Chapter 1

The cool green water splashed up around the bow and down the sides of the merchant ship Pinya as it slowly made headway through the presently quiescent sea. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on the tiny ship as the barely perceptible breeze rippled the languishing sails.

Dent scanned the horizon with his piercing blue eyes, more out of boredom than with any expectation of seeing anything. Boredom was a constant problem on this voyage. At just over twenty seasons, he was naturally a veritable fountain of energy, barely kept in check by the strenuous schedule imposed by the warrior academy he had attended for the past six years. Having graduated from the school, he was technically a full Warrior but was as of yet unblooded.

That will soon be taken care of, he thought to himself. The reason for undertaking this voyage was to enlist in the Putram Malshall’s army. Malshall was forever quarreling with his neighbors and needed a constant stream of new Warriors to fill the ranks of his well-used cohorts. A hell of a way to make a living, he mused, but infinitely better than being a common field hand. If his father, gods damn his soul, hadn’t gotten his dumb ass killed these six seasons ago fighting over some silly tavern wench, then maybe he would still be the Overseer’s son destined to become an Overseer someday on one of Putram Salas’ many farms.

He was lucky that his father’s position earned his family a small stipend and a choice: warrior training or work in the fields. The choice was easy. As a warrior, he could get killed or maimed; as a common field hand, he would be subjected to brutally hard labor day after day from sadistic Overseers. He included his asshole father in that group, whose only joy in life was seeing how much pain they could inflict on those below them. A potentially quick death or a long, slow, painful one. No choice. He signed the training roster the day it was offered.

Warrior training had its advantages. While a student, he was granted a small stipend, not much but enough to keep his aunt and cousin alive and living comfortably, if not extravagantly. Especially since his mother’s sister, Nesho, could supplement their income by casting figures for the local merchants, helping the sick and elderly with her herb medicines, and Sosho, his cousin, was a pretty fair seamstress. More than fair, he thought to himself; she’s much more than “fair”, damn good in fact. They didn’t live like the country gentry they had been, but fairly well, all things considered.

But this voyage was boring. He worked out on deck with his weighted sword and ran through his exercise routines, even sparred with the few men-at-arms the merchant carried, but they were no real challenge. There was no room to run and little room to do anything else for that matter, so most of his time was spent staring at the sea and sometimes playing games with his family.

“Sail ahoy!” he heard the cry from the lookout posted up in the ship’s rigging. “Two points abaft the beam, port!”

Moving to the port side of the ship, he scanned the horizon to the side and slightly behind. At first, he didn’t see anything, but suddenly he could just barely make out the small gray patch that could only be the sail of another ship hull down on the horizon. Standing there watching, he could detect no motion; the small patch of gray seemed fixed at the edge of his vision.

Grunting, he tore his eyes away and slowly made his way aft and up to the rear platform that the sailors called the piloting bridge. Climbing up, he found the ship’s captain standing behind a sailor manning the giant wheel used to control the ship’s rudder. Sauntering over, he stood next to the two men, he turned and let his eyes follow the captain’s gaze to the little gray intruder.

“Company, Captain?” he asked mildly.

“Kena say, warrior,” he grunted without taking his eyes off the distant piece of cloth. “Probably jest another ship happen to be going as we’re. Aye, probably jest that.” Turning to look up at the young man, he continued, “But ye ken never know in these waters. Better to be sure than later sorry. They donna look like they be closing, but maybe a little boarding practice canna hurt.”

Leaning over the side of the platform, he shouted down to one of the mates standing on the main deck. “Bo’sun, get the off-duty crew up on deck. I wanna practice a little repel boarders for a wee bit.”

Looking up at the captain and then glancing over to the sail on the horizon, the mate nodded his head, saying “Aye, Captain.” Turning back to the main deck, he bellowed, “On watch! Ring the bell to quarters! All off-duty crew to attend!” Almost immediately, a bell started ringing in a complex pattern. The slap of bare feet and muttered curses could be heard as the off-duty ships’ crew poured out of hatches and began to form up on the main deck in more or less recognizable formations.

Turning again to look up at the young warrior, the gnarled older man almost casually stated, “If we be needing it, I’m hoping you’ll be helping me crew. Not that I’m thinking we be needing it, mind you, but if these be pirates, we’ll be fighting fer our lives. Mistake me not.”

“Pirates bad around here, are they?” Dent asked.

“I dinna know if there be any ‘good’ pirates anywhere, but around here, they be especially bad. I no worry much about the true pirates. Cowardly dogs they be; show them steel, and they run quick enough.”

No, it’s not the pirates that fret me, it’s those others. Not really pirates, you see, but privateers commissioned by that blackhearted devil, Jeevel. Doesn’t ‘ave much of a navy, see, so he loosens these dogs on peaceful traders just trying to do business. Point is, they go for the loot as ye might expect, but lately they’ve been taking the females and putting the men to the sword. Uses the womenfolk for their own enjoyment, we hear, and then sells them as slaves in that cesspool, Harv’el.” Turning back to the main deck, he watched as his crew lined up while short-bladed slashing swords and boarding spears were handed out.

Dent followed the captain’s eyes to the deck when he noticed a familiar form exiting the forward hatch. Serenely, the figure observed the crew raggedly going through their drills until those eyes caught sight of Dent up on the piloting platform. Waving, the figure started to work its way aft towards the platform, casually moving through the sea of moving men like a ship over choppy waters.

“Methinks your lady wants a word with you,” stated the Captain, pointing to the stately woman moving aft. “Either her or her sister, I canna tell the difference between them most times.”

“I believe you’re correct, Captain,” Dent mused as he started down the ladder. The two met just as Dent touched the main deck.

“Aunt Nesho,” he said smiling, “what brings you out on deck? As you can see, it’s rather busy just now.”

As always, his eyes drank in the sight of the woman whose life and happiness had come to mean more to him than life itself. It had been ten years earlier that his mother had died, from a broken heart, some said, and her younger sister, Nesho, recently widowed, and her daughter, Sosho, had come to live with Dent and his father. Over those years, especially after his father died, Nesho had come to be the mother he could barely remember now. At times of inner honesty, he had to admit his admiration and affection weren’t just from the bond of mother and son; for the woman before him deserved that admiration all in her own right.

At twenty-nine seasons, the Lady Nesho den Siso would have been called a beautiful woman by all but the most picky. Long, dark brown hair fell well over the shoulders, framing dark brown eyes and classically chiseled features, and, although her skirt and day jacket were modest, bordering on severe, the shape beneath was definitely well-rounded and alluring. Her bosom was large but not exceptionally so; living in tight quarters, he had enough opportunity to see that much for himself; her waist was slender, flaring out into what he had heard described as “birthing hips.” There were no children other than his younger cousin, but Dent wondered if that was due to the fever his uncle contracted after Sosho was born.

He had heard of men whose wives or women were ‘barren’ after such a fever but who seemed to have no trouble conceiving if they remarried or changed partners later on. He knew it bothered Nesho that there were no other children, but she bore it stoically like she did all other adversity. For the thousandth time, Dent wondered at the incredible stupidity of his father looking elsewhere for pleasure when he should have married this woman. It was not uncommon for a widower to take his late wife’s sister to wife, especially if she was also a widow. He was fairly sure that Nesho wouldn’t have freely consented to such a match, but then as a woman, what choice would she really have? Most would consider her lucky that her sister’s husband took her in at all. For the thousandth time, he hoped he had inherited nothing from that idiot except his coloration and features. She was far too good a woman for that bastard anyway.

Standing together, one would have had to look very hard to see any family resemblance. Where Nesho was dark, Dent was fair; where her features were delicate and fine, his were, well, to be kind, rugged. Oh, he was often told he was a fine figure of a man, six feet tall, 180 pounds, and build like a rock with broad shoulders and narrow hips, but he would never be called pretty. Blue-green eyes, light blond, almost white hair presently tied back in a warrior’s knot, and a face that looked like, and had, taken its share of beatings.

It wasn’t a face only a mother could love; unknowingly, he had been the subject of fantasies of a number of young girls, and some not so young. Although he had his own share of fantasies, some he was ashamed of, the pressure of time and work at the school gave him no time to pursue any of them.

Looking up at him, she smiled, lighting up her face and making him feel like a giant hand was squeezing his heart. Truth be known, more than a few of his forbidden fantasies had involved this woman, and as ashamed as it made him feel, they still came unbidden and with an alarming frequency.

“We heard the alarm and wondered what it was about,” she said.

“Well, we’ve spotted a sail over yonder,” he replied, pointing toward the horizon. “The captain doesn’t think it is any problem but is of a mind to take no chances. I was just on my way to work with the crew on their drills myself.”

“Ah, well then, I won’t impede you any further then, my warrior. I’ll just go back below and try to calm their fears. You know how these fools of women can get sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, laughing. “I can’t say I’ve been around many that I would call fools. But you might tell them this is normal drill and not to be concerned.”

“I take it as a compliment that you don’t think me a fool,” her smile becoming even brighter and with maybe a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“Just in your luck with a husband,” he growled. “And brothers-in-law, but I fault grandfather for that. Not you.”

“Whatever you may say about your father,” she replied, placing her hand lightly on his cheek. “He did give us a place to live when no other would. Now, don’t work yourself too hard. You mustn’t get hurt now of all times.”

“I’ll be careful. Now, get down below before some clod runs you over by accident.” Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her toward the forward hatch and gave her a light swat on the bottom. Looking over her shoulder at him, he would have sworn that she wiggled her fanny at him just a little just before striding off. Whether it was his imagination or not, the effect it had on him certainly wasn’t. Aunt or not, he was a young man of twenty, and his cock knew a beautiful woman when it saw one. Shaking his head to clear it and taking a deep breath, he turned to the drilling men and set off to do his job.

