Blood of the Stallion

Chapter 2

The Iron Stallion

Everything was a rush of confusion, loudness and alcohol. Daxon had cleared up some of my questions, explaining that the easiest way to stop me lying about being a part of his crew was for me to join them. This unfortunately led to more questions which I was promised would all be answered the next morning.

In Wes’s words, ‘For tonight, don’t worry about a thing. Tomorrow the hard work starts!’

I was officially introduced to all of the men. The green haired man was Korhal, the large duel wielder was Mamorhah, Varen was the blind man, and I had already gathered that the sunken-faced man was Wes. Additionally, there was Wargal (a short, stocky man with several knives around his belt) and Brongrim, an archer in practice but with a short dagger as a sidearm – he was built like a twig, with dark skin and had several scars over his face with an eyepatch to boot.

The mead, beer and rum came by the tonne. Within only a few minutes of us being there, most of the other customers disappeared – the ones who stayed either brave or foolish. Old sea shanties were played by the musician and the crew sang along with cheer and merriment. Daxon however stayed solemn, his cold gaze staring off into the distance. He drank, but did not join in with the celebrations.

The door to the tavern flew open and in filed a dozen guards. In amongst them were the two who had captured me. The musician and what remained of the other customers were ordered out, the door closing behind them.

‘Sirs, lay down your weapons. You are all under arrest,’ one man said, stepping forward.

He wore the gold coat of a guard captain.

‘What for, sir?’ Wes countered cockily, his hand wandering towards the hilt of his jagged blade.

‘You have interfered with the law of Cranwell by breaking that boy free. And more so, I hear rumours the villain Daxon is amongst you.’

Daxon stood abruptly from his seat, the wooden stool falling over behind him. He strode fiercely towards the captain. Stepped forward swiftly, the other guards drew their rapiers to block his path. The captain lifted a hand to dismiss them, allowing the pirate to close the gap. Inches from one another, Daxon’s dark eyes bore into the older man.

‘I am no villain,’ he spat. ‘And you would be wise to kindly remove yourself and your lackeys from this place. We shall be on the seas by morning.’

He turned his back to the guards and moved towards us.

‘I’m afraid that won’t suffice,’ the captain scoffed. ‘If you refuse my demands, my men will take you all by force.’

Behind him the scrawny guard was grinning, brandishing the few teeth he had. None of the guards looked much better than he – each likely recruited from Cranwell’s slums by their appearance. Rather than acknowledging the man Daxon went straight to the bar, whispered a word of apology to the barkeep so only I and a few others could hear. He picked up his pint glass and began to drink.

‘Seize them!’ the guard captain ordered.

Finishing the last of the beer from his glass, Daxon spun around and hurled it into a charging guard. It shattered against the man’s head, knocking him into a heap on the floor.

Dead.

Seeing their comrade fall, the others soon charged. Within seconds blades were out and a brawl was upon us.

Varen’s sword was out finally, the blade was thin but as long as any I had seen. Despite being blind, he quickly cut down two of their men without as much as a second thought. Wargal’s knives went soaring, picking off targets. Within a minute the original guards were all but defeated, however dozens more piled in through the open tavern door. The innkeeper hid behind the counter as the battle went into full swing.

I stayed back as Mamorhah unleashed his duel swords. One was jet black, both blade and hilt – trimmed in crimson with a demon depicted on the pommel. The other was a bright white, trimmed in gold with an angel whose wings made up the hilt. The humongous man barked for me to stay behind him while he cut down anyone who would dare take him on. From my protected position, I watched Daxon as he kicked a man to the ground, giving the guard no hope as Korhal’s monstrous katana sliced through his neck.

Brongrim and Wes stayed near the door, sword and dagger stopping more guards from joining the fight as they sliced them down without remorse. Without my knife which had been confiscated by the guards, I knew if anyone rushed at me I was defenceless. Mamorhah over-extended, moving a few feet forward with every enemy he put down. Before long there was enough of a gap, and a particularly fierce looking guard rolled through and came face to face with me. His rapier flashed, slicing my cheek as I dodged a potentially fatal blow. I sidestepped his next lunge and kicked my foe hard in the knee. It collapsed inwards and he staggered.

‘Lad! Over here!’ the barkeep cried as he threw me a sword.

