Chapter Nine #2
A woman of advanced age sat in the throne with the mast, wearing armor more highly wrought and gilded than any Tyrael had yet seen in Skovos.
She sat up tall, with a regal bearing somehow amplified by the rustic nature of her throne, rather than diminished by it.
Her white hair flowed beneath a golden circlet like rapids over a fall.
No one sat on the throne with the rudder over its backrest. Captain Myrina stood at attention between the two seats.
Upon entering the chamber, Adreona and her Amazons bowed. Tyrael followed their example of deference, as did Keldon and the other two Horadrim.
“The petitioners may step forward!” Captain Myrina called, her voice resounding against the stone.
Tyrael moved toward the dais, and his comrades followed, until two guards extended their spears to block their approach. The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder nine or ten paces from the throne.
“You stand before the Mast,” Myrina said, “which is upheld by Etara, Amazon Queen of the Askari.” She gestured to her left. “You also stand in the presence of the Helm, which represents the guiding foresight of the Oracle Queen, who by tradition dwells in her temple on the island of Philios.”
“We are honored,” said Tyrael, bowing his head once more.
“Why are they shackled?” asked the queen. Her warm voice crackled around the edges but retained much of its former strength, like an ancient stone wall baked by the sun.
“It is for your safety, my queen,” said Adreona from behind them.
Etara waved off her words. “Release them.”
“Your majesty.” Adreona stepped forward. “I would recommend against—”
“I said, release them.”
Adreona hesitated, frowning.
“Your queen gave you a command,” Myrina said.
Adreona closed her eyes, exhaled, and bowed.
She then marched to stand before Tyrael, footsteps echoing, and proceeded to unlock his manacles.
She let them fall to the ground with a loud clang and then did the same for Lorath, Donan, and Keldon.
When she stepped away from them, she took up a position near the dais, watching them, rather than returning to the rear of the room.
“That’s better,” Etara said. “Why were they bound in the first place?”
Myrina leaned toward her. “Suspicion of piracy, my queen.”
“Still?” Etara asked. “I thought the Askarra Guard had searched their ship and found no evidence.”
Adreona cleared her throat. “That is correct, your majesty.”
Etara said nothing for a few moments, then turned her attention from her officers to Tyrael. “They told me that one of you wore an angel’s armor, but they did not tell me how you obtained it.”
“The armor was part of my inheritance,” he answered. “A gift of my lineage going back countless generations.”
“I see,” said the queen. “Much like this throne of flotsam on which I sit.” She leaned forward. “I am satisfied that you are not pirates or smugglers. But you are someone, aren’t you? You have a remarkable presence. What is your name?”
“Faysal, your majesty.”
“And why are you in Skovos, Faysal?”
Tyrael adjusted his words to speak as much truth as he deemed prudent. “We are scholars, your majesty. Historians. We have been traveling throughout Sanctuary, assessing the widespread devastation following the events of several years ago.”
Etara sat back on her throne, touching her index finger to her lips. “To what end?”
“We want to understand what was lost,” Tyrael said. “We wish to assess how people are rebuilding and to preserve what useful knowledge we can.”
“Your endeavor is virtuous,” Etara said, emphasizing the word in a way that filled it with significance.
“Here in Skovos, we do not follow Akarat or Skatsim. We do not put our faith in external powers but trust in ourselves as we strive to follow the Three Virtues: life, courage, and wisdom. I am pleased that your mission seems guided by all three.”
“I hope it is, your majesty.”
“What is it you seek from me?” the queen asked.
Tyrael glanced at his companions, then said, “From what we have heard, and the little we have witnessed, Skovos has recovered better and more quickly from the Reaping than any other city or people we know of. We seek your permission to travel your islands, to learn from you, so that we might understand how you have achieved this.”
“In other words,” Adreona said, “they wish to spy on us.”
The queen frowned at her. “That seems a rather hostile interpretation, Captain,” she said, which brought a flush to Adreona’s cheeks.
“My queen,” Myrina said, “Adreona has served valiantly on Athulua for many years, leading our forces in the fight against the Drowned. It is only natural that she would look for threats and enemies, out of habit.”
