-Rew and Ruin-

Jarred had seen many things in his twenty-nine years. Every kind of person had frequented the Forgotten Refuge, the inn his father had been so proud of and which his twin now managed with such love and care.

Sinewy, powerful men wielding weapons Jarred had never heard of. Tall women in leggings and tunics like the men, sporting every shade of hair, eyes, and skin.

But the captain of the Rustedheart was unlike anyone Jarred had ever come across. His cloak and ship screamed violence, and from the quick glance Jarred had taken of the incapacitated crew, his men and women were the hard, brutal type, interested in little more than coin.

The captain wore his blood-red cloak almost unwillingly, as though the man found the fabric distasteful. The black clothing he wore underneath was pristine, including even a satin tie around his neck.

And unlike the motley crew the captain employed, this man was gorgeous. When he smiled his teeth gleamed far brighter than the stars. Even in the dark Jarred could tell this man was unaccustomed to hard physical labor and hadn’t spent his entire life out at sea. His hands and face were too smooth and the color of marble, like he had been sculpted by someone eager to portray the perfect man.

“Now would be a good time to surrender,” Jarred said, ready to draw his weapon but finding it hard to believe that the man in front of him even knew how to properly draw the sword at his waist.

“Because you’ve tied up my crew? I suppose you make a compelling argument, but I think you’ll find me more talented than the brutes they hired for me,” the captain said, his voice warm and resonant.

Jarred’s dislike only deepened.

“Someone else selected your crew? What kind of captain does that make you?” he asked disdainfully.

“Clearly one less fortunate than you. Will we duel one on one or do you expect me to fight you and your crew? I ask merely to be prepared, although tonight has been far more engaging and entertaining than the rest of my time on this ship, so feel free to take your time deciding.”

Jarred’s eyes widened. Who did this man think he was? The lineal?

“Let me take him, Cap’!” Yinc called out, clearly upset at being outdone by not only Smiley but Callan as well.

“Honestly, I’m not sure whether to fight you or ask you if your sword is made of wood,” Jarred said to the Rustedheart’s supposed captain. “Or did you tie up the true captain and take his or her place?”

“No, unfortunately.” The man had the audacity to look sad about his position. “Shall we duel?”

“Or you could just surrender,” Jarred reminded him, hands on his hips. He wasn’t worried about the crazy man drawing a sword on him anymore.

“Where’s the fun in that? You clearly put on a great show, along with your crew. Pretending not to be the captain, the smiley man capturing most of my crew with absurd levels of positivity and a smile to rival my own, the surprisingly witty banter by the massive muscle man over there and the spectacular light show by the blond man. I should applaud all of you.”

It looked like the man really would start clapping, which would have greatly tested Jarred’s already fading patience, so he snapped, “Let’s get on with it then!” and drew his sword with the whistle of singing metal.

The man removed his broad brimmed hat and bowed, revealing a handsome head of thick, perfectly curled hair. “It would be my pleasure. Feel welcome to exert yourself, I’ve been in need of a proper opponent all week.”

Jarred would have rolled his eyes, but his mother had taught him better. He still remembered the light rap of her cooking spoon any time he lost his patience. “A Winsom holds themself with pride and honor, regardless of circumstance,” she would reprimand, her dark-green eyes firm.

After bowing, the man straightened to his full height, similar to Jarred, and drew his own sword, holding it lazily in his left hand.

“The grinning man over there can observe the duel,” the captain suggested, his bright blue eyes framed with obscene, thick black eyelashes.

I might as well be fighting a woman, Jarred thought grumpily. What kind of duel would this be if the man in front of him was as coifed and perfect as a child’s doll?

Smiley skipped over, Yinc and Callan also coming closer to watch the duel.

Not that there will be much to watch. This man will be lucky to last twenty seconds.

Winsom had been practicing with the sword for over eleven years, before ever becoming captain of the Wanderlust. He had yet to meet his equal.

Once both Jarred and the strange captain were in position facing each other in the center of the deck, they briefly bowed to each other before formally drawing their blades.

Smiley looked both men in the eyes and waited a moment before saying with a grin, “Begin!”

Winsom dropped into an offensive stance and held his blade out in front of him, ready to strike out quickly and end this madness. The man in front of him stifled a yawn and held his sword out in disinterest.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Holding back a growl unfit for a Winsom, Jarred rushed forward, intent on knocking his opponent off guard. Casually, lazily almost, the man stepped aside just enough that Jarred struck nothing but air. Perturbed, Jarred took a step or two back and reset his stance. A moment later he struck out again, a fast, precise motion the man wouldn’t be able to dodge.

His opponent brought his sword up just enough to block Jarred’s blade again. Growing impatient, Jarred began moving in, hitting hard and fast, relentless blows that would have overwhelmed even someone as strong as Yinc.

“About time,” the man grinned, showing off his perfect teeth once more as he effortlessly blocked every motion, his red cloak swishing behind him.

So, not as incompetent as I assumed, Jarred thought begrudgingly.

