On the fifth day adrift at sea, Alexios held the rope controlling the sail, ready at any moment to follow the dwarf Gorgias's orders.
Once they reached the open sea, their chain of command immediately switched around. Gorgias gave the orders, and the two professional soldiers followed them.
As soon as they boarded, Gorgias had them throw away their helmets and breastplates. Those things would only take up space on the boat and wouldn't help them at sea. If they fell overboard wearing helmets and breastplates, even their swimming skills wouldn't save them.
Alexios had still kept his shield, though. He didn't want to throw it away. His mother had handed it to him herself before he left, and she'd told him, "Either come back carrying it, or come back lying on it."
Gorgias hadn't objected too strongly, since the shield was made of wood reinforced with iron.
At that moment, Gorgias was fiddling with his old brass sextant. When he'd pulled the thing out of his backpack, Alexios had nearly pissed himself. He'd been afraid it would disqualify them, but Gorgias had calmly explained that ships had used these things long before the angels descended. It wasn't some kind of high-tech device.
Alexios didn't know what a sextant was or how to use one, but thankfully, its age put his mind at ease. Gorgias also said he'd found it at a secondhand market and had spent nearly all his money on it.
Lycurgus was still staring intently at his fishing rod, hoping to catch something. Even if it was only fish, fresh fish would be better than smoked fish.
There was one advantage to being on a raft: they had plenty of time. So they started chatting to pass it.
Gorgias told his story first. He really had been born into a fishing family, though these days he'd be more accurately described as a sailor. As the second son in a family of fishermen, he had no right to inherit the family business by tradition. After all, the family had little besides a nearly collapsing house, an old, tiny boat, and a few shabby fishing nets. If the inheritance were divided with every generation, even those would be gone.
So his father had introduced him to the captain of a merchant ship as an apprentice sailor. An apprentice sailor earned only a few silver coins a month, besides the ship's awful, tooth-cracking hardtack and watered-down wine. Then he had to tough it out for five or six years before becoming a sailor himself, free to bully the new apprentices.
So when he learned that the angels were recruiting new soldiers, he left the captain without a word and used all his savings to prepare for this path to advancement. He was ready either to become one of the angels' ranks or to die unnoticed along the way.
Alexios and Lycurgus had much more ordinary stories. After all, they were sons of the king, and at least they didn't have to worry about making a living. They'd simply been subjected to the strictest beatings and training from childhood, constantly tempering themselves into excellent warriors and commanders. Their parents had always told them that although the kingship was hereditary, it passed between two great noble families. If someone of their generation proved better, they could be replaced at any time.
When the angels announced they were recruiting new soldiers, the family elders immediately recognized the opportunity. Whether someone joined the Mortal Auxiliary or the angels' own forces, the family's future prospects would be boundless if one of its members made it in. So large numbers of Lasidream boys had joined the trial, and he and his cousin had set out bearing the honor of the royal family.
Unfortunately, they soon ran out of things to talk about. After that, they told jokes and stories. Whether they were funny or not, saying something was better than sitting in silence. But they soon ran out of jokes, too, and the three of them were left staring at one another. Every now and then, following Gorgias's directions, they moved the sail this way or that, opening it halfway or all the way.
Just as Alexios lay with his eyes closed, resting while his younger brother Lycurgus took over, he heard his brother talking with Gorgias.
"Hey, fisherman, what's that dark patch over there?"
His brother's question reached his ears.
"What dark patch? Wait a minute!"
Suddenly, Gorgias cried out.
"Shit, we're done for! That's a damn storm!"
Hearing that, Alexios sprang to his feet and looked in the direction they were watching. A vast mass of dark clouds, streaked with lightning, was bearing down on their tiny boat in the middle of the sea.
Lycurgus panicked a little.
"Let's hurry and steer around it!"
"No use. Storms like that stretch for dozens, even hundreds of kilometers. We can't go around it."
"Then let's charge through!"
"With this rickety little raft? One huge wave could flip us over."
"Why didn't you make us a better boat?"
"Give me half a year, then."
Lycurgus grew frantic.
"Sailor, use your peerless knowledge of the sea and think of something!"
Alexios snapped at him.
"Enough, Lycurgus. Stop arguing. Gorgias, tell us what to do."
Gorgias stared at the storm ahead and answered based on what he'd learned.
"There's nothing we can do except tie ourselves to the raft."
They quickly used whatever they had on hand, whether vines, belts, or strips torn from their cloaks. They tied themselves to the boat as securely as they could and prayed they'd make it through.
But when their tiny boat entered the storm, they still felt the world spinning around them. One huge wave after another tossed them into the air and slammed them back down. At one point, Alexios even saw his brother with his mouth open, the food he'd eaten that morning flying out into the air.
Just then, he heard a tearing sound at his waist. The strip torn from his red cloak had snapped. Gorgias had been right: wool wasn't a good choice against the corrosive seawater.
Then Alexios felt the world spin around him, and seawater kept surging into his mouth. He knew he'd fallen off the raft. Submerged in the water, he had no idea what to do.
Alexios could only try to remember what his swimming instructor had taught him. He needed to feel his way through it and practice—something about pulling through the water with his hands, kicking with his feet, controlling his movements, and not doing it too soon...
What his instructor had taught him couldn't save him. All he'd learned was how to keep from drowning in the calm waters of a lake. Now, this Lasidreamer from the mountains finally witnessed Poseidon's might.
At that moment, a figure leaped from the raft into the raging waves. He swam toward Alexios like a fish, agile and sure.
Suddenly, Alexios felt someone pulling at him. He knew he couldn't grab hold of the other person, so he just kicked wildly, trying to give him a little help.
At long last, after what felt like a century, they reached the raft. His younger brother reached out and pulled them both back aboard. Alexios collapsed on the deck, clutching the wood with all his might.
Back from the brink of death, he discovered a little-known fact: seawater tasted awful, especially when you couldn't keep it down.
Unfortunately, the storm had still swept his shield away, along with their food and drinking water.