TWELVE: Dancing on the Waves
Like Water, The Supreme Warrior has no consistent Shape. Instead, he Adapts to Defeat his Enemy.
—Caraazor 3:8 The Alchemy of War
The company marched north through the Fyrken swamp, this time without an incident, and waded across the shallow Brembel River. Their goal was a rocky cove south of Cheldran, a small port city located on the coast of Medvian Sea. Gellan Ware had used the cove in the past to smuggle dwarvish trade goods from Bodelic past the tax collectors in Cheldran.
The tired and battered company entered the secret cove a fortnight after leaving Nidafall. A dreary curtain of bland gray boulders surrounded them. The huge rocks appeared almost as worn as the company itself. The air reeked with salt. Even the seagulls picking at small sand creatures along the shore were a dirty grayish white.
The cove’s one redeeming quality was its harbor. Sheltered by a rocky coast and a narrow mouth, the cove protected a shallow bowl of calm blue-green water. Even though the company was well over three weeks behind schedule, the Trader was pleased to find a tall ship from House Mycelere still waiting for them.
When Gellan Ware called across the water to a sentry aboard Mycelere’s Maiden, he received a startled reply. Soon afterward, a flurry of crewmen lowered a boat, and Captain Hudorin himself boarded along with an oarsman to row the boat to shore.
Once aground, the Captain did not bother to step out of the boat before exclaiming, “Gellan! We thought you were dead!”
At the Trader’s puzzled glance, the weathered Captain explained. “Every Guild in Selinger is talking about the collapse of Dannik’s fair. Then Baron Grelig stormed Helvig’s castle. Half the Barons in the North are at war.” The Captain’s voice fell, and he shook his rich black beard before he said, “Numerous caravans disappeared in the fighting. When you did not arrive, we thought you were one of them.”
Cal could not contain himself at these words and pushed through the other men, “Who is at war?” he demanded from the Captain in a menacing voice. “What castles have fallen? What Barons have died?”
The middle-aged Captain blanched at Cal’s barrage of questions. His face purpled as he recognized Cal’s youth. For a moment, it seemed as if Hudorin would tongue-lash the young sergeant like an errant deck hand, but the Captain seemed to reconsider his response as he noticed the deferential posture demonstrated by the older men surrounding the muscular giant.
Instead, the Captain looked into Cal’s eyes and answered, “I do not know, young one. Clear word had not yet reached the City when we left.”
Gellan Ware pulled the conversation back to his immediate concerns. “If you believed we had died, why are you still here?”
“We got caught in a weird blow just as we were nearing the cove, ‘bout a month ago. No warning and the storm nearly shoved the Maiden against the reef. We had to fight like Jayati himself to avoid it, but we lost the mast.”
“Is she ready to sail?”
“Yes. We just finished trimming the new mast and patching the sail. You don’t want to know how hard I had to work the crew to find a suitable tree and drag it here.”
“Why? Was it difficult?”
“And then some. All summer, Captains have been complaining about the most bizarre weather they’ve seen in years. The wild seas have forced us to stick to the shallows. That puts us within reach of goblin longboats, who can’t navigate blue water. They’ve been preying upon deep water vessels all along the coast.”
“Are the seas still dangerous?”
“Yes. But, it can’t be helped. We have to be in Selinger before midsummer. The winds seem to have calmed down the last week or so. What of you? Did you succeed in Nidafall?”
Gellan Ware gave one terse nod in reply.
The Captain blurted, “Then we have an agreement with the Dwarves?” Hudorin glanced at Gellan’s company, searching for an ominous dwarvish face that fit the terrible tales from his childhood.
Before Gellan Ware could answer, the entire company moved aside so that the Captain could see the short dwarf that stood among them. Bodelic laughed. “Hudorin, you silly fool. What were you expecting? Some strange bogey that would spout a string of incantations and drown The Maiden under the waves?”
“Humph,” grunted the indignant Captain. “I was expecting more than a peddler with trinkets to sell. How are you, old friend?”
“I have something a little better than ‘trinkets’ this time,” retorted Bodelic. The dwarf stepped toward one of the ponies the Queen had given them as a pack animal, and opened an iron-bound chest. A mixture of expertly cut sapphires, rubies, and emeralds gleamed in the sun.
”’Tis the Queen’s gift to the Prince.”
Cal wondered how the Captain would react if he knew that the Miner could very well drown his ship under a deluge of water. The rest of the company shared amused glances as the Captain exchanged rote greetings with Bodelic, as if the dwarf were a mere fruit vendor in the marketplace.
While Hudorin’s fears had been allayed, Bodelic’s just began. As the dwarf stood on the shore and looked out at the distant ship, he seemed to realize for the first time that he had to cross the open water in an insubstantial boat. The dwarf clasped his staff in a white-knuckled death grip as his wide nostrils took in the alien scent of brine. His infrequent trips to the cove over the years had been uncomfortable enough. No dwarf trusted the untamed sea. All the way from Nidafall, Bodelic had known he was to take ship to Selinger. Nevertheless, when he was confronted with the reality, he found it difficult to halt the yammering in his heart.
