Lyndon Thornshield

The Emerald Sea

    LYNDON SMILED A BOYISH GRIN at the sight of the vast Emerald Sea before him. Salty winds raced through his hair and sleeves, traced his spine with a teasing finger, and it all reminded him of a gentle woman's touch. Alayne's touch, he wondered wistfully. The thought of climbing into her bed and between her legs made him ache, and made the journey seem that much longer, knowing she was waiting for him on the other side of the sea. It took him near a moon to sail to Jorden, and that seemed to him entirely too long. We have a decent wind now. Let's hope it keeps.

    Behind him on the deck was his niece, Jenabelle, gazing longingly at the last bit of land that belonged to the Kingdom of Jorden. The wind made a mess of her blonde hair, blowing it about in tangles of honey. She hadn't spoken much to Lyndon since they left Jorden. She was always so quiet and reserved, and when she did speak, it was always in short but cordial responses. He knew why, of course. She had told him as much. A part of her remains in Jorden...she is not whole. He reminded her that it was only for a short period of time. Once the elves were caught, and the Kingdom of Jorden was stabilized, she would return to her husband, and they would have babies and land, and she would be happy again. He tried to cheer her up with stories of the Rosewood, of his willful young son Vincent, of the wineries he and Bianca would take her to in New Barleis, but none of it seemed to dispel the dark cloud over her head. It will go away in it's own time. The grief must run its course, and then she will be the sweet young Jenabelle I once knew.

    Lyndon, for one, was thrilled to finally have left Jorden. He felt free now that he was homeward bound. The city of Elderstone was grim, grey, and gross, and far too drab for his liking. The food there was boring and lifeless and their preferred drink of ale left him in desperate need of wine. A good cup of Arnish wine would surely cleanse his palette and hopefully make him forget the whole trip. However, it was the people he was most happy to be rid of, if truth be told. They seemed to visit him in his dreams lately, Canton with that hole in his neck spewing blood, and the Prince with that sly cruel smile of his. He was so very happy to finally be rid of them. His departure was a quiet thing, and his journey back to the coast was as fast as he could make it. He would have greatly appreciated another night spent in the gambling dens of Lions Bay, but with how his last visit in the harbor town turned out, he decided to forgo the trip. It would not do to have Sir Bellerdyn slay half the town while my niece screamed in terror...

    Owyn had also been quiet since their departure. Their relationship had grown rocky since the events of Elderstone. Masquerading as Alister Boulson, inquiring after the jade, torturing poor Canton...it all seemed to weigh heavy on the guardsmen. Lyndon came to regret letting the man in on that part of his life. He often wondered why he did as of late. He did his best to keep Owyn (and the rest of his family, for that matter) oblivious to his affairs in Jorden. It was easy when they were across the sea in a different kingdom, and all he knew of it was what he read in letters. It was a different thing to journey to the kingdom itself. Aye, a dangerous thing too. Maybe that's why he brought Owyn along. There was no one he knew as good with a sword as Owyn was. He felt safe with the man, the man he called his friend when they were boys. He hoped that friendship wasn't tarnished now because of this fateful trip.

    He sighed, and went back to the captain's wheel, where Ander Granmund talked with the captain of the Fever's Dream, Captain Phillip Roche. The young knight-captain agreed to see Lyndon safely into the Emerald Sea. His own ship, A Thousand Victories, sailed close behind, awaiting the arrival of their captain. Captain Roche said something to Ander that made him laugh, and his laugh was a splendid and genuine thing. Ander smiled at him when Lyndon approached, and there was still a trace of laughter in his blue ocean eyes. "Lord Lyndon! We were just talking about you."

    Lyndond fashioned himself an uneasy smile. "All good things, I hope."

    Ander nodded. "As ever, my Lord. I couldn't imagine anyone having a bad thing to say about you."

    Lyndon smirked. Oh believe me, my friend, there are plenty out there who have some ill words saved for me. " I appreciate the kind words, though there are those who might not share your sentiment. Need I remind you of Lord Deien and our fateful game of cards?"

Ander nodded. "Lord Deien walked himself into that mess. To accuse a virtuous man such as yourself of cheating at a game of cards, well...he was asking for it at that point."

