The Worlds of Christopher Walker

AS THE SOUNDS of celebration from the Freedom Hawk’s crew danced across the bubbling waters, the dark gauntlet on Lord Angor’s right hand gripped and strangled the haft of Daggoth-dûl. Would that he could squeeze all his rage into the jagged pike and hurl it across the sea to sink the infidel’s ship in one devastating shot. His sub-commanders stood behind him in the prow, staring out at the waters in mute shock where the Dagorim galley had just been destroyed by the monster Gulde. Not one of them dared speak.

None save one.

“My lord!” cried Cayer Blount, the galley’s slave-master, limping unbidden to the bow. “My lord Angor, mighty Daggoth-dûl no longer controls great Gulde! The white wizard has turned him against us! How can we stand against them now?” If Blount had been a wiser man, he would have steered far clear of Angor. He might have retreated to the aft of the galley and busied himself with punishing some lazy oarsman far away from the brooding commander of the Dagorim. He would have done anything rather than stand there stating the obvious facts of their defeat. But Blount, whom no one had ever considered as wise, had forgotten himself in the shock that gripped all hands. “My Lord, they have stolen your victory! We are lost!”

All eyes turned away from the Freedom Hawk and fastened on Lord Angor. He could have been sculpted from black granite for all the response he gave. At length he spoke in scarcely more than a whisper, “Kill him.” It sounded almost like a kindness, betraying none of the black bile boiling in him. Before Blount could make out what the dark commander had whispered, a Dagor lieutenant stepped behind him. With a jagged knife to his throat, Blount’s unhappy life ended with little more than a gurgle of surprise.

The sounds of unabated laughter and cheers from the Freedom Hawk set the Dagorim crew on edge. Not a man among them hazarded a breath. At length, Sub-Commander Stoarg, a much wiser man than Blount, took a cautious step toward his commander. He dropped to a knee. “For the glory of the Hidden One whom we serve, what are your orders, my Lord? How shall we punish these thieves for their treachery?”

Lord Angor did not answer, and no one dared press him for one, but Stoarg’s question remained lodged in every ear. They grew wary of the deep below and the monster unseen, now under the control of the wizard. Any second might bring great Gulde crashing over them, too.

When the crew of the Freedom Hawk finally stopped their cheering, Angor spoke. “Bring the ghoursling.” 

Stoarg froze, hesitating for a dangerous instant, before bowing to his Lord and hurrying away. No one spoke and no one moved, although all hands would have gladly fled from the deck at the mention of that evil name. The atmosphere grew thicker while Angor stood glowering at the Freedom Hawk, willing its destruction.

The air changed, becoming colder and rank as if a wind had blown in off a dank marsh in winter. Stoarg came nigh, towing an iron chain. On the other end of the chain hung an iron collar, small, not more than a few inches in diameter. And in that collar extended a long pale neck no thicker than an old woman’s wrist. The gathered Dagorim pressed against the gunwale as Stoarg drew the ghoursling over the deck towards the bow.

The thing rose no more than two feet from the deck, its skin pale like soap, and it had no eyes, nor a nose, nor even ears. Its face, if it could still be called a face, was only a single hole where the nose should have been. It made a continuous hollow whistling sound like a drafty window would make on a dark, windy night. Other than the iron collar, the ghoursling’s only clothing was a filthy rag draped around its bony shoulders. It tottered forwards on bare stumps that had no toes. And it gripped the iron chain with hands that sported dozens of needlelike fingers, each rigid as a thorn.

As soon as it came on deck, every one to a man fell sick, queasy and chilled as if a fever had gripped the crew. “My Lord,” said Stoarg, his face waxen and ill. “The ghoursling, as you commanded.”

Lord Angor turned and studied the pathetic, pale little creature swaying before him on its chain. “Release her.” Stoarg again hesitated for an instant. He forced himself to move toward the creature and unlatch the iron collar from its slender neck. With the collar and chain gone, the ghoursling appeared lost. Its needle-fingers pawed the air, searching aimlessly for something to hold on to. The hollow whistle in its toothless mouth grew louder.

Angor knelt close to the creature. “We need your help, old mother. The Dark Lord needs your help. The Father of Night calls you in his need. There, yonder, floats a ship full of his enemies. They have stolen something from him, a treasure that will bring him back to us. A starveling girl among them carries a jewel of accursed Valarim light. You must bring her here, with the jewel. We would not have called on you for help, old mother, but we are betrayed and our hour of need has fallen.”

If the ghoursling understood the words spoken by Lord Angor, it gave no sign, but only continued pawing at the air in its blindness. Angor seized a burning torch from a soldier. “Thank you, old mother.” He shoved the torch against the rag on the creature’s shoulders.

