Callum stared down at the sword Henric had given him. Most acolytes didn’t carry swords as weapons. Crossbows were usually the weapon of choice. The weapons were relatively easy to use. Considered students rather than soldiers, acolytes were generally not expected to fight on the front line, although they did carry daggers. For the most part swords and other melee weapons were primarily for use by Arms Masters and soldiers. And while graduating from an acolyte only to be made a soldier was seen as a demotion, Callum didn't think that was Henric's thought when handing him the weapon.

Radic sneered across from him as they took off. The boy’s attitude toward Callum had been softer since they left with the Imperator to go hunt down the throne ship, but it all came tumbling back down when Henric gave Callum the sword.

He gets it. Callum smiled, running a hand along the blade before returning it to its sheath. His hard work was starting to pay off, even if only mildly so.

His eyes lifted toward Radic's crumbled expression and raised nose, and he gritted his teeth. Callum's cheeks puffed as he held in a chuckle. His gaze had wandered down to the dagger at Radic’s side; the little blade looked even more ridiculous against his large frame.

Keep it in. You don't want to stir trouble for the Imperator.

**Imperator**

Mark eyed out the journey he intended to take them on. He would travel down the Frontier, skipping the Razor mountains to the east and heading straight for the ocean.

Not only would barbarian activity be in larger quantities to the south, but so would Imperials and possibly even the legate’s direct subordinates, so Mark didn’t want to land anywhere in the south.

His plan was to fly high and slow, almost gliding for long stretches in an effort to conserve energy. By doing this, he hoped to reach the islands to the south without having to stop to let the ship recover.

The Wraith Sea, which split the lands of the Imperium's great expanse and the rival states to the south, was dotted by islands. One such island, the isle of Xaarn—a pirate-infested cove—was where he intended to land first. The place was known for being wild and dangerous, but its reputation was also one that held no loyalty to the Imperium or other great nations, and thus, Mark had decided that it would make for a perfect stopover.

Flying was something Mark had tolerated in his previous life, but not anything he particularly cared about or wanted to do. However, this was something else. Gliding across the snowy and forest covered landscape was freeing beyond measure, and when they met the coastline and continued out toward the ocean, a smile tugged at his lips.

But he had to remain focused. There were no advanced navigation tools to keep him on track. He had to rely on a combination of landmarks to place him in the right direction when leaving land and a built-in sundial to help keep track as they flew over the ocean. There were also birds, and he could already spot seagulls flying out to sea. If they continued to travel in the direction of Xaarn, then he had every intention to keep following them.

Craggy outcroppings lined the coast, and hazardous islets continued out for what seemed like a few hundred yards. He even spotted a few ships in the distance but doubted any were close enough to spot him or at least make out the throne ship as anything more than a dark blur.

Bursting through clouds, he felt the metal frame around him tremble, but it wasn’t frightening. If anything, it sent jolts of excitement reverberating through him. If he hadn't had so many pressing matters, Mark would have been happy to joyride for hours on end.

The sun was still high when he spotted land in the distance. Waves were crashing against sandy beaches lined with jetties and bobbing fishing boats tied to them, and there were a few ships that made Mark think of pirates tied up to a harbor at the heart of the sandstone town on the island’s western side.

I hope this is a good idea. Mark mused, but it was too late to go back. He could feel the energy of the ship's mage heart waning. It wouldn't make it back across the ocean without rest.

Mark pushed on his control and brought the throne ship into a descent toward the island. He reminded himself that while the inhabitants might not be allies of the Imperium, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. However, at least the throne ship should be safely left on its own since it needed an Imperial mage heart to activate the ship, and to his knowledge, the artifacts were guarded as the greatest weapons and treasures of the Imperium, and it was an almost certainty that no one on this little island owned one.

**Clay**

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When the grisled men cast their gaze on Clay, he shied away. He knew it was a bad look, but their uncut, bent expressions were too much for him.

“We gonna be following this little one's orders?” One of the men spat.

“You’ll be following the orders of whoever pays you your crowns,” caravan master Leonard said. “Or do you want to stay here? I've heard ale and bread are getting mighty expensive here in Frostwind.”

“Shut ye mouth,” a man beside him said, elbowing the greasy man. “Don’t listen to him. We’re happy to serve whoever pays. Including the kid if needs be.”

Leonard gave Clay a nod.

“Good,” Clay said, swallowing his fear. “Then pack whatever gear you wish to bring. We’ll be heading back to the fort at first light.”

“Whatever you say, young master,” one of the sellswords said, flicking out his tongue.

“Gruesome animals,” Leonard said as the dozen sellswords they hired cleared out. “But you get used to them after a while. It comes with the job, after all. Besides, you won't find any more civilized men out here on the Frontier.”

“Thank you for that, Leonard. But you say civilized... I mean, If you don’t mind me saying—you seem a bit more… you know—cleaner cut than the rest.”

