C2 Chapter 2: The City by the Sea

After several more days on the raft, the forests along the riverbanks finally began to thin out, giving them their first view over the expanse of the plains of Thordám, and now and then villages as the first signs of civilization. Some time later, small towns began appearing beside the river. Their landing stages looked enticing to the three companions. But as much as Nikko, and no doubt the other passengers, too, needed a break from the long raft journey, the raftmen either wanted or had to push on to Terys without stopping.

On the last section of the journey, the river swelled again, moving fast through a landscape of countless hills and rocks. The banks were mostly high and steep, blocking the view beyond. On many of the steep hillsides, the people farmed plants unfamiliar to Nikko. Grapevines, Danuwil explained, adding expertly that the wine of that region was no more than an insult to any discerning palate, and useful for no more than fermenting vinegar. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the much better wines one good find further south.

Then, finally, they were there. Early in the afternoon of a gleaming summer day, the hills on both sides of the river fell back to a plain, beyond which the sea glittered in bright sunlight, merging with the deep blue sky on the horizon. Nikko, mesmerized at the sight of the endless expanse of water, barely noticed the imposing walls and towers of the city. But then they, too, caught his eye: Terys, the mighty city by the sea, where the long river poured out into the ocean.

The capital of the grand duchy really did look huge, dwarfing Hocatin. The walls were built of pale stone that was almost blinding in the afternoon sun, which bathed the city in an almost sublime light, making the buildings seem larger than, perhaps, they really were, standing out against the blue of sea and sky.

It still took several hours before the raft completed the final stage of its journey from the Iron Citadel—they had been onboard for close to two weeks—and drifted into the majestic city, which was split in two by the river. In the early evening, the raftmen steered their vessel skillfully to the dock in the harbor and tied it up securely. Poor people waited impatiently at dockside, hoping perhaps to earn their evening meal by helping to unload the crates of ore. In their ragged clothes, they seemed out of place in the magnificent city.

“Hire a few porters and have them take your luggage to your guesthouse,” one of the raftmen said, then laughed and added, “Wouldn't want to see your crates get carried off with the ore.”

“It's probably too late to ask for accommodation with the grand duke,” Fydal murmured. “Boatman, where could we find presentable lodgings here in Terys?”

“If you're lucky, there might still be a space in the hay at the harbor inn,” one of the raftmen replied, then, more seriously, added, “But nobles such as yourselves would do better to stay in the upper town. The city guards there will be able to help you, I'm sure.”

“Lime Court, on Highmarket, is a reasonable place,” said Danuwil. “They've got decent food and drink, although the landlord there certainly charges a pretty penny for it. But for one night, Lime Court ought to offer something suitable.”

“All right,” the prince acquiesced. “Boatmen, have our bags taken up to Lime Court!”

“Can't,” one replied. “The guards will never let harbor laborers into the upper town.”

“That's right,” another backed him up. “They only let the sno … uh, upper classes in up there.”

“Then we'll hire two porters to haul our crates up as far as the gate,” Danuwil proposed. “They can be picked up by Lime Court people from there.”

The foot march to Lime Court took them through a large part of the city, the white walls of which transformed more and more into a dirty gray in the evening light. At first, they had had to climb the stone steps leading up from the quay. Then they followed the river back upstream some distance before crossing to the other side on a magnificent bridge lined with countless statues.

Arriving now at the upper gate, it was already dark, but many torches lit their way. Their unkempt porters set down the crates they were carrying beside the gate, accepted their wages and quickly withdrew again. The looks from the guards made it very clear to them that they were not welcome up there.

“Who are you, and what is it you require?” one of the guardsmen asked respectfully, realizing that he was dealing with high-level visitors. Fydal and Danuwil were both wearing their armor, with emblems and shields. Nikko, on the other hand, was still dressed in his varlet's clothes.

“Major Fydal, Prince of Hocatin,” the prince intoned solemnly. “These are my companions, Adept Nikko from Vyldoro and Danuwil of Bregánt. We wish to spend the night at Lime Court.”

“Very good,” the guard nodded. “No need to worry about your luggage, Your Highness. We will look after it until someone from Lime Court comes to collect it.”

