Black Tide

Sebastian deflected a blow off the edge of his broadsword and stepped inside his assailant’s guard, delivering a hard elbow to his stomach. The attacker staggered backwards, and Sebastian deftly knocked the sword out of his hand and brought the tip of his own to the man’s throat with a flourish.

“Yield?” Sebastian asked.

“Curse the pantheon and the sad sack of a man who fathered you,” Malton grumbled.

Sebastian laughed. “Sure, but do you yield?”

Malton swore again, but there was no getting around the point of Sebastian’s sword, and his anger never lasted long. He could explode like one of the distant volcanoes when his fury was aroused, but the magma that ran in his veins cooled just as quickly. “Yes, yes, I yield. I swear you’ve gotten faster since the last time we sparred.”

Sebastian shrugged and sheathed his sword. Most of the garrison used wooden practice swords in the training yard, but Waller, their grizzled garrison commander, liked his officers to use live blades. Said it promoted a healthier respect for the consequences of the pointy end of swords. Sebastian agreed. Nothing focused his attention like a sparring match with real steel, and Malton was one of his best opponents.

Malton had spent the first half of his life apprenticing to a blacksmith and brawling in taverns for fun before Sebastian, who had joined the garrison young, convinced him to follow his passion for violence and sign up to become part of Avalon’s city garrison. They’d been as close as brothers ever since.

Waller appeared like a ghost behind Malton. The burly man jumped when their commander barked at them.

“Sebastian, Malton. Get cleaned up, then see me in my office.”

“Yes, sir!” Sebastian and Malton said in unison. When Waller told you to dig a ditch, your only acceptable responses were, “Yes, sir,” and “How deep, sir?”

The two friends hurried to clean the dirt and sweat off their bodies, change clothes, and report to their commander, who looked like he’d been waiting for them. Sebastian sniffed, and thought he smelled a faint whiff of liquor in the air. He stiffened his spine. Waller only drank when he carried bad news.

 ”I won’t waste your time. The two of you are my most talented warriors, probably too talented to be serving in a small city garrison. The truth is, you stay here, and you’d spend most of your time breaking up bar fights or chasing down petty criminals. Now, there’s no dishonor in that kind of life, and honestly, I think it’s a good one, but I can’t withhold an opportunity for more from you.”

Sebastian wondered what kind of opportunity required a stiff drink to work up the courage to share, and then decided he’d rather not know.

Waller continued, “I received a missive from Black Tide today. They’re holding trials in Canton three days from now, and they expect candidates from Avalon to attend. You two are my best, and I wanted to give you the opportunity first. If you decline, I’m happy to send others in your stead. The trials are rumored to be extremely dangerous, so there’s no shame in declining.”

Sebastian got the feeling Waller would be happy for them to decline, though he couldn’t come out and say it directly.

His mind raced. Black Tide was the mercenary outfit. A giant, independent standing army that could turn the tide of any conflict, if either side could afford them. Their prowess in combat was partly due to their strict recruiting, of which there were many legends and few certainties, but mostly due to the blessings of Nautilus. Being recruited meant years of dangerous service, for though Black Tide was expensive, they were the best, and there was no shortage of would-be rulers willing to pay for the best. But those who survived would never want for money or glory.

Neither appealed to Sebastian, whose mind was already made up. Malton, though, looked like a dog staring at a bone.

“Anything else?” Sebastian asked, before his friend literally started drooling with anticipation.

“Not for Malton. I’d like a word with you in private, though, Sebastian.”

Malton spared his friend a quick glance but left the room without another word.

Waller waited until the door was firmly closed, and then he sighed. “Your father was the one who served as emissary for Black Tide. He might have even initiated contact with them in the first place. There’s no reason for them to be out here on their own. Canton and the surrounding areas are too full of beggars and refugees already, but there aren’t many warriors this far out. I don’t like the way this smells, and I wish I knew what your father intended.”

