Hidden Behind Shadows, Strong Hearts Lie

Hidden Behind Shadows Strong Hearts Lie… a Novel By Mike Robinson

Chapter One : Skulls and Crossbones Gone Lovelorn

Dawn was barely perceptible, bleeding a diffused golden pink into the night sky. It was a tremulous light that merged, mist-like, with the darkness. The waters of the great Fabian were alight, the very heaven’s reflection dancing amidst in those cold waters.
“We’re closing in, m’lady…”Alexandra nodded, offering a witty smile to her young friend, but nothing more, turning the ship’s wheel – steadying the great schooner with every change in the tide.
Azrael Loehir stepped back from his captain, wandering over to the ship’s rail as he so often did, too gaze out and across the vastness of an empty sea.
Azrael was young, yes, but well experienced in matters such as these. He was a pirate. Always had been – and in his own eyes, always would be. Azrael loved the life it afforded him and all the dangers that would be sure to come. Everyday was an adventure on the seas, wherever they sailed, wherever they would hunt. It was the hunt he loved, Azrael was one to imagine, the exquisite agonies of suspense, always to be teeming with a kind of euphoric anticipation.
Azrael was a tall young man of nineteen long winters, his skin sun-bleached from countless days roaming the great oceans of Alderd. He had long, silky black hair and round, depthless, liquid-gold eyes that shone with intelligence, boundless wisdom, and the fierce pride of youth. Azrael’s body was trim and wiry, hiding his own steely strength – his physique, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. He wore deep brown leather britches and a white dress shirt he left open at the chest. A long, sweeping silk cloak was draped over his rounded shoulders, clasped across his neck by a silver chain. It was an expensive piece of clothing Azrael had gone to great lengths and measures to attain - most of his monthly pay, to be quite honest, not leaving him any for drink and whatnot – but completely worth it’s steep price.
The Macellarius was a grand ship – the greatest of any pirate ship, in fact – that is to say, the greatest of any ship not sharing allegiance with a particular empire. The Macellarius was known all across the seas, at every port, at every naval base, and on every island. Tales of the Macellarius’s many exploits were abound and in good number. The Macellarius and its’ crew were living legends, the greatest sailors and pirates the world of Alderd had ever known, despite their relative young age. She was a marvel to behold, too – quite a massive ship to be sure. The Macellarius had sixteen long-range cannons on either side – starboard or aft. She was a four-masted schooner and swept the seas at great speed – regardless of the wind or the ocean tide.
But, like all great ships – and like all great stories that’d be worth telling – it was the Macellarius’s crew that made it legend, that brought it’s name to the mouth and word of every sailor in the world.
First and foremost, there was Alexandra – the Captain of the Macellarius. Alexandra was a beauty, born of and to the seas. She had long, shiny, dark brown hair that contrasted sharply with her stark blue eyes. She was thin and very slender, her skin ghostly pale in the quiet moonlight, strangely enough. None among the crew were rightly certain of her age, but she was thought to be a very young woman. However, Alexandra was as clever and smart as she was beautiful, and not easily fooled. Alexandra was a strong leader – and would always command the loyalty of her devoted crew.
Azrael himself was Alexandra’s second, her right hand, always ready to follow her every word.
Next, there was Vindictus Viridian. Vindictus was wizard, and had been with the Alexandra since the very beginning of her maiden voyage aboard the Macellarius. He was a tall mate – and an Elf from the Lunar forest, with shoulder-length blonde hair that had turned nearly white, despite his some seventy years, which was quite young from an Elf’s standpoint. His face was fair and his eyes cold and blue, showing a kind wisdom and boundless wit. Vindictus was a thin one, having little to offer physically, but was consequently instrumental to their very success. His wide range of spells could push the Macellarius to great speeds and his tongue could rage fiery destruction upon enemy vessels in a mere instant.
Ravyn Darklighter came to the Macellarius only several years before, left penniless in a land of cutthroat thieves. She joined the Macellarius at first out of desperation, but soon found a liking to the pirate’s life, and friends among the crew, particularly in the company of Vindictus Viridian. Ravyn was of mid-height – and an Elf, like her companion, Vindictus. She had lengthy, violet colored hair and the most serene, most deep blue eyes. Her skin was pale and gold like so many of her mystic race. She was an archer – an Arcane Archer, to be precise, being able to strike with a deadly precision and chain her attacks with dangerous magics.
