The Wandering Sword

"Look!"

"The barrier!"

"It's falling!"

The soldiers joined in a massive clamor. They watched as the impregnable walls of water, which for agonizing minutes had kept them from reaching their leader, merged back into the sea, collapsing heavily like defeated giants. Foams and drops splashed onto the dock in a brief deluge that fell upon the only two people present.

"Ser Janpe!"

The exclamations turned into voices of joy. Gradually, the image of their leader, alive and with his mace in hand, became visible amidst the downpour. Their prayers had been heard.

"Father!"

His daughter was the first to run to meet him, followed shortly after by several of the warriors, eager to celebrate and share with him.

"Luciara!"

He received her embrace, laden with strength, yet gentle as the tenderest caress.

"Luciara..." Janpelan said, holding her in his arms. Although on other occasions, he would have reprimanded her severely for disobeying his orders, he was so happy to have her by his side that he let it pass. "What joy..., what joy to see you."

"I thought... you were going to die," Luciara said, holding back the tears that threatened to escape her eyes, moist with emotion. "I've never been so afraid for you."

"How beautiful…". They heard someone say behind them. "There's no happy reunion that doesn't move me."

"Aaa... Aaah?…" Interrupted groans of terror escaped the open mouths of the soldiers as they saw the speaker of those words appear beside their leader and his daughter.

"AAH!"

They all unsheathed and brandished their weapons, trembling as if they were victims of the coldest of blizzards. "Ser... Ser Janpe! Lady Luciara!" they alerted, pointing at the individual with the tips of their weapons and the indices of their free hands.

Here we go…

Mavros prepared himself once again to deal with this recurring reaction to his presence, which he was starting to accept as natural as sunlight in the day and darkness in the night.

Ser Janpelan and Luciara separated and turned towards him.

I knew it..., he was that 'black flash’. The young woman touched her half-open lips. The image of the knight was captured and admired with fascination, a memory that her mind marked with the seal of the unforgettable.

"Soldiers!" Ser Janpelan stood before his men. His resolute voice was a lash that made them straighten their composure. "Calm down! Sheathe your weapons!" He directed his gaze at the knight. "This Abiyr..., no, this knight, saved my life. You can trust him."

What?!

This ‘knight’?!

He... he saved him?!

We can trust him?!

Stunned, they lowered their guard, taking time to digest these unexpected orders and announcements from their superior.

Meanwhile, Mavros noticed the girl who kept her eyes on him. He directed his amethyst eyes to the almond-shaped silver ones of her lively and delicate oval face. Thin and defined lips, a short and upturned nose; those features created the same pleasant impression in the knight as their first fleeting encounter.

"My Lady." He gestured with his left arm, inclining his back forward in a brief and formal bow.

Luciara blushed slightly, flattered by his splendid gesture and the title he had called her, despite the remnants of dirt on her dress that did not do her justice.

“Ser Mavros... this is my daughter, Luciara," Ser Janpelan introduced her.

Mavros extended his hand, which she hesitated for a moment before shaking.

"Pleased to meet you," she murmured nervously. "Ser Mavros."

"Likewise," Mavros replied.

Both of them separated, feeling a certain awkwardness. Once the calm settled in, Ser Janpelan addressed his men.

"How are you all? What were our casualties?" he asked, walking with some clumsiness. His body had not fully recovered from the effects of the Zujae nim rhabla.

"We have several wounded, but their injuries are not serious."

"For now, we haven't counted any dead."

The troop leader felt a deep relief.

"What happened to the pirate captain, Ser?" another soldier asked, inspecting the dock. "Did you... the Abiyr... kill him?"

Janpelan looked away. A shiver ran through his body as he remembered what happened to Baharen.

"No... We didn't kill him; his whereabouts are unknown," he said. "He... vanished during the battle."

"What?!"

"He vanished?!"

"How is that possible?!"

The simultaneous expressions of fear and disbelief reached Janpelan's ears. Some soldiers searched their surroundings, suspecting that he might be nearby.