I caught it by the hilt and sliced the guard down without delay. As I watched the lifeless man tumble to the floor and saw his blood dripping from my steel, my body tensed up.

The screams, the blood. Strangers pointing towards the roof as they saw me. ‘Scoundrel!’ ‘Killer!’ ‘Murderer!’ His body was still intact, but he was face down in the dirt. Crimson liquid slowly spread from his body. I ran.

‘Watch out!’

I snapped out of it as another guard rushed me. I went to lift my sword, but he kicked it from my grip. My heart stopped as he readied his blade. Daxon appeared out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground, saving me at the last moment.

The pirate captain hurled his fists into the guard’s face over and over until his body went limp. Daxon untangled himself from the corpse and handed me back my fallen blade. I took it as his cold eyes met with mine.

‘Stay focused!’ he commanded, turning away to slay yet another enemy.

I tried to keep my concentration as I downed another two men, my arm already tiring under the weight of the sword. Everyone was laden with blood and corpses littered the floor. It became harder to distinguish between friends and enemies, but eventually the ringing of steel on steel stopped. I was amongst the nine men left standing.

Somehow the captain of the guard had stayed alive, his gold coat now stained red like those of his dead inferiors. All of Daxon’s crew had survived – the barkeep however must have joined the fighting, for he lay dead in the middle of the floor. Daxon kneeled and slowly closed the man’s single eyelid.

‘Apologies my friend, know your sacrifice will not be in vain.’

Out of everyone, Daxon had the least blood on him. As some of the others wiped off their blades I noticed our captain had never even drawn his sword, though his fists were stained a dark crimson. The guard captain rushed for the door, only to be blocked by Wes whose jagged blade moved closer to his throat. The once proud man turned and fell to his knees, tears in his eyes.

‘Please sir, do not kill me!’ he begged.

The dark pirate moved to him, straightening out the hat atop his head as footsteps echoed on the bloody floor.

‘How many have you killed in your time old man?’ Daxon growled. ‘How many men do you see here? Dead because of your stubbornness and pride, sacrificed by your order.’

He sobbed, blubbering illegible pleas for mercy. Korhal moved towards them and laid a hand on Daxon’s shoulder.

‘We take no prisoners,’ he muttered, ‘Nor do we slaughter a man on his knees. Despite his pathetic state, he was once a captain – a respectable man. He deserves a good death, by your blade.’

I dropped my sword and moved forward, watching as Daxon’s features hardened.

‘So be it.’ He scooped up a sword from one of the fallen and threw it before the grovelling man. ‘Stand and fight, like the man you once were.’

Reluctantly the guard captain grabbed the blade and got to his feet. Daxon unsheathed an exquisite weapon. It shone bright, as if it were made of diamonds. I could not have imagined the glow which emanated from it, nor the feeling of my energy draining from me as I laid eyes on the beautiful sword. The guard lunged, thrusting his rapier at Daxon’s chest; he stepped back, easily avoiding the fragile stab.

‘Fight!’ the pirate commanded.

Again the guard charged, this time Daxon parrying his blow with the flick of his wrist.

‘Fight!’

Finally, the guard attacked with vigour, swinging his rapier like the trained captain he was. Daxon parried each blow, hitting hard with the last and knocking the thin blade from the guard’s hand. As swiftly as he had disarmed him, Daxon lunged and stabbed his opponent through the stomach and the man’s eyes went wide. As he pulled the sword from its victim, blood poured – though none seemed to stain the blade. Instead it even appeared to glow brighter as the man fell. Daxon kneeled over the dying man.

‘Today you die a good death, it will not be in vain.’

He stood and sheathed his blade once more.

‘Come on lad,’ Varen whispered to me as he came up behind me. ‘We best be going.’

We were all cautious while leaving the tavern, worried more guards would show up. I had not realised how much time had passed until we exited into the cold air of night. They told me to grab anything I needed in Cranwell, for that night we would set sail. Daxon sent Mamorhah with me, partially for my protection and also to make sure I would not escape. In all honesty I knew even if I wanted to get away, it would make no difference. My contacts and connections, the entirety of my life, all were in Cranwell. And surely I could not stay here after that massacre tonight – somebody would recognise me. If the remaining guards of the town did not recognise me, one of the customers from earlier surely would. I had no life here, not any more.