“I don’t mind you saying that at all. In fact, I welcome it. I'd be a little worried if you saw me the same as those unwashed brutes. That's something I'm proud of. Father was an Imperator, actually. I like to think that wore off on me. Tidied me up a little. I did grow up in a big house in the capital with everything I wanted, after all."

"It does. It shows," Clay nodded. "I had a feeling you were different than those sellswords. Even if you are just a citizen. I mean," Clay gritted his teeth. "No offense."

Leonard chuckled, "None taken. Unfortunately, I was also born with half the skills I needed to follow in my father’s footsteps. And now here I am,” Leonard threw up his arms. “A poor caravan master at the edge of the world.”

“I’m–I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” Leonard shrugged. “I’ve long come to terms with it all. It was made a lot easier when my father cut me off and expelled me from his home for failing to even gain the honor of being made a Master of the Imperium.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Life’s a journey, kid. Don’t get too hung up on these things. You can make anything work for you if you try hard enough. A few years as a soldier taught me a lot about what it meant to survive in this world without wealth or station. It gave me the tools and a few coins to do my own thing. And as much as I might be complaining about this shitty Frontier, it wasn’t all too bad until that damned guild screwed me over.”

“That’s why you don’t want to work for them anymore?”

“Exactly. I have to admit, you and the others have impressed me, though. Imperator Atlas seems to have a grand plan in all this chaos. You know what, I’m becoming quietly confident something good will come of it all. Heck, we might even live.”

“You think so?”

"Yeah, I think. More importantly, I hope so."

"That sounds less confident," Clay shrunk.

"Well, it's an honest answer, kid. I've long stopped caring about what might happen, and now I'm happily focused on what is happening. With that thought in mind, How about an ale? There's a long, cold road ahead of us. Let's warm ourselves a little before subjecting ourselves to that.”

***

Clay, Leonard, and a couple of the sellswords sat at a round table in the cavern with cards and coins scattered across it—foamy ales at their sides.

“What’s this game ye all playing?” A drunken man pushed through the crowd that had formed around their table.

“This?” Leonard turned with a raised brow. “Winterclaw Hold’Em. If you’ve got a few crowns, you can buy in.”

The man watched curiously as they played another hand.

“Winner winner chicken dinner,” Leonard smiled and pulled the crowns across the table to his growing pile. “So? Want to join? Or are you happy watching?”

The man shot Leonard a thinned, suspicious glance and pulled up a chair up beside him.

“Ten crowns, and you’re in.”

“Steal from me, and I’ll slit your throat,” the man sneered and counted out the coins from his pouch, then pushed them over to the blank-faced sellsword opposite him.

“Dealer, deal him in,” Leonard nodded and took a long gulp from his ale. “Any others?”

Several others grunted and grumbled as they watched, but none decided to join.

“Alright then, let us continue.”

The dealer nodded silently and passed out the cards.

“Check,” Leonard tapped a finger against his cards.

The drunken man glanced around and then said, “Bet,” pushing a couple of coins across the table.

“A feisty one, huh? Alright then, I Call,” Leonard grinned at the man and matched his bet.

The round continued, most folding save one other sellsword.

Clay sat out, watching from the side. The larger men were too intimidating for him, and he didn’t particularly like gambling. Nor did he know what he would do with the coin if he won anyway.

“Sorry, pal,” Leonard flipped his cards. “Pocket princes. The pile is mine.” Leonard leaned forward and dragged the coins toward him. "Better luck next time."

“Again,” the dirty man sneered, throwing more coins from his pouch onto the table. "I'm watching you," his nostrils flared as his glare barreled into Leonard.

“Easy there. Wouldn't want to walk away broke, now would you?"

"Deal me in," the man sneered.

"Alright, alright. You heard him. Deal him in," Leonard said, raising his hands to his side. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

**Imperator**

Finding a grassy knoll not far from the town, Mark brought the ship down gently against the subtle, sloping green.

“Arm yourselves,” Mark said, rising from his chair. “This visit should be short if all goes to plan. We need a better map if we’re to make it all the way to the Archbishopric of Deloise in one piece.”

The two boys rose on wobbly legs and grabbed their crossbows and bolts. Even before leaving the ship, they could feel the relative warmth seeping through its metal walls. The boys wore thick acolyte robes, and Mark had his trenchcoat over his suit, which didn’t suit the weather, so the two acolytes stripped down to their undergarments—essentially beige shirts and pants—while Mark wore his exposed Imperator suit.

Mark wasn’t entirely sure if showing off who he was would be a bad or good idea, but he wasn’t about to leave the suit behind, and the thing was warm enough on its own. Having something over the top would have him sweating before he even stepped out of the ship.

“Okay, are we ready, acolytes?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys barked in unison and shuffled with nervous tension.

“Alright then, let’s see what this island has to offer,” Mark slapped the button beside the door, and they stood side-by-side as it opened up into the warmish weather and lush green of Xaarn.