Lime Court was as impossible to compare with the Vylrahdo guesthouse as were the clienteles of the two places. Nikko found himself in an elegant establishment, its decor almost on a par with the castle in Hocatin; by comparison, the guesthouse at Vylrahdo was plain shabby. The people staying at Lime Court were a mix of rich merchants and lower-ranking nobles.

Even in that company, though, the young prince stood out immediately; members of the higher nobility would normally never spend the night in any kind of guesthouse. The staff, however, were discreet enough to suppress any remarks, and asked no questions. The three companions were quickly shown to their quarters, and a lavish evening meal awaited them in a small side chamber.

“Delicious,” Nikko said, stuffing another piece of some sort of curly seafood into his mouth, although it really didn't taste like fish at all. “What kind of fish is this?”

“Octopus,” said Danuwil. “In a red wine sauce. Very tasty, I must agree.”

“And no bones,” the young sorcerer laughed. The bones were the reason he so disliked the trout from the stream back in Vyldoro.

“An octopus isn't really a fish,” the nobleman lectured with a smile. “Seafood, certainly, but not fish.”

“How can you eat a monster like that?” Fydal remonstrated. “Just look at those disgusting suckers!”

“No feast for the eyes, I'll admit,” the nobleman laughed. “But euphoria for the palate.”

“Well I, for one, prefer more recognizable food,” the prince said, waving his hand dismissively and sinking his teeth into a leg of chicken.

They filled their bellies without much more conversation, then retired to their rooms, agreeing to meet the following morning for breakfast and to plan the rest of the day. After the meager food they'd eaten for the past two weeks, they had now fed far too greedily; all the good food had made them tired, and the thought of a cozy bed after the uncomfortable nights on the raft was too tempting.

Nikko was the first to arrive at the breakfast table, although he had had trouble dragging himself out of his bed. The soft eiderdown had made him put off getting up several times, but at some point late in the morning he had managed to pull himself together and lift his head. He had no desire to spend the entire day asleep, after all; there was a city to explore!

Now, freshly washed and in clean clothes, the young sorcerer sat alone in the side room and picked at the assorted pastries and fruits set out for their breakfast. He even tried a cup of some sort of black beverage, but it was too bitter for him, and he preferred his familiar tea.

“I see you've started without us,” said the prince, startling Nikko. “Anything you can recommend?”

“It's all delicious,” Nikko said. “All except that bitter drink.”

“Coffee,” said Fydal, sniffing at the pot. “You can cut the bitterness with a little milk or sugar. But I can't say I like this southern stuff much, either.”

“So what are we doing today?” Nikko asked.

“First, we have to register our arrival at the grand duke's palace. What we do after that will depend on how things go there, but I imagine we'll be invited to an audience sometime in the next few days. In the meantime, we can look around the city and already take care of some things for the next part of our journey.” “Sounds good,” the young sorcerer smiled.

“But don't forget that you should make contact with the Order, young Adept,” the prince remonstrated with a smirk.

“Where are they?”

“Bregánt will know, I'm sure. But I'd be surprised if they didn't have their chapter beside the grand duke's palace, or maybe even in it. Speaking of which, where is he?”

“Danuwil? Probably still dreaming.”

“Was he on the bottle again last night?” the prince said, shaking his head. “Waiter!”

“How may I be of service to His Highness?” a servant said, appearing beside the table with a bow.

“My companion, Bregánt. Bring him here!” Fydal ordered, and added sarcastically. “We wouldn't want him to miss breakfast.”

“As you wish,” said the servant. He bowed deeply and departed.

Nikko wasn't sure if he found this kind of spectacle more annoying or amusing. But Fydal was right. There was too much to do to let Danuwil sleep the whole day. But to have him woken by the staff seemed a little too imperious altogether.

“Forgive my delay, your Highness,” the hungover-looking nobleman excused himself when he appeared blearily in the room a little later. “It seems the exertions of our journey took quite a bit out of me. I am the oldest, after all.”

“Get a move on, Bregánt,” the prince said icily. “I want to get to the grand duke's place as soon as I can.”

“Some strong coffee and I'll be right as rain,” Danuwil promised, filling a cup with the black liquid. “Although we first have to gain entrance to what they call the government quarter. We can only get to the grand duke's castle from there.”

“Well, I assume that the Prince of Hocatin will be allowed to enter without too many objections,” Fydal countered, more irritated than concerned.

