Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield Read online

  “No talking! Next time I whip you. No talking!”

  The minotaur released him. Theros fell in a heap on the deck. Tears welled up inside him, but he choked them down. He had learned from his father’s scoldings not to show any tears. He had vowed when he left the village that he would never allow anyone to batter him down, either physically or mentally.

  The words of his mother echoed over and over in his memory. The only thing he could remember about his mother was the time, right before she died, when she had called to him from her bed. She had rested her hand on his head.

  “The old gods have left us. I don’t like these new gods, who seem to have nothing to do with us. Until you find a god to watch over you, Theros, I give you my blessing. Be courageous and do not waste the gifts you have been given.”

  Theros didn’t know what gifts those were, but he knew he possessed them and that made him as good as any man—or any minotaur.

  He held back the tears, and did not move until long after the minotaur had gone below.

  When it was nighttime, the minotaur warriors began to come up from below deck. They laughed and talked amongst themselves. Once the last of the minotaurs had come up onto the deck, the guards started to herd the slaves below. At last, the black-skinned foreman rose to his feet. Walking over to Theros, the man tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow.

  They climbed down the ladder from the forecastle, then down the ladder beneath the hatch to the galley below. Theros went down first, managing the ladders and stairs clumsily. The foreman came after him, pausing to see if any humans were left on deck before closing the hatch.

  They entered a hot cabin crowded with humans, including the red-bearded man, who came to a sort of ragged attention when the black-skinned foreman appeared. A long wooden table was covered with platters of fish and meat and bread.

  Theros had never smelled food so wonderful in all of his life. He had never been this hungry, either. Theros’s father, a fisherman, may have yelled at and neglected the boy, but at least there had been food on the table. There had been no time in the boy’s short life when he had ever been denied a meal. His stomach growled, his mouth watered.

  The foreman nodded to the red-bearded man. Everyone began talking at once, albeit in hushed tones.

  The foreman put his hand on Theros’s shoulder, and turned the boy around to face him.

  “So what’s your name, lad?” the man asked.

  “I’m Theros.” He added, with pride, “I’m a new member of this crew.”

  The foreman grinned. His hand on the boy’s shoulder tightened painfully.

  “Get this straight from the beginning, Theros. You are not a member of the crew. You are a slave aboard this ship. My name is Heretos Guntoos. I am the repair foreman of this ship, but unlike you, I am not a slave. I am an equal member of the captain’s crew. I am paid and paid handsomely for my work. You, however, are a slave, as are all the other humans aboard this ship, except for Timpan the Red over there. Now you must learn, and learn quickly. Listen to what I say.”

  Theros let his glance stray to the food. Heretos cuffed him on the ear to regain his attention. “I said listen!”

  Wincing, Theros returned his attention to the foreman.

  “Good. Now do not speak at all in the presence of a minotaur, unless he has spoken to you first. We may talk down here only because there are no minotaurs here now. If one were to enter, then all talking must stop. The sail foreman, Timpan, over there”—he gestured toward the red-bearded man—“and I are allowed to speak in order to direct the work on deck as is necessary. You do not have this privilege. You may notice, lad, that I did not speak to you on the fo’c’sle. You would have been whipped for such a transgression. Understand?”

  “Yes … sir,” Theros said.

  Heretos nodded. “You seem a fast learner. What I’m telling you is for your own good. I’ve never seen a slave as young as you. Normally they take only able-bodied men. So why is it that they’ve brought you on board? What is it they’re going to have you do here?”

  Theros saw true interest in the man’s eyes, more interest than his own father had ever showed in the boy.

  “I don’t know what my job is yet, sir, so I can’t tell you what I do.”

  Heretos smiled.

  “You’ll be kept busy, I’m sure. First, let’s get some food and water into you.”

  The foreman marched the boy up to the food server, a short, flabby human who smelled of fish. In a low tone, Heretos said, “This is Theros. He’s one of the new ones. My guess is he’ll be helping you out down here from time to time. Take care of him when you can, eh?”