Hours later, he stepped into the tiny cabin he shared with Nesho and Sosho. He had played the part of a one-man boarding party, using himself as a foil for their drills and practice. The experience did nothing to ease his unrest. Although they outnumbered him twenty to one, it was his opinion that he would have had a decent chance of taking the ship by himself if the fighting had been for real and not just practice with blunted sword and spear. The alleged men-at-arms acted like they had never seen someone use both a sword and dagger together before. He could have easily blocked their blows and gutted them before they tried to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Gods! He thought. Hopefully, if they are attacked, it will be a single pirate - a blind and crippled one at that - otherwise, they might as well just hand over the wheel and save time!

Placing his weapons and gear next to the door, he hung his shirt up in a crossbeam and rubbed his bruised and battered body. He had rinsed with seawater, getting most of the sweat and grime off, but the salt water stung the small nicks and cuts he collected during the mock battle.

He noticed his cousin sitting near the porthole, working on what appeared to be a shirt. Her ability as a seamstress still helped them earn a little even underway. There seemed to be no end of torn clothing or resizing work to be done between the crew and passengers. Remembering what the captain said, he looked at her in a new light. It was true she and her mother had the same coloration, same hair, and, in general, the same body shape. Where Nesho could pass for much younger than her twenty-nine seasons, Sosho could pass for a number of years older than her true sixteen. I am blessed with a household of truly beautiful women, he thought, and both forbidden to him entirely. Heavy sigh. He stretched, trying to work the knots out of his abused muscles. The workout was nowhere near as strenuous as what he was used to, and the battering much, much less, but bruises hurt no matter how you get them.

“I warned you not to wear yourself out, Dent.” For the first time, he noticed Nesho standing up from the corner bunk where she had been reading one of the volumes from the pitifully small ship’s library. “Now you sit down right here and let me look at you,” she said, pointing to a short stool in the middle of the cabin.

“It’s nothing really, just a few bumps and bruises. I used to get worse every day at school,” he grumbled as he moved toward the stool.

“He’d say that if they cut off an arm,” Sosho interjected without even looking up from her work. “If only the rest of him were as hard as his head, then he’d never need armor.”

“Hush now,” Nesho chided as Dent chuckled at his cousin’s standard barb, “and you sit down and be quiet.” He sat. It didn’t do any good to try to avoid this scrutiny, even if he wanted to.

“Hmmm,” she mused as she deftly poked and prodded his various wounds. “Doesn’t look like anything serious, but let me work out these muscles.” Her hands were firm but gentle as she kneaded and massaged his sore shoulders and arms. The tenseness seemed to flow out of him as she worked her way down his back and up again to his neck. From behind him, her arms went around to soothe his upper chest and pectoral muscles. She had removed her outer coat, and he could feel her unbound breasts pressed against him from under her thin blouse. Thinking about those soft, warm pillows of flesh caused a reaction that even a blind man would have noticed under his loose trousers.

Hoping against hope that she didn’t notice his noble reaction, he felt the heat of a flush at his shoulder, up his neck, and all over his face. “Thank the gods,” he thought, “he was facing away from Sosho. It would be bad enough if Nesho saw him, much worse if she did.”

Nesho did see it, of course; how could she not! The bulge under his trousers was very visible and ran halfway down to his knee! As a young girl not knowing any better, she believed her husband when he told her he was well endowed, but she could see Dent’s must be half again as large as that! Nesho knew Dent had been reacting to her as a woman for the past couple of years. This was not unexpected. After all, she was his mother’s sister, but she was also a woman, and their tight living quarters for the past few years made privacy, if not impossible, then at least difficult. The only saving grace was that his school occupied him from dawn to dusk almost every day for those six years, leaving him too tired to even think about much else.

No, his reaction didn’t surprise her. In fact, she was flattered to think that a fine young man like Dent would even give an old woman like her a fleeting thought. No, what surprised her was her own reaction. She had been aware of his body before this; how could she not! But not for a good while and certainly never in a state of excitement before! He was large enough that the outline under the tight cloth left very little to the imagination. She thought she could almost see the mushroom-shaped head and the long cylinder of the shaft. Any tighter, and she would be able to see the veins popping up along its length! This sight, plus the feel of his strong muscular body under her hands, caused a warmth to spread in her groin that she hadn’t experienced for many years. She could feel her nipples harden as they pressed into his back, and the moisture began to form inside her vagina to prepare her for the sex act that she would never be able to consummate.

She knew she should stop immediately. She was teasing him and torturing herself, but the feel and smell of this wonderful male body were too much to release just yet. Pressing her cheek against his, she could feel the rough beginnings of a beard. He was not particularly hairy in that respect, but then neither had been his father. It would be so nice, she thought to herself, if he weren’t her nephew and he could lay her down on the bunk, crawl between her legs, and stuff that wonderful piece of man meat into her until she screamed.

But that wasn’t going to happen. So instead, she kissed him on the cheek, tousled his hair, and told him to go lie down. Sometimes life just isn’t fair, she thought.

The evening air was a bit cooler than it had been earlier in the afternoon. Dent felt refreshed and invigorated as he stepped through the hatch to the main deck. Nesho and Sosho decided to remain in the cabin after the evening meal, but Dent wanted to know the status of that mysterious vessel whose sail had been trailing them throughout the day. The deck was gently rolling as he made his way aft towards the piloting platform. The breeze had picked up since the afternoon, and the ship progressed at a steady pace with the wind-filled sails billowing overhead. Looking in the direction where the mysterious sail had been visible earlier, he was unable to make out anything in the deepening dusk.

Climbing the ladder to the piloting platform, Dent spotted the captain by the railing, casually peering out into the gloom.

“Good evening, Captain,” he said in greeting. “Any word on our mysterious companion?”

“Nay,” the captain replied without turning. “They were still there the last we could see them, but since losing sight, well... “ He shrugged, sighed, and turned toward the young warrior. “I can’t tell where they are by morn, but it worries me. It’s just a feeling, mind you, but I think that ship is more than a simple merchant, and if that is so, then they probably will be making their run in on us tonight for an attack at first light.”

“Can we outrun them?”

“If they are pirates or privateers, I think not.” The captain’s face remained outwardly calm, but his eyes were crystal pools of rage.

“If they intend to close in during the night, they must assume we will hold our course. What if we maneuver, open them up?” Even though Dent had no experience with naval warfare, the tactical portion of his mind was racing, adapting what he did know to this strange, wet environment.

“A superior idea, my fine young warrior, but alas, not possible. To open them up, we must turn to starboard, that which I have done a wee bit, but off our beam here are the Karken reefs, and a more vicious set of ship-eaters you will never hope to see. I’ll not set course there unless I know the ship is in mortal danger. We turn into them, we close the distance for them. Turn back? I don’t know if we could lose them. This ship wallows like a pig in headwinds; we are too slow to get out of their sight in just one short night. Forward at best speed is the best we can do. Hope they are simple merchants or hope for one of the Putram’s patrol ships to meet with us before the pirates.” The captain sighed, and his body seemed to shrink like a waterskin with the liquid running out. “Bad choice, maybe, but the best we can make now.”

“I’m sure you know best, Captain. Maybe it’s just another merchant, or maybe they will lose us in the night. If not, know that I’ll stand ready to fight with the ship if it comes to that.”

“Aye, well, that is something anyway,” he turned back to the rail, resuming his scan of the waters. “At least that is something.”

Opening the cabin door, Dent could see the flickering light coming from the small lantern, casting shadows on the wall. Silently sitting on their bunks, legs crossed, his cousin and aunt fixed their dark eyes on him as he entered. Dropping his gear in its accustomed place next to the door, he stretched and finally broke the silence.

“We need to talk.”

“Is it that bad?” Nesho asked coolly.

“We can’t be sure,” he said, running his fingers through his fine blond hair. “If it’s pirates, we should know in the morning. The captain seems to think that will be the time of any attack. If they wait too long, they stand a chance of running into Malshall’s patrols or losing us if we change course in the night. No, if there’s to be trouble, it will be tomorrow morning. I plan to be up and ready before the dawn watch. My part is easy; what we have to discuss is you two.”

“What do you want us to do?” Again, Nesho’s voice exuded calm and control.

Collecting his thoughts, Dent looked proudly at her, wondering that such beauty could contain the strength of will needed to remain calm in what could be a very dangerous and deadly situation. His eyes flickered over to Sosho, and although she remained still and quiet, he could see the terror in her white-rimmed eyes. His heart went out to her, and he wanted nothing more than to run to her, cradle her in his arms, and assure her that all would be well, that he would protect her. But that would be false, and they deserved better than that.

“Do? Nothing during the battle. Bar the door and wait. If it’s just pirates, then we stand a good chance of fending them off. If it’s privateers, well...” he sighed and sat down on the stool facing them.

“Pirates? Privateers? What’s the difference?” Sosho’s voice was ragged, but she also was trying to keep her terror under control.

“Well,” Dent paused, formulating the words that would help him explain. “True pirates are independent: sea bandits, really. They’re usually small in number and poorly equipped. They prey on those weaker than themselves. They attack for loot and will attack anybody. Privateers are another matter entirely. You see, when a Putram has no navy or a very small one, he can’t use it to attack his stronger foe. Instead, he ‘allows’ - contracts really - private naval vessels, mercenaries, to attack his rival’s shipping. He guarantees a price for any prize brought in, a market for their loot, and a safe haven for them to make port in. In this way, he weakens his enemy without exposing his own resources to harm.”

“The problem is,” he continued, “privateers are usually well-armed and well-equipped. It’s true this ship does carry men-at-arms, but they’re not true warriors, and I doubt they would last very long against them.”

“If these are privateers, we stand a good chance of losing, and if that happens, you two will be taken as slaves. I know this is difficult, but if it happens, you must submit. Accept it. If you don’t resist, they won’t kill you. You may be a slave, but at least you will be alive.”

“And where will you be?” Sosho suddenly shouted. “Where will our big protector be then?”

Calmly, he looked her straight in the eye, his blue against her black.

“My dear cousin,” he said softly, “I will be dead.”

Chapter 2

There was little else for them to talk about. Dent stripped to his small clothes and laid down on his bunk, willing sleep to come. He could hear Sosho softly sobbing and her mother’s light murmuring as she comforted the young woman. Presently, the sobbing ended, and the cabin was quiet and still. He ran through the mental exercises designed to relax his body, but still, sleep wouldn’t come.

