Story #8: Voyage of the Mountain Laurel
by VST

Summary: While serving as crewmen aboard a ship on their way toward Lankhmar, treachery abounds and their way home is imperiled. It was written for the WA Flower Challenge.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and the world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of their respective owners.

Six weeks out of the far eastern port of Mara'tanga...

Fluffy clouds extending to the horizon were painted with brilliant reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows in patterns far beyond the abilities of all but the most skilled painters. A stiff breeze caused the heavenly scene to change constantly, leading the big barbarian to laugh at the thought that even the best painter in Lankhmar—no, even in all of Nehwon—could hope to capture even a small part of the actual beauty unfolding before him.

He breathed deeply of the sea air and thought of the joys that awaited him and his friend in the still distant city of the black toga. When they fled that glorious city over eighteen months earlier, both men had vowed to never return. Still, like the ever-changing beauty of the sky, their circumstances changed over time as Lankhmar's call became stronger, its tugs on their heartstrings more unceasing.

Fafhrd, standing on the fore top, the highest platform on the forward mast, held on tight as the good ship Mountain Laurel's sails whipped in the wind. Since no suitable vessel was available for their use, legally or otherwise, and since the ship's home port was Tisinilit in the west, the Gray Mouser and Fafhrd had joined the crew in Mara'tanga to get themselves that much closer to Lankhmar.

When they'd sought crew positions, Laroquer, the captain of the Mountain Laurel, had told them in near perfect Lankhmarese, "We strive for this to be the best ship plying the waters between Tisinilit and Mara'tanga. I've been doing it for almost 30 years, at least two round trips per year. I know the people in both ports, but something happened this time. The Mara'tangan port authorities impounded my ship when we arrived. I couldn't afford to pay the whole crew, so I kept on three members of my old crew, promised them promotions for the trip home and had to dismiss the rest since only the gods knew how long it would be."

"So...how long have they kept you?" asked Mouser, taking the bait.

"Even longer than I expected. The bloody port captain, a new man in the position, held us here for six weeks and we'd still be stuck here if I hadn't finally come to a suitable accommodation with him. Believe me, with what little profit's left from this leg, I may not be coming back to this blasted city for a while. They never gave me a clear explanation on why we were delayed, but I'm pretty sure it was just so I'd grease the bastard's palm. We sail at first light tomorrow before he has a chance to change his mind."

Captain Laroquer, a tall, bald man with ink black skin and only his gray-white brows revealing a hint of his age, told them he was able to find a few more of his former crewmen from his homeland, but most were like Fafhrd and Mouser, a wide variety of sailors from a wide array of lands speaking various and sundry tongues. Most worked surprisingly well together and the ship, while old, was generally in very good condition.

Boughs of mountain laurel were painted on each side of the ship's stern, just below the taffrail surrounding the poop deck, though the paint had worn over time and neither Fafhrd nor Mouser would have been able to identify the flowers if the ship's name hadn't been displayed right below the windows directly under them. The center of the white sails were dyed with the pretty mountain flower's distinctive purplish-pink halo with 10 dots representing the flowers stamens surrounding it, though these, too, were somewhat faded due to age. Overall, Fafhrd considered it to be a good ship, but as pretty as it or its namesake flowers might be, he knew they had nothing on the scene he was observing ahead of him.

Despite the fact that he had a great view of the western sky ahead, that was not his purpose in being so high above the deck. Instead, he focused most of his attention on the sea around them, with occasional glances down at the parts of the deck below that weren't hidden behind the yards and yards of flowery sailcloth. After another check all around with nothing on the sea in sight, he looked back down at the deck to see First Mate Girazaddo strolling forward, barking orders to correct some issue or oversight to keep the vessel as shipshape as possible.

The man sported a typical sailor's outfit with tan, knee-length pants and a white, sleeveless shirt, open at the collar. A broad black belt supported a cutlass and a dagger. He was one of the few holdovers from the earlier crew and he needed no badge of office. Instead, he made himself known to all of the seamen on the vessel, cursing at everyone who didn't do their job properly with equal ferocity. Fafhrd didn't particularly like the man or his methods, but he had to admit that Girazaddo got results.

