Pirate Captain Tharkia: Tharkia Tetralogy

By Ethan Carroll

On the seas of Oraculora, the last ship you want to meet is the One-Eyed Harpy, helmed by the murder-happy (and exceptionally immodest) Tharkia. As a giantess, everything about Tharkia is larger-than-life, from her appetites to her love-affairs to her feats in battle. Backed by a colorful band of cutthroats and corsairs, this violent, vivacious woman will feast, fight, and fornicate 'til her heart's content, and she'll be damned if anybody's going to get in her way.

 

"Chaste Silver"

Tharkia's hands are tied. For one thing, her first mate is being held hostage by the shipwright's guild, to whom the pirate captain is in debt; for another, her paramour – a harpooneer by the name of Fungar the Restless – is preparing for battle, meaning this might be their last tryst. Hurriedly, Tharkia rolls out the One-Eyed Harpy and keeps her eyes peeled for a ship: this pirate has mere days to raise the funds she needs, in order to get her first mate back, and in order to get back to her lover.

 

"Provender for the Wicked"

In the town of Widow's Bay, Llaura has nothing to look forward to. At best, she'll toil on as a tavern wench 'til her dreary life comes to an end; at worst, she'll wind up like her friend Sara, who found out firsthand how vile people in authority can be. To top it off, there's a local cult whose members have taken up arms, and they don't care for the likes of Llaura, let alone those in charge. Who'd have thought, then, that the arrival of pirates would fix things? Given her habit of gazing out at the open sea, perhaps Llaura did.

 

"Contracts in the Sand"

The One-Eyed Harpy's crew has accepted an odd commission: steal Gnomish artifacts from an indigo plantation. To this end, they crash a shindig and set their heist in motion. However, it isn't long before partygoers start posing problems. Our pirates can't afford for certain guests to remember their faces: troublesome enough, except Tharkia wants to make new memories with one guest in particular. After all, the captain's never been one to put business before pleasure.

 

"Secret Society of Thanes"

It's not like Tharkia to be miffed after a raid. That is, unless the raid poses little-to-no challenge for her, because the best fighters in the land are off at war. As such, she couldn't be happier to find out that a den of high-ranking officers is conspiring to put a stop to the war, and that their meeting place is nearby. Tharkia's downright ravenous for a good fight; a few of her shipmates, however, might not find the dish quite to their liking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ethan Carroll
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223690689

Book preview

I dedicate this book:

To Julian, for whipping my rough draft into shape (like the unforgiving taskmaster they are),

To the members of Writer’s Ink – be they old guard or new blood – for fostering an environment in which my novel could incubate,

And to mater, pater, and frater, for making it possible for me to pursue my writerly endeavors in the first place, and for being my inaugural audience back when kid-me decided to give this ‘storytelling’ thing a go.

Thank you all.

Halflake, pt. 1

15 Medafirn, in the Year of the Otter. A quaint, uneventful evening on the isle of Halflake:

The screams of heretics wafted into the guardhouse, distracting Danyel from his work. He had half a mind to petition the abbot about soundproofing the torture hall, but the old man would probably just laugh and mockingly chastise him for his ‘lack of religious zeal’.

On the contrary, Danyel thought, I care immensely about this place and what it hopes to accomplish. All the more reason why I shouldn’t have to strain my ears on account of your racket. It’s my job to surveil, after all. The heretics’ wails weren’t waning; if anything, they were getting louder. Starhandel, give me strength, he prayed, resigning himself to his noisome fate.

As captain of the Abbey Guard, Danyel Quarryman didn’t personally have to be on call at such a late hour. That said, he liked to see the monastery when it wasn’t so busy with foot traffic or sermons. Honestly, protracted wails for mercy aside, the monastery could be quite the peaceful spot, especially with the waves and the gulls making their steady music not two miles from the compound’s walls. As he stared out the window – taking in the courtyard, the rampart, the brewery and buttery, the smithy, the library, and, of course, the torture hall – Danyel couldn’t stop himself from slipping into meditation.

He continued to stare out the window, not watching his hands as he whittled. What does it matter if I look? he wondered. My last seventy-three figures of Saint Orphonse came out looking like shit; why should it be any different the seventy-fourth time? If anything, leaving the finished product in Starhandel’s hands might catalyze a miracle, make it turn ou– As he thought this, he heard the sound of a larger-than-expected piece of wood hitting the floor. The captain of the guards sighed. Or maybe, he lamented, it’ll simply make me fuck it up faster. He chucked the ruined masterpiece into the nearby brazier, where it could serve in some other way.