The manner of which Ander spoke seemed to suggest mockery, Lyndon noticed. He was pleasant and amiable enough in how he said it, but still, Lyndon had learned to read men as if they were books. He'd have to turn a few more of Ander's pages before he could accurately say for certain.

Lyndon smiled. "Nights such as those I try my best to avoid. Game night's should be full of laughter and gold, not blood and broken bones."

"Night's like those are why men like me scant play cards. I've known many men who have fallen victim to a card game gone wrong. It's some good fortune you had Sir Bellerdyn there to protect you. My oath to the Order of Ships would have prevented me from interfering. The sea is the only master I serve."

"The sea is a fickle mistress, I've heard many a sailor say. There might be fair winds and following seas one morning, but a storm sure to capsize you might follow the next."

Ander laughed. "That's the beauty of it. Everyday is exciting when you don't know what to expect."

Lyndon had to agree. When he was a boy, he often daydreamed of joining the Arnish Naval Regiment. Traveling the seas had always been an exciting notion that called to him, and it was a call he would have answered had not both his older brothers forsaken their inheritance to the Rosewood, and left him to rule. It was then he realized that gold had a stronger calling than the sea. "I must say I envy you, Captain Granmund. Your life as a knight-captain does sound thrilling."

A smile tugged at Ander's lips. "'Thrilling lives often have thrilling ends,' my father Lord Byron used to say. At first, I thought he meant to discourage me from earning my commission in the Order of Ships when he said that. Surely he'd want me home safe, ruling in his stead while he attended to the needs of the Kingdom and it's coin. I've now come to think that perhaps he was jealous."

Lyndon raised an eyebrow. "Jealous? How so?"

Ander shrugged. "My father's the Lord of Commerce for the Royal Squadron. He spends his days signing papers, raising taxes, and counting coins. It's dreadfully dull work, counting another man's coppers. I'd imagine such a life would lead one to crave excitement in any way he could find it."

Lyndon had half a mind to remind Ander he was the Royal Treasurer for the Arnish court himself, and that it was a noble pursuit to ensure the King's coffers and levies were in good hands. The other half of his mind suggested to him that Ander meant that as a slight against him, and that the young knight-captain was indeed mocking him. Before he could say anything, Ander spoke up again.

"I think we've sailed far enough. Our territories end not too far away, and it'll soon be Valdorian waters you tread. I should see to my men and rejoin my crew. It has been a pleasure, Lord Lyndon." He held out his hand.

Lyndon forced himself to smile and took his hand with a firm grasp. "You as well, Captain Granmund."

Ander left him to assemble his men and prepared to disembark the Fever's Dream. Lyndon was happy to see him go. The Ander he remembered from his youth was not the same man he had come to know. But then again, he was sure Ander could say the same about himself. Lyndon sighed, and left for the main deck. He would skulk off to his own quarters soon enough for a glass of wine and a book, but not before ensuring the Fever's Dream was properly seen too.

Owyn was speaking with some of the crew around the mast, pointing at some of the sails that bore the sigil of House Thornshield, a single red rose flanked by two swords on a field of green. He met Lyndon's eyes as he approached. "My Lord," Owyn said with a slight bow of his head.

Lyndon looked around at the crew of men around him. He didn't know a single one of their names, and yet he spent nearly three weeks with them as they spirited him away to Jorden. "Captain Bellerdyn, good sailors. I hope I'm not intruding."

Owyn shook his head cordially. "Never, my Lord. We were discussing whether or not it would be wise to lower the sails that bear your family's sigil."

Lyndon did not find that wise at all. "Why would we do that? That sigil protects us, and let's those who may trifle with us that they trifle with House Thornshield of Arnland."

Owny nodded. "Exactly. The Four Kingdoms are at war, and members of a house such as yours make high valued captives. Our escort ends when Jordein waters do. Perhaps if we sailed about under the guise of a merchant ship, our luck would be better."

"Even merchants fall victim to pirate schemes, Captain. If pirates are to bother us, they'll bother us, regardless of what sigil flies on the mast. I will consider your notions, however. Perhaps there is some wisdom in it."