In another gap almost directly below him, he saw the ship's wizard, Mnandor, standing as if brooding on the forecastle with his staff in hand, looking ahead, his dark, forked beard blowing in the breeze. Unlike most wizards he'd met, the deeply tanned man wore not a robe but, rather, a pair of baggy pants without a shirt. Intricate tattoos covered both of his shoulders and upper arms, stopping just above the elbow. His belt supported a scabbard for a curved dagger and had a number of pouches. Black leather bracers covered by what appeared to be exquisite embroidery graced both forearms.

While the man spoke the language of Tisinilit like the captain and the first mate, he seemed shifty and rarely spoke at all; as such, most crewmen, including Fafhrd, gave him wide berth. He'd joined the crew just minutes before they cast off, leading Fafhrd to wonder from whom or what he might be fleeing. Mouser was one of the few who had tried to speak with the man, doubtless, Fafhrd thought, to find aid in furthering his pitiful experience in the dark arts. The mage had merely scowled at the little man before unleashing a fetid breath at him that Mouser swore had to be more spell than natural. Fafhrd chuckled to himself at that memory.

While the man wasn't visible from his vantage, Fafhrd knew that Captain Laroquer would be somewhere on the deck, leading by example rather than the fear or threats used by the first mate. Fafhrd had served on a number of ships in his youth and several beyond, so he felt Laroquer was a good captain; however, like most captains, he had his faults and idiosyncrasies.

It was just hours before when Captain Laroquer had spoken to the crew in Tisiniliti. "With your good _efforts?_ and our great victories, we are now past the areas where the pirates are known to _operate?_. You, my men of the Mountain Laurel, are to be _congratulated_! Like our _, we and our weapons were like _something-poison?_ to those evil men who came against us!" At least, based on his knowledge of the language, that's basically what Fafhrd thought he was saying. Some translated for others, but almost half the crew looked on, not understanding a word.

Girazaddo had led the cheer, "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" while Mnandor stood watching with a fearsome grimace, as if trying to search out the soul of each man he observed.

The surviving crewmen, including those who didn't understand the captain's speech, took up the chant while ignoring the scowling wizard. The Gray Mouser had rolled his eyes with great exaggeration at Fafhrd, causing the big man to almost shake as he fought off the laughter, but both men joined in with a "Huzzah" or two before Laroquer had continued.

"Notice that I said 'known to _operate?_.' Unfortunately, these _fiends?_ sometimes move around to take passing ships _unawares?_—"

With his knowledge of the language being approximately equal to Fafhrd's, Mouser's left brow shot up as he cocked his head at Fafhrd in a "you think?" look, leading the big man to launch into a fit of coughing to cover up his laughter. The first mate gave a quick frown in Fafhrd's direction as the captain continued, even as the wizard stared at Mouser.

"Ah, so, despite believing we are in the clear, we must continue to remain _vigilant?_. If another band approaches, we must not be one of those taken by surprise. We must not allow ourselves or any of our brothers to be sent to watery graves like those of our three comrades who lie before us. We thank them for their sacrifice in protecting our ship and ask the gods to bless their _spirits?_ as they journey to the hereafter. Thank you, Piotr, and blessings."

Having been through this after the earlier battles, most crew members responded with "Thank you, Piotr, and blessings," as Girazaddo tipped the board. Piotr's canvas-wrapped body slid into the sea, pulled down to the depths by the chains that looped around him. The process had been repeated for the other two crewmen lost in the final battle with the pirates; the bodies of the fallen pirates had been unceremoniously tossed into the sea right after the battle ended, graced only by the hatred, curse words, and spittle of those given the task.

"We now turn southwest to skirt the Mayjhan Peninsula before continuing northwest to Krell and finally on to Finger Bay and our home port of Tisinilit."

Recalling the rest of Captain Laroquer's message, Fafhrd sighed at the thought. Tisinilit was still far from Lanhkmar, but it was over two months closer than Mara'tanga. With luck, it would only be a few more weeks before they arrived there.

As the sunset faded with the onward march of darkness, the stars began to appear in the sky above. Fafhrd continued searching the horizon for anything he might see there and then looking at one star grouping after another in the heavens above. When he was relieved some time later, he took one more careful look up before starting the long climb down.

~F&tGM~

"Mouser, I'm not sure what he was doing, but with all the tacking last night, we were effectively sailing due south last night rather than southwest as the captain claimed."

The Gray Mouser rubbed his eyes sleepily and then fought a big yawn. "Maybe he's taking advantage of the winds."

"No. And it doesn't look like he's going out of his way to get later benefit out of the trade winds, either."

Stretching, Mouser lost to his yawn as he said, "Then maybe he's just not as good a navigator as you?"

