[Arvedui III]

Telson had come to much knowledge throughout his stay in Umbar, had obtained many little wisdoms and truths that he could probably write a book on one day. As he sat in the forecastle, being glared at by the cook, however, he came to his most startling conclusion of all: Licorice was the food of the Gods.

It made sense, so much sense. For the first time since he had stepped onto the cursed ship, he did not feel like his stomach was trying to force itself out through his throat. The root was sweet, if a little addictive, but it was perfect. So Telson resolved, more than a trifle guiltily, to acquire his own private store as quickly as he could. Of course, the easiest way to do this was to lift the licorice Cook had allotted for his three young allies. They wanted to be aboard ship, therefore, their suffering is earned, and not to be aided. He thought with a smile befitting the dark lord as he gently pocketed the roots. Besides, none of them seem to mind it so much. The only one who might betray me is that lieutenant-no, first-mate, Meri Something-or-Other.

His brow creased at this, and he began to finger his stolen goods uneasily. The girl was not a particularly complicated puzzle, but an interesting one. Loyal as a Huan of old, he deemed her, fair and strong like a shieldmaiden with raven hair to rival the queens of Numenor. And she was interested in him. Not in the way most women were interested in men, he decided, frowning; But, she was uneasy about him, as if he carried some strange odor, and she wanted to know what it was. All of those inferences were irreverent, though. Telson doubted very much that he would have her loyalty on any matter, as it probably lay with Avershire, yet he also doubted very much that she would mention the licorice to Devon and the others. So that was settled. Sitting back on his stool, munching on the last of his root, Telson couldn't help but forget he was sailing on a floating hell bound for battle and certain destruction.
----------------
Telson was sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks when the call came for a beat to quarters and all hands on deck. In hindsight, the only thing he was glad about was the fact that he was alone in dark as he bumped, fell, and stumbled over and into every possible object and orifice. Throughly bruised and almightily spiteful, Telson buckled his swords to his waist and headed on deck with grimly set eyes and a mind to rip something into shreds. And from the scene that greeted him, he would more than get his chance. One of Doran's ships had been sighted off the port side.

A quiet calmness came over him as he surveyed the deck. This was what he was best at: observing the situation from a detached position, thinking of the best solution, and the executing it with merciless precision. Suddenly Telson stood stock still, wincing. It was the sound of catapults being readied and the rush of weapons being brought on deck that had made him flinch. It would carry and they would lose the element of surprise, he knew it. Although for a fleeting second his trepidation gave way to amusement as he saw Devon, Callath and Calnan trying valiantly to help load a catapult, Telson wasted little time in moving to where Arvershire and his officers...mates...things were talking in hushed tones. Whatever the plan was, he planned to be informed on it.

"What about boarders?" The second mate, Telson had forgot his name, asked.

"You can't spare anyone for boarding when they start returning fire." Telson answered levelly, enjoying the look around the small circle's faces as he made himself known.

"So glad you could join us, Master Telson." Avershire said in a fondly sarcastic tone Telson himself used often.

"We'll just have to cease fire and use most of the men for a boarding party, if it comes to that." The third mate, a balding man named Talon said determinedly.

"When it comes to that, sir." Telson corrected respectfully. "And without cover fire, if all us boarded the ship, our odds of taking her are still doubtful at best."

"Let's try and keep some optimism here." Meri interjected, staring pointedly at Telson.

"Excellent idea" Avershire nodded. "Count off the men, Mr. Talon, two groups. All hands are to man the catapults. If I say, group one is to prepare to board the ship, with half of group two in reserve. Move to it." So it was done, but Telson shook his head. It was folly. He knew it. There had to be another way. The corsair ship was almost in range when it hit him. How could he have been so stupid?

"Avershire!" He called, running after the man who was now moving down the port side, staring at the other ship, which had not moved from its original position. "We don't have to worry about boarding."

"Oh?" The captain said with a raised eyebrow. "How is that, my good landlubber?" Telson groaned inwardly. "Stow it swabby. And place fire among the salvos in the catapults. It's dry tonight." He said with a sardonic smirk, but was puzzled when Avershire frowned and gave him a stiff, "No" before turning away.

"Don't look so puzzled." Telson turned to see Meri staring at him, half in amusement, half in stern reproach "It's part of the sailor's code. Fire means death. You don't use it."

Telson nodded, thoughtful. "Where I come from, fire means life." He smiled at the irony and moved on, coming to stand between the first two catapults on the port side. From his position he could hear frantic preparation on the other ship. Apparently, it has just spotted them. That, however, was irreverent, for but a moment later the North Wind opened fire.