by R J Hanson
“Yes,” Velryk said with excitement in his voice. “I have a letter from the boys.”
That note of excitement, note of joy, was a stranger to Velryk’s throat.
Shaylee met Velryk at the front door and let him inside. She poured a glass of orange juice for Velryk and herself and they both sat on the cushioned sofa in the main room. Shaylee took the letter from Velryk and read it three times.
“Lawrec,” Shaylee said. “Isn’t that where the Warlock of the Marshes dwells?”
“Yes,” Velryk replied. “He is not the big threat there, though. He has been quiet for some time. There is a mage there, Daeriv. He seeks to drive out Prince Ralston. No other lords have gone to Lawrec because there is no evidence that Daeriv is in league with Ingshburn and the Tarborat kingdom. It is a true test of the Prince and his abilities. The king does not send forces there because he wants Prince Ralston to stand on his own before his men. A man cannot lead from behind his troops. It is an unfortunate situation; however, Prince Ralston is a good man and he has some good men standing with him.”
“How did he find out about Verkial?”
“I don’t know,” Velryk said. “That is not common knowledge.”
“Do you think that you should have told him?”
“I don’t think he would understand,” Velryk said.
“You are the only person that blames you for that,” Shaylee said, the kindness in her tone wrenched Velryk’s heart. “You thought him dead.”
“He was my son,” Velryk said, ashamed in the light of her forgiving tone. “I should have sought him until I knew. If I had, I might have rescued him.”
“No one can know what Fate has in her plan,” Shaylee said. “We must do what we can and hope for the best.”
“I should have done more,” Velryk said. “I suppose I must tell Roland now. It is not the stuff for letters, and he is across the world from me. I must ride there, although it will take time. My role as Sheriff here was mostly in name only. Lord Bessett will hear word of my travel soon enough, I’m sure. The deputies can manage until then. Do you need anything before I go? You have only to ask it.”
“Give my love to my son,” Shaylee said. “Tell El’ that I miss him and that I am proud of him.”
Velryk stood and took Shaylee’s hand. He allowed himself to look deep into her eyes. They had shared so much of their lives as good friends and had borne the loss of loved ones together. So much had passed between them and so little had been spoken. Velryk bent and kissed Shaylee’s hand. The smell of her skin refreshed his heart.
He turned and walked for the barn quickly. Shaylee was a lovely woman, but she had been his best friend’s wife. He mounted his horse and rode toward his small house. A house that had been so empty the last several months since his son had begun his journey toward manhood.
Velryk rode into the small yard that separated his small home from their barn and dismounted. He rubbed his horse down and fed him well with oats and corn. He cooked a large meal for himself and began to pack his traveling supplies. It had been a long time since he had been on the road. He walked out to the small barn across from the house and forked hay out of the northwest corner until he cleared away a large part of the floor. The last time these items had been disturbed had been before Roland was born.
Velryk took up a D ring on the floor and pulled up a trap door to reveal a magnificent set of white steel alloy armor with a ruby set in the center of the breast plate. Near that still shining armor lay a mercshyeld shrou-sheld that bore the mark of Bolvii and the seal of Lethanor, and a matching pair of red leiness bladed hand axes. He removed the weaponry reverently. He took great care to clean and oil all of his ancient armament thoroughly.
Velryk finished his packing and gathered his things. He loaded his horse with supplies and mounted looking much like the knight that he had been so many years ago. He took the first steps of a yearlong journey.
Word spread quickly that Lord Velryk rode west once again.
Chapter III
Souls of Mariners
By the third day at sea Roland had quit vomiting. The rolling waves seemed to not bother Eldryn a bit, but Roland had struggled. On the fourth day at sea Roland was able to go above deck and had apparently found his ‘sea legs.’ By the eighth day Roland was beginning to enjoy the open waters that Eldryn had already come to love.