Lyndon could see that pleased Owyn, even if it was just a little bit. He had taken greath lengths to keep the captain in good standing. Their relationship was in need of repairs, and it was an ill thing for the captain of your guard to have little love for the man he protected.

Owyn bowed his head. "Thank you, Lord Lyndon. I'm sure you'll make a wise decision."

Lyndon was sure he would, and in due time. First, he wanted to see Ander safely disembark his ship. It would not do if the knight-captain felt slighted or spurned by Lyndon's absence. His ship had come as close as she dared, and a long wooden plank was laid atop the two ship's railings, hooked in so that the plank would not falter and cause them to fall. Ander and the two of his men he brought aboard were saying farewell to the crew. He kissed Jenna on the cheek politely, and she gave him a courteous smile. "Fare thee well, Lady Stormwell. I pray you have a safe voyage."

"Thank you, Ander," Jenna said warmly.

Ander turned to Lyndon. "Lord Thornshield, it has been a pleasure. I do hope that-" he stopped, and his gaze wandered out to the sea. His eyes squinted as he tried to make something out. "What?"

Lyndon furrowed his brow. "What is it?" He turned around to find whatever it was Ander saw. Just a ways away was another ship sailing for them, sails high in the air that bore no sigil.

"That's a ship of my fleet," said Ander. "That's Valor's Mistress. What's she doing out here?"

Lyndon felt his nerves untangle, and a wave of relief rushed through him. "You know the ship?"

    Ander nodded. "I do, it's under the command of Captain Malladyn. He's on leave, last I heard. Have one of your men raise the hailing flag. I would speak with them." Ander went to the other side of the deck, his hand raised to hail the ship. One of Lyndon's crewmen went to the mast, and raised the white triangular flag that ships used to hail other seafaring vessels so that they might speak, trade, or share news. The ship didn't raise theirs in return. Lyndon found that odd. He could scant see a crew on the deck, and saw only a man by the wheel. He was looking at them, his face hidden beneath a helm of leather and cloth. Lyndon felt his throat tighten. He did not like this one bit.

    Ander was still by the other railing, his hand raised high in the air. "This is strange. Why aren't they-" There was a loud boom that echoed in the sky. A cannonball took the knight-captain in the chest, and turned him into a mess of red pulp and splintered bone. Ander went flying towards them and over the railing into the shimmering blue sea below.

They stood there for a brief moment, as if time itself had stopped. Lyndon looked to where Ander was just standing, by the broken rail of fractured wood. He had been standing there only a moment ago, and now he was gone. How strange was that?

Suddenly, someone had him by the shoulders and shoved him down to the deck. It was Owyn, strong brave Owyn, yelling something Lyndon could not hear. His and Anders men were scrambling about the ship, taking up defensive positions by the starboard side. There were loud crashes of thunder, lots of yelling and cursing, and bits of splintered wood flying around in the air. Lyndon was sure he heard Jenabelle screaming off in the distance somewhere. Owyn's grip around his neck loosened, and the captain ran off shouting something Lyndon couldn't make out. Don't leave me, Lyndon nearly whimpered. Not now...

There was a creaking sound, a cracking of wood, the sound of a great wooden giant bemoaning it's death. It was coming from the left, not too far from where Lyndon was curled up. It took more strength than it should have, but Lyndon finally found the courage to look at where the noise came from. It was the mast, swaying ominously, wooden guts splintered about, displaced by a particularly lucky cannonball. It would only be a few more moans until the giant wooden beam would topple over into the bloody blue sea below. He was going to die, Lyndon realized soberingly. He had never considered himself to be afraid of death, and often cited death as a new beginning. Beginnings typically followed endings, however, and he was not ready for this life to end.

He heard someone screaming just then. It was a woman, but she sounded like a girl. It was a little girl he had always known, a little girl he swore to care for. She was alone now, and she needed him more than ever.

Jenna clung to the railing, her eyes red and puffy and wet. She was calling for him, Lyndon realized. Beneath all the noise, he heard her, crying for him. He clambered to his feet as quick as he could, and ran to her.

"Why?" was all Jenna said when Lyndon took her in his arms. "Why is this happening?"

