"I'm sorry I have to do this," Borres said. The iron door clanged shut, and he locked it with a rusted key. "But the law is the law. Still, the captain is a fair man, and you saved a lot of men's lives today. I'm certain he'll take that into consideration."
"It's fine," Sylven said, plopping down on a crooked crate. "We expected this might happen when we boarded the ship."
"I see," Borres said, pocketing the key. "Very well, I'll be over there. Shout if you need anything, but don't try getting out. There's nowhere to go even if you managed to."
Borres retired to a stool set next to the door, and crossed his arms. He didn't move for the next several hours, until at last a call from upstairs pulled him away. Cyrus watched him go, then glanced at Sylven.
"What do you think is going to happen to us?"
Sylven shrugged. "I'm not sure. They could leave us in here until we reach Cilthrin, and then turn us over to the guards. They could throw us overboard, and sail away. Perhaps they'll even kill us, right here and now."
Cyrus shivered. "That's not what I wished to hear."
"Yet it's a possibility," Sylven said. "Of course, if it comes down to that, I have my ways to get us out of it."
A week soon passed, while Cyrus and Sylven were stuck in the brig, eating nothing but gruel, and dry loaves. Borres kept watch over them during most of the time, and when he went to sleep it would be Valmen. Occasionally, they spotted dark shadows hovering by the door, and the scuff of feet passing by, but no one else ever came down.
Then, on the morning of the eighth day, Captain Edmund came, and motioned for Borres to unlock the door. His face was grim, and studied both Cyrus and Sylven for a while before speaking.
"I've decided to let you go. To be honest, neither of you deserved to be in there. You should have been celebrated, and honored with a meal, but the backwards thinking of my crew won't allow that. As such, this is the best solution I can think of."
"I take it you don't mean we can rejoin the others," Sylven said, with a sheepish smile.
Captain Edmund shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Instead, I've readied a rowboat for you, and several days worth of rations. It should be enough to hold you over until you reach land."
"You're kicking us off the ship?" Cyrus asked.
Captain Edmund nodded. "That's right, but you don't need to worry. We're close enough to land that you would be able to make it there by noon if you rowed hard enough. From there, it's only a day's journey south to reach Dowen, a village not far off the coast. They should be able to help you."
"When do we go?" Sylven asked.
"Immediately," Captain Edmund said, opening the cage door. "I've had the crew store your belongings in the boat, including your weapons. They were against the idea at first, but Borres convinced them."
With that, Captain Edmund turned, and brought them up the stairs. As they stepped onto the deck, Cyrus shielded his eyes, blinded by the bright sun and sparkling sea. A crisp breeze tugged at his tunic, but the fresh air was refreshing after the musty brig.
The crew stood around the deck, glowering, and a few grasping the hilt of their blades. An older man spit at Cyrus's boots, but a fierce glance from Captain Edmund subdued anyone else from following his example.
Across the deck, a rope ladder dangled from the railing, with one of the rowboats at its bottom. Their belongings were stacked in the back, along with two packs of food, and a waterskin.
Captain Edmund squeezed Cyrus's shoulder. "Again, I apologize for doing this, but this is the way things must be. To be honest, I would avoid Cilthrin if I were you. The kingdom's not the same as it used to be. I get a bad feeling every time we stop in their harbor."
"We'll keep that in mind," Cyrus said.
Sylven gave a slight nod, then climbed over the railing, and descended the ladder. Cyrus followed him down, and eased into the rowboat, which rocked beneath his weight.
"Good luck on your journey," Captain Edmund said. He motioned for Valmen to pull in the ladder. "If you can, be safe. I'd rather not hear of your demise after parting like this."
"You need not worry," Cyrus said.
"Good." With a slight tilt of his head, Captain Edmund stepped away from the railing, and barked a few orders to the crew. His voice grew distant as he strolled away, and Sylven pushed them away from the boat with one of the oars.
As they drifted away, Cyrus studied the sleek ship one last time, then turned to Sylven.
"Is this better or worse than what you predicted?" Cyrus asked. He dropped the other oar into the water, and pulled against the waves, propelling them forward.
"I suppose it's better. At least this way, we get to decide what we'll do next," Sylven said. He matched Cyrus's pace, and they soon were traveling at a decent speed.
Cyrus eyed the lush landscape in the distance, speckled with rolling hills, and grassy plains. "I was growing sick of the boat anyway. So this works for me."
Sylven smirked. "I feel the same way."
…
Several hours later, Cyrus glanced over his shoulder, and peered at the outcropping of land slowly growing closer. By now, the sun was directly overhead, its brilliant rays warming their skin against the sharp wind.
"Should we head for Dowen, as Edmund advised?" Cyrus asked, turning to Sylven. Sweat beaded atop his head, but his arms continued to work tirelessly. Cyrus worked to keep up, though his muscles burned with each stroke.
"For the time, yes. We're going to need to stock up on supplies if we want to continue, and it'd be a good idea to figure out where we are in comparison to the Arkenthell mountains," Sylven said. He wiped the sweat from his brow. "There's also another kingdom we could head to. Eldenfel, which lies along the base of the mountains. If Cilthrin is out of the question, then its the next best choice."
"How do you know?" Cyrus asked.
"I used to live there, close to a decade or so ago," Sylven said. He patted his sword. "It's actually where I learned swordsmanship, and they were quite welcoming to Myrel, and his magic, unlike most kingdoms."
"Weren't they afraid?" Cyrus asked. "I thought everyone viewed warlocks as incredibly dangerous beings."
"Not as much as you might think," Sylven said. "Unlike you, or Master Myrel, most warlocks, wizards, or sorcerers can barely wield magic. The fear of losing their minds hinders them, and those who ignore that fear usually go mad before they can do to much."
"I see…" Cyrus said. He glanced over his shoulder. By now, they were less than a hundred meters away from the shore. Eager to arrive sooner, Cyrus quickened his pace, and they soon scraped across the sand.
"We'll leave the boat here," Sylven said, hopping over the edge. Cyrus followed him, and they pulled the boat onto the sand. "If I remember correctly, Dowen is a small village not far from here. We'll stop there, stock up on supplies, and purchase some horses, then we'll ride to Eldenfel."
"Sounds like a plan," Cyrus said. He grabbed his pouch, and hoisted it over his shoulder, then strapped his sword to his waist, along with one of the waterskins. "But how do we know which way Dowen is?"
Sylven scanned the hills, then pointed towards the south-west. "We should start by heading in that direction. Eventually, we should run into a road, and it will lead us to Dowen."
Cyrus nodded, and they took off at a steady pace. They walked for the remainder of the day, then rested amongst the hill when night fell, before starting again the following morning. By noon of the second day, they spotted columns of black smoke, rising over the hills in the distance.
Sylven frowned. "Hold on. Something's not right."
"What do you mean?" Cyrus asked. He furrowed his brow as they neared the top of the hill. The blood drained from his face as he spotted the village of Dowen at the bottom of the valley. Black, smoldering buildings lined the roads, pocketed with stone statues, petrified in horrific positions.