Suddenly, he felt the bunk give under added weight, and the warmth of another body pressed against his back. A hand caressed his hair, his cheek, and reached down to clutch his chest, pulling him in tightly.

“Aunt Nesho, I feel so helpless,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do; I don’t know if there is anything I can do.”

“You will do your best, my darling,” she whispered in his ear. “Just remember no matter what happens that we love you, that I love you.” She began to hum a soft lullaby, just loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough to keep him awake.

“Why aren’t you sleeping with Sosho?” he whispered, then quickly added, “Not that I’m complaining!”

“You probably don’t remember,” she answered softly, “but after your mother died you used to cry yourself to sleep every night. I would come in and hold you just like this until you stopped. Sosho’s asleep and I thought you might need a little comfort; I know I do.” Nodding, he reached up and pressed her hand even tighter to his body.

He could feel her breasts pressing against his back through her thin nightshirt and her hips and legs as she wrapped as much of herself around him as she could. He felt ashamed but there was no way he could stop the blood from flowing and prevent the hardening of his cock. He knew it was his own mother’s sister but all he could feel was the beautiful woman pressed as close to him as a second skin. He cursed his weakness and the fates that allowed him to love her not only as kin but also as a man for a woman. He struggled and fought his feelings until finally he drifted off into a restless and troubled sleep.

The bell announcing the start of the dawn watch woke him and he opened his eyes. Nesho was still lying next to him although they had reversed their positions during the night. He was now pressed against her back, his groin against her rump and his arm draped around her holding her tightly to him. His hand was cupping one of her large soft breasts and suddenly he was not only wide awake but also fully erect. He had never been with a woman before but he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to pull up her nightshirt, tear aside his small clothes and plunge his cock into what he knew would be a pit of pure pleasure.

Sweating and breathing hard, he released her breast and carefully pushed himself up off the bunk, trying his best not to disturb her sleep. Since he was next to the bulkhead, he had to cautiously lift his leg over her and set it down on the deck. His erection was making elegant movement difficult, and halfway over, he heard her stir, and he froze. Hearing the rustle of her bedclothes, he felt the caress of a soft hand on his cheek. The hand moved to the back of his neck and pulled him down. It was still very dark, but somehow her lips found his, and she gave him a short and, he thought, very un-aunt-like kiss.

“It’s nice to know that such a handsome young man could still find this old woman attractive,” she whispered.

His face burned, and he started to fumble for words.

“Don’t be embarrassed or fret, my love,” she chuckled softly, and he could almost feel her smile. “It’s natural, and I am flattered. Now go! We will be up soon.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he finished climbing out of the bunk and donned his clothes and gear before slipping out the door, closing it softly behind him. His thoughts and feelings were a jumble of desire, love, confusion, lust, and fear. Interestingly, none of it dealt with the upcoming battle and his own probable death. He wondered if that was a good thing or bad.

The sun was still down over the horizon, but the sky was light, and the pink reflection on the few clouds present indicated sunrise wasn’t far off. From his position on the main deck, he scanned the surrounding seas but saw nothing. Cautious relief flooded his chest as he made his way aft toward the piloting platform. Climbing the ladder, he saw the captain and walked over to stand beside him.

“Morning, Captain. I don’t see anything. Does that mean that all is well?”

“Nay,” came the curt reply, and the Captain jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the stern of the ship. Following the pointing digit, Dent saw another ship dead in their wake about a mile behind them. It was still dark enough that he couldn’t make out every detail, but it was obvious that it was a large vessel, larger than the one he was on. He was no naval expert, but it looked sleeker, with more sails. Something about it made it look dangerous and deadly.

“Ah, I see. I take it that isn’t just a pirate?”

“Nay, too big. She’ll be a privateer, no doubt.”

“We fight?” Dent asked, already knowing the answer.

“Aye, we fight.”

“What’s your battle plan, and where do you want me?”

The captain thought for a moment. “Come the dawn winds, she’ll make her run on us, pull up alongside, and grapple. If they can bring us in, then the boarders will come over amidships. It’ll be best, I think, if you’re down there helping repel. If we keep them off and break the grapples, maybe we have a chance. If they’re onboard...” he shrugged.

“How long?” Mentally, Dent was reviewing the best place to fight using the cover provided on the main deck. The problem was he really needed to fight at the rail, an exposed position if there ever was one.

“Can’t tell for sure,” the captain replied, stroking his beard. “An hour, maybe two. It’ll take them a while to come alongside once they start the approach. I’ll be sounding the alarm when we see them getting near.”

“I guess I’ll go get some breakfast then. Wouldn’t want to fight on an empty stomach.”

Breakfast was a meager thing: hard biscuit with salt pork and a mug of watered beer. He took it off the mess deck into their cabin to eat with his family. He told them of the following ship and the upcoming battle. Little was said, and although her eyes were red, Sosho didn’t cry. Her act of bravery touched him almost as much as her tears had earlier.

The alarm sounded as they were finishing up. Standing, he checked his armor, the light set since the heavy armor was packed deep in the ship’s hold: hammered steel plate breast and back over a heavy wool tunic, boiled leather leggings and shoulder guards, forearm guards, and a light bronze skull cap, enough to deflect a near miss but not enough for a direct hit. Completing his battle gear was a short slashing sword about the length of his arm, sheathed to his left, and the fighting dirk with a thick blade, double-edged like the sword and about half its length, with a large solid cross hilt and tines used for trapping an opponent’s sword.

Sosho tried to look brave as he prepared, while Nesho examined his plate bindings, retying two when she found them deficient in some manner. She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek and then his lips, whispering, “Come back to us.” Even Sosho had to run up and throw her arms around him, jumping up to kiss his lips before flinging herself back on her bunk, face tight against the wall.

Turning to Nesho, he said softly, “Remember, you must live. Nothing else matters; just live.” Before she could answer, he turned and hurried toward the main deck.

The main deck wasn’t quite chaos but close enough. The ship’s Bo’sun was screaming at the turned-out crew, getting them in line, making sure each had a weapon. Looking out over the side of the ship, Dent was surprised to see how close the privateer had come. About a hundred yards out and a hundred back, the privateer ship was making visible headway, coming up on their beam and closing in. Hung on their railing were large bunches of braided line, obviously meant to cushion the force of the two ships colliding. Behind those cushions, he saw the faces of fighting men, hard faces, and at least double the number on their ship.

Stepping over to the Bo’sun, Dent asked where the petty officer wanted him.

“Just look and decide where you will be most useful. Watch for the grapples, you whoresons!” Even as he shouted, catapults on the pursuing ship fired, flinging huge four-clawed hooks toward the little merchantman. One fell short and one failed to catch, but two found purchase, one on the railing and the other inside one of the deck’s main cargo hatches. These two lines were immediately pulled taut by the men on the other ship. Pinya’s sailors rushed to the grapples with pry-bars and cutters, but the pressure exerted by the other ship kept them from being released, and the chain attaching the grapple to the line prevented them from reaching and cutting the thick hawsers.

Soon, two more grapples were thrown and secured to the prey ship, the large marauder closing in yard by yard. There was a large jolt and the sound of cracking timber as the two ships locked side by side. Immediately, the pirate ship seemed to boil over with men as they poured over the side onto the smaller vessel. The defenders moved forward and tried to push back the invaders but were quickly overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Directly in front of Dent, the line of crew seemed to give way, and the invaders were rushing toward him. Something snapped in his head, and his body began the move without conscious effort. Suddenly, he was back at the academy on the hot sands of the practice grounds. One against many was the drill, hard to master but not so bad as once it had been. The many, especially in confined spaces, almost always got in each other’s way, preventing them from using their numerical superiority to any great advantage. Almost always, it broke down to a series of one-on-one matches where the biggest and best didn’t always have the advantage.

Pick the lead. Parry out, slash back across the throat, one down. Slide left, catch sword on dirk, sword pommel to chin, dirk slash down into stomach, two down. Slide right, feint left, slash right, dirk into groin, not dead yet, so avoid but out, three down.

It became impossible to tell what happened in what order: slash, feint, stab, cut, slide. The mind saw, processed, and evaluated, but the body took that information and used it without conscious decisions or orders on his part.

Suddenly, there was nothing in front of him, nothing to the side. In a crouch, he scanned the area and saw ten to fifteen of the invaders standing in a loose line about ten feet away from him. The space between them was littered with some eight to ten bodies, some obviously dead and others not, but all definitely out of the fight.

The invaders didn’t seem like they were planning to rush him any time soon, so he slowly stood up from his crouch and brought his weapons down to rest position. The pirates’ line parted, and a big man strode to the front. Really big man. He must have been a head taller than Dent and half again his weight. A fiery red beard flowed down onto an immense barrel chest, and with thumbs tucked into his belt, he surveyed the carnage in front of him.

Looking at Dent, he bellowed, “You do this, little man?” The answer seemed somewhat obvious, so Dent decided to conserve his breath.

“First to me!” the big man bellowed again without turning or letting his eyes leave Dent.

As if appearing by magic, a smaller rat-faced man appeared next to the giant.

“Captain?”

“How many did we lose this time?” The giant’s voice was pitched loud enough for all to hear, but it wasn’t the shout it had been.

“Six dead, nine wounded, two may die.” Rat face turned to look at the bodies at his feet. “That’s not counting these, of course. Here’s, well ... hmm...” He started flipping over bodies, walking to within six feet of Dent without even acknowledging his presence.

“We got seven dead right up, and I’d say the other two be dead before nightfall.”

“I’d say we got a warrior here, First,” grumbled the giant. “Very well, warrior, do you yield?”

“Why would I do that?” Dent said casually. “I have no desire to make it easier for you to kill me.”

“Now, why would we kill you?” said the giant.

“I suppose for the same reason you are killing those men over there,” Dent answered, pointing with his dirk toward the forward platform where a number of the invaders were taking captured men-at-arms and sailors, cutting their throats and throwing them over the side.

