by S. Nileson
“So this is where they rule the seas from?” Archer asked, looking at the wooden gate widely open for all those who wished to enter or leave Senna. It was a busy place, with many sailors shouting to one another strange commands composed of poorly voiced words and awkward phrases. He could make none of it out and cared little about deciphering their code.
“This is Senna,” Ascilla agreed. “This is where the Ichneumon Order currently is.”
“Where do you suppose we begin our search?”
Ascilla looked around, scanning the area indiscriminately, took a deep breath and said, “Something weighs heavy on me, Archer.”
“Don’t worry, we will find Balta and Keteus. I will not rest until I do.”
“That’s not what concerns me.” She looked at him, eyes lost and no longer bearing the aura of determination they usually did, and added, “I must declare my presence to Duke Constantine.”
“It’s not my place to stop you from doing so.” Thoughts raced in Archer’s head. Without Ascilla, it was clear to him in Stonerift, or his other companions, he was lost. Keshish’s will was enough, for a time, to drive him to seek adventure, but even then Ascilla was by his side. Even then the Walkyrien was his guardian.
“Either way, it would be the best place to start the search for Balta.”
Archer noticed how she forced herself not to specify whose search it was. “You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you, Ascilla. Whatever happens, I will forever be indebted to you.” He swallowed, dryly, and did what he could to control his quivering voice. “Let’s go to Duke Constantine. Let’s visit this man who commands your loyalty so.”
The time was ripe for the travelers to visit the patient Duke Constantine, the once leader of the Peacekeeper Core and later that of the Ichneumon Order. In all of Nosgard few men commanded the same weight of his words. Strange, some thought, how both him and Ganis, bitter enemies during the Second Civil War of Man, have come to work so trustingly and closely to one another for the common good of the fragmented empire.
2
Sennan’s often split history in two, before the world became small and after it did. The first is considered ancient history, when their ships were not capable of carrying them far and the seas were deemed the edge of the world, endless oceans leading nowhere. Impassable waters. The latter extends from the time their first great ships were built, of which none remain and their existence subject of much skepticism, and at the dawn of the Four Kingdoms’ formation.
In all of Senna there was but one place that existed throughout both these ages, the great library serving both as a lighthouse and as a store to all discovered knowledge, even more so than the Parthan School of Knowledge which has gained much praise since the Demigod Servak came to rule. The library, by ancient decree, suspended all laws within it save for one: ‘thou shalt disturb none’. Those words were etched by the mighty stone entrance repaired beyond recognition, yet still maintaining the style and spirit of its ancient stones.
It was in such place that the Duke of the Ichneumon Order stayed, the very same place which offered him the scrolls that saved Nosgard at the cost of his sight.
“What is this place?” Archer asked of Ascilla as he saw the grand structure at Senna’s center stand tall and proud, its peak well above anything else in sight.
“An ancient library from a time long gone. Whatever resides within is worth more than all the wealth in Nosgard. It’s a wonder that it still remains.” She looked up at the scripture by the entrance and stood entranced for a few moments before knocking thrice on the door, its ancient wood echoing mightily at the Ascilla’s strong pound.
Sounds of hurried footsteps came from within, sand rubbing against ancient stone and Sennan sandals, and a distant voice said, “Coming! Coming!” And the mighty door opened, a gateway into a world of sanctuary, history and near-endless knowledge.
“I am Ascilla, Walkyrien of the Ichneumon Order.” She removed her cloak and revealed her wonderful white wings, feathers shining with the bright rays of Sennan sun piercing through the few clouds beneath it. A strange expression of passive sorrow overcoming her radiant face.