  He then turned to Theros. “This is Aldvin. He’s the cook. He makes one meal for the minotaurs, and then one for us. Timpan and I usually eat with the minotaurs, but for the next week we eat with you slaves, to teach you what is proper. Slaves usually get only what’s left over, but it’s always good when Aldvin’s on the job. We eat at sunrise, and just after sundown. You can get water on the fo’c’sle any time during the day, if your duties permit.”

  Theros nodded, but he was far more interested in the bowl of steaming fish stew now in his hands, and the small hunk of black bread the cook had dumped on top.

  “Go on, boy Go and eat.”

  Theros found a bench and immediately devoured his food. Finished, he brought his bowl back to the cook.

  “That was really good. I’ll have some more.”

  He was startled and chagrined to hear everyone in the galley start to laugh, including the cook.

  “Sorry, lad. You get what you are served and no more. The rest goes for morning meal, and the mainstay of that is for those doing the heavy work. When you need more, I’ll give it to you, but you don’t need it now.”

  Theros started to argue, but the laughter ceased suddenly. Silence fell. Two minotaurs had descended into the galley.

  “I am Kavas, the captain of this ship of war,” the minotaur said, speaking passable Common. “The ship is called Blatvos Kemas, and it has brought great honor to me and my crew. This is my second, Rez.”

  Kavas was bigger than the other minotaurs, and Theros wondered if that may have had something to do with why he was captain.

  Kavas continued. “Repair foreman, take six of the new slaves for your shifts. Sail foreman, take the rest. After main repairs are finished, four go from repair to sail. I want this ship in fighting form in two days. Each day, from noon sun until two hours later, the bow of the ship is to be cleared for warriors to practice. That is all.”

  The minotaurs turned to climb the ladder. Theros began wildly waving his right arm in the air.

  The captain turned to Heretos. “What is this arm-thrashing about?”

  Heretos lowered his head slightly. “It is a custom taught to young human children. He is trying to get your attention to ask you a question, sir. He knows he is not supposed to speak without permission.”

  The captain turned to Theros. “You have permission to talk, boy.”

  “What do I do, Captain?” Theros demanded. “What do I get to do?”

  Captain Kavas hesitated for a moment, as if wondering that same thing himself. Then he said, “I have decided I not need a personal slave. Instead, you will be slave to my warriors. When they need anything, you will provide. Repair foreman, bring this cub to my fighting contingent commander at sunrise.”

  The captain did not await a reply. He climbed up and out of the galley. The second minotaur followed him.

  As soon as the two minotaurs had left, the slaves began to talk and eat.

  Theros, still hungry, watched them.

  Chapter 3

  It was still dark when Theros was roughly and rudely awakened by someone whacking him across the stomach with a stick. Theros sat bolt upright, startled and indignant.

  “Get up! Time to start working,” Heretos told the boy. “You will help Aldvin down in the galley this morning, and later you will begin your job of assisting the warriors. You got
that?”

  Theros nodded. Groggily, he hopped down from the bunk and wandered over to the water barrel. He started to plunge in his hands to wash his face. Heretos grabbed hold of him and turned him to another barrel that was brackish and smelled of fish.

  “You wash in seawater, my lad. Never waste drinking water on anything but drinking. First rule of the sea, and she doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

  He handed Theros a small metal bowl and a rag. Theros poured seawater into the bowl. He scrubbed his body with the wet rag, even going over his teeth to get the scum off of them. Finally, he rinsed his mouth with a bit of the water and spat it back into the bowl. He had learned early in his life that drinking seawater was a good way to lose your breakfast. It would make you sicker than a half-drowned dog. He took the bowl, and as he had observed others doing, lifted the cover of a porthole and dumped the water out.

  The taste of the seawater was awful. Theros took a long draught of fresh water from the drinking barrel. Ready for the day, he looked over to see Heretos slapping around one of the guardsmen, who was apparently not used to waking up this early.