Looking at the scene, the giant turned back and waved his hand. “Bah, wounded and second-rate fighters. Those that are useful to me, I keep. Sailors for the ship, women as slaves, and the loot, of course. Now, true warriors I don’t see much of out at sea. Just what are you doing here?”

Dent didn’t see much point in lying. “I’m headed to Malshall. Heard the Putram there was hiring.” Casually, he stuck his sword into the deck, letting his right hand swing free at his side.

“You’re not contracted now?” the giant sounded surprised.

“No. I am unbound at this time.”

“Well, that sheds a bit of a different light on things. No contract, huh? Fine. Then how about you contract to me?”

“I’m not in much of a position to decline, now am I?” Dent caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A line of women were being herded up on deck, and he could see that Nesho and Sosho were among them.

Turning his attention back to the giant, he continued. “What are your terms?”

“Well, let me see ... How ‘bout I let you live and you fight for me until you die?”

“No. One-season standard contract, hazard pay if sea duty is involved.”

Laughing, Red Beard replied, “Why don’t I just send my men against you and kill you right now?”

“You could, and may, but if you do, you die, and three others here will also. I have rested some, so maybe four. If you hire me, you get my services, and you live. Quite a bargain if you ask me.”

“You’re starting to bore me, little man. You’re good, anyone can see that, but I’m not so fond of people who bluff by threatening to kill me.” Red Beard started to raise his hand when suddenly a short throwing knife appeared sticking out of the haft of a pike held by a soldier standing next to him.

“Gods, Captain, I barely saw him move!” whispered Rat Face, his full attention suddenly locked to the apparition in front of him.

“I don’t bluff, Captain, I’m just not good at it; I keep losing when I do. Now, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know if one of these through your eye will kill you-please don’t move-I’m somewhat nervous as it is, but even if it doesn’t kill you, big man that you are, it’s going to hurt. Then, of course, there’s the eye...”

“Well, maybe you don’t bluff, little man. Hmm, maybe we can work a deal. Can you instruct?”

“I can,” Dent said with a shrug. “Results depend on the pupil.”

“Very well. Here are my terms, warrior. Two seasons, standard contract, bonus is crew share less your contract pay. Duties to include arms instructor and fighter as needed, other duties as assigned. What do you say to that, little man?”

“These terms are acceptable with one provision.”

“And what provision might that be?” Red Beard glared at him suspiciously.

“My property, all that I brought on board this ship, must remain with me, bar none.”

“Oh, and do you ‘own’ the cargo on this vessel, or maybe a chest of gold?”

“Not in the least. A few trunks with personnel items and clothing, armor, some silver, maybe one gold. Nothing of excessive value to any but myself. You are welcome to inspect it if you wish. It is little enough, but it is mine, and I protect fiercely what is mine.” Dent looked the red-bearded giant in the eye.

“Hmm, this is somewhat peculiar. Usually, whatever is on the prize is put into crew share, but then you’re now crew, and personal property of the crew is respected so long as it doesn’t harm the ship. Very well. You have your personal property and contract. Do you agree?”

“Indeed, honored sir,” Dent said as he bowed. The bow and the honorary being the correct formality of hired warrior to employer. “And now, sir, if you will excuse me, I fear someone is pawing my property even as we speak.”

Reaching down and grabbing a piece of cloth from one of the corpses, Dent picked up his sword and began walking toward the line of women, cleaning first his dirk and then his sword. Once most of the gore had been removed, he sheathed the dirk but kept the sword out and ready. As he approached the line, he could see one of the sailors - he couldn’t think of them as warriors - had his hand down Sosho’s blouse, obviously checking out the merchandise.

“Excuse me,” he said, giving the pirate the benefit of the doubt. “That is my slave you have your hand on. Please remove it, or I shall be forced to remove it myself. Be advised that if I find the need to do so, it will no longer be attached to your arm.”

“What? Who the fuck are you? These bitches belong to the crew, not to you, you fucking bastard!” His hand withdrew from Sosho’s blouse and quickly reached down to draw the sword sheathed at his belt.

Dent brought his into a casual, ready position, ready for defense but not obviously ready for attack.

“You claim some of these lovelyies as your own, do you, little man?” Dent could feel the giant at his back. “You didn’t mention anything about women!”

“Personal property, Captain, personal property. And before you ask, no, I do not claim all of them. I claim only what is mine, this one and that one.” As he spoke, he pointed to Sosho and Nesho. “Nesho, Sosho! Stand here in front of me.”

Nesho stood and shuffled to where he pointed, head down, looking at his feet. Sosho looked up and ran to him, grabbing the edges of his breastplate. “Oh, Dent...” she wailed.

Crack! Dent’s backhand spun her head around and threw her to the deck, where she lay sobbing.

“Sosho, as we had discussed before, when in public, you will call me Master. Is that understood?” Still sobbing, the young woman slowly stood alongside her mother, head down, an angry red blotch on her cheek.

“Prettiest of the bunch, naturally. Hmm, I don’t see their tattoo or salidin. Are you sure they’re your slaves?” Red-beard asked softly. “Because if they’re not your property, then they belong to the crew. Can’t break precedent and contract, you know.”

“They are mine as much as any could be. Maybe I allow a bit of familiarity when we’re alone - maybe too much - but I enjoy it and I generally do what pleases me when I can. As for tattoos, where I come from, it isn’t our custom to disfigure our property, and I must admit ignorance as to the nature of this salidin you spoke of.”

“Salidin, known as ‘wizard’s collar’ or ‘slave’s collar’, is a band of metal once in place around a slave’s neck; it’s impossible to remove. Doing so results in the death of the slave. It or a tattoo is required by Jeevel to identify a slave. They will not be allowed in Harv’el until one or the other is visible.”

“Well then, if it is the law, then it must be done. Now, as for my trunks and armor, I’m assuming you will sail the prize back to your port for unloading, and at that time, I will be able to claim them?” The giant nodded his head in an almost amused fashion. “Very good, then I am yours to command. Do you wish me aboard this vessel or yours?”

“Oh, I think mine, most definitely. If for no other reason than we still have a contract to sign, don’t we? Take your baggage, all of it, to the Death Grip and ask for the ship’s Bo’sun; he’ll get you settled in. My name is Torken Vel, and I am master of the good ship Death Grip and captain of this company. I am to be addressed as Captain or Master, depending on which function your business concerns. Now go. I will call for you later.”

“By your leave, Captain,” Dent bowed, warrior to officer, and turned to the two women. “You two follow me and remove my things from the cabin.” Without waiting, he strode past them, heading for the forward hatch.

Dent entered their cabin, noticing that their belongings had been rifled and scattered on the floor. Holding the door open, allowing the women to enter, he closed the door and made sure it was barred tight.

Turning, he was hit by the flailing fists of a young wildcat out for blood.

“Who do you think you are hitting me!” Sosho screamed, pounding on him as hard as she could. “If you ever touch me, a ... murph!” Slapping his hand over her mouth and holding her tightly, he placed his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “Shut up, you idiot!” She froze in place and tried to bite his hand.

“Listen to him, Sosho,” Nesho hissed in her other ear. “He saved your virtue, if not your life, out there! Now be quiet and behave!” Slowly, she relaxed until Dent was confident enough to take his hand away from her mouth. She glared daggers at him but remained silent.

Suddenly, exhaustion and the reaction to adrenaline turned his legs to rubber, and he collapsed onto the stool still standing in the room. The room seemed to spin, and he closed his eyes. It took considerable effort just to remain upright. Hands cupped his cheeks, and he looked up into Nesho’s eyes, staring down at him with worry.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Me?” he sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. But what about you two?” Looking over, he could see his cousin standing, hands clenched into fists at her sides, watching him with red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes filled with anger.

“You hit me!” she hissed.

“I’m sorry, Sosho...” he said wearily. “They were going to take you...”

“You hit me!” she interrupted, taking a step towards him, raising one of her fists.

“Sosho, it was the only way...”

Crack!

Sosho fell backward as Nesho strode forward, ready to deliver another blow.

“Hush, you stupid girl! Don’t you realize what he did for us? Do you realize what they would have done to us? What they’re doing to the other women right now? What they can still do to us if we aren’t careful?” Dent had never seen Nesho in such a rage, and on she came until Sosho cowered back, lifting her hands to protect her face.

“They were going to rape us, you silly bit! Rip off your fine clothes, spread those pretty legs, and one by one mount you like a dog takes a bitch! And when they have used us as much as they pleased, they’re going to take us and sell us to some other bastard to be used as his sex toy for the rest of our lives. Grow up, Sosho! Dent has them believing we are his slaves, and for the moment, it looks like they will let us stay with him!” The fire suddenly left her face, and she turned back to Dent.

“You fought them, Dent. Why, not that I don’t praise the gods, but why did they let you live?”

“It seems their captain, the big red-bearded one, liked my fighting ability,” he tried to smile, but even that effort seemed to take too much effort. “It would appear I am now contracted to the captain, a warrior under his command. Part of the bargain was that I get to keep my own personal property. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I think we’ll be all right, for a while anyway. But he did say if you were anything but my slaves, you would belong to the crew and would be sold as part of their war prize.”

Struggling to his feet, he continued, “We don’t have much time now. We are to move over to his ship and need to clean out what we can from here.” Looking around at the mess, he sighed. “I don’t think there’s much of real value left here except our clothes, but let’s gather up what we can and get moving.”

Stumbling over to Sosho, he looked at her as she sat on the deck sobbing, looking up at him like a mouse seeing the snake that would eat her. Reaching down, wincing at the way she pulled away from him, he pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her.

“Sosho, Sosho, I am so sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I wish I could make this all a dream and that we would wake up and it would never have happened, but I can’t. It has, and we need to survive. You two must survive; nothing else matters. Do you hear me? Nothing else matters. Remember that whatever happens, no matter what I say or do, I love you. I really love you.” He could feel her begin to lose some of the tension, and she began to press herself against him, looking for whatever feeling of safety was available.

