The warship slid into the harbor like a dagger into a sheath. It was a galleass of the new fashion, sleek lines, and lateen sails. From its masts flew twin pennants. The Autumn King’s rampant lion fluttered in the breeze. Below it was a smaller but no less striking heraldry, a black rose encircled by briar thorns. She was the Rusalka, and she carried her lord on her wooden boughs.

The ship and her crew had been at sea for weeks. Her supplies had run low and fresh sails were required. Her journey from the Ghost Sea and through the Dawn Straight had been done in one voyage. She had ridden the northern gale and when natural forces abandoned her, sorcerous mage wind filled her sails. Both crew and the vessel needed this reprise before their final leg of the voyage. Small merchantmen and fishing boats made way for the Rusalka like fish before a shark. Her approach was made by oarsmen in her banks. The pilot guided her into the harbor and eased her into an empty berth in the wharf.

From a small dockside office, an old harbor official had watched the approaching ship since it appeared on the horizon. The whole town garrison had been put on alert once its direction had been ascertained. He had the office boy stand on the roof to identify its colours. The child had far keener eyes than his and he trusted the little boy far more than the garrison militia. They were largely made up of old timers from the last levy and excitable young men. Whilst one did not have the eyesight the other had not the sense to recognize what they saw.

“Nicholas, what do you see boy?”

“I see a grey ship with three masts. It flies the King’s colours!”

“What else child?”

“There is another flag below that. It looks like a black flower on a red field. Who’s is that?”

The old man grew silent as he pondered the potential heraldry. It must have belonged to a knight under royal patronage. Most landed nobles in Kingdom flew their lieges banner above theirs, the counts and dukes generally flew their banner alone. Even then there were fewer nobles that owned a warship, the men of Auburn were not mariners.

“Tell me, is there a lantern anywhere near the two flags?”

“I don’t know… Wait I think I see something shining at the tip of the mast, It’s blue!”

A briar rose encircled in thorns flying below the rampant lion topped by a blue lantern. The harbor official racked his memory for who carried such colours. After a moment of thinking he called the boy down from his rooftop perch.

“Nicholas, have that buffoon in charge of the militia stand down. He is to prepare an escort for our guests. Then run to the lord mayor’s house, tell him the Rusalka will be making port soon.”

The boy’s eyes widened at the name of the grey ship. Even in this rural fishing town had they heard of the King’s Scourge, the Briar Thorn. With a rattle of rooftiles the boy skip slid from his perch and rushed to his task. A clatter of loosed tiles smashed into the ground from the boy’s flight. The harbor official sighed at the additional piece of work added to his slate. He would deal with that later, he had far more pressing concerns before him.

Sir Edwin Saker, the Briar Thorn, Ship Lord of the Averntide Fleet, Knight of Auburn, stood at the prow of his vessel. He had been summoned by his liege from his winter harbor. King Lauric of Auburn had called, and he had sworn to answer. It had been a long and profitable winter in the north. Æsc raiders on their swift wolfships had raided the Blackstone Isles and the northern coast of the greater continent. Their holds heavy with loot, they had made easy pickings for the Rusalka. He had made a tidy profit from his privateering, his wealth secure in the counting houses of the Isles. It was the cusp of spring and if he had anticipated the mood of the continent correctly, he would need every coin he had reaped from his winter harvest.

“What is this place called Marcus?”

“I believe it is called Apier, a derivative old Imperial lord, called so for its local produce.”

“Pears?”

“No, a small salted oil fish. You were once quite fond of them lord.”

The old equerry had approached his lord from behind and stood beside him. One tall in blued armour, the other hunched, wrapped in robes. Both assumed a companionable silence as the Rusalka’s crew prepared for docking.

“I must say that I am very much happier now that we are in more temperate climes. It is good to be back in civilization.”

“Civilization eh?”

“Much so, the Isles has a certain rustic charm, but it is no place for a gentleman.”