For a moment, the ghoursling didn’t react as the flames consumed her pitiful clothing. When the orange flames began to devour her pale skin, it tilted its head back as if to scream. But instead of sound, a thick plume of coal-black smoke jetted upwards from her mouth. The plume billowed out over the deck, setting every man but Angor coughing and wheezing.

When the smoke had grown so dense that only blackness filled their eyes, the ghoursling erupted into a towering column of crimson fire that reached up to the undulating cloud of bog-bats. Purple lightning arced through the cloud, filling the air with nerve-shattering thunder. Only Lord Angor’s eyes perceived the ghoursling’s immolated body rising through the column of fire, joining the swarm of bog-bats. He watched the ghoursling gather them into a new dark creature, a terrible winged shape with long horns. Angor smiled as the ghoursling swam through the swarm towards the Freedom Hawk with but one purpose driving it. “Stoarg!” he thundered.

Stoarg, who had been reeling back against the rail with the other soldiers, ran and dropped to a knee. “Yes, my Lord?”

“You are Cayer now.”

“Yes, my Lord! What are your orders, my lord?”

“We attack. Immediately. Bring our boats alongside theirs so that the wizard will not dare drive Gulde against us again lest he destroy them also!”

“Yes, my lord!” said Stoarg, and he sprinted away. Angor turned again to gaze at the ship of his enemy. The drums on both the remaining slave-ships thrummed to life and bore down on the Freedom Hawk once again. “Patience, my strength,” he said to Daggoth-dûl as the jagged pike vibrated in anticipation. “Soon we will slake your endless thirst for the blood of our lord’s enemies.”

As he crashed onto the floor planks, Aragunk’s eyes met a jumbled swarm of bog-bats filling the Freedom Hawk’s galley. The swarm pressed him so thickly that he couldn’t see the blade of his own sword unless he pressed it up against his face.

“Lump! Beonna!” he shouted. “Where are you?” He fought his way forwards, swatting at the air with his free hand, trying to clear enough space to see. The shrieking of the black swarm deafened his ears. Then a howl of pain ripped through the storm from the corner. “Lump! Is that you?” He struggled through the mass of flying creatures until he tripped over someone lying on the ground and landed with a thud. He gripped the person by the shoulders and pulled them close enough to see. “Who’s there?”

He found Cookie writhing in a panic on the floor as the bog-bats swirled around him. “Aaahhh! Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!”

“Where’s Lumpolas?” shouted Aragunk into his ear. “Where is Beonna?” But Cookie could do nothing but scream and flap his long arms at the gnashing darkness. Aragunk released him and fought his way back to his feet. “Lumpolas! Where are you?”

As he staggered blindly, swatting and shouting, the swarm suddenly condensed into a single monstrous shape again. The black creature stood facing him, bent under the galley’s ceiling, too tall to stand upright.

“There you are, evil one!” He leapt and swung his sword at it with all his strength. But though his sword swung true, it hit nothing but air, passing through the swarming creature as through a plume of smoke. His mighty miss sent him spinning. And when he had come all the way back around to face it, the black creature stood ready and swatted him across the room with a vicious swipe of its giant hand. Aragunk smashed against a wall rack and went crashing to the floor with heavy pans and cauldrons raining down on top of him. The monster disappeared through the door, deeper into the ship’s hold.

Aragunk shook his head and sprang up again, sword in hand. Only Cookie remained in the galley, cowering in the corner with uttermost horror dancing on his face. Aragunk sprang across the room and yanked him up by the collar. “Where are Lumpolas and Beonna? Tell me quickly!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know and that’s the bleedin’ truth! One moment we was all together here, tending to the boy, and the next, a swarm of those horrid little monsters flew in through the hatch and, well, you saw what that was about.”

“Did they go down there?” Aragunk asked, shaking him roughly. “You must know something!”

“Well, if they’re not in here and they’re not up on deck, where else could they have gone?” he yelled back. “Not going to do you no good roughin’ me up over it!” Aragunk let him go and grabbed the door leading below. “You’re not goin’ after ‘em, are you?” asked Cookie. “What if that thing comes back? What’ll I do?”

“The captain is hurt, up on the main deck. You can go help him.”

“Are you cracked? I’m not going up there!”

“Then do what cowards do when danger comes—hide!” Aragunk said and disappeared through the door.

Cookie nodded. “He’s right, that’s good advice. I didn’t think that meat-for-brains had it in him.”

Below, Aragunk stumbled up the corridor toward the screeching of the bat-swarm. A girl’s screams came pealing through the din. “Beonna! I’m coming!” He charged to the end and tore the door open, only to find an empty cabin. More screaming rose from behind him. Aragunk backtracked to the hatch leading down to the cargo hold and leaped through.