Turning his head, he said, “Nesho, we need to get going. And that’s another thing: no more ‘cousin’ or ‘daughter’ or ‘aunt’ or ‘nephew.’ I am Dent or Master, and you are Nesho and Sosho. I don’t know if it’s better if you two are mother and daughter or sisters, but no one will ever mistake the fact that you two are related. With me, it’s not so obvious, so we probably won’t have to worry about it. Can you do this, Sosho? For all our sakes?”

The girl seemed to pull herself together and pushed away from him gently. Looking up at him, she smiled just a tiny bit and shook her head.

“I can do it ... Master,” then she even giggled a little. “The worst part about this is I think you’re going to like this part too much.”

“What?” he said, shaking her slightly, “getting to boss around my bossy little cousin? Why, I can’t think how I could possibly get any pleasure from that!” Again, she giggled softly, then she sniffed and held her head up. Looking into his eyes, she nodded her head to tell him she was ready. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and turned back toward her mother.

“Let’s pick up what we can and be off.”

There wasn’t much except clothes left, a comb here, a book there. In fact, it seemed all the books remained, although a few of them had been ripped and otherwise damaged. Dent wasn’t all that surprised. Even at the school, most of the students weren’t what you would call voracious readers. If it wasn’t about battle tactics or combat engineering, it wasn’t worth reading. He didn’t suppose it would be much different here. Regardless, they bundled up what they could salvage and prepared to leave. Three large bundles were all they had left until Dent would be able to retrieve their trunks in port. Dent bent down to pick up the larger two but was stopped by Nesho’s hand on his arm.

“A man with slaves would never even think of carrying these himself. Just as we need to get used to the role of slave, you need to assume the role of master. Here, we can use these straps. Lift the two smaller ones onto my back and give the larger one to Sosho.”

It seemed reasonable, so carrying what little they owned, they left the cabin, the women following their new master up to the main deck.

Chapter 3

Much had changed topside in the short time it took to retrieve their belongings. The bodies, both merchant crew and privateer, had been removed, thrown over the side, Dent assumed. Here and there, crew from the captured ship were kneeling, scrubbing blood and gore off the deck.

So, Dent thought, they didn’t kill every man onboard. It seemed the privateers weren’t that stupid. Now, at least there would be a few able hands to bring the ship to port. Of the women, there was no sign, something that relieved Dent while making him feel a little cowardly for that relief, not that there was a damned thing he could do about it anyway.

“Warrior!” Dent heard from aft and above. Looking up at the piloting platform, he saw the rat-faced First Mate looking at him. There was little doubt where the call had come from. Striding the length of the deck, he stopped just below the platform and bowed.

“Yes?” he said after raising his head up. “What may I do for you?”

Rat-face stared at him for a moment or two and in a voice with very little outward emotion said, “I am Captain of this prize and you will address me as such.”

“Yes, Captain. What can I do for you?” Dent repeated.

“Captain Vel orders ye to board the Death Grip immediately. Yer to report to the Bo’sun for berthing. After evening meal he will send for ye. Do ye understand?”

“Perfectly, Captain. By your leave I go to do Captain Vel’s bidding at once.” Giving another short bow to Rat-face he turned and walked to the side where the two ships were still tied together.

The sails on the ships had been reefed and stowed, becalming both vessels. Three large planks had been laid between the two ships. Two were being used for traffic to the Death Grip the other for return travel. Most of the men moving to the privateer were burdened with loot or stores of some kind whereas the men returning were generally empty-handed. Waving for Nesho and Sosho to follow him Dent made his way to the closest gangplank. Just as he was about to step up and onto the board he was pushed aside and only just regained his balance before almost tumbling into the water separating the ships.

“Watch out, ye little shit!” Looking up Dent faced a man almost as large as Vel but without the beard and with considerably less muscle. In fact his fat made him look more like a walrus than the bear his captain resembled.

“Ahah, I must not have seen you up there already, my apologies,” Dent smiled wanly as he picked himself up and brushed imaginary dust off his undertunic.

“Listen to the little faggot,” fatso said laughing to a couple of sailors standing behind him. “Sure talks purdy, don’t he?” Turning back to Dent his voice turned to a growl, “Stay out of my way, sweet lips! When ya see a real man coming yer way ya stand aside.” Looking over at Sosho and Nesho his growl was replaced by a leer.

“So these are the bitches they’ve been talking about. A bit skinny for me liking, but the tits look like they may have some cushion. Don’t worry, honey. It won’t be long before this pissant is out of the way, and a real man will mount ye.”

“Know any ‘real men’ then?” Dent said dryly. “I certainly don’t see any around here.”

“Why, you little shit, I’ll break ya in two...” Fatso reached his hand out to grab Dent, but the breastplate defeated his first try. Casually, Dent lifted his left arm, allowing the big man to grab it and pull him in.

Dent looked at the hand holding his arm and then up into the leering face.

“I suggest you release my arm immediately,” Dent said softly, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Or you’ll do what, you little prick?”

“First, I’ll cut off your balls,” emphasizing his statement with a small thrust of the dirk that suddenly appeared in his right hand. “Or if you, as I suspect, have no balls, then I’ll jamb this up your cunt and into your fat belly.”

Aware of his exposed position, Fatso dropped Dent’s arm and took a step back. “Ya can’t draw steel on crew!” he bellowed. “Ye all saw him! He drew steel on me!”

“Garth, leave that one alone,” said one of the other sailors standing behind him. “He’s the one that killed nine of ours all by himself. He’s a warrior! Just leave it be.”

“I’ll have you before the mast for this, I will!” Face as red as a beet, Garth turned and stumbled away, the faces of other sailors in the area following as he went.

Turning to the remaining two sailors, Dent gave a short bow and extended his arm, indicating they should go before him.

The one giving Garth the warning grinned and waved him off. “Nay,” he said, “ye were here first. Besides, it was worth it to see Garth taken down a peg or two. But just a little friendly advice: Garth is one who seems to hold hard to his grudges, and he’s not above a little midwatch payback, if ya know what I mean.”

“I do, and thank you for the warning. While I won’t go out of my way to create enemies, I have no intention of allowing myself to be indisposed by others.”

“Ye are a fancy talker at that,” the sailor grunted. “Comes from too much book learning if ya ask me, but can’t say but that yer polite enough. Names Seth, senior pilot for the Death Grip. Heard ye be looking for the Bo’sun, well get across and I’ll take ye to him.” Waving his hand in a shooing motion, he waited until Dent and the women were across before ambling across himself.

Dent jumped to the deck of his new ship, alertly scanning the area before turning around to help Nesho and Sosho down to the wooden deck. His brief glance told him volumes about his new home and the people he was going to be living with. The ship was incredibly clean. Even though the battle had taken place on the little merchant vessel, he had expected remnants of the preparations to still be evident, but there were none. Everything was in place and tidy as if it were awaiting inspection. Men streamed across the gangplanks, bringing back loot or returning for another trip. It was evident this was no ordinary pirate ship; this was a military vessel in all but uniform and flag, and a well-disciplined one at that.

Dent looked back at the two women. Nesho was looking around with frank curiosity while Sosho stood still, eyes seeing nothing but the deck in front of her feet. Nesho caught Dent looking at her, and her lips curled up in a very slight, very tentative smile. Raising his eyebrows, he tried to impart a look of confidence, a confidence he didn’t feel in the least.

Jumping lightly to the deck, Seth waved toward the stern of the ship. “Bo’sun Meltath should be around the bridge, be my guess. With the First taking the prize, he be acting First and should be setting watch while the Captain’s occupied. Come with me, and we see if we be finding him.”

Without waiting to see if they followed, the rangy pilot started walking quickly aft. Nesho started after him, but Sosho stood rooted as if she hadn’t heard anything that had been said. Dent came up to her and, putting his arm around her gently, pulled her with him, following the receding sailor. At his gentle tug, her face came up, eyes wide, and the terror evident.

“It’s all right, sweet cake,” he whispered, using the pet name her mother used when she was a young girl. “We need to go find where we’ll be staying. Just follow me; everything will be fine.”

“Oh, Dent,” she said, her voice quivering slightly, “I am so scared. What will they do to us? Where will we go?”

“You are doing wonderfully!” Then, leaning over, he whispered, “I’m scared too. We just can’t let them see our fear; be brave. As to where we go, we’ll see when we find this Bo’sun.” Squeezing her to him, he guided her down the deck after the pilot and his aunt.

The piloting area of the Death Grip wasn’t a platform like the Pinya’s but instead was positioned above the main deck on top of what looked like a small house set at the stern of the ship. A set of real steps instead of a ladder led up to the top of the little house. Pilot Seth and Nesho were standing at the bottom of the ladder, waiting for the other two to catch up.

“It’s best if your women stay here until the Bo’sun is ready to see you.” Dent nodded and gently pushed Sosho over to a space on the deck he estimated would be out of the way of general traffic. Nesho joined her as they both sat down.

“Stay here, you two. I’ll be back to pick you up in a bit.” Dent wanted it to sound like a command if any were listening but not so harsh as to hurt his already overly distraught cousin. The pilot started up the steps, and Dent followed. Going up the stairs, he turned back to look and saw Nesho leaning over, talking softly to Sosho, holding Sosho’s trembling hands in hers.

Cresting the top of the stairs, Dent immediately saw the layout of the Death Grip’s piloting area was very familiar. A large wheel in the center, tied off now with nobody manning the station, and a post holding what should be the ship’s compass positioned close by. Seth was standing next to a sailor who must be the Bo’sun over by the railing where the activities on both ships could be observed. Dent stopped at the head of the stairs, waiting for some indication that it was all right to approach.

While he waited, he studied the Bo’sun, trying to get a feel for what type of man he would be dealing with. Where the Captain was tall, the Bo’sun was short, maybe a good six or seven inches shorter than Dent himself. But even as short as he was, the Bo’sun probably outweighed him by a good twenty, maybe thirty pounds, very little of it fat. Round and solid, he seemed as much a part of the ship as the rail he leaned against. Looking around and seeing Dent, the pilot waved him over to join them. Walking slowly toward them, he stopped a pace or two away and bowed as a subordinate to a senior.

