The Lion Gate creaked open. Several men behind the barricade heaved and operated a mechanism which drew moans from the gate. The massive doorways, patterned with entwining branches of gold and feline motifs, gradually gave way to a courtyard steeped in shadow. Polished cobblestone spread ahead in every direction. Flickering firelight illuminated portions of buildings silhouetted against the deepening sky. The gates finally settled to a stop with a deep metallic clang.
Standing before the outspread entrance, Asphales felt rushing excitement, like opening a parcel or a chest. Only this was no mere present, but the chance to enter a castle of legend. All the pain and confusion of the previous days had been for this. He fought hard to calm his quivering lips.
‘Alright, boys,’ Nadros said, walking ahead. ‘Let’s get you settled in.’ He turned to face Asphales. The corner of his mouth curled into a wrinkled smile. ‘Welcome to Fara’ethar.’
Asphales turned to Valinos with an apprehensive look. Valinos nodded, and the two stepped through the gates and into the bailey of Castle Fara’ethar. They followed the aging Amarant, who walked ahead briskly through a sparse crowd of servants and soldiers. The inhabitants of the castle saluted the old man as he passed them.
The castle surroundings engulfed Asphales in awe and he could not help looking all around him to grasp every detail. The courtyard was flanked by two watchtowers parallel to the gate he had just entered through, and he could see more guards patrolling the upper levels of the stone structures. The towers seemed to rise naturally in layers out of the battlements of the perimeter wall providing a circle of protection. As Asphales followed the length of the wall he noted other keeps posted at intervals around the barricade. Impenetrable and well-defended.
His wandering eyes fell onto what seemed to be the central building of the castle complex, a building he had easily spotted from the hill outside Guladran. Three sides of the commanding fortress were visible, the rest receding in the darkened distance. Enormous steps forming a dais served as the foundation of the building. From there, the citadel rose in thinning spires and flat walls, all masoned with immaculate precision and detail. Other smaller, but no less impressive, structures stood on either side of the colossal hall. Together, the skyline of Fara’ethar reached up toward the infinite black canvas.
Asphales walked on beneath the intimidating gaze of looming buildings, and passed through overhanging banners lining the courtyard. Each one carried the image of a roaring lion in its black and golden silk, looking particularly fierce in the harsh light of torches. The Lion of Anardes had its den in Fara’ethar, it seemed.
On the castle grounds, the few people bustled with activity. A legion of soldiers marched in unison along the courtyard, probably heading for the barracks. Their discipline was impressive. Line upon line of spears stuck out like blades of steel grass and bobbed rhythmically. The rigidity of the Imperial company was only a glimpse at what true military regimen looked like. Were these soldiers part of a mane?
Asphales saw other personnel within the walls also. Castle servants wearing waistcoats and loose trousers sauntered between buildings. As Nadros approached the central structure, one particular servant came forward. Tall, thin, and gaunt-faced, he nevertheless carried himself with portly presence.
‘Who disturbs the castle’s peace at such an hour?’ he called.
‘Ah, Ithilìr!’ Nadros replied. ‘Just the man I was looking for.’
‘Nadros, you old coot. I should have known it’s you.’ Despite the man’s light-hearted words, there was no laughter in his voice and no softening of his countenance. It was as if the servant’s face stiffened into a permanent grouchy complexion.
Nadros snorted a laugh and then turned to Asphales and Valinos. ‘This is Ithilìr, master of accommodation and service. I leave you in his good hands.’
Before Asphales could voice his dismay at losing the company of the old sailor, Ithilìr spoke first. ‘Fine, leave me with these troublemakers,’ he groaned. ‘Who are they, anyway?’
‘Expected visitors, Ithilìr. They’re arrivals from Silnodìr.’
‘I was under the impression there would be only one. I see you’ve doubled my workload. How wonderful.’
Valinos seemed to have perked up at that comment and Asphales caught his troubled gaze, but said nothing.
‘Yes, well life is full of anomalies,’ Nadros chided. ‘Two recruits instead of one. A servant acting like a master.’
‘A sixty-year old Amarant,’ Ithilìr added.
Nadros took the jibe in good spirit, roaring out a good sailor’s laugh.
‘An Amarant?’ Valinos asked, narrowing his eyes at the old man.
‘Hmm? Oh yes, that’s right. Amarant Nadros at your service,’ the sailor said while stretching out an arm. ‘How do you think I could afford something as fine as the Golden Sunset? And just between you and me,’ Nadros said as he shifted his eyepiece almost nervously, ‘that ship is the only reason I took the job.’
