In that moment, I understood the magnitude of my misjudgment, and I was in the presence of a force beyond my comprehension. Lord Varesh terrifies me.
Danan. The Third Great Age. 3031.
˜ ˜ ˜
Rhythmic waves crash against the towering white cliffs of Thiel. Seashells clatter upon the narrow stretch of shoreline. The midday sun sits high in the tranquil sky. Tall coastal grasses sway in harmony in the cooling ocean breeze. The tuneful tide arrives, carrying summer's warmth on waves of nostalgia.
Lord Varesh marches ahead, following the coastal cliff path that winds up through rolling sand dunes. The skirting path hangs on delicate white chalk clifftop lips, where, down below, the ocean clatters onto disheveled shell-clad sands. There's not a single sandy footprint that scars the narrow stretch of golden beach.
Lulled by the magic of the ocean, Danan stands, lost in contemplation, gazing down from the cliff edge at the hazy azure ocean. The midday sun beats down on his pale face, flecked with other men's blood.
Jain joins Danan. "Come now; all is well, Danan. We are alive, and they are very dead." Jain inhales the refreshing sea breeze and gazes out at the serene ocean. "I admit, I've seen many things happen to men, but I have never seen men explode before." Jain purses his lips and starts mimicking little puerile popping sounds.
"I did not know such a thing was even possible," Danan licks his salty lips, "you know, magic."
Jain wraps a comforting arm around Danan's shoulders. "I had doubts about the crazy old coot, but it seems all things are possible. I mean, embarking on a quest with a semi-divine mage with a penchant for popping people. What can possibly go wrong?"
Danan musters a half-hearted laugh, then they follow the meandering cliff path up to the tip of the tallest dune.
Danan and Jain look down at a tall, three-story whitewashed inn. 'The King's Pardon' perches on the cliff edge, overlooking a secluded bay that sparkles with perfection. Carved into the thick thatched roof are the shapes of fish, with intricate details. Black shuttered windows are flung open, welcoming the warming sun, and wicker baskets of wild coastal flowers hang from the window ledges.
Jain bounds down the steep dune in a cloud of fine sand. He trips, tumbling headfirst down the steep dune and rolling the last few steps. Then, in a single nonchalant stride, he bounds back to his feet and struts ahead like a man of great importance, exuding unlimited wealth.
Danan follows Jain, stumbling down the dune on uneasy legs, and walks to Jain, who slouches against the inn's doorframe, engaging in animated conversation with a pair of beautiful ladies dressed in fine silks, their bluish-gray dyed hair tied into buns.
"Lord Jain Adair, actually. I'm certain you will have heard of my name. I own a sizeable estate in the capital. For the most part, I dabble in land and property. Did I mention I am also a master swordsman?"
The inn sign, bearing a golden key and compass emblem, squeaks in the wind above Jain's head. Gulls squawking from the inn's rooftop break the awkward silence.
The ladies wrinkle their noses, casting disdainful glances at Jain. With a flirtatious giggle, they link arms and wander down a narrow coastal path towards the sands of a tiny golden bay. "Damn it, man, you frightened them away," Jain hisses in Danan's ear.
The inn door swings open with a loud timber creak as Lord Varesh joins them. "No, you reek of stale sweat, and you're caped in blood and your own vomit. The One only knows what else stains your breeches. You are, in other words, filthy. Those ladies did the only sensible thing and left you to wallow in your own shame." Lord Varesh stands in the doorway with a pinched smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. "Eccentric I may be, a crazy old coot I am not, although I do possess an exceptional hearing range." Lord Varesh gives them a playful wink.
Jain cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the pair of ladies walking down to the tiny golden sand bay. He sighs a short, deflating breath. 'It's been a while since I, well, you know, it's been a whole evening at least. I have a thing for dyed hair, green eyes, swaying hips, and those tight little...' Jain stands lost in his own daydream, fixated on the rocking rears of the Baruci courtesans as they stroll on the bay's golden sands. Danan sticks a nudging elbow into Jain's side.
"Those ladies are not flowers for picking, Jain. Not unless you want your arms torn off or to be deboned alive." The women on the beach giggle and wave to Lord Varesh with playful smiles.
"You know them?" Jain can't hide his amazement.
"Of course I do. They are Annabelle and Verona of the Barcui. They are my most trusted eyes and ears, and I can assure you, they are off-limits, despite their enticing charms."