“Bo’sun Meltath, I am Warrior Dent. Captain Vel ordered me to report to you for billeting and instruction. I am at your command.”

“Yeah, I see ye. Now, what am I to do with ye, the question is,” the Bo’sun grunted. “I won’t be lying to ye: I can’t say as I’m happy ye’re with us. I knew every man that died in this boarding and counted some of them as friends. I’d just as soon run ye through and heave ye over the side. But then I’m not the Captain, and if he signed ye up, then we’ll see what good use ye can be made of. What ye know of sailing, youngster?”

“I am sorry to admit, very little,” Dent replied. “I was trained to fight on land and only know what I have seen over the past few weeks. As for what I can do, the Captain mentioned instruction, which I can do. Weapons maintenance and repair, and of course I can fight. Additionally, I have a strong back and learn fairly quickly. Whatever you assign me, I shall endeavor to learn as best I can.”

“Well, Seth, he does talk pretty as you say.” Meltath studied the young man in front of him, seeming to come to a conclusion.

“Very well, youngster. We’ll see if you can teach the men how to fight a wee bit better. I hear you killed seven by yourself, and if you can do that, maybe you know something we be needing. But now I be thinking I need to get you a berth. I understand you be carrying some baggage with you.”

“I have some small amount of personal items and two slaves. I also have two trunks and heavy armor in the hold.”

“What’s in the prize’s hold you get when we hit port. As for your slaves, well, crew don’t usually keep personnel slaves on board, but they can either bunk with the rest of the slaves in their quarters or squeeze in your bunk with you. Your decision; just don’t bother me or anyone else.” Turning slightly, still keeping his eyes on Dent, he bellowed in a voice surprisingly loud and clear, “Festou! Festou! Where are you, you worthless lump? Get your ass up here. I have a task for you!”

As if a wizard waved his hand, creating it out of thin air, a head popped up over the edge of the deck at the steps, followed by the body of a young boy. Red hair bouncing in an unruly mop, the boy reminded Dent more of a monkey he had once seen in a carnival sideshow than a human being. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine seasons old. Moving quickly with the boundless energy of extreme youth, the boy bounced - it was the only way to describe his movement - over to the Bo’sun, rendering a fingertip touch of his brow in mock salute.

“’ere Bo’sun sir!” Even at rest, the boy seemed to vibrate, giving the impression he was going to shoot off in a random direction at any moment.

“Festou, where have ye been hiding? Well, never mind, I want ya to take this young warrior here - never did catch yer name - up to forward crew quarters and get ‘im settled in. Then show ‘im the galley, head, and a short tour of the ship. The Captain will be calling for ‘im after evening meal, so until then, we won’t know his station.”

“Dent, honorable sir; my name is Dent,” he said when the Bo’sun turned back towards him.

“I ain’t no honorable sir, I be this ship’s Bo’sun, ye remember that. Aye, well, Warrior Dent, this here is Festou, ship’s boy. He be taking ye to yer quarters and show ye around a bit. His worthless hide is yers for a while, until ye get used to us here. One word of warning, warrior.” His eyes suddenly became very cold and hard. “I don’t allow no trouble in the crew. This be a good, tight ship, and I aim to keep it that way, ye understand?”

“Perfectly, hor ... Bo’sun sir,” remembering to change his honorific just in time. “I am under contract now and shall respond to my comrades in arms as required under the Code.” Pausing just a second, he continued, “The fact is, Bo’sun, I’ve had enough trouble today as it is and have no desire for more.”

“Aye, that I believe. Very well. Festou, be off with ye now. Dismissed.” Bowing first to the Bo’sun and then to the pilot, Dent turned and followed the bouncing ball of energy down the stairs to the main deck and over to the waiting women.

They were sitting on the deck where he had left them but were not alone. Standing around them were five sailors leering and making obscene solicitations. “Hey, sweet thing, how about ye and yer sister come by me rack tonight? I’ll show ya out [BM1] and show you what a real man can do for ya before some needle-dick noble buys ya off the block.”

“Let’s have a look at the merchandise, honey. Maybe ya can earn a little extra if ye are especially good.”

Nesho kept her face expressionless as she worked the knots out of a piece of cloth that could have once been a blouse. Sosho was trying to emulate her mother, but there were tears visible running down her cheek. Both were doing their best to ignore their ‘suitors’ and pretend they didn’t exist.

Dent came to a halt behind the men and, with his hands clasped behind his back, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Nesho! Sosho! It’s time to go. This young gentleman is to show us to our berth. Pick up our gear and let’s move. Gentlemen, if you will kindly excuse us.”

The men started laughing as they turned but seemed to choke when they saw the armored, and armed, warrior standing behind them. Still blood spattered from the morning’s battle, the faint smile noticeable on the apparition’s face did nothing to quell their immediate unease.

Sosho jumped up and ran over and tried to hide behind him, her arms around his waist and face buried in his backplate.

“Who are ye?” asked one of the larger sailors. “And who says ye get them first? I got seniority here, and that means I get one of the first picks. Ship’s rules!”

“Indeed, I have no intention of disputing either your seniority nor your right to ‘pick’ as you say,” suddenly the faint smile vanished like it was never there, “but not with my property. I think you’ll find me fairly easy to get along with if we can come to an agreement. You agree to leave my property alone, and I will leave you alone.” Using his hand to sweep in both the crying girl and Nesho, he continued, “These are mine. They are not for sale, and I do not allow anyone to ‘borrow’ them.” Gesturing to Nesho, she stood up and pushed through the men to stand by his side.

As he started to turn away, he stopped short and turned back. “However,” he said thoughtfully, “this one is a credible seamstress, and the other knows a bit about herbal medicine. If you know of anyone in need of these services, I would be more than happy to discuss fees. Pass that around, if you please.” Without waiting for a response, he turned back and prepared to follow the obviously frightened Festou.

“Come back here, damn you! I’m not done with ye yet!” It was the big sailor again, red-faced from embarrassment and anger.

“That’s the one who kilt Kreis and Skelen,” one of the others whispered, loudly. “Heard tell he kilt nine in all, all by himself. Cut them down like they were dogs, and with nary a scratch on himself.”

“Yeah, well, Kreis and Skelen weren’t worth a shit if ye ask me,” the big one said but with a little less conviction.

“Crap!” another piped in. “They were two of our best boarders, they were. Heard tell ‘e moves like a fucking ghost, coulda kilt the captain but didn’t. Also heard ‘e’s full-blooded Warrior, contracted to us now.”

“Shit! Fucking warriors are more dangerous than fucking snakes. Should keep ‘em chained up.”

“Let ‘im ‘ave ‘is pretties, Harg. If ‘e gets kilt, we get ‘um anyway.”

Ignoring their jibes, Dent set off to follow Festou as he scrambled forward up the deck. Sosho walked behind him, holding his belt as if she were afraid he would suddenly disappear. She had one hand on his belt, the other holding her bundle of clothes. Nesho followed, carrying the remaining bits of their gear.

At the forward end of the ship - the ‘bow,’ Dent tried to remind himself - they passed through a hatch and down another set of stairs. “Ladders,” he was informed by the exuberant Festou; there were no stairs on a ship, just ladders. Chattering as he led, Festou pointed out to them as they passed the sail loft, bo’sun’s locker, and laundry, all far too fast for Dent to absorb any but a small portion. So it was down the ladder and forward again by way of a very narrow and dim passageway until they came to an open room that had to be about as far forward as it was possible to go.

The space was almost as dimly lit as the passageway, but as their eyes became accustomed to the dark, they could see tiers of bunks, canvas stretched between wooden frames with what appeared to be rag-filled mattresses. Some were two tiers high, and others in the rear of the room, where there was more headroom, three. A few were occupied; makeshift curtains pulled to shade the sleeping occupant. Snores emanated from a few of the enclosed bunks, and from one, a low sobbing and the rhythmic thumping that was the unquestionable sounds of sex. Somebody was already taking his turn with one of the new girls, it seemed. Cringing away from that bunk, Sosho closed in behind Dent and held him even tighter while turning her head and biting her lip. At least Festou also had the decency to look away and become quiet for a record moment or two.

“Most of these here bunks are already taken, your warriorship. It ain’t the best crew quarters, it being so far up forward and all, and all the good ones near the rear here got somebody spoken for. But if you like, sir, there’s a couple way up front here, kind of out of the way, they are. Not much room, and they be noisy and rough if’n we hit some real seas, but you and the ladies may like it, sir.”

“Festou.”

“Yes, sir?” he squeaked.

“It’s Dent. My name is Dent. This is Nesho, and this is Sosho.”

“Yes, Dent sir, of course, Dent sir,” he continued chattering. “Now as I was saying, they used to keep me up here, being the ship’s boy and smallest and all, but the Bo’sun wanted me back near him. Wants to make sure I ain’t corkin’ off, he says. Anyways, it’s got the two bunks and a little locker. If you need more, maybe we can find some.”

At the extreme forward end of the quarters, there was a large obstruction, “Anchor locker, Dent sir,” with a small passageway around one side. Turning that corner, they could see they were indeed as far forward as they could possibly go. The two walls - ‘bulkheads’ he reminded himself - curved around together into the unmistakable shape of a ship’s bow, or at least what it would look like from the inside. There was very little room, just enough for the four of them to stand. Festou climbed up on the locker and plopped down out of the way. Directly across from the locker were two bunks. The lower bunk appeared to be a little more than half again the size of the top, and the top looked like it could be folded back against the wall, allowing someone or a few someones the chance to sit upright on the lower.

Looking around, Dent pursed his lips and exhaled slowly. “Ah yes. Well, we will be very cozy here for sure, but I think this will do nicely.”

“Well, Dent sir, if you want your whores kin sleep down in quarters with the rest of them. Not very nice down there, though, and I can’t say but there may be some trouble with the crew if they be down there if you take my meaning, sir.”

“I think this will be fine, Festou. And Festou...”

