Kanlagion's Story

For background on the Fall of Aparnovos and Kanlagion's life, see Fall of Aparnovos
It was a dim and cloudy night off the headland of Torelledir. Kanlagion waited until one of the sea-swells lifted the bow of the longboat upwards, lessening the distance between it and the rail of the sleek caravel which it bobbed against, before laying hold of the rail and climbing aboard. This was the Kudrenorys, the sleek, gallant little vessel in whose captain and crew Kanlagion would place his trust for the daring task ahead. As he now stood on deck and surveyed his surroundings, he was greeted by the sight of the crew turned out in line, marked as Aparnovosi sailors by their tunics, baggy trousers, and short vests. Kanlagion also noted that some of the stouter men also had the reddish hair and fur-lined clothes that revealed their Sevnoni stock. This was not a military vessel, but each man was girded with an axe, mace, or short-sword on one hip and an oiled leather case containing a small composite bow. Their expressions, though some tried to apply restraint, were betraying their excitement and curiosity as their Prince-in-Exile stepped aboard. As Kanlagion made his way to the end of the line, a tall, wiry man, probably in his late forties, bowed solemnly at his approach. The former signaled his acknowledgement with an upwards flick of his fingers, and this man, who must be this captain he had heard much about, rose again. Beneath his fur-lined, feathered cap were a set of brown eyes that twinkled in the light of the decklamps, set in a tanned and ruddy face, marred on its right side by a cut-scar running from beneath a close beard that seemed to be a calico pattern of brown, ginger, and increasingly, grey. An easy and amiable smile appeared as Syarhei Tregaskis spoke;
“Honoured to have you aboard, Erymost. I hope you find the Kudrenorys to your liking.”
Although not a seafaring man by birth, Kanlagion was still an Aparnovosi, and an important one. As such, he recognized some key aspects of the caravel which must have induced his advisors to urge him to select it. The midnight-black sails had already been bent on for this endeavour, and the ship rode easy and well at anchor. By her sleek lines and shapely sheer towards the bow and stern, Kanlagion could tell that though a merchantman, this ship was most likely designed to carry small, valuable cargoes at speed in a variety of weather. That information squared with what he had heard of her captain. Tregaskis, he had been told, was born in the Povoto Dalghenna to an Aparnovosi father and Sevnoni mother, unsurprising given the friendship of that enclave with the surrounding country of Sevnonicha. This man had ran away to sea while a student, and had led a varied career aboard ships of many flags before commanding a ship of his own, and it was Tregaskis’ actions during and following the Fall of Aparnovos which made the most impression on Kanlagion. For he had not only helped in the chaotic evacuation of the city, but had served as a liaison of sorts between Torelledir, Povoto, and other communities in the Aparnovosi diaspora, moving goods, valuables, and people between them and maintaining the web of connections between these places which Kanlagion saw as so essential. Tregaskis and his men had also bled for their cause, and in a spectacular fashion which had increased their renown and that of their redoubtable vessel. For nine hours along the Southwythian coast had the running battle lasted between the Kudrenorys and her assailant, one of the pirate galleons which had proved so deadly and frustrating to Torelledir. Carrying some priceless cargo, Tregaskis had led his men in the ordeal, staving off boarding attempts one after the other while ducking his ship between rocks and islets for reprieve in the shallows, always clawing towards Torelledir against a stiff southerly wind. Aside from a spectacular feat of seamanship and resilience that proved the salvation of their lives and precious cargo, Tregaskis and his men had given the beleaguered Aparnovosi proof that the seafaring men that were their lifeblood could still outfox the threats which seemed to close in around them like vultures. Now Kanlagion, who could rely on his ability to read people around him, saw a group of men who knew what they could achieve as a unit, buoyed by utter faith in their captain, ship, and each other. He was frightened of the events to come, and perhaps nothing could alter that fact. But this ship and her crew were certainly not among his worries.
Syarhei Tregaskis had never personally met Erymost Kanlagion Hendasmir, though he of course knew the story of the troubled prince and had even seen him from afar during the Fall of Aparnovos. He knew that the slight, neat man before him had risen from a life of scandal and ignominy to become the Prince-in-Exile of the rump state of Torelledir, and had begun to prove himself in the tumultuous and grueling events that had beset the Aparnovosi. Although many Aparnovosi, and even more foreigners, ultimately had doubts about his abilities, Tregaskis did ultimately see that Kanlagion was the champion and last, best hope for the Aparnovosi scattered throughout Wythe and beyond to hold together. There were several reasons for this. The most obvious was that Kanlagion, the last living member of the House of Hendasmir, which had ruled Aparnovos for millennia, was the lynchpin of any remaining Aparnovosi government’s legitimacy. But more importantly to Tregaskis- himself of mixed origins from a distant Aparnovosi community- Kanlagion believed that the Aparnovosi could and should hew to their old philosophy built on sensible diplomacy, laws, friendship with other peoples governed by fair exchange, and an orderly maritime system which could ensure the connection amid the diaspora and an eventual return to prosperity. These were not only tenets which had upheld Aparnovosi society in the past; in that state, they had combined to provide the circumstances of Tregaskis’ very birth and the seafaring life he so cherished. Like many Aparnovosi, Tregaskis had watched them crumble before his eyes; but he was also of the group which saw the hope for their renewal, and for now, the symbol of that hope was Kanlagion.
With the Erymost came a small retinue. Several trusted guards, armed and armoured under their cloaks, proceeded behind their lord. Tregaskis noted that for the most part they were old for their profession, nearing his age; they must have been drawn from the old Tymphiatouri guards and Aparnovosi Marines. Behind them were a few bearded men in simple grey cloaks drawn by rope belts. Lostekedes monks, to be sure, but those belts marked them out as the splinter group of that order, the Hoinarides. They had broken with their cloisters to pursue aims of virtue, such as recovering Aparnovosi texts and artifacts from abroad and waging a ceaseless contest against those sinister, less visible forces which still conspired against the Aparnovosi. Tregaskis was also aware of the rumours of their close relationship with Kanlagion, that they had become more attached to the government in helping the Erymost with clandestine matters, as this mission surely was. Their leader, Tregaskis noted, was a singularly gentle and wise looking fellow, old, and saintly and patient in his manners and movements. He had a long white beard, and a face which resembled the carved, kindly, and weathered wood of a figure in some hidden roadside shrine. He could scarcely imagine such a man in a contest of skill and blades with such groups as were only spoken of in whispers, such as the Hand of the Labyrinth; though perhaps, that was the intention. After introducing himself to each of these newcomers in turn, Tregaskis turned to the familiar task of weighing anchor and setting sail, though even as he gave the orders, he was still reflecting on each new acquaintance and the mission ahead.
As the brails of the Kudrenorys’ sails were cast off and the sheets of black canvas spilled out from their lateen yards, the hull began to ease forward while the last drops of water fell from the anchor as the crew hove it to the cathead. Behind lay the wide bay and hills of Torelledir, and ahead, the distant lights from stern lanterns, marking what could be assembled of the rump state’s fleet as it sailed on to Fosowbria. As those aboard knew all too well, an Alessan fleet many times larger was bearing down on the same troubled island from the opposite direction. While his retinue conversed nearby, Kanlagion sat in thought, considering how he was to save the very island whose quarrelsome lords and magnates had pockmarked his reign with so many difficulties. By the morning, both fleets were in sight of the island, standing off at either end of the horizon in the waters north of Fosowbria. But long before the sunrise, the Kudrenorys and her crew had carried out their mission. Having slipped through the barrier reef along the island’s western coast in the dead of night as Tregaskis explained every maneuver to an inquiring Kanlagion using clear descriptions and easy hand motions while at the tiller, the ship had then launched a venerable-looking skin boat brought along by the old monk. In this light and nimble vessel, Kanlagion, the monk, Tregaskis, and their guards braved the surf and came to deserted stretch of coastline, where they hid the boat amid grasses in the dunes. Trudging over the sand and scrub in the small hours of the morning, the old monk had been whispering incantations as they walked for some minutes on end. Meanwhile, others had fished from canvas bags the raiment which would allow them to pass for heralds and servants of *name,* one of the most powerful magnates on the island. By the time they had donned these garments, the monk’s whispering had stopped, and each beheld on his companions a new and changed face, the completion of their disguise. At length they also came to the nests of plovers and other shorebirds, and the monk knelt, leaning heavily on his wooden staff. While the old man began to softly sing a chant, the birds rose from their nests as if heeding his call, before taking flight to distant parts of Fosowbria. As the monk again rose to his feet, Tregaskis turned questioningly to Kanlagion, who now resembled a distinguished herald in fine livery. The Erymost responded:
“My dealings with this island have not been entirely fruitless. There are those among the lesser nobility here who, having fled from Torelledir to act on the words of fathers and grandfathers who pined for their ancient privileges, acted in haste beyond their means only to find themselves subject to the greatest men on this island, chafing more under their abuses than they ever did under my family’s rule.” He gestured to the departing shorebirds: “it is to them our friends now fly to discreetly send word.”
