Jonas yawned and lay back. “Well, as fascinating as your yarn may be, at this point, I’m gonna tell you all to shut your gobs and get some sleep. Our shift for watch comes sooner than you think, so close your eyes while you can.”
Elias and the rest of the men drew out their blankets and lay about the fire, the cool ocean breeze held at bay by the low fire and the warm summer air from the mountains. The stars twinkled lightly, occasionally obscured by the passage of clouds coming off the sea. Elias wondered at how the wind was blowing out towards the water, as gentle as it might be, but the clouds were moving inland. He watched the slow, dark masses moving until sleep took him amidst the growing snores and breathing of rest of the men, thankfully free of the specter of the dark knight.
~ ~ ~
Smoke. Elias woke to the smell of smoke invading his nose. It wasn't wood smoke, either, it was different. He kicked back and pushed himself away from the fire, thinking that maybe he'd rolled in his sleep and thrown his blanket into the embers, but no, he wasn't close enough for that. His eyes stung and he could barely see. He heard men coughing, cursing, and boots stomping around the campfire.
He tried to rise to his feet, but strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and bore him back to the ground. A bundle of smoldering herbs was thrust into his face, the smoke making his head spin, embers burning his skin while the dried stalks scratched him. He tried to hold his breath and squeeze his eyes shut, but he hadn’t been prepared, and didn’t have the breath. He swung his arms wildly about himself, striking his assailants in the dark.
He grabbed hold of the figure holding the herbs over his face, and hurled it away. He drew in a deep breath, but found that the rest of the air was no cleaner, and almost collapsed in a coughing fit. There was more activity now, yelling, cursing, and the sound of steel clashing. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see some shapes through the burning and watering, though he couldn't make out anything but vague figures, and was unable to tell friend from foe.
The campfire was a glowing column of smoke, the coals freshly lit by flames that were starting to crackle on new material that had been thrown on it. In the haze, he couldn’t tell who was attacking who, what with the smoke obscuring most everything in the wan moonlight.
He crouched to grab his sword, and was bowled over by the figure he had thrown away, his breath knocked out of him from the impact. As he gasped in another breath, the bundle of herbs was thrust back over his face, and he breathed deeply of the smoke coming from it. His vision seemed to explode into a million pieces, and the last thing he recognized before everything went too blurry to see was a hooded face seemingly made of cloth with two shiny disks where eyes should have been. He struggled to swing his arms at the figure, but his limbs refused to obey him. A numbness settled over his face, and consciousness was gone.
Chapter Eight
10th Waxing Sap Moon, Year 4304
Elias stood in the circle of stones, awkward and too tall, even as young as he was. He was already as large as a fully grown soldier, and more muscular than most of the elven men in the city. Today, the young elf training him was to show the council what Elias had learned over the last four years, to see if he had progressed enough to move on to a more advanced trainer, and take on a first year student himself. Every year for the last three years, he’d been denied and sent back to learn the first year material again, his ineptitude blamed on his freakish size.
His trainer, a young, skilled elf named Ayluin, stood across the ring, scowling. He made no secret of the fact that he hated Elias, and while his actions were always subtle, he went out of his way to make Elias’s life miserable. Such bullying was subtly ignored by the elders of his city, though whether through apathy or shared prejudice was unclear. Elias could not figure why… he looked up to Ayluin, and did his best to learn the drills and forms, despite his large size and general lack of agility. Now it was time to show what he had learned during the last four years of drilling.
These exercises were done with wasters, to protect the students from injury while training. Three magistrates stood around the circle to observe the bout. One of them turned to Elias. “Are you ready?“
Elias nodded, and the magistrate turned to Ayluin. “Are you ready?”
Ayluin’s eyes never left Elias. “Yes.”
“Then fight. We will be the judge of whether the student has learned sufficiently to advance.“
The two boys stepped towards each other, Elias’s steps measured and even, Ayluin striding forward as if this were a task that he simply wanted to finish as soon as possible. The space between them rapidly closed, and Ayluin struck first, hard and high, to the left. Elias blocked it with his blade, barely recovering in time to cover his head from the swipe from the right. Ayluin pressed Elias back until Elias misjudged a swing, and took a solid strike to the stomach.