Valinos did not ease his suspicious stare, causing the old Amarant to burst into another round of laughter. Ithilìr simply shook his head. Asphales looked on the exchange amusedly. His mind recalled the joviality of the company at the tavern.
‘And if you want to keep your job, may I suggest you attend the meeting currently taking place?’
‘Oh blackened bones of the ocean, man!’ Nadros cursed with a chuckle. ‘I haven’t forgotten. My mind hasn’t succumbed to old age just yet. Anyway, thank you for coming out, Ithilìr. Please, show these fine lads to their lodgings tonight. Come on, boys, introduce yourselves.’
‘My name is Asphales,’ he said.
‘Valinos.’
‘Yes, yes, your names. Don’t just throw them at me,’ Ithilìr said. ‘Who you are remains to be seen. Now, wait here, please. I will check with the steward as to what is to be done with you. Your appearance tonight has been highly irregular. Nadros, you best come along. Amaleron is waiting for you.’
Ithilìr walked off without a word, expecting to be followed. The servant’s manner was decidedly unservant-like, Asphales thought. Although Nadros outranked the servant in both age and status, Ithilìr seemed to be almost insubordinate in his task.
Nadros turned to Asphales and Valinos and sighed. ‘Ah, don’t mind him, lads,’ he said. ‘Ithilìr treats everyone as if they were a stain on his shoe. But he’s loyal, and agreeable enough when the mood strikes him.’
‘Doesn’t happen often, I assume?’ Valinos said.
Nadros shrugged. ‘Anyway, that’s the Hall of the Elders,’ he said, pointing to the large central building. ‘It’s where I’m headed. But I need to know a few things before I go. See, I’ve been mulling over your story, Asphales, and the whole thing makes a tragic sort of sense. But yours aren’t the only ominous tidings here tonight. Do you know who it was that ambushed your company? And what happened to them?’
‘It was a man named Shurun’el,’ Valinos said, the ice in his voice barely hidden. ‘We killed his companions. But he escaped.’
Nadros ran a hand over his creased forehead. ‘That is…’ he trailed. ‘I see. That is useful information.’ The Amarant kept his voice composed but something seemed to be raging behind his eyes, like a tumult beneath the calm surface of the sea. ‘Keep this among yourselves for now. You’ll have a chance to relay the news properly when you’re gathered to the steward. I must be off. Starlight guide you.’
Making the now familiar gesture, Nadros went off after Ithilìr. The two walked up the stepped plateau, passing another figure who idled by the stairs. ‘What is that ridiculous thing on your eye?’ he heard Ithilìr ask as the two men disappeared beyond the doorways of the Hall.
Asphales followed the Amarant and the servant until they were out of sight. And there, standing near the ten steps leading up to the Hall of the Elders, he saw Serìn.
No, that was impossible.
The night seemed to have gotten colder. A hundred useless firelights could not warm the chill that crept into Asphales. A hundred flickering images went through his head, snippets of laughter and song, flashes of mirth and chatter. A carefree man, lute in hand, cheer in heart. And then silenced music.
Asphales stammered forward, driven by the memory of a guard who had taken him under his wing, and yet repelled by the image of a ghost. As he approached the man by the steps—who was speaking contentedly to a female servant—every aspect of the stranger’s character stung. The same liquid tone of voice. The same amiable glint in his eyes. The same golden hair and blue eyes. But the younger features told him this was not Serìn.
‘So if you run into Nelesa, tell her to meet me in Commons,’ the young man was saying. ‘She’s probably buried in her books somewhere in the Hall of Records.’
‘Of course, my lord,’ the servant said with a bow.
‘No need for the formality, Mara. You’re beautiful enough to be a lady in your own right.’ The young man flashed a smile. The girl blushed, bowed again, and then hurried off.
Asphales approached slowly, but was stopped in his tracks by a look from the young man.
‘Good evening, fellows. You’re looking lost. Can I help?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Asphales said. ‘We’re new to Fara’ethar. Fresh arrivals.’
‘Aha,’ the young man exclaimed. ‘I saw you come in with Nadros just earlier. Are you two new hired hands or something?’
Asphales hesitated. ‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Splendid. I am El’enur Tharadin. My pleasure.’
‘Asphales Esélinor, and this is Valinos.’
El’enur looked them over briefly and nodded to both of them in turn. ‘I’m headed to Commons. Would you like to join me? I can show you around the castle grounds a bit.’