Sebastian swore. His father had been a member of the garrison years ago. Their best fighter, and it wasn’t even close, right up until the day a training accident severed the nerves in his sword arm. The garrison had allowed him to retire early with a meager salary, but that money all went into Father’s failing business. He understood the sword better than he did people, and he struggled to sell whatever wares he thought he could trade. It was Sebastian’s pay that supported their family.

The accident had destroyed Father’s arm, but it had twisted his soul. Sebastian still remembered the man who had raised him and taught him the basics of the sword. A man as noble as they came, proud and virtuous. Those honorable traits lingered, but Father thought too much about what might have been, and he blamed the gods for stealing his future. He tried hard to provide for his family, but his income and Sebastian’s together just barely paid for food and shelter. Father still dreamed of providing the life for his family he felt they deserved, but now he pursued it through his firstborn.

“He’s been in my ear about Black Tide since I started to show promise as a warrior,” Sebastian said.

“But that is not your wish?” Waller asked.

“To fight for coin? Use my talents to protect whoever can afford me rather than who needs it most? No, that is not my wish.” Sebastian snapped his mouth shut, lest the frustration of a years-long argument with his father boil over onto his commanding officer.

Waller leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “It’s not my place to come between father and son, but I know you would make an excellent garrison commander. It doesn’t pay as much, and the glory is far less, but the role would suit you well. If you stay, when my time here is done, I’d be pleased to nominate you.”

 ”Thank you, sir, that means the world to me.”

+++

When he entered their modest home, he caught Father pacing their small living room. Father slowed to a stop as Sebastian fixed him with a glare.

Father at least gave him the courtesy of not playing coy. He saw the look on his son's face and said, “You've heard, then.”

“Of course I heard. Waller summoned Malton and I today after training. Gave us the first opportunity to throw our names in the ring.”

Father broke out in a smile. “About time! Knowing Waller, I thought he'd try to talk you out of it. I've already made arrangements for travel. We'll leave first thing in the morning.”

“I'm not going,” Sebastian said.

Father’s face froze, the smile stuck on his face even as his eyes flashed. “What do you mean, you're not going?”

“My plan is the same as it's always been. Once Waller resigns, I'll take his post as garrison commander. He as good as promised it to me.”

Sebastian’s father slammed his fist on a nearby table, causing both Sebastian and Mother to jump. Father's nostrils flared, but he took several breaths before unleashing his anger.

“That cursed lump of waste should know better than to stick his nose in private affairs!”

Sebastian interrupted before Father really started rolling. “It's my decision, Father. It always has been. Garrison commander is a good life. We'd always have meat for the table, and its necessary work. With times as tough as they are, I’d be a fool to pass it up.”

“It's work a brain-dead, limp-wristed blacksmith could do. You could be so much more! Black Tide brings money and glory, sure, but that's not what matters. It's about testing yourself and seeing what you can become. You'll never become all that you could be sitting on your hands here in Avalon.”

“None of that means anything if I'm dead, and I can serve more people here.”

Father waved his hand, as though clearing the air from a foul smell. “When will you wake up, boy? You've been talking about 'serving' for years, as though the greatest honor a man could earn is cleaning another man's feet. I can respect your intent well enough, but it's childish. Garrison commander would let you scrape by, but not much else. Look at your mentor. His children will need to apprentice young if they want to make their way in their world.”

Father stepped closer. “You want to serve? Then serve, but serve those that matter. Serve your family, and your future children, and their children. Black Tide will pay you so that your kids and their kids won’t have to worry about any of this! With money like that, we can buy an estate outside of Avalon and start growing our wealth. You could take care of me and your mom, your sisters, and your ancestors. Stop being so selfish!”

Father’s outburst caught Sebastian flat-footed. Like the master swordsman he'd once been, Father had struck him from a direction he hadn't expected. This wasn't a man who felt a need to make up for his unexpectedly short career through Sebastian’s talent. This was a man who saw greater things for his son than his son saw for himself.

