Crouching in a forest of unfamiliar plants, her ears full of unfamiliar sounds and her nose bombarded by strange scents, Lana racked her brains for any plan that could deliver her from the immediate danger of the soldiers who were still searching the remains of the massacred caravan. No matter how hard she tried, not a single option presented itself to her..

Should she try to brave the woods and hope to find a town nearby? She had heard that settlements grew sparse further north and the signs of civilization had indeed started to grow thin over their days of travel. They had to be pretty far now, who knew if she could even make it to another town on foot? If she even went the right direction.

The problem was, the road wasn’t safe, she couldn’t risk the chance of running across an imperial patrol, or worse, the very same soldiers who had attacked the caravan, and she had no other indicator of where to go. Torrol Market was out of the question, but there had to be another town or village further along. Perhaps she could follow the road from the forest, staying deep enough to hide from view. Of course, as soon as those soldiers decided to search the forest, she would be found out. The only reason they hadn’t spotted her yet had to be the deep night-shadows that the trees cast throughout. That was all not to mention the sound of moving through the thick underbrush. Ferns, saplings, and plenty of plants she could not put a name to all rustled whenever she so much as shifted. With both she and Jormand moving along the side of the road, anyone with ears would hear them if they weren’t seen first.

Her complete lack of choices kept her frozen stiff as she watched the soldiers slowly go from searching the wrecks of wagons to peering into the forest. They would not be able to see her, not with the cover of night hiding her. For now. As soon as they took it upon themselves to enter and search the forest thoroughly, they would be hard pressed to miss her. The only choice she could bring herself to make was to retreat. It would give her time to think at least.

She began to back up slowly, staying in a crouch and trying to be conscious of where she placed her feet and feeling her way with one hand while keeping her knife close in the other. Frustratingly there seemed to be no gap in the scattering of plants, all of which brushed loudly as she passed. She did her best to only rustle those which made the least noise.

When she reached the tree where Jormand sat, she tapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards the deeper part of the wood. He followed obediently without a word like a well trained hound.

A bit of the usual vigor had returned to him, but Lana could still see that his wounds were sapping his strength. He would need to rest soon. And they would both need food and shelter.

Lana kept a close eye on Jormand as they crept away from the roadway. He still held that hammer but it looked like he had wiped it off on the greenery. The clawed end was mostly clean now and shone dully in what little moonlight seeped through the thick canopy. Layers of wide leaves and thin needles did a good job of keeping the moon at bay.

More so than the man carrying it, that hammer kept Lana’s attention. Now that it had been cleaned, it looked like nothing more than an innocent tool. She had seen its like before and had never thought twice. It was somehow made worse by the knowledge that it could be cleaned so easily. That its foul work could be erased. It ought to be stained blood red after what it had done. It was too clean. Like a gore crow that pecked at the eyes of a condemned man as he hung from his noose. Keeping its beak clean by striking the most delicate parts. It was an abomination, yet she found her eyes drawn to it.

She shuddered, the memories of Jormand’s brutal work rising afresh in her mind. She tried to push them away but even when she closed her eyes she could see it. In vivid light. It captivated her, like few things ever did. Like only one thing ever had. The cavalier death of an innocent man, his throat crushed in impossibly strong fingers. His bent and swollen body flung aside as refuse, left abandoned on the rocks…

She was snapped back to the moment as she heard a sound from her right. More than the sound of wind blustering through the trees. Footsteps. Or so she thought.

Whatever it was was impossibly quiet, but regular. With so much vegetation, it was unthinkable that anyone could move so quietly, but the footsteps were approaching and Lana became more and more sure that was what they were as they neared.

Then, from around a tree, a hand appeared, grasping the rough bark for purchase and speckled with darkness.

Lana readied her knife in a tight fist and froze once more. Jormand paused a moment later, his hammer raised. He looked to Lana for direction but she could scarcely breathe, much less think.

Then, from around the tree a face followed. A familiar face. Battered and weary with dark hair that hung untethered from inside a light bronze helmet and wild, darting eyes that shone with moonlight from within. It was Gisela, though Lana could hardly recognize her in the darkness.

