The Keystaff Chronicles Chapter 5

Chapter 5

In the end, Luthien and Ofeera were persuaded to let the gray elf join them on their quest. (Azarielle’s continued suggestions that the dangerous elf be rendered unconscious was largely ignored by her companions and seemed to only amuse the slayer.) He gave his name as Breaker, and as a sign of goodwill, he permitted the knight to keep his weapons. As a sign of faith on his part, Luthien chased Azarielle out of the room before she could truss Breaker up with an arcane net.

The rest of the night was blessedly uneventful in its passing, though for Luthien, it was a restless one. The knight could not fall asleep, and his mind raced faster than the most fleet-footed of horses. Lucien’s thoughts flitted from one subject to another, from the garish Silver Hawk and its disreputable crew to his brother. One moment, his ruminations led him to think that the air ship would plummet from the sky and send them all to their watery graves; the next, he worried that as they rested this night, his brother was getting further and further ahead.

He tried to distract his mind from such thoughts by turning his attentions to his new room mate. Breaker had “bedded down” in the far corner of the room by sitting with his back against the wall. Luthien could just make out the barest outline of the elf’s slim figure in the darkness, a shadowy form that held so still it seemed to meld into the surrounding blackness. Breaker made no sound at all; in fact Luthien could not even hear breathing from the elf’s side of the room. Though he had not immediately recognized that Breaker belonged to the secretive Brotherhood of the Red Hand, he did know its members by reputation. They were amongst the deadliest of Faearth’s assassins, and their skills were such that many considered them to be death incarnates. And despite his show of faith, Luthien was wary of the elf. To himself and to Abihayil, the young prince could admit that a part of him had wanted Azarielle to work her arcane skills to bind their dangerous new companion.

And then, he turned his thoughts to the young mage again. She was probably the most infuriating person he had ever encountered. Words seemed to pass through her lips without being processed in her mind first. And yet, she was skilled in the Art, there was no denying that, but even more importantly, she seemed unusually experienced in combat. Her mind was certainly sharp, but the practiced precision in which she handled Breaker, that almost disconcerting calmness as she faced a slayer who moved with the swiftness of wind and flowed with the grace of water…! By her own admission, she had fought slayers before. Luthien now wondered how many times she had fought them. And the fact that she was still alive was in itself a testament of her skill and Abihayil’s blessings!

Ree Yonanne – Breaker had called her – the First Lady of the State of Long Peace. ‘First Lady’ was the title given to the highest ranking wife of a prince of the Dark Empire, and Luthien knew that that Yue, the Prince Governor of Long Peace and one of the most powerful princes of the Dark Empire, did no have a wife by that title. In fact, intelligence reports sent to his father spoke of a month-long war that Prince Yue had fought for that very reason. One of the Dark Empire’s vassal kingdoms had offered a princess to Yue to be his First Lady. Instead of granting her that honored title, Yue had made her one of his lesser concubines, an act that the vassal kingdom had taken as the vilest of insults.

Was the gray elf been mistaken or had Azarielle been another one of such noble ladies jilted by Prince Yue? With her thoughtless words and her easy-going manner, Azarielle certainly did not have the gentle, reserved nature that the women of the Dark Empire strived for. And if the thorn crown pendant she wore around her neck was indicative of her faith, than she was a follower of the Uncrowned King, a belief no espoused in that heathen empire. She did hail from the Dark Empire though, her coloring left no room for question in that area, and her amber eyes did speak of noble blood. Luthien wondered if she would answer him honestly if he asked.

More likely then not, she would smile at her infuriatingly cheerful smile at him and inquire in the most grating way possible if he had perhaps consumed bad food.

“Do not let troubled thoughts cloud your mind, knight, or is it that you feel troubled by my presence?” Breaker’s voice, though quiet, cut through the silence of the room. “Rest while you can, for you will need your energy.”

Luthien grunted noncommittally in response. Although he knew that the elf spoke truly, he also knew that he would not be able to find respite that knight. And yet, even as he resigned himself to a sleepless night, his eyes clouds and he was finally granted a much needed respite from his own thoughts.

* * * * *

Azarielle perched atop the roof of the inn, her knees bent and her arms wrapped around her knees. In the room below, Ofeera slept. The healer had been so troubled that she had stayed awake tossing and turning. So that her friend might finally get some much needed rest, Azarielle spoke a few words and put her the healer in an Art-induced slumber. And then, the young mage had opened the windows and pulled herself onto the roof so that she might enjoy the salty sea breeze and clear her own mind.

It had been a long time since anyone had called her by the name that her father had given her. An insignificant eighth daughter born to a third wife who no longer had her husband’s favor, her fate was to become a wife of a minor noble. Her status at husband’s home would have been determined by the number of sons she bore him.
But then, on her sixth birthday, the Imperial Testers had come to her home. Her father, a minor baron who served as a clerk in the Ministry of Culture, had hoped that her brothers would have a greater affinity for the Arcane Arts than he did and attain a higher rank than he had. Instead, they proclaimed that she, Ree Yonanne, the virtually valueless eighth daughter, was the one who had an unusually great affinity for the Art, so great in fact, that despite being a girl, she would be brought to the capital and trained in the Arts by the finest masters.

When she was twelve, she started in her service as a handmaiden and guard for the Dowager Empress of Fortune and Longevity. The grandmotherly dowager empress who was herself an incredibly powerful mage had taken an immediate liking to the young girl and took it upon herself to instruct her further in the Arcane Arts. And then, when she turned fourteen, the Dowager Empress decided that she would make a fine wife for one of her sons and gave her High Decree that she was to be betrothed to her eleventh grandson.

Things went from quite pleasant to horrendously disastrous in the course of a year, what with the rather unfortunate and very much illicit liaisons between the Luminous Consort and her future husband, the acid-breathing black dragon, and the whole thing about her being hunted as a renegade. But the one joyous thing to come out of this disastrous turn of events was that she escaped the Dark Empire and was found by Abihayil. Now only if she didn’t have to go back to Rising Sun!

With a long sigh, Azarielle offered a long rambling prayer to Abihayil, beseeching the Eternal Father that he might change his mind and not send her into the place she most dreaded.

* * * * *

The next morning, Luthien roused his companions at the break of dawn. They ate a quick meal of warm milk and freshly baked bread with Ofeera pecking at her food and Azarielle happily devouring everything in sight. When the four companions left for the dock, the sun was a crimson half disc floating in the ocean, and the eastern horizon was like a bold canvas splashed with red, gold, pink and lavender.

Silver Hawk and her crew awaited them when they arrived. Even with the soft, rosy colors of dawn, the air ship looked to Luthien like a hideous misbegotten construct that was never meant to exist. The ship captain, who welcomed him with a hearty clap on the back and a great, wide grin that showed tobacco stained teeth, introduced himself and his crew to the rest of the young knight’s companions. Then, he and Luthien haggled over prices about the addition of a fourth traveler.

As the two discussed fares, Azarielle examined the runes inscribed into the side of the ship. Despite the overly extravagant, almost comical loops and curves that marked each rune, Azarielle could tell that the ship and been imbued with impressive Arcane power. The Arcane shield surrounding the ship would allow it to withstand considerable damage.
“Who did you say did the runes on your ship?” she asked.

