He shuffled through the sand, feet bare and thoroughly wetted by the surf.
"Curse the bloody horse," Brayden muttered. "Would've brought an iron lead if I knew he'd bite through his rope one. Alidor is going to have my head for this."
Why do I have such rotten luck? I could've been sitting my arse down on the Sphinx right about now had that lackwit Lord Willem not sent me to squire for Lord Seaven's son. "'Collateral', he said of me. Mine own father, reducing me to no more than trade fodder! And for who? The dashing Prince of Seahaven?" The man spat into the waves lapping at his feet, trying to chase the vile taste of seawater from his mouth. Or perhaps he was trying to forget what happened to Alidor's last squire. Given to the sea for the crime of bedding a common wench. A simper crossed his lips, ever so faint. I wonder what Alyssa would do if she heard me call her a common wench. '"The Princess of Seahaven is no wench,' she'd say. Well, I piss on her 'princess'."
If there'd been anyone around to hear his treasonous talk, they remained well hidden in the sea of sharp rocks jutting from the ocean's corrugated surface. And as far as Brayden Willem knew, Magikarp had no ears to hear with, nor words to deceit him.
They were the only Pokemon that inhabited the waters around Seahaven, those thrice-damned Magikarp. Useless as anything other than food and stupid besides, they had only ended up emblazoned as sigils on the blue field of Seahaven's banner because of some war fought a century past in the days of King Axel.
Brayden's father had told him the tale of the righteous king a hundred times when he was a boy. The telling was for his own amusement, Brayden suspected; Lord Willem never failed to laugh when his son's face scrunched up at the gory bits, and when he had been in his cups, the man often had to stop mid-sentence to collect himself, which proved a challenge in and of itself. It really depended how drunk he was.
Many and more times the old Lord would craft an ending of his own surmise, shifting King Axel's name, gender, or appearance. The first time his father had done it, he'd described the lad as a boy with emerald eyes and ashen hair that fell to his shoulders. Brayden at that point knew he was lying, for if the Seavens were renowned for one thing, it was the trueness of their eye color. Even a boy as young as Brayden knew that every Seaven in Neore had blue eyes flecked with gold. The eyes of a Seaven were something of a treasure, Lord Willem said. He would also add, in arch banter, that he wished Brayden had been born a woman so one of the Seavens could fuck him and sire some blue-eyed children. Those jests are the reason I'm in no particular hurry to pray for my father's longevity.
But when Lord Willem managed to get through the whole of the tale without falling asleep or growing bored, he was quite a merry storyteller. From what of his retellings Brayden remembered, Axel Seaven was half a boy himself when he'd been named ruler of Seahaven. His father had been slain in the Battle of the Bay, which, in spite of its name, was a battle that took place a hundred leagues from any bay. A plan to storm Seahaven and end the Seaven bloodline had been laid out by the infamous Jakien Pyrox. To hear other stories told, the man was the half-mad spawn of a woman and a Pyroar, and he'd earned the name The Bastard of Pyroar for his flaming blade, Eruption. It was said he had no need of flint to set his blade to burning, for he used his own blood and the breath of fire his father had blessed him with. The lies singers spin for a copper, Braydenthought. It would be no surprise if I found Axel alive in some crag drinking Seaven Silver with Alidor's Ponyta.
But Brayden humored himself with the rest of the tale, false as it might have been. Axel was a boy blessed with tactical wisdom beyond his years, and in a deft move he advanced on Jakien's forces in the bleak of night and quenched half his army. Again, Brayden questioned how well a twelve-year old could sit a mount, let alone destroy half an army.
One man proved more of a challenge to Axel than an army, though. When Jakien found the king resting in his throne room, he was said to have sheared the boy's arm to the elbow in single combat. He would've slew Axel right then and there had a Magikarp the king rescued from the kitchens as a child not thrown itself at him and taken the blow intended for Axel with its own body.
Seeing his partner strewn across the floor drove Axel into a bloodlust. He skewered Jakien with blood pouring from his shoulder and raised Magikarp as the device that would be borne on every Seahaven banner henceforth.
And so it was that Brayden bore a fish at the top of his surcoat. Thing is, no bloody Magikarp saved Axel when that ship of his struck a rock and sank. His father had also told him the tale of King Axel's demise, though it wasn't so wrought with valor as the first story. "Sunk in his armor, that he did, swinging his sword with his good arm the whole way down," Lord Willem would always finish, clapping his son on the back as if it were the shell of a Squirtle. Brayden would've pitied the dead king had he not been so wroth towards the Seavens.
Particularly Alidor. Brayden was older than the Prince he squired for; nearing four-and-thirty, he was double the age of Prince Alidor Seahaven, and thrice that of his brother, Lucas. When my lord father finally decides to die, I'll be relieved from this folly. I'll be the Lord of Dseri, how will little Alidor like that? He would make a much better lord than squire, that much Brayden was certain of. Trim even in his middle age, he wasn't hard on the eyes. Ashy black hair fell to his shoulders in loose waves, and his eyes shone darkly in the sandy brown color distinct to the Willim family. He'd have no trouble finding a lady to marry; perhaps she'd give him a strong-blooded heir one day. I'll name him Alpyn, just to vex the fair Princess. That had been his predecessor's name, if his memory served him true.
It would not be so simple finding Alidor's Ponyta, however. "I just took the beast for a drink down by the shore. I mean, who am I to question Seahaven traditions? Feed the stallions oats stewed in seawater, scrub them with sea salt every eve. Hell, let the bastards drink the sea in and piss it out." Brayden kicked at a shell and watched it go skittering out across the sand. He frowned when it disappeared into the dark opening of a cave cut from the cliffs about the shoreline. He heard it land in some water with a soft sploosh, and then, ever so faintly, a whicker came from within the gloomy crag. I may keep my head on my shoulders yet, Brayden thought. Or perhaps I won't need to learn to swim just now.