Jain grunts and mumbles as he fumbles with his shirt's top button.
The tallest and most beautiful of the Baruci, Annabelle places her left hand over her heart and bows to Lord Varesh.
Danan screws up his face in thought. "Wait, was she not in the tavern in Thiel?" His mind drifts back to The Rose & Cock.
"Very good, Master Danan," Lord Varesh says with a jovial smile. "Annabelle is a loyal servant to my house and the Temple Order."
The inn door swings open, and a lanky youth appears, carrying a steaming pail of water in each arm. Three small, immaculate, fluffy white towels hang from his shoulder. "Great Elim." The youthful serving boy takes a deep bow, his thick Tivanian accent rolling. "We did not expect you so soon. The top table is being prepared for you now." He places the steaming pails on the floor and hands Danan the towels before scampering back into the inn.
"The Great Elim. Made to wash with the horses." Jain sniggers to himself. Danan winces at his insolence.
"It is true I could have any room vacated at my demand, yet there's something wonderful about bathing in the sea." Lord Varesh strolls down a narrow sandy path to a tiny stretch of tranquil beach. His feet sink into the darkened sands as he wriggles his toes. He lifts his robes to his knees and walks into the gentle azure. Lord Varesh closes his eyes as he scoops sea water into his hands and tips it over his head. The dried blood flows back into the gentle swell, sparkling like pink rubies.
Jain runs onto the small beach with carefree abandon, discarding his clothes and wearing only a pair of stained cotton braies. He dives into the tranquil ocean, creating a loud splash. He swims out from the shore. "Come on, master monk. What are you waiting for?"
"I can't swim," Danan calls back from the shore, hiding his embarrassment as he wanders onto the beach, carrying the pails and towels.
"Nonsense. I'll teach you." Jain splashes around on his back, kicking with a giddy glee.
"Jain," Lord Varesh calls with a broad grin. "Master Danan, has morals; not all men wish to showcase their bait and tackle."
Jain splashes into the ocean with both hands, sending a sparkling torrent of seawater into the air. He bellows with childish laughter, then reaches beneath the gentle tide, his hands reappearing with his undergarments screwed into a ball.
Danan gasps as a bundle of wet, off-white cotton smacks him in the face, he wrinkles his nose at the cast-off pants. "I have no shame in such matters." shouts back a giddy Jain.
Lord Varesh gives Danan an encouraging nod. "It would be most useful if you were able to swim since we will be at sea."
Danan leans forward and pulls off his silk robe. With a grimace, he tightens his braies at the waist.
The Baruci, seated in the sands behind him, giggle as they observe the trio with amusement. Their beaming smiles grow wider as Danan, embarrassed, turns as red as a grilled lobster.
"Come on!" Jain, swims in small circles, kicking his feet with excitement.
Danan hugs his skeletal chest with both arms as he ventures ankle-deep into the sea. His pale frame moves deeper into the ocean until the cooling tide laps at his knees, then his thighs, and then up to his waist. He scans the still sea, searching for a glimpse of Jain, who seems to have vanished.
Jain's hand grabs Danan's leg and pulls him underwater.
Danan flails like a fish on a line as his eyes open to an underwater world full of magical light, where small fish dart above pearly shells in golden sands.
Jain lets go of Danan's leg as he breaks the surface. Danan splutters and coughs up a lungful of seawater, then laughs like he's never laughed before.
Lord Varesh strolls up the beach path toward the inn, his ears attuned to Danan's swimming lesson.
"Now, lean forward. That's it. Try not to drink it, man. Now kick. I said kick, you holy fool. Do you want to drown? The One damn you. Stand up, man. Don't drink the ocean. You're making us look like fools! Have no fear, ladies. I am an exceptional teacher. Care to join us?"
˜ ˜ ˜
Lord Varesh peers through a small open window in the inn, where, through the dense steam, a hidden kingdom resides. A dominion of plenty, with infernal fires and boiling tides. In this hidden world, savory dogma is born, and piquant philosophies reign supreme. Sleepless hands weave artistry for the nose, tongue, and teeth. Salty brine flows on consommé tides, and the world rains tears that fall bitter, sweet, and sour. Intense maillard marinates a seasonal feast. A blast of crisp air cuts through the infernal heat. Carnal words whisper of epicurean wet dreams.
