The Sword in the Sea - Chapter Two

Jerry Carpenter

The mid-morning sun sparkled off the sea with an intensity that seemed to vibrate, as Storm Bringer drove towards Ezreen with the speed of a galloping horse. Sheets of spray burst from the vessel's leeward bow, streaking down the gunwale in blurred white lines and spotting the straining red sails. Dolphins raced ahead, leaping clear of the water in gymnastic twists and tumbles as though sharing the exhilaration of the ship's crew. Occasionally, as the Storm Bringer surged ahead with a particularly powerful burst of speed, a sailor would let out a whoop of excitement – the call almost drowned out by the roar of the ocean and the chattering of the rigging.

A Tarcun longship – in a stiff breeze and under full sail – was one of the fastest, most impressive sights that the hand of man could offer the world.

Ravian, however – retching over the quarterdeck's lee rail – was having difficulty in sharing the excitement. If this was what going to sea was about, he thought miserably, then he would have to ask his father that he be transferred to the army instead.

On completion of his two years' of basic military training, Ravian had returned to the palace whereupon his father had immediately pressed him into an intense regime of civil education.

'You are to be Defender of the Nation,' the king patiently explained when Ravian had mildly protested, 'but, believe me, you are not going to be able to do that through force of arms alone. You must strive to understand the power of this country's trade and learn the levers of her politics. Remember, when I'm gone, you'll be next in line to the throne until your brother produces a family. If something happened to Jeniel and you did have to take the throne, I'd like to think that I had given the people of this land something more than a sword-swinging lout as a ruler. Learn to understand your world, Ravian – everything is related to everything else.'

Indeed, when Ravian considered the plight of his brothers, he decided that his lot was not so bad.

Ramus, although the other boys of his age were now tramping the dusty parade grounds of the Academy, was receiving only a bare minimum of military training from the palace tutors – the scales and the abacus featuring in his lessons as much as the sword and the bow had in Ravian's. Fortunately, Ramus had a cheerful disposition and an agile mind and it was soon obvious that, while he was no mean hand with a sword, the world of trade was going to be one that he would be very much at home in.

Jeniel, on the other hand, was becoming an increasingly serious young man, his inevitable accession to the throne seeming to weigh heavily on his mind. Given to long and careful consideration of any decision, he appeared to spend all his waking hours studying – and worrying about his looming responsibility.

On returning from the Academy, Ravian had become concerned at the changes he found in his brother. One evening shortly after, as he and Jeniel sought a breath of cool air on a palace balcony, he asked him if he could help.

'You don't know what it's like, Ravian,' the older prince replied. 'For you it may never happen, but for me, well, all my life it's been "when you are King Jeniel" this and "when you are King Jeniel" that. I just can't escape the fact that, one day, everyone will look to me to rule them. I have so much to learn and sometimes I feel like I'll never be ready for the responsibility.'

Ravian felt truly sorry for his brother.

'Neither of us can change your destiny, Jeniel,' he said, 'but you know that I'll always be behind you – and so will Ramus. You're not alone.'

Jeniel nodded. Despite the darkening twilight, Ravian saw the sparkle of a tear in his brother's eye and glimpsed the huge burden that he felt.

'Thanks, Ravian,' he replied. 'I know that. I'll miss you when you go into the navy.'

Ravian's attitude to his continuing education at the palace changed after that conversation.

A study of the White City's water and sewerage systems, for instance, would not normally have interested him in the slightest, but, desiring to be a better support to his older brother, Ravian strove to become more informed about the subject. Thus, he learned that the White City's fresh water requirements were served by a perpetual spring that gushed from a point high on the walls of the drowned crater within which the Tarcun capital nestled, this precious water supply, allied with the splendid natural protection of the harbour, having been a key factor in Tarcus the Great establishing his settlement there centuries ago. Now, a complex system of pipes and aqueducts distributed clean water to most of the White City's households as well as to a number of public fountains. The same constant flow also powered a sewerage and drainage system that ducted the settlement's wastes to an outfall on the seaward side of the harbour's southern arm.

The strategic importance of this knowledge was not lost on Ravian. The secure fresh water supply meant that, once the chain guarding the harbour entrance was raised, and the three gates in the White City's walls closed and bolted, the metropolis could hold out against an attacking force for as long as its food supplies lasted.

His father was right, he saw – everything was related to everything else.

Ravian plunged into the sea of knowledge at his disposal in the form of the palace's advisers and ministers, often taking instruction alongside one or the other of his brothers and, sometimes, both.

He learned how the taxation system of the harbour functioned and how vital it was to the funding of the Royal House, the civil service and the military. He learned the rules and politics of the Citizens' Council and its subtle, if not always subservient, relationship to the Tarcun throne. He learned about the Nine Houses, the great merchant dynasties of the White City, with their fleets of merchant ships and their giant warehouses on the eastern shores of the harbour. Especially though, Ravian studied the geography of Tarcus and, during his two years at the palace, he seized every opportunity to explore the island.