  Theros climbed the ladder and made his way onto the deck. The sky was beginning to show color as the sun teased the world with hazy light. The sea was calm again this morning. Theros hurried across the deck, trying to remember the way to the galley. He was nearly knocked down by the other guardsman, who had just climbed up onto the deck.

  “Get out of my way, boy,” the guardsman snarled.

  A minotaur whipped around. “You spoke, human dog.”

  He poked the man in the stomach with the butt end of his axe. The slave cursed loudly, and spat on the deck.

  The minotaur backhanded the man with the handle of his axe, sent the guardsman flying. He landed like a heap of kelp and lay very still. The minotaur walked away.

  A tap on his back reminded Theros that he had work to do. Heretos, standing behind him, shoved Theros along the deck. Theros stared at the slave’s body as he climbed down the access ladder to the galley. He could not rid himself of the image of the warrior brutally swinging his axe handle, connecting with the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

  Aldvin was already at work in the galley. He had started the fires and begun to heat water. He motioned to Theros.

  “Here, take this bowl and fill it with fish from last night. Over there in that barrel. Yes, that’s the one.” The boy looked over at a barrel tied to a main support beam. “What is it, lad?”

  Theros opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  Aldvin laughed. “It’s all right, lad. We can talk down here as long as none of the minotaurs come down, and they won’t be down until the sun’s fully risen. Off you go, there, lad. Oh, and if you find any bones in the fish, throw them in this bucket here. Got it?”

  The boy nodded and went off to do as he was told. Aldvin prepared the fish, adding new seasonings and heating the mixture over the galley fire. Theros cleaned all of the serving bowls and put out large jugs of drinking water. Just as he was setting down the last jug, a minotaur, ignoring the ladder, jumped the distance to the deck below. The noise of impact jarred the boy. He sloshed water all over the table.

  “You! Small one! Bring me my morning meal!”

  Theros ran over to Aldvin, who handed him a steaming bowl of food. Theros took the bowl to the minotaur.

  He placed the food in front of the warrior. The minotaur grabbed Theros by the shirt collar. “You saw me handle that unruly slave, didn’t you? I warn you. Never cross a minotaur warrior on this ship. What you saw is what I will do to you if you disobey me. Go! Get me water!”

  The boy stumbled backward. At Aldvin’s gesture, Theros raced over to the sea cupboard where the flagons were kept. He grabbed one, filled it from the fresh barrel and brought it back to the warrior. By this time, several other minotaur warriors had climbed down the ladder into the galley. They laughed as they saw Theros running, fetching, serving, and made comments in their own language. None sounded at all complimentary. Theros’s ears burned.

  He was becoming addled with the heat, the shouting, the confusion. The warriors yelled at him to hurry with their food, to get them water, to clean up spills, to go faster, always faster! Aldvin watched, enjoying the show. The minotaurs were having fun now, sending the panic-stricken boy to fetch this and that, hurling it back into his face when he brought it with a command to go fetch something else.

  “Stop!”

  The voice was huge, deep, imposing. All heads turned. The captain stood at the bottom of the ladder. He glared at the warriors before him. He spoke in the minotaur language, which Theros didn’t understand then. Aldvin would translate it for him later.

  “You call this honor? You call this the code of the warrior? You have your fun screaming at a cub, forgetting that this cub actually chose to come with us. He, in that one act, has shown more courage than all of you mighty warriors this morning. Eat and get back to work. I will hear no more of this.”

  The captain, now flanked by the first and second officers, walked over to Aldvin and demanded food. The cook gave each a heaping bowl of fish and a full flagon of water. They moved forward to a table, and ate with their backs to the rest of the warriors. They never once glanced at Theros.

  The warriors fell silent, ate quickly. When they finished, they climbed up to the deck. Soon, all of the warriors had left, leaving only the three officers at their table, eating.

