Arken Freeth Boxed Set Books 1-4

By Alex Paul

Books 1-4 of the Arken Freeth and the Adventure of the Neanderthals series: SeaJourney, Shipwrecked, and The Toth Hunter. 

Part Neanderthal, but raised as a human, Arken Freeth finds that he doesn't fit in either world as he struggles to survive.

SEAJOURNEY, BOOK ONE

Arken Freeth has always wanted to prove himself worthy of his king's appointment by becoming an officer in the Lantish Sea Service. Now the only thing standing in his way is his apprenticeship SeaJourney. But a peaceful training mission soon turns into a deadly struggle for survival as Arken's fleet must come to the aid of a princess fleeing capture by Tookan pirates.

SHIPWRECKED, BOOK TWO

Arken Freeth’s Lantish Royal Military Academy training ship is attacked by pirates and runs ashore. He and six classmates are the only survivors of the shipwreck and they struggle to live in a jungle filled with saber-tooth cats, dire wolves, mammoths, and mastodons. Arken has salvaged a necklace from the shipwreck—a necklace that bestows the gift of prophecy. If Arken can escape the Tookan pirates intent on stealing the necklace for themselves and deliver it safely to the king of Lanth, he will turn the tide of war.

THE TOTH HUNTER, BOOK THREE

Arken and some of his friends are rescued by the Nanders, only to find that many of the Nanders want to put them to death for fear they will escape and send slavers back to the Water Cave. Join Arken as he comes to grips with his heritage and struggles to keep himself and his friends alive while learning to live and hunt in the wild like a Nander.

TOOKAN ATTACK, BOOK FOUR

The bloodthirsty Tookans return for the necklace, but a surprise awaits them when they step on shore, for Arken and his friends have armed and trained the Nanders. Though outnumbered, the Nanders are powerful warriors in their own forest. The outcome for the Tookans is anything but certain as Arken fights alongside the Nanders to defend their home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Paul
• Release date: Dec 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519953797

Book preview

PRAISE FOR THE ARKEN FREETH SERIES

This is the next level adventure story you have been waiting for. Brash, rip-roaring, and stunningly original, it is unlike any young adult fiction you’ve ever read.

—Isaac Peterson

My name is Winslow and I am 9 years old. Why I think Alex Paul’s books are good: I think Alex Paul’s books are great. I have read two of them. I have three reasons why I think Alex Paul’s books are great. My first reason is because of the adventures the Toths, Tons, Swordtooths, and Smokers have. Such as when the Smoker attacked the burning ships. My second reason is because it was before the Great Flood many thousands of years ago. That means that weapons like the bow, sword, and spear were very new to civilization. My last reason is because the book is very detailed. I think he did a very good job describing the characters. For example, Arken Freeth is good with a bow, is a commoner, is a Neanderthal, is super strong, and is quite short. As you can see that is why Alex Paul’s books are great. I really hope he writes another book.

—Von Trullinger

If you’re ready for an adventure of epic proportions, read on in the Arken Freeth series!

—Cheri Lasota, Author of Echoes in the Glass

A vivid story of action and adventure intertwined with lessons of honor, humility and gracious values. It leaves you anticipating the next in the series in a fantastic manner!

—Giselle Minshull

MAP OF THE CIRCLE SEA

INTRODUCTION

From The Earth’s Secret History: Arken Freeth Scrolls

by Arduel

I am Arduel, the last descendant of the Brotherhood of the Knowledge Keepers of Lanth. I now set down my words on this parchment before burying some of our surviving writings in an urn in the desert north of the Amarrats’ Great Pyramid.

I hide these writings because yesterday the agents of the Roman emperor burned the Library of Alexandria. I managed to escape and save these scrolls. I know that I will soon be caught and killed, but I will die in peace, knowing these writings are safe.

The scrolls of Antipolax are in this urn. He was a Knowledge Keeper who survived the Great Flood 9,000 years ago. Antipolax’s writings describe the scientific instruments that allowed my ancestors to see vast distances out into the stars. I wish that I could have seen these instruments, but sadly they were destroyed long ago and no one can make them today.

Antipolax witnessed a giant asteroid flying through space toward Earth. This asteroid, which they named Marduk, caused the destruction of the Great Flood.

Ever since the Great Flood, our Brotherhood has obeyed our sacred vow to preserve the knowledge of Lanth for the benefit of future men. We were forced into hiding long ago because Emperors and Pharaohs wished to kill us. They do not want the world to know that man once had a civilization more advanced than the Roman Empire of my time.

I also placed the Arken Freeth scrolls among Antipolax’s writings in the same urn. Arken Freeth lived 11,000 years before my time and 2,000 years before Marduk caused the Great Flood, which brought the storms of winter and the heat of summer to Earth. I wish I had lived then, because in Arken Freeth’s time, Earth truly was a paradise. Each day was fair and warm everywhere on the planet and only the poles were cold. There were no storms of rain or snow with high winds. Instead, gentle dew fell everywhere each night, nourishing all the plants. And during each day the sun shone across the Earth without fail, and the plants produced two bountiful crops a year.

In that paradise world of pleasant weather, lush plains, and fertile valleys, men built high-walled cities that kept the people safe from the great cats and giant bears. Men set forth in great ships from those cities and plied the seas with trade.

To protect their ships, the city-state of Lanth built a large navy and bred the world’s finest warriors. Of all those warriors, Arken Freeth was the greatest of all, for he saved Lanth from certain ruin. The scrolls in this urn tell his story. It is my hope that the mysterious forces that helped Arken defeat Lanth’s enemies will protect what I have buried and one day allow the truth of man’s history to be revealed. I hope those that read these scrolls are inspired with courage as they discover the story of Arken Freeth, the greatest warrior of Lanth.

Fear none in battle, nor death at sea,

Nor those who wish to torment thee.

With Kal in mind and sword held high,

Fight until you win or die.

—Lantish Warrior’s Creed

Inscription on the entry arch of the

Lantish Royal Military Academy

Author’s Note

You’ll find a hyperlinked glossary of foreign words in the novel’s back matter.

SeaJourney, Book 1

Part Neanderthal, but raised as a human, Arken Freeth finds that he doesn't fit in either world as he struggles to survive.