He landed behind the horned monster as it loomed over Beonna and Lumpolas beyond. She held the locket and the shining jewel of Inolduay high, keeping the creature at bay with its silver light. Behind her, Lumpolas cradled the limp form of Millen in his arms.

“Have at you, foul fiend!” cried Aragunk, and he flung himself at the creature’s winged back. But as he swung his sword, the swarming bog-bats that made up the monster’s body rearranged themselves so that the back of the creature suddenly transformed into its front. Now facing him, it swatted Aragunk in mid-swing across the hold, sending him crashing against the wooden crates stacked there. As the young warrior gathered himself to renew his attack, the creature extended a shadowy palm and let fly a long obsidian shard straight at Aragunk’s chest. He dodged, but the shard, instead of piercing his heart, sliced through his left shoulder, piercing and pinning him to a wooden crate with a sickening THUNK! He tried to bite back a scream of agony, but it would not be held. His howl of pain pierced through the hold.

“Aragunk!” Lumpolas cried, peering around Beonna. The swarm of bog-bats reorganized itself and the creature stood facing them again. They skittered backwards as it took a lumbering step towards them. But it stopped short, straining against the protecting light of the jewel, unable to come any closer. “Can you see Aragunk?” Lumpolas asked Beonna. “Is he dead?”

“He ought to be dead for all the brains he used attacking that thing!” Beonna said, but she sounded more frightened than angry.

Aragunk lay against the wooden crate, gasping in pain. “Don’t worry! I’m here to save you!” 

“Oh, hooray,” said Beonna, keeping her eyes locked on the creature as it inched towards them. “Did you hear that, Lump? We’re saved!”

With a loud groan, Aragunk reached for the shaft of black glass fixing him to the crate to pull it out. But its edges gleamed razor sharp and radiated an icy cold that burned his hand. “I can’t pull it out!” he said, voice hoarse with the pain. “I can’t!”

“Don’t worry!” yelled Beonna. “I’ll hold it off a little longer so you can save us!” Brandishing the locket higher, she stopped retreating from the beast and ventured to take a step towards it instead. The monster raised an arm against the light and staggered back a step. “The light,” she said. “Gandalf said to remember the light!” Encouraged now, she took another step, holding the jewel high. The beast flinched in pain and retreated yet another step. “It’s working!” She advanced on it once more, driving it almost to the door of the hold. 

Millen gave a low wail in Lumpolas’s arms and his eyes fluttered. “Beonna,” said Lumpolas, “something’s happening here!” But she remained intent on driving the creature back to the door. So intent that she didn’t notice she had left Lumpolas and Millen too far behind, outside the locket’s protective sphere of light. Seeing its chance, the dark creature exploded into a thousand flittering bog-bats. They raced past, around the sphere of light and in a trice reformed behind her. Beonna spun and there stood the creature facing her, but now Lumpolas and Millen screamed from inside of it, suspended in its chest cavity.

“No!” Beonna cried. “No! Let them go!” Lumpolas’s howls barely reached through the screeching of the bats that made up the creature’s body. She advanced on it again with the locket held high. But with every step she drew closer, the more desperate grew the shrieks of her two trapped friends.

“Stop, Beonna!” Aragunk yelled through grinding teeth. “It’ll kill them if you don’t stop!” Desperate now, he rocked back and forth, trying to free himself from the icy shard. But even the slightest motion caused him unspeakable agony. His shoulder screamed in searing pain even as it froze solid. 

Beonna and the creature faced each other for a long minute, each possessing something the other wanted. If she moved an inch towards it with the locket, the cries of pain from inside the creature spiked as it brought more suffering on the two trapped within its swarming body. Aragunk could only watch as the standoff grew more tense.

Finally, she stopped and held up the locket to it. “You want this?” The creature opened a huge, dark hand toward her. “Will you let them go?” she asked it. The beast kept its hand out, reaching for it yet unable to touch the burning light.

“What are you doing?” Aragunk yelled.

“Will you let them go?” Beonna asked again, her voice quivering with rage and terror.

Aragunk feared the purpose he could hear rising in her. “No! Beonna, you can’t give the locket to that thing! Gandalf wouldn’t want you to!” He renewed his struggle, but the knifing pain in his shoulder smote the breath from him.

“If you want it, them come and claim it,” said Beonna. And, with a glance over at Aragunk and a small smile, she snapped the locket closed.

The light went out. In an instant, the creature flew apart, dropping Lumpolas and Millen to the floor with a pair of hard thumps. It swarmed around Beonna so thickly that Aragunk couldn’t see any part of her anymore. “Beonna!” cried Aragunk. “No!” He struggled with every shred of strength he had left against the spear pinning him. But the black swarm carried Beonna to the door and disappeared from his sight.

