SeaJourney (Arken Freeth and the Adventure of the Neanderthals Book 1)

by Alex Paul

  Yolanta and his small force of warriors had raced through the burning city, and then across the sand to their waiting, beached ships. They had launched their ships and given chase to the escaping Tolarians to fulfill their promise to King Zuul, the king of the Amarrats. Yolanta wasn’t sure he trusted King Zuul. The Amarrats spoke a different language than the Lantish language used by all the city-states spread around the Circle Sea. That made it difficult for Yolanta to communicate. And given the Amarrat’s power, Yolanta knew he had no choice but to join the Amarrat cause because they could have easily conquered his country after conquering Tolaria. Still, the alliance with the Amarrats had been worth it because King Zuul had given them the compass and promised them Mork’s fire, two weapons of incredible value. And if Yolanta recovered the necklace, the Amarrat king would reward his people with a thousand drots of gold, a king’s ransom.

  All people dwelling on the shores of the Circle Sea feared Yolanta’s people, the Tookans, even though they numbered fewer than fifty thousand. His ships routinely raided the smaller fishing villages stretched along the barren coast of the land of the north, or traded gold for supplies in larger cities, gold stolen from Tolarian and Lantish trade vessels. Yolanta reigned supreme as king of his people, yet he knew if he failed to provide them with food and plunder, another would take his place by a challenge of combat.

  “We found enough small stones.” Brumbal’s voice caused Yolanta to turn and find the sailor carrying a basket full of ballast rocks by himself, while two men struggled behind him to carry the same load between them. Brumbal sat his basket down with ease, and then he began loading the cocked catapult arm’s cup while Lancon Faldon took the aiming seat.

  “Sir!” Faldon had a tone of worry in his voice by the time he quit aiming the catapult. “They’re out of range even for small stones.”

  Rage filled Yolanta. He hated this man for speaking the truth. A raging blood lust of anger made him want to run his sword through Faldon’s neck.

  “Then prepare to fire when they come in range again!” Yolanta snarled at Faldon.

  “Brumbal, to me!” Yolanta turned toward the rowing pit while shedding the belts holding his double sword scabbards. He avoided the stairs and dove for the mast tied to deck blocks along the boat’s center over the rowing pit. His massive hands gripped the mast and his huge arms swung his body before lowering him lightly to the walkway above the benches. Brumbal landed softly behind. A stench of sweat overwhelmed Yolanta, and he craved the fresh sea air.

  “We’ll take inside seats on the two front oars,” Yolanta ordered Brumbal, who nodded and followed.

  “A gold coin to each rower if we catch them, so dig deep!” Yolanta jumped from the platform down to bench level, yanked a man from his seat and took his place at the oar as Brumbal did the same on the opposite oar. The rowers inside Yolanta and Brumbal kept their rhythm despite the switch.

  “Faster!” Yolanta screamed at the drummer boy after he settled into the pace.

  “Sir!” The startled drummer boy gripped the drum tightly and beat in earnest.

  Yolanta braced his feet against the blocks and pulled with his enormous arms. The man sharing his oar almost fell backward as Yolanta took the entire load.

  “Faldon! Launch when in range!” Yolanta yelled after a minute of hard rowing. The crash of the catapult arm on the catch block soon answered him.

  “We hit them!” Faldon’s victory yell pierced the air like the scream of swordtooth over a dying toth.

  Yolanta vaulted up to the gray wooden deck to see the Tolarian ship slowly slew sideways, an oar pointed skyward. A lucky stone had hit a rower, breaking their cadence enough to throw them off course and slow their progress.

  “We have them now!” Brumbal shouted as he climbed from the pit. They strapped on their swords, grabbed their helmets, and rushed forward, long swords on their backs, short swords to the side, helmets in hand.

  Brumbal took the grappling hook from a sailor and spun it in a vertical circle as the gap closed between the ships. One, two, three, four pumps and the bronze hook arced skyward to clatter on the Tolarian’s deck. Brumbal lost his balance and tipped over the railing. Only Yolanta’s quick grasp of Brumbal’s breastplate collar saved him from drowning.