“Ah,” the old man said, opening the door even wider and allowing the visitors a clear view of him. He wore brown robes with a rope tied across his waist and made no effort to hide his wrinkly neck and chest visible by a poorly tailored outfit. A half-coil of long white hair sprouted from the sides of his otherwise bald head and fell wildly on his shoulders, reacting subtly to the cool breeze allowed into the ancient library. “I suppose you seek the Duke. Please come in.” The old monk led them in through shelves of scrolls and books extending high above them, well beyond the sight allowed by the few oil lamps carefully placed away from the flammable valuables. The smell of ancient text filled the air.
“Ascilla,” Archer whispered, “Why do you seem so sad?”
The Walkyrien remained quiet, following the monk in contemplative walk. When Archer was about to repeat his question, doubting that he was loud enough to be heard, she answered, “When you know what this library represents, the sacrifices of countless generations it took to maintain it and the sacrifices it had yet to demand, then you too will feel the sorrow I do.”
Through wooden corridors the three were led, narrower than the former hall but still rich with scrolls and books carefully stacked atop one another and over sturdy shelves securely attached into the walls. There were no oil lamps and the three were guided only by a light seeping through the openings of a door left ajar by the very end of the corridor. They reached the door and the monk knocked twice, waiting patiently for a moment to pass before pushing the door and widening the gap for the two guests to pass. “The Duke is in there,” the monk said.
Once they entered they heard the sound of the monk’s sandals walking away, derelict sand grazing on the stone. When their focus returned to the room, warm with the small fires of many candles placed on iron plates and secured by nothing other than their own wax, they saw the seated Duke Constantine, a hunched bony man wearing a similar hooded brown cloak to that which the monk wore. Duke Constantine was blinded during the Ancients War and ever since he covered his eyes with a piece of cloth, its color varying depending on what he was offered. Yet on this fateful day his cloth was not seen by the two visitors from the shadow of his hood, which fell on most of his face, allowing only his mouth and chin to be seen by Archer and Ascilla.
“My child has returned from the dead, it seems,” the old Duke said with a voice cracking of age and impressive experience. He spoke softly yet commandingly. It was not a voice which either Archer or Ascilla wished to argue against. Constantine rolled shut a scroll he was examining before his visitors entered, leaving it on the wooden table which he rested his wrinkly, bony fingers on.
“Lord Duke,” Ascilla said and bowed. “Forgive me for tarrying.”
“No need for forgiveness, child. Please arise and introduce me to your new friend. I sense I know him but his gait is somewhat changed.” He moved his head ever so slightly towards Archer, much like a seeing man would, but raised it not.
“This is Archer, Lord Duke, and he is a trusted friend and ally, the same you sent me to fetch and protect many months ago.” She gestured at Archer with palm open and returned to stand respectfully, much like a scolded child would.
“Then you were even more successful than I hoped.” The Duke hummed in contemplation. “I suppose you arrived on the Provocation.”
“We did, Lord Duke.”
“So you met Prince Iolcus before you were intended to, Archer.”
Archer’s eyes widened at the extent of Keshish’s influence. He thought the man was an old hermit, shunned away from society and barely knowing a soul. Yet the more he travels and ventures around the great continent the closer Archer gets to the truth of Keshish’s influence. The old hermit was not what he seemed. The old hermit was not a hermit at all and, it appeared to Archer, that he did much more than tanning leather and curing hides. “So you knew Keshis
h?”
“Keshish?” Duke Constantine asked and awaited no response. “The name is foreign to me. I know not of this Keshish, but I do know some of what you were intended to do, by a man no longer with us and much missed.”
“Tell me!” Archer demanded, almost disrespectfully, and earned himself a threatening look from Ascilla, one quickly withdrawn by the Duke’s response.
“When a plan is set in motion, Archer my child, it is vital that few know of its entirety, for not only to protect it from the forces opposing such plan, but also to ensure that the pawns will each move as they are intended to, without concern over the motions of others.”
“Pawns are often sacrificed.”
“Sometimes, not often, and always for the greater good, no matter what it may be. Ultimately there is only one plan that works, dear child, the plan of Fate herself.” The Duke breathed deeply and asked, “Did the Prince give you a blade?”