"Well, of course, not!" agreed Fafhrd. "But he's been a good captain in our time serving aboard his ship and I know he wouldn't do it without a reason."

Mouser, finally starting to look awake, shrugged. "Then let's go ask him and find out."

When they reached the afterdeck, the helmsman watched them closely as they walked the few steps behind him to the door to the captain's cabin at the back of the ship below the poop deck. A Tisiniliti, the man continued glancing back but finally seemed to relax at least a bit when they knocked rather than rushed in.

Laroquer called "Come in!" and looked up from his writing in the ship's log as Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser entered his cabin and closed the door. His hand drifted near the cutlass laid across the desk, but like the helmsman, he eased a bit when he saw no threat from the two. Still, he didn't relax completely. Many a captain had met his end at the hand of an ambitious or treacherous seaman. "So? What do you want?"

It was Fafhrd's first time in the captain's cabin and he was a big surprised at how small and crowded it was. The desk sat in the middle of the floor with its front covering the door. There were, he noted, two holes in front of the desk, each approximately the size of a hen's egg. Feeling they might be more than ornamentation, he stepped to the side to avoid being directly in front of them as he saw Mouser doing the same to the other side.

The captain had a full-size canopy bed at the rear windows, a built-in bureau to one side, and a rack with weapons on the other. A chest sat at the foot of the bed, and there were a few paintings and tapestries on the walls. Most interesting, though, was a plant that Fafhrd recognized as a variety of mountain laurel growing in a pot set into a built-in depression in the corner next to the bed.

"Sorry to bother you, Captain," said Fafhrd in Lankhmarese. "Beautiful miniature mountain laurel. How long have you been growing it?"

The captain looked surprised at the question but his face softened after staring at the big man for several seconds before laughing. "No one has ever asked that, with most asking about the weapons or my tapestries, if they ask anything at all. The plant has spent almost twenty years in that pot, and my late wife kept it for ten in the one before. This miniature variety is from her homeland in the east, where she said, in the language of flowers, it stood for 'ambition.' My personal goal was always to have the best ship doing the best job sailing between my homeland and the East, so she told me it was a great fit. We even went so far as to name my ship after it, to constantly remind me of my goal."

"Then is your wife in Tisinilit?" asked Fafhrd.

"Nay. She's been in the ground for those twenty years, along with our baby son." His face hardened at the thought. "Bah! For some reason, I don't think you've come here to bother me about the intricacies of ornamental horticulture or tales of my personal history."

Fafhrd lowered his head, as if respectfully. "Sorry." He briefly explained what he'd noticed and then asked, "Is there something going on? Some reason to take this route or some danger you haven't told us about on the Mayjhan?"

The captain again stared at the big man for several seconds before replying, this time with virtual daggers in his eyes. "I am the captain of this vessel and I have made this trip over fifty times, each way. You may well have captained vessels in the past, as you have claimed, for you have served well in your time aboard, but you are not the captain here and I will not allow you or any other ambitious soul to second-guess or otherwise undermine my authority on my own ship. If you wish to be in charge, get your own ship. You may not have mine!"

Mouser's hand, hidden from view, eased cautiously toward Cat's Claw as he saw Laroquer's hand move back toward the cutlass on the desk. Fafhrd, on the other hand, raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner and said, "Captain, our intent is by no means to question your authority or to try to take it away from you; rather, all we want to do is to get back to our home as quickly as possible. We came here for this private audience to see, if something really is wrong as we suspect, if there is anything we can do to help."

Laroquer searched Fafhrd's face carefully before turning to Mouser to see him shrug. "You two are serious?"

"Unfortunately," agreed Mouser.

The captain sighed. "In the past three years, there have been several shipwrecks on the southern point of the Mayjhan Peninsula. No one knows what's causing them; there haven't been any survivors found to tell the tale, and no bodies found of those perished. Those few who have been there during the day have told of seeing flotsam from ships crushed like kindling. Everyone that I know of who's made it past safely has done the same thing: they've steered well clear and are well away from those rocks by nightfall. I don't know what's causing the wrecks and, frankly, I don't really care as long as we can stay out of its way, so we're swinging wider around it than the crew realizes. If you want to help, keep your mouths shut, don't say anything to anyone about it, and don't try to interfere with our route. If you see anything suspicious aboard our ship, let me know. Do we have an understanding and an agreement?"

"Aye, Captain," agreed both men.