Arken Freeth has always wanted to prove himself worthy of his king's appointment by becoming an officer in the Lantish Sea Service. Now the only thing standing in his way is his apprenticeship SeaJourney. But a peaceful training mission soon turns into a deadly struggle for survival as Arken's fleet must come to the aid of a princess fleeing capture by Tookan pirates.

Arken sets sail 13,000 years ago from Lanth, a lost civilization on the old coast of Florida. Mankind survives in high-walled cities in this world of forests infested by giant bears, sabertooth cats, dire wolves, and an ocean roamed by giant sharks. He leaves home with his bow, his honor, and a deadly secret he must never reveal; he will never truly fit in, because he is not completely human. The blood of Neanderthals runs through his veins in a land where marriage to Neanderthal slaves is punishable by death.

Yet the very Neanderthal heritage that makes Arken an outsider gives him extraordinary strength and fighting skills. In order to survive and become the warrior he knows he can be, Arken must brave the dangers that lurk beneath the depths of the Circle Sea, the old Atlantic, as well as the Tookan pirates who roam its surface.  

SEAJOURNEY

Arken Freeth and the Adventure of the Neanderthals

Book One

by

Alex Paul

CHAPTER 1

THE ROCK TEST

Mother, I weep for you each night. Our enemy’s campfires seem to number more than the stars in the sky. Their soldiers drum and chant all night, tormenting our sleep. I fear the worst for my people, for I cannot read the Necklace of Tol to see the Time to Come.

—Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria

The roar of a swordtooth echoed through the forest beyond the Academy's grounds, shocking the thirty boys who circled around Arken Freeth. Arken's neck hairs stood up as he and the boys turned as one to face the ominous sound.

Can we watch the guards kill it? their student leader, Salcon Gart, asked.

It's not close enough to the Academy yet from the sounds of it. We have time for Arken's rock test first, and then we'll go up on the north wall and watch them use the large crossbow to kill it, their instructor Lar promised.

The class groaned in frustration. It was a rare occurrence to have a large swordtooth this close to the Academy wall, and many in the class had never seen one. They were called swordtooth because of their long, sharp, canine teeth that they used to kill the massive toth and ton. And they were rarely seen because they usually roamed the plains further east of the city. Some of the boys kept their eyes on the guard station to see if the chariot was moving.

No complaining, or I won't let anyone watch, Lar ordered. Form a seated square around the post and stone.

Arken turned his attention to the rock on the ground before him. His task was simple: lift the heavy stone and leave it balanced and still on the post. But he had never lifted such a heavy stone before.

He watched his classmates take their places. Arken wore only his white, knee-length tunic and sandals for his test, while the rest of the class had bronze armor over their tunics. Bronze helmets shielded their heads from the blazing sun. They carried wooden sparring swords in their sword belts and carried round shields painted blue with the white harse head of Lanth. Their armor rang with the music of bronze as they joked around and took their places sitting cross-legged on the courtyard clay.

Don't take too long, Arken, one of the boys encouraged while the others laughed.

It was easy for Arken's classmates to laugh. Having already passed their tests, they were in a happy mood because their graduation was guaranteed, and they would soon be at sea.

Being the youngest in the class, Arken was the last to reach his fourteenth birthday and take the test. Arken stared at the heavy round stone lying on the red clay of the courtyard next to the post. If he passed the rock test, he would graduate from the Lantish Royal Military Academy and join his class at sea for their moonth-long training mission.

If he failed the test, he would be held back and have to repeat this last year's training. He didn't want to be held back; he was ready to go to sea and begin his career as an officer.

Well, there is a way to graduate if I can't lift the rock, Arken thought, but that would be harder than lifting it. He could defeat Salcon Gart in a sparring match. This was nearly impossible, as Gart was a year older and a head taller than Arken, the shortest student in the class.

Arken, it's hot. Quit staring at the stone and lift it! Lar ordered. Then we can go watch.

Yes, sir. Arken stepped toward the rock as he scanned the second-story classrooms several hundred feet away across the courtyard. Girls in the Queen's Trackers often visited the Academy for training and, being scouts, they had good eyes. He didn't want them to see him fail.

But no girls watched from the openings in the gray stone walls. Even the tower guards weren't looking, probably because their midmeal had left them sleepy.

Arken turned toward Tok, the name given to the rock five hundred years earlier when the test began. Don't forget you have to say the warrior's creed first, Lar reminded him.

Sir! Arken stood at attention, and the class went completely silent.

"Fear none in battle, nor death at sea, nor those who wish to torment thee, with Kal in mind and sword held high, fight until you win or die." Arken looked at Lar. He knew he'd got it right.

Good! Now win your fight with that rock, Lar ordered.

Arken felt excited as he reached down and grabbed some of the red courtyard clay and rubbed it on his palms to improve his grip. Then he rose and stepped next to the rock. Waves of heat from the midday sun shimmered off its surface. It is going to be hot as well as heavy, Arken thought.

The swordtooth screamed. It was louder now, which meant it was creeping closer.

Remain calm, class, Lar ordered. That swordtooth is still far away. I promise, if it draws close enough for the guards to kill, we'll go up on the wall to watch.

The boys all whispered at once and seemed to forget about Arken. He wiped sweat from his face that had run down despite the gastag leather strap holding back his long, blonde hair. He felt grateful for the swordtooth because it bought time to get his nerves under control.

The cats grew to be twenty feet long and, though terrifying, they inspired him. They were proof of the vast, dangerous world beyond the city walls, a wilderness awaiting his exploration.

Quiet class. Watch Arken; he's ready to begin, Lar ordered.

Fourteen . . . I'm old enough, Arken whispered to himself. He rubbed the loose clay from his hands and extended a hand from the top of the post to his chest, measuring the height. He'd have to lift Tok to his belly button. A slight depression in the top center of the post would hold the rock, but his biggest challenge would be lifting it and gently placing it on the post so it wouldn't roll off.

He'll never lift it, Gart whispered loud enough for all to hear. He's too small.

Silence, Gart! Lar entered the sparring square and strode toward him. You're a salcon! Friendly teasing is fine, but a class leader should never undermine his men. Lar jabbed his heavy walking stick into the back of Gart's calf where the armor didn't protect his legs, making the boy wince. A grimace crossed his face. Crying out during punishment lengthened the beating so Gart made no sound.

Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! Gart pulled his feet in tight under the skirt of his white tunic to avoid another poke of Lar's stick. His lower lip quivered slightly despite his stony face.

Arken, lift that stone now! Lar spun around, his long, white robe flowing and following his movement. The robe was a formal part of the rock test and was always worn by the class instructor.

Yes, sir, Arken said, but the swordtooth screamed again, drowning out his reply.

It's getting closer! Lar exclaimed. Arken. Hurry and lift. We want to see that swordtooth killed!

Yes, sir. Arken squatted, pressed his chest to the stone, and reached around with his arms so he could lock his fingers. He'd always thought his barrel chest was an advantage; it gave him more wind when he ran. But now his chest prevented his fingers from touching. Arken turned his head to the left, the hot rock stinging his right cheek as it touched the stone, and strained until he managed to connect his fingers. For once, his too-large hands were an advantage and not an embarrassment.

He held his cheek off the hot rock as he pushed with his legs. But the rock didn't budge. It felt alive, and its weight fought him. He struggled to breathe, his chest restricted by the rock's pressure.

He tipped back on his heels and the rock popped off the ground. A thrill ran through him. I'm going to do it! But when he strained to rise, nothing happened. Impossible. So heavy!

I can't disappoint Father. Dear God Kal, grant me a birthday wish, Arken prayed. Help me lift this rock.

He screamed, and it startled some of the boys. He didn't care; the scream gave him strength, and the rock edged higher. His inner elbows burned from the strain of the weight. They felt as if red-hot fire pokers were being thrust into them. His legs trembled. He simply had to endure the pain.

I am strong enough!

Almost there! Lar had stooped over to see the post's top.

Arken lurched forward with his right foot, but the rock thudded against the top of the post. He advanced his left leg, and then leaned back, trying to raise the rock the last little bit to clear the post.

Pain shot across his low back, and a wave of fear engulfed him as he recalled Lar's stories about boys breaking their spines by tipping backward too far.

One finger width higher! Lar yelled.

The pain straightened his spine against his will.

No, you're going lower. Lift it higher! Lar waved his hands as if he could somehow help Arken lift.

Arken strained his calf muscles, trying to lift his heels off the ground and raise the rock that way. He rose to his tiptoes.

You're clear. Lar stepped closer. Push it forward, Arken!

One final push. He could feel it! He strained to go forward, but suddenly, his calves gave way as if they belonged to someone else, no longer willing to do his bidding. He felt his heels strike the ground as the rock pushed them down.

Too low. Lar bent down. Can't you get it higher? You were close.

I'll try, Arken grunted. He strained to raise himself back on his toes, but nothing happened. He tried to pull with his arms, but the rock lodged against his chest and wouldn't budge. Suddenly everything started to go dark. He focused his eyes on some palm trees across the courtyard outside the main gate.

The green palms swayed in the light breeze as they receded down a long black tunnel. He blinked, but opened his eyes to only a pinhole of light.

Clear! His intended yell came out a whisper. He felt the stone slip from his grasp. A hand snatched his arm and pulled him back as he passed out.

Are you all right? Lar's voice echoed in Arken's ears as if his instructor were in a cave.

I think so. Arken opened his eyes. A seagull hovered in the blue sky high above Lar's bearded, hollow-cheeked face, and Arken realized he was lying flat on his back.

You're sure? Lar leaned in closer, blocking Arken's view of the gull.

Yes. Arken rose to his elbows. What am I doing on the ground?

You blacked out lifting the rock, Lar said.

I didn't pass the test? The memory came flooding back as he asked.

You will next year. Lar offered his hand. You're strong enough-just not tall enough.

I know. He felt proud he'd at least been strong enough to lift the rock.

Do you want to try your luck sparring with Gart today?

Yes, sir, I do. Arken surprised himself with his answer as Lar helped him to his feet. He didn't care if he lost, or even if he got hurt sparring Gart. He wanted so badly to go on SeaJourney. Life at sea called to him.

Good. I admire your spirit, Arken, though you'll probably lose. Lar chuckled and shook his head.

Maybe. Arken tried to brush the red clay from the back of his white tunic but with little success. Arlet, their Nander kitchen slave, would scold him tonight for the dirty uniform.

The swordtooth screamed, this time so loud it echoed around the courtyard.

It's close to the wall! The guards are going to kill it! Lar pointed to the guardhouse where soldiers were attaching harses to the two-man chariot that held the giant crossbow. Then Lar spoke to Gart. Arken will fight you, Gart, after we watch the guards kill the swordtooth. Lead your class to the top of the wall.

Yes, sir, I accept Arken's challenge. Cadets to me! Gart jumped up and sprinted for the wall.

The cadets saluted and were gone, like armored quails bursting from a tuft of grass in fear. Tanned legs carried lean bodies up the stairs toward the wall top.

Arken jogged two steps to Lar's one despite Lar running slowly with his ceremonial robe gathered in his hands to prevent tripping. Arken was grateful for some time to regain his strength before sparring with Gart. He had been so excited about beginning his officer's apprenticeship as a saldet, a junior officer. Only one thing stood in his way: Gart.

CHAPTER 2

ARKEN SPARS GART

We will lash our ships together tonight when we gather rinfall and rest the slaves. They rowed admirably today, and I ordered extra food and water rations for them. If we let them die, we will drift forever at sea. Tonight I will train with the necklace when the cool of rinfall allows concentration.

—Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria

I did lift the rock, didn't I? Arken asked as he ran. His memory wasn't clear.

Yes, you did, you just weren't tall enough to lift it onto the post. Lar was agitated. Arken, we have to hurry, or we're going to miss the killing of the cat.

Yes, sir, I'm hurrying. Arken couldn't help but sound defeated and Lar noticed.

Don't worry about failing the rock test, Arken. Lar glanced over as they ran. You'll grow taller and easily lift Tok next year, and another year of training is guaranteed to make you an even better officer. Though Kal knows you've got the courage for it already. They began to climb the first flight of stairs that took them to the bridge over the buildings surrounding the courtyard. I admire you for wanting to spar with Gart today. You're in for a pounding, though. You realize that you can't win, don't you?

Yes, sir, probably so, Arken said. If Lar was trying to make him feel better, it wasn't working.

I'm just saying that if you lose, you'll have nothing to be ashamed of. Gart's much bigger and older than you.

