The Wandering Sword

The wind blew sails, large and unfurled. A mighty vessel was driven toward its intended destination by the sea currents.

Almost there, deduced its captain, guided by his sailor's instinct, honed by years of experience. He held a compass in his right hand, its needle oscillating toward the southwest.

It seems Senshan is in good spirits...

A confident smile graced his lips as he observed the panorama beyond the windows of his exotic cabin, lattice-like and transparent as glass. The sky was clear, and the waters calm; their journey enjoyed impeccable conditions.

On a rustic desk before which he sat, a small map was spread out. His right index finger halted, touching a particular point.

Today, a great bounty awaits us.

***

"Aaaah…"

Someone awakened from a short slumber, opening his eyes. He shook off the heaviness clouding his vision and the rest of his senses.

What happened? Where am I? he wondered, barely discerning shapes and blurred lights around him as he stood up.

"Ah?!"

When he attempted to move, he realized something halted him abruptly, preventing his motion. Upon investigating, he found his limbs bound by chains to a wall.

"Well, you didn't take long to wake up... You must have a thick skull, wretch."

That voice!

The prisoner raised his gaze towards its source.

"Ser Janpelan!"

It was him, the imposing warrior with whom he had just engaged in combat. He still wore his armor and wielded his mace, but had discarded his damaged shield. A couple of guards accompanied him in the interrogation chamber of a gloomy dungeon. Dim yellow lights descended from stones held by ornaments on the walls.

"I don't care if you forgot what happened... We had some pending questions, and you will answer them," Ser Janpelan said to Mavros, ready to begin without further ado. He signaled to one of the guards, who fearfully brought forth a peculiar device with a spherical tip and a long handle, embedded with a small transparent gem at its center. He held it close to the knight's chin.

"Why are you here?", Janpelan asked.

"For a personal journey," Mavros curtly replied.

The guard observed the gem on the artifact, which shifted to a vibrant green.

"Green!" he loudly communicated to his superior.

"What kind of 'personal journey'? What is your mission?" Ser Janpelan continued the interrogation.

"A venture to perfect mine advancement on the Way, according to mine knightly code," Mavros earnestly and resolutely elaborated. "I doth fear thou shalt not be able to comprehendeth unless thou dost release me to demonstrate."

"Green!"

"Where do you come from? Which Tarburian realm do you hail from?" Janpelan disregarded those statements and moved on to other questions of interest. "Is your people plotting to incite a new Holy War?"

Tarburian? So this House also uses that term? Mavros furrowed his brow at that specific mention. "I come from the Maskirian realm of Tiberland; I neither belong to nor serve any such 'Tarburian' realm. Furthermore, I wot of none," asserted the prisoner. "I have come on mine own accord. As I did mention, it is a personal sojourn. I simply aspire to better myself as a roving knight and succor those in need along the way."

"Yellow!"

For the first time, the gem's color changed to a shade that aroused the interrogator's suspicion. It represented partial truthfulness.

"If you do not belong to any Tarburian realm, how is it that you possess and wield their artifacts? You could not have traveled here from a realm as distant as Tiberland without being noticed throughout Elvira," Janpelan questioned, crossing his arms in skepticism. "We know you arrived through the Tarburian mirror in the city park. Only the Holy Houses of Elvira are aware of its existence. The only others with knowledge of its use and existence are your people, its creators," he argued. "You should know well that my subordinate's Usogalai can discern whether your words are true or false," he menacingly extended his mace. "So, answer: Do you have cities in Tiberland? Are they remnants of New Eynsof?"

Mavros stared at him intently. Seconds passed, along with the tension between them.

"I already did inform thee, in Tiberland, I ne'er did encounter any folk by that name," he finally replied. He lowered his head for a moment, perturbed by certain memories. "Only its ruins... and a Holy House interested in its secrets," he locked eyes with Janpelan. "I stumbled upon these 'artifacts' purely by chance and did learn how to wield them, including that mirror through which I arrived," he affirmed. "But beyond that, I know naught of what thou dost call 'Tarburians.'"

"Green!" The gem's color changed back to honesty.

"Wait... Did you say you encountered another Holy House there?" Janpelan lowered his mace and arched his eyebrows, highly intrigued to delve deeper into this information he had been ignorant of until now. "What was its name?"

Resentment from a tormented past manifested in Mavros' eyes as he was forced to delve into those memories to retrieve the answer.

"Magn... Magnolia," he replied in a sepulchral tone.

"Green!"

"Magnolia?!"

Janpelan startled at that unexpected mention.

"You said Magnolia? The first and most powerful of the five Holy Houses?"

"Yes," Mavros reaffirmed . "They invaded Tiberland in secret."