For long minutes, an eerie quiet filled the hold until Lumpolas at last regained his senses and dragged himself off the floor. “What happened?” he said, rubbing his face. He found Millen on the ground, shaking his head, trying to open his eyes. “Millen! Are you alright?” The boy was groggy but otherwise unharmed. A low, heavy grunt rumbled from the cargo crates. “Aragunk!” Lumpolas left Millen and found his friend affixed to the crate. “Hold on! I’ll help you!” Without thinking, he grabbed the glass spear with both hands and tried to pull it loose. Freezing agony exploded in his hands in an instant.

“Stop!” said Aragunk, as Lumpolas howled and shook his hands in pain. “You can’t pull it out!”

After a minute of dancing around and blowing on his frozen hands, Lumpolas finally recovered himself. “What happened to Beonna? Where did that black monster go?”

“It took her, blast it!” Aragunk barked. “And the locket with her!”

“Then we have to save her before it gets off the ship!” Lumpolas cast about for something to help him pull the evil shard from his friend’s shoulder.

“Save her?” Aragunk laughed. “How? I’m fixed here to a crate with this bloody demon’s dart! And you, well, you’re just a cook.”

Lumpolas turned, narrowed his eyes, and glared at him. “Just a cook?”

“It’s over, Lump. We lost!” spat Aragunk in exasperation. “We tried. We tried and we failed!”

Lumpolas crinkled his eyebrows and stared at his friend in amazement. “You’re giving up? You?”

Aragunk’s face filled with defiance. “Well, what are we going to do? Scare the beast off with a bowl of your swamp food?” He slammed the back of his head against the crate in frustration. “Ahh, what’s the use? It’s hopeless.” He hung his head with a heavy sigh. “This was the worst quest ever,” he grumbled and fell silent.

“Swamp food, is it?” hissed Lumpolas under his breath. “Well, only a coward would let a little piece of glass stop him from doing his duty!”

Aragunk’s chin rose off his chest. “What did you call me?” 

“Oh! Oh no! Oh, I’m sorry,” said Lumpolas, putting a hand to his brow and pretending to be horrified. “Did that offend you, my cowardly friend? Oh dear, please forgive me! How could I have been so rude?” He leapt up and made a deep, exaggerated bow, touching his head to the floor. “Please, O noblest hero of heroes, please allow me to make it up to you by composing for you a minstrel’s tune. A tune extolling the legendary courage you showed in getting yourself stuck to this crate. And how you bravely gave up fighting because you were afraid of a little pain in your mighty shoulder.” And with that, Lumpolas raised his arms and began to dance around and sing,

“O bravely sat Lord Aragunk, cowering in pain,
His shoulder smote upon a crate, drove valor from his brain!”

Aragunk’s eyes shot wide, lit with the fire of wrath as Lumpolas capered about the hold.

“The fighting for him had been far too steep
So he turned his tail with nary a peep!
He hung his head low, and his courage gave out
He started to whine and decided to pout!”

Aragunk bared his teeth and growled. “I’m warning you right now, Lump—you had better hope I don’t get free!” 

Undaunted, Lumpolas continued blithely on.

“He gave up the fight, his knees caved in,
His teeth did chatter, his stomach did spin!
His liver turned yellow, his feet went cold,
Not even a chicken would label him bold!
He’d run from a mouse, he’d flee from a skunk,
Oh, bravely wept the brave and peerless Aragunk!”

An animal shriek erupted behind Lumpolas. He spun around and his song died in his throat. He had gotten so carried away with his song and dance that he had all but forgotten his friend. But now Aragunk’s crazed face swelled purple with rage before him. His red-rimmed eyes bored into Lumpolas. His quivering lips peeled back from clenched teeth in a vision of pure inhuman fury that froze Lumpolas’s heart with a whimper. Aragunk’s growl rose in pitch and he heaved his weight forward. His shoulder slid an agonizing inch forwards along the glassy shaft.

“What are you doing?” Lumpolas asked, stunned by the sight of this new enraged creature.

Aragunk’s eyes rolled back in his head with the excruciating pain arcing through his body. His pain multiplied his rage and he let loose an ear-shredding battle-howl that would have startled even the bravest of his forebears.

“I… AM… NOT… A COWARD!” With one insane effort, shrieking his torment the entire way, he launched himself forwards, sliding his shoulder along the evil shard until at last he pitched free face-first onto the deck. He lay rolling and gasping in mute agony, rendered nearly insensible.

“Aragunk!” Lumpolas ran to him. “Aragunk, are you alright?” He fussed about trying to help him sit up. But it took a long writhing minute before the pain receded enough for Aragunk to open his eyes and speak. “Thanks,” he grunted. “I needed that.” 

