Chapter Three
TWO SUNS LATER, I STOOD on the newly refurbished docks of Celear, with Le’ral Fylson at my side and a dozen guards in white and blue armor at my back, watching the Sandrayan ship gliding up to the furthest point of the shore.
The sun was warm—blisteringly hot if one was standing in full plate—but the wind that was billowing out the yellow and red sails of the Sandrayan vessel was cooler than normal.
A small blessing from Ihdos. Civilians lined up along the docks, most just curious to see the newcomers arriving.
Some shouted slurs at the dark-skinned elves from the large island chain to the west. Extra guards were keeping the crowds at bay, gently for now.
They had orders to be kind, but if people started to push, they were to push back.
It would not go over well if the envoy stepped onto the dock only to be run through by some radical’s sword.
“It’s a fine vessel,” Fylson commented, his dark hair slicked back with a pomade, as his light green cape snapped in the ocean breeze. “Rumors are there are thirty rowers.”
From this distance, I could not count the long oars skimming the water, but there seemed to be many.
The ship was sleek. Built out of exotic red cedar that grew only on the Black Sand Isles, the bowsprit curved upward like a horn that was covered with hammered gold.
Two smaller vessels moved in the larger boat’s wake, similar but lacking the ornamentation of the bigger ship.
Transport vessels, I imagined, filled with gifts for King Aelir.
Treasures and fruits, horses, rugs of deep blue and white, jewelry encrusted with fine gems, rich spices, rare animals, Sandrayan weapons and light armor.
Perhaps there would be boxes of dark red Sandrayan tea, the most prized drink among the people of the isles.
They drank it hot and cooled, with heavy amounts of honey and rich cream.
“My cousin told me that they sailed down around the tip of Renedith to reach us in two passes of the moons. If that time is true, they would need that many rowers rowing steadily for the trip around the tip of our lands to the Black Sands cannot be made by our boats in less than seven suns.”
“Our boats are heavier and not as wind pleasing. The Sandrayan vessels are made for speed. Look how narrow the hull is in comparison to our ships. They also scribe all the wood they use for ship making with glyphs to call up the arcanum of wind whisperers to lift the ship higher to increase speed.”
I turned my head to gape at the royal advisor. “Truly?”
“That is a tale I heard many moons ago. Do bear in mind that the Sandrayans did not turn their backs on magicks as we here in the cities did. They, much like the wood elves, embraced arcana and over the centuries have grown stronger in the use of spells and magicks. The vahasi is able to manipulate the winds and sands themselves. His wife and husband are strong mages as well, rumored to be able to spin themselves into dust devils that blind and suffocate their enemies.”
“Ah, magicks. Yes, I have heard such tales but have not seen any signs of their powers. Granted, when one is attending a foreign land with a hand extended seeking peace, a mage would be unlikely to unleash a sandy dervish on his host.” I blinked as salty sweat ran into my eye.
The sooner we got this man and his seconds into the castle and out of the glaring sun, the happier my men and I would be.
“No, that would be a rather poor decision,” Le’ral chortled as he turned his tanned face to the sun. “I do enjoy the time spent on the sea. Mirolar disliked sailing. Of course, his skin was snowy white, not unlike our current king.”
It was encouraging to hear him speaking of the dead king in a wistful way. For a long time, he had never spoken of his departed lover, so to hear him doing so now showed he was finally healed. I hoped that someday he would find another man to love.
“V’alor teases Aelir often about his creamy complexion,” I passed along and got a short snort of amusement.
“I suspect our guard commander enjoys the softness of his husband’s skin even if he does poke fun at how quickly the king turns pink when out of doors.”
I did my best to hide my smirk. It was fairly obvious to anyone that V’alor adored Aelir.
“As a reminder, the envoy is not the elderly representative that you met several seasons ago. That was the senior Nouradi. This is his son. Teryn has served on the court for many seasons and is reputed to be highly skilled in druidic magicks as well as desert warfare tactics while being a highly sought-after negotiator. I suspect he will arrive with his adult children, a son and a daughter, as his assistants. All are arcane scholars of the highest caliber.”