Lastly was the barbarian, Whitefire – a giant of a man who stood to a near seven feet. His great arms were the size of small frying pans and were tribute to the many hours and battles spend swinging his warhammer about. Whitefire kept long, and usually unwashed, light brown hair and bore a short, scruffy beard. He generally had several lockes of his hair drawn up with colored beads and ties – tribal badges, though few knew them to be as much. He was smart, too. Not as such as perhaps Alexandra, but he could keep an intelligent conversation. He was a kind and gentle man of thirty or so summers who kept things in good order aboard the ship. One could not hope to find a more devoted friend and companion.
There were others, of course, aboard the Macellarius – soldiers and archers mostly. Sometimes, a desperate passenger would book her for passage, but mostly, the crew consisted of hired soldiers and pirates – good men and women, all of whom loved the life – the pirate’s life – and were more than willing to become part of the legend.
Azrael looked up from the cool blue waters of the Fabian to check on their quarry. The Empress’s Eye wasn’t far off now – in fact, if he wasn’t mistaken – and he usually wasn’t – they’d have her within the hour. All around him, the deck was coming to life, swarming with soldiers who, like Azrael, were beginning to feel the sweet anticipations of the oncoming battle.
Alexandra had turned the ship over now to Vindictus and could be found storming about the deck barking last minute orders. “Azrael! Get your team together – move!” Azrael nodded dutifully and hurried across the deck, a silent fire beginning to burn in those copper eyes.
He found Whitefire below deck, prepping in his quarters.
“We’re nearing the Empress’s Eye, Whitefire – I can expect you on deck within the hour…?” Azrael asked his friend, clasping him heartily on his great shoulder.
“Of course, Azrael,” Whitefire smiled, standing up beside his young mate. “There’s no other place I’d rather be than fighting beside you…”The two friends clasped hands and made their way back up to the deck.
The Macellarius had almost caught the Empress’s Eye now, running nearly side by side with the great ship – but with Vindictus working his wind magics into the Macellarius’ sails, one thing was certain: there would be no escape for the Empress’ Eye.
Ravyn had her archers lined along the aft side of the Macellarius, ready to unleash hell upon her orders, though Ravyn herself was high up in the crow’s nest, where she could position her troops and relay orders as need be. Azrael moved to Alexandra’s side while Whitefire went about mustering their small boarding party.
A silence ensued. The sun’s quiet light had begun to cast itself upon the planks of both ships, affording a small view of the battle to come. The armored soldiers of the Empress’s Eye were like statues in the cool morning breeze, staring down their impending doom – the very visage of their defeat. The Empress’s Eye was the flagship of the Thardolin Empire, the heart of their very fleet – normally, Alexandra would have let a ship stay it’s course - but a prize such as this was naught to left to lesser pirates.
Finally, the ships were along side one another… For a moment, both crews merely stood there in perfect attention – then, seizing the moment, the Empress’s Eye let her cannon’s fire, smashing the aft side of the Macellarius.
“Loose!” Ravyn Darklighter and her archers tore through ranks of soldiers in an instant’s time, Ravyn’s own shot sent at the mast, exploding on impact, dropping the mast through the planks of the Empress’s Eye. Alexandra merely stood at the wheel, smiling grimly as her crew worked is deadly dance of destruction on the Empress’s Eye. Farther along the ship’s nose, Whitefire and his small conginent of soldiers were swinging onto the Empress’s Eye and into a wave of cold steel. Azrael looked to his captain, who grinned even wider and nodded her approval in his unspoken request.
Azrael swept forward, his cape flying about him, and leapt across the short expanse of ocean between the two ships, executing an arching flip before unleashing his own whirling blades upon the rank of the enemy. Azrael stuck his landing, parrying enemy swords at every turn, carving a path in blood.
Azrael was a fine – a brilliant – swordsman. He daringly wielded two blades – a short sword seconded by a curving cutlass, a feat rarely attempted, even by those more experienced than himself. Azrael weaved his slashing attacks seamlessly against his enemies, who were quickly falling prey to his vengeful weapons.
Most of the Thardanian soldiers remaining were being slaughtered, whether they retreated toward Whitefire and the main boarding host, or they dared face the lone swordsman at the Empress’s stern.
Azrael rushed the two on his left, both of whom wielded single swords, while Whitefire smashed his way into the final ranks. These were more cunning foes than he had previously dispatched, though, being familiar with each other’s movements. Their attacks complemented each other as only a trained soldier’s might, slicing in at Azrael from widely opposing angles.
But his swords also worked independently, and yet in perfect harmony, foiling their every attack. Azrael saw the frustration mounting on his opponent’s faces, and he knew the opportunity to strike would soon be at hand. Then they crossed up, coming in together with identical thrusts, their swords barely inches apart.