Yes, sir. The smell of freshly baked cornbread reached them from the Academy's bakery below as they hurried across the bridge over the barracks and service buildings.

I'm being honest, Arken, Lar continued as they climbed the last few stairs, you're an excellent student with unusual skills; in fact, you're the only one in this class to pass the advanced archer's test. Most cadets can't draw the heavy bow until they're seventeen, yet you can do it already. That proves you're strong.

Thanks to my grandfather. We practice every other evening after school. Arken smiled at the memory of grandfather working with him since age six until shooting a longbow felt as natural as combing his hair. There's a technique to it as well as strength.

Oh, I know, but learning that technique is not easy. You will be able to help our other students next year.

I'd be happy to help. Arken felt upset that Lar was assuming he would lose to Gart. He had a chance; he'd been practicing swordwork with his father at home.

The swordtooth screamed as they reached the roadway that ran around the top of the wall. The cat's scream sounded like death come close, and Arken shivered as the hair on the back of his neck stood up once again.

Hurry, it's over this way. Just four hundred legs to go. Han, one of Arken's few friends, had waited for them at the top of the stairs. They ran alongside him, following the rest of the class that were now far ahead of them.

The leg was a unit of measurement created by Lantish scientists who had preserved, in bronze, the length of King Lanth's hands, fingers, feet, and legs during his reign. These became the standard units of measurement in Lanth. A leg had turned out to be exactly three of King Lanth's feet, and twenty-four finger thicknesses equaled a foot.

A two-person chariot exploded from the guardhouse behind them.

Get on the edge, Lar ordered.

The chariot driver whipped the two horses into a gallop. A crossbowman clung to an oversized crossbow mounted on a central swivel behind the driver. The chariot shot by them with barely any room to spare.

That was close, said Lar. They sprinted after the chariot as it left them behind.

Arken ran at an easy pace for him, but both Lar and Han were soon winded trying to keep up, so he slowed down so as not to embarrass them. He was easily the fastest runner of their class and had the best endurance. The others often hated him for it, so he had learned not to show off.

He looked around the Academy as he slowed his pace. The Academy was the main fort that guarded the city as well as their military training center. Two-story, white stucco buildings with red-tiled roofs rimmed the full length of the interior side of the fort's walls. The buildings served as barracks for the soldiers manning the fort as well as the Academy classrooms, storage, kitchens, armory, blacksmith shop, and horse stables for the King's Harsemen. The sea breeze mixed the cornbread scent with the musty odor of stable hay and harses.

It's been a year since they last killed a swordtooth, Lar said between gasping breaths when the chariot halted by the rest of the class.

Why do swordtooth come here? Arken asked Lar as they ran.

They're old. They get driven from their hunting grounds by a healthier animal. The scent of easy prey over the walls draws them in, and then we have to kill them or they try to attack our harse patrols outside the walls.

It's there, sir. Gart pointed as they arrived. Stalking the chained goat.

The stench of damp, dead rotting leaves from eons past filled his nostrils as Arken leaned over the gray stone wall to see.

Water from last night's rinfall added to the moldy vegetation smell. The scent hovered in his nostrils like the foul poultice his mother used to cure his childhood illnesses.

They could easily see the huge, yellow-skinned cat as it crept through the high grass fifty feet below. Its tail twitched as it neared the goat, which caught wind of the cat's scent and began squealing and pulling at its leg chain.

The cat's long canine teeth glistened like curved executioner's swords at a public beheading. Arken realized his own forearms were shorter than one of the beast's long teeth, and he shuddered at the thought of being alone in the jungle with such a predator.

Johann, how long do you venture the swordtooth is? Lar asked a boy near him.

Twenty feet, sir, not including the tail, Johann said. Roughly seven legs, he added.

Good, I agree.

It's a beautiful animal, Johann volunteered. Sad it has to die.

Some of the cadets giggled at Johann's softness.

Death comes to all that live, Lar said. You should know that Johann . . . We're in the business of death.

Yes, sir. But the tone of Johann's voice didn't seem sincere to Arken. He, too, felt sympathy for the swordtooth because, despite its ferocity, it seemed the underdog in this unfair fight, and Arken could identify with the underdog.

The archer swiveled the enormous crossbow mounted on the chariot and took aim at the swordtooth. He had already cocked it by cranking on the double-handled winch. The three-foot-long crossbow bolt as thick as a spear lay ready to fly.

Fire when ready, an officer ordered.

The string of the giant crossbow slapped the air with an angry buzz while transforming the bolt into a blur. It struck the top of the swordtooth's back and then bounced high into the trees. The swordtooth screamed and bit where the bolt had hit its spine. A cadet found humor in the animal's pain, and his laughter followed the silence of the cat's scream.

The swordtooth's head swiveled around, its gaze following the sound. Then it screamed in the direction of the cadet as if to warn the boy not to laugh.

The harses reared and whinnied at the cat's menacing cry. Only the drivers' shouts and soldiers grabbing the tracings prevented a runaway.

The huge cat snorted, blowing up dust from the ground, and then sprinted into the jungle. Its tail disappeared as it plunged down the steep hill to the plains south of the city.

They missed! Lar yelled. Class, make note! Aim low when you're shooting downward. The archer shot the bolt so high it bounced off the cat's back.

Sir, the class responded. When Lar said to make note, they had learned to pay attention and be ready to answer questions later or punishment would follow.

War! a boy's voice squeaked. Arken and his classmates turned to see a young cadet about the age of eight running toward them.

What did you say, boy? Lar grabbed the boy's shoulder.

War! the boy gasped. "A ship has arrived. The Amarrats crossed into Tolaria a moonth ago to conquer the country. The Amarrat King wants the Necklace of Tol. The Tolarians refused to give it to him. The Alda summons all cadets to the Great Hall on the next clock turn."

We're allies with Tolaria! Lar clasped his hands to his head. Kal save us!

The messenger boy stepped back, frightened by Lar's reaction.

Seeing he had frightened the boy, Lar gained control and saluted, raising his left arm straight overhead while crashing his right arm into his chest. All Hail Lanth!

Hail Lanth! The cadets and nearby guards snapped to attention and saluted.

Never defeated! Lar added.

Never defeated! Arken shouted with the cadets and guards.