Maybe it was Sebastian who was being selfish, who was being small-minded. He felt like he'd been hit across the side of his head with the flat of a sword.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that, Father. I just, I’ve always wanted to use my strength to help others. Selling my sword—”

“I know, son, I know. But sometimes the larger picture is harder to see. Your family, the ones you have now and those to come, that’s who you need to help.”

Mother chose that moment to step in.

“This is Sebastian’s choice, my love. We can’t make it for him.” She held up her hand to forestall his father’s protests. “That being said, Sebastian, you can’t really make this decision without at least seeing what Black Tide is all about. Your father put a lot of effort into securing Black Tide’s interest in Avalon. You should at least go to the trials before you decide.”

It was a waste of time and money, neither of which they had to spare, but he was thinking now. Maybe with the Black Tide he'd finally be able to find someone, settle down, and start a family. Maybe, if he was good enough, he'd even find some way to ascend, just like Nautilus had.

It was unlikely, but possible. There was no limit with Black Tide, and the ceiling was very close to his head here in Avalon.

In the end, it was the hopeful stares of his parents that broke him. They wanted this for him, and they'd always guided him well enough in the past. It couldn't hurt to look, especially if it meant so much. He nodded. “Very well. We can at least take a look.”

Father's grin returned, and his eyes shone. “I’ll come with you, lad, and we can leave if you decide it’s not for you. Just please, promise me that you’ll keep an open mind.”

“I can promise you that,” Sebastian said.

+++

Canton was easily twice as crowded as Sebastian had ever seen it before. Between the Tiders and the hopefuls, it wouldn’t have surprised him if Canton’s walls collapsed outward from trying to contain too many rowdy souls. They reached the city the morning of the trials, and there was an energy in the air, stronger even than the feeling of mid-summer festival.

As they rode into town, Sebastian pitied many of the other hopefuls. He was strong and well-fed, and if he failed, he could return to Avalon and live a life of relative comfort. Many here had come not because they were great warriors, but because they were desperate. Thin and haggard bodies filled the streets, willing to risk everything for a chance at three solid meals a day. He suspected none would pass the trials, whatever form they took. The Tiders didn’t accept any but the best. That much was clear just from walking down the streets.

The Tiders roamed in packs of four, safe from any foolishness desperate candidates might stoop to. They roamed about in sleeveless, midnight black leather armor. Anything heavier was likely a waste of weight for those blessed with Nautilus’s durability. While the armor was uniform, each Tider carried whatever weapon they were best with, whether that be broadsword, axe, or dagger.

The Tiders were united by more than just their armor, though. In each squad, there was at least one mercenary whose eyes were flecked with blue, whose gaze was as bottomless as the ocean, a commander whose mere presence made Sebastian’s hair stand on end. They were blessed by Nautilus himself, and Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to cross swords with them.

The time of the trials neared, and a tide rose in the city, not of water, but of candidates, hopeful that their time had come. They flowed as one toward the arena near the center of the city, funneled through the main gates like sheep herded before wolves. Sebastian, Father, and Malton stabled their horses and joined the crowd as it pressed toward the arena. They entered not long before noon and Sebastian took a look around.

The last time he’d been in the arena, it had been as a spectator on one of the countless long wooden benches. Today, though, there were no spectators. Arcane symbols had been painted around the perimeter of the short wall that separated warriors from the stands, which Sebastian assumed were some sort of blessing from Nautilus. As the city bells struck noon, the massive main gate was closed behind the last of the hopefuls.

A chill ran up Sebastian’s spine as Tiders marched into the stands, forming a ring of spectators three deep around the arena. He told himself it was the thrill of anticipation, and he almost believed it.

As one, every Tider turned at the arrival of another man, who appeared from a dark stairway that emerged halfway up the stands.