Being given to the sea was considered both a punishment and an honor, depending who you asked, and was the preferred method of execution in the seafaring cities of Neore. The Shoreline Empire was no different. A triad of keeps, each at their own point off Raven's Gulf, were what awaited a traveler coming into the Empire from open waters. Brayden What. Oceaven, Seahaven, and Wavestir were notorious for tossing men into the churning ocean during a storm, though each claimed to do so for a different reason.
In Wavestyr, the god of the sea demanded sacrifices; in Oceaven it was believed the maiden Alevena required sacrifices to rise anew from the watery depths. Even though her ship sank more than a hundred years prior, Lord Symire Oceaven seemed to think his great-aunt would make a grand return someday if he offered prisoners of war to the sea every fortnight. Brayden had his suppositions about the truth in that. And in Seahaven, the logic behind drowning men was simple: The bastard commits a crime, he pays for it with his life. ', the common folk jested in their cups.
Another sound came from within the cave, growing louder with each step Brayden took. A salty wind whipped his woolen doublet about, and the sand underfoot grew coarse. Soon the squire found himself wishing he'd brought boots. Rocks punctuated the sand within the cave, as well as bits of seaglass and coral, and it was nigh impossible to take a step without cutting yourself.
Still, Brayden pressed forward, keeping a hand on the wall that had sprung up beside him as he entered the cave. It was limestone, so far as he could tell, splotched with lichen and smelling strongly of salt. Everything in Seahaven smelled of salt; the food; the sea; the ale; even the privy shafts smelled of salt.
The only respite was down by the stables, where the only scent in the air was that of shit. It was a welcome change, though, and Brayden oft wandered to the stall where he knew Navi waited.
A small Ponyta, she had been the runt of her litter and was never given more than a backwards glance and a handful of oats by the stablehands, yet Brayden loved her all the same. He would take apples that had been knocked loose of their branches to her whenever he could find any in the orchard, and laugh when she snorted steam at him as she chewed them thoughtfully.
More than once, he'd thought of hopping on her back and riding away, back to Dseri and his father. There'd be no more scrubbing barnacles from the Prince's boots, he thought, and once my lord father passes, I'll be the rightful Lord of Dseri. But then Alidor had gone and foiled his plans by giving Navi to his younger brother Lucas to play with.
The wall had grown dry beneath his fingers. Brayden studied it for a moment, wondering if he'd be able to find his way back to Seahaven with it alone. Behind him, light no longer poured from the mouth of the cave, and darkness sprawled before him like an unfurled map.
Another sound broke the silence, though it sounded more a screech than a whicker. Taking his hand from the wall, Brayden stumbled over rocky sand towards the cry. He only paused and looked back at it once. What if I die in here, searching for the way back?
"Back where? Mine own drowning rite?" Brayden asked of the darkness, getting no reply but the echo if his own words. He was upset with himself for thinking he'd lose his way if he lost sight of the wall, upset with Alidor for taking Navi from him, and most of all upset with his father for sending him to Seahaven when he had been so close to claiming his birthright.
When at last he found the cavern, his feet were sore and his temper was hot. He nearly fell into the wash of light filtering through a hole in the domed ceiling. I'm like a Venomoth, he reflected, falling to his knees. So starved for light I fling myself into it's embrace with no regard for anything else. Now I know how the blind must feel.
He looked around for anything that might give him a clue about where the sounds had come from. Rocks jutted up from the sandy ground like gloved fists, and he could hear the faint crash of waves somewhere to his right. The salt wind had tapered off, but the scent still hung in the air wetly. The drip-drip-drip of water off some stalagmites echoed in the distance.
And then the cry came from behind one of the rocks, urgent as it was shrill. Brayden got up slowly, letting the sand funnel off his doublet and form piles on the ground. "Ponyta?" he called, edging closer to the rock. If it's you, I can leave this bloody cave. If what was behind the rock wasn't Ponyta, though...
His hands were on it now. He could hear breathing, both his own and that of someone else. Peering over the edge, he saw Ponyta's mane, the fire warm on his cheeks. A shudder of relief went through him...
...Until he saw what the horse was prodding with its muzzle. Brayden could tell it was a Pokemon at first glance. One of it's eyes was swollen shut, the lid black and oozing pus in places. The the rounded, triangle-shaped appendage around it had a bit of a purplish tint to it, and it's feathery skin was white as bone. Cold as it, too, the squire thought when he touched a gash on the creature's wing, yet he could fell it's chest rise and fall with each breath it took.
Ponyta gave a good-natured whicker and nudged the creature again. Take it back to Alidor, he seemed to say. Brayden hesitated. His hand still rested on the Pokemon's wing, scaly and soft and feathery all at the same time. The squire drew his hand back to find his fingertips bloody He judged he could carry the beast back to Seahaven on his lap if Ponyta would bear the weight. The horse's mane would provide ample light, even in the dark of the cave and spare him another stumble through the blackness.
And so it was that Brayden Willim, heir to the city of Dseri and it's surrounding lands, as well as squire to the Prince of Seahaven, found himself astride Ponyta and heading in the direction of home.
It's not truly home, he thought, the strange Pokemon's heart thumping against his chest, but I feel closer to the sea than I have in a long while.
For once, the salty scent rolling off the waves didn't bother him.