City of Lions

Chapter 3 of “The Elder Ones: Earth Splitter”

• Chapter 1 – New Horizons
• Chapter 2 – The Heart of Wilderness

If one were to make the arduous journey east across the turbulent and vigorous waters of North Lake Kulvaan, they would come to the continents of Ashaan and Rylnaar. These continents are the fourth and fifth largest of Terrus, yet they cannot compare to the sheer size of Kulvaan. Despite containing a third of the population of Terrus, the combined area of the Assassin Islands is less than of the northern half of Kulvaan.

Of these populous countries, Rylnaar is home to a culture filled to bursting with industry. Countless numbers of guilds and soldiers from across Terrus rely on the weapons and armour produced by smiths who call the continent home. Fuldarr, the largest city among the near endless assassin islands, is where the fluyt Almanac docks for resupply. Fuldarr, and by extension Rylnaar is one place Ashton wished to avoid.

Many long moons ago, Ashton conducted gruesome business within Fuldarr and swore on the lives of his ancestors he would never return to the so-called City of Lions. Those who know well enough understand fate never listens to anyone who populates Terrus. Unknown to Ashton, it is not by chance he again finds himself in Fuldarr.

The smell of brine and metalwork floods Ashton’s lungs as he steps from the recessed cabin of the Almanac. The captain of the haggard vessel is a fat fellow with a brilliant golden beard trailing down beyond his knees. Pox mars his face. Ashton finds the captain unpleasant to look upon for too long. However, even Ashton will admit Captain Amé makes incredible conversation when needed.

Of course, the Almanac’s captain did not endear Ashton to the vessel. The reason Ashton chose this vessel are the twin daughters of Amé. Like many children of merchants, the duo goes on every voyage with their father so they might learn something of the prominent merchant routes running between Kulvaan and Ashaan and Rylnaar and The Green Desert. Jehanne and Melisende allowed Ashton to pass many long hours with them and their promiscuity. Though he suspected something, Amé never spoke a word against what the three of them did when left alone.

Amé never said a word not out of fear, but through the way both Green Desert natives and people from Rylnaar, like he and his children, treat sexual acts. The corpulent captain forbids his hired crew from partaking in lewd acts, though he welcomed Ashton’s eagerness with open arms, given his daughters are not beautiful.

Ashton smiles to himself as he disembarks Almanac. He nods to Amé as he passes and gives a sly wink. Ashton knows at some point within the next ten months, both Jehanne and Melisende will give birth to his children. The pair are far from the first ladies impregnated on such a journey. For those who know him well enough, Ashton is quite reckless and pig-headed when it comes to sexual acts. Like his father and his father’s father, Ashton refuses to take a no for an answer and, like many natives of The Green Desert, he will often take what he feels is his, regardless of the consequences. As it happens, it is poor custom for those of the Assassin Islands to refuse the advances of an eligible partner. It is in even poorer taste to deny what the laws of the misogynistic governors decree to be a right.

Despite his good mood, Ashton does not smile at the familiar sight of the port city of Fuldarr. In an architectural sense, there is nothing wrong with the way the glorious marble walls and grey slate rooves stretch out for close to a league inland. Even without knowing the style of Rylnaar, one can identify the constructions as industrial businesses covering every possible type of resource anyone across Terrus might think of. Ashton knows he must avoid the large factories running along the western edge of the great wharf. With a deep sigh, Ashton takes his first step closer to the city, only to find the customs of Rylnaar are different to the last time he was in this city.

‘You there! Halt!’ the deep voice of the customs officer rings out. ‘Surrender yourself to inspection or face prosecution. Co-operate and respect the rule of the docks and no harm shall come to you.’

Ashton stops and turns to face the wizened and wrinkled guard approaching him. The guard seems to have a permanent scowl etched across his face. Ashton’s heart skips a beat as he recognises the guard. Ashton makes a quick prayer to each of the various deities he worships and hopes the officer does not recognise him.

‘I could swear I have not done anything wrong, officer. Well, there was the one time I showed off all my assets on a daring sprint through the streets of Acorsi about ten years ago. Lucky only a dozen people saw the part of me all the women still speak of in Ashaan. I think I offer too much information,’ Ashton says.