“The finest mage in all of Westhore!” the captain boasted, repeating the same line he had given Luthien the night before.

“Lovely,” the young mage replied as she wandered back to where Ofeera and Breaker were waiting, “I wonder if he also does those paintings that are in such wild demand right now, you know, those squiggly doodles that look like children drew them, but are worth a king’s ransom?”

“Finest mage, I tell ye; ye won’t find better!” the sea captain exclaimed, “But if ya want, I can be getting you some paintings, and for a pretty lass like yeself, I’ll give a good price.”

“Oh, I don’t really understand that kind of thing,” the young mage waved her hand dismissively. “It would be wasted on me. But I have a question, good captain, is there supposed to be a cannonball hole at the front of the ship?”

The ship’s captain’s eyes widened and he put a weathered, almost leathery hand to his chest, “Ye wound me, lass! This grand lady might be old, but she soars like a hawk! A little pinprick won’t be slowing her down!”

“Since you are here talking to us and not, you know, splattered somewhere in the ocean, I’ll take your word for it,” the mage replied. “By the way, unless you are completely and utterly anatomically unique, your heart is on your left-side, not the right. It’s more dramatic when you get it right.”

Before Azarielle could say anything else randomly insulting that might cost them their passage, Ofeera quickly added, “We are very grateful for you to be making room for us on your ship, Captain Petabee.”

“Would you still be very grateful if you knew that a mage from Rising Sun did these runes?” Azarielle sent this thought straight into the minds of her companions, making both Luthien and Breaker start.

“Will the ship fly?” Though Ofeera could not send her thoughts into another’s mind, she knew that her friend would be able to read the thoughts that she formed carefully in her mind.

“Oh, it will,” Azarielle responded. “In fact, I’d say that the mage who inscribed these runes could probably serve in the house of a noble. That means it would take three knights of Elad to, how is it you guys put it, ‘strike him or her down with righteous fury’? I do like that phrase though. Abihayil willing, I might even get to use it. Oh, and when I say three knights, I mean three useful knights. The fellows who run around waving their swords and screaming ‘evil be gone’ from two dozen feet away don’t count. ”

Luthien did his best to ignore the inane and horrendously loud thoughts bombarding his mind and finished his negotiation with the air shift captain. It was a show really, his haggling with this man. He simply did not want to appear too desperate on the off chance that Captain Petabee’s curiosity overcame his greed and the man started asking questions. But the captain took his payment quite cheerfully and, thankfully, without asking a single question. In fact, he didn’t even cast a second look at the gray elf, who was dressed in nondescript tans and browns with the cowl of a hooded cloak pulled low over his place. Thought relieved that they would set sail without any further delays, the young knight wondered what sort of business this captain ran that he had no concern for the passengers that boarded his ship.

Having finally arrived at an agreement with the captain, the knight came to join his companions. Turning to Azarielle, he said quietly, “It is not so unusual for the Dark Empire’s mages to seek work in Westshore.”

Azarielle shrugged, “It’s also not unusual for sea and air ship captains to transport persons of interest to the Dark Empire’s authorities to keep on their good side.”

“And you would know this because?” Luthien regarded the young mage intently.

“Purple Bamboo’s brother acted as a liaison between said authorities and the captains,” the young mage replied matter-of-factly.

“And who is Purple Bamboo?” Luthien felt exasperation building inside him, a feeling he was beginning to associate with the mage in general.

“She’s the maid of a former teacher,” the mage replied, and then pointed at the ship. “Shall we board the swiftly flying Silver Hawk with the cannonball hole in the front and sail into the sapphire horizon in search of adventure and excitement?”

* * * * *

The four companions boarded the Silver Hawk and were led a room with two sets of rickety bunk beds, a single night stand with a wrought iron lantern holding a half melted candle, and no windows. Meals, they were told, would be served three times a day in the mass hall, and they could either eat with the crew or return to their room. So long as they did not get in the way of the crew, they were welcomed on board the deck.

Azarielle placed a protective shield around all of the packs except for Breaker’s, because the gray elf was quite adamant about not letting his things be contaminated by a mage’s vile Art. He said so in as much words. When Azarielle did nothing but smile pleasantly at him, Ofeera asked the gray elf to accompany her on board because she was very much aware that when her mage friend smiled with that kind of bland congeniality, she was actually imagining all sorts of uncongenial things to do to whomever it was that had offended her.

The lovely healer drew much unwanted attention from the ship’s crew when she stepped out onto the deck. She tried her best to ignore the leers she drew and found a spot next to the railing of the ship. In the very least, at least this crew did not have any ridiculously notions about letting a woman board an air ship.

The ship’s crew was making final preparations, rushing about pulling various ropes, raising the sails, with the captain bellowing orders from the helm of the ship that made about as much sense to her as one of Azarielle’s incantations. And though she could see the men running about in all directions doing various tasks like worker ants swarming out of a hill, and hear them shout, curse, and slap their bare feet against the deck, she felt strangely peaceful.

Behind her, stretching into infinity was the Tranquilean Ocean. Although she had never flown such far distances as they were about to, Azarielle had described to her experience crossing this vastest of all oceans. The mage had said that when the skies were clear and the waves were calm, it felt like the world was nothing but blue, sapphire skies melting into cerulean seas. With the sun finally taken to the sky, the eastern horizon was veiled in shimmering gold of the morning’s glory, and thought she found it hard to look in that direction for long, Ofeera found herself lulled into a sense of peace. The ocean seemed endless, and this ship with its lively crew was but a single note in the rhythmic song of the waters.

“I appreciate you accompanying me up here,” Ofeera said quietly to the gray elf as he came up to stand beside her.

“It is an honor, lady healer,” he replied, his voice as melodious as Theredoniel’s, though his inflection of the words did not have her high elf brother-in-law’s lilting tones.

“Please, just Ofeera. I was pleasantly surprised that you were willing to accompany me,” the healer tried to choose her words carefully. “I did not think… because you are not fond of arcane users.”

The gray elf’s dual colored eyes twinkled with amusement, “I have always respected the healers who wield their powers for the good of others. Mages are different. Their powers come from the darkness and they bring nothing but death. Their ‘power’ created the accursed Forsaken Lands.”

“All power comes from Abihayil, the Eternal Father, so the power, in itself is not evil. It is the people who decide whether to abuse their power,” Azarielle came up behind them, “Arcane power created the Forsaken Lands, but it was the servants of the Abyssal Ones who started the war.”

“One million people died in that war, mage,” the gray elf’s words were cold.

“And tens of millions of people have died since in wars not of a mage’s making,” Azarielle replied. “I do not excuse our actions or involvement during the Plague War, but war comes about because of arrogance and greed. Arcane power is merely an instrument to carry out man’s ill intentions, much like a sword or a spear.”

“No mortal should have the kind of power that a mage wields,” the gray elf replied. “You are abominations that should have never existed.”

