On the western side of Mindra’s Haven, facing directly into the outer sea channel, sprawled the mighty port of Azain. Renowned the globe over, this expansive harbor was arguably Terra’s greatest international dock and trading center. Day and night, longshoremen and sailors off-loaded and provisioned ships from ports across the world while traders and travelers of every shape and stripe made contact just outside the city walls. Deals were cut in the open under the Zenith, with raucous voices amplified by the ocean air—and other kinds of pacts were made in the dead of night, when shadowed whispers were swallowed by the fog and damp.
On this day, with the city alive with celebration, the pier pulsed with activity. The ruckus culminated along a wharf reserved for multimasted deep-draft merchant ships—the backbone of Terra’s international trade economy. These uniquely rigged vessels, many of which hailed from the Thalassocratic Islands of the West, were sailed by men known for their daring exploits and incomparable seamanship.
Domadred Steele, captain of one such vessel, was perhaps the most famous of them all. He was outlawed in the North and wanted for treason in the West, and his ship, the Illusive Diamond, had more stories in her wake than half the ships in the harbor combined.
Over a kilometer out, Domadred stood at the wheel of the Diamond and felt a change in both the currents below and the winds above. With the bright Zenith light before him, his heart stirred. As the ship carved through the channel toward the headland, Domadred ran a hand over his angular beard and smiled up at the Eastern Guardians atop their mountain-spire home.
Domadred had been at the wheel of the Diamond since dawn for the simple pleasure of riding current and wind. As the tall three-masted ship continued forward, the channel opened up, revealing the majestic harbor before him. Domadred drew a black-cowled hood over his braided and bead-laden hair and called his son to the helm.
“Take her in, Son, but keep your head hooded. While aboard ship, let none see your features. We pass for Southerners from Neberu only at a distance.”
“Yes, Father,” Brayden replied, beaming with pride as he pulled his cloak forward and took Domadred’s place at the helm. Although young, Brayden was tall and strong for his age, and more than capable of manning the wheel to bring the Diamond into safe harbor.
As the ship pointed just off the westerly wind, Domadred stepped back and climbed into the rigging. As the captain ascended, he gazed down on the Diamond’s camouflaged decks. Disguised as she was, the ship looked like a deep-water trader from the South. Domadred’s crew even wore the iconic hooded capes of the few Southerners who dared venture out of the safety of their darkly shrouded lands. Most all of the amethyst-eyed people of Neberu had little choice but to hide their pale and sensitive features from the powerful rays of the Zenith, and so remained hidden in their realm of eternal night. Mimicking the Southerners’ plight was the perfect disguise for those brave enough to risk it.
The Illusive Diamond fell off the wind, and Brayden ordered the topsails down and the jibs and staysails loosed. As the ship sailed wing and wing, she entered the breakwater, and the land brought the breeze around so that it blew against the Diamond’s stern. Surfing the great swells of the channel, the ship’s glistening hull sliced through the water as dolphins played in the wake of her bow. Eventually, as the ship entered the outer harbor’s crowded shipping lanes, wind and wave died down and more sails were furled, causing the Diamond to ghost onward toward port.
From the crow’s nest, Domadred took in the island of Mindra’s Haven. As he was outlawed and unable to safely travel in his own home islands, the hectic harbor before him was a salve to his soul. The very extravagance of the harbor, with its patchwork of culture and custom, stirred his heart. It was a melting pot of crews in garb and style as different as the sailing vessels they manned.
As they coursed past ships at anchor, Domadred scanned the bustling deck of a massive trade vessel from the West. The Thalassocratic capital ship was nearly twice the size of the Diamond and had a complement of sailors and marines so great that the local docksmen never needed to go aboard. Domadred watched as the Western men passed cargo down the nets and into waiting lighters. Famous for their stamina and ability to move as one, the sailors worked with confident speed. With bronze flesh, their frames were sculpted by their dedication to the sea. Their bead-laden hair shone like spun gold, and their eyes, like Domadred’s, were a deep sapphire identical to the great ocean of Terra herself. The Westerners stacked their cargo in orderly rows, each bale and barrel embedded with the cerulean crest of their Thalassocratic people—Domadred’s people.
