The coastline of Virgoda had once been a site of great beauty. Sand beaches gathered at the base of majestic cliffs. Rock-pools stretched for miles, the stones glinting like polished opals, home to delicious crabs and limpets. Bluffs of sedge and tall grass banded the stretch between coast and forest.

  But all was in ruins now. The terrible waves had battered the cliffs, bringing down piles of rubble onto the beaches. Detritus from the bowels of the ocean had been vomited onto the shoreline so that the coast looked like a miles-long shipwreck. The outer perimeter of the forest had been assaulted with such force many trees were toppled or broken, lying in shattered piles like the spears of some defeated army.

  Not only was his pride wounded, but the terrain was made more difficult.

  He had only wanted to take one horse because he did not want to feed the beasts at sea. But now he cursed the tightness of his purse, for he was having to trek over sodden, squelching ground—his feet wholesale swallowed into muddy pools at times—while his prisoner sat upon the horse. Admittedly, he sat trussed, with a bag over his head and a hooded cloak over him to conceal his binds and condition, but all the same he was likely having an easier of time of it than the rest.

  Orfus was surprisingly spry for an old man, though Lucan could hear his wheezing breaths which indicated strain. Xarl, alone, seemed untroubled or fazed by the terrain. His huge booted feet sank into the mud but found purchase more easily. He never toppled or lost balance. This is his element, Lucan mused. Marshland.

  Eventually, they descended a grassy knoll down to sand, just as the sun was rising over the bloody sea. Lucan saw himself as a creature of the night, but even he could not suppress the natural, human delight that came with seeing night broken and the sun rising. Another day begins, and with it, and whole new chapter.

  He would have to endure hardship, but the ultimate prize would be worth it.

  “When shall I meet Ylia?” Benjamyn said, his voice muffled by the double layer of bag and hood.

  “Soon,” Lucan replied. The others remained silent throughout these exchanges, which had been frequent. He was grateful to have picked men who understood the virtue of silence. “When we reach the cove.”

  Of course, he had no intention of reuniting Benjamyn with his daughter there. When they reached the boat, he would promise her another time. And on and on. It mattered not whether the lie was credible. In many ways, Benjamyn must know already Lucan was lying, but he had made the categorical mistake of giving in to hope. Hope would betray his sense and logic. Hope would not corrupt his thinking. Lucan would use hope against him the way a keen fighter uses the strength of their enemy against them. He would destroy Benjamyn with hope, but not before he got what he wanted.

  They traipsed over sand still soaked from the eruption of the sea. They had to go slowly, for the horse hated the sand, though it would go anywhere Orfus’s hand led it.

  It was strange, but the sea was now perfectly placid. The tide had withdrawn. The ocean lay stiller than he had ever seen it, hardly a wave disturbing the serene glisten of the scarlet expanse. The Winedark Sea is known for storms, but in all my years I have never seen anything like that destruction, and it has gone as soon as it came. He could almost believe it was not some natural phenomenon but caused by— what, the gods? He had never considered them much more than valuable fables. But he supposed there was a possibility some force or energy existed that was yet beyond their harnessing.

  Cliffs rose on their left, white and shining. Sand stretched to their right, meeting the blood-coloured ocean. The sand was a wreckage-site, covered in the rent decking of ships, the remains of long-dead sailors, beached fish, even barrels of ale and chests of valuables. Soon, the scavengers would descend on this place, and wipe it clean. Gull and peasant would snatch up every morsel until the beaches were perfect and white again.

  But he would be long gone before.

  Eventually, they reached a place where the sea was fed by a river that spilled from the split cliff, forming a ravine. Here, they turned.

  The ravine was overgrown: moss, ivy, and limpets competing for wall-space. The air was thick and moist. A river-stream flowed down. Its waters were pearlescent, rather than red, for the curious algae that coloured the Winedark Sea did not grow in these fast-flowing waters.

  This was the most difficult part of the trek. The stones were wet and slippery beneath their aching feet. The horse stumbled many times, and would have thrown Benjamyn off had he not been tied to the beast.

  Eventually, they reached a huge cave, nearly forty feet in height. The ravine ended here, as though it was a corridor and the cave was a black door to another realm waiting at its end. The forest rose up at the top of the ravine and above the cave. Even with the dawn, the light was thin and filtered here.

