Truss tried not to feel too smug as he watched his sister stumble away below deck. Sure, Tress was by far the more social of the two, and was better liked, and she fit in easily wherever she went, but Truss was better at weathering ship travel, and wasn’t that something to be proud of? It might not have been as impressive as the myriad advantages that Tress had over him, but he would take whatever he could get.

The smug feeling passed quickly, however, because it wasn’t long before Truss realized that he had been left alone with Seahawk.

He turned his attention to her. The tall woman was leaning forward, arms braced against the ship’s railing, watching the waves as they passed on by. Her muscles were well-developed and firm, yet lean, and her dark hair blew gently in the breeze. Her face had a far-off look to it, and Truss could tell that she was deep in thought about something.

Seahawk’s face had become something of a fascination of his. Everything about her was something of a fascination, but her face especially so. Truss had overheard men discussing her appearance, in taverns and inns, on ships like this one and even once or twice while out on the street. For all those men, the discussion was never flattering. Many spoke with disdain of her muscles, and many more focused their derision on her scar; that jagged line that ran over her left eye and down her cheek, like a crack in her face. She would be pretty, but for the scar and the muscles, those men would say. It seemed that, to much of the male population, Seahawk’s scar was a source of ugliness, a terrible flaw that robbed her of her beauty. It was no wonder that she trained up her muscles to bulge so grotesquely, these men claimed. After all, she could never be beautiful, so why bother?

It was a strange thing for Truss to hear, because he had never seen the scar as a flaw. In his eyes, Seahawk’s body was a sign of her strength and dedication, and the scar gave her a sort of depth that few others had. He saw in her many traits that were admirable, even attractive, and wondered how in the world so many men seemed to overlook them. No, Seahawk was far from ugly—she was a beautiful woman, and that beauty shone through in every aspect of her appearance. He longed to touch her, to hold her and be held by her.

Yet these desires gave Truss pause. Seahawk was his companion, a fellow adventurer who fought by his side. He did not want to ruin their relationship by introducing unnecessary awkwardness into it, and besides, he knew so little about her regardless. She was so guarded.

So it was that Truss stood there at the edge of that ship and looked out over the waves just as she did, and he searched for something to say but found nothing at all.

Tress would know what to say, he thought. But I am not my sister. I don’t know how to talk to people the way she does.

There was some sort of trick to it, he thought, and yet he had never been able to grasp it. Sometimes it was as though everyone else in all of Halorath had taken some secret lesson on how to talk to others and be open and social, but none of them had thought to invite Truss along, ensuring that he alone remained ignorant of these secrets that all others shared.

He was still searching for something to say when Seahawk spoke up: “Did you see the necklaces some of the crew were wearing?”

“Necklaces?” Truss asked, searching his memory for such a thing.

“Eight-point stars, painted yellow but with a red flame in the center,” Seahawk told him. “I noticed at least three among the crew. The emblem looks familiar, but I’m not sure what it means.”

Truss considered it, and he realized that, now that Seahawk had described the necklaces, he did in fact know what she was talking about. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t think I have ever seen an emblem like that one. Perhaps it’s some sort of sailors’ fraternity?”

“Maybe,” Seahawk allowed. “But I don’t think so. Sailors come across many cultures over the course of their career, and many faiths as well. The star and the flame reminds me of that—faith. It has the feel of a religious order of some kind. I just wonder what sort.”

“Should we ask one of the sailors?” Truss offered. Now that Seahawk had drawn his attention to the necklaces, he found himself growing intensely curious. Turning around the look across the deck, Truss adjusted his spectacles and searched for some sign of the necklaces among the crew around him.

“That would be simplest, wouldn’t it?” said Seahawk with a touch of humor in her voice. She too turned around and joined Truss in examining the people on the deck.

There were a few passengers milling about, mostly looking over the ship’s railings and watching the waves as Truss and Seahawk had been. An elf woman in fine clothes was having a heated discussion with one of the sailors, a deep frown on her reddening face. The sailor seemed apologetic about something and kept waving his hands about. He wore no necklace that Truss could see. Other sailors were tending to the lines, and the helmsman stood at the wheel and watched the bay around him with an impassive expression.

Abruptly, Seahawk started walking across the deck. Truss blinked in surprise, then followed her gaze to a deckhand who was seemingly on break, smoking a pipe and leaning against the wall next to the door below decks. Truss quickly set out to follow Seahawk, wondering why this sailor in particular, a dwarf with a bright red beard, had drawn her attention. He certainly couldn’t see a necklace on him.

They were nearly to the smoking deckhand when something sounded from below decks that stopped Truss dead in his tracks. He froze, his heart growing cold, and he saw Seahawk turn her head and look at him with wide and surprised eyes. The dwarven deckhand jumped at the sound, looking about as though he was confused as to where it had come from.

There was no time for hesitation. Truss was moving immediately, bursting through the door and rushing down the stairs, his hand going to the sword at his side.

He had heard a scream.

And it had sounded like Tress.