16th Day of Spring
The Middle Suvan Sea
10th Bell
"You want to spar?"
Eranis looked up from his book and into the face of The Myrian. That was all they knew him as, per Captain Tonio's rules. He didn't mind if you asked his name, the first mate's name, the crew's names, but asking about the monikers and stories of the passengers? That was a big "no", and he'd made it abundantly clear what would happen if any of his passengers got nosy.
Eranis had paid close attention, since he couldn't swim.
Still, it didn't matter much to a keen eye, and the Akalak liked to think he had two of those. He'd heard the stories before they left port: of a "savage" that had killed two of his people outside Riverfall, then survived the Gideon Combat Arena, only to be effectively exiled for his crime. And now there was a Myrian on the Cuttlefish, heading north, and not talking much.
You didn't have to be a spymaster to put it together.
"What did you say?"
"Spar." The Myrian repeated, holding up the ax and gladius in his hands. "I have not sparred with man for days. Just me. Would like challenge."
A mound of purple muscle and flesh stirred next to Eranis, like an earth titan coming back to life. Which was fairly apt, Eranis thought. Turak was seven feet of broad, toughened sinew, the epitome of the Akalak warrior. And, defying stereotype, he had a brain, too... just not as much self-control as his cousin.
Which, when you're two souls in one vessel, was not just a virtue, but a necessity.
"Not interested." Eranis muttered, talking as he turned back to the History of Syliras. "But I think my kin might be..."
"Too bloody right."
Razkar immediately thought of Mizra Aqdas as the dozing Akalak raised himself up to his full height, stretching arms that were behind his head as a pillow and cracking stiff neck muscles. He watched as each muscle was stretched and popped in turn, from shoulders down to his feet, and he was not alone.
The half-dozen or so Svefra who made up the crew of the Cuttlefish watched with interest, when they were not busy. Tonio and his first mate, Sander, observed from the wheel, the latter never taking his hands from it even as he took in the spectacle below.
It had been an uneventful journey. They were due some sport.
"Haven't got any practice weapons, I take it?"
Razkar shook his head as the lumbering Akalak... no, that was the wrong word. Even as big as he was, this one moved smoothly and gracefully, economically, bending down to retrieve a broadsword from the deck. Evidently crafted for one of his size, it was five feet of sharpened steel and Razkar felt a thrill of trepidation.
Spar or not, if a full-bodied blow from that monster struck him, it would cleave him in two like a pig carcass. And even knowing that, he felt adrenaline and anticipation rush through his veins.
You must stay sharp, and what better way that to challenge yourself? And what better challenge than one with death as a possibility?
There was a hiss of steel pulled free from a leather sheath, and the Akalak inspected his weapon. He was clad only in breeches and sandals, the fresh Spring breeze bereft of the chill that had assailed them all for months. They were happy for it now, embraced it with bare chests. Razkar felt his own tingle with the sea wind, tangy with salt, myriad of tattoos and scars covering it.
The towering Akalak looked him up and down with a shrewd, appraising intelligence. Razkar's near-black eyes glinted; his lips twitched into a momentary smile. A brain, too, this one, to match his brawn. Such a challenge...
"Has it not occurred to you," Turak said slowly as they began to circle one another, the middle of the deck serving as their arena, "That, if I were so inclined, I might accidentally kill you in such a steel-edged contest, and thus avenge those of mine that you killed?"
Razkar considered this silently, and then answered with a shrug.
"I had thought that."
"And?"
Razkar smiled, showing the Akalak those sharpened teeth and held up a finger like a scholar student picking apart an argument. He spoke just one word that made even the usually taciturn Akalak smile.
"Might."
Thus decided, they began.
The Middle Suvan Sea
10th Bell
"You want to spar?"
Eranis looked up from his book and into the face of The Myrian. That was all they knew him as, per Captain Tonio's rules. He didn't mind if you asked his name, the first mate's name, the crew's names, but asking about the monikers and stories of the passengers? That was a big "no", and he'd made it abundantly clear what would happen if any of his passengers got nosy.
Eranis had paid close attention, since he couldn't swim.
Still, it didn't matter much to a keen eye, and the Akalak liked to think he had two of those. He'd heard the stories before they left port: of a "savage" that had killed two of his people outside Riverfall, then survived the Gideon Combat Arena, only to be effectively exiled for his crime. And now there was a Myrian on the Cuttlefish, heading north, and not talking much.
You didn't have to be a spymaster to put it together.
"What did you say?"
"Spar." The Myrian repeated, holding up the ax and gladius in his hands. "I have not sparred with man for days. Just me. Would like challenge."
A mound of purple muscle and flesh stirred next to Eranis, like an earth titan coming back to life. Which was fairly apt, Eranis thought. Turak was seven feet of broad, toughened sinew, the epitome of the Akalak warrior. And, defying stereotype, he had a brain, too... just not as much self-control as his cousin.
Which, when you're two souls in one vessel, was not just a virtue, but a necessity.
"Not interested." Eranis muttered, talking as he turned back to the History of Syliras. "But I think my kin might be..."
"Too bloody right."
Razkar immediately thought of Mizra Aqdas as the dozing Akalak raised himself up to his full height, stretching arms that were behind his head as a pillow and cracking stiff neck muscles. He watched as each muscle was stretched and popped in turn, from shoulders down to his feet, and he was not alone.
The half-dozen or so Svefra who made up the crew of the Cuttlefish watched with interest, when they were not busy. Tonio and his first mate, Sander, observed from the wheel, the latter never taking his hands from it even as he took in the spectacle below.
It had been an uneventful journey. They were due some sport.
"Haven't got any practice weapons, I take it?"
Razkar shook his head as the lumbering Akalak... no, that was the wrong word. Even as big as he was, this one moved smoothly and gracefully, economically, bending down to retrieve a broadsword from the deck. Evidently crafted for one of his size, it was five feet of sharpened steel and Razkar felt a thrill of trepidation.
Spar or not, if a full-bodied blow from that monster struck him, it would cleave him in two like a pig carcass. And even knowing that, he felt adrenaline and anticipation rush through his veins.
You must stay sharp, and what better way that to challenge yourself? And what better challenge than one with death as a possibility?
There was a hiss of steel pulled free from a leather sheath, and the Akalak inspected his weapon. He was clad only in breeches and sandals, the fresh Spring breeze bereft of the chill that had assailed them all for months. They were happy for it now, embraced it with bare chests. Razkar felt his own tingle with the sea wind, tangy with salt, myriad of tattoos and scars covering it.
The towering Akalak looked him up and down with a shrewd, appraising intelligence. Razkar's near-black eyes glinted; his lips twitched into a momentary smile. A brain, too, this one, to match his brawn. Such a challenge...
"Has it not occurred to you," Turak said slowly as they began to circle one another, the middle of the deck serving as their arena, "That, if I were so inclined, I might accidentally kill you in such a steel-edged contest, and thus avenge those of mine that you killed?"
Razkar considered this silently, and then answered with a shrug.
"I had thought that."
"And?"
Razkar smiled, showing the Akalak those sharpened teeth and held up a finger like a scholar student picking apart an argument. He spoke just one word that made even the usually taciturn Akalak smile.
"Might."
Thus decided, they began.