Coarse Wind, led by her captain, was crewed by eighteen strong men of Janis. The crew size was a third or less than the average number of men aboard most other sea going vessels from other lands. The relatively small number of men would make a fine target for pirates, but the ships of the Slandik were swift and agile. Furthermore, they were known to be crewed by the hard sons of the frozen plains.
Most sailors had to prove themselves skilled at their work to be retained by a ship’s captain for more than one voyage. The sailors of the Slandik had to prove their skills with both knots, and blades. Glory, and reputation, were a valuable commodity among the peoples of the hard life on the icy waters and frigid tundra. A man’s, or woman’s, worth was measured by what they accomplished, not the size of their purse. A name could be won on the frozen plains, but the chances were much better for those among them that traveled far on the seas.
Roland and Eldryn had learned of the fierce competition to gain a place on a ship’s crew. They also learned that none stayed aboard by name alone. To the Slandik, every day was another day one must prove himself. Every day was a day that one must either defeat the ice or the sea, or yield to it.
Neither Roland nor Eldryn had been raised to be shiftless. Both joined in the work on deck as they could. As their skills with the knot and line sharpened, their knowledge of the sea and its ways increased. They both spent time bailing water from the bilge, rowing with the oar team, and working to shift the sails as needed.
“That iron shirt of yours will drown ya,” came from one of the older crew-men as he squinted an eye and jerked a thumb at Roland’s breastplate.
“It’s the daily garb of a warrior,” Roland said. “Frequent wear trains the muscles and the mind so, when called to, I can maneuver in it as a second skin.”
“It’s the daily garb of those that tempt the Sickle Man, is what it is,” the Slandik replied. “Learn to get quick and you won’t have to carry all that steel around. We get boarded by them that’s after our cargo you’ll be an easy target. They’ll know they don’t have to stick ya good, all they gotta do is knock over the rail.”
“So how does one learn to be quick?” Roland asked.
“By bein’ slow, but surviving it,” was the old seaman’s only response.
Roland was not so young, or so much a fool, to wholly discount the advice of a man that had seen many winters and many more battles.
“This is crazy,” Eldryn said.
“Just hold the line looped around the mast,” Roland said. “If I’m under for more than two minutes then haul me up.”
“You could die over this nonsense,” Eldryn said.
“I want to be prepared,” was Roland’s only answer.
Roland walked to edge of the deck clad in his leather pants, his gambeson, and his fine breastplate, with an iron two handed sword borrowed from one of the crew strapped across his back. Risking his life was one thing, but risking Swift Blood was quite another.
Roland jumped from the ship and, despite his strength, was unable to swim hard enough to defeat the weight of his weapon and armor. He struggled for more than half a minute before he reached the end of the rope, violently.
Eldryn saw the line go taut and felt the slight shift of the ship as though they had dropped what the Slandik called a ‘swimming anchor.’ An ‘aver sl’Okin,’ or ‘swimming anchor’ was a term that applied to a variety of contraptions whose design was meant to perform many functions. Typically, large and heavy, an aver sl’Okin was attached to a chain. Although, its weight was only part of the requirement for such a tool. Most aver sl’Okin were also designed to catch water in buckets or gutter
ed fins. It could be used to slow a vessel if thrown from the back, it could be used in conjunction with the rudder to turn a ship sharply when thrown from one side or the other, or it could be used in dangerous waters to hold a ship against waves that would otherwise crash her into the rocks.
Eldryn hauled Roland up frantically, wondering the whole time if his good friend had finally been a victim of his own stupidity.
The two had gathered a few onlookers who watched intently. The sons of Janis enjoyed their games, and games that risked death were among their favorite.
A huge cheer came from them as Roland emerged gasping and coughing from the deadly waters. Eldryn strained his considerable strength in hauling Roland up. Roland did what he could to help by climbing the rope hand over hand until he reached the railing.
Roland finally managed an arm around the railing and dragged his large frame free of the water to land on his back on the deck.
“Do you see now, you mule headed fool?” Eldryn asked.
