The Prologue of a Tale: Fire and Steel on a Wooden Boat Make for a Poor Match
The Tale of Gaius Ninefingers
Prologue: Fire and Steel on a Wooden Boat Make a Poor Match
“When a forest becomes infested with rot, you burn it and revive the land. I intend to do the same but it shall not be wood that I turn to ash, but kingdoms.”
---King Bethold I
When I signed aboard the Southern Wind in Aricourt I had imagined transporting spices and slaves from the far reaches of Crai’Tal; what else would happen on a trading galley, eh? But no! Instead of seeing the wonders of a foreign land and sampling strange women and even stranger food, I was on a ship with one of the most dangerous men in the whole damn kingdom.
Our captain, a scrawny dark-skinned bird of a man who had a habit of licking his lips when excited, had turned his lips raw at the offer of some royal contract. Being so eager to let the king’s gold run through his fingers, he didn't even take time to read the damn thing. So imagine our surprise when four of the king’s knights and Gaius the fucking Bloody saunter onto our ship.
If the stories are to be believed, this strange man could kill a man with no more than a glance, cause a tower to crumble to dust with a single punch, and had slain the last of the mighty dragons. But despite these great feats, he was above all a monster. He slaughtered the innocents, burnt down holy churches of the gods and the High God himself and many-a woman widowed.
Even his very appearance makes him seem more monster than man. Beneath his thick armor, covered in a horribly torn blue tabard with a simple white horse, signs of brutal battle were shown. Upon his left breast was a man crushing a serpent’s neck as it bit down upon what looked to be a babe. His right breast plate had been so brutally marred by battle scars that the only thing visible was a sharply pointed star. His gauntlets looked as if they too had depicted some epoch, but had long since lost the tale beneath slash marks. The scars of battle were even more apparent by the fact that the man was missing one of his fingers upon his left hand.
But the worst of all was his helm. It was made from the same dark steel as the rest of his armor, but had patches of lighter metal, showing where a blacksmith had made a hasty repair. The chisel work upon it was also slightly different. Instead of the steady, delicate care of a craftsman, the bottom of the helm looked as if a dagger had been put to it and was now covered with the image of a smile with sharp, angry teeth.
Gaius the Bloody was a silent man. Most days of the journey he stayed in his cabin, but once in a while he would come up to sharpen his weapons – never appearing above deck without being fully armored.
The other knights that had come aboard, however, were different kinds of men. Sir Poulder, the eldest of the men, took a great liking to board games, and would often play whatever games the oarsmen had to offer when their time below deck was over. Sir Bell, a pretty youth no older than two-and-twenty, had the soul of a minstrel and would often sing to any who would listen. Sir Donovan, the fattest man I’d ever seen, had become great friends with the ship’s chef through stories of past lovers and as such earned a few extra morsels of food at supper time. Sir Harold, a plain man in almost every regard except for a crooked nose, was an anxious man and would begin to fidget if his hands were not in motion.
I later learnt that each of them had apparently been some great heroes of various battles. But during our entire voyage, I never saw a single one of them speak to Gaius. They either held great contempt for the man, or perhaps they also feared the inhuman monster that was Gaius the Bloody. Once every-so-often, the monster and one of the knight’s would exchange unfriendly glares, but remained mute to one another.
After two months, we arrived at a rocky island in the middle of the ocean somewhere off the southern coast. The knights assembled in short order, wearing their dazzling armor and gleaming swords, except for Gaius who seemed like some dark demon in comparison to his fellow knights. In all honesty, Gaius looked broken and unable in comparison to those other true knights. Before they left, the cook gave Sir Donovan a leg of mutton put aside for the trip and the crew wished them all well – all but one.
The Southern Wind remained on the island for three days before they returned… but between the two that returned, only one was a knight. Gaius the Bloody returned with only a single stranger whose hands and feet were fitted with iron shackles. The stranger wore a colorful robe of orange, red and yellow. Each of his sleeves had its own fiery design sewn on. His hood and cloth face mask also bore similar designs.
No cheering was made for the returning knight, just a silent acknowledgement of his return, and even though we were all dying of curiosity, we knew better than to ask the monster for his tale. As we got ready, Gaius sat down with his prisoner and began scrubbing what looked to be a scorch mark on his shoulder pauldron. Then he looked up at the stranger and without warning said, “You wizards are a cursed pain in my arse.”
