Benz
He felt as if a hole had been bored in his chest, leaving a sucking vacuum. His ship 'Makhri's Blessing', which he had sailed since he had turned 15, had been stolen by petty pirates. The incident was sardonically underwhelming – he had gone to resolve a minor border issue between two small lords on Seachurner. His ship had been docked at a port, midway of both the lord's estates. He should have docked his ship at a more secure port, or he should have at least left more soldiers to guard the ships. Alas, no, he hadn't. His only regret. A single pirate ship had arrived at that fell moment and stolen his 'Makhri's Blessing' and two other ships. It had been the worst moment of his life!
He was journeying to The Eye for an emergency gathering! Yet, the journey was ridiculously close, and they had time to spare, so he, with a new ship he was testing, and three other ships went to skirt against Cobardon's sea's edges. He arrived at the fog wall that formed the borders of Cobardon as older memories clouded his mind. No, not those thoughts, he reprimanded himself, that journey was something he couldn't delve on right now. They were nearing the fog barrier, when he called upon the captain of the other ships and told them to start turning back. He didn't want to cross into the otherworldly realm again.
The four ships had started to turn, their left sides facing the wall of fog. He turned to look out of the left side. Suddenly, the fog wall seemed to relinquish and go backwards. Others had noticed this too and were turning their heads to view this spectacle. It was happening for the first time in rememberable history! A ship's hull suddenly broke out of the hazy boundary. The wall receded further, and the ship surged forward till it was entirely out of the fog. The wall stopped receding. The whole miraculous phenomenon looked like a brown, wooden sword had been unsheathed from a white sheath made of clouds.
Sudden shock surged through him; the ship was his!
Even as he approached his ship, he could see no sign of life. He with 5 other men scaled the ship's side and clambered on to the deck. Nobody! He signalled two men to check the living quarters below. They came up and said with surprise, "there is no one below. Though the supplies are mostly fully stocked!"
He could feel there were tortured souls roaming this ship's deck. He didn't voice his fear because the others could sense it too. Moreover, why was this ship deserted? He and his men searched around the ship, none of its parts were broken and there was no blood spilled anywhere. He could rule out escape, mutiny and piracy! Then why had the pirates given up on such a prime steal? Maybe be the agonised, wandering souls had an answer. Their presence was fading by the second. How could he contact them? If he wanted answers, he would have to make contact! But how? If only he had a divination mage…
His mind quickly rushed through everything he could do, yet his mind found no action that would have any effect. The only magic he knew would help in defending, attacking and healing – the three things a fighter needs. There was nothing he could do. The presence of the souls slowly passed away till any signs of their existence had vanished.
A captain of another ship came forward and melancholily asked, "Now, what do we do?"
He replied with grim certainty, "We sail. And I sail on my ship 'Soulcrusher'!"
His horse arrived with a mighty escort at the city's gates. The Eye loomed ominously overhead, the pinnacle of the tower touching pale meshes of Cumulus clouds, looking alike cotton-wool. He was able to identify them as he had learned that only two types of clouds were round and continuous in shape – Cumulus and another type whose name he could not recollect. However, he could rule out the other type of cloud as that type was dark and rain-bearing. Further up, beyond the grasp of The Eye were the Cirrus clouds, towering the highest, which looked like thin, wispy strokes by an artist. Sunlight rained relentlessly and the inferior people on the crowd were devoid of any relief by clouds as the Sun was uncovered and seething with rage. Oh Benz, he thought to himself, leave that poetic mood behind and ready your mind for brutal negotiation.
The doors opened and he trotted in. There lay half a mile of squalid residences, hawkers and roads riddled with sewers and overflowing sewers before there was another wall that separated the middle class and merchants from the wretchedly poor. He had made the journey once and he knew that there was another inner ring that separated and protected the nobility. Finally, there would be flat keep and in the centre of the city would be The Eye, which he could even see from here.
He was about to start crossing the poor area when he saw the garrison approach from the other side towards him. Once the garrison arrived, one woman stepped forward and said, "I will lead you to your residence. Your father arrived two days ago." He knew the meaning behind the last sentence and so did she and thus her delivery had been reluctant. He nodded silently and thus began the procession.
The smell around him seemed to tear him in two – the fetid, repugnant odour from the sewers and the savoury, tangy aroma of well-seasoned food. He stopped breathing to avoid the dilemma and waded through the unwashed masses. Their grief was too common, too much to ponder upon.
He risked a side-glance and saw three people walking in colourful clothes that had been torn and patched with a different-coloured cloth at many places. Beyond them, in an alley formed between a column of huts. In that shadowed alley, he could see a kid, cornered by another older boy with a dagger in his hand. The kid opened his palm and Benz saw silver pieces glitter upon them. The older bully snatched them away and then grinned at the younger boy. The bully said something, and he saw the kid's head shake side-side to say no. He saw the teenager's hand clench into a fist.
The kid was lying on the floor, his nose broken and his face bloodied. The boy curled up on the floor as the bully kicked him. Again and again. Benz had passed forward so her could no longer look upon the scene. He saw 4 hawkers with similar names, selling the same food items, crunched against each other. He glanced upon their stalls and saw two new types of food – a meatball rolled in exotic, radiant gravy and some type of pudding pressed between two layers of bread with sauces leaking from between. He looked away, thinking, these will most probably cause food-poisoning.
He passed into the middle circle, geographically and socially. There were many two-floor edifices, mainly colourless with only cement facing him. Many of these buildings had carriages parked outside. Merchants! The bottom of these edifices were turned into shops and each shop had at least one guard sleeping on its opening. He observed people strolling in black and white clothes. A world without colour.
Ironically, he soon sighted a massive, public garden – a splotch of green. As he moved further inward, some of the buildings got taller and wider; the guards on the shops increased; many buildings started having one adamant colour wiped against the entire house.
Once he crossed the third ring, the difference was palpable and sudden. The buildings went tall and long and round and brightly coloured. The very sector smelled of expensive perfumes sprayed over superciliously dressed nobles. Each estate had its own garden. As he neared the keep, the estates became compounds with their own private garden placed between interconnected buildings, all owned by one family.
Finally, he arrived at the keep, away from the evident class system among the city's people. A man approached him and said, "Allow me to escort you to your room." This was a slap to his face, Merisa had not come to greet him herself – a sign of superiority. And she had sent whom? A servant! No doubt she had come to greet his father upon arrival. Too disgusted and tired of these politics, he subdued and followed the servant.
He entered into his room; the window offered an expansive view of the sea. He sat down on his bed, his body desperately crying for rest and soaked in exhaustion. His thoughts subconsciously drifted to anger – Merisa looks on me like I am a stupid dummy. Well, I will show her once. And the one time I show it will be enough, then she shall bow with reverence to my cunning.
Suddenly, from a dark corner in his room, a figure crept up, walking quickly towards him, the figure's face hidden within a pool of shadow, cast by a hood. What could he do? His sword was on a table. Should he leap for it? Should he wait? He heard a sharp slash as the hooded figure unsheathed a dagger!
Too late!
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