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Amaranthéa
Chapter Three - Arms and Armour

Chapter Three - Arms and Armour

Asphales found himself alone on a boat. He did not remember how he had gotten there or where he was headed. Looking around, he quickly noticed that no sails adorned the vessel and no oars were in place. The ship lay still and unmoving on a peculiar sea. Useless.

He rose and paced the deck, but no sounds accompanied his steps. The wood remained lifeless, soundlessly unaffected by the weight of the puzzled passenger. The ship’s hull was as solid and immobile as a mountain. Strange.

Asphales gazed over the starboard railing but his eyes only met unfamiliar waters, a vast sea falling away into the infinite distance. No shores or signs of solid ground could be used as landmarks. No stars dotted the sky as guides to safe havens. There was nothing but endless sea and limitless sky joined together by the bond of an indistinct horizon. Featureless.

Suddenly a threatening mist descended on the waters and grey enveloped all. The fog was thick with whispers. With the whispers came the wind. And the wind stirred the waves to restlessness. A malicious gale picked up, churning water and mist together in a blend of murky colour. The waves splashed against the vessel. Salt sprayed and filled the ashen air.

In the midst of all this, Asphales caught hints of motion above. Flickers of black darted across the fog, shadows announcing the presence of a beast. Deep, rumbling flutters like the beating of large wings whirred hauntingly overhead, but the heaviness of the mist made it impossible to pinpoint the precise direction. With each flap of its wings, the beast roused the stormy gale. The beast frolicked delightedly just out of sight, basking in the whirlwind.

Then came the cold. An unearthly chill cut the air with glass-like splinters of winter. The frost bit into the air itself, freezing the mist into a halt. Particles suspended in the air and broke, cracking under the frigid weight. Asphales shivered. He realised the beast had flown closer and was simply breathing.

It spoke a word. It spoke its name. The sound was unlike any living voice. It burst through the cold like an erupting volcano. It boomed with the depth of the abyss and resounded with ancient force. It crashed through Asphales, piercing his frozen heart and gripping his bones. The voice thundered and broke all.

Anarah.

Asphales tried to scream but could only let out a chilled gasp. He ran across the vessel in vain hope of escaping the invisible grasp of the beast. He looked into the distance instinctively. Far away, warmth pierced the fog and Asphales could see a veil. A curtain intangible and opaque, it seemed to divide the storm from what lay beyond.

A ship cruised beyond the veil, splendid starlight on its prow. It treaded calm waters with majestic efficiency. A sole figure stood proudly beneath the unfurled sails looking onwards. Even from a distance, Asphales recognised him. He recognised his father. Somehow he knew. And suddenly he forgot all about the beast and the storm, the cold and the wind that raged all around him.

Where do you go, father? When are you coming back to me?

Asphales tried calling out but no sound came forth. There was the chill, but there was something more also. What would he even cry out? He recalled painfully that he did not even know his father’s name. In Silnodìr, those who have the reputation of deserters are stigmatised. Their names are stricken from all records and considered as lower than words of cursing. None would utter them or even speak of them. Asphales had lost his father at an early age and so the name was gone. The only reason he remembered his mother’s name is that his father spoke it so often, savouring it like honey on his lips, as if it were the name of the sea itself.

In that moment, Asphales wanted nothing more than to leap into the rolling sea and swim to his father’s vessel. He wanted nothing more than to be with him again and remember. But the whispers grew into the jeers of villagers and the cold numbed his limbs so that he could not move. The pain and the distance were maddening. He watched the ship sail away into oceans tauntingly calm and clear.

Then everything creaked and cracked, like an unstable floor about to give way. Asphales became aware of the boundless depths beneath him, beneath the vessel and the sea. But even before fear settled in like a dagger, the sea shattered into glass and Asphales fell into blackness. He fell and fell until the mist became a speck in the interminable heights above. The black danced all around him and even the whoosh of the fall was silenced by the cavernous depths. In the dark he saw the world. He saw the beast. He saw the Man in Tenfold Seal. And deeper still he fell…

Asphales awoke sharply. In a startled flash he took in his surroundings. He was not stranded on an endless sea. He was at home. He was not floating amidst a black sky. The darkness around him was only the familiar dimness of his lodgings before sunrise. But the instant of alert clarity too soon gave way to the tiredness of broken sleep. Relief brought with it fatigue.

Asphales slumped back into his bed, but sleep eluded him. He twisted through the remnants of a half-remembered dream. When sleep proved futile, Asphales rose and let the sheets fall carelessly about him. His brown hair clung with sweat to his shoulders and upper back. Jasper eyes stared blankly, attempting to make sense of the sea and the fall, the veil and the beast. It was like trying to fathom the shifts of time itself. His exhausted mind quickly turned to other things.

Asphales groggily recalled the previous night’s events. The images played out blearily on the intangible canvas between his vision and the waking world. There was laughter and joyful noise which filled the night. There were children. And then the glimmer of arms, armour, and torchlight broke through the enchantment. The Imperial Guard. Asphales sighed. He remembered. This would be the day of his departure. He thought back to the encounter…

‘Might you know where we could find Asphales Esélinor?’ asked Ledner, his voice even and firm like polished stone. If formality had a smell, this man would reek of it.

Asphales looked around. Fear was written in the children’s eyes. Valinos darted him a worried glance. The Imperial company stood motionless and silent. The stillness of the night swayed with the fire of torches.

‘I am he,’ Asphales said with attempted nonchalance.

Ledner eyed him speculatively for a moment. ‘How fortunate,’ he said. ‘Then, we may as well get to the point. Your presence is required at Castle Fara’ethar as soon as possible.’ His eyes spoke more than his words. Immediately.

Asphales reeled inwardly. His head swam with confusion and questions. What could the Empire want with him? He had not done anything warranting the Empire’s attention, certainly nothing criminal that he could recall. Why were they here, then? His thoughts spiralled. But underneath them all, Turon’s taunting words reared their head. Could this be mere cruel coincidence?

‘Now, if you would,’ Ledner said, taking a step forward.

‘Lay off him, you!’ burst Renehos, flush with anger. ‘Asphales hasn’t done anything wrong!’

‘Settle, child,’ Ledner said in a quiet yet commanding voice. ‘Your friend is innocent. We are not taking him to the dungeons.’