‘Ah, but Ithilìr said—’
El’enur laughed. ‘Don’t worry about him. The master-servant is used to running around after me. Just pin the grief we’ll cause him on me.’ He winked, and El’enur’s golden hair swished as he turned to leave. ‘Come on,’ he said.
Asphales was surprised at El’enur’s confidence and comfort with the goings-on of the castle. Though he did not fancy disobeying the grumpy servant, his curiosity and impatience to see more of Fara’ethar won him over. He complied reluctantly and followed the young man. Valinos trailed after him.
‘We’ve just left the Hall of the Elders,’ El’enur said as he stepped off the dais and turned into an alley leading away from the main courtyard. ‘It’s sort of the centrepiece of Fara’ethar, the place where council is held. There’s a meeting going on right now, but meetings are boring. I’d probably be kicked out anyway. I’m also told it’s where a king would sit, if we had one.’
Asphales shot a glance back toward the doors of the Hall as they walked into the alleyway. An empty throne room? There had not been a ruler since Ulmìr, that much was certain. With the pieces of the story falling into place, he realised that the memory of the Dragonking must have so tainted the throne that no king had been put in place again.
‘So who rules Anardes, then?’ Valinos asked.
‘Well, that would be Amaleron, our steward, though he himself would not see it that way. The line of stewards has been waiting for a king, supposedly. I don’t know who’s worth waiting this long for, honestly. So for all intents and purposes, he reigns. But Anardes is something of a military beast as well, so the Amarants have almost sovereign ruling power. Then there are other independent council bodies for each region.’
‘You’re quite savvy for someone who seems to shun politics, El’enur,’ Asphales commented.
El’enur chuckled. ‘Not by choice. But you don’t get to where I am without weaving through politics. You’ve got to play the game, unfortunately.’
‘What do you do? Where do you fit in the system?’
El’enur slowed down and turned with a sly smile on his face. ‘I’m the second-in-command of the archery mane. Only behind Amarant Darius.’
‘What?’ Asphales found himself bursting. ‘But you seem so…’
‘Young? Yes. I am only nineteen. But I worked hard to get here. I saw and lived through the hell of Feres firsthand.’ El’enur’s eyes hardened into a steel blue. There was pride behind the young man’s eyes, but more than that, a genuine determination to prove himself also. Asphales did not recognise the reference to Feres, but he reasoned it must have been a battle. For someone to experience so much at such a young age was extraordinary, he thought.
‘But all that is behind me. Let’s continue our tour, shall we?’
With that, El’enur led the way again, offering comments on the functions of the structures around Fara’ethar. He explained that a ring of five halls surrounded the central building. They passed the Hall of Revelry, more commonly known as the Feast Hall. On the other side stood the Hall of Recovery, the medical ward, and the Hall of Records, or the library. Tucked away at the back of the castle grounds was the Hall of Residence, the main building which housed the dwellers of Fara’ethar.
But their destination tonight was the Hall of Retreat, often referred to as the Commons. It stood adjacent to the Feast Hall, to the left of the Hall of the Elders, and it held smaller functions which did not require the spacious arrangements of a full feast. It was also used as a general space for rest and recreation for off-duty guards and soldiers.
As they stepped through the well-worn wooden doors of the Hall, the contrast with the rest of Fara’ethar was startling. The Commons seemed to be cosy, inviting, and relaxed. The décor was reminiscent of a tavern, with dim lighting and unintentional scattering of furniture. Wood was the predominant material inside, rather than the finely sculpted stone which seemed to be the choice substance in the castle’s design. The place smelled of warm meals and liquor. People lounged around at tables, enjoying drinks, games, and raucous conversations.
A larger, bald man rose from his table and approached El’enur when he noticed the newcomers. ‘There you are, sprout,’ he growled. ‘Come, join us for simeh. I’ve nearly drained Resina dry. It’s time I beat you as well.’ There was a groan from someone at his table.
‘Not tonight, Guldar,’ El’enur replied. ‘I’m waiting for someone. Also, I have guests to take care of.’
‘Ah, of course, of course,’ Guldar said with a mocking pout. ‘Figures you’re ‘fraid to lose.’ He turned to go. ‘I hope none of you louts have changed my cards while I was up,’ he called gruffly as he returned to his playing companions.