Thus, he joined with some palace priests in a pilgrimage to the summit of Mount Perios, praying with them there at the Oracle of Delikas before cleansing his soul in the brooding, sacred waters of the Heart Lake. He rode inland to Dalvin, the kingdom's second-largest settlement, and increased his knowledge of Tarcun agriculture by visiting the surrounding farms and vineyards and attending the thriving weekly market in the city. He journeyed to the harbour town of Belainus, centre for the manufacture of ceramics and, closer to his heart, home to the bronze smelters and the metalsmiths who kept the White City's armoury well stocked.

Finally, and shortly before he was due to go into the navy, he took two armed guards and headed out on the cliff-top trail that ran along the Southeast Coast to Land's End. After two days' rugged ride, he arrived at the craggy bluff with its two lighthouses, one black and one white, and the military garrison perched high above the tiny fishing port of Karomar.

'Why two lighthouses?' he asked the garrison commander whose overnight hospitality he had gratefully accepted.

The soldier was surprised that the prince did not know the story but seemed pleased at the opportunity to tell it.

'The Dark Tower is the oldest, Your Highness,' he explained. 'It was built over two centuries ago to guide fishing boats and naval vessels into Karomar from the Southeast Coast. Of course, that was long before anyone realised how rich the fishing grounds were to the north.'

Ravian had ridden the zigzag trail down the cliffs to the small, harbourside village that afternoon – a pretty enough place in weather-beaten sort of way, he had decided. Talking with some fishermen there, he learned that, sea conditions permitting, the boats would leave harbour, weather the point and tack northwest for the bountiful fishing grounds lying just off the dangerous, reef-dotted coastline of the Weather Shore. When they had filled their holds, they would set a course to run past Land's End and then down the Southeast Coast to the White City. Once they had sold their catch there, they would beat back home against the prevailing winds – savage northerlies in winter and gentle easterlies in summer – for a day or two of rest before doing it all over again. A hard life, Ravian had thought, but an honest one.

'The position of the old lighthouse meant that it was invisible in the northern arc,' the garrison commander continued. 'All very well for ships coming across from Ezreen, but useless for the returning fishing boats – not to mention the increased shipping we had begun to see from places like Kleeft or Dalvan. Vessels approaching Tarcus from the north at night had to run in blind and any poor devils that strayed too far to starboard would suddenly find themselves in amongst the reefs of the Weather Shore – and there aren't too many who've survived a shipwreck on that coast. Your ancestor, King Kombula, needed to protect both the fishing and trading fleets, so he ordered a new lighthouse, the White Tower, built further east and higher up on the headland, and that is where the beacon burns today.'

Leaving Land's End the next day, Ravian took the rough, rarely-travelled trail that ran northwest along the cliff edges of the Weather Shore. The garrison commander had warned him to expect a rocky, desolate coastline, completely devoid of fresh water and human habitation, and that he and his two guards would need to carry enough food and water to last the five-day ride. What no one could have prepared the prince for however, was the wild, untamed beauty of the wind-whipped edge of land that they discovered there. Ravian had thought the cliffs of the Southeast Coast impressive enough, but they were neither as tall nor as precipitous as the grey, forbidding bulwark that now unfolded, seemingly endlessly, before he and his men. Far below – too far for the sound to carry – mighty ocean swells crashed against the coast in angry explosions of spray. Further out from the coast, patches of boiling foam dotted with rocky black teeth marked where countless clusters of reef waited to snare unwary shipping. It was certainly a coast to give a wide berth to, Ravian thought and, by the time he arrived at The Horn, Tarcus's northernmost point, he was satisfied that nature had more than adequately provided the only defences required for that sector of the kingdom.

The land changed markedly as they arrived at the steep promontory of The Horn though, the gleaming sands that gave the vast Golden Bay its name prescribing an unbroken arc westwards to the far-off, towering silhouette of The Tusk. A bad place for a vessel to become embayed during the northerly gales of winter, Ravian knew, but an equally sheltered and welcoming coast during the gentle summer months. The smuggling trade it attracted at this time had necessitated a permanent garrison of both army and navy at North Cove, the small, summer-only harbour that nestled beneath the western cliffs of The Horn. When the first northerly storms signalled the end of Golden Bay's smuggling season, he learned, the five long ships based there would be hauled out and stored in giant boathouses well above the high tide mark and the crashing winter rollers.

It was immediately evident to Ravian that this was the kingdom's strategic weak point as, with the exception of the White City, Karomar and Belainus, Tarcus could rely on the almost unbroken cliffs that made up the rest of her coastline to repel any landing attempt by an enemy force. In summer though, Golden Bay posed an impossible defensive problem and offered any invading army easy access to the fertile, rolling farmland that lay behind it. The small rural city of Centrus lay barely two hours' ride from the coast and, from there, a busy, paved road ran almost due south to Agarvate, Dalvin and, ultimately, the White City itself. Ravian knew that he and his guards would make the ride in two days – and that an enemy army would be able to force march it in three.

The prince had turned his back on the Golden Bay and ridden inland with a sense of unease.

