Erik leaves home
Erik hefted his pack into the small boat. Feeling the wind snap around him he turned back to look at the small town and the tower beyond. Now that it was time to go he was not sure he wanted to. It was a small place but it was home. He knew every crag and cliff of the island and all those on the nearby islands too. True, he spent most of the time looking out over the sea at the smudges in the distance that were other places, other realms; but he always returned home to a warm hearth and company.Turning back to the boat bobbing gently in the swell he lay his grey shield by the pack and sighed. There was nothing for him here now. It was eight seasons now since the raiders had last come out of the sunset. Erik only stayed in practice by hitting wooden targets and sparring with wooden swords against his elder brothers. Benjar and Andralf were fine friends but with such strong and healthy men before him Erik knew the Grey throne would have little use for him. Even his sister Cera's boys would inherit ahead of him. Still, he had been trained in all the arts of rule; leadership and combat; wisdom in law and in letters. Even in the Kasjyr ceremonies the Grey King was expected to preside over, festivals of tide and sea harvest.
Erik lifted the roll containing his fish mail vest. Never had he received finer presents than at the time he stood before the King and begged his leave to sail the distant shores. The vest and shield, his sword and helm, cloaks and even this sprightly craft, laden with his worldly goods. Good quality metalwork was hard to find in Ustral and the weapons and armour, though none were magical, were worth a fortune in the tiny kingdom. Erik had feared that his Father would refuse him but King Warris seemed almost glad to be rid of him. Erik was not sure which reaction he would have preferred better, being forbidden or this, sent off with rich presents and well wishes.
Still, no goodbye was forever and even should he never return Erik knew he would see his family again in the feasting hall of the Kasjyr beyond the final gates. There they would exchange stories and boasts. Erik was happy, he would have much to say even if he only went as far as Ile Harko, the Place of Priests and the temple of the Kasjyr. With that in mind he stepped down into the boat, untied his line and bent his back to the oars making way to the harbour mouth. There he unfurled the white sail and headed for the open sea. Looking back for the last time he saw Lifcaul fade in to the rock and cliffs of the island and felt like life had just begun.