The Kilden was unkind to them. A storm had arrived on the evening of their first day on board. The tumultuous sea and violent winds had calmed after that night but the rain had continued in waves of its own. With the Illusion’s mostly open deck, there was no space on the boat that wasn’t wet. Leif’s cloak and clothes were heavy with rainwater. When the rain lessened, his body heat warmed the soaking clothing, giving him a momentary respite from the cold but not from the wetness. The downpour eventually resumed and the little warmth he felt was replaced again by cold. Leif found himself wishing he was back in the burning wagon enjoying the heat and his personal victory.

  The sailors complained about the rain as much as Leif wanted to, but their complaints took the form of humorous annoyance rather than raw misery. Despite the downpour, they performed their work as if it was no more complex than pulling on their shoes.

  Starting the fire in the wagon the day before had left Leif once again weary and unable to summon his magic. It was encouraging, however, that he wasn’t nearly as exhausted as he’d been after the first duel with Vigo. Leif kept trying. He eventually wanted his magic to come to him and recover as quickly as Vigo’s did, and to do that, he needed to practice. On the second day aboard the Illusion, Leif was again able to draw, albeit weakly, on his power. Connecting with the wellspring of magic within him produced an internal warmth that helped stave off the unpleasant onslaught of cold rain. He held it for a time, savoring the power and the heat and the assurance it brought. Then he released it to start the process over.

  At one point Leif looked at Vigo and realized that despite the vast powers he’d observed in the wizard’s arsenal, the man was just as soaked as Leif. “Surely you could shield yourself from the rain?”

  Vigo nodded to the sailors working the cog around them. Most of the crew weren’t even wearing cloaks, some wore thick sweaters and a few wore only heavy canvas shirts. Leif supposed it didn’t make much of a difference in the rain. “Bad manners. Plus magic requires energy, Leif, we don’t use it frivolously. Also, like any sane person I avoid discomfort beyond a certain threshold that doesn’t benefit me. But more often than you’d think, discomfort is good for you.”

  Leif noticed however, that each time the heavy rains subsided, Vigo’s cloak and clothing became dry very quickly.

  On the third day aboard the Illusion, dawn crept through the Kilden mists. It was hazy, but the blessed morning light was visible and gently illuminated the sea and the coast beyond. Leif’s clothes were still damp but at least they weren’t soaking. He actually enjoyed sailing when his teeth weren’t chattering and he wasn’t squeezing water from his heavy, wet clothes.

  Before them spread a dizzying collection of numerous islands. They sprawled just outside the mouth of the port of Danaria. The largest of the islands sat in the center, covered with a coat of trees and rocks. Springing out from the trees, at the center of the island was a small fortress that bore a tall watchtower.

  Anker weaved the Illusion between and around the islands and into the mouth of the port. The mouth was a broad cut that went deep into the Danarian coastline. They entered the mouth of the port and though the morning sun was still early in its ascent, ships and smaller boats passed them from both directions.

  At last they came to the basin of the port harbor of Danaria. It wasn’t quite as large as Sersk, but it was vastly more grand. The sight inspired awe in Leif. Before them the famed Danaria peninsula imposed itself into the harbor. The peninsula was wide and took the shape of a half moon stretching out into the basin. The basin itself was wide enough that there was more than enough room for numerous boats and ships to negotiate the harbor. At the forefront of the peninsula stood a columned building, larger and grander than any Leif had ever seen. The tall series of stone columns matched the curve of the peninsula. Atop the columns was a figure standing twenty times Leif’s own height. It towered over the city in all directions. The figure was of a stoic man. There was a nobility and power in his features that the sculptor had masterfully captured and conveyed. The statue wore a flowing robe that latched over his left shoulder. He stood upright and proud, and in his raised left hand he held a blazing torch. At his side, his right hand held an immense sword, with its tip touching the ground. The blade was chipped and scratched in several places. The man’s eyes looked out over the harbor towards the dawn. It seemed impossible for such a massive creation to exist. Leif wondered who could build such things, and by what sorcery they kept the torch fire lit.

  Surrounding the port harbor was the city of Danaria. From his view on the water, most of the city was not visible, however, he was able to see roads and buildings sprawling out up into the foothills to the north. Beyond the colossal statue, on a plateau at the southern base of the peninsula, stood a fortress of a palace. Despite the distance from where Anker was directing his crew to dock the boat, the palace was imposing in the same way the statue was, with towers and spires breaking free from the northern cliffs and reaching to the heavens. The wealth and power of the Danarian king was on full display.

  The Illusion gently floated into the dock where dockworkers tethered her to the cleats that were sculpted with more detail than anything he’d seen at home. The cleats featured patters and figures of various animals, positioned in such a way that they were still functional. Anker’s crew attached them to a sleeping moose on the stern and a hunting fox at the bow.