Shortly after Ravian's return from this expedition, his eighteenth birthday had arrived and, as custom dictated, he received his orders to report to his first ship. Not surprisingly, he had found himself posted to the longship of the senior officer of the Tarcun navy – the bearded and intimidating Admiral Acrusta, scourge of the pirates of the Sapphire Sea.

Now, only a few hours out from the calmer waters under the lee of Land's End, the prince felt the disdainful eye of the old sea dog upon him as he once more heaved into the foam that trailed astern.

Ravian felt ghastly. His skin was clammy, his knees were so weak that he could barely stand and, although it was a warm day, his hands shook violently as they gripped the rail. He felt the powerful presence of the admiral loom behind him and prepared to be denounced as a fop and a sissy.

'Young Man, I'm not as sharp of eye as I used to be,' the old admiral rumbled at his miserable royal recruit. 'Make yourself useful and get up to the port bow to keep a lookout for me. At this sort of speed, it's all too easy to catch another vessel broadside before we even know we're upon them.'

'Aye, aye, Sir!' Ravian responded in a shaky voice – having quickly established that, in the navy, these words were the only allowable response to a direct order.

He made his way unsteadily down the short flight of steps and onto the raised platform that ran forward between the twenty rowing thwarts on each side of the ship. As he passed the straining, creaking mast, he was painfully aware of the amused grins of the crew, positioned along the weather rail of the longship so that their weight helped to offset the heel of the vessel.

'Lovely day for a sail, Young Sir,' one of them called out cheerfully.

Ravian smiled back weakly and nodded – he has heard people described as being green with seasickness and had no doubt that his face was the colour of grass. Somehow, he made it up to the forecastle – the raised section of deck inside the bow – where he took up a position on the rail and braced himself against the humming forestay. Here, the wind seemed to come directly over the ship's bow and his eyes streamed as he dutifully searched the horizon for any other vessels.

After a time, he realised that he no longer felt quite as ill as he had.

The view of the horizon and the breeze in his face, while not totally curing his seasickness, had at least forced it to retreat far enough for him to be able to start thinking again, and he had the sudden realisation that the admiral had sent him forward for this very reason.

Looking aft, he met Acrusta's eyes and saw the barely perceptible nod the old sailor gave him before bellowing, 'Keep your eye out forward, Young Sir! There'll be no ships overtaking us from astern today!'

Ravian turned back towards the horizon and allowed himself a smile. The navy, he suspected, might not be so bad after all.

Ravian quickly learned that life aboard a longship on an extended patrol had its own rules and structure.

Unlike the slave oarsmen on the war-vessels of many other nations, Tarcun longships were manned entirely by free citizens. At the same time, the captain of a longship had supreme power over all who sailed on her and this power extended down through the first lieutenant, the two second-lieutenants and the bosun. Usually, these officers and about half of the crew were career sailors – the remainder being young citizens at various stages of their naval training.

Tarcun naval officers earned their promotion purely on merit and it was a tradition that, once on board a longship, its crewmembers forewent any claim to authority through family connection. Ravian found himself detailed for cooking and cleaning duties along with the other three new recruits on board – the only concession to his royal status being that everyone from Admiral Acrusta down addressed him as "Young Sir".

Ravian hated the title as much as those on board seemed to relish using it.

There was something utterly humiliating in being told, "Young Sir, scrub out that cooking pot" or "Young Sir, bail out the scuppers" but Ravian knew that he would be "Young Sir" until he made lieutenant's rank. Consequently, he resolved to be the best candidate for promotion that Acrusta had ever seen.

Admiral Acrusta – "Old Crusty" behind his back – was a hard but fair man, much loved and respected throughout the navy. Although he was careful not to show any favouritism to Ravian, it soon became obvious that his mission – whether he had been briefed to it or not – was to develop the prince's seamanship as rapidly as he could.

It was customary that, at least once a day, each new recruit would be taken aside by his longship's commander for what was known as a "Captain's Beating". While, on some ships, these Captain's Beatings may indeed have involved physical discipline, the usual practice was for the commanding officer to subject the new recruit to an intensive quiz of their knowledge of their ship and of the sea.

'Show me where northeast is!'

'How many oarsmen in a Survenian galley?'

'Show me an eye-splice!'

'What happens when a ship is "flat aback" and how do you get her out of it?'

'Tell me how you would board and inspect an Ezrenian trading vessel.'

'What is the purpose of a leeboard?'

These sessions were the bane of every new recruit's life – universally detested, and sometimes feared. Acrusta subjected Ravian to this daily harassment for sessions lasting at least twice as long as those he dished out to the three other new recruits – Petrus, Capernal and, to Ravian's delighted surprise, Billus, his friend from the Academy.

'It's not fair on you, Ravian,' grumbled Billus, as the four of them bunked down one evening in their cramped quarters beneath the forecastle. 'You're as good sailor as any of us – but Old Crusty still gives you a longer beating than we three put together'.

Ravian smiled in the darkness. Billus, he knew, was eager to follow his father's example and make the navy a career. He was as stout of heart as he was stout of form and, as the saying went, saw things very much with the "Eye of the Cyclops". He liked people or he didn't, accepted ideas or rejected them out of hand and was utterly loyal to his friends and his principles. Ravian knew that he was someone he could trust with his life.