Mamorhah grumbled as again and again the large man was made to climb and clamber over walls and across rooftops in order to get to my destination.

‘Twice today I’ve had to protect you,’ he sighed. ‘Don’t expect it regularly, I’m no babysitter.’

‘Understood.’

‘From what I saw, you were quite capable of handling yourself in a fight. Who taught you to swing a sword?’

I paused, remembering a much simpler time.

‘Not like that Yodrick,’ he had told me, showing me not to drop my guard. He smiled as he corrected me. Even when criticising, he could always make me feel good about myself. I could not have been particularly old back then, only four years at most. Still, the image lingered in my mind so vividly – everything about him. His eyes, his hair, and especially that laugh. So hearty and deep. The way he held me, the way he held mother too. We were happy.

‘My father.’ I told the bulking pirate.

‘Well he didn’t teach you correct stance; you were sufficient at slicing but your form was all wrong.’

I grunted a half-arsed acknowledgement and led us into the alley. The good part of where I lived was it was practically unreachable to any who did not know Cranwell like the back of their hand. The architecture of the town dated back to centuries ago, however several decades back they modernised it with new buildings. Because of this, some design flaws meant houses did not back onto one another perfectly, causing hidden alleys such as this, which one could not reach simply by walking.

This meant dropping into alleys from rooftops, but that was a skill in its own. Only some buildings provided sufficient leverage to get to these places, and even at night only some buildings could be scaled without attracting attention. For this alley it meant cutting across the back end of main street, vaulting over the seven-foot wall, climbing up the side of the baker’s, creeping along the slope of the roof to the next street over, dropping into a secluded square behind the florist’s store to get to a hole in the fence which led to the back of the maker’s temple. From there it was a risky climb up to the bell tower which was high enough to access the tops of two-storey buildings, which led in a straight line to an alley which we climbed into.

‘By the maker this place is a lot of hassle to get to!’ Mamorhah grunted as he shook his legs out after the drop.

The huge overhang of a bricked up window formed a sturdy roof to my home – wood and nails renovated more and more over the years formed my walls and door. I moved inside, reaching under my pillow to grab my back-up knife, a ring and necklace. I adorned the jewellery and stashed the knife in my boot, taking a final glance around the tiny home and saying a silent goodbye.

‘That didn’t look like much,’ Mamorhah complained.

‘Well, I’m assuming you’ll provide me with everything I need,’ I retorted, drawing a grumble out of him.

By the time we got back to the main street he seemed fed up with all of the climbing. We strode to the harbour where I could finally admire their ship properly. It was almost indistinguishable in the dim moonlight, but true to its name the mast was a large sculpture of a stallion’s head, masked with rustic paint to give it the appearance of iron. Its mane flowed almost all of the way down the bow to the deck.

Varen and Wes were there waiting for our arrival and helped us aboard the vessel. As soon as my feet touched the wood, Wes waved a hand towards the shadowed figure of Daxon up on the bow manning the wheel. He called an order and in seconds the anchor was drawn. The ship gave a large shudder and jolted into motion. Cranwell slowly began to disappear from view as we sailed towards the sea, my home gone for the foreseeable future.

‘Varen will show you to your quarters,’ Wes said. ‘You’ll be woken up early tomorrow so get as much sleep as you can lad.’

Varen simply gestured for me to follow. We followed a hatch down below deck and into a corridor of wooden doors, stopping at the furthest one of the right.

‘This is it,’ he stated. ‘Good night.’

He spun and walked back wordlessly. I had never seen a blind man navigate his way around (and much less fight) as well as Varen did. When he turned away from the hallway I opened the unlocked door. Lit lanterns illuminated almost everything below deck, and I was not surprised to find one in my room. Though its flame was dim, I made out a simple wardrobe, a bedside table, and a nice bed. A round window allowed me to look out at the dark sea. It was the type of room you would get at a well-managed inn, so I was not complaining.

A second door led to a smaller room which housed a sewage hole, an empty tin bathtub, and a water pump. I shed my clothes, wetting my shirt to extinguish the lantern. In the blackness I climbed beneath the soft sheets of my new bed. Tiredness struck me as my head hit the pillow – it had been a long and eventful day. I allowed my body to relax as I faded into a well-deserved sleep.