~F&tGM~

Two days later, the captain announced that they were at the southern tip of the peninsula and would begin their westward leg the next morning. Mouser breathed a sigh of relief, but Fafhrd shook his head.

"My mother said to never count your geese or your puffins before the eggs hatch," he told his friend as he looked in vain off to the west for the distant, hidden shore. "Let's get through tonight and hope we'll be able to celebrate in the morning as the captain said."

"And I was planning to break out a jug of rum late tonight," quipped Mouser. "Leave it to your mother to spoil an otherwise perfectly decent debauchery."

The rest of the afternoon passed and both men saw Captain Laroquer look less tense than he had in days, though the first mate was frowning even more than usual and the ship's wizard refused to leave his post atop the forecastle. At dinner time, the captain ordered the men to remain vigilant before he retired to his quarters for a few hours of rest.

With all seeming well, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser got off duty and went to their bunks when eight bells sounded the end of their watch. Both men were quite tired so they went right to sleep.

Fafhrd awoke in darkness, the watch candle in the seamen's quarters in the forecastle having burned out or been extinguished. He sniffed the air once and then again before climbing out of his bunk. He was starting to strap on Heartseeker when he noticed a strange, pale light flash under the door leading out to the deck. He felt as if a chill passed through him so he got Graywand as well.

A moment later, he nudged Mouser three times, and gave an almost inaudible "Shhh" when Mouser turned over. "To arms," he barely whispered when Mouser gave a tap on his arm in reply. When ready, they carried their boots in hand and silently slipped to the door, opening it to step out of the forecastle onto the deck.

With the door closed behind them, Mouser slipped on his boots and donned Scalpel and Cat's Claw in their scabbards while Fafhrd looked up through the ship's sails into the heavens. "Neither geese nor puffins be," he said as he his gaze moved toward the ship's wheel on the afterdeck.

"What riddles do you speak, Fafhrd?" asked Mouser as he slipped into his gray cloak. "Has your mother sent word upon the winds to remind you of other sayings and wisdoms she may have imparted to you?"

"Nay, Mouser. Look to the stars in the heavens. The Dunce is to the ship's rear—"

"Meaning the Mountain Laurel is being carried north by the winds rather than sailing to the south as expected. I'd say, Fafhrd, that your eggs are at greater risk of being broken on the rocks rather than hatching as we wish."

Fafhrd nodded before saying, "Down! Mouser! That light, that pale light comes from the north and plays across our sails and our helmsman at the wheel. Look how he reaches out toward it as it passes over him, causing his eyes to almost glow. Now, see, it moves on and he resumes steering us."

"Steering us in the wrong direction, based on what the Captain told us," complained Mouser. "Shall we fetch the good man to put an end to this errant adventure?"

"Yes, we go. I'll take the port stair to distract the helmsman, and you take the starboard and slip behind him to Laroquer's cabin. Whatever you do, don't look to the strange light. See, here it comes again...look."

Mouser nodded. "Once again, our helmsman seems to yearn for it, as if to grasp it and pull it to him as his eyes shine."

"Exactly. Avoid the light, Mouser, for I fear it brings strange and unwelcome desires to those who gaze upon it. There, it's gone but for moments only. Let's go."

Both men ran across the main deck, with Mouser silently slipping up his stair to approach the captain's quarters at the rear of the afterdeck while Fafhrd trudged loudly up his side to distract the helmsman at the wheel, who continued to drive the Mountain Laurel toward the dangerous peninsula rather than away from it as the captain had planned. The barbarian made for the helmsman.

"Hail, Helm. Why are you driving our ship north onto the rocks? They and that shore grow ever nearer! You must turn away, man, before it is too late!"

Even as Fafhrd urged the man to change course, the Gray Mouser slipped around the man and reached the door to the captain's quarters. He was about to beat on the door to rouse the ship's master, but it was then that he noticed it was already cracked open. Mouser saw the glow lighting the door and the wall beside him, causing him to have to resist the urge to turn around to see the source. With the door already cracked, he pushed it further and entered.

Seeing Mouser reach the captain's door, Fafhrd cupped his eyes to avoid looking back as the light behind him caused his bulk to throw a shadow over the back wall of the afterdeck that formed Laroquer's cabin. He saw, and this time clearly heard, the helmsman's continued desire as the glow engulfed him.

"The light! The light!" said the helmsman as he once again reached for it, acting like one entranced.