“El’, I have an idea,” Roland said, still coughing the sea from his lungs.
“If the idea is that I should be in charge of ideas from now on, then you’re on to something,” Eldryn said.
“Lanyards,” Roland said, still gasping.
They discovered there was much to be learned during the few hours of leisure on the Coarse Wind. Roland had taken to gambling with the other sailors on dagger throwing. It seemed that rats were forever a problem for a ship at sea. Rats were usually gathered up in finely woven nets, killed, and thrown overboard, unless of course food was running low. However, throwing daggers at the few that escaped and wagering on the throws was a rare source of entertainment. In the months of practicing what Ashcliff had taught him, and losing coin when he did not do so well, Roland’s skill with a dagger developed remarkably.
Both learned a great deal more of the Slandik language. Roland was surprised to learn that Eldryn had a remarkable singing voice, at least for the sad songs of the mariners. As the crew came to know the friends, and accept them, El’ was often encouraged to sing one of their favorites:
Water will blow,
Winder will flow,
upon the rocks
I shall go.
Blade in hand,
With brothers I stand,
upon the rocks
I shall land.
Sickle Man’s rake,
Dead Man’s stake,
upon the rocks
I shall break.
Roland heard the light steps on the deck of Coarse Wind behind him. He turned to see that the ship was sliding through smooth waters during a still night. The deck was a light from the glow of the moon and only one other was on the deck with him.
“Lady Clairenese?” Roland asked.
“Yes,” Claire said.
She was dressed in a blue gown that seemed to accentuate her form rather than cover it. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in a dark water fall and smelled of spring among the peach trees.
“How can you be here?” Roland asked.
“I have my ways,” she said. “I wanted to see you again.”
“You are a blessing to my heart,” Roland said. “Simply seeing you, hearing your voice, is a balm to my turbulent soul.”
“Your words are kind,” she said with a smile that enchanted Roland completely. “You sail for Vanthor?”
“Yes,” Roland said, looking to the west. “First to Lavon and then on to the lands of Lawrec.”
“Lavon is a dangerous place,” Claire said. “Be wary. Be not prideful there. It is possessed of a danger many do not see and even fewer understand.”
“Street thieves and cloaked assassins do not frighten me,” Roland said.
“The danger of which I speak is not as simple as street thieves,” Claire said. “You are needed in Lawrec. My father needs you. Prince Ralston needs you. I need you.”
“I will not jeopardize my journey,” Roland said.
“You need to find a legendary sword for the Prince,” Claire said. “I don’t know how you will find it, not yet. But when you hear of it you must see that it is safely delivered to the Prince.”
“It will be done,” Roland said with a confidence born of ignorance.
She smiled then. A smile Roland would fight demons, sea monsters, and dragons for. A smile that filled his chest with purpose, strength of will, and resolve. It was also a smile that melted him. She seemed to float to him and he took her in his arms. Their lips touched gently as his slid his fingers through her lush hair and traced the back of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him…
“Ship ho!” was the cry that brought Roland and Eldryn from their slumber.
Both young men rolled from their hammocks with practiced eased. They were not as swift as the rest of the crew, but their days at sea had taught them many things.
They had learned, for example, that no ship at sea approached another without a clear invitation. There was a common tongue among seamen spoken with flags during the day, and lamps at night. A ship could signal for trade, for help, or that they were bearing a message for the other. No ship approached another unless there was a response of clear invitation. Those matters were usually handled by the captain or his bosun and a signal hand. When the words ‘ship ho’ were called it meant pirates.
Furthermore, they were approaching the trade currents of Lavon, a city on an island over one thousand leagues from the coast of the continent of Hunthor and the city of Modins. Lavon sat on the northern most point of the large island that was two thousand leagues north to south and about a thousand leagues east to west at its widest point.