“Ayluin wins the first round.” The magistrate turned to Ayluin, who was smirking slightly. “Remember that the failure of the student is the failure of the teacher. Return to your sides.”
Ayluin's smirk was replaced by a scowl, and a murderous glare at Elias. The boys returned to their respective sides, Elias doing his best not to hunch over. Ayluin was swinging hard, harder than usual. He always did on these tests. Elias was aware that older boy was trying to make him fail, and didn’t know why. Discouraged, he steeled himself to just making it through the test.
“Proceed.” The magistrate’s voice called out over the ring. Peripherally, Elias could see other young elves, male and female, taking their tests in adjacent rings, flurries of activity almost distracting him. Ayluin closed on him swiftly, and Elias focused more on defending himself, blocking the strikes that the other boy was throwing at him. Ayluin set his jaw and redoubled his efforts. Splinters flew from the wasters from his onslaught, Elias blocking most of the strikes, his larger size giving him a bit more reach than the other boy had. However, he wasn’t as skilled, and over-reached again, putting himself in harm’s way. Ayluin’s waster found its mark on the back of Elias's hand, making him almost drop his weapon. Instinctively, Elias grabbed hold of Ayluin’s other hand with his own, and struck back while the older boy was surprised, catching him under the arm with a solid strike to the ribs, driving the breath from him.
Ayluin jerked his hand free and staggered back, holding on to his ribs, staring at Elias in anger and surprise. The magistrate’s voice rang out over the ring. “Elias wins the second round. Return to your sides.” Ayluin narrowed his eyes, and stalked back to his side, pacing in the dirt inside the ring, waiting for the next round to begin.
Elias was angry now. Ayluin didn’t need to hurt him. He didn’t need to swing this hard, he just needed to spar, to let Elias show if he knew what he needed to know to advance in his training. He didn’t need to humiliate Elias in front of the elders. Elias stood firm, narrowing his eyes himself, glaring across the ring. The corners of his mouth turned down. Ayluin was smaller than he was, despite being almost fifty years older. The leather wrapping the handle creaked under his grip as he gritted his teeth.
The magistrate looked between the boys, and, after a slight pause, looked to Ayluin and nodded. “Proceed.”
Ayluin started across the ring, stalking towards Elias. Elias gripped his waster in his aching right hand, and broke out into a sprint. Ayluin sidestepped, swinging hard for Elias’s head, but his weapon found only wood as Elias blocked hard, sending the other boy’s sword rebounding wide. Elias pressed his advantage, using his strength to push the other boy back step by step, forcing him to block instead of attack. The anger and spite in Ayluin’s eyes started to evaporate, being replaced by fear.
Elias felt something rise up inside of himself, a white hot fury, born from his years of abuse at the hands of this cowering wretch before him, and he pressed harder. He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but the red haze that clouded his vision and the thundering in his ears left absolutely no room for anything else in his perception beyond Ayluin. With both hands gripp
ing the handle of his waster, he drove his advantage home.
The other boy swung hard for Elias's head, and Elias blocked the strike savagely. The sound of splintering wood barely filtered through his haze just as he saw Ayluin raise his waster above his head for a hard two-handed downward strike. Elias took the moment and drove the point of his waster into the boy's solar plexus just Ayluin brought his weapon down on Elias's skull. There was an explosion of light and pain, then darkness.
~ ~ ~
New Summer Moon, Year 4368
Elias's head ached. He tried unsuccessfully to open his eyes, stirring slightly as the world heaved and swayed underneath and around him. His hands and feet hurt, and his muscles felt cramped and starved for blood. His legs tingled from the knees down, and as he gradually regained his wits, he realized he was laying on his side. His arms were behind his back, and his knees were pulled up nearly to his chest. He tried to correct his position, but his arms wouldn't move forward. He realized he was bound.