“Well I am afraid that Auburn province is far from the Old Imperial Capital. I fear we will have to suffer the depredations of these country bumpkins. Look they send an embassy oh mighty patrician.”

It was an old joke that passed between old friends. And indeed, the denizens of Apier had sent a welcoming party to greet them. There was an armed escort that looked like it had chosen the most misshapen recruits to make its company. With them was a ruddy faced youth in more elaborate arms. He seemed to be the escourt commander. Beside him was an old man who wore the robes of a kingdom official, presumably the harbourmaster. Sneaking glances from behind the man was a child, his assistant.

Sir Edwin took this all in and waited for the Rusalka to be secured. As the final ropes were being tied, the escort passed a ladder through their lines to the head of their party. Marcus frowned as the youth made motions suggesting he would board the ship. He quickly glanced at his lord and found him unreadable in his black plate. This impudence would not go down well with the crew let alone its lord. It was a grave insult to board without permission on an Isles vessel.

As the youth climbed the ladder without any beseechment, Marcus saw a shadow leap off the siderails. The armoured knight dropped three decks in a crash of metal. With a yelp the youth fell off his ladder in surprise. Straightening from his leap, Sir Edwin seemed unperturbed by his shattering landing. Ignoring the flailing man, he turned to address the surprised elder.

“Greetings harbourmaster, I am Sir Edwin Saker, captain of the Rusalka. I come in the name of good King Lauric. Our sails are tattered and our holds barren of supplies. We have coin and are willing to pay for our needs.”

The old man blinked at the visored Knight then glanced down at the young man who just now managed to pick himself up. The buffoon in charge of the garrison militia was coincidentally the son of the lord mayor. He was haughty and difficult to deal with. He had made everything his business, and everything needed his touch. Evidently, he had bitten off far more than he could chew with the Briar Thorn.

“I am the harbor official to the lord mayor of Apier, I bid you welcome in his name and welcome you to our commerce. His lordship would be here, but his duties keep him occupied. He sends me and his son in his stead.” He nodded to the now upright youth.

“Excellent. I have a retinue who require food and bedding. Is there a reputable inn where we may take up lodgings?”

“My father extends his hospitality to you and your knights Sir Edwin; will you not board at our manor?”

The knight inclined his head to the youth and replied in a clipped manner.

“I have three hundred free oarsmen and fifty gentlemen marines. I must see to their wellbeing before myself. Send word to your father that I will join him when my duties leave me unoccupied.”

The youth smarted at his response and quickly turned away. He gave orders to his troop and bowed before he left the knight and the official.

“A little firm no, lord?”

Marcus had carefully climbed down a rope ladder during their exchange. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to the official and smiled at the little boy behind him.

“You rebuke me equerry?”

“No lord, I only seek to point out that we were once so young and tactless.”

“You as well Marcus?”

“Myself excluded lord. Why I was a paragon of virtue and courtly manners.”

“You were a pompous wastrel, it’s a miracle you graduated from the Collegium Augusta.”

The harbor official watched the pair bicker amiably. It was an easy-going relationship for a master and servant. He cleared his throat and interrupted the banter, he suspected they would go on for a while if left uninterrupted.

“Please good sirs, I know of a house that caters to the merchants that frequent here. I am sure it can cater to your gentlemen. I am afraid however that your freemen will be required to seek many separate larger lodgings.”

“I am sure the officers can see to their men independently. Pray do lead on to this establishment. But tell me,” Marcuse’s face took on an anxious expression, “do they have wine?”

Marcus languidly tilted his head back as he lowered a large pink anchovy into his mouth. In his other hand was an earthenware cup filled with a local sweet vintage. At his table was a half-eaten hen and the remains of a fine meal.

“I must say Eddie that this anchovy goes absolutely divine with the wine.”

Once all the men had been seen to and settled in, the pair had taken a private lounge for themselves at the officials recommended inn. The Salted Maiden was a grand affair that catered to the wealthy merchantmen that frequented Apier. Despite the towns backwater location, it provided sweet wines and tiny oil fish for royal tables. Whilst a niche business it provided great wealth to the few merchants who plied the trade. The royal permit required to work the crowns personal holdings were jealously guarded.