The Diamond slipped past a shallow-keeled coaster from Neberu. Like Domadred’s disguised men, the Southern ship’s hooded crew were fully covered despite the day’s warmth. Hiding their sickly pale faces inside long black cowls, the light-wary Southerners off-loaded their cargo of luminescent cloth, which glowed faintly even in full day. The captain of the coaster saw the Diamond and saluted Domadred by extending his palms to the deck of his ship, clearly showing his rank via the intricately embroidered scrolling along his sleeves.
Returning the hail, Domadred smiled as he caught an echo from across the harbor. This deep and insistent rumble could come only from the hypnotic voices of Northerners singing one of their naval work songs. No doubt the men of Simn were winching casks of their renowned red wines from the hold of their ship. The casks would then be deposited into nets where the levy takers inspected and counted them before they would be dispersed to the grog shops and great tables of the city.
Out of nowhere came a shrill cry Domadred had heard only twice before in his life. Cold chills coursed through his body as he swiveled in the rigging to face port side. Several ships away, there was a sporting vessel from the South-Western Isles of Sihtu with a deck covered in cages. In the foremost cage, a night prowler raged against the light, shredding the tarp enclosing its small prison. The creature sent itself into a blind frenzy as the light burned its nocturnally adapted eyes. In response, a tattooed and scantily clad South-Western beast tamer came up on deck. Domadred watched as the dark woman leapt across the cage. Drawing the animal’s attention, she fed it morsels of meat infused with a tranquilizing agent. Within a moment, the prowler grew clumsy and sat down. As the creature quieted, the beast tamer dragged a fresh tarp across the bars, and soothing darkness once more reigned inside the beast’s cage.
The Diamond suddenly heeled over and came about, now pointing directly toward the docks. Domadred had to smile; the ship’s movement was fluid and perfectly timed. Brayden was about the same age Domadred had been when he first conned a ship into this harbor. The memory came from long ago and brought with it images of bloodshed and fire, causing Domadred’s smile to fade.
“Hold on, old man!”
Domadred looked down and saw Brayden smiling up at him from the quarterdeck. The captain held tight while the Diamond rocked back and forth as she docked. Domadred climbed out of the crow’s nest and slid rapidly down the ratlines. He landed on the quarterdeck smoothly and winked at his son.
“I’m going belowdecks,” Domadred said, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. “Once we’re docked, you know the drill. Be as quick as you can and come find me.”
Brayden nodded.
As the Diamond moored and her hawser lines were snugged fore and aft, a small complement of dockworkers came aboard to speak with Rihat, Domadred’s quartermaster. Dressed in traditional baggy tan pants and brown vests, the men checked the Diamond’s false papers thoroughly until Rihat slipped them each a high-denomination black pearl. Pretending to be fooled by the forgery, and finding that there was nothing that needed unloading, the dockworkers turned and left the ship. After they had departed, Domadred swung over the ship’s gunwale and shed his black cloak as he landed upon the crowded dock.
Now dressed only as himself, Domadred donned his broad-brimmed captain’s hat and entered the mass of humanity on the pier, causing the beaded strands in his long hair to clink softly. Close up, the w
harf looked more like a swirling pool of social chaos than a place where business was done. In the midst of this roil of life, however, Domadred noticed a moving force that cut through the swarming masses like a plow. It was a large group of men, and they seemed to be headed in Domadred’s direction.
After a moment, Brayden appeared. The boy had far fewer beads in his hair, denoting his rank as an apprenticing mate, but had a lavish dark-blue cloak thrown across his shoulders. A bit extravagant, but it was only natural; Brayden took after his father.
“Something is coming, Son. Take a look.” Domadred cupped his hands together, making a stirrup for Brayden. The boy stepped up and rose above the crowd.
“Armed men,” Brayden responded. “And they are moving toward us quickly.”