By now, the officer stands in front of Ashton. The assassin notes the guard looks less appealing at this distance. Such an aesthetic is nothing new amongst the commoners who rise through the ranks of Rylnaar authority. In contrast to the inherent bias of the cultures of Kulvaan or Aylaan, the people of Rylnaar tend to reward those who forge their own path to riches with lands and titles and glory. The man opposite Ashton is one once so lowborn, he does not possess a family name. Such a quirk serves the guard in a beneficial way, given how untraceable he is without a distinguishable name. His cruel and effective climb to his station proves anyone with enough drive can change their position in Rylnaar society. As befits the assassin islands, such a climb through society draws the attention of any number of unwanted eyes from countless minor guilds.

‘Never said you did anything wrong. Customs change around here faster than whores finish changing their clothes. No, Sir, I’m not here to punish you. I do have a few questions to ask you though. Do you find these terms agreeable?’ the officer says.

Ashton swallows hard to cover up the loud and relieved sigh he releases the moment he realises he is no longer well-known around Fuldarr. Ashton adjusts his stance and straightens his back. This is so he can raise his voice over the volume of the seamen bustling around the docks in his vicinity.

‘I suppose no harm can come from questions. I do admit, I expected far worse to come from one such as yourself. This does not stop me from envying what you do for a living sometimes, but then I remember what I do is so much greater than anything you could realise or imagine. So please, ask away,’ Ashton says.

The officer looks at Ashton with a flat expression and blank eyes. He does not see the humour or the subtleties in the words those native to The Green Desert speak with. Ashton’s smile fades away and he swallows some spittle. No sooner does his cheerful look fade than the scarred man breaks out into a hearty chuckle.

‘You people from across the sea are too serious for your own good. In fact, I have one question for you. I need you to answer as honest as you can. You’ve arrived here without declaration, so please tell me who it is you are here to kill.’

The question takes Ashton by surprise. He knows he cannot say anything regarding any business surrounding the Athenaeum to any civilian. Ashton then thinks about how a lowborn dock officer would know such a thing. Ashton does conclude this must be some sort of test of his quality and character.

‘I have zero idea what you are talking about. I’m nothing more than an innocent traveller who paid a pretty price for passage across the sea so I might start a new life in a new place because everyone deserves a second chance, do they not?’ Ashton says.

The officer sighs. He has his orders as much as Ashton has his, and he plans to follow them, no matter what the cost may be. It is difficult for anyone to disobey a command given by the Athenaeum, and those who do disrespect the chain of command often disappear. The thought of erasure from existence lingers at the back of the minds of all agents of the Athenaeum, no matter the position they may hold within the conglomerate.

‘Don’t bullshit around with me, Wyland. You would not be here without a purpose. Tell you what. If you want to see those two bimbos again, I suggest you listen to what I want you to do. Do you understand? Good. There’s a specific person who follows me everywhere and I need them dealt with in a specific way. Your way, if you catch the meaning of my words,’ the officer says.

Ashton’s eyes widen. He did not expect to find another Athenaeum member in such an open area. The usual modus operandi of the guild is for members to remain in the shadows when they receive or perform the job they get. Members also know not to threaten the integrity or secrecy of the inner machinations of the Athenaeum and to have a tail follow a member of any of the various guilds will spell trouble.

‘Why can’t you deal with him yourself? Are you too scared to do so? Maybe you feel you couldn’t get work elsewhere if you did so, for you know what you are asking of me goes against the rules of everything we stand for,’ Ashton says.

Any thief or assassin worth their salt knows the rites of the codex laid down by the founders of the Athenaeum inside out. Only a handful of those inducted into the mighty conglomerate know words which demand Athenaeum members to obey. These words also carry an obligation for those who hear them to follow orders without any question. It is not often such words pass the lips of a member, for many believe them to carry a curse with them.

‘Placant, ritus mortis,’ the officer says.

Ashton freezes up and closes his eyes before he bows low and gives a nod. The Rite of Death is one of the oldest known ways to ensure utter compliance from an assassin. The invoker of the rite is the one who serves as the handler of the assassin for the duration of the contract. The officer waits for Ashton to raise his head again. The pair lock eyes.

‘Ego servus tuus,’ Ashton says.

The officer smiles and beckons for Ashton to follow him. The pair travel further into the city of Fuldarr. They pass an exquisite bakery occupying the space of four regular shopfronts. The racks in one window sit half-full of breads baked from recipes retrieved from all corners of Terrus. Soft and black-grained loaves from the distant land of Triaan sell as fast as the crusty and flaky white loaves which long served as the staple food of Rylnaar. Neither of these fare well against the hardy bread from Kulvaan. Sailors and adventurers love it as it can last for months on end without any sign of decay or loss of taste.