"Gentle, gentle. Nice and slow." A heavily accented Tivanian voice says, obscured by the steam. "The knife must be warmed for a clean slice. Not too thick or too thin. Yes, that's it. Perfect. Now, lay her down. Be careful now. Add a few springs of wild herbs and a light sprinkle of bay salt and Tivanian lemon. Perfect, now with a sprinkle of roasted and salted hazelnuts. Ah, yes, now the black gold. Let's shave you nice and tight. Liberal, yes. Oh my word, she is a thing of beauty! Here she is. Wild Duck Pate with Thielian Summer Truffles and Roasted Hazelnuts. Send it to the top table and serve it with warmed walnut sourdough and a new-season cherry preserve. I recommend my family wine, the first pick. The finest in Aradesh."
The steam in the kitchen evaporates as a door opens with a blast of cooling air. A bald giant of a man stands in the heart of the kitchen. Bare-chested and tattooed from head to toe, his body shines in a fine layer of pearly sweat. He runs a massive hand over his glistening bald head and then wipes away the sweat on a dirty rag hanging from his belt. His enormous bulk stands before an immaculately polished white marble table that shines with a selection of silver knives, laid out in perfection, side by side, not more than a thumb's width apart in order of height.
The giant chef leans over a white porcelain platter of roasted turbot. His thick fingers dip into tiny pots of salts, spices, and herbs. He then sprinkles the fish with an array of salt with a flamboyant flourish.
The mountainous chef plucks tiny, bright flowers from small herb pots with delicate fingertips, and then, with a dainty flourish, he places them on the glistening roasted fish. He then adds a light squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of golden oil. The chef stands back to admire his culinary artistry, beaming a giant broken-tooth smile of golden teeth.
The eager serving hands of a serving boy whip the plate away and out to the dining room.
The enormous chef calls his commands in a surprisingly soft, sing-song voice. "Polish the new-season potatoes. Shuck the oysters. Debone the quails. Butter the sauces. Baste the fish."
"Aye, Coilette," calls back a small army of cooks from the kitchen's steamy depths.
Coilette sings more kitchen commands as he wipes his massive hands on his filthy rag. "Trim the legs of marshland lamb. Remove the beards and barnacles from the clams. More wood on the fires. Get this place cleaned up. We have a full house. Twenty covers."
"Aye, Coilette." The kitchen ignites into a chaotic dance of stirring pots and thrumming knives amidst vast pans that simmer over small tabletop fires. The pans fry and spit as giant wood ovens bake and hiss. At the kitchen's rear, buckets of clams, cockles, oysters, and whelks sit in fresh seawater. Large troughs serve as homes for splashing fish and gigantic black and blue lobsters. Huge, nippy crabs scurry in the depths of the metal beds, wandering amidst spiny sea urchins. Salted, smoked, and cured fish dangle from the kitchen's wooden beams. The skinned carcass of a bull awaits the butcher's knife. Hundreds of plates, pots, jars, jugs, and vials line the exposed stone walls.
Coilette stretches and rolls his massive shoulders, his mammoth bulk of muscle strolling through the kitchen. He peers down at his brigade's busy work. His Tivanian accent rolls sweet and soft. "Easy now; make love to it; don't fuck it. Gentle, now add a touch of lemon to the samphire butter sauce. No, that won't do. Don't boil the sauce. It will split."
A cooling breeze blasts through the kitchen and parts the steaming mists. A lanky, serving boy strides into the kitchen. "Coilette. The Great Elim and his guests will dine shortly. The Red Flower is dropping anchor in the bay."
"Excellent." Coilette cracks his inked fingers together and rolls his truckneck.
˜ ˜ ˜
The late afternoon sun casts a deep shade of somber orange as the gentle tide washes onto the tiny beach. Danan and Jain lay side by side on the sand, exhausted, listening to the song of the ocean.
Danan sits up and shields his eyes from the sun's glare with the palm of his hand. At the mouth of the bay, a ship bobs in the gentle swell with two angled, raked masts. It is gaff-rigged, with two square sails, a staysail, and two jibs. Its red sails fly, bearing the banner of the sailors' guild—a key and compass.
"The Red Flower," Lord Varesh comes to stand behind Danan and Jain, gazing out at the schooner anchored in the bay. In the distance, a large rowboat heads towards the shore.
Danan gives Jain a gentle shake, rocking him on the shoulder.
