l'Expedition (Chapter Two)

                                                                                                Kaval

                The bar smelled of blood, whiskey, and of course, salt.  It was not an unusual to find Kaval here, or any place resembling it for that matter.  As a youth he couldn't have hoped to get into a place like this, or more importantly, to survive one.  Now, at the ripe age of thirty seven, Kaval had seen it all.  As young men around him traded threats, stories, and silver, the old captain simply sipped his firewater quietly, only sparing them an occasional disdainful glance.

                "Want another one, mec?"

                The captain shook his head and chuckled to himself.

                "I don't have the silver."

                The bartender, who was about his age, looked surprised.  "That's odd, I pegged you as a corsair.  You're a merchant?"

                "No,"  Kaval answered,  "You had it right the first time.  I'm a corsair."

                "Well you know what they say; there are only three types of corsairs, young ones, rich ones, or dead ones.  So which are you?"

                The captain smiled a toothy grin.  "An unlucky one.  You could say I'm in between fortunes at the moment."

                 "Hey pale skin!"

                Kaval, who was anything but pale, turned to see who was addressing him.

                "You talking to me pipsqueak?"

                The young man at the other end of the bar looked offended and walked towards the man he had shouted to.

                "I bet you anything I'm stronger than you.  What do you say?  An arm wrestle for three hundred silver?"

                "Let me guess, you just turned fourteen yesterday, and now that you're old enough to own things you've got a swelled head.  Go bother somebody else, I don't have the silver to spend on fools like you."

                The young challenger looked like he was about to cry.  "You're just scared!  If you were half the man I am, you'd accept the bet."

                Kaval wasn't lying.  He didn't have three hundred silver to spend on food, much less on meaningless displays of power.

                "Boy,"  he corrected,  "Half the boy you are.  Now go run along and play."

                The young man's face flushed with color.  His hands turned white in contrast as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

                "I'll send you to Levendeur for your disrespect!"  He bellowed as he unsheathed his cutlass loudly.  The bar became suddenly quiet as its patrons realized blood was about to be spilled.

                "You're making a huge mistake,"  the captain said calmly as he drew his own curved blade.

                "No you're making a mistake!  I'm faster than you, old man!"

                As his attacker lunged, Kaval stepped back and parried his sword away, filling the air with the loud ringing of metal on metal.  In a heartbeat, the boy attacked again, aiming a powerful thrust to Kaval's abdomen.  Sidestepping the attack, Kaval launched one of his own.  His steel made contact with the young man's shoulder, delving through the leather of his vest and slicing a good chunk of flesh from his attacker's body.  Blood leaked onto the sword, staining it a dark red.  The man recoiled in pain, letting out a terrified shriek.  Kaval advanced on his injured victim in an attempt to finish him.  Blood still dripping from his recent wound, the boy shouted unintelligibly and tackled the captain into the bar behind him.

                "You can't win!"  the young man shouted, using two hands to press his cutlass into Kaval's.  the blade hovered near his neck dangerously, as Kaval used every bit of his strength to block it.  A horrible screeching noise filled the air as the two weapons scraped slowly along each other.  Beads of sweat began to drip down the captain's face, antagonizing him as if they knew he couldn't spare a hand to wipe them away.

                "Just die already!"  the attacker shouted.  His blade teetered ever closer to Kaval's exposed neck, and for a fleeting moment, he felt pure terror.  His muscles, which had always served him expertly in combat, began to weaken.  If only for just a moment, Kaval was certain he was going to die.

                All of a sudden, something awoke inside of him.  A bitter rage filled him as every ounce of his spirit clung to life.  Gritting his teeth, Kaval poured an unbelievable amount of force into his arms, forcing the young man off of him and onto the floor.  Before the boy could raise his sword again, Kaval plunged his own weapon through him until it touched the sandstone of the floor.

                The other patrons of the bar paused for a few seconds before casually returning to their drinks and conversations.  To them, it was just another day in Selingrad.  As the chatter gradually rose to its original level, the captain took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.  he felt cold.  He didn't mourn the boy, nor did he regret killing him, but he did feel afraid.  The captain had been in plenty of fights, and was used to narrowly escaping death's cold grasp, but it was not death he feared, but poverty.  As much as he wanted to ignore the facts, Kaval knew deep down that he had only three options.  He was either to become a beggar, wandering the streets and living only for his next meal; become rich, and sustain his wealth not by mercenary work, but by trade; or die trying to accomplish his second option.  Anything but that first one, he thought miserably.  When I go to Levendeur, I would rather it be in a glorious fight, not on a street corner, emaciated and cold.  Still, Kaval was extremely fond of the idea of striking it rich.

