Chapter 2

The slim man stepped across the threshold, and the door swung closed behind him with a tiny squeak of old hinges that seemed loud in the morning calm. When the cool ocean breeze behind him had ceased, a pall of stale sweat and brine teased the stranger's nose from under his hood despite the early hour and the almost empty tavern.

The barkeep, a burly man with a misshapen nose, gave the stranger a wary eye and paused with his broom in mid-sweep. Two haggard men in a far corner abandoned their conversation and glared at the new arrival.

The man lowered his hood and revealed a face faintly lined with age, his graying hair cropped, combed, and swept back from a high forehead. His lips curled into a small smirk. "So what does a traveler have to do around here to get served?" he demanded in a sedate but firm voice.

The barkeep returned the smirk and stepped over to the stranger. "Jus' gotta ask like everyone else. The cook ain't quite up yet, so if it's a morning meal ya want--"

"Just some ale," said the stranger. "Not too strong."

"Gotcha."

The man turned and leaned against the bar. He cast his level but soft gaze at the two men in the corner who continued to observe him. One shrugged and turned back to the other, and they were again immersed in their conversation, though one kept taking furtive glances at the tall, robed man.

A tankard thumped to the bar. The man turned. "That'll be two," said the barkeep.

The stranger withdrew two platinum pieces and slapped them on the bar. The barkeep scooped them up and made them disappear as the stranger lifted the tankard, froth dribbling down the sides.

" ... still say he looks too much like 'em fer my comfort!"

The words had drifted to the stranger from the corner table. He did not acknowledge them, and instead tipped back his tankard and took several long swallows, his throat bobbing.

He did not hear all of the response, but thought he caught the word "crazy."

The stranger started towards the table. One of the men stiffened and drew himself erect in his seat, his narrowing eyes surrounded by a round face topped with dark, wild hair. His companion simply turned his head, long brown hair obscuring one eye.

They watched in silence as the stranger approached. The dark-haired man's free hand closed into a fist.

"Mind if I join you?" said the stranger. "I have been traveling for many days and could use some company before I move on."

The brown-haired man kicked the leg of an empty chair so that it jutted out from the table. The other man shot a venomous look at his companion, but the stranger smiled his appreciation and sat down. "Well met and good day to you."

The brown-haired man turned to his companion. "Now, see? That sound like something those whatchacallem horts would say?"

"I believe the term is 'Cohort, '" said the stranger. "And no, I am not one of them."

The dark-haired man snorted and leaned forward in his seat. The chair creaked under his heavy frame. "Lemme see yer hands."

"Oh, get off it, Kalro," muttered his companion.

"Shut yer hole, Ghoron," barked Kalro. "I get enough nagging from my wife!"

"It's quite all right," said the stranger as he lowered the tankard. He stretched his arms across the table, palms up.

Kalro grasped them, stared at them for a moment, then slid his fingers across one of the palms. His eyebrow rose anytime he found a rough patch or a callus.

Ghoron peered and smirked. "Satisfied?"

Kalro frowned and threw the stranger's hands down, where the knuckles rapped against the table. "Yeah, they've done work, but not much."

"I confess I was a bit more ... privileged in my youth," said the stranger.

"Heh, ya sound like it, too," said Ghoron. "What's yer name?"

"Tarras," said former Lord Tarras K'riis.

"Clan?"

Tarras shook his head. "Just Tarras."

"Oh, yeah, that ain't suspicious," Kalro grunted.

Ghoron ignored him. "So, ya used ta work for a Sheriff? Or mebbe a Landlord?"

Tarras smiled. "Something like that. Not much call for such things with the Cohorts running everything."

"Don't remind me," Kalro muttered into his beer.

Tarras turned his head. "You don't care for them, I take it?"

Kalro slammed his tankard down. "Whatever gave ya that idea? Fer someone that looks so smart, you sure say stupid things."

"Watch yer mouth!" snapped Ghoron. "Ever think of askin' him if he can get ya away from all these here co-horts?"

"I must disappoint you on that score," said Tarras. "I no longer have any rank or privilege."

"Yeah, thanks to those sea-dippin' Cohorts!" yelled Kalro.