“Where exactly would I find the Order?” Nikko asked cautiously.

“Exactly where, I couldn't say,” Danuwil replied. “But it will certainly be located in the government quarter, too.”

They set off a little later, and after a few enquiries found themselves standing at the so-called Government Gate, the heavily guarded entrance to the administrative district of the city. The walls of this part of town were high and surrounded by a moat. The gate itself included a drawbridge and several portcullises; they were obviously very concerned with security.

“Halt!” barked one of the many heavily armed soldiers in gleaming armor, who were guarding the gate. “State your names and your business.”

“Major Fydal, Prince of Hocatin,” the prince introduced himself, though with some trepidation. Even he seemed intimidated by the sturdy guards. “And my retinue: Adept Nikko from … uh—and Danuwil of … um … Bregánt.”

“Hocatin?” the guard said, taken aback. “We've not be notified about anyone from Hocatin.”

“We've come … unannounced,” Fydal stammered.

“No entry without notice!” the guard said, standing his ground. “Or anyone could get in.”

“I am the Prince of Hocatin, and I request an audience with His Royal Highness, the Grand Duke of Thordám,” Fydal said.

“No … entry … without … notice,” the guard repeated, slowly and mockingly.

“You are talking to the son of the Landgrave of Hocatin!”

“Then I apologize,” the guard said. “No entry without notice, Your Highness.”

Danuwil spoke up then. “I am sure we can find a solution here.”

“This should be interesting,” said the guard, and rolled his eyes.

“You could send for the grand duke's seneschal,” Danuwil proposed. “He would vouch for the prince's identity.”

“Who do you think we are?” the soldier snarled, his face growing darker. “It wouldn't matter if you were the king himself. No entry without notice!”

Fydal spoke up again: “My good man, it goes without saying that your efforts will be adequately recompensed.”

That was when the situation really began to escalate. The guards' expressions were grim, their hands close to their weapons. Danuwil looked worried, but Fydal seemed more confused than anything. Was it up to Nikko to defuse the situation? But how?

“If you don't disappear from my sight this instant, you'll earn a tour of our dungeons from the inside!” the guard threatened, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“How dare you, soldier!” the young prince shouted in outrage. “Talking to an officer and a nobleman like that! I demand to speak to your commanding officer immediately.”

“That does it!” bawled the guard. “All three of you are under arrest for attempted bribery. Lay down your weapons!”

Fear and panic appeared in Danuwil's eyes, and Fydal's face had turned crimson with fury. Nikko guessed that no one had ever spoken to the prince like that before. But it made no difference; the prince had certainly overplayed his hand. Nikko had to act!

“Enough,” the young sorcerer snapped, his magic wand held threateningly before him. “I have business to sort out with the Order.”

“What is this?” said the guard backing up in confusion. “You haven't given notice!”

“I don't need to give notice,” Nikko said. He knew he was gambling, but he made the crystal on his wand crackle with lightning.

“Of … of course,” the guard said, giving in. His face had turned as white as bone. “You may pass.”

Nikko had rarely, if ever, felt as much satisfaction as he did at that moment. It was not only that he had been successful where both his companions had failed so miserably. No. As a sorcerer, he was somebody. A few flashes of lightning opened doors that were closed even to the prince. The fact that he had probably saved his companions' lives seemed almost incidental. With his head held high and under the awestruck eyes of the guards and his companions alike, Nikko stepped through the Government Gate.

The route from the gate led them to a large, open square surrounded by many magnificent buildings. A huge tree—an ancient oak, thought Nikko—grew in the center of the square, and numerous benches set up around its massive trunk invited passersby to idle a while. After all the excitement at the gate and amazed at his own courage, Nikko had to sit for a while.

“You really pulled us out of a mess there, young wizard,” said Danuwil.

“A mess?” Fydal snorted. “The behavior of those louts was unacceptable. The audacity!”

“Next time, you might want to think twice about offering to bribe the guards so openly,” Danuwil sniped.

“That was your idea!”

“But not in broad daylight, not with witnesses!” Danuwil justified himself.

“I'm sorry I don't have your experience in such … affairs,” Fydal said with derision.

Nikko tried to appease the two squabblers. “It's all turned out well. Be happy that we didn't have to spend any money on bribes.” “You're probably right,” Danuwil laughed.