'It goes with the blood, Billus,' Ravian replied. 'I don't mind.'

'Rather you than me,' said Capernal, laying out his sleeping mat. 'I'm quite satisfied with the amount of attention I get from our admiral as it is, thank you.'

Ravian had observed that Capernal, the son of a Belanian coppersmith, also seemed to be the subject of some extra focus from the admiral, although he suspected that this was more to do with Acrusta seeing potential in the pleasant, confident young man than any personal dislike on Old Crusty's behalf.

Petrus made no comment from his blankets. A tall, morose youth from Karomar, he seemed to have a grudge against life in general, facing it with a surly glare and cynical curl of the lip, and Ravian was finding him a hard shipmate to like.

It was during a Captain's Beating early on Ravian's first voyage, after the prince had failed to correctly name all the parts of a longship's standing rigging, that Acrusta handed down the first of many lessons in leadership. After briskly reeling off the correct names himself, the Admiral paused and then softened his voice.

'Young Sir,' he began, 'everyone enters the navy as an equal – there are no slaves here and rank is something that has to be earned. You must become a leader and there are, I believe, two ways that a man becomes one.'

Ravian gave the master mariner his complete attention – Old Crusty was an admirable example of the sort of leader he hoped to be himself one day.

'Some have it born in them,' Acrusta continued, 'and – if you are the sort of man that shines out amongst his fellows, the sort of man that draws people to him without even trying – that is one sort of leader. I look at young Capernal and see that he might be that sort of man.'

Ravian could only agree – Capernal emanated a quiet assurance that belied his youth.

'As for the rest of us,' Acrusta went on – and Ravian didn't miss the implications of the word "us" – 'we have to work at it. The men have to be able to trust that we have a complete knowledge of what we are doing. Knowledge is authority, Prince Ravian! Knowledge breeds competence – and competence breeds confidence. If the men believe their captain knows what he is doing, they will follow him anywhere!'

The Admiral's words seemed to echo his father's advice on the day that Ravian had entered the Academy and he determined to remember them.

Although he hated to admit it to himself, he already knew that he didn't have the easy authority that Capernal – or, irksomely, the Academy bully, Graticus – seemed to possess naturally. At the same time, he realised that the respect he had for Storm Bringer's officers came largely from his assumption that, when decisions needed to be made, they were competent to make the right ones – regardless of their personal charisma.

People didn't have to like somebody to follow them, Ravian realised – they just had to trust them. Even further, this knowledge strengthened his resolve to excel as a seaman.

The wind stayed fair from the northeast and, only five days out from the White City, a giant head and shoulders slowly began to rise from the horizon ahead. This was Kaddal, guardian of the City of Ezreen and, as they sailed towards the colossal statue, the towers and minarets of their destination began to grow from the sea behind the figure.

Ezreen was the wealthiest city in the world, founded at a point on the east coast of the Sapphire Sea only two days' camel journey across an isthmus from the port of Dabbar and the infinite reaches of the Spice Sea. It also lay on the meeting point of the land trade routes between the vast continents to the north and south and, thus, had become a commercial powerhouse.

Despite the nation's enormous fleet of merchant vessels on the Sapphire Sea however, Ezreen maintained only a small, ceremonial, navy on that ocean. The reason for this, as every Tarcun well knew, was the alliance between the eastern kingdom and their island nation dating back to the rule of King Phytus, grandson of King Tarcus. King Edron, the Ezrenian ruler of the time, had become tired of losing increasing amounts of shipping to piracy and, recognising that the superior speed and fighting abilities of the Tarcun longships had made the island's own merchant fleet virtually immune from the plague, he had sent emissaries to Phytus with a proposition. If Ezrenian vessels entering the White City were to pay double the usual taxation rate, would Phytus extend the protection of the Tarcun Navy to those vessels plying the Sapphire Sea?

Phytus had agreed – but only so far as to offer protection against piracy. The wise king had no wish to be dragged into any wars in which Ezreen might become involved.

The arrangement had worked well – so well, in fact, that within a few years Tarcus was also providing protection on the same basis for the vessels of that other major eastern kingdom, Karaal. The northern nations regarded this development with disdain, preferring to guard their own trading routes – albeit with more limited success. Karaal and Ezreen, however, were able to turn more and more of their vessels in the Sapphire Sea over to the business of trade, speeding the development of their economies. Tarcus found that, although these alliances slightly diminished the demand for the services of its own trading fleet, this loss was more than offset by the substantial increase in tax revenue and the additional foreign traffic through the White City's harbour.