For a moment, the crew froze, completely unsure how to proceed, even though the statement had nothing to do with the lot of us. After a moment, the stranger merely shrugged and turned his head out to the sea. Gaius went back to scraping his shoulder and the rest of us slowly went about our work.
As the days went on, Gaius became more and more talkative. It was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders now that the knights were no longer aboard. Soon, acknowledgements became greeting, greetings became idle remarks, and idle remarks became conversations. The knight mainly told stories about the undead or questions about the exotic lands the crew had been to, but never once did he speak about himself or his exploits.
One day, as distant clouds turned black and made the captain change course to lessen the impact of the inevitable storm, Gaius was chatting idly with his prisoner.
“Urgh, I’m not sure what’s worse about being on a ship, the way one’s stomach feels, or the complete lack of wine and women,” he said, sharpening his sword with a whetstone.
The wizard remained silent and fiddled around with a glowing rock and chisel between his cuffed hands.
Gaius didn’t seem to mind the silence, and continued speaking. “When’s the last time you had a woman, wizard? I can’t imagine that you had very many on that rocky island of yours.” He waited to see if his prisoner would say something. He didn’t so he went on. “Not that you mages would need to actually serenade a woman. I mean, you lot are quite fond of waking the dead for your… needs.”
The wizard turned his gaze back around to Gaius, finally irked enough to speak. “And where did you hear that filth? Some fat clergyman?”
Gaius chuckled. “Heh, the High God isn’t exactly fond of me and neither are his servants.” He shrugged. “No, I just assumed that’s how you lot satisfy yourselves… I mean you like the dead enough to turn an entire kingdom into shambling corpses, so why not fuck em’ too?”
“Not all wizards are necromancers!” he hissed in a muffled voice.
“Sure, and knights are all shining examples of chivalry and civility... What are you doing with that thing?” Gaius said, gesturing towards the rock.
“It’s a rune,” the wizard said without emotion, “and I’m just making sure that it’s carved right. I never got to finish it since I was interrupted.”
“A rune?” Gaius asked. “Those are symbols of the old god, right? Wasn’t he, well, evil?”
The wizard shrugged. “Maybe, no one knows. All that is known is that he was extremely powerful…” And with that the conversation died, making the two go back to fiddling with their individual intrest.
After an hour or so passed, and the ship was even farther off course than it ever should have been and the rain began to fall, Gaius finished sharpening his sword. He looked up and from the way he turned his head back and forth, I could tell he was trying to figure out what was happening.
“You there,” he called out, pointing at me with his four-fingered hand. “Dorn, right? Come over here.”
I dropped what I was doing and came over to Gaius. It was not the first time I had spoken to him during our returning trip. The first time he spoke to me I shook like a leaf and nearly pissed myself, and when he asked me about my family back home I thought it was some kind of threat, so I awkwardly backed out of the conversation. It was later that I found out that he had been asking every man about random things regarding themselves and their families, apparently stemming from severe boredom. Despite our initial awkwardness, we had a few more talk and I found that this legendary ‘monster’ was just a man.
“Dorn, what’s happening?” he asked, shifting his shoulder pauldron.
“The captain’s trying to lessen the storm’s impact,” I said gesturing towards the clouds slowly ebbing towards us.
“Oh no, no, no… dammit,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
I crooked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah… I’m going to lose a bet.”
“What was the bet?” I asked with a slight smile.
He rolled his neck and rubbed it with his good hand. “I bet Calden a cursed sack of coin that I’d be back before the leaves turn red,” he grumbled for a moment but then shrugged and let out a slight chuckle. “But that doesn’t compare to the plight of that poor flower girl waiting at the harbor for her young lover to return, does it?”
I blushed. “Y-yeah, I guess so. But hey, I’m sure tha-” Thunder drowned my voice, warning of the impending storm. I jumped and one of the older deckhands called out for me and I abandoned my conversation with Gaius.
Each wave that crashed into the ship was a vanguard to chaos. Men that were either too clumsy or simply unlucky were swiped off the deck and sent overboard to be swallowed by the ravenous sea. Darkness had also come with the storm and made it all but impossible to move away from one’s familiar post.