El’enur shook his head with a smile. ‘Forgive my companion. He’s rather fond of simeh, a card game he picked up from the East a few years ago. That is Guldar, the second-in-command of the cavalry, also under Darius, and a constant thorn in my side. Now, let’s find a table.’
He brought them to an indistinct seating area near a corner. As soon as they sat down, a maid came by to take their order. She wore an unassuming worker’s apron and had rich, golden-brown hair tied in swirling plaits around her head. Her alluring eyes of deep brown settled on El’enur, waiting for the details.
‘Would you two care for a drink?’ he asked. ‘I’m afraid I’ll save mine for later.’
‘Really?’ the maid quizzed. ‘You’ve come back all the way from Kerena, and you’re not even a bit thirsty?’
‘I’m expecting someone,’ El’enur said. ‘But still, seeing you is lovely enough, Ulfen.’
‘Always the charmer, El’enur,’ Ulfen said, ‘but you’re not your brother.’
Asphales choked. A pang of sickness struck him. He breathed deeply, trying to recollect himself. So his suspicions had been right. El’enur was Serìn’s younger brother… What could he do? What could he say? ‘No drinks for me,’ he stammered.
‘Me neither,’ Valinos said, holding up his hand.
‘Are you alright?’ Ulfen asked. ‘You’re looking pale. I’ll bring you some water, at least.’ She rushed off to the back area of the hall, where another man seemed to be busy minding a stew. She returned a moment later with three mugs of cold water. Asphales downed his and then refocused. El’enur was staring at him.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
‘So, you went to Kerena?’ Asphales asked, trying to take his mind off things.
‘That’s right. Returned this evening, in fact. Would you care to hear the story?’
Asphales nodded. The chance to hear an account of Kerena from a firsthand traveller excited him. He listened with rapt attention as El’enur recounted his expedition with Amarant Darius. But all along, Asphales was hampered by the nagging fact he held the death of El’enur’s brother from him. It hovered between them like a weighty pendulum, poised to fall.
‘But that’s enough from me,’ El’enur said suddenly. ‘What about you two? Where are you from?’
Asphales dreaded the question. He did not want to reveal too much. ‘Our ignorance is that obvious, is it?’
El’enur beamed a consoling smile.
‘We’re from the north coast,’ Asphales said. ‘I’m only familiar with the Silent Sea.’
‘Ah. And what did you do up there?’
‘I was a sailor, of sorts,’ Asphales said.
‘I worked for a blacksmith,’ Valinos answered.
‘Right. Are you two planning to stay here? Nadros is always looking for help, and Resina would love to have an assistant in her armoury,’ El’enur said as he glanced at Guldar’s table where the armourer in question sat. Their game of simeh was still going.
‘I suspect not,’ a deep voice boomed behind them, startling Asphales and interrupting the conversation. Ithilìr. ‘Perhaps even the most basic instructions are beyond you two.’
Asphales turned, and it was only now that he got a better look at the head servant. Every feature of the man’s face, from the deep-set eyes to the prominent cheekbones and sharp nose, bespoke displeasure. He stood expectantly, looking down at the three men.
‘But there are still so many people to greet,’ El’enur complained. ‘Surely we should treat our guests a bit better than this, don’t you think? Please, indulge us a little.’
‘Fine.’ Ithilìr scanned the room in an instant, as if to look for people of note. ‘Behind the bar you will find Ulfen and Filarin, masters of banquet, trade, and commerce. They say love is blind, but if you knew those two, you’d realise it is also deaf, and mute, and whatever other ailments you care to describe.’
El’enur chuckled at the brevity and frankness of Ithilìr’s descriptions. Asphales followed the servant’s hands as he pointed.
‘At the table you can see Guldar of the Mountains,’ Ithilìr continued. ‘Head of cavalry and the more level-headed of Darius’ two underlings.’ El’enur scowled at this comment. ‘Beside him is Resina, master of armoury and weapons,’ he said, gesturing toward the larger woman at the table. ‘But I’m sure she needs naught but her arms to kill you three scrawny derelicts.’
Next, Ithilìr pointed toward a man sitting on the opposite side of the room. ‘That is Hasel, master of avian communication. He—’
‘Master of what?’ Asphales interjected.
‘It means he manages the messenger birds of the Empire,’ Valinos said, keen eyes trained on the old man enjoying a drink.
‘Yes, how wonderful of you to interrupt. There. Introductions all done.’
El’enur threw up his hands in resignation. ‘I applaud your succinctness, Ithilìr. Now, what would you say of me?’