Arken felt proud. Though small, their city-state of half a million had never lost a war. But could they defeat the Amarrats, the pyramid builders from the east? Lar seemed so upset. Then Arken dismissed the thought. Of course they could. A single Lantish officer was worth any five Amarrat soldiers in combat.

If I defeat Gart today I can become an officer in this war. I can't wait a whole year to go to sea with a war starting!

Lar turned his gaze to the tall sandglass at the fort's entrance, which emptied and was turned each half-hour.

Rally to the courtyard and form a sparring square, class. There's time enough before we attend the Alda.

The class saluted Lar, and then jogged along the wall to the stairs.

Arken, come with me. You need armor. Lar headed for the armory and Arken followed.

Sir! The head armorer wiped sweat from his bald head with a cloth as he stepped from the armory into the sunlight. He was a short, bulky man with a mustache.

We need to fit the boy quickly with armor. He needs to spar, Lar said.

Right away, sir. Come this way.

Sparks showered from the forge as the armorer led Arken past a smith hammering on a breastplate. The smith used tongs to dip the plate in water, his bare arms bulging with muscles larger than Gart's thick legs. Arken hoped someday he would be that powerful.

Which rack? the head armorer asked.

Arken pointed to his armor, and the head armorer grabbed the pile of bronze Arken had carefully polished and wrapped after he'd last used it. They hurried to the staging area where a second armorer, this one as lean as the head armorer was thick, helped with the intricate task of armoring a soldier.

First came the breastplate, the front and back plate connected by gastag sidestraps with buckled cinches. Sweat dripped from the bulky head armorer's nose as he labored to fasten the shoulder pads, which extended from the breastplate on gastag straps for flexibility. The man's sweat splashed off Arken's shoulder pad and into his eye, but he didn't flinch from the salt sting.

Collars below the shoulder pads covered his biceps, elbows, forearms, and wrists. The thickset armorer tightened the leather straps that held the collars in place while the lean armorer attached the waist skirt as well as thigh, knee, and shin plates. The final pieces were the belt and short sword.

The thickset head armorer pulled the helmet strap tight, and then handed Arken his circular shield adorned with Lanth's national symbol, a white swordtooth's head on a blue background.

It fits you well, the head armorer said. He stepped back and twisted the end of his mustache as he appraised Arken's armor. Good luck!

I'll need it! Arken jogged toward the sparring square. His armor felt like a second skin because he had practiced in it so often. It was light armor, designed to stop a knife cut or sword thrust but not a bolt from a crossbow or longbow-no armor could stop that.

Take your mark, Lar said as Arken's clanking armor announced his arrival.

Yes, sir. Arken entered the sparring square marked by hand-width wooden beams inlaid flush into the courtyard clay. His classmates sat cross-legged on two sides of the thirty-by-thirty-foot square. Arken placed his toes on the sparring mark, which embarrassed him because standing at the line drew too much attention to his oversized feet. On the other hand, Gart stood at his mark ten feet away and looked perfect: muscular, large, hairy-legged; he was as much of a man as Arken felt he was not.

Gart glared at Arken. He will fight hard, Arken thought. If Gart loses, he will forfeit his salcon position and won't be able to challenge again for three months. What was I thinking? Arken blew out a shaky breath. He'll smash me into the ground! Lar was right. I'm in for a pounding.

Gart loomed over him. Not only was he more than a head taller, he was almost twice as heavy.

Draw swords, Lar ordered.

Arken drew his wooden short sword from the sheath hanging at his left side. The sparring sword weighed the same as a bronze combat sword. Two lengths of rounded bronze lay in channels along the edges of the wooden blade to give the sword weight but not a cutting edge. The sword would hurt like a club, but it couln't slice through armor.

Arken held the sword in his right hand, point to the ground. His faceplate remained up, the custom until combat began.

Standard rules, Lar said. "No blows to the head. If you do, it's a one-point addition to your opponent. Three points is a win, one point for each lethal touch. Saldet Tyo will be your referee. Salute referee."

Yes, sir! Arken and Gart acknowledged.

Salute! Saldet Tyo yelled. He wore only a simple white tunic with sandals and no armor since he wasn't sparring. Saldet Tyo was tall and skinny with a pockmarked, greasy face and blond hair the color of bright yellow paint. Arken had learned the previous night that Tyo had graduated two years earlier and had been serving as a saldet on several warships in preparation for becoming a lancon. He had returned to the Academy a week before SeaJourney to assist Lar with preparations, and Lar had put him to work with the class so he could familiarize himself with the cadets.

Victory for Lanth! Arken and Gart shouted as they saluted by smashing sword against shield.

I will act as points judge, Lar said, and then he turned to Tyo. Begin at your leisure, Saldet Tyo.

Ready? Tyo asked. He smiled at both boys, and Arken remembered Tyo was not aware of the grudge Gart held against Arken. I hope he intervenes in time if Gart is too violent, Arken thought. Tyo didn't look too bright to Arken, but there was nothing Arken could do at this point. Changing referees wasn't allowed.

Arken nodded. He and Gart lowered their faceplates, the sign they had committed to battle. They raised their swords and shields and assumed the ready fighting position: knees slightly bent, left leg forward, right leg back.

Spar! Tyo dropped his hand and jumped back.

They circled, with Arken avoiding contact and searching for an opening in Gart's defense.

Gart raised his sword high, stepped forward, and swung an illegal blow down toward Arken's head.

Arken reacted instinctively, raising his shield and stepping under Gart's sword so Gart's sword handle crashed into the shield instead of the blade.

He's trying to kill me!

Even though this reduced the force, Arken's shield arm buckled into his helmet, knocking it sideways and blinding him.

Arken jumped back and pushed his helmet over in time to see Gart swing from the side. Arken slid back another step to let the sword point whistle past his belly from right to left. Gart tried to extend his reach by leaning forward when he saw Arken might escape his swing, but this tipped Gart forward.

Gart moved his shield to the side with his left arm to regain his balance, and Arken swung hard at his extended arm, the sword striking bare skin below Gart's left elbow.

Oww! Gart howled as he stepped back and flexed his arm by lifting and lowering his shield.

Point to Arken. Tyo waved an arm toward Arken.

What? Gart protested.

With real swords, you'd be bleeding to death, your arm cut off below the elbow, Tyo explained. You know better than to straighten your shield arm so far it leaves your arm unprotected!