Azrael spun to the side and launched a blinding uppercut slice with his left sword – the cutlass, deflecting both attacks. Then he reversed his body’s momentum,
dropping to one knee, finding himself back in line with his opponents, and thrust in low with two snaps of his free right arm. His jabbing short sword caught the first, and then the second, squarely in the groin.
Azrael leapt up between them shaking with silent laughter.
“Azrael!” Whitefire’s cry sent Azrael into a whirlwind of movement. Azrael saw Whitefire a short distance away, practically forced down to his back by his opponent’s skilled maneuvers. In an instant, Azrael flipped off of the top of a barrel, landing between the two and deflected an attack that surely would have finished Whitefire.
The swordsman – the captain, Azrael thought – stepped back, eyeing Azrael warily. Whitefire scrambled up and took his hunt below decks…
There were no words between the two – an Admiral, as it was later discovered – and a pirate. They despised one another and were more than willing to let their blades do the talking.
The Admiral, wielding two scimitars, proved to be Azrael’s toughest challenge yet. He came at Azrael with complicated variations of twists and feints, forcing him on his heels more than once.
The Admiral was not a disappointment to his young and distinguished adversary. His moves came skilled and measured, and he and Azrael danced about for many minutes, neither finding an advantage. The daring Azrael then came in with his signature, his unbeaten attack – the same that had become legend along with the Macellarius – the split-thrust attack.
Azrael waded in, fending off a few simple thrusts, then launched a complicated feint that caused the Admiral’s blade to under cut Azrael, leaving him open for a mere second… But it was more than long enough for Azrael’s short sword to bury itself in the Admiral’s shoulder blade.
“Enough.” Azrael spun about to find himself standing face to face with a living legend, a legend greater than even the Macellarius’s. He stood before the Knight of the Imperial Dragon, himself, the Imperial general Dalcian Falx. “Cease, or I will kill you.”
It wasn’t a boast, no – not in any sense of the word. The general stated it as mere fact.
“And just who the hell are you…?” Alexandra had come aboard the Empress’s Eye with Vindictus following closely behind.
Dalcian Falx turned and looked at Alexandra incredulously. “I am Dalcian Falx and this is an Imperial warship – by what right do you attack such a vessel, miss…?”
Alexandra strode right up to the knight, even while her crew – including Azrael – backed away. “I am Alexandra, Captain of the Macellarius – and I claim the right to attack and plunder where I choose – the right of free enterprise, if you can see it as such…” she said with a witty grin to her crew.
“Pirates…” Dalcian sighed, shaking his head wearily. He was an older man, around forty years or so – but not yet out of his prime. Dalcian kept short, dark brown hair that was flecked with strands of black and white. His face was fair and smooth – kept clean-shaven when possible. He was a tall and striking figure with rippling muscles and keen, intelligent brown eyes. Dalcian had a certain aura about him, one that spoke of his fierce honor and great discipline. Dalcian Falx was the greatest swordsman and general of the Thardolin Empire, christened Knight of the Imperial Dragon by King Eceallion Von Glower himself many years before, at the height of the Empire’s reign.


“Pirates to some,” Alexandra began “but I like to think of myself as a business woman…”
Dalcian Falx drew his great sword, a long, gleaming thing, from its sheath across his back. “I shall ask once – leave this ship – and I will spare the lives of your crew. Refuse and I will kill every last one of you.”
“A duel, then…”Azrael said suddenly, stepping up to the knight boldly, a familiar twinkle in his eyes.
“A duel?” Dalcian wondered aloud, summing up the young sword fighter.
“Indeed,” Alexandra continued for Azrael. “A duel to the death – if you win, we shall be on our way and leave you to your own designs.” Azrael grinned. “But if you lose, you die and your ship goes down in flames…”
“Is their honor amongst pirates? Will you not sink this ship even if I win?” Dalcian challenged.
“There is and we will honor our word until the end, knight.” Alexandra spat “Have you the courage to challenge the greatest swordsman ever to sail under the banner of a pirate.”
Dalcian smiled and nodded. “I do. But where is this man – this swordsman you boast so proudly of?” Azrael stepped forward again, a confidence in his measured step, a confidence rarely found amidst those about to face the Knight of the Imperial Dragon.
Alexandra grinned and retreated back to the deck of Macellarius. Behind her, most of the ship’s crew stood along the aft-side rails, watching intently as Dalcian Falx and Azrael prepared to face off.