“Yes, Mr. Dent sir?”

“Nesho and Sosho are not whores. They belong to me, and I don’t appreciate them being called whores.”

Twisting atop the locker until he was almost directly face to face with Nesho, Festou looked her right in the eye and said, “You ain’t no whore?”

Staring right back at him and keeping her face expressionless - well, almost; there was a hint of a smile that probably wouldn’t take much to come to the surface - she answered, “No, Festou, we aren’t whores. We belong to Master Dent alone.”

“He doesn’t get money when you fuck someone?” his face plainly incredulous.

“No, we don’t get money, Festou, but then we don’t fuck anyone but Master Dent.”

“No one else? Just him?”

“Just him,” she agreed.

“Well, I be damned! Never heard of such a thing. Maybe some of the slaves, ya know, before they were taken. But never after. Once the crew gets done with them, they fuck anyone, any time. Damn! That ain’t gonna make you many friends on this ship here, Mr. Dent, sir. Now I’m too young to fuck; can’t see any fun in it anyhow. Now, some of the crew, well, they like to do ‘things’ with some of the younger boys, but I never let ‘em do dat with me. The Captain, he doesn’t take lightly to anyone forcing himself on anyone in the crew who don’t want it, see, so they pretty much leave me alone now.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” reaching over, Nesho fingered the torn and tattered shirt the little ship’s boy was wearing. “We can fix this for you, if you like. Won’t be good as new, of course, but certainly better than what you have now.”

“Can ya?” he said, looking down at his raggedy shirt. “I try my best I can, but they don’t give me nothing but what others throw out.” Glancing up suspiciously, “What ya want for it?”

“Nothing, Festou. You’ve been very helpful to us so far, and this is something we can do in return. Besides, if others see what we can do, maybe they will want us to do it for them, and then they will pay.”

“Well, I can see where that may help ya,” he said somewhat mollified. Then, leaning over closer to her ear, he whispered, “But is it straight with yer master? Will Mr. Dent, sir, allow ya?”

Looking over at Dent, Nesho raised her eyebrow in a questioning manner. Trying hard to stifle a laugh, he waved his hand like that of a parent indulging a favored child.

“You see,” she said, turning back to Festou, “that isn’t a problem. Master Dent allows us considerable freedom so long as we keep within the bounds of propriety. Do you have a spare shirt?” When he shook his head no, she reached into one of their packs and took out a wrinkled ball of cloth. Shaking it out, the ball suddenly became a shirt. “Wear this until we can mend yours. It’s somewhat big, I admit, but it will do for a day or so.”

Wiping his hands vigorously on his pants, Festou reached for the shirt, his hand trembling like he was afraid it was about to bite him.

“Gods’ Mistress! I ain’t never had nothing this fine afore! Take good care with it, I will, you’ll see, right good care!” Quickly, he stripped off his tattered shirt and slipped on the wrinkled spare. Tucking it into his trousers, it still looked like he could swim in it. The shirt was one of Dent’s old ones, much too small for him and used mainly by Sosho when she had dirty work to do and didn’t want to soil her own clothes.

“Mo ... Master Dent, when do we eat?” Sosho spoke in almost a whine, “we haven’t had anything since this morning, and I am sooo hungry.”

Frowning, Dent looked over to the ship’s boy. “I don’t know. We probably missed the midday meal, and we still need to find out where we need to go and when. You’ll just have to hold on until we find out. Now isn’t the time to be drawing attention to ourselves. Well, Festou, when are the meals, and where do we need to go?”

Festou explained that the morning meal was served between second watch, six bells, and third watch, second bell; midday from third watch, six bells to fourth watch, second bell; and supper from fifth watch, sixth bell to sixth watch, second bell.

When asked to explain, he expounded on the manner in which time was kept on board ship. Since only a very few on the ship had timepieces, which were extremely expensive. The sea air wreaked havoc with their delicate mechanisms, so time was told by the watch section and the increment of the watch. The day was broken into six watches of four hours each, starting at midnight. Each watch was then broken down again into eight bells sounding on the hour and half-hour. Hence, the second watch, sixth bell, would be seven o’clock as they were used to it.

Normally, it was shortened to just the two numbers, so if someone asked when lunch was being served, the answer would be ‘third six’ or eleventh hour. The bell was rung throughout the day from the pilot deck and could generally be heard everywhere on the ship. Dent remembered hearing the bells on the Pinya but had never heard the explanation of what they meant.

“Crew eats in the galley mess deck; that would be Mr. Dent, Sir.” As exasperating as it was, this seemed to have become Dent’s full name according to Festou. “Now, slaves are usually fed only an eve meal and then in their quarters. I’ve never seen any eating on the mess deck afore. I don’t normally want to have anything to do with the crew, if you know what I mean. Now, officers, they eat in the wardroom; that be back in their quarters in the stern. Now, if the mistresses don’t want to eat in quarters, I can probably bring ‘em something here. I can usually sweet-talk the cook if he be in a good mood.”

Looking a bit thoughtful, he continued, “Maybe if you be willing to do a bit of mending or other little things for him, it might help ‘is mood a bit too.”

Tousling his hair, Nesho grinned and said, “You are indeed a wonder, Festou. I’m sure we can work out something with this gentleman. Eating here would probably be much preferable to eating in ‘quarters.’ Find out what you can and let’s see if we can come to an agreement.” Faintly, they heard a bell ring, four sets of two rings each.

“Eight bells,” sighed Festou. “Gots to get up and see to the watch change. We’ll be underway soon, and I be required to make sure the watch has everything ‘e needs. I’ll see about grabbing ya something on my way back.” With that, he jumped off the locker and darted out of their tiny alcove.

When their little guide had finally left, Dent suddenly felt the strength drain out of every muscle, and he slumped to the floor, his back against the locker and his legs stretched out as far as they were able. Nesho folded the upper bunk against the wall and, seeing a lanyard obviously placed there for that purpose, secured it. Doing this turned the lower bunk into a bench, which she promptly sat on. Hesitating only for a few seconds, Sosho sat beside her.

“What are we to do, Mother?” she said softly, her fingers playing with the pleats in her skirt.

“First, we must remember that there is no ‘mother,’ or ‘daughter,’ ‘nephew,’ or ‘cousin.’ There is Master Dent, Nesho, and Sosho. What we are to do is survive. Whatever it takes, we survive.” To Dent, she looked tired, very tired, but her eyes still held a look of steel determination as she surveyed their new living space and then her nephew.

“Secondly, we need to get ‘Master Dent’ cleaned up. You do look very fierce covered with blood, my lad, but for what you need to do, you need to look the part of a warrior and not some blood-soaked savage. Clean, cool, and professional.”

Guffawing - he was too tired to laugh - he grunted back, “Well, if I can get cleaned up, then I’ll at least be one of three, and if we get paid, then maybe even make it two of three. Although blood-soaked savage seems to work around here. Gods! I am so tired.”

“Are you all right, Dent?” she asked softly. “You killed men today. I’ve heard that changes people. Are you changed?”

Shaking his head, he leaned back and closed his eyes. “I don’t feel any different. It still doesn’t seem real. I saw them come at me, and suddenly I was back at the academy on the training grounds. It was like I wasn’t even involved.” Opening his eyes, he looked at her. “Everything has changed: I’ve changed, you’ve changed, and even Sosho’s changed. I feel like I’m falling, and only if I keep running will I be able to stay upright. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this. I wanted to protect you, and look where that got us.”

“Silly man!” she said, kicking his stretched-out leg lightly. “Without you, we would be dead, or worse by now. Never forget that. What you have done so far has been nothing less than a miracle, a true miracle. Now, if you can, why don’t you get out of that armor and go see if you can clean yourself up a bit? We’ll see what we can do to clean this.”

Struggling to his feet, he started to untie the cords holding the plate in place. Standing up and brushing his hands aside, Nesho deftly untied them and helped lift the heavy body armor from his torso. Letting it fall to the deck, he kissed her on the forehead and left, looking for somewhere to get cleaned up.

Chapter 4

Picking one of the more rag-like cloths from their bundles, Nesho started to wipe the blood and gore off the bright metal plate.

“Start putting our things away, dear,” she said without looking up.

Moving very slowly, Sosho began to untie the bundles, laying their contents out on the bunk, sorting them into piles as she went. Suddenly, she stopped and looked over at her mother.

“Moth... Nesho, what are we going to do if they come for us?” There was little doubt as to the identity of them.

“Nothing, sweet thing, nothing. If they do, we submit and survive.”

“But how can we do nothing?” Her voice trembled, barely controlling the tears.

Nesho stopped what she was doing and looked up at her daughter silently. Finally, she sighed, “We can do nothing because there is nothing we can do. If we resist, they will hurt us, or worse. If we are raped, we will live. You have never known a man, my sweet, you don’t understand. For the last few years before your father died, he was ... not gentle ... with me.

“You know that after you were born, he caught a fever. I am sure it sterilized him, although he would never admit it. He knew it, though, and it changed him. I think he blamed me that we never had another baby; it made him mean, spiteful. When he decided to take me, he made sure it hurt as much as possible. So you see, I know it’s something you can live through. You close your eyes and pretend you are somewhere else. It helps, a little.

“But maybe they won’t come for us,” she continued. “Right now, the only thing protecting us is Dent’s reputation. To them, he is a fierce and very dangerous warrior. You heard what they were talking about: he killed nine men today. Nine men, by himself. He is the only thing standing between them and us. He scares them. They are terrified of what he could do, as well they should be.

“We must do nothing, nothing, to damage that reputation. It must be known that we are the undisputed property of the most dangerous man on this ship if we want to avoid what is happening to those other poor women.”

“But he’s Dent, just Dent!” Sosho shook her head as if denying everything Nesho was saying.

“No!” Nesho hissed. “He is Master Dent, Warrior Dent, Dent the Magnificent, Dent the Cruel. Never forget that! Master Dent. We are his; he is not ours. He owns us now just as surely as he owns this armor or his sword. You must treat him like he is the center of your being, like without him, you will die, because it is truly so.” The vehemence of her words shocked the young girl.

