I have her.”
Everyone turned at the deep voice that rumbled through the room. It came from the hallway outside the cell. Before their eyes the air shimmered like that of a mirage in the desert and a man appeared. Or it resembled a man in many ways, save for a face totally devoid of any features. With no eyes or mouth, they had no idea where it was looking, nor did they know how it could be talking to them.
Nevertheless, it spoke again. The words emanated clearly in a powerful masculine voice, the source unknown. “She is my honored guest, as are you all,”
“Was he an honored guest as well?” Dexter asked, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he was sure everyone could hear it within several city blocks. He was pointing at the skeletal remains of the former cell occupant.
“No,” the man said, his chuckle a constant. “Those are the remains of the former management.”
“Management? Where is we then?” Rosh asked, angry that he could not rise to his feet to face the faceless being. There was something more than disconcerting about the visage that bothered the warrior deeply.
“We,” their captor said, turning its head slightly as though it was gazing upon the wounded warrior. “are in the dungeons of Port Freedom. I am the sheriff of Port Freedom. You are…my guests.”
“You are Rolxoth then?” Jenna asked, overcoming her earlier surprise but stepping no closer to him. She had heard the name of the new marshal of the city watch before.
He turned back to face her directly. “I am he, you are from here?”
Jenna shook her head, nervous at the attention he was giving her. She had heard stories of a race of deadly beings that were said to be faceless. They were assassins, able to assume the guise of anyone. It was rumored they had strange powers as well, deep and dark things best left as stories to frighten children. Whatever he could do, she wanted none of it.
“I passed through once, many months back. I’ve never had cause to have business with the law,” she said.
Rolxoth chuckled. He seemed to turn and focus his attention on Dexter, something that made the captain more than a little disturbed. “You are their captain?”
Dexter nodded, then forced himself to ignore the protests his body made as he rose up to stand before the creature. “Dexter Silvercloud, Captain of the Voidhawk.”
“Well Captain Silvercloud, it would seem that you’re in a bit of a bind.”
Dexter glanced at the bars, then back to the watch captain. “Aye, that it does.’
“You tried to burn down my city,” it said.
Dexter shook his head. “That’s not really the way of it, the wizard, Ormitor-”
“Captain,” Rolxoth interrupted him, “I’m not interested in details. Who broke what deal, who attacked who… it’s pointless. What matters to me is that you caused a large estate to be burned nearly beyond repair, had it not been for the quick work of our fire prevention brigade. Additionally, a citizen that is in good standing has been reported missing.”
“By good standing I’m guessing you mean he pays healthy taxes?” Dexter asked, liking the direction things were heading less and less with each passing word.
Rolxoth chuckled again, a source less noise that was both ominous and nearly painful with how deep it was. “Yes, taxes do determine the worth of a citizen, do they not?”
Dexter did not bother to answer the rhetorical question. “So if he was a prisoner,” he asked, gesturing at the skeleton, “what fate awaits your guests?”
“That all depends. As I said, details are trivial things. I’m interested in results. A small, neutral ship like yours might be able to produce such results.”
Dexter bristled. “So you want the Voidhawk in exchange for our freedom?”
Rolxoth’s chuckle was upgraded to a laugh, something that left them all nauseated. “Hardly, I am content with the spoils of Port Freedom.”
“So what do you want?” Dexter pressed, wishing he knew what to make of the sheriff and where the conversation was going. The ache in his back was causing him no small amount of dizziness and nausea as well, which fouled his mood all the more.
“I have heard tell of a fleet of ships that have taken interest in Port Freedom. I would like to know more about them. Do this for me and we can establish a friendship that might prove mutually beneficial in the future,” Rolxoth said.
It sounded simple enough, Dexter had to admit, but while Rolxoth may have claimed to be disinterested in details, the details of this agreement promised all types of misery. He saw Jenna staring at him, and the look on her face virtually pleaded with him to say no.
“What fleet?” Dexter asked. “And from where do they hail?”
Rolxoth’s tone implied a smile. “If I knew that, would I be asking you to find them for me?”
Dexter frowned. He glanced at his crew and then said, “What’s to stop me from agreeing then setting sail and never returning?”
Rolxoth stared at Dexter, or at least the captain felt as though he was being stared at. It was several shades beyond unsettling. “Do you really want to live the rest of your life running from my ships? You might outrun them here and there, but one day they would corner you and then you would face me again.”
As an example of just how unpleasant that could be, Rolxoth twisted so that he was pointing down the hall. Everyone looked and saw a shape floating down the hallway towards them. In moments they recognized it as Keshira. A few more moments and they realized that it was not Keshira, but rather a statue of her. A statue of her at the end of the battle at Ormitor’s house, with her robe hanging in tatters from her body and displaying, carved in stone, the sheer beauty of her form.
The statue floated in mid-air beside the faceless marshal, silent and breathtakingly horrible. They witnessed a flash of green erupt from the statue, then saw the stone color and soften, returning to the flesh it had once been.
“Captain!” Keshira said, seeing him and trying to move towards him. Rolxoth’s telekinesis kept her levitated and unable to effectively move, however.
“Do we have an accord, Captain?” he asked.
Dexter glanced at his crew, all of whom were staring at the futile struggle of Keshira. All save for Jenna, who
