This is the first part of an assignment due on Friday. Just wanting to know what you think. If you could, reviewing would be much appriciated.
The Claret Lion
The calm waters of the Garinal River did little as the large bulk of the Claret Lion, a bland trade ship that wandered the easternmost tributaries of, glided against the full moon. Muldara was ruled by a man of greed, who called Malamor his dwellings, Malamor being the capital of its dominion. The tranquil surface streamed passed at a fair pace, guided by the embankment on either side, the river flowing along with the ship. Other shadows lingered in the darkness against the black silhouette of the trees among the dark night’s sky. The shadows shifted, though could barely be seen save by a sharp pair of eyes. And even then it was difficult to glimpse them.
Footsteps could be heard on the deck of the Claret Lion, bare feet moving with a slow, weary step as though its owner were half asleep. They quite possibly were for it was well into the night, twilight’s hour lustrous up above the sails. Only two of the sails were drawn, if full. Sailors were always cautious during the night to keep the ship from running over shallows—which, to say the least, was dreadful. Those who were not walking about tried in vain to stand awake for their duration of watch; others were seated on coils of rope or against railings or perhaps beside stairwells to catch a rest before they were off and working again. Two men, in particular, had settled themselves on barrels across one another by candlelight, a low crude table established between them with makeshift cards in each work-worn hand with the addition of them scattered about the table.
“'nother bloody lonely night. . . Great,” one of the men grimaced wryly, or at least seemed to in the failing light. He had a gruff voice that had broken the somewhat foreboding silence, and was heavily laden with drowsiness.
“Yeah. Just such a poor land, this is, aye?” the other one began, his voice higher but with no less fatigue. “I can't wait to be on the docks of Adarman where I can finally settle down. With my pay of course, to begin a new life. No more of this. No. . . I can't bloody wait,” he finished, taking a glance from his cards to the table and then back again. He was known by the crew and captain alike as Bymal, one of the most skilled sailors they knew. He was a good friend of the captains. They commonly met and if he was awake now, he would be seated across from him, replacing his comrade here.
Though a loud splash hit the hull of the Claret Lion, little of the conscious paid any heed to it. Of course it turned some heads, but only one went over to inquires its cause. He quickly disappeared into the darkness, a splash carrying along soon after him. Now the men were interested, getting up to see if he really had fallen in.
Just as suddenly as an arrow hitting its target, a large band of men sprung from the darkness, sweeping over the decks. They held foreign sticks, slightly curved at the end where they were held and its small size was mainly wood. Elaborate iron embroidered the wooden shaft, but through its magnificence that could be perceived in the shrouding black, a blast came from it. The origin of the sudden blaze came from the tip and it died just as quickly as it fired. The shaft of wood seemed to have been aiming at Bymal’s friend beside him, but he now lay on the deck in a crumpled heap.
Bymal had no time to see if his friend was dead—no doubt he was. These were Sea Brigands and they had no mercy. Even though Bymal did not recognize the weapon, he had heard of them. They were called rifles, the word seemed unfamiliar to his tongue. And apparently, these rifles had variations because these men came with they all of different shapes and sizes. He did not know what they were exactly, but he knew he had to hide. Ducking in his position, he clambered along behind some timber crates while shots were ringing in the still air.
Just as he pulled himself behind, yet another of those rifles fired and soon thereafter, his leg erupted in a frenzy of agony. With a tight yelp, he pulled himself the last extent behind the wooden mass. Taking care to examine as little of the wound as possible, he ripped cloths from his shirtsleeves in short, stiff breaths, trying to stay aware. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, his bandages were done. He did not hear firing anymore, either they had retreated or the loud ringing in his ears was overwhelming him.
