Valinos was sweeping through the motions of a battle. His sword arm danced. His blade merrily sang its metallic tune. An instant later, his movements connected with the terrible beauty of a storm. There was a sharp peal. Asphales fell to the ground, his sword flinging away with a defeated ring.
‘Ho, boy!’ Serìn said. ‘That’s enough.’
Valinos stood panting, sword pointed at Asphales, who was scrambling into a ready position. For a moment, he detected fear in his friend’s eyes. It was over. Valinos lowered his weapon.
‘That makes six for me,’ he said as he offered his hand.
Asphales smiled and took the help. ‘And three for me,’ he grunted as he raised himself up. ‘You’ve got several on me.’
Valinos grinned. ‘Accepting defeat for now, my friend?’
‘That I am,’ Asphales said with a sigh. ‘I would not want to actually face you on the field of battle.’
‘Perhaps the life of a soldier comes more naturally to a smithy than a sailor.’
Asphales chuckled and nodded, then went off to search for his sword. It seemed the previous consecutive defeats had not deflated his spirits. Asphales still sprang with boundless energy in spite of his fatigue. It was the same energy he exuded when around a story.
‘Let’s call it a day,’ Serìn said. ‘You lads have been at it for a while. Well done, the both of you. You might yet be fit to join the Guard.’ A smirk appeared on the man’s face and his blue eyes glinted.
Valinos let out a breath and sheathed his sword. The walk to the camp was torturous. With the adrenaline of the duel fading away, he noticed how much his muscles ached and how much his blisters stung. The routines Serìn had put him through were certainly taking their toll on his body. But Valinos did not mind. Not with what he was learning. Not if he was becoming stronger. The hands that Paran had prepared to forge and shape the steel were now being instructed in how to use it. Of course, he had not seen real battle yet, but Valinos was still filled with a certain pride.
‘You’ve got strength, boy,’ a stern voice called from behind him.
Valinos turned to see Ledner approaching him. If the comment had been a compliment, the captain’s face did not show it. It was still unflinchingly rigid. That was not unusual. But it was unusual for Ledner to take an interest in their affairs. The captain had hardly spoken to them after he and Asphales were passed on to Serìn’s supervision. Now he stood there with his customary stillness, as if awaiting a reply.
‘Uh, thank you, sir,’ Valinos said, unsure of a proper response. Serìn had insisted on being called ‘master,’ something that had annoyed Valinos greatly. He was sure the guardsman was playing some zany game. But Ledner did not seem to be one for games.
‘You are definitely strong,’ Ledner said, nodding gravely, ‘but watch how you use that strength of yours.’
‘What does it matter how I use it?’ Valinos asked. The words came out harsher than he had intended.
Ledner did not react. It was hard to tell if he had read the comment as an insult. ‘Pass me your sword,’ he said after a while.
Valinos hesitantly agreed. He unsheathed his blade slowly and handed it to the captain. Ledner grasped its hilt and ran his hand along the silver edges of the weapon. Then he held it up and eyed it, seemingly looking for something. He gave it a few swings.
‘The sword is like you,’ the captain said as he handed it back. ‘Chipped. Wounded. Angry. Every rent blade needs its grindstone.’
Valinos tensed as he took back his weapon. He tried his best to restrain a scowl. What did the captain know to think he could lecture him? He sheathed the sword with a loud clink.
‘Why do you fight?’ Ledner asked.
The question took him by surprise. It echoed like distant thunder. Valinos could not tell him the truth. He could not tell Ledner of the bitterness that ate away at him. He could not mention the aimlessness he felt, like a bird which had lost its bearings.
Except he had never even known such things. He had been abandoned and left purposeless, directionless. So he railed against every stare and every insult that reminded him he had no place.
‘I fight because I want my voice heard,’ Valinos said finally.
‘How reckless. You will hurt all else around you that way.’
‘There is nothing else,’ Valinos snapped. ‘I have nothing else.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, boy,’ Ledner said reprovingly. ‘Every man is a part of something. Right now, you belong to this company. You’ve taken on its life and its way.’
‘But I don’t even know why I’m here or where I’m going!’
‘And I am sorry I can’t answer that, but we’re not always afforded the clarity of the entire map before we have to commit to the road. Your place now is on this road, with those alongside you. Your friend Asphales. The company.’
Valinos’ burst of anger subsided. Ledner’s words made sense, but they did not alleviate the frustration.