To vindicate Kanlagion’s words, several hours later, when the group had passed through the dunes and now were proceeding down a country road, a dozen men rode up to meet them. At their head was a stolid man, attired in fine but modest clothes, with a heavy brow and curly hair atop a round but strong face. One of Kanlagion’s guards whistled a little tune, which this man answered in like manner. It was only when the two began speaking that Tregaskis felt his tensed muscles relax. The newcomer dismounted and bowed after sizing up Kanlagion and his companions. The latter responded:
“Lord Krulegir, thank you for heeding my call.”
Kanlagion could see the muscles in Krulegir’s broad face moving, creating an expression drifting somewhere amid the decision to present itself as apologetic and even embarrassed, proud and diffident to save face, or relieved to see the Erymost. After a second or so of this, the man settled simply for inclining his head and uttering a simple “of course.” He gestured to his retainers, who had brought along enough spare horses for Kanlagion’s men. “They will act as your guides and escorts through this country, which is that of my liege-lord.” Krulegir’s jaw clenched. “While he is accustomed to using harshly those sworn to him, he has not yet stooped so low as to accost their heralds on the road.”
Kanlagion nodded graciously, and inquired “Will you be ready if further action is needed?”
Again, the lord’s face underwent its peculiar exercise. While Kanlagion detected that the answer might have been “that depends on the nature of said action,” Krulegir did not present this objection openly to the Erymost, and again defaulted to “Of course, Erymost.” “Then it is farewell for now, Lord Krulegir. We must hasten onwards, but I hope we may meet in favourable circumstances when the work at hand is done.”
The lord bowed, and mounting his horse, directed which of his men would stay with Kanlagion before promptly riding off with the remainder. Now mounted, accompanied, and relieved that the meeting had not gone any worse, the group proceeded towards to halls of the magnate around whom this mission revolved. Soon, the road began to pass into cultivated fields, as peasant farmers stumbled from rude dwellings to begin their day’s work. Kanlagion studied them in fascination. This was a subject of special interest; Kanlagion had spent years labouring in Torelledir to create a robust class of farmer-soldiers who worked and defended their land, contributing to both the state’s revenue and its defense in the grinding warfare against the Orcish tribes. That those reliable families could enjoy some measure of prosperity and pride in their own holdings despite the troubled state of Torelledir was a rare and cherished point of pride for Kanlagion. What he saw here, however, were men who had been caught in the ambitions of the island’s great men and dragged down to the level of hardscrabble, hand-to-mouth peasants who would be more at home in a destitute and unravelling kingdom such as Northwythe than in the holdings of those claiming to be the legacy of Aparnovos. In the distance, he could also see some ruined and burned hovels of the same sort: the island’s magnates had not been coexisting peacefully. Tregaskis saw too the antithesis of the system that he and his crew had worked and fought so long to maintain. “No wonder so many of these wretches welcome the opportunities of piracy,” he thought.
As settlement became more dense along the road, the story of Fosowbria was displayed in the varied architecture. In the years since the arrival of the Aparnovosi, buildings of all description had been populating the island’s settlements, ranging from ramshackle shanties to older, pre-existing Alessan houses, timber and clay structures of every size and function, while here and there stood a cherished building of stone whose design evoked the buildings of Aparnovos. Given the relatively recent settlement, the towns lacked stone walls aside from the keeps of the lords and magnates. Instead, wooden palisades were common. Kanlagion’s guards also pointed out several instances where the buildings of a particular town or village were arranged concentrically so that only narrow alleyways passed to the outside, with the houses only having a few, small first-floor windows. Often, they were perched atop a hill or amid a rocky cleft, clinging to these landmarks for defense. The further they proceeded and the higher the sun rose in the sky, the more obvious it became that the arrival of the Alessan and Torellediri fleets was causing alarm. Settlements were being barricaded, and those who were called to muster were gathering and briskly heading towards their lord’s halls. Being disguised as a group of heralds bearing the same lord’s livery, servants, and guards, Kanlagion’s entourage was the subject of some attention as some of the peasants and townsfolk seem inclined to report to them. In response, Lord Krulegir’s guards briskly ushered them forward, directing them down the road. After the initial apprehension, Kanlagion began to appreciate that such encounters lent credibility to their presence and disguises- so long as the men they were impersonating did not happen along the very same errand.
At length they came within view of what appeared to be a proper city, situated along a crescent-shaped bight with gradually sparsening houses ranging into the hills beyond. There were considerable docklands and many ships at harbour, overlooked by a respectable fortress. The curtain walls which adorned the hillside, winding with its contours, were evidently quite old, ancient remnants of some unnamed earlier city. The keep, a stern and commanding cylindrical tower with three drum-shaped bastion towers extending from its base, was of recent construction and obvious Aparnovosi design. For a brief moment, Kanlagion’s mind wandered beholding the structure. He could almost hear Remendarion’s excited voice in his head and what remarks his lost brother might have made; “What a splendid fortress, don’t you see it brother? How the keep is placed perfectly within the walls, so that each bastion offers clear shots into the pockets offered by the curtain walls and rocky hills. Whoever built this knew what they were about, and a daunting task it would be to dislodge him from there. And see how clean and austere it is, certainly in father’s taste.” Remendarion was, to Kanlagion at the time, preternaturally enamoured of every detail involved in affairs of fortification, leading expeditions, creating and improving buildings, organizing and directing those under him, and indeed every aspect of ruling well and efficiently in matters both civic and military. When Kanlagion was thrust onto the throne following his brother’s death, his resentment was bitter not only given his own unpreparedness, but also by the fact that his gifted brother, who seemed to effortlessly glide from project to project with undiminished enthusiasm, never had the chance to realize his many dreams for Aparnovos. Kanlagion was also well aware that his younger self would have nodded and smiled at the observations of his brother, such as the one he had just imagined, while patently ignoring any useful information they offered as his mind wandered elsewhere. That recollection spurred a pang of guilt. How many mistakes and setbacks could he have avoided if he took all the lessons of his brother to heart? How much better could Remendarion’s legacy have been honoured if Kanlagion at once picked up the torch of the former’s zeal? As Kanlagion’s heart sank into his stomach, twisting and straining in guilt, this line of questioning arrived at its inevitable, painful zenith: how many would yet live had he not been so senseless for so long?