Kalro raised the tankard. Ghoron grabbed his wrist and forced it back down. "You've had enough. Hellfire, the sun's barely over the ridge."

Kalro seized Ghoron's arm and squeezed until Ghoron winced and let go. Kalro nevertheless paused and let out a deep, wheezing breath. From the odor that wafted to Tarras' nose, it was clear this had not been the man's first drink. "Yer jus' as bad as my wife. The bitch would take a dip in the sea with one of 'em if I let her. Then I'd hafta kill her."

"Ya don't mean that."

"Like hellfire I don't."

Ghoron sighed. "C'mon, even the village elders don't believe--"

"You jus' shut up about what I'm supposed to believe or not believe. High time people start gettin' back to their roots. Look, I complained my fair share about the stupid Lords livin' high and mighty and dippin' in the sea more times than a fish, but least you knew where ya stood with 'em. And their toadies didn't go around in no creepy hoods and robes."

"Like me?" said Tarras.

Kalro's eyes shifted to Tarras, and for a moment, the former Noble Lord beheld fear in them. Seconds later, anger blazed instead. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, like you." He tipped back his tankard and swallowed the remainder of his beer in one go. He slammed it down on the table and shot to his feet, the chair tipping back and clattering to the floor. He clenched his fists and stared in silent challenge at Tarras.

"Kalro, stop acting like an ass!" Ghoron snapped.

"Hey, now, none of that in here!" the barkeep declared. "You wanna fight, take it outside."

Tarras was not versed in what to do. From the way Ghoron cast furtive glances at him while twitching in his seat, the former Lord guessed he should remain where he was in what he hoped was a silent rejection of the challenge.

Kalro stared at Tarras, his teeth clenching until cords stood out along his neck. Finally he kicked the fallen chair aside and stomped out of the tavern. Ghoron let out a windy sigh and scrubbed his face with a meaty hand.

"My apologies if I had provoked him," said Tarras in a somber voice. "It had not been intended."

Ghoron waved a hand and shook his head. "Naw, not yer fault. Though ya might wanna consider some different travelin' clothes, or you're gonna just spook more people like him."

"So he's not the exception, is he?"

"Folks are more traditional in these parts. Kinda the same up and down the coast from what I'm hearin'."

Tarras risked a tiny grin as he heard the door squeak open and closed once more, followed by a whispered conversation. "But not you?"

Ghoron paused, then shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I jus' figgered there'd be more fanfare with it, ya know? 'Til then, I'll assume I'm doin' right by mine."

Tarras did not understand, but he nodded just the same.

"Hey, hood-guy!" the barkeep called out.

Tarras turned his head. "Yes?"

"Your name Tarras?"

"It is."

"Someone wants ta see ya outside."

"Aw, crap, if it's that drunken Kalro again--" Ghoron began.

"Nah, some tall guy with a weird little beard on his chin."

Tarras took one last swig of his ale and set down the tankard before he stood up. "Well met, Ghoron, and again, my apologies."

Ghoron smirked and saluted him with his tankard. "Well met, Tarras."

Tarras welcomed the fresh air as he exited the tavern. He had even grown enamored of the tang of salt from the sea that hung in the otherwise crisp and dry air, something that he had only tolerated in days that seemed long past. He waited as a horse-drawn cart ambled past, holding his breath until the plumes of dust kicked up by the wide, spoked wheels had settled.

Tarras glanced to either side. His gaze lingered where the road curved past the edge of town. Two Cohorts stood on either side, nodding at the arrivals as they passed through the town gate. He watched the cart approach, and saw the driver snap the reins harder.

Tarras lifted his hood and crossed the road. He found the worn trail that wound into the thicket of trees. His gaze drifted along the ground, looking for the sign. Finally he spotted a line of three rocks crossing the path at an angle. To the left was a large boulder. To the right was a gap in the trees and a steep decline.

The former Noble Lord turned right and eased himself downward. Small furry creatures in the towering trees chittered in protest at his passing. At the bottom, tucked into the shadows of a rocky overhang, stood two men.