‘Your strength is a privilege,’ the captain continued, ‘not to be abused or squandered. You’re on this journey with all of us, so you fight to protect your friends and the company, because you are part of it. Wherever this may take us.’ Something that resembled a smile appeared across the captain’s face…
Suddenly, Valinos was standing on the water’s edge. Dawn was breaking, and the cascading rays chased away the guardians of the night. The chance to dream slipped away.
A gale of guilt swept through him. His thoughts thundered. His mind was a clouded sky. Valinos watched his reflection in the water. He was so weak…
* * *
Asphales woke among trees. He woke with the endless gushing of the river in his ears and the sting of sunlight in his face. He was roused from the tumult of his dreams. But this night his dreams had been simpler. He had not seen veils or beasts. He had dreamt of the bandit and of bloody hands. He had dreamt of an ended life. It seemed wrong, like blotting out a star from the night sky. Like silencing a voice in a choir. The piece carried on, but there was a lack. A hole.
Asphales looked around blearily. At some point in the night they had shored the raft and made camp at the foot of a rocky outcrop. The pines of Gohenur crowned the exposed stones before stopping a few paces from the river. If this jutting surface was evidence of some ancient cataclysm which reshaped the land, the forest now grew blissfully unaware around it.
The morning was already getting on. The sun beat against the makeshift campsite Asphales and Valinos had established. It was the ninth day of the journey. Nine days since his life had changed. Three since he had almost lost it.
Asphales reluctantly rose from his bedding and rolled up the blankets before stashing them unkemptly. He was starting to feel the lack in his belongings. His tattered attire showed the wear of travel. He had no clean spare clothing left. And even the blankets he had packed were beginning to deteriorate.
Then there was Anfrìr. Asphales had not really looked at his sword since the incident. But perhaps it was time to face it. The blade lay nearby, feeding contently on the sunlight. Asphales walked over and picked up the sword. It was deceptively warm. He knew that underneath, the steel was cold and cruel. That was its nature.
Asphales passed Valinos’ neatly bundled possessions and emerged from the outcrop. Valinos was returning from the river, face wet and hair dripping. He eyed the sword briefly, but moved on without speaking. He, too, seemed worn out by the journey and his clothing was not faring much better. Asphales was glad to see that his friend’s limp was almost entirely gone.
Upon reaching the waterside, Asphales knelt down on the stony bank. He leaned closer and washed his hands and face. Then he submerged the blade. It was still stained. He scraped at the dark coating carefully and red specks of hardened muck came loose, washing into the stream. He noted the blade’s chinks. It would need to be grinded and sharpened. Surely Fara’ethar had the facilities for that.
Soon Anfrìr was clean, but his conscience was not. Images of the nameless bandit and the battle formed in the shifting surface of the river. Even if the bandit had tried to take his life, even if he had been an enemy, how did soldiers justify their acts? How could war be waged without the guilt eating away at their innocence? There was only cold comfort in the thought that had his instincts not taken over in that moment, he would not even be standing here pondering such questions.
Confronting these thoughts was not pleasant; it was quite taxing, in fact, but he knew it had to be done. Asphales was only now beginning to glimpse his place in the violent puzzle that was the present world. He shuddered at what might be demanded of him later, what he might have to be pushed to do.
Up to now, he had been distracted by flowers, a forest, and a fair warrior. That woman, the knight, she fought effortlessly. Confidently. Her hands did not waver, and she ended life without restraint. Or did she? She was gentle with the forest. She was gentle with him. Was there a way to fight like that, determined to protect what is precious and yet willing to do what is necessary?
Asphales thought of her dance, her voice, her brokenness. Adélia Amal’ethar, she said her name was. Why had she captured his attention so? For in her eyes there was distance. The same distance he felt between himself and the wheeling stars above at night. And yet…
His thoughts turned to his place once more. Why did he fight? How should he fight? Where did he stand? Asphales felt small, a mere wave in the ocean. Would he ever wash up on the shores of understanding? Or was he doomed to be driven by fickle winds until he dissipated into the formless sea? He desperately hoped that whatever awaited him at Fara’ethar would provide some answers.
With the goal of the castle in mind, Asphales stood up, clean blade clutched anew. He sheathed Anfrìr, refilled his waterskin, and walked back to the campsite. It was time to depart. Valinos was toiling away at his possessions, straining efforts obvious even with his healing leg. Asphales moved over to his bag and began to pack his blankets and clothes. Though they were readying to set out, no joy punctuated their movements.