“Yes, I recalled reading that in the missive I received when the initial reply from the Sandrayans arrived in the affirmative.” I looked out at the ship sailing smoothly toward us.
Three people stood on the deck as the mainsail was efficiently brought down and secured to the mainmast with sail ties.
The oars were not being manned, yet the ship glided into the dock as if pushed by the hand of a sea god.
The crew leapt out, tying ropes to metal cleats secured to the dock.
My sight touched on the three elves in elegant clothing.
A younger male and female, close to the same age, with ebony hair to their waists, decorated with glittering beads that matched their soft white robes.
Then I locked eyes with the envoy, and my breath caught for a moment.
Teryn Nouradi was a striking man even from a distance.
His goatee and shoulder-length hair were as black as a desert night.
No adornments of any kind other than an appealing splash of silver on his chin.
A long gold chain hung from the tip of one pointed ear.
He seemed at home on the sea, for the rocking of the boat under him thudded into the berth, and his stance, legs parted, hands behind his back, did not change.
He had an angular face, appealing, yes, with amber eyes that held my attention fully.
Thick black lashes framed those honey eyes, and when he smiled at me, I felt a tingle of what surely had to be some sort of magick.
His robes were silken, a soft marigold tone of muted yellow that played well off skin that was similar in color to my bronze armor.
His feet were wrapped in tanned leather sandals.
Glancing down at the cat seated regally at his side, I noticed the spots on the soft fur. How odd. I had always believed that spotted cats were wild creatures. This one certainly acted nothing like the prowling felines that we’d once had behind bars in the menageries.
I stepped forward as a gangplank was placed between the ship and the quay, Le’ral taking the lead as he was the king’s advisor, a former royal secretary, and highly versed in diplomacy.
He’d served at Mirolar’s side for hundreds of years.
I was merely a guard who told other guards where to stand and not to stick their pricks through knotholes.
Rubbing elbows with the elite was the grand advisor’s realm, not mine.
Mine was in the barracks or listening to a bard in an alehouse while I eyed the pretty men and women serving ale and wine.
Still, over the years, I’d grown accustomed to the powerful and wealthy visiting Avolire.
I’d never seen a more handsome man than Teryn Nouradi, but he was not for me to admire in that way.
He was here to open up negotiations, and it was my job to keep him safe.
Wondering whether the hair on his chin was soft or not was immediately tossed into the sea.
“Mahouk Nouradi, it is with great pleasure that we meet again,” Le’ral stated as the ambassador, now holding the cat cradled in one arm, and his two children strode across the gangplank wearing smiles as bright as the day was warm.
The two men clasped each other’s forearms in a traditional Sandrayan greeting, heads nodding once, as they met on the dock.
“I hope your trip was uneventful and the seas calm.”
“It was a joyous trip. The sea enjoyed our ship skimming its waves. It has been too long since I gazed upon your face, Grand Advisor Fylson. You have aged well.” Teryn’s sight darted to me and stayed for a long, long moment.
“Ah! I see you have brought the famed bronze warrior with you to greet us.”
“At the king’s request,” Le’ral announced as if I were a gifted goat.
He passed the cat to the young woman, who then greeted Le’ral with a kind smile and nod.
I placed my fist on my chest as the envoy stepped in front of me.
“Imagine such an honor being bestowed upon us. Your reputation is known even on the smallest of islands of the Black Sands. Pasil Greenleaves, the bronze warrior, eradicator of bandits and slayer of yeti.”
He held out his hand. Something I was not expecting, for most dignitaries tended to ignore royal guards and the castle staff entirely unless they wanted something from us.
I clasped his forearm with a gauntleted hand.
He stood a few inches shorter than I and was leaner.
The rich scent of sand sage blew from his robes to tempt me to lean closer to breathe him in.
I did not lean in as much as my body wished me to.
“In truth, Mahouk, the bandits were eradicated with a troop of men, and the yeti was not slain, merely maimed.”
He held onto my arm as we spoke, also something that most here in Melowynn did not do.
“You’re being far too modest, Captain, for the story I heard was that the yeti were young, unruly, and possessed by the rampant aggression of their first mating season.
To disarm a male yeti in the rage of that first breeding call is no small feat. ”