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.”
He hung the ladle back on the side of the barrel. Theros took down the ladle, drank thirstily. He had been in the sun all afternoon, and had not noticed that he was beginning to become dehydrated. He took another long drink, put the ladle back.
From beneath the forecastle, the captain emerged onto the main deck. He took a few steps forward and began to survey the rigging and masts. His eyes seemed to move in slow motion as he scanned every knot and block of rigging, every bolt of sail.
The guardsman beside Theros shivered slightly. Nervous hands plucked at his clothing. He climbed down to the main deck. Turning from the ladder, he took two steps forward, putting him only a pace behind the captain. The minotaur did not see or hear the human. Reaching inside his shirt, the man pulled out a knife.
Later, Theros would often wonder why he did what he did. Perhaps it was because the captain had praised his courage. Perhaps it was that he felt no man-or minotaur-should die from a stab in the back.
Theros yelled at the top of his lungs. “Captain! Behind you!”
The captain turned just as the guardsman’s knife plunged down. The natural reflexes of the warrior let Kavas sidestep the attack, and at the same time pull his knife from its scabbard. The human and the minotaur stood facing each other, both in a fighting stance, knives brandished. All work on the ship stopped.
The warriors on the rear deck of the ship rushed forward to get a better look. The two other officers stood near the forecastle, each armed with a battle-axe. No one interfered with the fight, however. It was the captain’s right to kill this would-be assassin.
The human and the minotaur circled each other. Passing by the foremast, the man grabbed a three-foot-long shoring peg out of a hole. He now had two weapons. Half a revolution more and the human made his move. He lunged forward with the knife, holding the peg-now a makeshift club-to ward off any blow. The captain dodged the thrust and swung his own weapon. The man batted the knife away, but the swing had been a feint. The captain brought his knee up and smashed it into the man’s chest.
The man dropped his weapons and crumpled to the deck. He rolled to the side, clutching his chest and gasping for air, and then he stopped moving. The captain stood above him, ready and waiting. Moments passed. The man lay still. Finally, the captain put his knife away. The other two officers walked forward. One turned the human onto his back. He was dead.
The captain, suddenly remembering the cry that had saved his life, turned to look at Theros. He nodded once to the boy, then marched back into the cabin below the forecastle. The other two officers followed their captain back into the cabin. The dead man was left on the deck.
Timpan and Heretos scrambled forward from the rigging to where the man lay. They both looked up at Theros, then back to the dead man. Both shook their heads. Theros couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but he saw the other slaves on board glaring at him with hatred. The two foremen lifted the body and shuffled to the port side of the ship. Heretos shut the man’s eyes, then they lifted the body over the side rail and let it fall to the sea below. No one said a word.
Theros watched as the body bobbed in the sea behind the moving ship, finally losing sight of it as it slipped beneath the waves.
“What-” Theros said to himself miserably, “what have I done?”
Chapter 4
Theros woke with a start. He shook his head and tried to peer into the gloom. He did not recognize his surroundings and could not for the life of him remember how he had gotten to be where he was. The floor refused to stay still. First, he slid to his left, then moments later to his right. Everywhere around him were hushed voices, mumbling in the dark. Suddenly, he remembered the events of the previous two days.
His eyes began to adjust. It was not as dark as he had first thought. He could make out hammocks slung around, and berths along either side of the cabin. He had been assigned to a berth along the port side. There were more men than sleeping places, but that worked out, because some of the men were always on night watch. When the watches shifted, they would trade places in the berths. No one had to worry about who had what berth or hammock, as they were all functionally identical. As slaves, they owned nothing, and therefore could not claim one over another.
The voices he had heard weren’t voices at all, he realized. It was the sound of the waves slapping against the side of the ship.
Theros sat up, trying to recall the noise that had awakened him. He heard the hatch above open, and saw someone slowly climb down the ladder. The figure made no sound at all, which was strange, considering that he wore armor and more weapons than the boy could believe possible. The figure moved directly toward Theros. If anyone else was awake, no one stirred.
As the figure came closer, Theros could see that this was a minotaur, but no ordinary minotaur. He was massive, with huge horns. He wore leather armor with gold accoutrements hammered into it. Theros had learned his lesson, and did not move or say anything. The minotaur went straight up to Theros’s bunk, and finding that the boy was awake, motioned for Theros to follow him.
Theros clamored down to the floor, and followed the giant minotaur up the ladder and onto the forecastle. No one was in sight. What had happened to the night crew? The minotaur pointed to a crate for Theros to sit. He sat, looked up expectantly at the huge being. Theros remembered Aldvin’s advice: Don’t let them see you are afraid. He clasped his hands together tightly.
You do not know who I am, do you? The minotaur spoke, but the words made no sound. They made their impact only in Theros’s mind, and nowhere else.
Theros shook his head.
You may speak here with me. I am not a member of the crew of this ship. I am Sargas. I watch over the minotaurs, among others.
Theros opened his mouth. “I am-”
Stop, little human. I know who you are, and what you are. You are one of my children. Do you know of the gods, young Theros?
“There are no gods, sir,” Theros answered. “The man in our village says that the old gods left us after the Cataclysm and that-”
Enough! The minotaur growled and looked very fierce. I know of men who say such things. They call themselves Seekers in human tongue. They say that they are the only clerics left on Krynn.
Let me tell you what you need to know of the gods, little Theros. There is only one god you need to concern yourself with. That is the god who rules your life, and that is me. I am Sargas, god of minotaurs, and god of honor, warfare and revenge. Worship me, Theros, as I am your master of masters.
Theros looked quizzically at the minotaur. “You are not a god, you are a minotaur. I don’t understand.” A thought came to him, something the Seeker had said. “If you’re a god, prove it to me.”
Rage contorted the giant warrior’s face. His voice thundered, though he never made a sound. You truly do not know anything about gods, do you, little Theros? It is up to mortals to prove themselves to me, to prove that they have the honor to be recognized by me, to prove that they have the warrior skills and the devious mind of tacticians.