There were now only two sets of footfalls where previously there had been fourteen. Hardly a company left. The loneliness was audible. Asphales missed the Guard. He would have done anything to hear Serìn’s voice pierce the ghostly quiet, or to have Ledner’s order shape the meaningless hours.
As Asphales twisted to fold his blanket, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He remembered the arrow that ripped through him. He shrugged it off and kept working. The battle may have sheared his flesh and torn his skin, but surface wounds would heal. No, the nightmare in the clearing had taken something far more precious and lasting.
His mind was still on the members of the Guard. Where were they now? The knight among the flowers said they rested with the stars. Was that true? In his stories, the Elders had spoken of a world for the departed, a world which would one day be again united with this one. Even if it were so, it did not ease the hollow distance.
There was a day when stories were a distant dream. A desirable dream. Loss was different in stories. He never truly felt the pain in the pages. It happened to someone else, somewhere else.
But this, this was real.
Asphales realised his tale of loss began long ago, with his father’s death. His mother’s disappearance continued it. And now, the loss of the company. Each episode brought with it problems and pain. Tears and trials. And questions. So many questions.
He did not cry. Not anymore. Once you shed your tears, there was the time of mending, of accepting and coming to grips with your new scars. That’s what had always happened. That’s what had to happen now. But Asphales had not imagined that walking in the footsteps of his fantasies would involve carrying the same pain he always felt.
Asphales finished folding and stuffed the blanket into his pack. His hands ran against the familiar edges of his book. Instinctively, he thought of his mother’s note at the beginning. Is this what it meant to be brave? To bear blood and loss? If so, he was not sure he wanted such a burden.
Looking up, he saw Valinos brooding over his now-packed possessions. He was alone with his thoughts. Valinos had not spoken a word since the previous day. Asphales worried for his friend, but he did not know how to approach him. He wanted to know how the battle had affected him. Valinos appeared to be on edge ever since waking up in Adélia’s forest home. Surely, this is not what he expected either. To leave Silnodìr for this… The days of their innocent ignorance in that little village seemed so long ago.
Valinos’ topaz eyes were a winter thunderstorm in the autumn calm. Though the outcrop in which they camped bathed in the warm light of late morning, the cold focus of his eyes shot their campsite through with an almost tangible frost. What was he pondering? What did he think of all that had happened?
Asphales rummaged through his belongings and found the burlap sack with the food Adélia provided. Peering inside, he noted what was left. The knight had said it was a two day trip to Fara’ethar at the river’s pace. There should be enough to last them this second stretch of the journey. He picked out a piece of bread, a chunk of dried meat, and a helping of cheese.
Asphales nibbled on the food, his head swimming with thoughts and questions. Then he stepped over to Valinos and held out the sack.
‘Care for some food, Valinos?’ he asked, unsure if the offer of a meal would be welcomed.
Valinos sat on his pack, head resting on entwined hands. He looked over his friend’s extended arm, and after a considered pause, reached out and grabbed the provisions. ‘Thanks,’ he said as he opened the sack and drew out a few morsels.
Birds chirped nearby, filling out the solemnity of the moment with tinny music. Asphales chewed thoughtfully and observed the clearing around them. The autumn-stained expanses of the forest had given way to evergreens here. He reasoned the southern half of Gohenur must be comprised of different trees. Still, what a strange forest this was.
Valinos spoke suddenly. ‘Why do you fight?’ he asked, but his voice was subdued and undirected—almost a mumble—as if he was speaking to no one in particular.
‘I’m sorry?’ Asphales replied.
Valinos did not clarify immediately. He took another bite of his food and then blinked. It seemed as though only then did he truly focus on what was around him. ‘It’s a question captain Ledner posed to me a few days ago,’ he said. ‘He asked me why I desire to fight.’
‘And what did you say?’
Valinos looked at Asphales, his glance panged with shame. ‘I told him I fought for no one but myself. I thought I had nothing to fight for. But he showed me otherwise.’
Asphales said nothing in reply at first. He thought back to that morning when they had left Silnodìr. A lifetime ago. Ledner had done the same thing to him, shown him how misguided his self-centredness had been. ‘That sounds like Ledner, alright,’ he said with a half-smile.