On a whim, Danyel lifted the knife up to his eyes. Its jeweled hilt caught the light splendidly. Oh, brother, I hope you someday see the light. I keep praying for that day.

Out of all the members of the Quarryman family, it wasn’t Danyel whom anyone anticipated would pick up a sword; it was Ben. In fact, that had been a source of bitter jealousy for Danyel, as he listened to everybody proclaim his big bro an officer-waiting-to-happen.

From a young age, Ben could run ten miles without trying, he could sit a horse superbly, and he had the utmost esteem of their parents, who never missed a chance to declare him an honest, obedient, diligent son. However, in his teen years, Ben had begun to exhibit innate magical potential. After that, Ben had applied himself exclusively to a sorcerer’s studies.

And, in the process, forsaken Starhandel. The bejeweled handle of his dirk glittered in the firelight, as he reminisced about his brother. Ben and Danyel had clashed often enough in their shared youth; however, before he left to apprentice under some hag name Remay, Ben had gone out of his way to see his little brother one last time. This dirk was the magus-in-training’s farewell gift. ‘The jewels are special,’ he’d told Danyel. ‘They’ve been charmed to exude good luck and protection. I think you’ll need it, while you’re readying yourself for the martial life.’

Ignoring Danyel’s insistence that he wasn’t officer material, Ben had simply repeated that he believed in him. That day, they’d embraced one another and parted on unusually good terms. From then on – despite the fact that it went against all of Starhandel’s teachings – Danyel had kept his dirk with him at all times, particularly when he sparred in the morning or read his histories of war. The way I see it, the least I can do is put this ensorcelled trinket to good use, in the name of Starhandel the Crystal-Walker.

There came a knock at the door. Before Danyel could affirm any invitation, in walked none other than the bowlegged and jovial abbot. "Ah, Captain Quarryman: still up, I see. Surely, though, you have to sleep some time, I would imagine?"

I could say the same to you, your eminence. Danyel rose to attention, sheathing his knife. How may I be of service to you tonight, sir?

Nothing fancy, my boy: I’m just old. And old men prefer to have young blood to keep them company, so that they aren’t caught prattling to themselves.

Danyel took the hint and girded his sword. Shall I accompany you back to your quarters, then, your eminence? he said, picking up his helmet. The walk would no doubt do us both some good. The old man unfurled his arm as if to say ‘after you,’ and Danyel joined him for a garrulous stroll.

They talked in a fluid fashion that carried them from topic to topic, like an abandoned coracle bouncing on the waves. Truth be told, their movements were a match: if the abbot had cared purely about getting to his room in time for a few winks, he’d have led Danyel straight across the courtyard to the main dormitory. Instead, the old man selected a detour, adding an extra twenty minutes to their conversation.

And yet – as Starhandel himself had preached in his day – everything must come to an end. Eventually, the abbot made for the dormitory, and Danyel got in some last-minute banter as they ascended the steps together. Due to his seniority, the abbot had a room on the second floor; due to his age, it took him a long time to reach it.

On their way up the stairs, they paused at a window so that the old man could catch his breath, right as a breeze picked up. Danyel caught a whiff of something charred on the wind. Automatically, he tensed up.

Your eminence?

My boy?

Have you . . . gone back to burning the heretics’ feet, instead of implementing the thumbscrews? It was a plausible explanation, though it didn’t give Danyel much hope. When the abbot looked at him, he felt that hope dry up and the dregs go sour.

I simply detest fiery confessions, Danyel, you know that. Pray, whatever gave you the idea I’d reinstate such a practice?

You mean, you can’t smell it, then?

The abbot was about to reestablish his confusion, but then his nostrils flared, and his eyes went wide. That’s smoke, or else I’m a pagan.

Unsure what to make of this, Danyel and the old man stuck their heads out the window, hoping to solve the mystery. To their shared horror, they didn’t have to hunt long for any clues.

The armory behind the guardhouse was on fire, as were the barracks. A number of disoriented guardsmen were streaming out of their rooms into the courtyard, trying to get their bearings while they coughed. Danyel caught sight of a Sema man – complete with turban – ducking down an alley that led away from the barracks.

Looking to the rampart, Danyel saw that the guardsmen he’d posted were slain. Half a dozen invaders had already climbed over the rampart, and it wasn’t long before others of their profession joined them on the wall-walk. A couple of these blackguards hung back to hoist the portcullis, but the rest of them dove into the courtyard, weapons drawn and inhuman smiles tattooed onto their faces.