Fafhrd, looking at the man saw the reflection of the light in the man's eyes. It appeared large and close as the man tried to grasp and it pull it to himself.

"Turn, man!" shouted Fafhrd. "Turn away! To the south as the captain has ordered, away from the rocks!"

A great force of foul wind, as if blown by a giant with a terrible case of halitosis, suddenly pushed Fafhrd back and to his right, up against the rail. He grabbed hold of the rigging and held with all of his might as the wind slowly dissipated, though his urge to retch didn't. He saw Mnandor crouched down with his staff held in his right hand toward Fafhrd, and his left toward the helmsman. The pale light played over the man's features, causing his tattoos to seem to writhe on his shoulders, but it had no obvious effect on him.

"It's not the light. It's you! You have bewitched him to want to go to it!" shouted Fafhrd as he drew Heartseeker.

More men were moving on the main deck, with some coming up the ladders toward them. Three, including Girazaddo, rushed into the captain's quarters behind Mouser, only to hear, a moment later, Girazaddo's voice. "What treachery! He's killed the captain! Kill the little murderer!"

The words had only just left the first mate's mouth when a great crash sounded from below and most of the men, including Mnandor, were tossed forward like ragdolls. The helmsman grasped the wheel and supported himself against it only to have the first mate practically fly out of the captain's cabin to crash into his back. Fafhrd, still holding on to the rigging, felt himself spun around as the horrible sounds below of breaking planks and timbers continued. The Mountain Laurel lurched to port as it took on water, but driving ever nearer the shore. Glancing down in the water below, Fafhrd saw the jagged rocks on which the ship was killing itself.

"Mouser!" shouted Fafhrd as the ship's cant increased, rapidly tilting more and more over onto the rocks.

On the main deck, a number of seamen were shouting as they went sliding toward the portside bulwark, even as the light, emanating from a lighthouse some distance ahead on the shore, briefly lit their struggles before moving on. Caught in its glare, he confirmed to himself that it really wasn't the light causing the problem but some evil magic that had made the helmsman seek it.

"Mouser!" he shouted again as the ship continued to lurch over the rocks and slowly grind to a halt. Still, the ship shifted with the incoming tide, and the sound of creaking and things breaking below told him that the ship was doomed. They had to find a way off, to get to the shore, or they would be lost. He started trying to move up the now steep deck to reach the captain's quarters when the shrieks began.

With the pale spotlight coming around toward them again, he was surprised to see a number of dark shapes moving toward them, flitting rapidly, as if a school of fish swimming in the air. As the spotlight passed over them, he realized these were not flying fish or birds or bats or anything of the sort. No, these were like shadows, wailing ever louder as they neared the ship.

The first of the shrieking shadows passed over the gunnel rail and within a moment, the dying shrieks of the trapped sailors joined those of the strange creatures. As the shadow zipped over and around the men, each pass seemed to lay open wounds, causing more screams of pain and death.

Fafhrd had pulled himself up to the captain's door and was about to try to climb in when one of the shrieking terrors came for him. He struck the thing with Heartseeker, causing it to recoil away from him for a moment before it drew up and made for him again. Seeing that his big dagger appeared to have done no permanent damage, he grabbed the lantern that hung at a crazy angle next to the captain's door and swung it at the creature as he slid back down the deck to the upper bulwark. With the lantern just connecting with it, it spun away furiously.

There were more screams of wounded and dying men, with some of those with lesser injuries choosing to jump in to the water rather than continue facing the flying fiends. Based on what he'd seen minutes earlier, Fafhrd suspected that some would land on the rocks below to move no more.

More of the shadow creatures were coming his way, so bracing himself against the bulwark and the deck, he swung the lantern driving them away, but more were being attracted toward him by the second. He swung the lantern again, this time getting a direct hit on one. Whether the light, the heat, or the impact, Fafhrd didn't know, but he smiled to himself when it screamed and seemed to cave in on itself, shrinking smaller and smaller, before popping out of existence.

Unfortunately, he saw there were far too many for him to take on alone with a single lantern.

"Mouser! To shore!" he shouted, hoping his little friend would hear him, as he attempted to fend off the flying shadows. Using Heartseeker, he slashed at a coil of rigging, looped it over a belaying pin, and tossed it over the side. With another swing all around, he hooded the lantern and grabbed the rope, practically jumping over the side to slide down into the water and dangerous rocks.