Though unable to clearly see the group, Domadred detected its ripples in the crowd. In addition, he now heard the sharp report of boots ringing above the tumult of the port.
“Could we finally have been outlawed in the East and the Harbor Watch tipped off?” Domadred said, still holding his son aloft. “If they come any closer, we will be forced to return to the Diamond, cut line, and flee.”
“No . . .” Brayden said, squinting. “Not the Harbor Watch. Those men are the Honor Guard from the High Council of Mindra’s Haven.”
“The Honor Guard? But for whom?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you certain it’s the Honor Guard, Son? They have no business here on the docks.”
“Who else wear such breastplates? But wait . . .” The boy raised his hand to block the Zenith’s light from his eyes. “There’s also a squad from the Eastnorthern plains of Pa’laer.” Domadred was about to open his mouth in protest, but Brayden glared down at his father before the captain could say a word. “Yes, it’s definitely them. I see their tan leather mail clearly.”
“Well,” Domadred chuckled, releasing Brayden, “then let’s go find out why they are here.”
Father and son pushed their way toward the fray, coming to a great post that anchored the billowing cloth stalls of the dock’s day traders. As gulls cawed overhead, they both climbed atop a series of stacked barrels for a better view.
Across the waterfront, Domadred saw the High Council Honor Guard adorned in their iconic, burnished red-gold breastplates. Their sole purpose was to protect the High Council; therefore, it was a great surprise to see them here, unaccompanied by their council members, who handpicked them. What was even more astounding, however, was that the Honor Guard marched next to two other platoons foreign to Devdan’s lands. To their right filed the Farden forest warriors of the Eastsouth, dressed in their light-green leather armor, and to their left was a regiment of Eastnorthern guards from Pa’laer, wearing their traditional grey baggy pants and sleeveless leather plate mail.
Domadred could hardly believe his eyes. Not only did old adversaries march together, but they all guarded the Pa’laer leader, Arva Vatana, a lord loathed and reviled by all but his own countrymen. Arva Vatana was a massive man who rode a massive stallion. His long dark hair framed high cheekbones and he had a tanned complexion accustomed to the plains of the Eastnorth—the expansive grasslands that formed the northernmost portion of the Eastern continent. The long swallowtails of his ornate red leather coat fell to either side of his steed. Matching his eyes, the gold filigree woven into his clothes and saddle flashed in the Zenith’s rays.
To Domadred, however, the most surprising thing of all was who led this group of soldiers. At the head of the column was a man renowned in the East and beyond, General Beck Al’Beth of Mindra’s Haven. An honored veteran of Vai’kel’s Unification War, Beck was a highly decorated general of Adhira and just the man Domadred had sought in coming to this curve of the world.
“Come with me, Son,” Domadred said, pulling at Brayden’s arm and motioning toward Beck. “The Guardians have smiled down on us this day. Let us make music to please them!”
The dock’s mass of humanity gave way to Beck like flowing water. The general had an unmistakably large scar that ran down his right cheek and crossed the corner of his mouth. Upon seeing it, soldier, trader, and mercenary alike knew who he was and showed him the utmost deference. Despite this, Beck felt unease washing over him just as he felt Arva Vatana’s eyes on his back.
The night before, in a private audience with Mehail Bander, Chair of Adhira’s High Council, Beck had once again tried to dissuade the council from allowing Arva entrance into Mindra’s Haven. Beck had said that the Pa’laer lord was a warmonger whose pride would be the undoing of not only his own lands, but the whole continent as well. Mehail’s simple reply had been running through Beck’s mind ever since. “Peace is worth the risk we take. I am willing. Are you?”
Lost in thought, Beck forced a smile as a laughing boy waved and dashed in front of the brigade. Peace . . . What peace could be found with a man like Arva? Beck took a deep breath as he marched on. Mehail constantly reminded him that he was a general and easily riled by the pandering half lies of politicians. Arva, however, was no politician—he was a warlord.
