Introduction: This is a developing romance/action/adventure story centered on the relationship between Arshtat and Ferid. My intent is always to stick as close to the canon story as possible, but I will make whatever deviations from the known facts that I deem necessary in order to make an entertaining story. The story begins in the past, with the meeting of Arshtat and Ferid, and will eventually play all the way up to the end of their lives.

For reference, Ferid was born in Solar Year 413, while Arshtat was born two years later, in 415.

---

"Whoso lays hand on a Royal Princess of Falena (hereafter referred to as the subject,) that is not Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, or otherwise related by blood or by adoption (see 32§) or has been tasked with the protection of the subject (see 33-35§§) is an abomination to the Queendom of Falena, and is to be found guilty of despoiling the virtue of the subject, a crime equal in gravity to extraordinary depredations (see 47-49§§) for which the punishment is flogging and death. Thus speaks Her Majesty the Queen."

- Excerpt of Falenan Law

---

-Ferid-

Solar Year 420

The warm breeze ruffled Ferid Egan's hair and caressed his naked legs beneath the knees as he ran across the True Water's deck. Grabbing the gunwale, he leapt over the railing in the same moment he reached it, and landed with a slight thud on the stone pier, startling a group of father's marines. They chided him with lenient smiles, and he grinned as he ran past them, waving.

Groups of people lined the pier, drowning the call of gulls beneath a cacophony of disparate voices shouting back and forth as porters and stevedores carried goods to and from the moored vessels. Ferid wove through them, dodging bureaucrats and soldiers as he made his way towards the quay. The docks were laid with gravelly granite, no doubt of the popular kind imported from the old Kooluk quarries on the archipelago—his father had said—and seemed undressed to his eyes. Unaccustomed as they were to ocean trade, the Falenans had left the Hershville piers naked, stripped of moorings. For their smaller river ships, this arrangement was not a concern, but it proved a problem for a galleon.

His father had come prepared, though, and Ferid ducked under taut lines as he ran, ropes fastened around heavy wooden spools that guarded the True Water against the southern breeze. Leaping over a coiled length of rope just as a pair of sailors bent down to grab it, Ferid laughed and ran down the base of the pier, ignoring their curses. Reaching the quay, he walked along its unshielded end, balancing along the edge with the water four feet below as he watched the port.

The granite foundation formed broad avenues between the sparse buildings; small wooden shacks used for storage mixed in among houses with white plaster on their walls. The roofs were sloped, and of wood, rather than tile. Laborers in plain work clothes mingled with officials in tabards, some shouting orders while others flipped through thick bundles of vellum pages, overseeing the distribution of goods. Soldiers strolled down the quay in small groups of twos or threes, dressed in smart buttoned gray uniforms and burgundy berets. Leather baldrics supported sheathed sabres hanging in scabbards at their hips, and the weapons drew Ferid's eye. At the age of seven, he had begun to yearn for a chance to learn swordsmanship, but Mother had vetoed it. 'In a few years,' she said. Ferid frowned, and sighed as he watched the soldiers pull two screaming sailors apart before the pair flew into fisticuffs on the docks.

Ferid turned his eyes just in time to dodge a running porter carrying a barrel against his shoulder. Catching his balance, he avoided the plunge. The man hurried past without a glance or a word.

Beyond the docks, the remainder of the merchant port was shielded behind fortress-like walls of clean blue and brown bricks. The broad stone steps that cut through the escarpment to join the docks with the town were steep in their ascent, and a large group was making its way down one of these stairways. Sailors and workers seemed to part with their passage, keeping their distance or bowing respectfully as the throng passed. The newcomers made a motley group, some in intimidating black and gold uniforms with swords at their sides, while others wore flimsy silks in the bright colors of the sun; white, yellow, red and orange. Port officials crowded them, hovering to fit in place as they walked, bowing and scraping with every word spoken.

Ferid stared curiously at the procession as it descended upon the quay and spread out near the piers. The working men of the quay gave them wide berth and seemed content to pretend that they were not there. Several sailors passing by Ferid stole glances at the silk-clad women as they hurried past, but none of them dared look openly.

Ferid was, perhaps, the only one on the quay who saw the small girl separate from the crowd. Clutching some cloth object to her chest, she glanced to the sides and ran down the quay. Ferid watched with fascination as the silver-haired girl, perhaps a few years younger than him, ducked behind barrels and crates and stacked piles of sacks, sneaking past oblivious porters and making her way towards the far pier. He could see that she was smiling broadly as she passed him, and noticed that what she clutched to her chest was a cloth animal of some sort, similar to the toys which his tedious little sisters played with.

He began to follow her. Casually walking down the quay, he kept his distance and was careful not to let her see him. The stealth seemed a part of her game, and he had to follow the rules if he wanted to play.

Near the end of the quay, the girl—smothering giggles behind her hand—ducked behind a stack of crates and knelt down, dragging fine silk against dirty granite as she scuffled into a less visible position. Certain that she had not seen him, Ferid grinned as he ran through a group of arguing laborers and bureaucrats and hid behind two sacks of flour.

The sacks were promptly pulled from the ground by a pair of porters. They eyed him suspiciously as he scrambled away, having lost his hiding place.

Watching the girl, he saw her creep around the crates, on hands and knees as she glanced to either side. She had not seen him.

Exhaling, Ferid pressed up against the port's far wall and knelt next to a large crate. Looking round, he saw no one moving towards it. Crawling up, he poked his head out and looked for the girl. She was at the edge of the quay, still hiding beneath the crates that were stacked beneath the bowsprit of a clumsy foreign carrack. A smug smirk creased Ferid's lips as he began to sneak towards her.

Suddenly, a group of boisterous porters approached the crates. The girl's eyes widened, and she scrambled backwards. Turning, she lost her balance, and fell.

…Into the water.

Ferid shot up, and started laughing. Sailors and porters began to take notice as he ran over to the edge of the quay.

His laughter died in his throat. The girl was foundering.

She kicked and flailed wildly against the surface, splashing water about her. She tried to cry for help, but her mouth filled with water as she screamed, changing words to gurgles and shrieks.

She looked terrified.

She can't swim? The thought made him cold inside. Why? Her head bobbed under water several times as she fought for air, loosening her hair in soaked tresses. Her drenched silk clothes clung to her limbs, obstructing her motions.

Ferid looked round, wide eyed as he watched more and more people gather at the edge of the quay. They stared at her, and some raised shouts for help.

But no one did anything.

"Why won't you help her?" he shouted. "Can't you see she's drowning?"

Several men mumbled something under their breaths. One Falenan sailor looked at Ferid. Clutching at his hair, he looked panicked. "She's a Princess. Touching her is punishable by death!" he said.

As if it would explain everything.

"That's stupid!" Ferid said hotly. His heart hammered at his mind as he watched her sink beneath the surface. Her eyes were so frightened. He drew a deep breath.

The crowd erupted in shouts of surprise and anger as he leapt from the quay.

With a splash, he broke the surface, and cool water hugged his body. His hair swayed with his motions as he swam down, and he opened his eyes.

The girl had stopped flailing. She was still.

His heart skipped a beat, and he swam frantically. Reaching her sinking body, he grabbed her shoulders with fumbling arms. Pushing up, he shot towards the surface.

Something resisted.

Looking round in a panic, he saw the ship's taut anchor line. Somehow, the girl's silk sleeve had gotten entangled in the sturdy rope. Reaching out, he tried to tear it loose. The fabric did not yield.

His lungs protested. Ignoring it, Ferid swam to the rope. He felt around his belt, and groped for the knife. Grasping it, he pulled the small blade from its sheath. Cutting his thumb on the edge. He cursed inwardly as blood mixed with water.

Grimacing with pain, he pressed his bleeding thumb against the handle. Grabbing the girl's arm, he lifted the cloth and began to slice the sleeve open.

His heartbeat seemed to pound in his skull. The water seemed darker, the surface more inviting. He pushed the feeling away.

He dropped the knife.

In a panic, he tumbled, and caught the blade. The girl's weight pushed against his back. He spun around, and cut wildly, slicing the sleeve clear of her arm.

She was free. He slung his arms around her shoulders.

Lungs hurting, he kicked down and shot up.

Breaching the surface, he gasped for air. The shouts of numerous voices filled his ears along with the call of gulls sailing overhead. Drawing deep, glorious breaths, he looked at the girl.

She did not move. Her eyes were closed, and her chest was still.

Frightened, Ferid looked to the quay. The men along the edge made no motion to pull her up. One man threw the end of a rope into the water. I can't pull her up that way! Behind him, a skiff swayed on the waves his emergence had caused. He grabbed the rope and swam towards it.

His blood soaked her dress as he pushed her up and into the small boat, and she splayed out across in its bilge as he sat down to catch his breath. She did breathe.

Without a thought, he cut the skiff's mooring line and started pulling at the rope he held. Muttered voices and shouts met him as he slammed the skiff against the stone quay, but he ignored them. They were insane.

Standing up in the skiff, he pulled the lifeless girl from the boat and groaned as he pushed her over the quay's edge. He heard shouts, and someone was running towards the group.

"She's not breathing! Someone save her!" he pleaded, looking into their eyes.

"The knights are coming…" someone mumbled.

Too furious to speak, Ferid looked at the girl. He knew what to do, right? But he had never done it… What if he did something wrong? She's a Princess? He had not thought about it until now.

It doesn't matter. She's going to die. He drew a deep breath.

Screams of outrage erupted around him as he bent down and pressed his mouth against hers. Leaning her head back, his knife dropped from his hand as he pinched her nose. You're supposed to, right? What if I don't remember right? He pushed the thought aside, and exhaled into her mouth.

Someone pushed him away. "What are you doing?" his outraged voice demanded.

Ferid did not respond. He pushed his way back to her, and resumed the process.

There was no response. The crowd was getting restless around him. Someone kicked him, knocking him aside.

Ferid felt like crying. "Please, help her!" he pleaded.

A menacing man loomed over him. "Get away from the Princess!" the sailor said.

Rising from a crouch, Ferid gritted his teeth and hit the man in his groin. He doubled over with a groan, and Ferid ducked past him.

The girl was still not breathing. He placed his hands upon her chest and pushed. The man behind him cursed. Sobbing, he leaned down to blow air into her mouth.

She coughed, and sputtered water.

A buzz rose from the crowd. Coughing, she leaned to the side, and her small hands grasped at the stone foundation. Filled with joy, Ferid smiled, wiping tears from his eyes.

His cheek erupted with pain. Dazed, he stumbled to his feet, gaping. His cheek throbbed with the sting of a vicious slap. Looking up, he saw a broad-faced woman stare down at him. She wore the black and gold uniform he had seen before, and she was furious.

"How dare you touch the Princess? You dog!" she shouted.

"B-But I…" Ferid sniffled, terrified. I just wanted to help!

"You've violated the Princess!" the livid knight hissed. She seemed frantic, somehow torn between feelings, but her words were all too clear. "You'll hang for this!" she promised, and drew her sword in the same motion.

Ferid was too scared to speak. His pants, already soaked with water, felt no different as he wet himself in sudden fear. Scrambling back, he turned and leapt headfirst into the water.

He heard one last shout. "Get him!" Then the water washed his tears away.

Swimming with quick strokes, he made his way down along the carrack's black hull. The ship was ill kept, and his hands were torn on barnacles as he pushed himself down and underneath the keel. Swimming up, he reached the surface and looked around as he drew breath.