“But now I fear that I really do have to visit the Order, and soon. Now that I've practically advertised that I'm here …”

“First we have to get to the castle,” the prince said. “High time we gave notice of our presence,” he added sarcastically.

“The steps up to the palace are probably back there,” said Danuwil, pointing toward a flag-lined way that ascended slowly toward a large gate.

“Am I going to have to play the evil wizard again to get them to let us in?” Nikko joked as they walked.

“Please don't!” Fydal warned. “Acting like you're invited could provoke the Order.”

Nikko hadn't thought of that, of course, and he suddenly felt very naïve. He'd been playing with fire and hadn't realized it.

“Who should I announce,” asked the soldier at the palace gate in a much friendlier tone—superficially, at least—than the pack at the previous gate.

“Major Fydal, Prince of Hocatin,” Fydal ventured. “My companions are Adept Nikko and Danuwil of Bregánt.”

The watchman paused for a moment, inspecting the three visitors thoroughly, before saying, “Of course, Your Highness. Page, show the gentlemen to the waiting area.”

“If my lords would please follow me,” said a scrawny youth in a colorful uniform, hardly older than Nikko.

They came to a prettily decorated room with upholstered couches, and the page said, “If my lords would like to make themselves comfortable, I will notify the seneschal's office of your arrival. You will then be collected from here.”

The young man then departed, bowing deeply, and the three made themselves at home on the couches.

“Now this is much better,” the prince noted with satisfaction.

“They seem to assume that once one is inside the government quarter, then everything must be correct,” Danuwil added drily.

“If it's a question of correctness, then it seems they have reached the right conclusion,” Fydal said cuttingly, apparently determined to take the nobleman's comment as another provocation.

“I just meant to say that the seneschal will be surprised at your visit, Your Highness,” Danuwil said in justification.

It was an hour, at least, before the page finally reappeared and led the trio to the seneschal's office, where they now waited.

“I'm starting to run out of patience,” Fydal complained, and just as he said it, the door opened.

“In the name of His Royal Highness, Grand Duke Arlen of Thordám, I bid you welcome, Your Highness,” beamed a smartly dressed, middle-aged man. “If you and your retinue would kindly follow me into the meeting room …”

The man led them through the seneschal's so-called office, which was, in fact a large room where dozens of scribes were brooding over papers on desks. The walls of the room were hidden by countless shelves of books and scrolls, and many doors, stairways and corridors led off it. The dapper man led them into a side room and closed the door when they were all inside.

“Please have a seat, Your Highness,” he said, and gestured toward three chairs set up in front of a desk, behind which he himself sat down. “My name is Wigo of Asgal. I am first deputy to the seneschal of His Royal Highness, the Grand Duke of Thordám.” “A deputy?” Fydal said, astonished.

“His Excellency, the seneschal, is a very busy man,” the deputy said pointedly. “He will receive you personally, should that be necessary. Until that happens, I am at your disposal.”

Fydal simply smiled and nodded. Perhaps he was slowly starting to realize his place here.

“Now then. I must confess that we are not only overjoyed at your unexpected visit but also somewhat … surprised.”

“Then you have not yet been apprised of events in my homeland?” Fydal seemed rather perplexed.

“We have received some information. The Duke of Khondharr has marched on Hocatin and has even laid siege to the Iron Citadel.” “That's right. My father, the landgrave, is dead, as is his heir, my brother.”

“Oh!” That took the deputy by surprise. “Forgive me, Your Highness. My condolences. That does, of course, complicate matters somewhat. If I may hazard a guess: you are on your way to Zundaj to legitimize yourself as your father's successor. Am I right?”

“How could you know that?” said Fydal, genuinely bewildered.

“Because you did not introduce yourself as the landgrave of Hocatin,” the man explained with a superior grin. “I take it that you were not named as his successor, and that the estates are not in any position to convene. The only option left is for His Majesty to confirm you in the office.”

“That's just how it is.”

“All right, then, Your Highness. How precisely can His Royal Highness be of service?”

“I hereby request a personal audience with him.”

“A necessary step.” The deputy nodded. “You certainly have some things to explain, after all. Not least of which is your presence here, which is … unusual. And you are traveling unescorted?”

