Holden cascaded helplessly through the void, as voices from the past echoed in his mind. While he could recognize the voices, he failed to understand what they were saying. The words seemed to bounce off of unseen walls that surrounded him. Yet, even as they grew louder, he could not understand them. Then, he felt an invisible hand under his shirt, feeling around before stopping at the scar on his abdomen -- left by Leucis’ blade.
It was not part of the dream.
Snapping awake, Holden looked to find the silhouette of a man hunched over him, hand on the scar. Without thinking, he connected his fist with the man’s nose. With a loud oath, the man landed on the floor with a thud. At the commotion, everyone else in the quarters shot upright. Holden was already out of his hammock, and drew his blade before Durek moved between him and the man.
“Calm yourself.” Durek placed a hand on Holden’s shoulder, and gestured to the man. “He’s one of us. A no good pile of wyrm dung, but one of us, nonetheless.”
“Besides,” the man said, clutching his nose, “I think your fist did more than any steel ever could.”
“Who is he?” Holden asked, sliding his blade back down into its sheath.
“Kisler,” replied Durk. “A thief as good at stealth as his moral tendencies are rotten.”
“I was curious!” Kisler protested. “I had to see if he really did survive being run through with a sword.”
“Next time, I’ll sleep with a knife in hand,” Holden warned.
“A fair warning. I’d heed it well.” Alone stepped beside Durek, and gave Holden a nod of the head. “My apologies on the matter, d’Alnharte. He’s akin to an overgrown child.”
“It’s fine,” said Holden, “but keep him away from me. The next time will be the last.”
“Let’s not ruin our meeting by dwelling on the matter,” Alone suggested. “I am Lieutenant Hale d’Alon.”
“Holden.” While his introduction was curt, he could not help it. Being felt up by a stranger was nothing pleasant to wake up to. “What must I know about our duties in Oner?”
“We’re to be there only to train them,” Alon explained. “The Onerian Triumvirate agreed to negotiating diplomatic relations with On’hino if their borders were protected by experienced warriors.”
“They meant for us to fight their war for them.” Durek knelt down to examine Kisler’s nose. “But, getting wound up in their war would only hurt us. Instead, we’ll make their soldiers the warriors they so desire.” He twisted the nose without warning, with Kisler’s shrieks filling the room.
“I wanted it fixed, not broken further!” Kisler whimpered, clutching his nose.
“It is fixed, you big baby.” Durek stood up, and brushed off his hands.
“Kisler will be training the Onerians in subterfuge,” said Alon. “I’ll be training their leaders and tacticians. Durek will be sorting the wheat from the chaff, and you will be training their archers.”
Holden raised a brow, as something occurred to him. There was a fifth amongst them. “That was only four designations.”
“Yes, about that,” Alon said, “when the time presents itself, we must speak in private.” He looked down at the whimpering Kisler. “Get up, Kisler. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
***
The winds that once stung Holden’s cheeks affected him little, as he leaned against the railing of the Goliath. He endured far worse winds in the mountains of Stal. They were strong enough to rend the flesh off the bone. He remembered when he first dared those peaks. With Quinarlan, he nearly fell down a fatal plummet several times on the way to raid an outpost for supplies.
His lips twisted into a slight frown. While Quinarlan was his friend, and there was a bond of trust between the two of them, he could not get himself past the feeling of betrayal. But, why? Was it because Quinarlan never told Holden of his elven blood? And had he done so, would Holden have trusted him in the first place?
“Now may be a better time than later.” Alon leaned against the rails, next to Holden. “It’s about the fifth amidst our little group.”
“I’m all ears.” Dismissing the thoughts of Quinarlan, Holden turned to face Alon.
“Her name is Frarethien d’Alberich,” Alon explained, “born in a noble standing, yet instead of living her life in luxury, she is choosing to serve.”
“She joined with no incentive?”
“None that I know of.” With a sight, Alon looked out to the open sea. It held shards of the sky in its waters -- had the ocean calmed itself, one could easily confuse one with the other. “Now, for the news you’re not going to like.”
“A scout is wed to inconvenience,” Holden explained, “so don’t hesitate.”
“Frarethien and her family insist that you mentor her.” Alone could not hide his grin when he saw Holden’s disbelief displayed in widened eyes, and a dropped jaw. “It’s what happens when you shoot up the ranks like a weed. People will come, asking how to relive your life, so they can relive your success.”
“If she has yet to be trained, then why is she on this assignment?” Holden asked. Perhaps On’hino was just fond of spitting out inexperienced soldiers into places they shouldn’t be. “I’m not capable of teaching her.”
“Rest easy, friend,” Alon said. “From my understanding, her family had her put through several mentors before she found her way here. I doubt that she would be here if she couldn’t fend for herself.”
“Then what must I teach her?” Holden asked.
