WOT Adv 162

--- The Wheel Turns ---
Fiznak was bent down over a wounded man, cutting off a piece of the man's shirt with his sword when the captain spoke.

"Your men need care, captain--" Fiznak stood and calmly wiped the blood off of his blade with the cloth, and met the captain's glare. "I fear some are gravely wounded. This fool villian led these men to attack my brother and I." Fiznak gestured to Jerrik with his sword and let the bloody cloth drop heavily. "We defended ourselves," he finished simply.

For a long moment Hardrin looked from Fiznak to Maer. Finally he spun on Jerrik "Is this true, Jerrik?" He bored into Jerrik with his piercing blue-eyed gaze.

Jerrik's mouth worked but no sound came out. The man was still obviously drunk and somewhat confused. He started to shake his head until he saw Fiznak's hard stare and his face went whiter.

Jerrik grabbed the front of his tunic. "Well, is it? Speak man!"

Jerrik's eyes darted from Fiznak to Hardrin, and he nodded glumly. "Yessir. But they--" His whisper was suddenly cut off by a powerful back-hand blow from Hadrin. Jerrik rocked backwards on his heels, and blood dripped through his fingers as he held his nose. In a flash Hardrin had a long-bladed, sharp knife pressed up against Jerrk's throat.

"Blood and ashes, Jerrik," he said acidly, "but I should slit your throat here and now if I didn't need your sorry corpse to man the sails!" Hardrin's face grinned unpleasantly and he pressed the blade harder against the man's throat. "But rest assured that I will change my mind if I find you have outlived your usefulness! So, why don't you convince me you are a changed man..."

Jerrik nodded as much as he could with the blade at his neck, his face a sheet of white.

"Good. Now get out of my sight." Hardrin commanded icely, shoving the large man away. Jerrik fled. Hardrin turned, sheathed the blade, and surveyed the wounded for a moment. Then he nodded to Fiznak and Maer as he approached. "Are either of you hurt?"

Fiznak sheathed his own blade and shook his head. "No, Captain. Scratches and a few bruises. Nothing more."

"Good. Jerrik won't bother you again, and I'll see that you are both compensated for your troubles." With that, he turned and left barking out orders to get the wounded the care that they needed.

...

The eighth day into their journey brought a renewal of good winds and with full sails, The Pelican's Wing made good time towards Tanchico.

Word of the incident had, of course, spread across the ship and all the sailors gave Maer and Fiznak a wide berth when they heared that the two men had handily defeated eight armed men.

The sailor's attitudes towards the women markedly improved as well. They would bob their heads deferentially whenever they encountered Keb, Eliesanna or Maeslyn.

Jerrik also seemed a reformed man. Whenever a woman appeared--at least, whenever Fiznak saw him--he would furtively glance about, and catching Fiznak's gaze, Jerrik would give a jerky bow, lower his eyes, and mumble, "my lady" to the obvious pleasure of the women and to the good-natured cajoling of some of the other sailors. His face held a bare grimace each time he said it, but he dutifully did it. Keb got special satisfaction out of making it a point to often walk or stand near the odious man, even attempting to engage him in conversation, simply to hear him turn a polite phrase over and over again.

Eliesanna and Fiznak continued to practice their swordplay each day for several hours each. He could tell that the lovely Domani had the basics down, and showed some improvement beyond that. But, while quick, she didn't have a lot of upper body strength. Fiznak wondered how she would last in a stand-up, face to face fight against a trained soldier. Well, he sighed, hopefully it won't come to that, now that the Seanchan have fled. But if it did come to a fight, she would at least last longer now than before any training Fiznak had given her. That's was at least something.