Each plodding step of his horse’s hooves seemed to plunge that sensation of razor-sharp pangs and hollow, numb isolation intertwined, peculiar to guilt alone, deeper within him. The feeling was a familiar as it was unpleasant; Kanlagion often subconsciously responded by biting the inside of his cheek, which was now regularly home to a raw sore from the same. For a few moments, Kanlagion, oblivious to his surroundings, could have been anywhere while lost in this rumination: his chambers late at night back in Torelledir, on the rolling deck of a ship fleeing westward, or the palace in Aparnovos, a place of foreboding equal to its magnificence for Kanlagion during the final days the city, and now a blasted ruin. But even then, the seed which had been planted by his parents’ final words, and had been watered and tended by the long, hard years in which Kanlagion exerted himself beyond his perceived limits on behalf of his people, was setting down roots to which he could cling. Slowly, he called forth the memories of his mother’s tearful admonishment, and the steely, stoic gaze with which his father had ordered his servants to leave him, weapon in hand, as Kanlagion was led away. Like a man whose hand had found providential purchase on the gnarled roots of an old, familiar riverside willow even after a dire fall into the surging current, Kanlagion could wearily climb away from drowning in his misery. Slowly he regained himself, thinking not of the past, but of the grave matter at hand, the next handhold in the climb.
Syarhei Tregaskis had noticed his lord’s predicament, even if he could not discern its exact cause or nature. He recognized him as one who was still responding to the words and actions of his companions, occasionally nodding at the whispered advice of the Hoinaredes monk or the directions of their guides and escorts, but whose mind was wandering paths only seen behind the distant, staring eyes of the Prince. That the figure of leadership not just within their small group, but ostensibly for the entire Aparnovosi diaspora, was lost in such seemingly absent reflection did not upset Tregaskis as much as he would have thought. He had spent long years at sea, exposed so thoroughly to the world in all of its splendour, terror, and mystery as only a sailor can be. That his people’s future lay in the hands of this unlikely, unassuming man riding behind him, would not be the worst, or even the strangest thing Tregaskis had seen. In spite of his better judgement, he took a peculiar sense of comfort from the fact that Kanlagion’s demeanour so far had been outwardly as opaque and inscrutable as the far reaches of the seas to which countless Aparnovosi had nonetheless been drawn for millennia. That was well for the Prince, Tregaskis thought, but his present occupation was of a more practical nature. As the city drew near along increasingly choked roads, he began to descry the situation at the main gate, his tall form briefly rising above the heads of his companions as he stood in the stirrups to gain better view.
The lord in the castle high above was under no illusions as to what was about to happen, Tregaskis was aware. Carts full of provisions of all kinds, as well as livestock, were being quickly ushered through the gates. A company of professional-looking soldiers, well-armoured and bearing shields and spears, sought to maintain order, organizing levied troops into small bands to proceed into the city, and admitting small parties of women and children at a time. Unwanted bodies, the old, the sick, and those without the capacity or experience to work or bear arms, were being briskly turned away. Every now and again groups of soldiers would gallop out at speed into the countryside on some urgent errand. Despite their disguises, Tregaskis felt ill at ease riding into such a milieu, where any number of onlookers might question, delay, or obstruct them. Turning to one of Krulegir’s men who looked to be most senior of rank, he asked “Is there not any other way to enter this place, perhaps a postern for messengers?”
The man in question responded “We have seen such heralds depart by another path, leading towards the keep. I can lead you there, but I would still be prepared to answer for your presence.”
Tregaskis looked back at Kanlagion and his retinue, who were by now clued into the conversation. The Prince had by now, it seemed, shaken himself from his reverie, and simply looked at Tregaskis expectantly. Puzzled at this deference to his judgement by one whose station was so far above himself, Tregaskis paused before remarking “I believe that would be best.” Kanlagion simply responded “Take us there,” with a brief but assured smile at Tregaskis.
The soldier nodded and led the horses a little further along the road, before turning beside one of the large boulders which were strewn along the hill leading upwards towards the keep. A narrow path lead upwards, winding first around the rock’s form then proceeding on a sheltered course amid the irregular landscape. Riding single-file along the twists and turns of the deeply-cut path, Tregaskis could not help but wonder about the other party which had departed from the Kudrenorys in the small hours of the morning. Using the ship’s longboat, they were to sail into this very harbour bearing salted provisions for the “impending siege,” and the band of his trusted crew, led by the stalwart mate Vasilii Uraganur, were to remain in the harbour both as potential reinforcements and to offer the possibility of escape, however unlikely, if Kanlagion’s task should fail. Had the Prince’s retinue entered the city via the main gate, their path would have taken them by the harbour, at which point Tregaskis could briefly check to ensure his crew had arrived safely. Now, although their alternate path had its merits and indeed Tregaskis himself had diverted the group from the main gate, he felt rising concern over his shipmate’s arrival. The broad realm of possibilities spread before his mind’s eye, that his crew had been waylaid by a patrolling coaster flying the banner of this lord, detained in the harbour, turned away as so many had been at the main gate, or worst of all, recognized as spies and led away to a dark cell from which there would surely be no return.
Tregaskis’ mind was suddenly called back to Kanlagion’s unusual deference to his decision to lead the mission directly up this narrow pathway to the keep. Although initially off-putting (indeed Tregaskis had at first suspected it to be some sort of game to trick him into re-evaluating his decision), he began to arrive at the conclusion that the Prince had simply trusted his judgement on such a matter, just as he had entrusted his life and those of his retinue to the safe passage of the Kudrenorys. Tregaskis again briefly turned to look back at the Erymost, who, now calm and passive in expression, nodded back before his eyes again wandered along the rocky clefts overhead. Kanlagion, of course, was aware of the plan regarding the rest of the ship’s crew and probably of Tregaskis’ present concerns. Tregaskis began to realize that Kanlagion’s small gesture was not only calling for the former’s trust in himself, but also for his trust in his crew, led by their stalwart mate. Uraganur had joined the Kudrenorys at the crowded and desperate quays during the Fall of Aparnovos, after he had brought a ragged group of survivors from the burning city. Still, he returned into the inferno again after reaching the ship, each time hoping to bring more people to safety, until the ship was full, and he slumped ragged and exhausted upon the deck. Recalling all of this at the smallest urging of Kanlagion, Tregaskis was now surprised at how he could ever have doubted those with whom he had endured so much peril. Apprehending the situation, he was beginning to see that the troubled Erymost might have far more solid a grasp on leadership than many had realized.

As Tregaskis mused, they were led up the winding path, presented their seals and heraldry at the postern gate, and were led through the curtain wall, into the bailey, and towards the tower. And so it was at last that Kanlagion, Tregaskis, and the old Hoinarides monk finally entered the hall of the city’s lord, led into a great, vaulted chamber at the base of the tower keep. Octagonal in form, each corner of the room housed a solid pillar which flowed seamlessly into a pendentive, before transitioning to the ribbed vaulting of the spherically domed ceiling. The walls were fashioned from thousands of small bricks, fitted so snugly together that with but a thin coat of plaster they formed a perfectly smooth surface, painted with muted pastel accents of blues and reds. The interior of the dome was a darker blue, and minute, twinkling stars gilded in silver flickered in the dim lighting. Kanlagion was sufficiently impressed. Although the lord he had come here to see had been a considerable and damaging thorn in his side, he could not deny that he valued the achievements of Aparnovosi artisans and understood their capacity to convey that calm sense of both authority and refinement that the greatest buildings of Aparnovos possessed. But they did not linger long in the central chamber, passing briskly by the empty throne and tables as the guards led them past a small doorway, up a winding staircase, through a hallway, and into what were the lord’s day chambers.
The thick wooden door eased open, revealing a spacious, rectangular room with a smooth, barrel-vaulted ceiling, which terminated at the opposite end in a tall, graceful embrasure with a window set within a carven arch. Fine curtains were drawn across the opening, thin enough to admit light while obscuring what seemed to be a sitting area before the window. The walls were painted in a blueish-white, with strokes of only slightly darker grey paint seeming to evoke wisps of cloud. The furniture was generally spartan, with a few chairs, washbasins, and cabinets, but most noticeable was solid, beautifully-crafted wooden desk along one wall, and the man who rose from it when Kanlagion and his companions entered the room. He was splendidly armoured, with a gleaming breastplate of the type which was coming into use before the fall of Aparnovos over a coat of black and silver mail, as well as tassets and rerebraces made from embossed lames. From his shoulders and waist also hung rich leather pteruges, studded with stamped brass fittings. A high, pointed, and plumed bascinet rested on the desk beside him. Kanlagion noted his rigid posture and restrained movements, which certainly belied a great deal of strength and skill at arms. His face was marked by a heavy, furrowed brow, and dark brown eyes. Even when relaxed, his jaw seemed clenched, and his lips seemed drawn into a thin frown. He spoke with a casual, dry tone;
“I sincerely hope it is some critical development since our last audience that has warranted this interruption.”