                "You fight well,"  said a voice from the corner.

                Kaval snorted.  "Better than him at least."

                "Pull up a chair, I've got an offer for you."

                "Does it pay well?" the captain inquired, pulling his sword from his attacker's carcass and sitting down.

                "If you can pull it off, you'll be rich beyond your wildest dreams."

                "I don't trust anyone who says you can get rich quick,"  he answered, narrowing his eyes.  "I've lived long enough to know it's not possible."

                The man in the corner removed the wrap from his head, revealing his short red hair and unusually pale skin.  He smiled and leaned in, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.  "Who said it would be quick?"

                Kaval tilted his head.  "What are you talking about?"

                "I'm talking about making history.  Have you ever heard about a place called Paradisia?"

                "Sure,"  he answered, chuckling.  "It's an old myth.  A land where the weather is always perfect, and no one starves, because crops grow faster than men can pick them.  They say it's to the north of here, across the badlands, but it doesn't really exist, it's just a myth."

                "And what if I told you that it's real?"

                "I'd say that people must be even stupider in Collingrad than they are here."

                The man laughed and took a drink.  "You're a straight shooter.  I like that.  Maybe this will make more sense to you.  I'm willing to offer you an advance of five hundred silver, plus an elite team of Archia's best and brightest. if you actually succeed in crossing the badlands and bringing back proof of Paradisia's existence, you'll get ten times that."

                "What's in it for you?"

                "I know a lot of people who would pay a lot of money for any information you brought back from your journey.  If you give me this information I'll work out all of the details of selling it, and you'll get a lump sum of cash."

                Kaval leaned back in his chair and pondered everything he had heard.  He had never really trusted foreigners, but he did need the money desperately.  The situation reminded him of a job he had turned down when he first became a captain.  He had been offered an unbelievable sum of money to take down a battleship on a mission from the trade council.  It was the sort of job that he fancied the most; plenty of silver, plenty of blood, and a damn near impossible task, but Kaval turned it down.  Even in his youth he knew that in Selingrad, or anywhere in the sea for that matter, no one crossed the council.  Three days later, he passed the sinking debris of three large ships, which he later learned were trying to accomplish the same thing he had almost been hired to do.

                Kaval brought his mind back to the present.  The man's eyes were still bright with anticipation.

                "So?  Do you accept."

                "Listen mec, there's a lot of reasons I'm still alive at this age, but one of the biggest is that I know when to quit.  Playing it safe has saved my ass in the past, and I'd be willing to bet that this is one of those times I'm better safe than sorry."

                The man furrowed his brow and put down his glass.  "Well it's a shame you feel that way, but if you change your mind, you can find me at the east harbor in a building marked with the symbol of my city state."

                "Yeah ok,"  Kaval answered gruffly as he left.  It was night outside, and the street vendors were closing their shops.  The smells of foreign goods from across the sea wafted through the air as the cold ocean breeze swept in between the tall sandstone buildings.  As he walked home, the captain felt oddly nostalgic.  The battles of the past had always been so exciting, but that was over now.  He could feel it in his bones that he only had a few more good years left before he would have to settle down.  That offer might have been my last opportunity to do something truly grand and make enough silver to retire at the same time, he though painfully, before his common sense kicked in again.  That offer would have gotten you killed or robbed you blind, depending on what sort of man it was offering it.  There will be other chances.  Kaval sighed as he unlocked the wooden door of his house, the only part of it that wasn't made of gritty sandstone, and didn't resemble the rest of the city.

                That night, Kaval couldn't sleep.  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the young man from the bar, pressing his cutlass down in a brutal effort to win the fight.  Sometimes he saw Levendeur over the boy's shoulder, and other times he saw himself, barely recognizable under his unkempt facial hair and starving frame.  It was only with the last dream however, that he made his decision.  Wandering through what he imagined the badlands looked like, Kaval stopped abruptly as he saw it on the horizon.  Glowing with heavenly sunlight, Paradisia lay just over the next hill.  As he ran towards it, the vast fields filled with fruit and vegetables came into focus.  What had before seemed like merely plants, Kaval  suddenly recognized to be something much greater.  Silver.  Hanging from every piece of vegetation were groups of hundreds of silver coins, and the fields stretched as far as the captain could see.  He awoke with tears in his eyes at its beauty, and gripping his sword, Kaval surveyed the dawn with a new resolution.  He would find Paradisia or die trying.