At least, he looked like a man, but if the rumors were true, he’d left his humanity behind years ago and ascended to something more. Nautilus was unassuming at first glance, a man with an average build, a shaved head, and a close-cropped beard. On closer inspection, however, Sebastian noted that every muscle on his body was etched like a stone carving. Sebastian couldn’t make out his eyes from here, but he expected he’d get lost in their depths faster than he’d get lost in the middle of the ocean Nautilus had ascended from.

He knew, very suddenly, that he shouldn’t be here. That this was a mistake. He turned to his father to pull him away, but Father’s face was locked on Nautilus’s form.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said to Malton.

The words had barely escaped his lips when Nautilus spoke. The ascended warrior didn’t shout, didn’t even raise his voice, as far as Sebastian could tell, but it echoed between his ears and rattled his bones all the same. His knees quaked like they had when he’d first trained sword with his father, so many years ago. Now, like then, he understood true superiority.

“Let the trials commence!” Nautilus said.

Every eye looked up to him, and he gestured to the crowd, as if the meaning of his words was obvious. “The last one of you standing joins the Black Tide. Good luck.”

Sebastian stared up with all the others, doubting what he’d heard. But the silence only lasted a moment, and then chaos erupted.

Men and women screamed, shouted, and cursed as swords, axes and pikes were brought to bear. Steel rang out against steel and was muffled by flesh. Sebastian lost track of Malton as he brought his sword up to parry a clumsy blow from a boy beside him. The boy looked too young to have even known the touch of a woman, and he was armed with nothing more than a long, thick stick.

Sebastian wanted to yell at the boy to stop, that attacking him was madness, and that there had to be a better way, but the youth pressed forward again. Sebastian deflected another blow and then slapped the bridge of the boy’s nose with the flat of his sword, hoping to knock some sense into him.

Instead, he stunned the boy long enough for another hopeful to run him through from behind.

Sebastian stared at the spear jutting through the boy’s chest, his mind still unable to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. His heart beat two more times, and then his combat instincts, honed from years of patrol, settled over him. He’d never been in a fight like this, but he was no stranger to violence. He looked around for his father, and as he cast about, he happened to look up at the platform where Nautilus stood.

He could have sworn the ascended warrior stared right at him.

“Sebastian!” His father’s voice cut through the chaos with the practiced volume of an officer.

Sebastian ran toward his father, who was fending off an attacker with only his knife in his left hand.

“Leave him! He’s not even a contender!” Sebastian cried out.

But it was too late.

Father, still quick on his feet, dodged the attacker’s overly aggressive swing and drove his knife into the man’s chest. It missed the heart, but Father stabbed again and again until the bloody work was done. They went to the ground together, but Father rose, a stranger’s blood across his chest and a light in his eyes Sebastian hadn’t seen for years.

“We need to find a way out,” Sebastian said. They were near the edge of the fighting, but the worst of the conflict traveled around the arena, and it wouldn’t be long before they were swallowed by it again.

Father shook his head. “There is no way out. The doors are sealed, and the Tiders surrounding us aren’t just an audience. We fight, and you’ll win. I know you have the skill, and even though all I have is a knife and a bad arm, I’ll help you as long as I can. For our family.”

“But Malton is here!”

“And he may die at another’s hand. But if it comes to you or him, I know you’ll choose well.”

Sebastian couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but his choice was ripped from him as the battle swept over him and Father. A large man, who looked like he’d never turned down a meal in his life, figured his two swords were more than a match for Sebastian’s lone blade. Sebastian blocked two rapid blows from the dual swords and then a great axe sheared the man’s head off. A splash of warm blood coated Sebastian’s face, and he coughed and spit as Malton took his side.

Sebastian blocked the next blow that came for him and then parried another. His assailant retreated, and the moment he did, Malton was on him with his axe, swinging so hard he knocked the weapons from the surprised man’s hands. He turned to run, but Malton buried the axe in his back.

