Reinar called out one final cheer at the top of his lungs and his raiders returned it with passion. The deck of the Miirvkin ship, Iron Stride, was covered with the spoils of their attack, the atmosphere one of great revelry.
"All right, all right. Enough celebrating," Reinar cried out to his crew. "Now, out on the open sea or I'll personally see to it that every single man is flogged to within an inch of their miserable lives."
The raiders let out moans and many a complaint, but moved swiftly to raise the longboats to the ship's side and get them underway. The fighting had been furious once the trained soldiers from Fenhelm had arrived to the villages aid, but the Miirvkin were no fledglings. They had made their retreat to the longboats swiftly, allowing the Feldonians little chance to pursue them out onto the water. And there would be no threat of a chase. The few Feldonian ships that could catch the Iron Stride would stand no chance in open battle. Besides, they were much too far away to cause concern.
Reinar walked along the weatherworn wooden deck of his flagship and let out a sigh of relief. The seasoned veteran was a proud man and took his command seriously. It was clear to his men that they would act with the honour that their maker, the great god Beon would expect. He said a silent prayer thanking Beon for the spoils his raiders had claimed and thought with excitement on the homecoming they would receive.
Stepping around a barrel of dried fruit, he noticed one of his raiders heading below deck with a bundle in his hands and moved to follow him. Reinar recognised the man as he watched him turn into the sleeping quarters. Curious, Reinar followed him in and saw him stooping over something that he had placed in his hammock. "What are you doing, Jerac?" he asked in a low voice.
Jerac turned around with a start and Reinar noticed the strong man cringe and grab his side.
"Are you hurt?" Reinar asked moving closer.
"Stay back! I am fine," Jerac replied roughly.
Reinar, slightly taken aback, stopped with a puzzled look on his face. He then grew stern, displeased by Jerac's tone.
"Sorry, my lord," Jerac quickly apologised. "It is nothing. Just a cut."
Reinar ignored the man's assurance and moved to inspect the wound. He removed Jerac's hand and lifted his tunic to see a deep cut in his side. Reinar stepped back in shock as he saw the severity of the injury. "Jerac this is a dire wound."
Before the Raider was able to reply, Reinar's attention was drawn to a low murmur from Jerac's hammock.
Reinar moved towards it and caught his breath when he saw two babes lying, bundled up in a blanket. "Great Beon! How dare you do this."
"Their mother was dead," Jerac replied, trying to justify his position. "I was well within my rights to take the children. It is the way of our people."
"You know my laws. The old ways are not our way," Reinar returned, raising his voice in fury. "As long as I am in command no children will be harmed. You knew this well enough. The Miirvkin of Hamal have not committed this heinous act for decades."
"We are raiders, we come here to take what we want," Jerac replied. He then looked for sympathy, realising that he could not win this argument. "My wife can bear no children. I have taken these two as my spoils rather than Feldonian trinkets. It is my right."
Reinar's wrath only grew stronger. "You have dishonoured yourself and all of your brothers. Did you think that this would go unpunished?"
Jerac made no reply.
Taking a deep breath, Reinar noticed Jerac's wound once more and sighed. The anger inside him began to subside. He had seen deep wounds like this many times before and knew that Jerac would likely not survive the journey back. "Maybe Beon has already seen fit to punish you. I fear you will struggle to fight the fever that that wound will bring."
"Then leave me to my fate," moaned Jerac, sitting down in pain.
Reinar shook his head and turned to leave the dying Raider. The rage brought about by Jerac's actions still burned inside of him, but the knowledge that he was going to lose another one of his men caused him even greater grief. As he returned to the deck he felt the ship lurch forward as the sails unfurled themselves. He turned towards the Feldonian shoreline where their old enemies would be quashing the flames his men had set in the village. It was too late to turn back now. Doing so would put the rest of his men at risk. Great Beon give me strength, he prayed.
His crew moved about the ship, transporting the spoils into the lower decks. They were oblivious to the soft crying of two young Feldonian boys, and the dying groans of one of their own, in the sleeping quarters below. Their commander however could not clear his mind as he stood against the railing, staring into the cold grey water beneath them.
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 3