"That's right. I still don't know how, but... something took him. I can assure you he's no longer in the city," Janpelan reaffirmed. "Perhaps... Lord Monteros may have an explanation. I need to contact him immediately."

It was now the turn for several of his men to lower their gazes, anticipating the bad news they were about to convey.

"Those bastards destroyed the post office, Ser," one of them took the lead. "Unfortunately, when we arrived, it was already too late."

"The post office?... But even if they destroyed it, they shouldn't have found the Letexvos," Ser Janpelan assured, not showing too much alarm as he was certain of their secrecy.

The Letexvos were advanced artifacts that allowed long-distance communication with other units stationed throughout Najta and the continent of Elvira. The "magic" of their crystal wands allowed them to hold a conversation with someone on the other side of the world as if they were face to face.

However, their use was exclusively reserved for the members of the Holy Houses and some noble families connected to them.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid they did discover them," one of the soldiers reiterated. "Nothing was saved; they ruined everything."

"How?!" Deep furrows formed on the Holy Warrior's face, impressed and disturbed. The office is just to the north... So, the mission of that other group of corsairs was not merely to divert the attention of those heading to the bank, but to disrupt our communications, he interpreted, recalling the development of the enemy incursion. No one apart from me, my men, and the other Holy Houses were aware of those Letexvos. How could they find out about them and their location? How did they obtain such confidential information?

A series of footsteps interrupted his musings. The soldiers made way for a couple of companions dragging something special along.

"Ser Janpe! We encountered this corsair nearby. It seems he was abandoned by the others."

Luciara raised her eyebrows; it was none other than the one she had knocked down with her staff. He was tightly bound and subdued by ropes held by his captors. From his dazed and disoriented expression, he had only just regained consciousness.

"Let's take him to the dungeons," Janpelan instructed them, turning his head towards the sunlight. He could tell by its low position that the evening was about to fall. "I will interrogate him tonight. I am exhausted; this could not have been a tougher workday for all of us. Both you and I deserve a good rest."

***

"AAAAAH!"

Sheida's energetic screams echoed in the dark walls. Despite the gigantic force he tried to muster through doubtful means, his hands couldn't even scratch the reinforced metal bars that held him, remaining firm and unbendable. Exhaustion forced him to give up.

"I... I surrender. I can't feel... the nefesh," he muttered, releasing the bars and crouching down, gasping for breath. "What?"

His ears picked up a distant sound that grew closer.

"Somebody's coming," he correctly deduced.

Soon, Ser Janpelan advanced down the hallway of cells, followed by Mavros and a soldier guiding the captured corsair. The Holy Warrior abruptly stopped, causing the others to almost stumble over each other.

"But what the...?"

He had just seen the massive opening the wandering knight had created in his cell. The irreparable damage gave him an overwhelming sensation. It was like witnessing the brutal work of a natural disaster, not that of a living being, which was the reality of it.

"You... you did this, didn't you?" Janpelan said, his pupils fixed like nails on the bent bars and their fractured supports.

"Oh..." Mavros murmured, shamefully contemplating the trail of his excessive destruction. "Yes, I should have told thee, Ser Janpelan.…"

"… What?!" The awe spread to the guard and the new prisoner upon hearing that confirmation.

"You imbecile!" Janpelan turned around, his face boiling. "You couldn't escape by simply breaking down the door! No! You had to make a mess by damaging the damned bars!" he scolded hysterically, restraining his desire to unsheathe his mace from the scabbard on his back and bury the knight with it. "Do you know how much it's going to cost to install new ones?! I already had enough trouble with the mess the corsairs left behind!"

"Sorry... I did it without thinking," Mavros apologized timidly, finding his turn to respond amidst the verbal storm. "Verily, in those moments, I could not bethink of a finer way to escapeth."

"Mavros!"

"Huh?!"

Sheida called out, leaning over to see what was causing the commotion.

"Sheida!" The knight stepped forward to see him and returned his greeting with equal enthusiasm.

"You're back!" the boy exclaimed with a smile that quickly faded. "Ser... Ser Janpelan," he murmured with respect and fearful restraint as he recognized Janpelan standing behind the knight.