The harbor official and his assistant had found themselves unwittingly dragged along by Sir Edwin and his equerry Marcus. With the Rusalka’s marines lodged in the same inn as their lord, the afternoon had turned to evening. Nicholas gnawed on a drumstick as his eyes darted between the three men. This had been perhaps the finest and most terrifying night of his life. He had eaten more luxuries than he had seen at the lord mayors midwinter feast. On the few occasions he and the old man were invited to the lord’s manor, he had stood at the sidelines as he smelled the maddening aromas of their meal.

Nicholas liked the old man. He had taken him in when his father hadn’t returned from a storm at sea. He had never met his mother and his father would beat him when he asked of her. He liked Marcus too, he spoke funny and knew a lot of strange words. When he talked him, it felt like the old scholar was confiding him in some great secret only they knew. For a nine-year-old this was a vast improvement to the familiar condescension most adults held him in.

Nicholas was not so sure he liked Sir Edwin. Marcus was downright chatty compared to the knight. Once the man had shed his armour, he had said little but occasionally consult the harbor official on some detail as he filled a ledger. He was a gaunt man, perhaps young, but his severe features made guessing his age difficult. The left side of his features was marred by a thick scar that ran from temple to chin. An eye had been blinded and made pale. Whilst puckered scar tissue turned his mouth into a perpetual sneer. He was palid but weathered like most Isle folk, his hair black but for a streak of white at his scared temple. To the child his irregular features and evidence of a life of violence was discomforting. But what made the man terrifying was his poise. There was a tension to him that was hidden beneath his war harness, now exposed he looked like a predator at rest. The boy swore he saw fangs when the man spoke.

“If I didn’t know better, one would believe that you recommended this stop purely out of your own culinary interests Marcus.”

“Ah but you do know old chap. You know that my moral character is inviolate and such baseless accusations would be nothing more than slander. Why I hold to nothing but your highest interests, and the Crowns of course.”

“Of course.” The Knight affirmed drily.

The room settled into silence again as the equerry picked over the choicest morsels and his lord scribbled away at his accounts. It was around the time when the third log snapped in the hearth that Sir Edwin closed his tome. He reclined in his seat as he stretched his limbs in a faintly feline manner. The boy had kept a discreet eye on him the entire time and the Briar Thorn knew. He gave the boy a smile, but it was twisted into a scowl. The legacy of the old wound had made him look brutish in polite scociety. The boy quickly darted his eyes away pretending he never made eye contact. Marcus saw the exchange and cleared his throat before addressing his old friend.

“Say, you never really told me how you got that scar.”

“You know it as well as I do, it was from a duel, a damned silly one as well.”

“The one with Graf Ludwig von Lannes?”

“You saw me after the battle, my face was all patchwork. The swelling had me in bed during Leonne’s coronation.”

Sir Edwin saw the boy’s eyes widen at his comment, and recognized what Marcus had done. His irritation at the unpleasant memory subsided as he recalled what happened that day. In many ways it was a defining moment in his life. It certainly had been a key one in the birth of the Kingdom. Sir Edwin leaned back in his chair as he let his memories come to the fore. He had time and he was feeling strangely sentimental.

“Pour me a glass Marcus.”

He turned to the child as his equerry blinked at his request. He rarely partook in food or drink these days. Marcus hurried to fulfill his request; a rare mood was upon his friend tonight.

“You wish to hear of the Amber Planes son?”

Nicholas nodded silently. Here was the chance to hear the tale of the Kingdoms founding from the mouth of a man who was there.

“Then you shall have to bear with me. For you will hear my tale and what I had done and how I came to be there. My story begins long before the battle, far from the Auburn Kingdom. Many years ago, in the Blackstone Isles there was an apothecary. He had two children, a daughter and a son…”