Something floated on the surface. He blinked water from his eyes and looked closer.

It was a cloth animal… a lion. The soaked fabric bobbed in the water, lending a look of sorrow to the animal's cute face. That's hers!

Ferid grabbed it, and held onto it fiercely. Suddenly it did not seem so stupid anymore.

Reaching the pier, Ferid reached out to grab a slack line tying a flimsy river boat to its makeshift moorings. Holding the cloth lion so hard that he wringed water from its fabric, he climbed along the rope and reached up to the pier's edge. Breathing heavily, he climbed up and over the stone, sitting down on the pier. People moved around him, but he paid them no heed and they spared him no more than cursory glances.

He sucked on his thumb, nursing the wound, and winced. Rising, he begun to sneak up the pier, towards quay where people were running to and from in chaotic patterns. I've got to return the lion. The angry knight frightened him to silence, and he held his breath and looked all around as he approached. Maybe if I give it to someone else?

"You'd better not, boy," a deep voice said.

Ferid looked up to see another knight, a man.

He backed off. "I-I just want to…" Fear halted his words.

The imposing man approached him slowly, glancing back to the distant crowd. Though stone-faced and with deep-set, severe eyes, he did not seem angry. His hair, arranged in a top-knot with tresses falling down his shoulders, was silvery white, but he must have been younger than Ferid's father. Along his back was slung a massive axe; the most enormous weapon that Ferid had ever seen.

"Boy, I heard about what happened. I think I understand, and I'm grateful. Jumana, though… she's ashamed. She feels that she failed, and she's upset." He glanced back again.

"I was just trying to help! I did help her!" Ferid blurted out. Anger replaced fear, now that the man's intentions were known.

"I know. She'll want to find you, though. I prefer if she didn't." He dug out a small pouch from his clothes. "Take this. To show our gratitude." He held it out.

Ferid clasped the pouch, gaping as his eyes darted between it and the knight. He wanted to protest, to tell him about the lion… but he was too frightened to speak. The man's stern eyes, though emotionless, felt like pillars of stone upon his chest.

"Is that him?" the familiar voice of a woman cried out from the pier's base.

The stone-faced knight turned, rising. "No. It's just another boy," he said.

Ferid rose to shaky feet. Now that the end of the ordeal was approaching, he felt weary, and hollow. Pressing the lion against his chest, he untied the strings to the pouch.

It was filled with Falenan coins. Gold coins, with a woman's face framed by the Sun Rune emblazoned on each one. He had seen them before, but never this many at once. Not in his hands.

He felt furious. Swiveling, he raised his arm and, before he knew it, threw the open pouch.

It slammed into the knight's tall back with the sound of clinking coins.

Fear mixed with anger in Ferid's mind as the man stopped. There was a pause.

Without so much as a glance, the knight kept walking as the coins settled around his feet.

The setting sun basked Hershville in crimson and orange as the True Water set out from the port that evening. Ferid stood leaned against the railing atop the sterncastle as the ship was eased out past the river mouth, and watched the stone quay disappear.

The girl had long since been carried away, and the knights had left along with her minders. He clutched the cloth lion to his chest and glanced at its face, so sorrowful in the sunset.

Departing a port, a sailor always knew that he would one day return. No departures were forever, no ends final save the sea's embrace.

For the first time in his life, Ferid Egan felt as though he were sailing away from something he would never see again.

That feeling of sorrow would linger for many years.

-Arshtat-

Solar Year 433

The ocean, Princess Arshtat Falenas reflected, was the stage of boundless dreams; fathoming the world's nations in a cold and uncaring embrace that taunted mankind, inviting the intrepid to test their spirits against its immeasurable depth, and destroying the faint. Ingenious, ever exertive, mankind had endeavored to control the seas, crafting ships and sails and rudders and oars, all designed to tame the blue road of water and harness its limitless potential.

Glancing to her right—as she faced the bow, it was the starboard side, Captain Serwid had explained enthusiastically—she shielded her eyes from the glaring sun that split behind the masts, and watched the riggings. There were numerous parts, there; cloths and ropes and beams and whatnot, all with elaborate and specific names that described their function to the skilled man of the sea. To her, it was all a tangle, a meticulous puzzle of design and purpose, and as sailors climbed up and down ratlines and across spars, it seemed a chaotic dance to her.

Hands clasping the portside gunwale, she turned her eyes back to the calm seas. No. We are ingenious, and exertive, but we are hardly in control. We struggle so much to maintain the appearance, but we remain at the mercy of the elements, of the ocean, if it has a will. Even so, the prospect of letting the current carry you to distant lands fascinated her. She was afraid of the sea, terrified of it for as long as she could recall, but with familiarity came some abatement of fear, leaving a sort of exhilaration in its wake; an unsurpassed feeling of liberation. Perhaps the seasickness had been a blessing, relieving her of thought at first, and allowing her to grow accustomed to the swaying of the ship and its tilt upon the surface. Perhaps it was protection from the fear. The sea undulated; rose and fell with the waves. Three days out at sea, she had begun to feel at ease.

Arshtat tensed up as the ship tilted further to the side, and she glanced at the sailors hard at work with the sails, scanning their features, words and behavior for signs of worry. It was her ritual.

Sialeeds seemed fearless in the face of the ocean cruise, and Arshtat's worry for her sister's enjoyment of the trip had been in vain, to say the least. The girl laughed as the ship tilted, leaning back with her hands clasping the railing to feel the full effect of the slope against the deck.

"Sister, make them tilt the boat more! I want to touch the water!" Sialeeds laughed. She leaned over the railing as the ship made gentle leaps through the waves, spraying salt water onto her face. She laughed.

Arshtat froze up at the thought, thankful for its ridiculousness. "I am afraid that is impossible, dear. I am informed that the tilt depends on the wind's strength and direction along with the composition of sails. Besides, this is a ship, not a boat. I do not know why the distinction is important, but Captain Serwid was near frantic in his stance on this, and I do not wish to upset him."

Sialeeds rolled her eyes. "That's boring, sister. Can't you tell them to make it go faster, then?"

Harwan laughed. The man stood a foot behind his charge, casual and relaxed but ready to protect the little Princess—from herself, in this case—should it become necessary. The bodyguard was dressed not in the Queen's Knights uniform, but in civilian clothes of humble cut and color, a brown tunic with white sleeves. Stroking his sun-basked neck, he winked at Sialeeds. "Milady will steal the True Wind Rune from the skies to please her little sister, I think. Will she succeed…?"

Arshtat laughed as Sialeeds' eyes lit up with excitement. "I think further tilt or speed would be a poor reward for Jumana's services." She glanced to her left, where her bodyguard leaned against the railing, face pale and sallow. Her eyes kept darting between Arshtat and the specks of land in the horizon, as if she could not decide what to focus on. Arshtat frowned with concern. "Is it any better?"

"Sometimes I think it is, but…" Jumana began, cutting off her sentence to swallow.

Perhaps it was her foreign upbringing that made the New Armes woman so queasy around water. The sea was something else entirely, but Arshtat had grown up on and around the Feitas, and she suspected that it was a slight help. "Captain Serwid said to keep your eyes steadily on firm land. I know that you are concerned for my safety, as you should be, but I do not think there is much to fear here."

Jumana shook her head. "I might as well admit that I'm incapacitated, then. Besides, I don't like the look of some of these scoundrels. I don't trust Island Nations folk." She muttered the last bit under her breath as she looked over her shoulder at the sailors and sparse marines.

Harwan placed a hand on Sialeeds' shoulder as he turned his head and chuckled. "You're hopeless, Jumes. It's been three days; shouldn't you be getting used to this pleasure cruise by now?" He looked at Arshtat and winked.

Arshtat held the sigh inside, and looked at Jumana again. "You are still a knight," she said. "Even if I see the threat before you, you can still protect me, and Harwan is here as well. If I promise to be watchful, will you do as I say?" Stubborn woman. What do we have to fear from these harmless men? She knew what Jumana would say, had she voiced this question aloud. 'No man is harmless.' Arshtat had never known a mind more paranoid.

The look on the knight's face was unconvinced at best as she muttered something evasive. Arshtat sighed, then, but Jumana seemed to acquiesce, turning her eyes on a distant island, at least for a time.

Something tugged at Arshtat's sleeve, and she turned to see Sialeeds look up at her with a large smile on her face. "Sister," she said, "Will you tell me more stories tonight? I want to hear more about the girl who stole the Blue Moon Rune from the man in the moon, and you still haven't told me about the man who swam beneath the ocean to retrieve the Sword of the Night from the shark men!" She turned to the railing restlessly. "Do you think he swam beneath here? Do you?"

Arshtat laughed and scooped up Sialeeds in her arms. Her sister giggled as she pulled her close and kissed her cheek. Holding her, she pointed to the sea and said, "I believe so. In fact, it was not far from here that he schemed to break through the Pearlescent Reef and rescue his one true love. But…"

"But? But?" Sialeeds wondered, holding her breath.

"…But that is a story for tonight," she said with a smile.

Sialeeds twisted her face into a blatant pout, and crossed her arms in indignation.

Arshtat gave her sister a mysterious smile as she let her down onto the deck.

The restless girl had forgotten her consternation in moments.

-Ferid-

The wind ruffled Ferid's uniform as he climbed down the ratlines from the main topsail's yard, and he heaved a sigh of relief from the exertion as he leapt the last few feet onto the deck. The gentle breeze was merciful enough, but his shift was nearing its end and the wind had been fickle this morning, changing direction all too often.

Stretching his arms, he readjusted the sweaty leather straps that held his white vambraces in place on his forearms, and sat down against the railing. Looking up, he saw Georg approach and sit down by his side. The boy was sullen and glum beneath the eye-patch on the left side of his face, somehow naked without a sword at his side. Shouts from the sailors filled the air as the mainsail was hoisted up on its halyards, and Ferid spoke in a low voice, letting his eyes roam casually as he fiddled with a length of abandoned rope.

"Heard anything interesting?" he wondered, squinting against the sun.

"No. He's just doting on the passengers." Heeding a shout, Georg leaned over and loosened the knot of some running rigging, letting the line slide a foot in its block before retying the rope. "Especially the man," he added.

Ferid scratched the stubble on his chin and nodded. "Funny. The girls can't be their children; those features are far too disparate. Silver hair?"

"Are you talking about me?" Yahr said, sliding into view as he sat down and stretched his arms. The young man smiled mysteriously, as though hiding something.

Ferid smirked. "Find anything?"

Shaking his head, Yahr sighed. "Nothing, Lieutenant," he mumbled. "I went through the hold with a looking glass—pardon the ridiculous metaphor—and the way I see it, there's nothing down there that shouldn't be there."

Grunting, Ferid nodded. "What's your take on the passengers?"

He shrugged, picking up the rope and pulling a small stretch taut, testing its strength. "Judging by the clothes and all that? Rich merchant's daughters out for a pleasure cruise with their bodyguards."

My thoughts exactly. "They boarded in Estrise."

"So they're Falenan," Yahr said.

"Right. Falenans don't like the sea. 'As deep as the Feitas' and all that."

"Not much of a boast," Georg said, smirking.

"Think they might be working with Serwid?" Ferid wondered.

Yahr frowned, and the look on his face was doubtful. "Why send the girls? Why all the subterfuge?"

Georg smirked. "Well, us?"

Yahr rolled his eyes. "We're the clever ones, here. Serwid's got no reason to be subtle. It's not like he's been, before. Besides, the elder sister…" He sighed wistfully. "I can't imagine she's involved in anything like that."