Barely reaching the bottom despite his great size, Fafhrd struggled to keep his head and his lantern above the water as he fought his way toward shore.

~F&tGM~

Hiding from the shrieking shadows, Fafhrd finally reached the shore some distance away after a long struggle. His feet ached from where his boots had been cut to shreds on the sharp rocks, but he felt fortunate to be under the rotating light from the lighthouse. Hiding behind a dune, he quickly took inventory of his few possessions. They consisted of Heartseeker, the still-hooded lantern, the rope he'd used to enter the water, his hand axe, and his remaining luck, which he figured was practically exhausted, in addition to his skills and intelligence. He'd not seen or heard from Mouser since the ship, and he'd had to abandon his greatsword Graywand to avoid drowning. He hoped to be able to recover it at low tide.

After shredding his shirt and using it to bind up his boots, he found a several good pieces of dry driftwood high up on the beach. Choosing the best four, he wrapped their heads tightly with sea oats and then splashed a little oil from the lantern on them.

As Fafhrd saw it, he had three tasks. He had to find and save Mouser. He had to find and kill Mnandor for killing the captain, charming the helmsman, and wrecking the ship. Finally, he had to find a way to destroy the shrieking shadows, if possible, for the evil they'd brought on the ship and his fellow crewmen before they repeated it on another ship of souls.

He started moving down the beach toward the lighthouse and the wrecked ship, keeping a close eye out for any movement. He'd gone about fifty yards when he heard an abrupt shriek and felt the pain of a sharp slash across his shoulder.

Slipping the hood from the lantern he swung it to ward off the shadow creature and then lit two of the torches. With one in each hand, he ran toward the group of shadow creatures he heard shrieking toward him. As he moved toward them, he saw someone else take advantage of the creatures' absence; a dark figure he believe to be Mnandor was running up the beach toward the lighthouse.

Fighting with a torch in each hand, Fafhrd swung into the shadows, slashing and stabbing, leading shadow after shadow to shriek and seemingly shrink and burst into nothingness.

Still, there were too many. The first cut he'd taken just minutes earlier was still bleeding and now more and more of the creatures were slashing past him, with each that touched him causing another wound. Death by a hundred cuts, he thought, as he did his best to kill all that came against him.

As he lost blood, he felt his energy draining away, too, and knew that it was a matter of time. His torches were also starting to burn down, so he pulled the last two from his belt and, holding two in each hand, allowed the first ones to light the seconds as he fought with both.

His energy about gone, Fafhrd sank to his knees as he continued to try to fend off the remaining shadows. He was about to pass out when he heard a cry that made him smile as he let go of the torches. Instead of falling to the beach and being extinguished, he saw them slash around with renewed vigor and speed, the burning heads practically cutting shapes into the darkness around him.

Within minutes, he saw the remaining torches, still barely burning jammed down into the sand next to him.

"Fafhrd! Drink this, you giant oaf!" he heard Mouser calling to him. His little friend continued ranting as Mouser was prone to do, but Fafhrd could only give a goofy grin in response. There was liquid in his mouth that he had trouble swallowing before gentle hands smoothed cooling salve on his cuts. Then more cooling liquid flowed into his mouth before he could open his eyes to see Mouser holding his head.

"What were you thinking, Fafhrd? Trying to take on the whole flock of those horrid creatures before I could arrive to take out my share? I know you wish to have great ballads written about your deeds, but if you die before writing them to your satisfaction, we shall both be greatly disappointed."

Fafhrd laughed lightly, trying to avoid hurting himself. While taking a brief rest, he asked, "Mouser, what happened with the captain? Was he murdered as they said?"

"Unless he decided to end himself, I would say it was horrible treachery for there was not a wound visible on his body, but his face was mottled and his mouth was frothed as if he'd been choked to death, though there were no such marks on his neck. I saw some shredded leaves on the floor, leading me to guess that someone had mixed some of them from his plant into his food to poison him."

Beginning to regain a bit of strength, Fafhrd nodded. "I think it was Mnandor the Mage. He was there charming the helmsman to wreck the boat as he tried to keep me away from him. I saw him going toward the lighthouse when I started fighting those things. We have to go after him."

"We don't have to do anything," said Mouser scowling at his friend. "You need to stay here and rest."

"Need, perhaps. What I'm doing, though, is another story. It will take both of us to put an end to his treacherous deeds."

Unsteadily, he stood up, grabbed a torch, and started making his way toward the lighthouse.