  Within the cave, all was black.

  Orfus took torches and a Qi’shathian lighter from the sacks attached to the great shire horse. With the flick of his thumb, a flame appeared, and the Daimsblood-soaked rags were lit. Lucan took one torch, and Xarl the other. Light entered the dark.

  “We are close now, dear Benjamyn,” Lucan said.

  The cave had been empty when Lucan found it. But now, there were huge structures of wood that ran all the way to the top of the immense space. Walkways and gantries criss-crossed. Barrels and barrels of goods were piled high, enough to feed an army for weeks.

  They climbed a wooden ramp that led up from the side of the river onto the walkways. Water rushed below. The river widened and thickened here to take up most of the cave floor. The river was deceptively deep. Hence, it could accommodate a ship.

  The Black Heart was Lucan’s secret work and pleasure. Its ebony hull swallowed the torchlight, for it had been painted using a unique pigment that defied light, making it perfect for stealth missions. It had but one mast and was designed to be crewed by small teams of men, fifty at the absolute maximum. The ship had no figurehead, for that would distinguish it too readily, but within the captain’s quarters, there was a statue of Nereth, crows upon her shoulders, a compass in her hand. Of all the gods, she was the one he most admired. The Fate-shaper, one who could obtain and manipulate any reality she desired… That was aspirational, if nothing else.

  “Get him down,” Lucan said.

  Orfus went up to the horse. He flicked his wrist and a short dagger appeared in his hand. The old man cut two of the ties binding Benjamyn and then helped him climb down. The prisoner could not remain upright. Missing both one foot and one arm, he could not balance, and collapsed face first upon the damp walkway. With his injuries, walking would be impossible. Even crutches could not help him. Lucan had maimed him this way intentionally to make any escape attempt nigh on impossible.

  Benjamyn Hart would only walk again with the aid of some mechanical limb, such as Lucan had heard of being fashioned in Daimonopolis and the capitals of the northern regions. That, or a “wheel-chair”—again, they were only to be found in the hands of the richest families. The thought of being bound to such a device, to being so limited, momentarily nauseated him.

  “Remove his cloak,” Lucan commanded, to distract himself from his imagination.

  Orfus did so with thoroughness and delicacy while Benjamyn pushed himself upright. Lucan had half-expected him to make a break for it. But even Benjamyn, resilient and determined as he was, must have realised such an act was pointless.

  Eventually, Benjamyn sat in his rags, a black hood over his face that made him look not unlike Xarl. The mutilations that scoured his body added to the image.

  “Help him stand,” Lucan said, signalling to Xarl.

  The huge theront gripped Benjamyn’s good arm and hoisted him to his feet. Benjamyn clung to the theront. Lucan smiled to himself, wondering whether the prisoner felt waves of disgust at the strange texture of Xarl’s amphibian skin.

  “You see,” Lucan said. “We are not unreasonable.”

  “Where’s Ylia?” Benjamyn said.

  Lucan’s expression soured. It sounded like Benjamyn was making a demand. Did he not realise, even after all this time, what Lucan had the power to do?

  “Remove his hood.”

  Orfus did so, with a flourish. Benjamyn’s scarred face pinched as he peered around the dismally lit cave. In the flamelight, he looked ancient, more like a sunken mask dredged from some river than a middle-aged man. Still, his eyes glittered with defiance. So rare, this love, this strength, Lucan thought. What a father he must have been! Lucan could almost regret what he had done, if he did not think of the prize, of the power.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “We are going to board this ship now, Benjamyn,” Lucan said, pointing to The Black Heart. “And we are going to sail to Memory.”

  “Sail if you must,” Benjamyn said. “I will tell you nothing until you honour your side of the bargain.” A dark grin split Benjamyn’s face. With so many missing teeth, it was ghastly. “If you have brought me all the way here without my daughter, then you’re wasting your time.”

  Lucan felt venom rising in his gorge. He did not know the date of his birth, but he had often wondered if he was not born under the Scorpion’s sign. He did not believe in astrology, but he knew the strength of symbols all-too-well.

  “Your daughter is belowdecks,” Lucan said. “She is unharmed, for the moment.”

