e captain stood at the prow of his galley as his rowers pulled back the oars on smooth waters. The early morning brought on fog and a crispness that made the skin tingle, but the men aboard the galley were no true men, so they could not tell whether it was not warm nor cool. The air was serene and the skies tame although storms threatened overhead. The sky was a deep, stormy blue with an eerie silence that was met only by the sound of oars pushing through the water.

In truth, the captain was no true captain. He was not comfortable at sea, and he refused to remove his gaze from what lie directly ahead of the ship's front. He had already caught two accidents before they happened. Dozens of dark rocks peaked sneakily over the black waters, just enough so that they were concealed by fog until it had almost been too late. The captain had screeched at his oarsmen, for he had no greater fear than the great big sea.

His two rowers pulled them towards shore, which was now a fuzzy shape some hundred yards ahead that was becoming clearer as they approached. The captain wore an oversized black cloak with his hood drawn over his head. His face was concealed by a brazen mask that had been melded into a scowling face. It had not differed much from the expression that was indeed behind the mask.

The galley glided into port, the oarsmen were cautious not to draw attention to their arrival, knotting the galley to the dock with their hempen rope. Not a word was spoken as the captain departed the galley at once, grateful to be on land and to make way for his destination. The two-oarsman exchanged sullen looks upon their charred faces, making hastily after their captain only after placing brazen masks of their own upon their faces.

The three eased through the busy port as fishermen and tradesman went about their busy mornings. Common folk went about with baskets of fish to carry to and from various fish markets. Women walked with children by the hand with loaves of bread in the other. Carts of wooden crates and delicacies were loaded onto ships and skiffs. Yet, even amidst the busy happenings of the morning, the port was void of much noise besides the sounds of wheels spinning on cobblestone underfoot.

The three finally made it past the majority of foot traffic and took the dirt path out of the city towards an inn that had tethered horses strapped to the stable doors. The captain counted three horses in all. Perfect. He nodded his heads to his two other men and the three cut loose their mounts and rode off, all without notice. They were soon well on their way, the sound of hoofbeats on packed dirt the only sound for hours and hours.

The mountain range offered a spectacular view up top. The fog sat well below the peak that the three had dismounted upon, and the clouds were at eye level as they gazed upon the busy city port down below that they had just emerged from.

"We're here," said the captain, removing the hood of his cloak.

The three grabbed the ropes they brought from their stolen galley and ground them into the rocks at the top of the peak. Lowering themselves down the side of the steep mountainside, the swung themselves into an opening in the side of the mountain, releasing their hold on the rope and landing feet first into the cave. A fire sat in the middle of the cave casting dancing shadows along the walls.

The captain stared through the eyeholes of his brazen mask at the immaculate cave drawings that littered the walls on either side of the fire. Two men emerged from the other end of the cave with hands folded inside their robes. The first man was thin with a thick goatee and bronze skin. The other was thick and burly, bald of hair and tall of stature.

"Please, sit." It was the bald man who spoke.

The five men took a seat around the fire. The bald man flicked a pinch of something into the flames, turning it blue and morphing into a much smaller flame so that they everyone gathered could see each other across the flame.

"So, Radon Jador, I have heard much and more of your specialties. As you know, the master has sent me to make the deal. Yet, I was never told about this other man." The captain gestured a hand towards the bald man.

"This is Rakeworm the Necromancer and whisperer. He is the most highly revered foreteller in the land of Rednork. I purchased his services and it is thanks to him that I am able to offer the services that I do." Radon Jador gave a curt bow of the head to his necromancer, Rakeworm, who returned a curt nod.

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The captain was not happy about the third party, but his mask disguised his discontented expression. The shadows that had danced wildly along the walls were now less than a foot tall and hardly flickering as it once had moments ago. The air was moist inside the cave as clouds drifted through the air just outside.

"My master would like to propose a deal that would suit us both." The captain kept his limbs inside his oversized cloak.

"Firstly, I do not conduct deals with men who hide their faces. It will not suit me," came Radon Jador's reply. "Remove the covering or our business is done." The bald man watched on with eyebrows raised.

The captain lifted a twisted hand out from under his cloak, revealing talons where there should have been fingers. His grip was larger than the mask as he lifted it to reveal his face. Radon Jador gasped and covered his face instinctually. The necromancer did not flinch.