The mage grinned widely at that, “The Brotherhood wants all mages to die. The Knights of Elad thinks Abihayil should just drop a flaming meteor atop the Dark Empire. High elves believe gray elves are nothing more than lowly animals…I am going to get to my point soon, Ofeera, don’t frown at me so or you will have wrinkles. The nomads of the Shift Sands think all city dwellers are abyssal spawns. Truly, if we all got our wish, the world would be a peaceful place. But that’s because everyone would be dead. Now wouldn’t that be boring, Breaker?”

Before the gray elf could reply, the air ship gave a great groan, like an old lady climbing to her feet after sitting down for a long while, and lurched forward. Water parted ways in on either side of the Silver Hawk as the ship sailed slowly away from the dock. The runes inscribed along the sides of the ship came to life, glowing with a soft blue light, and the dingy white sails suddenly filled with the air.

Without warning, the Silver Hawk suddenly hurtled forward with incredible speed, cutting through the water like an arrow flying through the air. And then, the bow of the ship jerked upwards at an angle, and ship took to the air. Like a young bird taking wing for the first time, the ship’s climb into open skies was an unsteady one, quivering and faltering as the wind blasted across the deck.

“Hang on tight, lad and lasses,” Captain Petabee’s roaring voice came over the rushing wind, “The ascent is always a bit unsteady!”

“Only if the ship ascends like this,” Azarielle mumbled as she clung to the railing, her long black hair and bright red coat whipping wildly about her in the wind.

“What?” Ofeera saw her friend’s lips move but was unable to hear a single sound. “What did you say?” The young healer could barely keep her eyes open. The wind and the salt water made tears flow down her cheek as she held on to the railing for dear life, “We should have stayed below!”

“No, that would be even worse. The knight’s probably down there emptying out his breakfast!”

“I can’t hear you!” Ofeera tried to shake a strand of the dark brown hair that fallen into her eyes.

“I’ll tell you later. Just concentrate on not falling overboard. It would be quite unpleasant to fall, because even if you survived the impact, the sharks would get you.”

For what felt like an eternity to the three companions, the ship continued its wobbling climb. When, at last, when their hands were numb from gripping so tightly onto the railing, the Silver Hawk finally straightened itself out. The healer was the first to release her hold on the railing. And then, as if her legs were ice that had melted, she sank to the deck with a long, relieved sigh.

“I hadn’t expected that,” she remarked after a moment.

“Well, that was a rather unpleasant way to wake up,” Azarielle sat down next to her friend. A few strands of her long black hair had escaped from the two gold hair sticks she had used to style her hair. Breaker, who was stretching his fingers, regarded the pins wearily. Despite their ornate appearance, those hair pins were actually thin, sheathed blades that could be thrown or used in close combat. And if this mage was indeed Ree Yoanne as he suspected, then those thin blades were coated with a fast-acting and lethal venom.

As if sensing his stare, the mage turned her honey-gold eyes on him. For just one instant, she regarded him with eyes that held the cold glitter of a well-sharpened dagger, but then, a curtain of blend nonchalance dropped over that piercing expression and she was simply smiling at him rather vacantly.

“I wish your Brotherhood would take us mages off the ‘monster’ list,” she lamented. “I’d really like to learn your balancing techniques. I suppose it must be all that skulking around on rooftops and crawling up and down the walls like a lizard. I wouldn’t actually need to roof-crawl since I am not planning a career change to assassination anytime soon, but it seems like a good trick for looking dignified on an air ship. Hmm, actually, it might be useful to learn how to roof-crawl, just so I can avoid my landlord.”

Although he kept his expression neutral, Breaker felt quite at a loss by the random flow of words from the mage.

“Azarielle, did you not pay your rent?” Ofeera asked, frowning.

“Oh I did,” the mage gave her hair one last pat as she got to her feet, “But he’s been rather upset with me lately. I am not sure if it’s because of the ichor from the giant widow spiders that I accidentally got onto the carpet, or the wall that got turned a little black because I sort of mixed up the ingredients for a potion, or …”

Ofeera rubbed her temples in distress as her friend enumerated her rather creative accidents. While she did believe that Azarielle had compensated the landlord each and every time something happened, having already witnessed one of the young mage’s ‘apologetic explanations’ (where she pointed out various design flaws in the building or bemoaned the poor material used in the construction), she found herself mostly sympathetic towards her friend’s landlord.

“You’ve not told me about the spiders,” the healer said at last, rather weakly.
“Oh well, you know these things happen to me a lot,” Azarielle gave a shrug. “I didn’t want to bore you with the details. Anyhow, I thought you might want to go take a look at Luthien. He was a little green even before I had come on deck. Abihayil willing he’s not making too much of a mess in the room.”

The healer looked at her friend with a look of horrified dismay, “Oh no!”

“Don’t worry, if anything comes out the wrong way, it will be incinerated before it touches the ground,” Azarielle sent the thought into her friend’s mind. “But I forgot about the smell… hmm. Maybe you can you cleanse the air before you walk inside?”

“Incinerated vomit?” Ofeera looked at her friend with an expression on her face that indicated that she wasn’t sure whether she should be horrified or amused. Sometimes, she wondered how her friend’s mind worked that so many strange ideas seemed to march through her thoughts. Shaking her head with a rueful smile, she hurried back down the deck.

That left the mage and the slayer alone on deck. Breaker leaned against the railing and looked off into the distance, seeming to admire the view. A few strands of his jet black hair had escaped the confines of his hood and now fluttered in the air as if they had a life of their own. His face, and his delicately pointed ears, remained hidden. He made no move to acknowledge the young mage, and she decided to respect his obvious desire for silence.

Azarielle wandered down a little further along the railing and looked up at the sails. Awash in the bright morning sunlight, the dingy white sails seemed to glow as if they were golden banners heralding the arrival of a holy army. That image brought a smile to her lips. This gaudily painted air ship, with its riff raff crew and her terribly mismatched band of companions seemed quite the polar opposite of something as hope-inspiring as Abihayil’s victorious army. She was quite certain that they didn’t even share the same goals.

Luthien was pursuing the servant of Abyssal One; a man whom she guessed was related to him. She did not know what kind of reckoning the young knight intended once he caught up with the servant, and from the troubled expression that marred his face whenever the servant came up in conversation, it didn’t seem like he was all that certain of it himself. The gray elf was pursuing the same person with a much clearer goal – if opportunity presented itself, he would slay the servant to avenge his companions. Then, there was Ofeera. Azarielle found her own brows furrowing as she thought of her friend. Ofeera was looking for Eowyna and Theredoniel, but it seemed like she too had a past with the servant. Whatever relationship they might have had, Ofeera at least was still very much in thrall of the man.

As for herself, the task she had been assigned was one of retrieval and capture. The Black Order, which seemed to her heavier than anything else she carried, was the Arcane Council’s decree that if she could not capture Theredoniel alive, she would be have to execute him. And she had no desire to turn the gifts that Abihayil had blessed her with against a man she had come to regard as her own brother.

They might be in pursuit of the same two people, but they were divided in their purpose. Would that unfortunate fact get in their way when they did come upon the servant and Theredoniel?