“Your name, young swordsman?” Dalcian offered as he dropped his cape to the deck. He did not wear the standard armor of a knight – he, however, chose to wear a thin, flexible suit of white leather straps and pieces, allowing far more freedom of movement.
“Azrael Loehir, good knight,” Azrael replied proudly “and this battle is sure you last, old man.”
Dalcian nodded in turn. “Yes, your barbarian friend had similar thoughts before he fell to my blade…” Azrael turned about slowly to face the knight, a deathly fear taking him into it’s cold visage.
Dalcian merely smiled and brought his exquisite blade up before his eyes. In his hands, the sword had become more than an instrument of battle. It was extension of his dream – the dream that would see those of the Thardolin Empire live in peace and infinite prosperity.
Azrael drew his twin blades from they’re sheathes, set in a silent, cold fury.
Azrael threw himself at the knight then, in a rage he had never before known – vengeance had fallen over him as surely as the news of Whitefire’s death. He would steal the taunts from Dalcian’s mouth with a fighting display too impressive to be derided.
Azrael was brilliant. He followed every move with three others and worked Dalcian low and high, inside and out wide. Dalcian was fast – really fast, surprisingly enough, with that massive sword of his but still found his heels under him more often than the balls of his feet, being to involved with staying away from Azrael’s relentless thrusts to even think of taking the offensive.
Any watching the battle would have found no breath in the next few blurring moments. Never had the Fabian Sea witnessed such a vicious fight as when these two masters of the blade met in single combat. Steel sparked and nicked, droplets of blood spattering both the combatants, though neither felt any pain, and neither knew if he had injured the other.
Azrael came with a two-blade sidelong swipe that drove Dalcian’s sword out wide. Dalcian followed the motion quickly, turned a complete circuit, and slammed back into Azrael’s thrusting blades with enough force to knock the young warrior from his feet. Azrael fell into a roll and came back up to meet his charging adversary.
Azrael came into the parry too high, and Dalcian drove him back on his heels. Dalcian kept Azrael’s weapons high through several combined maneuvers. He then swung his blade straight down in a vicious overheard slash that would’ve cleaved many opponents in two.
Azrael executed the appropriate cross-down parry, as he had to, and whirled around, stepping on Dalcian’s knee, sending him to his knee while Azrael put his short sword across the knight’s throat.
The Macellarius’s crew roared with applause after the minutes of unrivaled swordplay. “Kill him, Azrael – the challenge is won.” Alexandra shouted, though her tiny voice could hardly be heard over the shouts of the crewman.
Azrael grinned triumphantly, having successfully avenged his comrades life, but was stopped short of ultimate victory by a silvery cry of despair.
“No!” A young woman appeared, coming out from below the deck of the Empress’s Eye. Azrael turned about to ensure a better view.
“M’lady!” Dalcian gasped through Azrael’s chokehold. “I’m sorry. I have failed you…” Azrael lessened his grip as he stared in disbelief at the young woman, eyes wide with amazement…
She was the most beautiful thing – woman – he had ever seen. She had long, smooth lockes of blonde hair that were elegantly curled at the ends so that they cascaded about her slender shoulders lightly. The woman was very young with sparkling, almost evanescent, dark blue eyes. Her figure was very slender and curvy, having those faint outlines that spoke of her decent into womanhood. She wore a light blue – very expensive - dress, adorned all kinds of jewelry and priceless metals…
Azrael merely stared at her, mouth agape – transfixed by her beauty and stricken by something foreign to one such as he.
“Don’t kill him,” she pleaded desperately. Her voice stirred Azrael - left him almost wounded; it’s sound was as if there were ghostly fingers running down his back.
“Kill him, Azrael.” Alexandra commanded a little more forcefully, leaving him torn. “He killed Whitefire…”
“I didn’t kill him.” Azrael released Dalcian, stunned, backing up slowly.
“What?” Dalcian regained his feet, but left his sword on the deck, not even paying it a hopeful glance.
“Your friend lives,” he stated, facing Azrael once more. “He lays wounded far below deck, but he is far from dead, that one. I merely told you otherwise in hopes that you would attack me recklessly – a mistake on my part. You were far more skilled than I could have imagined.”
Azrael breathed a sigh of relief, his fears washed away in an instants time.
“But I stand by the rules of the duel,” Dalcian continued, “You have defeated me fairly and honorably. My life is yours, but I beg you – let the Princess live and see her safely to her destination at Marcema. An escort awaits her there…”
“Princess…?” Azrael and Alexandra wondered aloud.
“Indeed – she is the Princess of the Thardolin Empire – the heiress to the throne.”