"Green!"

The interrogator averted his gaze, furrowing his brow.

Tiberland... That island near Anglion, the seat of the Holy House of Magnolia. The two have always respected its sovereignty, Janpelan recalled. Magnolia has always been the most important and influential House in our league. Its Lords have acted as the kings of Anglion and the High Priests of the Maskirian Church in a dynasty that dates back to the time of the Holy Rebellion... but if what this Abiyr says is true, they violated our statute by not informing us of their movements on the island and the discovery of those ruins. It seems this could be bigger than I imagined; I must inform Lord Monteros immediately.

"Ser Janpelan?" Mavros called, confused by his prolonged and contemplative silence.

The burly man snapped back to reality.

"I am leaving. There is something I must attend to... I will be back soon," he communicated. "We will continue with the questions then... You will tell me more about Tiberland."

"Wait!" Mavros stopped him as he turned around. "Before thou depart, Ser Janpelan... Who did aid thee in my defeat? The individual who cast that nefeshic spell from behind, which did render me asleep."

Damn it.

Nervousness gripped Janpelan at that uncomfortable question that shook him. His lips curved, his teeth clenched, and his eyes widened in evident unease. However, he managed to regain control swiftly. His face adopted an expressionless demeanor befitting a professional card player.

"No one helped me... It was me," he asserted, turning towards the knight. "I... moved so swiftly that you couldn't see me. I and all the warriors of the House of the Royal Rose move at the speed of lightning; never underestimate us."

A cold drop of sweat ran down his forehead.

Thank goodness Lord Monteros isn't here; he would laugh in my face.

"Red!" The guard with the truth detector accidentally shouted, driven by inertia.

"You imbecile!"

His superior showed no sign of being pleased with his slip-up, his muscles creasing into a sinister smile as he restrained his urge to crush him with his mace.

"Ser Janpelan, pardon me, but if thou dost move at the speed of lightning, then I can invert the sky and earth with a snap," Mavros commented in friendly sarcasm. "Why dost thou dishonor thyself by lying in such a manner?... I could discern that the nefesh of that spell did not pertain to thee. I am even certain I heard a maiden nearby ere receiving it... Was it she who...?"

"ENOUGH! IT WAS ME WHO DEFEATED YOU! PERIOD!" he shouted in agitation. "Guards! Strip him of his armor and take him to the dungeon!"

"Yes, sir!"

Both nodded and approached the knight to unfasten his pieces.

But as soon as they touched them…

"OW!"

Both quickly withdrew and shook their hands, feeling an intense burning sensation, as if touching a hot iron. A faint amethyst aura emanated from the armor, covering it from head to toe.

"Thou mayest lock me in yon dungeon if it reassures thee," Mavros said, annoyed and defensive for the first time. "Yet thou shalt not strip me of mine armor."

With several steps, Janpelan's assistants continued to retreat until they were behind him, their voices muffled in strained groans. Time passed, and the black knight continued to defiantly confront them.

That nefesh... I'm certain he's holding back. If he wanted to, he could break those chains and finish us in an instant, Janpelan recognized as he observed the vibrant aura, just as frightened as his men but concealing his fear as he was obligated to serve as their example. He glanced at the narrow space of the room. Unfortunately, this is a terrible place for me to confront him. I have no choice but to prevent provoking him and trust in his apparent goodwill, he concluded reluctantly.

"Guards! Remove his chains and take him to the dungeon! There's no need to take off his armor…"

***

A small click. Vibrating the neighboring bars, a grated door screeched horribly as it was opened.

"Ent... Enter..."

Mavros calmly stepped inside his cell, obeying his jailer. Rather than ordering him, he pleaded, pointing the uncertain tip of his sword at him. It was like a man forced to subdue a lion with a short, old branch.

The annoying creak returned as the door closed. The jailer took longer than necessary to secure it with his trembling hands.

"A typical dungeon..." was the knight's verdict as he surveyed the dirty rock walls and floor. A faint glowing stone at the highest point of the ceiling served as his only feeble source of light.

"A Grianzan knight..." someone muttered reluctantly in a low voice from the neighboring cell.

"Eh?"

Mavros' eyes met the amber eyes of a rather young boy, probably no older than 14, observing him with sharp disdain, his hands gripping the bars.

But that disdain transformed into the opposite as he got a better look at his new neighbor.

"No... I can't believe it! You're not one of those damned Grianzan knights! You're an Abiyr!" he exclaimed with effusive joy, his lips open and curved upwards.

