How Zantheus Fell into the Sky

2. Interrogation

Zantheus came round slowly.

Now, rather than hot, he was cold. And wet. And swaying, for some reason.

But these sensations were relegated to a much lower level of importance in his mind by the enormous, throbbing pain that coursed through his whole body, especially his head.

He heard himself moaning and realised that a large part of the right side of his face was swollen.

Opening his eyes confirmed this. Though his vision did not return at once, when pictures did begin to materialise they were partly obscured by something ugly and black in the corner of his right eye.

He was sitting on the deck of a ship—that explained the swaying at least—with his hands tied behind him. He must have lost his helmet, because his blonde hair was being blown about by the wind.

He was dimly aware that he was surrounded by a circle of people, a little way away from him, chattering and whispering.

In addition to these, three more figures stood nearer, in front of him. Definitely two were men, the other one was much smaller, so it was harder to tell.

He tried to concentrate on them but the pain and the swaying kept dragging their faces out of focus. He felt as if he might be sick.

"He's awake, Thalassa." A deep voice.

The background chatter died down. Zantheus moaned again.

"Here, drink this."

A bottle was pressed to his lips and something stung the back of his throat, but he gulped it down thirstily all the same. The pain quietened for a moment. He came up for breath.

"Ahh... What is—?"

As his captor put the bottle back to his lips and the liquid filled Zantheus's mouth again the reply came, "Rum."

Zantheus spat out the liquid instantly. Now a face as soaking as his own formed in front of him. It belonged to a hulk of a man even bigger than himself, though not as muscular, and it looked unimpressed.

"I apologise," said Zantheus with dignity and unapologetically. "It is forbidden by the Order."

The face contorted into a frown.

"Come, Hudor," said the second man, who stepped in front of the first, moving him aside. This one was shorter and stouter, not elderly but certainly not young, having a sort of weathered look about him.

When he spoke it was gruffly, through a thick tangled beard, but before he had a chance to do so again, Zantheus interrupted. "Where am I?"

"All in good time, my friend," said the second man, smiling, but not in a very friendly way either. Everything that he said seemed to have a tinge of mockery to it. "We've not been properly introduced yet. May I ask your name?"

"I am Zantheus, First Paragon of the Aythian Order," recited Zantheus with pride. He thought for a moment, then added "Champion of Awmeer." He tried to extend his arm by way of greeting but remembered that his hands were bound by cords. In his weakened state, he could not break them.

"Oh?" said his interrogator. "And what, pray tell, is a 'Paragon'?"

Zantheus was shocked at the man's ignorance and at his mocking tone. "We are knights of the utmost discipline and strictest virtue."

Tromo's heart jumped. One of his cloud-warriors had fallen to earth.

"A knight!" the bearded man positively scoffed, and the crew laughed along with him. Zantheus's shock turned to anger. "Well, in that case, I am Thalassa of Shul, seafarer of little discipline and no virtue, captain of this, my ship, the Raging Heart. And these are my crew."