  A muscle in Benjamyn’s face twitched. Good, I have finally reached him where it hurts.

  “If you’ve harmed her—”

  “I have no intention of doing so,” Lucan said, cutting off the cyclical argument before it began. “But I also have no desire to play any more games with you. Do we have a deal or not?”

  Benjamyn’s face shadowed. He looked about the dismal cove. The stalactites above hung like the razor-teeth of some pelagic monster. The black waters below concealed all manner of poisonous things. In the farther depths of the cave, the river hissed and spat like a serpent. The walkways seemed the crude webbing of some ugly spider. Never had a man been more trapped. Yet still, he weighed his options.

  Without a word, he nodded. Lucan smiled.

  “Xarl, carry him across the gangplank.”

  The theront obeyed, lifting Benjamyn effortlessly, and carrying his skeletal form across the wide wooden board that joined the walkways to the Black Heart. Lucan followed, Orfus coming last with the horse. They would need a pack-animal where they were going.

  As they tramped onto the deck, a door opened in the main cabin of the ship and several men trooped up to greet them. They were a mix of genders and races: Yarulians, Aurelians, and Qi’shathians, both men and women. All of them wore the look of weatherbeaten people of the sea: slightly leathern skin, dehydrated and salt-scrubbed. Their eyes were wild and bright in the dark. They wore mostly the loose shirts and britches of seafarers with the exception of one who stood out as the leader, who wore a cuirass of scalemail and had a cutlass at his belt. This man was Qi’shathian.

  “Governor,” he said, bowing stiffly. A look of confusion passed over his face. “Where is Dreyne?”

  Lucan hid his outrage that he should be so bluntly questioned by one in his employ, but he supposed the captain—whose name was Pi’dan—was used to dealing with Dreyne as an intermediary. Rarely did Lucan appear in person at this place, let alone board the ship.

  “Dreyne is dead,” Lucan said curtly. “And I have a new task for you.” He produced a bag of Demons and placed it in the captain’s hands. “Half now, half when you deliver me to Memory.”

  Captain Pi’dan’s eyes widened.

  “Memory?”

  “Yes. You will not be required to set foot there should you not wish it. But I require transport urgently.”

  The captain nodded. Lucan was grateful that he was a man of few words, who understood the simple language of profit and exchange.

  “What about my daughter?” Benjamyn growled. He writhed in Xarl’s arms.

  Lucan smiled.

  “Bind this one’s mouth and take him below decks. Make sure he cannot bite his tongue.”

  “No!” Benjamyn cried.

  But it was too late. The pirates, reassured by their captain’s acqjuiescence and Lucan’s authority, leapt to obey. One produced a thick hempen rope and jammed it into Benjamyn’s mouth before he could protest. The rope was bound about his face. Chew and froth as he might, he could do nothing to the thick gag. The maimed man struggled and screamed, his cries muffled and rendered unintelligble.

  “We must keep this man alive at all costs,” Lucan said to Pi’dan, as the crew carried the kicking and screaming Benjamyn belowdecks. “Both my and your reward depend on what he knows.”

  “I will set a watch on him. He shall be fed by Ogor. He is used to handling wild animals that bite.” Pi’dan gestured to a huge golem of a man, whose muscles seemed to be straining to remove themselves from his skin. Ogor grinned and revealed silver teeth. Lucan smiled. Little satisfied him more than finding the right man for the job.

  Pi’dan was now looking at Xarl, who stood awkwardly at Lucan’s side.

  “This one is a theront.” Pi’dan sniffed. “The reek of him announces it.”

  “I trust this will not be a problem,” Lucan said, sharply.

  “No problem, Governor.” Lucan did not like the glassy way Pi’dan’s eyes appeared. He could not read the truth of their depths as he could with most men.

  “And this is Orfus, another loyal servant,” Lucan said. “He and the horse must also be well looked after.”

  “Of course. You shall have my quarters, Governor. I insist. The others may bunk as they will.”

  Lucan smiled through gritted teeth.

  “That is… very generous of you, Captain Pi’dan.”

