Into the Deep Wood

The ride to Aziza had not taken as long as Iros expected.

His outfit was not large, and they moved fast, remaining along the Crimson River. They passed Ai-Jabrahn in the southernmost part of the territory, nestled in a large valley leading to the sea. They rode through the farms and large groves of olive trees, date palms, and fig trees.

When the outfit arrived, it had become fairly clear that they had yet to hear the news from the capital. They were put up in the barracks. It stood on the harbor along the river mouth in a large bay, sheltering the entirety of the southern military fleet, fishing boats, and cargo ships.

A fleet from the West had come in a week prior, and the troops that came with them immediately joined under his command.

The only one left that Batyr had promised Iros was the Pathfinder.

Under normal circumstances, the scoutmaster would not have been needed. These were not unknown lands or enemy territories, no one to track, and any messages that needed to go back to the capital could be sent with a single scout or envoy. And, his trained navigators could be sent out with only the sea captains.

But, the pathfinder had spent a considerable amount of time with Valeria. And at the Ember Sword’s insistance, Iros fully intended to take him back to Barzah.

General Asim seemed to have a soft spot for the man. For one reason or another, he was allowed to leave after having been at the center of events involving Valeria’s return and the Ember Sword’s subsequent change of heart toward things of militant nature.

Iros already knew of Valeria’s involvement with Ivan. The Ember Sword had told him the moment he returned from a meeting with him in the barracks. He said that the man’s face had been somber, and eyes showed both resentment and jealousy –however hard he had tried to hide it. It had been obvious in Valeria’s reaction as well.

But nothing would be done until Aziza was prepared to defend itself against the commandeered eastern fleet.

As Iros arrived at the naval port, he was greeted with the South’s pride of the sea—a fleet of ramships affectionately named the Iron Claws. They stood as a dark wall against the port. Made of teakwood, these elegant, streamlined galleys boasted a reinforced metal prow meant for ramming. The intricate iron noses gave them a look unlike that of birds of prey. The sharp protruding wings at the front of the prows were incredibly difficult to spot when in motion.

Thus far, they had only been used for exploration, mapping of the coasts, and ventures into the Dark Waters. The three-league-long stretch of sea was named for the resting place of a giant sea serpent that had once come from the Dormant Wound - long before the sea retreated from the desert. Although occasionally spotted, it happened so rarely that its existence was still debated only to be a myth.

When the party came, the governor, Lord Naeem had been absent from the city. To his annoyance, Iros was given full command until such a time that he returned. Because of this, the news came to him first.

Two ships turned up from the East and sailed into Typhonos’ ports. They were full of refugees and deserting soldiers, and the tales they told had been very similar to those of the warlords.

Korschey came, his forces sweeping through like the tide. They’d taken over each region one by one, pushing the barons and their armies out.

The East had gone quietly; perhaps the Northern King knew it would.

But that was not the only thing Typhonos had sent word of.

Several of the sailors who had manned the ships since before the invasion spoke of a devil in the waves. A few weeks before the arrival of the Northern forces, something strange had begun happening. Fishing dhows would not return from sea. First, one, then three, and each day, they took more and more into the waters.

Then, they came back.

Empty, not a soul inside, they started drifting into the shoreline and crashing onto land, their sides breaking apart on the rocks. They were untouched, and when men would search the more intact ones, they said that everything had remained in good order –food was set out on the tables, and lines were drying above. Whole barrels of fish were secured after what looked to be a successful day at sea.

Not one body aboard, alive or dead. No signs of a struggle. No damage to the hulls or masts.

The men were simply gone.

When the armies came, everyone cried that the Northern King had sent a devil before his soldiers, threatening ruin to anyone who tried to flee by sea. They set out with four ships in total; two were swallowed up in the black fog that rolled out from the Frozen Sea in the North.

Iros ordered thick chains to run through the harbor. The watchtowers were ordered to be manned night and day.

He set up a command room in the harbor master’s quarters. He would have to remain in Aziza until Batyr sent word back about Nashtuun.

It was not the High Templar’s first choice to fortify a city against an invasion, and he would be glad when Batyr would send someone to replace him. In light of the latest news, he needed to return West.

A knock came at the door, and Iros wearily looked up.

It had been a nearly sleepless night as he spent it writing letters and orders to be posted about the city. Unfortunately, the local lord had taken his attendants with him - and no one in Iros’ immediate company knew how to read.

He searched the halls, but came up empty as it seemed everyone had gone for the day. So now he sat having to make glorified posters, time well spent for someone of his rank.

“Enter, please.” He called out. The door opened, and a tall man with light hair and blue eyes stepped in.