Storm Bringer tacked between Kaddal's legs – one giant stone foot planted on each end of two long breakwaters protecting an anchorage at least three times the size of the White City's harbour. As the longship foamed through the entrance, Ravian, who, until now, had regarded Tarcus as the civilised centre of the universe, gasped at the forest of masts that almost obscured the harbour's shoreline. Above and beyond the mastheads, the City of Ezreen – its lights beginning to twinkle beneath the deepening purple of the eastern sky – covered the low, rolling hills to the very horizon, and Ravian and the rest of the crew began to smell tantalising, exotic aromas from the shore as the Tarcun ship shortened sail and threaded its way carefully through the press of merchant vessels. As they neared the dockside, they could hear the holy men of the city singing out their call to the evening devotions from the minarets of the temples and yet, despite the longship's arrival at prayer time, the jetty blazed with torchlight and jostled with a throng of people from many lands. Ezrenians in flowing white robes and turbans strode the same cobblestones as shining black tribesmen from the south and fair, hairy, barbarians from the north. Ravian was particularly intrigued by the veiled women who also walked the quayside, their direct, dark-eyed stares belying the modesty of their gowns and veils.

Two Ezrenian officials waved from the shore and, having caught Acrusta's attention, directed him to a clear section of the wharf where a small welcome party waited. The Tarcun admiral brought the longship smoothly alongside and, as the berthing lines were made fast, a sweating team of slaves lifted a gangway into place. Immediately, the waiting shore party boarded Storm Bringer, led by a man whom Ravian thought the most impressive individual he had ever seen.

The visitor's beard, turban and clothing were jet black and he wore a shining black breastplate with delicate golden inlays that gleamed in the torchlight. As he bowed to the waiting Acrusta with a flourish of his cape, Ravian did not fail to notice the enormous curved sword he carried at his waist – nor the easy, familiar way the man moved it aside as he bent.

To his surprise, Acrusta bowed just as deeply in return.

'Admiral Acrusta,' their visitor said smoothly, 'in the name of King Saravar of Ezreen, I bid you welcome'.

Their visitor spoke in Chesa, the mother tongue of Tarcus, with only the barest hint of an accent.

'Admiral Dirmar, this is a most unexpected pleasure,' the old Tarcun replied with a smile of genuine warmth. 'I understood you to be in the far reaches of the Spice Sea.'

The Ezrenian returned a smile of dazzling whiteness, his dark eyes twinkling.

'I have been recalled to attend upon the king,' he said, his eyes briefly meeting Ravian's before turning back to the Admiral. 'Out of respect for the royal presence you honour our city with and, of course, your own highly-esteemed self, His Majesty has invited me to welcome you personally.'

Acrusta nodded and motioned Ravian to join them.

'I must say, Admiral Dirmar, that the speed and accuracy with which you have been informed as to the identity of my newest recruit is truly impressive,' he said with a wry smile. 'Anyway, allow me to introduce Prince Ravian, second in line to the throne of Tarcus.'

Ravian stepped forward and saluted the Ezrenian admiral. Dirmar returned the courtesy with a surprised laugh and a nod of his head.

'Forgive my amusement, Your Highness,' he said, 'but, in Ezreen, princes do not usually salute humble sailors.'

'Perhaps not, Sir,' Ravian replied, 'but we are on a Tarcun longship – and I am just a recruit like any other.'

Over the Ezrenian's shoulder, he noticed a barely perceptible nod of approval from Acrusta.

'Well said, Prince Ravian,' Dirmar acknowledged. 'Indeed, our own crown prince is also undergoing his naval training – you are, as I'm sure you know, of a similar age. You will have something in common to talk about when you meet him.'

Ravian knew that Ezreen's sole heir to the throne was Prince Beneen.

'I look forward to meeting Prince Beneen,' said Ravian, 'but I doubt that Storm Bringer will be in Ezreen long enough for me to journey to Dabbar.'

Dirmar smiled. While Ezreen's naval presence in the Sapphire Sea was limited to a couple of galleys, Dabbar was home to the country's substantial fleet of war galleys on the Spice Sea.

'As chance would have it,' he said, 'I have recently shifted my flag to a vessel on the Sapphire Sea – and Prince Beneen has accompanied me.'

'In fact,' Dirmar continued, turning to Acrusta, 'I am here in rather more than a social capacity, Admiral. There are some matters that King Saravar wishes to discuss with you and he has suggested that you might like to attend on him at the palace directly after prayers tomorrow afternoon.'

He turned back to Ravian.

'The invitation also extends to you, Your Highness. I believe it is intended that you will meet Prince Beneen at the same time.'

'Please advise His Majesty that we will certainly be at his disposal tomorrow,' growled the Tarcun admiral.

'Very well, then – until tomorrow.'

With another winning smile and a courtly bow, Admiral Dirmar took his leave, crossed the gangway and vanished into the descending night.

'Pirates!' spat Saravar, absolute ruler of Ezreen.

Dirmar, Acrusta and Ravian stood before his throne – a jewel-encrusted couch on a raised dais.

Ravian, who had only just been introduced to the eastern king, gazed covertly about at the gilded columns and vaults of his throne room, awestruck by the fantastic opulence of Saravar's seat of power. However, if he had expected the Ezrenian ruler to be a man softened by this same wealth, he had quickly been proven wrong. Despite his fine robes and bejewelled fingers, the turbaned, grey-bearded Saravar was formidable of both appearance and manner as he descended the dais and began to pace the mirror-like floors in a state of barely suppressed fury.

