Another tumbled to the floor besides the four others.

“Worthless!” shouted Zanzabarra as he repositioned his blade ifnront of me. He steely eyes shot to Ade, who nearly croaked in response, “I told you to find da five best men from da camp, Ade. And here ya brought me five idiots with swords skils fit for a fisherman.”

Zanzabarra studied each of his worthless combatants one by one. The first was unconscious on his back, the second craddeling a wounded leg, the third struggling to get up, the fourth in fetal postion, and the fifth crawling away.

“Pathetic.” Repeated the lord.

“Dese men were da best.” Assured Ade, “But!” he resumed as Zanzabarra threw him a look, “I’m sure we’ll find more on da ship. Look my lord.” He pointed.

Zanzabarra turned to the docks along the rocky coast. They had been there for nearly two days and had waited much to his own displeasure and the dread of the five men he took his time beating.

The dock bells rang in the distance, sea gulls screeched, and the voices of sailors filled the air. Then the loud creak of wood reached the platform where Zanzabarra watched it all. The ship was massive, a true trade vessel from Galokin if there ever was one. She towered well above the weathered sea huts poking about the rock faces all the way down the cliff. Her hull was chocolate maple, while her sails were nearly as white as clouds.

“Get Taba.” Said Zanzabarra before making for the main road.

When they reached the ship, men of both Illivanmar and Galokin were loading the respective supplies out at the docks. Zanzabarra waited for the men to finish their business unloading the ship before commanding his own men to begin boarding.

He had ten men including himself, Taba, and Ade board with him.

Zanzabarra was the last to step on the ship. It seemed large when he got there. Ofcourse, deck hands buzzed about frequently tending to their duties, but aside from them, the mainstay of the ship remained largely empty. Even the barrels, which oft populated those planks hugged the walls of the cabin nervously.

Zanzabarra played a deviously smile and made for a straight walk to the center of the ship. By the time he got there, there were already several onlookers gawking at him. This was good.

He drew his blade in a crisp motion, held it out in front of him, then stabbed it well into the wood.

He glanced at Ade briefly before addressing the on-lookers, “I seek an opponent.” He stated boldly, “Is dere any among you who will accept my challenge?”

He puffed as the buzzing halted.

“No one?” he said. “Fine. I will grant da victor one hundred gold pieces. Now.” He said drawing his blade from the crowd, “Come.” He held the blade ahead of him and took up his stance.

No response.

Zanzabarra’s right eye brow twitched. He pointed his blade at the nearest deckhand to his left and started marching towards the man, “I’ll pick my opponent den.” Declared Zanzabarra.

“Is that the shifting Sands, I see?”

Zanzabarra peaked over shoulder at a man wearing a tricot hat. He was lean, Torvir, and roughly his height.

Even stranger, behind the man, sat a hooded Ilivanmari women, reading a book despite it all.

Zanzabarra refocussed on the man, once he realised the Torvir was armed.

The man smiled and fixed his hat to the side to reveal his golden eyes. Then he drew his blade and took up stance that was an almost perfect reflection of Zanzabarra’s.

“Let us see who the better swordsman is.” Bowed the man. “My name is-”

Zanzabarra charged.

While many of the deckhands had been engrossed by the duel, enough remained to operate the ship, so as soon as the duel commenced, the ship began to move.

Soon the sounds of metal on metal entered the prattle of seagulls and waves. Men hooted and howled as each fighter swayed in and out of the battle. Yet, through out it all, there was always one clear victor.

Zanzabarra cursed with his eyes on his blade tossed far to the left. The other man had his blade touching the skin of the lord’s neck, while the lord himself was defeated and on his bum.

“Etro Meriz.” Said the victor, “Though normally you name yourself before fighting.”

Zanzabarra swat the blade aside and rose to his feet defiantly, “I dun care for da name of a Galokin pig.”

“Even one that bested you? No matter, I’ll take the gold now.”

Zanzabarra spit and motioned Ade to comply.

Zanzabarra held his eyes low, his hands balled. Ade handed the man a sack of coins and Zanzabarra proceeded to pace.

Lose? Him? He had gone his entire life without a single defeat, and now he had lost to three men within two months. He couldn’t believe it. It was absurd. Tragic. Ludicrous. His eyes went wide once he remembered the golden ones his opponent held.

“Magic.” He said turning to the man, “You used magic. Your eyes-”

“He did not.” Entered Taba. The caster looked away from Zanzabarra’s maddened eyes, “If he did, I would have stopped him.” Said Taba slowly.

Zanzabarra caught the figure of the hooded woman on the barrel with the corner of his eye, he could have sworn she had also moved when he mentioned magic.

Etro sheathed his blade, “Where be your stop, my friend?” he started.

Zanzabarra made for his sword. By then the deckhands had dispersed and resumed their arduous activities.

“Gin.” He answered bitterly as he picked up the blade and sheathed it.

“Ah, the Oasis of Gin. I’ve only visited it once before. Wonderful place.”

Zanzabarra narrowed his eyes at the swordsman and brushed by him to the cabin.

“Who taught you, my friend?” asked the man.

Zanzabarra paused in his mad march, “A dead man.”

“You’re form be there, but you can still work on ye footing.”

“I dun need ya advice.”

“You have no desire to improve? Seeing how you’ve already paid me, I don’t mind training with ya till you make ye stop at Gin.” The man flashed his yellowed whites, “Gold makes quick friends.”

Zanzabarra was nearly fuming when Ade stepped in between him and Etro.

“Deal.” Answered Ade quickly.

“Ade!”

“My lord, listen. Ya wanted to fight betta didn’t ya? Dis is ya chance. Learn from dis man while ya can.”

Zanzabarra wanted to beat Ade for defying him, he wanted to string the man right there and then, and leave a dozen sword marks to warn any of his other men from ever patronizing him, yet even then Ade had a point. A point that was harper than how dull his blade felt then. Zanzabarra stared at the golden eyed man with a bloodlust comparable to a beasts.

“I’ll fight ya again and keep on fighting ya till I knock ya to da ground and have ya beggin’ fa release.”

Etro smiled, “I’m glad this trip won’t be nearly as boring as I thought it be.”

Zanzabarra left without another word while his crew of nine followers filed behind him into the cabin. The last man to enter shut the door and Etro merely shrugged on his way back to the other wall of the ship.

He leaned by the rugged planking as his golden eyes trailed to his traveling partner. She was a quiet girl, but like him, she had also come from Galokin, even though her appearance spoke of Illivanmarin descent.

“Well fought.” She said, with her eyes still on her book.

“I get to have fun now and then.”

She flipped a page as she continued speaking, “You’re also a teacher it seems?”

Etro bounced his head about, “I’ve hounded myself countless times on my own swordplay. The young man I just fought reminded me much of myself, so really I was just rehearsing my usual routine.”

For just a moment, she flicked her brown eyes at the man, “If you’re heading to Syrindor, I can recommend you to a noble house I’m acquainted with. One that’s in sore need of a trainer in swordplay.”

Etro smiled, laughed, and crossed his arms, “I’m intrigued.”