The Tale of Gaius "Ninefingers"

by Zong The Nefarious

The First of Chapters: Sir Gaius

The castle of Westport sat defiantly upon a cliff overlooking the grand harbor below. Every day new ships would arrive, bearing spices, gold and slaves from the far reaches of Crai’Tal. Opposite of the noisy activity of the city, the castle was a bastion of tranquility. Up there, the fishmonger’s haggling and the guardsman’s roar couldn’t be heard. Only the sea’s wind could reach up high enough to scale the castle’s dull yellow stone carved from the very cliff it stood upon.

For the past eight years, it had been my home. I was sent here to squire for Lord Kastor, a man who’d treated me better than any of my own kin. The taste of salt and the sea’s loving song were always welcomed. But now, all I could taste was blood, and even the wind was drowned by Lord Kastor’s booming voice.

“Gaius, curses, boy! What have you done?!” the lord of Westport bellowed as he ran down the terrace to where I was, standing over the corpse of the stable boy I had just killed.

I looked up at the man as he loomed above me. His arms and legs were thick as the branches of an old oak, and his chest was similar to a cask of ale. Lord Kastor rubbed his bald head with a calloused hand and then brought it down to rub his black, grey-speckled beard. The man reached down, grabbed the sword from my grasp and slapped me across my fuzz covered face.

I reeled back, but quickly got my bearings and gave the man a cold look.

“What… what happened here, Gaius?” he questioned, handing the steel sword I’d stolen from the armory off to one of the four queasy looking guards that had since arrived at the grizzly scene.

“He didn’t hold his block high enough…” I replied numbly, idly gesturing towards the dull practice sword next to the dark-skinned, dark haired youth as the pool of blood around him grew larger.

“What?” he asked, rubbing his bald head once more.

“I told him to raise his block,” I stated, shrugging. “He didn’t listen. If he’d of listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You what?” Kastor asked, letting his eyes rest upon the dead boy’s body for a long time.

“I. Told. Him. To. Raise. His. Block,” I repeated.

Kastor then turned his attention back to me for a moment, and stared at me without saying a word. He shook his head slowly before giving orders to the three remaining guardsmen. At their Lord’s command, the three men went about clearing the corpse from the courtyard.

I watched as they carried him away. I knew that I should have been mournful, or even just ashamed, but I wasn’t. Why would I ever mourn such a lowborn wretch? I thought. I’m son to one of the most powerful lords sworn to the king; his father was only a butcher. The feeling I had during the fight was unlike anything I had ever felt before. When a life was at stake I felt alive. Each swing was an extension of my power, each blow landed was a mark of my righteous power, and when the time came, and my steel bit into his soft, fleshy neck... I was a god. It was no more than an offering to myself.

"Gaius," Kastor said, kneeling before me so that our eyes were level with one another. "You must never do this again, do you understand me?"

"No," I mumbled, looking at some storm clouds brewing over the sea. "Is this not why I'm here?" I turned my attention back to him. "Did my father not send you here for this very reason? Besides.. I quite like it."

A flash of pain hit me as Kastor slapped me once more. He was talking to me, scolding me, I think. But I couldn't hear a word of it. The gulls cried out and for some strange reason my face felt coarse, like it was covered in sand. Soon, all else was cast out by the sound of the sea as the splashing of waves kept getting louder and louder.

Salt water and sea foam splashed against my helmet, seeping through the eye slits to splash against my face. I blearily opened my eyes, and through the narrow slits saw nothing but water. So, in my infinite wisdom, I quickly turned on my back which did two things: first, my back let out a horrendous crack and then, the salty water that had been pooling on the side of my helmet came round to splash into my poor eyes.

“Argh! Gods why?!” I cried, instinctively bringing a numb hand to rub my eyes only to have it slap against my helm uselessly. Through thin slits and stinging eyes, I saw that my mangled left hand lacking a middle finger was naked. After quickly feeling about myself, I found my mace, and that the rest of my armor was still very much intact. Not as if the cursed gauntlet had done my hand much good anyways.

Sitting up was a painful process. My back cracked angrily and in its rage sent jolts of pain to ride up my back to rest just at the base of my skull. My hands had also become numb while I had slept and the blood started to rush back in. Pain, like an old friend, took time out of his busy day to tell me that they too hurt.

I looked down and around me and saw sand. Lots and lots of sand. Using my superior intellect, I reasoned that a huge amount of water -- plus a tremendous amount of sand meant that I was on a beach. Or possibly a very wet desert… but I'm fairly certain of the former.

