Prologue

The village was quiet. A warm summer breeze wafted through the air, bees hummed their monotonous tune as they drank nectar from newly budding flowers. Portly farmers harvested grain from bountiful fields of produce. The year had been a good one, not a single person had starved, and almost no one had fallen ill. At least, that was the way that the young man remembered it as he watched his village burn. The darkened sky was lit up by the glowing embers that were spat up into the air crackling with an unquestioned violence. The soldiers had come completely without warning late at night; no one was prepared for the assault that had occurred. He had watched his only brother be mercilessly cut down by the soldiers in an attempt to protect the young boy and some of the other children. No one was left living except for the one boy with tears streaming down his face, making clear lines through the black ash and dried blood that caked his face. He meandered through the remains of the smoldering town, glowing red hot, the frames of the houses and inns resembled the scrawny bones of skeletons trying to break free of their graves. He saw half charred bodies that littered the ground everywhere, he tried to turn his sight from those, but it was not much use, there were too many of them. His stomach was empty now, for all the times that he had retched, nothing remained to come up.
The one thing the boy had asked himself countless times, but still did not have the answer to, was why? Why did he survive, and everyone else perished, why? Why did the soldiers attack in the first place? All of those answers seemed to elude him. During the night, he had panicked like everyone else, but he had known a hiding place that he and his friends used often to sneak sweets, or get away from their parents when they were in trouble. It was a hollow under an old oak tree by a stream, just a few hundred paces from the village; he had aimlessly wandered there and cried himself to sleep. The sounds of morning had awakened him, a lark was singing its song high up in one of the trees. The boy got up, and found himself utterly weakened, but he forced himself to continue on to the ruins of the village. He stared at the plot of land where the house he had lived in used to stand; nothing remained but charred pieces of wood and plaster that were strewn about the area. While sifting through the ash, the boy found a piece of broken pottery, this had been mothers... The thought
almost made him cry, as he realized that mother would not be coming back. He got back up and
started to walk again when he noticed that he was ferociously hungry. The boy headed back to
where the stream was, once there he observed that the water was a bit dirty owing to the ash that had spread down here, never the less, the boy got down on his belly and drank until his stomach was so bloated with water that he threw it back up on the sandy shore of the stream. The boy wiped his mouth on the rags of cloth that had once been the sleeve of his linen shirt. He drank again but not as much this time. He was sleeping alongside the bank when he heard the sound of hooves. The boy looked up just in time to see a dark figure, then he felt a sharp splitting pain across his head, blinding whiteness filled his vision, then the world went dark.








Chapter One
A rude Awakening

Matthew Delrend woke to the lurching of a wagon. He got up on his knees and tried to
steady himself as his moving jail bounced over another pothole. He had been with the slave caravan as it had turned out to be, for almost two months, picking up survivors from raids here and there,
and yet he still had no idea where they were headed. Matt was about seventeen seasons old, his fair, long hair; now dirty from several months without a washing- fell in front of his face as he adjusted himself. He was tall, almost a head taller than just about all the men that had lived in his village. As he stood up he bumped his head against the top bars of the wagon. He rubbed his bright green eyes to clear away the morning vision, and he was surprised to find a dirty youth, probably close to his age; lying on the putrid hay that had been given to them to use. It reeked of urine and sweat. The young man tossed in his sleep and mumbled something incoherent. Matt had been alone in this particular wagon as special punishment for biting one of the guards in a futile attempt at
escape one week after he had been captured. Seeing this person was quite a surprise. He quietly
observed his surroundings. The wagon had a planked bottom that was rough and splintered easily, the sides were iron bars that were held fast in their holes carved into the base of the wagon, and
connected at the top by more wooden planks. The small door was padlocked and bolted at all times, a small slot had been constructed at the base of the door so that the guard could slide in his meal a day, which normally consisted of flat, warm water, a small amount of salted pork, and a meager
slice of stale bread. But he knew he was lucky to get even that. Food was short enough as it was with the kingdom heavily taxing the bordering cities and villages, luckily, his town had escaped the worst of the tax; it was so small and hidden, that the King’s tax collectors had trouble finding it. Plus his village had provided food for themselves, doing away with that worry. Of course now there would be nothing to find, he imagined that by now most of the ash was washed away, the corpses picked clean and weeds growing in masses through the area.