* * * * *

The days passed quickly for companions, (except for Luthien, who suffered quite terribly from air sickness and spent most of his time curled up into a miserable ball in the belly of the ship, even when Azarielle started referring to him as The Prawn.) blending into one another even as the sky blended into the ocean. Despite her less than impressive appearance, the Silver Hawk proved true to her name, gliding swiftly and, for the most part, smoothly through the endless blue.

The companions fell into something of a routine. Each morning, before the sun rose, Azarielle and Breaker would head up onto the deck. The former would watch the sun rise or meditate while the latter put himself through a series of stretches to keep himself limber. For the most part, the slayer ignored the mage, and she in turn stayed out of his path.

Before breakfast, Azarielle would brew a tea that helped Luthien with his air sickness over mage flames while Ofeera cleaned their shared room. When Breaker returned, he would accompany the healer aboard the deck and she would speak to him of Abihayil and her faith. Azarielle would spend a good part of the day pouring over the Elucielle Gwenevar’s journal and contemplating all the information that she gleaned within. (She determined very quickly that arrogance seemed an inherited trait amongst the mages of House Gwenevar – and that the legendary Elucielle Gwenevar had a fondness for making up unflattering names for anyone worth a mention in her journals.) She would also wander amongst the crew, speaking to the few who seemed friendly.

Nighttime was about the only time, Luthien seemed to feel better. After dinner, he and Azarielle would play chess, with Ofeera, and sometimes even Breaker watching. Other times, the young healer would sing hymns of praise and worship, and her companions would be soothed and lulled by her sweet voice and the beautiful melody.

And so, the days passed.

One morning, while Breaker and Ofeera were taking their usual walk on the ship deck, they noticed that the crew seemed unusually agitated. The sailor atop the crow’s nest was shouting loudly to Captain Petabee about an approaching ship, and several other members of the crew were standing at the bow of the ship, gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands.

Breaker scanned the horizon with his dual-colored eyes narrowed before turning to an anxious Ofeera, “There are three ships coming our way from the northwest, the direction of the Pelican Isles, which is home to pirates.”

Ofeera looked at the direction that Breaker had indicated but found nothing. Nevertheless, having never been in a battle situation, the young healer felt her fingers grow cold with nervousness and quickly murmured a prayer to fortify her courage, “I’ll go fetch Azarielle and Luthien.”

When she pushed open the door of their cabin, Ofeera found the place lit as brightly as day with pale yellow mage globes of all sizes floating about. She tried not to notice the large cob webs dangling in the far corner of a room or the spider that was crawling over a cocoon of some insect it had caught. The light was for reading, and both Luthien and Azarielle seemed engrossed in what they were perusing through.

Luthien was reading over some of Azarielle’s notes, a frown on his face as he struggled with the mage’s writing that she described as free-flowing and everyone else would call illegible. Azarielle herself was looking rather frustrated as she rubbed her temples and scowled down at a heavy journal sitting on her lap. Ofeera knew enough about the high elven languages to know that her friend was probably trying to decipher another book she had pilfered from her teacher.

“Breaker says there are pirates!” The words burst out of her mouth in a rush, without any preface.

Luthien looked up her with concern, and Azarielle looked at her with a dazed expression, “What?”

“Pirates!”

“Oh,” the mage blinked slowly and Ofeera got the distinct impression that Azarielle had not pulled her thoughts from the journal yet. “Oh. Ohhhh! Did we just pass through the Pelican Isles?” The horrified look Ofeera gave her was answer enough.

With her two companions in tow, Ofeera hurried back up to the deck, where the Silver Hawk’s crew was now rushing about in a clear panic. The Silver Hawk had picked up speed. The wind howled through the ship, filling the sails and whipping the two young women’s hair wildly about.

“Three sea troll ships,” Breaker said softly. “And at least one of them is gaining on us.” The gray ring of the elf’s dual-colored eyes seethed with flames that made them glow molten silver.

“I am glad you are excited about it,” Azarielle remarked drily. The elf flashed a wicked grin, but said nothing.

Captain Petabee came towards them with a nervous smile on his face, “We seem to be running into a bit of a problem…”

“A bit as in ship loads of oh-so-hard-to-kill troll pirates?” Azarielle asked.

“Well yes, just three ships mind ye,” the captain continued, ever the wily merchant. “We’ll be needin’ to do a bit o’ maneuvering, but don’t you be worryin’, this grand old lady is as fast as they come!”

“Are your men trained fighters?” Luthien asked.

“The finest in Westshore, I tell ye!” Captain Petabee boasted, puffing up his chest like a rooster might, “But, we might be needin’ just a mite of help, just a mite mind you.”

“We will assist you, Captain,” Luthien replied gravely.

“We can’t really do anything else,” Azarielle added with morbid cheeriness. “If they made troll gift baskets with the crew, what’s left of us will end up being fish bait for the sharks anyhow.”

Ofeera became several shades paler, “Azarielle…”

“Oh, sorry, I hadn’t meant to frighten you. It was just for effect. Don’t worry, we probably wouldn’t survive the splat into the water so your soul would have already ascended into Abihayil’s bosom before those little shark nibbles start.”

“That’s not very comforting either,” the healer said faintly.

“We will be fine,” Luthien glowered at the mage. “You will have our full support, Captain. Do you have a plan of engagement?”

“We do…” the captain’s tone of voice was such that the companions knew immediately that that he did not. “A most excellent plan…”

“Perhaps you will allow us to make some additions to your plan,” Luthien interrupted before Petabee could waste any more precious time with his useless words. “Trolls are difficult to kill. They can grow back almost every part of their body, and the only sure way to slay them is with fire or by beheading. We cannot risk fire if they are too close to us. Also, these ships are likely to carry troll shadow weavers. I do not know the extent of their power, but I know that they attack with illusions and poison.”

“When the first ship reaches us, we need to get rid of the captain and the shadow weavers,” Luthien turned to the slayer. “Breaker, can you get rid of them?”

The gray elf nodded his head in acquiescence. Then knight then turned to Azarielle, “Is there anything you can do to slow the progress of the second and third ship?”

“I have something that might work,” Azarielle responded.

Luthien nodded, “Good. Captain, I will join with you and your men in battling the trolls if the Silver Hawk cannot outrun their ships. Is there any particular part of the ship that we need to defend?”

“Well, the runes…” Captain Petabee. “We need them pretty swirls to fly.”

“Lady Ofeera, we will entrust you to shield the side of the ships.”

Ofeera pinched her bottom lip with her fingers, a gesture of nervousness, “I will do all that the Eternal Father gives me the power to do.”

“Well now, these are fine additions to our exisitin’ plan,” the captain nodded his head in approval, “Now if ye can come with me over there and we can be discussin’ where all the men should be standin’, you know, just in case…”

“Well, the good news is that despite all the ‘inner cleansing’ he’s been doing of late, his head is still functional,” Azarielle remarked.

Ofeera smiled nervously but said nothing in response. Like a serpent constricting its prey, fear coiled tightly inside her chest, squeezing her heart and making it hard to breathe. Her palms, though not sweaty, were cold, as if something inside her was sucking away all the heat.

