From the foam at the edge of the waves, to the bright clean sand, to the white marble of the stairway that led to the ivory shrine above, the scenery looked much like a pristine piece of parchment. History would be written upon it. Ymdaton remembered the place very well. It is here that he made a name for himself by defeating a full squad of tyrsenoi soldiers single-handedly. Those very soldiers who now were ascending by the stairs to engage him. They approached in a tight formation six man wide and seven man long. Shields were locked, spears were projected forward. He clearly needed some advantage other than high ground to survive this encounter.

A solution was found just beside him. The solution made a pitiful display: a balding old man with a scarce beard, sobbing, mumbling pleas to his god and his captor. Ymdaton sighed. His intention was to take this priest captive and demand a ransom from the temple later. He would have to trade that opportunity for victory in battle. The warrior grabbed the priest by the shoulder and forced him to stand up. Unheeding to cleric’s sobbings, the captor shoved his hostage forward with all force that he could manage. The cleric flew over the first rank of soldiers, landing on the second one. The formation was thrown into disarray. Some enemies tried to remove their spears so the priest won’t get accidentally impaled, some tried to catch him, some were caught by the impact and tumbled down the stairs.

Ymdaton charged right into the heart of confusion. He caught six of the squad with backstabs. Seven more were disciplined enough to expect him and put up some resistance. Their armour was so similar to his own, that the warrior could find weak points with his eyes closed. He feinted, forcing opponents to raise or lower their shields, and then cut defenseless laps, arms or necks. Soon he felt that the mob might overwhelm him before long. He grabbed one of badly wounded enemies and retreated up the stairs. Ymdaton used the poor sod as a living shield. Soldiers hesitated at first, unwilling to hurt one of their own.

When they finally decided to pursue, Ymdaton was already few steps higher. This allowed him to repeat the same trick second time through the battle. He shoved the wounded opponent into the charging foes. Confusion grasped his enemies yet again. Some were struck by a falling man and lost footing just as their unlucky brethren did moments ago, some tried to help their comrades. The warrior charged once more, fending off occasional counter attacks with his shield while laying low enemies with his axe. This time he smote fifteen foes total by both honourable and not so blows.

The only soldiers left were those who fell down the stairway. Some broke too many bones to even get up, but eight of them rushed up at him. Ymadton prepared to clean things up. The encounter was ending in the exact same way as it did the last time.

Noises of battle to the left catched warrior’s attention. He turned his head to see an another tyrsenoi squad assaulting a lone kinani fighter. The skirmish uncannily mirrored that of his own. Ymdaton even saw the same swings and counterattacks that he did being repeated. The brave man pushed aside enemy spears with his shield. Sun played upon the giant gem which was embed in the middle of it.

Ymdaton was striding to assist the fellow combatant even before the thought formed in his head. There should not have been any other tyrsenoi troops on the stairway that day. There should not have been any other kinani warriors either. That shield could have been wielt by one man only: Lord of house Abeneewy, who did promote Ymdaton for bravery that he had shown in that battle. A fierce opposition from tyrsenoi soldiers prevented him from reaching his commander. A moment later he witnessed the man being overwhelmed and cut down by enemies.

A bellow of rage left Ymdaton’s throat. He began to slash enemies left and right with immense fury. His despair was so deep that he lost touch with the reality and continued to swing his weapon blindly until he found himself thrashing against bedsheets with his wife trying to calm him down. It was twilight before dawn. He was at his house and not at the battlefield.

“What is it, my love? What nightmare took hold of you?” she asked while staring right into his eyes with a concerned look on her face.

Ymdaton gasped and gradually calmed down.

“It’s nothing, Umshama. I’ve just had an exceptionally nonsensical dream.”

“This is very unlike you,” she murmured while embracing her husband in an attempt to comfort and lull him. He pushed her away and rapidly stood up.

“Wake up the serfs. I will be going out early.”

It took Ymdaton only a third of an hour to bathe and dress himself, yet when he entered the dinner room his wife was already there waiting for him to share a meal. Unlike her husband who wore a simple tunic at home, Umshama was wearing a fine dress, had her curly blond hair formed into an elegant coiffure and her wrists adorned with precious bracers. Ymdaton admired her for a moment before recognizing the dress. It was crafted from an expensive cloth of deep red colour that he took as a spoil during the battle that he dreamed of.

“Why do you stay at the door. Take a sit and have your fill, my love,” he heard wife’s words.