Kanlagion, having briefly forgotten his disguise while taking in his surroundings, started, and managed a bow. In so doing, his eyes fell upon an open letter on the lord’s desk: the same letter, in fact, that he had drafted some time ago, emphatically requesting an audience with this very man. Opened, read, but not heeded. “Best not waste any time,” Kanlagion thought to himself, and upon rising from his bow, had felt the cool rush in his mind as he willed his disguise away to look his host in the eye.
Tregaskis and the old monk, admittedly taken aback that Kanlagion had relinquished his disguise so soon, before the guards had even left the chamber, nonetheless duly followed suit. They were now completely at the mercy of those around them. Or so it seemed. Tregaskis tensed, reaching for his axe as the two guards around them drew their swords without delay. In that breathless moment, he saw how Kanlagion merely waited for his opposite to have the first word. The lord parried this gesture by motioning to his guards to lower their weapons. Then, one end of his thin frown turned upwards in a wry sort of smile, and he spoke. “Welcome to my halls, lord. It is well that you have the chance to see within them through guile, as neither you nor the Alessans shall win entry through force of arms.”
Kanlagion: “Fortunately for everyone involved, that is not my intention, as both my letter and my very presence now will hopefully demonstrate. The state of our people being what it is, I have risked much to come here in hopes to secure the salvation of this unhappy island. Recalcitrant as you are, you and yours are still my subjects, and if the Alessans land here, the fleet of Torelledir must act as well.” The lord’s smile spread to the other side of his mouth, but did not reach his eyes, which glowered at Kanlagion. “And so feigning beneficence, the Erymost springs to the salvation of his countrymen… but the duplicity of his younger years is still plainly writ across his face and laced within his words.” Casting his eyes over everyone else in the room in turn, he assumed oratory mannerisms for a moment, gesturing slightly as he proceeded; “For when this man says save, he means supplant. Everywhere his influence reaches, those whose only consolation amid the tragedy of Aparnovos has been escaping his incompetent rule find themselves beguiled and threatened. Perhaps, though, our fortunes have begun to turn with this present chance for this villain to be stopped.”
The threat of those words was difficult to miss, Tregaskis marked. But while he followed those words, his mind was already at work with the practicalities of the situation. If things turned sour, there was little that might be done. His trusty axe hung by his side, its weight a reassurance on his belt. He could perhaps take one of the guards. It would be difficult as they were well-armoured and doubtless quite capable, but it could just be done. The old monk would likely be seized before he could respond, though the fellow was wily and may have a trick up his ragged sleeve. Tregaskis realized he had no knowledge whatsoever of Kanlagion’s abilities as a fighter, beyond some rumours of private duels wracked with scandal- alongside wounds and fatalities- before he took the throne. In a brief moment of dismay, he settled on the fact that if the situation came to violence, there was precious little hope. But his conscious soon regained control, and he smartly reminded himself; “You knew that would be the case coming in here, so have some faith you lout.” But the moment of tension did serve to focus his senses, and he perceived slight movement behind the curtains by the window, adding a further consideration to his planning and his worry. Kanlagion had responded by this point.
“I suspected you might be so inclined, and it is a risk I weighed in coming here.” It was now Kanlagion’s turn to be adamant. “Yet despite how ill your words use me, I doubt their ability to move any among the Aparnovosi to dare lay hands upon his Prince.” It could be seen that Kanlagion, too, cast his eyes about those in the room. For a brief second, the guard which Tregaskis had been taking the measure of glanced to the floor in response.
The lord responded, bitterness becoming audible in his voice; “I commend your faith in the system (find better word?) that you have been so thorough in abusing and mismanaging. Your father and his long line of predecessors had long since denuded us of our ancient and natural privileges. But seeing as they were fair and competent enough in rule, and the city so prosperous and trade so strong, we reconciled ourselves to that fact. However, now, every last trapping of that life has been torn away, no matter how desperately certain idealogues cling to them. It is to any noble personage’s credit that he now should be able to rebuild his house and reclaim his ancient birthrights, when the only alternative is submission to the yoke of a broken throne. You are, dare I say it, brave to have come here. But you are also mistaken, and possessed of the same presumption present in this letter, if you think I will put aside everything I have fought to carve out here based on stale notions disproved by our city’s very destruction, and the threat of some meddling Alessans that you dangle before us.”
“As for your aspersions against myself and my family, I will attribute them to understandable frustration. For despite your pining for the fabled yesteryear, your few steps towards recreating their glories stand on the brink of destruction. I doubt very much that the late inhabitants of the Palevera Dalghenna would choose the word “meddling” to describe the brutal vengeance meted out to them.” Kanlagion paused. “Vengeance, I should say, which was quite misplaced… for those poor people stood innocent of the crimes which your vessels committed near and far upon the high seas. I will not attempt to defend my character against insult by you or any other. Rather, I will let the fact that I still live and Torelledir still stands speak for itself.” Tregaskis noticed Kanlagion’s fists clench during the last sentence, fingernails digging into the palms. “What I seek most of all to impress upon you, with full candor, is that hope for our people is alive, if barely. But the actions of men such of you inch the blade nearer and nearer to its heart. The deaths of those in Palevera, like so many woes, could have been avoided had we kept our faith and remained united. The great battle which may soon erupt over this island may yet be avoided should we choose to in this moment.” The sense of wry satisfaction on the lord’s face was beginning to give way. He replied “And why should battle not be joined with those who seek our ruin? Since we settled on this island, many among the Alessans have been clamouring to finish what the Southwythians began. If this is their response to our fight to reclaim our rightful position, then they will forever be an obstacle, and should be dealt with at once. Many of us on Fosowbria have come to understand that which you have ignored: that for their treachery, our foes should have no moment of rest, no moment where they are allowed to forget that the Aparnovosi are not yet finished, and that they will never be able to take any more from us without paying dearly. If that demands making war unending upon the seas, then so be it. The world might call us foes and pirates, but at the fall of our City and even now I have seen our once-neighbours to be the greater thieves. For no sooner have we carved out a new home here, than a new band of brutes have come to wrest it from us. The only difference is that now, instead of failing to defend his people, the Prince will fail in his evident attempts to rob them; this I must ensure.” Kanlagion, still unfazed, and strangely relaxed compared to Tregaskis’ own mind, which rapidly turned over several (albeit doomed) scenarios of escape, responded; “Well, if your aim is my failure, then I have already provided you with a sterling opportunity to kill or capture me, if you dare. So the fact that you have not yet done so means you are either incapable, or are at least mildly interested in what I have to say.” Tregaskis was still focused on the movement behind the curtain when Kanlagion added; “And it seems that another is listening with interest as well.” The lord raised his hand to object, then hesitated, as Kanlagion continued. “Whoever is behind that curtain, I would have you reveal yourself.” The curtain began to move, and Tregaskis heard soft footsteps. Perhaps his nerves had been suspecting the worst; a hired killer, waiting on command for that last audacious statement of the Prince, and who would finish Kanlagion without any of the parties involved having to sully themselves in the deed. His hand fell to his waist and tightened around the haft of his axe. His calculations from earlier still stood. He would have the chance for one strike before being set upon by the guards and perhaps even the lord himself. That was acceptable to Tregaskis. At least he would fulfill his mission; protecting his liege, or at least dying before him. He began to lift the axe out of its belt-loop. In that fraction of a second he did not have time to reflect on his actions, but would afterwards. He was a man satisfied with his life; he had dared, adventured far at sea, helped his shipmates, and done his best to save lives. He had made peace with his parents at last. If this was to be the nature of his end, it was not such a great evil. Men had died far more foolishly or in vain; Tregaskis had seen it. He inhaled deeply for what might be the last time… Only start in surprise as the curtains were brushed aside. The man behind the curtains, it so happened, was no man at all. Out stepped a noble lady with long, dark, and straight brown hair, and before she or anyone else had the chance to utter a sound, Kanlagion audibly produced a short, sharp gasp; Tregaskis looked over to see that a look of bewilderment had replaced the cool, civil demeanour he had maintained up to that point. As anyone who was familiar with Kanlagion via rumours or personal experience knew, Tregaskis thought with a hint of amusement in spite of himself, interactions with women did not usually discomfit the Prince, even as was infamously true in the grim years preceding the fall of Aparnovos.