She had faced death many times before. But those battles had been different; they had been fought in temples and in homes, against illnesses, wounds, and poisons. Sea trolls were breathing, thinking horrors; damned, evil creatures that hovered straddled the realm of the living and the dead, corrupted by the power of the Abyssal Ones. This was a battle in the most physical sense, and the trolls would come at them with steel blades, poisons, and dark Arts. This was Azarielle’s domain, and now, even more than before, she wondered how her mage friend could face nightmarish creature after nightmarish creature and not waver.

The troll ships that were nothing more than ominous specks only a moment ago were now distinct, terrible shapes. Ofeera knew that they would larger and larger until finally, she would gaze upon the terrible, contorted ocher faces with tusks sprouting from their lower lips, and unholy red eyes. And then, they would come, and they would…

“The very first time I encountered a monster, I ran like all seven Abyssal Ones were after me and tripped over an old tree root that was sticking out. That was very nearly the end of me, and I assure you, it would have been a most inglorious end.” Azarielle’s voice interrupted her ruinous thoughts. “That you are still standing here means you are faring thousands of times better than I did. We are here, but more importantly, Abihayil is with you. The prayers of the faithful are more powerful than any Art in the world. So pray, and the Eternal Father’s holy shield will protect the ship, its crew, and all of us.”

The young healer looked up at her friend and managed a slightly less quavering smile, “Thanks, Azarielle.”

Her friend gave her pat on the shoulders, “Now if you will bring up that first shield… I think the cannon balls…”

The first resounding explosions were like thunder rumbling in a distance. Clouds of blue-gray smoke rose ominously into the air, and as the stunned young healer struggled to understand what was happening, Azarielle stretched out both of her arms and spoke the words in the whispery sing-song Arcane language. A fiery sheet of power curved over the bow of the boat just as the first volley of cannonballs struck.

An earth shattering explosion shook the ship as the cannonballs exploded against the mage’s shield, releasing plumes of gray white smoke into the air. Ofeera opened her mouth to scream but if any sound came out, it was drowned out by the thunderous barrage. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, and the smoke stung her eyes so badly that tears ran free.

She knew that should do something, but her body quaked as if she were a leaf in the trembling in the storm and would not obey her command. She tried to recall a prayer, a psalm, anything; but the words that she could usually recite backwards had flown from her mind.

The Silver Hawk’s crew was rushing about the deck, arming themselves with swords, and lighting torches. Luthien had said something about fire, about how trolls were afraid of fire. But in her fear-stricken state, Ofeera could barely even make sense of what everyone was doing let alone remember what the knight had said.

“Lady, you must not breathe so quickly.”

A hand reached out, patting her back. Ofeera blinked and looked up, and found herself looking into Breaker’s strangely beautiful dual-colored eyes.

“I…I!” Ofeera gasped, and noticed for the first time that she was hyperventilating. She took one, long ragged breath and clenched her shaking fingers, willing herself to calm down.

“Those creatures will not lay hands on you, Lady,” Breaker told her, his voice soft but earnest. “I give you my word.”

“I…”Ofeera shook her head. “I am sorry…I…”

“There is no shame,” the elf slayer stood beside. “Calm yourself first.”
Luthien watched the scene unfold from his elevated position atop the helm of the ship, his lips tightening into a thin, determined line. Ofeera was frightened, a not unexpected reaction from noble lady who had never stood on a battle field. Azarielle had prevented the Silver Hawk from being hit for now, but he did not know how long the mage could hold up a shield against such ferocious attacks.

“Do you have cannons, Captain Petabee?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Captain Petabee cleared his throat. “We have one.”

“One,” the young knight resisted a sudden, and very inappropriate urge to throttle the air ship captain. “Then we have to engage them head on. Turn the ship around and fly towards them. Azarielle and Ofeera can’t keep the shields up forever.”

The captain opened his mouth to object, but Luthien gave him such a murderous look that the man thought better of it and directed his first mate, who had been commandeering the ship from the helm, to do as the young knight bid. The Silver Hawk spun a wide, lazy circle in the air and headed towards the troll ships.

“The trolls be laughin’ at us now,” the captain grumbled under his breath. “I’m willin’ to bet my ma’s weddin’ band that this be the first time they’ve got the intended mark comin’ straight for ‘em.”

The first of the troll ships emerged from behind a thick cloud of smoke like a diabolical beast crawling out from the shadowy depths of the Great Deep. But for the red runes glowing angrily along either side of the ship, it was painted entirely black and decorated with what was rumored to be the skulls of air ship captains who had the misfortune of crossing paths with these troll pirates. Crimson sails and a black flag emblazoned with an axe splitting a skull fluttered ominously in the air, trumpeting the arrival of the most feared rogues of the skies.

Troll pirates, twenty strong, and dressed in surprisingly well kept leather armor stood at the bow of the ship, brandishing their weapons and leering at the crew of the Silver Hawk. They howled in their low, guttural language, and one gestured threateningly at a pile of skulls heaped at the stern of the ship.

“Merciful sea lady,” the captain swallowed.

“If you wish to pray, then pray to Abihayil, the only one who has the power to aid us” Luthien said. “Breaker, are you ready?”

The gray elf turned around and gave the knight a feral smile. He reached behind his back, and pulled out a strangely curved blade from behind his cloak. Then, suddenly and without warning, like a taunt bow releasing and arrow, Breaker hurled his weapon at the enemy ship. Luthien saw only a flash of silver, and then nothing. In fact, as far as he or anyone else could determine, nothing happened at all.

After a moment, the elf held out his hand and a three-bladed, over-sized throwing star returned to his waiting hand. The trolls on the pirate ship howled with laughter, a truly horrific sound that reminded the young knight of the cries of hyenas. But if Breaker was perturbed by his apparent failure, the elf gave no indication of it. Instead, he gave his weapon a facetious shake, sending a splatter of thick green liquid onto the deck.

And then, almost inexplicably, one the trolls standing at the bow of the pirate ship fell backwards. Or, more accurately, his torso fell backwards. His head rolled free of his shoulders in gush of sickening green fluid and slipped into the endless sky.

There was a moment of stunned silence, as the trolls stared at their fallen comrade in shock, perhaps unable to comprehend what had befallen him. And then, the most terrible howls of rage erupted from pirate ship. Raising their weapons skywards, the pirate screamed for blood in their coarse, guttural language.

As the pirate ship pulled up to the side of the Silver Hawk, the trolls, who were naturally more agile than humans, leaped the short distance between the two ships. The first troll, a tall, lean creature with greenish skin and long tusks protruding upwards from his lower lip, landed on the Silver Hawk’s deck and charged straight for Azarielle, correctly identifying her as the mage.

But he didn’t take more than two steps before Luthien was upon him. The knight’s holy sword glowed with a soft yellow light in the presence of the damned creature as he swung his blade in a smooth, upward arc, taking the creature by surprise and slicing the head off in one swing.