She wore her usual clothes aside from that helmet. Her shirt was torn on the sleeves, whether from thorns or blades, Lana could not tell, and her trousers ended abruptly at the knees with dangling strings. In her hand she held a broad, short sword, stolen from the corpse of a soldier Lana guessed. Behind her limped another two shapes. Hunched over and moving furtively, they looked like hunted animals.

Lana lowered her blade and made a slow wave. Gisela started and her eyes went even wider. She had not seen Lana cowering in the darkness. But then recognition dawned on her face, just in time to stop her sword from coming to rest in Lana’s chest.

Lana beckoned her over and in turn Gisela waved for those following her to come along. The two shapes resolved into three as they neared. One was Elyas, Lana was glad to see, supporting a man who looked too much like Jormand to be anyone but his brother, though his face was hidden in the shadow of wetly hanging hair. The third was limping badly but didn’t seem to need too much help to move. It was Lyra, the caravner who had been driving the wagon Gisela had hidden in. She wore a bandage on her left leg that matched the cloth of Gisela’s trousers and looked frightened beyond what the rest displayed. She clutched her arms to her torso as if trying to reassure herself but her wild eyes and twitching glances towards the trees showed that it was a futile effort.

Aside from Gisela’s sword, none of them carried any weapons, although Lana spotted a sheathed dagger at Ketrim’s hip. She wondered why he wasn’t at least holding it.

As the beleaguered group drew closer, another dark shape pulled itself away from the mass, this one much smaller. Even smaller than Lana and clad in a torn pair of trousers and a strangely clean shirt, it was one of the caravan’s children. A boy whose name Lana had forgotten. His one fist he held a tiny scrap of parchment and the other a thin silvery chain. Both fists were held against his body in a posture that would have stopped Lana from asking any questions even if there were no immediate danger. She had seen children like that before. They did not often last long on the Maerinen streets.

How so many had escaped the caravan was a mystery to Lana but she could not help but smile with relief and joy at seeing them. If there were this many, there would be more. Only, she knew the child did not belong to Lyra. Why was he not with his parents? Surely if they had escaped, he would be with them…

Lana shook her head and willed her line of thought to stop. Then she shuffled closer to Gisela who began to speak in a low, nearly inaudible whisper as she neared.

“They’re starting to search the woods. We need to move. Now.” Her urgency was clear and Lana did not need to hear it twice.

“Where will we go?” She asked, trying to keep her panic from her voice. Gisela shook her head and pointed deeper into the woods.

“Away from them. We need to put distance between us and the road. We…” She paused and looked back at her party of wounded people. “We can think of something else tomorrow. I don’t know this land any better than you.”

Lana nodded and tried to appear calm even as her insides were twisting themselves into knots more complex than she had previously thought possible. If Gisela didn’t know where to go, neither would Jormand, or Elyas, or Ketrim… Their only hope would be Lyra, but she didn’t look to be in any condition to lead them and with so many injured they would not cover much ground. Their prospects were somehow looking even grimmer now, after discovering more survivors.

Gisela began to move deeper into the wood and her people followed. Lana waited until she was behind the rest before following as well. Jormand stuck close to her. It made her uncomfortable, like she had befriended a blood-muzzled hound, but if they were discovered, she would be safer with him by her side and… It was reassuring in a way. She did not relish the idea of seeing his work again but a bloodthirsty hound’s loyalty was hard won. She could not help but feel a little proud, though irked her to admit it.

As they wandered deeper into the trees, the undergrowth strangely got thinner and thinner with each passing step. It was puzzling. Surely fewer sets of feet saw the ground here than near the road. The trees were thinner too, spaced apart widely and larger to boot. They let her catch glimpses of stars and a large, nearly full moon beyond their leaves and branches.

Jormand saw her befuddled expression and, in a voice so soft it seemed impossible that it came from him, whispered “These are hunting woods. Local nobility maintain them.”

They maintained the woods? How would someone even do that? She did not bother asking, but she smiled at him. It made her queasy to do but it was good to hear him speak finally. She was worried what effect the fighting had had on him. He was a seasoned warrior but all that retching and trembling… It was concerning.