"This was the lad of whom I was recounting unto thee on the journey, Ser," Mavros informed him, looking over his shoulder at Janpelan. The Holy Warrior approached the cell door, quickly calming his heated emotions. The keys on the keyring in his right hand rattled with metallic clicks.

"My men caught him this morning playing street music without authorization," he told Mavros, inserting the key into the lock. "I didn't like having to lock him up, but the law and good customs are clear."

The door was pulled open, emitting its characteristic and grating creak.

"You're free, kid. You've served your punishment," Janpelan said. "You can go."

Sheida didn't think twice and hurriedly crossed the threshold. Janpelan signaled the guard, who understood and escorted the new prisoner to the door. Then, he cut the restraints and pushed him into the cell, and Janpelan locked the door.

"Who is that?" Sheida glanced curiously at the prisoner who took his place. Despite being an Ayarian like him, he noticed from his clothing that the newcomer was not from the region. He turned his face to the knight.

"Why did you come back, Mavros? I swore you had fled the city," he said to him, wondering at the same time why he was accompanying the barracks' leader, feeling completely at ease despite everything Mavros had told him.

"You misunderstood me. I had no intention of fleeing, Sheida. I only escaped because I sensed danger outside, and I wasn't wrong," he explained, returning to regular speech. "While we were here, some pirates attacked the city." He glanced at the captive pirate. "This man was one of them."

"Pirates?... Ayarian pirates?"

That mention astonished him. It was the first time he had heard of an Ayarian pirate attack on Cirencre in his memory. The only one he knew of had happened during the Nefeshic Wars, years before he was born. He couldn't imagine how they could have overcome the defenses of the port, fortified since then. Unable to resist his curiosity, he asked them, "What did they do? Were there casualties?"

"They destroyed the fort's defenses, looted half of the bank's treasure, set fire to the post office... and their captain tried to kill me," Ser Janpelan gave him a brief summary that left the young man dumbfounded. "But luckily, there were no human casualties." He turned to Mavros. "And all thanks to this knight. He appeared to lend a hand when I needed it most. That's why I owe him a debt. I owe him an apology for having locked him up here."

"Uh?! A knight?" Sheida turned to Mavros, even more confused by the way the Holy Warrior respectfully referred to him. "So... you went out to save him?"

Mavros nodded firmly, and Sheida blinked a couple of times.

"He tried to kill you at first sight... And yet, you ran to rescue him after giving him a beating?" he questioned, trying to understand the logic and motivation behind his actions.

What? He gave me a beating?! Janpelan of Salamandera didn't take kindly to hearing that uncomfortable reminder. "Please, take this child to retrieve that 'junk' he calls musical instruments," the Ser ordered the soldier who accompanied them.

"Ayadis! They're called ayadis! It's art! Don't you dare call them junk again!" The boy protested, annoyed, barely making himself noticeable due to his small stature. He seemed like a person shouting in vain at a tall tower. "And I'm not a child!"

"Alright, alright, if you say so..." Janpelan didn't even make an effort to take his complaints seriously. "Now go! I hope this is the first and last time I see you here. Stay away from trouble; the dungeons are no place for a brat like you."

"Hump!"

Sheida passed by, feeling bitter, following the soldier who would lead him to his belongings. Before turning the corner that led to the stairs, he looked back at Mavros one last time over his shoulder.

The knight and the burly warrior were left alone in the darkness.

"That corsair... hath not spoken a word since they captured him," Mavros commented.

The new prisoner remained seated and leaned against a wall, apparently indifferent to everything happening around him. Such was his silence that his presence could only be perceived through eye contact.

"And perhaps he won't. He seems well-disciplined, must have sworn loyalty to his comrades," Janpelan said, thoughtfully. "But I'll try to interrogate him anyway. For now, he's the only one who could give me more information about his captain... and whatever may have happened to him."

He left Mavros behind, moving a few meters away from him.

"Speaking of interrogations... yours is still pending. I want you to tell me your entire story, Mavros," he said, turning to look him in the face. "But not here. We'll do it after we dine."