Both were lean of frame, and the taller one stepped forward. His black hair was tinged with even more gray than when Tarras had seen him last, or so he imagined. The goatee was scraggly but not yet a full beard, as if he had only recently dispensed with grooming and trimming it. In all other respects, the man had abandoned much of the pretext of his high-born status. His attire, while neat, was not much more than a village magistrate might wear.

"When you said to meet you by the tavern," said Rennis, "I did not expect to find you inside the tavern, let alone talking to the peasants."

Tarras lowered his hood and smiled. "Good day and well met, Rennis."

Former Overlord Rennis D'glounaas frowned and sighed.

Tarras turned his head towards his companion. "And I assume this is the esteemed Trennan."

Trennan D'vaard had managed to retain much of his dapper, aristocratic look. His clothing was nearly of Minor Lord quality, though somewhat threadbare. The tunic was impeccably neat, and the cloak trimmed to a perfect fit for his frame. He held his head high and his body erect, as was proper for a dignified Overlord.

Trennan nodded once. "My Lord."

Tarras shook his head. "Not anymore."

"You will forgive me if I insist on the proper nomenclature," said Trennan, his voice as crisp as the air. "I feel we will forget such things at our peril when we eventually extricate ourselves from this mess."

"I admire your optimism, Overlord."

"Oh, just listen to the both of you," Rennis snapped. "First Trennan insisting on using titles, and you, Tarras, mixing with the peasant rabble. I thought we were supposed to remain hidden."

Tarras was about to respond, but to his surprise, Trennan did for him. "I would not be so quick to dismiss the 'rabble' as you call them. I will remind you that it was one of them that informed me of Freya's scheme."

"I assure you, I have not taken leave of my senses, Rennis," said Tarras. "The Cohorts would be least likely to look for someone like me among the peasants. Also, it gives me a chance to establish a rapport with them."

"What? Why?" said Rennis.

"Because we no longer have the power or the means to stop the Inonni. Only the peasants can do that now. As for how, I am not certain yet. But I do know there is some discontent among them towards the Inonni."

Rennis snorted. "I don't see why. The Inonni are doing everything the Nobility used to do. They own the land, collect the taxes, and pretty much let the peasants do as they were doing before. If they had to grumble about anything, it would be about how little has changed."

"True on the surface, Rennis," said Trennan. "But Tarras' words have a ring of truth to them from some of the things I have seen."

"There is something inherent in the Cohorts that frightens a segment of the peasantry," Tarras said. "Something I am not quite versed in. I was hoping perhaps one of you would be able to explain--"

"None of that may matter anymore," Rennis said, impatience creeping into his voice. "Not after the news I bring. I've confirmed what Uridon's merchant clan suspected about the Sixth Fleet. They've gone rogue, Tarras, and they're headed east. Right towards the Urisi."

Tarras' eyebrows rose. "Indeed? Remarkable. I wonder what they hope to accomplish."

"What, you don't think this is significant? A whole fleet, going against the Emperor's orders because they don't recognize his authority! That had to cause some heads to turn in the Urisi government."

"You are not versed in maritime law, are you?"

Rennis frowned. "I'm an Overlord, not a merchant. Of course I don't know it to the letter!"

Trennan stepped forward. "But I do have some knowledge in this area. At least, enough to see Tarras' point. The fleet will have to breach Urisi territorial waters if they wish any sort of asylum. But once that happens, and they are not flying under any given nation's flag, the Urisi are entitled to do what they want. They can sink the fleet on sight or arrest the men and try them."

Tarras nodded. "Quite correct, Overlord. Oceanus has long since been the protector of the ocean and regularly patrols its holdings scattered between here and the Urisi shores. But Urisi waters were to be considered inviolate save for a scant few 'open ports' for shore leave. That provision that Trennan so correctly enunciated is part of that agreement. Oceanus would consider a fleet to be rogue just from the act of breaching the Urisi ocean border and thus wash their hands of them."

"But with the Inonni in charge now, isn't it possible that might not be true any longer?" asked Rennis.

"The Inonni appear to want to keep everything status quo for the time being, including their agreements with the Urisi. Witness how they were adamant about keeping Emperor Z'garon on the throne. It is likely they would be glad to be rid of a fleet of disloyal sailors."

