The Bloodless
Behind them was a cliff side looming over a grotto, covered with wild vines nursing heavy violet blossoms yet to bloom, and crying little birds with large black rings across their white bodies. It made for a crude transition from the vibrance of the wild to the bleak grey cages holding black tremor hounds and blood red banners that marked the harbor as Harcovian. It was decades old and hastily built, hidden away, and separated from the Plain's main harbor where dull men and tribesmen mingled for trade and they were unwelcomed. Soldiers stood watch there and hidden within the forest further inland, long before the harbor came into view, itching to be relieved of their duties and returned to war.
Meanwhile, Ayva's soldiers ran up and down the wooden ramp connecting the harbor to the ship, forming two steady streams. One stream of persons hefted boxes and crates filled with provisions, weapons and vials of explosive substances among other things, while the other unloaded empty ones to make space.
Atop the ship Viccard barked orders to make haste while Ayva combed through the inventory herself, triple checking that everything that they needed was accounted for as it was brought on board.
"It took far too long to get this merchant ship," Viccard fussed. "We're already behind schedule."
"The High Magi Council specified that this mission requires stealth from beginning to end. The extra time it took to get a merchant ship, with a blue pearl to detract sea monsters, was necessary and unavoidable. Besides, the Blood Magi in the Council set impossible deadlines on purpose. They do it so that we scramble to do our best as quickly as we can and when we inevitably fail to do the impossible, it's as close to the mark as possible," Ayva stated.
"I know that, but is this the kind of mission where you can fail by any means? The last briefing said that one of the sea smiths killed more than forty pirates and a Slayer with an actual storm. If they're willing and capable of doing things like that, then whoever is holding them may not enjoy that ownership for much longer, assuming they're the ones still holding them."
"Whatever happens I will handle it," Ayva answered plainly.
"You really know how to ease your subordinates' nerves," Viccard teased as a soldier handed him a handful papers. He began thumbing through them with surprising speed as the last of the cargo was being loaded onto the boat.
Ayva's full personal guard was already aboard except, of course, for those that had died in the last battle and Dale, who Ayva had seen sitting on a barrel at the grotto's entrance. She was sure that he had noticed her. Maybe he was too proud to acknowledge her or maybe too angry, but neither bothered her.
He had, at least, another few days before he could return to Harcovia. This was the harbor reserved for Ayva's soldiers so ships that made round trips from Harcovia to the Plains only came every fortnight. The very same ship would receive the shipments and bring the supplies and reinforcements she had requested months ago. But they would be too late to fill the gap in her personal guard. So Ayva had chosen to take one of the more experienced soldiers from her main force.
The Blade in question, Nilah, was standing next to Leona now, talking her ear off while Leona stacked crates. She had short black hair barely above her scalp and a mischievous grin more commonly found on cutthroats. Nilah was also loud and boisterous, and made racy jokes, exactly the kind of person Leona often associated with until recently. None of these were qualities Ayva expected any good assassin to have, but Nilah's reputation spoke for itself.
"This is the last of the shipping manifests," Viccard said as he gave a handful of papers to Ayva. "I've prepared all of your personal shipments and the Council's myself. And this," he said as he handed her more papers, "is the last update on the mission that the Citadel sent, along with a letter from House Vannaryn, probably your mother reminding you to eat your vegetables."
Ayva maintained a blank expression as her lieutenant laughed at his own joke. She stared at it for a moment before tucking the letter away in one of her pockets.
"Don't tell me that one of the youngest commanders to ever grace the Plains is still scared of her mother? I'm not as much of a snoop as you think I am, so I didn't read it, but I'd be happy to take a look if you'd like," Viccard grinned.
"It's time we set off, we are already behind schedule," Ayva said.
"Is old mother Vannaryn not satisfied with your kills this month?" Viccard laughed as he stepped off the ship, back onto the harbor.
"Keep things in order while I'm gone," Ayva said to her lieutenant, "Take no risks and eliminate any possible threats. And don't make too much trouble, our post is primarily covert."
"Of course, Commander, and good luck. This won't be easy."
"Life in service of the Citadel rarely is."