Even setting foot on the boat required an act of will from Bodelic. With encouragement from all his friends, the dwarf heaved himself over the side then planted himself in the middle of the small vessel, as far away from the water as he could get. As the oarsman rowed towards the ship, the dwarf hunched down as if, by hiding the sea from his view, the wide water ceased to exist in his universe.
Boarding the ship was an even more trying experience for the dwarf. When the boat pulled alongside the Maiden, the crew had to hoist the dwarf onto the deck because he was too terrified to climb the rope. Bodelic had thought that little rowboat was the most miserable place he could ever imagine, until he dangled high in the air. As the sailors lifted him, the dwarf gaped at the great expanse of water all around him.
Cal could not help but laugh as his friend thrashed on the line, causing him to sway back and forth like a mad pendulum. Suddenly, the sailors hauling him upwards collided with one another. The dwarf lurched downward, causing his face to turn white with panic. He jerked to a sudden stop as more hands rushed forward to help their fellows control the bobbling dwarf.
When Bodelic finally set foot on deck, the inflamed Miner treated the much larger sailors with an angry tongue-lashing in dwarf-speech By the time Cal climbed up to the ship, the dwarf’s unease had overcome his anger as he gawked up at the sail over his head with an uncertain, worried gaze.
Though he did not share Bodelic’s extreme fear, Cal felt some sympathy for the dwarf’s anxiety. A sea voyage was a new experience for him. The young man had traveled on any number of river vessels, but he had never even seen the sea, much less sailed it. However, within less than an hour, the ship would set course for the open ocean.
Neither Mycelere’s Maiden, nor the sea, had made much of an impression on Cal while they were in the cove. His attention had been occupied by moving his gear into the ship, listening to the rapid-fire exchanges of sailor gossip, and borrowing appropriate shipboard clothing to pay much attention. However, once out to sea, Mycelere’s Maiden became his whole world.
The Maiden was about thirty-five cubits long from bow to stern, with a high aft fighting castle. She was a small cog rather than a large trading vessel. Her workmanship impressed Cal. At the bow stood a wondrously carved lady, with a flowing robe, wind-tossed hair, and an elegant arm stretched forward. The Maiden was single-masted and lantern-rigged, with a triangular sail dyed red. Instead of a side-rudder operated by a steersman (the only arrangement Cal had ever seen), the Maiden’s rudder resided in the stern and the steersman piloted the ship from a forward-mounted wheel. Everything about the Maiden looked new and clean and shipshape.
After a few days at sea, how the crew managed to keep her shipshape mystified Cal. The sailors scurried about, busy with numerous chores, while Cal could barely take three steps without tripping over his own feet. How these sailors could casually walk across a deck that moved beneath them, he did not know. Luckily, he did not suffer from seasickness; but the eternal rocking of the sea threatened to drive him insane.
The Maiden was a mere chip floating on massive waves. She would be crushed if the Captain tried to balk the sea’s dictates. Reality was limited to the stark essence of clear blue sky above, and deep blue sea below. There was no hill, no crevice, or no tree in which to hide from the Eye of Heaven (the sun). Cal had never felt so exposed in his life.
The sailors laughed at the young sergeant, telling him to enjoy the calm and calling him ‘landlubber’. At least he fared better than poor Bodelic. The dwarf almost immediately fell seasick and spent all of his time trying to suppress dry heaves in the small cabin he shared with Gellan Ware.
Cal, who along with the other guardsmen bunked in the hold with the common sailors, fit in almost right away. The sailors invited the guardsmen, who had been on a number of voyages on the Maiden, to dice with them. Within a few hours, the crew readily accepted Cal.
A few days later, after he had gotten his ‘sea legs’ and could walk about the deck after a fashion, Fardinanth approached Cal carrying a foil in hand. “Laddie, me an’ the boys been think’n you might be gett’n bored.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, we been tell’n the sailors that you’re pretty decent with a blade. So we wus think’n you might want ta take on the sailor’s best man, ta have a little practice don’ ya know?”
“How much have you bet?”
“Not a thing,” answered Fardinanth. At Cal’s doubting smirk he amended, “Well, not yet. But, see’n as how you’re a landlubber, they’s givin’ us odds.”
“How big?”
“Three to one.”
Cal guffawed. “Does the Trader know?”
“Sure. He bet haf a’ crown on you.”
“When do you want me to fight? I suppose I had better practice a bit on deck...”
“Ya can’t. That’s why we’s gett’n such good odds. They wants the fight now.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I guess I can oblige them.”