From the looks of it, many of their rank were pagans, but almost as many were . . .

Darpos? the abbot breathed, spotting them just as Danyel did. "Seven saints, it’s bad enough they’re pirates, but they had to have Darpos with them? We’re done for! Right there on the steps, he fell to his knees. There’s no way we can repel such monsters. They’re going to torture us all for days on end, possibly even brand us with heretical texts! Then they’ll carve up my junior monks and make my senior monks eat them! Oh, Starhandel, I bet they’re going to string us up by our –"

Eminence! In the silence that followed, both of them recovered from the outburst. Your eminence, please, this isn’t helping. I need you to get to your quarters and bar the door. Meanwhile, I shall attempt to rally my men. With a little help from Starhandel and his seven saints, we should be able to retake this monastery yet.

He extended a hand towards the abbot, who took it. You’re right, my boy. We mustn’t give in to despair. Not when we have Starhandel’s Covenant to protect us.

Aye, but just in case, I have something else to protect me, Danyel thought, as he patted his dirk. To your quarters, your eminence. Hurry!

The old man shuffled up the stairwell, straining his bowed legs in the process. Donning his helmet, Danyel drew his sword and dagger and sprinted down the steps. On his way, he said a prayer of his own to Starhandel and the Seven. Starhandel, Daglin, Orphonse, Egram, Sarion, Sepulane, Ethrik, and Midderwood, I call on you: refract the many facets of your wisdom through the crystal in my heart! With your light, blind mine enemies and illuminate the path I must take to thine grace! He landed at the foot of the stairs and charged into the courtyard. Give me the strength to fight on your behalf!

Whereas the bulk of the Abbey Guard had to make do with improvised weapons, Danyel had proper steel in his hands when he faced his foes. He spilled the guts of one pirate, and then another. Right and left, he drowned those bilge rats in their own blood, all the while wondering if that turbaned chap would cross his path. Or a Darpos, for that matter.

Up ahead, one of his guardsmen was engaged with a pagan. He was holding his own against the corsair commendably, until a second pirate approached him from behind.

Without thinking, Danyel threw his dirk at the pirate, pinning him in the back. At the same time, the guardsman managed to duck under a slash and groin his opponent. For just a moment, Danyel felt as if the tide were turning . . .

. . . until an arrow slammed into his underling’s neck, knitting the man’s jugular into a henna cravat.

All around him, Danyel saw it now: the rest of the pirates had scaled the compound walls and taken up positions along the rooftops. Some of them were archers, some of them raiders; all of them were lethal, whether they picked off guardsmen from above or descended into the buildings to do Starhandel knew what to the monks.

Sh-thunk! An arrow buried itself in his thigh. For all the good his armor did, his greaves only went so high. Like a heretic put to the screw, he stoically tried to grit his teeth and tell the pain to go fuck itself, but he only succeeded in delaying his screams.

He looked to the archer who’d singled him out; the fellow had nocked a follow-up shot. With no time to limp away, Danyel threw up his weapon in an attempt to shield his face. The archer adjusted at the last second and aimed for his wrist, robbing him of his blade. Blinded as he was by pain, Danyel could still tell that the archer was drawing a third arrow back; wasting no time, he limped over to the pirate he’d knifed.

If you’re lucky, scumbag, he thought as he hefted the corpse, Starhandel will grant your soul clemency for aiding me in death. He let the body absorb the arrows, as he dragged himself over to an alley. There, he collapsed under the weight of his fallen foe, leaving the archer to surmise he was dead.

The captain of the Abbey Guard bided his time (‘til he felt certain nobody was watching him), then he propped up the dead pirate against a wall and yanked his dagger out of the lifeless back. He bit down on the handle – the one spot where the hilt was bereft of jewels – and set to work prying the arrows out of his body. Danyel thanked Starhandel for keeping him awake throughout the procedure.

Dressing his wounds, he peered over the corpse’s shoulder. His bleary eyes – assaulted twofold by sweat and tears – showed him precious little. However, he could see clearly enough to come to one conclusion: the monastery had officially fallen.

Up ahead, some of his men were rallying for a last stand against the pirates. A Darpos and a pagan approached them: the former was a bruiser, humongous even by the standards of his species; the latter, wielding a war hammer, was so sun-kissed he had to be from Nyapo.

Two of the guardsmen charged. With his bare hands, the bruiser caught them by their faces and crushed their heads, flinging their gray matter into the eyes of the remaining guardsmen. While they were blinded, the Nyapan ran up and bashed their skulls in.