Relief sank in. So he was not headed to the cells. With that gloomy outlook out of the way, other more enticing possibilities emerged. With fear dispelled, Asphales’ admiration for the Empire returned.

‘Why are you here, then?’ asked Valinos, speaking the question that had been bubbling to the surface.

‘I may not divulge too much of the matter,’ Ledner answered. ‘Nearly two tides ago, something arrived at Fara’ethar that made us aware of the location of Asphales Esélinor. Amaleron believed it required immediate attention, and so we have been on the road for the last ten days.’ His authoritative tone suggested that no further questions would be tolerated.

Asphales looked the company over and noticed that Ledner’s words rang true. Their armour was mud-spattered and worn. Their faces wore the tell-tale marks of tiredness. Even Ledner’s eyes, composed though they were, showed signs of exhaustion. Asphales tried to ignore the growing mystery and the questions which burned hotter.

‘So you have come from Fara’ethar?’ he asked, giddiness hardly hidden. It was as if he had just registered the fact that a squad of Imperial soldiers of Fara’ethar stood before him in the flesh. Fara’ethar, the capital of Anardes and the place which birthed the stories in his book.

‘That is correct,’ said Ledner, impatience edging his voice. ‘Now, any remaining questions will be answered in due time.’

‘Forgive me,’ Asphales interjected. ‘Could I ask that we spend the night here and leave on the morrow? Frankly, I reek after a long business day, and I must gather my belongings. And I believe your men would appreciate some rest as well. There is a wonderful guest room not far from here.’ Asphales pointed in an easterly direction.

Ledner sniffed the air and grimaced, as if only noticing the smell of fish for the first time. Asphales also detected a subtle change in Ledner’s eyes. It was relief that rest was offered, but the man’s air of formality and proud demeanour hid it well.

‘Fine. We leave at first light. Starlight guide you.’

With these last words, Ledner made a strange gesture. He lifted three fingers in the air and then lowered his hand to point forward with two. The rest of the company mimicked the articulation and then marched off in rhythmical unison. Their torches flickered away into the night.

The events after that conversation were a blur. He and Valinos had taken the children to their homes, silent and solemn though they were bombarded with questions. There was a quick return home, and an even quicker bath, brief and cold. Then there was a gentle descent into sleep and the dizzying fall of the dream…

Asphales looked around in the dimness of his chamber. Fragments of the nightmare still plagued him, but he tried to concentrate on what needed to be done for the day. He dressed into dark trousers of coarse leather and a white linen tunic over which he strapped a brown leather vest. It was the beginning of fall and the winds in Silnodìr were nothing to scoff at.

As Asphales packed spare clothes and various supplies in his traveller’s sack, first light streamed through crimson curtains. He imagined Ledner would be knocking on his door any moment. Asphales hurried through the remainder of his belongings. He moved to his desk, on which sat a small bag and his book, the last memoir of his family. He placed the pouch inside, satisfied at the clinking of the coins within, and nestled the book between the blankets in his pack.

Asphales left his chamber and continued on through the hallways to the door. Here the daylight had not yet pierced through the sable filter of the night, and so the place remained steeped in shadow. As Asphales walked on he noticed that Valinos’ room was already empty. Thoughts settled on him heavily. The weight of goodbye pressed upon him. He would have to abandon the comfort of the town he loved, the familiarity of the work which occupied his time, and leave the ballasts of his life to memory. He would even have to say goodbye to Valinos, his closest friend. There was great conflict between Asphales’ eagerness to see the world and his reluctance to leave what he knew.

Even worse was the realisation that rumours would abound after his departure, most of them negative. He would be seen as one who followed the footsteps of his parents, a deserter. But perhaps that very enmity could drive the doubts away and allow him to leave without hesitation. If nothing awaited him here it would make departure easier. Yet other rays of light cut through the dark clouds of his musing. The candid and unquestioning acceptance of the children. Turos’ genuine warmth. It was with embroiled turbulence that Asphales threw on his boots and stepped out into daylight.

The beginnings of an unusually bright and merry Queenthell morning greeted Asphales as he exited his lodgings. Sunrays broke distantly between the Undorn Mountains, showering Silnodìr in remote light. Warmth poured in uninvited yet not unwelcome. A mellow breeze scattered milky clouds haphazardly across the lightening sky. The hazy chill of the morning was beginning to thaw.

Asphales trod through the alley emerging near the Main Gate. With each step, he took in the details surrounding him. But not even the freshness of the outdoors brought lucidity to the turmoil in his mind. In the pale light, Silnodìr seemed foreign. The thoughts of leaving the only place he had ever known estranged him. Familiarity fled from the sights he had taken in countless times. He suddenly felt small and alone. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Asphales forced his mind off things which escaped comprehension.

As he came out onto Silnodìr’s central road, he scanned the area. The Main Gate stood open, but only the earliest of risers were traversing through its portal. The watchmen patrolled sleepily near massive stone pillars while devoted farmers headed briskly south, heavy tools in hand and light songs in their step. Asphales smiled. A typical Queenthell morning. On this day of rest, only the restless gatekeepers and crop-raisers continued their labour.

As he looked on, he spotted the Imperial company standing a few paces from the nearest building across the path, still as statues. Only their capes bent to the whims of the wind. They had seen him as well, but made no move towards him. Asphales suspected impatience simmered invisibly beneath their stillness.

‘A good morning to you,’ Asphales called out, hailing the company. He crossed the road and approached the group. The men looked refreshed. Gone were the marks of fatigue. Even their lifeless armour seemed rejuvenated.

‘And to you,’ Ledner said with a nod. His silver helmet clinked subtly with the motion.

‘Well, I believe I am ready,’ Asphales said, hoping to sound more confident than he felt. ‘Shall we be off?’

‘I doubt you are, young man,’ said Ledner. He looked him up and down. ‘Have you any arms and armour? We can’t promise the road will be entirely safe.’ Despite his ambivalent tone, there was unspoken certainty behind his eyes.

Asphales realised how barren he was next to the fully-armoured Guard. He had neither weapon nor protective gear. But before he could stammer a reply, Ledner continued.