The warrior found himself standing at the entrance consumed by thoughts. Ymdaton sat at the table. He took pieces of poached fish and chewed them mechanically, without paying attention to its certainly delicious taste. He had the recent dream replaying before his inner sight. Soon the warrior stood up and left for his arming chamber without even finishing his meal. Umshama threw a look filled with compassion in his wake, yet said nothing.

Ymdaton passed through his house, submerged in his thoughts still. Usually he will stop by one of many trophies of his past campaigns which hung from walls of creamy stone or stood in corners. He was not in the mood for rekindling memories now. Ahisys, a serf in charge of the armoury noticed his master and silently followed him. As they entered the arming chamber, the warrior finally paid attention to his servant.

“Did you have enough time to prepare my arms? I am leaving quite early, after all.”

“Do not insult my works, master. Everything was ready for your departure even last evening.”

With those words serf began to encase the warrior in his battle attire. Ymdaton concentrated purely on the feel of armour touching his body, purging his mind of thoughts. First came a thick quilted jacket. A steel hauberk was put upon it. Then the serf applied a pair of greaves and a pair of arm guards, both made of bronze. A helm of steel with massive cheekpieces and a metal crest on top of it came hext. The helmet was embossed with images of various serpentine sea creatures. A buckler as wide across as a man’s arm, made out of wood with a thin layer of steel upon its face, was fastened to his back with a leather strap.

Finally, the serf lifted up a battle axe from one of the weapon racks along the wall. The warrior stopped Ahisys and took the weapon from him. He removed a protective leather pocket from axe’s blade and rubbed his palm crosswise along its edge.

“As sharp as it could be, good work,” said Ymdaton and smiled. The process of arming had returned confidence to his soul. It always did so.

“Do not praise me for things I ought to do, master.”

Serf sheathed the blade again and put the weapon into a loop on warrior’s belt.

Now fully armed and armored, Ymdaton headed for the entrance only to meet his wife before the doors. She moved closer and embraced her husband, while giving him a goodbye kiss.

“I do not dare to discuss your doubts, but let them all be false. I believe in you, my love. Mahandahy looks after you.”

The warrior gave her a nod and left his home.

He moved through empty streets of Isary. It was still too early, only half an hour after the dawn, so Ymdaton decided to take a longer way to the residence of house Abeneewy. He passed through several peripheral streets until he reached a saltwater canal. The man walked up the embankment with a slow pace. Occasionally a boat passed by, carrying goods to the port or the marketplace which was also stationed along the sea cost.

The warrior loved his city. During his life he saw settlement of tyrsenoi which had more bombastic architecture or grand metropolises of the Arsaci Empire. Yet none were as lovely as Isary. Most buildings here were of simple design: brick shaped houses with flat roofs that were made of similar yellowish-white stone. However, every family added their own touch to their home: walls were either painted, or covered with creeping vines, or even adorned with bas-reliefs.

After half an hour of traversing the stone embankment, a sight to his right hand changed from a row of houses into a fence as tall as a man. Behind it treetops could be occasionally seen. A hundred more steps and he reached an archway built into the fence. Ymdaton looked up and read the inscription carved into an arc: “Heroes of Abeneewy are cast immortal here in stone and legend.” Inside was a vast area of tamed nature: trees, bushes, and lush grass, riddled with crossing alleys. The warrior wandered through the garden for a while before taking a sit at a bench beside a statue of marble. He felt an urge to read a scroll which laid in his belt pouch once more. The warrior refrained from taking it out since he remembered a message inside to the letter:

“I, Azytenisar, head of house Abeneewy, was informed of your exploits during the punishing raid at tyrsenoi city Vetluna. This deed of yours in service of the house impressed me and all my advisors. I think that exceptional skills like yours should be used in the most important tasks. Therefore I invite you to join a squad under my immediate personal command which is best known as High Crew.

If you are willing to accept this proposal of mine then present yourself at the enclave of house Abeneewy on the sixth day of the fourth moon of the six thousand ninety-six year, at fourth hour after Ymdahy leaves. Then and there you will be officially inducted as a member of High Crew.”

There was finally enough courage in Ymdaton’s heart to acknowledge the nature of his fears. He was not afraid of any mortal enemy, and he had proven it many times over. However, the standards of the Abeneewy’s most elite formation were impossibly high. This military force spawned countless heroes of legend over the years. There was a good example right before him. The statue in front of him depicted Sumiaton, a warrior who has served in High Crew of house Abeneewy some thirty years ago.

He was depicted fully armed, holding in his raised hand an eyeball bigger than a man’s head. It is said that the eye was that of a sea monster which Sumiaton had slain on his own. That was but one example amongst many. What challenges could Ymdaton meet in the service of the house lord? Was he up to it? The warrior glanced at the inscription at the postament. It said: “A brave man may fear an enemy, a coward fears encounters.”