'We've lost three ships to them in the last month!' he growled. 'Just yesterday, I received a message from King Baharat who admits he is having the same problem – even though he won't say how many vessels he has actually lost. If we've lost three ships though, I'll bet that Karaal has lost at least twice that! The scum are holed up somewhere in the Gertals – and you all know what that means.'

Indeed they did.

The Gertals were an archipelago of some sixty small islands in the northeast corner of the Sapphire Sea. They were close to the entrance to the Grimspot Gris, the arm of ocean that reached many days' sail into the darkness of the northern continent and, consequently, the island chain had historically been a favourite route for barbarian pirates from the north to extend their reach into the plump trade routes of the east. With no single country claiming sovereignty over them, the Gertal Islands were a lawless no man's land where the northern powers often manoeuvred to their own clandestine ends. Expeditions into the islands thus carried some political risk, especially to those countries whose trade relied on neutrality.

'Your Majesty,' said Acrusta, 'it has been many years since there was any real pirate problem in the Gertals. We cleaned out the last significant nest of them before Prince Ravian was born. I can't understand how this problem could reappear so suddenly.'

'Exactly, my friend,' agreed Dirmar. 'I have already expressed my belief to the His Majesty that there is more afoot here than some stray collection of Northerners who happen to have fallen into the pirate way. I feel the hand of one of the northern kingdoms in this.'

Acrusta looked thoughtful for a moment – the implications of Dirmar's words were serious indeed.

'Your Majesty, Admiral Dirmar,' he rumbled, 'of course the Tarcun navy is at your disposal. We will return immediately to Tarcus and I will request King Jabacus for permission to lead an expedition into the area.'

Saravar smiled.

'Admiral,' the king said, 'we never doubted that Tarcus would stand by its part of the Alliance – nor by the friendship that exists between our countries. However, I think that a full-scale operation into the area might be a mistake. It might be seen as an act of war against whichever country is behind this and neither of us wants that – even grubby little kingdoms like Graftsen still contribute to the trade coffers of both our nations. We must also remember that the Northerners can be clannish and that to buy an argument with one might be to buy an argument with many.

'No, what I suggest is this; Admiral Dirmar has one of our few war galleys in the Sapphire Sea at his disposal and he has shifted his flag to her. If the two of you were to take your ships north on a joint exercise – and you unexpectedly encountered a pocket of pirates – you would, of course, exterminate them. If it subsequently transpired that a few sailors from a northern nation had been involved…well, that would be a regrettable accident – not something that anybody would need to make an international incident over.'

Ravian was impressed. Not only did Saravar speak Chesa with the fluency of a Tarcun courtier, but he was also clearly a leader of wisdom and cunning. He was glad that Ezreen and Tarcus were allies.

'Can you sail with us tomorrow?' Dirmar asked the older admiral.

'Of course!' Acrusta bristled. 'We can sail right now if you wish. The crew has not been given leave beyond the immediate waterfront and we have been well provisioned.'

The Ezrenians exchanged knowing smiles. They were well aware of the admiral's "Old Crusty" appellation.

'Departure can wait until tomorrow morning, Admiral,' said Saravar. 'Please allow your crew to enjoy the delights of another evening in my city. I would like Prince Ravian to meet and become acquainted with my son – perhaps to spend the night here as our guest. I think that it would serve both our nations well if the princes came to know each other as well as your own king and I do. Also, if Prince Beneen might be permitted to further his education by sailing aboard your longship tomorrow, I would deem that a special favour.'

Thus it was decided, Acrusta and Dirmar returning to their ships, leaving Ravian with the Ezrenian king.

'Prince Ravian,' the monarch began when they were alone, 'your father and I are close friends. May I address you by your name only when we are in private?'

'Of course, Your Majesty,' Ravian replied. 'My father speaks of you with great warmth. May I ask how you would wish me to address you at such times?'

'Hmmm,' said Saravar, looking thoughtful. 'I believe that, if were you to address me as "Uncle", I would consider that a great honour.'

The significance of the title was not lost on Ravian. In the eastern lands, he knew, family ties were especially important. For Saravar to adopt him as a family member was an enormous honour – yet not one without its obligations.

He looked into the eyes of the older man and saw only friendship and goodness.

'You do me a great honour…Uncle.'

Saravar smiled and visibly relaxed and Ravian realised that the exchange had been important to the king.

'Wonderful! You had better come with me and meet your new cousin. He is waiting to dine with you in his quarters.'

Saravar led him from the throne room and along one vaulted hallway after another. Ravian realised that the Ezrenian palace was enormous and that, should he ever need to, it would take some time to find his way out again unaided. Everyone they passed prostrated him or herself before the king and Ravian began to appreciate the unique position enjoyed by Admiral Dirmar, who merely bowed before his monarch.

Finally, they entered a large room sumptuously decorated with rugs on floor and walls. On two sides, high, arched windows opened onto the upper parts of a lush green garden from which Ravian could faintly hear the sound of running water. A slender, olive-skinned young man of about his own age stood up from one of several luxuriously-bolstered couches and bowed as they approached.