Things had only gotten worse since his captors found him on the bank of that stream a
couple months ago. Because of his rebellious personality, he had gained no friends among the guards,
in fact, he had only made more enemies. Whenever the procession stopped, he was tormented by the guards. In the morning, he usually had a few more bruises than he did the night before. Oh, by now he had learned to keep his mouth shut, but he wasn’t broken like the guards thought he was, Matt was just waiting for a chance to escape, and this time, he wouldn’t get caught.
They hit a huge pothole that bounced Matt into the air and landed hard on his rear. “Ow,
haven’t these people ever heard of paving stones?” he barked spitefully to no one in particular. His companion was instantly jolted awake. Matt saw the boy sit up and look around wide-eyed. “W- where am I?,” he asked. Matt answered in the most sarcastic manner he could muster, “You my friend are on Master Boron’s magnificent slave caravan, a sure-fire one way trip straight to hell! Welcome aboard!” Matt grinned and tossed the young man a scrap of bread he had been saving.
“Here, catch.” The boy caught it and wolfed it down in a frenzy. He looked up gratefully, “Thanks” the boy said as he ate, “my name is Brant Korvaier, what’s yours?” the boy asked, sheepishly. “Matt Delrend. So Brant, how did you end up here? Most of the prisoners here each have a unique tale to tell”. Brant looked away from Matt, “I was out in the forest hunting for food with some of my friends, we got separated and I lost my way, I found a path and thought I would ask someone passing through if they knew the way back to my village. A few hours later it turned dark and finally someone came by. He was a young man in a riding cloak, but no horse, I asked him if he knew the way to my village, and he said he did, and that he would lead me back to it. I followed, but it was a trap. He led me right to this- this caravan and I had tried to escape, But I think he hit me on the head with something, because up until I woke here in this cage, that’s all I remember...”
Matt knew exactly who this man was who had led Brant to the caravan. “That mans name is Gamor, he’s the official scout, he looks for people on their own, and lures them back here to the caravan, he is an evil man, he’s the one who got me as well.” Brant nodded, “So, how did you end up here?” Matt felt a lump begin to well up inside his chest. “I’d rather not talk about it now; all that happened was he knocked me out and I was brought here.” Brant had decided to leave it at that for he quickly changed the subject. “So how long have you been here Matt?” Matt looked at him and said, “About two months, maybe a little more, though I don’t plan on being anyone’s slave.” “So you plan to escape?” Said Brant in a cautiously hushed voice. Matt nodded his head, “I’m just waiting for the right moment, then I’ll make my move.” Brant looked Matt in the eyes, “When you go, I want to escape as well,” he said. “Well then, you’ll have to follow my lead and not ask too many questions, I’m not even sure myself how we’re going to escape, so just play it by ear okay?” Brant nodded and was about to say something else, when the wagon came to an abrupt stop. “What’s going on?” Brant asked, confused. “I don’t know, I guess the guards will let us know one way or another.” Gamor ran up to the wagon and unlocked and unbolted the cage door. “Alright
you scum, get out!” Brant and Matt got out. Matt looked around and whispered to Brant, “We’re at a port, they must be shipping us off to wherever we are to be bought!”
The port wasn’t very large. It consisted of a single dock and a few medium sized transport boats and small corvette class boats on either side. Matt was at the end of the caravan, so he suspected that he and Brant would be among the last to be shipped out. Hopefully that would give them a few days to escape he thought. Gamor roughly led the two youths to a squat, old stone fortification. Some of the sides were crumbling. It had obviously been made into a jail. I had probably been an estate at one point. Gamor led them through the barred double doors and into a small corridor with cells on either side. Gamor pushed them inside a very small room big enough for just the two of them, and shut the door behind them. Matt heard the heavy clunk of a bolt being slid into place. Brant looked worried, “So what are we going to do?” “I’m not sure Brant, for the time being, we should check for any faults in our cell, I noticed that this building wasn’t very well constructed, maybe we can find a way out.” replied Matt. He began to search the wooden walls of the cell, seeing if any of the planking was loose. Matt motioned for Brant to do the same. After about half and hour of fruitless searching, Matt sat down and brought his knees to his chest. “Well, I guess we just have to wait...”