“No, just his unconditional aid,” Ascilla responded, interrupting Archer to save the Duke, and herself, further offense and disrespect. She did not know how little the Duke cared for such trivialities. To her he was far more than a man, possibly even reaching the station of a god and certainly that of an idol. Offence to the Duke, no matter how minor, was a direct assault on Ascilla herself, and a humiliation beyond what she could bare.
“I see,” said the Duke, withdrawing into thought. “Then I suppose you have all but abandoned your journey. If so, child, then why are you here? Why do you seek me out, an old frail man in the end of his days?”
“It is not him who seeks you out, Lord Duke, but I.” Ascilla lowered her head in shame. “I’ve been presumed dead for long, Lord Duke, and I’ve done nothing to dismiss the rumor. I’ve broken my promise of diligence.”
“Nonsense, my child,” he spoke in a soft tone of unconditional positive regard, much like that of a loving parent. “In your pursuit you have made me proud. It might have been a deviation from the literal words by which your mission was decreed, but you remained true to its purpose, to remain with Archer and look after him until his journey is complete.”
“But, Lord Duke, he has abandoned his mission, and now only seeks to find his lost companion and friend Balta, whom we were separated from shortly after visiting Fort Pax.”
“I see. And do you know of your friend’s intentions and of his bearings?”
“I do, Lord Duke, he intends to take on Archer’s mantle and continue the quest in his stead. He intends to see Keshish’s will fulfilled.”
“Archer, dear child, what are you willing to do for your friend?”
“Whatever it takes to find him once more and make sure he’s safe.”
“What if his safety is conditional on not finding him?”
Archer paused for a moment. He thought of Balta and what Duke Constantine’s words meant, the possibility of the impossibility of having his desires fulfilled. Archer wanted to find Balta and make certain he was safe, but both, it was clarified to him by the blind Duke, might be in contradiction. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“So do I, my dear child.”
“Guide us, Lord Duke, on what we should do next.” Ascilla pleaded.
“You, Ascilla, are to remain with Archer for now and help him seek out Balta. Your duties are to ensure their safety and see to it that they complete their quest. If they diverge, and each seeks his own way, towards their quest or away, then I will trust in your choice to decide who best to serve.”
“Where should we go, Lord Duke, with no thread to follow?”
“Follow the path of deliverance. Follow the path that Balta takes in Archer’s name. If he truly is alive and well, he will find the next clue and be led as you would have.” He hummed to himself a moment and moved his head away from the visitors and towards a wall to his left. His blind eyes faced a great portrait not well visible with the flickering candle lights playing a silent tune for the shadows to dance on. “The very end of your quest leads to Gallecia, but without proper measure it would not be safe to go to the black city. The Kolian Warchief Starkad will know more, for he was closest to the Emperor and his kin than any of us ever were, and Kol is not far from Gallecia, and infinitely safer to both friend and foe of the fallen Emperor.”
“So we head to Kol, Lord Duke?”
“Indeed, but the road is not direct and you will need to get to the mainland first. There are ships intending for Estgard leaving soon. With or without the tide it matters not. Your fastest route to Kol would start on one of those ships, then perhaps a caravan to Alvissmal and later to Kol. Try to keep yourselves hidden on your search for Balta, and I will do my best to listen for any whispers of his passage here. If he decides to appear in Senna as your quest intended, then I will disclose what I know to him, and aid him however I can.”
“Thank you,” Archer said, “for being so kind to a stranger in need. I can’t express enough my gratitude.”
Duke Constantine smiled and said, “Express it by giving your journey thoughts once more, when the time comes when you and Balta are together once more.” Silently he thought, if the time comes.
“Lord Duke!” Ascilla said and bowed, offering a formal soldierly solute before leaving and guiding Archer out. The robed monk nowhere to be seen.
3
“So Estgard it is?” Archer asked of Ascilla. She guided him through the busy stalls of merchants dispersed around the Sennan streets.