The storm itself seemed… unnatural. The clouds above swirled into queer shapes, sewn together by dancing lightning. Water whirled and twisted beside the ship, some were even high enough to touch the clouds. Along with that, small sparks of flame would shoot out from the clouds every-so-often.
Gaius and his prisoner had gone below deck and would have been forgotten had they not stumbled back out onto the deck. The wizard came hobbling out first, and with him came a radiant light coming from his hands that burnt the darkness away. The knight stumbled out soon after, mace firmly in hand.
“Get back here, curse you!” Gaius cried out, trying to get his footing on the slippery deck.
The wizard grabbed hold of the mast and steadied himself. “No!” he cried out, bringing the glowing rune closer to his chest. “Don’t you understand what’s happening? Haven’t you seen the signs? Look around you!” he gestured towards the dancing lightning and rising water. “The riders of the winged-steeds took the God Stones away from this place to protect us and you seek to ruin it all!”
“All that I know is that I’m getting cursedly wet, and by gods if I catch cold I’ll do you the favor of tossing you over the ship’s railing myself!”
The wizard shook his head and let out a groan. “How foolish a pawn can one man be?!” The wizard stretched his arm out and held his arm out with the rune and began chanting.
Gaius, on the other hand, had given up on getting his footing and was fumbling over his own feet as the ship tossed, heading towards his prisoner. As he neared, he lifted his mace into the air and dove forward, swinging sideways heading towards the wizard’s raised arm.
Out of instinct, the wizard put the rune between himself and the mace. When steel met rock the rune exploded into flame, sending Gaius flying back to crash into the side of the captain’s cabin. Where the wizard once stood was now a great column of fire, rising into the clouds and spreading across the deck. Not long after, the captain, on wobbling knees, scurried out onto the deck and between licks of the lip, gave orders to abandon ship.
Almost all the remaining crewmen boarded the rafts. Only the cook and a few men were not present, likely trapped when the flaming mast came crashing down on the door leading below deck. Gaius, too, was unaccounted for. I looked over to where he landed and saw him still sitting there, unconscious amongst the splintered wood. I told the men around me, but they claimed that he was dead and that no man could have survived such a blast. Some even thought it best that the man die amongst the flame.
With no help, I knew that I could not move the large armored man before it was too late, and jumped aboard the raft as it lowered itself down into the sea.
As our raft bobbed up and down amongst the sea, and men aboard the crowded vessel hurriedly tossed water out from the bottom of the raft, I looked back to watch as the Southern Wind along with the wizard’s column of fire disappear behind the waves.
“And so ends Gaius the Bloody,” I mumbled, scooping out some of the water.
But little did I know his tale had only just begun.
Author's Note
The REWRITE OF GREATNESS has began, starting with a prologue. I'm sorry to all of you who were left on the edge of their seats last time, but my editors (Book Smart) accidentlied the entire story.
In any case, I intend for Gaius to come back with a bang and keep the humor and action to the same or higher levels while bringing in a much stronger sense of world-building and a story arch that will carry all the way through.
To new readers of the story, I hope you enjoy it and continue reading as I release new chapters!
EDIT: Yes, this is a rewrite and yes the chapters have all been deleted. I would appreciate actual comments rather than "where do chapters wat?" Thank you.
With Spiteful Love,
Zong the Nefarious
The First of Chapters: Sir Gaius
The First of Chapters: Sir Gaius
“Men, like steel, must be tempered. But unlike steel, mere fire shall not temper man, no, only war may do that. Most will shatter and crack, but those that survive will be of the finest make.”
---Lord Kastor of Westport
***
***
The castle of Westport sat defiantly upon a cliff overlooking the grand harbor below. Every day new ships would arrive, bearing spices, gold and slaves from the far reaches of Crai’Tal. Opposite of the noisy activity of the city, the castle was a bastion of tranquility. Up there, the fishmonger’s haggling and the guardsman’s roar couldn’t be heard. Only the sea’s wind could reach up high enough to scale the castle’s dull yellow stone carved from the very cliff it stood upon.
For the past eight years, it had been my home. I was sent here to squire for Lord Kastor, a man who’d treated me better than any of my own kin. The taste of salt and the sea’s loving song were always welcomed. But now, all I could taste was blood, and even the wind was drowned by Lord Kastor’s booming voice.