"Okay, okay, you may put it back. Please. Actually, please, put it back," stammered Radon. The captain placed the scowling face back where it was.

"Now, let us begin."

"Well, how may I be of service to your master? I received a bird from him earlier, but I do not speak the same tongue as your master.

Basil-tongue thought the captain.

"My master has heard fables of a secret guild here in these mountains. I take it that you are the only man capable of construing such a guild," the captain had no interest in small talk. He was not comfortable this of the Sweeping Sea.

"Indeed, these fables may be true. But I owe it to Rakeworm, it is he who has changed the idea of the modern assassin." The last word has slipped off his tongue as if it were a word of a different dialect. The captain chose to ignore it.

The captain nodded his head towards Rakeworm, "What of it?"

"I know what your master is seeking. Allow me to enlighten you." The necromancer gave a curt nod of the head as if to lay the way for himself before he spoke, "This secret guild you are seeking is not what you may be thinking. No amount of training could ever prepare a mortal man to become as trained with a sword as the Ki'vatsu—"

"—speak normal. I do not know what this keevodzoo is that you are speaking of."

Rakeworm stood from his seat, "Follow me."

Rakeworm walked to the other end of the cave, followed by the captain and Radon. They slipped through a narrow crack in the wall at the back of the cave, which led down a spiral set of stone steps and into a high-ceiling lair where hundreds of stone casings sat symmetrically in long rows and columns. Each stone casing appeared as a sort of Stonehenge, but as the captain peered closely, he saw the outline of a man from within, frozen still. He furrowed his brow, but the mask concealed it.

Rakeworm continued, "These are the Ki'vatsu. Ordinary men turned swordslave. You will not find a better disciplined, better trained swordsman than the Ki'vatsu. Rednork already has legions of them defending its walls at Castle Drakund. You would be the first to bring them across seas."

The captain stared incredulously, leaving Radon and Rakeworm wondering what he was thinking under that brazen scowl.

"It is going to cost you a fortune, however, these men are made at a great cost. Drowned in the sea and raised again by the spices of my inventory, distilled for a century inside these stones, and then kissed by lightening before they are fit so serve their purpose. My sorcery does not come cheap, mind you." The Rakeworm had hands clasped against inside his robes.

"What is the cost? It is no matter, the master sent me with a hundred Gastels. More than that and I'd consider you a mad."

Radon butted in now, "It is not a matter of how much, it is what we want that will cost you."

"I do not make special deals," the captain was cold.

"It is not a special deal, but it works in your favor and in ours." Radon was well versed in these situations.

"We give you the Ki'vatsu, and you give us a boy." Rakeworm eyed the captain coolly now.

"We cannot use the Ki'vatsu for our own purposes if they are busy chasing some boy—"

"—not any boy. A special boy," Radon issued. "Rakeworm has read him in his prophetics.

"I do not believe in—"

"Your two men who came with you will die of Bluewind. It was the powder I dropped into the flame. See for yourself."

The captain did not need to check to believe the necromancer. His pride would not allow it. He set his jaw, "Fine. Who is this boy? But if you speak in the prophetic tongue, I will rip it out myself. And do not doubt my ability to do so." The captain's mood had soured. He had wanted nothing to do with complications, his master would not be happy.

"The prophecy tells of a boy who will grow to oppose the empire of the lord of the Stoneglow Age in the land of Modena. It is the boy whom this ruler shall fear, for he has the backing of Ertorin, who is ultimately sovereign over the kings of the realm."

"I do not like riddles. How does this benefit your liking?" The captain concealed his intrigue.

"It is said that this same boy will soon desire to travel across seas, where he will establish his own ruler in these very lands, destroying the culture that has dwelled in these lands since the beginning of days."

"I've heard the same prophecies from foolish necromancers before. Even priests. Be done with it. I want the Ki'vatsu," The captain flicked a Gastel coin at Radon. It clattered to the ground and echoed through the cave.

"There's one other thing that might interest you, friend." Radon spoke now, fingers stringing his goatee, "He's going to kill you."

The captain removed his brazen mask, to reveal an unwavering and hideous face. Radon did not flinch this time.

"You interested now?"

"What's the name."

"Egalo. Egalo Elagamar...of Sunswood."