The servant lowered his unamused gaze onto him. ‘This is El’enur,’ he declared, ‘self-proclaimed archer extraordinaire and delinquent of the highest order. And master El’enur, I see you’ve already acquainted yourself with the scoundrels from Silnodìr.’
Asphales winced inwardly. Oh no.
‘Silnodìr?’ El’enur asked. ‘Now it makes sense. You’re the ones collected by Ledner’s company. So you arrived with my brother Serìn?’
Asphales’ face darkened. His eyes sunk to the tavern floor. He shook his head gravely. ‘No, he’s not here,’ he said distantly.
El’enur stood up roughly, knocking his chair over. ‘Where is he? Where is the company?’ he demanded. The commotion aroused the attention of the other patrons in the hall. In the silence that ensued, El’enur surely knew the only answer that would follow.
‘Was it the Order?’ he asked in a soft, chilling tone.
Asphales looked up weakly. He saw rage restrained in the young man’s face. Even Ithilìr showed something other than contempt as he looked on mutely. ‘I don’t know what that means,’ Asphales pleaded, ‘I’m sorry.’
El’enur shoved himself away from the table and stormed out of the hall, a heavy door slam announcing his departure. After many awkward moments of uncertain quiet, the others returned to their rehearsed positions. Ithilìr asserted his presence once more by clearing his throat. ‘Alright, young masters, let’s be off as well.’
The walk to the Hall of Residence was sullen and grey. There was no sign of El’enur. Asphales and Valinos followed the undeterred servant silently, around the length of the Hall of the Elders toward the rear of the castle complex where their dormitories awaited. The cool night air cleared some of the stuffy pressure that had plagued Asphales in the Commons, though perhaps that was more due to the weight of guilt he carried. He looked forward to the day’s end.
Turning right at the end of the Commons brought them beside what seemed to be the palace gardens. Flowers of all colours slept to a lullaby of crickets and other night insects. Neatly tended and arranged in exact rows, it was nature’s only foothold in the castle grounds. As Asphales passed by them, he could not help but think of Adélia and her quaint life among flowers in Gohenur.
Eventually, the front of the Hall of Residence appeared before them. The strangely-shaped building was nestled between two tall spiralled towers which connected to the outer wall’s keeps via covered walkways. Asphales craned his neck to view the heights of the towers. They reached higher than any other protruding spire in Fara’ethar. Smaller passageways above were joined to the platforms to the sides of the residential hall. That would make an excellent observatory.
The face of the building featured several entryways, attendants at the ready posted on each one. Ithilìr paced ahead, stopping by one of the men and speaking inaudible instructions. The attendant disappeared a moment later, and Ithilìr returned, his stern, businesslike expression pasted on his face once more.
‘We have arrived,’ he said. ‘Listen carefully. I do not like repeating myself, like a tutor to a child. These shall be your living arrangements for the foreseeable future. I will show you to your quarters shortly. As to the matter of your arrival at Fara’ethar, steward Amaleron will see you in the morning. Forestall your questions until then, would you? Now, follow me.’
The servant turned to lead but then spun around again abruptly, somehow maintaining a dignified composure. ‘Your presence, master Valinos, is still something of a conundrum. Fortunately, a vacant room is available. Unfortunately, this means we shall all have to suffer your antics a while longer. Come along, now.’
Ithilìr went ahead through the doors of the hall. Asphales glanced at Valinos and shrugged. Perhaps Valinos felt annoyance, but it was masked by the exhaustion of the journey. He walked on after the servant. Asphales followed, entering the foyer of the Hall of Residence.
The opulence inside stunned him. After the humble holdings of the Commons, this hall seemed to be another world. Lush carpet lined the open space of the foyer, leading to rooms and stairs. Chandeliers hanging from bronze ceiling roses lit the high chamber with dazzling brilliance. Gone were the musty and sallow colours of the Commons, replaced with ceramic whites and creamy golds. No longer were they surrounded by homely tavern-like smells, but rather by an atmosphere which exuded pristine polish and sterility. However, Asphales did not have long to admire the aesthetics of the place. Ithilìr walked briskly ahead, rounding a corner and ascending the stairs. Asphales and Valinos pursued him, and were led up to the fourth floor of the building. Well-lit walls comprised one side of the corridor, full windows looking out toward the castle grounds the other. Dozens of doors dotted the hallway.
‘Here we are,’ the servant said finally. He pointed to two respective doors nearby. ‘Those will be your rooms. Now, anything else I can do for you?’