“I am not a coward,” he said to himself and laughed. Ymdaton stood up and headed into the opposite direction to that from which he entered the garden.

Another arch which led directly where the residence of the house Abeneewy was situated. It was not exactly a palace, rather just a really large traditional house. Four storeys high and almost twenty paces wide it loomed over the street. The walls of the building were adorned with a bright mosaic which depicted deeds of long gone house members. The warrior approached massive doors of the residence and knocked. Not long after a man opened. He was obviously a servant, yet he was dressed richer than some wealthy merchants in the city: a robe of purple overlapped with a red silken cape, golden bracers on wrists, a cap decorated with precious jewels.

“Please state your identity and business with the house,” said the serf.

Ymdaton silently handed him the scroll. The man read it and eyed the visitor again.

“Oh, so you are famous Crewslayer. Please enter and be welcome.”

The warrior stepped through the doors which were closed behind him by the servant.

“Please, follow me, I will show you to the audience chamber.”

The serf led him through halls and corridors. Expensive carpets and drapes were everywhere, pieces of art and trophies of war were put to display along the walls.

“I do not like that moniker. It sounds rather grim.”

“Crewslayer you mean? It sounds rather accurate. Didn’t you slay two scores and two tyrsenoi soldiers at Vetluna. It equals the average size of a warship’s crew.”

A giant curved sword as long as Ymdaton was tall hung from the wall to the left. What kind of a warrior could have wielt it, he wondered.

“I understand the meaning of it, yet I would prefer something more cheerful.”

“I guess, ending forty two lives is nothing to cheer about,” there was not a hint of accusation in servant’s tone. He continued without giving the guest an opportunity to answer.

“I am afraid that your induction into the ranks of High Crew will have to wait. You see, there is an embassy from a far away land demanding lord Azytenisar’s immediate attention. Your case will be dealt with right after theirs.”

As he was saying this, they finally reached the audience hall. It was situated at the last storey in the very heart of the building. A square room twenty paces wide, it was filled with various kinds of people.

“I should take a leave now to attend my master. You will meet him soon enough.” with these words the servant left him and headed to the opposite side of the chamber. Now Ymdaton noticed a throne there and also another door behind it through which the serf left.

The warrior took a moment to look around. The place was really bright: not only one wall consisted entirely of huge windows, but a large portion of ceiling was also absent, showing the blue sky above. Ymdaton examined the folks in the hall and noticed two distinct groups: to the right of the throne stood armed men who displayed signs of wealth such as pieces of steel armour and artistically decorated arms. To the left there were similarly rich looking civilians. He guessed that the armed bunch were probably High Crew and moved to stand beside them.

No one seemed to notice him at all. It took Crewslayer a while to understand why. A group of people standing in the middle of a chamber were those who stole all looks. Those were a weird bunch. The two standing closer to the throne wore warm clothes almost completely enclosing their bodies: baggy thick shirts, trousers made of similar material, boots and fur-lined hats. Yet Ymdaton’s attention was almost instantly drawn to the four figures behind them.

They were massive men encased in armor from toes to heads. They wore hauberks which were much longer than those of kinani, almost reaching knees, with additional sleeves protecting arms from shoulder to elbow. Their knees were covered with metal pads, their hands were clad in chain gloves. Teardrop-shaped helmets and aventails were worn upon their heads. Ymdaton wondered just how hard it would be to cut one of them through all that armour.

“These are obvious land dwellers. No marine would put that much metal on himself unless he wants to end his life by accidentally sinking during the boarding action,” said the man at his right.

Crewslayer turned his head to see a warrior of his height, yet so broad in shoulders, that his stature appeared square-like. Eyes of that man were colourless, fishlike, giving him a cold emotionless look. The stranger smiled, breaking the impression instantly.

“My name is Abimnupal, welcome to High Crew.”

“I am…” Ymdaton started but the man interrupted him.

“I know well who you are. We all heard enough about those shrine stairs. Shush now, the liege is coming.”

The doors behind the throne opened once more. First entered a serf who guided him through the house. He stopped right beside the throne and stood there. Next one to enter was a man whom Crewslayer saw many times from afar, listening to his speeches before or after the battle, yet never so close. Lord of house Abeneewy, Azytenisar. With a sure yet not rash pace he reached the throne and sat himself there.