"Don't be stupid, boy," Ferid said. "What's so special about her, anyway?"

Yahr fixed him with a dead serious look. "Lieutenant, she makes my ropes go taut. All of them."

Georg muffled a laugh.

"Keep looking, Yahr. That boat last night… There's got to be something on the ship," Ferid said.

"Sure, Lieutenant."

"And don't get cocky. Anyone here could be a spy for Serwid and his partners."

"Right, Lieutenant."

Georg glanced to the side, and then looked at his dirty nails as he spoke. "We've got company."

Ferid stretched and looked portside. The little silver-haired girl was running towards them, arms outstretched in the breeze. Perhaps eight or nine years old, her enthusiasm made him smile. Maybe Yahr is right. Just a pleasure cruise. He looked past her to note that her three companions were approaching as well.

She came to a halt in front of them. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Ferid grinned. "I'm resting. You see those sails?" he wondered, pointing at the mainmast.

The girl's nod was filled with equal parts pride and curiousness.

"Well, people like me have to climb up those ropeways—they're called ratlines—and hang over those wooden beams—yards—to change the sails."

The girl gaped, framing her face with her hands against the sun as she stared at the mast's apex. "Isn't that dangerous?" she wondered.

"Sometimes," he said.

"Falrana," a woman's voice said, "It worries me when you run off like that."

The girl giggled and clasped her hands beneath her back as she turned around. "Sorry, sister," she said.

Ferid studied the four of them as the girl's companions approached. The two girls, the elder perhaps a few years older than Yahr and still little more than a child herself, though she carried herself with elegance, were dressed in fine, casual robes of white and yellow silks with voluminous sleeves; clothes that might have passed for travelers' garbs in the court of Obel. The others, a stern woman with black hair, bushy eyebrows and a face too broad for femininity, and a man with cropped brown hair and a broad nose, were dressed in plain brown and white wools; garments meant to facilitate swordsmanship. The swords at their hips corroborated this assessment.

Having boarded the Raven's Revenge in Estrise, the group seemed preoccupied with keeping a low profile. The older woman still showed signs of seasickness, marking her a true land crab if he had ever seen one. Altogether, Ferid had found no evident cracks in their façade, but he could not help but feel that something about the group was awry.

"I am sorry," the young woman said. "My sister can be very inquisitive. I hope we have not disturbed your work."

Ferid rose to his feet along with Yahr, while Georg remained sitting, ignoring the conversation. Getting a close look at her for the first time, he understood what Yahr had been going on about, but found himself disagreeing. She's too polished. Too fragile, and probably a useless brat anyway, like all rich girls. Still, that silver hair… and those big, soulful blue eyes… He pushed the thoughts aside. He did not like 'elegant' girls. She probably can't even swim.

"Don't worry about it. She's not bothering us," he said.

The girl—Falrana—laughed.

Yahr grinned stupidly as he cleared his throat. "The name's Yahr. This is Ferid," he said, pointing, "And the gloomy lad over there's Georg. Might I ask, err, what your name is, Milady?"

Please stop embarrassing yourself. Ferid struggled to keep his face straight.

"Of course," the young woman said. "My name is Alzhara. This is my sister, Falrana, and our companions, Harwan," she pointed to the man, "And Jumana." The woman. The two warriors nodded.

Companions, eh? 'Jumana.' The name rang a bell, somehow. He tried to focus, to place it, but he could not. "It's an honor," he said, bowing his head. "That you would waste your time with us."

Falrana clung to Alzhara's skirts. Smiling, she pointed to Ferid. "Isn't he handsome, sister?" she asked. "Do you like him?"

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Ferid chuckled. Yahr glanced at him and pouted.

Alzhara's smile turned to a slight frown as she pushed her sister's hand down. "It is rude to point, Falrana, and also rude to ask such questions."

The girl nodded, but was laughing within moments, the chiding forgotten. "What's that?" she wondered, pointing at something near the bow as she began to run towards it.

Ferid was about to speak when he noticed that the slack line a few paces down the girl's path was about to be pulled taut.

"Watch out!" he exclaimed, stepping forward and reaching out to grab her shoulder.

Jumana knocked his arm away. She stepped forward to block his path with a snarl. What is she doing?

The line was pulled taut, and Falrana was tripped.

Falling onto the deck, she hit her head against the planks.

Alzhara ran over to her sister as the girl began to wail. Ferid stared at the flat-faced bodyguard, struggling to contain feelings of anger and disbelief. The woman was glancing at Falrana now, but kept her eyes on Ferid for the most part. He frowned, but only slightly. "Well, as you can see, I had something in mind," he said sarcastically.

Jumana did not seem fazed. "Keep your hands off of her," she said. "Or you'll regret it."

Ferid felt cold inside. I'll regret it? You can kiss the sea, hag!

"Jumana, back off," Alzhara said, nursing her sister's bruised head with her hands as she turned back. "Given the circumstances, that was uncalled for."

"But it's the…" Jumana began, but then seemed to catch herself. "Yes, Milady." She backed away.

"They are just boys, and seem harmless as well. You do not need to protect us from them," Alzhara said. Falrana was sniffling, but seemed to be recovering quickly.

Ferid could not help but glance at Georg, who sat wringing his hands as he tried to look both occupied and distant. Harmless boys? Heh. Since when am I a boy?

"Quite right, Milady," Harwan said. He smiled, a gesture seemingly devoid of intent, "These boys couldn't hurt a fly." He caressed the hilt of his sword, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps overtly.

Growing steadily angrier, Ferid found it difficult to keep his temper under control. Yahr was glancing at him with an anxious look on his face, no doubt worried about this very fact. Drawing a deep breath, Ferid smiled. "That's right," he said, scratching his head sheepishly in his best imitation of a fool.

Alzhara seemed to sigh softly. "Forgive us," she said, inclining her head in the slightest of motions. Without another word, she turned and led her sister towards the doorway at the base of the sterncastle. The bodyguards followed close behind.

Halfway there, Jumana stopped in her tracks and turned to regard them.

'Stay away,' she mouthed.

-Arshtat-

The brass lantern swung on its hook in the ceiling as the ship rocked gently through the waves, casting shadows back and forth through the cabin. Sialeeds cuddled her pillow, eyes losing their focus as the energetic girl's behavior finally took its toll on her body. Even then, Arshtat was surprised at how easy it had been to coax her into sleeping. The girl was a chore to put to bed at night, and hopeless in the mornings; a condition that Arshtat believed would be ameliorated when her sister grew older. She had to ask Harwan what he had put in the girl's tea, she decided.

"Do you like him?" Sialeeds mumbled. "It's not rude to ask in private, is it…?"

Arshtat sighed, but smiled. "No, it is not rude. I do not like him, because he is a stranger, of whom I know nothing."

"Can't strangers like each other…?" Sialeeds asked.

Leaning forward, Arshtat caressed the girl's hair and spoke in a soft voice. "If they come to know each other, yes."

"But you said you loved me when I was born, and you didn't know me then…"

Arshtat stifled a laugh. "But I did know you. I knew all you were, then. These people have histories, pasts I do not know." She stroked Sialeeds' ear gently, causing the girl to giggle against her pillow.

"You have asked these questions often, of late. Is there a reason?" Arshtat asked.

Sialeeds' voice was fading as she spoke. "Mother is always saying… Sister needs to marry. So I thought… Sister needs to find someone she likes…"

Uneasy by the girl's candidness, Arshtat took shallow breaths as she watched her sister. She had fallen asleep, it seemed. Would that I had her honesty with my own feelings. If Mother has her way… The Sacred Games… Well, I am a Princess; I always knew that I had to marry one day, for the sake of our nation. But… there still might be a way to talk Mother out of it. There are other ways I can serve Falena; as an ambassador to foreign lands, for instance. I could… She cut off the train of thought. Those hopes and dreams were too bright, too devastating.

Touching her fingers to Sialeeds' warm cheek, she listened to her sister's breathing as she tucked her in beneath the sheets. Then she stood up, and walked over to the door and out into the night.

Outside, the bright silver moon lit the night as clouds drifted through the skies. The Raven's Revenge sailed ever on through the darkness, manned by a skeleton crew that clambered through the rigging in near silence. She hung against the railing and watched the ship cut through dark blue waters, feeling the breeze caress her skin beneath her clothes. At this moment, I am free.

The sailors' silence robbed her of her favorite pastime of listening in to their conversations, trying to pick up phrases and terms and learn something of naval traditions in addition to the culture of the Island Nations. Listening without seeming to pay attention was a skill she had found useful even as a child, and it had given her a much better understanding of others. She had picked up some rather inappropriate comments in the process, spoken when they thought her oblivious, but she had learned to ignore such lewd remarks years ago. It could be ignored, as long as it was not said to her face.

The planks creaked with footsteps as Jumana approached and stood at her side. She looked tired, and sickly, but tried to hide these facts with a staunch demeanor and a stern look. Seeing her made Arshtat feel a renewed sense of disappointment: Her bodyguard's behavior had driven a wedge between her and the ship's crew, making further socializing impossible. Listening was all good and well, but she was eager to ask questions; to fill the blanks where what she heard seemed to make no sense. Why was the topsail the midmost of the mast's three sails? What was the difference between shrouds and stays? Was there significance to the term 'sterncastle?' She had endless questions, and wanted answers.

"Trouble sleeping, Princess?" Jumana whispered.

Arshtat shook her head. "I like to feel the breeze at night."

Jumana tensed for a moment, and then sighed. "I… beg your forgiveness for what happened, Princess. My only concern is your well-being."

Placing a hand on Jumana's gloved fist, Arshtat smiled. "I know."

Boots sounded on the deck as several people approached.

"I hate to interrupt a solemn moment," Captain Serwid said merrily, his voice lilting as he approached with three marines at his side. The fat man's plump face, framed by a forked and braided beard, was split in a grin, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He rose up and down on his toes as he looked at them. The marines were garbed in the distinctive Federation Fleet uniform in white with highlights of blue and red, cinched tight at the waist by a leather sash. Their faces were blank, and their limbs tense.

"Is something amiss, Captain?" Arshtat wondered.

"Not in particular," the man said. He settled down, moving one arm to his waist while stroking his bushy brown beard with the other. "It's just that, well, Lady Alzhara, the fee you paid upon boarding is regrettably insufficient for further travel." Serwid began to speak more quickly as he grew more excited.

Arshtat quirked an eyebrow as she motioned for Jumana to remain still. She did not need to glance at her bodyguard to know that she was quite nearly growling. Does Harwan linger in his cabin? The moon's light paled against the glare of the lanterns hung from the sterncastle's carved railing, and the men's shadows danced about the deck, chaotic motion contrasting against their stillness.

"I do not understand," Arshtat said. "You named a price for this cruise when we boarded in Estrise, and I have paid this price."

"True, true…" Serwid said, nodding vigorously. "But it's a lie for a lie, you see?"

"Lies?"

Serwid hesitated, and the smile on his face was a mocking impression of genuine warmth. "It would have such a wonderful impact if I were to use your real name now, wouldn't it? But I've come to prefer your false name. Isn't that funny, Arshtat? How a lie can become preferable to the truth…" He chuckled. At his side, the marines remained motionless, but their hands were at the swords at their hips.

Arshtat tasted ashes. Where is Harwan? "I had no intentions of deluding you, Captain. But, as I am sure you understand—"

"I understand, of course. You have many enemies, and there are many who would seek to take advantage of a situation like his." His eyes glimmered with mirth. "Men of ill repute… thieves, and scoundrels… and savvy businessmen like me."