“Laddie, if you don’ mind a word o’ advice, I battled a few times on a deck. Fancy footwork on a ship will make ya lose your feet. Keep it simple. One cut, one parry, back to guard. Otherwise, ya end up flat on the deck.” Fardinanth offered the hilt of the foil he was carrying. “It’s shorter than ya normally like. Better to keep your balance.”
“When are we fighting?”
“Real soon laddie. They’s below decks right now, taking wagers.”
The entire crew (and passengers) gathered topside. One lookout remained in the crow’s nest, and one helmsman stayed at the wheel. Everyone else crammed the mid-deck, even Bodelic, who looked only slightly nauseous. Fardinanth pointed to the forecastle, and said, “You’s fightin up there. Ya can’t jump down or off the ship or you lose.”
Cal nodded.
Fardinanth’s voice dropped to a low tone, “Don’t move around a lot, laddie. Make him come to you.”
He climbed the ladder and rooted himself in the raised aft deck, scrutinizing the planks for obstacles. A few minutes later, a short sailor with brown skin, dense black hair and oddly slanted eyes emerged from the crew hold. He carried a foil in his right hand. Cal remembered his name was Saknoti. He had been mildly curious about the man ever since he spotted the strangely shaped features, but had not been able to discover much.
I’ll find out how this Saknoti handles a sword.
The ‘foils’ sailors used were not the thin rapier-like training weapons that Uncle Aldon had called by the same name. Instead, these weapons were blunted bastard swords with no true point. Without a word, the contest began.
Saknoti circled gracefully, his knees flexing with the roll of the deck with ease. Cal, however, recognized Saknoti’s strategy and refused the bait; he rested his sword against his right shoulder, ready to strike. The sailor was trying to make him move about the deck on his ‘landlubber’ legs.
Strength and speed. Those are my advantages. Wait.
Saknoti whirled into motion just as Cal decided to wait. He lowered his sword below his waist and took two aggressive steps straight at his young opponent. Cal was so startled he reflexively raised his sword off his shoulder to strike. The nimble sailor rushed even closer and swung his blade tip up toward Cal’s fists. He windmilled his blade to the left, ramming Saknoti’s sword into the ground.
With the sailor’s blade temporarily pinned, Cal took a big step forward with his right leg and tried to ram his shoulder into the smaller man’s chest. Rather than match brute force with the powerful young man, the veteran sailor crumpled to the deck and then rolled aside, regaining his feet untouched. Quickly, the older man brought his sword to guard. Saknoti circled again, now more wary of Cal’s speed.
Saknoti now had a new trick up his ragged sailor’s sleeve. As the older man circled, Cal had to turn with him, keeping his guard between them. The wily sailor started rapidly changing his attack angles, first circling to his right and then to his left, trying to time his direction change with the sway of the ship.
He’s trying to make me stumble. Or tie up my feet and force a weak parry.
Boos and catcalls rose from the deck.
Saknoti patiently persisted with this tactic. The sailor remained oblivious to the restless audience. Instead, he focused on his opponent.
Outside of sword range, the older sailor assumed numerous strange postures with his sword, flowing from one to the next. In all the tournaments Cal had watched since childhood, he had never seen such antics.
He’s a clown. A self-taught clown who’s picked up useless frills from his training regimen.
Nagging uncertainty gnawed at Cal’s mind. There’s logic to his swordsmanship. A logic I do not quite understand.
Saknoti refused to allow Cal any respite. The sailor slipped to the right, swirling his sword into a low line and swung up at Cal’s wrists once again. He parried, hacked at Saknoti’s legs, and then survived an awkward arrhythmic exchange by pure reflex.
Gods! His style is frustrating!
He aimed a vicious overhand cut at Saknoti’s shoulder. The smaller man parried with his sword parallel to the ground. The sailor pressed his left palm against the flat of his sword, and threw his whole weight forward as if he was a farmer pushing a heavy cart with both arms.
Saknoti’s superior leverage forced his much larger opponent off balance. Just at that moment, the ship rolled and Cal first stumbled, and then sprawled on the deck.
In a flash, Saknoti rained a quick succession of blows down upon the young guardsman while he flopped and rolled across the forecastle. Cal continued to flail about on the deck for a few ridiculous moments before he realized there were no more strokes to dodge.
He stopped. Why has he stopped?
Wild shouts rose from the lower deck. He finally understood that they called, “Sail! Sail!”
The young guardsman cautiously rose to his feet. Saknoti stood at the starboard railing, his eyes gazing off into the distance. Cal joined him at the rail and was shocked to see a slim galley far closer than he believed possible. The vessel’s single square sail billowed with a full wind while its oars ripped through the waves.
Captain Hudorin scrambled up the ladder and pulled a long spyglass from his belt as he joined Saknoti and Cal at the railing.
“Goblins!” cursed the Captain.
Hudorin turned and shouted across the deck, “Pirate, port forward quarter!”
____________________________________________________________
Hey, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you liked it, please VOTE. If you have any feedback, I'd love to hear it. I want to know how to improve. Please leave a COMMENT.