Jain props himself up on his elbows, leans to his side, and vomits a mouthful of foul black bile onto the sand. "I was having a wonderful dream, where I was back in Thiel with my head buried between Violet's legs." Fine beads of sweat shine on his glistening brow as he shivers and clutches his stomach. "By The One, it's bloody freezing." Jain whimpers, leaning forward, cradling his gut. He vomits another mouthful of gloopy black bile onto the golden sand. He shivers, standing on uncertain feet, and then gathers his clothes.
"It is not cold. You are out of drops." Varesh looks at Jain, concerned.
The rhythmic splash of the oars brings the rowboat to the shoreline.
"Gentlemen, my apologies. I have confidential matters to attend to before we sail." Lord Varesh looks out to the sea with his hands clasped behind his back. "I will dine with Captain Sorana in private. I assure you both that I would prefer we dine together, yet there are things to attend to that do not require your knowledge, care, or attention."
"Polite enough," mutters Jain as he slips on his damp, stained, sand-caped breeches. He shakes the sand from his boots. "Where will we dine?" Jain inquires with a hint of petulance.
"You will dine on the inn's outer deck. It has the best view of the inn, and I assure you that you will be amply fed and lubricated." Lord Varesh shrugs. "The talk at my table will be somewhat dull and formal."
Lord Varesh casts Jain a concerned glance as he wretches like a cat puking up a hairball. "Drop withdrawal is no pleasant undertaking, particularly for those who must endure your mood swings."
"What would you know?" Jain snaps with sharp irritation, surprising himself. He wipes cold sweat from his whitened face. "I suppose a good drink and a nibble wouldn't go amiss." He says wobbling on his feet.
"If you cannot digest the food, I will ask one of the Colligi's to prepare something more palatable," Lord Varesh offers Jain a steady hand.
"What?" Jain tilts his head sideways to drain water from his ear. "Forgive me, did you say Colligi's?" Jain fumbles with his shirt's top button, swings on his trench coat, and adjusts his concealed broadsword. "There are no Colligi's in Thiel. The king would have their heads on spikes. Rumor has it that the Tibaians hired the Colligi's to poison the king's cousin. I heard Lord Erdal died choking on his own wedding cake before puking up his lungs onto his newlywed's lap."
Danan gasps in horror.
"The Colligi's are in Thiel on business; they are residing in The King's Pardon." Lord Varesh frowns at Jain with a mixture of vexation and concern.
"And how is it you know so much?" Jain feigns curiosity.
"I granted the Colligi's a king's pardon." Lord Varesh gives Jain a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"I am sure only the king can grant a king's pardon," Jain retorts, surprised by his own aggression.
"These are my lands, as is The King's Pardon Inn. Any invading captain capable of conquering the white cliffs of Thiel will receive a king's pardon. A pardon accompanied by the esteemed courtesy of the king's welcome. Free of taxes, punishment, and incarceration. It is an old law and one that still holds true." Lord Varesh twirls the embossed golden ring adorned with an eye-shaped emblem on his forefinger. "It is true that the White Cliffs of Thiel are nearly impenetrable, except for this tiny bay. My bay. I had the inn built as a guesthouse for visiting dignitaries and respectable captains. In this case, 'Captain Coilette Colligi' rowed ashore with his family and received my warm welcome."
Jain rubs his eyes in deeper confusion.
"In the technicalities of the law, whilst a Colligi resides within The Planks, the rest of his kin may operate as they wish throughout the kingdom. So whilst the Colligi's undertake whatever they have agreed, I have assured their safety by residing the eldest son under my roof whilst his sisters Nuria and Amelia Colligi are in Thiel." Concludes Lord Varesh.
"My Lord," chirps Cecil, bounding from the rowboat with a knee-high splash. "Lord Jain, what in The One's good name happened to you?" Cecil says, shaking his head in lofty disdain.
Jain pukes black vomit onto the sand, then hides his shaking left hand behind his back and slumps back onto the sand in a heap.
"Cecil," Lord Varesh chirps with enthusiasm, "is everything in order?"
"Your cabin is prepared for your exacting requirements, including the leather binds." Cecil takes a deep bow. "The Red Flower looks like a fine vessel. What adventures we will have on the open sea."
"This is not an adventure for you, Cecil. There is much you will do while I am away."
"My Lord, are you sure?" Cecil's eyes well with tears.