"After we dine?" Mavros opened his eyes, doubting if he had heard correctly.

"That's right, I invite you to dinner and to spend the night in my home," he reiterated with a friendly smile. "It's the least I can do to thank you and make up for the trouble I caused you."

***

Navigating through open windows, a twilight orange hue fell upon white walls and wooden finishes, the last colors of the dying day. In the center of the room stood a rectangular table with sturdy, rustic legs. Only one of its six chairs was occupied. A male figure with a long brown cloak and hood sat facing the windows, admiring the sun as it set among the rooftops, gradually giving way to the nocturnal starry sky. As darkness touched the room, stones embedded in high and strategic points of the walls began to glow with faint yellow hues, collectively illuminating the space. The hooded individual looked behind him upon hearing footsteps descending nearby stairs.

The author soon revealed herself beyond the railing. She wore a simple yet beautiful fuchsia dress that flowed down to her feet, paired with black sandals. The smooth and soft fabric hugged her skin, enhancing the natural lines and contours of her body. Her clean skin and hair, free from the dust and sweat that had previously clung to them, indicated that she had just taken a bath for this occasion. The young lady approached the table cautiously, taking a seat opposite the mysterious hooded figure, who returned his gaze to the sky. She fidgeted with her knees, trying to focus her eyes on him, but nervousness made her glance away. She wanted to say something, to start a conversation as she would with any other person, but the fact that he was certainly not ordinary made her feel immensely shy.

"You... you can take it off. You don't have to wear it here," she gathered the courage to say, managing to capture his attention despite her soft voice.

"Oh!" The individual noticed his cloak. "Right."

He proceeded to stand and remove it, hanging it over the back of the chair. His gleaming black armor was once again exposed. The cloak had only been an idea that she and her father had to avoid drawing unwanted attention during their journey back home.

"I don't think I told you before... Thank you so much for saving my father," Luciara said, watching him take his seat again. "I still... I still find it hard to believe that an Abiyr would do something like that, and of his own free will."

"Forsooth, I am not an Abiyr, though all here doth mistake me for such," Mavros affirmed in his ‘knightly’ speech. "I'm but a wandering sword of the realm of Tiberland... and I doth appreciate thy gratitude, but thou need'st not thank me, Lady Luciara. I merely acted in accord with mine own code; with mine own philosophy of doing what is just and right without expecting aught in return."

Both remained silent for a brief moment, their gazes shifting to the outside; lost in their own thoughts.

"I owe you an apology, Ser Mavros... There's something you should know," Luciara broke the silence. "I... I made you lose consciousness while you were fighting my father. I attacked you from behind with a spell without you realizing it," she confessed. "I thought you were going to kill him…"

"I already knew. And I doth not blame thee; I would have done the same," Mavros said amiably, showing his lack of surprise.

"Did you already know?" Luciara was taken aback by his knowledge.

"Yes, I overheard thee during the battle," the knight clarified. "I comprehend thou art an aspiring sorceress, studying spells on thine own for years," he said, "Well, thou art on the right path, thou hast quite some talent. Undoubtedly, thou canst fulfill thy dream of becoming a Holy Warrior."

Luciara stood up abruptly, forgetting the manners she had managed to maintain with him until then.

"How... how do you know all that?" she demanded, becoming increasingly agitated by how well-informed he was. "Did my father tell you?"

"No," he shook his head, "it was told to me by a 'secret admirer' thou hast in this city," Mavros informed her with a hint of playfulness. "He also did tell me... that thy father doth oppose thy aspirations and that ye two oft doth argue because of it," he said, adopting a more serious and discreet tone. "Is that true?"

The girl lowered her gaze. "Yes," she confirmed, raising it again with caution. "Yes, it is true... but are you going to tell me who on Mater this 'secret admirer' is?"

"Luciara!"

A loud voice from another corner of the house interrupted the conversation.

"Luciara! Dinner is almost ready!" It was Janpelan, calling from the kitchen on the other side of one of the walls in the living room. "Set the table!"

