Their mission was simple: to act as the personal guard of an Arcadian envoy. What was not so simple was that they would journey across the Oceanum. The journey would take months, stopping at the isles between, from the Vinterlands to Shen-La, and finally to Haol. How long they would stay, Thael did not know. So he lied to Kuhien.

“I will be back in a few months.”

She scoffed and turned away. “For every day you’ve said you will return, you always come back in thrice as many. I’m tired, Thael. I’m tired of… this. I don’t know where you go. I don’t know who you are. Are you even my husband?”

“I am yours, ‘hien.” Thael stepped past, kneeling to stoke the dying fire. “What would you have me do?”

“Leave.” Kuhien’s eyes burned in the fire’s glow. “Take us wherever you’re going, far away from here. My parents sold me to this place for three silvers. My father said I would be better off, have a better life. He was half right. But a prison is still a prison, Thael. No matter how many baubles you bring, or jewelry you gift me. I would rather live free, living off the land, than be given another ration by people who would rather see us dead.”

Thael stabbed through the cinders. “We’re all trapped in our own prisons, ‘hien. It’s how we live with them that we truly become free.”

“Except we’re not. You cannot leave the Empire, just as I cannot leave this place.”

He sighed. “I would make a terrible farmer,” he said, rising to his feet.

“You could always learn,” she whispered, holding his hands. “Maybe… you can tell me who you are. And I'll be here, waiting.”

Thael embraced, Kuhien staring into the fire over his shoulder.

"There is a time when a soldier of the Empire has the choice to no longer serve, once he Greys."

Kuhien lifted her chin. "Once his hair greys?"

"Of sorts."

She sighed. "That will take years. Decades. And what of Hiro? Will they take him, just like the other children?" She closed her eyes at his silence. "I'm no fool, Thael. I know the Empire wouldn't imprison us here without purpose. But to willingly let your son bear such scars as yours… I know there’s no escape, unless you aid us. That is why the next time you return and do not agree to help free us, I will give our son rud, and strangle him in his sleep when you leave. For you will leave, in the end. Then I will hang myself over our bed. And our deaths will be because of your stubbornness.”

Thael looked into her eyes and he saw the hardness of them, and he knew that what she said was true.

The door creaked open, Hiro dashing to encircle his arms around Thael’s legs.

“Pa! You’re here! Can we all eat soon?”

Kuhien smiled down. “We have fish broth and rice for today, growing boy.”

Hiro stepped back, brandishing his wooden sword. “Look, I’ve been practicing my forms.”

The boy lifted the sword with both hands, swinging at the air, but not over reaching.

Thael nodded. “You’re getting better. Don’t lean too forward with your steps. Now, let’s sit and eat supper.”

When Thael returned to his quarters he lay staring at the ceiling. He knew that if he did not show up the next day, he would be declared a deserter. The Venatorii would be summoned to find him, track him down, and bring him to the Grey Council. The Grey offered no mercy to deserters. He knew that if Kuhien and Hiro were found with him they would not be taken but they would die.

Thael could wear the black colors of a Arcadian officer on the ferry crossing the lake. Once they reached the town of Brigsden it would be a week’s journey to the nearest scraping of civilization. They would have to avoid the Long Road. In between was treacherous marshland and fords at least knee deep. Thael would have to carry Hiro at points. Kuhien could never endure such a trek, Hiro even less so.

Thael bared his teeth and howled silently. He glanced below to see Verena staring up at him from her cot. He lowered his head to rest against the bed, willing his eyes to close and sleep to take him.

***

They had flown since dawn to the Etten base off the Casparn Coast. The base’s rookery was nestled below craggy cliffs over a hundred feet high curtained by moss, each large enough for a fully grown wrynn.

They descended the spiral stairs down to a corridor leading to a vast chamber where a dozen or so figures labored over vast hearths, baking bread and cooking. A cadre of five Wraiths awaited them at the center of the great chamber. One cloaked man stepped forward, shadows hiding his hooded face.

“What is your purpose here?”

“It does not concern the arch queen,” Thael spoke the code phrase. “But to whom it concerns, will be forgotten.”

“So you’re the cadre bound on this suicide mission?” The man grinned. “So be it.” He turned away and beckoned them to follow.