Breaker also flowed into action, putting his arcane breakers to work on the second and third troll to bard the ship simultaneously. And what the slender elf lacked in strength, he more than made up for with speed, closing the distance between himself and his foes in such a short time that it appeared to the poor creatures as if he had materialized in their midst. The nimble elf dodged a wild swing of the axe and planted one of his weapons into the second troll’s eyes. Then, as the troll flailed threw his head back howling in agnoy, and clutching at his wounded eye, Breaker danced behind him and gave him a push, straight into the outthrust blade of the third troll.

And then, as the two trolls tried to disentangle themselves from one another, the slayer hopped gracefully onto the back of the second troll and with lightning fast strikes that neither of the doomed creatures could follow, severed their heads.

But the deadly elf was not finished. He plucked a sword and a scimitar from his victims’ hands and then leaped the short distance between the two ships. With the added reach of his new weapons, he cut a deadly path for himself across the pirate ship. He gracefully leaped out of the way of flailing weapons, ducking beneath swords and dodging between axes as if his every move had been carefully choreographed.

“And this is why I say that the Brotherhood should be rounded up and shipped off to an island in the middle of nowhere,” Azarielle muttered darkly when she glanced his way. “It’s by Abihayil’s will alone that mages haven’t gone extinct.”

Ofeera did not respond as she watched the gray elf’s beautiful but terrifying dance of death, mesmerized by how impossibly liquid his movements were. It was as if he was a being of water, flowing between the trolls as a river might flow between rocks. Trolls were agile creatures, but Breaker made them seem clumsy.

Somewhere along the way, his hood had fallen back and his black hair sailed behind him like black banner. A dangerous, feral smile curved his mouth as he struck down foe after foe. He wasted no movements; delivering a crippling blow or a killing blow each time his sword of scimitar found a target. And, he moved with purpose, heading towards the starboard of the ship where the shadow weaver hopped from foot to foot, waving a twisted looking black staff decorated with bones.

Inspired by Breaker’s almost wild fearlessness, the Silver Hawks’ crew bolstered each other’s courage with valorous war cries and met the trolls head on. Luthien led the charge, praying for Abihayil’s mercy each time he swung his sword, which now glowed with a soft, yellow light. The young knight did not try to decapitate his foes each time; he did not need to. The purifying power of his prayers took away the damned creatures’ unnatural regenerative abilities, so every wound he inflicted continued to bleed.

The ship’s crew did not fare as well as either one of the companions though. The troll pirates were fierce, vicious fighters, and it did not take long for the Silver Hawk sailors to realize that their assailants would not burn despite what Luthien had told them! The leather armor that the pirates wore seemed entirely resistant to fire, leaving decapitation as the only viable method of killing them.

And though Breaker and Luthien made this task appear simple, the crew soon found themselves overwhelmed. If a sailor delivered anything but a killing blow, especially if he cut of a body part other than the head, he soon found himself in even worse straits. Severed troll hands grabbed at ankles, and severed troll legs tripped feet! Seeing this, Luthien did his best to blast the cursed body parts with his holy power, but the knight often found himself facing off against two or three foes at once.

“Ofeera!” Luthien shouted. “Purify the ship!”

The young healer stared at the knight in stunned incomprehension, her eyes wide as she took in the horrific scene before her. Flashes of silver mingled with splashes of red and green. Everywhere she turned, men were fighting. She heard shouts, curses, screams.

And then, a sailor fell before her, blood gushing from a deep, vertical cut down his back. The sailor, a young man despite his sun and wind weathered face, reached out a trembling hand towards her, his lips moving in a silent plea for her. Standing above him, a bloodied axe in hand, was a troll pirate. He gave her a leering smile before raising his axe and bringing it down upon the sailor. However, before the axe cleaved into the helpless sailor’s back, the troll’s body was suddenly dragged backwards by an invisible hand. The doomed creature had only time to let out a confused yelp before he was thrown from the ship.

“I think you ought to try and heal him before he bleeds to death. I imagine that would be an unpleasant experience for the both of you.” Azarielle gave her stunned friend a quick tap on the back.

“I…oh!” Ofeera stared at the injured sailor in front of her and finally snapped out of her horrified trance. She knelt down next to him and laid her hands over the wound and began to pray. A soft blue light flowed from the healer’s hand and the wound stopped bleeding almost immediately. Then as if time had sped up just for him, the sailor’s flesh started to mend as if invisible hands were stitching the wound back together.

Seeing this, one of the trolls pointed a finger at Ofeera and spoke a single harsh word. Almost immediately, two trolls ran towards the healer, their weapons raised.

Chanting quietly, Azarielle put herself between her friend and the charging trolls. Both creatures lifted their swords and swung at the physically unimposing young woman, thinking to dispatch her with a single strike. But their weapons struck against an invisible wall and bounced back. And before either one had time to react, the mage was upon them. She reached out with her slender hands grabbed each troll by the front his leather armor. Then, quite matter-of-factly, she lifted the shocked creatures off the ground and casually tossed them overboard.

“Azarielle, how?” Ofeera looked up at her friend in shock.

“The Strength of Giants,” the mage replied with a happy smile. “It’s one of my favorite Arcane tricks and works exceedingly well. Now, if you will be so kind as to put up a shield around the both of us, I need to stop those other two pesky ships.”

“Right!” Ofeera climbed to her feet and held out her hands as if she were waiting to receive a benediction. That she might concentrate, the young healer closed her eyes and began to pray. The sight of the wounded man had shaken her from her stupor, and though her hands still shook, her mind was no longer frozen with fear.

Azarielle waited until a gently glowing blue sphere surrounded them. Ofeera’s eyes were closed and the healer’s lips were moving. As long as Ofeera did not lose focus, her holy shell would be able to withstand anything physical that the pirates could throw at them. The shadow weavers were another matter though. She had to trust Breaker to take care of the one on the first ship, but it was her job to prevent the ones from the second and third ship to do anything nasty. The young mage sat down on the deck and crossed her legs. Then, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The screams and shouts of the battle washed over her, along with the stomping of feet against the deck. At first those sounds were a cacophony, a clashing of meaningless noises that roared around her. But, Azarielle began to breathe in and out, in and out – and slowly, very slowly, the shouts and the footfalls fell into a rhythm with her breathing. That rhythmic beating grew stronger and stronger until it drowned out every other noise, pulsing through her entire being and connecting everything to her.

Luthien, Ofeera and the sailors around her pulsed steadily with life while the trolls appeared as hiccups in the otherwise steady flow. If legends were to be believed, then trolls were descended from elf mages who sold themselves to the Abyssal Ones for power. The corrupting influence of the Abyssal Ones blackened their souls and twisted their physical appearances until they became as they were now. And so, to those gifted with Arcane abilities, trolls orcs, ogres and all such monstrous races were erratic anomalies in the flow of life.

Stretching out her senses, the young mage’s power breezed past Breaker in a warm whisper and went further until she reached to two other pirate ships. The second ship did not carry a troll shaman but the third one did, and Azarielle directed her focus on him immediately.