"I'm coming!" Luciara replied.

She shifted her gaze to a large piece of furniture with several shelves, drawers, and a display case at its center.

"Can I help?" Mavros offered, getting up as well.

"Well..." She thought about it for a moment. It wasn't something a guest was supposed to do, but a little help wouldn't hurt. "You can help me with the plates and silverware; they're in that drawer," she pointed to a wooden drawer in a section of the furniture to the right of the display case. "Just take out forks and knives."

"Alright," Mavros nodded.

Both of them went to their respective parts of the furniture. Luciara opened the display case, which held several crystal glasses lined up in order and bottles of wine. Mavros opened the indicated drawer, finding stacks of white ceramic dishes, cloth napkins, and sets of forks, spoons, and knives. They moved back and forth, taking out and placing the objects and utensils on the table. Everything was ready to receive the food, which soon made its appearance.

Coming from a corner, Ser Janpelan entered the room carrying a wooden tray in his right hand. Wearing a white shirt, chestnut-colored trousers, and leather shoes, he looked less imposing without his armor and mace, but his thick, well-defined muscles still exuded strength. Carefully, he placed the tray in the center of the table. A round potato omelet with several triangular cuts and a warm loaf of bread lay on it. The three of them proceeded to take their seats. Each closed their eyes and clasped their hands, intertwining their fingers in a gesture of prayer: the beginning of a daily ritual that had been part of their lives since early childhood.

"In honor of Maskirio, our master and liberator, we shall partake of this food in gratitude to all sentient beings of this world," Janpelan pronounced solemnly. As the head of the family, the role belonged to him.

"Sohen."

With that short word that came in unison from their lips, Mavros and Luciara closed that brief religious ritual. Their eyes opened again, and their hands parted. The three served portions of omelet and pieces of bread onto their plates. Janpelan uncorked the wine bottle and poured it into each of the glasses.

"Help yourself, Mavros," he said, finishing filling his own glass, noticing him somewhat hesitant.

"Thank thee," Mavros nodded politely.

Then, he lifted the lower part of his helmet, exposing his mouth. With his fork, he brought a piece of omelet to his lips: soft dunes in a desert of warm skin. Ocher tones merging with the light that touched it.

"Delicious," he commented after swallowing the piece of omelet and took a sip from his glass. "You cook very well, Ser Janpelan."

"Uh?" Janpelan and Luciara looked at him somewhat astonished.

"Mavros... Can you eat like that?"

"Why don't you take off that helmet?"

They asked, respectively, noticing how the lifted piece obstructed some of the helmet's openings that allowed him to see.

"Uh?" He stopped his right hand just centimeters from his mouth, with a piece of bread about to be devoured. His body tensed as he realized what they might be thinking. "Verily, fret not, for I need not to take it off. I have... grown accustomed to eating thusly."

"But it must be very uncomfortable," Luciara said, feeling sorry for him at the thought. "Doesn't it really bother you?"

"Come on, tronco, let me take it off for you," Janpelan offered willingly, ready to get up and do him the favor. "You've had it on since you arrived."

Ser Janpelan was serious, and that caused Mavros's composure to collapse.

"NO! I DON'T WANT TO TAKE IT OFF! I WON'T SAY IT AGAIN!" the knight exclaimed, almost spewing fire like a dragon.

His two hosts were taken aback. They had never expected such a sudden outburst from him.

"I beg thy pardon, how unworthy of me..." he said, lowering his head, deeply embarrassed and aware of the inappropriateness of that impulsive act he couldn't contain. "This helm is of great import to me. Alongside mine armor, I don it whenever possible. I prithee, I expect thee not to comprehend, but 'tis for a matter most personal. I beseech thee to show it due respect. "

Although Ser Janpelan and Luciara calmed down upon hearing his sincere apologies, they couldn't help but feel perplexed by the vagueness of his excuse to justify his eccentricity.

But what bit him?

Could something terrible have happened to his face?

Numerous questions sprouted in the minds of the father and his daughter.