“Who taught you?” Jarred asked as the two began to circle, eyeing each other, looking for a weakness, any opportunity to knock the other man off balance and finish the duel.

“I attended the Forlorn Academy but didn’t learn much there. They couldn’t keep my attention. My niece taught me some of what she knew though.”

“Your niece? And where did she learn? I’ve never seen someone use the sword as effortlessly as you.”

“She also attended the academy,” was all the man said, his blows becoming more and more focused, harder and harder for Jarred to ignore.

“So you don’t mind that we’re taking over your ship and cashing in on your crew?” Jarred asked, sweat starting to drip down his face from the exertion of their deadly dance.

“Please, you’ll be doing me a favor. Yes, my brother will be angry, but these days he’s always upset about something. I’ll probably blend into the shadows for a while until he erupts on someone else. Maybe go down south, avoid the coming winter, all that terrible slush and snow.”

“And who said we would let you go free?” Yinc asked from the sidelines.

“How about we make a deal?” the man said as his blows became less defensive and more offensive, pushing Jarred back a few steps.

“If your good captain wins, I will return with you as a prisoner. However, if I manage to beat your good captain, you permit me to take my leave in Trucesa and go down south.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Smiley said amiably.

Jarred didn’t respond, too intent on blocking the captain and his expert sword strokes. With each movement the captain grew more and more focused, although the amiable look in his eyes never diminished.

Somehow, this foppish man was both incredibly skilled and had no desire in actually harming Jarred.

Eventually, Jarred’s arms were trembling and his form started to suffer from the extended duel.

“I relent,” he finally said, giving his opponent a wary bow of respect.

“Excellent! Now that we’ve warmed up, would anyone care for a late meal? I’m famished.”

***

The man, who went by the name Byron, had expensive taste. Callan couldn’t name most of the things spread before them. Byron had amassed an impressive array of various meats, fruits, vegetables, breads, and different sauces. They were in the captain’s quarters, which featured luxurious tan couches, large windows looking out at the sea, and multiple glass orbs filled with amethyst light—someone’s Orenda.

Byron seemed unbothered by the fact that his entire crew had been apprehended and were currently tied up in another part of the Rustedheart. And even though the deck had seemed bloody and dirty, the captain’s quarters were immaculate.

As soon as he, Winsom, Yinc, and Smiley were seated, Byron clapped his hands and a man who looked like he could easily kill someone with only the glint of his eyes brought multiple platters of exotic food forward. There was obvious hate in his dark, almost black eyes and enough scars crisscrossing his face that Callan brought his hand to his face where his own two scars were without thinking.

This had to be the true lifter captain. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“I would assume we’re looking at the real captain of the Rustedheart now?” Winsom asked, gesturing at the ragged, leathery man reluctantly bringing food to the large round table. Winsom was still panting slightly from the exertion of his duel with Byron. Even though the false captain of the ship had seemed like nothing more than a pretty face, Byron was clearly more than his casual, handsome persona suggested.

“Talin? Yes, the Rustedheart rightly belongs to him, and after taking this shipment to some friends of mine I would have happily given the ship back, but it seems you and your fascinating crew have other plans.”

Callan had to interject—his curiosity wouldn’t wait any longer. “Who were you going to take this shipment to?” he asked. The only one purchasing supplies off Trucesan ships were Forlorn, so anyone hired to steal shipments had to be a new force he hadn’t heard of yet.

“Well, my brother keeps telling me it takes a lot of food and supplies to plan an uprising. I’ve always been considered the useless brother, which is honestly what I prefer—gives me more time to waste on things I’m interested in—but my advanced skill with the sword made taking over this ship easy…”

“An uprising? Against the Forlorn? But beside Trucesa and rumors of Jadelin, who else would be able to stand against the most prominent people in Ealias?” Callan asked.

And who would want to?

“Oh, so you haven’t heard?” Byron asked, casually cutting through a piece of meat Callan didn’t recognize. “I would have thought the Forlorn lineal would know about any potential threats.” He smiled, but he didn’t seem vindictive or calculating.

That didn’t change the fact that he knew something Callan didn’t, however.

“I’ll know soon enough,” Callan said softly, Orenda gathering at his fingertips as he almost seemed to become taller, broader.

“No need to dazzle me with your powerful hold over Orenda. I’m more than happy to reveal just enough to get you started. After all, what fun is an uprising if your enemy is clueless?”

Yinc was mostly focused on the food in front of him, but had a look of intense concentration on his face. Smiley was somehow beaming, even as he picked at the food on the platter in front of him. Winsom had his muscular arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes narrowed as he listened to Byron’s declarations. He hadn’t touched the false captain’s array of food.

“Who is behind this?”

“I could give you a name, but it would be meaningless to you. Although, at the same time, something as simple as a name would tell you far more than even I dare say. So I’ll give you a simple placeholder and let you discover the rest, if you’re able.

“We go by the name Rew. We were once like you but grew tired of the senseless fighting, the senseless deaths.

“We come to liberate a people who willingly call themselves forlorn.”