Azrael looked at the woman in amazement, stunned by the truth of her position.
“M’lady…” Azrael began tentatively, “Might I have your name?” The Princess came out onto the deck, stepping between Dalcian and Azrael.
“I am Gabrielle Von Glower,” she offered over the sound of the churning waters of the Fabian. “I beg you, kind sir – please, let Dalcian live. He is my protector and my friend…”
Alexandra stormed across the ships to Azrael’s side, furious that her orders were being belayed by some Princess.
“Azrael! Kill him – the duel was won and you have emerged victorious… End this and let us be on our way.”
Azrael looked from his captain to Gabrielle once, then again, his hand twitching subtly. He had never before defied any order given by Alexandra but now found himself second-guessing… Gabrielle stared at him pleadingly, her eyes misty and gleaming in the pale sunlight.
“I…” Azrael sheathed his blades reluctantly, “I… cannot, captain…” Alexandra looked at her companion – not angrily, no – more perplexed than anything, if it were anything. She grabbed him and pulled him aside from Gabrielle and the crew.
“What’s going on, Azrael…?” she questioned, clearly at a loss for words.
“I think I’m in love, Alex…” Azrael said in a defeated sort of way. Alexandra stared at him in disbelief.
“What?” she hissed, “In love? With her?” Alexandra nodded back at Gabrielle.
Azrael nodded, embarrassed. “Christ! Are you kidding me?”
“I’m afraid not…” he whispered back, his gaze never leaving Gabrielle. He looked at his captain then, struck with a sudden idea. “Lets take them with us – we can drop them off at Marcema.”
Alexandra looked horrified at the idea. “Do you know how much she’s worth? We’d be rich, Azrael…”
“We’re already rich enough.” Azrael argued back, “Please…” Alexandra bowed her head in exasperation.
“No… I know you – you’ll never let her leave. They’ll sail back on their own.” Azrael was about to protest when Ravyn called down from the crow’s nest.
“Captain – the Empress’s Eye is sinking! She won’t be afloat for much longer.”
Azrael grinned happily in spite of his captain’s misgivings. “Bloody hell!” Alexandra spat angrily. “For the love of God – fine! But only until we reach Marcema, Azrael – I’ll take them no further…” And with that, Alexandra raged back to the Macellarius cursing without any sense of abandon.
Azrael smiled and skipped over to Gabrielle, elated beyond words. “You’re too come with us, m’lady – we’ll ferry you Marcema ourselves.” Gabrielle beamed happily at Azrael and wheeled about quickly.
“Dalcian – my things, if you will…”
“Of course, Princess…” Dalcian nodded before turning to Azrael. “Your companion is not far below deck, he can still be saved…” Azrael’s brow furrowed with worry as he followed Dalcian below deck.

Whitefire was unconscious by time Dalcian and Azrael had him brought back aboard the Macellarius. Vindictus was quick to take him to the medical quarters for treatment, where he’d hopefully recover in a few days time leaving him with little more than an ugly scar.
The Empress’s Eye had nearly submerged by time Dalcian returned with the last of Gabrielle’s things, which ranged from her entire wardrobe to various trinkets and boxes of jewelry.
“Well – that’s that.” Alexandra said after a moment, watching the Empress’s Eye fall completely submerged into the clear blue waters of the Fabian Sea. “Set sails north by north west! Vindictus, take command – I’ll be in my quarters.” Vindictus shot Azrael a curious look and moved to the main bridge.
Azrael stood at the ship’s rail in solitude, as he was accustomed too, basking in the sun’s warm rays, deep in thought.
“That was a noble thing you did for us back there…” Gabrielle said quietly, coming to stand beside the young pirate. Azrael wheeled about, grinning from ear to ear, throwing out his chest in pride.
“Not at all, m’lady.” he replied, blushing furiously, despite himself. Gabrielle smiled. “The name’s Azrael Loehir. Umm – there’s not much room onboard anymore – but your more than welcome to take my room if you’d like…”
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Azrael,” Gabrielle smiled again, “Thank you. When we get to Marcema, I’ll have some reward collected for you.” Azrael waved his hand nonchalantly.
“It is not necessary, Princess – the honor was mine.”
“Azrael! You’ve got lookout today – move!” Vindictus ordered from behind the wheel.
“Blimey,” Azrael jumped, “Duty calls, Princess – Until next time…” Azrael waved jubilantly, snatching the nearest robes and beginning his accent to the crow’s nest.
“Fair winds, Azrael Loehir.” Gabrielle waved, beaming as she followed his climb into the sunlight.