Arshtat's blood boiled. She felt her cheeks burn with anger.

Jumana pushed Arshtat aside as she stepped forward. "I'll allow no threats, dog. If you want her, you'll have to carve a path through me, first."

The marines fanned out before Serwid, hands on hilts as they took up menacing positions.

Calm, now. This is not the time for slinging threats. He has the upper hand, without a doubt. Arshtat pushed her anger aside. Vultures! Well, she tried to. "I understand, Captain. I am sure a satisfactory solution can be worked out that does not include violence. No flesh broken, no feathers ruffled?" Then, when Sialeeds is safely home, we will hunt you down and feed you to the lions. Though she seethed inside, she wore a practiced smile.

Serwid chuckled. "Well…"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Harwan wondered.

The wooden stairs creaked as the Queen's Knight climbed down from the quarterdeck.

Relief flooded Arshtat's mind. Her smile was tight-lipped as Harwan strolled up to Jumana's side, hand clutching the hilt of his sword. The marines gave each other hesitant looks, but Captain Serwid kept his eyes on Harwan and his face was unreadable as he gauged the knight.

Arshtat remained uneasy. Beneath the shadows, the ship belonged to Captain Serwid, and there was no telling what traps and snares he might have set. He had brought three marines, but more were sleeping in the bunks below deck. Had he brought his loyalists? How many would support this outrageous act of piracy? These men were Federation Fleet marines! Mother will be furious when she hears of this. For now, she was at a disadvantage, but there was always illusion.

She drew herself up. "Captain Serwid. From my perspective, your position is unfavorable. There are four of you and three of us, yet my companions are Queen's Knights of Falena; more than a match for your three men… regardless of their dedication to the Federation Fleet." She leveled a withering glare at the marines. "And I am trained to fight as well… Are you?"

To her surprise, Serwid chuckled.

She frowned.

"You're right, but from my perspective, your conclusion is flawed."

"And why is that?"

"Because," Serwid said, "I know something you do not."

Arshtat felt cold. What? She wanted to retort, but needed to think. She never got the time.

Harwan drew his sword and slashed in a single motion.

Jumana cried out in pain. She clutched a wounded arm as she drew her sword.

"Harwan?" Arshtat gasped as Jumana pushed her aside.

The woman raised her sword. "Traitorous dog!" she snarled.

Serwid and his men kept their distance as Harwan circled back and forth. He held his sword in both hands and pointed the blade at Jumana. His features were tense, and his eyes cold.

Light flickered, and the shadows danced as Arshtat held her breath. She fingered the hilt of a hidden dagger, taking tiny steps she hoped would go unnoticed.

Jumana lunged, thrusting for Harwan's chest.

He retreated and slapped the thrust aside. Advancing, he slashed from side to side. Jumana grunted as she parried, driven back. "Why?" she growled.

Harwan spoke with the blade. His feints grew elaborate as he jabbed. Sidestepping a wild thrust, he launched a backhand slash.

Jumana crouched and raised her sword. Their blades clashed, and she pushed forward. Matching her strength, Harwan rose and slammed his foot into her stomach. She fell back, slammed into the railing, and sagged to the side.

Harwan pressed the attack.

Arshtat stepped forward and grabbed his arm. He snarled, jolting free with a fist to her cheek.

She fell down.

"I'll kill you!" Jumana screamed.

Harwan cried out in surprise. Arshtat's vision swam.

She heard steel cut through flesh, and struggled to see.

Rising to her feet, Arshtat saw Jumana fall onto the deck, bleeding from both arms. She heard herself call her name in vain as Harwan stood over her, panting. His breeches were stained with blood around his knee, and he stamped his hale leg down upon Jumana's wrist and turned to face Arshtat.

"Why, Harwan?" she demanded. She was furious, and made no effort to hide it.

He spat on Jumana's back. The knight did not move where she lay, and Arshtat wondered if she were dead. She felt cold inside, despite the rage.

"I'm sick of those scheming bitches," he said. "The minute the old one topples, those sisters are going to be at each others' throats, tooth and nail. Galleon has his duty, and Rafour his faith, but I'm not sticking around to fight in a succession war!"

Arshtat paled. "It will not come to that," she said. The words felt hollow, though. Did she believe that? "Either way," she said, near tears for frustration and anger, "You're going to hang for this."

Harwan snorted. "Not me." He wiggled his foot on Jumana's arm. "The Queen will be very upset when she learns that New Armes has struck against Falena in so cowardly a way. Especially since one of the Queen's Knights turned out a spy for her people."

Arshtat's face contorted in rage. "No one will believe such nonsense!" Jumana has proven her loyalty to Falena! "What do you hope to accomplish?"

Serwid chuckled. "Gold, girl. Gold."

Harwan grimaced. "I prefer to think of it as freedom, Captain."

"You mean to ransom us?" Arshtat asked.

"Something like that," Harwan said. Two of the marines began to drag away Jumana's body as he raised his sword to caress her neck with the blade. Though barely touching, the edge drew blood. Arshtat tensed, but fought the urge to move. She stared back at him, and did not flinch.

"I assure you, Harwan; you will hang for this."

Harwan frowned. "Don't take it so personally. It's just business."

Somehow, she managed to remain silent as outrage set her mind afire. Keeping her features emotionless was a struggle. Harwan stared at her, watchful but somehow distant as though he considered something. He reached for her waist.

"Touch me," Arshtat snarled, "And one of us will die." Her voice was tense, and murderous.

Harwan froze with a look of surprise on his face. His hand, so close to hers, seemed to quiver with anticipation, and the thought was enough to cause revulsion. He stepped back, and sighed. "Yes, you would do that, wouldn't you? It's a pity you turned out to be such a frigid little thing. I'd hoped it would be possible to coax you to spread your legs when you grew up. I'll miss trying to catch a glimpse of you when you bathe." With a chuckle, he swiveled and walked away.

Arshtat found herself laughing, releasing her frustration and anger the only way she could accept. Her heart was racing, and she found that the haze of emotion made it difficult to concentrate. It took great effort to calm down, but she managed. Somehow. She hid her emotions behind a meaningless smile, and remained silent. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. Their plan is flawed. If I hold my tongue now, I can turn them against each other later. This is a minor setback. A trivial test. She tried to tell herself that.

Inside, she wanted to cry. By the Sun Rune's light, Jumana had better live, or I will tear them apart. No, that is not contingent on her health. I will do it anyway.

Not before she was alone and locked inside her cabin did she let the façade fall.

-Yahr-

Beneath the shadows, Yahr clung to the railing's carved pins on the starboard edge of the sterncastle as he watched the events unfurl on the moonlit deck. An endless string of curses and the most powerful oaths he could muster flew through his mind as he clutched his handholds, and his tense muscles ached in tune with the beating of his heart. He had been forced to hide at a moment's notice, and his hiding place left much to be desired. He dared not move a muscle, for fear of being detected.

Biding his time, he focused not only on the voices but also the sounds beneath; the ruffle of sails in the wind, the creaking of planks underfoot, and the hiss of blades against sheaths. The slightest noise could give away something left unsaid or reveal something important, making this horrendous ordeal more worthwhile. The wind clawed at his clothes, fighting for his attention as his fingers throbbed with strain, numb against the wood, but he pushed the sensations aside. He watched, and listened.

When the voices and footsteps faded away for good, he barely had the strength to hoist himself onto the deck.

-Ferid-

The ship's hull groaned like a sleeping giant as planks shifted, moaning in grim concert as they ground against each other. The lantern's light flickered, painting the alcove in animated shadows against the darkness and barely illuminating the worn trays stacked upon the surface of the table, its legs nailed into the floor of the crew quarters.

Ferid lounged on the splintered bench, hands clasped on his forehead as he reflected on things. All three of them were huddled close together, seated or splayed out in a lazy formation that gave an image of weariness; of near sleep. Certainly not three people in the midst of plotting.

"…And the man was in on it?" he asked.

"Right." Yahr said. He lay on his side with his head propped up on his elbow and his eyes resting. A casual observer might think his eyes closed, but that was half the truth at best, and the wrong half besides. Georg sat on the floor with his back leaned against the bench, legs crossed and arms folded. His eyes might have been truly closed. Maybe.

"That leaves the question of 'who is she?'" Ferid mumbled.

"It seemed like they knew her. Like she'd been hiding her true identity. I didn't catch her real name, if they said it."

"If that's true, then she's got to be important to someone."

"I still say she's a merchant's daughter. Know any Falenan tycoons?"

Ferid rolled over on his stomach. "No."

Georg sighed, letting his head slide against the wood. "What do we do?"

"This is a problem."

Yahr stretched out his arms and yawned. "Because we have bigger fish to fry than Serwid, right. So…"

A burst of raucous laughter emanated from the other side of the bulkhead, accompanied by a rhythmic beat of hands against wood as a sailors' song climaxed in a festive mood. Ferid shrugged. "So, if we fire cannons and ram this head on to spring these girls, we'll give up the real prize. Which, unfortunately, also happens to be our job." A ransom can be a decent enough experience, provided the right middle hands are used. But with the wrong middle hands… And then there's the matter of Serwid's contact with slavers. This is a fine net I've found myself sleeping in.

"I hate my job," Yahr lamented in a dramatic voice.

"No you don't," Georg scoffed. "And knowing the Lieutenant, this job's a sunken ship by now."

Ferid opened wide his left eye. "What's that supposed to mean?" But damn it, he knows me by now. They both do. Georg shrugged. Nothing more. It was a difficult decision to make, because what he wanted to do would go against what he needed to do. But then, which was which? The truth was that what he wanted to do was to circle the reefs and take the easy route. What he needed to do was…

It was not such a difficult decision, after all. Being honest with himself… that was the difficult part. They were smiling at him. The smug bastards.

"To the deep with it all!" he cursed. "Make preparations."

-Arshtat-

Mist had risen in the early predawn, hiding the slowly coloring sky behind a gray veil of turgid miasma. The sun would rise before the hour to begin its work of dispersing the fog, but dawn was not here yet. In the interim, the ship plowed ever on as its crew grew in the morning hours, and the sounds of sailors hard at work seemed almost surreal in the mist; as if they were sailing through a void outside of which nothing existing but the hopes and memories of a host of mariners. Not fears—fears were within. It was as if nothing had happened. And yet, Arshtat felt that everything had changed—that things should be different.

The marines that fetched her from her cabin had the audacity to leer openly, but as a balance, they seemed wary of her. Perhaps they had taken her threat to heart. She was prodded rather than pushed, cajoled rather than forced across the deck as she walked towards the captain's cabin, and she held her head high, pretending for all the world that she were out for a stroll, and not someone's hostage.

Shown inside, she found the captain's quarters lavish, for a ship. The walls were lined with carved mahogany wardrobes and cabinets while the middle of the floor was dominated by several small tables slung together into a larger pattern of surfaces. Half a dozen chairs were made available, each one set with a thick cushion upon which flowery motifs had been embroidered, and in the corner stood a four-post bed with a seemingly redundant wooden canopy that nearly touched the ceiling. The elegant decoration was somewhat marred by the coarse iron spikes that had been driven into the furniture in order to hold it steady. The cabinets vibrated with the ship's capricious motions, and the sound of clinking glass and porcelain could be heard from within.