His head beat hard, and he inclined his neck so to hold his head to keep the throbbing back. Fast, exasperated pants left gritted teeth as he found holding his head did little. A sudden thought struck him. Or rather what had left his lips previously that night, ‘. . . cannot wait to be on the docks of Adarman where. . .’ so much for Adarman, was all he thought, for his vision began to blur and he felt the thump of nearing footfalls. His last view was the form he had looked up towards with a raised rifle toward his forehead. He did not even hear the discharge.
***
Awakening suddenly from a restless sleep, Mael Shahar’dorr jumped from his bed in nothing but his smallclothes that were matted to his large form. Going over to a basin, he poured it half full to run his head beneath it. After leaning on the oak for a moment, he finally realized that there were footsteps up above on deck.
Checking himself one last time, he pulled on some breeches and a jacket, opening the old, sorry excuse for a door that creaked as in dismay that it was not oiled. His rough feet brushed against the sturdy planks, making some sound though he paid little to no heed to it for he made out the shape of heads outside of their cabins.
“Captain,” one began, sounding very frantic. “We heard loud blasts up above. None have come down from the deck, though. What do you . . . ” Mael never let him finish for he was already midway toward the deck but he stopped short when hearing a small obstruction hit another beneath the floorboards.
Leaning down to brush some shallow dust, he fingered along and finally found a small notch in which to pull the secret slab open. The heads turning toward him looked worried but the little Mael could make out, he saw they wore small grins of relief. He nearly laughed. They were insane if they thought he was to let them follow him down to safety.
Struggling with his weight, he finally got down to the cargo floor, promptly landing on another floor of wood after shutting the hidden latch. He made sure to secure it just in case they did decide to follow him. Shuffling around, he searched the walls for another indentation where he could open for safety.
Not paying much attention to what he was doing, time flew passed and he had not a care in the world just as long as he was safe. The crevice he finally was searching for came to his pudgy fingertips and he wrenched the thing open.
A musty air filled his lungs as he seated himself comfortably as best he could and waited. Darkness took him once more and hours slipped by as though they were seconds.
He awoke and did not know how much time had slipped from him after sleep overtook him for there was no window to assist him. Slowly opening the thick hidden door, he made his way back up to that secret latch leading up to the hallway. After many unsettling moments, he finally crawled up on the upper landing. Once again securing the concealed slab, he made his way on deck, greeted by unrelenting morning sunlight.
Many of the sailors were sitting about, others mopping the deck that seemed to be soaked in a slight murky red. He stepped carefully, making way to the First Mate, Jahar. Mael didn’t even open his mouth before Jahar answered his questions.
“Captain, Sea Brigands boarded us in the night, carrying their calibers. They took men before we could counter. They couldn’t reload their weapons too quickly so we went by force. Also, they took some crates of what I believe is silk, ebony and some sugar.” Mael grimaced at that, for those traded for good gold. “What would you have us do, Captain?”
Mael stood there for a moment, stroking the little growth on his chubby face. Perhaps they could hunt these thieves down and take what was theirs. And possibly more. At night, would be best because they would be too drunk to stay alive. He didn’t know how they did it, but they drank insane amounts of alcohol and kept there mind together enough to think somewhat straight. But no. That would be too much of a risk for these men. They probably were more than a little tired. He peered around at them all. Revenge. That would be the primary drive to get these bastards back. Plus, if they docked at Adarman, their pay would be much less with those exotic trades.
“Men!” Mael called. “I know that we lost many, and you are more bloody tired, but I give you the choice. We can try and find these bastards who stole our goods, which would have sold for much, and pick up more on their ships. They're bound to have more stolen goods that they're barely floatin', but we can get back ours and more. Just sneak aboard during night,” at that, some men smiled, “'cause they are more drunk than sea is sodden, and we can take it. Have an even larger pay for yourselves. What do you say men?” Mael finished. His crew seemed to take it all in and think about it. “Or we could jus' bloody sail into Adarman with little trade and hide like bloody cowards for the rest of our lives.” This fixed the men’s faces, but Mael wasn’t positive they were all willing to plunder the plunderer.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 21