“I must speak with Captain Wharton.”
The guard looked at his companion, who was a few years his senior but also was unknown to Brock.
“What’s this about?”
Brock sighed. “Just get the captain. He will know me.”
“You expect me to bother the captain of the guard without even a name?”
“Tell him the son of a tanner is at the gate and wishes to speak with him. Unless, you would rather fetch me Queen Ashland?”
The man’s eyes flared. “Do you play me for a fool?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m doing my best to make you not appear a fool.” Brock said in earnest. “Just get me Wharton.”
After a drawn-out, frowning glare, the man turned toward his companion. “Draw your sword and watch them.” Speaking to the archers on the wall, he called, “Shoot these two if either one moves.”
The man then whisked off while Brock and Broland waited.
A few minutes later, the man reappeared with an imposing man in a black leather uniform. The man’s dark, wavy hair ran to his shoulders, his stern face marked by scars and a dark goatee. As he drew close, the man’s mouth turned up in a smile.
“Your Majesty!”
The guards stared at Brock, their mouths gaping, eyes wide. The younger one began backing away as if Brock might bite him.
Brock hugged Wharton as the two thumped each other on the back, Wharton hitting Brock hard enough to force a cough.
“It is good to see you, my King!” Wharton then turned to Broland, hugging him fiercely. “And you as well, my Prince!”
Brock smiled, “While I am happy to see you, Wharton, I miss my wife desperately.”
“Oh, yes. She is in court at the moment but will happily retire for the day when she learns of your return.”
Wharton turned to lead Brock into the castle, but Brock paused and approached the mouthy guard. He placed his hand on the taller man’s shoulder, the man flinching as if the touch burned.
“Do not worry. You were only doing your job. Just try to remain humble and courteous unless the people you deal with force you to do otherwise.”
The man nodded. “Yes, Sir…um Sire.”
“Good man.”
Wharton then led them into the castle, through twisting corridors, and into the great receiving hall. When they approached the throne room, the guards, both unknown to Brock, parted and allowed them in.
Ashland was seated on the lone throne at the front of the room, her brown curls glistening in a beam of sunlight streaming through the high windows. Brock noticed the throne was hers, his nowhere to be seen. A guard stood beside her, armed and ready. A clerk sat to her other side, recording the words from an old man who stood before the dais. When Ashland’s eyes met Brock’s she stood, the man stopping mid-sentence and turning to see what had captured the queen’s attention.
“Brock!” she whooped, jumping off the dais and flashing past the startled man, her skirts billowing behind.
When Ashland reached him, he wrapped his arms about her and lifted, spinning her as his heart sang with joy. He put her down, their lips meeting in a long, urgent kiss that left his heart racing and both of them gasping. Her eyes gazed into his, bright blue and full of love. My goodness, I have missed looking into those eyes…
“Ahem,” Wharton said, breaking the spell. “You do realize this is a public forum?”
Brock turned around and found dozens of citizens seated on the benches, all staring toward him with mouths agape, eyes like saucers.
“Yes, it is I, King Brock, returned from battle,” Brock bellowed. “You see, the news about my death was premature. Know this: we have soundly defeated the Empire, and they will not threaten Kantaria again for years to come. Wayport took much damage, but the city remains and the citizens there will rebuild. More importantly, the freedoms we value remain intact.”
Ashland extended her arm toward Broland who stepped into her embrace. She kissed his cheek and smiled. “Oh, Broland. Thank Issal, you are all right.” Broland stepped away, and Ashland looked at Brock. “What of Brandt and Cassie?”
“Both are well. In fact, they are heroes and played key roles in saving many lives. You will be proud to hear of what they have accomplished.”
A tear ran down her face. “Yes. I am sure I will.” Her gaze lifted higher, her hand running along the short layer of hair on his head. “What happened to your hair?”