Yes, sir. Gart and all the cadets had learned that continuing to complain about points awarded in sparring always resulted in harsh punishment.

And your first blow was illegal, Gart, Lar added. Arken's quick step inside saved his head. You know head blows aren't allowed in sparring. Try one again and even if you don't hit him, I'll grant a point to Arken. Lar's eyes burned with a new intensity as he turned his attention to Arken. Arken, you are quick on your feet! That was an excellent counter.

To Arken's surprise, several boys cheered for him, which gave him a surge of energy. The first to three points wins, he thought. He had one point and now Gart was fighting under a warning.

The armorers stopped hammering and emerged from the shade of their porch roof to watch. Arken saw the smile on the head armorer's face as he held a gastag leather apron over his bald head to protect it from the sun. He knew Arken was the underdog and was happy Arken was winning. Arken wondered if they were rooting for him because he was a commoner like them.

Gart scowled as he circled for an opening. He wiped sweat from his eyes and, as he did, Arken feinted in, but he dodged back too slowly. Gart threw his weight into a hard swing from right to left. His sword smashed Arken's shield into his left shoulder, knocking him off balance.

Arken stumbled to his right, and Gart stepped forward to take advantage of the opening to swing a long arcing blow toward Arken's head.

He doesn't care about losing, Arken thought. He is determined to hurt me!

Arken used the momentum of his fall to keep rolling clear. Gart's sword smashed harmlessly into the courtyard clay. Arken jumped up in ready position.

The boys cheered Arken again.

Penalty point for Arken! Gart, you aimed for his head under a warning. Lar took a step toward Gart as he shook his head in disgust. Then he turned to Arken. One more point and you win and graduate. Can you do it, Arken?

Yes, sir! He couldn't believe his luck. He'd hoped for a chance but this felt too easy, making him study Gart with suspicion. He wondered if Gart simply wanted to cripple him and didn't care about losing.

His adversary had straightened up to rest while Lar scolded him. Arken realized during this pause that Gart's chest was still heaving long after Arken had fully recovered. He is out of shape, thought Arken.

Gart had always used his size to end fights quickly, and this one was going on too long. If he avoided Gart's efforts to land a crippling blow, Arken realized he might win because fatigue would eventually force Gart to drop his guard.

Tyo signaled for them to resume the match, and Gart instantly slashed hard from right to left at his stomach. Arken turned his shield to protect his side and stepped back. Then Gart angled his sword down and tipped his sword point forward in mid-swing. The blade bit into the bare flesh on the outside back of Arken's left thigh.

A burning pain in the outside of his left leg made Arken stumble.

Point to Gart, Lar said. It was a cheap blow, designed to hurt, though legal, because it struck leg armor first. A cheer went up from Gart's friends while those supporting Arken groaned in protest.

Gart charged at Arken, crashing their shields together and pushing Arken backward before he could swing his sword. I'm going to cripple you, Gart hissed. Arken stumbled and almost fell out of the arena, an automatic loss, but he caught himself by pushing his sword point into the ground to regain his balance.

His heart pounded and panic washed over him. He was going to be a cripple for the rest of his life! But if he forfeited, the rest of the class would mock him all his life.

Gart circled to his right in order to get closer to Arken's left side. Arken retreated in a circle as well, but he tripped and bit his tongue while trying to get his feet under him. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

Arken felt a surge of panic and tried to calm himself. His father was a great warrior, what would he do in this situation? Then it was as if he could hear his father's words from a few years ago. Arken had never understood what his father meant about fear during battle until this moment, because he'd never been so scared.

The advice seemed stupid at the time. If you fear death in battle, pretend you're already dead and you have nothing to lose. Arken had never been able to imagine himself thinking this. Why not run away to fight another day?

Now, facing Gart today, he understood. Sometimes you can't run away. And he couldn't win with fear in his heart. So to eliminate the fear, he had to imagine himself already dead.

That's easy. Look how much bigger he is than me! Father was right. I am so dead!

The armorers had moved forward to stand behind the seated cadets after seeing Gart's attempts to cripple Arken. They looked angry.

You've got him, little man, shouted the lean armorer who had fitted his lower body. The thick-set head armorer clapped his broad hands together in a powerful crack and shouted, You can do it, Arken Freeth!

This filled Arken with a surge of energy that helped replace his fear with resolve. Death had found him already. He had lost his life. But he would win this battle.

Gart swung for his leg once again. Arken dropped his shield to block the blow, but the sword went below his shield. Pain shot through Arken's left thigh, making him cry out.

As the blow landed, Arken noticed Gart had to bend forward to connect with Arken's leg. When he finished his swing, Gart's head was within range and undefended. A plan came to Arken.

A second point to Gart, match tied, Lar warned.

Though his left leg barely hurt, Arken dragged it and winced in pain as if Gart had hurt him badly. Arken pretended to stumble to his right, exposing his left thigh even more. Gart saw the opening and swung too hard. He put so much force into his swing that his left arm and shield flew back once again for balance.

Arken's trick had worked. Gart had sensed victory and swung too hard. Everything happened in slow motion as Gart's sword came toward the top of Arken's left knee. Arken dropped his shield to protect his leg while swinging his sword down toward Gart's exposed neck.

Arken knew he could connect the blow. It would hurt Gart badly, possibly leaving him unable to walk. Arken swung hard, channeling all his built-up rage from years of Gart's bullying.

Yet, as he swung, Arken changed his mind. An illegal blow would lose him the match, and he wanted to win more than he wanted to cripple Gart.

He angled his sword to the right to crash into Gart's armor dead in the center of his shoulders, a legal blow, and lethal with a real sword. The twisting of his blade made the inside of Arken's right elbow burn where he had strained it lifting the rock earlier. But the pain was worth the result.

The force of the sword blow knocked Gart flat on his belly as if his neck had been severed by beheading. Arken stepped forward and touched his sword point to the back of Gart's neck while keeping a tight grip on the handle with both hands. The match was over. With a real sword, he could have driven the point home and severed Gart's spine. Gart froze in submission.

Match to Arken! Lar raised Arken's sword arm. Arken had won on points as well as bringing Gart to the ground in a kill move of certain death.

The armorers' slapped their leather aprons as they roared their approval along with the cadets cheering for Arken. It gave Arken chills down his spine.