‘A bath and a barber, if you please,’ Valinos said, scratching idly at the unkempt stubble that had sprouted around his normally neat facial hair. Asphales suddenly felt the grime of a tidelong journey.
‘Good idea,’ Ithilìr commented. ‘I’ve seen pigpens more pleasant than you two. And I see you wish to discard the look of the brutish rogue and desire a more regal appearance. Very well. Baths are at the end of each floor,’ he said with a gesture toward the end of the corridor. ‘I trust you’ll find your own way there. As for you, master Valinos, come along.’ Ithilìr started to strut down the hallway. ‘Too bad the barber can’t shave off that brooding attitude,’ he mused.
Valinos sighed. ‘If I get thrown in the dungeons on my first night here,’ he muttered, ‘you’ll know why.’
Asphales laughed softly. ‘I wouldn’t blame you.’ He laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Just wait until we get some answers, please. We’ll work all this out tomorrow.’
Valinos offered a placating smile. ‘We made it. I won’t ruin it now, don’t worry. See you in the morning.’ He made off down the hall after the servant.
Half a watch later Asphales—bathed clean and refreshed—entered his dormitory. He felt as if he dwelt in a stately manor. The same extravagant standard of decoration was present in his room also. He feared he was trespassing on some nobleman’s residence, so rich did the furniture feel, especially compared with the existence he had known in his village. He dropped his pack inattentively near a couch and collapsed into his bed.
Minutes passed. Hours, perhaps. The silence and solitude brought no sleep. It was not for want of fatigue or accommodation. Asphales lay tired in the most comfortable bed he had ever known, but rest escaped him. The ocean reverberated through his walls calmingly. Normally, the sounds of crashing waves soothed him, but tonight they beckoned.
He rose. An idea sparked in his mind, and he knew he had to follow through. He opened the door to his chamber and slithered out. Finding his way down the dimmed corridor, Asphales spotted an inauspicious door, different to the others, at the end of the hall. Stepping through it quietly, he followed a narrow tunnel-like opening, ascending up stone steps. As he neared the end of the darkness, a cool night breeze hit him.
He emerged out on an open platform, the same one he spotted from below earlier in the evening. Not content with the low ceiling above him which blocked the view of the sky, Asphales stepped to the edge of the platform, where the tower met an overpass into a neighbouring structure. He set foot out on the wall, holding himself steady with the edge of the overlooking platform. Then, in one deft manoeuvre, he heaved himself up onto the spired roof of the tower.
Asphales rested against the blue tiles of the spire, releasing a contented and relieved breath. He had not dared to look directly down, but now, with even a short parapet preventing slippage, he braved the view. The castle grounds and gardens were an indistinct mess far below. Pinpricks of firelight dotted the courtyards. Only the upper reaches of the Hall of Elders rivalled the heights he had reached.
Looking on, he saw the districts of Guladran sprawled at the castle’s feet. The snaking alleyways, ordered in chaotic patterns like a fingerprint, showed signs of activity even at this late hour. To his left, the ocean roared restlessly. He felt the immensity of the dark sea whenever no other sounds crowded for attention.
Was this foreign place to be his home now? What was there for him in Silnodìr? It did not matter how hard he or Valinos worked, they would never be accepted there. The stain of their parents’ abandonment sullied the entire family line, or so the residents of Silnodìr held to. Asphales remembered the isolation, the toxic gazes of the villagers even as he and Valinos went about the tasks of children. Like a merciless tide, these thoughts swallowed up glimmers of a time before all that, a time when his father taught him navigation, when his mother laughed beside him. How many nights had wheeled by since that time?
So tonight he watched the sky. Not the water. Not the memories. He admired the silent music of a thousand fires. As he looked up to the million voiceless notes tracing the edges of a song, he detected faint whispers among the stars, shapes hinting at a story. But they were fuzzy and opaque, like names within the night.
Soon, rainclouds gathered on the horizon, obscuring the chance to stargaze, approaching the coast like a messenger carrying tidings of wrath and rage. The next day would bring new warmth, and with it, hopefully, clarity. Tomorrow would be a day for questions, a day for answers.
* * *
The forest glistered after morning rain. Droplets holding the world in their distorted lenses hung on leaf and lichen. The early dew gave the woods a diamond-like sheen, the light announcing a new day, the dawn of a new story. Singing. Sighing.