“I had a little accident. Nothing worth mentioning.” No need to worry her. He then said in a loud voice, “Court for today is adjourned, for I would very much like to be with my wife.” He kissed her again and stared into her eyes. “In fact, court, and everything else at the citadel, will take a leave of three days. We have more pressing things to address.”
“Like what?” Ashland asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“I suspect you know, but I will save that for someplace more private.”
She laughed, the sound lifting Brock’s spirits even higher and bringing tears of joy to his eyes. He was with Ashland again. He was home.
The carriage hit a bump, sending Everson and the other passengers into the air. Ivy grabbed his hand, and he gave her a smile. Across from him were Jonah and Cassie. Jonah chose to ride in the carriage because he didn’t dare ride a horse with his paralysis. Of course, he never enjoyed riding anyway. Cassie chose to ride with Jonah, saying she wanted to avoid the weather. Based on the looks she gave Jonah’s unmoving legs, Everson suspected she was concerned for him.
Everson peered up at the mountains, still white with snow although the valley had thawed and was in the process of turning green. Melting snow followed by early spring rain had left ruts in the road, resulting in a rough ride.
The Fallbrandt Academy of Magic and Engineering came into view as they circled to the east. Above it, the Arcane Ward towered over the school, dark and windowless and brooding. Even knowing the truth about the Ward, Everson felt the searing impression as intended. Fear me, the building demanded. Most obeyed.
Riders passed the carriage in a gallop – Curan, Chuli, Brandt, and Quinn. Watching his sister ride by with a grin on her face left Everson wondering what it would be like to ride a horse. Fear of falling lest his useless legs betray him had been a deterrent for much of his life. Since he invented his mechanical legs, the opportunity had never presented itself. Perhaps it was time to make it happen. With the war behind them, Everson found his future filled with new possibilities.
The carriage slowed as they passed through the gate and entered the Ward stable yard. When the carriage stopped, Everson turned toward Ivy.
“After you, my dear.”
“Everson.” She rolled her eyes. “This is one of those times where you should go first and then extend your hand to assist me.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m trying.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it. Just climb out so we can go inside.”
He opened the door, holding it while he helped Ivy and Cassie out. Curan and Brandt opened the other door and helped Jonah out so Curan could carry him. The eight wardens headed inside. Without discussion, they headed to the second floor and knocked on the Briefing Room door. A moment later, Benny Hedgewick opened it and blinked in surprise.
“You have returned.” He stuck his head out and looked around. “Where are the others?”
Quinn responded, “Delvin sent us back and told us he needed time to meet his contacts in Kalimar before he returns.”
Benny nodded. “That sounds like him. And Thiron?”
Sadness passed Chuli’s face at the mention of Thiron’s name.
Everson said in a somber tone, “May we come in? We have much to tell you.”
“Yes. Please.”
The meeting consumed an hour as Everson and the other wardens relayed the events in Wayport and Kalimar. Telling of the deaths of Torney and Thiron cast a veil of sorrow over the group. Though many others had died, the impact of losing friends had a much stronger impact.
“What of the
other wardens? Has Rena returned?” Everson’s voice fell to a hush. “Does she know about Torney?”
Benny looked at the other leaders, a look that only increased Everson’s concern. “They have returned, all except Master Kwai-Lan. He did not survive.”
“And what about Rena? Is she all right?”
“Physically, she is well.” Firellus shook his head, his worry apparent. “However, her mental state is…very poor.”
Cassie gasped. “Where is she?”
“In her room, I suspect. We meet with her daily, taking turns. However, she remains despondent and will barely eat.”
Benny added, “Most days, she won’t even get out of bed.”
“What happened?”
Nindlerod answered, “The mission in Vallerton did not go well. They saved most of the citizens but were forced to abandon the town. In fact, King Cassius has closed the Red Towers and the entire surrounding region completely, barring anyone from entering. Something is very wrong there.”