Captain Serwid made an effort to rise from his seat, but seemed to change his mind and sat his fat bulk back down. "Princess Arshtat. How nice of you to join me this fine morning." Meeting her cool gaze, he laughed. "Well, one can pretend, yes? Have a seat."

Yes, one can at that. "Gracious of you," she said, walking over to stand at the side of the chair closest to the door. From there, the position of the tables would be ideal, providing a quick route across the room if necessary. She remained standing, silent and deliberate, and for a moment Serwid seemed perplexed. It took a few seconds before he caught her intention and motioned for one of the attendant marines to pull up her chair for her.

Sitting down, Arshtat spared the slightest of curt nods for the discomfited marine, and he backed off. One can pretend, indeed. "He has left this ship, has he not?"

Serwid quickly hid his surprise. He chuckled, fiddling with the contents of a tin case on the table before him. Footsteps filled the room as the three marines arranged themselves around her. With a casual glance, she confirmed their positions. This would be difficult.

"You're perceptive. Or was that… a measured guess?" he asked.

Some of both. Like so many times in her life, she forced a false smile. "Perception. Despite lingering in my cabin, I am neither blind nor deaf." It was true, after a fashion. Through the porthole window she had seen a boat leave the Raven's Revenge, and the faint voices she had managed to snap up through the door seemed to confirm that the boat would be making a longer journey. Calm as she felt now that she was playing her game, one thing ate at her.

"Did the condemned bring my sister with him?"

Serwid started, and frowned. "You're awfully confident."

I am glad one of us feels that way. "Will you answer my question, Captain Serwid?"

"No."

"No, relating to what…?"

"He didn't."

Arshtat did her best to mask her relief as she filled her lungs with sweet air. The circumstances seemed to be arranged in perfect harmony. It was 'time to press the attack' as her father would put it. "I am sure you see the folly in this plan, Captain Serwid," she said.

He rubbed the braids of his beard as he leaned in on the table. He appeared amused, more than anything. Amused!

"Please explain the folly, Princess."

"As soon as we come into contact with Falena, through, for instance, a completed ransom, we will tell the truth, and you will be hunted by the world's most powerful nation. You will have our undivided attention, I assure you." Are there more powerful nations in this world? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I should like to find out, some day.

"Once again, Princess, your conclusion is no good."

"Enlighten me."

"Well," Serwid said, "Your sister hasn't seen anything. When she wakes up, Harwan and I will be long gone."

Arshtat tensed. "Then you intend to have me killed? To what end?"

Serwid laughed, clapping the lid of the tin case shut. "Nothing so brutal, Princess. Oh, we'll ransom you for sure. First we ransom your sister, and after a successful transaction, beneficial to all, we will repeat the procedure for you. Only… that transaction will not be completed. You see, despite what you may think us capable of, I think you'll soon realize that we're not quite as daft as you had hoped. As for you, I'll take you up north. I know some slavers who will pay a queen's ransom," his eyes gleamed, "For a… woman of your caliber."

For a moment, Arshtat sat stunned. As he had surmised, she had hoped that he would be daft enough not to have thought this plot through, but she found now that her capacity for depravity was lacking, putting her at a disadvantage in these games of the mind. I need to buy myself time to think.

"What about my bodyguard?" she asked.

"She's well enough," Serwid said. "We've tossed her in the hold, but Harwan wants her alive, so don't worry." Another wave of relief, with anger in its wake. The smile on his face seemed meant to be reassuring, of all things!

"Would you like some tea?" he asked.

There will be no chance of turning this foul pirate to my side, then. She felt a surge of despair, but managed to push it down, to lock away those darkly inviting thoughts of surrender in the deepest portions of her mind. For her sister, she could be brave.

Someone had to be.

"Yes," she said.

-Ferid-

The midnight veil of the night would have been preferable; a shield to mask their actions and intentions as they hurried through the necessary motions, but circumstances had forced them to wait, and one more day would be too much. As luck would have it, the thick fog that had rolled in before dawn made a decent substitute for the darkness.

They had found no opportunity during the night to retrieve their weapons, so thoroughly hidden in the lower decks, and only now would Georg be making his way back up with their swords. Until then, they waited.

Ferid concentrated on his breath, keeping it steady as he worked in order to remain casual. It was, he realized, an illusion of relaxation at best, but he needed to focus on something. As for the operation, he foresaw no greater difficulties as long as everything went according to plan, but the moments before the culmination of a somewhat violent plan always felt eerie, and the fog added a strange sort of stillness to the ambience, as though a tempest had drawn its first breath, only to hold it. He was still waiting for the dice to fall.

Yahr whistled in a low tone as he worked, untying the knots that held the cloth together around the boat. Together, they hurried to make the final preparations for their escape, hiding their efforts in plain sight with the hopes that none of the sailors or marines present on deck would take a moment to consider exactly why they were doing it. Thank the runes for the fog.

"Lieutenant," Yahr mumbled, cocking his head in a seemingly casual manner that nonetheless told Ferid that someone was approaching from behind. Stretching his arms, he turned on his heel and walked forward.

…Bumping into the first mate, Urwhal.

Ferid gave a start, seeming to falter under the glare of the man. "T-Terribly sorry, sir," he stammered. Where's Georg? He should be here by now. Did he get caught? He bowed and scraped, scratching his head as he glanced unnoticed to the sides, scanning for incoming marines. The man was alone. No, he can't have gotten caught.

Urwhal frowned. "What's wrong with you, lad? You dance between competence and useless stuttering like some… well, dancer!"

Ah, yes. Urwhal's famous hammer-like wit. "Sorry, sir."

"Well, what's this, then? What are you doing?"

"Captain's orders, Sir," Ferid said. He glanced back to ascertain that Yahr kept working, unperturbed by the conversation. Considering the situation, he weighed his options.

"I've heard none of the sort! I'll speak with the Captain of this," Urwhal said, He turned to leave.

Ferid cursed inwardly. "Sir, look at this first!" he said.

"What is it, lad?" the man said, turning back with a disgruntled look on his furrowed face.

Ferid gestured him towards the boat. He made a quick hand sign to Yahr, and saw the man raise a single finger in return.

"Sir, you need to see this…" Ferid mumbled, pointing into the uncovered boat. He looked round, and saw a thick belt of fog sweep in across the deck. No one was watching.

Urwhal approached with a suspicious look on his face. His eyes turned to the boat as he stepped up between the two of them.

Yahr grabbed the man's arms from behind. He groaned.

Ferid lurched into motion, slamming his knee into Urwhal's groin. A tortured moan, and he doubled over in pain. An overhand chop, and Ferid's hand slammed into the man's neck from behind.

Urwhal sagged against the boat. Without a word, the two of them hauled his limp body over the gunwale and dropped him within. Yahr grimaced and slung a length of cloth over the unconscious man.

"We're committed, now," Ferid said with a shrug.

"Nothing to it, Lieutenant…"

Through the mist came a shout from above. "Ship ahoy! Starboard side!"

Suddenly the deck came alive with motion.

Where in the bloody sea is Georg?

-Arshtat-

The conversation ended as shouts were heard from the porthole and through the thick door. Moments later loud knocks on the door were heard.

Arshtat sipped her citrus tea with a calm that belied the storm inside as she gauged Serwid's reaction. The captain let his irritation show. Slapping his palms against the table, he shouted: "Enter!"

Two marines ran into the cabin as the door was yanked open.

Serwid forestalled them, standing up in his seat so that the chair hit the floor with a thud. "What's all this commotion about?" he asked.

Arshtat looked at the marine at her side. He was tense, watching the newcomers with great interest and concern while he fidgeted in his position. At his hip hung an iron ring from which a dozen sturdy keys and a large cork sphere dangled.

"Captain," one of the newcomers said, "There's a ship to starboard side, approaching."

Arshtat listened with half an ear as she emptied her cup. Her heart raced. Facing the marine at her side, she quirked an eyebrow and cleared her throat. The marine looked at her.

"What kind of ship? Federation Fleet?" Serwid wondered.

She pushed her cup and its saucer towards the marine with the faintest of gestures, and he started, gaping for a moment before he nodded. Arshtat forced a small, emotionless smile.

"No, sir, it's not one of ours," the messenger said.

Leaning over the table, the attendant marine grabbed the fine porcelain kettle and lifted it into his hands. Serwid spared him a glance but quickly dismissed the motion as unimportant.

"What, then?"

Arshtat watched in silence as the man poured her tea, working slowly and focusing on the cup in order to adjust for the ship's tossing and his own distracted mind. He kept glancing at Serwid and the messengers.

"We're not sure yet, sir. The fog is too thick. It's a lateen rig, though."

Arshtat shifted slightly to adjust her seat. She slid her hand into her sleeve and slowly pulled loose a curved knife from its sheath. Keeping her eyes on the attendant marine, she began to move the knife into position.

Serwid cursed. "Whatever it is, it's not good, and the wind isn't on our side. Adjust course thirty degrees larboard and hoist the topgallants. We'll try to outrun them if we can."

Arshtat adjusted her skirts, quickly reaching out without looking to place her knife against the leather strip that held the marine's key ring in place. Carefully, shielding her hand with her body, she began to saw at the leather.

The cup was filling.

"Aye aye, Captain!" the men said, and one of them turned to leave the room at once. The last man lingered for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak.

The leather gave way, and the ring fell. Arshtat leaned down to catch it—

The cup was filled, and the marine moved.

The iron ring clattered against the ground.

"What?" Serwid exclaimed. Then he shouted: "Grab her!"

All at once, the marines were upon her.

-Ferid-

Ferid had watched as the marines stormed into the captain's cabin, and now waited, uncertainty gnawing at his mind. What was going on in there? Was the woman in danger? There were too many unknown factors for his taste. The unknown vessel was closing the gap, making deft use of its lateen rig to cruise through the shifting winds even as their own sails struggled to maintain cruising speed on their northward destination.

He was still waiting for Georg to return with his sword when one of the marines ran back out and began to shout orders to the helmsman. The door was left open, and Ferid began to stroll towards it.

"Grab her!" a murderous voice barked from within.

Cursing aloud, Ferid broke into a run. He pushed the marine away and dashed into the cabin.

Alzhara was backing up against the wall with a curved knife in her hand as four marines converged on her from both sides of the gathered tables. She looked frightened, but determined. She would last a few seconds, at most.

Serwid had risen from his seat and now stabbed his arm at the air, pointing at Alzhara. His face turned to Ferid. He shouted.

Two of the marines spun around. Ferid closed the distance and slung out his leg, tripping the first man. Ferid grabbed his arm as he stumbled forward, and brought his other hand down in a numbing chop against his wrist. The man gasped, and dropped his sword. Ferid caught the hilt before the weapon hit the floor. In the same motion, he slammed it into the man's jaw. He stepped back as the marine sagged down.

"Get him!" one of them shouted. Ignoring Alzhara, the remaining two men began to flank him as the closer man attacked. He lunged, and Ferid sidestepped. He raised his sword and slashed, opening the man's throat.

Twisting to the side, Ferid ignored the slumping man and took up a defensive position. He glanced at Alzhara, who stood shocked against the wall, clutching her weapon. Watching him, she gaped.

Serwid hissed. "Frozen seas, it's you!" His voice rose with each word. "Egan, you meddling little runt!"

Ferid grunted, keeping his eyes on the approaching marines as he circled a chair. "So you do remember me. It was so easy sneaking onto your ship, I thought you'd forgotten." He allowed himself a small smirk, keeping his concentration. The marines approached him from both sides.