  When Leif stepped to the dock, a sense of relief washed over him. He suddenly felt that his own troubles, the hunters pursuing him, the ire of his royals, even his rain-soaked clothing, were insignificant and unserious. They had made it to Danaria. His journey was complete and he could focus on becoming a wizard without distraction.

  Leif was stopped and pulled from his thoughts when Vigo stuck his arm out to block his way. He followed the direction of the wizard’s gaze. Not six vessels away from them, docked along the same curve of the harbor, was the Dragon’s Breath. The ship was at least twice the size of the Illusion, perhaps more. It was coated with navy blue paint and gold trim. The sails were folded pristinely to the yards. The paint appeared fresh and bright. From where he stood across the harbor, Leif could not see the typical hazy sheen of salty water spots on the hull, which seemed impossible given how tumultuous the Kilden had been over the past several days. At the stern, the side nearest them, below the golden script of the Dragon’s Breath, the hailing port was listed: Marin Port, Maedelund.

  It was the royal ship of the rulers of Maedelund. Queen Isabella and Prince Magnus’s ship, rocking in the very same waters to which Leif had just arrived.

  Vigo lowered his voice, “They would have been invited to the princess’s wedding. I’m surprised they accepted but they would have no way of knowing you were coming here. They’d be fools to try to hurt you here, but that doesn't mean they won’t.” Vigo paused for a moment, considering. “We’ll exit the city here and re-enter through the western gate. I’d rather our return be a surprise than give them a chance to spot us before we reach the palace…if they haven’t already.”

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  “Why didn’t you say they could be here?” Leif couldn’t help but look over his shoulders and felt the full force of his uneasiness return. After his experience with Eudo and the canvas sack on his head, he was more on edge than he wanted to admit.

  “I never expected they would be. But the king would have invited all members of the League. Isabella’s late husband was a friend of Harald’s. Magnus is young and unmarried and these events are an opportunity to find a bride among the aristocracy of the Kilden. I don’t believe anyone has been considering having children with Isabella, that oaf, for some time. It doesn’t matter now because they’re here and we’ll deal with it. To the palace we go.” Vigo lifted his bag and swung it over his shoulder, indicating it was time to move.

  “Vigo, they’re trying to kill me. Why are we going to the palace?” Leif was not satisfied with Vigo’s casual attitude on the matter. He stood rooted to the spot.

  “Harald is my patron. I am a member of his household. This is my home. I’ll not be put out by a foreign prince and his gluttonous mother. You’re in Danaria training to be a wizard, not at home plotting to steal their throne so hopefully they no longer see you as a threat, to their position at least. Stay close to me and keep your eyes and ears open. You’ll be fine. More so once we’re in the palace.”

  “And what if he tries to kill me again?”

  “Then I’ll have to kill a prince.” Leif exhaled heavily. He was not satisfied with Vigo’s assurances, but he felt bound to trust Vigo’s judgement. He certainly was safer with Vigo than standing alone on the dock.

  They made their way on foot from the docks. Vigo seemed to know his way and Leif was content to follow while absorbing the new city and considering this new problem. The idea of walking into court with the man who’d tried to have him killed concerned him deeply. Despite Vigo’s assurance and confidence that he could keep Leif safe, Magnus was a wizard. And despite being closer in age to Leif than Vigo, he was an accomplished one.

  They weaved their way southwest through the city. As they got further from the port and the palace, the residences and shops became more simple and functional. However, the streets, signage and street lanterns were still quite well-maintained and clean. Small baskets of flowers and greenery hung suspended on each lampost. At nearly every intersection stood a bronze statue or a marble fountain, also ringed with hedges or flower beds. The rows of buildings would end or surround large open parks of open lawn and trees, with well groomed grass and walking paths.

  Leif watched a man polishing the glass windows of a lantern before wiping down the lantern post. He found the behavior almost odd. Spending resources on polishing street lanterns so far from the palace seemed…wasteful, but he couldn’t deny the effect of the cleanliness, the statues, the fountains, and the flowers was beautiful. It was a beautiful place to be.

  The city was bustling with people, but did not feel crowded. No one paid them any attention except for a few friendly waves or calls from merchants selling fish, fruit, flour, or textiles. The people all seemed ordinary; despite being in a new city, he felt a familiarity that made him comfortable.

  After what must have been an hour of navigating through the streets with Vigo, they reached the wall. The city wall was imposing. It was perhaps four times Leif’s height and constructed from smoothed stone and mortar. They exited at the southeastern gate and walked the lengthy distance down the road, passing multiple travelers either on foot, on horse, or with fully laden wagons.

  There was enough distance between the wall and the woods that an invading force couldn’t so easily sneak up and surprise the inhabitants of Danaria. Unfortunately, what made for a good defensive strategy added time to their journey. When they finally reached the woods, they veered off the road and into the trees.