Jain sniggers, and Danan looks to the sandy floor to escape the awkwardness.
"Captain Jon," Lord Varesh, forges his own escape route.
"My lord, she is secure and ready to sail." Captain Jon stumbles onto the sand. "Please forgive me, Lord Varesh. I ain't got sea legs. Dry land and horseback suit me better."
"Jon, keep both your eyes on Master Cecil. I hold you responsible for his safety, so try not to lead him too far astray."
"As you command, my lord."
"Captain Sorana," Lord Varesh summons the wily captain forward.
"Great Elim. We are blessed with strong winds and fair tides. We will fly well tonight; she is the fastest in your fleet." His sea dog accent sounds like a combination of a growl and a bird's song, from a mouth full of golden teeth. A faded tattoo of a key and compass covers the right side of his face, as dark as tanned leather and as hard as sun-dried fish. A single braided strand of hair hangs down from underneath a broad-brimmed Cavalier hat. The elaborate plumed hat rests off the kilter with vibrant peacock feathers. He wears an immaculate black tailcoat over a white cotton shirt and black baggy breeches. His knee-high boots slosh through the azure tide as he strolls ashore, beaming his half-golden smile.
The wily captain gives Jain and Danan a shallow nod and clasps Lord Varesh warmly with both hands. "Trouble in The Planks?"
"Nothing of concern; thank you, captain."
Jon and Cecil exchange concerned glances as they walk toward the inn.
***
The King's Pardon Inn glows with hundreds of whale oil lamps and candles. The gentle melody of the lute weaves, rising and falling in the ocean breeze, rolling like a gentle tide, lapping on welcome ears. Gentle chatter and laughter presides over the musical melody.
The azure blue rolls inward, rising in deep marine as the evening's first stars wink down on the bobbing silhouette of The Red Flower. The schooner flickers with orange lamp orbs, illuminated by the Great Moon in the dark dusk sky. A cooling breeze brings a welcome retreat from the afternoon heat.
Danan and Jain sit at a long trestle table on a broad wooden outdoor deck, gazing out to sea.
"I suppose there are worse places to spend an evening." Jain fills his goblet of wine, sloshing half of it onto the table. He gulps it down with a wince.
Platters of steamed crabs, grilled lobsters, and roasted fish laden the table. Bowls overflow with boiled prawns and clams. The heavy scent of garlic and wine lingers in the air, mingling with notes of citrus, lemon thyme, and black pepper.
"The One, damn these bloody crabs. It's a lot of bother for not much meat," Jain grumbles as he wrestles with a crab claw, which flies across the table with a loud clatter.
The dainty hands of a servant reach out from the candlelit shadows. A soft face beams an enticing smile beneath long locks of wavy hair. The servant uses a pair of metal claws and a small pincer to extract the crabmeat from the claw.
Jain leans back and rests a wandering hand on the servant's buttocks, giving them a playful pinch.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" The deep male voice catches Jain by surprise.
Danan convulses in snorting laughter as Jain sits in red-faced shame, shooing the servant boy away.
"A simple mistake," Jain's words slur, "a trick of the light. He has rather feminine features. The One, damn it." Jain clutches his stomach and goes in search of more wine. "Well, master monk, let's keep this little secret between friends."
"As you wish, Lord Jain." Danan takes a delicate sip of wine.
"Are you mocking me, master monk?" Jain looks at Danan in surprise, who giggles and drinks more wine. "Why, Danan, you're drunk?" Jain sits back and rocks on the rear legs of his chair.
"I've been drunk ever since I arrived in Thiel," Danan's words slur from a drunken grin. "I'm growing rather fond of the feeling; besides, it helps me forget."
"Forget?"
"Forget all that blood and mess," Danan says, taking a gulp of wine. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the faces of the men who traded their lives for a few bits of gold. Their faces filled with fear, disintegrating into clouds of blood and bone. I see the man you killed clutching his own insides and the other whose throat your knife sliced like butter. Where did you learn to kill like that?"
Jain takes a deep breath, his hand trembling as he stares into his goblet of wine in search of answers. "There was a time when I had everything a good man desires: a beautiful home, a loving wife, and plans to be a family man. King Adal and I were childhood friends, and I even commanded his personal guard. Was I gifted with the sword? Yes, but my family name meant something greater. Yet I brought only shame to my name."