Lumpolas exploded. “You are without a doubt the biggest idiot of this age!”

Aragunk struggled to his feet with a groan. “You mean the bravest idiot of this age.”

Then the entire ship shook, and a tremendous crunching noise lashed through the hold. “What was that?” Lumpolas asked, his gaze darting to the ceiling.

“Those Dagor raiders were attacking us again when I came down here to save you. That must have been their galley crashing into us!” Aragunk grabbed his sword off the floor. “Let’s go!” he said and staggered to the hatch, his left arm hanging limp by his side.

“Wait, you can’t fight like that!”

“Well, I can’t fight them from down here, can I? Now, come on!”

“Wait! What about Millen?” asked Lumpolas as Aragunk pulled the hatch open.

“I can’t carry him with one arm. Bring him if you can!”

Happily, Lumpolas found Millen sitting up on his own. “Millen, you’re awake! Can you walk?”

“I don’t know… I think so,” he said weakly. Lumpolas helped him to his feet and supported him as they followed Aragunk up out of the hold.

“What… what happened to Miss Beonna?” asked the boy.

“I’m afraid they took her, Millen. We couldn’t stop them.”

“They took her and we’re going to save her!” growled Aragunk with a grim determination that surprised them both. He pushed open the galley door. They found it empty save for pots and pans scattered across the floor with a smattering of smashed vegetables and broken spice containers. Cookie had gone missing.

“There was some kind of fight in here and that’s for sure,” said Millen.

“Let’s keep going,” said Aragunk as he staggered to the main hatch.

“Wait!” Lumpolas leaped and grabbed his right arm. “Listen!” he said, lifting an ear. “Do you hear that?”

Aragunk blinked at him and shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. Neither do I. Didn’t you say that those raiders were attacking when you came down here?” Aragunk stared blankly at him and turned back to the hatch without answering. But Lumpolas clutched his arm again. “Wait! What are you doing?”

Aragunk spun back on him. “What now?” 

“You can’t just go charging topside without knowing what’s out there! We need to have a plan. We need to figure out what’s going on. There could be anything!”

“You said you hear nothing,” said Aragunk, jerking his arm out of his friend’s grasp. “Well, I’m not going to be afraid of nothing!” He opened the hatch, and instead of the clash of battle and men screaming in rage and pain, only smoke and an uncanny quiet drifted in. Lumpolas and Millen glanced at each other with dread and followed him out to the main deck.

“What happened?” asked Lumpolas, peering around the deserted ship. “Where is everybody?” But before they could seek an answer, the wind shifted and stung their eyes with smoke billowing from astern. “Fire!” exclaimed Millen. “There’s a fire! We have to put it out!” Coughing and sputtering their way through the smoke, they soon discovered that the sail-cloth in the debris had been set alight. Millen ran to the sea-chest forwards and retrieved buckets and ropes. Soon they formed a bucket chain. Lumpolas furiously drew up water from overboard. Millen with his one good arm shuttled the buckets over to Aragunk, and together they doused the flames bucket by bucket until the fire puffed out.

They collapsed to the deck for several minutes, panting from the effort. Aragunk was the first to climb to his feet. The sound of a distant drumbeat came rolling aboard from away forwards. “It’s the Dagors!” He darted away across the deck, climbing the forecastle to the bow. He squinted out across the water, trying to see what he knew it must be. Lumpolas soon joined him. “What is it, Lump? Tell me what your elven eyes see!”

Lumpolas only had to glance. “It’s the Dagor galleys, my friend. And they’re headed due south on our original course.”

Aragunk slammed his hand on the rail. “Blast it all! They got away! And Beonna, they have her too!”

“Beonna and the locket. They got everything they wanted.”

“No!” Aragunk smacked the rail again. He stood there staring after the distant galleys, shaking his head. “No!”

Lumpolas rested a hand on Aragunk’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my friend. This adventure goes harder than even I feared it would.” He was about to offer to cook some food for him when Millen’s weeping rose to them from the main deck.

They found him on the main deck crying from his heart, holding the body of Boatswain Boritt. Lumpolas knelt down next to the lad. “I’m so sorry, lad.” He put an arm around the tear-wracked boy.

“My friend! My friend Ansel!”

“It was that black beast that got him,” Aragunk said grimly. “He was trying to warn the captain and me when that evil thing cut him down.”

Millen raised his tear-slicked cheeks up to him. “The monster that took Miss Beonna?” Aragunk nodded in reply. Millen ceased weeping, set Boritt’s body back on the deck, and wiped the tears from his face. “Then we’ve got to go get it!” Deep anger shook in his voice. “And get Miss Beonna back too!”