‘But then in that battle,’ Valinos continued, ‘I focused on myself again. Even though I knew the company was important, I was driven to selfishness. And I saw that anger change me.’
‘The battle changed me as well,’ Asphales said, lowering his eyes to the ground. ‘I never thought my hands capable of such a thing. This weapon I hold…’ he trailed off.
‘You did what you had to. As did I.’ When Asphales did not break the silence, Valinos continued. ‘It was either us or them, Asphales. It’s not like in the stories. You can feel the blood on your hands here, not just the ink of a storyteller.’
‘I know that now.’
‘I have no remorse for the bandits. They got their due. But the company… The Guard died because of me. I’m the one the bandits were after.’
‘What?’ Asphales stammered. He was shocked, at first by the coldness of his friend’s determination, but then by the revelation of the bandit’s motives. ‘How do you figure that? What do they want with you?’
‘It grates at me that I don’t know, but the bandit I killed confirmed it with his own words. They were keeping me alive.’
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
‘So why do you think the Empire wants you as well?’
‘That’s just it, too. I’m starting to believe the message we received in Silnodìr was a forgery. Somehow, Shurun’el used the Empire’s messenger eagle to get me on the move. It’s far too convenient that bandits pursue us and ambush us in the forest as we’re transferred toward Fara’ethar.’
‘But why wait at all? If they knew who and where you were, why not just come to Silnodìr? Why delay until we were both escorted?’
‘I… I don’t know,’ Valinos conceded, some of the confidence in his tone evaporating. ‘But because I was wanted, those around me died. That I know for sure. And I put you in danger as well. I’m sorry for that.’
Asphales sighed. ‘We’re so far from home, but I don’t feel any closer to a destination. Questions drove us from Silnodìr but we haven’t run into any answers.’
‘I intend to find the answers. And that’s what I will fight for. Captain Ledner said it’s selfish to strive for yourself. But I realise that’s the safest place to be. The anger I felt was right. It’s better to shut myself off. I don’t want this to happen again. Not to others. Not to you. I need to find who I am.’
‘So this is why you fight?’
‘Yes. I will fight for myself. They took it from me… the place where I began to feel accepted. I lost comrades. I will take that guilt and sorrow and turn it on them. They will know. And I will make them regret ever looking for me.’
‘I see,’ Asphales said. He sat. Cold venom and shattered glass. Valinos’ certainty made him retreat even further. So this is what he had been thinking about. He felt the sorrow at the loss of company as well, but how should he act on it? By seeking vengeance? ‘The truth is,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what I fight for, or why. Why was I given the sword? What will I do with it?’
‘You were not given it, my friend. You chose this. And you will have to choose what to do with it, before long.’
‘Is this what we will be from now on? Is this what I am? What if I choose to drop the sword?’ Asphales’ hand moved to rest on his sheath. Anfrìr was so heavy. He could drop this burden and…
‘Asphales, I see potential and power. We could be so much greater than what our village saw in us. We don’t have to spend the rest of our lives under their suspicious glares. We don’t have to be pushed down anymore! Don’t you see? This is our chance to find something for ourselves. It took the death of the company for me to see it.
‘So,’ he said as he stood up, ‘I want to see this through. For whatever reason, we survived. We made it. If we stop now, we’ll never find answers. We’ll never put the company’s death to right.’
Asphales nodded to himself. He still felt like a vessel driven by a midsummer storm, but this much was clear. He would not let the company’s death be in vain. However conflicted he felt about the need to fight, whatever confusion still afflicted him about what was ahead, he determined then to carry on.
‘And Asphales,’ Valinos began unsurely, ‘fighting for myself doesn’t mean fighting by myself. I know it’s selfish to ask, and perhaps foolish, but will you stand by me? I don’t want my quest to hurt you, but I realise I cannot do this on my own. Besides, we still have to find out what the Empire would want with a fisherman.’
Asphales looked up and saw the familiar grin painted on his friend’s face. In spite of all the turmoil, he felt energised. He was glad to see something of Valinos again, though it felt like looking into a broken mirror. He rose. ‘The answers are waiting at Fara’ethar. Let’s find our place in this.’
Asphales and Valinos grabbed their packs and headed back out of the outcrop to where their humble vessel waited on the banks. The Valarion flowed on, meandering away through endless forest south, to where Fara’ethar awaited. As Asphales boarded the craft, his thoughts turned to the castle once more. What would he find? The palace of legend, guarded by countless elite warriors? The bastion of the Elders’ influence, their gift to a struggling people?