Whatever maintaining a forest entailed, it was good news for them. It meant someone must live nearby. Lana found her steps coming lighter. They had left the road behind long ago and had seen no sight of pursuit and, with any luck, they would run across whoever it was that managed the forest. They must be northerners like Jormand and Gisela, surely they would be able to help.

She kept her eyes down, watching the trees behind, but once in a while she would glance up, towards the moon that lit their path, barred behind limbs still thick with leaves even as autumn marched on and she would smile. That clear sky foretold their salvation, she could feel it deep in her bones.

The others seemed to be catching better spirits as well, all of them except Lyra whose limp was worsening. Lana whispered to Jormand to lend her a hand. His own injuries seemed to be hindering him very little now and Lyra could undoubtedly use the help. He obliged without a word and quickened his pace to do as she said. Lana was somewhat sorry to see him go. Company at the end of their little line had been comforting, but it also lifted a weight from the part of her that cringed each time she looked at him and that hammer he held.

They continued on in silence, the only sounds was the moaning of a growing wind through the trees and the shuffling of their tired feet through the vegetation. Lana occasionally cast glances back over her shoulder but for the most part she kept her eyes on the heels of the person in front of her. It was easier to follow, matching her pace to the others’. She was getting so tired.

From behind she heard a sound. Soft, hardly distinguishable from the wind, but at that moment the wind died a little and she heard another one. Like footsteps. Only from behind them. Immediately she looked back over her shoulder.

The moonlight cast strange shadows among the trees, elongating branches and widening trunks and turning them into frightening things, but in the midst of it all she saw something. Something that did not belong in a forest. A gleam of light off a polished metal surface that caught and reflected the moon and stars. They were being followed.

She hissed for the group to stop but they either did not hear or did not care. But someone did hear. The footsteps from behind suddenly changed, shifting from soft to brash. Uncaring as they crushed the ferns they passed through.

That caught everyone’s attention. Gisela screamed from the head of the column for them to scatter and leapt to the rear to defend, her sword readied as she fell into formation beside Lana. Elyas and Jormand appeared by her side as well. Jormand with his hammer’s beak gleaming and Elyas carrying nothing but a length of log clutched in both hands. Somehow he looked like the most dangerous of them all with his graying hair blown into a wild mane around his head by the wind and a maniacal grin splitting his face.

Lana only had the chance to ready her knife and then the attackers were upon them. There were only two, one wearing the strange, darkly painted armor she had seen before on the road and carrying a long, thin iron sword, the other wearing normal painted infantry armor and carrying an oblong shield paired with a bronze axe. They clashed with Lana’s group trying to keep the two soldiers at distance. Gisela fended off the one with the strangely painted armor with her sword while Jormand looked for an opening and Elyas swung his log wardingly at the one carrying a shield, rarely striking the surface but keeping him more than an arm’s length away.

The altercation did not last long.

The soldier with the shield caught Elyas as he stepped on a branch behind him and swung his axe in an overhead arc. It connected with the log as Elyas blocked, but the wood burst, rotten to the core. The unexpected lack of resistance caused the soldier to stumble and Lana seized the opportunity and rushed in. She plunged her blade into the gap between the helmet and back plate and felt the blade scraping bone. The man fell still without a sound.

Seeing his comrade felled so quickly, the other spun and sprinted back towards the trees. He didn't stand a chance. Jormand ran after him, his long legs granting him better speed. The fleeing soldier was stopped by a hammer stroke to his back. Then another to his neck silenced his screams.

After a moment standing victorious over his kill, Jormand lumbered back towards the group, breathing heavily and limping. Running had not been good for his wounded leg.

Lana let out a sigh but still listened intently to the forest. Someone would have heard those screams even though the wind had picked up again during the fight. More soldiers would be there soon.

Jormand rejoined the rest of them and Lana turned to find Gisela kneeling on the ground beside Elyas. He lay splayed out on the forest floor among the scant undergrowth, the shattered remains of his log scattered around him and the axe that had done it lodged deeply in his chest.