“That’s the spirit, Mill,” said Aragunk, gripping his shoulder. “And we will get her back. And we will get revenge for everyone that died here along with Boritt, that I promise you!”

Lumpolas slapped his hand against the remnant of the main mast jutting up from its foot. “That’s all well and noble, my friends, but how are we going to chase after those pirates with no crew, no sails, stranded in the middle of the ocean? We’re trapped out here!”

“Aye,” Millen answered, “that’s all true. But what did happen to the crew?” 

“Always questions and more questions with you two,” said Aragunk. “Let’s go hunt for our answers.” He led them astern, stamping out other little fires as he went, until they made their way up onto the quarterdeck.

“There was a serious fight here,” said Millen, pointing at the bloody swords scattered across the deck.

“Of course there was a fight, wasn’t there?” said Aragunk, shaking his head. “They can’t have a battle unless I’m off doing something else, can they?”

“Aye, there was a fight alright,” said Lumpolas, “but no bodies anywhere. They must have all been taken prisoner on those slavers!” His gaze darted up at the now clear blue sky. “But on the bright side, at least they took those smelly bog-bats with them.”

Millen climbed up to the poop deck and there found Captain Yorlov draped over the aft gunwale, close to sliding overboard. “Mister Lumpolas! Mister Aragunk!” he cried. “It’s my uncle!” They rushed over and pulled Yorlov’s limp body back from the edge and laid him down on his back. He was unconscious. Blood streamed from his nose and ears and his breathing sounded like a broken bellows.

Aragunk knelt by the captain’s scarred face. “Captain! Captain Yorlov, can you hear me?” But the captain didn’t open his eyes or move a muscle in reply. They loosed his collar and slapped his cheeks to wake him up, but to no avail. Nothing they tried could bring him back to consciousness.

“What do we do?” asked Millen. “My uncle is the only one that could get this wreck moving again!”

After a moment of fruitless effort, Aragunk stood up and sniffed the air. “What is that smell?” He left them to tend to the captain and peered over the rail again. He followed it around to the starboard side and found something that sent his jaw dropping. “Lump! Millen! Come look at this!” They left the captain’s side and rushed over to where he stood, pointing over the side.

There, nestled up against the starboard side of the Freedom Hawk, floated the lifeless body of the sea-dragon in all its massiveness. Its white belly turned skyward. A bubbling wound gaped wide in its throat, oozing thick smelly black blood. “What happened to that thing?” asked Lumpolas.

“Something nasty got him and that’s for sure,” said Millen.

“But where is Gandalf?” asked Aragunk. “He was riding that monster the last I saw.”

“He rode that thing?” Millen asked with eyes wide.

“Aye. He destroyed one of the Dagor galleys with it, too. But what happened to him?”

Lumpolas gazed around at the billowing sea and shot a finger out across the waves. “There! Look there! It’s him!”

Aragunk gazed where his friend pointed at a white blur bobbing in the waves beyond the dead dragon. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“We have to save him!”

“Okay. But how?”

“A rope! We need a rope!” said Millen, scampering away. “I’ll get it!”

“Can he still be alive?” asked Aragunk.

“I don’t know, but he’s floating on his back, at least. There’s a chance!”

Millen returned and had already tied a loop into the end of a rope big enough to fit around two people. He looped it around himself and climbed up on the rail. “And where do you think you’re going?” Lumpolas asked.

“I’m going to rescue Master Gandalf. You two stay here to pull us back up.”

“No, you’re not, lad,” said Lumpolas with his hands on his hips. “It’s too dangerous! I’ll go out there.”

“Begging your pardon sir,” said Millen, “but I’ve been a sailor my whole life.” Then embarrassment flashed over Millen’s face. “And begging your pardon again, but you’re going to be a bit too heavy for us to haul you back up, sir.”

Aragunk snorted. “He has a point there, Lump.”

“Did you just call me fat?” cried Lumpolas. Millen shrugged his shoulders and offered a sheepish grin. Lumpolas’s eyes shot wide with anger. “What? You scrawny little … why you! I’m not fat! I just store my weight a little differently than you two.”

“Us two and everybody else I’ve ever seen,” said Aragunk, enjoying his friend’s reddening face. “Besides that, I’ve only got one arm and Millen here doesn’t weigh more than a half-stone. I’ll need your help to pull Gandalf aboard.” Lumpolas grumbled and nodded his head.

Millen dropped onto the body of the dead dragon and picked his way along it until he could go no further. He leaped into the waves and paddled out to Gandalf. “He’s got a lot of pluck, that one,” said Aragunk.

