[Barahir]

ALL comments, criticism, et cetera would be vastly appreciated by the author.  


Alexandros gasped in wonder as the ship came into view.  Like a wooden whale it clove the foam of the ocean.  From either flank of the hull a whole host of oars descended, clutching at the water like a thousand writhing tentacles, yet all moving in perfect agreement.  Five great masts were thrust heavenward from the deck, broader and loftier than any tree bole, and from them five overshadowing sails caught the wind, black yet spangled with silver like a cloudless night’s sky.  From the ships a score of trumpets brayed, and all Petropolis echoed like a black-enchanted necropolis.  

The prince stood mystified by this craft, greater and far more alien than any he had yet heard tell of.  Yet the unease within him was growing.  This man was after all a mighty captain, and he was barely a man.  He knew that all his worries were useless: he stood upon the very quays of Petropolis, the Dockmaster at his side.  There was no escaping duty now.  The ship steadily made its way closer and closer to the quayside, and from the bowels issued many grunts and moans as of men straining with exertion.  Only when a few meters remained between the hull and the pier did the oaken oars halt their revolutions.  

Out of the chaos of the docks a score of surly men strode, their russet tunics sullied by salt, and their hands as rutted as a pineapple’s rind.  The tossed an army of thick ropes to crewmen upon the deck, who subsequently tied them to the ship’s rails.  Those on the dock secured the ropes to thick posts that rose even from the sea, and with a great heave a plank was thrown from boat to landing.  Down that plank came but one man; all the crew stood motionless upon the deck, eyes fixed, hands clasped.  

Alexandros thought him a strange fellow from the moment their eyes met.  His appearance was utterly outlandish, particularly for a sailor.  His raven hair was cropped just below the shoulder, yet braided in a most intricate manner.  His garments were deep sable, many-layered and bejeweled with ornaments of silver.  From his ears dangled golden earrings of brilliant craftsmanship.  His boots were of rich leather and reached to the knee, and they too were studded with silver adornments.  He was girt with a sinuous rapier sheathed in a chalcedonic scabbard, and a serrated dagger hilted with onyx.  Acacius beamed like a man entranced.  

Setting foot upon the dock, he smiled dazzlingly and bowed with a flourish.  “Your grace, Alexandros prince of Atlantis,” he said, rising.  “I haven’t seen you since you were but a babe.”  

“And I have seen you never,” said Alexandros, bowing in his turn.  “I am told you are-”

“I am called Aniketos, though many other names and titles I have been gifted.  Lord of the Seas, King of the Waves, Ocean’s Conqueror, the Great Captain, Seer of All Shores, Peer of Poseidon…” his voice steadily faded, and he puffed out his chest, his mouth broadening into an arrogant smirk.  

“My father tells me you are the worlds greatest sailor.  May I ask what you have visited?”

“Indeed you may!” said Aniketos, his melodious voice booming forth.  Without a hint of hesitation he began to relate all his years at sea in excruciating detail, the narrative halted only for dramatic emphasis.  It became painfully clear that Aniketos was only too happy to indulge the prince’s request.  Alexandros listened enrapt at first, but slowly found his concentration fading and his thought roving far.  The captain was either completely unfazed or simply unnoticing, for as he droned on with increasing fervor his recount was reduced to the most inconsequential minutiae.  He babbled endlessly about some meal he had eaten or some swim he had taken, and when Alexandros actually summoned the willpower to listen to him once more he wondered how the sailor managed to remember so many trivial details.  

Alexandros glanced westward over the sea, and beheld the sun setting in all her blazing majesty.  Suddenly a small black shape emerged, little more than a speck upon the horizon.  As each moment passed it grew larger, and seemed to be weaving perilously through the ever-swelling waves.  

“Captain Aniketos,” began Alexandros hesitantly, to little avail, for still he prattled on.  “Captain!” the prince now thundered, and Aniketos halted in mid-sentence.  

“Yet, you highness,” he said, the last word tinged with disdain.  

“Look yonder,” said the prince.  “There is something off in the water.  Acacius, do you see it?”  

“Oh, that is but the shadow of the waves, you majesty,” said the captain with a sneering laugh.  

“I’m no sailor,” said Acacius, “but it looks like a raft ta me.”  

Aniketos opened his mouth wide for protest, but with a hoarse gasp halted in mid-gape.  The entity had come now into full view, and it appeared that Acacius had spoken the truth.  From what could be seen it was a crude raft, five broad branches lashed together with wooly rope, and a brittle tree limb that served as a mast.  From it hung a tattered sheet that acted as a sail, though it did little good, for the raft pitched helplessly with every surge of the tide.  Upon the rude deck lay the figure of a man, limbs splayed out helplessly.  He did not stir.  

By now all the activity upon the wharf had come to a standstill, the eyes of each merchant and sailor following the raft’s every motion.  The relative silence was punctuated now and again by an animated whisper, which was unsurprisingly answered with the requisite reprimand.  Yet when the craft was marooned upon the gray stone shore an eerie quiet fell.  Alexandros turned tentatively to the crowd behind him, and to his horror found that each face now awaited his response.  With a gulp he turned to Acacius and Aniketos.  

“Should we go down?”  asked the prince.  

