Chapter 8

ENJOY!

Beak and Talon

The current lessened, and the wind turned for the better. Villian, and the sailors, though relieved, were exhausted. Everyone straggled onto the deck, hoping that nothing else was afoot.

Horlan looked worse than any of the sailors; his face was soaked in sweat, his hands raw from rowing, and his legs shivering from so much work. No one talked, save Loylen, (who acted as captain,) and even he could hardly speak. It was almost dark, so he gave his final orders.

“Keep up the sails…then half of you get some sleep, so you’ll be able to take the night shift. You others…keep a sharp eye for were-wolves and other evil.

“I need to rest; I will see you tonight.” And with that Loylen silently drooped to the bunks under the ship. Villian and Horlan followed, but Stolar waited a while until all the sailors that were allowed to rest had sleepily taken to the bunks. He soon was in a bunk himself.

The hold was filled with many things: spices, food, weapons, armor, silk, cloth, and many other things that were good for trade. He had never truly noticed what was in the ship, because it was either too dark at night, or he was too focused on rowing in the day. Either way, this was the first time he noticed the trading items that were to be sold.

“At what prices will these goods sell for at the docks?” he inquired.

“Oh, I’d say forty ta’ fifty o’ gold piece,” said the merchant. “But no more questions; I’m o’ turin’ in!” And with that he slumped into his bunk.

The bunks stacked on top of each other in twos; Loylen took the bunk above the merchant, while Horlan took his own, and Villian took the bunk above Stolar. They dozed away, praying that nothing as bad as that day would come again in a good many years.

Villian awoke to the yell of, “We’ve made it to the lake!” And so they had, a vast dark blue, shining in the sun. It was huge, and one could not see its northern shores. Villian gaped at its beauty.

“The Clog Lake,” said Loylen from behind Villian. “Largon rests not three miles from here; this ship should reach her docks by dawn tomorrow.” It was dawn then, and the day passed slowly. The pink sun soon grew white, and scorched the sailors’ skin though it did not redden it.

The men began to put on coats, hoping to shield themselves from the cold that had reached their ship. The Clog Lake was far north of Cath-Lenor, and the sailors normally went downstream, to Lerves, which was much farther south. Though they didn’t enjoy chapped and reddened skin, they found it no pleasure to be in the cold. Under the deck was much warmer, and Villian spent much time there, when he could. Fortunately, he knew nothing of sailing, (save what the other sailors had taught him,) so he could spend most of his time in the hold. But sometimes he had to keep watch, or climb to adjust the sails, and since those were high places, they were cursed with wind. So Villian avoided as much work as he could that day. The fifth day seemed to pass at a medium speed.

The sky was pink, and was turning into orange, as the sun sank. The bluffs on port-side were very beautiful, and the sun also shone on the water.

“This lake views many things,” said Loylen, coming up beside Villian. “The Bluffs in the west, the tundra in the north, the mountains in the east; even the fields you and I call home can be seen from here.”

“Have you been here before?” inquired Villian.

“Yes, but only twice. I wish it had been more, for the beauty of this lake is immense.”

“What of Stolar? And Marsen? Have the seen this place?”

“Marsen yes, but Stolar has only been to Lerves, which is a place I would like to go someday.”

“Have you…” began Villian, but he was interrupted by a sailor who was Beckoning Loylen.

“Sir, you need to see this,” he said. Loylen and Villian walked to the port-side. The sailors started talking between themselves. Loylen looked for a moment, his face becoming very stern.

“All hands on deck! Archers to the ready! Arm yourselves! Bows and arrows, along with long swords! Go!”

Villian looked out to the west, into the sun that had almost disappeared; he squinted, and began to see what looked like two arches connected to each other. But there was more than one; there were at least thirty, maybe forty of them. and they seemed to be changing shape. It was like they were…then Villian understood; he armed himself, just in time to see the hawks’ eyes. There were at least twice as many hawks as there were men aboard the ship.

