Chapter 8: Liberators

Strong hands shook Manewyn back to consciousness, and for a moment he feared it had all been a dream. He felt the smooth wood of a ship's deck beneath his cheek, the beating of the sun on his back, familiar scents of tar and canvas filled his nostrils. Sensation slowly crept back into his body. He was soaked to the bone, and could not open his eyes from the burning of the salt water. His stomach felt as though it were about to burst, and his whole body ached as if he had just received ten of Raker's beatings. No, it had not been a dream, yet somehow he was still alive.

A slight nudge to the ribs was all it took to make Manewyn gag and vomit up half the ocean onto the deck. He spent several moments coughing uncontrollably and vigorously rubbing his eyes. When his breathing finally slowed and his vision returned, the first thing he saw was a human woman staring down at him. She was beautiful, but hard and fierce looking, a warrior. Her head was wrapped in a scarlet turban, she wore a steel breastplate and a curved sword at her hip. She looked down at Manewyn through dark eyes framed by coppery tanned skin with a look of curiosity and mild surprise. She spoke to him in a language that was totally foreign, and Manewyn could only stare up at her and shake his head. Her face wrinkled in obvious frustration as she said something else over her shoulder, and another figure stepped into view.

Manewyn shrieked in terror and shuffled backward on his hands and feet until his back was firmly pressed against the ship's rail, and for an instant he pondered throwing himself back into the ocean. Next to the woman stood a six foot tall lizard, a tail half the length of its body swishing back and forth on the deck. It was dressed in full armor and cradled a spear in powerful clawed hands. It took a step forward, its yellow eyes with vertical slit pupils blinking rapidly. It leaned in and flicked its tongue out, tasting the air, its lips curled back to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth. Manewyn tried to curl into an even tighter ball and visibly shuddered from the proximity of the giant reptile. His reaction elicited a round of laughter from several voices, and he peaked out from between his arms to see the woman playfully punching the lizard-man in the arm. With some effort he tore his gaze away from the strange pair and took stock of his surroundings.

He was not the only survivor. He recognized Boyle and several crewmen from the Red Hag huddled together a few feet away from him, all of them looking as scared and perplexed as Manewyn felt. There was a score of guards surrounding them all in a half circle. Humans of every size and description, and a few more of the lizard-men as well. Not a single one of them appeared to be paying any attention to Boyle and the others, they were entirely focused on Manewyn. They were all looking at him with the same look of curiosity and thinly veiled shock he had first seen on the turbaned woman's face. They spoke to each other in their strange language, some of them pointing, nodding, or shaking their heads in obvious fascination.

A loud voice barked a command from the back of the crowd, and all conversation immediately ceased as the guards parted for a figure in armor that was black as coal. Manewyn didn't need to get a good look at him to recognize a figure of authority, and he instinctively lowered his gaze. The figure stopped in front of him and crouched down. Manewyn felt a strong and calloused hand take him firmly under the jaw and lift his head. His eyes went wide and a small gasp escaped his lips, he was staring into the face of another elf.

Or was he? The man in front of him had the characteristic ears and sharp features of Manewyn's people, but in other ways was just as alien looking as the lizard-men. His skin was the color of ash and his eyes were a deep red, several shades darker than the fiery hair that was pulled back in an elaborate top-knot. There were several tattoos on his face, but none of them looked even vaguely like the Dalish vallaslin markings Manewyn had on his own. The slave and the soldier stared intently at each other in silence for several long moments before the dark elf spoke.

"Can you understand the words I am saying to you?"

Manewyn understood. The accent was heavy, but the warrior was speaking Elvhen. Manewyn swallowed hard and managed to respond in a shaky voice.

"Yes," he said, "I understand your words." The dark elf stood bolt upright, and there were audible gasps and murmurs from the guards. The red eyes were wide, looking at Manewyn with a strange new intensity, measuring him.

"You are mer," he finally said. Manewyn's brow furrowed curiously and he shook his head.