“Of course we should!”  said the Dockmaster.  “I’d like to see jus’ what’s goin’ on ‘ere”.  

“Most certainly, your majesty,” said Captain Aniketos, though by now his words had lost all value.  

In a closely drawn file the three made their way back up the pier, the throng doing its mightiest to clear a path.  Instead of making for the stairway that Alexandros and Acacius had come by, they turned to the right and descended a different flight, narrower yet shorter than the one before.  Stepping onto the stone beach, they sprinted to the raft and knelt upon the rocks.  

The stranger’s garments were sopping wet with seawater, as were his golden locks.  The attire was of a strange cut, fine yet alien to behold, and his skin was as pale as the sun in autumn.  His breath was shallow and ragged, and his entire body was plagued by a fit of trembling.  Alexandros stooped beside him and turned him so that the sun warmed his sallow features.  The prince coughed in shock, while the Dockmaster and the Captain both stifled their own gulps of air.  The horde upon the dock above strained to sea why the three acted so strangely.  They too gasped in alarm.  

The stranger’s eyes were not closed, as was expected by all.  Instead they were wide as with terror.  His nose was aquiline and sharp, and his brow was set high.  His limbs were oddly slight.  Alexandros shook him gently, and the man replied with a hack and a shudder, after which his breathing became deeper and less ragged.  

With a jerk he turned to Alexandros, and Acacius and Aniketos jumped.  “Would you help me to my feet?”  he asked, and his voice was rich yet uncompromising, as of one born to privilege but has seen much of the world’s sorrows.  Alexandros nodded, and with a heave lifted him from the ground.  He stood tall, at least three inches above six feet, a height seldom matched even by Atlantians.  Suddenly his eyes rolled heavenward and his knees gave out under him.  Acacius leapt forward with startling deftness, catching the foreigner only just before his skull met the stony ground.  

All three lifted him up, and with as much speed as they could muster carried him back up the stairs to the pier.  

“Have you a name, stranger?” asked Aniketos, suspicion clear in his tone.  

“I do,” said the man.  “I am called Xenon.”

[Ahryantah]

I sent you a PM regarding this.

[Trillian]

Very epic-like, I enjoyed it. I like the descriptions of the weapons, reminds me of my favourite (unknown) fantasy books. Well done! Write more

[Barahir]

“It certainly suits,” said the Captain, laughing grimly.  

Alexandros felt his head spin as a thousand questions threatened to overwhelm his mind.  Who was this strange man?  Why in the name of the gods was he upon the ocean in a flimsy raft?  And why did it have to happen now, when he was supposed to be greeting Captain Aniketos?  Aniketos did not appear adversely effected in the least.  He grinned broadly and puffed out his chest, though the crowd of merchants and sailors paid him no attention.  All their eyes were fixed upon Xenon, and they were deathly silent; clearly they were endeavoring, with little success, to compute this unprecedented occurrence.  If Xenon noticed, he did not show it, for his eyes were half closed, and still he breathed heavily.  Acacius’s eyes were moving hither and thither frantically, and his sandy hear was fast becoming damp with sweat.  

“Let’s get outta ‘ere, yer ‘ighness,” he said, his voice barely audible.  “I don’t trust all them unfamiliar faces on this dock, ‘specially now.”  

Alexandros gave a nod of approval, but the prospect of leaving so quickly did not amuse Aniketos.  

“If I may, your highness?  The Dockmaster” – the last word sent a biting chill up the spine – “may be thinking a tad too quickly.  After all, should we not tell the people here what has happened?  Are they not worthy of knowledge?  At any rate, I simply must inform my crew of our doings…”

Before Acacius could contemplate protest Xenon held out his hand.  

“If I may, your highness?  The Dockmaster is right – we should leave here with all speed.  These people are already becoming mistrustful of me.”  His words were not far from the mark: hushed gossip was beginning to spread far and fast through the mob.  

The captain was swift in his retort.  “I daresay we should not heed the words of-”

“Silence, captain,” said Xenon, and his words burned like a dagger fashioned in the forges of hell.  “I know your like.  You mean to exploit me, a shipwrecked foreigner on unfamiliar shores, to satiate your gigantic ego.  Ha!  How pitiable.  But I will not let you do such a thing, and neither will the prince or the Dockmaster.  You can either help me or be gone.  Which shall you choose?”  

Aniketos opened his mouth and shut it again.  He gaped, searching his wits for a biting remark, but all he could manage was a grunt.  Acacius appeared on the verge of open laughter, yet managed to maintain a modicum of restraint.  .  Even Alexandros, bred from birth to hide his emotions, could barely contain his mirth at Xenon’s words.  Xenon’s fair face was like a mask of steel.  

“What has his majesty to say?” said Aniketos, biting off the end of every syllable.  

Alexandros wavered for a moment, but he could sense Xenon’s merciless eyes boring into the back of his skull.  He took a long draw of breath.  “We shall make for the palace,” he said.  “Immediately.”  

Aniketos’s face flushed furiously, yet even as he fumbled for words Acacius crushed the heel of his boot upon the cobblestones.  “Listen to the prince, sailor,” he said, squinting with rage.  “Or there’s gonna be trouble.”