A series of frustrated obscenities shot through Kanlagion’s stream of consciousness, at risk of rushing up his throat and out from his mouth, but was thankfully checked and only reached audible form as a stunned gasp. The old poets and great public wordsmiths of Aparnovos might have been able to describe in full the depths of his present emotion, but to Kanlagion, it felt as if his heart had made a tremendous leap before crashing back to earth in a heap. After so many years, the pale, shapely, oval face now staring at him elicited the same response as it had in times removed from the present by so much more than time. How much upheaval, tragedy, and change had transpired since he had last seen her magnetic brown eyes beneath neat, faintly arched brows, and the tall, straight nose with its slightly raised bridge above stately lips which curved infinitesimally downwards at their ends. Cefenia Nevioros seemed to have long since grasped the immediacy of the situation, and looked as free and collected as Kanlagion remembered her. For several seconds his mind wandered far from this lord’s chamber in the keep on Fosowbria. There was profound relief that Cefenia had survived the years of catastrophe, incredulousness that she should appear at this moment upon which so much depended, and, inevitably, that jaw-clenching, vexing, maddening conclusion that there was only one reason why she could be in this particular place. Kanlagion’s eyes fell on the lord, whose eyes in turn were shooting daggers at Cefenia. Kanlagion thought to himself; What should I do? The fact that he was able to ask himself that very question was something for Kanlagion to seize upon in a moment of distress. It was not the same sort of impulsive reaction that, during the Fall of Aparnovos, saw him don an ill-fitting suit of armour and prepare to throw himself into the bloody street-fighting. He did not even consider what his old self might have done. He was here for a purpose, upon which far more than himself depended. Whatever had had transpired with Cefenia since his father, Prince Asilion, had quite forcefully forbade him from seeing her, could wait.
Cefenia, of course, had known Kanlagion was especially concerned with her husband; she had, after all, stolen a glance at the discarded letter on his desk. But she was, admittedly, astonished that he would come here in person. She had heard that he had led the bulk of the Aparnovosi fleet westwards following the fall of the city and had set up a kingdom in Torelledir, but the news of his other deeds that reached her ears were certainly not framed in a positive light given the political climate on Fosowbria. Although she had been quite patronizingly admonished to wait out of sight, on such a momentous and exciting occasion at this, Cefenia truthfully did not much care what she had been told. She watched intently as Kanlagion regained his composure, after what she thought could have been a pensive glance into her eyes. He had visibly changed since she last saw him. He was older; there were shadows under his eyes, his face was much thinner. But he had looked after himself well, and still dressed and spoke with refinement. From her hiding place behind the curtains, Cefenia had listened to the entirety of the conversation; she had been at least as surprised at his daring appearance here as Kanlagion had just seemed to be regarding hers. She had also been impressed thus far. When she had loved him all those years ago, the audacity and roguish charm of his youth had been quite dashing, even if it was not befitting of a Prince and would afterwards cause so much trouble. But this occasion seemed to prove, as she realized she had long wanted to believe despite everything, that those things had been stripped of their superfluities; tested, shaped by purpose, trials, and desperation. Now they had been honed into the courage, stark and bare, that was writ gradually larger on Kanlagion’s face as he continued to speak, collecting himself after the shock.
“I would like to entertain your strategy for a moment,” Kanlagion said, inclining his head politely towards the lord. “Suppose I let you and others like you on this island again turn your ships loose upon the sea, and have them strike at other seafaring nations wherever they may, ruining their trade and enriching our sailors.” He pointed to the window. “This is, of course, only after you conjure a miraculous victory against the Alessans that have taken up arms against you for doing that very thing. As you say, our rivals will be awed and the valour and strength of the Aparnovosi will again be proved, regardless of the hatred such actions win us from other lands, even those which might otherwise have been our friends.”
He paused.
“Against the long history of nations, how afresh was it that the Alessans were our trusted partners in trade? I beg you to look at the consequences of your efforts. They call us lawless, treacherous, pirates and murderers. You may not care for their words, but our countrymen, cast far and wide in foreign lands, suffer and die because of this island’s depredations. Whatever is left of our legitimacy and prestige at sea hangs by a thread, to be replaced with fury and terror. What I would like to ask you are questions you have the ability to decide, at this very moment. Will the Aparnovosi be known as a people governed by laws and good faith? Or will we dwindle insensibly in both virtue and unity until we are either a nation of vagabonds, or are crushed by anyone who has the ability and sense to do so? And if we somehow survive as a series of petty lordships, who will then wish to treat with us if we move to rebuild our city? Your piracy, and flagrant rebellion, for there are no other suitable words, will have drained both our neighours store of goodwill and our own people’s blood.” Kanlagion had been glaring at the lord when he posited those questions. It was, thought Cefenia, as direct as he could have been without awakening her husband’s ire to a point from which there was no return. Now, he was deftly shifting into a more diplomatic, even emotional appeal;
“The weight of your ancestors lies heavy upon your shoulders; I know this, because I walk under the same yoke due to actions you know well. But perhaps they have prayed to the gods on our behalf for this moment, because if we act wisely, we will have taken the first steps towards saving our people’s future. I ask that we mend our broken bonds, renew our oaths between a Prince and one of his lords, and that you accompany me aboard your finest vessel. Together we may sail and treat with the Alessans to prevent the evil which looms over this island, and our people. You are the strongest lord on this island, and others look to you for guidance. Together, all of us can accomplish great deeds. We must rebuild the fortunes of our people and bring peace to their lands, ensure that all of our countrymen abroad know that they may be safe and that our way of life still stands, and show to the world that our dignity and prosperity on the seas will endure. We must carefully bide our time while doing so, and husband our strength, until such a time when we can reclaim our home in a manner so spectacular, so absolute, so sweeping, that none will ever question the right of the Aparnovosi to our lands and the fruits of a hundred generation’s toil. You speak of your ancestors and not surrendering their ancient rights; but I would offer that we must renew our trust in honour of what ours achieved together in all those centuries of their cooperation. This do I ask, with no time to waste; will you join me in this great effort?”
The lord’s features returned to what Cefenia knew to be that stony façade which belied deep consideration; that Kanlagion had even induced him to weigh the offer with due consideration was a pleasant surprise. Her husband, while undeniably brave and clever, was exceptionally stubborn, and cold to all save his kin. She knew that it was the practical considerations which were being pondered behind that furrowed brow. Not that the appeal to the future of the Aparnovosi was not also being considered, she thought, casting her mind back to the countless hours where he had talked her through his thoughts and decisions which had largely shaped Fosowbria into what it was at present. But to the lord, their people’s future was very much a singular object, a goal; even a prize which, as he doubtless hoped, to his house could fall the lion’s share of credit in securing. Its pursuit need not even concern the slain townspeople in Palevera or the scrabbling existence of many on this very island, just as their marriage need not concern her feelings. No, he would surely be weighing Kanlagion’s words on their practical merit alone, just as how their union concerned her status of the last of a great and noble family, lost among exiles on Fosowbria. The same status and prestige, she thought, reflecting on the bitter irony of the circumstances between the people in this room, that made her and Kanlagion’s courtship untenable according to custom. For her family, like her husband’s, was one too old and powerful for the Royal Family to consider for marriage. Fearing the conflict of interest that once again allowing the old nobility into the halls of centralized power would entail, members of the Princes family habitually married new wealth; the daughters of prominent merchants and guildmasters, who despite their considerable influence, could not lay claim to those rights of ancient nobility which endangered the crown’s prerogatives. One of the customs which differentiated the Aparnovosi from their quarrelsome neighbours, and which was part of the order which Kanlagion was so desperately trying to protect, was what had doomed their happiness together.