These hawks though, weren’t what one would think of if he thought of a hawk. The proportions were the same, but instead, these birds were twice the size as the largest eagle that had ever been spotted. They’re talons could easily tear apart anything smaller than them made of flesh and blood. Villian had good reason to be afraid.

The hawks were not stupid though, like a regular animal. They instead had a vast intelligence, and had a strategy for their attack. Soon they were close enough to the boat to dive, and so they did, but only about half of them. The sailors scrambled on the deck, positioning themselves to get a clear shot. Then came the hawks; they dove so quickly, that the sailors had hardly any chance to aim. Two arrows hit a hawk, and it fell, but at least another ten missed. The hawks were about to hit the ship, when they pulled up suddenly, trying to snatch one of the men. Many of the men ducked, but three sailors were carried off.

When the hawks reached the shore, they would drop their prey on the pebble beach, killing them on impact. Then the giant birds would return to the battle, ready to do the same with another.

Villian fought, but with little success; the same was with the others. Soon he saw hawks swooping down lightly, and landing on the deck of the boat. It was a hand to hand fight now, bows being dropped to be replaced with swords. Villian though, stayed away from the battle, up on the poop-deck, where he shot as many of the birds as he could. Fortunately, they were bigger targets. Unfortunately, a hawk came and tried to carry him off, before he could hit more than two or three. Villian ducked, but another dove, and he had to jump from his place on the poop-deck, to the main deck. He fell hard on the wood, which was not the most pleasant thing he’d experienced. A bird noticed, and came over, pinning him to the floor. Villian’s sword was still in its sheath, and his arms could not reach due to the fact that they were being pressed against the floor. Then, the hawk released him, and he got up, to draw his sword. But as soon as it was in his hand, another hawk swooped down and grabbed him. Searing pain took to his shoulders, and he fainted.

Villian woke to the flapping of strong wings, and rushing air. He also felt an excruciating pain in his shoulders. He painfully looked at them, and saw that the hawk that was carrying him had driven its claws into his shoulders, and was grasping them tightly. He struggled, but that only brought more pain, and did nothing anyway. His brain worked slowly; the first thing he noticed was that his chain mail was soaked with blood. Then he decided that his life was about to be taken from him. He bowed his head, using as little muscle as possible. He felt hopeless.

But then, he saw something; a flash of light near his waist. He had dropped his sword when he was taken, so it could not be that. But then he remembered; his dagger. Getting it was a painful process, having to move his shoulders. He nearly passed out a few times, with no success. He finally grasped it, and brought it up. He drove it as hard as he could into the claw of the hawk; it made a screeching sound, and dropped him. He fell in the water, just yards from the shore, which he had not noticed. He began to sink. This is better death than the one I would have suffered before, he thought.

His mind recalled all of the experiences he’d had with water. He remembered how his friends taught him how to swim, so that he would not drown when they dunked him. He remembered kicking…kicking. That was it. He finally processed the memory and did what it said. But when he tried moving his arms, he felt searing pain, and had to immobilize them again. He kicked though, and soon was closer to air. His lungs screamed, begging to inhale the entire lake. He kicked harder, and he lightly burst through the water.

He kicked his way to the shore, and washed up on the pebbles; it was cold. He lay there, hopeless and exhausted.

He woke to the cold, and he ached all over, but the pain in his shoulders was mostly absent. He rose, using his arms a little. He was hungry, thirsty and cold.

He looked around; there were no houses around, nor a farm in sight. He slumped over to the water’s edge, and drank from the crystal surfaced lake. Then, he took his chainmail off. His coat was soaked, so he took it off to let it dry. He took all of his garments off, but unfortunately, the foggy land would do little to dry them. Of course, they would do better on the pebbles than on him. So he lay there naked, knowing his demise would take place soon.

Chapter 7

Sorry for the big time gap! Here's my latest chapter; enjoy!

