ostwindisles

[ostwindisles]

Cormac I

Waves bit at the shore in rhythmic patterns. Like armies of frogs dipping their heads above the water and crashing into the uncaring sand. The darkness of the night was suffocating but, on the beaches, everything seemed clearer to Cormac. The moonlight had a way of reflecting off the water, rimming every wave and rock with a warm blue light. There was comfort in it, although it was cold and sandy with the smells of rotting things. He still came here to fish most nights. Father bid him against it but the windows to the billet were just large enough to squeeze through, and it was hard for him to fall asleep on an empty stomach. He had grabbed the fishing rod hidden in the tight and splintery spaces that made his bed, and slipped through the night in the small distance between the workhouse and the shore. He looked at his finest creation gripped tightly between his fingers bending long and gently to the surface of the ocean. Now that he had reached his safety, he began to think. At first, he thought of what fish he may catch first. The shallows were not a place for a hearty meal. They were instead a place where the sculpins and clingfish lived. Fish like that were mostly scale and bone with a few morsels to savor, a meager reward for his nightly risk.

There were no bites yet for his trade of four worms. The next cast reached its apex, and the bait reached down and clung to the ocean. The fishing pole framed his view of the open horizon, splitting the rolling waves in two. He liked to imagine that the waves flowed away from his pole, afraid of his ability to cut them. If he had that magic, he could accompany Argyl on his next sail. Then he wouldn’t be alone for the next year or more. He wondered if the mage Argyl hired could split the oceans like his fishing rod had. That would be a question for later tonight. Argyl said that his mage’s whims could control the wind itself, to push his ships forward through any storm. He was leaving soon to gather his new hireling in porro, Argyl always talked about getting past the crags to the hidden islands. For almost a year now when he took his catches to Argyl’s inn-house, he had been forced to delight in the shipmaster’s maps and plans. The eyerolling of the first mate, the contracts signed without thought to pay for the trip. The months of absence to find a mage willing to try the trek.

Soon enough though Argyl would be gone. No more buckets of fish taken to the cookie. No more leftover rum bottles, no more sitting next to the warm fire planning. Argyl would now regrettably: start doing. Another sharp pull-back of the rod, another soft drip as the hook swam its way under the seafoam surface. His eyes swam from the bait slowly sinking, to the horizon. Would he sail? Could he convince Argyl to- … a loud creak shot across the rhythmic doldrum of the waves he had been so accustomed to. The sound came from the right of him, his head snapped towards it and his eyes expanded like dough poured on a hot plate. He could barely make out the silhouette of a small ship as he dropped his fishing pole and became very small and quiet on the sand. How had he not seen before? His father had been right, a stupid boy killed on the sand. Now the smugglers from the south should silence him soon enough.

But there was no clues as to if they had seen him. He made his breath small like his body, now regretting his clumsy retreat to the sand. So, he listened. Louder than the waves bashing into the tide pools he heard the chinks of armor stepping out of the boat. There were a few more heavy footsteps and then a stop. He tried to hold his breath but there was too much tension in the air. A massive voice yelled out and hit him hard in the head. It was loud for how far away the man was and it bounced around his skull until the words formed into understanding. “Boy, there is no reason to cower in the sand”. His voice was regal, each of his words ended higher than they started. There was a strange shaking as if his voice was bound by something deep in his throat. “I mean you no harm if that is what you fear”. The voice boomed once again. He stirred a bit at this notion relaxing the tightness in his joints. The realization crossed his mind that the man knew where he was, there were likely others still in the boat and he could not outrun them all.

Reluctantly he arose, trying to get a better look at the stranger in the dark. Around 20 paces away the man stood. His armor appeared coal black in the night. He was taller than any man Cormac had seen, his boat’s mast barely sat above the top of his pointed helmet. The man shifted in his armor seeming confused on his next action. Cormac spoke in a quavering voice, trying to push back the fear in his throat. “I'm just fishing Sir, if you're off to leave I didn't see nothin, I promise”.

“You think me a smuggler boy?” the man answered in an amused tone.

Cormac started to speak but the words still clung to him, unable to loosen themselves from hesitancy. “Well, I thought with the boat … and it being night and all … and well were on the beach Sir”.

The man started to speak his voice unechoed by the helmet upon his head. “A suspicious sight to be sure, but I carry nothing stolen. The waves have carried me to this place in the same way a raindrop picks one puddle over another. You may check my boat if you like”. Cormac’s head quickly shook no, trying not to look up.

“What place is this, I have not seen these shores before”

“Arcus, Sir”

“You're allowed to look at me boy, I don't mean to harm you. What's your name”.

“Cormac, Sir” He looked up matching eyes with the man in armor, he had not made a move yet and Cormac did not think a smuggler would wear garb fit to sink himself.

“Arcus… indeed” the man stroked invisible stubble on his helmet while looking down at the sand. After a moment of reflection, the man’s gaze met Cormac’s once again. “I shall be truthful with you, I come from a small island to the east. My Lord bid me exile as he feared I may rise to oppose him. I left with only my armor, some possessions and this skiff.” The man looked at Cormac intensely for response. But when there was no answer save the scared eyes of a boy he continued. “As I said previous, I have not looked upon these shores before and to me it seems you have lived your whole life upon them. Is this true?”