“Dent the Cruel?” Sosho giggled. “He’s such a big puff, he couldn’t hurt a fly.” She was quiet for a moment.

“You, you let that boy think you were, ah, sleeping with him.” Sosho’s eyes were troubled.

“Of course I did,” Nesho answered calmly. “That’s exactly what they expect. In fact, if they suspect that we’re not sleeping with him, they’re going to start wondering why not, and that’s something we simply can’t afford.”

“But sleeping with him? Yuck! The thought makes me sick!” Her hand went to her mouth as if she was trying to stop retching. Then, if possible, her eyes got even wider, and she whispered, “We! You said we! You don’t expect me to pretend to, oh, be with him, do you?”

“You mean fucking him?” Nesho said the word slowly and with emphasis. “You’d better, little one. There better be no doubt in anyone’s mind on this ship that he is fucking you. Our lives depend on it!”

“Mother!” she hissed.

Smiling, Nesho continued to hammer into the girl with her words. “What, baby? You don’t like the word ‘fuck?’ Well, that’s what it is. What do you think was going on behind that curtain? Fucking, that’s what was going on. What do you think is going to happen to you if we fail here? These men are going to line up and one by one spread your legs and stick their little spears into you until they cum, and they will do it as often as they like, and there is nothing we can do about it.” Suddenly, her voice dropped down, dripping with compassion, and she sat beside her trembling daughter, holding her tight.

“Oh baby, I’d always hoped you would find some nice young man you could love and be happy with, but I’m not sure that can happen now. For now, we must survive, and if we have to let or make everybody on board this ship think we are sleeping with Dent to survive, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Oh gods! What do we really have to do it?” Sosho was shaking again.

“I don’t think it will come to that, but if it does, would that be so bad?”

“Mother! That’s ... that’s sick!”

“Hmm, scandalous maybe, but not sick. Remember he is also a man and not just your cousin. A very handsome man at that. Think to yourself if you had to do it, would you rather be with Dent, who you know loves you, or with, say, Garth?”

“Well, when you put it that way ... but Dent? Yuck.”

Laughing, Nesho hugged Sosho tightly again and let go.

“If we play the part well enough, then we should never have to worry about it now, will we...? Besides, think of poor Dent! An old crone like me or his skinny little cousin? He probably would think ‘yuck’ also.”

“Harrumph,” Sosho sniffed, “You’re no old crone, and I’m certainly not so skinny any longer. He’d have to be crazy not to want us.” She sighed and let her shoulders slump. “I don’t know if I can do this, Mama. I just want to go home and have you and Dent take care of me again like it used to be. But I’ll try to be strong, really, I will.”

“I know you will, baby, I know you will,” Nesho smiled tenderly at her daughter.

“So what do we do? Take turns sharing this bunk with him?”

“Hmm,” her mother said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to tell the truth. It depends on how closely they watch us. For now, I guess I’ll share with him; it shouldn’t bother either of us all that much. If it looks like we need to, then maybe we’ll take turns. We’ll just see how it plays out. No sense looking too far ahead; concentrate on the now and wait for the then to take care of itself.”

“Speaking of the now, it’s back to work for us slaves. Need to get the master’s things cleaned and presentable now, don’t we?”

“Yes, Momma,” she said with a sigh. Then her mouth twisted up like she bit into something very bitter. “Dent? Yuck!”

The object of this fevered discussion was at that time on the main deck trying to stay out of the way of sailors running here and there. With all the activity, it was obvious something was going on, but it wasn’t until he saw the planks between the two ships being pulled back aboard the warship that he understood: the ships were separating and getting ready to set sail. Although this was interesting in an abstract sort of way, it didn’t get him cleaned up nor suggest a plan for living through the next few hours.

Nesho was right, he thought. I need to look the part if these bastards are going to believe me. Yes, he was a trained warrior and now a blooded one as well, he mused, but one battle against pretty pathetic sailor/soldiers doesn’t make a warrior. At least for the moment, they were all alive and together, and as Nesho said, that was a miracle in and of itself. Now, how was he going to keep up this farce? One slip is all it will take, and he’d be dead - not important - and his aunt and cousin would be truly slaves and all that entailed - important! Gods, he groaned, give me strength!

First things first, and the first thing is getting cleaned up. Strolling over to a sailor who didn’t seem to be particularly busy, he asked where he might find some water to wash off all the blood. Although not overtly unfriendly, his new acquaintance didn’t exactly go out of his way to welcome Dent aboard, either, which was just fine with him. He didn’t want enemies, but he wasn’t particularly interested in friends, either; allies maybe, but not friends.

Although the sailor watched him like someone would a strange dog they weren’t sure was safe, he at least pointed him towards the area where he could use a bucket to dip seawater up to use in a wash down. He explained that the large casks spaced around the main deck, and some below, were fresh water that shouldn’t be used for bathing. After washing with seawater, a little fresh water on a rag was used to wipe the body down. Not much different than the other ship they had been traveling on.

Stripping down to his small clothes, he listened to the sailors relaying orders to and from the rigging as they set and trimmed the sails. The slight breeze began to fill the sheets, and he could hear them cracking as they stiffened under its force. Ponderously, the great ship shook itself and began to make headway. In the distance, he could see the Pinya also with sail up, the small white bow wave the only indication she was also making way.

The seawater stung slightly as he rinsed his body, removing the evidence of the morning’s business. Several small cuts became evident as he washed, and undoubtedly some of the blood he washed away had been his own, but the battle high followed by exhaustion kept him from feeling any of these fairly minor wounds. He noticed that none of them had been bleeding recently; however, the saltwater washing removed the forming scab from a few, and they were starting to ooze slightly. He reminded himself to have Nesho dab some ointment on them when she got time. Infection right now would be unfortunate. Quickly rinsing his tunic and trousers, he laid them out in the afternoon sun to dry.

Drying quickly, the saltwater left his skin feeling a bit crusty, but the mild discomfort was easily ignored. What couldn’t be ignored was the tightness and cramping in his muscles. Ingrained habit and the discipline of training demanded this be taken care of before serious injury or disability could set in. Groaning with the effort, he began the slow, methodical stretching and limbering exercises that were as much a part of life to him now as breathing or eating.

Bend, stretch, flex, his young, supple body automatically entering into the dance of the T’chi. Said to be as old as time, the T’chi looked to the casual observer to be nothing more than random movements done in slow motion. The Crane, to the Goose, flowing into the Cat and then the Hawk. Each position carefully choreographed, every muscle stretched and flexed. Slowly, the body was brought into balance, heart rate accelerated, and then brought down to normal. The seeming ease and grace of the movements were belied by the sheen of sweat covering his body. Muscles protested; the desire to quicken the pace resisted. Finally, with the cooling-down stretches completed, Dent became fully aware of his surroundings again. He was again amazed at how quickly the time seemed to pass when he was fully engaged in his exercises. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he was attacked during the T’chi or if he would even be aware of it. He had asked his instructors that very question once, receiving little more than a smile and an assurance that the body would react as needed under such circumstances.

As his surroundings came back into focus, breathing deeply but not heavily, he was aware he was not alone. Leaning against railings or squatting along bulkheads, a group of some ten or twelve sailors lounged while seemingly relaxed, watching him intently. Although he wanted to ignore their presence, to do so didn’t feel right. Coming to attention, he executed a short, equal-to-equal bow and turned back to his clothing at the rail.

“Pretty little dance there, youngster. Any particular reason for it other than for maybe our amusement?”

Turning back, Dent locked eyes with the sailor who had spoken. He was older than most, a brown, weather-beaten face covered by a gray beard with piercing ice-blue eyes set above. There didn’t seem to be any malice in those eyes, nor friendship either, just curiosity. Bending down, he picked up the bucket of seawater and poured it over his head and body, rinsing much of the sweat away.

“It’s called the T’chi,” he said softly, turning back to the oldster that made the comment. “It’s an exercise used to tune the body and mind, to prepare.” Then with a grin, he added, “If it also amuses you, then that’s just a bonus.”

The oldster guffawed, while another added, “Ain’t never seen nothing like that. Something ye see maybe from the Putram’s court whores, I’d expect.”

“Aye, I’ve seen the like,” another spoke. “Seen them pet warriors the Putram’s got doing that when we be in port. Must be a warrior thing, I guesses.”

“Yes, a ‘warrior thing’,” mused Dent. It was true: Many of the various academies practice the ancient art - not all, but a few. “That’s as reasonable an explanation as any, I suppose.” Bending down, he picked up his clothes and shook them out. His small clothes were still wet from sweat and rinse water, so he decided to carry them back to the berthing compartment.

Seeing that the show was for the most part over, the crowd started to break up, and the sailors left in groups of two or three. The only one remaining was the oldster, still eyeing him with an air of calm expectancy.

“Dell’s the name,” he said, “seaman, first rank.”

“I’m Dent, warrior.”

“So I can see Warrior Dent,” those eyes studied him a bit longer. “Why are ye here?”

Dent could feel something now; this wasn’t just some common sailor. How he knew it, he wasn’t able to say for sure; it was just something he knew. This old man may be curious, but that wasn’t the only reason he was asking questions. This was some kind of test. Whose test and to what end was unknown, but it was a test. What was the point, and how did he pass it or did he really care if he passed it? Yes, he needed to care; he decided. On some level, this was important, but what were they looking for? Dent sighed; the ultimate why was unknown and would probably remain unknown, so how to proceed?

Classes at school didn’t just focus on physical combat and ability. Part of being a warrior was dealing with other soldiers and, of course, the enemy. During one such class, an instructor once said, “Tell the truth, as much as you can anyway. If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember what you lied about. It also makes the lies you do have to tell that much more effective.” Since he did have some big lies he needed to protect, then maybe the truth would be best.

“I am here because the ship I was a passenger on was taken, and in exchange for my life, your captain offered me a contract as a warrior.” Not pretty, but it was the truth.

“Ye ain’t under contract to anyone else then? And where were ye going?” the eyes drilled into him mercilessly.