Jain fidgets with cutlery and stares, wistful, out at the sea. "I gambled, whored, and cheated my way through life, Danan. One evening, I got caught in a rather compromising situation with the king's cousin. The dangerous love affair turned sour when her husband, the Lord Commander Torrington, caught me in the palace pantry with his wife. Torrington tried to run me through, which is understandable given that she was covered head to toe in whipped cream while I rested my balls on her chin. The lady protested her innocence, of course, saying she was forcefully taken, which is utter nonsense considering she whipped the cream herself."
Danan spits wine across the table, taken aback by the revelation. He frowns, about to question further, but reconsiders and falls into silence.
"Lord Commander Torrington wanted my head on a spike, but my childhood friendship with the king saved me. Adal banished me, stripping me of all titles, land, and wealth. My family name and line became worthless. Filled with hate, I chose a public death sentence, which never came. I fought for my innocence in Thiel's great fighting pit, and as I fought for life, I mastered the art of death with every killing stroke. Danan, some men crave death. They spend their lives working toward it. I can see it in a man. We all have gifts, and killing comes easy to me." Jain drains another cup of wine.
"Can you teach me?" Danan's request causes Jain to splutter his wine. "To defend myself?" Danan looks out at the sea with sorrowful eyes. "I cannot bear the thought of losing my life in such a manner, my blood spilling like wine for another man's pleasure or pride."
"Yes, if Lord Varesh wills it," Jain pours himself and Danan another goblet of wine. "There is a secret in life, my friend. Never fear death, and death may just pass you by."
Jain stands up, swaying, breaking the somber mood. "Speaking of secrets, let's find out what our secretive lord mage has planned for us." He waves his arms in a flamboyant theatrical demonstration of faux magic, then points to an open window. "I have, you know, I am the epitome of stealth." Jain stumbles over a chair with a loud crash, and rolls across the decking with a boisterous clatter.
Danan holds his head in his hands as he watches the drunken mercenary creep under the open window.
Jain crouches with his back against the inn's wall, Jain listens intently, hoping to catch any fragments of conversation.
"Cecil, dry your eyes, man. Do you understand what I ask of you?"
"My Lord Varesh, yes. By The One, is there no other way?"
Jain signals for Danan to join him, but Danan rebuffs Jain's exaggerated waves. Overcome with curiosity, Jain peers over the window ledge and into the inn.
Lord Varesh stands at the head of a long wooden trestle table. The others rise and bow, placing their hands on their hearts. Captain Jon and Cecil stand side by side, a tear visible on Cecil's cheek. Coilette Colligi's muscles, glistens in the fluttering candlelight. Captain Sorana stands humbled and silent alongside the Barcui courtesans, Annabelle and Verona.
"Captain Jon, you must go with haste. There will be little time. Escort Annabelle and Verona back to Thiel; take what you must; then make your way to High Priest Anon at the Kabel Monastery."
"As you command, Lord Varesh." Captain Jon takes a large gulp of wine.
"Annabelle, I thank you. Your insight has been most helpful." The Barcui makes a deep bow as Lord Varesh passes her a rolled and sealed piece of parchment.
"Coliette, I trust you will be reunited with your sisters before the time arrives." The hulking chef nods as he reads from a piece of parchment embossed with Lord Varesh's ring.
Jain raises his head well above the window ledge and watches Lord Varesh reach into his silk robes. "I have further requests for you to do as you see fit." He passes Cecil and Captain Jon a rolled and sealed piece of parchment. They accept it and Jon gives a departing bow, and with a final gulp of wine, he yanks the teary-eyed Cecil by the collar and strides out of the inn, dragging Cecil with him. Annabelle and Verona follow; the inn door creaks shut behind them.
Lord Varesh raises his all-seeing eyes to the window and gives Jain a subtle wink.
Jain falls backward onto his arse from the open window, and scuttles like a maimed crab back to the table. He averts his eyes from Danan, takes several large gulps of wine, and stares into his cup, where the reflection of The Great Moon shines back at him.
˜ ˜ ˜
Time passes on the darkening tides as the oarsmen row them to The Red Flower, their journey filled with few words.
Danan closes his tired eyes as the oars break the slapping tide. Captain Sorana puffs his pipe. The wisps of hazy, haresh smoke waft up to the starry sky.
Lord Varesh stares at Jain, his steady gaze matched by Jain's contemplative silence.
There is no doubt in anyone's mind that this voyage will change their lives.