The River

Villian woke to Loylen’s voice, which beckoned him to follow. He followed sleepily, (after dressing,) and soon found himself in a room full of beds and potions. On one of the beds, lay Maron. Vill stared at him like one stares at a ghost. His leg wasn’t bandaged, but the deep cut in it was covered in some sort of green herb. His small black beard was stained with blood. He looked dead; in fact, Villian would have thought so if Maron had not moved his head over to look at them, crushing Villian’s hopes.

“What are you here for?” he snarled, “and why did you bring the little murderer with you?” Maron glared at Villian.

“We would like to hear your story of what happened yesterday,” said Loylen. Maron almost smirked, and began to tell his story. Of course, he completely reversed the roles of he and Villian, ecept for the fact that Villian had attacked him with success, while in truth, Maron had failed in his attack, and had been wounded in the process.

Once Maron’s story had been told, Loylen thought and compared Villian’s story with Maron’s. Villian knew it was time for the truth to be told, and that he would be the one to tell it.

“In truth Loylen,” Villian began, “I was the one Maron wounded.” Loylen looked puzzled for a moment, but let Villian continue.

“Although, my effort was only in self-defense, I still struck him a second time, out of fear.” Loylen accepted thiese truthful words and said to Maron, “Also Maron, I realized that when you told your story, you said that Villian decided to “fatally” wound you instead of killing you. Of course, you knew that the medics here could heal anyone with a wound twice of your wound’s intensity. So if Villian here decided to kill you, why wouldn’t he just kill you and then lie to me that he was killed by a beast, just like you lied to me after killing Sir Marsen?” (He was the warrior whom Villian replaced) Maron looked horrified, for he had had no knowledge that Loylen knew he had lied.

“I release you from the guild,” were Loylen’s final words to Maron as they left the hospital.

Loylen looked happier than a lamb. Stolar looked like he’d been relieved of a great burden, and Villian felt like a lion, who had just overcome its prey.

Things were far different without Maron; for one, Loylen acted much differently, as did Stolar. They seemed much more welcoming to Vill than when Maron had been present. Villian felt like he could enjoy life without Maron, and things began to get better.

Soon it was time for the tournament that would decide the next warrior. Villian felt surprised when Loylen mentioned that they would have to attend, for Villian had never thought of the fact that he would attend as a warrior, (before he became one that is.) Soon they were readying for the tournament, fitting themselves with weapons and armor. (One thing that you must know that is of importance, is the fact that the warriors of Cath-Lenor, as well as the warriors of the other city-states of the time, acted as policemen of sorts. They’re main purpose was to keep the peace, patrolling the streets and making sure that people didn’t hurt each other or act violent. But when a war arose, they were on the front lines of battle.) So Loylen, Stolar, and Villian were soon ready, hoping that no trouble would arise during the event.

They walked to the fairgrounds, and entered the main arena; it was the same: sand covering a small field. He remembered the last time he’d been there, telling guards his, name, and his age. And then, he remembered something he’d forgotten: He was twenty years old. His birthday had slipped through his mind, now a few days past. Normally, he would sleep into midday, and then would eat a lot more food than normal. So Villian would not have to work, or awaken early on his birthday.

But this year, nothing had happened. The day had probably been on the day he was throwing things around the guild. But whenever it was, he had forgotten it.

Soon Villian found himself sitting in one of the Warrior’s chairs. People began to gather, and soon a crowd was roaring. The candidates soon began to fight, each taking a far different amount of time; for instance: one man named Gorlal, and another named Jeffert, took three minutes, with the huge Gorlal knocking Jeffert unconscious. On the other hand, one named Horlan, and another named Sisalt, took at least half an hour. So time varied.

Soon though, the first half was over, and the second half had begun. Horlan soon had a man named Jamier on his back, and Gorlal lost to another named Allimen. Then Horlan, and Allimen fought; the battle went on a good long time, with both men dealing fine strokes. Soon though, a quiet crack was heard, and Allimen was on the ground, wincing and holding his wrist. Horlan was victorious, but never the less, he had a concerned face for Allimen.