‘Besides, you look the part of a man torn with turmoil and unfinished business,’ he commented. ‘You best say goodbye to your folks.’ Once again, Ledner’s tone added layers beyond his words. Swiftly.

Asphales was not sure whether to confess he owned no provisions of war or to express the pain he felt at being reminded of his loneliness.

‘I have no—’ he began to say, but was interrupted.

‘Don’t be a fool, boy,’ Ledner said, exasperated. ‘Look around.’ He made a sweeping gesture that captured the entire town, its folk, and its buildings. Asphales followed the captain’s hand, taking in sunlit Silnodìr as if for the first time.

‘Your folks,’ he echoed. ‘Your city. Don’t throw away what you have here. A man may not choose his upbringing but you can choose how to leave it and remember it. Don’t despise what has happened to you, for it has made you into who you are today. Now, off you go. Quickly.’

Asphales could not hold Ledner’s keen gaze. He turned away, feeling foolish. He realised there was a strange gentleness beyond the stiff exterior of the company’s captain. Just as Asphales began to think it would be easier to make a stone bleed than to draw emotion out of Ledner, his incisive perceptiveness had shot through his prejudice. Asphales wondered how much more the captain knew about him, and how much he was holding back about the quest they were to embark on.

But his thoughts were cut short when he looked up and saw several figures making their way towards him. Their silhouettes were framed by daylight. In the distance, Valinos was coming down the road with Renehos, Demin, Aman, and Neansa in tow. They were each carrying something. Even old Turos was loping along behind them, struggling to keep up with the energy of the younger ones. Suddenly, Asphales saw the truth of Ledner’s words. This was his town. These were his folk. The raging bitterness that suffocated him earlier fell away like autumn leaves.

The children spotted Asphales and rushed towards him. He ran ahead to meet them. It was then that he saw what they were carrying. Each child had a bundle containing a piece of armour. Helmet, gauntlets, leggings, and a cuirass, all of polished silver and glinting steel. After the excited greetings died down, each child presented the component they were holding with pride. Valinos came up behind them and unveiled a slender sword of dark steel. The burnished surface of the blade captured daylight resplendently.

‘I see you’ve brought the whole troupe,’ Asphales said.

‘Aye, that I did,’ replied Valinos. ‘And we come bearing provisions for a fisherman-turned-adventurer.’

‘I guess there are benefits to working for an armourer.’

‘Indeed. I’d like to see one of your fishing tools stop an arrow or a blade,’ Valinos scowled.

‘An’ I’d like t’see you eat steel when th’ food runs out, boy,’ said Turos in rebuke as he finally caught up to the rest.

Asphales laughed. He was glad that even on the cusp of goodbye they could share in a bit of brotherly banter. Valinos slumped in defeat. Turos gave a victorious sniffle. The children screwed their faces at the idea of tasting steel. Asphales wished he could bottle this moment and hold on to it forever.

‘Thank you all so much for coming out to see me,’ he said. Overcome with appreciation, he could not offer much else.

Valinos answered first. ‘My friend, I could not have you leave unprepared. And not without seeing you off. I had to get everybody ready early and prepare all the equipment before you. But seeing the faces on the guards as I made them wait was an added bonus.’

Asphales turned to the company, who watched him with aquiline attention. ‘Aha,’ he said. ‘A minor mystery solved. No wonder Ledner was not knocking down my door at first light.’ Both of them chuckled. ‘Thank you, Valinos,’ he said at last.

‘Hurry, Asphales,’ cried Aman. ‘Put on your armour!’

Asphales looked at the boy and smiled before gazing around at the pieces before him. ‘And thank you for all this, Valinos,’ he said. ‘Extend my gratitude to Paran, too.’

Valinos nodded grimly. ‘That old smith was delighted to help.’

Asphales took each item and dressed for the journey. He strapped the leggings around his trousers. He secured the cuirass around his chest. He drew the gauntlets on over his forearms, and finally placed the helmet over his head. It was not a smooth process. As he had never handled such things before, Asphales fumbled often and required Valinos’ assistance. The children watched excitedly as each armour piece transformed their friend into a fledgling warrior.

Last of all, Asphales took hold of the sword. Even without extended exposure to weapons, he knew it was of high quality. The hilt fit snugly in his hands. The blade was flawless and balanced. It moved impeccably through the air even in his unskilled hands. If it had not been such a sombre moment, an instant of afforded clarity before the great unknown, Asphales would have run with his imagination. In that moment he at least somewhat looked the part of Hadar the Mighty. But with the Guard staring at him there was double incentive to restrain himself and avoid embarrassment.

‘Wha’ will you call it, lad?’ Turos asked suddenly. The children’s eyes lit with anticipation.

‘The sword?’ Asphales inquired. He gazed at the magnificent blade and once more noticed how it caught the light. It was as if daylight was the blood coursing underneath its metal skin. His eyes traced the contours of the blade to its tip.

‘Anfrìr,’ he said. The sword flashed with the sun as Asphales turned it, almost in response to its call. ‘Its name is Anfrìr.’

The children cheered. Turos gave a contented grunt.

‘Daylight,’ Valinos sighed. ‘So dramatic.’ An approving smile was painted on his face.

Of course, it was not simply the way the sword caught the light that earned the blade its name. It was daylight that brought with it the adventure he would set out on. It was daylight that cleared away the doubts. And it was daylight that revealed the friends whose companionship he enjoyed. Like the blade captured something of the light around it, it would hold this moment in its steel. This would be the memento of an instant free of sorrow and confusion. Daylight. A memory.

Asphales had sparsely finished his antics when the Guard began to make its way over to the group. The company’s footsteps approached behind him, their beat counting down like a clock. Asphales knew it was time to go. He breathed deeply.

‘When will you be back?’ asked Neansa, taking hold of his hand. Her dark hair intensified her bright, attentive eyes.

Asphales turned to Ledner, who brought the company to a halt not far off. His hard expression was unreadable.

‘I don’t know,’ Asphales said honestly as he faced the children again. The look on their faces struck him deeper than arrows.

‘Will you teach us the song when you return?’ Demin inquired.

Asphales recalled that their re-enactment of the battle against Ulmìr was broken off before the climactic song could be sung. He knelt down and put his arms around Demin and Renehos, drawing all four kids together in a bundle. ‘I will teach you more than that,’ he said wistfully. ‘I will teach you all the songs I learn along my travels. I promise.’