Kanlagion’s heart was beating as he kept his gaze fixed on the man before him. There was tremendous apprehension as seconds seemed to pass as hours, but a peculiar sense of solace also began to emerge. He had laid the cards on the table, so to speak, and while finding a hint of amusement in the comparison to those beautifully hand-illuminated luxury items whose games and wagers had engrossed him in years past, cherished the sweet, brief few moments where the burden of responsibility was in another’s hands. No sooner had he settled upon that conclusion than the lord exhaled deeply and replied:
“Your words have a certain merit that sometimes succeeds in breaking the surface. You have convinced me that you at least have our people’s future at the forefront of your mind, which, I will concede, is admirable. But for all of your talk of high ideals, my answer to your proposition still rests upon a few grave considerations. Renewing our oaths would still denude me, and many others on this isle, of the rights we have only just won again. I might be inclined to make such a sacrifice should the quality of your leadership indicate that it would be worthwhile; I would trust in a man such as your late father or brother to provide consolation for the loss of these dearest things in the form of military victories and virtuous statecraft. But alas you have proven that you are capable of delivering neither, and your strategies rest upon the twin pillars of retreat and escape, embellished here and there with vague promises of future success and glory. No, I will not accept your offer; instead, I will trust in what I have regained and built, as well as the walls, ships, and men whose assurances are unfeigned and proven. Despite your intrusion I have received you without harm. But should a similar meeting occur again I cannot promise the same. Now, I have an island to defend: my men will escort you out. If you and your fleet find the stomach to fight alongside us, I will not object. But you will do so not as our prince. Aparnovos has a Prince no longer, and has not since you fled the burning city where the last noble hearts of that line died. For the sake of your legacy, it is a shame you were not counted among them. Farewell.”
Kanlagion simply stared at the man. I’ll be damned if I let him see he has upset me, he thought. He then looked to Cefenia. Her jaw was set, but her face remained stony and impassionate. Kanlagion, for a moment, thought the fact that she offered no words, no attempts to prevail upon her husband, was as devastating as the rebuttal he just received. Glancing back at the lord, Kanlagion sighed; “Then I suppose you will have the fight you so desire. But I will have no part of it. As you have made your stance quite clear, I swear to be quit of Fosowbria this very afternoon. I have lived through one sacked city too many, and I would have thought the same for you. Farewell, then.”
Turning briefly to Cefenia, Kanlagion spoke through a mouth now painfully dry; “Farewell, my lady,” and gave a small bow. For the first time in the course of this meeting, his grasp on his composure was in danger of slipping. Without another word, he turned on his heel to face the guards, giving a sardonic huff as he eyed them expectantly. Tregaskis and the old monk somewhat dejectedly followed suit. They then turned through the door and were led away.
Kanlagion and his companions again passed through the great hall with its high, smooth dome twinkling with stars and candles. It was almost jarring in its serenity. That it might soon come crumbling down affected Kanlagion. Like any reasonable Aparnovosi he would rue the loss of something so beautiful, but moreover, he thought of all those who had built such a place, lending their work and skill to create a temple of the peace, calm, and reassurance for which he himself had strove so long in vain. As their footsteps echoed across the tiles, Kanlagion perceived the gaze of the old monk, who was softly smiling at him. It was as if the gravity of the failed negotiations had no effect on that carven old countenance. What does he know? Kanlagion considered what he would give to tap into his companions seemingly perpetual tranquility. Was it fostered by the man’s magical abilities, or was it simply the hard-won wisdom of a long life well and nobly lived? With events proceeding as they had, Kanlagion thought, he might never live to know the answer.
The bright afternoon sun, a warm sea breeze, and the clatter of the keep’s gate closing behind them accompanied their departure from the cool chambers within. While the guards did not lay a hand upon them, they were surrounded and led out of the upper bailey and towards the city itself. The stone pathway led down the bare slope which separated the walls of the keep from the nearest buildings, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, Kanlagion could see from here the Alessan fleet drawing nearer on an easy wind. Away to westwards the Torellediri ships held station, grey sails swaying in the distance. The lord’s own ships still swung at anchor in the harbour; trim, sleek, and dignified with yards squared, despite the misery which they had been used to sow. With the city below still alive with preparations, it was a stirring vista which, at a distance, might have borne some degree of beauty had Kanlagion not known the inevitable conclusion towards which it spiraled. But even as he contemplated that grim outcome, a sense of indignation, of purpose, welled up inside him, and would not allow him to be so meekly led away from the unfolding drama. The despondency, fear, and doubt all fell away until there was only one stark choice set before him; whether to slink away and thereby prove the cutting accusations of the lord to be true, or to achieve what he came to this island to accomplish. With a few more footsteps down the path, moments to take in the sight and thoughtfully work his jaw, Kanlagion had resolved that by fair means or foul, he would seize this last opportunity set before him. He would not leave Fosowbria aboard any ship save those in the city’s harbour.
Kanlagion would have to think quickly to effect whatever plan he could devise. He feigned stroking his beard and brushing his eyebrows thoughtfully: a predetermined signal to the old monk. Within seconds, two minute presences sprung into being within his consciousness, growing slowly into the voices of Tregaskis and the monk, who promptly inquired as to what they should do.
“We’re taking the ships.”
“What?!” Tregaskis replied, and Kanlagion could see him physically restrain a gasp.
“That is correct, we are not departing without having achieved something of worth. Your crew lie in wait at the harbour, do they not?” Kanlagion felt the presence in his mind shift to what felt like a grin. He had figured the captain might warm to a practical challenge. “Aye, they are there. We might be able to use their coaster to get alongside, under the guise of offering provisions. But together we number enough to sail one of those ships only, not accounting for any resistance we could face. And of course, we require a way to reach them and escape our current predicament. I had left instruction for a man to wait a few blocks inland from the harbour to watch for our coming. If we could somehow signal to him, he could bring the rest of the crew and we might then overpower the guards.”
“We would have to do so swiftly, silently, and out of sight… and there of course is the possibility that even afterwards we might be recognized…” Kanlagion trailed off, before adding “Wait… Lord Krulegir and his men must still be nearby. They can take the place of our guards, while giving us more help with which to work.”
Tregaskis, pleased with the Prince’s plan, gave his assent. Kanlagion addressed the monk;
“Call for Krulegir and his men, and have them find Tregaskis’ crew. Inform them, if you can, of what we have devised.”
Within a few moments, the monk, who had been doggedly shuffling along with the pace of the guards, came to a halt and looked up into the eaves of a house by which they were passing, where a sparrow was busily twisting grass and sticks into a nest. The guards immediately turned on the strange old man, who was serenely smiling at the bird going about its work. While two of the men seemed unsure whether to accost a harmless elder, and one of the cloth at that, the sergeant, with a white sash wound around his lamellar cuirass, immediately strode up and met the monks gaze;
“Keep walking, do not play any tricks,” he said firmly, “let us make this easy for everybody, it looks as if there will be enough bloodshed today.” The sergeant extended his arm, gesturing pointedly but politely for the monk to keep walking, while his other hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Nodding and muttering what passed for an apology, the old man shuffled back behind Tregaskis and Kanlagion. The latter, out of the corner of his eye as he turned away, noted the sparrow take flight over the rooftops, twittering as it went.