Horlan was paraded around by the people, and eventually, ended up at the guild. Loylen welcomed Sir Horlan, and then sent everyone, (including himself,) to bed. Villian looked at the flat boarded roof, thinking of the day, thinking of Horlan, thinking of the roar of the crowd, thinking of tomorrow, thinking of…

Villian had always woken up the latest since he had entered the guild, but now, he saw Horlan lying in bed, snoring louder than anyone Villian knew. Actually, it was Horlan who woke Villian up.

Villian got up, and soon was eating in the downstairs dining room. He then played chess with Stolar, losing horribly. He washed walls, and went to the market, buying bread, milk, meat, and cheese, (the cheese came from his mother.) The guard who was protecting her, (with his Majesty’s permission,) told Villian that his mother was doing fine, and sold plenty of cheese, (mostly thanks to the fact that Villian was a warrior.) After that, he returned to the guild, where he found Horlan alone. He learned that Loylen and Stolar had gone to the dock, (a rather small one,) to talk to some merchants. Villian rested, since he’d been working all day.

He hadn’t practiced sword fighting, at least not with real swords, so he decided to teach Horlan, while learning himself. They retrieved two shortly broad swords, and began their practice of skills.

Horlan knew just as much as Villian, so they were evenly matched. Villian had seen Loylen and Stolar practice before, so he did his best to copy them; he also taught Horlan as well. Soon they had dealt many strokes, (none to the flesh of course,) and were both a little tired. Horlan had known more than Villian gave him credit for in his mind.

Suddenly the door opened, and Loylen walked in.

“Pack up gear and food to last us seven days; we are going,” he said.

Villian, both confused and surprised, did as Loylen said, and soon had bread, pork, cheese, and water packed for a week-long trip.

Horlan did the same, and soon they were ready to go, but where? Villian had received no information on their destination, so he was not sure what to prepare for.

Now prepared, Loylen led Villian and Stolar down the cobbled street, and onto a gravel path that led down to the river, where there were two docks. The path twisted back and forth, in a zigzag, until it led upstream; then it met docks. The docks were small, and not very impressive; nothing like the docks of Alillor, or of Largon. But it was a good source of trade, and so they were given a little credit.

Stolar was waiting with a good many, say sixteen sailors, rough and red from the sun.

“This is our home for the next week,” said Loylen. He gestured towards a small ship, with only a storage hold and sailors’ quarters; it had two masts.

“She’s small, but she’ll do for what is needed,” said Loylen. “There’s a strong wind blowing north, and we’ll use it to sail upstream towards Largon.”

Villian wished he’d prepared better; he had had no idea whatsoever that they were sailing on a river. But what was done was done, and it was too late.

They set out upstream, using the wind, and the very slow current to their advantage. The going was slow, but steady, and the current only seemed to slow. The first day passed without activity, and all seemed well. The second and third days went by quicker than the first day, and things seemed to be getting better.

Life aboard a ship, (or in this case a boat,) was not easy; first, the sailors had to work with the riggings, making sure that they were tight, and in the right position. Then there was climbing on the nets; some sailors would have to climb to the crows-nest, and keep a lookout for anything that would slow their journey down.

The fourth day passed slowly. Something Loylen didn’t mention was that there were oars, in case the wind was not favoring them. And on the fourth day, they were used. The wind had turned against them, now blowing south-east. In addition to that, the current’s strength had tripled, and so two things needed to be checked: first, the sailor in the crows-nest had to make sure that they weren’t about to crash on starboard side, and that they weren’t losing to the current. Villian’s turn soon came, and he enjoyed a break from his previous work: breaking your back by rowing.

While things were rather easy in the crows-nest, things were painful under deck. Sailors sweated as they rowed with all their might, trying to beat the current; twenty men could do little. Every man pulled his weight, while at the same time trying to survive. Rowing an oar was difficult with two men on an oar, but on this ship, each man was given his own oar. The pain each man had to endure could not be described. Men’s hands were covered in sores, and their faces and bodies were covered in sweat. Everything seemed hopeless, the sailors’ bodies almost completely numb. Villian could do little thinking, save this thought: milking and grazing cows was far easier.