They ascended another spiral staircase until they reached a door opening to a dungeon, eyes gleaming through iron bars in the darkness. Thael did not mind the stench. He had grown accustomed to such things before even the order. They had exited at a watch tower, standing alone over the cliffs, damp stone blocks covered with dull green moss.

“Prepare the carriage,” the hooded man guiding them said to some guards before turning briskly back inside.

Verena within the carriage, the remaining other three of their cadre forced together on the opposite bench

“How many months d’you reckon this mission will take?” Cyrus, their newest member, said.

“As many months it needs,” Verena snapped. “And stop talking, I can smell your stinking breath.”

Cyrus shrugged, leaning back to crush his companions beside. “I hope there’s mintjog wherever we’re headed.”

As cadre Commander, Thael had read the mission scroll, and as his second only Verena also knew its details.

Eventually the stench of humanity reached them once again, the carriage wheels scraping over a cobblestone road. They ground to a halt before one of the city’s gates, the Kingdom of Casparn, founded by the mage king himself, ruled still by his line.

“Hoods up,” Thael said as they were ushered through the gates by the city guard.

A market lined the street beyond, men and women calling out their wares. Acrid smoke rose from the tanneries and smokehouses beyond.

As they moved further into the city, they began to see the wharf. Ships of various sizes – sleek, broad, narrow and all in between – lined the many docks. The carriage stopped before one ship, the largest. Thael was first to exit, taking in the vessel they would reside on for the next few months, if not more. The scarlet flag displaying the arch queen’s dark eagle emblem fluttered violently with in the whipping winds. Sailors scuttled up and down ropes or hefted barrels along walkways and down belowdecks.

A young man moved in their direction. He wore a tailored red uniform, collar lined with gold lace, and bronzed shouldered epaulets with golden tassels – a uniform of the monarchy, a Mage. The unfortunate diplomat had been sent alone to treaty with a warmongering nation powerful enough to grind Arcadia to a stalemate.

He extended a hesitant hand. “I am Krystos, Envoy to the arch queen, representing Arcadia in this treaty. You must be my guard.”

Thael shook his hand. If the youth was surprised by his Haolan features, he did not show it.

“Blessed to meet one such as you,” Thael said.

The man’s eyes were a cool green, not much younger than Thael himself. He was first to release his grip. “Please. There’s no need for such formalities. If you are… who you are supposed to be, then I am honored that you would all act in my defense.”

Thael nodded, taking out a leather bound scroll case, embossed with the monarchy’s seal. “This is for your eyes alone.”

Krystos nodded, the locks of his raven tousled by the wind. “Oh—of course. Thank you. Let us depart soon… I hope there will be no storm.”

The mage’s fears were soon proven true, the ship in all its vastness turning and rolling with the heaving waters Thael could hear Cyrus retching into a bucket.

“Should we help the sailors?” Verena asked.

“And do what?” Thael replied. “Be swept overboard by waves large enough to move a ship such as this? We stay below.”

The others grew silent Thael. Krystos remained marooned in his own quarters.

“Cyrus—take first watch,” Thael ordered. “Everyone else, get some rest.”

The large man mumbled something between spitting into his bucket. Thael was already used to the stomach wrenching aerial maneuvers of the wrynn. A roiling sea he could cope with.

He thought then what would happen should he die this night or the next, what would become of Kuhien and Hiro. She would live out her days in isolation… with no one to care nor protect her… nor their son. Hiro would eventually grow and be initiated into the order. If he survived long enough to be taken.

There were other Haolan Wraiths within the Order. Perhaps one such man would be chosen with Kuhien to take his place, as he had first been chosen. No, it was a certainty. She was still well within her years of child birth. In the end, the order would remain whole.

The next morning they waited for Krystos to open the door, tired lines beneath his eyes. Without a word Thael shadowed his steps, the others following in double file.

The captain had made a blustering show, shouting over Krystos' attempts to settle his rage.

Spittle rained over the wooden planks and certainly the youth’s face. “You could have saved my men! What good is a mage that cannot still a storm?!”

“Captain Arnas, my craft is not hydric—I cannot control the water,” Krystos spoke hurriedly. “I am sorry, but the only help I could lend was to not to be caught by the storm. I understand that you have worked with hydric mages before—”

“You understand nothing,” Arnas snarled, two heads shorter than Krystos yet twice as broad. “We were sent here to Haol, and we need every man to help us get back. If we have a hope of getting back.” He gestured to Thael and his cadre. “Have your guard replace the crew I’ve lost, or I’ll send your lot overboard and renew our journey, then turn back once we reach Shen-La.”