His eyes snapped open, and were greeted with more darkness. He turned his head, and felt rough burlap scratch against his nose and cheeks. He had a hood over his head, tied about his neck with a rope. The rope wasn't tight enough to choke him but definitely restricted motion and breathing. He strained against his bonds, the rope cutting into his flesh and holding firm. Whoever tied it knew how to tie knots that wouldn't loosen at a simple tug. He didn't think he'd be able to break the ropes... they were far too thick.
Something struck him in the chest, just under his sternum, driving the air out of his lungs. “Quit your straining. You'll be untied soon enough.” A man's voice that he didn't recognize.
“Where am I?” he demanded. The answer was another strike to the chest, making his head spin again. Elias's breath was coming fast, stifling in the heavy burlap. The world kept bobbing and rocking about, and he became aware of the sound of wood beams creaking and groaning. In the distance, he heard could hear the sounds of waves rushing. He was on a boat.
Footsteps came from behind him, sounding like they were descending stairs. Another man's voice that he did not recognize spoke. “How long until they wake?”
The second man answered. “This one is already awake. The rest should rouse within the hour. Maybe three hours before they're able to take their places at the oars.“
“The giant is awake? Take off his hood.”
Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him into a kneeling position. As he moved, he became aware that his hands and feet were connected by another rope that effectively hobbled him. The rope about his throat momentarily tightened, cutting off his breath and causing a surge of panic. However, the knot was swiftly undone and the hood was pulled off, the light from the room blasting into his eyes as he coughed.
He looked around, his eyes bleary, getting his bearings. Eight other figures were scattered throughout the dusty room, scattered among the crates, all of them bound and hooded like he had been. The man who had jerked his hood off was standing to his left, and another man was standing at the foot of a flight of stairs, the bright sun behind him all but blinding Elias.
The man from the stairs, a well-built man in somewhat finer clothing, stepped forward. Grabbing Elias by the jaw, he turned his head to the side. “An elf? I've never seen an elf this big.“ He turned Elias's head the other way, inspecting him like one would inspect a goat before purchase.
Elias jerked his chin out of the man's grip. Before Elias could brace himself, the man struck him across the cheek, almost bowling him over. He bent down next to Elias, gold glinting off of his rings. “Feisty bastard, aren't you? What do you think, giant? Should we slit you from sternum to stem and use you to bait sharks, or would you be of better use to us on the oars?“
“Don't they waste away at sea? I heard that if they get too far out of their forests, they just die.” The man to his left frowned, kicking Elias onto his side. He was dressed considerably shabbier, his clothing dirty and worn, threadbare in a few places. A scraggly, mangy beard sat lopsided on his chin. “I think Woodsetter tried to get one over on us. He looks strong enough, but if he keels over in a few months, we wasted too much gold on him.“
Elias kept his lips shut, blood running out of the corner of his mouth. Though he didn't speak, he held the eyes of the well-dressed man who hit him, not looking away. The man laughed and stood. “He's got plenty of life in him. Besides, there's another elf in the hold, scrawny old bastard, and that one hasn't died yet. Make sure this one finds his way to an oar when the rest of these meat-bags wake up.“
Elias lay still, watching the two men as they made their way up the stairs. A hatch slammed shut, and he could hear chains being dragged over the top. What sounded like a padlock clicked into place, then dropped loudly upon the hatch. The timbers continued to creak around him, and even though he was getting used to it, he could still feel the rolling and swaying of the room around him.
He had been unaware of his heart pounding like an insane marching drummer, but as he lay there, it became quite obvious. Slowing his breath, he closed his eyes and attempted to regain control over himself. Closing his eyes did nothing to help his equilibrium, and he vomited, retching against the rough wooden planks.
He rolled to his back, away from the mess he'd made, and examined the facts. He was on a ship of some sort, that much was obvious from the short conversation, the rolling, and the noises around him. How large of a ship, Elias couldn't tell. Large enough to have a storage hold, obviously, and large enough to have oarslaves. He strained against his ropes again, then relaxed, rolling into a slightly more comfortable position. Whoever had tied him must have had experience. The ropes that bound him didn't budge.