Jormand rushed to his side, whispering to him. It was of no use. His eyes were still open but they could no longer see.

Gisela coaxed Jormand up to his feet. They did not have time to grieve for the grizzled man. He had given his life to save the rest of them. They could not afford to waste that gift.

Everyone who remained coalesced back into their line, Gisela taking up the burden of Ketrim now. Jormand trudged just ahead of Lana and even over the wind and the sound of footsteps, Lana could hear quiet crying emanating from the man. In one hand he still clutched his hammer and in the other, something he had taken from Elyas’ body. Lana did not question it.

The group tried to hurry its pace. Gisela urged them on and, even supporting Ketrim, managed to push ahead of the rest, stopping occasionally to let everyone else catch up.

Lana maintained the rear guard, making sure no one fell behind, even hampered as they were by their wounds. Occasionally, she would help Lyra or Jormand for a little while when they could no longer move alone. She was happy to help but it only rubbed in the fact that theirs was a pitiful group and no doubt more so than she even saw, but they made good time all things considered.

No other soldiers found them as they fled. Not another soul darkened the space between trees, though shadows and tired eyes made bushes and dead limbs into pursuers for Lana’s anxious mind. Leaves falling as the wind blew were enough to startle her and the bare stretches between trees seemed like eternities without anything to hide behind.

They traveled that way for hours, or so Lana judged by the fading of the stars. When they did at last cease their march, the sky had begun to turn grey with morning sun. Gisela halted them at the edge of the woods. Beyond the treeline lay a field of barley, the kind Lana had seen through the gates of Maerin before, already harvested but the field still prickly with the cut off stalks. Even further, down past the sloping field rose the walls of a town and with them, hope for Lana, Gisela, and the others.

It was a significantly larger town than Torrol Market, though still a good sight smaller than Maerin, with grey stone walls that stood out against the browning land around. The gates were shut tight but within Lana could see movement as people began to go about their daily chores.

What was most important of all was the long pier that jutted out into the sea on the far side of the town. Crossed by smaller docks wooden and nearly half full of ships, it broke the early morning waves into white froth. While the stone construction was nothing compared to its counterpart in Maerin, it still housed several ships the same size as those Lana had seen in the city. Surely that meant this town was home to some sort of trade, maybe they could even weasel their way into getting a ride on one of those ships. Derranhall was not far from the coast, if they could find a boat headed there… The coming weeks of their journey would be hard. Desperately so. If they could skip the road entirely and arrive in Derranhall in just days… Jormand, Lyra, and the others could get the rest and treatment they needed…

Lana forced herself to stop daydreaming. They had no coin, not a single piece of value among the lot of them. Many of them could not even provide useful labor, injured as they were. No ship captain would take them aboard. They would have to make the rest of the way on foot. This town would only provide them with a temporary respite. Shelter, food, and hopefully rest before they continued on. Lana only hoped that the guards here were not as vigilant as those in Maerin. They had no money and couldn’t work. That only left them with one option. Luckily it was one that Lana was familiar with.

She looked to her side where Gisela was leaning against a tree, breathing in great lungfuls of morning air. A faint smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. She had shed the helmet, it lay on the sparse underbrush, out of sight and forgotten. Gisela’s long, loose hair floated lazily in the steady seaside breeze, flowing out behind her. That smile gained strength and, slowly, pressed itself firmly onto her lips.

“We’re saved, Lana,” She intoned softly, her voice strained near to breaking. “That’s Tauly down there. We’re almost home…” She trailed off, staring wistfully towards the town as a pair of tears slowly worked their way down her cheeks and sparkled in the dim early morning light. She didn’t wipe them away. She hardly seemed conscious of them at all.

Lana wasn’t sure exactly what Gisela meant. She had heard of Tauly of course, it was not an uncommon port for the ships out of Maerin to sail for, though she did not know much of it other than that it lay north of Maerin a ways. She certainly hadn’t heard of it being near to Derranhall. It was still in the clutch of vassal states called the Near North by the nobility. Derranhall lay deep in the Far North. She assumed it was quite a distance away.