“When the squad returned, Rena was already in bad shape,” Benny said. “Hearing about Torney’s death proved to be too much for her fragile state. We don’t know what to do. As you are aware, it is not possible to heal mental illness.”
Everson thought of Cassie, aware that she and Rena had grown close. Her concern was evident and he wondered what they could do to help.
A long moment of silence was interrupted when Brandt stood. “If that is all, I am beat,” he said. “A hot meal and an even hotter bath would both be quite welcome.”
“There is one more thing,” Nindlerod said. “We approved Henrick’s expedition. He departed last week and set off for Vingarri.”
Everson frowned. “Why Vingarri?”
“Since it is the oldest city in Issalia, he expected to find the oldest wrecks off shore there. More than anything, the boy seems determined to find keys to our past hidden at the bottom of the ocean.”
Everson wondered what it would be like to explore an ancient shipwreck. As the group wandered out of the room, his mind wandered, dreaming of what Henrick might discover.
Epilogue
Henrick Churles held tight to the side of the fishing boat, peering over the side as the hired men pulled on the oars. The old fisherman and his son had demanded a full gold mark for the use of their boat, claiming it was compensation for missing a day of fishing. Based on the size of the small boat and the condition of their clothing, Henrick doubted the men earned a gold piece from an entire month of fishing. Still, he had the money. More importantly, he needed a boat and a guide who knew the bay.
A mile to the west, the coastline appeared to rise and fall as the ocean swell rolled beneath the boat. The city of Vingarri was nestled in the bay, built on a hillside with a zig-zagging street leading from the docks to the castle on top. It was not a large city, but it was an old city – the oldest in Issalia. For that alone, Henrick has chosen it for his first expedition.
The oars settled, and Henrick asked, “What is it? Is something wrong?” Despite his desire to explore the ocean depths, he had little experience on boats and was unsure of what to expect.
“The reef you asked about. It’s right there.” The man nodded toward a post, painted red, sticking three feet above the surface. “There’s your marker.”
“And you’re sure there is a wreck here?”
“There is, but she’s sunk deep. The reef is only four or five feet below the water, but it drops off fast, down to forty or fifty feet for sure.”
Henrick nodded. It was perfect.
He removed his cloak and coat, undressing to a tunic and breeches. The water would be cold, but a southern current had warmed it noticeably since he had first arrived in Vingarri six days earlier. He pulled on the Heavy-augmented boots and strapped the diving harness to his torso. Pulling some slack from the reel of rope, he had the old man tie it to the loop on his back.
Henrick hung the bell on the reel and said, “Remember, you are to pull me up after I ring the bell twice.” Silent nods were his only reply.
He placed the Chaos-conduction air pump on his seat while the curious fishermen looked on. With the pull of a lever, the pump began to run with a steady hum between whistling pumps of air. Henrick placed the metal-framed glass helmet on his head, twisted it, and secured it to the harness. He made sure the coil of tubing was secured on both ends and free to uncoil before giving himself a mental nod.
The reality of the situation struck. His heart began to pound as if it were trying to escape his chest. He sat on the edge of the boat, his armpits damp despite the chill of the wind.
You can do this, Henrick. He looked at the fishermen who were staring at him, waiting. What if I don’t jump in? The raw embarrassment of failing after everything he had done to get to this point…well, that was enough to overcome his fear.
Henrick pushed off and plunged into the cold, dark water. His chest constricted, and he found himself panting for air as he sank downward, panicking.
Air. I can breathe. His breathing calmed, and he turned to examine his surroundings.
The reef, filled with greens and oranges and whites, slid past as he continued to sink. Fish of various sizes and colors swam past, some with stripes, some solid, some iridescent. Many had their noses buried in the reef and some even darted into dark recesses to hide. All in all, the sight was mesmerizing.
And still, he continued to sink.
Henrick spotted the remains of a ship on the bottom, the hull snapped in half. Both masts were pointing upward at an angle, one toward him, the other away from him. Pale barnacles and green moss covered most of the ship. Where the wood showed, it was now black.