“You would be disobeying the arch queen’s decree,” Krystos retorted.

“Why would the arch queen send just one Mage as Envoy to Haol?” the captain asked softly, staring up at Krystos, who quavered. “My guess is she doesn’t want you to come back, boy. My guess is she doesn’t care whether this treaty comes to a head at all. You will follow my command while on this ship, or swim back to Arcadia.” He shrugged. “The choice is yours. First Mate Horace! Get them to work. As for you, Blessed, you can let the gods hear your prayers, and see if they listen."

The stout man strode back to the ship’s helm.

Thael’s hands were callused, yet not callused enough it seemed. His fingers and palms were chafed raw from work as the days turned to weeks; scrubbing the wooden decks, lifting barrels and crates meant for two men at a time, and last in watch before dawn.

They had changed all their armor and uniform for ragged cloth that hung loose with the sea winds. Verena kept her cloak, always hooded from the leering and cajoling sailors. Thael’s blank harsh gaze was enough for them to walk away, muttering their curses of his Haolan origin.

They spent the rest of their time guarding Krystos, the young mage rarely leaving his quarters, save for meals or the chamber pot. His skin was sallow, his cheekbones ever more prominent with his thinning frame. Even Cyrus’ paunch had flattened after a month at sea.

The sailors quieted as they and Krystos entered the galley. They were always left with the corner table, enough for two bowls beside another, leaving the others to stand on the unsteady floor. They lined up for their meals.

The cook was a weedy man, squinting back at Thael as he placed a biscuit the size of his palm, a speckled green wedge of hard cheese, and a thin slice of cured ham into a wooden bowl.

Krystos and Thael were the ones to sit down at the corner table.

The youth nibbled on his rind of cheese, swallowing it down with his cup of warm sour ale.

Eventually Thael spoke. “Who are you?”

He paused his chewing. “Does it matter?”

“In the report. It did not state your name, merely ‘the Arcadian envoy’. What is your line?”

Krystos’ gaze darted past Thael’s cadre surrounding them, to the tables of murmuring sailors. “Should we talk about such matters here?”

Thael shrugged. "It makes no difference. What everyone here knows is that if the queen sent you with just one cadre as guard, with no soldiers, no mercenaries, she does not expect such an envoy to return. They blame you for their fate. Can you blame them?”

“Do you think I wish to be here?” Krystos retorted. He laughed without mirth. “The arch queen… is my sister.”

“What?” Cyrus turned to them, only for Verena to punch his shoulder, and he repeated more angrily to her, “What?!”

The arch queen was the longest reigning monarch of her age, already near a century. There was a reason why she had held onto her power for so long.

“She is my half-sister,” Krystos murmured hurriedly. “My line is not sanctioned by the Faith.”

“You’re a bastard,” Thael stated. “Though who could tell which is which from your line? Your kinship must be strong.”

Krystos snorted. “Precisely why I’m here. I thought you–” his voice lowered “–people were an invaluable asset to the Monarchy.”

Thael had thought so as well. Why would the cadre with the highest mission success in the Wraith order be bound to such a mission?

“We follow the Empire’s will, just as you do.”

“The Empire’s will meant something once,” Krystos muttered. “All of mankind united, now scattered and war-mad. An age when all folk stood on equal ground, where we knew our footing and did not act as gods.” He gave a weak smile. “Do I seem a god to you?”

“It does not matter what I think. It matters what they do.” Thael gestured to the tables behind them. “Only you can influence how they see you. To be prey, or be spoken of in prayer.”

“Surely you have heard of the Great Cleansing? Thousands of Arcadian citizens, slaughtered by those sworn to protect them,” the young man said.

Suddenly Thael smelled blood, could feel it dripping down his face and on his lips.

“I know of it,” he said evenly.

“Then you know of the open rebellions between the kingdoms. The legions too preoccupied with Haolan skirmishes to quell them. The monarchy… the Faith… is faltering.” Krystos leaned back, green eyes glimmering. “Its grip is weakening. And who shall be the one to wrest their power away? Who can perhaps change the Empire for the better, for its people?”

Thael smiled thinly. “And you wonder why the arch queen sent you?”