Salute! Tyo added.

He just got lucky, Gart said as he rose to his feet.

Gart, be quiet, or you're in for punishment, Lar warned.

Gart nodded, and then the two combatants faced each other and saluted, swords raised vertically, hand guards below the eyes.

Gart has shown today that in combat with weapons, power is not everything. Lar glanced at the cadets. Arken cleverly drew Gart in. With real weapons, Gart would be dead. Patience is virtue, Gart. With Arken's leg injured, victory was merely a matter of time.

Yes, sir, I am impatient, Gart said while still at attention.

It will cost you, Lar added. You're relieved as salcon, and you will be low man in class in bad duty assignments. Who is next in line for salcon?

I am, sir. Donov raised his hand. He was halfway in height between Arken and Gart; had a lean, medium build; had sandy brown hair; and sported a quick wit, which made him popular with the class. Arken felt even happier he had defeated Gart knowing Donov would take over.

Donov, you are the new salcon.

Thank you, sir.

Gart?

Sir?

Six weeks before you can challenge Donov.

Sir? Gart saluted. I would challenge him sooner if allowed.

No, Gart, you have dishonored yourself and your family's name today by attempting an illegal blow under a warning. You will meet with me and the Holy Leader before you leave on SeaJourney. Together we shall fix a penance that you may serve to relieve this day's shame.

Yes, sir. Gart bowed his head, his face red. There was no worse offense than bringing shame to his noble house. Arken could see the rage in Gart's posture and wondered if he would truly repent. Arken doubted it. In fact, he knew that Gart would take his anger out on him as soon as possible.

Lar turned to Arken.

Congratulations, Arken, you've passed your test today. You will graduate and go on SeaJourney.

Thank you, sir. A hot flash of triumph and joy raced through his body.

No need to thank me. You did it yourself. I'm surprised, to be honest. I knew you were a good archer when you passed the midlevel archer's test-which most boys in the class have failed, I might add. He looked around the class. More of you should learn from Arken. His archery skills are very advanced. You said your grandfather practices bow with you three nights a week?

Yes, sir.

Well, he should come teach our students, Lar offered.

I'll tell him, sir, though he's a bowmaker to the king and busy."

I see. Though that does not account for your skill at sword fighting! How did you gain that skill?

Practice, sir. After school. My father spars swords with me on nights I don't practice the bow with Grandpa.

Ahhh! Lar exclaimed. Now it's clear. He beamed. Well, good work. Your practice paid off.

Thank you, sir. Arken smiled like he never had before, like he imagined he would while standing on the deck of the ship as he departed on SeaJourney. He felt his smile fading when he noticed Gart staring at him with an angry scowl.

CHAPTER 3

YOLANTA RAIDS BALTAK

Disaster! Baltak has fallen after a moonth’s siege. My generals promised years of safety while the Amarrats pursued a useless siege, yet today the Amarrats breached the walls! My beautiful city, my friends, all lost! Baltak burns as we sail for Lanth, home of my future husband. Foul Tookan pirates allied with the Amarrats chase us as I write. We pray for escape in the nightmist.

—Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria

Faster! Yolanta roared. We have to catch them. The drumbeat quickened, and with each oar pull the ninety-five foot Reaper surged across the flat sea. Yolanta pressed his thighs against the bow railing and glared ahead at the fleeing Tolarians, wishing his stare was a grappling rope able to pull ships back.

Water sparkled off the Tolarian ships’ oars ahead, making rainbows from the sunset beyond. The last of the fair, offshore winds had quickly carried the Reaper close to the fleeing Tolarians, but just moments ago the winds had died.

The five green-hulled Tolarian ships with large slave crews and long, thin hulls had quickly lowered sail and set the slaves to rowing. They were so close Yolanta could see Princess Sharmane standing on the command deck of the lead ship. He shook his sword overhead.

Curse Tol and the Tolarians! he screamed at the Princess’s ship. But if the Princess had heard across the three-hundred-leg gap of water between them, she didn’t look upset. Yolanta hated the Tolarians. They had plagued his Tookan people since before his father’s time. The Amarrats, his new allies and invaders of Tolaria, were welcome to the Tolarian land as long as they left his Tookans alone to plunder trade on the Circle Sea.

They will escape soon, Brumbal, Yolanta’s second-in-command stood at his side. Our ship is not as fast-rowing as those long hulls. If they make it until nightfall we will never find them.

Yolanta was the Admarg of the fleet and the king of his small country. Brumbal served as captain of the Reaper and commander of the fleet.

Nightmist always favors the hunted. Yolanta glanced up at Brumbal, the only man on board taller than him. Looking at Brumbal felt like looking in a reflecting plate because they both had the radiant blue eyes deep set behind the heavy brow, sloping forehead, and large jaws of the Tookan people.

If only we knew their destination, Yolanta said in a low voice. With the compass the Amarrats gave us, we could cross the Circle Sea and surprise them.

Yolanta spoke quietly because the existence of the compass was a secret. Yolanta had told only Brumbal about the compass given to them by the Amarrat king. The Tolarians and Lantish had used the compass for years. They had learned to rely on the compass to guide them directly across the Circle Sea.

Yolanta’s forces could never sail beyond sight of land for fear of becoming lost in the vast Circle Sea. Would his men trust that the compass could keep them on course? Or would his men mutiny? It was impossible to know without trying. And Yolanta didn’t want the men to know he had a compass or was considering taking the risk of using it until he found the right moment to tell them.

Perhaps if we grapple one and persuade the Tolarians to reveal it, Brumbal whispered to match Yolanta’s guarded conversation. Brumbal did this by placing one of his large hands by his mouth. He was the largest man on the ship, and he looked funny when he tried to do something delicate. Yet there was no humor in this moment as Yolanta glared at his enemies ahead.

We need to be closer to grapple one of their ships and take them prisoner. I’m sure we can get one of them to tell us their destination. But even if we know that they are crossing the Circle Sea directly and know their destination, will our men let us sail across the Circle Sea? I wonder if they will obey my orders or their fears? Yolanta asked.

They are brave. They will obey. Brumbal touched his sword handle, emphasizing that he was willing to use force against those who might think of mutiny.

We have to catch at least one before nightmist, then, Yolanta said. Yolanta knew that if he didn’t overtake one of the Tolarian ships soon, they would escape into the nightmist, the heavy dew that fell after sunset, and he’d never have a chance to capture the Necklace of Tol.