The children smiled in a way that bound Asphales to his promise more securely than a written contract. He rose and met Turos’ eyes. They were adorned with glistening pearls.

‘Lad,’ he quavered, ‘I’ve always thought o’you as me son. I’m sorry ‘bout wha’ happened t’your ma and da back then. Goin’ back out on them waters after tha’ was th’ braves’ thing I seen.’

Asphales felt his own composure weakening, but he held on. ‘Turos, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me during those dark years.’

‘I’m proud o’you and the man you’ve become,’ Turos said. ‘You’re a strong lad. Capable. You don’ deserve th’ shame y’get e’ry day from folk who think they go’ it together. I’m sorry. But one man can’t turn th’ tide o’ th’ town.’

The sobs Turos choked back strengthened his accent and made him even more difficult to understand. Asphales did not mind. He let the man pour out his heart and appreciated the sentiment.

‘Your lot may change, lad,’ Turos said after a deep breath. ‘If it’s like in them stories o’ yours, there’s better days yet. Ulmeer was an orphan ‘fore he was king, no?’

Asphales, aware of the full story, took the encouragement cautiously. But he nonetheless acknowledged the old man’s use of the things he loved as comfort. ‘Aye, it was so,’ he said.

‘Your lot may change,’ Turos repeated. ‘May your sail lead to better shores…’

‘…beneath far-flung skies and golden dreams,’ Asphales concluded. It was the fishermen’s benediction of departure. He could think of no goodbye more appropriate than this.

Valinos turned to him next. He handed Asphales the sheath for housing Anfrìr. Asphales strapped it to his belt, admiring the fine leather workmanship. He sheathed the sword and gave his friend a knowing look.

‘I’ll see you to the gate, friend,’ Valinos said.

The Imperial company drew near and collected Asphales. He noticed how underdressed he still seemed next to the Guard. His basic armour parts were attached roughly to his clothes, fitted with leather straps in unorderly fashion. The Guard’s pauldrons, gorgets, and helmets were fastened seamlessly to the rest of their armour. Save for their exposed faces, they were almost entirely men made of silver and steel.

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However, the company did not get far when their attention was drawn to a great commotion above. The frantic fluttering of wings and an eagle’s call commanded the company’s gazes. Asphales and the rest also looked up at the strange sight.

A great eagle descended with a screech and landed in a flurry of smoke and road dust. A gust of dirt and feathers trailed in its wake. It was far larger than any regular eagle, standing taller than a man. As it majestically outstretched its wings, Asphales realised it could fill a small room. It did not seem hostile and none of the men of the company took defensive stances. The passers-by cowered at the sight of the creature and even the children backed off a good distance. Soon, mutters and whispers filled the space created by the eagle’s descent. The bird folded its wings inwardly and cawed expectantly.

‘Ah, Gidius!’ called Ledner. ‘Why are you here?’

Gidius made a motion that could be interpreted as a nod. Ledner seemed to understand and signed to one of the guards. The other man stepped toward the eagle and stooped down to draw something that was tied to its feet. A message.

Asphales braved closer to the eagle and afforded a better look. The eagle’s flawless coat sheened with a lustrous brown. Clawed feet clutched the earth with a weighty grip. Eyes like golden gemstones were set in its sharp face, peering with keen intent. But the bird’s most curious feature was a ring of bone-like protrusions that hung around its head. Stone-grey and osseous, it crowned the eagle with a marrow diadem.

Moments later, Asphales noticed that Valinos was next to him, examining the creature silently. He seemed entranced by the eagle. Gidius cocked its head awkwardly and stared at Valinos.

‘Asphales, I think this is the same eagle we saw yesterday evening,’ said Valinos, topaz eyes still locked on the bird.

Asphales could only vaguely remember the sight of a bird the previous day. Too many things had afflicted him since then. He nodded absently, but Valinos’ attention was elsewhere.

‘You know this creature?’ Valinos addressed the Guard.

‘Aye,’ responded one of the men. ‘This is Gidius. Finest and swiftest of the Empire’s messengers.’ His voice flowed like water over smooth stones.

‘Magnificent,’ Valinos said under his breath. His eyes never left the creature.

Asphales was not sure what was more surprising; the truth that the huge bird was known to the Guard or the fact that someone other than Ledner had spoken. So Ledner did not command a company comprised of mutes, after all, he mused. But Valinos’ interest in the eagle also intrigued him. He thought back to the affinity Valinos had expressed for the sky.

‘You say you saw Gidius?’ the man questioned. ‘That’s not surprising. Amaleron sent him ahead of us. Must’ve been brooding for days waiting for our arrival.’

Asphales looked over to where Ledner stood. Another guard brought the small cylinder that was tied to Gidius’ foot. The captain broke the wax seal and poured out its contents. He unrolled a scroll and read the message. There was a terse silence. His face became hard as stone. He threw Asphales a grave look.

‘Do you know anything about this?’ Ledner asked, stepping over to him. He held out the open scroll. The message inside was written in hastily-scrawled lettering.

Bring the armourer’s apprentice also.

A.

Asphales stared blankly at the note. Puzzles battled and raged violently in his head. Why was Valinos tied to this? How had the sender known his occupation? The questions piled on top of the ones already weighing him down. He turned to his friend, who watched him with curiosity.

‘How fast can you acquire a second set of arms and armour?’ Asphales asked flatly.

Half a watch later, Valinos returned with his meagre possessions in a bag and armour equipped. He looked every bit the tenderfoot soldier Asphales appeared to be. The black-tinted armour suited Valinos’ dark clothing, meshing together like leaves on a tree. An argent blade rested sheathed at his side, its hilt decorated with fine red felt. His intense blue eyes were varnished with pale confusion.

The early morning sun still lingered calmly, but Ledner seemed to be fuming with impatience. Gidius had already stormed off and the company was eager to be on their way. Turos and the children still hung about, but hurried goodbyes had to suffice as they watched Asphales and Valinos set off on their journey. They passed through Silnodìr’s gate and the watchmen saluted the Guard. Asphales glanced back. He saw the children send him off with a gesture copied from the Guard. Three fingers up. Then two fingers forward. Starlight guide you. Asphales turned to the road. His mouth curved into a smile as a stray tear ran down his face.