“Gaius, curses, boy! What have you done?!” the lord of Westport bellowed as he ran down the terrace to where I was, standing over the corpse of the stable boy I had just killed.
I looked up at the man as he loomed above me. His arms and legs were thick as the branches of an old oak, and his chest was similar to a cask of ale. Lord Kastor rubbed his bald head with a calloused hand and then brought it down to rub his black, grey-speckled beard. The man reached down, grabbed the sword from my grasp and slapped me across my fuzz covered face.
I reeled back, but quickly got my bearings and gave the man a cold look.
“What… what happened here, Gaius?” he questioned, handing the steel sword I’d stolen from the armory off to one of the four queasy looking guards that had since arrived at the grizzly scene.
“He didn’t hold his block high enough…” I replied numbly, idly gesturing towards the dull practice sword next to the dark-skinned, dark haired youth as the pool of blood around him grew larger.
“What?” he asked, rubbing his bald head once more.
“I told him to raise his block,” I stated, shrugging. “He didn’t listen. If he’d of listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You what?” Kastor asked, letting his eyes rest upon the dead boy’s body for a long time.
“I. Told. Him. To. Raise. His. Block,” I repeated.
Kastor then turned his attention back to me for a moment, and stared at me without saying a word. He shook his head slowly before giving orders to the three remaining guardsmen. At their Lord’s command, the three men went about clearing the corpse from the courtyard.
I watched as they carried him away. I knew that I should have been mournful, or even just ashamed, but I wasn’t. Why would I ever mourn such a lowborn wretch? I thought. I’m son to one of the most powerful lords sworn to the king; his father was only a butcher. The feeling I had during the fight was unlike anything I had ever felt before. When a life was at stake I felt alive. Each swing was an extension of my power, each blow landed was a mark of my righteous power, and when the time came, and my steel bit into his soft, fleshy neck... I was a god. It was no more than an offering to myself.
"Gaius," Kastor said, kneeling before me so that our eyes were level with one another. "You must never do this again, do you understand me?"
"No," I mumbled, looking at some storm clouds brewing over the sea. "Is this not why I'm here?" I turned my attention back to him. "Did my father not send you here for this very reason? Besides.. I quite like it."
A flash of pain hit me as Kastor slapped me once more. He was talking to me, scolding me, I think. But I couldn't hear a word of it. The gulls cried out and for some strange reason my face felt coarse, like it was covered in sand. Soon, all else was cast out by the sound of the sea as the splashing of waves kept getting louder and louder.
***
***
Salt water and sea foam splashed against my helmet, seeping through the eye slits to splash against my face. I blearily opened my eyes, and through the narrow slits saw nothing but water. So, in my infinite wisdom, I quickly turned on my back which did two things: first, my back let out a horrendous crack and then, the salty water that had been pooling on the side of my helmet came round to splash into my poor eyes.
“Argh! Gods why?!” I cried, instinctively bringing a numb hand to rub my eyes only to have it slap against my helm uselessly. Through thin slits and stinging eyes, I saw that my mangled left hand lacking a middle finger was naked. After quickly feeling about myself, I found my mace, and that the rest of my armor was still very much intact. Not as if the cursed gauntlet had done my hand much good anyways.
Sitting up was a painful process. My back cracked angrily and in its rage sent jolts of pain to ride up my back to rest just at the base of my skull. My hands had also become numb while I had slept and the blood started to rush back in. Pain, like an old friend, took time out of his busy day to tell me that they too hurt.
I looked down and around me and saw sand. Lots and lots of sand. Using my superior intellect, I reasoned that a huge amount of water -- plus a tremendous amount of sand meant that I was on a beach. Or possibly a very wet desert… but I'm fairly certain of the former.
I groggily pushed myself up and began to stagger about. I swayed back and forth while, trying to piece together how exactly I had gotten on this beach. I was on a ship. Bethold had put me on a ship with four of his ‘loyal’ men. He wanted us to get something… something importa- My thoughts trailed off and became meaningless as I turned around to see a slaving gully laying on its side with a huge hole burnt through its hull. Oh right… the wizard…
The beach, thanks to the galley and its cargo, was an utter mess. Crates that held the ship’s food supply were strewn about, cracked and charred but otherwise whole. Barrels washed lazily onto the shoreline, being carried to and fro by the waves. Oh, and how could I miss the bloated corpses?