Now, there was only the space of a short walk for Kanlagion to wonder if the plan would bear fruit. They were nearing what might be the livelier sections of the city in happier days, with taller houses and first-floor shops and market stalls. What townspeople were not engaged in work on the defenses could be seen boarding their shutters and doors, gathering their families, and hurrying home with stashes of food acquired at the last minute. Kanlagion noted the relative silence and order with which this was carried out, and realized that it must be due to the simple fact of practiced efficiency; many of these people must have survived the Fall of Aparnovos, and of course Fosowbria’s existence since then had not been peaceful. Barely a glance was spared by any towards the odd company proceeding down the street. At length they turned a corner and were led onto a narrower street twisting down a gradual hill, presumably a shortcut towards the city gates. The odd window from the tall, jumbled houses to either side at already been shuttered and battened, and footsteps, heavy and numerous, were echoing through the narrow space towards Kanlagion’s ears. He was considering the unusual, confined acoustics of the space when the realization rapidly dawned, just before a large group of men rounded the nearest bend and faced them. Just as Kanlagion recognized them as Lord Krulegir, his guards, as well as Tregaskis’ mate Uraganur and the crew of the Kudrenorys, before they surged forward, weapons drawn. Kanlagion barely had time to shout, “leave these men alive!” as the guards escorting them drew their weapons just before the clash.
For a few moments the three guards, with their shields raised and weapons striking out against any who came near, held the crowd at bay. Until Uraganur, at the head of the group, ducked beneath a sword stroke and drove his stout frame into the guard’s shield, while reaching upwards to seize the latter’s wrist with both hands. Staggering backwards from the impact and unable to strike, the guard was seized also by Tregaskis, who though unarmed, helped his shipmate pull the man to the ground. The second guard was keeping several sailors at a distance with wide strokes of his sword, until one of the former managed to briefly bind his sword with the crook of an axe, while another of his fellows started forward, but was met with a savage punch from the rim of the guard’s shield and reeled back. Seeing his soldier’s distress, the sergeant leapt back from the member of Krulegir’s retinue with which he had been grappling, and in one swift motion brought his blade down hard and opened a gash down the axe-wielding sailor’s upper arm, before turning and parrying a blow from his prior opponent. Kanlagion, who had by then drawn the old monk safely into the shadows in the side of the alleyway, heard the sailor, face twisted in pain, howl and clasp his bleeding arm as the guard advanced on him. For a heartbeat he felt his breath choke and limp despair enter his limbs. But the surge of adrenaline which followed, flowing through his muscles and pulling them taut once again, seemed to also ignite the conviction that Kanlagion would not stand and helplessly watch, and with bounding strides and no further thoughts he launched himself forward across the cobblestones. In his final pace before the guard, he drove his boot, propelled by the momentum of his strides, hard into the back of the man’s knee. Before he could strike at the wounded sailor, the guard’s left leg folded, and in that moment the wounded man’s shipmates were upon him; with a resounding blow to the helmet, he was stunned and pulled down soon after. All that remained was the sergeant, who was still deftly fending off strikes, awaiting like a coiled snake the momentary opening to strike down Krulegir’s man. But soon a cacophony of shouts from the mob, who now held his two soldiers bound and with weapons at their throats, gave him pause. Surrounded and apprehending the situation, the sergeant sighed, turned the pommel of his sword upwards in his hand and extended his arms in surrender. Kanlagion, surveying the results of the short but sharp struggle, accepted the sword, and ordered their previous captors to be seated against the wall. Tregaskis and Uraganur, looking somewhat apologetic, bound the sergeant’s hands behind his back and ushered him next to his men, while Kanlagion spoke;
“I am sorry to be forced to resort to this, as you seem to be fine men. But I hope you will come to see how much is at stake. I do not wish to see you harmed any further, so I bid you not make an attempt to follow us.”
The guards collectively grunted, evidently displeased but lacking alternatives. Kanlagion turned to the assembled group, and pausing while the wounded sailor’s arm was bandaged, soon motioned them onwards towards the docks. But he also saw Tregaskis stop mid-step; tall, gangly, but tense, alert, and motionless like a wading egret, before turning to face behind them. Swearing under his breath, he whispered loudly “more are coming!”
The crowd of soldiers and sailors turned to face the newcomers, weapons clasped with white knuckles and eyes set down the alleyway. Around the corner came three more guards, but these were attired differently from the group they had just overcome. Over their maille, which included a full-face aventail with openings only for the eyes, they wore long blue-green padded surcoats, with white cedar trees stitched on either breast. Upon sighting Kanlagion’s followers, they tensed, lowered their short, thick hafted spears with long leaf-shaped blades, but otherwise assumed a defensive posture.
The heavy oak doors creaked shut behind the lord as he strode into the bailey of his fortress, followed shortly by his retinue. The walls only extended four feet from the turf, as they served also as a retaining wall for the earth upon which the central tower stood atop the rocky hill. Aside from making the fortress exceptionally difficult to damage using projectile engines, it provided a promenade with a stunning view over the city and the sea beyond. A view which, although substantially different on account of the Alessan armada, still impressed; a fact which he hoped was not lost on the various lords of Fosowbria or their representatives that had answered his summons and stood in small crowds before him. He cleared his throat, and his herald- who just recently his court monk had verified was not another meddler in disguise- sounded a silver trumpet whose note cut through the anxious murmurs of the crowd. His men should have ejected Kanlagion and his companions beyond the main gate by now, and there was considerable work to be done to make sure the next threat to this isle met with similar results. To do so required his best efforts to sway these bickering lords into a cohesive response. A response, which, to stand any chance of success, had to be under his leadership. This was not hubris, he reminded himself; he was simply the most capable and shrewd of their number, with the most resources to hand, the products of years of work to re-establish his family’s position. If anyone could prove that the venerable noble families were worthy of reclaiming their ancient mantles, it was him, and this idea filled him with steely resolve and tireless drive.
Kanlagion felt that uneasy sensation, physical as much as mental, of his control of events at hand slowly slipping from his grasp. Then came a surprising, but ultimately refreshing resurgence of focus and discipline. Perhaps it had been the rush of adrenaline in the combat a few moments prior, or the lessons of long years; regardless of its source, Kanlagion was grateful, and immediately set about devising a way to overcome this latest obstacle. Until, to his surprise, the slightest of the mailed soldiers reached up and drew aside their aventail, revealing, of all people, the shapely visage of Cefenia Nevioros.
For the sake of the Gods, why does this keep happening? Kanlagion wondered, shaking his head in disbelief. In spite of himself, the word “Unbelievable” slipped from his lips.
The two parties approached one another hesitantly, both Kanlagion’s men and Cefenia’s two guards remaining wary. Kanlagion, hesitant no longer, and wishing only to draw what would likely be a painful conversation to a speedy end, drew close to Cefenia. With a subtle wave, she reassured her guards upon their reaction. He spoke, “Is this some sort of cruel game you are attempting to play? Your husband made his stance quite clear, I do not require any more explanation regarding his stubbornness. As far as I am now concerned, my only remaining business in this city is to swiftly depart. For the sake of us both, pray do not hinder me; it is best we part and forget this meeting.”
Hurt ever so briefly flashed across Cefenia’s face. “I had wanted to say farewell…” Pausing to run her eyes over the scene behind Kanlagion, with the group of armed men standing before the three bound guards, she then continued “…but it seems you have already set something else in motion.”
Kanlagion snapped; “Perhaps if you had helped me prevail upon that boorish menace to whom you, Gods only know why, are attached, it might not be necessary!”
Cefenia pushed back at once “You would know well why I find myself at his side if you simply considered that it was his ship on which I escaped the fall of the city, in his keep I found myself afterwards. I am the last of my house. I know not the fate of any of my friends, whether they be dead or alive; nor do I have any means to discover them. I was alone.” She fixed his gaze. “How strong, tell me, do you think my position to refuse could have been?”
Kanlagion paused.