His appearance piqued Mavros' curiosity as he didn't resemble anyone he had encountered before: tanned and bronzed skin like the sunset, round amber eyes; a straight and prominent nose with its tip raised like the bow of a ship. Greasy blond hair with black roots sprouted from his head in disheveled, wavy tips. His body was slender and of short stature, yet strong and well-proportioned.

But his most striking feature was his ears, with lobes triangular like the tip of a water droplet.

A boy so young? In this dungeon? was the first thought that crossed Mavros' mind. Why on Mater does everyone here call me an 'Abiyr'?

"You are a legend! You protected my people during the Nefeshic Wars," the young boy continued exclaiming with excitement. "My family's caravan was saved by one of you in the massacre of Netzach."

"Massacre of Netzach?..." Mavros tilted his head, disoriented and intrigued by this unknown event.

"Ah?... You don't know? You didn't fight in the war?" The young boy blinked, astonished by his complete ignorance.

"No... I was born when it should have already been ending. I have spent most of my life far away from here," Mavros replied, feeling at ease enough to drop his ‘knightly’ persona and speak in informal speech. He lowered his head with a touch of discouragement. "This is my first time visiting these lands. As you can see, I haven't started off very well," he said, looking back at him. "What's your name, young boy?"

"Shei... Sheida," he answered, not expecting that such an important figure to him would have bothered to know.

"Mine is Mavros, Ser Mavros of Havenfalls," Mavros replied with his own polite introduction. "A pleasure to meet you, Sheida."

***

Seagulls flew overhead a fortress of stacked rocks that guarded an extensive port.

A tall observation tower with a bell rose at one of its ends. Inside it, a soldier monitored the horizon of the seas on that sunny afternoon. There were no ships in sight, just the infinite blue. It seemed like it would be a long and tedious shift without any notable events.

The soldier was about to close his eyes and take a short nap when...

"Eh?"

He brought his hand to his forehead, glimpsing something approaching from the distance. He pulled out a small telescope to observe it better. It was a large ship with billowing white sails, atop of which a flag with a white cross on a blue background fluttered. A shield of the same blue background was embroidered at the center of the cross, with a golden rooster holding a double-headed axe with one of its legs. A royal crown perched at the top of the shield, accompanied by a collar with intricate geometric motifs beneath it.

"A Grianzan merchant ship..." the soldier muttered, identifying its friendly flag.

Next, the soldier used a small mirror that gleamed under the sun to send a signal to the sailors. They quickly responded with their own. With a green light, the ship continued to advance towards the port. When it was close enough, it slowly turned to face the small fortress with its starboard side.

"Ah?!"

The ship revealed its true colors. Before the soldier could react, it unleashed blue bursts of cannon fire upon the fortress defenses and the warships moored at its docks, destroying them and sinking them instantly. Its flag was lowered, replaced by a very different one: a large white star on a black background with an angry-faced genie wielding two crossed short sabers.

"Corsairs!"

The bell of the tower was repeatedly rung by its soldier, but it was already too late to repel the attack from the sea.

The ship docked smoothly at an empty commercial pier in the port, with the present bystanders fleeing in panic to the sound of the bell. With great agility and coordination, its crew disembarked with sabers in hand under the direction of their leader. Their attire and appearance were very different from the city's inhabitants they invaded. They wore colorful shirts and lightweight trousers, with pointed leather boots over their tanned skin. Their eyes were amber and their noses straight and prominent, with black beards of varying cuts and ears with droplet-shaped lobes.

"As we discussed on the Jinnad... Taraked!" The leader called out to one of his men, in charge of a group. "You and your men will be responsible for sabotaging the crystals. We will go for the gold. When we're done, we'll meet right here."

"Yes, Captain!" He and his companions complied with his instructions.

Despite his position, the "captain's" attire didn't differ too much from his subordinates: a long open-chested shirt with long sleeves and carmine pants held by a knotted black silk belt. Light plates of greenish metal like jade protected his limbs and abdomen. A carmine bandana covered his forehead and a good portion of his dark hair, disheveled on the sides and reaching his neck. His face had graceful features: small, piercing eyes denoting cunning and mischief, enhanced by black lines of eyeliner along the edges. Short, thin mustaches and beard beneath his elegant aquiline nose.

In his right hand, he gripped a large cutlass with a golden hilt, its tip touching the ground like a staff.

Suddenly, something made him raise it. A group of port soldiers ran to confront him and the other invaders on the pier. Although the defenders outnumbered them, they showed no fear at all. The corsairs angled their sabers towards their lances and swords in a clear challenge.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen! On behalf of my crew, I, Baharen Ibad, captain of the Jinnad of the Seas, accept your surrender," the corsair captain taunted them with mischievous irreverence.

The defenders took the bait and rushed to attack him. They would soon realize that they should have heeded his insinuation.