  Aldvin motioned to Theros to begin collecting the bowls and flagons, and to wash them in the basin. Theros did so, but kept his eyes on the three minotaurs sitting with their backs to him. They talked in hushed tones to each other.

  Theros took all of the bowls to the basin, dumped the remains of the meals into a bucket and began to scrub the bowls. He tried desperately to ignore his own hunger. He turned only when he heard voices. Human voices.

  The three officers had finished and left. The slaves were now climbing down into the galley. Theros started to go fetch the three sets of flagons and bowls that he thought would still be on the table from the officers’ meals. He headed for the table, felt a hand on his shoulder. Theros stopped, looked up. Aldvin smiled and motioned to the three bowls beside the basin.

  “I took care of it for you, lad. They were a bit rough on you, weren’t they? I’ll tell you a secret, though.”

  Theros looked up expectantly.

  “Don’t let them see you’re afraid. Do what they say, but keep your chin up, your head high. They’ll respect you for it.”

  Aldvin looked across at the men starting to seat themselves. “All right, lad, go and fetch some food for everyone. I’ll serve it, you deliver it.”

  The rest of the morning’s duties in the galley were uneventful. After all had left, Theros and Aldvin ate what was left over and then cleaned up. When that was finished, Aldvin sent Theros back up the ladder.

  “Go up and find the warriors. You’ll be working for them for the rest of the day. I’ll be down here cleaning the fresh fish for tonight’s meal. You’ll help me wash up again after we’re all done eating. Now, stay out of harm’s way.”

  Already so tired that he could barely walk, Theros climbed the ladder back to the deck. He shielded his eyes from the near-noon sun, now blazing in the clear azure sky. It took several seconds, but his eyes adjusted to the bright light. Looking around, he saw that the rear raised deck had become a practice yard. The warriors were swinging, lunging and dodging as they practiced with battle weapons. In other parts of the ship, slaves were working to restore the ship back to seaworthy condition. Already the foremast was re-rigged and the men had turned their attention to the new mainmast.

  One minotaur sat apart from the other warriors. He had a pile of weapons beside him, and was working on the leather sheaths and belts. Theros walked up to the warrior and stood in front of him. The minotaur was busy with a scabbard and at first did not notice the boy.

  Theros remained standing, not knowing what to do. Finally, he sat down, and picked up a sword and a sha
rpening stone. His father had shown him how to sharpen a fish knife and this looked much the same. He began to work.

  The minotaur glanced up with a start. He seemed about to protest, then noticed that the boy was doing something useful, so the minotaur went back to his work.

  Theros sharpened a sword, an axe, then another sword. The work was easy in his hands. He scraped the stone across the blade of the weapon, grinding it ever so slightly. Over and over the process was repeated, all along the blade, until finally the weapon felt sharp from tip to basket. After sharpening, he knew enough to dip the tip of the weapon into a small vial of oil, then spread the oil over the blade and basket to ensure that it didn’t rust. He slid the leather scabbard back over the weapon and started on the next.

  The minotaur worked beside him, never saying a word, keeping a watchful eye on his work, handing him another weapon when he was finished with the previous.

  Sitting in the sun, Theros soon grew thirsty, but he was afraid to leave his work. He licked his dry, parched lips. At that, the minotaur working beside him grunted. Theros looked up. The minotaur pointed to the bow of the ship, grunted, and returned his attention to a leather belt.

  Theros made his way forward across the deck. He was fascinated to observe the different tasks being performed. The ship was looking more like a sailing vessel again. Debris had been cleared away. The repair crews had all the rigging up. The ship had picked up speed as the sails were unfurled.

  A ladle hung on the side of the water barrel on the forecastle. A man stood beside the barrel, dipped the ladle, drank gingerly from it. Theros recognized the man as the former guardsman. The man’s lower jaw was purple and black from bruising. His lip was split. It was obvious that even the act of drinking was a painful one. He glared at Theros.

  “All your fault, you little bastard,” he muttered. “But I’ll show them.”