Rennis smirked. "Oh, so you think so? So why did the Emperor order the fleet intercepted before it could reach Urisi-controlled waters?

Trennan frowned. "He did what?"

"How did you come by this knowledge, Rennis?" Tarras asked in an earnest voice.

"I would have thought he would have told you himself."

Tarras shook his head. "The Emperor no longer Farviews me for advice. The first time he did after the occupation, it was clear that the Inonni were listening to his conversation. He did not wish to say anything that would give the Inonni any clue as to my whereabouts."

"I had to hear it second hand, and for the platinum that was paid for the information, it better be the truth."

Trennan turned towards Tarras. "Lord Tarras, does this put a new spin on this incident?"

"It may," said Tarras. "I am now plagued by a memory I cannot quite grasp. The Sixth Fleet is supposed to be significant in some manner, but I cannot recall how."

"Well, that was the fleet that bombarded Duric's forces during the civil war," said Rennis.

Tarras shook his head. "No, I knew that. This is something else."

"I still have some connections in the Imperial Navy," said Trennan. "I had been reluctant to call upon them for fear of discovery, but I will take the risk and find out what I can about the Sixth Fleet."

"Thank you, Overlord. I feel there is something important about this fleet."

"Then I shall set about my task at once. Good day to you all."

Tarras and Rennis stepped to either side to allow the former Overlord to pass and watched as he climbed up to the path. Rennis turned to Tarras. "I better get going as well. I will see you in another quarter moon."

Tarras touched his arm. "Before you go, I have a question for you. This will sound a bit odd, but you as an Overlord have had more direct contact with the peasants."

Rennis nodded. Overlords had acted in a capacity similar to Minor Lords, or Landlords as the peasants called them. They owned the land upon which the peasants worked, and the peasants in turn had supplied the Manor with food and other necessities. Men such as Tarras had maintained several more degrees of separation between them and the peasantry.

"I have heard a phrase the meaning of which escapes me. It is obviously a colloquialism of some sort. Do you know what is meant by 'sea dipping, ' or 'taking a dip in the sea?'"

Rennis snorted and grinned. "Are you serious? You've never heard that phrase?"

"Never."

"It means, roughly, 'to have illicit sex.'"

Tarras smiled. "Ah, yes, now some more of that conversation makes sense. Though I find the phrase curious. Do you know its origins?"

Rennis shook his head. "No idea."

"And again, I feel this is something I should know. Perhaps age is finally causing my memory to fail."

"I doubt that. Vanlo was far older than you before he retired, and even then it was only because of the Inonni."

"Or perhaps it is the stress." Tarras raised his hood. "In any case, good day to you. We will meet again soon."

Rennis grabbed his arm. Tarras stopped and turned his head. "Yes?"

"Don't even kid about losing your faculties, Tarras," Rennis said in a low voice.

Tarras offered a small smile. "Your concern is appreciated, but I suspect it is not completely altruistic."

"You're everything to this ... movement, resistance, whatever you want to call it."

Tarras shook his head.

"No, stop it. You said you had criticized the Emperor when he had refused to accept the leadership role. You're going to have to heed your own words. You're like a second Emperor to this group. I swear that I heard one of the other Minor Lords almost refer to you as Tarras Z'riis."

"That is wrong. Trennan's attitude notwithstanding, we need to set aside titles for now."

"Hellfire, Tarras, stop missing the point!"

Tarras sighed. "No group like this should revolve around one man. You should be able to carry on regardless of whether I happen to be with you. And if you are looking for leadership, you can turn to someone like Trennan."

Rennis shook his head. "No, Tarras, you're much more down-to-earth than any other potential leader of this group. And you inspire people."

Tarras hesitated, looking as tired as Rennis remembered him that first day they had met after the Inonni conquest. His gaze dropped for a moment, but whether in despair or a simple search for words, Rennis could not tell.

"It is indeed a shame that the Emperor will no longer Farview me, for he would have a great laugh at my expense," said Tarras. He raised his eyes to Rennis' face. "What I have said is still true; resistance groups traditionally were decentralized."