A day passed and still nothing turned up. During the night, Matt was trying to fall asleep
when he overheard some of the guards talking in the corridor outside of the cells.
“Look Brutus, I know the work is borin’ but you can’t go complaining to the chief, he might have us demoted or flogged for mutiny! You know how he is! Besides, with luck those prisoners in the cells will be shipped off in a couple days, so just relax and do your job.”
Well, at least Matt now knew for sure that they weren’t being shipped off tomorrow. “Yeah, I guess you’re right Joeseph, but there’s rumors about one of th’prisoners. They say he’s a Keeper of the Order!” “Thats just a load of droppins man, if he was a Keeper of the Order, we’d all be dead, like I told you, just do your job.” Matt was confused, what was a Keeper of the Order? sounded like a knight or something, but there were no knights or castles for hundreds of miles, and even then, Knights weren’t as fearsome as that one guard made him out to be... “Oh well, perhaps something will come up tomorrow,” he said to himself as he laid his head down uncomfortably on the course stone floor.

Explosions of fire assaulted Matt as he ran through a blackened street, skeletal hands
reached up from the ground, threatening to pull him under. He screamed and kicked the bones in
terror, some broke, but more came rising from the ground every second. He heard his mother’s
shrieks in the distance, “Mother! Help me!” he cried as the decayed hands clawed at his flesh,
scratching deep wounds into his legs and waist. He suddenly felt himself sinking. A blackness had opened up beneath him, and the skeletal corpses dragged him further towards them. Their sightless eye sockets gaped like screaming mouths as their jaws clicked together forming no sound but hollow whispers... “coooome wiiith ussss, joiiin ussss”. “No! NO! He cried! Mother! Save me!”. But even the sound of his mother’s shrieks had dissipated into the burning night sky. The darkness enfolded him like a thick damp blanket, and the whispers of the dead grew louder still. “Diiiiie and cooooome joiiiiin ussss”. His brother’s mutilated, char-blackened face appeared before Matt in a silent scream.
Matt sat bolt upright from the small cot on the floor. A cold sweat had washed his body as he stared wide-eyed at the wall in front of him. “J-just a dream” he stammered. He refused to go back to sleep for fear of having the dream again. He doubted he could fall back to sleep even if he wanted to. So to pass the time he got up, stretched, and began to pace the length of the room, carefully to
avoid stepping on Brant. After a while, Matt determined that the room was only four and a half
paces across, and three paces lengthwise. He sat down against the far wall and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It was very cold, and his tattered clothing did little to keep the chill from stabbing to the very core of his body. He shivered. He heard a faint tapping in his ear, and thought it must be his teeth chattering, but when he made sure his mouth was still, the tapping continued. The noise got louder with each passing minute, and Matt was beginning to really wonder what it was. Suddenly the cracking sound of wood assaulted his ears. A hand had broke through the solid wood of a space on the wall next to him. The hand was heavily tanned and was bloodied by splinters and jagged broken wood poking out of the holes at odd angles. His first thought was how in the world could a hand have broken through that wood, whoever it was must be insanely strong! The hand retreated and Matt blinked in surprise, fully realizing what had just occurred. He slowly inched his head around and peered into the hole, it was all dark, not surprisingly, and he was just about to go draw back when the hand suddenly shot through again out of the intangible darkness, and grabbed the frayed neck of his tunic. Matt screamed.

