The Second Age Year 872
Thirteenth day of the Forth month
As Tharos swam through the sea of his memories, he recounted times and events that had been all but forgotten by everyone except himself and the spirits of the fallen and unburied. Again and again, in an endless loop, he found himself reliving those moments, like the recurring tides along the coast. Floating in a sea of unconsciousness, he revisited every smell, taste, sound and touch he had experienced in Zarbar during his lifetime. He remembered the feeling of Salaba’s smooth skin on his own, the smell of her hair, which smelled of flowers, bringing him a sense of calm in the storm, and the taste of her lips, sweet as fruit, when they pressed together. He felt as though he had truly ascended to the heavens within her embrace. But the echoes of a forbidden liaison between an empress and a prince weren’t the only things plaguing his mind; the ghosts of his friends still haunted him too. He missed the wise counsel of his friend Vartark, and how they would often spend time together on the palace rooftops, watching the moon and stars. He missed Zahmesh’s blunt and straightforward manner and how they would train together with bows and swords. Their duels were more like dances of death — an art form in itself, admired and praised by all. Last but not least was Arasha’s free-spirited purity; she was like a ray of sunshine and the wind to him, even on the darkest and cloudiest of days. She was always by his side, lifting his spirits with her charm and smile.
However, his recollections were soon interrupted by a strange sensation. He was no longer alone, swimming in the dark waters of the sea of memories. He was no longer swimming. He could sense something at the edge of his mind, calling to him. Calling to him from beyond the depths. It was a familiar presence, accompanied by faint traces of magic. As he rose from his slumber, muffled sounds like people talking started to become audible. Looking around the dark waters of his mind, he focused on the voices, which were muffled and hard to hear. The more he concentrated on them, the clearer they became. The first voice was a woman’s: clear and distinct.
“He is stable for now. All you need to do now is wait for him to wake up. We have done all we can for him.” the voice said.
“And how long is that going to take?” interjected another voice, coarse and rough. Tharos recognised that voice as Rayner’s.
“I’m sure it won’t be long,” said another voice. It was Cenric; Tharos was sure of that.
“I would listen to your friend. Arachne venom is nothing to joke about. I’m surprised your friend is still alive,” the woman said.
As he opened his eyes, Tharos felt his head spin and everything become hazy. Gradually, the darkness surrounding him was replaced by filtered light seeping through the fabric of the tent in which he now found himself. When he tried to sit up, his head continued to spin and his vision remained blurry. Several figures approached him from by his bedside as he struggled to orient himself, his vision slowly clearing. He could sense the presence of many people around him; they were all like flickering candles. Through the tent, he could hear muffled conversations, clanging and humming of steel, and the low crackle of fire and cooking.
“He’s awake.” a voice announced.
As he propped himself up, some of the blankets slipped off him and fell softly to the ground. He realised that he was almost naked, except for his undergarments, and that bandages were wrapped around his body. His armour, weapons and other belongings were neatly stacked beside him. Sitting next to him was a young man he didn’t recognise. The man was short with dark brown hair and small eyes. He had a thin face and was dressed in what appeared to be the robes of a priest. A few feet away, Rayner and Cenric were talking to a young woman. She seemed slightly older than the man and was wearing a simple, flowing stola in a pale pink hue with dark red trim. Her eyes were a pale, almost milky silver and her straight, dark blonde hair reached her shoulders, with silvery white tips. Her face was plain and angular with a hint of sun-kissed skin. However, Tharos’s attention was caught by a peculiar mark at the back of her neck near her collarbone — a stretched-out symbol containing the initials ‘H.S.’ within two triangles. He strained his eyes to make out the details as he focused on her neck.
He had seen this mark before; it was one that some Invicti used to identify their slaves. However, that wasn’t what interested him most about her. What he found most intriguing was what he could sense from her. He could sense a presence of magic emanating from her, albeit faintly. It seemed as if she was trying to conceal her power; the flow of magical energy surrounding her had slowed down, as if she was regulating how much she was pulling from the world. Despite her efforts, he could still sense faint trickles of it. Looking around, Tharos saw Cenric and Rayner walking towards his bed; both had small looks of relief on their faces.
“You had us worried.” said Cenric, who was the first to reach his bedside.
“Nothing you couldn’t handle, right, milk drinker?” Rayner said, propping himself up and giving him a small wolfish smile. The other young man next to his bed also got up.