“Pathfinder.” Iros was admittedly surprised; he expected to have to put great effort into finding the man. “Well met.”

“General.” Ivan nodded in greeting. “I got word that you have need of navigators. I have called on my best, but I am afraid that down here, there are not many to speak of.”

“My thanks.” Iros motioned toward a chair near the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Ivan sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his hands together. Iros noted that the last time he had seen the scoutmaster, the man had looked just slightly more put together than a common wayfarer. Now, he wore a sergeant’s coat, dark blue with two rows of silver buttons running down from its collar. His expression was far more serious than Iros had observed before.

“I understand that there has been conflict to the North.” Ivan began, carefully masking his question.

“The warlords reported the same news as the sailors. Korschey’s armies have taken the East, and they march south.” Iros shook his head, sending another piece of parchment out of the way and beginning anew on a fresh one. He glanced quickly at Ivan before continuing, “Batyr has sent the Ember Sword to Nashtuun to secure the borders.”

Ivan’s face remained stoic, and only the slightest twitch in his eyes hearing the name had let on to his inner thoughts.

“And the Witch?”

The question had caught Iros off guard, and he allowed the interest to show on his face.

He did not expect Ivan to ask so blatantly about Valeria.

“She had gone with him.”

“Hm.”

There was a pause between the two. The High Templar set down the pen and leaned forward on the desk.

“Pathfinder,” He began. It was best to be candid, as Iros knew that he would have to work alongside the scoutmaster throughout the campaign in Aziza and when he had to break the news to the man that the scoutmaster had to go back to Bazrah. “I wish to speak to you about the Witch.”

“I am glad that she has found a home in Barzah.” Ivan’s face remained emotionless.

“There is a lot you do not know.” Iros said, “and, I am sure, a lot you would ask if given the opportunity.”

“I am content.”

“You are a fool if that is the stance you take.” Iros’ tone had lost a fair amount of formality, and he saw the man’s face shift. “You are in a very small circle to have spent time with Valeria and witnessed what she can do.”

“I do not wish to have anything to do with it.” Ivan’s eyes were on the floor, barring his inner thoughts from the High Templar.

“There is no choice in it for any of us, Ivan.” Iros sighed. “Least of all, Valeria. If you ever had love for her, you will have everything to do with it now.”

He saw the scoutmaster’s shoulders fall and mouth grow slightly thinner as his face tensed, but he did not look up.

“You have no idea who he is, you know,” Iros said. “Were it as simple as a courtship for a woman’s hand, you and I would not be sitting here like a couple of gossiping maidens with naught to do with their day.”

“You’re right,” Ivan said, meeting Iros’ eyes. “I do not know who he is. In fact, I have never heard of a grand general entrusted with another kingdom’s armies. Especially one that came from thin air within a year of the war.”

“Then perhaps you should. If not for any other reason, then because Valeria trusts him.”

Visibly frustrated, Ivan pursed his lips.

“Why do you follow him, then?” He asked.

“I follow my King.”

“No,” Ivan shook his head, “it is my job and duty to watch and listen, and I daresay I am very good at what I do. There is not a man I’ve met since crossing back into the south that does not bend to the Ember Sword. And I want to know why.”

“You are too bold.”

“You want me to go back.” The two men held each other’s eyes, each caught in the turn the conversation had taken very suddenly. “To Barzah. After Asim had dismissed me honorably. Batyr did not even know my name when I had returned, it was not he who asked for me. It is not yourself, High Templar, either. He wants me to return to the city, and if I am to be humiliated like that, I want to, at the very least, know why it is I should.”

Iros regarded him for a moment. The man’s demeanor had changed drastically from the beginning of the conversation. He sat taller and commanded more authority. He was not intimidated by Iros, and he had not kept up a formal tone.

This man did not feel he had much to lose.

“I cannot speak of it; it is not my place,” Iros said finally. “But I have a feeling that should you return, you would find your answers soon enough.”

“And if I do not return?”

Another pause. It was almost admiration that the High Templar felt, the boldness from the man was surprising but fairly refreshing considering the company he had kept outside of the Ember Sword himself.

“I think,” he said, “that you will. If Valeria had chosen to trust you once, I would think you a worthy man. A man who crossed the entirety of the North in winter, through the storms of war, and with nothing but a sword at his back - such a man would not abandon her. I trust you have seen the good that she can do. Make your choices, pathfinder. Once I have my navigators, you are free to do as you wish within your duty here. But, should you decide to return North - you will know where to find me.”

Ivan stood. Again, to Iros’ surprise, he reached out his hand, and they shook on it with mutual understanding.

“One more thing, Ivan,” Iros called suddenly as the man turned to leave. “Do you know how to write?”