But then, distance did seem almost insignificant to sailors. They spoke of sailing the equivalent of weeks or even months of travel in a matter of days. Perhaps Gisela knew of some way to make the rest of the journey by ship. Jormand and Ketrim were important people after all, their family name could bring them some favors maybe.

Still, she would not get her hopes up. Their situation was dire and she could not afford to ignore it. None of them could. So she regarded the town, Tauly, as the obstacle that it was. Injured and clearly fleeing, they would not be welcomed with open arms. They might not even be able to make it to the docks at all. The harbor guards in Maerin would certainly stop them. They did look more like a band of thieves than a noble envoy with their damaged clothes caked in blood and grime.

Lana opted to keep her thoughts to herself for the time being, the others could use a taste of hope, but she began to plan her own way onward. If there were no strings to be pulled in Tauly, she would be sure to have a plan to get them the rest of the way to Derranhall.

Taking the chance while the town’s gates were still closed, they rested for a while, allowing themselves a few moments of peace, though Lana, Gisela, and Jormand remained ever vigilant, watching the shadowy trees for any sign of movement. While keeping half her attention directed at the forest, Lana began to remove the layers of extra shirts she had been wearing as improvised armor. They were mostly undamaged and relatively clean, aside from the outermost one and would possibly be worth something in the town. The fabric was of good quality as far as she could tell. It seemed like the sort of thing that wealthy people valued at any rate. It was chilly with only her own shirt, but not uncomfortably so.

The wind picked up as they waited, blowing outward towards the sea oddly enough, and as it passed, it tousled the leaves above them, causing occasional falls of vibrant colors. Among the needles of pines and the leaves of other evergreens, there were patches of oranges, reds, and yellows. Sparse compared to the other trees and even more noticeable because of it. Under the cover of trees, Lana could hardly even see the sky as the stars faded completely. It was strangely beautiful and like nothing Lana had seen before. The trees around Maerin were all considerably shorter and much more wizened and twisted than these. She had never given it much thought, but the way people described forests had never really fit with the trees she had known. Here, she understood the dumbfounding awe they spoke of. Compared to the trees, Lana was hardly any more significant than a bird or an insect but it only felt natural instead of oppressive.

The forest suppressed thought. As the sun began to truly rise and the extent of the forest was revealed to her, Lana only looked and listened. There was so much sound! The flapping of wings, scuttling of small feet, and the birdsongs! There were so many and all so different! Lana had never imagined there could be so many birds. There were red birds, blue birds, yellow birds, birds of every shade and hew. They flitted from branch to branch, only letting her catch glimpses but those glimpses were enough. In their delicate, colorful plumage, they reminded Lana of partygoers in Maerin, all dressed up in their best, brightest fare. And their songs were as beautiful as they were plentiful. So many disparate tunes combined with the ambient sound of the forest into a delicate symphony, carried by each and every bird.

***

Captain Henriot Openreach, groggy, tired, and shivering from the relentless sea breeze, prepared to set off from the great Maerin wharf with the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He had been given his orders only a matter of hours ago, by lord Teloway himself and he knew better than to try negotiating for more time. Most of his sailors were still bleary-eyed and grumpy from a night spent drinking. They had expected to depart well after midday, as their previous schedule had dictated, but they would not argue. Well, most wouldn’t.

He sympathized with the sailors, he really did. It was not so long ago that he had been one of them himself. Two years as a ship’s captain was not enough time to make him forget his days as a deckhand. But even as he himself blinked painfully at the dim light and muscled down an upset stomach, he had to display a strong exterior to them. It was the only way he knew. So he kept a firm grip on the tiller to steady himself and gave each passing sailor a commanding stare.

Henriot got his fair share of dirty looks in return as the sailors crossed the gangplank, carrying with them the last of the supplies they would need. It was far less than they would usually carry, but they needed to be light. Their planned cargo of trade goods was still waiting in warehouses. The crates they had, identical in every way and marked with the usual trade symbols, carried supplies for a much shorter and more dangerous trip. Lord Teloway wanted them docking in Tauly by nightfall, then onto Blistimere the next morning. Whatever message lord Teloway wanted delivered, it had to be important.