  “Thank you, sir.” Brumbal found his footing and hauled in the rope. Yolanta and three other sailors stepped forward and helped Brumbal pull.

  The hook ran backward across the deck and caught on the enemy ship’s black railing as Yolanta’s men rushed forward to help pull.

  “Kill that man!” Yolanta pointed at a sailor on the Tolarian ship who was running across the deck with an axe to cut the rope attached to their grappling hook.

  Three archers fired as one. An arrow sliced through the Tolarian’s neck, and he ran right past the grappling hook, dead on his feet. He crashed into the railing and pitched limp and dead into the sea like a child’s doll. More Tolarians rushed forward, swords drawn to cut the rope. These men carried shields to protect themselves from arrows. But Yolanta’s archers fired without mercy, and their arrows soon found a way past shields and into men. Screams of death came from the Tolarian ship, and no one advanced to cut the rope.

  “Boarders to me!” Yolanta commanded as he pulled a round, red shield from the rack along the railing and drew his long sword. He gripped his sword tightly as he stood poised on the deck, ready to jump. His calves trembled with anticipation as they always did before combat. His mouth was dry.

  “Prepare to board!” Yolanta yelled. Time slowed as he judged the distance and their speed. “Oars in left side!” he yelled at the last second. “Hard right.” The helmsman shoved the tiller arm to his left, and the ship swung hard right before they collided.

  “Grapple and board!” Yolanta commanded. Twenty ropes with hooks were thrown at the Tolarian vessel to bind the ships together. The hulls creaked and grated as they smashed together.

  Rage and joy fought for dominance in his brain. He felt most alive when he faced death.

  “Shol’s death!” Yolanta screamed. His men shoved long spears into the green- and white-striped wall of Tolarian shields facing them at the enemy ship’s railing. A spear reached a Tolarian, making him stumble to the deck, leaving a narrow space between the ship’s defenders. Yolanta and Brumbal jumped into the gap.

  Yolanta held his shield at his knees and rode it down the Tolarian’s heads and backs. As he dropped down, he brought his long sword down in a wide arc, slicing into the ship’s defenders. Others moved forward to reach him as he raised his shield to protect his front from their sword thrusts. His feet squeezed past the backs of men until he found solid footing on the deck. He swung his sword and, again, a man crumpled to the deck from the force of Yolanta’s sword blow. The slaughter and screams began.

  Brumbal fought left-handed while Yolanta fought right. They advanced side by side, their shields at shoulder level, their swords smashing down on the shorter Tolarians as they advanced and left open space on the deck behind. Yolanta’s men streamed into the opening as they boarded the Tolarian ship to form a line to the left and right of Yolanta and Brumbal. The Tolarians faltered under the fierce onslaught that drove them backward.

  An officer’s shouts halted the retreat. The men in front of Yolanta raised their shields as men behind them knelt on the deck and tried to stab Yolanta’s feet with long spears.

  Yolanta and Brumbal jumped to avoid the spears, and then brought their swords crashing down on the skulls of the men directly ahead. They collapsed backward, pinning the spearmen to the deck.

  Brumbal let out a fierce cry as he and Yolanta stepped over the dead Tolarians while pushing the rest back. Yolanta’s men advanced and made short work of the pinned spearmen before they could rise.

  Yolanta crashed his sword to the right, knocking men away as he and Brumbal continued to force the Tolarians back. Both of them were so strong that each swing of the sword cut men down by slicing into their armor. As others crushed forward before the next sword stroke,
their shield arms were powerful enough to throw the Tolarians back. It was as if the Tolarian fighters were stalks of wheat under the harvester’s scythe.

  Another spear jabbed at Yolanta’s feet, and as he looked down to avoid it, a club smashed into his helmet. He staggered and fell to the deck. Time slowed as he slumped down. The noise of the battle faded, and he thought it odd that he couldn’t hear the shouts of his men. His vision narrowed, and he watched helplessly as a Tolarian officer stepped in front of him and raised his sword. Yolanta thought he should do something, but his body was limp. He knew he would die. He felt a calm come over him.