The Oath-sworn
Avitide demanded innocence; a fact that Morgan's life revolved around. He was sworn to never harming and never killing, else he'd lose everything and more. All of that while producing the greatest weapons mankind has ever seen. So naturally, Tory and Morgan were facing the repercussions of it now, in the flesh. The King of the Common, King Luvia of Korenth was standing in front of them, an arm's length away, astonished that Morgan had just made a threat on his life.
Without a word the Scepter drew his massive broadsword and placed its cold edge against Morgan's neck.
Morgan didn't move it or move out of the way. He just continued to glare into the King's eyes.
Gwen cleared her throat. "Watch your mouth, boy. If it weren't for your value, I would have had the Scepter reward such savage behavior with a beheading."
"Savage behavior? You sent pirates and soldiers to terrorize my people for months. Then you had them kidnap my family and I, after killing my mentor and people I've know my entire life. And when we tried to free ourselves, my parents were shot and killed for it. If anyone's head should be rolling, it should be yours."
Silence enveloped the room till Morgan added: "And I'd like to repay that sentiment in kind."
King Luvia raised his hand and the Scepter withdrew his sword and resheathed it. "I was only just jesting my boy!" he said with an anxious laugh. "You two are honored guests here and nothing less. But I am sorry, truly. I may have had no hand in this, but they are still the actions of my daughter. So as her father I will shoulder the blame and apologize sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I would bring them all back if I could," he said and then bowed deeply. The royals gasped at the buffet tables.
"Then your honored guests would like to leave," Morgan said firmly.
Luvia righted himself from the bow and moved long strands of pale blonde hair out of his face. "Let's not make hasty decisions either. I can't do anything to fix the mistakes of my daughter nor soothe the pain of your lost parents. However, we have been presented with unique opportunity right in front of our eyes, one that I have been pursuing for years. It would be a shame to waste it."
"What opportunity?"
"The opportunity to form a peaceful and profitable relationship between the Knife Isles and Common Kingdoms. We've had a bad relationship. One that included war, pillaging and other unspeakable crimes, but we both stand to gain a lot more from peace. There could be no more battles and mutually beneficial trade, which we shouldn't need to barter peace, but it's as they say; the cure to war is higher profits. Besides, I've heard of issues that each tribe needs helping solving."
Morgan blinked. "You're asking me to help you make peace between the tribes and dull men? Did you forget what I just said about your daughter having my family kidnapped and killed?"
"I will never forget it," he said solemnly. "Still, I have to ask you to stay. Exorbitant cost aside, wouldn't it be a waste to return now, with nothing after all the death and suffering? If you look at it another way, this is your chance to make sure that you are the first and last sea smiths to go through what you did. You can be the change both of our peoples' need. All I ask of the two of you is one month of collaboration."
"Collaboration meaning making weapons for you?"
"Only two, or three at most to prove to the other Kingdoms that you are willing to work with me and there's gold in it for them. That's the best way we can secure their interests. We can iron out the finer details later on if you'd like. In the meanwhile you'll be fed well and your every need will be catered for."
"And if I decline?"
"If you decline then I will reserve my hospitalities and you will have to find your way home on your own. I think there are many in my realm far less generous than I, sincerely speaking of course."
Morgan couldn't possibly care less about some joint union between tribesmen and dull men. The tribes were preoccupied with issues of their own and wouldn't agree to peace with the Heathen of Stone even if they weren't. Nevertheless the fact that he was asking and not saying was worth something. Besides, it was better to face the evil he already knew.
Either way trying to force their way out would dangerous and possibly perilous, a lesson the recent past had taught him well. The best option now was to sit tight and look for an opportunity to escape with as little fighting as possible.
"Fine. I agree to your terms, if you give me your word that my sister and I won't be harmed or exploited in any way."
"You have my word," King Luvia smiled and extended his hand. Morgan shook it. Applause and cheers broke out among the royals as the serious tone succumbed to festivities. The King sent his servants for more wine and food and Gwen seated Morgan and Tory at the King's table.
At first a crowd of royals had tried to swarm around them all at once, but Gwen and threatening glares from the Scepter convinced them not to crowd around the king. So Gwen allowed five or so at a time to shake hands and introduce themselves to the sea smiths followed by the servants, workmen, and a few guards who'd worked closest to the king. All of them had treated the experience with a kind of novelty that Morgan couldn't help but be bothered by.