“That is something for you to find out.” Alon stood upright. “What comes next, stays between us.” As Holden nodded, Along took a look around themselves to make sure nobody was nearby. “I do not like this, not one bit,” he explained in a hushed voice. “Why not send actual instructors? Why us?”
“I thought it was for us to represent the strength and discipline of On’hino.”
“Then we would have sent Marius in.” Alon folded his arms over his chest. “Stay on your guard, Holden. Experience tells me that something is amiss.” He left Holden to his thoughts, and returned under the deck.
Holden walked to the door of the captain’s quarters, and knocked. There was a brief pause before before Orin opened the door himself, and motioned for him to come inside. Without hesitation, holden stepped in. Unlike before -- when Thusk was the captain -- the quarters glowed with pride. It was well kept, and everything was wiped clean. The smell of alcohol was gone entirely. “You really have done a lot of work to the Goliath, haven’t you?”
“It was Thusk’s pride and joy, and now it is mine,” Orin replied. “The Goliath will be in its best condition as long as I remain captain.” He sat down at this desk, and gestured to the seat across from him. “What brings you here, Holden?”
“I wanted to ask a few questions.” Holden sat down and clasped his hands together. “What do you know of the war in Oner.”
“A good question, that.” Orin grinned. “I was sitting on the pier when some scholar aimed to talk my ear off about it. He was still talking when I tossed him into the waters.” He chuckled, before standing up to approach a rack of rolled up papers. “On a serious note, Oner blamed her sister nation, Omem, for sabotage that ruined the purity of its greatest cities. The two sides have been at it for nearly a decade, now. Oner has an arm with the wit of newborn calves, and Omem has its own set of problems.”
“And Oner expects us to help with training their soldiers,” Holden said.
“That’s the idea of it. Why do you ask?”
“It’s simply that I have a tendency to be thrown into peril.” Holden relaxed in his seat. “What do you know about Lieutenant Alon?”
“He doesn’t die, if that helps. He’s seen the best and worst of it during his assignments.” Returning to his desk, Orin unrolled a map of two large nations, a large inlet of water wedged between them. “This is Oner, and Omem,” he explained. “While the thread of being attacked looms overhead constantly, most battles seem limited to the north.” Placing his finger where the land borders met, he dragged it all the way down to the southern end of Oner. “You’re to arrive here, and train the soldiers. You’d be the farthest from combat possible.”
“So ,we shouldn’t worry about Omian attacks.” Holden felt somewhat relieved that he was not to be on the frontlines. While he was more than ready to be thrown back into the maw of war, he was still human. “Is there anything I should be aware of?”
“Tr to keep away from the cities. They’re hosts to more killer and thieves than the open roads.” Orin rolled up the map, and set it aside. “If you’ve heard of the nastier ales about us Sea Tigers, then know that even at our worst, we’re innocent compared to the vile criminals that live in the cities.”
“I’ll make it a point to avoid them.” Holden stood up, and extended his hand to Orin. “Thank you.”
Grinning, Orin shook Holden’s hand. “Good luck with your little crew,” he said with a chuckle. “The big one seems like he’ll be fun to get along with. Has he threatened to crush you, yet?”
“Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know. Holden smiled, and moved for the door.
“Holden?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make me lose that bet.”
***
Holden sat down at a makeshift writing station, composed of a few crates. With a quill and ink -- courtesy of Orin -- he began to write another letter. However, this was not addressed to his family. Instead, it was addressed to Saul.
Dear Saul,
I have no way of knowing if this letter will reach you. Perhaps it is only out of vanity that I write this. I was sent to Stal to test my ability as a scout. When I came out a stronger man for it, King Tor himself was there to congratulate me on my success. In light of my improvements, he chose me -- as a representative of the On’hinian army -- to go and train the Onerian soldiers in archery. It will be like when you taught me, spare that there will be many to teach, not just one farmer’s boy.
Holden grinned, but stopped as soon as the quill hit the paper. Should he finish the letter and someone else discovered it, he could be seen as a spy. Rubbing his neck, he remembered the dream he had of being executed. “Sorry, friend, but you will have to wait.” Tearing the letter up, Holden went to the top deck do release the scraps.
Moonlight bathed the deck in a milky white, as the open skies flaunted their wealth in countless, glittering gems. The sea was rather calm, not daring to ruin the peace of night. Holden approached the railing, and looked down into the Abyss. It would devour his letter, and rend the ink from paper in its darkest depths. Along with the letter, his memories of home, family and Saul. It only hindered him to keep those memories close, and he was not going to let them cost Alon, Durek or the others their lives. Exhaling slowly, he let go of the scraps, watching them sail on the gentle winds, and into the sea.
“Good decision,” Alon said.
Holden turned around to find him standing there, dagger in hand.