  He remembered now why he had sent Dreyne to deal with the pirates, and Pi’dan specifically. He was evidently a seaman of extraordinary competence, but Lucan sensed beneath his politeness a near-invisible mockery. His god was the sea, his kingdom was the ship. He cared nothing for the politics of Lucan’s world. Lucan was no Governor, here, but merely a passenger. A well-paying one, but a passenger nonetheless.

  “Open the cargo hatch,” Pi’dan commanded lazily, as two crewmembers moved to obey. “We shall lower the horse in with the pulley. He will be comfortable down there. We still have some hay from spring’s harvest.”

  “Very good,” Lucan said.

  “Are we expecting… resistance on this journey, Governor?”

  Lucan paused. This was a valid question and good to consider. On the surface of things, there was nothing to expect. Emperor Oryon was as yet unaware of his clandestine operations. The escaped prisoner would be unlikely to run to authority. Most likely, she would go to ground again. If the secret did get out, he would be far, far away before action was ever sanctioned. They would seize his manse first. It would take them a long time to uncover any evidence or secrets there.

  And yet, and yet, the series of events that’d transpired in the last few days suggested to Lucan that a game was afoot, that players like himself were making their moves. He could not rule out the possibility of some kind of secret pursuit or retaliation.

  “Be ready for anything,” Lucan said.

  Pi’dan smiled. It was the first show of genuine emotion Lucan had seen from him.

  “Very well, Governor. I shall order the men to restock the powder and cannonshot.”

  ***

  It took two hours to supply the ship for their voyage. The journey would take, according to Dreyne, some two months. They would first travel north along Aurelia’s coast, until they reached the state of Phaedril. There, they would find the great River of Lords that cut east to west across the entire continent. Miles across, and stretching the breadth of a continent, it was likely the largest river in the world, and essential for moving goods across the north of Aurelia and between Dashar and Phaedril.

  Lucan did not like the idea of using such a well-travelled route, but the alternative was to go around the entire north of Aurelia, which would take half a year. He could not wait that long.

  He supposed that his presence would allow them leeway if stopped by riverguards or military ships. If asked to explain why he was sailing in an unmarked vessel, he would simply plead a clandestine mission for the Emperors, which, in a warped sort of way, was the truth. The only potential drawback was that he lacked his Ring of Signification to prove his identity. He cursed giving it to that boy. He had been in a panic when the Emperor announced his coming to Wylhome.

  We will get through, whatever needs to be done. Pi’dan said they would travel mostly at night, avoiding the daytime traffic, and unwanted questions. The Black Heart was aptly named. It could disappear when needed—and strike, too. For such a small vessel it sported a disturbingly powerful arsenal of black powder cannons, harpoons, and even one or two of the Daimonsblood bombs that Dreyne had been so fond of.

  “Oars drawn back but at the ready!” Pi’dan growled.

  Lucan stood at the prow of the ship. Behind him, the ten crew-members were arranged, five each side of the ship, clutching long oars that also doubled as bargepoles. For now, the oars were withdrawn from the waters.

  Pi’dan manned the wheel. In tesponse to a hand signal from him, the anchor was drawn up by the turning of a grinding mechanism. The ship jerked forward, flowing naturally with the current. They were away.

  Lucan felt a sudden, childish buzz within his chest. The thrill of adventure kindled. At last, he was on the road to his dream.

  The Black Heart emerged from the darkness of the cave into the half-light of the forest, the walls of the ravine rising high either side. Birds sang in the canopies as the dawn transmuted into daylight. Bright yellow rays spilled down the dark corridor of the cloven bluffs. He could literally see the light at the end of the tunnel—and the dark, beautous sea beyond.

  I shall become the sea, he thought. Immortal, terrible, unstoppable. It is within reach, now. It is within touching distance. Just a paltry few months…

  Somewhere belowdecks, a man was screaming. Lucan ignored it.

  The Black Heart burst from the rivermouth and ravine like a champing horse from its stable, striking the sea as a stone thrown from the joyous hand of a child does. He felt himself rising upon the swelling tides of the ocean. Sea foam splashed his face and he smiled. He was not one for poetry, but in moments such as this, poetry naturally arose, and he let it.

  “The sea welcomes me.

  For I am the sea.

  All I ever was and all I will be,

  Is One in this fair moment.

  For I shall be immortal, eternal, and free.

  I am the ocean. I am the sea.”