Strange dreams beseeched me that night, a mixture of images from my past and present. Again I was on that rooftop looking down on the dead boy. But instead of locals pointing and accusing me, everything was still. The only figure was Daxon who stood beside me.

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked. I l glanced at my shaking hands as I had that day.

‘I…I didn’t mean to,’ I stammered. He tutted and shook his head.

‘Your father would not be happy.’

‘What would he care?’ I countered angrily. ‘He’s dead.’

I was on a boat, but not the Iron Stallion. It was my father’s fishing boat, the one I had never gotten to sail on – he had promised me that I could when I was older. He was not there however, and I was sailing by myself. My hands appeared different, as did everything else now that I was looking. There was a sword at my hip; I unsheathed it and found Daxon’s beautiful blade. The crystal-like metal shone bright. I sheathed it and looked down at the rippling water below me. As it cleared it showed my reflection, but it was Daxon’s face staring back. Suddenly the boat lurched forward and I was thrown overboard, the reflection rushed up to meet me and suddenly I was engulfed in water; then I awoke.

It took me a moment to figure out where I was. Daylight streamed in through the cabin’s window, making the room brighter than before. My door was open and a stranger stood in the doorway holding an empty bucket of water, its former contents all over me. It was a woman, long black hair flowing from her bandana. I panicked for a moment but soon noticed her attire. Like the others she wore a black coat, though beneath it her blouse was white and unbuttoned enough for me to see the top of the lacy red bra.

In place of trousers she wore leggings beneath a long skirt which came past her knees and had a rip up the side for manoeuvrability. She was stunning – tanned skin, darker than most of the others, and piercing green eyes which fixed on me. Acutely aware of my bare boyish chest on display, I pulled up the blanket to cover myself. She smirked.

‘Don’t worry, no need for such modesty on this ship,’ she laughed, her voice smooth and slightly exotic. ‘I was sent to wake you, Daxon wants you on the main deck, and I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.’ She held a bundle in her hands which she threw on my bed. ‘Wear these.’

With those words she left and closed my door behind her. Slightly rattled, I threw my covers off and grabbed the bundle.

I made my way up to the main deck in my new attire. While not as fancy as the crew’s outfit, it was an improvement on my old clothes. Black breeches which fell to below my knees, and a white cotton shirt – both baggy and comfortable. Simple sandals covered my feet and while I had no bandana nor hat to keep my unkempt hair in check, I did wear my ring and necklace.

Wes was up in the crow’s next keeping lookout, and Korhal seemed to be at the wheel. Daxon, Wargal and Brongrim awaited me on the main deck, alongside the woman who had awoken me and a man who I had not met. The man was as dark-skinned as Brongrim and held a hatchet in each hand with more tucked into his belt, and Brongrim had his bow and quiver over his back this time.

‘I expect you to be here each morning at sunrise,’ was the first thing Daxon said to me as I closed the gap. ‘You won’t receive a wakeup call after today, and if you’re late you’ll be lashed. Understood?’

‘Understood!’ I answered firmly, fearing the lashes as a phantom pain spread across my back.

Despite being a loner in my recent past, I knew how order and routine worked.

‘Before you are two new faces – Gurdgrin and Akaya are the two members of this crew who you have not yet been acquainted with.’

Akaya grinned slyly and Gurdgrin raised one of his weapons in salute – he was a robust man though appeared capable of slaughtering me if he wished.

‘The four of us will supervise your weapons training for today,’ Wargal told me cheerily. ‘If you’re up to it you and I can start our session right now.’

Weapons training sounded interesting, though with such a diverse and dangerous group of trainers it would most likely be incredibly dangerous. Still, here in front of half of the most revered pirate crew in the world I refused to lose face.

‘I’m ready when you are!’ I responded, loudly and clearly.

‘I know you have a lot of unanswered questions,’ Daxon stated. ‘And later today I shall answer some of them. As for now however I have other business to attend to, so I leave you in Wargal’s hands. Farewell.’

He turned and strode away. The others soon followed his lead, each scheduling to return at a specific time to train me. I bowed slightly to each as they departed, leaving only Wargal and I on the main deck.

‘You ready?’ the short man grunted at me.

‘Let’s do it.’