“Relax, this isn’t for you.” Alon sheathed the dagger, and approached Holden. “I had my suspicions about you, and how you came to stand amongst veterans so quickly. An idea that, perhaps, you were a spy came to mind; worming your way to the top to snip off the head of our army.”
“I must be quite dedicated if I'm Risking my life on the whim of the nation I’m trying to infiltrate.” A sliver of indignant fury slipped into Holden.
“I also took that into consideration. But, when Kisler warned me that you were writing a letter directly pertaining to our assignment, that solidified that idea. But, it was to who you wrote that I chose not to kill you.”
“Saul?”
“Aye.” Alon clasped Holden’s shoulder. “Not all of us believe that he’s a no good rebel. Granted, he’s a little more popular with Sea Tigers than the On’hinian army, but I knew of him.”
“What did you know?” Holden felt somewhat relieved that he was not the only one who thought Saul was innocent.
“He made his name the same way you are,” Alon explained, “diving head first into the heart of the enemy.” He pointed to a scar, just over his own eyebrow. “Barbaric outlaws would come into the village I lived in, and would harass everyone. I made the mistake of trying to stand up to them as a child, and they were going to kill me. It was Saul who killed the man that beat me within an inch of my life.” Reaching into his shirt, Alon pulled out a necklace, an arrowhead attached to it.
“From the arrow he used?”
“Yes.” Alon held the arrowhead to the moonlight. “It was holding this arrowhead that I promised to be like him.” He tucked the necklace away, and cleared his throat. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t write those letters. I was one of many who hold suspicions about you. You’ll only hurt Saul, and yourself.”
“Understood.”
“Good, now I suggest you get to sleep. Orin said we’ll be reaching Oner by early dawn, and I imagine they’ll want us training them the second we set foot on their land.”
***
“Holden, wake up!”
Snapping his eyes open, Holden was pulled out of his hammock. He felt heavily disoriented, but he managed to focus on Durek, who kept him from hitting the floor. “What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to get into the right state of mind.
“It’s the Omians, they--”
A loud boom drowned out Durek’s words, and the ship shook violently, sending the two of them to the ground. Shouting could be heard throughout the ship, along with the clashing of steel. Getting up, Holden grabbed Yusil and ran to the top deck. As if he had stepped into the mouth of an inferno, there were flames dancing all around him. Amongst the roar of fire was the sounds of combat, and the pained screams of the fallen.
“Holden!” Durek screamed at the top of his lungs. Holden turned around to find him running up the stairs, great axe in hand. He swung the axe just over Holden’s head, as a meaty thunk barely resounded over the cacophonous ambience.
Warmth spilled over Holden’s shoulders and around his neck, seeping into his clothes. He needed nothing else to know it was blood. Turning around, he found a soldier stopped dead in his tracks. A violet sash around his torso was drenched in crimson, and was partially severed where the axe has bit into the chest.
“Don’t just stand there,” Durek growled, “we must retake the ship!” He ripped his axe free of the soldier -- who fell to the ground in a lifeless heap -- and moved past Holden.
Tightening the grip on his sword, Holden rushed into combat. The first target he laid eyes upon was a soldier next to the mast, standing over a wounded Sea Tiger. Moving quickly, Holden aimed to make short work of the soldier; this was not the skirmishes of Stal, or a duel. This was real life. He drove Yusil’s edge into the soldier’s chest, using his own momentum to drive the unsuspecting foe to the floor. Ripping his blade free, he offered a hand to the Sea Tiger.
“Thanks,” the Sea tiger said, “bastard nipped me while I was locking steel with his friends. I’ve seen worse wounds after bar fights, so don’t worry about me.” He used the mast as support, and pointed to where the Omians soldiers were swarming. “They’re trying to get to the captain. The crew would have to stand down if they get him.”
Holden nodded, and looked at the crowd of Omian soldiers. He did not have his bow, and to charge against them all by himself was suicide. He turned his attention to the battle over the rest of the deck, and ran into the closest fight. His endurance and experience with swordplay were tested again and again, as he felled soldier after soldier. Approaching a pair of soldiers fighting against Alon, Holden lowered his blade to stab one of them in the back.
He was sent staggering back as his blow was deflected with adept reflexes, and a fist landed a heavy blow on his face. However, he quickly recovered and raised his blade. Be it by luck or instinct, his desperate attempt to raise his guard blocked what would have been a lethal strike. Holden looked into the calm, stern eyes of his opponent, their steel locked in their struggle of strength. He swept his leg under the soldier, and ran his blade through the chainmail guarding the heart.
“So, you can hold your own,” Alon said, throwing the body of the other soldier into the waters. “Do you have a plan?”
“We need to clear off the Omians that are scattered about the Goliath,” Holden explained, “so we can muster the manpower to stop them from taking Orin hostage.”