  Suddenly, a sword flashed over Yolanta’s head from behind. It caught the Tolarian officer below his chin and didn’t stop until it exited on the far side of the man’s neck. The man’s head, with the helmet still attached, disappeared to the right.

  Then Brumbal loomed above him, his strong hands pulling Yolanta to his feet and dragging him back to his men, who swarmed around him to engage the enemy.

  Yolanta’s men surged forward as he and Brumbal watched. Tolarians were now slipping on the blood of their comrades, their white tunics turning red when they fell.

  Yolanta’s senses returned as he rested on deck. A horn sounded and the Tolarians fell back, lowering their swords. Yolanta’s men paused in their slaughter. One of the Tolarians stepped forward. It must be the captain, Yolanta thought, as the opposing leader approached with his sword held horizontal in his palms, his head bowed as an offering of peace.

  Yolanta struggled to rise to his full height.

  “I surrender my ship, Triumph,” the captain said. “Please spare my men.” A movement at the far railing near the ship’s bow distracted Yolanta. A Tolarian officer dropped a leather bag over the side. The captain noticed Yolanta looking beyond him and turned.

  “Our compasses,” the captain said.

  “Blast!” Yolanta cursed. His wits had returned, and he showed disappointment so the Tolarian captain would have no idea his fleet already had compasses. Yolanta reached out and took the captain’s sword by the hilt.

  “To your knees, Captain, if you wish me to accept your surrender!” Yolanta ordered, though his head throbbed with pain. He nodded at his crew. “Take his men below decks. Give them food and drink immediately. The captain stays here with me.”

  The men herded the Tolarian crew into the hold. They went as beaten men with little protest, for Yolanta had learned the promise of good treatment could calm a defeated crew. His strategy worked as his men sealed the hatch, locking the Tolarians below.

  Yolanta placed the tip of his sword on the captain’s neck and nudged it forward. The captain ignored the pain and stared into Yolanta’s eyes. Blood ran from the wound and oozed across the captain’s shiny, bronze armor. A brave man, thought Yolanta.

  “I seek the necklace of Tol.” Yolanta spoke softly enough that his men didn’t hear him. Most of his men didn’t believe the necklace could predict the future, while some didn’t even believe it existed. Yolanta knew that if his men learned the necklace was the treasure they pursued, they might not continue to follow him.

  The sound of corpses splashing into the sea raised excited shouts. He could imagine the spectacle as sharrks gathered to collect their due.

  “The necklace,” Yolanta repeated.

  “We don’t carry it,” the captain answered. “The entire fleet would have fought you to save the necklace. We are only an escort ship.”

  Yolanta turned his eyes to the sea, searching for his ships that had kept sailing in pursuit of the Tolarians. The captain’s words rang true. Yolanta would be wasting his time searching this ship. But the sun had set, the graying mist was quickly enveloping his own ship, and no other ships, his own or Tolarian, were visible.

  “Brumbal, search this ship for a treasure chest full of gold,” Yolanta ordered.

  Brumbal nodded, for Yolanta had heard the spy’s report, which said the necklace was stored in a small chest within a larger chest of temple treasure.

  “Take the captain to his cabin, Brumbal. Search it before you let him enter. Leave two men inside with him. I’ll retire to my cabin. Fetch me when the search is complete.”

  “Sir, what of the rowing slaves’ freedom?” Brumbal’s face glistened with sweat from the battle, but his eyes were clear and alert.

  “Free any Tookans or Amarrats you find. The rest stay on board as slaves. Faldon can sail to Naplo where ships and slaves fetch a high price.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you for saving me.” His words slurred and he felt dizzy, so he steadied himself by gripping Brumbal’s shoulder. “I’d be dead without you.”

  “It was nothing.” Brumbal grinned. “You saved me from falling into the sea only moments before.”

  “You might have survived your splash.” Yolanta smiled. “You saved me from certain death. In fact, my head is throbbing. I need to rest.”

  “Sit on the deck for a moment, then, sir.” Brumbal looked around for a seat, but shouts from the rowing pit drew them to its edge to see what was happening. They saw a black slave choking his Tolarian master with an arm chain.