Serwid fumed. "How could I forget! Marines, I want this man maimed!"

Smiling, Ferid backed up. He heard footsteps.

"Behind you!" Alzhara said.

Ferid spun and backed into the corner just as a sword cut through the air. A marine charged through the doorway with a belated bellow. They were upon him.

From his left, a marine stabbed his sword. Ferid parried the weapon and stepped in to counter-thrust. Seeing steel flash, he diverted his attack to parry an attack from the right.

Together, the three marines drove him back. Their swords flashed as he parried, dodged and toppled chairs in their paths. Three at once, without a good bottleneck. This doesn't look good. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His fingers numbed against his hilt as he parried their insistent attacks.

"Kill him! Kill him!" Serwid bellowed.

A sword flashed past his defenses. He pulled back his sword, pushed the blade aside, and stumbled. Staggering back, he bumped into the wall and sagged down. He caught his balance, but it was too late.

He heard a muffled cry. Serwid went silent.

"Stop!" Alzhara shouted.

The marines halted their attack, pointing their swords at Ferid. Past them, Alzhara stood in the corner of the room, trapping the fat captain with a knife pointed at his throat. His eyes were wide with fear and his face ruddy and sweaty. He tried to fidget, but looked too frightened to make a move.

"Back off, or I will slit his throat for the sheer satisfaction of it," she said.

Ferid exhaled.

-Georg-

The Raven's Revenge was in the grip of confusion. Sailors ran aft and fore like milling bilge rats as Georg padded towards the sterncastle, and marines were spilling onto deck from hatchways and stairs, donning their weapons on the fly.

Cradled beneath his arm, Georg carried a wrap of gray cloth draping and obscuring four unsheathed swords of varying style, and his pulse raced with excitement as he felt his blade so close, its hilt jabbing into his waist as he ran. He shifted his grip as he passed the mast.

Someone shouted his name, and he looked around to see Yahr run towards him.

Followed by a pair of marines.

Georg gaped. What did the fool do? Cursing, he threw the bundle onto the deck with a clatter of steel and dropped to his knees to tear at the cloth. He ignored the knots, opting to rip the strings from the bundle and unfolding the weapons in haste. He glanced up more than once as he worked, gauging the marines' distance. There was still time.

Someone bumped into him, and a wave of fear ran through him. When he glanced up, the sailor was already halfway across the deck.

Drawing a deep breath, Georg separated two folds of cloth and pulled a Twin-type shortsword from the bundle. Leaving its companion sword in the cloth, he tossed the weapon across the deck so that it slid towards Yahr.

The young man dove onto the planks and scrambled to reach the weapon. Grasping the hilt, he rose to his feet and turned just in time to parry a vicious slash.

"Thanks!" he shouted. Equal parts relief and fear.

The second marine was coming right for Georg. Working feverishly, he blocked out the sounds of clashing metal as he concentrated on the cloth and its contents. The strings and folds of the bundle held his sword trapped, and he had to pull it from its hiding place in leaps and bounds. Pulling it free, he cut his hand on the blade. He cursed, but ignored the shallow wound. Blood dripped on the leather-wrapped hilt as he drew his sword clear. He pulled the blade back against his hip.

The marine bellowed as he approached, sword held high. Feigning ignorance, Georg remained on his knees and let his wide eyes roam. Yahr's duel produced a background din of steel on steel. The marine closed the distance. Five yards. Three yards, then two yards. The marine raised his sword overhead.

Georg leaned in and slashed. From lower left to upper right, his blade cut through the marine's vest and tore a bloody path across his torso. His scream got stuck in his throat as he coughed blood. And slumped over.

"No!" someone shouted.

Steel sank into flesh, and someone moaned in pain. Georg turned to see Yahr pull his blade from the marine's stomach. Yahr, with a frenzied look, was meeting the eyes of the marine. They were filled with disbelief. The man sagged down against Yahr and fell onto the deck. He turned to Georg, and calmed.

There was a great deal of activity on deck as sailors scrambled across the ratlines and through the rigging in a desperate attempt to prepare the ship to outrun the approaching vessel, but the effort seemed vain to Georg, as the unknown lateen rig was drawing ever closer. Still, even the marines who ran past in small groups ignored the two of them.

Georg hesitated. He drew a deep breath as the weight of the sword in his hands sparked a frisson of excitement that washed through his body and caused his hands to tingle.

"Where's the Lieutenant?" he asked.

"The damn fool ran right in!" Yahr said as he grabbed the sprawled cloth and pulled the two remaining weapons from it; the remaining Twin shortsword and Ferid's longsword.

What? "I'm going in." He stumbled over something. Looking down, he saw the bloody corpse of the man he had killed. He watched the dead eyes stare at the sky, and froze for a moment. It will come, later.

For now, he felt nothing.

He ran.

-Arshtat-

Arshtat gripped the knife in her hand with every ounce of her strength, worried that her shaking hands would fail her if she relaxed even for a second. With one hand, she held Serwid's arm while the edge of her knife hovered an inch from his throat. By all the runes, I hope he does not try to break free. She confirmed with a glance that the iron key ring was still lying where it had fallen on the floor.

The sailor—Ferid—looked wary as he pushed past the frozen marines and walked up to her side. Without a word, he tore Serwid from her hands and twisted his grip on the sword he had stolen to push the edge against the captain's throat.

"You'll regret this, you damned little—"

"Shut up," Ferid said, sliding the steel edge against Serwid's skin. The captain swallowed, and remained silent.

Backing off, Arshtat caressed the hilt of the knife. She spared a glance at the marines, but fastened her eyes on Ferid. Despite being glad to have the captain out of her hands, she felt a dash of irritation at his handling of the matter. The unlit lantern that hung from the ceiling swayed as the ship turned leeward to catch the northwestern breeze. She hesitated, uncertain about how to handle the tense situation. Arshtat felt staggered and overwhelmed, as though she were rocking back and forth in an uncontrolled vessel driven by the storm. She stared at the young man, but found his actions difficult to believe. Having talked briefly with this man on deck, she had all but forgotten him, presuming him a common sailor with no particular skills or weight.

To see him with a sword was astonishing. He had fought like a lion, betraying no touch of doubt even outnumbered as he was against experienced marines with his back against the wall. In the end, it had taken three men hounding his flanks to force him into a corner and break his guard. She could not help but wonder how he would have fared, had she not acted. He had seemed beaten, but she was not so sure. She had seen many skilled fighters in her time, and somehow she doubted that the marines would have come out of that exchange without being bloodied, however stacked against him the odds were.

Shaking her head, Arshtat frowned. She had to give voice to her bewilderment. "Who are you?" she asked.

"He's a damn little—"

The captain groaned as Ferid punched his kidney.

Ferid shrugged. "Just a harmless boy," he said.

A petulant answer. Well, this is not the time. "I trust you are leaving this ship?"

"That's a great idea," he said. He began to push Serwid towards the doorway, glaring at he marines as he passed. They shrank back against the wall and circled the table away from him, still with their hands held aloft to show their peaceful intentions.

"Where are you taking?" Serwid asked.

Ferid ignored his question. A great clamor spilled into the cabin through the partially ajar door; shouts from the deck hands and a cacophony of other voices and noises that intensified as Ferid kicked the door wide open. Arshtat gasped.

A swordsman with a blood-stained longsword stood in the doorway.

"Georg," Ferid said, exhaling. "Don't scare me."

The boy relaxed, but gave no reply beyond a casual shrug as he pushed his way past the fat captain to examine the cabin and the bodies on the floor. He was followed by the other young man, Yahr, and while Georg eyed her with suspicion, Yahr had something else entirely in his eyes.

Arshtat pretended that she did not see their looks. "You!" she said, pointing to one of the marines. "Fetch the key ring on the floor, and then toss it to me across the table. Be sure to—"

"Make it slow," Ferid said. The marine hesitated.

Arshtat frowned at the swordsman. "Yes, I was just about to say that." She nodded at the marine, and he knelt down, watching Ferid as he grabbed the key ring. Somehow, this annoyed her.

Standing up, the marine tossed the key ring onto the table. It slid against the surface and was about to fall off when Arshtat scooped it up in her hands. She wasted no time.

Ferid stopped her in the doorway, holding Captain Serwid as a shield. The fat man was fuming, grinding his teeth in anger.

"Where are you going?" Ferid wondered.

"To my sister," Arshtat said. She met his eyes and did not flinch even under his stern scrutiny. She had seen worse.

"Alright, let's hurry," he said.

Georg was first through the doorway, blazing the trail. Outside, Arshtat found that the fog was slowly dispersing as the sun began to peek out from behind a band of hidden silver clouds, spreading its bright warmth across the deck. The sun's appearance struck her as a good omen. The breeze remained a minor thing, a wyrmling's breath against the sails, and the Raven's Revenge crawled across the waves.

On the starboard side, Arshtat saw for the first time the source of the commotion: A ship approaching through the fog. If she was not mistaken, it was drawing closer despite the best efforts of the hectic crew. Sailors and marines were running all over the deck, gathering in groups and awaiting the inevitable outcome.

Yahr seemed to be thinking the same thing. "We won't be able to outrun it," he said.

"We'll leave right away," Ferid said.

Arshtat shook her head. "No. Not yet." Ferid's features hardened, and his mouth opened. She did not give him time to speak. She ran towards Sialeeds' cabin.

On the way, she began to hear voices in the fog; shouts from the other ship, too distant to decipher.

Three arrows embedded themselves in the hull, hitting just around the gunwale. Arshtat ducked down and gasped for air, but forced the fear down as she continued towards the cabin.

"We've got to hurry!" Yahr shouted. He was glancing every way as he ran, but Arshtat did not concern herself with them. Ferid followed at a measured pace, keeping Captain Serwid snugly in the crook of his arm.

"Release me!" the captain growled. "You need me to survive!"

"No," Ferid said.

Arshtat barely heard their voices above the din. Her mind was fraught with worry, and her heart struggled to keep up with the pace of her thoughts as she considered the situation she had landed in and the options she had left. Reaching the door to Sialeeds' cabin, she fumbled with the key ring and began to test the different keys in the lock. She bit her lip as the first two failed, and began to despair when the last key did not fit the lock.

Serwid laughed, but his mirth was cut short when a volley of arrows struck the ship's deck just behind them. She heard a scream of pain from elsewhere on the ship. Meanwhile, the shouts from the approaching vessel were growing louder.

"Keep an eye on this bastard," Ferid told Georg, and handed over Serwid. The boy's cold eyes kept the captain silent.

Ferid walked up to her side. "Here, let me try this my way," he said.

She gaped at him as he pushed her aside, but he did not see her reaction. Placing the tip of his blade against the lock, he raised it and slammed down. Another wave of arrows hit the ship. "Fire!" someone shouted. Again Ferid slashed, and a third time.

The door swung open as he kicked it in.

Arshtat pushed past him and ran through. "Sialeeds?" she said. Looking around, she saw the bed's sheets toss as someone struggled beneath them. Running over, she tore the cloth from the bed.

The gagged and bound child in the bed was not her sister. The child wore a baggy outfit of orange cloth with a brown leather belt cinching the waist, and the face seemed a girl's at first, but as she looked closer, she decided that the child must have been around Georg's age. It was a boy.

An Armesian boy.

"By the runes," Serwid gasped. "He's betrayed me! That bilge rat!" The captain began to tremble with rage.

"What this?" Ferid said.

"I don't know!" Serwid assured him.