“Right.” Without another word, Alon left to find another soldier, as Holden did the same. With each decisive, mortal blow, there were less Omians about the ship, and more Sea Tigers able to fight. As the last of the Omian stragglers was slain -- his body left on the ship’s deck -- Orin’s voice overpowered the battle cries of his men.
“Sea Tigers!” he bellowed. “Stand down!” While Holden and the others held onto their weapons, the crew let theris drop onto the floor in a chorus of noisy clatter. Holden looked around in confusion. Had they continued to fight, their victory over the boarding party was certain.
“It’s part of their code,” Alon whispered to Holden. “They must do whatever it takes to save the captain.”
“So, they won’t risk their captain being executed.” Holden watched as Orin remained still like a statue, until he realized something. The captain was looking at him. There was a more to Orin’s act than he let on.
Looking about the deck, Holden spotted a bow left on the floor, with a single arrow left next to it. He moved slowly, as to not draw attention to himself. The bow was much smaller than what he was used to, and its dire need of repair was worrying. As he drew back the bowstring, he took aim at the Omian holding Orin as sword point. Before he could fire, however, a hand gripped the bowstring. Holden turned his head to find Frarethien standing there. In her other hand was his bow.
“You’ll need this,” she said, swapping bows with him.
With a small nod in thanks, Holden gripped his bow firmly, and drew the string back. Orin was putting his life into his hands, and it was a relief to have a more dependable bow. With the release of his breath, he released his arrow.
Before the Omian could react, the arrow found its mark in his eye. Without even a last gasp of terror before death, he fell onto the deck. His comrades could only stare in horror as Orin drew his sword, and raised it high; a rally that brought the steel and fiery rage back into every Sea Tiger on board. With the entirety of the ship’s crew bearing down on them, the remaining Omians jumped into the waters in hopes of escape. Those who did not make it off the vessel were butchered without pause.
“Never pick a fight with the Sea Tigers!” Orin shouted at the fleeing Omians. “We’ll beat your arse, again and again!” His crew cheered while dumping the Omian corpses over the rails.
“Is there even a cut on you?” Alon asked, clasping Holden’s shoulder. “The gods must like you.” He looked around, and left to help tend to the injured. Watching Alon leave, Holden then turned to find Frarethien.
“Thanks,” he said, lifting his bow.
“Our lives were at stake. I did what was necessary.”
“Right.” Holden had not gotten a good look at her before, but even amidst the bloodstained decks, the flames on the ship and the wounded crew, her beauty was pure. Her hair was a honey-like golden color, her eyes a striking blue. If a thousand poets were to try and describe her beauty, it would all be in vain. “Alon told me that you requested my mentorship.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Frarethien said. “I figured it would be best to learn under someone with experience, and the ability to prove it.”
“I’m not sure if having that much faith in me is a good idea.” Holden was somewhat flattered. It was not so much his commendations of being a veteran that humbled him, but rather the request to share his knowledge -- most of which he could not explain.
“I’m only asking you to improve my marksmanship.” Frarethien glanced over the railing, and her eyes widened. “Anto help us,” she murmured softly. Firelight reflected off of her eyes, but it was not the flames that the crew was a dousing -- it was far from the ship.
Holden looked at the towering fire that illuminated the waters. “What is it?” Never before had he witnessed an inferno of such magnitude. Even the fiery explosion he saw in his first battle dulled in comparison to the colossus of fire that stood out in the darkness.
“That is.. Omian handiwork,” Orin explained. “The kind of damage done with guthryl.”
“Guthryl?”
“A resource as valuable as it is volatile.” Frarethien leaned against the railing, the wind blowing through her hair. “In both Oner and On’hino, it is declared contraband. I think you now know why.”
“If it is valuable, why waste it to set the shore ablaze?” It made little sense to Holden. Then, a thought crossed his mind, setting his heart pumping. “Orin, I need to see a map, and show me where we are.”
“Aye, ‘captain.’” Orin quickly made for his quarters.
“They could have been trying to unnerve the crew,” Frarethien suggested, “so that they could board the ship without resistance.”
“I don’t think they knew we were coming,” said Holden. As Orin returned with the map, he unrolled it along the rail.
“We’re here, along the Dragon’s Maw.” Orin placed his finger on the map. Not even a hair from his finger was the marking for a town.
***
The sky was grey, and blanketed with clouds. Even the gods did not want to see the twisted scenery born in the flames of war only hours before.
But, there Holden was.
He saw the pool of blackened earth, where people once lived in utter bliss. They lived lives of simplicity and were oblivious to the light that illuminated the night so clearly -- as if the sun stepped out of turn. And, in that instant, the men, women and children dreamt their last dream. Their heritage and legacy vanished within the blink of an eye, leaving behind only vibrant embers, which had turned to ash when the flames starved. Before the sun rose, the ashes were swept away by the wind, wishing the crew of the Goliath an eternal goodnight.
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