He wore a robe made of expensive material, but of a simple design. No more needless clothing was hanging from his shoulders, no excessive jewelry could be seen on his neck or hands. The only decoration were two bracers of pure gold mimicking traditional armguards of kinani warriors. His head was shaved clean, his stern face was adorned with a thick black beard which reached to the lower part of his chest. Azytenisar scanned the hall with a piercing look of his green eyes. Ymdaton could have sworn that the lord noticed him especially. The gaze of the house master stayed at the embassy.

“Azytenisar, son of Hannisar, lord of house Abeneewy, Unstumbling under the Stars, Shield against Despoilers, Scourge of Vetluna, would like to hear your message, o strangers from afar,” proclaimed the serf.

One of the outlanders nodded and started to speak in surprisingly fluent kinani language, albeit blemished with thick accent.

“Greetings, lord of Abeneewy. My name is Blagoslav, beside me is the man named Dalnovyd. We are tasked with delivering the message of our people, drevlyani. I will talk for us both, since only I speak in your language. We come from the land far away which called Odwitchni forest. It may be unfamiliar to you for it has no access to the sea and your kin is rarely seen there. Yet we heard of Ostrovyani, people of Hundred Isles, and their exploits.

You are known through the whole world as crafty travellers and intimidating warriors. You see, my lord, our city state which is called Khladnetz recently tragically lost its…” it looked as if the translator struggled to find the right word. Another civilian from the embassy said something in a foreign language. The speaker continued.

“Lost its lord-protector. Since then we tried our best to settle our inner problems while fending off enemies from the outside. Yet our own efforts are not nearly enough. Our land is harsh. It could crush us even without help from neighboring states. When we almost lost our hopes a gathering of all wise people was held. They decided that if there is no one to rule us from the inside, we will try to invite the outsider. Your kin, my lord, seemed to us just strong and witty enough to deal with our land.

To summarise our proposal: we offer you our state as a kingdom to rule. You will hold the title of knez which equals to king of yours. Please, o mighty lord, save us from the disaster that is a nonexistent ruler and steer as into prosperity as you will.”

Azytenisar listened carefully. When the ambassador ended his speech, the lord asked him a single question.

“Tell me but one thing. Why do you come to me with this proposition. There are dozens of states on Hundred Isles on which plenty of mighty families take up residence. You could have asked any of them. You could have asked the actual kings, not a humble lord of a single house like me.”

The one who called himself Blagoslav was visually confused. The other one again told him something in their language.

“Truth be told, my lord, you are our last hope. We visited almost every powerful house of island people and got turned down everywhere. You are the last man who has the power to save us. Please consider this when you are making your decision,” said the translator.

Everyone was silent for a moment, awaiting lord’s decision.

“I will, be assured of it. I will collect my thoughts and discuss this proposal with my advisors. Return in three days to hear my final verdict on it,” declared Azytenisar finally.

Whispers passed through the audience in the hall. Members of delegation gave respectful bows and left the chamber.

“Quiet. I will hear all your opinion in turn, there is no need for murmurs. For now, let us continue with Ymdaton, son of Hamysbir. Come closer.” said the lord of Abeneewy.

Crewslayer was surprised at first to hear the liege talk directly to him, but in a moment he collected himself and did as he was told.

Azytenisar examined him with a long look. He didn’t say anything but raised from his seat and came as close as a hand breadth to the warrior.

“Seeing you in my audience chamber, I suppose that you have made your decision of joining my band of brave men. If so, than an oath of fealty will be required of you. Do you pledge your blade and your life to my command? Do you swear to follow my orders doubtlessly to the better or to the worse? Do you swear to defend house Abeneewy as fierce as you would have defended your own?” asked the lord.

Ymdaton followed a sudden impulse and gotten on one knee.

“On my father’s name, before the eye of Mahandahy who brings victory and Ulamsilis who lead, I swear so.”

Azytenisar took the warrior by the hand and raised him.

“Then welcome to High Crew. Now, why don’t we begin with my new subordinate? Tell me, son of Hamysbir, what do you think of the proposal of these dwellers in Big Land?” asked his lord.

A wave of laughs passed through the hall. Crewslayer did not feel confused though, the moment was too powerful for him.

“I am not versed in politics, my lord. It feels wrong for me to exchange our mastery of the sea for kingship in the woods. Yet I can not see it with the eyes of the lord of house Abeneewy so I will not make any statement. I, however, admire the craftsmanship of their armour. Perhaps we could learn a thing or two from their blacksmiths,” he answered genuinely .

Another series of laughs rolled through the chamber. Even Azytenisar smiled this time:

“True enough. I thank you for an honest answer. Now receive my first command: in three days come to this place once more and hear my decision. For now you may leave.”

Ymdaton bowed respectfully and left the residence with the heart full of anticipation.