The boy's eyes went wide when he saw Arshtat, and he froze, mumbling something through the gag. Where is she? She felt frantic. This is the right cabin; there is no doubt. Arshtat's hands shook as she hurried to untie the gag around the boy's mouth. She had to try twice before she managed to undo the knot.

The boy gasped for air before he stammered: "T-Thank you…"

"Have you seen a girl with blonde hair?" she asked. She pressed her lips together and tried to calm herself.

"N-No," the boy said. His voice was close to a whisper, and he seemed terrified, perhaps in part by her behavior.

"What's your name?" Arshtat asked as she began to cut the ropes that bound the boy to the bed. If I do not find my sister, Serwid… Pray that you drown before we meet again.

"Shula," the boy said.

Arshtat shot a murderous glare at Serwid. The captain shrank back for a moment. Calming herself, she turned to Shula and smiled. "Do not worry. We will—"

In the doorway, Yahr drew a deep breath. "Sharks and killer whales… it's the New Armes Western Marine Corps. Brace for impact!" he shouted.

The ship shook.

-Ferid-

Ferid took a step back to catch his balance as the ship shook. Seeing Alzhara stumble, he lunged and slung his free arm around her back. She staggered against him and clutched his shoulder with a fumbling hand, but the instant she caught her balance, she pushed him away. She said nothing.

Ferid ignored her and the surging irritation, testing the weight of his sword as he peered through the doorway. He turned his eyes on the Armesian child. There's no time to figure out what clan these people are. We'd better bring him. "Alright, we're leaving now," he said. "Bring the boy."

Yahr was already at the bed, leaning down to cut the restraints. It took a few moments for him to free the boy, and then he dragged him from the bed and onto his feet. "Can you walk?" he wondered. Shula, clad in a simple orange garb, nodded.

They left the cabin in a hurry.

The chaos of fatal conflict had erupted like a bursting dam, bringing hails of arrows into an escalating battle of men with swords and spears. The Armesian vessel had collided with the Raven's Revenge full on, and its ram seemed to have torn through the ship's hull, perhaps even beneath the waterline. The foreign ship's bowsprit now jutted in over deck, and planks creaked in a chorus of grim anticipation as the two ships ground against each other upon the waves. Ferid had no doubt that the Raven's Revenge would be conquered, and he intended to be long gone when this happened. Serwid babbled incoherently in his grip, and he shook his throat to shut him up.

The sun had emerged from behind the dull gray clouds and now fought to disperse the thick fog, but most of the light came from the ominous crimson glare of fires upon the ship. Volley after volley of arrows, many set ablaze, was loosed from the archer squads ensconced on the Armesian ship's stern- and forecastle. The deadly projectiles sailed through the air, strafing the vessel even as the fire spread rapaciously. Ferid could hear screams from all directions as arrows found their mark or torched vital equipment. A sailor fell from the ratlines and made a sickening thud when he hit the deck. They kept low and hid from the archers as they ran.

Three Armesian spearmen ran across a makeshift gangplank slung between the ships and leapt down in front of them. Calling to each other, they sighted their group and charged in formation.

"No! Keep them away from me!" Serwid shouted.

Ferid cursed, slamming his hilt against the captain's head. Serwid's eyes rolled up in their sockets as the man collapsed like a sack of apples against the deck. He shifted his grip to a two-hand grasp

The ships slammed against each other with a mighty jounce, causing the Raven's Revenge to rock on the waves. The foremost spearman staggered. Georg advanced and delivered a vicious slash, dropping the man before he recovered.

Ferid leapt over the unconscious captain as flames erupted to his side. The remaining two spearmen backed up against each other as one of them jabbed his weapon at him. Ferid slashed down, catching the spear's shaft with his blade. He dropped the weapon and leaned in to grab the man's throat. Advancing, he caught him by the shoulder, and before the man could react, Ferid had twisted his head around. The spearman collapsed onto the planks, and his spear clattered. He heard a shout followed by a splash as Georg knocked the third spearman overboard.

Turning, he found Alzhara staring at the cabin from which they had emerged. He called her name, but she swept her gaze around, seeking something she could not see. "I have to find my sister," she said.

Ferid shook his head. "There's no time." Damn it, but there really isn't.

Nervous, Yahr twirled his blades as he cleared his throat. "Listen, I saw that man Harwan leave, and he had a child with him. I thought you knew."

Alzhara started, then looked at Serwid. "No, I…"

Ferid followed her gaze. Unconscious upon the deck, the captain's face wore an odd expression of confusion, despite his hiding eyes. It seemed as if his bewilderment had fallen asleep with him.

Ferid ducked as another volley of arrows tore through streamers and pierced the sterncastle's walls behind him. "We can't stay here," he said.

Alzhara's expression was as intense as it was tense as she stared at Yahr. "Are you absolutely certain of this?"

"I swear it."

Thank the True Runes. "Good," Ferid said as he stood up. "Then let's get out of here before we've shark food."

"No, I still need to find my bodyguard."

Ferid groaned. "The oaf?" He had something worse in mind.

Alzhara scowled. "She is my friend."

Yahr shook his head. "She's in the hold, but there's not enough time. I'm sorry—"

"Then leave," Alzhara said. She turned and began to run towards the hatchway by the mainmast.

Armes marines had spilled onto the deck, and were fighting their way towards the rudder in groups of three. Serwid's men were falling back or fell where they stood, their hopeless struggle illuminated by the flames of dozens of deck fires. Metal blades and wooden shafts clanged and clattered against each other as ambience for these struggles, and he heard shouts behind him as more Armesian marines joined some distant fight.

Ferid unleashed a string of curses as he watched Alzhara run. Turning to Georg and Yahr, he growled. "Keep the boy safe and ready the boat. I'm going to save an idiot and an oaf."

He ran. Catching up to her just as she knelt by the hatchway, he leaned down and pushed her aside. "Leave this to me," he said, grabbing the iron ring. She gave him a dirty look, but he scowled right back at her.

Ferid gave a start as a spearman fell onto a barrel fastened against the mast and tumbled onto the deck just next to them. Alzhara drew a sharp breath, and Ferid tensed on his sword.

The man was still. Soon, the sounds of fighting faded into the background.

Ferid yanked the hatch open. In that moment, something occurred to him. Sialeeds. His boots made a splash against draining water as he leapt onto the hold's upper level, and he held out his arms to catch Alzhara. Oblivious or ignorant of the gesture, she jumped down and caught her balance.

"Your sister's name isn't a common one," he said as he looked around.

"No, it is not," she said.

"Your name isn't Alzhara, is it?"

"No."

Ferid stared at her for a moment. She's… No. I can't deal with this now. It'll have to wait. He pushed the thought aside.

Pushing overturned barrels and collapsed piles of crates and sacks aside, they cleared the stairs and descended.

A large hole had been torn in the ship's side from the Armes vessel's ram, and the Raven's Revenge was taking in water. The ship was sinking.

Fast.

-Arshtat-

The noise of seawater gushing into the hold was reminiscent of a waterfall, though the echo within the enclosed space gave it an eerie quality. The ship was tilted portside, and seemed to lean further and further with each moment as a steady stream of water entered through the wound torn in the ship's hull. Those crates, barrels, sacks and boxes which were not tethered or trussed were beginning to gather on the port side, displacing or floating on the water that collected in the bilge; steadily rising. The hold was filling with water, but the remainder was assailed by flame.

Small fires cropped up all around Arshtat as she climbed down the stairs, flames growing into larger blazes upon whatever swath of dry wood there was to be found. She froze at the sight, and despaired. Feitas' mercy, I hate water. The cramped space and the rising waterline had her heart hammering already, and she had to steel herself against the threatening panic as she stepped down from the stairs.

Following in her wake, Ferid looked into the hold. Seeing the situation, he tossed his sword up the stairs without hesitation. She heard the blade clatter against wood as it slid to a halt against the planks. "Take my hand," he said, then grabbed her fingers without waiting for confirmation.

Her reaction was instinctive. She shoved his hand away and turned, but stumbled on a seam in the hull. Tripping, she fell backwards into the water and landed on her bottom. The fall stung, and her clothes were soaked through as Ferid pulled her from the bilge and onto her feet. She wiped tresses of wet hair from her face.

"Don't be so damn stubborn!" he scolded. "If you want to find your bodyguard, you'd better cooperate."

Arshtat felt anger rise. "I know," she said. "You just…" She shook her head.

His eyes searched hers for a moment before letting it slide. This time, his hand clasped hers firmly, and he began to move along the dry planks towards the far end.

Please, by the mercy of the True Water Rune, let Jumana be well when we find her. Her mind was filling with terrible images of bloated, drowned bodies, forcing her to push the thoughts aside. With the greatest effort.

Flames flickered around them, occasionally hissing as the water reached the base of a flame. The planks of the inner hull groaned with weight as they walked, and ropes creaked.

Arshtat heard ropes snap. She turned to see a crate held against the starboard wall hurtle towards them. Screaming, she pushed Ferid forward and out of its path.

The crate slammed into her.

Her head throbbed with pain. She was knocked down, and drew water into her lungs.

Arshtat panicked. The dull roar of water filled her ears, and she flailed her arms wildly, trying to rise. A weight held her down. She was stuck beneath the crate.

Frightened out of her wits, she screamed, but no sound left her lungs but a gurgle. She pushed her hands against the edges of the crate and tried to push with her knees, but something was lodged against it.

Out of breath, Arshtat felt the darkness closing in. Within the panic, a strange sort of calm had gripped her mind. Forgotten memories flooded her consciousness; a stone quay, a fall into the water, darkness closing in.

A brown-haired boy.

Suddenly, she felt the weight lift from her body. She was torn from the water and succumbed to a fit of hacking coughs and desperate gasps for air. She sagged onto the floor as Ferid clutched her shoulders. She met his eyes, but could not speak. Her nostrils and lungs seemed to be on fire as she breathed.

"You're insane!" he said. He had doffed his vest and shirt, and his bare arms and face were dripping wet. He dragged her further from the water, and she stumbled to follow. "What were you thinking?"

She looked up at him. As a matter of fact, I was not thinking at all. She tried to speak, but could not find the words. Clutching at her chest, she grimaced. The forgotten memories were still vivid in her mind. She could not speak, but she could laugh.

So she did.

Ferid pulled her onto her feet and dragged her along. Arshtat stumbled in his wake, fighting a thunderous headache and trying to catch her bearing. Water poured ceaselessly into the hold from the gap, and almost half of the area had been filled already. She stopped laughing before she began to cry from fear.

Ferid's hand squeezed hers. Light flickered as a lantern swung on its hook and came loose. She heard glass shatter behind her as its light winked out. Further in, only raging flames lit the hold, struggling against the rising waterline.

Fumbling along the wall, they hurried through the hold, slipping into the water and wading as often as not. She could almost feel the water rising, sealing her fate. She bit her lip and pushed on, feeling the warmth of his hand.

Reaching the bulkhead, they found the door blocked by floating barrels and crates.

"We have to move these," Ferid said.

Arshtat nodded. Together, they waded into the water and began to push aside the obstacles to clear a path to the door. Shorter, weaker, and less accustomed to the work, Arshtat found herself shamed by Ferid's contributions, but he made no comment. He would dive beneath the surface now and then, untying a rope or dragging aside a sunken barrel to help clear the way. The water reached Arshtat's jaw when the door was clear, and only half a foot of its length was above the waterline by then.

"It's watertight, so…" he shrugged.