Yolanta watched his rowers in the pit below the main deck. He was proud of his crew; there were no finer men at sea. No slaves, but freemen all—men who would row hard and fight to the death.

Each rower’s armor hung in racks by the rowing benches. The men grunted with each oar stroke, and their bodies glistened with sweat. They should for the grueling day’s work they’d had.

How do we grapple when we keep falling behind? Yolanta assessed his fleet of seven, black-hulled ships. Their oars slapped in rhythm against the flat, pale blue sea. We’re not fast enough under oars.

He scanned his ship: mast down, sail-rigged, the strongest men at oars—what more could he do to gain speed? His forearm armor pinched his bicep as he lifted his helmet from his head by one of the ban horns attached and ran his fingers through his long, sweat-soaked, black hair to cool himself. Sweat dripped down inside his bronze chest plate. He pulled the antler stopper from his water boda, a goat’s bladder hung by leather straps from his neck, and drank the last of it.

Sir, I have an idea. Brumbal waited until Yolanta had quenched his thirst.

Yes?

We’re not in catapult range for large rocks, but small ballast stones might reach them, Brumbal suggested. If we stun their rowers, we could draw close enough to grapple and board. After capturing their ship, I’m sure we could learn their plans.

Ha! Yolanta nodded. A good idea! He gazed at the fast-approaching sunset. We’ll try before all light is lost.

I’ll go below and fetch the small stones. Brumbal saluted, and then he jogged away. Despite his massive frame, huge muscles, and a layer of bronze armor, Brumbal easily crossed over the deck. He moves like a jalag in combat like I do, Yolanta reflected. We’re so much alike; perhaps the men were right in thinking he and Brumbal were half-brothers, sired by a common father from mothers in different ports.

"Tell Faldon to come forward," Yolanta yelled after Brumbal, who waved acknowledgement he’d heard.

In a moment, Lancon Faldon, his third officer, came forward from his position at the helm by the tiller man.

Sir! Faldon saluted. It was the custom of all Tookans to wear a full beard, but for some reason, Faldon’s black beard was thin and always looked in danger of disappearing completely from his slightly yellow skin. He was a very lean man, and despite Yolanta’s constant urging for him to eat more and gain strength, his tunic hung from him like a flag without wind. Yolanta suspected he had worms, but their ship’s healer couldn’t seem to help Faldon.

Bring men here to prepare the forward catapult.

Lancon Faldon soon had his sinewy sailors removing the ropes and canvas that protected the catapult arm.

Yolanta glanced back at the city of Baltak on fire. The city was now over the horizon, but black smoke stained the sky, the smoke rising straight up without wind to push it. The Amarrats had pierced the walls with siege machines and cleared the breech in the wall of defenders by early morning. The first instant the Amarrats broke through, Yolanta and his men had raced to the High Temple of Tol to capture the Necklace of Tol for the Amarrat king only to find the temple stripped of treasure, the necklace gone. A wounded slave left for dead revealed that the priests had fled to waiting ships less than an hour before.

Yolanta and his small force of warriors had raced through the burning city, and then across the sand to their waiting, beached ships. They had launched their ships and given chase to the escaping Tolarians to fulfill their promise to King Zuul, the king of the Amarrats. Yolanta wasn’t sure he trusted King Zuul. The Amarrats spoke a different language than the Lantish language used by all the city-states spread around the Circle Sea. That made it difficult for Yolanta to communicate. And given the Amarrat’s power, Yolanta knew he had no choice but to join the Amarrat cause because they could have easily conquered his country after conquering Tolaria. Still, the alliance with the Amarrats had been worth it because King Zuul had given them the compass and promised them Mork’s fire, two weapons of incredible value. And if Yolanta recovered the necklace, the Amarrat king would reward his people with a thousand drots of gold, a king’s ransom.

All people dwelling on the shores of the Circle Sea feared Yolanta’s people, the Tookans, even though they numbered fewer than fifty thousand. His ships routinely raided the smaller fishing villages stretched along the barren coast of the land of the north, or traded gold for supplies in larger cities, gold stolen from Tolarian and Lantish trade vessels. Yolanta reigned supreme as king of his people, yet he knew if he failed to provide them with food and plunder, another would take his place by a challenge of combat.

We found enough small stones. Brumbal’s voice caused Yolanta to turn and find the sailor carrying a basket full of ballast rocks by himself, while two men struggled behind him to carry the same load between them. Brumbal sat his basket down with ease, and then he began loading the cocked catapult arm’s cup while Lancon Faldon took the aiming seat.

Sir! Faldon had a tone of worry in his voice by the time he quit aiming the catapult. They’re out of range even for small stones.

Rage filled Yolanta. He hated this man for speaking the truth. A raging blood lust of anger made him want to run his sword through Faldon’s neck.

Then prepare to fire when they come in range again! Yolanta snarled at Faldon.

Brumbal, to me! Yolanta turned toward the rowing pit while shedding the belts holding his double sword scabbards. He avoided the stairs and dove for the mast tied to deck blocks along the boat’s center over the rowing pit. His massive hands gripped the mast and his huge arms swung his body before lowering him lightly to the walkway above the benches. Brumbal landed softly behind. A stench of sweat overwhelmed Yolanta, and he craved the fresh sea air.

We’ll take inside seats on the two front oars, Yolanta ordered Brumbal, who nodded and followed.

A gold coin to each rower if we catch them, so dig deep! Yolanta jumped from the platform down to bench level, yanked a man from his seat and took his place at the oar as Brumbal did the same on the opposite oar. The rowers inside Yolanta and Brumbal kept their rhythm despite the switch.

Faster! Yolanta screamed at the drummer boy after he settled into the pace.

Sir! The startled drummer boy gripped the drum tightly and beat in earnest.

Yolanta braced his feet against the blocks and pulled with his enormous arms. The man sharing his oar almost fell backward as Yolanta took the entire load.

Faldon! Launch when in range! Yolanta yelled after a minute of hard rowing. The crash of the catapult arm on the catch block soon answered him.

We hit them! Faldon’s victory yell pierced the air like the scream of swordtooth over a dying toth.

Yolanta vaulted up to the gray wooden deck to see the Tolarian ship slowly slew