Or would it be another shattered instance of his fantasies crumbling under the weight of real life? But despite the disappointments so far, Asphales held on doggedly that his stories held a kernel of truth. He set out with his mind full of wishes and dreams. Beneath him, the river rolled on heedless, heartless.
The ride passed quickly. They travelled briskly and largely unnoticed, with various woodland creatures not sparing more than a curious glance. The hours glided by. The sun lowered, the sky reddened, and the shade of trees deepened around them. Valinos also proved to be more talkative this day, and they spoke of many things, memories and mellow hopes. The last of their provisions depleted as they rode on, speaking and sliding along their watery course.
Eventually the smell of brine permeated the air like the waft of fresh bread around a bakery. The sweet forest scent was replaced by the saltiness of the ocean—a freshness of a different kind. The smell of home. Trees thinned around them and vistas of marshy soil opened up before them. At the Valarion’s delta, the watercourse split into many veins as it deposited into the Western Sea. This was the final leg of their journey. After days of compacted forest, the open expanse was a welcome sight.
They reached the coast as the sun fell into the sea. The distant waves swallowed the fire. Looking on, Asphales wanted to keep going, to drift out to open sea. He was reminded of Silnodìr. Of things long ago. Of his father. If he treaded the billowing expanse would he find him? No. But would he remember more? Perhaps if he only stood long enough among the rolling waves, if only the frothing of the sea could wash the dross from his memories so he could see clearly. How he wanted direction, a compass to steer by. Something to take him to remembrance.
But Fara’ethar was the goal now. Asphales steered the craft into the leftmost vein, intending to ground the boat on the soft soil when they approached the shoreline. The inlet took them eastward and the vessel came to a halt beside a ridge. The labyrinth of the river’s arms continued onward toward the beach, but this made as good a place as any for landing. A lightly paved road snaked its way up and over the hill in front of them. Asphales realised they could follow it and walk the rest of the way to the castle.
He grabbed his pack and stepped out. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, taking it all in. With the forest behind him, the sea in front of him, and the sky above him, this place seemed to exude freedom. The rush of anticipation returned, the excitement as to what he would find at Fara’ethar.
‘Well, we made it,’ Valinos called from behind.
‘Almost,’ Asphales said, turning to him with a smile. ‘We still have to lay eyes on the castle. I’m sure we’ll see where we’re headed once we cross this hill.’
But no sooner had Asphales stepped foot on the pavement than the sound of clopping hooves split the evening. A rider charged furiously over the ridge, ignoring the lay of the road and instead riding straight down. The rider, clad in dark colours and elegant silver, sat astride a large black horse. A castle official, perhaps? He rushed past, narrowly avoiding Asphales and speeding on toward the forest. The horseman disappeared down the road, following the path back into the tangle of trees.
The rider’s force made Asphales recoil and he stumbled back, collapsing to the ground. As he lay dazed, eyes facing upwards, he did not have time to feel annoyance or confusion at what had transpired. Something caught his attention. Something impossible.
‘What was that all about?’ Valinos asked, eyes after the rider.
But Asphales did not answer. He did not pay heed. He rose abruptly and dashed to the edge of the hill. His eyes never left the sky. There, above him, a piece of land rested in the clear, cloudless expanse. Against all logic and imagination, a massive rocky mound floated like an island on a skyward sea suffused with evening’s red and orange.
Asphales stared at it breathlessly. He could make out the distinct shapes of mountain ranges and tell-tale patches of green forest. Rough rocky crags hung like stalactites underneath the formation. It looked to be ripped up from its place of origin. His heart pounded as he traced an imaginary line below the rock to the surface of the sea.
Directly beneath the floating land, Asphales saw another impossibility. In the distance, the sea was… wrong. Instead of the expected flat surface, there was a trench-like opening in the ocean. Eastward, the sea gaped in an elongated shape that Asphales guessed matched the chunk of rock floating above. Around this fissure, the currents fell as waterfalls into the endless abyss.
Asphales’ gaze darted between the heavens and the hole, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Everything else seemed normal, functioning undisturbed by this peculiar phenomenon.
Valinos came up the hill behind him. ‘What are you look—’ he started to say, but stopped short.