Tyrael sensed that Myrina intended that statement as some form of veiled insult, even though it seemed exculpatory, but he still had no guess as to what the captain’s private motives might be.
“I suppose that is true,” the queen said, turning toward her advisor. “How would you answer these scholars’ petition?”
Myrina regarded them for a few moments. “I do not believe they pose a threat. They have broken no laws, and were they to do so, they would be punished accordingly. Until then, I see no reason to deny them.”
“Your majesty.” Adreona dropped to one knee, bowing her head. “May I speak?”
The queen nodded. “You may.”
Adreona stood and gestured toward Tyrael.
“I do not wish any harm upon these strangers. That is why I recommend we return them to their ship and escort them safely from Skovos. After they have left our waters, they may sail where they choose. These are perilous times, my queen. The threats we face—”
“That is enough,” Etara said, her gaze turning hard. “We will speak no more of that here.”
Adreona’s mouth snapped shut, and it seemed to require tremendous restraint for her to keep it that way; the muscles in her jaw and neck remained drawn. The queen watched her for several moments, then spoke in a resonant, formal tone.
“I have made a decision. As with all that we Askari do, we must be guided now by the virtues we cherish. Faysal, you and your scholars may remain in Skovos, but there are conditions for my continued forbearance.”
Tyrael nodded. “We will abide by such conditions as you set, your majesty.”
“In service to courage,” she continued, “one of you will accompany Captain Adreona to Athulua, where you will fight to defend our islands.”
Adreona looked up suddenly, as if to object, but held her tongue.
“In service to wisdom,” the queen went on, “I ask that Faysal remain in Temis, for I am curious about him and his scholarly travels. There is much I wish to discuss. Finally, in service to life, one of you may travel freely throughout our islands to learn more about how we have preserved the lives of our people.”
Tyrael balked at the idea of separation but did not have the grounds to object. Their circumstances had placed them at the mercy of the queen, and she had rendered her judgment in a way that did not allow for negotiation.
“Where does that leave me?” Keldon asked.
The queen furrowed her brow. “Who are you?”
Myrina answered, “He is the captain of the ship that brought them here.”
“I see.” Etara tapped her foot, as if she had grown suddenly impatient with the proceedings. “You must remain in Skovos, I’m afraid. You and your vessel will be required to sail the others away from here when the time comes for them to leave. You may choose which of the three you will accompany.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” Keldon said, without even attempting to feign sincere gratitude.
“May we confer amongst ourselves, your majesty?” Tyrael asked.
She inclined her head. “You may.”
The four drew closer together in a huddle, whispering as quietly as they could.
“I vote we leave,” said Lorath. “Return to Westmarch, where we’re needed.”
“I think we’re needed here,” Donan replied. “The Drowned are an evil of unquestionable danger. And you said yourself, things aren’t as orderly as they seem. But I do regret dragging Keldon into this.”
“You got me my Arabel back,” the sailor said. “We’re even.”
“I agree with Donan,” Tyrael said. “Yes, we must accomplish what we came to do, but I feel there is a darkness in Skovos, beyond the Drowned. I have only fragments, glimpsed like passing shadows. Our aid in this moment may prevent the isles from falling fully into ruin—as so much of Sanctuary already has.”
Lorath stared at his boots, arms folded, shaking his head. Then he looked up and said, “I guess that means I’m going with the Amazons to Athulua.”
“Why you?” Donan asked.
Lorath shrugged. “You like puzzles. If anyone can find out what happened to the Horadrim, it’s you.”
Donan accepted this with a reluctant nod.
“Then we are agreed,” said Tyrael. “All that remains is for Keldon to decide which of you he will accompany. Or would you rather stay on Temis?”
The sailor thrust his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll go with Lorath.”
“Me?” Lorath said. “Why?”
Tyrael felt some surprise at Keldon’s choice as well. The sailor knew firsthand the peril he would face on Athulua, and it had seemed during the crossing that he got along better with Donan.
“No offense,” Keldon said, “but I’d rather not sit around on Temis having audiences with the queen, and between the other two choices, I’d rather go where the fighting is.”
“Fair enough,” said Lorath.