“I’ll inform His Highness that you’re awake.” the young man said, looking at the young woman.
“Well, don’t take long.” she said as he walked out of the tent.
“So, how long was I out for?”
“Maybe about a day.” Cenric replied.
“I see. What about the monster we fought?”
“You slew it in single combat. It’s called an Arcane.” Rayner said with a smirk. “You also let yourself get bitten by it too. Don’t tell me you’re getting sloppy on us now?”
“You wish, Rayner, you wish. So that’s what that monster was called.” he sighed. “This era is going to be the death of me. I just know it.”
“How are you feeling?” Cenric asked him.
“Well, aside from feeling a bit dizzy, I feel quite well-rested.” said Tharos, looking around. “So, where are we, may I ask?” Before Rayner or Cenric could answer, they were interrupted by a woman’s voice. “You’re in the camp of His Royal Highness Quintus Florianus, Crown Prince of the Anathonians.” she said, answering his question.
“I see. So, who might you be?” he asked
“My name is Minerva of Lodinium.” she replied, giving him a small bow. “But you may call me Minerva. I am one of His Highness’s many advisors.”
“I see. Were you one of those who helped with…?” Tharos said, gesturing to the bandages wrapped around his neck and shoulder.
“Well, I can’t take all the credit. I had a lot of help.” she replied, smiling slightly and clasping her fingers together. “But yes, most of it was me.”
“So you’re skilled in restoration and divination magic — a rare combination for a mage.” he said, as she looked at him, puzzled.
“Oh, it’s nothing like that; just a simple herbal remedy. Oh, wait.” She paused. “How did you know I was a mage?” she asked curiously.
“Well, for starters, the colour of your eyes gives it away. There aren’t many people with naturally silver eyes like yours. Also, during the battle, His Royal Highness mentioned that your visions have never led him astray before.” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not hard to put two and two together if you know what you’re looking for.’ A friend of mine had similar talents to yours. As a result of pushing himself too hard to see the future, his eyes and hair started to turn pale, much like yours.”
“Oh, that’s a relief,” she said, sighing with relief. “on the rumours I’d heard about you, I was afraid you might be a witch hunter too.”
“Well, only if the witch in question has misbehaved and the price is right. But you have nothing to fear from me. I am well aware of those who are skilled in the art of sorcery and what it entails.”
“Oh, so you’re a warrior and a scholar too. Quite a rare combination for a sell sword like you. Maybe the rumours I’ve heard about you are true after all.”
“A sword not in use is a sword that rusts with time. What do people say about me?” he asked.
“They say you’re a warrior akin to a demon, and that you’ve slain dozens of monsters and men single-handedly with the flick of your blade.”
“Well, it wasn’t all just me.” he said, gesturing to Rayner and Cenric. “I had the help of my loyal companions, who have stood by me through it all. So, what else?” he asked playfully.
“They also say you’re rather handsome and charming.” she said, putting a finger to her lips.
“Is that what the rumours say about me, or are you saying that, my dear?” Tharos replied with a smile.
“Well, they’re just rumours. However, it seems these rumours have some truth to them,” said Minerva, her face turning slightly red as Tharos noticed her gaze drifting down towards his well-muscled torso and limber arms. Before they could continue talking, Tharos felt the strong presence again. Entering through the tent flaps was a tall young man with pale ivory skin like an elephant’s tusk, a well-proportioned body and the strong limbs of a youthful warrior. He also had piercing grey eyes like the steel of a flashing blade, short, clean-cut black hair as dark as the night sky, and a broad, rugged face with a deep scar running down the left side of his face. He was wearing an elegant black toga with golden trim. As he looked in and observed the group, he remarked. “Ah, it seems our sleeping beauty is finally awake.” Quintus said with a wide smile. As he walked closer, Tharos saw Minerva give a small bow and gesture to the rest of them to do the same, but she stopped when Quintus raised his hand.
“There is no need for formalities at this monument. We are not in court, Minerva.” said Quintus, looking slightly embarrassed. Minerva gave a small bow in apology. “I am sorry, Your Highness.”
Quintus shot her a tired look. “Minerva, we are not in court. You can drop the formalities.”
“I’m sorry, Quintus.” she said, looking down. He then gave her a small smile. “It’s fine, old habits die hard. Now,” he said, turning to the rest of the group. “Could you please leave us? I have some business to attend to with our guests.”