Adélia woke in her cabin that morning to the dance of sunlight and the song of daybreak. Soon she was outside, skipping among her water-kissed flowers. Her deep green dress trailed along the blue and gold, spinning and twirling among the red and violet. The garden delighted in the veil of moisture. Smitten. Smiling.
The trees around her glowed with life and light. The forest was not easily swept away by the tides of time. It was not stricken under storm and showers, but rather invigorated. Adélia held on to the constancy Gohenur provided. The woods protected her, like ancient guardians ever vigilant. Standing. Staying.
Her flowers and her forest. It was all she had against the harrowing flood that swamped her. All she had against the black. Her home, her humble Gohenur, hemmed between giddy skies and graceful plains. Swinging. Swimming.
She took it all in, for today she would depart. And departure was never easy.
But it had to be done, as strange things were afoot. It began when the one-eyed man’s bandits had disturbed the forest. The only men who trekked the woods were usually merchants and traders, friendly faces to whom Adélia had grown accustomed and even done business with. But the bandits were proud men of ill intent, trespassers venturing into the secret heart of Gohenur uncaringly. Taking. Testing.
So she had tracked them, pursued them through the forest, following the carnage they wreaked and destruction they inflicted. When Adélia stumbled upon a haggard group of Imperial soldiers she knew the bandits had to be stopped. It was unfortunate that she had not been able to save more of them, only rescuing two fledgling warriors. Adélia still grieved for the fallen men.
The leader of the bandits himself, the man they called Shurun’el, had escaped, unpunished for the damage he caused. She had noted the bronze clasp the man had sported with horror, found in Ledner’s hand. The dead captain had seized it in their melee, it seemed. It was only a small thing, but it reminded her of things long ago. A shadowed face. A sea serpent. Fire. Shurun’el had to be apprehended.
But compassion had overruled her conviction. She had deferred the search for the one-eyed man in order to care for the wounded. Most curious of all had been the boy with eyes of jasper and the stories he told. Asphales Esélinor. She had trusted him. Somehow she knew she could. Adélia had even given him the name she seldom brought out into the open.
Asphales Esélinor. She felt the black tug at his name, attempting to pull it from her grasp and lock it away into nothing forever. Even as she reminisced, she clawed at the wound on her shoulder, a wound which still stung with the weight of cold steel.
A single black tear fell, careening free from her face and landing among the crystal dewdrops on her flowers. A solitary black spot in a forest of glass.
The boy had mentioned Silnodìr. How strange these recent events had been. Like names thrown in a nightmare, every part of her brought out flashes of the past, a past she pushed away, buried in the depths of her heart. But despite the reminders, she had wanted to accompany the two to Fara’ethar. Who were they? Not prisoners, but perhaps recruits? They had been escorted by a simple Guard, but Adélia could not shake the foreboding feeling that something more was at work here. The bandits had targeted the company specifically, it seemed. For what purpose?
And so, having seen Shurun’el’s injury, she realised the only place he would go is the Waypoint inn. But as she feared, the delay in her search meant she had not found the bandit leader himself, only news of his whereabouts. The innkeeper had mentioned a wounded man who strayed into the tavern and demanded care and provisions. He had set off toward the east shortly after, with only a small token as payment.
Adélia had returned, and here she stood, resolute to go to Fara’ethar even if it meant distancing herself from her home once again. Duty demanded it. But for now, she had to make the most of her last moments in the forest. Castle walls never quite captured light like tree trunks, and gardens fenced by stone could not replace the beauty of the wild. Only old Dronam could somehow make cultivated flowers feel alive.
She stepped through her glade, the beaming sun from the east setting it alight with lustre and longing. She unclasped the brooch holding her hair together. It loosened like a scarlet waterfall, torrents of red rushing down her shoulders. She enjoyed the fleeting freedom, but it was time for the song to end. Adélia entered her shack, and from the outside it seemed as if she went into another part of the forest itself, so blended with the encircling trees did the little cabin rest in the woods.
Inside, she began getting ready for the journey. She walked along her wooden floor, spying for objects she could bring with her. Her weapons were a given, but Adélia always took something else as a memento or as a way to occupy herself. She passed her father’s mounted spear.
No, not today.