I crawled past the burnt beams and fractured shards of hull and ventured through the remains of the ship. Cold, discolored and bloody water splashed against my greaves, yet I paid it little mind as I looked about. The rooms, while familiar, became impossible to distinguish. I waded into what I thought to be the living quarters and began to search for my room.
I found it, grabbed the chest with my weapons and dragged it back into the sunlight. I fumbled with its latch but it was locked tightly and remained sealed. I reached down to retrieve the key from my pocket, but as it turns out, I wasn’t wearing trousers, but greaves and padding, which did not have pockets. The key, and my pants, were likely at the bottom of the ocean.
“Why do you taunt me?!” I screamed up towards the heavens and then, in a moment of sheer brilliance, I lifted my foot and aimed it at the chest. My foot rushed forward and slammed into the lid, causing its water soaked wooden frame to splinter and break away from the hinges.
For my genius plan, I was rewarded by none other than Sir Pain himself, and how generous he was. This time, my foot and ankle had the pleasure of being the recipient of his splendid reward. My foot even got a few splinters as a bonus. I’m sure that when they fester I’ll be gifted a whole new kind of hurt. But in spite of it all, I was now free to grab my weapons. Inside the chest was both my short sword and claymore, its steel blade was notched and dented from battle and its hilt was a simply thing wrapped in leather. Both had thankfully been within their sheaths, so attaching them to the rest of my armor was not an issue.
I sorted through the wreckage along the beach some more until I found a soaked satchel and the ship’s supply of preserved rations. I would have filled the satchel with dried jerkies immediately, but the cook’s fat body was strewn over the lid.
"I’d bury you, but I don’t have a shovel," I mumbled, heaving his body off the lid. As I filled the bag, his body tumbled and crashed into a nearby pile of crates, breaking the water soaked wood and causing another corpse, which had somehow gotten atop them, to fall down. Said corpse was grasping a shovel in death.
I stated at the shovel for a moment, questioning why he had it. The ship was on fire... and sinking... so this man thought, 'Oh, better grab a shovel, that'll help.' It clearly hadn't. I walked over to the corpse and pried the shovel from the dead man's grasp. In my experience, having a shovel was never a bad thing. I mean, they can be used for digging, bludgeoning things; but as the man had found out, they weren't to great at putting out fires.
I looked back at the dead men, remembering what I had said to the dead cook. I’m sure you would have wanted a burial at sea. Besides, if I gave you a burial, then I’d have to give shovel-man a burial and I've got a fire-wielding wizard to catch… I’m sure you understand. I shook my own thoughts from my head and trudged up the beach, heading towards a distant tree line.
My first goal would obviously be to find a town to both resupply and ask the local peasantry where I was located on the coastline. Next was the matter of the wizard. What Bethold wants with the dead loving bastards is beyond me... but Bethold is not a man you can question. I'll find the cursed wizard, and if I must, I'll drag him back to Aricourt kicking and screaming.
I slung the satchel filled with dried meats over my shoulder and trudged my way up the beach until I found solid land. I then began to look about for any sign of a trail and, with great luck, I found one! By the looks of it, the grass and ground had been worn down by the hooves of horses and wagon wheels. That meant that the next town was probably within a few days ride. On foot it would probably take me a week or so to reach it...
Oh how I love marching...
I gave a low sigh and began to follow the trail. Walking along it I could clearly see that the peasants used this road regularly, due to the relative lack of weeds. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to be happened upon by a traveling merchant? The hope was slim but my entire life so far had been based on slight happen-stances, so it was not entirely outside the realm of reason.
The trail came to a forest that was of an impressive size. Looking into it, I saw that the trail had become significantly darker despite the sun being at its height in the sky. It was a bit unnerving, to be honest, but no knight serving Bethold could afford to be afraid of a collection of trees and shrubbery. Especially when his ire was the alternative.
With another stoic sigh, I pushed onward into the forest to find the cursed wizard and finish my accursed quest.
Author's Note
Chapter One is back! Sorry it took so long, exams are coming up and I've gotta concentrate on that! But anywho, I hope you enjoyed this and stick around for more!
Remember, I'm always looking for new editors! If you have the grammar skeelz, then you're welcome to help!