On one vital point, however, Mehail Bander was right. If the East did not find peace with itself, these endless territorial wars would tear the continent of Devdan apart, making them all easy picking to the imminent aggression of the Northern Empire of Simn. For Eastern treasuries, despite their best efforts, were still drained from their involvement in Vai’kel’s Unification War in the Central Continent. Although it had ended not less than ten years ago, that brutal campaign was still felt the world over. Many even whispered that the Bankers Guild of Mindra’s Haven was dangerously close to bankruptcy, for the postwar Northern tariffs instituted by High Lord Asura had prevented the Bankers Guild’s strongboxes from ever replenishing. Others whispered this was all part of Asura’s plan.
To make matters worse, Adhira’s standing army was at only half its strength due to the many legions of men still stationed in Vai’kel to aid in the land’s occupation. Their orders were to police Mystari and the other cities located on the Central Continent’s eastern side. Sadly, instead of putting down revolts or hunting bandits, the majority of Adhira’s soldiers actually spent their time preventing Asura’s Northern “Peacekeeping Forces” from brutalizing the citizens they were supposed to be protecting.
Suddenly, the same blue-cloaked boy darted in front of Beck before disappearing back into the crowd. Beck unclenched his fists and grew alert. Scanning the throng of citizens and traders, he noticed the boy talking to a man whose face was concealed under a wide-brimmed captain’s hat. The boy then circled around toward the convoy again.
Following the sailor with his eye, Beck could not make out any distinguishable features. A gap then appeared, and Beck saw the sharp profile of a tight-cropped beard and familiar face framed by long bead-braided hair. The man turned to look Beck in the eye and smiled.
Domadred Steele! It can’t be . . . Not here, not now!
Domadred gave Beck a blue-eyed wink and disappeared. Beck knew that if Arva recognized Domadred, he would have the captain cut down immediately. Domadred had feasted on Arva’s meager fleet as it traded with the North, using the plunder to fund the efforts of the Resistance, a fragmented group dedicated to ending the occupation of Vai’kel. Although incredibly selective about whom he plundered, Domadred was the most infamous pirate of the Modern Age. If Arva recognized the captain, it would matter little that Domadred happened to be Beck’s oldest friend and ally from the Unification War—the warlord would demand blood.
Suddenly, the boy broke from the crowd and ran toward them. Is that Brayden? What is Domadred thinking, putting himself and his son in such danger? At the very same moment, however, Adler Karll, the highest-ranking member of Beck’s guard, stepped out of formation and caught the boy by the back of the neck.
“Is it really you, High Lord Arva Vatana?” Brayden called out, not resisting the soldier’s grasp. The boy’s eyes were not filled with fear but shone with amazement and wonder.
As Brayden’s wo
rds left his mouth, all motion on the dock stopped, and the absence of the sound of the platoons’ boots came as a shock to Beck’s ears. Before Beck could intervene, Arva Vatana spoke with a loud chuckle that boomed across the crowd.
“Yes, it is I, High Lord of the Eastnorthern plains of Pa’laer! What of you, boy? What is your name?”
Suddenly, Domadred burst out of the crowd. “Brayden, my son! I told you not to bother this important lord!”
Ignoring his father’s words, Brayden projected his voice so that all could hear. “Are the stories true, my Lord? Were you truly born astride a warhorse? Is that why you ride with such confidence and grace?”
Arva threw his head back and laughed aloud, motioning the youth forward. Everyone in the crowd looked on expectantly. As Brayden shook himself free of Adler’s grasp, Domadred turned to Beck and bowed profusely. Beck’s golden eyes smoldered, but he remained silent.
“Do you know of the Guardian’s Flame?” Domadred said in a whisper only they two could hear. “It is a reputable place for outlanders to meet at midnight, or so I have been told.” Beck did not answer and turned his eyes back to Arva.
“To answer your question, son,” Arva said loudly, still looking at Brayden, “I have spent more time upon a horse than not. Such is the way of the Pa’laer plains riders. But you have the sapphire eyes of the Western isles, so likewise, I am sure you ride your sea ship with more confidence than the ground, do you not?”
Rune of the Apprentice (The Rune Chronicles) Page 3