“Uhm, yes mi’ lord”

The man's helmet gave an inquisitive turn to the right. “I have told you Cormac, I mean you no harm.” He outstretched his hands, flipping them so the palms faced towards the boy. “See? Again, come closer, I have something to ask of you.”

Cormac walked the final paces to stand next to the man. With his eyes now accustomed, he could see the details previously obscured by the dark. The skiff was battered more than expected, with planks of wood shattered inward and outward. The sail had angry rips crisscrossing its surface and the boat contained dark outlines he assumed to be the man's meager possessions.

“I will need a place to stay, I do have coin, and I'd be willing to pay for recommendation”.

At this distance Cormac looked directly upwards at the man, his helmet cocked down, still waiting for an answer. “Well Sir there's many places to be. But I know a place, my friend Argyl has. He gives people rooms all the time if they need it and I was gonna go there anyway once I got done fishing”.

“Hmm, indeed! Help me get my things”. The man's head jerked upwards with a sudden motion of approval. He turned on his heels and bent down over the skiff. Cormac could see a long polearm framing his back with leather straps draped around one of the man's gigantic armored shoulders. After minutes of rustling, three items rose from the darkness. First a burlap sack swung around the man's free shoulder. Second, a large smooth black stone ringed in rivers of red. Finally, a clay vase that was weathered far beyond its years. It was decorated with pictures of men with twisted frowns. Deep pits and scratches were a common feature on the vase, reminders of damage done to it long ago. This final item the man handed over to Cormac and began walking away towards the distant light of Arcus. As Cormac caught up the man spoke again. “I have not told you my name, it’s Sir Apladies, previously bound to the Lord of Santigar island, now with no place to call my own. Wherein Arcus might you hail from Cormac?”

“South side of the river Merrin sir. In Sevil, near the Church”.

“Near the church…”  Apladies seemed to consider this more deeply than Cormac had expected. After a moment of contemplation, with them almost upon the light of Arcus, Apladies changed subjects. “Does arcus let us elope this late into the night?”.

“Well, they wouldn't let me. My father says the watchmen pick out people alone and the ones who are young… like me. But standing next to you they'll probably think you're my father or maybe you're Squire or something with you being a knight and all”.

“That will certainly help things. I do not intend to cause trouble this soon after my arrival.”

Now being on the outskirts of the town Apladies extended his free hand and stopped the boy from continuing. He then rustled in his sack and produced a torch giving it to the boy to light and hold. “Carry this, we don't want any thieves coming from alleyways now do we?”.

“No Sir”.

With Cormac at the lead they weaved through the small port town of Arcus. First, through the abandoned fish markets usually swimming with activity if not for the time of day. Then over the lone cobblestone bridge that sat aloft the river Merrin. Where they finally passed the Church of the lost gods. All the time Cormac Stayed quiet, only Politely responding to Apladies inquiries. He had other things on his mind, mostly the scolding he would get if his father ever found that he had eloped with a stranger, even one as noble as a knight. Another troubling thought crept into his head too, what if the knight behind him was a criminal.

The knight told him he was banished from Santigar island, but was there a good reason for it? He decided that Argyle would know what to do. When the knight asked for advice, he knew of many Taverns that would be accommodating. But Argyle was his friend, someone that had a whole crew of men that could deal with Apladies if it came to it. But that was just a precaution. The man hadn't tried to swipe at him yet and they had just arrived at the tall inn-house where the crew of the Dawns Host floundered.

As the door was opened and the threshold crossed, Cormac could hear what he had hoped for: raucous laughter and the creaking of floorboards. Apaldies ducked in behind him his head nearly grazing against the ceiling. They headed towards the back of the building where Cormac knocked twice on the door barely containing the festivities. A small man with unkempt dirty blonde hair opened the door. When Cormac realized it was Doser he smiled. The man began to speak. “Ah, Cormac! look who finally found enou–” Doser was cut off abruptly when his eyes moved from Cormac’s face to the metal giant behind him. His eyes scanned upward quickly before taking a step back. When he saw the boy’s smile his face grew one as well. “Who's your friend? Did the city watch start hiring giants to catch stevedores?”.

“No, his names Apladies. He wanted to get a place to sleep so I said he should come here”.

Apladies started to bow, but he decided against it halfway through.

Doser had a supremely confused look plastered across his face. “Did he give you any trouble on the way here?”

“I don’t think so, he mostly just wanted to know about the town n’ stuff”.

“Don’t think so? Well I would hope a knight… would be so gallant. If you be wanting a room Ser Aplaides then you can follow me back to the front. It’s 10 coppers for a night, although I don't know if we got any beds you'd be wanting here.”

“That would be most kind, lead the way” Aplaides responded.

Doser squeezed past the giant in armor who lingered for a second. “I will be needing that.” He said eyeing the clay vase Cormac still held.

“Ohh, right sorry”

“It's fine, and for your trouble I give you your part”. With his hands very full, he awkwardly rummaged through the burlap sack producing a single gold coin. He dropped it in the open palms of the boy and followed his chauffeur down the hall. Cormac hadn’t realized the merriment had stopped. As he turned back around, he saw the stunned quiet faces of a dozen men. In the middle of the room on a carved wooden chair sat Argyle, the only one smiling in a sea of confusion.