Grafton and Commander: The Far Side of the World

6th Month A, 288AC

If he had to describe Skagos in one word, it would be: Shithole.

It was a long Island of rock and little else. The occasional Skagosi men ventured close to the stationary ships, but none ever made full contact or offered anything in trade. Marq doubted the savages spoke the common tongue, let alone had anything of use to trade. If the Manderly sailor had been speaking truth, the old tongue name of the isle fit very well. But they were gone now, and all that remained were their own battered ships and men. Skagos suited only one need. It was a good hiding place.

A wave lurched the Cog, sending men stumbling. It wasn’t a particularly strong wave, but to the exhausted sailors it might as well have been a hammer strike. Marq did his best to ignore the swaying as he tended to the groaning sailor. Every now and then, his moans went in time with the creaks of the ship, sounding almost monstrous to his ears.

Though a month has passed since their defeat, the back breaking work aboard offered little chance for rest. Men still bore reddened wounds from the fight and the gangway stunk of iron where blood trickled into the cleaning water. The worst were still off their feet, confined to the lower levels where they wouldn’t draw the eye of their Lady Admiral. No weakness could be shown. Not now.

Marq finished with the primitive suture and pulled it tight, eliciting a hiss like a dying fire from the sailor. He was no maester, but a Hedge Knight must know something about medicine. If he doesn’t, he may never find a steady employ, or die a painfully slow death. This man would survive, Marq was sure. He might not enjoy it, but he would live.

The Knight exited the stuffy lower deck, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead. Both commingled into his red underclothes, disappearing quickly into the crimson fabric. He shivered and grumbled his way back to the waiting rowboat. He nearly threw up on his way back to the Lady Elissa, though it wouldn’t make much difference in the grey sea. Captain Stone was nowhere to be seen, probably strategising in her cabin with the other senior members of the fleet. Never with him, though.

Graves swatted the waiting hand aside as he climbed aboard, determined to find his way to his cabin alone. For a sworn shield, Selene Stone kept him as far from her as defensively possible. She shared nothing with him. No plans, no strategies, not even the grim supper they had lived off for months. After years of good spirited camaraderie with Marq Grafton or friendly devotion with Lord Morgan, this wore his loyalties thin. Was it their recent losses, or something deeper? In all honesty, Marq had not cared for some time.

He stood a second by the door to the lower levels, taking it all in again. The rock, the men, the sea. Gods, he was starting to hate the blasted sea. He would have taken in the sun’s warmth, if there was any to feel. Heat and sunlight seemed anathema to this place, and the Reachmen knew he was never further from home than in that moment.

"I hope I shall not die here" he mumbled under his breath. He wondered if the Stranger was still coming for them, even now. "By the Seven, anywhere but here."