Woodsetter had betrayed them, that much was obvious. It was no wonder he hadn't been too worried about the cost of the protection, just in the number of men that had joined the expedition. If he had plans of stealing back the gold he'd paid out, and then selling the mercenaries as slaves, then the initial investment would matter a bit less.
There was a thumping behind him, as one of the other men started to regain consciousness. Elias rolled awkwardly to face his fellow captive. He wasn't entirely sure, due to the hood over the man's face and the dim light, but he thought it was Martin. The bound man's thick, chunky build looked familiar enough. He shuffled across the dusty floor, keeping his eyes shut to protect them. “Martin!” he whispered, keeping his voice down to avoid drawing attention. “Martin, is that you?”
The bound figured stopped struggling. “Elias? Where am I? Why am I tied up?”
“We were betrayed. Woodsetter sold us to sailors, and we're on a ship.”
Martin thumped again, struggling against his ropes. “No shit we were betrayed! Why are we on a ship?”
“Oarslaves, from what they said. Two of them were here. They took off my hood, talked about chaining us to oars when we woke up, then left.”
Martin paused for a moment. “Oarslaves? I'm not a goddamn oarslave! I can't be an oarslave!” He started struggling harder, banging and thumping around. Some of the other figures started stirring at the clamor Martin was making. “Let me out of here! Let me go!”
Something struck the trap door at the top of the stairs. “Stop that racket now!“ a gruff voice bawled out from behind the hatch. Martin continued thumping and shouting, and before long, several of the other mercenaries joined in as they gradually came to. Elias struggled out of the path of the stairs as the chains started rattling. He could hear them being drawn through metal rings, then the hatch opened. Four men rushed down the stairs, cutlasses drawn. Elias didn't recognize any of the men; neither of the first two was with this group.
Most of the rest of the mercenaries had the good sense to quiet down, but not Martin. He kept thrashing about, his breath coming in ragged gasps between his ever more frantic screams. “Let me out of here! Get this goddamned hood off of my-!”
Martin's rant was interrupted by a kick to the throat from the first man down the stairs. The other three men st
ood around Martin and kicked him in the ribs, the back of the head, the stomach and the legs. Martin's gagging was replaced by coughing and retching as the blows rained upon him.
After a few moments, they stopped kicking the bound man. The hood was stained with blood in front, where Martin's mouth would be, and in the back, where he'd been kicked. His breath came in ragged coughs and gags as he tried to curl up and shield himself from any more blows. The man who led the way down the stairs leaned down close to Martin's ear, who startled at the sound of his voice.
The man, who Elias assumed was a pirate of some sort, started speaking quietly, but his voice rose to screaming as he continued. “The next time I tell you to shut yer goddamn mouth, you shut your maggot filled, dirt munching mouth or I swear to every god of every sea I will stuff your guts full of crabs and use you for shark bait! Now have I made myself clear or do I need to kick another load of shit into yer worthless carcass?!“
His response was more ragged sobbing from under the rough burlap of the hood. Elias watched this all from his position against a support timber. The man who seemed to be calling the shots was short, broad shouldered, and hairy. He wore no shirt, a leather kilt, and black leather boots that went to his knees and strapped with tan leather sinews, tied at the ankle. A threadbare bandanna covered the top of his head, with a thin, ragged beard underneath.
Elias memorized the look of his face. None of the finer details were visible in the dusty light, but his large nose and prominent forehead were hard to miss. A fat, square jaw with a slight hanging extra chin, and lips that stuck out. Recognizable, to say the least.
The man turned to look at Elias. Narrowing his eyes, he moved towards the giant elf. “So you're the giant everyone's been talking about. I'll bet you can get an oar moving right quick. But don't think you get any extra food on account of your size.” He drove his boot into Elias's stomach. Elias saw it coming and was able to brace for the blow, but it still knocked most of the wind out of him. “We'll get the piss out of those eyes soon enough.“ He turned to one of the other men. “You and Durk, take this tree-monkey and find him a seat. He's strong enough now.“
Rising Thunder (Dynasty of Storms Book 1) Page 9