  “Stop him, but don’t harm him.” Yolanta pointed at the black. Two of his men rushed down and placed their swords on the slave’s neck. He stood more than a head taller than Yolanta’s men. The sword points had their effect, and the slave released the tension on his chain enough to allow the slave master to breathe.

  “What are you doing?” Yolanta yelled.

  “This man is cruel and deserves death! He has beaten us all horribly.”

  “What is your name?” Yolanta admired courage, and this tall slave certainly had it.

  “LaJah. I was a prince in my homeland.”

  “Then why are you here?” Yolanta was curious now, for few blacks sailed the Circle Sea. The Nubian kingdom lay to the east of the Amarrats, and rumors were that they traded with kingdoms farther east, so they rarely traveled into Yolanta’s part of the world.

  “I killed a prince of higher rank than myself when he ran his chariot over my son,” the tall black said with a grim face.

  “Can you fight?”

  “Of course!” A deep laugh rolled from the Nubian. “I am a fierce warrior. And I can track in the jungles.”

  Yolanta turned to Brumbal and raised an eyebrow. Few could boast of that ability. The jungle usually rewarded visitors with a quick death.

  “Always a useful skill.” Brumbal smiled at Yolanta. “Not a talent we’ve developed.”

  “No, too dangerous,” Yolanta replied. “Will you join my ship?” he asked the black.

  “As a slave?”

  “No, as a freeman. We all row.”

  “Then I will gladly row.”

  “Free that Tolarian and join us.”

  “I must kill this man, and then I will join you,” LaJah added quickly. He stiffened as Yolanta’s men pressed their blades closer to his neck.

  Yolanta guffawed. “But he is my property and to kill him will cost me money.”

  “I will pay you for him.”

  “With your chains?” Yolanta joked, and his men’s hoots filled his ship.

  “Tell me, Captain, will I earn a share of booty if I serve with you?”

  “All my men do.”

  “Then keep my booty until I have paid his price.”

  “What do your slave comrades say?” Yolanta studied the pathetic assembly of exhausted, beaten slaves who had once been free men.

  “Kill him, kill him!” Shouts of rage accompanied an angry rattle of chains.

  “He is yours!” Yolanta roared. “Release the mighty warrior LaJah and let him kill the Tolarian.”

  “At least let me have a fair fight against him,” the Tolarian protested.

  “Fair?” Yolanta held up his hand to stop his men from releasing LaJah. “A slave master asks for fair treatment?”

  The rowing slaves laughed, and the Tolarian officer looked down.

  “It is our custom to keep slaves,” th
e Tolarian argued. “Who am I to question our king’s laws?”

  “Fair enough,” Yolanta nodded. “Then we will have a fair fight.” He turned to LaJah. “You must earn your revenge.”

  “Gladly,” LaJah bowed his head to Yolanta. The Tookans unlocked the slave’s shackles with the keys from the Tolarian’s belt, led both men to the open deck, and handed each a sword.

  The Tolarian officer swung his short sword to familiarize himself with its feel while the Nubian rubbed his wrists where his shackles had bound him.

  “You die today,” the Tolarian taunted LaJah. “You will never beat me.”

  “Perhaps,” LaJah looked calm. “But the gods have granted me favors before!”

  The Tookans withdrew to the railings and raised their shields to give more deck space to the fighters and protection from a wild sword swing.

  “Watch your footing on this blooded deck,” Brumbal warned while standing between the men. “It is a fight to the death with no rules. May your gods be kind to you. Begin!”

  Brumbal stepped back, and the Tolarian circled to his right. The lanky Nubian padded in bare feet like a lin stalking prey. The Tolarian raised his sword to the right and charged at LaJah. The Nubian’s sword arm flashed straight out as he stepped forward with his right foot, and then lunged ahead, driving the point of his sword into the man’s throat before the Tolarian could complete his sword swing.

  The Tolarian gripped his throat with a surprised look before tipping over as his sword clattered to the deck. LaJah pulled his sword free and stood straight once more as the Tolarian collapsed in death.

  “Thank you, sir. I will serve you faithfully until my death.” LaJah turned and held his sword flat by the point and handle and ceremoniously lifted it toward Yolanta as an act of loyalty.