Not far out, Ledner made the group’s travelling schedule clear. Five hours of brisk walking. One hour’s rest. This was to be repeated before a final stretch of four hours’ travel preceded a two-hour break for their main meal and camp setup. Then a six-hour sleep would bring the start of the process again. He drilled through the instructions stoically. None dared voice their complaints.

As the midday lamp settled overhead, Asphales and Valinos reached their first break like parched camels. Moving around under pounds of unfamiliar armour and equipment tired them. The company’s relentless pace only made things worse. The silence that hung around the group like a gloomy cloud made things boring. There were only miles of open country to admire during their trek.

‘Well, I can’t say I’m looking forward to the rest of the journey,’ Asphales said to Valinos as he sat down roughly. He stretched his legs and tried to rub the numbness out of them. The rest of the company sat nearby in organised groups of three. A dozen armoured men all up beside them lazed around a shady dell. Quiet chatter carried on and some of the Imperial soldiers rummaged through their packs in search of their water skins and a quick bite. Ledner alone stood vigilant and silent, watching the wind as if it reported to him.

Valinos smiled darkly. ‘The stories don’t usually mention the tiring hours spent in travel, do they?’

‘That they don’t,’ Asphales admitted breathlessly. His friend’s shrewd words had caught him. Asphales desired the glory of his tales without the hard and mundane work involved. His protests ceased after that moment of revelation.

‘I’m glad I left Silnodìr,’ Valinos said sullenly. ‘That note made me happier than I would admit to, for all the creepy mystery involved.’

‘What about old Paran? Won’t you miss your trade?’

Valinos gazed into his hands for a moment. ‘Asphales, my stance has not changed since yesterday,’ he said with cool composure. ‘If anything, my conviction grows stronger with every league we put between us and the city.’

‘But the old smith... I mean,’ mumbled Asphales.

‘Yes. He took care of me,’ Valinos said as he looked down again. ‘I am grateful that he raised me and taught me. But the kindness of one man can’t erase the enmity of many.’

Asphales fidgeted absently. He thought back to Turos’ words.

‘Wherever we end up,’ Valinos declared, ‘it sure beats—’ He caught himself and bit back the word. Home.

Before Asphales could collect his thoughts, Ledner stepped toward them with his usual rigidity. Asphales quietly hoped that he came bearing answers.

‘Do you know how to use those?’ he asked, pointing indistinctly toward the two. Recognition was not forthcoming. ‘The swords,’ he clarified.

‘No,’ Valinos said, his tone dripping with hunger. ‘I only forge them.’

‘Uh, no,’ Asphales said, somewhat ashamedly. For all his love for heroic stories and countless dramatic portrayals of bladed battles, Ledner’s intimidating approach put his fictional skills into perspective.

‘Figured as much,’ said Ledner, creasing his brow. ‘A thought occurred to me. I shall have one of us teach you the basics of swordplay. Can’t have you shame the fine blades you hold as if they were nothing more than iron bars.’

Asphales and Valinos rose brusquely with all the non-existent finesse of new recruits.

‘Serìn!’ called Ledner. It was the first time Asphales had heard Ledner raise his voice. The sound was like splitting stone. He caught a glimpse of the Ledner who could command with terrible efficiency on the battlefield. One of the armoured men promptly rose and made his way over.

‘Serìn shall teach you. And he may as well instruct you in rudimentary movement. I’ve seen drunken sailors move with more grace than you two in your armour.’ With that, Ledner dismissed himself. He spoke a silent word to the approaching guard and returned to his speculative watching.

The man he called Serìn arrived. His face was decidedly softer than Ledner’s. His gait was gentler. Blond hair sat atop a friendly face and drooped wildly into his sky-blue eyes.

‘I am Serìn,’ he said. Asphales realised he was the same man who spoke to Valinos about the eagle Gidius. ‘I am to be your instructor,’ Serìn said. A look of playful contemplation crossed his features. ‘You may call me ‘master.’ Shall we begin?’

Serìn had only begun to explain the fundamentals of stance and position when Ledner signalled for the company to move. The day ploughed ahead. A determined wind drove away the clouds like an artist clearing his desk in preparation for a masterpiece. Under a barren sky, the company quickly gathered their supplies and set off again. Asphales and Valinos had Serìn as a constant partner from this point. Unlike silent Ledner, he proved active in conversation, whilst cleverly avoiding answering any of the key questions they both had. While some of the captain’s own insistence on formality and dogged determination was present in Serìn, he was nonetheless a more pleasant companion.

The training continued even during the most arduous part of travel. It was rife with frustration as even the most basic stances and steps needed constant correction. Before even commencing swordsmanship, Asphales and Valinos were forced to perfect their movements. Serìn had them walk in complicated step patterns, often for hours at a time. Occasionally they would be required to sprint with the added weight of Imperial shields. This demanded delicate balance and precise strength. And even during breaks, they were given various exercises and stretches to perform that drew all the flexibility they could muster in their constricting armour.

The company travelled south until the road curved gently to the southwest, following the contours of the River Valarion flowing forth from the Undorn Mountains. They travelled past the farmlands which criss-crossed the countryside. With harvest approaching, dozens of farmers could be spotted among the golden fields. And yet the fields seemed weaker each year, Asphales reflected. Unfavourable brown land overtook the golden stretches of fertility, like a desert eating away at a forest.

Night eventually approached, colouring the sky in black and drawing the day to a close. The company made camp by the river. Ledner directed the watches. Since there were twelve men of the Guard, they worked in alternating shifts over two days. Six men per night keeping watch an hour each. Serìn drew the first turn and so for the first time that day he left Asphales and Valinos alone. Several other men prepared the fire and the food. Exhausted and aching, Asphales and Valinos fell asleep almost immediately after a hearty meal. The last thing they saw was Ledner staunchly refusing sleep’s advances like a spurned lover. They blacked out when the arms of sleep took them and slumbered soundly under the cover of stars. The soothing rush of the river guided their dreams.