Lyndon looked around. The Fever's Dream was in ruin, torn apart and covered in blood. The ship that opened fire on them drew closer, and wooden planks were shoved from their decks to the Dreams'. Men from the other boat came pouring over, stabbing and slashing anything their blades could find.

Lyndon turned back to Jenna. "My love, we've got to go!"

"Where?" Jenna cried. "We're on a bloody ship in the middle of the ocean!"

Lyndon somehow forgot to take that into consideration. His thoughts were lost between the metallic clashes of steel on steel, the creaking and moaning of swaying wood, and the splashes of water that came when a body broke the surface. Owyn was in the center of the deck, hacking and slashing away, commanding his men and defending their ship. He was so much like Gallador and Gareth. Lyndon wished he himself were more like that.

"Jenna," Lyndon said after he collected his thoughts. "You've got to hide somewhere. I don't know who these people are, but I'm certain they're after me and not you. You've got to find somewhere to hide, and you must stay there, no matter what."

"But why?" Jenna asked hopelessly. "Why are these men after you?"

Lyndon knew he couldn't tell her the real reason. Even he didn't know the real reason, but he had some suspicion. Still, the less sweet Jenabelle knew, the better. "Just call it a hunch," Lyndon said absently. "Now go!"

Jenna wiped away a tear and nodded. She quickly ducked in through the door that led to their sleeping quarters. Lyndon remembered playing hide and seek with her when she was a young girl. She was almost impossible to find, and always found the most inspired and hidden places to conceal herself. He prayed to the gods above that would be the case here.

Another cannonball slammed into the railing next to him, and splintered wood went flying in the air. Lyndon kept his head down as best he could to avoid ending up like poor Ander. His heart was racing in his chest, beating at a pace he never thought possible. It was a similar feeling to what he felt the night he first confronted Canton Perellister. The only thing he could possibly think to do was find Owyn, and cling to his side. That was easier said than done.

Owyn was on the ground, grunting and flailing about while someone aboved him pinned him there, big burly hands enclosed around the captain's throat. Spit flew from between clenched teeth, and Owyn's face was red as a tomato. Lyndon looked around desperately for anything. Most of his other guardsmen were hacked to pieces or fallen overboard. The last few who still stood were wounded and cut up, and would not last much longer. Lyndon spotted a sword on the ground in the hand of one of his guardsmen. He didn't know the man's name. He felt as though he should have. The man gave his life defending him, and he didn't even know his name. If he survived this, he would ensure his next iteration of guardsmen would be better cared for.

Lyndon grabbed the sword clumsily, and held it awkwardly in both fists. None of the assailants paid him much mind, and focused rather on exterminating the rest of his protective force. He was both relieved and offended by that. He could be just as dangerous as anyone with a blade, and no one would know any better. He just wished that were the case. Swords were an awkward thing to him, and steel never looked upon him favorably as it had to his two older brothers. If only he were more like them.

Owyn was still locked in a wrestling match with one of the assailant sailors. He was clawing desperately at the man's face, which was hidden beneath a cloth mask, while the man had his neck in his arms, choking him until his breath waned completely. Owyn jerked and scratched, but his movements grew slower with every passing second. Lyndon had to act now! If he could save Owyn, maybe then Sir Bellerdyn could save everyone else. He knew Owyn could, Gallador and Gareth would have been able to, and Owyn was just like them. Lyndon tightened his grip around the hilt of the sword, and with a crazed look in his eye, ran at the man choking Owyn, blade raised high over his shoulder, a battle cry forming in his throat.

The man looked up as Lyndon came at him, but was too slow to do anything about the swing of the blade. It buried itself into the side of his head just above the eye. Lyndon had been aiming for the neck, but that worked too, he supposed. Owyn broke free of the man's limp grasp, and sucked down as much air as his lungs would allow. His neck was red and raw, and his face was smeared with blood. "My-my-my lord-" Owyn said, choking on his words. "My lord, we must-" an arrow pierced his shoulder, and the captain fell backwards. He let out the type of scream one would expect to hear from an animal ensnared in a trap. Lyndon looked to where the arrow came from. A man in black held a bow, his face covered by a veil of black cloth. They were everywhere. All of his men were dead, every single one of them. The ship was a ruin, and the bow slowly descended into the water beneath them. That was odd. Lyndon hadn't noticed that before.