The bread is but a small part of what the bakery produces. The following three shopfronts consist of lavish pastries filled with the finest creams and freshest of fruits, both of which are considerable rarities in Rylnaar. The complexity of the designs increases the further one moves away from the docks. It is a clever design tactic since most boats weigh anchor for a brief period. It therefore makes sense to stock the cheapest breads closest to the section where most seamen hang around waiting to set sail once more.

In fact, both the industrial and commercial sections of Rylnaar are far more effective in their operation than any other city around Terrus. Common commodities are as close to the docks as possible. With Fuldarr considered the gateway to the Assassin Islands, the layout is deliberate to reduce the docking time of vessels. This increases the number of vessels serviced and promotes a heavy flow of sea traffic. So much traffic in fact, the next three largest ports still serve less vessels per day than Fuldarr.

This great flow comes from the massive dock encircling three-quarters of the coastline of Fuldarr. Piles stretch for several hundred metres out in the water. To each of these sturdy stakes, a mighty frigate or warships of heavier designation sit moored. The ships do not belong to any captain from Rylnaar, but instead to the hegemony of Triaan. Despite the recognition of Kulvaan as the undisputed leader of Terrus, each continent rules with their own governments. The Hegemony of Triaan is unstable when compared to the Duchy of Aylaan, or the Lordship of Rylnaar, or even the Cabinet of Ashaan. Yet all these governing bodies regard the fleet of Triaan as the single greatest power on the seas.

Ashton looks down the length of the massive breakwater to his left stretching to the horizon. Xerus and Quaestor are the most prominent warships docked in the line of mighty vessels. The Xerus is a four-deck man-of-war and though it possesses at max a half complement of cannon, it now acts as the flagship for the Kulvaan fleet after the sinking of Tyr’s Bounty. Quaestor is a two-deck, double-long destroyer, and this design is unusual for a vessel of war. The length of the ship makes it faster than others in its class, but the vessel is far less manoeuvrable than a frigate of similar weight.

A short distance beyond where the breakwater joins the dock, nestled in a small nook between two piers is a single deck sloop with plain white sails. It is here the officer leads Ashton. Without any words, Ashton knows he needs to head below deck. What scares Ashton is not the fact this vessel is in Fuldarr, but the knowledge of whom resides below deck. It is rare for a member of the Athenaeum’s inner circle to venture away from the headquarters of the conglomeration, so when one does do so it is for either a very good or a very bad reason. Ashton can only hope the leader below the deck of the sloop is one he knows on a personal level.

Inside the lone secluded room at the rear of the vessel and through the thick, white smoke enveloping every corner of the room, a cloaked figure sits on a leather-wrapped chair between two small bookcases. The furnishings do not extend beyond those three items and Ashton cannot see the source of the foggy smoke shroud.

‘Ah, Master Ashton Wyland of the Green Desert. I must say it is a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are not in your favour. You must understand mine need for secrecy, and I do not wish you any sort of harm. Your safety is paramount in mine city,’ the gruff and deep voice of the hooded figure rings out.

Many consider Ashton to be a senior member of the Athenaeum due to his tenure. Even this seniority does not enable Ashton to know any information about those from the inner circle, for he is not a part of the elite group. Ashton is certain he will never know the identity of the man before him, but he knows he should pay the utmost respect to what many would consider one rulers of the world.

‘The pleasure is all mine, Lord. In truth, I did not expect you to be around here, nor would I anticipate any member of the Circle to pay any kind of heed to one such as me. I am at your service, though the Rite of Death now bears down upon my shoulders,’ Ashton says.

The member of the Circle gives a weird smile. At least, Ashton believes it to be a smile. All he sees is a full mouth of pearl-white teeth shining with enough luminosity to make the darkness fade a small amount. The gulls outside the sloop caw in a fashion to tell two on the boat a massive load of fish landed on the docks to the north. The timing of the birds unsettles Ashton. Almost as if the Circle member before him summoned some form of magic.

‘I know the Rite of Death is upon you, for I am the one who tasked mine lieutenant to get you here by any means. Since you are here, I suppose you want to know who your target is. Bear in mind you cannot refuse this task else your life is forfeit. I do not care how you do it, but ensure he dies,’ the Circle member says. Ashton wraps his fingers around the small, rolled scroll the circle member pushes out of the shadows. Ashton knows the parchment contains two names, one of which is his target. With a nod and no other word, Ashton takes his leave. Once outside and free from the smoke, he breathes deep and unfurls the paper in his hand. Ashton’s heart drops when he reads the name of his target. A degree of fear crosses his body as he must now return to the place his story began. Ashton needs to return home to The Green Desert.

• Chapter 4 – The Trail of Heroes