Dawn came as a rude awakening. Sunrise stung their sleep-laden eyes. Queenthell’s bruises and aches arrived with a vengeance. Asphales and Valinos discovered that the saying ‘The new tide cures the ailments of the old’ was a lie. But Ledner took no prisoners and cut no corners. He kept the company on schedule unflinchingly. All the heaviness of sleep could not hold him back from driving the group onward.

Sunsfell, Moonspell, and Windsell passed without many incidents. On the second day of the journey Serìn posed a riddle amidst all the physical training. ‘Pretty titles make poor tidings,’ he said teasingly. Asphales and Valinos were promised an entire sheleh and given until the end of the tide to solve it. A full seven days. And from that day he insisted more heavily on being called ‘master,’ to the point of aggravation.

Serìn’s coaching continued. By the third day, the routine had become bearable. By the fourth, it was a familiar friend. Or perhaps more of an unwelcome relative. Serìn gradually incorporated sword manoeuvres in his exercises. He demonstrated proper sheathing and unsheathing, effective use of balance and counterbalance, and efficient thrusts and swipes and parries. Progress was slow but sure. Asphales and Valinos began to have an inkling as to the potential held within their muscles and their blades.

Meadsbell arrived and Serìn conducted controlled duels between Asphales and Valinos. By now their swords settled comfortably in their callused hands and their movements were well-rehearsed rituals. They danced in their armour as freely as if inside a second skin. They made music with their weapons. Shrill and sharp. It was the beginning of the tunes of war.

In the evening, the company had reached the outskirts of Gohenur’s northern tip. Trees began to dot the countryside more frequently. The setting sun collapsed onto the bedding of the distant rolling hills, spent and weary. Smoky clouds pillowed the giant’s gentle fall. In its wake, bashful stars emerged like spring animals out of their hiding places.

The Imperial soldiers trudged onwards. As shadow lengthened its stride among the thickets, faint murmurs reared amidst the company. Serìn signalled for Asphales and Valinos to halt their exercise. They were carrying out a complex technique involving rhythmical steps and corresponding sword flicks.

‘What say you two?’ Ledner asked.

Asphales and Valinos looked on, puzzled. Sweat lined their foreheads. In their concentration they missed the company’s chatter entirely.

‘We are approaching the Woodland Waypoint,’ Serìn filled in. ‘The most renowned tavern in Upper Anardes,’ he added smoothly. ‘Our master asks for your thoughts on the matter.’ He winked.

Asphales had heard tales of this famous inn. Travellers from all over converged for fine drink and finer songs. Of course, his means had not allowed him to travel so far south previously.

‘It’s tradition, is it not?’ he called out. ‘Meadsbell evening beckons weary waylayers and workers for a rest. So it has always been.’ Asphales eyed the company. There was a thirsty look in their eyes. ‘Not even the Imperial Guards are heartless enough to break tradition, are they?’ he declared. Some of the soldiers choked back laughter, as if Asphales had just taunted a bear.

Serìn smiled and turned to Ledner. He simply exhaled a monotonous gruff. ‘Fine. I hope you’ve brought coin,’ he stated.

The company cheered and resumed moving down the darkening road toward the forest. Serìn motioned for them. Asphales patted Valinos on the back. ‘We won’t be paying for drink out of our own purses tonight,’ he said knowingly, then followed after the soldiers.

The lauded inn waited less than half a mile away. The huge wooden structure scaled into the night. Three-storeyed with barns and stables beside, it buzzed with hints of bustling activity. Lights streamed through its windows. Silhouetted movements could be made out. The sounds of mirth mumbled through the walls. A chimney raged with smoke, rumouring of fire and warmth. The smell of food and drink emanated strongly. Beyond, the woods thickened in the empty, murky shadows.

As the group approached the tavern’s entrance, a figure burst through the doors raucously. He wore a nobleman’s clothing but comported himself without the restraint of nobility. Deliriously drunk, he swayed toward the company muttering avidly. He gazed queerly at the soldiers. Laying eyes on Asphales, he stumbled near.

‘Yes, yes, I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said. His stark ruby eyes showed none of the incoherence expected of a drunk. They watched Asphales with age beyond the man’s apparent years. But before he could elaborate on this bizarre greeting, the man lurched off toward the forest. He wrapped the night around him like a cloak and laughed away into the distance. The company stood dumbfounded for a moment, but then dismissed the man as a herald of the festivities inside and stepped through the doors.

The clamour of two dozen men rushed past the opening like out of an uncorked bottle of wine. But the initial force settled into curious silence, as if the company had disturbed a set on which every prop and actor was in place. Every eye in the room turned to the intruders. Several drunken gawks, many confused glances, a few disinterested looks, and even a couple of naturally murderous stares all landed on the company.

Asphales took in the sight of the tavern. The main hall was spacious, with wooden tables arrayed neatly by the dozens around two halves of the room. The resultant alley led the eyes up to a counter that ran the length of the back wall. Against the backdrop of endless bottles, crockery, and glassware stood the innkeeper, the director of this play. With a single stage direction the old man restored the commotion as men went back to their drinks and cards, waiter girls resumed serving, and bards recommenced fiddling a background tune. The innkeeper made his way to the company and instinctively singled out Ledner for negotiation.

‘Good evening, sirs,’ the garrulous old man began, ‘ye don’t look like regulars. I am Relûnehar Renmìr. Renmìr the Third, mind you, but we won’t mention how the only thing my good-for-nothing father did right was leave me this establishment. I am owner, proprietor, and provider of the Woodland Waypoint, at your service. Please, just call me Relu.’ He was pleasant enough, and had a warm smile. Relu was deprived of teeth as he was bereft of hair and his friendliness undercut whatever annoyance taciturn Ledner might have felt at his excessive chatter.

‘Greetings, Relu,’ said Ledner. ‘We are on an errand and simply wish to spend one night here.’

‘Splendid, sir!’ Relu exclaimed. ‘It would be my pleasure to host esteemed men of the Guard in this humble institution.’ Suddenly he took on a transactional tone and knotted his fidgeting hands together. ‘Now, board is one sheleh and two for a night per head. And I assume you shall be wanting meals and drinks, no? We have the finest cut of venison for only eight dens. Our hallmark mead will set you back five dens. Costly, but I promise you, you will taste nothing like it in all of Anardes.’