Fydal sighed. “As it happens, yes. The circumstances in general are unusual.”

“That may be true, but it makes no difference; His Royal Highness is not currently in the city, as the flags on the palace clearly demonstrate.”

“Pardon me,” the prince stammered. “We really did not pay any attention to the flags. When is His Royal Highness expected to return?”

The prince's question seemed to annoy the deputy. “I am afraid that such information is confidential. He will, however, not return for quite some time. You would probably be well advised not to postpone your onward journey to Zundaj.” After a moment of silence on both sides, the seneschal's man pushed on, “If the grand duchy can be of service in some other way …?”

“My companion, Adept Nikko, would like to speak to the representative of the Arcane Order,” Fydal said then, as if some of the shine of his fellow traveler might rub off.

“Adept?” the deputy said, raising his eyebrows. “I'd been thinking that the page must have misunderstood your names. But of course we can arrange a meeting. And I would add, Your Highness, that we would consider it a great honor for the grand duchy if you and your companions were to lodge with us as guests of the palace, as long as you remain here in the city.”

The same day, late in the afternoon, someone finally knocked on Nikko's door. Following the conversation with the deputy, the three new guests were quickly shown to their quarters, all luxuriously appointed individual rooms. The prince was so disappointed with how the earlier conversation had gone that he retired to his room at the earliest opportunity. But Danuwil seemed somewhat lost, unable in their current situation to offer much in the way of his usual advice, and he, too, had withdrawn to the isolation of his room. He probably had to catch up on lost sleep, too; he still seemed tired from the indulgences of the previous night, which had left their mark on him.

“Enter,” Nikko called. He was glad of the interruption, because he was beginning to feel as if the walls of the room were closing in around him. But he had not dared to go off alone to explore the castle, because he was waiting for a message from the Order.

“The Master would like to speak with you, Adept,” said the page who opened the door. “If you would follow me.”

Nikko had no idea how long he and the page walked through the palace before they finally reached a portentous double door. He had too much whirling around in his head, too much fear of his first encounter with the sinister Order, which had murdered old Thorodos. The brutal stranger in the black cowl and his murderous henchmen— hadn't they been acting in the name of the Order? And now Nikko was supposed to reveal himself to the same organization …

With a bow that looked almost fearful, the page departed again, scurrying off with relief. Now Nikko stood alone before the portal, the last barrier to an uncertain future. But what choice did he have? He was a sorcerer, and for better or worse, he had to collaborate with the Order. Or die like Thorodos.

He stood as if petrified before the door. His spirit was telling him to knock, but his flesh was weak, and he felt panic rising in him. His heart was beating fast, and pearls of sweat formed on his forehead. But there was no way back, not now. Several deep breaths later, a loud knocking reverberated inside his head. A vision? Or a memory? Had he really knocked?

The double doors opened with a creaking noise. Then they clicked into position, opening onto an eerily lit passageway. The light was not natural; it came neither from the evening sun nor from any candles or flaming torches. Now it was the spirit that wavered, but Nikko's flesh instinctively moved his legs.

“Adept Nikko?” enquired a feeble-sounding voice inside, when Nikko had moved a few steps forward. “Your name is not familiar to me.”

Now the young sorcerer could make out a figure at the end of the corridor, standing against the unearthly light so that all Nikko could see was a blurry silhouette.

“You have … some matters to arrange with the Order?” the voice asked. “Then spit them out. My patience is limited.” “Forgive me … uh, Master …” Nikko faltered.

“Who are you?” the voice went on. “I can't place you … and yet, I sense you.”

“I am Nikko.”

“Your name has been reported to me,” the voice said. “Who named you Adept?”

“Uh … it was the … seneschal?” he stammered.

“What are you mumbling? Which seneschal?” “The seneschal of Hocatin,” Nikko answered.

“Since when can the seneschal of Hocatin name someone as an adept?” the voice remonstrated, then spoke in loud outrage: “Since when can a sleeper speak for the Order?”

“I don't understand,” said Nikko, who really did not.

The voice calmed again. “You do not belong to the Order. And yet I sense your gift.”

“No, I don't. I came here to present myself.”

“Then why do you presume to use the title Adept?” the voice scolded. “You're not even a Novice!”