Was this the sky-bound land? Was this the result of Ulmìr’s disastrous reign? How had he never glimpsed it? How come no travellers mentioned it? Then Asphales recollected that men in Silnodìr seldom spoke of their travels, and they did not venture far. But what about the scar in the sea? Asphales wondered whether the north of the Silent Sea featured similar trenches. The sailors and fishermen he knew warned against sailing too far north, but they had never mentioned why. When asked, their faces darkened and their lips tightened.
Did this vindicate the stories? A rush of emotions flooded through him. He was uncertain how to process it all. He stood dumbfounded and awestruck. If this was true, what did it mean for the other details in the history? As always, the story reminded him of his parents. Standing here, staring up at the faraway land, he saw faint recollections, snippets and fragments of memory. From what he could tell, his parents had always spoken of the story as factual. What he read in the velvet-bound volume reinforced what he had always known. Was the story of the book and that of the world truly one and the same? And would he find his place in it here?
‘Valinos, this is…’ he began, but he was unsure how to finish. Valinos had always doubted the stories. But after all that had happened recently, this did not feel like the right time to correct him. He stood there alongside Valinos, two figures absorbed by the incomprehensible.
‘Asphales, look,’ Valinos said, pointing elsewhere, to the east. ‘That’s where we’re going.’
Asphales’ diverted his gaze from the suspended rock. His eyes fell to the sight Valinos gestured toward. Before him, the expansive shipyard of Guladran spread along the shore. Far grander than the docks of Silnodìr, the shipyard was a conglomeration of bustling piers and busy warehouses. Countless vessels lay moored along the edges, while workers and other sailors disembarked and mingled with the throng. Altogether, the docks consisted of uneven and chaotic shapes against the uniform blankness of the sky.
Further back, the walled districts of Guladran itself cast shadows in the dying light. Divided wards were arranged evenly into sections. Maze-like arrays of buildings sprawled behind the walls in each section, surrounding a huge, jutting cliff towering over the coast.
And there, perched proudly on that cliff, was Fara’ethar.
Big as a mountain.
Tall as the clouds.
Luxurious and all of gold and marble.
Well, the guards may not have had the most accurate descriptions of the castle, but it was magnificent. It took Asphales’ breath away. Fara’ethar loomed larger than the cliff it rested on. More prominent than a mountain peak, its summit scraped the sky. Ornate towers and spires commanded attention and reached upward, their marble-like facades shining gold in the sunset. The roofs at dizzying heights of the fort were painted in burnished blue. Windows dotted the structures all along and up to the upper levels of the keep.
Lower down the castle, the curtain wall made the fortress seem impenetrable. Reinforced battlements and bulwarks which melded with the cliff-face surrounded the central raised building; a colossal citadel engraved and embossed with intricate lines and enamelled designs. Even from this distance, Asphales could see the balconies and alcoves rippling the exterior of the tower.
At the bottom level, protruding outward and nestled between arches in the ramparts, was what Asphales assumed to be the Lion Gate. The gate’s mouth was enormous, set around pillars which formed stony jaws. The metal grating protecting the entrance was raised. The gate stood invitingly. Barely visible between other buildings, the path leading into the castle led outward from the gatehouse and blended into the far end of Guladran’s districts where it was obscured entirely. That would be the entrance they would take to arrive at the castle.
So this was Fara’ethar. Its scope and scale were beyond Asphales’ imagination. It sat proudly like a granite regent ruling from a throne of stone. He looked to Valinos wordlessly. Neither could say anything.
‘Well,’ Asphales intoned at last, ‘let’s go. We should reach it before nightfall.’ He shouldered his pack and took his first stride toward Fara’ethar. Valinos nodded, and they both set out, heading first for the docks of Guladran, eyes and heart set on the stronghold on the horizon.
The road took them through the first few establishments of Guladran’s shipyard. As they joined the crowds around the wharf, the commotion grew around them. More people than Asphales had ever seen milled to and fro, carrying wares, shouting instructions, or tending to the various tasks demanded of them. There were the tall, fair-skinned people—dark of hair and eyes—who were familiar to him. But others, light-haired, bright-eyed, of all statures and states, also bustled throughout the place. With sharp features and skin tones unlike his own, Asphales guessed they must be citizens of other regions. No surprise, as Guladran was Anardes’ central port, if its busyness was any indication.