Ledner said nothing, but looked as if he intended to strike the innkeeper for the outrageous prices.

‘Relu, my fine man!’ Serìn chimed in. He stepped closer to the innkeeper. ‘I see the years have been kind to you. You know, I have heard only the highest praise regarding this fine inn you run. Not only for its quality but also for its generosity. And besides, look at us. We are tired men, haggard and hampered. We could not carry exuberant amounts of coin on our journey. How about you let us off for the fee of one sheleh per man for accommodation and feed us for five dens each?’ As a concluding flair to his act, Serìn scrunched his face into a convincing look of utter dejection.

Relu paused momentarily, making calculations in his head. Asphales observed the innkeeper’s face and could almost see tension building as the old man counted his loss. Relu turned from his own thoughts to the company and eyed their weapons. ‘Fine, fine!’ he blurted, hands visibly shaking. ‘Of course, sirs. Not a problem. One sheleh per head and five dens per meal.’ Relu’s finishing touch was an exaggerated, fraudulent smile.

The men of the company reached for their purses and collectively gathered twenty-one shelehi. After handing them to the old man, he led them up to their bedchambers on the third storey. Asphales noted the layout of the building. The first floor was devoted entirely to the tavern hall and wine cellars and comprised the majority of the Waypoint’s area. The second and third floors contained the guest rooms and baths. After finding his own chamber on the third floor, Asphales unloaded his gear, unstrapped his armour and joined the rest downstairs.

Soon, the company was dressed casually and seated at one of the larger tables in the tavern near the sizeable hearth. Stripped of their armour, the men of the Guard blended in with the mixed crowd of the inn. Surrounding them were men of all characters and calibres, some lecherous and lewd, but others chivalrous and chaste. Asphales saw that there was flesh beneath the metal. The Guard were simply people, men who carried stories and scars.

Their meals came around and were soon devoured. Relu personally brought out the tavern’s signature mead and once again vouched for its quality. Asphales was not a customary admirer of drink, but he was loath to pass up something supposedly legendary. He swigged the mead along with the men of the company; a shared moment of travellers’ bonding. The men lowered their mugs and sighed appreciatively.

Serìn was the first to speak. ‘Starlight be praised, the old quack wasn’t lying,’ he said, as other soldiers nodded. ‘This is fine mead indeed.’

‘That was a fine display of the riddle’s answer back there, Serìn,’ Asphales said directly and only slightly addled by the drink.

‘Aye, I figured you had it even before that,’ Serìn said.

‘Someone care to explain?’ Valinos said as he put down his mug.

‘Pretty titles make poor tidings, remember?’ Asphales began. ‘It was the riddle. It means don’t submit to pretentious authority.’

‘Congratulations, sprout,’ said Serìn. ‘You’ve passed the first test. By all the power and authority pompously invested in me by yours truly, I appoint you to the rank of understudy.’ He flicked blond streaks out of his eyes. ‘But you’re right. A man claiming to be more than he is, claiming to control more than he can handle,’ he intoned seriously, ‘he will disappoint you. Like an actor.’

Asphales recalled the moment of illumination. He had realised how effortless Ledner’s authority came, like swiftness to a cat. It was intrinsic. So when he had sensed dissension in the ranks of the company regarding the tavern, an idea sparked. Perhaps Ledner had no authority in that area. Serìn’s mocking use of ‘master’ and his wink had confirmed the interpretation.

‘I guess you figured it with our captain back before the inn, right?’ Serìn asked, laughing. ‘Drink truly is the fuel of discord. Of course, you realise that means a quarter of the things I insisted you perform as your ‘master’ were totally unnecessary,’ he added, pleased with himself.

The other men at the table laughed. Ledner brooded quietly.

‘They were not useless, however,’ Serìn said seriously. ‘At any rate, I owe you a sheleh. Figured it out before the deadline.’ He drew out the silver coin and passed it along the table. Asphales pocketed it with a grateful nod.

‘And you owe me a full onel,’ Ledner said. ‘I wagered you would give the game away before mid-tide.’

Serìn groaned. The men laughed again at his misfortune.

‘You really thought the captain lost control of his men?’ asked one of the soldiers with repressed laughter.

‘Sod it all, Maresh,’ Serìn cursed. ‘I was set up.’

‘I knew you would get attached to the boys,’ Ledner commented. ‘You take to your recruits like a father his sons. And you always give them the same riddle.’

Asphales laughed along with the men. Ledner’s shrewdness came as a surprise, but he looked at Serìn anew. He truly appreciated the man’s kindness. He felt welcomed. He threw a glance across the table and noticed that even Valinos smiled.

Serìn reached for an onel and reluctantly handed it to Ledner. Asphales nearly gasped. He had rarely seen a full golder before.

‘Well, since I have been wrung dry, I may as well be doubly refreshed,’ Serìn sighed. He slunk further into his chair.

‘Of course,’ Ledner said. ‘Drinks are on me for the penniless and penitent. That was some good bargaining back there. I almost feel bad for taking the coin off you.’ He paused. ‘Almost,’ he repeated, rousing another round of laughter from the table.

‘A song would cheer me up,’ Serìn sulked.

‘Yes, let’s have a song!’ Maresh cried. Several men from other tables looked in their direction. The fiddler on the makeshift stage in the corner was sawing through a solemn tune with disregard.

‘We’ve had enough of this dithering,’ another guard agreed, addressing the musicians with a vague gesture that Asphales supposed was meant to mock an instrument. He had no idea what instrument the guard was emulating and he guessed the man did not either. Other voices bellowed in agreement.

‘Aye, and make it a good one!’ came a voice from a table. ‘No more of this weepy stuff. Makes me feel like I’m at a funeral.’

The bards looked at each other and shrugged. The irritated fiddler ended his dirge abruptly. A few whispers later and all three men took up positions. The instruments were ready. The room hushed in anticipation.

They played a sweeping song with a silly story. The audience cheered in an uproar as the fiddler bowed furiously, the flautist whistled vigorously, and the lutist fingered frantically. They raised their voices to sing and the crowd joined in.