~F&tGM~

With fresh torches they'd found in a barrel just inside the door to the lighthouse, the two men explored around its base and then Mouser checked the lightkeeper's house while Fafhrd stood guard at the lighthouse entrance.

"Go away!" shouted the elderly lightkeeper, the fear obvious in his voice as he remained hidden behind his locked and barred door. Mouser was about to try to open a window when he heard Fafhrd calling his name.

"Did you see him?" he asked when he returned to the lighthouse.

"I couldn't see him well without exposing myself to his magics, but he was slinking up the tower stair. If he positions himself right, it looks like he could hold off an army up there."

Grabbing another handful of torches, Fafhrd said, "Then we better get started."

It was a long climb and Fafhrd, still suffering from the effects of the battle, moved more slowly than usual. As they neared the top, a rock came flying in, with Mouser barely able to use the torch to deflect it away. Fafhrd walked behind him, holding another torch high to give them more light.

"Cheap shot, Mnandor!" called Fafhrd. "Why did you do—"

A series of shrieks began, like those they'd heard on the ship and on the beach, but this time, they echoed in the hollow shaft of the lighthouse. Fafhrd quickly lit two more torches, handing Mouser a second one over his shoulder.

The fighting was furious as the dark creatures darted around them. Fafhrd was visibly tiring, as was Mouser. "I can't go on much longer, Mouser," called Fafhrd to his friend. "I grow tired and fear I'll tumble off this stair to the bottom of the lighthouse."

Laughter sounded above.

"Mnandor! We're going to die, so tell us! Why'd you do it? Why'd you kill the captain and wreck the ship? For these shadow creatures?"

Again, laughter sounded. Seeing that the shadow creatures had Fafhrd and Mouser trapped on the stair and they were driving toward them from both sides, their quarry called out, "You thought it was that fool Mnandor, the wizard, but you never suspected me, the wrecker of ships. Like those before, I'd done my research and knew about Laroquer before ever joining his ship for the journey to Mara'tanga. I knew of the riches that Laroquer's ship carried, as well as the souls on which my minions, the shadow sharks, could feast."

"That's not Mnandor," the two men said together as they continued warding off the shadow creatures. "Girazaddo!" shouted Fafhrd. "It was you."

Another round of laughter echoed through the shaft. "Yes," called the first mate, "I was responsible for charming the helmsman, not the stupid wizard. I traveled with Laroquer on the previous voyage, to be able to take the ship on the return trip, but the stupid port captain in Mara'tanga nearly ruined the plan by delaying us so long. The Mountain Laurel carries gems and jewelry from the far east on the return trip to the west, so I cause it to wreck, my shadow minions feast on the souls, and I take the best of the cargo. This was actually my fifth wreck and I thought it was going to go as well as the others, but Laroquer called me to his quarters last night and asked too many questions. Therefore, I had to end him early, using the leaves of his own plant."

"Why?" called Mouser. "He didn't have to die."

"Oh, he did. See, he admitted to peeking out his door and checking on the helmsman during the night. If he'd done that and realized what was happening, all would have been lost, so I poisoned him and took advantage of your arrival to pin the blame on you. But enough of this!

"Shadow minions! Move in on them! The longer they delay me, the more the ship breaks up and the less chance I have of recovering the best treasure. Attack!"

"Guess we've heard as much as we're going to hear," said Mouser as he suddenly started attacking the creatures with a new ferocity that hadn't been visible only seconds before when they feigned weakness. Fafhrd did likewise, though he wasn't quite up to par due to his injuries. This time the fight didn't take long, with the two men killing one of the shrieking shadows after another.

When the last shriek ended with a little pop, Mouser shouted out, "Girazaddo, we're coming for you now."

"Damnation beset you both. The sun rises so I won't be able to summon more of the shadow sharks until tonight, but I can keep the two of you from getting up here. I warn you, if you don't choose to flee now and get far, far away, the creatures I summon tonight will kill you and eat your souls!" A hearty laugh reverberated through the shaft.

Mouser and Fafhrd retreated a few steps downward where they whispered with each other. They didn't see a good option since only one man could rush him at a time. The first mate also had the advantages of the high ground and better cover.

"I'll go first," said Mouser. "If I can push him back, you can get on the upper catwalk and come around at him from the rear. From two directions, we can take him."