Clicking his tongue, the Darpos said, And they were bloodless humans, same as you, Kupal. Your own race, and you did ‘em in. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.

"Oh, so it’d fine for me to rough you up, Ghosi."

Ha! I’d like to see you try.

Well, once this place is subdued, might be we could find ou- Behind you!

The one named Ghosi spun around, in time to meet a squadron of Abbey Guard (some of whom had even pilfered arms from the fallen pirates). Kupal and Ghosi held their own, but the Abbey Guard were nothing to sneeze at, so long as they had swords to swing. A couple more pirates joined the fray; after that, it went right back to being a massacre.

Both of these newcomers were Darpos. The first one – a muscular maiden in a pretty dress – navigated the field fluidly, like a ballerina navigating a stage. She dodged her opponent’s attack, and he lurched past her on the wings of his own momentum. Before he could right himself, she raised her knife, ready to plunge it into his back. At the last second, however, the other Darpos – an effeminate fellow with an instrument on his back – slipped in and slit the guardsman’s throat.

Danyel heard the woman cry, Petrar, you asshole! That was my kill!

"It was yours, Mari, but it is mine. Get over it." With that, he and Mari moved on to different quarries, the latter in a bit of a huff. Danyel’s eyes sank to the dead bodies; he very nearly retched.

This is insane! Starhandel, save us! He watched in horror, as monks were rounded up and manhandled into the square. Starhandel, I know you’re up there: please, give me a sign! Tell me what to do, and I will carry out your will! He listened intently – for a miracle, for an exploitable weakness, he wasn’t picky at this point – but the only thing his ears caught was the waning screech of iron.

The portcullis stopped moving; a cadre of extra boots entered the compound. Danyel’s horror reached its climax.

The remaining pirates strode into view, led by a Darpos woman. Glad you could make it, captain, Kupal called to her. I was wondering when you were going to pull your weight.

With a smirk, the pirate captain said, I could pull ya along beneath the keel o’ the ship, if that counts. Great men be praised, I’d even pay ya for any fishies you’d catch.

As if you could afford the trophy fish I’d reel in. Anyway, what news from the beach? Is the project ready to commence? He and his captain continued to talk, filling each other in on this ‘project’. By now, Danyel’s eyes were beginning to clear up.

No longer inhibited by blood, sweat, and tears, he was able to see a Darpos distinctly for the first time. Finally getting a good look at one of those godless giants from the savage east, all he could think was, Would that Starhandel had blinded me!

From the waist down, she was clad in trousers, boots, and a mail skirt. From the waist up, she was clad in nothing, save for vambraces, pauldrons, and a pair of studded gloves. In her hands, she carried a sickle and a cutlass, the blades dripping with blood. Blood the color of her daemonic eyes: those scarlet circles shone evilly at all times, and they went with her fangs the way a ghoul goes with tombstones. Her skin, where it wasn’t scarred, was the color of full moon, and her hair (unlike the darker hues of the other Darpos) was a bold yellow, as of ill-tended teeth.

Overall, her dimensions and her color palette reminded Danyel of vampire from a distant planet, descended out of the heavens to terrorize the good people of Oraculora. She was a harpy, soaring on wings of steel and chaos. In short, she was ghastly.

She looked around. "Great men be damned, where is that abbot?"

A woman’s voice called out, Coming right up, captain! Seconds later, a motley trio emerged out of the dormitory: an olive-skinned woman with a sword, a Sema man (the same turbaned fellow Danyel had seen fleeing the fire), and the old man himself.

Seven saints! I told you to bar the door, you bowlegged fool! Now, you’re at the mercy of those monsters. But there was nothing Danyel could do about it, nothing he dared do lest he give himself away. All he could do, for now, was watch.

How’s it lookin’, Llaura? the pirate captain asked.

The human girl slid her sword into her sash. Bad news and worse news, captain. The bad news: Urgashah beat me to the abbot, she hitched her thumb at the Sema, so you and I lose the bet. The worse news: this old codger won’t tell us where the secret caches of treasure are.

That a fact, huh?

The pirate captain snapped her fingers. At her silent command, a number of the swabbies collared the monks or yanked them by the hair, placing blades at their throats and holding axes above their scalps.

Alright, Mr. Hairshirt-Mannequin, I’m makin’ ya a deal. She indicated his disciples. Tell me where y’all keep the valuables – the gold, the silver, the jade, the works – and I solemnly swear: ain’t no harm gonna ‘fall your people. Pass up this deal, and each o’ them fanatics gets a brand-new mouth for Urgashah to piss down. Oh, and don’t try tellin’ me y’all are poor and humble; monks always has riches tucked away. Made up your mind yet, or do ya need a moment to mull it over?