'Ravian, Prince of Tarcus, allow me to introduce my son, Beneen, Crown Prince of Ezreen,' Saravar announced. 'You may, in the circumstances, address each other without title.'

The two youths looked shyly at each other.

Ravian had half-expected a pampered palace puppy, yet Beneen's fine featured face was intelligent and alert, his slender build tough and wiry. The Ezrenian prince's skin was considerably darker than that of the king and Ravian suspected that he had been undergoing sea training for quite some time.

'Welcome to my apartments, Ravian,' Beneen said. 'Please feel free to regard my home as your own whenever you are able to visit these shores.'

The Ezrenian prince's eyes were as deep and black as the night sky but there was a gleam in them that gave sincerity to his welcoming smile. As Ravian shook the proffered hand, he was surprised by the rough, calloused skin.

At Saravar's wave, the three royals each took a couch and, as they reclined, servants silently entered the room carrying trays of exotic and delicious food. The king addressed the two young princes as they ate.

'As you both well know, King Jabacus and I are not just allies – but also life-long friends. I first met your father, Ravian, when he and I were a similar age to that which the two of you are now. As you have, Jabacus came to this city on his first sea voyage and, just like now, my father introduced us to each other. The fact that we found it easy to become friends was a fortunate blessing from Bhana although, even had we not enjoyed each other's company, we would still have had the alliance between our two nations to honour. You hardly need me to tell you for how many generations that bond has stood – nor explain how important it is to both our countries.'

Beneen and Ravian exchanged glances. Both of them knew how vital the Alliance was.

'Unlike your father, Ravian – who was an only child – you are one of three royal princes of Tarcus,' Saravar continued. 'Bhana willing, your older brother will accede to the throne just as Beneen will one day take my place. Jeniel, is fortunate, Ravian, in that he will have the support of two full-blooded younger brothers to help him when the time comes for him to rule. It saddens me that Beneen could not have been similarly provided for.'

Ravian knew that Saravar's first wife and queen had died giving birth to Beneen and that, although Saravar had remarried many times under the Ezrenian custom allowing multiple wives, none of the children of those unions could legitimately challenge Beneen's right to the throne. It was very much in the nature of the eastern royal politics though, that his many half-brothers and half-sisters might plot to supplant the crown prince's place anyway.

'Ravian, you are being prepared for the role as commander of the forces of Tarcus,' Saravar went on. 'We will, no doubt, be seeing a lot more of you than of your older brother, although I daresay that Prince Ramus, when he completes his training in the mercantile arts, will also become a frequent visitor here. The alliance between our nations will stand more strongly if we can learn to be friends – cousins as well as allies. I don't force this on either of you, but positions of power can often be very lonely and even princes and kings need friends that they can trust. Tomorrow, you will both be sailing aboard Admiral Acrusta's flagship. I would like you to use that opportunity – and your evening here together – to learn more about each other and the ways of your peoples so that you give friendship the opportunity to grow.'

With that the king stood, waving them back to their own couches as they made to rise.

'And now, I have other affairs to attend to,' he said. 'I regret that I won't have time to see you again before you go, Ravian, but know that you will always be welcome in this city.'

There was a moment of silence between the princes as the king left the room. Outside, Ravian could see that the sky was darkening with evening and, in the far off distance, he could hear the call to prayers.

Beneen stood and Ravian also rose.

'Ravian, I must go now to offer my evening prayer to Bhana,' Beneen said. 'Before I do, I wish to say that I agree with my father and that I will also be praying for us to be friends.'

Ravian smiled.

'I thank you for your prayers but I don't think we will require the assistance of either Bhana or Delikas to be friends.'

Beneen smiled back and, placing his hands together in front of his chest, bowed his turbaned head slightly.

'Very well then, Cousin,' he said. 'I shall return in a short while. Please make yourself at home. You may wish to bathe – or even sleep. There will be a small entertainment this evening.'

Alone in Beneen's apartments, Ravian could not help feeling slightly irritated as he looked out into the deepening dusk. Tonight, while Petrus, Capernal and Billus enjoyed the exotic and legendary delights of the City of Ezreen, he would be here, saddled with the obligations of royalty.

Still, he told himself, that was his fate – his duty to Tarcus came first.

'Ravian,' the voice whispered into the black cave of his unconsciousness. 'Ravian! Cousin! Wake up!'

He opened one eye to find Beneen standing over his bed in the grey, pre-dawn light. The Ezrenian prince seemed to be shimmering slightly.

Beneen smiled.

'We have to go, or we will miss the sailing of our ships,' he said. 'I'll be back to accompany you very shortly.'

With that, Ravian was, again, alone in the palace bedroom. He pushed himself up into a sitting position against some cushions and tried to recollect the events of the evening.

It had started quietly enough.

Beneen had returned from his prayers after an hour so, and they had lounged together while servants brought additional candles, wine and more food. Beneen had insisted that he eat a small cake as a traditional start to the evening – 'hahmah', he had called the plain-looking patties. Ravian had thought them a most odd inclusion in what was an otherwise visually splendid array of food and, finding they had an oily texture and a pungent taste, he had not been at all disappointed when Beneen suggested that one would be enough.