“I’m gonna pluck him and put him in a stew if he calls me fat again!” said Lumpolas, glancing down at his protruding belly and giving it a little poke. Aragunk just laughed.

In a wink, Millen reached Gandalf and had the loop around the both of them. He gave a wave and Lumpolas and Aragunk reeled in the rope with their three good arms until Millen and Gandalf beached on the sea-dragon’s lifeless body. The boy wiggled out of the loop. “He’s still alive, but barely! Heave to! I’ll lift on this end!” They pulled Gandalf up while Millen pushed from below until at last they hauled the wizard over the gunwale and set him down on the deck. They had a much easier time bringing Millen aboard.

Lumpolas dropped and put an ear to Gandalf’s heart. “Well, Lump, is he alive?” asked Aragunk.

“He’s too full of water. I can’t tell.”

Millen gathered Gandalf’s feet with his good arm. “Begging your pardon, but here’s what the sailors do when they bring in someone who’s gone overboard.” He pressed the wizard’s knees against his chest, back and forth, back and forth, knees to chest, until a stream of water came shooting out of his mouth. Gandalf’s eyes popped open, and he coughed and sputtered. “He’s alive!” shouted Lumpolas.

After a moment of violent coughing, Gandalf finally sat up with seawater dripping from his white beard. “Thank you, young man. I saved you and now you have pulled me back from the brink. I consider your bill well paid.”

All at once, the three of them peppered him with questions in a rushing tumble of words. But he silenced them with a hand and climbed to his feet. He staggered to the railing and stretched his hand out over the waves for a long minute. The three of them glanced awkwardly at each other as they waited. Then Gandalf’s staff shot out of the waves straight into his hand with a loud slap. He brought it in and shook the seawater off it. “Now, my young friends, I know you have many questions and need to know many things. But it is far more urgent for you to tell me what I need to know right now. Firstly: where is Beonna?”

They both turned to Aragunk. “She’s… she’s gone, Master Wizard. They took her.” He recounted the sad tale of her abduction as best as he could. “That thing made off with her and the locket, and then we came up here and found everything like this!”

“Master Gandalf,” asked Lumpolas, scarcely a breath after Aragunk had finished. “What happened up here? Where are the crew?”

“Those are answers we will have to find together, my young friend, among many others.” He pushed past them and knelt by the unconscious form of the captain. He felt his pulse, shook his head with a mutter, and put his head on his chest.

“Is my uncle going to be alright, sir?” asked Millen. “We tried to wake him, but he’s six fathoms deep, he is.”

“His wounds are serious, my boy, very serious. And if we want to find any answers from his part of the story, we will have to tend to him with great care. And besides that, the captain is our most experienced sailor. Without him, we will have little chance of getting the Freedom Hawk underway again.” He reached out and grabbed Lumpolas by the wrist. “We will need boarsroot, my young friend, steeped in grain vinegar.” Lumpolas nodded and started away, but the wizard held his wrist still. “And lint and bandages, as much as you can find!” He released him and turned to the others. “You two help me get the captain to his cabin so we can put him to bed. We need to get him dry and warm. Then we’ll have a look at that shoulder, Aragunk.”

“But Master Gandalf,” Aragunk protested, “what about Beonna? They’re getting farther away every minute we wait here!”

“Then I encourage you to throw yourself overboard and swim after them, young ranger. No other way lies open to give chase right now! We’ll catch up with you when we can. Now Millen, unless you wish to join him in a long swim, will you help me get your uncle below?” Aragunk grumbled and grudgingly took one of the captain’s feet and helped carry him down to the main deck. With an irritated wave of Gandalf’s staff, the smoking wreckage blocking the stateroom door slid aside with a grinding thump.

Soon Lumpolas appeared by Captain Yorlov’s bunk with a steaming bowl of bitter smelling liquid and a handful of bandages. As Gandalf daubed the boarsroot broth around the captain’s scarred face and neck, Aragunk fidgeted until he could stand waiting no longer. “Can you tell us how you killed that sea-dragon, at least?” 

Gandalf didn’t answer him, but kept dipping a bandage into the brew and muttering incantations under his breath as he tended to the captain. Aragunk sprang up with an exasperated sigh and stomped to the cabin door. But as he laid his hand on the knob, Gandalf finally answered, “I didn’t kill it. I wouldn’t have killed that noble beast for anything.”

“Then who did?” asked Aragunk.

Gandalf finished wringing out his bandage and turned his gaze to him. “It was the commander of the Dagor vessel that slew the great dragon Gulde.”

“Gulde? That thing had a name?”

“Of course! Dragons are only seldom mere dumb beasts, young man. Gulde the Great had ruled these seas for ages until today. Until the dark arts of the Dagor leader turned Gulde’s mind against itself and forced him to attack us. I will mourn his passing.”