Considering the number of bodies that had started in the arena, the battle didn’t last long. The space was too small to hide, and before long only a handful of warriors remained. Blood and bodies made footwork challenging, but by unspoken agreement, Malton and Sebastian fought side by side, keeping Father safe. They finished another pair of warriors, two older men with actual training, and then Sebastian saw it was only him and Malton and a pair of swordsmen dueling across the arena.

“Sebastian!” Father shouted.

Sebastian shifted away as an axe came for his head, and he swore the weapon’s edge came close enough to his scalp to trim his already short hair. He stumbled over a body, found his balance, and retreated farther away. “Malton?”

His friend’s only answer was a quick advance, the axe almost too fast to see. Instinct took over, and Sebastian’s sword flashed under the noonday sun. With swords, Sebastian was easily better, but the gap between their skill was much less when Malton had an axe in hand. Sebastian opened wounds in his friend’s leg and arm, and Malton snuck through an attack that cut a shallow gash across Sebastian’s shoulder and chest.

They passed again, and Malton landed a deep blow on Sebastian’s left arm, cutting almost down to the bone. His arm fell limp, and Father, standing near the arena’s wall, cried out. But the blow cost Malton, who left his guard open enough for Sebastian to stab into his chest.

The rest of the arena had gone quiet, and it was only when Sebastian stumbled away, bleeding more than he ever had in his life, that he realized only he and Malton were left. They both breathed hard, and both were covered in blood both theirs and not.

Nautilus’s voice was like a whisper in his ear, though the warrior stood across the arena. “Two friends. One with more skill, the other with more heart, but neither quite willing to kill the other. My power could save either of you, but who is most deserving?”

Sebastian wanted to swear at the monster, but he lacked the strength, and he feared that if he looked away for a moment, Malton would lunge. He didn’t want any of what Black Tide offered. All he’d ever wanted had been in his hands, and he’d sacrificed it for Father and his dreams.

“Allow me to provide you with a taste of my gift, and let’s see if that changes your mind,” Nautilus said.

A painful warmth erupted in Sebastian’s arm, shoulder, and chest; far worse than the pain he’d endured when he’d suffered the wounds. He gritted his teeth and groaned, but the pain only lasted a moment, and then his arm was whole once again. He flexed it, made a fist, then opened his hand.

“A taste of ascension, of the power I share with those willing to follow me. It’s yours, and all you have to do is reach out and take it. I know one of you will, but who?”

Malton attacked, his renewed speed catching Sebastian off guard. Whatever bond they’d shared seemed broken beyond repair, but Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to do more than defend himself. Malton pushed him back, closer and closer to the arena wall, and it was only when Sebastian neared where his father stood that he realized the stakes of this battle. Only one could be recruited, and if Malton considered Father a threat, or Nautilus demanded it, Malton would kill Father, too.

Sebastian retreated two more steps, almost with his back to the wall, then found his opening. They were close in skill, but he’d always been better, and he snuck a sword thrust inside Malton’s guard and stabbed him deep in the heart.

“Good,” Nautilus whispered in his ear.

Sebastian stood, frozen in place, unable to pull the sword from the heart of his closest friend in Avalon. Sickness bubbled up in his stomach and threatened to rise up his throat, but he forced himself to hold it down.

He barely felt the blade that killed him, so sharp was its point. It slid between the ribs in his back and punctured his heart, coming out just as easy a moment later.

He and Malton fell together, and his eyes found his Father’s. A strange ecstasy danced behind Father’s gaze, and he groaned with pleasure as flecks of blue began floating in his pupils. Father raised his right hand easily, made a fist, and opened it. His movements were smooth and strong, just as they’d been when he’d first trained Sebastian as a child.

Nautilus smiled, and as Sebastian’s life and vision faded, the arena burst out in applause. Sebastian died with Nautilus’s voice ringing above the din.

“It seems we have a new recruit. Welcome to Black Tide, and long may you serve.”