As much as he disliked Mouser going first, Fafhrd was about to agree when he stopped, hearing a tapping sound coming from below. Looking back down the stair, he saw Mnandor hobbling up the steps with the aid of his staff. His clothes were tattered and covered in blood. Fafhrd took a defensive stance, but the wizard shook his head and waved dismissively.

"I heard Girazaddo," he said. "His treachery must be _repaid?_. Follow me."

The wizard mumbled as he slowly passed by them on the steps. Fafhrd noted that the man's tattoos again appeared to writhe on his shoulders and arms but that they were still in areas where he'd been cut by the shadow sharks. He stopped just a few steps short of the access to the upper level with the fire ring, the rotating mirror hardware, and the outer catwalk.

"Girazaddo!" called Mnandor. "I was new to this crew, but I liked and respected the captain and he named me third in command. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. You committed mutiny by killing him and our crewmates, and wrecking our ship. As such, you are relieved of your duty and sentenced to die for your crimes."

The former first mate laughed as he peered around the door at the battered wizard. He was about to speak, possibly to taunt, but Mnandor leveled his staff and released a blast of wind with a horrible smell that even caused Fafhrd and Mouser to gag some distance behind.

Girazaddo recoiled from the wind and terrible odor, stepping back from the door as he threw up over the edge of the catwalk. The big barbarian and the little man rushed by the wizard and enacted their original plan, with Mouser moving to the right and Fafhrd to the left. Moments later, they had the treacherous man trapped between them. Still gagging, he made a move with his cutlass toward Mouser, but the attempt was in vain. His lifeless body soon tumbled off the upper catwalk and fell to the base of the lighthouse below. A flock of gulls landed and began to deal with the remains.

Sickened by the sight and the aftereffects of the smell, the two men went back down the few steps to find Mnandor slumped atop them. "Dead?" he slurred.

"He won't wreck another ship," said Fafhrd.

"Good. Sorry I...rushed to judgment. I thought sure…it…was…you." His head slumped sideways.

Returning to the ship, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser found the vessel continuing to break up. They found the captain's body in his quarters, but no other bodies were found, having been killed and apparently consumed by Girazaddo's shadow sharks. Lowering the ship's dory into the water, they were able to recover the captain's body, their belongings from the forecastle, and some crates and kegs from the mostly flooded hold. As they rowed toward shore, Fafhrd saw Graywand's hilt sticking up just above the top of the frothing waves.

They made three more trips, taking what they could, as the ship continued to break up on the rocks. By late afternoon, they agreed that it wasn't safe to return again. Able to do no more, they dug a grave and buried Captain Laroquer and Mnandor the wizard side by side in it. They didn't know if Laroquer was as close to Mnandor as Mnandor considered him to be, but it didn't matter to them. One grave was easier for them to dig and they figured the two dead men would have eternity to spend together.

Looking at the grave, Fafhrd dug a little pit over it and pulled the mountain laurel out of the pot. He planted it atop the grave and hoped the captain would be pleased to have it with him.

The next morning, since the lightkeeper didn't come out to object, the men swapped their dory for the man's sailboat. They loaded it up with what seemed appropriate, and sailed off toward Tisinilit. Each was thankful to be alive, to have his friend, and to be on his way home with seven kegs of ale aboard the boat...though they weren't quite sure what they were going to do for drink in the second week and beyond.

The End

Author's Notes:

Thanks for reading and for any feedback you might offer.

The mountain laurel is a bushy-type species that grows to be between 3 and 6 (and sometimes to 9) meters tall. It is native to the eastern United States. It has pretty white to pink cup-like flowers with a darker pink "halo" around the pistil and stamen group from the bottom of the cup. The stamens are white to light pink and are capped with a prominent anther about the same color as to somewhat darker than the halo. Special varieties may have different coloration.

According to hananokotoba dot com/the-language-of-flowers/, the mountain laurel's meaning is ambition or treachery. This may be because all parts of the mountain laurel are poisonous to people, horses, and a number of other animals. On Earth, symptoms of toxicity begin about 6 hours after ingestion. For purposes of this story, I've assumed a similar toxicity, figuring the Captain ate dinner at about 6 PM and was onset with the symptoms about midnight.

While not a traditional bonsai species, at least two varieties of mountain laurel on Earth (Minuet and Tinkerbell) can be grown indoors or outside in a pot. These dwarf species can be maintained at about 3 feet tall, which is what was used in this story. More information is available at

gardeningknowhow dot com/ornamental/shrubs/mountain-laurel/container-grown-mountain-laurels dot htm