Chapter two
The Keeper

He couldn’t help it, it had been too sudden and it was dark, and the horrifying nightmare he just had done little to aid his mood. A raspy voice came through the hole, “Damn it all boy, do you want to wake the entire camp?!” “Uh... umm...” Matt was so frightened the words refused to
form in his mouth. “Well? Speak up boy, are you deaf or dumb!” The elderly man
whispered fiercely to him. “I uh... n-no sir, I don’t want to wake up the camp sir,” he managed to gasp out. The man’s voice came through the hole like a wind rushing through a cavern. “Alright then, see that you don’t. What’s your name, boy?” “M-Matt, sir.” “Mat is it?”the elderly man said, “Well, Matt, I don’t suppose you and your friend want to become slaves to some ignorant, pompous, uncaring master who would have you beaten within an inch of your life on a mere whim?” The man asked. “N-no sir, not really... Uh, in fact we’re planning an escape!” Matt replied, managing to put a bit of pride into his voice. “Were you now?” The man said in an amused tone. “And just how were you planning to do that, might I ask?” Mat felt his face grow warm in the dark, “Well, I haven’t figured out just how
yet; but I’m working on it!” He said defensively. The papery voice laughed softly through the hole, “Of course you are m’boy... We all are.” The man said mysteriously. Matt felt hope well up inside of himself. “H-have you found a way out?” He tentatively asked. “We shall see young man, now wont we? My advice to you, is to help me patch this hole up and get some rest. Keep your ears open, you and your friend can expect a message from me tomorrow night.” The mysterious man withdrew at that statement, and began putting bits and pieces of wood back into place. The hole was still rather obvious, so Matt piled some straw up around the damaged areas, hoping it would be enough to conceal the hole. He laid down across from Brant, and whispered into the night; “Perhaps there’s some hope for us after all...” Matt slowly drifted away to an undisturbed sleep.
The next morning Matt woke to the sound of a dog barking furiously outside of the small
prison. “What in the name of...” Matt began to exclaim, “To arms! To arms!” he heard one of the
guards shouting. Matt could only hear muffled cries and after a few minutes everything went silent. Brent had woken up from the sounds of the commotion, “Wha-what’s going on Matt?” The other boy asked groggily. Matt looked over at his companion and shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe an Outcast attacked.” he said. Outcasts were a fearsome group of savages that roamed the forests, sometimes preying on unwary travelers, it was unlikely that one had attacked the garrison, but it did happen from time to time. The other possibility Matt didn’t want to think about... A prisoner trying to escape. As the morning drew on, they spent the time by talking about what they would do once they had gotten free. Brant wanted to go back home and start up a smithy. “A smithy?” Matt asked incredulously. “Yeah, my dad was a smith until he died a few years ago from the Brush plague... He had been teaching me how to do the work and I enjoyed it; back then I was too young to have my own business. Now I’m not, and the people have been without a good smith for a couple years now... What are you going to do Matt?” Brant asked. Matt didn’t answer for a few moments, then said, “I’m going to go adventuring.” he said. Brant looked wide-eyed at his companion, “Really? Wow, are you good with a sword?” he asked. “Ah, not yet... But I think I’ll go into the city, my mother told me that I had a cousin there who knew how to use a sword, I figure I’ll ask him to teach me.” he replied. Brant looked at him skeptically, “Well, okay, but you might want to come back to my place first and get some supplies.” Matt nodded, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” A few minutes passed in silence, listening to the birds in the nearby forest, singing their cheerful tunes, so free in those trees and in the sky. Matt sighed, then remembered his meeting with the strange man the night before. “Brant, I may have found a way to escape...” Matt related the whole, strange encounter to Brant, ending with telling him how the odd fellow would contact them again that night. “This is all well and good, but aren’t we going to be shipped off to the slave ports in a day or so?” Brant asked. “I’ve been thinking about that also; I can only hope that this stranger will be able to help us escape before then.” Matt said. Brant nodded and looked around the bleak cell once more. “From the way you described this man, he sounds, well, old. I mean, how in the world did he break through that solid wood? He would have to be very strong. Hmm, do you think he’s that ‘keeper’ the guards were talking about earlier?” Matt shrugged, “I don’t know, but
it’s all up to him regardless of what he is or isn't...” He trailed off as he heard heavy boots on the floor outside.