Eventually, Morgan grew tired of it all and got up. "Gwen…or Mantle, whichever, can you show us to our room?"
With an escort of four guards Gwen led Morgan and his sister down two sets of stairs to a floor that only housed lavish rooms. There they were shown to the largest of them all, furnished with a bed larger than their cells on Daiah's Locker and two guards were posted outside door.
Morgan sat Tory down on a stool in front of the dresser with a large circular mirror on top of it and picked up a brush. She had their mother's dark brown hair, while he had their father's jet black. Morgan was sure he was due for brushing as well and he glanced into the mirror and then paused as he did a double-take.
He didn't recognize either of them; not his sister or himself. For one thing, he was much skinnier than he'd ever been in his entire life. He'd lost most of the excess weight he'd had before but a bit of muscle as well. It made sense since they weren't given much to eat while they were imprisoned and nothing at all for the last three days they spent shackled to the Black Dagger's railing. The days he'd been consistently exposed to the sun had darkened his tan brown skin as well, and his hair had grown long enough to touch his collar bones.
Tory's changes had been largely identical. However, what pained Morgan the most was that she was frowning ever so slightly and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her smile.
He lifted his shirt up to see how the burn was healing. It had a glossy shine to it that burnt skin had and looked almost like a star, on the left side of his chest, over his heart. If his mother hadn't taken the bullet for him, he would be dead. And that thought prompted another; that maybe, in the situation they were in now, their mother should be the one here. She was smart, and witty and caring. She would know what to do now. She was the mother that Tory needed.
"Are you going still going to brush my hair?" Tory asked, pulling Morgan back to reality.
"Sorry, I was just…thinking," Morgan said as he began brushing.
"Do you think we really will go home in a month?"
"Yes. I'll make sure we do."
"What about mom and dad? Don't we have to take them home to paradise like Brunwin?" Tory asked.
Morgan sighed softly. "I'll do my best to get mom there with us. But Father…he can't go. That was part of the cost he paid to give us a chance to escape."
She didn't say anything more so when Morgan finished she just got off the stool. "Alright, it's time for bed," he said.
Morgan pulled back the thick red cover and Tory hopped into the bed and curled up as her brother tucked her in.
"The beds are really nice, at least."
"Yes, it is nice. But all of this is exactly the same as our cells on Daiah's Locker, just prettier. Remember that." Tory gave a little nod and shut her eyes.
Morgan climbed into the bed on the other side and sat upright with his back against the headboard. He would have like to sleep too. But the sensation of being watched had been bothering him since they'd entered the room.
It felt irrational, like the certainty he'd felt as a child that miscellaneous objects, that had become human-like and monstrous in the dark, were staring back him. There we no such shapes in the room for his eyes to misconstrue and he could see that nothing was there, but that didn't change the way he felt. He preferred to be paranoid than caught unprepared, so Morgan decided that he wouldn't take the chance.
With considerable grim effort Morgan restrained the faces of his parents in the back of his mind while he looked around the room, occupying himself with thinking up ways to escape and what he'd do when he'd eventually have to make weapons for his new captors. The clock had already started. Presumably they had a month to escape and find a way home before King Luvia sprung whatever plan he had in store, assuming nothing happened before then.
Morgan had intended to spend the night awake and plotting but after a few hours and many hiccups in hypothetical plans, his eyes shut on their own.
When he opened them again it was morning and Tory was gone. Morgan jumped out of bed and scanned the room. She wasn't there. He flung the door open and sprinted out into the hallway.
Morgan sprinted, glancing into empty rooms, till he reached the end and run up the steps. There he saw a heavy-set but muscular balding man with a bushy brown beard. "Excuse me, sir? Have you seen my little sister?" Morgan asked between gasps.
"I saw her with one of the Mantle's attendants near the banquet hall. You don't remember me? I'm Bertram the head blacksmith of the King's Foundry."
"Thank you!" Morgan shouted as he ran off.
"We met yesterday!" Bertram yelled after him.
He found her sitting in the same place as the night before. She had bread rolls in both hands as she ate with King Luvia and Gwen, and was fed soup by a woman Morgan had never seen before.