“But how did he kill the beast?” asked Millen.

Gandalf turned to him. “We came to an understanding, Gulde and I, down there below the waves. I would free him from Angor’s sorcery in exchange for his help with our problems. Together we destroyed one of their galleys and set ourselves to harrow the others as they attacked the Freedom Hawk. The dragon rose from the waves alongside our ship to defend her. That was when their commander hurled a weapon of immense dark power into the throat of the dragon, ending the reign of mighty Gulde forever. I knew nothing afterwards until you revived me.” After a moment’s pause, he stood and came over to Aragunk. “Now, my young friend, let’s have a look at that shoulder.” Aragunk gritted his teeth as Gandalf squeezed the wound. “Frozen solid, and yet not numb at all, is it?”

Aragunk shook his head. “No, not in the slightest. Do we just wait for it to thaw out, then?”

“Your shoulder will never thaw out, I’m afraid.”

“Never?” sputtered Aragunk, unable to hide his fear this time.

“Well, not by itself, anyway. The ghoursling dart that smote your shoulder was wrought of a hungering cold that is not of this world.”

“A ghoursling dart? What’s a ghoursling?”

Gandalf paused before beginning his tale. “The ghoursling were believed to be extinct, but even the wisest among us cannot see into all the dark crannies of the world. They are ancient abominations, one of the many evil offspring of Ungoliant, whose ever-lasting hunger could not have been satisfied even were she to consume the entire world. Eventually, she even consumed herself in her unquenchable emptiness. But her endless hunger lives on in her offspring to this day. The ghoursling dart that pierced your shoulder came from that same emptiness and would have devoured all the life from you if you had not freed yourself. You are fortunate to be alive, young ranger. But, alas, to revive your shoulder would require no less than the uncreated flame of Anor. And there is only one person I know in all of Middle-earth who possesses that secret.”

Aragunk’s face filled with distress. “Who? Who is it? And where do we find him?”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry, young ranger. You won’t have to go far to find the keeper of the sacred flame. In fact, he’s here in this room with you right now.”

Amazement spread over Aragunk’s face as he gazed over Gandalf’s shoulder. “Lumpolas? You? Why didn’t you tell me you possessed the sacred flame of Anor?” 

Millen snickered while Lumpolas groaned and smacked his palm to his forehead. “Aragunk, you poor, poor brick-for-brains. Not me! Him!” he said, pointing at Gandalf.

Aragunk’s eyes snapped back to Gandalf. “Ohhh. You were talking about yourself.”

Gandalf shook his head in pity and took hold of Aragunk’s shoulder with both hands. “This is liable to sting a bit, my boy.”

Aragunk set his jaw. “I’m not afraid.”

“We know, Gunk,” sighed Lumpolas, “we know.”

For a moment, Aragunk felt nothing, so that he thought Gandalf might not actually possess the flame of Anor after all. Slowly, though, a tickling sensation spread through his shoulder that grew into a tingling. “That’s not so bad. It feels kind of good, actually. Like a warm summer’s—”

Then his eyes shot open and unbelieving surprise sprang across his face. He winced and sank to his knees as the heat from Gandalf’s hands grew stronger and stronger. Within seconds, his shoulder ignited from within and it was all that Aragunk could do not to scream out in pain. He collapsed to the deck, trying to get away. Gandalf didn’t let go of him, but kept pouring more and more life-giving warmth into the wounded shoulder. At last Aragunk could stand no more and cried out, “Mother! Help me!”

Then it was over. Gandalf released him, leaving Aragunk gasping and all but sobbing on the floor. “That was bravely done, young Aragunk son of fair Gilraen. Very brave indeed. Now, help me get him into a chair, Lumpolas. Then, if you would be so kind as to bandage our brave warrior’s shoulder.” And, after heaving Aragunk up into the chair, he turned to Millen. “Young man, the sun is setting and we will soon need some lanterns and plenty of lamp oil.”

“Aye, sir!” Millen saluted and darted outside.

Gandalf supervised Lumpolas’s work for a moment. Then, satisfied with his progress, returned to the captain’s side. He was just beginning to pour some of the boarsroot broth into his mouth, when a strange slow ringing sound came filtering in from outside the cabin.

Lumpolas stopped his bandaging and cocked a pointed ear. “What is…? That sounds like singing.”

Gandalf gazed at him with brows arched high. Then Millen came barreling back into the cabin in a cloud of agitation. “Master Gandalf, come quick! Outside! There’s people out on the water, down by the dragon’s carcass!”

“People?” said Gandalf, rising and taking hold of his staff. “What kind of people?”

“They’re not like any people I’ve ever seen. And they don’t look friendly at all!”