“Understood,” she replied, bowing as she passed Quintus and left the tent. Tharos then saw Quintus give her a quick, playful slap on the bottom. She gave out a small, audible moan of pleasure as she left the tent, leaving him and the other three alone inside.
Quintus stood only a few feet in front of him and spoke. “I hope she caused no offence. She has a habit of trying to enforce formalities on people, even when they aren’t required.”
“It was no issue at all. Would you prefer ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Quintus’?” Tharos asked.
“Quintus will be fine. It’s good to see that you have made a full recovery. My physicians and priests told me that making it through the night would be a miracle, let alone recovering in a single day. I am quite impressed by your fortitude.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m fully recovered.” Tharos replied, sighing. “I still feel a bit weak and light-headed.”
“I see. I will have my physicians tend to you in the meantime. I hope you recover quickly,” Quintus said to him with a warm smile.
“Thank you, but why would you do all this for me? I’m just a random mercenary.”
“Well, I can’t let people say I’m ungrateful to those who come to my aid. Besides, you’re not just any hired sword. You’re the one they call Tharos, right?”
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me.” Tharos asked. He had indeed been working as a mercenary for at least a couple of years, but he didn’t think he had done enough to earn such a reputation so quickly.
“Well, I only know of you based on your reputation, and so far it doesn’t disappoint. However, I don’t think we have been formally introduced.” He then gave a small bow and gestured with his arm. “I am Quintus Florianus, Prince of the Anathonians. I would like to thank you formally for coming to my aid.”
“It was nothing. We were just in the right place at the right time.’ But I must ask: what are you doing so far from home? As I recall, the Kingdom of Anathos is thousands of miles from here. If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind.” He then saw Quintus look away for a moment before turning to face him again. “To answer your question, things in Anathos are complicated at the moment. Unfortunately, I cannot say anything more on the subject.”
“I understand. I won’t ask any more questions then.”
“Your companions told me that you were heading to the capital city and that you were planning to visit the twin cities to look for work on the way. Is that correct?” Quintus asked him.
“Yes, that is correct. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it seems our two roads have become intertwined. As it happens, I’m heading to Sanctus myself, but on the way I’ll be passing through the twin cities. My mercenary band and I have just been hired by the city of Chalybs to help them fight their rivals in the city of Ferrum. I mention this because I could use skilled warriors like you for the fight ahead. If you wish, you can join us for this job. If not, you are free to stay until you have fully recovered.”
“An interesting proposition.” Tharos said, looking at his companions.
“You’ll get no complaints from me,” said Rayner with a snort. “I fought for both cities at one time or another. It doesn’t matter much to me.”
“We do need the money,” added Cenric, with a small, sad glint in his eyes.
“Well, I have no issue with it, and neither do my companions. But before I agree to anything, I would like to ask what the pay will be for this job.”
“The city of Chalybs is paying us five hundred silver talents per day for this, to be divided equally among me and my men. They will also pay extra for any generals, commanders, or champions you capture or kill in battle. Most importantly, you can keep whatever loot you find.” Quintus said with a cheeky smile.
Tharos detected no lies or deception in his voice. If his calculations were correct, they would each receive at least a decent amount of coin and more if they could capture or kill anyone important. This would help them survive for a while — at least until they reached the capital. While it was a decent amount of money, he was accustomed to receiving several hundred silver talents, or even a few gold talents, up front for his services. However, he couldn’t be choosy, and if this job continued, he and his companions could earn a decent sum. Who was he to complain? They needed the money, and travelling together would make things much easier as they wouldn’t constantly have to worry about being ambushed by bandits or monsters.
“Very well, I accept your offer.” Quintus smiled. “Good. If you and Rayner are half the warriors you’re rumoured to be, you’ll both be worth a hundred men in battle. But before I leave you to finish your recovery, I must ask: do you have any experience of leading men?”
“Yes, I have some experience. Why do you ask?” At least, that’s what he could vaguely recall from his past.
“Good. We have been tasked with capturing a major fort and destroying a few small outposts belonging to the city of Ferrum along the roads. I will need skilled people to delegate tasks to for the campaign ahead.”
“I am sure I can manage that.”
“Very well. Once you have fully recovered, I will introduce you to the men you will be leading. But for now, I must take my leave, as I have other things to attend to.” Nodding briefly, Quintus left the three of them alone in the tent.