One of the guards was laughing as the other spoke, “Ah, what a nice bit of sport that was... I think we need to have slaves attempt to run more often!” The sound of the boots approached the cell door that was holding Matt and Brant. The solid wood door flew open to reveal a heavy-set guard with an unseemly wart on his face, the guard grinned, revealing rotted teeth. “Hey there my boys, you must be getting lonely in there by yourselves, so I brought a friend for you!” He drew a hand out from behind his back, and threw a dark object into the room, closing the door behind him. The object was a head. The sightless eyes stared blankly at the two young men. Matt felt bile coming up in his throat, he retched and heard Brant doing the same while moaning. He kicked the foul object to the far side of the room and threw hay over it. “Take that as a reminder as to what happens if property tries to escape!” Matt heard the receding noise of the guard leaving to go outside. Flies had already begun to gather in the corner of the room. “By the flame that’s horrible!” Brant cried, covering his mouth to keep from sicking up. “Don’t let it get to you to much, they’re just trying to scare us. We only have to wait for tonight anyway, just don’t look over there.” Matt said, forcing a smile for the sake of his friend. The next few hours passed in relative silence, then the cell door opened for a moment to allow a tray of food in, the first they had had since coming to the hold. Brant ran eagerly over to it, picked it up and brought it back over to Matt.
They were about to dig into the stale, molding loaf of bread and water from a cracked and chipped pitcher, when there was a bump against the wall where the hole was. Matt held a finger up to Brant, telling him to wait, then creeping across the room to the wall. He heard a voice come through weakly, “Don’t eat the food, it’s drugged to keep you asleep at night.” That was all the other man said, but it was enough. “Brant! Don’t eat the food!” Brant looked at him quizzically, but put the food aside. “Why not?” He asked. “The man told me it was drugged to keep us asleep, probably so none of the slaves try to escape at night.” he replied. Matt quickly went over to the tray, poured the water out in a corner, and buried the rest of the food under the hay, it then occurred to him that it was very odd the man would've known the food was drugged. Matt shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling that this old man was definitely more than he seemed. "Well Brant, I guess we don't have much to do until night..." They passed the next few hours in relative silence, just talking about their lives before all the horror. As Brant related his story Matt wished he had grown up in the same village as Brant, they had so much in common, he felt they would've been good friends.
As the day progressed to night, Matt found himself struggling to stay awake. Through the small window, he could see the stars, twinkling faintly; ever out of reach.
“Brant?” Matt whispered into the dark. “Are you still awake?”
The only reply he received was a slight snore from his companion. “Well”, he thought, “at least one of us is finding comfort. He sat there, and as the blackness of sleep began to close over him, he imagined he was back home in his bed, where everything was peaceful.

The old man leaned his back on the far wall of his cell, whispering to himself.
“Tonight is the night, tonight is the night. The stars will soon converge.” He repeated this a few times, then closed his eyes, as if summoning some inner strength. The man was in fact over one-hundred and forty years old, yet he retained the appearance of about sixty. He was becoming increasingly weary. He had been away from the Source for far too long, his strength was beginning to wane. If he was to escape, it would have to be tonight. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been a problem, he could’ve simply blown the entire compound to bits with no more thought than one would’ve given to snapping fingers. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he was deprived from direct contact with the source.
Then of course there was the matter of the two boys. They both emanated a disturbing amount of power, untrained and wild, but power none the less. This close to the Event, there was no way his coming across them was a coincidence. He had decided to break them out the night before, and had even made direct contact, telling one of the boys, Matt, that he would try and break them out. The old man concentrated, and he tuned his hearing to the cell beside him. The two boys were sound asleep. “Oh well”, he thought, “They’ll wake up soon enough”.
The elderly man stood up, and walked over to the cell door, and called out weakly.
“Guards? Guards!” The guards on duty soon heard the man’s voice, and approached the door. “What do you want old man!” The guard snarled.
“Pl-please, it’s so cold,” the old man stammered, trying to make himself look as pathetic as possible. “I don’t think my old bones can take it”. The guard spat in disgust at him.