  “How is the Bakken’s being here going to affect training?” Leif asked when they had ventured far enough into the woods that it would be impossible for anyone to hear them.

  “I don’t expect it will. I don’t believe he’ll try anything here. Harald takes the Rules of Decorum seriously. Magnus and Isabella have too much to lose in crossing him.”

  Vigo looked back at him, assessing Leif’s reaction. “They didn’t even know you were coming here. They are here for their own reasons. Killing you wasn’t one of them. With luck, any interaction with them will be limited. How well do you know your cousin? Or your aunt?”

  “Well enough. Contact was minimal after my uncle died but we certainly attended plenty of events at court, as would be expected of all the great houses, particularly blood kin. They will recognize me immediately.”

  Vigo grunted in response. They continued on through the southern woods for what felt like hours. He was surprised at how isolated and alone they were despite being so close to the capital city. They worked their way northwest through the dense forest, in parallel to the outer wall of the city. They picked their way over fallen trees, swift flowing creeks and well worn game trails. Vigo wasn’t saying much as they trekked, so Leif just listened to the sounds of the forest.

  Despite their being alone in what felt like a virgin woods, Leif’s eyes caught several snares along well-worn game trails. He didn’t venture close enough to see if they were still in use or if they’d been abandoned.

  He recalled when his father had taught him trapping. When he was far younger, Leif had asked to join his father and other nearby members of the aristocracy for their hunt. His father had said no, and that he must learn to trap first.

  His father had taken him into the forest, a full day's ride east of their home for the lesson. “If we don’t trap, we don’t eat.” He then taught Leif how to identify game trails and string up snares. They didn’t eat on their first day. On the morning of the second day, Leif found a small rabbit trying to kick himself out of one of their traps. Leif was ecstatic until his father told him he had to kill the rabbit. He had handed Leif a stout tree branch then told him to lay it across the rabbit’s neck.

  Leif was yanked from the memory when Vigo suddenly froze before him. Leif scanned the forest around them for whatever sound or sign had spooked Vigo. He could hear a churning stream a ways off, and birds calling, but nothing seemed different from the moment before.

  Leif was about to whisper to Vigo and ask why he’d stopped when he heard the twang of a bowstring. Vigo threw a shield up around them. An arrow thunked heavily into the tree to Leif’s left. In the next moment, a man came hurtling out from behind the trees to his right. Another bounty hunter had found them. It seemed impossible that they’d been seen and identified in the short time they’d been in the city. Leif ripped his sword out and took a defensive stance but the figure raced past him towards Vigo. Leif could hear Vigo was laughing but assumed it was because of the amusement Vigo seemed to find in every confrontation. The wizard continued laughing as the stranger tackled him to the ground.

  The two wrestled on the floor of the forest. The stranger was fighting to isolate one of Vigo’s arms. Vigo pulled the man’s hood down over his face and laughed all the harder. He rolled the stranger to his back, Vigo’s own chest pressing the man against the forest floor. Vigo then spun himself until he caught the stranger’s head between his knees and squeezed. At the same time, he scooped up the stranger’s left arm and torqued it backwards. The stranger groaned and grunted.

  Leif stood there with his sword out, unsure of what to do. Vigo was clearly not in any danger as the man hadn’t even bothered to attack with a blade. Leif continued watching, waiting for Vigo to ask for help.

  Vigo released the stranger’s arm, then he methodically rolled the man over beneath him and locked himself to the stranger’s back. He pulled the hooded head back by the underside of the man’s nose then slid his arm around the stranger's neck, pulling him into a headlock. “Okay okay! Vigo, you win,” the stranger gargled out as he slapped Vigo’s forearm.

  Vigo laughed and released his grip. He stood and helped up the gasping stranger. Both men embraced. “Welcome back, old man,” he paused to clear his throat, “Perhaps I can find you a walking stick to ease your journey, your aging joints must be aching.” He punched Vigo’s arm. Vigo shoved him. Leif sheathed his sword. The two men finally looked towards Leif.

  “Heston, meet my apprentice, Leif Olander, of Maedelund. Leif, meet Heston Erling, crown prince of Danaria. First son of the Danarian king, avid hunter, and an all-around pain in my arse.”

  Standing up among the grass and trees of the wood, Heston matched Leif’s own height. Leif guessed he was probably close in age to the prince, with Hestan perhaps slightly older. With his hood pulled back off his head and face Leif could see his mop of wavy, golden bronze hair. Behind the perpetual smirk of his mouth and his dark eyes was a sharpness, a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Leif. Welcome to Danaria. I look forward to hearing your story.” He turned back to Vigo, “What in the bloody hell are you two doing way out here?”