Henriot fingered the parchment stashed away in his pocket once again. It was not a long message, whatever it was. That scrap could only hold a few lines of writing. That only made the urgency seem more strange. Surely it could have waited a few hours, couldn’t it? He was tempted to open it, though it wouldn’t do much good. Henriot had never been a man of letters. Anything more than a ship’s ledger was beyond his skills and nobles were a wordy bunch. Of course he could ask Estien to read it for him, but it would only feel more improper to involve someone else. Especially Estien, wherever he was.

Of course Estien was the only member of the crew conspicuously absent as the last crate was loaded aboard. For a first mate, he certainly didn’t seem to care much about the smooth running of the ship. Henriot sighed as he looked over the great stone wharf. A tiny dot of a man was making his way down it, running at an irresponsible speed. The last thing they needed was to start their rushed voyage with an injured first mate. Henriot waved for Estien to slow, of course the lad didn’t notice. It looked like he sped up even. Henriot shook his head and shrugged in defeat.

Luckily Estien made it down the wharf and then onto the ship without incident. It really was dangerous to run on the slick stone of the wharf though. Estien just seemed to be lucky with his footing all too often. He thought he was invincible like so many his age.

The younger man smiled up at Henriot as he mounted the gangplank, the only member of the crew not to scowl that morning. It might have softened Henriot’s heart any other day, but today was different. They would make the trip in time, he was confident of that, but there were other things… signs that hinted at a less than smooth voyage. Estien would not understand of course.

Henriot ordered the gangplank drawn in and then turned his back firmly to the rocks behind him. Those rocks were the reason the Maerin wharf had to be so massive. They nearly encircled the city, as sharp as knives and plentiful to boot, they were sure death to even the best of sailors, so the only option was to stay away. It was among those rocks, the Teeth as they were called by sailors and harbor folk alike, that Henriot had spotted the first ill omen of the morning. Wedged between two particularly sharp and viscous looking rocks was a small collection of bones. Perhaps not entirely uncommon, fish, birds, and other small animals made their home there and their small carcasses washed up into the rocks from time to time. But these ones were too large. Larger by far than any fish’s or bird’s. Deep in his gut Henriot knew that they were human. An ill omen indeed if he had ever seen one.

After seeing them, the rook that perched on the mast and the strangely still storm clouds on the horizon could not be mistaken. This voyage would not be so easy as lord Teloway wanted it to be. Henriot would not disobey orders, but he would not give himself false hope either. The omens spoke of danger, death, something worse perhaps…

The wind whistled against the hull of the ship, peppering him with harborside sea spray and Henriot shivered again. A life of sailing and spending his time with the sort of people such a life drew had made him a superstitious man. It was only prudent, the way he saw it. Perhaps Estien would disagree, but it would be Henriot’s caution that delivered them safely to their destination. It was why he was captain and Estien only first mate. In his heart of hearts, Estien knew it too, even if he mocked “superstition” with every other breath.

Immediately after boarding, Estien was among the crew, clapping backs and cracking jokes without a second glance at the scowls that surrounded him. He was a good first mate, even if he managed to get under Henriot’s skin. The sailors he passed always stood up a little straighter and moved faster and with more intention. They were ready to cast off not long later.

Estien made his way to the stern as the rowers pushed off. He was grinning wildly, as he often did, and even though the day had just begun, he managed to look windswept and salt-ridden. A true man of the sea. Henriot fought and failed to keep himself from smiling in response.

“Good morning captain!” Estien shouted over the sea breeze. His words were clipped and short like those of a man who often had to do battle with harsh winds.

“It’s hardly morning now lad,” Henriot growled back but Estien just laughed and sauntered on over to take the tiller from him, shouldering him aside good naturedly.

“Maybe for you,” He said with a smirk, then reached out with his free arm to pull Henriot down to his level so he could plant a kiss on his bristly cheek. “You left before I even woke up, how was I supposed to know we were leaving.”