Nikko's voice shook as he spoke: “I'm sorry, but that's what the seneschal called me. I don't even know what the word means.”

“Count yourself lucky that—oh, forget it! But know that there was once a time when your impudence would get you … no, enough now! Let's start again from the beginning.” A man in his later years stepped into the light, and Nikko could now see him much better. He had a neatly trimmed beard and wore a dark-blue robe made of some kind of shiny cloth, probably silk, with exquisite embroidery. He hair was graying, but wavy and full. His dark eyes radiated a beneficence that did not match the short-tempered words he had just been firing at Nikko. “I am Sinúl, Master, fourth grade,” he introduced himself. “I lead the Terys chapter of the Arcane Order. I am also the Grand

Duke's court sorcerer and archmage of the city.”

“I am Nikko from Vyldoro. That's in Hocatin.”

“Hocatin … then it's no wonder you are traveling with the fallen prince.”

Nikko wondered what the old man meant be saying the prince was fallen, but he did not have the courage to disagree.

“Tell me about yourself, future Novice,” the master ordered. “I have to know everything.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Your intellect could use a sharper edge, couldn't it, future Novice?” the master said drily. “What do you think I would want to know?”

“Who sent me here?”

“Nonsense! I don't have the patience for novice-games like this.

Tell me how you know about your gift? Speak!”

“The wand,” said Nikko, producing it. Before he could even react, the weapon flew as if by itself into the right hand of the master, who looked it over thoroughly.

“I do not want to know where you got this from,” the master said, surprising the lad, who was searching wildly for some kind of lie about how he came to possess the wand. He did not want to mention Thorodos's name. “A thing like this does not belong in the hands of a novice,” the old man stated very clearly. “I will look after it until you are truly an Adept.”

Nikko was far from thrilled to hand over his trusty weapon to the master, but he could not object. Besides, he was very glad that he did not have to justify the wand's origin.

The master spoke up again: “You will have some explaining to do in Zundaj. For myself, I have neither the time nor the patience to work myself to death with you. I hereby appoint you to Novice of the Arcane Order. From now on, you will introduce yourself to all as Novice Nikko. Your robe of the Order will be brought to you in your room. You must wear it at all times!” When Nikko said nothing, he went on, “Your first task is to report to the headquarters of the Order in Zundaj.”

“Of course, Master,” the freshly anointed novice acquiesced. “The prince is going to Zundaj anyway.”

“Good. I will instruct the seneschal to treat the prince's concerns more sympathetically. I do not want you to linger here in Terys too long. To Zundaj, as fast as you can! Understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Nikko answered, marveling at how well-informed the sorcerer seemed to be. But why did he want to get rid of Nikko so fast?

Master Sinúl turned away without another word, and the young novice hesitantly left again. The double doors closed behind him the moment he stepped outside. It was too late to ask all the questions that only came back to him then. Did the Master know anything more about the magic wand? Should Nikko have shown him Thorodos's heavy book? Why did the sorcerer refer to the seneschal as a

‘sleeper'?

A short time later, Nikko ate with Danuwil and Fydal in a small dining room. The food was first class and there was plenty of wine, and Nikko could safely reckon with the nobleman drinking his fill again.

But they were all still sober, and enjoying the meal.

“I had a good conversation with the actual seneschal later on,” Fydal said, beaming. “He was far more open than that so-called first deputy. What an upstart!”

“What did the seneschal decide?” Danuwil asked.

“Not only have I retroactively been assured safe conduct in the entire grand duchy …”—there was pride in Fydal's voice—“…but we can even travel as far as Brigo with a contingent of the Grand Duke's soldiers.”

“Brigo?” the nobleman smiled. “That almost on the border to Zûldaján.”

“Exactly,” the prince confirmed. Then he laughed and said, “All you have to do is speak to the right person.”

Nikko knew otherwise, but thought it better to keep what he knew to himself. Still, he wondered at the power of the sorcerers. Not only had the master seemed exceptionally well informed about everything, but one word from him and a high-ranking officer like the seneschal jumped, and probably with no objections whatsoever. Nikko recalled Danuwil telling him, weeks earlier, that it was actually the Order that ran the entire realm.

“So when do we leave?” he asked.

“The day after tomorrow,” Fydal answered. “Tomorrow we can rest a little and explore the city.”