WOT Adv 161

--- The Wheel Turns ---
Maer grimaced to himself. Stupid wetlanders. It was such an annoyance to have to get into a fight when all he was trying to do was cross these strange, endless waters. He didn't have time or luxury to waste lives and hope to get there in one piece. He needed these sailors alive to steer the ship, not dead.

Fiznak drew his sword and faced Jerrik his blade at the ready. Maer tensed, but he didn't veil his face. Instead he turned to Fiznak and said in a matter of fact voice for all to hear.

"Mighty Fiznak, you realize that if you kill them all, there might not be anyone left to pilot the ship. Why don't you just let me cut their tongues out? Or shall we simply cut the tongues out of the survivors after we've finished with the more troublesome ones?..." Maer paused, fingering his knife, considering.

"I think I would like to start with the fat one." He fastened his dark eyes on Jerrik, eyeing the man up and down. " Will you let me kill at least him? I know you want to kill them all, but I only want one fat little wetlander. I'm running a little low on jerky. You and the women can eat the rest of them.

"Uh... Sure, Maer. Have all you want." He played along, hoping the bluff would work.

"No one will ever know...." Maer jerked his stare away from Jerrik and smiled at Fiznak conspiratorially. "We can say there was a storm that swept all the wetlanders overboard while we were sleeping below decks...." Suddenly Maer started panting wildly, and his eyes took on a strange light. He ran his tongue lavishly over the blade of his spear, then with the dark cloth of his veil, he messily wiped the drool from his chin and fastened the veil across his face, still panting heavily.

He hoped they took his ruse for what it was. Sailors were, after all, a superstitious lot, and probably none of them had ever fought an Aiel before, They might even believe he could kill them all single-handedly, jerky them, and eat them before any rescuers came.

A couple of the men took steps backward and looked at each other, their faces quite pale, but Jerrik merely chuckled. "Stand yer ground! There's only two of 'em! Nothin' the lot of us can't handle! C'mon!"

Fiznak grasped his sword and his voice took on a hard edge of steel, deadly serious and grim. "Come then, and look upon thy death."

And as a body, they surge forward.

---

It was over quickly. Fiznak kicked at a wounded sailor and heard him groan. The sailors hadn't had much of a chance against two battle-hardened, trained warriors, one hardened from fighting the forces of the Dark One along the borders of the Blight and the other, hardened from his life in the three-fold land, a harsh taskmaster like none other in the world.

The first rush had been a confused tangle of bodies, weapons, and curses. Jerrik had hung back for a minute, letting the others surge past him.

They had tried to flank the two warriors, and for a moment it seemed they might succeed. Fiznak had a few bruises, a slash across his forearm, and some scratches on his armor. He had put on the breastplate after dinner, half expecting an attack such as this. Maer, as usual, was virtually unscathed, save for a slash that had cut open his tunic and drew a thin ribbon of blood across his chest. He had lost his spear in the combat and was muttering something dark under his breath as he went to retrieve it.

But it had been a vain attempt on the sailor's part. One by one, they had fallen to sharp spear and the hardened steel alike. One poor soul had impaled his neck on Finznak's sword, going down in a gurgle. He now lay in an unmoving heap, blood pooling darkly around his fallen form.

Jerrik's cutlass lay on the ground next to him, the blade in two pieces. A large cut ran down his face and was bleeding profusely and he held his left arm limply, blood dripped onto the thirsty planks. The large man fell heavily to his knees. "Please! Please... don't kill me... please..." he blubbered through his blood and tears.

Fiznak considered. He could easily take off his head here and end it forever. It would be so easy. To end this man's life. To end it for good, to end his dark life.

Jerrik's eyes went wide, as if sensing the boarderlander's thoughts, and he crawled forward piteously, reaching out his hands to hug Fiznak's legs. "No... no... Please. Show mercy."

Fiznak could smell the reek of stale ale on his breath from here. Not only that. Stale ale mingled with the smell of blood. In the distance, below deck, he could hear the sound of music and an occasional raucous laugh from the other sailors. No one would know. Or even care if this man was dead. Fiznak saw the several bodies still at his feet.

Maer had picked up his spear and stood behind Jerrik, studying the boarder Lander patiently. He watched the sword at Jerrik's neck with some distaste, but otherwise was passively wondering what Fiznak would do.

Fiznak growled low in his throat and kicked Jerrik hard in the face sending his sprawling on his back. He leveled the sword at Jerrik's throat.

"I should kill you, you dog. But since you followed my original warning to cease speaking I will let you live. I think we've all seen enough of blood for this trip. You will call each woman on this ship Lady from now on. And you will bow as they pass. You will instruct the others to do the same. You will apologize to the women for your vulgar speech."

"Yes... Yes... my Lord." He blubbered again. "Ladies. I'll call them lady..." he sobs. Then he hiccupped and vomited.

"You've lead to the deaths of five men, pig. Get your men to clean up this mess! Now!"

He scuttled away on hands and feet and then ran off into the darkness, calling for his men.

Maer stooped and checked the men and shook his head. "Only one is dead, brother. The others are bleeding and soon will die without aid."

"Should we call for help? For a healer?"

"If they die, we might not have the men to pilot this thing." Maer looked at the boat and the wide expanse of dark ocean with some trepidation.

Jerrik returned with three of his men, looking abashed and downcast, and definitely cowed. He and the others picked up a wounded sailor to throw them overboard...

"No pig!" Fiznak roared.

"Wha... what?"

"They're alive you dolt!"

Jerrik's face blanched, and he heavily dropped the body, the head bounced on the planks.

"Where are the healing supplies?!" He approached Jerrik grabbing him by the front of his tunic.

"I... I didn't know... I..." His voice trailed off.

"Get the captain, you fool!"

Jerrik needed no more encouragement and he ran into the darkness, trailed by the others.

"Run!" Fiznak shouted after him. Blood and ashes! Sailors bleeding to death because of one drunk man and his rash actions.

A few moments later captain Hardrin stood before them, blue eyes were cold daggers as he looked from Jerrik to Fiznak and Maer, and to the bodies of the dead and wounded lying on his deck. "What has happened here?" His voice was ice.