Henriot grunted in reply and shrugged. The messenger from lord Teloway had arrived well before first light. He had elected to let Estien sleep a little longer for the sake of the long voyage. He did the majority of the work on board. Henriot’s job was mainly administrative in reality.

Estien shook his head and let go of Henriot, letting him straighten up to his full height again. “You should shave the beard,” He said as he gave Henriot a pat on the cheek. “It makes you look old.”

Henriot shrugged and looked out over the water to hide the flush rising in his cheeks.

“I am old.” He grumbled. It was true. He was more than ten years older than Estien and his beard was already beginning to show flecks of grey. In some ways, it made him feel more legitimate as a captain. After all, who would trust a young captain? But sometimes, when he caught a glimpse of Estien and himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of shame. He was old. Estien still had a life ahead of him. Henriot only had his ship. His ship and a meager career of hauling supplies for a middle of the road nobleman. He still hadn’t named the ship yet either after two years.

“No you’re not.” Estien proclaimed. Henriot wasn’t going to argue, they’d had that fight before enough times, and it helped to hear. A little bit.

Estien had already moved on however, the matter was settled in his mind.

“That messenger came back by the way. Said we should watch for the Derran boys. They should be in Blistimere same time as us. We’re to give them a ride if we find ‘em. Anyone with them too.” He shrugged and gave the tiller a tug as they cleared the wharf, slowly turning them northward. “Dunno what sort of deal lord Broderic’s made but we should have the room.”

Henriot chuckled deeply but nodded. “They’re not any younger than you, you know.”

“What?”

“The Derran boys. They’re not any younger than you.”

“Well the little one is,” Estien said defensively. “And besides, I’m wise beyond my years.” He added with a snarky grin in a mock-wizened voice.

“The little one…” Henriot snorted, “That bear of a man could bash a man’s head in with his bare hands! He’s head and shoulders taller than me, lad.” Henriot shook his head. Estien might value himself a little more highly than was strictly reasonable, but Henriot himself happened to agree for the most part. So long as he didn’t actually get into a fight with the young lord Derran. Aside from the fact that he would not survive, Estien was a commoner and Jormand Derran was far, far above his station. Any such brawl would not end well for Estien, if he survived.

“Well it's a good thing you insist I’m just a lad then,” Estien said, that grin of his only growing wider. “Means my head isn’t bashable. In any case, your grimacing would scare him off.”

Henriot let out a pained groan. Sometimes Estien was a little too peppy. He gave his first mate a flat stare before stalking off towards the rowing benches, rolling his stride with the rocking of the ship. Estien waggled his fingers as Henriot walked away, clearly delighting in causing mischief.

Henriot walked down the rows of benches and the rowers who were already sweating as they pulled on their oars despite the chilled air. Not one of them was slacking. Henriot prided himself on an efficient and competent crew. Of course the price to pay was their prickly demeanor. It was worth it.

He came to a halt at the bow of his ship where he braced himself and leaned out over the side. His face was immediately wet with the salty spray kicked up by the ship’s hull cutting through waves. He smiled to himself, relishing the refreshing feeling. It brought him back to his youth in Blistimere where he had first learned to sail. Blistimere was a different world from Maerin, all ships, sailors, and the endless sea. Nothing so complicated and dangerous and Maerin with its scheming nobility. It would be good to see home again, even if for only a short time. It had been too long since he had been back.

Henriot’s mind was clear as he lingered, enjoying the sea spray. Long forgotten were the bones lodged in the rocks by the wharf. Forgotten was the rook that had perched atop his mast. Only the storm clouds still stayed with him, but it looked like they would not catch up soon, as far behind as they were. Perhaps they would outrun the storm and find safe harbor in Tauly before it broke. The stormwinds were already billowing their sail.

“Up oars!” He shouted back at the rowers. “Stow and hard to starboard!”

The ship responded as if it heard his commands itself and the rhythmic rocking of oars was replaced with that of the waves. The bow pointed northward, towards more familiar waters and Henriot found himself grinning like a child. He must have caught some of Estien’s good mood.