"We're new at this, Tarras. And until we know where we're going, someone has to take the lead. We don't even know yet exactly what we're supposed to do beyond gathering intelligence."

"Speaking of which, have you any on the whereabouts of the other Lords or Overlords?"

Rennis shook his head. "We only know they're alive. I have not been able to find Vanlo, either."

"I do not recall that he was an object of any search."

"It's a personal thing, and too long and too private to explain."

"You stated he had retired."

"He had. But I had hoped..." Rennis trailed off and sighed again. "Never mind. Good day, Tarras."

Rennis left and scrambled up the incline, sliding down once in his haste to get away. Tarras raised an arm to protect his face from bits of rock and gravel.

Little beyond the creak of the stressed timbers of the old dreadnought and the thump of sailors' feet against the ragged deck stood against the tense silence. The crew performed their tasks with very few words passing between them, each man knowing his duty, despite occasional furtive and sometimes nervous glances towards the man in the threadbare but still ornate uniform standing at the prow, or the distant ships looming ever closer.

Lord Admiral Vortas V'quenna stood as still as the figurehead beneath the prow, the distance-viewer raised to his eye. He eased it across the horizon in silent assessment. Beside him, a younger man in Fleet Captain's colors followed along with his unaided eyes, his confidence tempered only by the nature of their opponent and the memory of an insane Emperor that once had him fire on his own people.

Fleet Captain Boddas V'yed felt the need to say something, but nothing would come to him that seemed at all appropriate to voice to his superior. He instead turned towards the crew. "Double time, gentlemen!"

Crewmen swarmed around the Mage-guns, arranged in two rows in precarious balance along the mid-line of the ship, held against rolling with each wave swell by makeshift wedges against their wheels. Normally the guns would be in this position only when idle, and thus anchored to thick posts with heavy chains.

As Boddas watched, their next task began. In turn, a panel was opened on each gun, and a single blue pearl dropped into the fire chamber. The panel was slammed shut just as the first telltale orange glow of magical charge filled the lattice within.

"Don't waste time watching it!" Boddas barked. "Open, drop, closed, next!"

The men moved with more alacrity, and Boddas watched until he was satisfied. He turned back to the Lord Admiral now that he had something apropos to say. "I believe this will work, my Lord. To their eyes, we should appear to be coming in unprepared for immediate battle."

Vortas stared at the approaching ships as they turned broadsides. Dots of scarlet peppered their deck lines. "I cannot say the same for them, unfortunately," Vortas said, his deep baritone voice subdued. "They are drawing to a defensive line. Four dreadnoughts, Captain. Five frigates." He lowered the viewer. "To our three and four."

"We will catch them by surprise, my Lord."

Vortas stepped down from the prow and scowled at the younger Fleet Captain. "Does it not bother you that we are forced to fire upon our own men? Again!"

To Vortas' relief, Boddas did not offer the same self-righteous smirk as he had the first time they had engaged in such a conversation when the fleet had been ordered to bombard Duric's army, though his words were not much different. "We fire upon an enemy. This time even you cannot dispute that."

"Whatever foreign power has taken hold of the Imperium is the enemy, not these honest sailors!"

Boddas let out a slow breath. His eyes took on a pained look, which he soon replaced with burning but forced resolve. "They are extensions of the will of that foreign power. I have to believe that. I respectfully suggest you believe it as well. It will make this easier to swallow."

"No matter how easier it becomes, Captain, it will still leave the taste of ashes in my mouth."

A whistle sounded from the crow's nest. "Capt'n! We're being signaled by the other fleet."

"Not even your own crew can call them the enemy, Captain," said Vortas.

Boddas looked up and shaded his eyes from the afternoon sun. "What say them?"

The crewman in the crow's nest leaned forward, his eye straining against the distance-viewer to make out the flashes of light through the wavering thermals that danced upon the foaming sea. "Stand down ... and come about ... prepare to ... be boarded ... by order ... of Emperor Duric Z'garon."

Boddas turned to Vortas. "My Lord?"

The Lord Admiral sighed. "I have never in all my years done something as duplicitous as this."