SeaJourney: Arken Freeth and the Adventures of the Neanderthals, Book 1

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. His memory wasn't clear. Just then, the cat roared, the sound echoing off the walls of the courtyard.

"Yes, you did, you just weren't tall enough to lift it onto the post." Lar was agitated. "Arken, we have to hurry if we're going to see the cat."

"Yes, sir." 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 stairs leading to the top of the wall. "I admire you for wanting to spar with Gart today. You're in for a pounding, though. You realize that, don't you?"

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

"That was close." Lar looked up. Some of the boys were at the top of the stairs, waving them on. They sprinted up the rest of the stairs. "Well, 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 as they hurried across the bridge over the barracks between the courtyard and the fort wall. A southeast onshore wind carried the scent from the fort's bakery.

"I'm being honest, Arken," Lar continued as they climbed the last few stairs, "you're an excellent student with unusual skills; 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.

"Hurry, it's over this way. Just fifty legs to go," said Han, one of the students who had waited for them at the top of the stairs. They ran toward Han, and the rest of the cadets gathered further down the wall and peered over the side.

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.