When he finally landed on the sandy ocean floor, he peered up through the rising bubbles emitted from his helmet. His gaze followed the curving trail of the air line and the rope connecting him to the fishing boat, the hull a dark silhouette amid the brightly lit surface.
With slow, floating steps – each covering four to five feet at a time – he moved toward the shipwreck. A shadow moved within the wreck and darted out into the open water. Henrick froze at the sight, his hand gripping the hilt of the dagger on his hip. The fish had visible, pointed teeth, each the size of one of Henrick’s fingers. Its mouth was big enough to take a sizable chunk out of him if it decided he was food. The fish was seven or eight feet long and as black as night. Beady eyes seemed to measure him for a moment, and then the fish sped off, chasing a school of shining, silvery fish darting this way and that in unison as if choreographed.
He had been holding his breath, but now Henrick exhaled and continued his advance.
An anchor as big as a man lay beside the wreck, partially buried in the sand. The broken vessel leaned against a huge dark rock. By climbing the rock, Henrick drew even with the tilted deck.
He stepped onto the deck, which was slippery where it was green but provided traction where the pale barnacles resided. After a moment of consideration, he angled toward the open door of the cabin below the quarterdeck. He paused inside the doorway to allow his eyes to adjust.
The remains of a single bunk sat on one side and a broken table and chairs were on the other, suggesting it had once been the captain’s cabin. Scattered and broken clay crockery lay on the floor. He picked up a pitcher, but decided it was nothing special. Discarding it, he searched for other, more interesting treasures.
At the far end of the room, a beam of light illuminated a frame on the wall, revealing colors of red and black and blue beneath the green moss. Henrick carefully ran his blade across the panel to clear away the algae. He repeated the process, growing increasingly more excited as he revealed what lay beneath. Finally, he sheathed the knife and gripped the edges of the painting, tearing it from the cabin wall. With his prize in hand, Henrick crossed the room, toward the open doorway. For a moment, he paused and considered exploring further but decided it could wait for another day.
He put the painting beneath his arm with one edge digging into his armpit, his arm barely long
enough to wrap his fingers around the other edge. With his other hand, he reached up for the tow rope and gave it two hard jerks. Moments passed, and then, the rope began to pull taught. He walked toward the rope and stepped off the deck when he felt it tug on the harness.
Up and up he went, watching the reef fish eating as he rose toward the surface. Suddenly, his head bobbed above the water, and he held the painting above his head. One of the men took it before both gripped his arms and pulled him into the boat.
Henrick unlocked the helmet, twisting it and pulling it free. The younger man handed him a towel, which he used to dry himself the best he could before wrapping his cloak about himself to shield against the wind.
“Well, did you get what you came for?” the older man asked.
Henrick picked the painting up and used the damp towel to rub away the remaining moss. What it revealed beneath had Henrick’s eyes alight with wonder, his mind racing at the possibilities.
“Is that a map?” The old man said, leaning forward as he peered at it. “That don’t look like any map I’ve ever seen.”
“Exactly!” Henrick said with a grin. “This is a map of another land.”
“Another land?” the younger man sounded confused. “I thought Issalia was all there was.”
Henrick ignored the comment, pointing at the starchart at the upper portion of the map. “See these stars? The pattern matches what we see in the distant south just before sunrise.”
“What’s it mean?”
“It means there is another land, far to the southeast – a new land to explore with new things to discover!”
Henrick fell silent, grinning at the painting in his hands, his fingers nearly purple as he shivered in the wind. His body was cold, but he ignored his discomfort and focused on his discovery.
As he had always dreamed, he had uncovered clues to an unknown history, clues hidden at the bottom of the ocean. The map left him wondering what mysteries might be revealed by following it.
He needed to return to the Ward. It was time to prepare for a new expedition, one that might change the world forever.
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