"I'm an elf," he said dumbly. The commander, for that is what Manewyn was now certain he was, offered a thin smile.

"We are also sometimes called elves in my homeland." The dark elf extended his hand, and Manewyn stared at it suspiciously before slowly taking it and letting himself be pulled to his feet. The commander took a step back and folded his arms across his black breastplate, looking Manewyn up and down curiously. "I wonder how it is you speak our dialect," he said slowly, "When these others speak no human tongue we know of. Tell me, kinsman, what sovereign do you and these humans fight for? What kingdom do you hail from?" Manewyn looked toward Boyle and the others, who were watching the exchange with frightened and uncomprehending eyes. Manewyn's face twisted into a sneer.

"I do not fight with them!" he growled. The ferocity of his words seemed to startle the dark elf, and he looked at Manewyn with a raised eyebrow. Manewyn took a breath and tried to calm himself, remembering he was still a prisoner speaking to a commander surrounded by dozens of armed soldiers. Still, he could not quite keep the quivering resentment out of his voice. "They fight for no sovereign, they are pirates and murderers. I was their slave, as were the few others of my folk on those ships." The dark elf's eyes narrowed, and Manewyn met them with a hard stare of his own. "I'm glad you killed them."

"Slave," the dark elf repeated, as if the word were foreign to him. "You were a slave to these men?"

"Yes," Manewyn nodded. The expression on the dark elf's face morphed from incomprehension to horror, and then to utter disgust. He turned to his soldiers and spoke in their foreign tongue, jabbing a finger at Manewyn as he spoke. The soldiers began muttering among themselves in agitation, anger, some of them raising their weapons. Manewyn took a step backward, fearing that he had revealed too much. The dark elf spoke a single word with emphasis and made a swift, slashing motion with his hand. Manewyn gaped in surprise as the soldiers lunged forward and slew the other survivors of the Red Hag with shocking speed and ferocity. It happened so fast, none of them even had time to scream before their bodies were being dumped unceremoniously over the side. Some of the soldiers spat into the ocean after them. The dark elf watched the entire proceeding with a cool detachment, and when it was over he issued another command, and most of the soldiers saluted and dispersed.

"What is your name, kinsman?" he asked. Manewyn had to think for a moment, it had been a long time since anyone bothered to ask his name.

"Manewyn," he said finally.

"Well met, Manewyn, I am called Dirdath. Consider yourself a guest on this ship." Manewyn's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Am I not your prisoner?" he asked. Dirdath looked at him as though it were a silly question.

"You are not a soldier or a sailor, you were in thrall to these men against your will. Why would we make you our prisoner?" Manewyn just stared at Dirdath with his mouth hanging open, at a loss for words. "Of course," Dirdath continued, "It will be several days before we land, so until then I'm afraid you must stay aboard." Dirdath gave a wry grin, "Unless you wish to swim for it?" Manewyn shook his head. Dirdath chuckled and clapped Manewyn's shoulder.

"Be at ease, my friend. You will be well looked after." Dirdath turned to the soldiers who had remained nearby and issued an order in their common tongue. "Set course back to the fleet, I have a feeling General Aethilis and Viceroy A'zzmar will be interested in our new guest. Take him below, give him some clean clothes and something to eat." Dirdath turned back to Manewyn and continued in Elvhen. "I must attend to my duties, we will speak again soon." Manewyn nodded and watched as Dirdath turned on his heel and walked away, soldiers following in his wake. Then he gulped and retreated a bit when he realized he had been left alone with one of the lizard-men. The reptile blinked at him rapidly and jerked his head for Manewyn to follow.