Tharos then turned to Cenric and Rayner. “If you two don’t mind, could one of you get me a goblet of wine? My throat is rather parched.”
Rayner laughed at him. “You’ve still got working legs, haven’t you, milk drinker? Go and get some yourself.”
“Never mind, Rayner. I’ll go and find some.” Cenric added.
As he was about to leave, Cenric turned around and asked. “Do you want anything else?”
“No, wine will be fine, thank you.”
“Understood.” As Cenric left the tent, he turned to Rayner.
“So, what do you think of this Quintus fellow?”
“For an Invicti noble, he seems to be one of the better ones. The simple fact that he’s not a complete piss ant.” Rayner replied. “But I wouldn’t expect anything less from the famed Prince of Black.”
“He seems like quite an honest person.” he mused aloud. “I sensed no deception from him, unless he’ll use his honesty to deceive later — the greatest lies are always wrapped up in truth.” he said, before replying to Rayner. “The Prince of Black?” he asked.
“Well, that’s one of his nicknames. The other is the ‘Tiger of Anathos. You might have heard of him while travelling. If not, he’s the young prince who gave Iason the Giant a run for his money a few years ago at the Battle of Burrium Hill.” Tharos was familiar with the name ‘Iason the Giant’; he had heard it in passing. Iason was one of the most prominent warlords on the western coast of Aria, near the Great Northern Mountains. Rumours suggested that he had the blood of giants flowing through his veins, given his impressive stature and size. Some said he was seven feet tall, while others claimed he was even taller. If Quintus had challenged and defeated such a formidable opponent, he must be a skilled and powerful warrior, possibly on a par with, or even greater than, Tharos or Rayner.
“I had not heard of him before this meeting, but if he could battle someone like Iason the Giant at such a young age and emerge victorious, he must be quite the formidable warrior.”
“So, are you looking forward to the upcoming job, Tharos?” Rayner asked him.
“Oh, I am,” Tharos replied, grabbing his sword propped beside his bed, pulling it from the scabbard and checking for chips and dents. “What about you? Are you looking forward to it?”
“Don’t ask as if you don’t already know the answer.” said Rayner as Tharos turned his head and reached for the rest of his belongings on the other side of his bed. “Did anything else happen while I was asleep?” He asked.
“Yes. Last night, you were talking in your sleep in a feverish daze. The whelp and I were woken up in the middle of the night because they thought you were about to keel over.”
“What did I talk about? Nothing embarrassing, I hope.”
“Unless you think repeatedly calling out a woman’s name — Salaba — and saying “I am sorry” is embarrassing.”
Tharos paused for a moment before speaking again. “It’s nothing. She’s just another ghost, one of many, who has long since passed into the ethereal realms.” She’s dead; she died a long time ago, he thought to himself. There’s no reason to bring up the past, including her. No matter how much pain her memory brought him.
“Ah, an old flame. I won’t pry.” Rayner sighed, giving a sad look before quickly returning to a toothy grin. “Well, nothing like the joys of battle to lift the spirits, don’t you agree?”
As Tharos gathered his belongings and laid them out on his stretcher, he glanced at Rayner and nodded in agreement. “Yes, the past is behind us. It’s time to focus on today, and today we have battles to fight.” Despite the impending battle, Tharos couldn’t shake the memories of her: her voice, her presence, the softness of her skin, her lips and her hair. Even centuries after her death, he felt like a man dying of thirst who had been given only a few drops of water to sustain himself. Nevertheless, he resolved to clear his mind and put his doubts aside, as the time for battle was approaching. As he tried to get up, he was hit by another dizzy spell.
“That reminds me.” said Rayner.
“Reminds you of what?” Tharos asked, looking at him inquisitively.
Rayner smiled at him. “I ran into some old friends here who would like to meet you.”
“You still have friends?” Tharos asked, surprised.
“Yes, milk-drinker, I have friends other than you and the whelp. They’re from my raider days.”
“Really? I would be delighted to meet them.”
“They’re eager to meet you, as are several other people in this camp. You seem to have quite the reputation, milk-drinker.”
“Never a dull moment, is there?”
“But I don’t think you’d have it any other way.” said Rayner with a hearty chuckle, which Tharos joined in with. They laughed for a few minutes until Cenric returned with a large clay jug of wine.