“You heard the Duke. If Balta remains true—”
“Balta will remain true,” Archer interrupted, speaking with a tone bearing no sign of offense or aggression, just sincere correction.
“Then he will end up in Kol.” Ascilla smiled, pushing a passerby, distracted by what one of the merchants had to offer gently and respectfully out of the way, gesturing to seek permission rather than make demand.
“How can you be so sure?” He squeezed himself between a stall and the distracted passerby after he politely made way to Ascilla, brushing slightly against both but stirring no commotion.
“I’m a soldier. I have to believe if I am to continue.”
They reached crossroads with a wooden sign directing its readers towards many different districts and destinations, of which the Trader’s Wharf and Port was among. Ascilla pointed at the sign and said, “I believe our best bet would be the Trader’s Port.”
Archer followed, offering no input. “Have you decided what to do should Balta and I seek different paths?”
“I thought I have, but in truth I was deceiving myself into thinking I’m far more prepared that I really am. If I’ve learnt anything from my service, it’s that plans seldom go as intended, even Keshish, the man who seemed to know everyone that’s anyone here in Nosgard, had his plan disturbed.”
“I don’t think Keshish is what he claimed to be,” Archer’s voice lowered. He was disappointed by the trickery of a man he thought he knew so well, a man he trusted above all.
Ascilla laughed. “It was clear a long time ago that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. Besides, I don’t think it matters anymore.”
“Do you think I should go on with his will?”
“I think it’s too important not to. I’m disappointed that it was left to you alone.”
Archer sobbed at the remark. “I didn’t ask for it. It’s bigger than me.”
“I’m sorry, Archer, it’s not what I meant.”
“It’s true nonetheless. I am a disappointment.”
“That’s not true, Archer, have you forgotten how Ganis acknowledged you? I myself am no admirer of the Countess but at least I know enough to see the weight of her word and the wisdom in her actions. Getting her approval is no small feat, and one only achieved by a handful of people in all of the known world.”
“It was above me.”
“No single man or woman can bear the weight on this quest alone, Archer, no matter how wise, strong and influential. This work is meant for gods, or enough people to give mortals a fighting chance.”
They continued
to walk in silence, past the stalls of gem sellers and carpenters and closer to the stinky stalls of those who offered fish and bounties of the sea. Wetness prevailed in the air and the wooden stalls wreaked of rotting fish caught a few days back. Archer was surprised at the offered goods, knowing little of how masterful Sennans had become in the preservation and treatment of fish long expired. There was a solution and use for everything, Sennans thought, and fish rotted beyond saving was used for bait or to feed herds of cattle especially suited for the digestion of such aged meat.
As they approached the port, where sailors gathered in hopes of making some extra coin by offering travelers save voyage across the sea, they heard the names of various cities and trade ports shouted, Estgard being one of them.
“This one seems to be going to Estgard.” Ascilla pointed at one of the ships identical to many around it.
A man took note of the foreigners and kept a watchful eye on them, waiting for them to come close enough before he said, “You seeking safe voyage to Estgard?” The sailor asked. He wore a loose white linen shirt, yellowed around the chest and underarms with many days of sweat, and brown leather pants worn off wherever his legs forced them to bend. His dark hair was trimmed short and he wore mismatching earrings which swung violently as his squinting eyes temporarily shot a glance and a few men shouting words of interest to him.
“Indeed we are,” Ascilla said. “Have you a ship intending it?”
“Aye,” he said with a strong Sennan accent. “Tomorrow she sails, this beauty there yonder.” He gestured with his thumb at a ship docked behind him. It was identical to at least four ships nearby save for the two platforms erected between it and the wooden docks.
“She really is a beauty,” Archer remarked, whispering to Ascilla but not avoiding the sailor’s ears. Ascilla smiled in suppression to a laugh and the sailor shot an unappreciative glance.