The workers’ garbs were as varied as their complexions. Though many wore the ragged sailor’s coat and undistinguished, practical gear, other attires could be spotted also. Those who seemed to be in charge sported particularly brighter colours and fancier embroidered shirts and cloaks. As Asphales looked around, he was dismayed to see even a few Imperial guards patrolling. Their steel outfits and scarlet mantles anguished him with their familiarity.
But beside the people, Asphales was also impressed by the infrastructure and equipment. He noted the diversity of galleys and galleons, caravels and cruisers. The range far outmatched the ships he had seen and known in Silnodìr. Sails from various vessels all around him curled up, like flowers closing for the night.
As he walked on, one particular boat grabbed Asphales’ attention. A huge warship was docked at an otherwise unassuming pier. Though its gangplank was set, there was a curious absence of longshoremen and other attendants. A bare crew seemed to labour about the deck, far fewer than were necessary to man such a vessel.
Other dockworkers nearly bumped into Asphales as he stood transfixed on the ship. They cursed him for his idleness and shuffled away scowling. When Asphales faced away and was about to move on, one of the crewmembers on the galleon, an older man, called out to him and Valinos.
‘Ho, lads!’ he cried. ‘You fellows look fit and strong. Would you help a decrepit old man?’
Asphales looked to Valinos, who only shrugged dissatisfiedly.
‘Our pleasure,’ Asphales called out with a smile. He did not wait for any resistance on Valinos’ part.
‘Wonderful! Come aboard.’ The old man motioned toward the gangplank and returned to his duties.
Asphales walked up the ramp, with Valinos following reluctantly. But he could not pass up the opportunity to stand aboard a majestic ship like this. Asphales felt all his sailor’s instincts reawaken as he stepped on the deck. A pity the vessel would not sail this day.
‘Thank you, lads,’ the old man said as he came to greet them. Clearly, he commandeered this ship. He was clean-shaven and presentable, wearing a black jacket with silver designs woven throughout. He bore a curious eyepiece, but had kind eyes. He looked much like old Turos, had the man become a highborn captain and not a laborious fisherman. Asphales grew fond of the man quickly.
‘I won’t keep you,’ the captain continued, ‘but my men hurried off, and everyone else around here is occupied with their own vessel.’
‘Ah, it’s no trouble, sir,’ Asphales said. ‘This is a fine ship.’
‘Aye, the Golden Sunset is a right beauty. Well, let’s begin while we still have the light.’
Asphales set down his possessions and got to work. His experience came in handy as he assisted securing the ship’s tackle, unravelling the capstan, tying down the rigging, and hoisting the sails. He went about each task almost automatically, methodically.
Asphales watched the old man at work. He was anything but fragile. There was a certain joy in his demeanour, a genuine love for the sea. As he went about the deck, the old man began a song. A hum at first, but it grew and formed into an ode to the retiring sun.
Whence came the morning sun in its bright flame
Arising slow, the star without a name
Unburdened, shimmering it lifts its eye
And gazes over all, proclaims its fame
In brightness clad, it watches from on high
So proud and stout, the guardian of the sky
Careening ‘long its course, it stands the same
Shall flow of time its ancient reign deny?
To where do you depart now, evening sun—
The tune faded into indistinct sounds as the old man moved away, grumbling at a particularly stubborn knot in the main ropes. The sun was barely visible over the western horizon now, and a blanket of night approached from the east.
‘I recognise that song,’ Asphales found himself calling out. ‘The sailors I knew used to sing it.’ He recalled hearing it in Silnodìr. For all their differences, it seemed that sailors’ shanties were the same everywhere, transcending boundaries of geography and status.
The old captain chuckled. ‘I should’ve picked you for a seaman,’ he said as he came closer. ‘You certainly know your way around a ship. I’m impressed.’
Asphales smiled at the old man’s satisfaction.
‘But I’m not surprised you know the song, if that’s the case. We seafarers have been the same since the beginning. They say the first men were sailors. They trod upon the main in search of new-formed lands. Not long after starlight gave us breath, we wandered. No wonder it is our nature to explore. We all share and inherit the same songs. Orineth himself, the first sailor, was a man of music.’
Asphales quietly gasped. These stories reached further back than any he had known. The first people? His book had only hinted at the origin of men. He felt a sudden hunger for the stories of this place. There was so much more he could learn. He found himself looking up again, gazing at the land suspended in mid-air. Could this grizzled captain confirm his suspicions?