They had sipped their wine as Beneen had told Ravian of his early life in the Ezrenian palace, and of his sea training which had now been going on for six months. Ravian had learned that his new friend had already sailed to the ends of the Spice Sea.

'And what is there at the end of the sea?' the Tarcun prince had asked.

'Why, more sea,' Beneen had replied with a laugh. 'The land keeps running to the south and east with this vast ocean widening between them. They say that it is as endless as the Western Sea.'

'How extensive are the lands to the south and east?' Ravian had wanted to know.

'I am told that they also go on forever,' Beneen had told him. 'My people have been coasting those lands since time began and we are well known among the peoples of both continents. No man from Ezreen has ever reached the end of those shores and returned to tell of it though.'

'But you must surely have charts of the parts of the coasts that are known to you?'

At this question, Beneen had looked slightly uncomfortable.

'There are charts,' he had replied, 'but they are a closely guarded treasure. Only a select few are permitted to hold them and it is death to reveal them to anyone else – even you, My Cousin. Why, I have only recently been allowed to see them myself.'

Beneen's expression had softened at the obvious disappointment on Ravian's face.

'You see, Ravian,' he had explained, 'the knowledge of the Spice Sea – and the world beyond it – is the power of my people. It is this knowledge, and the wealth that it brings, that allows us maintain our position in your world.'

For some reason, Ravian had found that he needed to consider this concept for a lot longer than he normally would have.

'I see,' he had eventually replied, more loudly and jovially than he had intended. 'Well, the Sapphire Sea is my world – and I am only just learning my way around that. Each to his own world, eh?'

Ravian remembered that, even as he had spoken, he had begun to wonder what was happening to him. He was used to strong drink and had been careful not to overindulge in the excellent wines with which Beneen's servants had been all too ready to refill his goblet, yet even then, he recalled, he had begun to feel quite thick headed and had noticed that he was starting to slur his words. The candles had also begun to flicker with a strange blurry brightness while, oddly, the rest of the room had begun to get darker and darker. He remembered that Beneen's voice had seemed to come from a long way away when he said, 'Anyway, enough of the politics, My Friend. At this stage of the evening it is the tradition to be entertained by the Halay Dance'.

With that, his friend had clapped his hands three times, each clap echoing explosively inside Ravian's head. The Tarcun prince had just been thinking what a strange and wonderful person his new cousin was when all thoughts of friendship, far-off lands and politics had been driven from his mind.

A small group of musicians – who had magically appeared in a corner of the room – had begun to play an exotic, rhythmic melody and a female dancer had entered the apartment, her hips gyrating slowly to the beat. Her pants, bodice and veil were of a diaphanous material that had given more than a hint of the undulating body beneath, and her long black hair had been held by a jewelled tiara that caught the candlelight and scattered about her like sparkling drops of water. The bracelets around her wrist and ankles – and the chains and coins around her bare, narrow waist – had jingled with her movements she had danced slowly towards the two princes.

Slowly but steadily, the tempo of the music had increased, matched by more urgent and provocative gyrations of the dancer's hips and, as band and dancer had approached a climax of rhythm, she had moved close to the Tarcun prince and he had felt himself overwhelmed by the music, the eroticism of the dance and the irresistible scent of her. Ravian remembered having been consumed by utter desire – never had he wanted a woman so much.

Then, with a final crash from the musicians, the dance had ended and the woman had spun away and pirouetted out of the room.

Ravian knew that he must have looked crest-fallen, because Beneen had taken one look at him and roared with laughter.

'Don't worry, Cousin,' the Ezrenian prince had assured him. 'That wasn't the end – it was just the beginning!'

Almost instantly, the dancer had returned – this time with two similarly attired female companions – and the band had struck up another driving rhythm. Ravian remembered a blur of whirling female bodies, pounding sound and increasingly desperate want until, after what had seemed an eternity of lust, he had lost control of himself and reached out for the first dancer as she had, once more, swayed before him. Easily avoiding his clumsy lunge, she had danced away with a laugh and, to Ravian's dismay, led the other dancers and musicians, still dancing and playing, from the room.

As the sound of the musical procession had receded, Beneen had risen to his feet, taking up a small lamp.

'Come, Ravian,' he had told his friend. 'We sail tomorrow. It is time to retire for the evening.'

Ravian recalled that, as he also rose, a dark orange mist had seemed to swirl about the room. He had meekly followed Beneen through a procession of dark halls to a sumptuous chamber lit by only one candle. There, in a large bed draped around with rich fabrics, a girl had been waiting – her eyes and smile luminous in the candle's glow.

'Estaya will help you sleep,' Beneen had told him with a smile. 'You will find her most skilled in easing that which ails you now.'

With that, he had withdrawn, closing the doors behind him and leaving the befuddled Tarcun alone with her.

At home in the White City, Ravian had enjoyed many a romp with the palace girls and, indeed, he had begun to imagine himself an experienced lover. That night in Ezreen though, Estaya had shown him just how little he actually knew about the art of love.

'I just wish I could remember it all,' he thought to himself as he pulled on his clothes in the cool morning air.