"I... I understand," Ser Janpelan acquiesced to his plea, wishing to restore the harmonious atmosphere they had during dinner. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mavros."

"Fear thee not, for I know thou didst not commit it with wicked intent..." Mavros replied calmly, showing that there was no resentment. "If anyone was rude and needed to apologize, it was me."

After that, dinner resumed in complete silence. Each bite and sip represented for the three of them a new step that allowed them to leave that uncomfortable episode behind.

"Luciara..." Janpelan called to his daughter just as the food and drink were becoming scarce, a sign that the dinner was nearing its end. "Tomorrow, you should go to Hezaran to see your mother. This morning, I spoke with her, and she was still working on that sculpture commissioned by the mayor," he informed her. "I will also visit her. I urgently need to use the post office in that city. I think you could stay with us for a day before continuing your journey."

"That sounds good," she quickly agreed. "It's been a while since we've all been together... A short stop before Netzach won't hurt."

"Netzach? Are you traveling to Netzach, the capital city of this kingdom?" Mavros inquired, drawn to those mentions.

"Yes, I have everything ready to leave tomorrow," she confirmed. "I will stay there for a while to take the admission tests at their university." She glanced briefly at her father, who seemed to awaken from his lethargy. "It was challenging, but I managed to get the money I needed for my stay."

"How coincidental... I'm also heading there tomorrow," Mavros commented. "I was planning to departeth today, but the assault on the port hath postponed it."

"What? You're going to Netzach too?" Luciara smiled with enthusiasm at the potential implications. "Then... why don't you come with me?"

"Ah?"

"Luciara?"

Both he and Janpelan raised their eyebrows at her proposal.

"Verily, I thank thee for the invitation, but I must decline. This is a journey I have to maketh alone," Mavros said after a while, trying to control a sudden restlessness that gripped him.

However, Luciara wasn't going to give up so easily in the face of that refusal.

"Even if you obtain a map, you'll get lost in Netzach during your first visit. I don't know much about Tiberland, but Netzach is larger than any city you've seen there, I assure you," she said persuasively. "I know it well because I've visited it several times, so I could serve as your guide." She paused briefly, furrowing her brow slightly. "Besides, you'll have trouble going unnoticed with that armor. It will create serious misunderstandings with the Holy Warriors from other cities, just like it happened here. Some of them are much stronger than my father, and they won't show you the same leniency. I can help you with various tricks that will save you from those risks." A smile crept upon her closed lips. "Consider it my gratitude for what you've done for us."

Maskirio, those eyes…

Although he was usually very stubborn, Mavros found himself face to face with one of his greatest weaknesses: the crystal illusion eyes of a lady making a request. There was nothing that could shake his otherwise unwavering self-determination more.

"It's incredible..., but for the first time in years, I have to agree with my daughter," Janpelan said with seriousness, earning a silent reprimand from her with her sharp gaze. As much as he might have wanted to, he couldn't deny the accuracy of her observations. "You need someone to help you navigate through Najta."

Mavros looked away, deep in thought. Those words forced him to reconsider his idea of traveling alone. He certainly didn't want a repeat of an unnecessary confrontation like the one he had that afternoon.

"A-alright. I'll accompany thee to Netzach, Lady Luciara," he finally agreed, meeting her gaze. "But once we get there and I get to know it well, we'll go our separate ways."

"That was the deal from the beginning," Luciara said with visible delight at his change of heart. "I'm not asking you to become my bodyguard."

Ser Janpelan surveyed the table: he and the other diners had finished their dishes and emptied their glasses. He got up from his chair. The moment he had been waiting for had arrived.

"Mavros, after clearing the table, we're going to talk..." His brow furrowed. "In private."

Luciara couldn't help but feel intrigued by the cold tone in which he said it. She alternated her gaze between the two. What are they going to 'talk' about?... About the journey? She correctly guessed, though her intuition told her there was more to it. And she wasn't far from the truth, as Mavros already knew.

"Of course," the knight agreed more than willingly, also rising from his seat.

Soon, they would find resolution to his unfinished interrogation.