Shaking, the abbot managed to say, If it’s their time to be reunited with Starhandel, then I’m sure my brethren will understand. We all must make sacrifices, after all.

Thought ya might say that. Urgashah, do your stuff.

The Sema man flexed his hands, showing off a set of talons sown into the tips of his gloves. Wrapping them around the abbot’s throat, the pirate tapped out an intimidating yet non-lethal rhythm.

Preemptively, the old man muttered, Alright, you win, I’ll tell you, and proceeded to rattle off the various storage chambers and hidey-holes dotted around the monastery. For good measure, he threw in directions to the wine cellar and the larder as well.

Danyel was stunned. The abbot seemed a stranger to him now. You faithless bastard! he fumed. Everywhere I look – within these walls and without – it’s nothing but faithless bastards! People who choose the corruption of sorcery over Starhandel’s love; people who steal what they’re too lazy to earn; people who murder for gain; people who sell out their brethren for a spot of personal comfort! Danyel gripped his dirk tighter. Well, I’ll have you know, there are still those of us who fight for what’s right, regardless whether they come out of it rich or fat or even alive. Some of us are still willing to take a stand!

He grunted to his feet, got his bearings, and searched for the nearest pirate (it was that Kupal chap). He was quick, considering his handicap; his knife was at the blackguard’s throat before anybody noticed his presence.

Drop your war hammer, swine. He was jittery with rage. Do it! Or, I swear to Starhandel, you’ll die like only a pagan deserves. The Nyapan obliged, albeit begrudgingly. Danyel spared a second to shoot the abbot an evil glare, then he focused on the pirate captain. That goes for the rest of your crew. I’m not fucking around! They didn’t teach us that at the officer’s academy. They also didn’t teach us to throw our lives away in the face of superior numbers, but I’m sure a wild sea-bitch doesn’t need to know that.

Steady now, guardsman –

I’ll do the talking, thank you! And it’s Captain Quarryman to the likes of you. Now, drop your weapons, free the good people of this monastery, and march single-file into yon building. He cocked his head in the direction of the torturer’s academy (though, of course, a damned pirate wouldn’t know that ‘til it was too late). Obey my instructions, or your comrade-in-sin gets his throat slit.

The pirate captain swallowed. Alright, now, don’t . . . don’t do nothin’ rash now, hon? I’m sure we can talk this ou-

Non-negotiable. Drop your weapons, or he dies. Now! Go ahead, Danyel thought. Raise your sickle against me. Realize that a single shipmate, more or less, isn’t worth throwing away your haul. Go ahead: attack me. The Abbey Guard’s captain licked his lips, as he stared up at the Darpos woman with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Go ahead and give me an excuse to drag my knife across your man’s throat. Starhandel willing, I can take down a couple more after him, before I’m swarmed. Either way, I’ll die as an officer of the faith, defending Starhandel’s Covenant. Either way, I’ll die with more honor than any of you could boast.

The pirate captain regarded him for a moment longer. Without further preamble, she dropped her sickle and cutlass and barked an order to her crew to follow her lead. He continued to stare at her, yet a share of his contempt was exchanged for sheer confusion.

They’re up to something, he concluded. You think me a jester? I won’t tolerate tricks!

No tricks, the pirate captain assured him. So long as ya ain’t fixin’ to hurt him, we’ll do as ya say. But please . . . don’t kill him.

Unsure what to make of this, Danyel scrutinized her. It was then that he noticed, for the first time, the abject worry contorting her face, the same worry that was present in all the pirates’ faces. Why? All they have to do is sacrifice one man; after that, I’d be easy to take down.

Danyel was struck with an epiphany: these pirates – these despicable, monstrous heathens – would do anything to save their friend, just as he would do anything to save his brothers-in-Starhandel. Such a revelation, he was not prepared for. Danyel’s grip on his brother’s knife began to slacken.

In an instant, Kupal had headbutted Danyel, grabbed his wrist, and twisted his arm. The corsair snatched the dirk, only to immediately drop it with a yelp of pain.

Llaura sprang forward, cleaving through the hostage-taker’s arm as if it were butter. Where an elbow should’ve been, Danyel could plainly see a red fountain, sculpted out of bone and sinew. Surprisingly, he didn’t scream when he fell: he merely plummeted, giving himself silently over to shock and pain. His eyes found Kupal, surrounded by a score of pirates who’d come to his aid.

Somebody asked if he was okay. Several somebodies,