It was a city of great trade in that it was a sea port situated between the lands to the west, Lawrec and Janis, the kingdom of Lethanor to the east. Lavon was under the rule of Lethanor and the land of Lady Decelles, but only in so much as it hoisted the flag of Lethanor and, on occasion, sent its taxes to Ostbier.
Lavon was ruled by a strong city council that regulated the trade between all peoples within its walls. Zepute from the jungles of Janis, Slandik from the tundra of Janis, merchants from Lawrec, merchants from Lethanor, and pirates from all points. Acts of violence and theft within the city’s domain were adjudicated swiftly and with overwhelming force of action. However, acts of piracy just beyond her port were common place.
Eldryn, taking the advice of the seasoned crew, grabbed his sword and headed above deck without his armor or shield. Roland, having made his own plans, took the time to strap on his breastplate and other devices.
Roland had heard tales, as most children do, of pirates and battles at sea. He had imagined them swift, adventurous, and violent. He discovered he was only correct on two counts. The ship pursuing them, a relatively swift schooner sporting two masts, was still perhaps a league away when he finished his preparations on deck, and wouldn’t likely be within boarding range for several more minutes. Roland also noticed something curious. It felt as though the Coarse Wind was slowing down.
The crew of the Coarse Wind, practiced in their work, made their preparations swiftly and surely. Bail buckets, in case of taking on water or fires, were readied. Hammers, nails, and planks were gathered together should a quick patch to the hull be called for. Wooden shields, along with barrels and crates, were placed along the railing to use as cover should the pirates employee archers.
Roland had learned that these precautions were always taken, although rarely needed. It seemed that most pirates preferred to take their victim ship whole, causing little to no damage to the valuable sea going vessel or her cargo. Pirates reserved their intended harm for the crew.
For the same reasons, wizards and mages were rarely in use during such attacks. Bolts of lightning and fire were too much a risk around such hoped-for loot, and to travel by magical means onto a ship at sea was a very dangerous proposal. If a wizard were to attempt to teleport onto a moving vessel, he was more likely to wind up in the waters nearby, and a wizard, flailing about in the sea, made a fine target for a ship’s cr
ew.
As the pirate ship came along side, her crew hoisted boarding planks and hook lines that had each been lashed to a windlass. The hook lines were thrown, and most grappled the railing of the Coarse Wind. Then the pirates began the work of pulling the ships together. The boarding planks were hinged on the pirate ship and equipped with large iron hooks on the other end so they could be secured rapidly once the ships were joined.
The group of raiders was dressed in a variety of ragged shirts and short pants, but there was nothing ragged about the blades they held. Swords, scimitars, twin daggers, maces, and axes were brandished by the more than thirty attackers on the pirate ship’s deck. Many of them already counting the silver they would collect from this haul.
“You two hold the deck with these other three,” Captain Scalyern said to Roland and Eldryn.
“Where will you be?” Roland asked.
Scalyern only answered with a smile and a wink. His face was not the sort that smiled often. It made the seams and lines around his mouth and eyes bend in an unaccustomed, and very unsettling, manner. Roland believed a smile from this man would be more frightening than any scowl.
The planks dropped but, as the pirates mounted them, they were met by a barrage of thrown harpoons. The crew of the Coarse Wind, led by their captain, charged in right behind that volley making the most of the moment of chaos the harpoons had caused. The pirates found themselves being boarded, instead of the other way around.
Tactically speaking, it appeared to Roland to be a foolish move on the part of Captain Scalyern. They were outnumbered at least two to one and the most sound approach would have been defense. Roland would learn that the Slandik studied in a different school of combat.
The sons of Janis drove into the throng of raiders cutting and slashing madly. They didn’t fight as a group but rather as a host of individuals. Each man cut his way in a different direction through the fight on the deck of the pirate ship.
The pirates, seeing this as an opportunity, let the invading Slandik flow through them as they attempted to move around them and cross to the Coarse Wind. The first dozen took to the planks where they faced Roland, Eldryn, and the other three crewmen with them.