The unsuspecting shaman was in the midst of setting up an insidious attack when Azarielle’s power crashed over him. Though the troll shaman was not weak, the element of surprise often put him at a great disadvantage. He was so focused on the weaving of his own dark Arts that he did not even notice the young mage’s intrusion until her power had enveloped him.

And then, he found himself trapped inside a giant pink bubble. His first reaction was to open his mouth and scream, but found that his mouth was somehow, firmly stuck shut. He tried to move his arms and leg and found that they too were firmly glued together. He was stuck like a bug inside a spider’s web. Panicked, the shaman sent a mental cry of help to the shaman on the first ship, hoping that that the other shaman would come to his rescue. But, to his even greater panic, there was no response from the other shaman.

That was because the shaman aboard the first ship was, at that very moment, battling the elven slayer.

Breaker had gone straight for the starboard of the ship because he knew that troll shamans never fought at the front. And sure enough, he found the wizened creature hopping about and waving his spindly arms around in a wild dance. When the ancient shaman caught glimpse of Breaker’s slim form dashing towards him, he instantly stopped and let loose a guttural string of commands while waving gnarled, skull-topped staff at the slayer.

The nimble elf dropped to the deck and flattened himself against floorboards as a cloud of noxious green gas was spouted from between the skull’s teeth. As he rolled away from the deadly gas, his arcane breakers hummed in their sheath. This was the only warning he received when the floorboards started rattling like bones blowing in the wind. Breaker pushed himself off the ground just as a wooden spike sprouted from the deck of ship. And as fast as he could move, the sharp point of the wooden spike still tore a gash along his thigh.

“We’d be eating your flesh and sucking your bones, elf,” the shaman chortled, as he waved his arms about, causing more spikes to rise out of the ground. “And I’d be wearing your ears around my neck!”

“The captain be taking the knight’s shiny sword, and the boys be drawing lots to see who get them girls. Do you know how long girls be lasting when they spend the night with our boys?”

Instead of answering, Breaker pulled out his oversized throwing star and hurled it towards the shaman. It spun through the air, slicing apart the wooden spikes in its path and headed straight for the shaman. The wrinkled creature raised his staff, and then, speaking a single hissing word, he struck down the throwing star with his staff with a loud, metallic clang.

“Hah, you be dead now...Ayeeeee!”

The troll shaman’s gloating words died on his lips as Breaker suddenly appeared before him. He tried to bring the staff in front of him to block the elf’s attack, but he was far too slow. Breaker’s sword sliced off his hands while the elf’s scimitar sent the troll shaman’s head rolling across the deck in a spray of dark, green blood.

Straightening, the elf turned about to find his next target only to discover that the crew of Silver Hawk, led by Luthien, have not taken the fight to the pirate’s ship. The young knight was battling a troll whose large, pointed ears were covered from lobe to pointy tip with golden hoops and wielding a giant claymore.

This was the pirate captain, and Luthien grimaced as be brought his sword up to block the surprisingly powerful troll’s powerful blows. The powerful strike of steel against steel sent sparks flying, and the young knight found his hands growing numb as he braced himself so as not to be knocked over from the sheer power of the task.

With a grunt, the knight pushed the troll captain’s claymore aside and slammed his foot into the pirate captain’s kneecap. There was a sickening crunch, and the troll let out a truly hideous cry. But Luthien did not have chance to savor this small victory. The pirate captain’s hand shot up with incredible speed and wrapped around the young knight’s throat, lifting roughly off his feet.

Stars splashed across Luthien’s vision, which was quickly starting to go black as he struggled against the incredible power of this vice like grip. He swung his sword and cut a large wound across the troll captain’s chest, but the enraged creature merely let out a grunt and squeezed harder, his red eyes glowing with frenzied bloodlust. Fighting to stay conscious, the young knight extended a shaking hand towards the troll and prayed with the last of his breath.

Bright amber flames blossomed from the deck of the ship and enveloped the troll captain in beautifully shinning, but deadly petals. The damned creature let out a shriek as the strange fire, unlike the ordinary flames from the torches, ate through his leather armor and greedily devoured his flesh. So complete and absolute was the fire’s all consuming power fire that the troll didn’t even leave ashes behind.

But that was not all. The golden flames spread, blowing pass the Silver Hawk’s crew and Breaker like a warm kiss, but leaving them otherwise unscathed. And yet, each time the golden flames encountered a troll, it would turn the poor, doomed creature into brightly crackling pyre.

“Well, well… a true paladin,” Captain Petabee shook his head as he held out a hand to the young knight. “If you had that ability, why didn’t you do it earlier, huh?”

Luthien knelt on the ground, gasping raggedly for breath and unable to take the captain’s proffered hand. He opened his mouth to speak but managed only an indecipherable croak in response to the captain’s question

“Because, as you can see, the flames cost him,” Breaker replied as he strode up to the captain, “Paladins die in battle consumed by this very fire.”

“Well isn’t going to help us much,” the captain huffed. “There are two more ships…”

Captain Petabee’s voice trailed off in a strangled choke as his jaw dropped to his boots. The other two ships were most definitely flying in the other direction. And it was probably a wise decision for them because circling ominously overhead was a very large, very hungry looking blue dragon.

“Dragon!” the captain roared.

“Illusion,” the elf corrected drily as he pointed to the Silver Hawk.

Azarielle was standing at the bow of the ship with an expression rather like a cat’s, one that had supped on a big rat. Captian Petabee glanced from the dragon to the mage and then back to the dragon again, struggling to wrap his mind around the fact that the great, and very realistic looking, monstrosity was merely the mage’s creation. It truly seemed as if a dragon was there in the flesh, with its leathery wings, shiny scales, and even the crackling thunder that arced from the creature’s half-open mouth. Even the air around them smelled of thunder.

“Ya sure it’s an illusion?”

Before Breaker could even answer, Azarielle wiggled her fingers and the dragon trimmed its great wings to dive between the two ships. The ships were too far for the captain to see the trolls’ reactions, but he could still see the ant-like figures of the troll pirates scurrying in the opposite direction of the dragon. He could also see the truly wicked smile now in full bloom across the mage’s face.

“Illusion,” he finally conceded with a shake of his head. “As good as I’ve seem ‘em. Well, it be a good thing we had you along for the ride then. Silver Hawk won against three pirate ships; that be some story worth tellin’.”

“Is it worth the ship and all her crew?”

Luthien had finally gotten back to his feet, though his face was still pale (and, starting to turn a little green now that the adrenalin of battle hand worn off). He gave Petabee a cold stare and reiterated, “Is telling the story worth your ship and all your lives?”

“Wha…”

“The Sea Hawk and her crew will be famous, but that only means more pirates will try to take her. Is such infamy truly worth it, Captain Petabee?”

“Well now…” the captain turned a little gray himself as the implication of Luthien’s words sunk in. He cleared his throat. “Well now… I think I will go see my men. Looks like the healer be takin’ good care of ‘em. I be just going over and sayin’ thanks to the lady.”

Ofeera had just finished mending a sailor’s leg when Captain Petabee came upon her.

“Well ma lady, now that be not that bad right?” he asked her. “Ma men did a good job protectin’ you.”