‘Is that land above us…’ Asphales began to ask, ‘Is that what I think it is? I know the stories of Ulmìr’s madness and the rending of the world, but I never thought I would actually see it.’
‘Oh, you do?’ the old man said, eyebrows raised. ‘There aren’t many who even give thought to such things. Most take the shape of the world for granted, without regard for what has happened. How quickly do lays become legends.’
Asphales was surprised by the melancholy in the captain’s voice.
‘But yes, that is the Sundered. It is the land separated from Anardes when King Ulmìr ruled. So this is your first time seeing this? You’re not from around here, are you?’
The Sundered. So it was true.
‘No, in fact. We came from Silnodìr. We’re meant to—’ he stopped himself, remembering the lost company.
‘Forgive me. I don’t mean to pry, but you are far from home. And you carry weapons. What brings you to Fara’ethar?’ There was a keen, inquisitive glint in the old man’s eyes.
‘We were meant to arrive with an Imperial company. Our group was captained by one Ledner.’ Asphales lowered his eyes to the deck, pausing before he could recount what befell them in the forest. ‘But we were ambushed in Gohenur. A group of bandits attacked us. Captain Ledner, along with all the other guards, fell trying to protect me and my companion. We were nearly outrun during our escape, but a stranger in the forest assisted us and set us on our way. We followed the river and have only this evening arrived here.’
Silence descended on the galleon. The other crew members, who had clearly overheard the conversation, stood stunned. The captain’s face was scrunched in grave concern.
‘Who are you, boy?’ he asked at last.
‘I am Asphales Esélinor. And that is my companion, Valinos.’ The old man turned to face Valinos, who gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.
‘I see. And I suspect you need to reach Fara’ethar?’
‘Yes. We were summoned by Amaleron over a tide ago.’
The captain nodded. ‘I’m sorry to have held you up. Let’s hurry. I can take you there.’
Asphales widened his eyes in shock. ‘Would you do that?’
‘Yes. You two have been through a lot, it seems. And you carry grave news. It’s the least I can do. Besides, we’re just about done here, thanks to your efforts.’
‘Thank you so much, ah—’ Asphales stammered, realising he did not know the old man’s name.
‘I am the oldest pup among the dogs of war,’ he said. ‘Call me Nadros.’
Nadros. The name seemed so familiar, but Asphales could not place where he had heard it before. He had no time to dwell on the matter, either, as the old captain motioned to all aboard to move out. They stepped off the ship in a hurry, disengaging the gangplank once on the pier. Nadros sent a few of the men to stow it away in a nearby warehouse. Asphales and Valinos followed on.
Nadros led them through the dockyard and into the districts of Guladran. Asphales noticed other men gave them strange, almost revered looks, as if they were travelling with a dignitary. Who was the man escorting them? He kept turning the puzzle of the man’s name in his mind, but no solutions came. He was also distracted by the immensity of the city. Alleys and streets stretched out endlessly in every direction, creating an intricate jungle of brick and stone. With night falling around them, torches flickered to life at every corner, but each alleyway led to darkness. He realised without the captain’s guidance, he would have become hopelessly lost in the tangle of buildings. Fara’ethar loomed ahead of them, the grey giant drawing closer with each turn.
At a crossing, Nadros suddenly stopped. ‘This isn’t the most savoury district,’ he warned them, ‘but it’s the quickest way through. Guladran takes in the dregs and the dainties, so there be swindling ahead. Keep your wits close about you, and your wallets closer.’ He hurried on, avoiding the gazes of hooded, shady residents.
That reminder set Asphales thinking about his means. How would the measly sums he and Valinos brought see them through whatever waited ahead? Fortunately, they made it across Guladran without losing a single den. Still, he feared he was still far short of what it took to live in the nation’s capital.
But his thoughts were once again interrupted as they reached the Lion Gate. Guards and lit torches lined the way to the massive doorways of Fara’ethar. The road that King Ulmìr once walked. As they approached the castle, each detail that had captured Asphales from afar only gained more impressiveness and elicited more wonder. And at once, it all fell into place. The galleon. The crowd’s reaction. The man’s authority. Amarant Nadros, the Ageless.
‘Open the gate!’ he shouted. Soldiers saluted and manned the windlass.
Asphales breathed in. He stood on the threshold of his dreams.