She reached for more regular provisions; food for the road and clothes warmer than her current gown. As Adélia paced her cabin, she found her latest work. She gazed at the near-finished painting, lacking only a touch of jasper. She lifted the canvas off its easel and stashed it carefully. It was time to equip herself. But before she could commence the process of strapping on her armour, further preparations were interrupted by a commotion from outside. The sounds of heavy hooves tore through the stillness of the morning. A horse whinnied and then all came to rest. That could only be…
Adélia stepped to her door and saw Ishak dismounting a large, black steed. That’s Darius’ horse, Masìlminur, she realised. The Amarant’s destrier, bred for war and highly resistant, seemed weary. How long had Ishak pushed him? But Masìlminur still carried itself with an air of majesty. As soon as the beast was free of its rider, it shook its head mightily, spraying water. Ishak cursed and led it to a nearby tree, tying its halters to the trunk. Then he walked forward, eyes meeting Adélia’s, and kneeled.
‘My lady Catena,’ he said respectfully. Catena. That was her name among comrades in war. A name disconnected from the pain of who she really was. A title far removed from starlight.
‘At ease, Ishak,’ she said. ‘You know you’re welcome here.’
Ishak stood, wiping water from his brow and beard. The older man’s trim facial hair was not quite grey, yet it was lightening like the slow rise of dawn. Adélia had always appreciated Ishak’s simplicity. Befitting his basic and serious appearance, he was attired in a casual black tabard tied with a white sash. The man emanated honour and strength even outside of his combat gear.
‘Yes, my lady,’ he said with a sigh of exhaustion. Marks of the journey were evident in his voice, around his eyes, and even on his clothes. Moisture ran down his coat in rivulets and the hems of his garments were stained with mud. It seemed that he had ridden through the storm to get here. What was so urgent? As her second-in-command, and one of the few who knew her location, Ishak was typically the one who brought her news that she was needed at Fara’ethar. She had never seen him so desperate, however. Not even during the invasion at Feres.
‘You look tired, Ishak. What has happened?’
‘You are needed at Fara’ethar immediately. There has been a disturbance in Kerena which may prove significant.’ Adélia did not miss the edge in his voice.
‘What disturbance?’
‘I don’t know all the details, but Darius believes it is serious. Something requiring a council, it seems.’
‘Ah, Darius sent you? That is why you ride Masìlminur?’
‘Yes. That beast may be unruly but it was reliable.’
‘I see. How fortunate. I was about to set off toward Fara’ethar myself. I may have information of my own to share.’
‘A question, if I may, my lady. I am actually surprised to still find you here. I expected to run into you on the road, along with the company. There’s no sign of them at Fara’ethar. Have they not arrived yet?’
Adélia froze. ‘What company, Ishak?’
‘A Guard led by Captain Ledner. At Amaleron’s request, they were to collect someone from Silnodìr. Ideally, they would’ve met you on their return. I sent Niran ahead to inform you of this. If I find that the boy’s been slacking off again...’
‘They’re dead, Ishak,’ Adélia said, reeling inwardly. ‘I found them under attack a few days ago. I managed to rescue two men who said they were from Silnodìr. I set them off on their way toward Fara’ethar just two days before. But the others… they were already gone. I never knew.’
Ishak slumped, eyes wide. ‘Blessed Regulus! Has all the world gone mad?’ He shook, scrunched knuckles turning white. ‘Who did it?’
‘A man named Shurun’el and his cohort. Most of his band was slaughtered in the conflict, but the leader escaped. I tracked him to the Waypoint and discovered that he has gone east.’
‘And you said the two men… they’re safe?’
‘Yes, they should be at the castle by now.’
‘That’s something at least. Starlight preserve us, but this could’ve gone so wrong.’
‘I feel so foolish!’ Adélia cried. ‘Something so important happening right under my nose…’
‘You did what you could,’ Ishak said, something of the old fatherly tone returning to him now that he had relaxed a bit. He reached an unsteady hand and stroked Adélia’s shoulder. She could feel his wariness. Ishak was still unsure how to relate to someone commanding him as Amarant yet evoking his doting affection like a daughter. ‘You did what you could,’ he repeated. ‘And now you are needed again. Come back with me, my lady.’
Adélia looked at him with sympathy, and then darted a worried glance toward Masìlminur, who had begun to graze at the pasture around his tree. ‘You need rest, Ishak. You’ve been riding hard all night, and I’m sure poor Masìlminur can’t take much more, either.’
‘Ah, he’s a Pleiadaëan purebred, he could take anything,’ Ishak began but hesitated when he confronted Adélia’s dissatisfied look. ‘No, you’re right. These old bones could do with a bed. No more than a few hours, my lady.’
‘Of course,’ she said. She showed him inside and then stepped out toward her garden. That was a few more hours she had with her forest.