There once lived free a maiden fair

As wild as raging stream

Her only wish, her solemn dream

To journey ‘cross the air

To sail above the worlds of men

By night she left their camps

But far below the canvassed lamps

At dawn she woke again

The maiden sweet her songs she sang

To heaven’s gate they rose

Her melodies of longing throes

In eagle’s ears they rang

Then one day came the eagle down

From glorious heights above

With words but few confessed his love

And promised her a crown

“Ascend with me, let’s leave tonight

We’ll build a world anew”

The eagle’s words which rang so true

Dispelled the maiden’s fright

The maiden knew she made her choice

To live with eagle high

“Let’s race across the moonlit sky”

Delight was in her voice

On eagle’s wings and wind she rose

Enraptured in a trance

As shadows lit and colours danced

In sleep her eyelids closed

To lands unknown which wonders fill

Was lost the maiden fair

But rumours linger in the air

That yet they dwell there still

Asphales and Valinos had not heard the song before, but they realised it was a favourite. A classic. Asphales found it hard to concentrate on the lyrics as the tavern danced and whooped and sung along. But perhaps this is how these songs were to be enjoyed, he thought. In the frivolity of the moment and with the company around you. Relu sung loudest. The song lifted Serìn’s spirits and he chanted wildly yet with surprising beauty of tone.

No sooner had the song finished than the bards gave in to the crowd’s demand to run through it again. The second time, Serìn picked up a spare lute and joined the musicians. He conjoined a wonderful counter-melody to the song’s relentless tune. Serìn added complex layers of timbre and cleverly chosen chords to the already intense tonality of the song. Asphales was surprised at the delicate skill on display by an Imperial guard.

At some point, Asphales noticed two or three men sitting at their tables, stubbornly refusing to join the festal commotion. Eventually, they drifted through the crowd towards the Waypoint’s exit. Something glinted around their belts, but the ruckus erupting all around him prevented him from seeing properly. The figures disappeared into the cold night.

Things settled down after that, as the musicians rested their hands and stretched their fingers. The lutist and the fiddler retuned their strings while the flautist called for a drink to soothe his numb lips. Men returned to their tables and their card games, and soon the familiar cacophony of laughter and cheering and grunts and profanities filled the atmosphere.

The company chatted away late into the night. Several more rounds of drinks came around which drowned Serìn’s sorrows entirely. The mead even loosened Ledner’s tongue and softened his temper, like hard stone ground into pebbles. They spoke of trivial things and vital matters also. The most interesting thing Ledner let slip was that a horseback scout should have preceded the Guard’s arrival and prepared Asphales for the journey. He guessed this was the reason behind Ledner’s troubled temper and excessive caution during their trip.

The night did not go on without incident, however. A bar brawl broke out a few tables across from the company. With a simple nod, Ledner directed Serìn to the spot where the two drunkards were trading blows. In no uncertain terms, the guard threatened to charge them with counts of public disturbance and indecent conduct. The inebriated fellows did not seem to comprehend the guard’s words, so Serìn threw in a few punches of his own. The two men promptly backed down. Authority on fair display once more.

Ledner eventually called for a halt and guided the company to their chambers. He wanted them rested and able to walk straight on the morrow. Addled guards are no good, and there was still half the journey to complete. Asphales lay awake for a long while in his room. The sense of distance from his home and the melody of the song rattled restlessly in his mind before sleep drove them away.

Morning came sooner than Asphales would have liked, but in spite of the previous night’s revelry, Ledner kept the company on schedule. There was a rap at his door which awoke him and announced the company’s departure. Moving with all the slowness of a heavy head after a night of fun and lack of sleep, Asphales gathered his things and went downstairs. Equipping the armour took longer but he did it alone. On the inn’s first floor, Relu thanked each one of the guards profusely for their patronage as he waved them briskly out the door.

In the daylight, Asphales could see the edges of Gohenur’s vastness filling the southward horizon. Autumn’s touch left the woodlands smeared with fiery red, fierce orange, and dusty brown. The company resumed their march, once again traversing the length of the main road along the Valarion. The woods thickened around them and the path thinned. Soon the mess of trees was all that they could see. The river’s ceaseless rush guided them unfailingly through the endless forest maze.

Five hours passed and the company’s first break approached. After passing through an arch of trees, they happened upon a clearing in the heart of the forest. Carpeted with the hues of fall and enclosed by countless knotted pillars of wood, the glade was the perfect spot for a rest. The soldiers laid down their burdens and weapons and spread out relaxedly over the area. Maresh and another guard were assigned patrol and provision of supplies. They meandered through the nearest trees, keeping a lookout. Eventually, they wandered out of sight and into the woody tangles.

‘It’s beautiful out here,’ Asphales said as he lay down on the crunchy blanket of leaves. He breathed deeply and took in the forest smell. ‘How large is Gohenur?’ he asked as Serìn came near.

‘Vast. Very vast,’ he said as he looked at the forest all around. ‘It spreads west nearly to the sea and to the east all the way to the roots of the Undorn.’ He pointed in the respective directions. ‘It divides Upper and Lower Anardes quite nicely. And on the west side of the Valarion, the forest runs down all the way to the coast.’

Asphales closed his eyes, as if picturing the geographic immensity of the woods.

‘Are we following it all the way?’ asked Valinos.

‘We are,’ Serìn said. ‘The river runs into the Bay of Anardes, and Fara’ethar lies that way.

‘I can’t wait,’ Asphales said serenely.

‘You can’t indeed,’ Serìn snapped. ‘Up! Don’t think a bit of drink will hinder your training. Today you two shall duel me.’

Asphales opened his eyes and noticed Serìn’s wicked smile. The challenge invigorated him. He stood up, Anfrìr drawn and poised.

‘That’s the way,’ Serìn said as he unsheathed his slender blade. It glinted with gold and featured a viny engraving that slid down the length of the sword.

Valinos pulled out his blade with a quick motion. The weapon hissed as it left its shackles.

Serìn looked at both of them in turn. ‘Let’s see what you can do,’ he mused.

But before any of them could make a step, shouting from among the trees interrupted their battle. Maresh’s voice broke free through the commotion. ‘Foes! Foes!’ he cried. ‘Ambush!’ He stepped into the clearing. Blood ran down his right arm. And before he could make another sound a crackling whisper whistled through the trees and pierced sharply.

Maresh fell, levelled by an arrow.