I groggily pushed myself up and began to stagger about. I swayed back and forth while, trying to piece together how exactly I had gotten on this beach. I was on a ship. Bethold had put me on a ship with four of his ‘loyal’ men. He wanted us to get something… something importa- My thoughts trailed off and became meaningless as I turned around to see a slaving gully laying on its side with a huge hole burnt through its hull. Oh right… the wizard…

The beach, thanks to the galley and its cargo, was an utter mess. Crates that held the ship’s food supply were strewn about, cracked and charred but otherwise whole. Barrels washed lazily onto the shoreline, being carried to and fro by the waves. Oh, and how could I miss the bloated corpses?

I crawled past the burnt beams and fractured shards of hull and ventured through the remains of the ship. Cold, discolored and bloody water splashed against my greaves, yet I paid it little mind as I looked about. The rooms, while familiar, became impossible to distinguish. I waded into what I thought to be the living quarters and began to search for my room.

I found it, grabbed the chest with my weapons and dragged it back into the sunlight. I fumbled with its latch but it was locked tightly and remained sealed. I reached down to retrieve the key from my pocket, but as it turns out, I wasn’t wearing trousers, but greaves and padding, which did not have pockets. The key, and my pants, were likely at the bottom of the ocean.

“Why do you taunt me?!” I screamed up towards the heavens and then, in a moment of sheer brilliance, I lifted my foot and aimed it at the chest. My foot rushed forward and slammed into the lid, causing its water soaked wooden frame to splinter and break away from the hinges.

For my genius plan, I was rewarded by none other than Sir Pain himself, and how generous he was. This time, my foot and ankle had the pleasure of being the recipient of his splendid reward. My foot even got a few splinters as a bonus. I’m sure that when they fester I’ll be gifted a whole new kind of hurt. But in spite of it all, I was now free to grab my weapons. Inside the chest was both my short sword and claymore, its steel blade was notched and dented from battle and its hilt was a simply thing wrapped in leather. Both had thankfully been within their sheaths, so attaching them to the rest of my armor was not an issue.

I sorted through the wreckage along the beach some more until I found a soaked satchel and the ship’s supply of preserved rations. I would have filled the satchel with dried jerkies immediately, but the cook’s fat body was strewn over the lid.

"I’d bury you, but I don’t have a shovel," I mumbled, heaving his body off the lid. As I filled the bag, his body tumbled and crashed into a nearby pile of crates, breaking the water soaked wood and causing another corpse, which had somehow gotten atop them, to fall down. Said corpse was grasping a shovel in death.

I stated at the shovel for a moment, questioning why he had it. The ship was on fire... and sinking... so this man thought, 'Oh, better grab a shovel, that'll help.' It clearly hadn't. I walked over to the corpse and pried the shovel from the dead man's grasp. In my experience, having a shovel was never a bad thing. I mean, they can be used for digging, bludgeoning things; but as the man had found out, they weren't to great at putting out fires.

I looked back at the dead men, remembering what I had said to the dead cook. I’m sure you would have wanted a burial at sea. Besides, if I gave you a burial, then I’d have to give shovel-man a burial and I've got a fire-wielding wizard to catch… I’m sure you understand. I shook my own thoughts from my head and trudged up the beach, heading towards a distant tree line.

My first goal would obviously be to find a town to both resupply and ask the local peasantry where I was located on the coastline. Next was the matter of the wizard. What Bethold wants with the dead loving bastards is beyond me... but Bethold is not a man you can question. I'll find the cursed wizard, and if I must, I'll drag him back to Aricourt kicking and screaming.

I slung the satchel filled with dried meats over my shoulder and trudged my way up the beach until I found solid land. I then began to look about for any sign of a trail and, with great luck, I found one! By the looks of it, the grass and ground had been worn down by the hooves of horses and wagon wheels. That meant that the next town was probably within a few days ride. On foot it would probably take me a week or so to reach it...

Oh how I love marching...

I gave a low sigh and began to follow the trail. Walking along it I could clearly see that the peasants used this road regularly, due to the relative lack of weeds. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to be happened upon by a traveling merchant? The hope was slim but my entire life so far had been based on slight happen-stances, so it was not entirely outside the realm of reason.

The trail came to a forest that was of an impressive size. Looking into it, I saw that the trail had become significantly darker despite the sun being at its height in the sky. It was a bit unnerving, to be honest, but no knight serving Bethold could afford to be afraid of a collection of trees and shrubbery. Especially when his ire was the alternative.

With another stoic sigh, I pushed onward into the forest to find the cursed wizard and finish my accursed quest.