“I don’t see why we’re supposed to keep an old fool alive”, he grumbled as he grabbed a bale of had that was lying on the floor in the narrow hallway outside the cells. “Alright, this hay should keep you alive until tomorrow, though it’s better than you deserve”.
Bless your kindness,” mumbled the old man as the guard fumbled with the cell door lock. “Get away from the door old man, or I’ll let you freeze”, snapped the guard. The door opened, and the old man made his move.
In the time I took to blink, he had sprinted forward and shoved the hay bale back towards the guard’s face. As the guard stumbled backwards, reaching down for his sword, the older man had gracefully dodged behind the guard’s back. He took advantage of the moment of confusion by grabbing the dagger that was loosely sheathed in the guard’s belt. In one fluid movement, before the guard had time to struggle or cry out, the old man had slit his throat. Warm blood gushed out from the gaping wound, but the guard made no sound as he fell dead to the floor.
The kill gave the old man the energy he needed. He bent over the body and took the belt, sword, and keys. Having sheathed the dagger, he quickly exited the room, closed the door and went over to the boy’s cell.

Matt woke with a start as the cell door swung open with a loud creak. He blinked in the darkness a few times, not sure if he was seeing properly. This was due mostly to the fact that it looked as if an old man, covered in sweat and blood, with a sword in hand was standing in the doorway.
“Matt!” the old man whispered fiercely, “get up if you want to escape! Wake up your fried as well. Hurry!”
Matt finally realized what was going on. He lept up and shook Brant awake. “Wha-?” Brant began to mumble. “Shh! We’re going to get out of here! Just get up and stick with us!” “Us?” he asked, then noticed the old man in the doorway. “Matt? Is this your friend?”
Yeah, he’s the one who talked to me, but we don’t have time for questions, we have to leave, now!” The two boys rushed out of the small cell, and into the outside corridor. The old man grabbed Matt by the shoulder, “here, take this”, he said as he handed Matt the dead guard’s dagger. “It’s not much, but it’s the only other weapon I was able to get. I’m sure we’ll be able to pick something up on the way for your friend as we make our way out”.
It was dark, and the two boys were basically feeling their way through the dank prison. They came upon a closed door, light could be seen coming through from the other side. Their guide held up a hand. “This door must lead to the guard room, they’re sure to be a few of them in there, just stay back and let me take care of it.”
Brant looked at the older man incredulously, but Matt nudged his side and Brant fell silent. The door flew off its hinges as the old man kicked it in. There was a cloud of dust, and the guards began shouting. The two boys looked on in shock as the weapon in the man’s hands flew through the air like it was not just a sword, but part of the old man’s body. There were five guards in the room. One was clearly the jailor, noted by the large set of keys jangling from his belt as he leapt up from a chair at the end of a square, wooden table. The sword continued its path, halted for a moment as it connected with the neck of the nearest guard, then continued through, as if the obstacle were no more than a small branch.
The remaining three guards circled out, trying to flank the old man as the jailor rushed him with a hatchet. The old man parried the first blow, locked the crook of the hatchet in the crosspiece of his sword, and tore it from the man’s grasp. The small axe flew and hit a guard that was approaching from the left in the chest. The guard stumbled back into the wall, wounded, but not dead. The old man ignored the fallen guard and advanced on the jailor, who was rapidly backing towards the door. The old man smiled grimly as the jailor’s back hit the wood of the closed exit. The old man drew the sword out of the jailor’s heart, spun around to meet the two guards about to bear down on him. A sweep kick took down the nearest guard. The old man blocked a blow from the guard still standing, the old man jumped to avoid getting hit as the other sword came down once more. He conveniently landed on the windpipe of the subdued guard, killing him almost immediately. The other guard made another swing, but he overstepped it, and was carried forward, as the old man had already moved. A swift chop to the back, and the guard was dead. Matt was about to leap forward and cheer when he saw the guard who had earlier been wounded by the axe, about to bring his sword down on the old man’s head.