The young healer flushed in embarrassment and lowered her head, “I am sorry captain; I was not help at all.”

“No need to apologize! That was your first time, and a woman’s always a little nervous her first time, right?” he wiggled his eyebrows at her and winked.

Ofeera looked at him in confusion, “Yes, I suppose?”

“The captain was just comparing the first time in battle with the first time being in bed for a woman,” Azarielle explained airily. “In case you were curious.”

“Azarielle!” Ofeera gasped as a blush bloomed across her cheeks. “Hush, that’s… that’s inappropriate.”

“Is it?” the young mage turned to the air captain, “Captain Petabee, Ofeera says it’s inappropriate.”

“Well now… maybe it was,” the captain replied, drawing back from the mage almost unconsciously.

Azarielle noted his discomfort and smiled. Then, before the air ship captain could respond, she took a step forward and whispered into his ear, “Captain Petabee, you are a smart man. You should know that it would be prove most unfortunate for you should you impeded a servant of the Phoenix Palace. These are… shall we call them…guests of Her Grand Imperial Majesty, and she would be highly displeased if they were stopped by Peaceful Sea’s guards because you wanted a bounty. Do we understand one another?”

The words struck the captain like lightning, and he stared at her with disbelief evident on his face. For the very first time since the four companions boarded his ship, the captain looked at the mage, truly looked at her. He had certainly noticed her before; she was hard to miss. Although she did not have the ballad-inspiring beauty of the golden-haired healer, the mage was undeniably beautiful if one’s tastes ran to the exotic. And, of course, there was her flamboyantly colored wardrobe.

But, he had never noticed her eye color before – those dagger-like golden set his hair on edge – and he didn’t know how had missed them. And he had not paid attention to the deep green jade bangle that she wore on her wrist – which looked as though it was worth a small fortune. But most of all, he had somehow remained completely oblivious to the fact that the arcane feeler ring on his finger had not reacted to her, a mage, at all!

“The dragon of the east shall envelope Faearth,” the young mage tilted her chin slightly to let the sun to reflect off her golden eyes, “And the stars and moons will fall like rain.”

Captain Petabee felt the blood drain from his face. When Azarielle had declared herself as an emissary of the Dowager Empress, he had been skeptical. But this! This was the pass phrase only imperial emissaries knew and would dare to use! He stared at her and willed his lips to move, but they trembled so badly that they would not obey him. The young mage gave him one a cold stare before sweeping past him and heading towards the conquered pirate ship.

“You know, I was thinking, the two of you would do quite well as mercenaries,” she said in way of greeting as she hopped lightly over to the pirate ship. “I could help you come up with a jingle; perhaps something along the lines of ‘Are you troubled by trolls? Not to worry, Breaker and Luthi are here to help. Breaker is a trained slayer from the prestigious Brotherhood of the Red Hand with many, many years of experience, and Luthi is a real live paladin! And, if you act right now, we will even throw in the holy flame for no extra charge. Imagine, witnessing a miracle of Abihayil in your own backyard!’ Something like that?”

Luthien’s mind stumbled over that barrage of words and he tried to make sense of what she had just said. Finally, he simply shook his head, “What did you tell the captain just now?”

“Oh, I told him that I was an emissary from the Dark Empire,” she replied nonchalantly, “Just in case.”

“In case he has a commission from the Empire?” Breaker asked. “And what about you, how would you know what to say to him?”

Azarielle gave him a look, “It is either because I am a general of the Empire’s armies or because Arcane Council has its way of obtaining such information and battle mages are privy to them. One or the other – though the whole being a general thing is so much more glamorous. So, what are we going to do with the air ship?”

Luthien shook his head in exasperation but answered, “Sink it, and then we need to leave before the other pirate ships come back.”

* * * * *

Five days later, the Silver Hawk landed upon the docks of Peaceful City. Gracefully sloping roofs with shiny red tiles peeked out from flowery clouds of pink and white, and the city’s inhabitants flitted about the garden-like ten thousand butterflies. Ofeera was the most eloquent in expressing her admirations for the garden-like city. She leaned against the railing of the ship, her eyes wide with childlike amazement as she took in the sights.

Though Luthien kept silent, he was not unaffected by the loveliness his eyes beheld. The young knight reminded himself that the people of this empire did not worship Abihayil, but the Abyssal Ones, and that many of their customs and practices were quite barbarous. Still, the young knight could not entirely suppress the excitement stirring in the depths of soul. Despite the gravity of his mission, it was the first time he had traveled across the Tranquilean City.

The Silver Hawk’s landing was, thankfully, much more gentle than its takeoff, touching down on the water as lightly as a dragonfly and drifting into dock. Dockhands, men with long black hair held back in topknots, came up to the ship on bare feet and called out to the ship in the unfamiliar, chiming, Hanyu language.

“Well, sirs and gentle lady, this be a memorable trip for ya, I hope, and not all unpleasant,” Captain Petabee came up to them and gave Luthien a hard slap on the back that almost sent the young knight stumbling forward. “You be remembering the Silver Hawk, and maybe we meet again, aye?”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Captain,” Ofeera replied, ever gracious. “We are most grateful.”
“Where’s Azarielle?” Luthien asked, looking around for the mage.

“Over here.”

Luthien and Ofeera turned at the sound of her voice, and stared in surprise at the sight before them. Azarielle had shed her long red overcoat, and was now wearing a flowing, grenadine dress with a long red cape flapping gently behind her. She also wore a high-topped straw hat with a light grenadine veil that gave them only a fuzzy impression of her features.

Captain Petabee did not speak as she strode past him, but both Breaker and Luthien noticed the almost imperceptible bow the captain offered her. The mage, in turn, gave him a small, condescending nod of her head.

“What do you think?” Azarielle lifted up a corner and her veil and grinned at Ofeera. “The first thing we are going to do is get you something like this or you will have all the men quite literally chasing after you.”

“I think you look lovely,” Ofeera lifted a hand to pat her friend’s hat. “And I do like the hat.”

“All wealthy or noble women wear veils if they venture out from the safety of their homes, fathers and husbands,” the young mage rolled her eyes and dropped the veil back into place. “It gets so stuffy sometimes. We may need to get the elf a veil too. Don’t give me that evil stare Breaker; I am not actually going to drop dead just from you staring, and there are manly veils too. Gray elves are reputed to be skilled warriors and here, in the cradle of martial arts, you are going to get challenged by every street performer in the city if you waltz onto the street “incognito”, because I can promise you, your little hood over your face thing isn’t going to work here. Hmm, and maybe one for Luthien too lest someone takes him for a white-haired fiend and call the guards on us.”

The young knight gave a long-suffering sigh and ushered his companions of the ship. As he set foot on the soil of the Dark Empire for the very first time, he offered a prayer to Abihayil for the Eternal Father to watch over them in the strange land. Unbeknownst to him, when Azarielle set foot on the ground of native land, she too prayed. Azarielle prayed that their presence in the city would not be noticed and that they would pass through this place as swiftly as possible.

Little did she know that at that very moment, the personal guards of a dreaded foe was rushing towards Peaceful Sea, having been notified of her arrival.