"Get a move on!" roared Reinar from the deck of the Iron Stride. "I am setting sail at sunset and I swear by Beon, if every one of those barrels is not onboard this ship by then, I will personally send you to the Third Plane."
The men loading the supplies onto the ship picked up their pace without so much as a murmur. Reinar's mood had been horrific since Christill's disappearance, and the workers had no intention of antagonising him further.
Following the celebration of the hunt, no one had seen Christill. Thibalt had scoured the city for days, even taking Jin with him out into the desert to attempt to find some tracks. All of his searching had been in vain. Wherever he looked he found no sign of his brother.
Finally Reinar had forced Thibalt to call off his search and make his preparations for their departure. He had asked to be allowed to stay in Hamal, but Reinar had not been compassionate. The people of Hamal had seen Christill's flight as confirmation that Reinar had been a fool to take the brothers in and his pride had taken a further blow.
Despite Reinar's problems, the entire city had come together to prepare the ship for its voyage. Now on the morning of their departure, the people of Hamal had turned up to line the harbour and say goodbye to their raiders.
The chosen warriors boarded the Iron Stride as a fierce wind began to pick up from the west. They all lined the railing of the ship, waving goodbye to their loved ones. Sixty of Hamal's finest warriors, followed closely by the forty crewmen who would operate the ship. Many of the soldiers proudly carried with them the armour and weapons of their fathers and ancestors.
Thibalt had packed what he thought would be necessary in a large sack and entered the harbour in a bleak mood. It was Miirvkin custom for soldiers to board the ship presenting their weapons, and so Thibalt walked up the gangplank with the axe that he had tirelessly forged. As he boarded the ship he noticed the grumbling of the workers carrying barrels onto the ship.
"These seem to be getting heavier," called out one of the workers, a man with a long scar down his right cheek.
The second worker laughed and said, "I know what you mean. But best not say it too loudly."
"Hah, Lord Reinar may feed us to the sharks," replied the first man with a chuckle.
The two workers rushed up the ramp to the ship and Thibalt followed them glumly. The Miirvkin were losing their faith in Reinar.
Thibalt watched the last of the supplies being carried into the storerooms and heard the crowd give out a tremendous cheer. He peered over the railing and saw Cathan walking up the ramp. To the wonder of the crowd, he wore a stunning suit of Miirvkin armour. Bronze tinted plates, laced over one another covered his chest and upper thighs. Beneath the plates he wore a tough suit of hide, hardened by Beanon's armourer's and decorated with silver lacing. The suit's finest aspect was its shoulder plates, made in the shape of a snarling Irian and plated in gold, they gleamed in the sunlight and truly displayed the impressive craftsmanship of the armour.
Thibalt felt nothing but disgust as he eyed Cathan's armour. The suit was a prize that rightfully should have gone to Christill. It had been the prize of the hunt, along with a Miirvkin warhammer that had been given to Cathan's partner Hiefal. With an arrogant smile he walked past Thibalt, pretending not to notice him. He then turned to face the harbour and raised his hands.
The crowd let out a roar and Thibalt spotted Lord Bearn waving fiercely back at his son. Besides him stood Siri and he knew that his sister was forcing the smile that she wore on her lovely face.
Siri caught Thibalt's eye and called out. "Be safe."
Thibalt nodded his head slightly but did not wave. Looking at her only reminded him of Christill.
"Remove the ramp and secure the lines," yelled Reinar. The ships crew sprang to life, each with their own task to see to. "I want the sails trimmed for rough weather, Geron."
A stout man with a thick brown beard saluted Reinar and moved off towards the mast. Thibalt judged the man second in command, as he watched him running about, shouting orders to the crew.
When the ship was made ready and lines holding it to the wharf withdrawn, Reinar gave the order and the ship began to drift out of the harbour. It was pulled out by a group of smaller row boats, dragging thick ropes that were tied to the front of the vessel. The soldiers lined themselves up against the port railing and waved a final goodbye to the gathered crowd. Once they were out of the harbour, the ropes were cut and the smaller boats that had pulled the Iron Stride out of its berth returned to Hamal.
The Stride was the flagship of Hamal's fleet, made from the strong oak, harvested long ago along the borders of the Misty Forest. Twenty seven men had died in the construction of the massive sailor, and to this day no other Miirvkin vessel had matched its size or prowess. The large white sails bore upon them a silver hammer, the crest of Hamal's mighty fleet.
"Heading south by southeast, Lord Reinar," shouted the helmsman.
Thibalt watched Hamal slowly shrinking behind them. Where was Christill? Finally, as Hamal turned into a small line on the horizon he moved to the front of the ship, dodging around the workers and stacks of crates and barrels yet to be loaded below deck. To the east he saw thick rain clouds forming over the Sea of Turmoil. He understood why his father had ordered the sails trimmed for rough weather.
Thibalt found a corner that was as yet unoccupied and settled down. He did not want to be here, he knew that the other Miirvkin felt the same way. For the time being he was ignored, but in such close quarters it would only be a matter of time until he was confronted by them. Though he knew some of the younger men selected for the journey, none of them were on amicable terms with him.
To make matters worse, Christill would not be shaken from his mind. He kept picturing his brother sitting out in the Miirvkin wastes, huddled under shelter with no food or help. Yet now there was nothing that he could do for him. He pulled a cloak from his pack and wrapped it around his shoulders. For the time being no one was bothering him. He hoped it would last.
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 20