Fragments Gallery
Sailing Home
I slowly swung back and forth in my old hammock. The brine in the sea air filled my lungs with every breath, its scent comforted me. As much as I liked going ashore, that week I had just spent on land had grated at me. I can't sleep properly when the ship's deck doesn't move beneath me; although at least I had been within hearing of the shore. Had I not been able to hear the waves I would have had little chance of sleeping at all.
The timbers of the ship creek wearily and above deck I can hear the rumble of men talking quietly. Some of the crew remained on shift all through the night. As the quartermaster aboard the vessel I was generally spared that fate. Instead I lounged around in my own small cabin. Generally that is.
Tonight I'm just too restless, just too awake, to find the peaceful oblivion of sleep just yet. So if sleep will not come then I will just lie in the darkness and listen.
The voices fade and eventually a fiddle begins to softly play on the deck. I listen to its mournful tune until sleepy voices from the crew's quarters shout for silence. The fiddler's song dies out and once more I find myself listening solely to the sounds of the ocean.
My thoughts turn to our journey. We departed from the port of Fareath two weeks ago with a full hold of cargo; mostly cloth and fur. Since then we have made good time; the wind has been with us and has pushed us far ahead of schedule. We may even be within sight of the city this night if the wind holds. The small city we head to now is named Centurions Rest. To many of the crew, myself included, it is home. Unfortunately we will not remain long. We plan to leave the moment our current cargo is sold and the new cargo is loaded onboard. As result we'll probably be in town for a couple of days at most.
The voices on the deck pick up again, but this time their tones are different. Even without having any understanding of their words I can tell there is something wrong. The men's voices are higher, more alarmed. Within moments the alarm bell on deck begins to sound. Heavy feet slam against the wood as men rush above deck from the crew quarters. A load roaring voice from above announces that the captain is above decks.
With a sigh I rise and head up the stairs outside my cabin. I will be expected to make an appearance. Once on deck it takes me a second or two to follow the eyes of the crew around me and locate the cause of the alarm.
Centurions Rest is now within sight, and it's not looking good. The entire city has been set ablaze. Wordlessly the captain passes me a sight lens and I press the contraption to my eye.
The city leaps up before me in vivid detail; it appears that no district has been spared from the destruction. Bodies lie in the streets leaving no doubt that the fire had been intentional. No the city hadn't merely burned, it had been pillaged. Now nothing moved but for the lazy tongues of flame which caressed our once fair city.
Outrage and fear show on the faces of the crew members around me, emotions which I am sure are mirrored on my own lined face. It doesn't make any sense. The Empire isn't at war, so who could have done this? Raiders weren't well enough equipped to break through the city walls, and there was no way they could have got past the city guard. Who else was there?
"We will stop here and watch over the city this night," the captain murmured in my ear, "Tomorrow we will go in for a closer look.
I can only nod numbly in response. Questions bounced around in my head as I stared at the burning husk. I had lived in that city for many years, and even after I took to the sea I had still called it home. I had called it home for over fifty years. Now it was gone. The captain laid a hand on my arm before he moved away but I paid him little mind. Instead I searched for answers I knew I could not find.
Who could have done this, I asked myself in shock, who could want us dead?