“Look out!” Matt cried in warning. But there was no need, in an impossibly fast movement, the old man spun around. Matt’s eyes widened as a glow appeared in the old man’s left hand. A light leapt from the outstretched limb, and the guard about to bring his sword down, was simply gone. Only a smoking hole was left in the place where he had been standing.
“Wh-what was that?!” Cried Brant.
“Just a trick I know. There’s no time for questions,” the old man snapped. “The whole encampment is sure to know something is up, it’s only a matter of when they’ll come rushing in to overtake us.”
Matt grabbed their guides arm. “Wait, how do you intend to get us out of here? And what about the other people imprisoned, we can’t just leave them!”
“Boy, there’s no helping them right now, there just isn’t time, but perhaps I can stall their fate until I can bring help. As for our escape, this is a port, and there’s bound to be a ship we can borrow, right?”
Matt nodded grudgingly, “I don’t like it, but I suppose we don’t have a choice”. Brant came up to them, “ Not to ruin this conversation or anything, but shouldn’t we get going? I think I hear more guards coming.” True to his observation, the clamor of heavy boots could be heard rapidly approaching. “Come on!” The old man shouted as he ran out the front door and into the courtyard. The boys followed, and were amazed to feel the cool night air. But they had no time to relish the feeling, the old man took off towards the direction of the docks.
They encountered no guards on the way, which was surprising, seeing how the camp was surely swarming with them. Most of them must’ve still been asleep. The docks drew into view, and Matt could just make out the mainmast of the nearest boat. The old man drew to a stop, “We’ll take that one” He pointed to the one Matt had been looking at. “It’s small enough for us to man with just the three of us.” The surrounding area yielded four more boats, some slightly larger than the one they were to take.
“It’s likely they’ll follow us once they realize we’ve taken a boat, we’ll have to move quickly.” The old man said this wearily, for he knew the situation could turn ugly very fast. The other ships were equipped with ten cannons, port and starboard sides both.
The three escapees quietly ran up the boarding plank to the boat. The boards creaked as they moved, and Matt worried that someone would hear and stop them before they reached the ship. No one came, and they ran on deck. There was a guard patrolling the other side of the boat, seemingly unaware of the commotion that was happening only a few hundred yards away. Matt and Bret watched as the old man crept silently up behind the guard, who had taken a moment to stare at the camp, where the shouts were increasing. An alarm sounded suddenly and at that moment, the old man slid a small dagger seemingly out of nowhere from his sleeve. His right hand reached around the guards face and covered his mouth, a spilt second later the left hand came up and shoved the thin blade into the man’s throat, severing the windpipe and jugular, killing the man almost instantly.
Matt and Brant paled, still not used to the sudden death.
“Are there more?” asked Brant softly.
“Probably below decks,” replied the old man. “Right now we need to get out of here”. He strode over to the edge of the deck, drew his sword and cut the mooring ropes that held the boat to the dock. “You two, climb those riggings and unfurl the sail, all you have to do is undo the rope on each side. I’ll be right back to help, but I need to clear the deck below, now get going.”
Matt was afraid of heights. Very, very afraid. He stepped onto the rigging and began to climb.
“Don’t look down” He told himself. He had always heard that if you looked down, things looked further away. He was almost to the sail, when his foot slipped out of the rigging. He lost his balance but held onto the rope with his hands. He could not, however, keep from looking down. His stomach felt as if it had jumped up into his throat. He clung to the rigging for dear life, feeling the wind blow softly against him. He clenched his teeth and began to climb again after a few moments.
Matt finally reached the sail. He looked across the boat to see where Brant was, the other boy had already reached the top and was undoing the sail’s rope on his side. Matt reached out and grabbed onto the beam that held the sail, steadying himself, he grabbed his rope with his free hand, then began to untie it.
The knot came undone and the sail began to unfurl. Matt looked down and watched as it made it’s way near to the bottom. He realized what he was doing and began to feel sick again. The adrenaline came back as he started to make his careful decent. He reached the bottom with no further incidents, and when he was on deck, Brent and the older man were there waiting for him.