So Jumana should be alive, inside. Should be. She nodded.

"We'll have to work quickly once the door is open. It's going to fill fast."

Arshtat swallowed, and tried to put on a brave face. It might have been convincing. "I am prepared." As prepared as I will be. She looked back at the distant stairs. More than half full already. How will we make it? She could not imagine there would be time. She looked at Ferid, tried to search his features for anxiety. He was tense—understandably—but she saw no fear. She tried to draw from his confidence.

He dove down and opened the latch. Pulling at the door, it slowly opened as water gushed into the empty room. Arshtat waded through the doorway while Ferid swam under her and emerged on the other side.

Jumana was sprawled out in the opposite corner, bound to a stretcher with several lengths of rope. She was not moving.

Arshtat's heart beat like a drum as she waddled through the room. Ferid reached her bodyguard before her and knelt down as the water reached his boots.

Arshtat threw herself into the corner, hitting her knee on the protruding end of a loose plank. She hissed, and tried to conceal a moan, but drew Ferid's attention nonetheless.

"I am fine," she said, frowning. Leaning down, she ignored the pain and felt for a pulse. Jumana's heart was beating. Moments later she confirmed that the Armesian woman was breathing as well, and heaved a sigh of relief. "She is alive…"

Ferid had already begun cutting the ropes with a small knife, and Arshtat drew out a knife of her own from a simple leather scabbard in her sleeve and went to work. The sheaths' outlines were obvious beneath her soaked clothes, and she noticed Ferid glancing at her between cuts, noting the half-dozen sheaths across her body.

Ignoring the rising water to concentrate on the ropes, Arshtat looked at her bodyguard. The wounds on Jumana's arms had been tended to, thankfully, but the bandages would need to be changed soon, and the work was shoddy. She felt her forehead, and found that the woman was burning up. She must have a fever. And, if she is still asleep now, she must have been drugged. She slit the ropes that held her shoulders in place. Does this mean that Sialeeds remains asleep, too? Better that way. Better if she sleeps through this whole ordeal, and wakes when I have found her. Arshtat felt panic rise as she noticed the water line rising to soak Jumana's jaw.

She cut the last rope, sobbing with relief as Ferid immediately lifted the bodyguard clear of the floor and onto his back. Arshtat looked at the door. It was completely submerged, now.

Ferid met her eyes and grinned. "We're through the storm. Just the cruise to go, now," she said with a wink.

The ship's hull groaned ominously. Trembling with fear, she looked at the dark water.

She nodded. "Just the cruise."

-Georg-

Sweat poured down Georg's face as he sidestepped a rolling barrel and heard it slam into the portside railing behind him. The heat from countless fires singed his ears and warmed his cheeks as he struggled to draw deep breaths of the contaminated air. The burning mainmast pierced the dawn sky like a torch, dispelling the surrounding fog with bright, roaring flames that licked the cloth of the sails and burnt the ropes and beams of the rigging.

Cries of fear and screams of pain rang out from the smoky haze, a chorus of unseen voices adding to the cacophony of the flames' roar and the sound of steel on steel. The Federation Fleet crew fought on out of desperation, the attack too sudden to organize surrender, while scattered groups of Armesian marines prolonged the battle. He had deafened himself to it.

Yahr was somewhere near, hiding in the smoke with the boy, Shula, hopefully near the boat. If it had not burned. Georg's sweat-slick hands grasped the hilt of his sword, and he could feel his pulse against the leather grip as he held the weapon out at his opponent.

The Armesian squad leader's uniform, with orange, red, and brown interwoven in the design, was soaked with seawater as a precaution against the flames, but the heat had almost dried out his clothes at this point. His puffy red beret sat loose, but remained on his head. He flicked the point of his spear from side to side as he advanced on Georg with a grim smile. Their duel had thus far told Georg one thing.

The Armesian was the better fighter.

Bellowing, the man advanced. He shifted his grip back and forth as he walked, alternating his jabs. Georg retreated once more. He glanced round for obstacles as he circled the mainmast with his sword, and prayed that no one would leap out and stab him in the back. At least not before he was burning.

Where's Ferid? Coming too close, he slashed low and slapped the spear's head aside. He lunged, but feinted instead of attacking. The man backed off, but sent a series of counter-thrusts after him. Georg retreated.

His blood pumped, too fast to match his pace, and his head ached while he struggled to breathe. He had resolved to wait for Ferid to return and come to his assistance, but like the Armesian squad leader, it seemed that he was alone in the dark land where the fog had been replaced by angry smoke.

The man flicked his spear to bare the slashing edge and cut from side to side. Swaying back, Georg raised his sword and met the blade. Steel clanged. The Armesian drew back the spear and lunged. Throwing himself aside, Georg singed his shoulder against a flame before rising to his feet next to a barrel. He could feel the ship sinking beneath him. Panting openly, he lowered his sword somewhat.

The man's tight-lipped smile widened. He charged, and lost his beret to the motion. Slashing from side to side, he forced Georg to parry. He twisted the blade again and jabbed once, twice, three times. Georg leaned away from the first and parried the second. The third caught him in the shoulder, and he gasped in pain. Smoke from a burning piece of sail filled his eyes. The attacks kept coming.

Georg swept his sword in blind waves to shield himself as he retreated out of the smoke. The man leapt after him and tried to skewer him. Seeing the attack at the last moment, he leapt aside. The following slash grazed his chest as he fell back.

He sagged down against the railing. He needed an opening, but had failed to find one. The man approached without hesitation. Falling to his knees, Georg pulled his sword back to his hip in a mock sheathing. Feeling faint, he lowered his head.

The man bellowed as he lunged. Georg drew a deep breath. Three feet… two feet.

With sudden vigor, Georg rolled aside across burning rope and splintered wood. He rose in the motion and slashed. And prayed that his count had been accurate.

He felt his blade tear through flesh. He heard a surprised groan.

Exulting, Georg roared and stepped in to deliver an overhand slash. His sword tore down through flesh and made a sickening sound as it caught. Blood sprayed on his face.

When the smoke cleared, he saw the Armesian spearman on his knees, split halfway through the shoulder by his blade. He withdrew his sword and turned his head with a shudder of revulsion as the man dropped face forward onto the deck.

Shoulder and stomach throbbed with pain. He was alive, but there was no pride in the victory. He had won only because he had been underestimated. One mistake, one hit, and it had been over.

It was a difficult lesson to swallow, but necessary. One good hit is all you need...

Stumbling down against the railing, Georg watched the hatchway through lurid flames as his vision grew hazy. It was too hot. Much too hot. Something large swept through the air and crashed into the deck, shaking the vessel. His vision turned to gray.

He heard his name called through the mist, and the clatter of a sword at his side.

Then the gray faded to black.

-Ferid-

Ferid fought the fear as he surfaced in the air pocket, holding Jumana's head against his chest. He concentrated on his breathing, drawing deep and measured breaths to recover. The ceiling was close, so close to the surface of the water, and the hold was all but filled. There were but a few small pockets remaining along the ceiling. Alzhara broke the surface next to thim, looking terrified despite her best efforts to hide it. She had courage.

He forced a smile, and nodded at her. Halfway through the hold, Ferid had begun to doubt their chances of escaping, but he was not about to admit it, even to himself. The ship had tilted even further as they swam, and they were crawling forward. Without both of the women weighing him down, escape would be a simple matter. He would make for the hole torn in the hull and reach the surface outside. However, it had become painfully clear that Alzhara could not swim. As for Jumana…

"We're almost there, now," he said, and was met by a doubtful look. "Ready?"

"Ready."

One hand clasping Alzhara's and the other shielding Jumana's mouth and nose, he dove under. Kicking with his legs, he darted through the dark water, barely making out the features of the hold. The ship's increased tilt had caused the chamber to slope down towards the stairs, and with the flames extinguished, there was little light left to go by.

They resurfaced in a pocket of air about two thirds of the way through the last stretch. Drawing deep lungfuls and tending to Jumana's unconscious breathing, they dove down again just as the water filled and removed the pocket. That was the last one. No more air.

He dared not glance at Alzhara, for fear that her terror would discourage him. Instead, he kept his eyes on the dark outline he took for the stairs and swam with greater vigor than ever before. Something was wrong: There should be sunlight from the stairs. The outline should be clearer.

With three more kicks, he came close enough to find the answer.

Piles of splintered planks and broken debris had fallen into the stairs and blocked them. It would take too much time to clear the rubble, and they were running out of air.

Masking his panic, he turned to shoot for the hole in the hull. He could see it in the distance, lit by shafts of light that speared down into the sea.

It was too far away.

Seeing no other option, he strained towards the egress, dragging the two women behind.

Alzhara slipped out of his grip.

Ferid turned in the water, reaching out for her. She made no effort to reach him, but instead shook her head as she watched him. Though her features were twisted with fear, she was determined.

Furious, he glared as he grabbed for her, kicking and flailing to reach.

Suddenly, the ship shock, and moments later something large broke the surface. Ferid looked round to see the deck gaping open as broken planks and parts of the mainmast's riggings sank down into the water. Light shone in through the opening.

Alzhara looked stunned. Taking the opportunity, Ferid reached out and clasped his hand around her forearm in a stone grip. She did not resist.

She was unconscious.

He felt his own mind wander, growing dull as the spears of light that shot through the new hole bled into the dark water. Expending his last strength, he kicked up.

He reached an empty crate that floated on the surface and hauled Alzhara onto it, over the surface. She seemed to disappear above.

Dizzy, Ferid grasped for the crate and pushed Jumana up. For some reason, she seemed to float right out of his grip.

Too tired to swim, Ferid tried to hoist himself up. Too tired to hoist himself up, Ferid clung to the crate. Losing his consciousness.

Something grabbed his hands and yanked up.

His head broke the surface, and he gasped for breath, drinking every sweet lungful with pure joy even as his lungs burned with each breath.

Opening his eyes, he stared up at the stupidest grin he had ever seen.

"Lieutenant! I was afraid we'd lost you," Yahr said.

Ferid fumbled about the gunwale as he was pulled through, and tried to look around. His vision was blurred, but he could see that he was in the boat they had planned to steal. He sought faces, and found them. Georg, Alzhara, Jumana, and the boy, Shula. Only the latter was conscious. His relief was overpowering. He slumped down into the boat, listening to the disappearing bubbles as the Raven's Revenge sunk beneath the ocean's waves towards a timeless grave.

"We made it…" he whispered.

"Well, not quite yet, Lieutenant…" Yahr said.

Something in Yahr's voice made Ferid jerk upright—as much as he could manage in his exhausted state—and he looked around.

The painted burgundy hull of the Armesian vessel towered over the boat. A rope ladder had been slung down towards them, and he followed its rungs with his eyes, up towards the deck.

Meeting the stern eyes of the ship's captain. He took a glance at the man's uniform, and the golden feather on his blood red beret.

True Runes in pieces… It's the Western bloody Marine Corps bloody Admiral. This has got to be a joke. The man was flanked by dozens of Armesian archers leaned against the railing all along the vessel.

Ferid turned to look at Yahr.

"Wake me up when they're gone," he said.

Too exhausted to move, he collapsed.

---

Author's Notes: Aside from the prologue, this chapter is set in the Solar Year 433, 16 years before the beginning of Suikoden V. The ages of the characters portrayed in the chapter are as follows:

Arshtat: 18, Ferid: 20, Georg: 13, Shula: 13, Sialeeds: 9, Yahr: 16