They descended down two more decks until reaching a third that looked to be living quarters for the crew. The soldier motioned Manewyn to sit on an empty bunk as he rifled through a dresser. Manewyn sat down warily, keenly aware of the stares directed his way by passing sailors and soldiers. At length his guard returned with a bundle of clothing. He handed them to Manewyn before disappearing. The clothes were simple and well made, a cotton shirt and tanned breeches with supple leather sandals. Compared to the soaking rags he had been wearing, they felt like a king's wardrobe. The lizard guard returned just after Manewyn finished changing, holding a steaming bowl and half a loaf of bread in one hand and a tankard in the other. The bread was hardtack, tough and flavorless, but the stew was divine. Chunks of fresh meat floated in thick brown gravy alongside carrots and potatoes, and the tankard was filled with cool, watered down wine. Manewyn ate and drank greedily, it was the best meal he had eaten in years. He slowed his chewing when he became aware of the lizard-man watching him intently. He paused with a mouthful of bread and stew.

"Gerlach," the lizard said. Manewyn wasn't sure if it was a word or just a guttural growl. Then the lizard pointed a clawed finger at his own chest, "This one is called Gerlach." Manewyn's eyes went wide in surprise.

"You speak Elvhen?" he asked around a mouthful of food. Gerlach shrugged and nodded.

"Some small words," he said. "There being many tongues in Tamriel, good to know some small of each." Manewyn nodded and swallowed the food in his mouth and chased it with a sip from his tankard.

"I'm Manewyn. Tamriel…is that the land you are from?"

"Yes," Gerlach nodded, "Far, far across big water. Your land is being called what?"

"Thedas."

"Thedas. Is being one tribe, or many?"

"Many tribes, kingdoms."

"Keen-doms," Gerlach sounded out, and curled his lips back in what was probably a smile. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Tamriel once being many keen-doms. Fight much." He made a fist, "Now being one keen-dom. Strong keen-dom. Dovahkiin make strong keen-dom, make Thedas one keen-dom also." Manewyn nodded slowly, not quite sure what he was hearing. Gerlach was silent for a while longer and Manewyn finished his meal, set the empty bowl and tankard aside, and sat back in the bunk. Gerlach was still watching him, his head tilted to one side. "Gerlach's father's father was being a slave, being born a slave." He hissed, showing his teeth. "Many Argonians being born slaves for long time." Manewyn nodded in understanding, piecing together Gerlach's meaning from his broken elvhen.

"What happened?" he asked, "How did your people, Argonians, how did they free themselves?"

"Dovahkiin come," Gerlach said. "He being strike chains off slaves, say no more slaves and masters in Tamriel, only people in Tamriel." He reached out and put a scaly hand on Manewyn's knee, and strangely Manewyn did not feel the urge to pull back. "Being do same for Thedas." Manewyn was still not entirely sure what Gerlach was talking about, or why, but understood enough that whatever it was, it was important. Gerlach turned at the sound of heavy boots descending the stairs and stood up at attention as Dirdath entered the cramped quarters. Manewyn sheepishly rose to his feet as well, but Dirdath motioned for him to sit back down as he perched on the crate previously occupied by Dirdath.

"How do the clothes fit?" he asked, "And your meal, was it satisfactory?"

"They fit well, and the food was delicious, thank you." Dirdath made a face and chuckled.

"I'm glad you think so. So, tell me of your homeland, Manewyn." Manewyn was surprised by the request.

"What do you want to know?" Dirdath shrugged.

"Anything. Tell me of the lands, the people, and their customs. Who rules these lands? Do they fight among themselves? What are their soldiers like?"

"I'm afraid I don't know very much," Manewyn admitted. "I traveled some distance with my clan before…" he trailed off and choked up a bit, Dirdath patiently waited. "We kept to ourselves mostly," he continued, "But I know a little bit from tales I've heard from others, most of them I believe, some not. I can tell you more about our people, the elves, but I was young when I was taken, so I don't even know as much as I should about us." He bit his lower lip nervously. "I'll gladly tell you what I know, and answer any questions as best I can, I don't know that any of it will be very interesting I'm afraid." Dirdath leaned forward with his hands folded under his chin, and there was a strange gleam in his red eyes that made Manewyn feel suddenly uncomfortable.

"Please," he said gently, "Tell me everything."