"My lord," Lyndon heard Owyn cry on the ground. He was slumped against the railing, an arrow sprouting from his shoulder. "My lord, you must run!"

Lyndon wholeheartedly agreed, but where was he supposed to run to? The men in black were everywhere, surrounding him like a thin crescent of shadow. Who were they? Were they Lord Deien's men? Was he still upset over a lost game of cards? Were they men of Canton's? Did he inspire such fierce loyalty that this shadowy group of skilled assassins had come seeking vengeance? Lyndon would have laughed at that notion had his life not been in immediate danger.

They stared at him but said nothing. Lyndon could feel their eyes beneath their black cowls. They seemed to be waiting, but for what, Lyndon had not the slightest clue.

Lyndon had to say something. He had to be brave, he had to find a way to spare his and Owyn's life. If the Gods were good, they wouldn't find Jenna. Lyndon took a deep breath, and found his voice. "Who are you? What is it you want? My father will hear about this, and your lives will be forfeit! Do you have any idea who I am!"

"We do," said one of the men in black, though Lyndon had no idea as to who said it.

Lyndon took a hard nervous swallow. "Then you understand that you have committed heinous crimes against House Thornshield of Arnland, and that you will taste the harsh justice of King Ryken Gartheyn?"

No one said anything.

"If you let us go," Lyndon continued uneasily, "then you will face no retribution. My surviving company and I will travel back to Arnland, and shall never return." That had to be what they wanted, he hoped.

Still, the men said nothing.

"I-I-I have lots of gold," Lyndon stuttered out. "I have more gold than I know what to do with. It's yours, all of it, every single piece! Just let us go...please."

Still, the men said nothing.

"My lord," Owyn said calmly through a strained breath. "I don't think they want gold."

A thick and black silence settled over them, accompanied only by the sounds of the gentle waves beneath them.

"Take him," said a dark voice, though whomever it was, Lyndon had not the slightest clue.

Two of the figures came towards him. Lyndon took a step back, hand raised before him. "Stay away from me!" he cried. "I swear, if you lay a hand on me, you'll regret it!"

Owyn struggled to his feet. "Don't come any closer." He did his best to raise his sword, but he could scant raise it higher than past his knees. The men in black ignored both of their warnings, and were just within arms reach. Lyndon locked eyes with Owyn. They were blue and sad, the eyes of a defeated man about to die. Owyn let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Lord Thornshield."

A man in black grabbed Owyn by the throat and threw his fist into the captain's face. He did that quite a few times until Owyn's nose had fractured and covered his face in blood. The captain's eyes were dim and hazy, and he was held upright by the man in black. The man in black gave the captain a shove, and he went falling overboard.

"Owyn," Lyndon whimpered. He looked to the sea of black faces. "You'll regret this! All of you!"

Just then, the door to the commons blew open, and two more men came out carrying a weeping and writhing Jenna. They found her...

"Uncle!" Jenna was crying. "Uncle, help me! Stop them! Please!"

Lyndon watched as they carried her away to the other ship. I'm so sorry, my love. One of the men in black leaned into the ear of another. "Let the tea-maker know that we found the garden. Tell him to expect a bouquet of roses for his birthday soon enough."

"Yes sir." The man in black did a strange sort of salute, and held a single finger up to where Lyndon supposed his mouth was. The rest of the men in black retreated towards their ship, save for three of them.

"Where are you taking me?" Lyndon asked desperately. They didn't answer him. One pulled out a small vial from his robe. It was filled with a clear liquid. He nodded to the other two that stayed with him. They nodded back, and grabbed Lyndon with powerful hands. They held down his arms with one and grabbed his jaw and forced his mouth open with the other. Lyndon let out a panicked cry, but it did nothing to deter them. The man in black with the vial uncorked it, and let the clear liquid pour into Lyndon's mouth. It didn't taste like anything, Lyndon noticed, but that didn't stop him from trying to spit it out. A hand clamped over his mouth like iron, Lyndon was left with no option but to swallow it. He choked and gagged, and his throat burned. The men were speaking to each other, but Lyndon couldn't make out a word they said. A cool blackness overtook him, and it carried him away.