“And why would I have wanted to? You and I had long since parted ways and we both know the reason. He had been gracious to me, and unlike many of his fellow lords, remained driven by at least some higher purpose.” Kanlagion watched her let her eyes fall and swallow hard, and his heart softened. “I had no other prospects, and time does not stand still.”
Kanlagion thought for a moment. Time was of the essence, and his men awaited him, but he nonetheless felt driven to ask; “And are you happy?”
“You saw how he glared when I stepped forth. I believe he cares for me in his own way, whatever that may be, but he is a cold and hard man, and this became ever more apparent after he was sure I was his. As the years have gone by, his harshness has grown. I have long since known such a match is a risk of my station… but I had hoped that it might become something greater in time. It was not to be, I suppose. I am the sounding board for his grand ideas, yes, and it is only a matter of time before he realizes his ultimate reason for taking my hand. But if there was love at first, I feel it no longer, only a gray sort of haze where something ought to be.”
Kanlagion’s stomach fell and shoulders sagged as he heard of her predicament, even as his heart leaned heavy against his ribs, pressing seemingly towards Cefenia. He then quietly said “Then come with me.”
As much as they reflected his hopes, Kanlagion regretted the words as soon as he had said them. Regardless of what might come of the remainder of the day and the success of his mission, and however good his intentions may be, Kanlagion was putting too great a strain on too powerful an oath, be it as it may between one for whom he still cared and one so callous and who had so frustratingly endangered the Aparnovosi. This was, of course, to say nothing of the danger of her assassination if Cefenia assented, and this was a prospect Kanlagion could not entertain. As their eyes met again, each understood the other’s mind as they both let their desires recede, but not before Cefenia said “We will see each other again, someday.”
Kanlagion, at a loss for words, pursed his lips, and nodded as he took one final look at her face.
The content of their conversation had eluded Tregaskis, but he observed Kanlagion and the other figure say their farewells, before the Erymost returned to his men as the two groups simply parted ways. Kanlagion’s face was drawn, but he passed Tregaskis with a nod, proceeding towards the rest of the group.
Fethannis watched the long row-barge draw near to the Manorokos from the quayside, laden with supplies which would enable the ship to play her part in the defense of the city, moored in place blocking the harbour entrance to the Alessan fleet and serving as a platform for archers and ballistae should the need arise. Fethannis thought it was more likely, however, that the Alessans would not risk the narrow, well-defended channel and would instead land on the shore surrounding the city to commence an attack by land. That was well, he assured himself, because Manorokos would be wasted as a form of static defense; she was fast, handy, and powerful, and was meant to be on the offense, not sitting as a glorified hulk. He looked out; the rowers of the barge strained at their oars against a strengthening breeze, and the cargo had been covered with a canvas tarpaulin lashed down to protect from the spray. A prudent measure for a cargo of weapons, armour, and ammunition, as Fethannis could scarce count the hours spent scraping salt and rust from merely his own equipment. His mind returned to the approaching contest, and he silently nurtured hopes that the captain would break from this position and use Manorokos in concert with the two smaller caravels to attack the Alessan vessels once the landing had begun, and recreate the success (and profitability) of their piratical exploits in recent years. If the ship were already underway and free from the harbour as in such a case, they could also escape if the battle turned dire- a critical prospect for Fethannis, as soon his share of the wealth from plundering on the seas would enable him to quit the ship for good and live a comfortable life. The young sailor, Dendimos, standing at the bow of the barge, waved, and Fethannis motioned to several of his shipmates, then helped them secure the cargo netting and lower it over the side. Dendimos was a promising lad and had evidently attended to his tasks ashore with characteristic alacrity. Fethannis could already picture him volunteering to take another boat ashore when the time came for the captain to return from the keep.
Standing upright again at the rail, he thought of where he might go should he survive this battle through victory or escape. Of course, returning to any remaining Aparnvosi ports could easily ensure his recognition and capture. But perhaps an Ulnosti harbour, or one of the Tel-Raiq quicksilver ports might do…
The barge was coming alongside now, and Fethannis was drawn from his musings to greet the returning crew, only to realize that he did not recognize several of the rowers… or any, for that matter, despite their hats and jackets. He had scarcely opened his mouth to raise an alarm when young Dendimos was shoved down into the bows of the barge, revealing an armoured man shaking away the end of the canvas cover, who then immediately leveled his crossbow and loosed a bolt. The projectile caught Fethannis in the chest, shattering his sternum and entering up to the fletching. A ragged cough of shock escaped him as he fell backward towards the deck, but all had gone dark by the time he landed.
Tregaskis, tearing away the canvas tarpaulin from the crouched forms of his companions, stoutly patted the armoured form in front of him on the back, saying “excellent shot, Harverion.” The latter grunted as he cast aside his crossbow and drew a long-hafted mace. Axe in hand, Tregaskis stood as the barge bumped the side of the ship, and encouraging his crew, leapt onto the cargo netting, beginning swiftly to climb. He felt the netting take the strain as his companions followed suit, but his eyes were cast upwards, where from above the ship's rail, another sailor had peered over to look, knife in hand. The man's eyes widened with shock, and he immediately moved to cut away the netting: but not before Tregaskis' axe had hooked into the collar of his jacket, pulling him down and over the side. As his eyes briefly followed the sailor's fall into the harbour, they came to rest on the figure climbing alongside him: Kanlagion had prevailed upon someone to lend him a sabre, and had exerted himself to gain the front of the boat ahead of his compatriots so as to climb alongside Tregaskis. Too late to do anything about that, he admitted to himself, instead clenching his jaw and setting his mind to capture Manorokos before any more trouble could befall the prince. Following a final glance behind him to see that the band of his shipmates and Kanlagion's retinue were keeping pace behind, Tregaskis' hand reached the rail of the ship, and in a deft motion he leapt upwards from the netting and vaulted onto the deck.
His welcome took the form of a large capstan-bar, swung sideways with great force by the first sailor to reach him. Having just gained the deck, Tregaskis raised his axe in defence, but the vicious blow broke through his hasty guard. Not before, however, he had hunched his shoulders and tucked his head forward so that the great piece of timber, momentum somewhat slowed, impacted the rim of his helmet instead of crushing the bridge of his nose. Staggering back against the rail, Syarhei's reached with his left hand to his belt; with fingers working more from habit than conscious effort, loosed the knot holding a small, foot-wide shield from his belt and seized the grip. With his foe closing the distance, bar raised for another blow, Syarhei regained himself and darted forward, driving the rim of the shield into the former's stomach, followed by a swift axe-blow between the neck and shoulder, finishing the contest. Some of the remaining sailors visible from his position, having abandoned their work, had drawn knives, while others ran to arm themselves from chests on deck or below. By this point, the rest of the boarding party- consisting of Kanlagion's retinue and Tregaskis' own crew- had surmounted the rail, and began to spill onto the deck of the Manorokos, raising a cry as they joined the melee. Soon, the ship was awash in hand-to-hand combat, and it was with great effort that Tregaskis both defended himself and attempted to survey the course of the struggle. So far, his companions, more heavily armed and armoured than their opponents and still exploiting the effects of surprise, had been rapidly gaining ground. Still, at the forefront of Tregaskis' mind was the safety of Kanlagion. The rumours of his dueling ability (and those of its scandalous, perhaps fatal consequences) were often indistinguishable from the slurry of controversies surrounding the Prince and were, in any case, insufficient to assure Tregaskis of his charge's ability to survive in combat.
In light of this, having just incapacitated another foe, Tregaskis' attention was drawn to Kanlagion, who was being coolly faced down by one of the Manorokos' crew, who even amidst the chaos, stood wielding a sword with poise and surety. Opposing him, the Prince scarcely cut a figure of any confidence; still in relatively fine clothing, sabre in hand but with a face clammy and rapidly draining of colour, with lips drawn pale and taut. Though Tregaskis could see another opponent bearing down in him in his periphery, he could not yet pry his attention from Kanlagion's predicament.